About To Read This Whole Thing On One Night. We Love A Slow Burn

reckless- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, platonic!sam wilson, platonic!natasha romanoff, platonic!steve rogers

warnings: mentions of injuries, descriptions of fighting, angry bucky, a horrible ending, i kind of really hate this

about: “the things i feel for her are unlike anything i’ve ever felt before.” for a sleepover!

i actually wrote another one with the same quote but i didn’t think it fit so i changed it (that one will be posted tomorrow or the day after so i can edit it)

you’re annoyingly reckless to a point where it gets dangerous.

he’s told you this a thousand times before but you don’t listen- aren’t listening at the moment.

he knows it’s ironic that he’s being reckless by not paying attention to what’s going on, too concentrated on you- even if you’ve told him countless times that you literally can’t die (to which he responds with a “you never know!” because, really do you?)- but he has a metal arm and sam, who’s been hovering around him like a vulture after noticing his lack of concentration.

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Oh my goodness.

5 Times You Are Not Dating Bucky Barnes (and the one time you are) | Bucky Barnes x Reader | One shot - 2.6k words |

You're sick of saying it, Bucky is not your boyfriend, you are not dating you're just friends. Until...

Warnings: 18+ for some canon typical violence and for Sam and Joaquin being pains in the arse (affectionate). Friends to lovers vibes, idiots in love, dating but not dating.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics & @saradika-graphics

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

1

Bucky Barnes is not your boyfriend.

At least once a day these words come out of your mouth in some form and it's becoming so frequent now that you're considering just recording yourself and playing it back on your phone.

Colleagues, partners in the field, friends.

Not a couple.

Not dating.

"Did you hear that, Wilson? She said —"

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

Sam rolled his eyes at Bucky, sighing dramatically in a way that only Sam is really allowed to get away with. Bucky hadn't taken his eyes from your laptop screen or the secure file you were scrolling through.

"Look awful close though."

You looked up this time, the top of your head brushing Bucky's cheek, his breath was warm against your own and the contrast between his exhale and the cold glass of the table gave you goosebumps.

"We're reviewing the data Joaquin sent us, what do you want us to do?" You snapped, scrolling to the next page of mind numbingly boring KPIs and MIs. Just your luck to get the management files and nothing juicy.

"Perhaps you could use the projector?" Sam clicked a button on the table and the details on your screen lit up the plain, white wall of the conference room.

Embarrassed heat flared up your spine and you shivered.

"Not very secure though, is it, Captain?" Bucky picked up the remote and switched the projector off, his eyes on the laptop screen.

The plastic of your chair squeaked as he tightened his hold on it, and the door slammed shut behind Sam.

2

You followed your nose from the cool darkness of the operations room to the open living area. Tedious as it was to be stationed in the middle of nowhere for recon, you couldn't fault the accommodation, it was almost like being on holiday, apart from the gruelling shifts staring at monitors every day.

Somewhere further along the corridor the sound of good-natured arguing grew louder, Bucky's voice rising above the others and warning them not to disturb you. There was a brief pause before you heard Sam and Joaquin start laughing and Bucky's heavy sigh.

"Morning," you gave a small sleepy smile to the assembled team. Joaquin smiled back, raising his coffee cup in greeting. Sam grinned and you knew instantly that there was something going on. "What now?" You sighed, sending both men in to fits of laughter.

Bucky handed you a cup of tea and bowl of yogurt and granola, a handful of blueberries and raspberries on top.

"Thanks, I'm starving." You bumped his hip as you wandered past to join your teammates at the kitchen island and earned yourself a rare smile.

"What've you got there?" Sam asked, peering into your bowl.

"Usual," you mumbled, sipping your tea. Perfect.

"Uh huh, the usual." He looked up at Bucky, whose face was slowly turning the same colour as the raspberries.

"Can I have some yoghurt, Bucky?" Joaquin asked, innocently.

"Nope." Bucky said, watching you take the first bite and allowing the corner of his mouth to turn up in a smile when yours did.

"Oh, did we run out?"

"Nope."

Bucky put the almost full pot back into the fridge, fixed his coffee and sat down too, shuffling his stool a little closer to you. His hair was still a little damp and you could smell the familiar scent of his shampoo, his bare arm bumping against yours as he took a sip of coffee.

Sam and Joaquin emptied out the last of their coffees into the sink and slunk away, whispering and laughing conspiratorially about "special treatment for girlfriends."

Bucky was, as usual, ignoring them and flipping through a week old newspaper and sipping his coffee. He caught you watching and gave you a mock glare, nothing like the hard stare he'd given Sam and Joaquín earlier.

Then he turned the pages slightly so you could see and you let your head rest on his shoulder, still sipping your tea.

3

"I'm sorry, okay, please stop giving me the cold shoulder." Sam followed after you as you picked your way back to the jet, trying to catch up so you could walk together.

"Absolutely not, I want to be angry for at least two more hours." You grouched, squeezing water from your tactical gear.

"C'mon, it's a little funny," Joaquin laughed, taking up space on your other side.

"Fuck off, Torres, if you had fish swimming in your tac suit you'd be mad too. "

Bucky met you at the cargo door, towel in hand and glaring at your team mates.

"Hell happened to you lot? And why are there fish in your suit?" He scanned you all quickly for serious damage, but it was just your ego that was bruised really.

"Someone, told me it was totally safe to cross this rickety fucking bridge back there," you scowled again.

It really wasn't Sam's fault, it looked perfectly safe or you wouldn't have started to cross, but it was clearly rigged to fall and that's exactly what you'd done, straight into the stagnant water below.

In their gear Sam and Joaquin had been fine. You, on the other hand, had been soaked from head to toe.

"Let's get you in something clean and dry," Bucky gently ushered you into the cool darkness of the jet, soothing your embarrassment with his own stories and wiping mud from the back of your neck as if it was an everyday occurrence.

"I don't think there's anything left in my locker after we got caught in that storm a few weeks back." Embarrassment made your skin itchy and your blood cold. You had spare underwear, maybe, at best.

"Don't worry," Bucky put his back to the door of the small bathroom while you stripped off your dirty clothes inside, "I've got something."

When you reappeared fifteen minutes later, cleaner, dryer, it was in a pair of Bucky's spare sweat pants and the black t-shirt he'd been wearing.

Joaquin raised his eyes but made the decision not to comment and incur your wrath any further.

Sam, on the other hand, chose to tease Bucky instead, their arguing bