Me Everyday At Work

Stucky Avengers  +  Cards Against Humanity

makes me wanna watch lord of the rings 🤭

A Very Horny Monday to you...

ahhh aspen!! thank you for this inspo, i hope you enjoy this kinda silly bit of smut (also i don't know if you're a lotr girlie but i hope this makes sense even for those who aren't!)

extended editions

pairing: friend!bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: bucky has a completely new idea for how to settle an argument between the two of you

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, dry humping, p in v sex, cockwarming, kissing, banter, tiny bit of overstimulation, arguments about the lord of the rings extended editions (don't come at me for the views expressed in this fic, i said what i said!!)

word count: 1.7k

-

You don't know how it happened. One minute, you and Bucky were arguing over whether you should show someone who’d never seen Lord of the Rings the extended editions or the theatrical versions first. The next, your mouths were fused together and you were kissing like you needed the air from each other's lungs to survive. You didn't even know who kissed who first.

"All I'm saying is that the extended editions are too long for someone who's never seen it before," you said on a gasp when Bucky finally pulled away, picking up the loose thread of your argument exactly where you'd left off.

"But how can you really know if someone likes Lord of the Rings if they don't like the extended editions," Bucky shot back as he tore your shirt up and over your head, flinging it somewhere in his living room. He buried his face in the soft mounds of your tits and groaned happily. "Shit, why have we never done this before?"

Your fingers threaded through his soft brown hair, taking hold of him and pressing his face deeper against your chest while your head tipped back and you reveled in the rasp of his stubble against your soft skin. "Because we're friends, Bucky," you reminded him. 

"Right, right," he muttered against your chest. He nipped and sucked your skin between his teeth, peppering your tits with marks while you moaned and tried to press closer. "Seems to me that's exactly why we should've been doing this all along," Bucky grumbled to himself.

You were rocking your hips on Bucky's lap, seeking something without even properly knowing what, when your aching center connected with the hot, hard length of him in his jeans. "Bucky," you gasped and pressed down right there. Your skirt rode up around your spread thighs while you rubbed your slit against his bulge through the thin layer of your panties. 

"Fuck, baby, right there," Bucky groaned, his hands falling to your hips and holding you in his tight grip as he helped you rock against his erection.

You snorted. "'Baby'?" you asked on a scoff. "Way to make a girl feel special, Buck," you muttered, a hint of a pout appearing on your lips. 

Bucky tipped his head back, his chin resting on your sternum as he gave you a half-hearted glare. "You're rubbing your sweet cunt all over my cock, doll," he drawled, yanking you back and forth on his bulge to prove his point, making your mind go a little fuzzy with need. "Forgive me if I can't come up with a more creative pet name for my girl."

A smile curled your lips and you let out a pleased sound that almost sounded like a purr. "I like that," you murmured, your eyes falling closed as you rocked harder on Bucky.

"What? Doll?" he asked, kissing your neck between words. 

"No—I like you calling me your girl," you answered, your hands digging into Bucky's hair and dragging him up to kiss you. Just like your first kiss, it was all-consuming, the taste and the heat of Bucky's mouth sending you mind floating through space where all that mattered was pressing closer to him and pulling him deeper. 

"My girl," Bucky cooed on an exhale when the kiss ended. "My pretty girl, my sweet girl." His voice was sweet but his hands were rough, one wrapping around the back of your neck and the other holding your hip while he thrust up from below, pressing his hardness against your clit and making you cry out with pleasure.

"Please, Bucky, I need you inside me," you whimpered, clinging to him for dear life. You were close to the edge, but you didn't want to cum without feeling him inside you first. You knew whatever orgasm you'd have humping against his bulge would pale in comparison to the one he'd give you if he was buried deep in your cunt. "Please, fuck me, Bucky."

"OK, pretty girl, OK" he muttered, his hands going to his button and fly, undoing them as well as he could while you refused to move from his lap. You whined when he pulled his thick, bulging cock from his pants. Your hips squirmed, desperately moving toward him.

"Bucky, please," you whined, rising up on your knees only enough to line up with his cock. "Need you now."

"Fine, fine," Bucky said, a little exasperatedly, tugging your panties to the side. "My impatient girl," he muttered affectionately as he notched the head of his cock at your entrance. 

Once you felt him, you started sinking down on his hard length. Your head fell back and your lips parted in a blissful moan as you felt him fill you inch by inch, stretching your tight hole around his thick cock. Your thighs spread wider over Bucky's lap, letting you take him all the way inside. 

When he was buried to the hilt, Bucky let out a strangled groan, his hands holding onto your waist like he was afraid you'd float away if he let go. You half expected Bucky to relax back against the couch and let you do all the work of riding him, but he stayed sitting up straight, your chests pressed together so you could feel each other as much as possible. 

"Feel so fucking good, pretty girl," Bucky murmured, pressing kisses to your chest and neck. 

"Mm, so big, Bucky," you responded, mind half-gone with pleasure already. All you could focus on was the feeling of him inside you, feeling like he fit perfectly. 

Bucky chuckled against your tits. "So agreeable when you're impaled on my cock, sweet girl, might have to keep you like this all the time," he said, a smile in his voice as he kissed his way up your neck and found your lips. 

You kissed him back for a moment, but then his words sank in and you pulled away, giving him a glare with no heat to it. "You're not right about the extended editions, Buck," you argued in a breathy voice. "They're not a good experience for first timers."

Bucky rolled his hips from below you, dragging yours in a circular motion at the same time and hitting a spot inside you that had your eyelashes fluttering as you let out a low moan. "We're going to have to agree to disagree, pretty girl," he said, kissing along your jaw. "But you're giving me an idea of how we should spend our first time together." 

Your hips writhed languidly on Bucky's lap, moaning at the delicious friction created by his cock buried inside you. "Wha-what's your idea?" you asked breathlessly. 

Gripping your chin gently, he tipped your face to look at him and gave you a wicked-looking smile. "I think we should sit here—with my cock in your tight little pussy—and see how long we can last before fucking each other's brains out," Bucky said, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement as he watched yours light up. "First one to give in, admits they're wrong about the extended editions."

Your mouth curved in an eager grin. "You're on," you said, accepting his challenge with the confidence of someone who knew they were right and knew they were going to win. You pushed him back against the couch and settled in, wiggling your ass more than necessary as you got comfy for the long haul. 

Bucky chuckled, groping your ass and kneading the soft flesh in his big hands roughly enough that you squeezed down on his cock reflexively. His voice was low and raspy when he spoke. "Can't wait to hear you admit I'm right, sweet girl," he muttered, relaxing into the couch.

Hiding a smirk against his jaw, you snorted lightly. "You're going down, Buck," you whispered in his ear before pressing your lips to his neck and setting to work at marking him with some hickeys of your own.

In the end, Bucky couldn't survive with your warm, soft heat wrapped so perfectly around his cock, especially when your lips and teeth never left the skin of his neck, except to whisper enticing things in his ear about how good it'd feel once he gave up and fucked your tight cunt. You didn't know how long it took, but you eventually pushed him to his limits. 

When Bucky snapped, he flipped you down on your back and pounded into you until you were screaming and coming apart on his cock. He spilled himself inside you with a filthy groan, pumping his cum deeper into you, before finally collapsing. 

You threaded your fingers through Bucky's hair, scratching lightly at his scalp while you both caught your breath. His head was resting on your chest, forehead pressed to your neck, his arms wrapped around your back between you and the couch so he could hold you close. 

With a heavy sigh, Bucky raised his head. His mouth was flattened into an unhappy line and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling at how disgruntled he looked. 

"You were right," he said on a sigh, rolling his eyes a little. "The extended editions are too long for people who are watching Lord of the Rings for the first time." 

You nodded as graciously as you could manage. "Thank you," you said, barely getting the words out before Bucky captured your lips in a kiss. While you were focused on his mouth, he pinned your hands above your head and shifted his hips, pressing his hardening cock deeper inside you. When he pulled away, you gasped, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Now, pretty girl, I think it's time you admit that we shouldn't have let the fact that we're friends stop us from making each other feel good before now,” Bucky said, rocking his hips so you could feel every twitch and swelling inch of his cock. “I’m right—tell me I'm right."

You had no hope of holding out on him, not when he was filling you up so perfectly and rubbing against your oversensitive clit. “You're right," you exclaimed on a gasp, squirming beneath his relentless hips. "You're right, Bucky—about everything except the extended editions."

Bucky growled and started fucking you again, sucking your tits and making you scream. He wouldn't let you leave the couch until he'd felt you'd more than made up for that last comment. By the time he was done with you, you were little more than an overly agreeable, pleasure-drunk mess in his arms. You fell asleep like that, tangled up on the couch in your friend's apartment while the Lords of the Rings extended editions played in the background. 

car ride

bucky x reader

summary: Bucky Barnes couldn’t care less about getting home because there’s only want thing he wants, and, thanks to Sam’s favorite bumpy road, it can totally be made possible. 

warnings: 18 & up only, cockwarming, fingering, public sex

word count: 1,988

author’s note: sat down to write a quick horny bucky barnes headcanon and it accidentally turned into this :))))

“I need to be in you right now.”

“Need is a strong word,” y/n whispered back to Bucky after hearing his pleading words. “I’m sure you can wait half an hour.” 

Keep reading

OH MY LORD I NEED THIS MAN!!

Freak Like Me

Bucky x reader

Summary: You got banned from playing music in the training room for a reason, and when an unexpected song plays during your workout, Bucky finds out why.

Word Count: 2311

Thought I'd give you guys something a little more spicy! Hope you enjoy :)

You walked down the hall of the Avengers tower toward the training room, and it was uncharacteristically quiet. You knew a lot of the Avengers had meetings today, but you didn’t think everyone did. You were glad though, because you didn’t really like working out with other people and you could play whatever music you wanted over the speakers.

You listened to a little bit of everything, and that was true for working out too. The music would go from rap, to pop, to rock, and while you didn’t blink an eye, everyone else hated it. So, naturally, you got banned from playing music when everyone else was in there.

You walked around the corner into the training room and came to a stop. Bucky was inside warming up on the treadmill. Of course someone had to be in there, and of course it had to be Bucky. He of all people would be most likely to hate your music.

You hadn’t brought your headphones, and you thought about going back to get them when Bucky looked your way.

“Hey, y/n,” he said, turning off the treadmill.

“Oh, hey Bucky,” you said, realizing it probably looked like you were standing there staring at him.

You walked in and set your stuff down, plugging in your phone by the benches because you forgot to charge it last night.

“What are you hitting today,” Bucky asked.

“Steve is making me do his leg workout,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Yikes, have fun with that.”

Bucky walked over to pick up some weights as you were trying to decide whether or not to ask if you could play music. You assumed he would say no, but decided to ask him anyway.

“Hey Buck, is it cool if I play music?”

“Yeah, go ‘head,” he said, surprising you.

“Oh, okay cool.” You went to your settings to connect your phone to the speakers, then pressed shuffle on your workout playlist. The first song that started playing was an old rock song, so you were hoping Bucky wouldn’t regret saying yes too much. Then, you walked over to the other side of the training room to get set up.

Your playlist went through a bunch of different genres, but thankfully, Bucky didn’t seem to mind. You were both just minding your own business and doing your own thing.

A little bit later, a new song started playing and you heard Bucky call over to you.

“Hey, I actually know this one,” he said, with a proud smile on his face.

You just laughed, listening to the music and realizing it was Put Your Head on My Shoulder by Paul Anka. It would’ve came out after the 40s, but apparently Bucky still knew it.

But then, you started thinking, this song would not be on your workout playlist. Your eyes went wide when you realized what song it actually was. Freak by Doja Cat.

You quickly reached down for your phone to change the song, only to realize it was still plugged in on the other side of the room. Plus, you couldn’t just change the one song Bucky said he knew without him being suspicious.

You started to freak out, knowing the song would definitely make him uncomfortable, when the music paused for a brief moment. You held your breath for what was coming next.

“Freak like me. You want a good girl that does bad things (to you).”

You looked at Bucky, and you couldn’t see his face because he had his back facing you, but he had stopped in the middle of his workout. You started over to get your phone when he turned around.

“What the heck is this?” he asked, a mix of confusion and horror on his face.

You stopped, trying to figure out how to answer, when the song kept going.

“Tied him down to my queen bed. Tease him just enough to hate me. Tied it tight enough he can’t break free.”

You scurried over to the benches and grabbed your phone, quickly skipping the song. You tried to play it cool, but Bucky was already walking over to you.

“So, is this why you got banned from playing music? You play songs about sex?”

You sighed. “No, they just don’t like that I play so many different genres,” you said, your face heating up.

He just hummed in response, still staring at you with his steel blue eyes.

“And here I was, thinking that you were so innocent,” he said, smirking.

“It’s – just a good song,” you replied, trying to defend yourself. Your face was bright red at this point, and you knew he was loving this, making you squirm.

“So, which one of the guys are you wanting to tie down to your bed, hmm?”

Your jaw dropped, face flushing as you tried to figure out how to respond to that.

“No one,” you said, “it’s just a catchy song.”

“Right,” he responded, his smile getting a little bigger. You knew he was never going to let this go.

“Well, I’m gonna go back to my workout,” you said, walking past him. But before you could get very far, he grabbed your arm and turned you toward him in one quick motion. You were now standing chest to chest, your faces just inches apart.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you played that song on purpose. I mean, we are the only two people in the tower for another couple hours,” he said, his voice low and deeper than it was before, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your jaw dropped slightly once again, trying to figure out if he was being serious or not. Your heart was thumping in your chest, and you hated to admit it, but him pulling you towards him and talking in that voice was making you insanely turned on.

You opened your mouth, but when nothing came out, Bucky’s smirk just got bigger.

“I – I didn’t play that on purpose,” was all you could say.

Finally, Bucky broke character and started to laugh, dropping his hand from your arm. Your skin was still tingling where his hand had been.

“I’m just messing with you y/n,” he said, laughing. “You should’ve seen your face though!”

You stood there in shock as he walked away, trying to wrap your head around what had just happened. You walked back to the other side of the room, but you weren’t able to focus on the rest of your workout. You didn’t dare look over toward Bucky, so you had no idea that his gaze kept shifting to you, distracted from his own workout.

You finished your workout as quickly as possible and made a beeline for the door, grabbing your phone and not saying a word to Bucky as you practically ran out the door.

You were halfway down the hallway before you finally felt like you could breathe again. You didn’t realize how you had basically been holding your breath that whole time. You got back to your room and quickly jumped in the shower, just wanting to relax after how worked up you were.

You stepped out of the shower when you realized you forgot to grab clothes to change into. You sighed, trying not to focus on how nothing seemed to be going your way today. You just wrapped your towel around you after drying off and walked out of the bathroom to your room.

You were halfway down the hallway before you looked up and stopped dead in your tracks. Bucky was standing outside the door to your room.

And you were standing in front of him in nothing but a little towel. Could this day get any weirder?

“Uhh, what are you doing?” you asked.

“Sorry I just – was gonna apologize, but – seems like you’re really trying to get my attention now,” he said, a smirk plastered on his face yet again.

You sighed, determined to not let him get under your skin this time. Maybe you’d have a little fun with him.

“And what if I am?” you said, giving him a smirk of your own.

His smirk turned into a brief second of shock, and you could tell he was caught off guard.

You sauntered down the hallway, walking right past him into your room, but not before running your hand along his arm as you walked past. You could feel his eyes on you as you walked into your room, not bothering to close the door.

You walked over to your dresser, bending over to get clothes out, knowing your towel was long enough to cover you, but not quite long enough to keep Bucky from going a little crazy. You made sure to pick out the tiniest pair of shorts you own and a cropped baby tee.

You turned around grabbing the top of your towel like you were going to drop it at any second. His face was bright red and he looked like a deer in headlights. Man was this fun.

“You standing there hoping for a show, or can I get dressed in peace?”

“Oh, uh – sorry,” he mumbled. He pointed at the door, “do you want me to, uh – never mind,” he put his head down and practically ran the other way.

You tried so hard not to bust out laughing as you went over and shut the door.

Once you put on your clothes, you walked back down to the kitchen to get something to eat. Conveniently, Bucky was right there, sitting at the island.

“Hey Buck,” you said, flashing him a smile.

He looked you up and down, obviously liking what you were wearing.

“Hey,” he finally managed to get out.

“Are you gonna make something for lunch,” you asked him.

“Uhh, yeah I was gonna make some eggs.”

“Oooh, that sounds good, maybe I’ll make some too.” You walked over to the drawer with the pans, exaggerating every movement as you bent over. You knew he was going insane.

“Do you want me to just make yours too,” you asked, not bothering to turn around. You set the pan on the stove, finally turning around when he didn’t answer you.

That’s when you realized he was right behind you, looking at you with a deep intensity in his eyes. He had been so flustered, you didn’t expect him to do anything about it.

He slowly leaned forward, arms grabbing the counter on either side of you, trapping you in place.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Umm, making eggs,” you said, slowly.

“Are you tryna’ kill me, doll?”

The nickname made your stomach flutter.

“I was joking earlier,” he said, “I never thought you’d do it back.”

“And what makes you think I’m joking?” you responded.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that I’ve never seen you wear so little clothes around the tower.”

“I was still hot from my workout,” you said, shrugging.

“Oh, trust me, I am too,” he said, lifting his eyebrows.

Bucky didn’t back up, and neither did you.

He looked down at you, his voice rough with restraint. “You keep playing with fire, doll.”

You tilted your head, meeting his stare without flinching. “Maybe I like the heat.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched as his eyes darkened. For a moment, neither of you moved—until he reached up, brushing a strand of damp hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered against your cheek, trailing lightly down your jaw.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured.

“Good,” you whispered, your voice breathy.

And that was all it took. He leaned in fast, pressing his lips to yours with a force that stole your breath. One hand gripped the counter beside you, the other sliding around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. You gasped into the kiss, fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt, and he took that opportunity to deepen it—his lips moving hungrily against yours like he’d been waiting for this for far too long.

When you finally pulled apart for air, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing hard.

“Still want eggs?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

You smiled, shaking your head. “Not really.”

Bucky’s smirk returned, but this time it was laced with something deeper—need, maybe, or anticipation. He backed you gently out of the kitchen, never breaking eye contact.

“Then come on, sweetheart,” he said. “Let’s see how hot things can really get.”

And just like that, lunch was officially off the menu.

--

The next morning, you woke up tangled in warm sheets—and even warmer arms.

Bucky was still fast asleep behind you, his chest pressed to your back, metal arm draped lazily over your waist. His steady breathing tickled the back of your neck, and you smiled, remembering the very unexpected turn your day had taken.

You shifted slightly, and his grip tightened instinctively, pulling you even closer. “Mmm… don’t move,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“I thought super soldiers didn’t need this much rest,” you teased softly.

His lips brushed your shoulder. “They don’t,” he murmured. “But if it means waking up next to you like this…I’ll gladly pretend to be human.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin and reached behind you to ruffle his hair. “You’re such a sap.”

He grinned against your skin. “Only for you.”

Your phone buzzed from the nightstand, a text from Nat lighting up the screen:

You forgot to clean the pan from your “egg-making” session yesterday. Sloppy cover story, y/n.

You groaned and hid your face in the pillow as Bucky peeked at the message over your shoulder.

“So… busted?” he asked.

You sighed. “So busted.”

He laughed, pulling you closer again. “Worth it.”

And you had to admit—it really, really was.

I’m really hoping there is another part cause this made me 🤭🤭😩

𝗠𝘆 𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿 [ 2 ]

Part One Pairings: PornStar!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Sexual Innuendo/humour,Guy next door, situational comedy? Sexual Themes 18+ ONLY: fingering, cunnilingus, Bucky loves tiddies, dirty talk. Summary: Though you've become oddly close to SergeantBarnes, it's still difficult to act normal around him. A/N: I didn't think many would ask for a part two but here you go. divider by @cafekitsune

It was a peaceful evening in the apartment gym—or, at least, it was supposed to be. You had your plan: thirty minutes on the stair climber, some stretches, and you’d be out of there before any awkwardness could find you.

But then you heard it—the unmistakable sound of weights clanging, followed by a deep, low grunt that made your entire body freeze.

You glanced up, hoping against hope that it wasn’t who you thought it was. But, of course, there he was: Bucky, over at the hip thrust machine, setting up his weights directly in front of you. Perfect, you thought. Of all the machines in here, he has to pick the most… suggestive one.

Your eyes flicked back to the tiny screen on your machine. Stay focused, you told yourself. Don’t look. Just ignore him.

But the moment he started his set, you heard it—a low, powerful grunt that practically reverberated through the gym. You immediately bit down on your lip, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead, pretending you weren’t having flashbacks to his other kind of workouts.

Another deep grunt.

Your hands clenched the stair climber’s handles like a lifeline. Do NOT look, you told yourself, the mantra echoing in your mind. But your treacherous eyes slid sideways, just for a second, and you caught a glimpse of him, face focused, breaths heavy as he powered through each hip thrust. The guy was practically a one-man gym commercial.

You looked away, focusing on your steps—your very uneven, slightly panicked steps. It’s just a hip thrust, for crying out loud! Nothing unusual here, you told yourself, trying to stomp out the heat creeping up your cheeks. But every time he exhaled, your mind filled with images of… well, his other performances.

Then, in the middle of one of his reps, Bucky let out a particularly deep, guttural grunt that nearly threw you off balance. Your foot slipped, your rhythm stuttered, and in a moment of pure panic, you clutched the handles and stumbled forward, practically throwing yourself onto the machine.

“Shit!” you yelped, fumbling to regain your balance as your legs moved faster than your brain, desperately trying not to faceplant.

You heard Bucky chuckle, that low, infuriatingly amused laugh, and felt your cheeks practically ignite. You looked up, heart pounding, only to find him smirking in your direction, eyes dancing with mischief.

“Careful there, Y/N,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Stair climbers are brutal.”

“Oh, yeah, totally!” you squeaked, straightening up, trying to look like you meant to almost eat it. “Just… keeping things interesting. Got to keep the cardio exciting, you know?”

“Looks like it’s working,” he replied, wiping his forehead with a towel, his grin widening as he noticed your death grip on the machine. “You sure you’re good over there?”

“Oh, I’m… I’m great,” you lied, your face flaming as you tried to regain your composure. But he wasn’t done with you yet.

“Glad to hear it,” he said, voice way too smooth. He paused, then tilted his head, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Gotta admit, though… this machine setup does feel a bit familiar.”

Your brain nearly exploded. Did he just—? He couldn’t mean… But his eyes sparkled with that infuriating, knowing look, and you knew exactly what he was hinting at. Your face went beet red as your foot slipped again, but this time you managed to catch yourself, narrowly avoiding another disaster.

“Uh-huh,” you said, laughing nervously, desperately trying to hold it together. “Well, enjoy your… uh, workout!”

“Oh, I am,” he said, chuckling softly. “Especially with the view.” He winked, setting up for another set while you tried not to spontaneously combust.

With one final, mortified glance, you turned your attention back to the stair climber, mentally swearing you’d never step foot in this gym again after this.

Since you survived the stair climber ordeal without faceplanting (barely), you decided it was time to move on. Somewhere—anywhere—that didn’t involve Bucky’s hip thrusts or his incessant, maddening smirk.

You zeroed in on the bench press. Safe, you thought, relieved. Just a standard exercise. Nothing suggestive, no chance of stumbling, tripping, or looking like a klutz. You grabbed the bar, took a deep breath, and mentally prepped yourself. Easy-peasy.

And then—because the universe simply refused to give you a break—you heard that all-too-familiar voice right beside you.

“Need a spot?”

You looked up and almost swallowed your tongue. There was Bucky, looming over you with that same damn smirk, wiping his hands on a towel like he was gearing up for some personal training session from your worst/best nightmares.

“Oh, uh… I—” you stammered, already feeling the heat creep up your neck. You’ve got this, you told yourself. Just let him help you. No big deal. You’re a mature, fully-functioning adult.

“Yeah, sure!” you squeaked, trying to sound normal as he stepped closer, positioning himself behind the bench. You laid back, gripping the bar, and immediately realized what a horrible, terrible mistake this was. You were now lying flat on your back, Bucky leaning over you, his face far too close as he focused on making sure you could lift the weight.

“You ready?” he asked, his face all business, but his lips still had that mischievous curve.

“Ready,” you mumbled, eyes darting anywhere but up at him, trying to ignore how absolutely awkwardly intimate this felt. You started your set, breathing steadily as you lifted the bar, determined to act as if this were a completely normal workout.

But then, midway through the reps, he leaned down a little closer. “By the way, did you check out my new video?”

Your hands nearly slipped. You fumbled the bar, barely catching it as your brain short-circuited. 

“W-What?” you managed, voice strangled, heart racing.

“My new video,” he repeated, casually reaching out to help guide the bar back into place as you struggled not to lose it. “Thought you might’ve seen it by now.”

Your cheeks flamed, but you somehow managed to choke out, “N-No! I… I haven’t seen it!”

Bucky chuckled softly, raising an eyebrow as he straightened up, his voice taking on a teasing, almost disappointed tone. 

“Oh. That’s a shame,” he said, smirk lingering. “Didn’t have a costar this time—just me, actually. First time I’ve ever done that.”

Your mouth dropped open. Just him? Your brain skidded to a halt. Suddenly, you were far too interested in a video you’d just denied seeing. 

“Oh, um… interesting?” you squeaked, trying to keep your face neutral but definitely failing.

“Yeah,” he replied with a shrug, looking at you with twinkling eyes. “Guess you’ll have to let me know what you think… whenever you get around to it.”

“Actually, I… uh… I kind of stopped watching… since we, you know… know each other. Just… feels awkward.”

Bucky’s grin widened, his eyes lighting up with amusement. 

“Oh, so you’re telling me we’re too close for you to watch my work now?” He raised an eyebrow, looking mockingly offended. “I thought we were supporting local artists.”

Your cheeks practically combusted as he said it, and you fumbled with the bar, desperately trying to pretend you hadn’t heard him. Supporting local artists? Was he serious right now?

“Oh my god,” you mumbled, absolutely mortified. “This is not— You’re not— I mean…!”

But he just looked down at you, that smug grin firmly in place as he leaned in, clearly enjoying every second of your flustered state. 

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Don’t you believe in supporting the arts?”

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, words completely failing you. “This… this is not the same!” you finally blurted, clutching the bar like it was your only lifeline.

“Oh really?” he replied, chuckling. “Because it sounds like you’re saying we’re too close for me to keep doing what I do. You know, my passion.”

You practically choked, waving your hands around in frantic denial. “No! No! That’s not— I’m not stopping you! I’m just— I don’t know, maybe supporting from a… distant, supportive spiritual place?”

He laughed outright, shaking his head. “So, what—you’re like cheering me on… but from across the street?”

You nodded vigorously, still trying to save face. “Exactly! Just… supportive… but in a non-participatory kind of way.”

“Got it,” he said, smirking. “So, I’m officially your guilty pleasure now.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as he chuckled, clearly far too pleased with himself. 

Note to self: Avoid all future conversations with Bucky Barnes for the rest of eternity.

× × × × 

That evening, you were finally settled at your dining table, a bowl of pasta in front of you, determined to put the entire gym disaster behind you. You’d survived another encounter with Bucky—barely—and now all you wanted was some quiet, non-embarrassing time with carbs.

But as you twirled your fork in the noodles, your brain betrayed you, replaying his words from earlier.

“Did you check out my new video?”

You paused mid-bite, the fork hovering near your mouth as you stared blankly at the wall, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and dread bubbling up. What could he have meant by “just me”? You tried to shake it off, forcing another forkful of pasta into your mouth. Nope, not going there.

But the thought lingered, nudging you, until you found yourself setting down the fork, fingers hovering over your phone. Just one quick search, you reasoned, glancing around your empty apartment as if someone might catch you.

You typed in the familiar site, thumbs hesitating above the search bar, nearly typing “SergeantBarnes new video” before you snapped back to reality, dropping the phone like it burned.

“Oh, no,” you muttered to yourself, horrified at how close you’d come. “Absolutely not. What am I, insane?”

You shoved another forkful of pasta into your mouth, shaking your head furiously. “I am not doing this.”

But as you continued eating, your eyes kept darting back to the phone, the curiosity gnawing at you, leaving you torn between common sense and the very persuasive power of nosiness.

You took a deep breath, clenching your fists. “Get a grip, Y/N. You are absolutely not watching that video.”

...But maybe just a preview?

You groaned, stuffing your face with more pasta, determined to win this internal battle.

× × × ×

The next morning, just as you were heading out the door for work, you spotted something bright and obnoxiously neon-colored taped to the wall near the mailboxes. Curiosity got the better of you, and you stepped closer, squinting at the bold, glittery letters.

POOL PARTY THIS WEEKEND! it proclaimed. Food, drinks, music, fun! Don’t miss it!

You raised an eyebrow, debating if you’d actually brave a building-wide party when suddenly, the quiet hallway was shattered by a loud, unmistakably ecstatic moan. The kind that could only mean one thing.

From none other than Bucky’s apartment.

You froze, eyes widening in disbelief. Is that—? Is he—?

A second moan, even louder than the first, confirmed it. This wasn’t just any moan; this was the sound of someone—some woman—having the time of her life. At what had to be eight o’clock in the morning.

“Oh, seriously?!” you hissed under your breath, glancing down the hallway as if there might be witnesses to this auditory ambush. Just then, the woman’s voice hit a pitch so high it practically reverberated off the walls.

You winced, clutching your bag like it could somehow shield you from this. Who even has that much energy in the morning? You took a step back, hoping to escape the sonic nightmare, but the moans only got louder, each sound more animated than the last.

You threw your hands over your ears, eyes squeezed shut as you muttered furiously to yourself. 

“Nope, nope, absolutely not. Not today, not right now.” You spun on your heel, practically power-walking down the hall, doing your best to drown out the soundtrack blaring from his apartment.

“YES, SERGEANT! OH MY GOD!”

You practically stumbled, muttering an alarmed, “Oh my god, stop!” as you picked up the pace, pressing your hands even harder against your ears. It was like some kind of cruel game—the closer you got to the elevator, the louder it seemed to get, echoing in your ears like a siren you couldn’t escape.

You winced, feeling your face burn as you all but sprinted down the hall, chanting, “Nope, nope, NOPE!” under your breath like a mantra. It was as if your feet couldn’t carry you fast enough, each step a desperate attempt to put some distance between you and… whatever was happening in that apartment.

Finally, you made it to the elevator, slamming your finger against the button with more force than necessary, glancing nervously over your shoulder as if the sounds might follow you. The doors mercifully slid open, and you dove inside, leaning back against the wall and pressing your hands over your ears one last time, breathing a sigh of relief.

But just as the doors began to close, one last triumphant shout echoed down the hallway, loud and clear, like the universe had decided you hadn’t suffered enough.

You groaned, staring up at the ceiling as the doors shut, wondering if this building had any quiet hours, or if you were doomed to start every morning with a full-blown soundscape of… Bucky’s extracurricular activities.

Note to self: Invest in earplugs. Maybe some noise-canceling headphones. Or a new apartment altogether.

× × × ×

You arrived at work looking like you’d barely survived a natural disaster. Traumatized, sleep-deprived, and still hearing the morning’s very loud soundtrack echoing in your mind, you slumped into your chair, hoping to quietly blend into the office scenery and get through the day in peace.

Naturally, that was too much to ask.

“Whoa,” Trish said, swiveling in her chair to eye you like you were a science experiment gone wrong. “You look like you just spent a night in a haunted house.”

“Or… like you had a wild morning,” Amy added, raising her eyebrows. “You okay there, Y/N?”

“Fine,” you muttered, barely making eye contact as you set your bag down, trying to erase the vivid flashbacks of Bucky’s… extremely enthusiastic co-worker.

Before you could even recover, Trish leaned in, her grin spreading like wildfire. “Sooo… did you finally get around to watching Sergeant Barnes’ new video?”

Your head snapped up, heart stopping in your chest. “Wha—no! Why would I… I mean… I—”

“Oh, come on,” Amy said, nudging you like she’d just caught you in a guilty pleasure. “You don’t know what you’re missing. He’s alone in this one.” She leaned closer, adding in a stage whisper, “The man has talent.”

“Uh-huh,” Trish agreed, nodding like a sage. “No costars this time. Just him, going all in. It’s… impressive.”

You clutched the edge of your desk, mentally scrambling for any kind of response that would shut them down without revealing the secret you swore you’d take to the grave: that Sergeant Barnes was actually your neighbor.

You swallowed, managing to squeak out, “You know we’re in an office, right? As in, the place we do work?”

“Oh please, don’t act like you’re all professional now!” Trish smirked, crossing her arms as she gave you a knowing look. “You were all too eager to do some ‘research’ when we told you about him the first time.”

“Yeah!” Amy joined in, her grin absolutely diabolical. “You should be thanking us! The way you’re looking right now, I’d bet you already took a look this morning.”

You spluttered, mortified. “No! I mean, of course not! It’s just—this is… inappropriate.”

Amy snorted, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh, sure. And here I thought you had a little curiosity.”

You glared, fully prepared to tell them off, but Amy cut in first, smirking as she leaned over your desk. 

“C’mon, Y/N, it’s just us girls. Tell me you don’t have some curiosity about what the man can do when it’s just him and the camera.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, struggling to keep your cool. “No, I’m not curious! Not at all. And maybe you two shouldn’t be either, because, oh, I don’t know… WE ARE AT WORK!”

They both cracked up, sharing a delighted high-five as you buried your face in your hands, praying for the ground to open up and swallow you.

“Oh, we’re just messing with you,” Trish said, barely holding back laughter. “But seriously, girl… you look like you need to unwind. Maybe with a drink or… you know… a little quality screen time?”

“Or maybe someone live and in-person?” Amy chimed in, waggling her eyebrows.

You groaned, face down on your desk, cursing the fact that they would never, ever know the full story.

× × × × 

You stepped into the lobby, utterly drained from the day, just as the elevator doors began to slide shut. Without a second thought, you bolted, slipping in right before they closed. Only then did you realize the universe was playing tricks on you.

Because standing right there, with a half-smirk on his face and way too much knowing mischief in his eyes, was Bucky. Alone.

You froze, instantly regretting every choice that had led to this moment. But it was too late now, so you plastered on a polite smile and tried not to look like a deer caught in headlights.

Bucky’s eyes twinkled as he took you in, leaning casually against the side of the elevator as he said, “Tired?”

You laughed, and before you could stop it, the laugh turned into a borderline deranged chuckle. 

“Oh, yes, thank you very much,” you replied, sarcasm slipping out before you could rein it in. Then, muttering under your breath but clearly audible, you added, “Maybe keep it down too… in the morning.”

He chuckled, looking way too amused. “Sorry about that. Work, you know? She, uh… went home right after, don’t worry.”

Your face went flaming hot, and you whipped your head to look straight ahead, pressing your lips together like that would somehow save you from this horror. 

“Oh, you don’t… you don’t have to explain it to me,” you stammered, feeling like your cheeks were practically on fire. “I’m not worried.”

The smirk only widened. “Good to know.” He leaned in just a little, adding, “I wouldn’t want to keep you up… unintentionally.”

You choked, your hand flying up to cover your mouth as you let out a mortified laugh that you could barely stop from turning into a squeak. Just get to your floor, just get to your floor… you chanted internally, keeping your gaze laser-focused on the elevator doors.

But you could feel him watching you, could practically feel the amusement radiating off him as you tried to pretend that your life hadn’t just devolved into a rom-com nightmare.

Finally—finally—the elevator dinged at your floor. You stepped out, sighing with relief, only for Bucky to step out right behind you.

“Hey,” he called, making you pause and turn reluctantly. He was smiling, hands casually shoved into his pockets as he looked you over. “Are you coming to the rooftop pool party this weekend?”

“No,” you replied flatly, the answer escaping before you could even pretend to think about it.

He laughed, clearly not deterred. “Aw, come on. You sure? It’ll be fun.”

You shook your head vigorously, waving him off. “No, no, I’m good. I’m… not much of a party person.”

“Really?” he replied, stepping a little closer, his smile turning into something dangerously persuasive. “It’s just neighbors hanging out, not some crazy nightclub thing. Good music, food… probably no loud… work, either.”

You glared, suppressing an eye roll as he gave you a wink. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, still grinning. “If you don’t show up, who am I going to talk to about all the ‘work’ complaints?”

You stifled a laugh, trying to maintain your resolve. “Pretty sure there are other people you can bother with that.”

“But none of them have your… constructive feedback,” he replied, his gaze dropping to the floor as he pretended to look shy. “And honestly, I need someone to keep me in check. I’m a handful at parties. Who else is going to stop me from climbing onto tables?”

You snorted, crossing your arms as you tried not to crack a smile. “I highly doubt you’re a handful at a pool party.”

He raised an eyebrow, challenging you. “Come and find out.”

You looked away, shaking your head but feeling the corners of your mouth tug upward. “Bucky, I’m not going.”

“So, you’re saying you’ll leave me up there with all these people who… don’t know me as well as you do?” He tilted his head, giving you a mock-pout.

Your face turned red, and you sputtered, “I don’t know you! I barely know you!”

“Oh, so all those research sessions weren’t exactly getting to know me?” he replied, grinning as he watched you turn an even deeper shade of crimson.

“You—ugh, you’re impossible,” you muttered, finally laughing despite yourself.

“That’s what everyone says,” he said, his voice softening just a little as he held your gaze. “Come on, Y/N. I promise, no loud work. I’ll even save you a spot.”

You sighed, feeling the last bit of resistance crumble. “Fine. But only for an hour.”

He beamed, triumphant. “Deal. And who knows? Maybe we’ll find something to actually talk about… outside of work.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart did a little flip. This is going to be a disaster, you thought. But somehow, you didn’t mind as much as you thought you would.

× × × × 

The weekend took forever to arrive, but somehow, you survived it—mostly by avoiding Bucky and doing your best not to think about that ridiculously intriguing video he’d hinted at. Nope, not even a peek. It was your own personal victory, though it took every ounce of willpower you had.

And now, here you were, standing at the rooftop entrance, mentally psyching yourself up. You’d put on a two-piece swimsuit under a white sheer cover-up, feeling only slightly self-conscious as you stepped out. Only because you hated drawing attention to your body. 

The party was already in full swing, a mix of upbeat music and laughter filling the air. You scanned the crowd for a certain troublemaking neighbor, but no sign of him. Great, you thought, rolling your eyes. Bucky drags me up here, then vanishes like an ass. Typical.

You made a beeline for an empty lounge chair, setting down your bag and towel, hoping you’d have a chance to relax before anyone else noticed you. But just as you were about to sit, a deep voice called out.

“Hey there!”

You turned to see an equally impressive figure—a tall, muscular guy with a sun-kissed smile, striding over with a confident swagger. 

“I’m Johnny,” he said, flashing a grin as he handed you a cold glass of beer. “Welcome to the party.”

“Oh! Thanks,” you said, taking the glass, feeling only slightly overwhelmed by all the testosterone on this rooftop. “Nice to meet you, Johnny.”

“Likewise,” he said, eyes flicking over you with the appreciation of someone who knew exactly what he was looking at. “Didn’t expect to see a new face up here. I know most of the regulars.”

“Yeah, I… usually keep to myself,” you admitted, suddenly feeling awkward under his gaze.

“Well, glad you’re here,” he said smoothly, gesturing to a chair beside yours. “Mind if I join you?”

Before you could answer, another familiar voice cut through the air, low and unmistakably amused. “Johnny.”

You turned slowly, bracing yourself for whatever cocky look Bucky had in store, but when you finally laid eyes on him, your brain just… stopped. No thoughts, head empty, because the second he strolled into view, you swore you heard the sultry opening saxophone of Careless Whisper start playing, echoing dramatically in your head like some corny, slow-motion rom-com entrance.

He moved in perfect sync to the imaginary music in your head, each step more absurdly cinematic than the last. This can’t be happening, you thought, but somehow, there he was—tan skin, swim trunks slung just right, and that damn casual shirt hanging open over his shoulders. The man looked like a vacation ad, except he was bringing you dangerously close to a heatstroke.

As he got closer, the sax solo in your mind reached ridiculous, life-altering levels of intensity. Why do you have to look like this? you thought, nearly choking on the vision before you. Bucky’s smirk turned into something almost smug, like he knew exactly what effect he was having, as if he, too, could hear the George Michael anthem of seduction playing in your head. You half-expected him to whip out an actual saxophone and start serenading you right there.

You swallowed, barely keeping yourself from drooling, and willed yourself to stay composed. Get a grip, you told yourself, though you were about 98% certain your jaw was on the verge of dropping.

“Sorry, Johnny,” he said smoothly, not even glancing at the other guy. “I think she already has company.”

You quickly tried to compose yourself, forcing a neutral expression as you willed your face not to betray the sheer catastrophe your brain was going through. 

“Oh, hey, Bucky,” you said, hoping your voice didn’t sound as strangled as you felt. Inside, you were practically screaming. Why do you have to look like a freaking Greek god, Barnes? It’s rude, honestly.

Johnny raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking between the two of you, clearly picking up on the tension. “You two know each other?”

Bucky leaned casually against the lounge chair next to yours, flashing a grin that practically oozed mischief. 

“You could say that. She’s my neighbor,” he said, his tone implying… well, all sorts of things. You immediately knew that everyone within earshot was definitely getting the wrong idea. “And I’ve been trying to get her to come out of her shell for a while now.”

Come out of her shell? You wanted to throttle him. But before you could retort, Johnny, ever the gentleman, just gave you a knowing wink and clapped Bucky on the shoulder. 

“Well, guess I’ll let you take over, then,” he said, sauntering off with an amused smile.

You sighed, turning to face Bucky, who looked all too pleased with himself as he settled in beside you, stretching out like he owned the place. 

“So, you made it,” he said, taking a leisurely sip of his drink as his eyes did a once-over that was a little too thorough.

“Yep,” you replied, your voice barely concealing your exasperation. “I showed up, just like I said I would. Where were you?”

He shrugged, that stupid smirk still plastered on his face. “Was just giving you a chance to make some new friends,” he said, his tone way too casual.

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of the beer Johnny had given you. “Please. You just love making an entrance.”

He chuckled, clinking his glass with yours. “Can’t say you’re wrong about that.”

As he leaned back, his gaze lingered a little too long, making your cheeks heat up. 

“Nice cover-up, by the way,” he commented, smirk widening. “It’s… modest.”

You shot him a look, feeling suddenly self-conscious about the sheer fabric draped over your swimsuit. “Why, thank you. That was kind of the point.”

“Yeah?” he replied, his voice dropping just a notch. “Shame, though. Bet that swimsuit’s got a whole lot of personality under there.”

You practically choked on your drink, coughing as you glared at him. “You’re such a flirt, Barnes.”

He chuckled, clearly unbothered by your reaction. “Hey, just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

You settled back in your chair, determined not to let him get the upper hand. But as you sat there, pretending to ignore him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that, despite everything, you were enjoying this game just as much as he was.

You took a deep breath, narrowing your eyes at Bucky, who was looking far too pleased with himself. 

“Like I said, just one hour,” you told him firmly, crossing your arms as if that would somehow fortify your resolve against whatever mischievous plans he undoubtedly had.

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning even more devilish. “Oh, I’m sure an hour will be more than enough.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “For what? So you can drive me insane and then sit back and enjoy the show?”

He chuckled, leaning a little closer, and you felt your heart rate spike. “Maybe. But I was thinking more along the lines of just… keeping you entertained.”

“Oh, I’m plenty entertained, thanks,” you shot back, trying to sound unimpressed despite the heat creeping up your neck.

He shrugged, unfazed, and settled back into his lounge chair. 

“Good. Then let’s make it the best hour of your week,” he said, flashing you a wink that sent a new wave of exasperation—and, annoyingly, a bit of excitement—through you.

You huffed, shaking your head as you took a sip of your drink, determined not to let him see just how much that smirk was affecting you. Just one hour, you reminded yourself. What could possibly happen in one hour?

As you and Bucky settled into a strange, almost comfortable silence, you heard a booming voice from across the pool.

“CHICKEN FIGHT!” Johnny’s voice rang out, loud and enthusiastic, immediately grabbing everyone’s attention.

You whipped your head around, eyes widening. Johnny was wading into the pool, rallying everyone like some kind of pool party commander. “Come on! Everyone in! We need two teams!”

“Oh, no,” you muttered under your breath, instinctively shrinking into your lounge chair, hoping you’d be overlooked in the shuffle. Absolutely not happening, you thought, clutching your drink like a lifeline.

But Bucky, of course, was already grinning ear to ear. He turned to you, his eyes gleaming with excitement and mischief. 

“You heard him,” he said, patting your shoulder like this was some team-building exercise. “We’re going in.”

“What? No!” you hissed, clutching your drink tighter as if that would save you. “I didn’t sign up for a chicken fight. I’m just here for moral support.”

Bucky laughed, standing up and stretching in that way that only he could pull off without looking ridiculous. 

“Oh, come on,” he said, flashing you that smug, challenging grin. “Afraid of a little friendly competition?”

You shook your head, digging your heels in. “Nope. Not happening. And it’s not friendly—it’s dangerous!”

“Oh, don’t be such a chicken.” His smirk widened, and then, with a theatrical sigh, he added, “Guess I’ll just have to find someone braver.”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh, you’re really going to play that card?”

He shrugged, glancing around with feigned disappointment. “Guess so. Shame though. I thought you could handle it.”

It was the final straw. With an exasperated groan, you threw down your drink and stood up. 

“Fine! I’ll do it.” The second the words left your mouth, you instantly regretted them, especially as you saw Bucky’s smirk morph into full-blown satisfaction.

“Perfect,” he said, clearly thrilled with himself.

You sighed, slipping off your sheer cover-up, feeling a sudden self-consciousness as you stood there in just your swimsuit. Bucky’s gaze flicked over you with open admiration, his grin widening just a bit. You forced yourself to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, rolling your eyes at his blatant staring.

“Enjoying the view?” you deadpanned.

“Oh, absolutely,” he replied without missing a beat, his eyes twinkling. “But we’ve got a fight to win.”

Before you could second-guess your decision, he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the pool. Johnny spotted the two of you and cheered, pumping his fist in the air. “Yes! We got a team! Bucky and… Y/N, right?”

You forced a smile, giving him a thumbs-up while silently planning your escape route. But before you knew it, you were waist-deep in the water, Bucky hoisting you up with surprising ease, positioning you on his shoulders.

“Oh my god, this is insane,” you muttered, gripping onto his head for balance as he adjusted to your weight. “I feel like a five-year-old at a theme park.”

“Just hold on,” he chuckled, steadying himself under you. “I’ve got you.”

Your heart skipped a beat as his hands firmly held your thighs, and suddenly, this was a whole new level of intense. Focus on the fight, not the incredibly attractive man holding you in the pool, you told yourself, cheeks flaming.

Johnny waded over with his partner—a muscular, tattooed guy named Jake who was definitely taking this way too seriously. 

“Ready to lose, Barnes?” Jake taunted, grinning up at you.

Bucky chuckled, his hands tightening on your legs just slightly. “Not a chance.”

“Alright, you’re up top!” Johnny yelled, clapping his hands. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”

You barely had time to brace yourself before Jake and his partner charged at you, water splashing everywhere as they made their move. Instinctively, you shrieked, grabbing onto Bucky’s hair for dear life as the force of the impact sent you both wobbling.

“Easy on the hair!” Bucky grunted, though he was laughing, his shoulders steadying beneath you as he held his ground.

“Oh, sorry!” you gasped, adjusting your grip. But before you could even catch your breath, Jake’s partner was lunging at you again, arms flailing as he tried to knock you off balance.

“Oh, no you don’t!” you muttered, your competitive spirit kicking in. You threw your hands out, grabbing his wrists and pushing back with everything you had, determined to hold your ground.

“Yeah, that’s it!” Bucky cheered from below, his laughter bubbling up as he shifted to help keep you steady. “Show ‘em what you’ve got!”

Fueled by his encouragement—and a surprising amount of adrenaline—you leaned forward, pushing against Jake’s partner with all your strength. The guy’s face twisted in concentration, but with one final shove, you managed to throw him off balance. He teetered, arms flailing, before finally toppling backward into the water with a massive splash.

“Yes!” you shouted, punching the air triumphantly as Johnny and Jake went down in a flurry of water and defeat. “Suck on that!”

The words had barely left your mouth when reality crashed back in. You blinked, suddenly realizing that maybe—just maybe—you’d gotten a little too carried away. Oh god, did I really just shout that? you thought, the heat rushing to your cheeks as your triumphant grin quickly turned into a sheepish smile.

“Well, look at you,” Bucky chuckled from below, clearly amused by your victory-induced outburst. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Yeah, well… neither did I,” you muttered, feeling the embarrassment settling in as you tried to slide off his shoulders, desperate to save whatever shred of dignity you had left. But as you started to wriggle down, you realized Bucky’s hands were still firmly gripping your thighs, holding you in place.

You froze, looking down at him. “Uh, Bucky… you can, you know… let go now.”

He glanced up, smirking. “Oh, but you’re comfortable up there. Why rush it?”

You huffed, your face going a deeper shade of red. “Because I’m very much done being the human flagpole, thank you very much.”

Bucky’s grin only widened as he kept his hold, clearly enjoying the situation far more than he should. “Nah, I think I like you right where you are. Adds a bit of… height to my reputation.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, feeling your mortification level spike. “If you don’t let me down, I swear I’ll—”

“Fine, fine,” he laughed, finally loosening his grip, letting you slide back into the water. But just as your feet touched down, he didn’t back away—instead, he shifted closer, his hands still lingering on your waist, his gaze locking onto yours with a look that sent your pulse racing.

You took a half-step back, but there was no real room to escape, not with the edge of the pool just behind you and Bucky’s broad frame in front, all mischief and steady, unbreakable eye contact. 

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low, “you could stay longer.”

Your breath hitched as Bucky leaned just the slightest bit closer, his hands still warm and steady on your waist, his smirk turning softer yet somehow more intense. Every nerve in your body seemed to jolt to life as he held your gaze.

You cleared your throat, attempting to find your voice amid the chaos of your thoughts. 

“Uh… stay longer? For what?” you managed, trying to sound casual, though your pulse was anything but.

His smirk grew, the corners of his mouth lifting in that way that was dangerously charming. 

“For the victory lap, of course,” he murmured, his voice just above a whisper. “After all, we did just crush the competition. Wouldn’t want you running off too fast.”

“Oh, right, a victory lap,” you muttered, trying to regain your composure but finding it difficult with his hands still lingering on your waist. “But I think the whole pool just watched that ‘lap’…”

“Then they got a good show,” he chuckled, his voice warm with that teasing tone you were starting to know all too well. “But the best part of winning is savoring it… right here.”

Your face went hot as his fingers brushed slightly against your sides, sending a little spark of energy straight up your spine. 

“Bucky,” you said, the word barely a whisper. “You’re… awfully close.”

“Oh, am I?” He didn’t back away; instead, he raised a brow, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “Didn’t hear you complaining when you were up there, champ.”

Your cheeks went impossibly warmer. “That was different. That was, you know… competitive. Strategic.”

“Competitive and strategic?” he echoed, his grin turning almost wicked. “Well, in that case…” He shifted his hands slightly, bringing you even closer as he leaned in. “Let’s see if you’re still competitive outside the game.”

He hovered just a breath away, his gaze flickering to your lips for a moment that felt like an eternity. You felt yourself leaning in almost on instinct, your pulse racing, and for one wild, heart-stopping second, it seemed like he might actually kiss you.

But then, as if on cue, someone nearby let out a loud, obnoxious cheer, snapping both of you out of the moment. The sound jolted you, and you quickly took a step back, breaking the tension as reality crashed in.

Bucky chuckled softly, looking slightly too smug as he let his hands fall from your waist. 

“Guess that victory lap will have to wait,” he murmured, giving you one last look that promised he wasn’t quite finished with his teasing yet.

You swallowed, desperately trying to get your heart rate back to normal. “Yeah, guess so.”

As the night went on, you’d lost count of how many concoction drinks had been handed to you, and at this point, your usual sense of caution was practically nonexistent. The rooftop was a haze of laughter, lights, and music, and the whole place felt like it was buzzing with energy. Any embarrassment from earlier had dissolved into pure, uninhibited confidence, each drink making you feel bolder than the last.

One minute, you were in a drinking game, cheering Bucky on as he took down a round of shots like it was nothing. The next, you found yourself in a game of truth or dare that had somehow escalated into body shots. You’d laughed, nearly choking on your drink, when you saw Bucky sprawled out on a table, daring you with that infuriating grin to take your turn.

“Oh, come on, that's not fair,” you slurred, trying to wave off the dare as he raised an eyebrow, that smug look firmly in place.

“Back out now if you can’t handle it,” he teased, lying back and folding his arms behind his head, acting like he hadn’t a care in the world.

The crowd cheered you on, and fueled by liquid courage, you rolled your eyes and leaned down, pressing your lips to his abs, feeling his warm skin under your touch as you took the shot in a quick, heated moment. His laughter mingled with the cheers around you, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush from the attention, from his gaze, from the heat spreading across your face.

Before you knew it, you were in a round of flip cup with Bucky as your teammate, and he downed his drink, slamming his cup down with a victorious shout. He grabbed you by the waist, lifting you up and spinning you around, both of you laughing so hard you could barely stand straight when he finally set you down.

Somehow, you ended up on the makeshift dance floor, music thumping as the party around you roared on, the lights around the rooftop pool casting a glow over everyone. You’d danced with other people throughout the night, but Bucky seemed to have a way of drawing you back, his energy magnetic, his laughter contagious. It was like he was everywhere you turned, keeping pace with you, matching every laugh and smirk with one of his own.

The music thumped, lights flashed, and the DJ’s voice blared over the speakers, “Alright, party people! Here’s the deal—find someone you want to… get close to tonight and give them a kiss, a hug, heck, even a lick if you’re feeling bold!”

Everyone around you burst into cheers and laughter, the party’s energy wild and reckless. By now, you were buzzing on so much liquid courage that everything felt like the best idea ever, including the fact that you were swaying against Bucky, who’d somehow stayed by your side all night.

He leaned in, his smirk way too mischievous, and the alcohol made it feel impossibly close. 

“Did you hear that?” he slurred, barely keeping the laughter out of his voice. “I think it’d be a shame if we ignore the DJ’s request don’t you?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to brush it off, but he just grinned wider, leaning in until his cheek was practically pressed against yours. 

“Hold still,” he whispered, a laugh lurking in his voice.

Then, in a move so outrageous you could barely comprehend it, he dragged his tongue slowly from your chin up to your forehead.

“Bucky!” you shrieked, stumbling back and half falling over yourself, laughter bubbling out of you as you clutched your face in shock. “Oh my god, you did not just—”

He stepped back, looking beyond pleased with himself, the grin on his face pure, unfiltered pride. 

“What? I’m just being… obedient,” he slurred, raising his hands in mock innocence.

“You are the worst!” you squealed, laughing so hard you could barely keep it together, grabbing his arm as you steadied yourself, still half in disbelief. He just chuckled, clearly reveling in your reaction as he pulled you right back into the rhythm, your laughter mixing with the cheers around you as the dance floor pulsed with music.

They cranked up the music, and suddenly, the beat was all around you, pulsing through the crowd, as if daring everyone to let loose. The energy was infectious, and you found yourself moving in sync with him, laughing as you danced together, every touch and sway between you crackling with a chemistry that had been simmering all night.

Without thinking, you stepped closer, your hands drifting to his chest, letting your fingers splay against the warm, solid muscle. Your movements grew slower, more deliberate, and his hands instinctively found your waist, pulling you against him until there was barely any space left between you. His gaze dropped, glued on your lips, and you felt a shiver run through you, your breath hitching as he leaned in, his face just inches from yours. His nose brushed yours, and you looked up to meet his gaze, seeing the same surprised intensity reflected in his eyes.

Bucky held your gaze, his breath mingling with yours, and you could feel the tension building, electric and undeniable. He was waiting—leaving the next move up to you. If you wanted him, you knew he’d let you take him.

🎶Just let me know, can you be the one to hold and not let me go?🎶

Heart pounding, you somehow managed to press yourself even closer, feeling the swell of your chest against him, igniting a flush across his cheeks. But it wasn’t embarrassment you saw in his eyes—it was heat, a look that sent a thrill down your spine. His hand shifted, his fingers tracing along the curve of your hip, and you could feel the strength of his grip as he held you.

🎶I need to know, could you be the one to call when I lose control?🎶

The tension was unbearable, and as you tilted your face up, your lips brushed his in the softest, most hesitant caress—a question, an invitation. His resolve crumbled instantly. His hand slid to your waist, gripping the flesh there as his other hand threaded into your hair, guiding your head back so he could kiss you deeper, tasting you with an intensity that left you breathless. You let out a startled, breathless sound, and he responded by pulling you closer, cradling your face as if you were something precious, something he couldn’t bear to let go of.

Your lips parted for him, and he kissed you with a hunger that had been building for some time. His tongue traced yours, swallowing your quiet moans, anchoring you to him as his hand kept you steady. It wasn’t forceful, just… tender, like he was holding something priceless.

Your breaths came heavy, your cheeks flushed, but you barely noticed; all you could feel was him, his touch, his heartbeat pounding against yours, and the fire in his veins matching your own. In that moment, propriety, the crowd around you, everything else faded into oblivion. If he wanted you to take him right there, you couldn’t even think of saying no.

Every nerve in your body was alive, tingling with an incredible sense of lust and need as his arms held you close. His lips pressed harder, deepening the kiss, his passion and intensity only spurring you to match it. You melted against him, completely consumed by the heat and need between you, and for those moments, it was as if nothing else existed. Oxygen became secondary; the only thing that mattered was the connection between you, growing more fervent with each second.

Finally, when the need for air became overwhelming, you both broke apart, gasping, your faces inches from each other, breaths mingling as you took each other in. His lips tingled, mirroring your own, and every beat of your heart seemed to urge you back into his embrace.

“Let’s get out of here… yours or mine?” Bucky stammered between breaths, his voice husky, his eyes still filled with fire. His body radiated heat, and he looked like he’d dive into the pool at any second just to cool down.

“Mine,” you whispered, your voice breathless, cheeks flushed, a shy smile tugging at your lips as you held his gaze.

× × × × 

You both barely made it down the hallway before the urgency hit, the tension that had been building all night finally snapping. Bucky’s hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, pulling you against him as you fumbled for your keys, the both of you practically tripping over each other in your haste. As soon as you managed to unlock the door, you pushed it open, stumbling inside, his mouth crashing into yours before it even closed behind you.

Wetness pooled inside you, the need for him overwhelming as you pressed back against the door, his body meeting yours in a frenzy of heat and desperation. His stubble scraped against your skin, rough and deliciously manly, a reminder that he was all raw power and intensity. You loved it, the way it scratched against your cheek, adding to the thrill and making your skin tingle wherever he touched.

His lips found the side of your neck, warm and insistent as he kissed his way down, nipping softly, each touch leaving you breathless. You tilted your head back, giving him more access, exposing the full length of your neck to his hungry mouth. His hands slid up your sides, his fingers pressing in firmly, possessively, as his teeth grazed your skin, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

“God,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

You could only gasp, clutching onto him as his mouth moved up to your jaw, his hands never stilling, gripping you as if he couldn’t bear to let go. Bucky reached a hand up and placed it on your left breast, over the bikini top, and then brought his hand up to the back of your neck to pull you in closer to him. You undid the straps of your top, and down fell the top, exposing your naked breasts to him.

Holy shit—this can’t be real. Am I hallucinating? Is this actually happening? Wait—oh god, is he about to put my boobs in his mouth?!

Like a hungry child desperate for milk Bucky suckled on your nipple, squeezing the bottom of your breast passionately with one hand, and holding the other breast in his other hand. You looked down at him, licking, sucking, rubbing, and he looked as though he was transported to paradise.

He worked himself into a frenzy playing with your breast, until he wanted more. He lifted you up under your thighs, off the floor, and pressed your back against the wall.

Oh shit!

He kissed you again, his hand sliding down to press against you over your bikini bottom. With a quick, desperate motion, he tugged the fabric to the side, his fingers brushing bare skin, making your breath hitch.

As his hand cupped you, he began to move slowly, his fingers exploring, teasing. “Damn,” he murmured, his voice thick with surprise and satisfaction. “You’re so wet. Is this what happens every time you watch my videos?”

“M-maybe…” you stammered, cheeks heating, barely able to meet his eyes as a grin spread across his face.

His fingers slid inside you, moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each motion sending sparks through your entire body. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he asked, “How many times have you touched yourself thinking about me?”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a moan as he continued, each movement intensifying the heat pooling inside you. 

“Mmmh—why would I tell you that?” you managed, trying to sound teasing but barely able to keep your voice steady.

His grin widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes as his fingers pressed deeper, his thumb brushing against you just right. “Because I want to hear every filthy detail.”

He kissed your other nipple, the one he missed when before. Bucky always gave equal time to the breasts. Suckling on one nipple, fingering you harder and harder, you were getting more and more excited for the moment he would penetrate you.

“Oh my god—” You swallowed, feeling your face heat up and you could feel yourself slightly sobering up. With a nervous laugh, you finally gave in, your voice soft but steady.

“Fine… sometimes, late at night—ah—I’d imagine you between my legs, devouring me like your life depended on it,” you whispered, feeling your cheeks burn. “I’d—fuck—I’d think about your hands, the way they’d feel inside me, moving exactly like this…mmmh,” you gasped as his fingers pressed deeper, your own words sparking the desire between you. 

His fingers never stopped their steady, torturous rhythm, each movement deliberate, coaxing you toward the edge with a patience that was as maddening as it was intoxicating.

“And? That’s it?” he asked, his tone thick with amusement, daring you to reveal more. His thumb brushed against you in just the right way, as if encouraging you to keep talking, to give him every last detail he was craving.

“And—hah—I’d picture you… spitting in my mouth while you’re turning me on, you’d put your hand on my neck while I beg you to i dunno? reorganize my guts—because you’re so big Bucky. . . I don’t think you’ll fit inside me.”

“Oh the innocent looking ones are always the dirtiest.” Bucky’s smirk turned darker, his fingers pressing into you with a newfound intensity, his digits hooking and pressing into your most sensitive spot, causing your hips to jerk against his palm. 

“And was I just as good in your imagination as I am now?” he murmured, voice low and rough, sending shivers straight down your spine.

“Yes… yes…” The words left your lips almost involuntarily, your hands gripping his shoulders as your nails dug in, grounding yourself against the overwhelming sensation. Your face twisted with pleasure, each stroke of his digits making it harder to catch your breath. 

Bucky’s eyes darkened with a fierce satisfaction as he watched you, his smirk deepening. “Better than you imagined?”

"Mhhm," you tried to respond, but it came out more like a needy moan, your voice barely a whisper under the intensity of his touch.

Bucky's smirk grew at the sound, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he took in every reaction, every tremble. "That’s what I thought," he murmured, his voice dark and teasing.

Bucky carried you through the open door of your bedroom, his movements purposeful, every touch sending sparks across your skin. When he reached the edge of the bed, he lowered you onto the mattress, but before letting you go, he bent down to capture your lips in a kiss—a kiss that felt as intimate as it did electrifying.

You couldn’t help but notice the difference; this was something he never did in his videos. Bucky never kissed anyone on the lips on screen. But here, he kissed you slowly, deeply.

His hands moved to your shoulders, firm but gentle as he guided you back into the soft downy mattress. “There you go, baby,” he murmured, his voice warm and low. “Lean back.”

He knelt down at the side of the bed. He pulled off your panties, the final barrier to your sex. He pushed your legs apart and back, and gazed at your pussy, already wet for him.

He stared at your exposed pussy for ten seconds, admiring it like it was the greatest work of art he had ever seen.

"Your pussy," he said, his lips nearly brushing your sex. "It's beautiful.”

You lifted your  head up and looked at him. Your jaw was dropped and you were already starting to feel tingles up your body, even though he hadn't licked you yet. You heard his breathing get heavier and heavier, he was so excited to put his lips on your pussy.

Two large fingers of his left hand spread your lips. Two large fingers of his right hand rubbed your clit in strong circles. Each circle sends a shock wave through your body.

"You smell fantastic," he declared, and he dove his mouth right on top of your wet and stimulated clit. Up and down he licked. Up and down, his mouth clasped tight against your pussy.

"Oh," you moaned, as your eyes rolled up to the back of your head. Your arms—with a mind of their own—grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted them back, presenting yourself to this man who used to be on the screen and was now bringing you to ecstasy. He'd only just started to lick you, but even so you felt ready for him to enter you and never leave. 

As Bucky continued to eat you like you’re his last meal, each suction sending thrills through you, a sudden wave of doubt crashed over you, freezing you in place. Images flooded your mind—women he’d been with, all effortlessly beautiful, the kind who exuded confidence and allure. How could you compare? This had to be nothing more than another fleeting thing for him, a “friendship” that would end the moment the night was over.

You tensed, your hands moving to gently push him back. “Bucky… wait,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up from between your legs, his expression softening instantly as he met your gaze. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gentle, concerned.

“I… I just…” You stammered, the words getting caught in your throat before you finally managed, “I don’t want to be… one of your girls.”

Bucky blinked, taken aback, his expression shifting as if the words had struck something unexpected, almost offended. 

“One of my girls?”

You nodded, biting your lip as you searched for the right way to explain. “I… I don’t do one-night stands,” you admitted, feeling vulnerable. 

Bucky nodded slowly, his tongue pressing into his cheek as he rose to his feet. "Mhm—no, I get it... it's because of my job," he said, his tone carrying a hint of defensiveness.

You sat up, noticing the shift in his demeanor. "Are you mad?" you asked softly, uncertainty creeping into your voice.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not mad," he replied, though his clenched jaw suggested otherwise. "I just didn't think you'd see me that way."

"See you what way?" you pressed gently.

He met your gaze, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and vulnerability. "Like I'm some guy who just goes around collecting flings," he explained. "I thought you knew me better than that."

You swallowed, choosing your words carefully. “It's not that I think poorly of you,” you said. “It's just... your work makes things complicated for me. I don't want to be another notch on anyone's belt.”

He took a deep breath, his expression softening. “I understand where you're coming from,” he admitted. “But believe me when I say that this—” he gestured between the two of you “—is different for me.”

“How do I know that?” you asked quietly.

He stepped closer, his eyes sincere. “Because I don't share moments like this with just anyone,” he said. “You think I go around kissing people like that? Off-camera, in my real life?”

Bucky’s expression shifted, his brows knitting together as he crossed his arms, clearly growing more frustrated. “I thought you knew the difference between who I am on-camera and who I am off it,” he replied, his tone clipped.

You sighed, trying to hold your ground. “Bucky, you’re the one who kept teasing me to watch your videos, practically encouraging me to make it my new hobby—how am I supposed to ignore what you do?”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair in irritation. “Because those videos aren’t me,” he said, voice rising. “You’re acting like everything I do there is just some extension of my personal life, but it’s a job, Y/N. I don’t go around living like that off-set.”

You crossed your arms, not caring that the blanket had slipped off, leaving you bare before him. 

“And I’m supposed to just... pretend that all of it doesn’t mean anything?” you shot back, feeling a twinge of vulnerability but refusing to let it show. “You kept making those jokes, those comments—you have to see how confusing it is for me.”

He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “And you think I just do that with everyone? That every person who walks into my life gets these... moments with me?” His gaze softened slightly as he gestured between the two of you. “If that were the case, do you think I’d be here, right now, trying to convince you?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words caught in your throat. His intensity was throwing you off balance, forcing you to question your assumptions. You’d expected him to brush this off or laugh, not take it to heart.

He shook his head, a frustrated laugh escaping him. “You don’t get it, do you?” He looked at you, his eyes full of something you couldn’t quite name. “I don’t have to be here, fighting for this. I could have walked away and yet here I am.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat as the weight of his words settled heavily between you. The intensity of his gaze, the raw honesty in his voice—it was all too much, too fast, and yet it tugged at something deep inside you, making it impossible to brush off. But your heart was pounding, confusion and vulnerability swirling together, and you weren’t ready to face everything his words were unearthing.

“I… I think we should call it a night,” you said quietly, barely able to meet his gaze, the words coming out softer than you intended.

For a moment, he looked at you, his expression unreadable, and you could see him processing your response. Then, with a quiet sigh, he nodded, stepping back to give you space.

“Alright,” he replied, his voice subdued. “If that’s what you want.”

The room felt suddenly colder, the tension between you now tinged with a quiet ache. You could tell he was holding back more that he wanted to say, but he respected your decision, his expression guarded as he looked away.

You bit your lip, your mind racing with things you couldn’t bring yourself to say, with emotions you weren’t quite ready to admit. 

“Thank you… for understanding,” you managed, feeling the weight of your choice settle over you.

He gave a small nod, his jaw tight, before he turned toward the door. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said softly, pausing for a moment as if hoping you might change your mind, before finally leaving your apartment, the main door shutting made you flinch even though Bucky closed it softly.

The silence that followed felt heavier than you expected. The tension that had filled the room moments ago lingered, and a wave of frustration washed over you, mixing with regret and uncertainty. You took a shaky breath, running a hand through your hair before letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

Without thinking, you grabbed the nearest pillow, buried your face into it, and let out a muffled scream, releasing all the emotions you couldn’t quite put into words. The pillow absorbed the sound, but it did nothing to ease the twist of emotions churning inside you. Finally, you pulled the pillow away, feeling just as conflicted as before, wondering if you’d made the right choice… or a terrible mistake.

tags: @bohoooitsme @barnescamboy @strangefunthornqueen @mayusenpai666 @seven0714

@rabbitrabbit12321 @alexsl-universe @xunquish-blog @hzdhrtss @winchestert101

@alyana-luvs-u @itsbuckysworld

goodbye- b. barnes

pairings: past lover!enemy!bucky barnes x reader, mentions of steve rogers warnings: lovers to enemies to lovers, a lot of angst, mentions of blood, hydra, mentions of death and 40s bucky about: sleepover request “enemies to lovers with bucky” that got wayy out of hand because i apparently don’t know how to write something that doesn’t a/n: okayy so i have never written enemies to lovers before, so i hope i did this right, and i did change it a little to past lovers to enemies to lovers, i hope you don’t mind!! i’m not too sure how i feel about this, mainly because it’s so long for me that i’ll only be able to read and edit it like twice and i’ll start hating it by the first time. this is about 4k words, aka one of my longest fics ever edit: YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO EDIT THIS WOW

bucky realizes exactly how bad his relationship with you has gotten when he overhears your argument with steve over the mission pairing next week. he doesn’t mean to; he knows how pissed at him you would get if you were to find out he was listening in to a conversation that didn’t include him— although, really, the last time he was included was decades ago, when you would smile at him with warm apple cheeks and let him tuck away stray strands of your hair.

your frustrated words sneak out through the cracks of the door, letting him know exactly how upset you are that you were paired with him for the mission.

“we’ve barely even talked—” bucky nearly scoffs at this, knowing well that it was your fault. although he can’t let you take full blame. “you know we won’t work well together. partners need to have each others’ back—” steve cuts you off at that, and it makes bucky glad because that had stung more than he thought it would. some part of him, even while you pointedly avoided his existence, thought that you still cared, even if it was monumentally less than the care you’d had for him before. he never wanted to confront the possibility that you didn’t care at all, that you would come running to steve in distaste at seeing your name and his next to each other.

“it’s done, y/n. deal with it. it’s only one mission,” steve tells you sternly, exasperated. bucky can see the tick of your jaw even through the door, the way you huff out of your nose and accept defeat. some things never changed, even after a near-century. there’s a silence bucky thinks indicates an end to the conversation, and he’s about to take his leave before he’s caught, but steve’s soft sigh stops him. “i thought this duel between you two would end by now,” he says, followed by a gentle scoff from you. steve ignores it, “you two were… so much bigger than this. are so much bigger than this.”

“he left me, steve,” you snap, words edged and sharp and pained, “he made me feel like another notch on his bedpost.” bucky nearly barges in right then and there, refusing to let you think like that. he knows he screwed up, but he never thought you’d think that. you were too good for him to think you meant so little to him; he had tried his best to make sure you didn’t think that way, he wasn’t sure when it went wrong. “he left me. didn’t even know he was gone ‘til i went over to his for the date he promised me and his ma told me he was gone.” bucky’s eyes close, forehead knocking soundlessly against the door frame. “at least you got a goodbye, stevie. all i got was assurance that i was never really anything to him,” your voice turns angrier, and bucky doesn’t think he can listen to you talk about this anymore. he turns towards the elevator after steve stays silent, probably knowing better than to argue with you.

“‘can’t do anything about this now, y/n. it’s only one mission,” is the last thing he hears steve say before bucky walks away, your words rattling around in his broken mind.

-

the jet is dead silent when he climbs inside, ten minutes early as usual, but you’re there already, wordlessly walking past him to replace one of the weapons you keep in your holster. bucky wants to tell you hello, even though he knows you will only respond with a dry stare his way before you give him a view of your turned shoulder as you do anything but acknowledge his presence. your overheard conversation with steve is still heavy on his brain, having scrutinized each letter of the words you’d said to try and make sense of them. even through the shattered, blurry mess of memories he had, the ones with you were bright and clear, as if taken on the best camera in the twenty-first century. he can remember the feel of your lips on his when you both got the guts to admit your feelings for each other, the way your lips had smiled through the kiss, your giddiness clear in the curve of your mouth, and the tender pull his jaw by your careful fingers. the sound of your flustered laugh still rings clear in his ears, the warmth of your forehead as you leant it against his own, shining eyes caught on his.

he can recall the storm of feelings he felt with the fanciest pen he owned in his hand, trembling over the clean paper while he tried to write the goodbye he would never be able to tell you in person. the words of the letter he can recite in his sleep: i love you, dollface. i love you so much that i can’t bear to tell you goodbye. i know that i’ll never leave if i have to stand in front of you and tell you that i have to, not when i know you’ll be there waiting for me. but i gotta do this, you know i do. i swear to you, doll, i’ll come back and take you out on the best damn date of your life. don’t be surprised if it ends with me on a knee and that ring i know you’ll like on your finger.

he knows you deserved a real goodbye, but he was selfish, and one look from you, and he would never go. still, how dare you say he left you without a goodbye when he poured everything he had into it?

he’s tempted to ask you right now, interrupt the cleaning of the gun in your hands, but the very real possibility of you shooting him cuts his thoughts short. nevertheless, he aches to hear your voice directed at him again, see your eyes on him, even if it’s in an argument.

even though the quinjet flies itself, you seat yourself in the pilot’s seat while bucky stays in the back, quiet. his eyes can’t help but drift to you every once in a while, just watching as you stare out the window, shoulders still tense like every time he’s in the same place as you. it makes him sadder than he had thought before, because he can still recall the times that they would relax every time he smiled at you, his touch calling for you to melt into him instead of stepping away from him.

after a second, he stands to recheck his weapons, even though he’s completely sure every one of them is in perfect shape. you stand, too, heading towards one of the doors when stark’s high-tech, no-turbulence quinjets experience a harsh bump. it knocks you—and nearly bucky— off your feet, sending you tumbling forward and straight into bucky’s chest. instinctively, his hands settle around your waist, holding you in place. it’s in the second that you allow him to touch you that he’s suddenly hit with exactly how much he’s missed being able to touch you— be near you. the scent of your perfume wafts pleasantly into his nose, and he memorizes it immediately, along with the warmth of your skin— which he notices remains the same— and the smell of the shampoo you use. you only allow him near you for a second before you push him off of you roughly, shooting him a dirty look.

“you’re welcome,” bucky grumbles bitterly, moving to sit back down. your head snaps back towards him.

“i didn’t say thank you,” you snap, “i didn’t even ask you to do that.”

“you don’t have to. it’s kind of the decent thing to do so you don’t crack your head open when you fall. it’s also the decent thing to thank me for not letting that happen.”

you raise an eyebrow at him, eyes thinning at him. he can practically see his words blowing up in his face. “don’t talk to me about decency.” you retort, “what the hell would you know?”

bucky steps towards you, “what is that supposed to mean?”

you scoff, “oh, please, as if you don’t know. don’t act stupid, bucky. as much as i don’t want to, i know you better than that.”

“i’m not— what the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“nothing,” you sneer, “just thought that being decent included saying goodbye before leaving to go to a fuckin’ war you didn’t even know you were gonna come out of.”

there’s an angry, confused silence that hangs in the air after you confess why you have been so dead-set on hating him after all this time. your chest is rising with heavy breaths, and bucky is confused, eyes searching for any semblance of a lie in your eyes, but he looks away when he finds none.

“are you serious?” he asks.

you send him a deadpan stare, “i don’t really feel up to joking around with you.”

bucky steps towards you, “i said— i said goodbye. maybe i didn’t do it in the best way, but i made sure i told you goodbye. i would never leave you like that, especially after…”

“you didn’t tell me anything. i only found out you left after your ma told me. do you know how ridiculous i looked? going to that house ready for our date, only for me to find out you left me before i thought you even could.”

“i sent you a letter. i explained everything, i swear,” bucky tells you, his hands on your arms gentle enough for you to slip away, and tight enough for you to know how serious his words were. “y/n, you gotta believe me. i would never— dammit, doll, how could you think i could leave you like that?”

“you did! that’s how i could think that! there was no letter, no warning—”

“you have arrived.”

you stop yourself, eyes glued to the floor as bucky drops his hands from your arms. “please, sweetheart, i swear i sent you that letter. i could recite it for you right now if you wanted it.” friday’s mechanical voice echoes through the speaker again, repeating the earlier statement. you shake your head gently as if trying to rid yourself of the distraction in front of you, but you allow yourself for a brief glance at bucky’s eyes, scanning his features for any indication of dishonesty. you pull away when you don’t find any, feeling more upset rather than relieved.

“let’s just do what we need to,” you say finally, exiting the jet. bucky follows you after a few seconds.

—

“we’ll split up. you take the right side of the base and i’ll take the left. we’ll find the drive a lot faster,” you instruct quietly, glued to the wall next to bucky as you check there aren’t any agents in the base.

“are you sure?” bucky questions, “the intel on this base wasn’t too clear. there could be agents in there.”

“i can handle myself. i’m sure you know.”

“y/n—” he begins fruitlessly, trailing off when you take his answer as confirmation and head into the base once you clear the entrance. sighing, he jogs up next to you, overly alert of his surroundings. there’s an air in the base that he recognizes too well; all hydra buildings have a certain disturbing feel to them that indicates all the pain that was forced upon hostages, the screams that echoed through the bloodied walls almost loud enough to travel through time and reach your ears. with this one, though, bucky can feel the device that was clamped to his head, ripping away every piece of bucky he had left. he shivers.

your eyes drift to him when you notice, eyebrows joining, “what’s wrong?” you ask him, tone all-business.

“i think i know this base. where are we again?”

you’re about to respond offhandedly when you pause, your movements freezing altogether. you gulp, an unwanted flash of recognition in your eyes as you turn to bucky. “um, siberia, russia. hydra siberian facility. this is the one you were…” you blink, forcing yourself to say it so he doesn’t have to. “this is the one you were held in, buck, i’m so sorry.”

it’s the first time he’s heard you say his name in a while. when he turns to you, he notices how tense you are, and he knows it’s not because of him, it’s because you can feel it too, now.

there’s a brief pause that follows. “i think you’re right. we should stay together,” you continue, “you never know.” your voice wavers, stepping a little closer to him as you continue walking through the facility.

-

there has been no sign of any other life besides than the two of you. you’ve cleared most of the rooms together since you refuse to leave his side. as much as you seem to hate him, there’s at least a small part of you that still cares more than he ever thought you would.

“another room.” bucky lets you know, leading you inside once he’s made sure it was clear. you begin to start rifling through the files at one end of the room, the sheer size of it making it seem like you were in two different ones. it’ll take a while to meet in the middle, he notes.

you pay little attention to him as you flick through names and papers, only really looking out for any indications that bucky isn’t okay. you’re on the third cabinet when you see the drive you’re looking for, clear and so badly hidden, it must hve been intentional. it’s shoved between thick folders and stray papers, making it easy for you to pull it out with a relieved sigh. you’re about to turn to bucky and let him know you can finally leave when a file with the name of the man in the room with you catches your eye.

even with the drive in your palm, clearly the one you need evident by the label on it, you can’t help the fingers that take the file out. the papers inside are worn and crumpled, the lack of care put into putting them away blatant with the folded corners and smudged words. handwriting on a ripped paper catches your eyes, the creases in the paper showing how much time it spent folded inside a pocket. air escapes you when you catch the date scribbled on the top right, the numbers slightly smudged, but there: december 14, 1941, the day bucky left for the army.

the events on the plane flood back to you as you read the letter. you can feel the lump in your throat growing more difficult to swallow with each read word telling you goodbye. as you stand straighter, opening the file more, something inside clatters to the floor, catching bucky’s attention. you distractedly pick it up, not really looking at it until you feel what it is in your hand— the compass you had gotten bucky years before he enlisted. your eyes finally fall from the letter to stare at it, running your fingers over the design on the edges and then on the little button to open it. your lips part when you discover the picture inside of you.

the weight of bucky’s stare on you is nonexistent as you run your fingers over your picture. you can remember the day it was taken—just a few months before bucky left— and the warmth that settled over your cheeks when bucky complimented you. you drag your vision away from it to read the rest of the letter, a glimmer of gold at the middle of the folder stopping you yet again.

you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips when you realize it’s a ring that is no doubt bucky’s. you’d seen his mother wearing it every day you knew her; except for the day you visited her— the day bucky left.

you mutter a curse when you realize what the letter means; what the compass with your picture in it and winnie’s wedding ring indicates. the promises bucky included in his letter were real, his love for you was real, and had hydra not held him hostage, his goodbye would’ve made its way to you, and so would bucky, with his wedding ring and lovesick eyes.

“what’s wrong?” bucky questions from the other side of the room, having observed your stunned silence for long enough. the gleaming tears that form in your eyes give him the push to walk over to you and the folder that you can’t stop staring at, the harsh grip your fingers have on it leaving indents on the paper. you don’t seem to care. “y/n?”

you can’t stop rereading the letter, taking in the words you had been repeating to yourself before you let the anger take you over. it’s like your forties self is screaming i told you so at your present self, furious at you for letting yourself think what she knew was wrong.

you let bucky take the papers from you without a word, the grip you have on the old ring that had resided on winnie’s finger for as long as you’d known her the only tie you have to the present. “fuck,” you say, roughly wiping away the tears that begin to streak down your face. bucky recognizes the letter immediately, brows furrowing when he realizes the goodbye he had written you never got to you, meaning that you were technically right— he had practically abandoned you after his dreams had come true because he was scared of exactly this. he hears you repeat the curse, eyes finally reaching up to meet his. “i’m so sorry, bucky,” you tell him, voice dripping in disappointed sincerity. “you were right. i knew you would never—” your face scrunches, fist tightening, “i know you would never leave me like that.”

the glint of bucky’s vibranium fingers catch on the shitty lights while he reads the same sentences he painstakingly clung together decades ago, desperate to make it perfect for you. he spots the compass dangling off its chain in between your clenched fingers, and from its absence in the file, bucky can assume you found the ring.

you catch his eye, looking down at your hand before quickly holding it out to him, carefully setting down the compass in his palm. your hand opens to show him the ring, “oh,” he croaks, shaking his head disorientedly when you extend it closer to him, urging him to take it back. “no, no, keep it. it’s for you anyways.”

pained eyes look back up at him before your fingers close over the jewelry, storing it safely in the chest pocket of your suit. he holds your stare for as long as he can, desperate in his search of the ocean in your eyes for something you weren’t even sure of.

“um,” you sniffle, blinking away your tears and effectively cutting off the eye contact as you look to the ground. “i got the drive. we can leave now.” bucky mumbles an affirmation, blinking at you when you regain your composure, straightening up with a wipe of your cheeks and a clear of your throat, “you set up the bombs, right?”

bucky nods, clearly muddled, “yeah… all ready to be activated.”

“let’s go then,” you say, avoiding his eye while you start to walk out of the room. he doesn’t think you think he noticed that the papers in the folder are gone, the only thing left is the compass in his hold.

-

you ignore him the whole flight, but the items from the base weigh heavy in your pockets, screeching at you to take them out and analyze them again for reassurance that the man you’d sworn heartlessly abandoned you like one of the flings you’d seen him leave had actually done the opposite. the ring that meant so much to his mother and the words he’d recited in his letter were proof of that, evidence that you were wrong and had hated him for no reason.

it was difficult to process how awful you had been to him, disregarding his presence and his concerned words. you could recall the day you arrived, when he had greeted you with a bone-breaking hug that you had returned until the memory of what he had done to you settled in. the grief you’d suffered for him had torn deeper at your heart, and torn you away from him.

he had been angry with you, too, after realizing why you were standing in the same room as him, the exact same as the last day he’d seen you, just like him. you couldn’t blame him now; you were reckless to a point of danger due to the anguish that had ripped you apart so desperately, you felt there was no more of you to keep safe. the loss of not only the man you’d loved wholly for your whole life but of both of the best friends you’d protected and been protected by, shattering you to the point of giving yourself to howard stark as a guinea pig for his time travel ideas.

you allow yourself one look at him after not being able to help yourself, startled to find his attention already on you, the compass open and cradled in his hand like a precious stone.

you turn away and don’t look back at him again.

-

silence is all you can give when you arrive at the compound, heading straight into your room and putting off a shower, instead tugging out the yellowed letter with a delicate desperacy you weren’t sure you still had. the itch of your suit goes unnoticed by you as you slide against the wall, letting yourself sink to the floor, distracted by the letter clenched in your hand, eyes scanning the words you had been reciting to yourself the entire way back.

i love you he repeats at least three times, and you aren’t sure if the dry splatters of water are yours or his. i’ll marry you when i come back, he promises twice, and you can nearly hear the words in his own voice from the forties, so hopeful and so sure, so unaware that he would never come back to that time. goodbye, he writes at the end, for now like a prayer.

you can’t feel the tears as they drench your face. you can only feel the lack of air as you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut and hugging the paper to your chest as gently as you can, careful to not damage it any further. the ring is digging so hard into your palm, you’re sure when you open your hand again, you’ll be met with small dots of blood.

it’s why you don’t notice when bucky opens your door to the image of you, the very same one he would’ve seen the day the man knocked at your door, full of empty apologies as he delivered two condolence letters to you instead of your boys. it’s instinct to him when he rushes over to you, gathering you up into his arms as he repeats it’s okay, even if he doesn’t know what it even is.

your arms drape over his neck without hesitation, face nudging its way into the familiar crook of his neck, trying to control your shuddering breaths. “i’m sorry,” you keep saying, fisting the shirt that smells like your detergent. he assures you it’s okay, the letter in your hands, stained with tears and guilt, letting him know what’s wrong.

you whimper about how much of an ass you’ve been, how you should’ve known better after knowing him so much better, how you should’ve let him explain before pushing him to assume any love you had for him was gone when the complete opposite was the truth. you confess how much you missed him even though you felt betrayed, the overwhelming amount of love you still hold for him.

he responds by brushing away wet strands of hair from your damp eyelashes and comforting pressed kisses against the salty skin of your cheeks— just because you’re letting him and he’s wanted to do that ever since you met him, ever since you kissed him the day before he left for the war, when fireworks exploded in his brain and he was sure you had to be soulmates even if they didn’t exist in your world.

he understands, you realize, and he doesn’t blame you at all.

it settles in once you’ve both calmed down, when your head is on his shoulder and his arm around your waist, the letter he wrote you neatly folded on your dresser. “i missed you,” you tell him, smiling softly when you feel his lips against your forehead.

“i missed you, too,” he murmurs, “more than you know.” his fingers are intertwined with yours, and you let yourself appreciate how much he seems to like touching you. “‘think i owe you a date, though.”

Steve: *makes fun of Bucky*

Sam: *joins in*

Steve:

No no I have loved this so much I stayed up till 2 reading it 😌 i’m a sucker for a slow burn and your writing is just making me…. well I can’t say. But take your time and thank you for your writing I’ve loved it 😘😘😘😘😘

lessons in lovemaking [part three]

marvel au bucky x blackwidow!reader You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, handjobs, fondling, nudity, fem reader, bucky is touch starved, vague mentions of previous sa, ex black widow reader, very consensual, safe words, kissing, bucky barnes needs a hug, if you squint, there's some plot, fluff, angst, bickering, sparring, training, mentions of alcohol, natasha cares, injury, blood, reader is lowkey depressed, trauma, mentions of past violence and death, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 9.9k

A/N: hey if you have dejavu seeing this, it's because the other post is glitched for some reason and some people aren't able to see it, i think it's to do with there being over 30 people on the taglist. i'll have to come up with a solution for that. in the meantime, pls enjoy and hopefully this post is actually visible!. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist | series masterlist

"Go for the left."

Kate blinked. "The left?"

"Yes."

She looked from you to Bucky, eyebrows raised like you’d asked her to charge a bear with a toothpick. "We’re talking about the left? The metal freaking arm left?"

"That’s the one."

The look she gave you was flat-out incredulous. "Are you serious? Isn’t that the last place I should be aiming?"

You resisted the urge to sigh. "That’s exactly why you should aim there. Everyone goes for his right. They assume it’s weaker. Bucky knows that. He’s trained to defend that side, conditioned even. But the left? Sure, it’s strong. That doesn’t make it invulnerable. Watch him."

You nodded toward Bucky, shadowboxing in the centre of the mat, relaxed but precise, like a predator keeping his muscles warm. "See how he braces before a punch? That slight weight shift? It’s a habit. Subtle but predictable. It leaves a small window, but just enough. Learn to spot that, and you can drop someone twice your size."

Kate’s expression turned thoughtful, eyes narrowing as she studied Bucky more intently. "Okay… so how do you get good at spotting weaknesses like that?"

"Learn to observe. Don’t rush in swinging. Patience and preparation will win a fight long before your fists do."

Kate nodded slowly, rolling her shoulders. "Alright. Let’s see if I can prove you right."

She took a step forward, then hesitated, glancing back at you with a sheepish grin. "I am a little scared, though—"

You gave her a flat look. "Just go, Kate."

She groaned but turned back toward Bucky, stepping onto the mat with a reluctant sort of determination.

It was late afternoon, and golden light poured through the gym windows in long, drowsy streaks. Dust drifted lazily in the sunbeams, but the air was thick with tension—not the kind that came from training, but from something far more complicated. Natasha and Yelena had thought it hilarious to pair you not only with Kate for sparring but also with Bucky. You had no doubt they were watching from the sidelines, smirking into their water bottles. Those two were always scheming.

Natasha hadn’t said anything to you yet, but then again, you’d been avoiding her like the plague since yesterday’s meeting. She was too sharp, too perceptive not to pick up on the subtle shifts in both your and Bucky’s behaviour. The cracks were already showing, the slightly too-long looks between you and Bucky, the stiffness in your tone whenever his name came up, the defensiveness you thought you’d kept hidden but apparently hadn’t.

You knew you couldn’t dodge her forever. Sooner or later, she’d confront you. And when she did, you’d have to lie—or worse, tell some version of the truth. What that truth even was… you weren’t sure. Not yet.

And Bucky?

You had no idea how to tell him you thought she already knew. That kind of conversation was a minefield, one wrong word and you’d either send him into horrified silence or make him regret every second of the nights spent together. Neither option was appealing.

You exhaled sharply, arms crossed as you watched Kate bounce on the balls of her feet, testing the space between her and Bucky.

He stood still in the centre of the mat, arms relaxed at his sides, expression unreadable. Brooding and unimpressed, as always. He hadn’t looked at you once all day, not properly at least. And yet you couldn’t stop thinking about how you knew exactly what he looked like when he came undone beneath you, fingers tangled in sheets and voice gone rough with need. He had been about as excited as you felt when the ‘teams’ for sparring were announced. You were beginning to suspect some convoluted plot half the compound was in on to see you and Bucky go head to head.

Now, he was back to being the Winter Soldier, being precisely what H.Y.D.R.A trained him to be, stoic, intimidating, unreadable. He had a talent for making his opponents feel beneath him. Unworthy. It was a tactic, you knew that, but it still worked.

Kate circled warily, eyes darting as she tried to read him, every shift in her posture betraying nerves. You watched her movements closely, noting the hesitation, the constant foot adjustments. She was looking for the right moment. You just hoped she’d recognise it when it came.

Much to Yelena and Natasha’s annoyance, you had flipped their little prank back onto them, sending Kate out to spar first, hoping to break her out of that ‘swing first, think later’ style Yelena loved so much.

A shadow moved in the corner of your vision as Yelena strolled up beside you, arms crossed, her gaze flicking between you and the fight. Speak of the devil, and she will appear. 

"You’re staring real hard," she drawled. "What, got money riding on this?"

You didn’t bother looking at her. "She’s your pet project. Remind me again why I’m the one training her?"

"Apprentice," Yelena corrected smoothly.

You blinked. "What?"

She gestured vaguely toward Kate, who was still circling Bucky with the kind of careful precision that told you she was second-guessing herself. "She’s my apprentice, not a pet project. There is a difference."

"Uh-huh," you said flatly, entirely unconvinced. "And yet I’m the one teaching her how to think, instead of just swinging wildly and hoping the universe sorts it out."

Yelena smirked. "Because I am all wham, whack, bang, bam, action! Yes? You are all boring lectures and tactical talk. It is balance. How is she supposed to know how cool and awesome I am without hearing all your boring lectures about battle analysis—"

You turned to her, unimpressed. "Did you just make up sound effects?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said sweetly, then sipped from a water bottle like she hadn’t just made cartoon sound effects with complete sincerity.

Your focus shifted back to the fight as Kate feinted right, then hesitated—again. Bucky wasn’t attacking yet, just watching her with the kind of stillness that would’ve put even you on edge. He was waiting for her to make the first move, to reveal her plan before he committed to a real counter.

"She’s hesitating too much," Yelena observed.

"She’s calculating," you corrected. "That’s what she’s supposed to do."

Yelena made a sceptical noise. "If she waits any longer, he’s just going to knock her flat."

"If she rushes in without a plan, it’ll be the same result."

Bucky shifted—just a subtle test, quick and clean. Kate dodged, but barely. Her stance faltered. Yelena sighed, dragging her hands down her face. "Okay, this is painful to watch. You should just let me handle her—"

“No. I’m trying to teach her to think, not charge in like a wrecking ball.”

"Excuse you," Yelena gasped, touching her chest in mock offence. "I am a very tactical wrecking ball."

You didn’t respond, eyes narrowing. Kate was watching Bucky now—really watching. Good. She sidestepped his next move, then launched into the attack.

A feint to the right. A quick pivot. Just like you’d told her.

Bucky braced for the strike to his right, but it didn’t come.

Kate dipped low, powered off her back foot, and drove her elbow toward his ribs. Clean, sharp, decisive.

Bucky twisted fast, but not fast enough.

Her elbow landed. His breath left in a tight, surprised grunt.

"See?" you muttered, nudging Yelena with an elbow. "She’s learning."

Yelena lifted a brow. "Yeah, yeah. We’ll see if she follows through."

Instead of retreating, Kate followed through, using the momentum to drive her knee upward.

Bucky jerked back, but not far enough. Kate’s knee clipped his chin, snapping his head up just enough for the final blow.

You scoffed. "Give her some credit—"

A sharp smack rang through the gym.

Bucky let out a startled grunt of pain, staggering back, one hand cupping his face. Blood was already leaking between his fingers.

Kate froze, eyes going wide in horror. "Oh my god—Bucky! Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—are you okay? Oh god, you’re bleeding—"

Bucky tipped his head back, exhaling sharply through his nose, which only made more blood drip down his lip. “No kidding.”

Yelena snorted beside you. "Okay, I take it back. She might actually be good at this."

Kate was still floundering, hands hovering like she wanted to help but had no idea how. "What do you need—should I get a medic? Ice? Tissues? A priest?"

Bucky shot her a glare, nostrils flaring as more blood dripped down his lip. "Just… just give me a second."

You stepped forward onto the mat. "Well. I’d say she followed through."

Yelena smirked. "Yeah. Maybe a little too well."

Kate turned to you, looking utterly betrayed. "You told me to go for the left!"

"I said to attack the opening on his left, not ‘punch him in the face like you’re trying to knock out a tooth’, but hey, improvisation is an important skill."

Kate groaned. Bucky muttered something low and vile in Russian as he turned toward the exit, blood trailing faintly in his wake.

Even Yelena blinked. “That sounded like a curse, Kate. Possibly an ancient one.”

“Don’t say that!” Kate whined in fear. 

"I’ll handle him," you muttered with a sigh, already following. You paused at the edge of the mat, glancing back at Kate. “You did good. Maybe pull your punches and ease off the full-force murder next time?”

Kate groaned louder. "That was me pulling my punches!"

Yelena’s laughter followed you as you crossed the room, clapping her hands together as she bounced on her toes like an excited child. "Oh, this is fun. We should do this more often."

You pushed through the changing room door and stepped into the cooler air beyond. The space was clean and sterile in that way that only rich tech-billionaire funding could buy. Polished tiles, dark wood lockers with brass fittings, and the faint scent of citrusy cleaner lingering beneath the hum of recessed lights.

The sound of running water guided you to the sinks.

Bucky was hunched over the white porcelain basin, one arm braced on the counter, the other still cupping the lower half of his face. The mirror above caught his reflection, blood-streaked, jaw-tight, brows drawn down in a frustrated knot. Crimson spiralled down the drain, bright against the ceramic.

“You look like a crime scene,” you muttered as you crossed the room.

Bucky let out a sharp breath through his mouth, meeting your comment with a pointed grunt that spoke volumes.

You raised a brow. “Are you going to keep glaring at me like I put out a hit on you?”

“You did,” he muttered flatly.

You rolled your eyes, making a beeline for the paper towel dispenser. You pulled out a few thick, folded sheets and pressed them into his free hand. “Sit down.”

“I’m fine.” he grumbled.

“Bucky.” You shot him a look, unimpressed. “Sit.”

His jaw tightened like he wanted to argue, but after a moment, he relented, pushing off the counter, and he trudged toward one of the benches in the centre of the room and sat down stiffly, wincing as he tilted his head back.

You crouched in front of him, studying his face. The blood smeared across his upper lip stood out starkly against his skin, but at least it wasn’t gushing anymore. His nose was red, swelling a little but not crooked. Reaching out, you ghosted your fingers over the bridge, careful and light. “I don’t think it’s broken.”

Bucky huffed. “Feels broken.”

“Yeah, well, maybe don’t let Kate punch you in the face next time.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t dignify you with a response.

Shaking your head, you folded a fresh set of paper towels and pressed them lightly against his nose. “Hold this. It'll keep you from dripping all over Stark’s precious floors.”

Bucky took them with a sigh, his metal fingers brushing yours briefly.

You sank to your knees without really thinking about it, watching as Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, adjusting the pressure with careful precision. His shoulders had lost some of their earlier tension, but his posture was still guarded like he was bracing himself for something more than just the dull throb of pain. The quiet hum of the ventilation system filled the space, blending with the distant murmur of voices from the gym beyond.

“Last night, I—” Bucky broke the silence first, his voice slightly nasal from the swelling.

“You fell asleep.” You cut him off gently, offering a faint smile. You didn’t know how much he had actually heard before exhaustion had finally claimed him. Maybe that was for the best. Perhaps it had been a mistake to let your guard down, to speak so openly, to bare your soul so easily. You had told yourself you wouldn’t burden him with your struggles. He already carried enough of his own.

And yet, he had this way of making you feel safe. Too safe.

It was almost ironic. He was supposed to instil fear, his name alone enough to make enemies think twice. And yet, all you saw was a rather sad, damaged, and tired man, his big, mournful puppy-dog eyes carrying the weight of things he could never put into words.

“Yeah. I don’t… remember it happening,” Bucky admitted, frowning slightly as if frustrated with himself. “One second, I was with you, and the next—”

“Did you sleep well, at least?”

He hesitated like he was debating whether to downplay it. But then, finally, he nodded. “Yeah. Best I have in a while.”

Your smile grew just a little. “I’m glad.”

Silence settled again, not awkward, but not entirely comfortable either. Then, after a beat, Bucky sighed.

“I’m sorry that I don’t talk to you much outside of… lessons.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine, Bucky. You don’t… owe me anything.”

“It’s just… I don’t know how to act,” he admitted, gaze flicking away. “Not with everyone watching. I don’t want them figuring out. I don’t like their attention being all over me.”

Your smile faltered for just a second before you forced it back into place. 

“How’s your shoulder?” you asked, shifting the conversation.

Bucky’s brows pulled together in confusion. “How do you know about that—?”

You shrugged. It was your job to observe. To pick people apart and learn their secrets before they even knew them themselves. “During training, I’ve noticed you favour your right side. You block and punch heavier with it. You were compensating subconsciously because your left side was giving you grief. Have you thought about seeing a physio?”

His lips parted slightly like he hadn’t expected you to catch that. Then his gaze narrowed, a hint of suspicion creeping in.

“Is that why you gave me a massage yesterday?”

You smirked, tilting your head playfully. “Hm. Maybe.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Always two steps ahead, huh?”

You leaned in just a little, eyes glinting with amusement, a witty remark hanging off your tongue—only to dissolve the moment the door swung open.

Steve sauntered in, halting mid-step by the sinks as he took in the scene. You were kneeling between Bucky’s legs, a faint smirk tugging at your mouth while he looked down at you with something dangerously close to a smile—bloody paper towel and all.

Steve’s brows lifted. Confusion crossed his face, mixed with something harder to place, surprise? Suspicion? Whatever it was, he clearly wasn’t expecting this.

You jerked back instinctively, hands bracing on your thighs as you turned to face him.

“It’s not broken,” you announced a little too quickly, jerking your chin toward Bucky. “He’ll live. Bit of swelling and a bit of bruising. Nothing that won’t fade.”

Steve blinked, still trying to piece things together. “I didn’t realise you two were… friends?”

You let out a short, sharp laugh, already on your feet and several paces away. “Hear that, Barnes? We’re friends now.”

Bucky—who stiffly sat on the bench, with his hands still braced against his knees—remained utterly rooted in place as if one wrong move would shatter the illusion. His eyes flicked to you, then to Steve, then back to you, a silent plea not to say anything more.

Steve, on the other hand, still looked perplexed. 

“What?” you asked, turning back to the sink and rinsing your hands of the small amount of blood that had smudged across the skin during your brief inspection.

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nothing, I just, uh…” His face twisted slightly like he regretted speaking at all. “I’ve never heard you laugh before. It surprised me, that’s all.”

That stopped you. Cold. The smirk slipped from your face like it had never been there. Classic Steve Rogers. World’s most well-meaning bastard. Saying the worst possible thing with the purest damn intentions.

You hadn’t exactly made yourself the most approachable presence on the team. You kept your distance, never bought into the ‘team bonding’ crap that Stark and Fury constantly tried to shove down your throat. You weren’t here for friendships but to do a job. But something about how he said it—I’ve never heard you laugh before—grated deep. Like your silence was an affliction. Like you were broken because you didn’t play nice like everyone else.

Without thinking, you flicked water in his direction.

He flinched back with a slight grimace. 

“Thanks, Rogers,” you said, bone-dry. Then you turned, walking away without another word.

You could faintly hear Steve’s voice, panicked and confused, coming from behind you as you pushed the door open.

“What? What did I do?” he called to Bucky, his voice trailing.

“That was painful,” Bucky muttered loud enough for you to catch. “You always tell women to smile more, or is that just your opener? Remind me how you bagged Sharon talking like that—”

“That wasn’t what I was saying—!” Steve protested, his words quickly swallowed by the sound of the door snapping shut behind you

But it didn’t matter.

Because the truth was, you probably would laugh more if life hadn’t spent the past few years making sure you forgot how. If it weren’t for how every genuine emotion now felt like an act, something you wielded like a weapon to get what you wanted. The only time you really smiled or laughed anymore was on missions, tools of the trade. Smile here, flirt there, manipulate, mislead, vanish. You could fake it all like second nature, charm so convincing it fooled even yourself sometimes.

Because when it was real, it still felt like a lie.

You stalked back into the gym, trying to push the thoughts aside. Yelena’s sharp eyes caught yours almost immediately. “We’re going to the bar after this. You coming?”

You reached for your gym bag, slinging it over your shoulder without missing a beat. “No,” you answered flatly, prowling to walk toward the door.

“You’re not coming?” Kate had appeared from nowhere at your side, big blue eyes staring up at you.

You glanced down at her, deadpan. “Can you even go? Aren’t you like twelve?”

Kate’s begging expression melted into a playful glare, hands on her hips as you hesitated by the door. “No! I’m in college. I’m not a kid!”

You raised an eyebrow, her defensive tone amusing you. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” she shot back, almost proudly.

You grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “Ah, barely legal.”

“It’s fine, she’ll be with us!” Yelena chimed in, giving you a pleading look. “Nat is coming, the others too, maybe Kate can buy Bucky a drink as an apology for breaking his nose—”

“Hey! I didn’t break it!” Kate protested, then looked up at you with a fearful expression, voice dipping in volume. “I didn’t, did I?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning in dramatically as if giving a speech. “I can already see the headline: ‘Avengers Drunken Antics on Public Display’—.’”

Yelena scowled at you. “It’s fine!” 

You smirked, but the exhaustion from the past few hours still weighed heavily on you. “You’re probably right. I can’t say much, in Russia we had vodka with breakfast.”

“So you’re coming?” Yelena asked one last time, sounding hopeful despite your resistance.

“No.” You said it with finality.  “I’ve seen too much of your face today. I need a break.”

Yelena raised an eyebrow, but Kate was already heading towards her bag with a skip in her step. “Fine! More for us then!”

—

The training room was unusually quiet without Yelena’s smartass remarks ricocheting off the walls. Usually, the three of you trained together in the early mornings, but she and Kate were off on some covert infiltration upstate. Childs play for Yelena, really, though she’d taken her duties as a mentor for her little pet project rather seriously. That left just you and Natasha circling each other on the mat. You weren’t exactly thrilled about Yelena’s absence, which meant you were facing the full brunt of Natasha’s wrath alone. What didn’t help was that you hadn’t slept properly in days. You were running on fumes, and it showed. The last week had felt like one long string of wipeouts, each one dragging you down further with no sign of relief.

You ducked beneath a lazy strike, half-hearted at best, and swept your leg toward Natasha’s ribs. She blocked it with her shin like she’d barely noticed.

“Sloppy,” she remarked.

You threw a punch, weak and lazy. Natasha easily caught your wrist, spinning your body and throwing you to the mat. The impact knocked the air out of your lungs. She didn’t even break a sweat. She let out a short laugh, her hair spilling into her face as she looked down at you, amused.

But something was off.

Not in how she fought—no, that was as sharp as ever—but in her expression. Tight-lipped. Smug. And not her usual brand of smug, either. This was different, like she was sitting on a secret and absolutely itching for you to notice. She had that look again. The same one she’d had for the last two weeks. A silent challenge. An arrogant knowing. A game of cat and mouse neither of you had been willing to finish.

You groaned, deciding to cut your losses and pushed yourself off the mat, wiping sweat from your brow.

“There’s obviously something you want to say to me,” you muttered.

Natasha didn’t even pause. She moved in for another strike before you could fully recover, but you caught her forearm and twisted. She resisted effortlessly, that infuriating calm grin spreading across her face again.

“Nope,” she said. “Just… pleased, that’s all.”

“Pleased about what?” you asked cautiously.

Natasha pivoted out of your grip like water slipping through your fingers and swept your legs out from under you with a sharp hook of her foot. You hit the ground again with a dull thud. She didn’t bother offering you a hand up as if half-convinced you’d stay down.

“That I figured out your little secret before everyone else.” Her grin turned vicious. She started to circle you again, tone sing-song and entirely too satisfied. “Took me a while, but once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it.”

You rolled up to your feet, levelling her with a look. “What secret?”

You played it cool. Innocent. But you both knew the gig was up. Natasha was like you, trained to spot what others missed, to read the body language no one else even registered. She’d probably clocked you and Bucky the moment you returned from the Gala. She and Yelena hadn’t exactly been subtle about their hunches, either.

She raised a brow. “Oh, come on. You’re really going to make me say it?”

You blinked back at her, expression blank.

“You,” she said, dragging the word out. “And Barnes.”

You deflected with a snort. “Yelena’s theories getting to you?”

“Don’t lie.” Natasha rolled her eyes. “He’s always making those puppy-dog eyes at you when he thinks no one’s looking.”

You barked a laugh, catching her off guard just long enough for you to swing a low kick her way. She dodged it neatly.

“Puppy-dog eyes? I can’t imagine it.” You lied through your teeth. “He always looks like someone kicked him while he was down. That or the brooding.”

Natasha’s smirk sharpened. “And you’re into that? He must be a very good fuck if you’re sticking around this long.”

“We haven’t…” You hesitated with a curse, missing a beat in your footwork. You shook your head, willing your mind to be able to focus on two tasks at once through the haze of fatigue. “Why would I want to fuck Barnes—”

“Considering our line of work, you’re a terrible liar sometimes.” You scowled at the amusement dripping from her voice. 

“It’s not like that between us.” You relented. “Not that it’s any of your business anyway—”

She cut over you, tilting her head. “You’re telling me you two haven’t had sex? God, don’t tell me it’s romance—”

“I’m just helping him feel normal.” You snapped back, hoping to shut her down before it got worse. “H.Y.D.R.A fucked him up, that’s for sure. The same way the Red Room fucked us up.”

Natasha made a face like something had clicked into place in her mind. “Shit.”

Your stomach dropped, movements stuttering as you realised you had unintentionally opened the floodgates. 

“Right,” she murmured, and something about her tone shifted. Not her usual brand of teasing. “You’re not… Never mind.”

You lunged toward her on instinct, catching her wrist with a clumsy grip. The contact was unsteady, your fingers didn’t have the strength they usually did, and Natasha didn’t fight back immediately.

“What?” you asked, eyes narrowing.

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied too quickly, too carefully.

“You’ve said it now,” you pressed, breath short. “Go on.”

She hesitated, her jaw ticking as her gaze drifted down, avoiding yours. The tension in her body softened by degrees, like she’d been carrying the thought for too long and finally decided it wasn’t worth holding onto.

“I just…” she exhaled, slow and controlled, “I worry about you sometimes. I hope you’re not taking on too much.”

You blinked at her, the fog in your head thick and sluggish. “Why do you say that?”

“You know what I mean.”

You knew what she meant, even if it was a truth you’d been hiding from yourself. A truth you didn’t want to look at too closely out of fear of it consuming you whole. A dull ache formed your chest, a lump in your throat as you shook your head. 

You knew Natasha wouldn’t have had any way of knowing those forbidden words you’d uttered to Bucky, the ones he had missed as sleep had pulled him under, the thoughts that haunted you now that you had finally shown them acknowledgement. You felt sick. Rotten to your core. Like maggots and rot festered within, wriggling and twitching beneath the skin, just enough for you to pretend, smile, and continue like normal as your world shattered around you.

“I’m not some broken little girl, Nat,” you said, heat rising behind your words. “I can look after myself.”

“I’m sure of that,” she said softly, and it was the softness that rattled you most. Natasha didn’t do soft unless it mattered. “But… can you look after yourself? Or have you just isolated yourself for so long that you’ve tricked yourself into thinking the only person you can trust is yourself?”

Her voice, the quiet honesty of it, landed harder than any blow she’d dealt all morning.

You looked down, your fists trembling faintly. You flexed your fingers, opening and closing them like the answer might be written in your palms.

“I’m fine.”

She didn’t argue, but she didn’t believe you either. You could feel it in the silence between her breaths. Natasha never spoke unless she meant it. She was always calculating like you.

“I just…” she said, the words tentative like they were being picked up and examined before they left her mouth. “I don’t want to see you hurt.” 

She paused, then added with a wry twist of her lips as if to soften the blow, “Or Barnes.”

You snorted, the sound bitter and short. “Since when do you care about Barnes?”

“I don’t,” she said. “Not really. But if he gets attached and this doesn’t go how he hopes, he could spiral. And if you get attached and he panics…”

“I know.”

And you did. You knew it too well. The thought had curled up behind your ribs and sat there, heavy and unwanted, gnawing at you whenever he looked at you like you were something soft. Like you were safe. You didn’t feel like a safe option. 

“Just…” Natasha’s voice was quieter now, more cautious. “Don’t lose yourself trying to fix him.”

You met her eyes, forcing yourself to stay grounded. To not waver. “I’m not damaged.”

Her expression didn’t shift, but you saw how her brow pinched, the subtle twitch at the corner of her mouth.

“You know what I mean,” she said.

You sighed, the weight of your exhaustion peeling every word from your throat like it didn’t want to come willingly. “I’m also not trying to fix him. We’re just… friends. With benefits. Nothing more.”

She gave a slow nod like she was willing to accept that on paper, but in her gut, she wasn’t buying it.

“Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll believe you. Just… don’t go all radio silent on me like you do. I’m here for you, you know?”

You raised a brow, trying for humour but lacking the energy to pull it off entirely. “You getting all sappy on me now?”

“Never.”

“Sure sounds like it.”

“Hm. Maybe.” She swiped the back of her hand across her brow. “But don’t tell Yelena. She’ll rip me to fucking shreds over it.”

Despite yourself, you let out a faint, tired laugh.

But it only lasted a second before Natasha lunged again.

You weren’t fast enough this time—your sluggish body didn’t catch up to the signal your brain sent. Her leg swept yours, and the mat slammed into your shoulder before you even realised you were falling. Pain flared, dull and heavy, and you lay there. Breathing hard. Staring up at the ceiling like it might offer you some kind of answer.

Natasha hovered above you, arms crossed loosely, her expression unreadable.

“Seriously,” she said. “When was the last time you actually slept? You look like shit.”

There it was, the usual cool, snide remark to cushion the fact that she truly cared. Like she knew you’d run like a spooked animal if she showed too much kindness. You didn’t answer right away. Just closed your eyes and let the silence stretch.

Natasha let out a grunt, not the least bit impressed.

—

You would have to warn Bucky that if he kept looking at you like that, the two of you were bound to end up in a whole world of trouble. 

It was bad enough that Natasha was on your tail—worse than that—she’d found the bones in your closet, polished them clean, and lined them up like trophies. You knew she wouldn’t breathe a word to Yelena, or anyone else for that matter, but you could feel a future creeping toward you, one where her tongue slipped. Just once. That’s all it would take.

And Bucky? He wasn’t helping. Not with that look. Not when even Steve Rogers did a double take, brows ticking up as if to say really, Buck? 

You were fresh off a particularly gruelling recon mission at Karpin’s club. No fists were thrown, no bullets dodged, but that didn’t make it any less exhausting. Playing the role of an attractive, naïve dancer took more skill than most people realised. You’d spent the last six weeks prying secrets from Karpin’s greasy fingers. Details about his buyers, how payments were moved, anything useful. He never suspected a thing, too high on his own ego to realise the little thing on his arm was gutting him for intel.

Fury had been unmistakable in his instructions—get the buyers first. If they caught wind that S.H.I.E.L.D was sniffing around, they’d scatter like roaches, and the whole operation would collapse. So you played the waiting game. Carefully. Precisely. Night after night.

Now you just wanted a drink. And a scalding-hot shower. Maybe both at once. Your skin felt like it had absorbed the club, cheap vodka, cigarette smoke, and desperation.

You adjusted the fur coat around your shoulders with a groan, trying to ignore how your dress—if you could even call it that—kept shifting against your skin. Yelena had dubbed the coat your ‘mob wife piece’ after finally watching The Sopranos, and the name had stuck. Your heels were the real punishment, though. Tall, unforgiving, and cursed by whatever sadist designed them.

After every recon job, the standard protocol was to turn in evidence immediately—cameras, bugs, audio mics, and a hand-written report. After six hours of playing pretend, you were scribbling in agonising detail while the evidence collection agent across from you gave you a rather pointed, unamused look. You briefly considered banging your head against the desk.

And, of course, Bucky was watching you. Not subtly. No, he was seated in a glass-walled meeting room across the way, surrounded by agents and Avengers, but his eyes hadn’t left you in a while. He looked like a gambler who’d just hit the jackpot. You watched him watching you, and you forgot to be annoyed for a second. He looked... ravenous. Unapologetically so.

The meeting finally broke. Doors opened. Agents spilled out. That was your cue. Evidence was handed in, and your aching wrist is getting no thanks for its service. The agent slid your report into a folder stamped ‘CLASSIFIED’ in angry red ink. You almost laughed. God, the theatre of it all.

Natasha bumped your shoulder as she sauntered past towards the elevator. 

“Better keep loverboy in check,” she muttered in your ear as she passed. Her smirk was wicked. 

You shot her a scowl.

Bucky was in the crowd, still watching. His gaze wasn’t on your scowl, though. It was lower. Tracing the cling of the gold mesh slip dress, the way it shimmered under the harsh overhead lights. Tacky enough for the job. Tight enough to draw attention. It hugged every curve with intent, and though it wasn’t your usual style, you were beginning to wonder if it might become one.

You hadn’t pegged Bucky for the type who’d go wild for glitter and skin, but judging by the look in his eyes…

Thank god for lessons, or he'd be dealing with a very awkward elevator ride. 

“I think I’ll take the stairs,” you replied, more bitterly than you meant to.

Natasha smirked as the elevator doors began to close, her eyes dancing with amusement and just a hint of sympathy. But it was Bucky’s gaze that lingered until the very last second as if he could memorise the sight of you before the doors cut him off.

You turned sharply on your heel and made for the stairs, the ache in your feet be damned. The heels bit with every step, but you welcomed the sting. It was easier to focus on than the heat lingering after Bucky’s gaze.

Four flights up, your phone dinged.

You didn’t have to check it to know. You already had a feeling. Still, a smirk pulled at your lips as you glanced at the lock screen.

Can I see you tonight?

Bucky had taken to modern tech far better than Steve ever had. Where Steve still asked what a GIF was or accidentally created a new group chat every time he tried to reply, Bucky had easily slipped into the rhythm. 

You thumbed out a reply as you rounded the next flight of stairs.

Aren’t you going out for drinks with the others?

Fridays had become a ritual for the team, provided no one was off saving the world or buried in a mission, so there’d be a few rounds at a bar nearby. Laughter. Cheap beer. Temporary normalcy.

You watched the typing bubble flicker to life… then vanish. Then again. And again.

Not my scene.

A pause.

Is that a no?

You grinned, slowing your steps just a little. You could picture him sitting on the edge of his bed, hovering over the screen like the answer might change everything.

You typed quickly.

I’ll come to your room right now if you ask nicely.

You paused in the stairway, hesitating outside the door for the residential floor where all the apartments were located. Your pulse tapped a little faster beneath your skin.

Another ding.

Please?

That was all it took.

You pushed open the door.

On my way.

—

“I want to try something different,” you murmured against Bucky’s skin, your lips brushing the hollow of his throat as you nuzzled into the warmth of his neck.

It all happened in a blur when you stepped through his door. Heels abandoned at the threshold, your coat sliding from your shoulders like a shrug of tension gone loose. Bucky had lasted all of two seconds, long enough for a strained smile and a greeting muttered through clenched teeth before instinct took over. His hands found your waist. Your back. Your thighs. And then you were in his lap as he stumbled backwards onto the bed, the mattress giving under both your weight and the familiar gravity that always pulled you toward each other.

Mumbled apologies about the scent of alcohol and sweat were lost beneath kisses, the air thick with the smell of him—black coffee from his meeting and that damn aftershave—as you melted into your usual spot atop him.

His rough palm ghosted up the back of your thigh in lazy strokes, the pads of his fingers brushing skin like he already knew it by heart. You blinked up at him, studying the angles of his face, searching for that tell-tale flicker, tightening of his jaw, a furrow between his brows, anything that indicated hesitation or worry. But there was none. Instead, he caught your eye, the touch of vibranium fingers cool and featherlight against your cheek.

“Last time you said that,” he murmured with a low chuckle, “you blindfolded me.”

“And it worked, didn’t it?” You cut back rather smugly, only to be met with a reluctant hum of agreement. “I want to talk about something first.”

Bucky stilled, alert now in that quiet, observant way of his. “What’s that?”

Your fingers toyed with the fabric of his shirt. “Are you afraid of me touching you?”

He blinked, surprised. “No? Is this a trick question—?”

“Do you like me touching you?”

“Yes.” His answer came easily, without hesitation.

“But you don’t like me touching your cock.”

That gave him pause. The stroking of your thigh faltered. There it was, his jaw ticked, the smallest tension rising between his brows like a storm cloud forming just behind his eyes.

“I don’t…Isn’t that what we’ve been doing these past few months?” His voice was low, cautious.

“You let me touch you near it,” you said gently. “But if I move my hand under your waistband, even just a little, you freeze. You ask me to stop. I just want to know why.”

His throat bobbed with a hard swallow. He stared at the ceiling instead of at you, like maybe the answer was written there if he looked hard enough.

“There’s no wrong answer,” you whispered. “I’m not upset. I’m not trying to push you. I just want to understand. To help.”

He exhaled slowly, brows knitting in thought. 

“It’s overwhelming, I think,” he said finally. “The added…feeling. On top of everything else that’s already happening.”

“So,” you said slowly, “if it happened in isolation. Nothing else, just that, you’d feel more comfortable? More in control?”

He nodded once. “Yeah. I think so.”

You hesitated, then asked softly, “Would you be okay with trying today? Right now?”

His eyes finally met yours, a flash of vulnerability behind the steel blue. “Putting me on the spot here, doll…”

Doll. That was a pet name you wouldn’t look too deeply into. Or acknowledge. He didn’t even seem to notice he had said it.

“You can always say no,” you reminded him softly. “That’s the most important rule, always. Either of us can stop at any time. No questions, no pressure, no hard feelings.”

He was quiet momentarily, gaze flickering between your eyes, searching for something. Then he nodded once, steady.

“Let’s do it.”

You paused, holding his gaze. “Are you sure?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, a touch wry. “I trusted you when you blindfolded me, didn’t I?” he said, voice low, rough around the edges. “I don’t see any reason not to trust you now.”

That was all the encouragement you needed.

You slipped off his lap with ease, sinking onto the floor between his knees, the hem of your dress bunching up around your thighs. You blinked up at him expectantly, steady but unhurried. Bucky hesitated, shoulders tensing as his hands hovered uncertainly at his belt. A flicker of embarrassment was behind his eyes, the kind he hadn’t yet learned to hide from you.

You didn’t comment on it. Didn’t tease him for the blush creeping up his neck, or for the way his fingers fumbled slightly as he undid the buckle and began peeling off the layers. You just waited—quiet, patient, allowing him to find his own pace. You didn’t point out the irony of it all, how easily he’d unravel for you, but how nudity still brought hesitation. Like showing skin was somehow more vulnerable than offering up his soul.

His boxers were the last to go, and by the time he slid them down, he was already half-hard, his cock flushed with arousal. The pink tint on his cheeks deepened as his eyes darted away from yours.

You tilted your head, shifting closer until you were kneeling between his legs. The warmth radiating from his thighs drew you in like a hearth. Your hand brushed lightly over his knee in reassurance, and he twitched at the contact.

“You okay?” you asked softly, your voice more hum than a question.

He nodded, but it was too tight, too instinctive.

You paused.

“Need to hear your words, Bucky. I’m only going to do this if you tell me you’re okay.”

There was a beat of silence, his vibranium hand clenching in the sheets beside him.

“I want this,” he said, voice low but certain, even if his body still trembled faintly beneath you.

You held his gaze for a moment longer, reading the tension in his shoulders, the way his chest rose and fell with shallow breath.

“You remember what to say if you need to stop?”

He nodded again, more grounded this time. “Yeah. I remember.”

Satisfied, you reached out, your fingers wrapping gently around the base of his cock. You were cautious at first, letting your touch linger without pressure, just the soft drag of skin against skin. A strained groan left him almost immediately, the muscles in his thighs tightening on either side of you.

You glanced up at him through your lashes, watching his face twist with the sensation. His jaw slackened, mouth parted, eyes nearly fluttering closed as you began to stroke him. Slow, deliberate, careful. He was thick and heavy in your hand, already pulsing with anticipation, growing harder by the second. You shouldn’t have been surprised. Not after the nights spent grinding into each other, his arousal pressed tight and insistent through layers of clothing, but still, the reality of him was enough to stir a wicked spark behind your smile.

You pumped him a few more times, watching how easily his composure began to slip. He was already squirming, breaths ragged, his abdomen twitching every time your palm slid down to the base and back up again.

His head fell back, a quiet whimper escaping him as you thumbed over the slit at the head of his cock. He flinched from the contact, one hand flying to your elbow and gripping it like an anchor, his whole body responding to the jolt of pleasure like he’d been struck by lightning.

“How do you feel?” you asked, voice low, almost teasing.

It took him a moment to answer. His lips parted, trying to form words while his chest heaved, his eyes glazed over with ecstasy. A drop of pre-cum beaded at the tip, and you collected it with your fingers, spreading it down the shaft to ease your rhythm.

“Good,” he finally gasped. “Amazing. Did it always… I don’t remember it feeling—”

His words dissolved into a sharp gasp as you leaned forward and kissed the tip. The contact was featherlight, but it shattered him. His metal hand shot up into your hair, not to pull or direct, but to ground himself, trembling as if the sensation threatened to lift him right out of his skin.

“Oh my god—” He began to whine.

You giggled softly, the warmth of your breath enough to send him over the edge.

Bucky came with a choked moan, his hips jerking as thick, hot ropes spilt over your chin and neck. His thighs trembled with the force of it, his head thrown back as if he couldn’t bear the weight of pleasure crashing through him. You stroked him through it, gentle and slow, coaxing every last pulse from him while he tried and failed to string thoughts together.

As he collapsed back against the mattress, boneless and dazed, you ran a hand up the inside of his thigh, using it as leverage to push yourself upright. His grip on your hair slackened and fell away, his hands lying limp beside him, fingers twitching faintly in the aftershocks.

“I’m gonna clean up,” you hummed, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back, okay?”

He didn’t even open his eyes, just nodded, lips parted, breath still ragged.

“Okay,” he mumbled, voice thick and warm with lingering arousal. “I’ll be right here.”

—

It took only a few minutes to freshen up. You moved on muscle memory, warm water, damp cloth, and a quick sweep of your hair from your neck. You paused before leaving the bathroom, grabbing a clean towel in case he wanted it. 

But when you stepped back into the bedroom, you found he’d already taken care of himself, his boxers pulled back on.

Bucky was sprawled across the mattress like he’d melted into it, a sheen of sweat still clinging to his collarbone. He looked wrecked—in the best way. Hair tousled, chest rising and falling in a slow, almost dazed rhythm, but his gaze sharpened the second it landed on you. A lazy, crooked grin tugged at his lips as he lifted an arm in a silent invitation, eyes still half-lidded and blown wide with the afterglow.

You climbed into bed beside him, the weight of his body shifting as you curled into the space between his arm and chest. His skin was warm against yours, the hum of his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. You pressed a soft kiss to the curve of his jaw, and his breath hitched as your hand slid over his stomach.

His mouth found yours not long after, lazy and unhurried like neither of you wanted to break the spell. It didn’t stay that way for long. Hunger crept in. Familiar, greedy heat as his mouth parted and his fingers tangled into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath catch.

And then… you felt him. Again.

Your thigh brushed his hip, and you stilled. Then pulled back, brows arching in playful disbelief. “Already?”

The question hung in the air like a teasing note, half-smirk, half-curiosity.

Bucky’s eyes dipped, lashes fanning over flushed cheeks. He looked momentarily abashed as if he’d been caught red-handed, though the evidence quite literally pressed against your leg.

“It’s the super soldier serum,” he mumbled, the corner of his mouth curling despite himself.

You tilted your head, amusement rising. He was trying to play it cool, but the slight flush on his ears gave him away.

“Oh?” you drawled. “And how exactly did you come to that conclusion?”

His fingers scratched lightly at the back of his neck, a classic tell.

“Steve said something once,” he offered, deliberately vague.

You blinked. Your smile widened, slow and predatory.

“Steve?” you echoed. “You’ve been talking to Steve about this?”

“No!” His protest was immediate and rushed like a man trying to stop a landslide with a broom. “Not exactly,” he amended quickly. “He was talking about Sharon, I guess.”

A laugh bubbled up, and you bit your bottom lip to stifle it, your hand resting lightly on his chest. You could feel the way his heart kicked beneath your palm. Nervous, flustered. Bucky Barnes, caught in the act of oversharing.

“Sharon, huh?” you said innocently, voice tinged with mischief.

His eyes narrowed slightly, catching the shift in your tone. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” you said airily, pretending to inspect the stitching on the pillowcase behind his head. “Just something Yelena said the other day.”

Suspicion flickered in his gaze, but you forged ahead.

“She thinks Steve wasn’t as innocent as we all pegged him. Something about spotting him and Sharon… in a compromising position.”

Bucky snorted, turning his face into your shoulder to muffle the sound. “I wonder what they’d make of this.”

“Oh, I’d never hear the end of it,” you groaned, flopping onto your back with theatrical flair. “They’re already circling like vultures, trying to interrogate me about the gala.”

He shifted beside you, propping himself up slightly on his elbow to get a better look at your face. “And what did you tell them?”

You hesitated. Just long enough for the silence to tighten.

There it was, the flicker of guilt behind your eyes. You could feel it rise like a slow tide in your chest, swelling into your throat. You should tell him. About Natasha’s uncanny perception, the way her gaze had cut straight through you like a knife, and how you’d cracked under pressure with barely a word from her.

But you didn’t. You weren’t sure how he’d take it. Knowing someone else was privy to this—this, your quiet little secret.

“Nothing,” you said, soft but firm, hoping your smile would mask the lie.

His expression didn’t shift dramatically, but you saw his brow furrowed slightly—a quiet sharpening behind the eye.

“Nothing?” he repeated.

“I just…” You sighed, turning to face him properly. The pillow dipped beneath your cheek. “I figured you didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t want to make things messy.”

He was quiet. His gaze flicked to the ceiling, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower. “Yeah. It’s probably for the best, isn’t it?”

He didn’t sound entirely convinced by his own words, and you didn’t feel entirely convinced either. 

“It’s up to you,” you said eventually. “Everyone’s image of me is already… well, damaged.” You let out a soft, bitter laugh, fingers twisting idly in the edge of the sheets. “I’m sure this will hardly ruin my reputation. But yours…”

“That seems unfair,” he said, brows drawing together.

“What does?”

“The way they treat you.” Your breath caught slightly, unprepared for its bluntness. You looked at him, and he met your gaze head-on. No hesitation, no irony. Just honesty, raw and unvarnished. And before you could piece together a response, he spoke again. “Do you always do that? Make yourself smaller for other people?”

The question landed like a stone in your gut. You froze, eyes searching his face, almost disbelieving.

He hadn’t said it unkindly. But it lodged deep.

For a moment, you were tempted to laugh it off, to deflect, to be clever. Anything to avoid the sudden, unexpected vulnerability that cracked open inside you like a fault line.

Had he been watching you this whole time? Not just looking, but seeing? Had you been too busy circling Bucky to notice that he circled you in return?

You smiled weakly, wanting to fill the dreadful silence that had settled over the both of you. “I could say the same for you.”

His hand slipped around your waist, pulling you flush against him again. You could feel the weight of him against your hip, the heat building between you again.

You let your nose brush his. “Still something to do with the serum?”

Bucky smirked, lips brushing yours. “That… and you.”

You exhaled a breathless laugh, but something about the way his thumbs moved, slow circles against your ribs, made the warmth curl low in your belly again. The mood was shifting. Building. You could feel it.

And then his voice turned quieter. Uncertain.

“I feel bad,” he murmured.

You blinked, drawing back just enough to see the look on his face. 

“Bad?” you repeated, confused.

“For not…” He gestured vaguely between your bodies. “Returning the favour.”

You reached up, brushing your thumb along the line of his jaw. His stubble rasped against your skin.

“Bucky,” you said gently, “you don’t have to do everything all at once.”

He frowned, and you could tell he didn’t quite agree. Always so ready to shoulder weight that was never meant to be his. Always prepared to give more than he thought he was allowed to take. He carried guilt like it was just another one of his old injuries that could never quite be healed.

“I don’t want to overwhelm you,” you added, quieter now. “With information. Or… expectations.”

His eyes searched yours. “But I want to learn.”

“There’s a little more involved in getting a woman to orgasm,” you said, but your tone light as you tried to shake off the weight of his gaze.

“It doesn’t have to be… I just want to make you feel good.”

God. He said it like it mattered. Like you mattered.

Your resolve crumbled.

You rose slowly, coaxing him to sit up with you. Straddling his hips felt natural now, like returning to a familiar place. You took his hand gently, guiding it up over your shoulder over the thin gold strap of your dress.

“Okay,” you murmured. “Then help me take this off.”

His fingers moved with care, grazing over your skin, catching the strap between his thumb and forefinger as he began to ease the dress down your arms. The fabric slid away like a sigh, pooling around your waist, revealing the strapless bra beneath.

You felt him falter, brow furrowing in confusion. “How does this…?”

You turned around on your knees, back to him. “It unclips at the back,” you murmured, sweeping your hair over one shoulder to expose the delicate line of your spine.

“Just three hooks. Here.” You reached behind you, fingertips brushing the clasp.

His fingers met yours, searching as he followed your instructions. A breath escaped him, soft and shallow, before he found the hooks and gently undid them one click at a time.

The tension in your shoulders eased just a fraction. “There you go.”

His hands hovered, uncertain now that your bare back was before him like an empty canvas. You tossed the bra to the floor and reached back, guiding his hands to your waist, then up, encouraging him to cup the full weight of your breasts. He was hesitant at first, the pads of his fingers a little stiff, a little too tense. The contrast of warm flesh and cool vibranium sent a delicious shiver spiralling through you, eliciting a long, satisfied sigh.

That sound seemed to break whatever restraint he was clinging to. His grip shifted, confidence blooming. He began to knead and explore, thumbs brushing experimentally over your nipples. When a vibranium finger flicked one with the barest touch, you let out a soft whine, your back arching to press yourself flush against his chest.

“I think I like this,” he murmured, voice husky at your ear, breath fanning warm across your skin.

You let out a breathless laugh, turning slowly to face him again, your balance steady in his palms. His hands slid down to anchor you at the hips.

His gaze lingered, not just on your chest, but on your face. Like he was still processing, still memorising. Desire curled in your gut, a heartbeat between your legs. You fought the urge to reach down, to chase the friction your body was begging for.

Bucky leaned forward and kissed you again. Something in him had shifted. He wasn’t following anymore. He was moving with intent. And when he gently rolled you back onto the pillows, his weight settling above yours, your breath hitched.

You tried to ignore the instinct curling tight in your belly. Tried not to let the familiar feeling of being beneath someone stir that old panic. Like the walls might close in around you. Like control was slipping just a little too far out of reach.

His mouth trailed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, between your breasts, and you squirmed ever-so-slightly beneath him. His tongue flicked out to taste your skin, a soft sound of satisfaction humming against you. He licked a rough stroke over one of your nipples as if it were a primal instinct.

You groaned, one hand gently scratching across his back, the other through his hair. His knee slotted between your thighs, parting them easily, the gold fabric of your dress bunched at your waist. Only a thin slip of lace remained between you. He didn’t look down. He didn’t need to, his lips were still worshipping your chest.

His vibranium hand curved over your knee, pushing you open further, his hips grinding lightly into yours, and that flicker of alarm surged. Too strong to ignore.

You moved fluidly before it could root itself. With practised grace, you flipped the two of you, rolling him onto his back and straddling his hips in a single, breathless motion. He made no protest, just let out a pleased groan as his hands found your thighs.

You exhaled slowly, grounding yourself in the present. In him. His wide eyes blinking up at you, still caught in the moment.

He didn’t notice the shift. Didn’t ask why you took control again.

And you were grateful.

As you steadied yourself above him, he sat up suddenly, arms sliding around your waist. His mouth pressed a slow kiss to your sternum. He looked up at you, lashes fluttering, nose brushing the curve of your breast.

Your breath caught in your throat.

As he pressed another kiss to your skin, you realised—without a doubt—that maybe this was the single most erotic moment of your life.

Not the act, not the heat of it all but him. The way he looked at you. The gentleness in his hands. The trust humming beneath his skin like a live wire. The way your name might’ve been forming behind his teeth, even if he hadn’t spoken it.

You sank your hands into his hair and pulled him closer.

You were still tangled in each other, the heat between your bodies humming like static, when the apartment door swung open with an easy, unthinking click.

“Hey Buck, you sure you don’t wanna come out with us—?”

The cheerful voice stopped cold. 

Steve.

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hello! i no longer have a taglist because it got too long and was reaching the tag limit. if you want to keep being notified of my updates please follow @artficlly-updates and turn on post notifications! i'll only be reblogging on there <3

needs bucky to growl and groan into my ear while he’s fucking his thick cock into my tight wet pussy telling me, “take it, doll. take daddy’s fat fucking cock.”

🍺to the mfering howlies.

the howling commandos honestly deserved more respect in the mcu. they were a diverse group of batshit crazy men who could drink a bar dry that followed captain america and sergeant barnes around europe fighting hydra. then, during VE day when the entire world was celebrating, they drank in a dimly lit bar mourning/toasting steve n bucky. they are integral to the captain america story, and were loyal to a fault. they had all passed by the time steve and bucky reunited, but where’s a scene toasting the howlies?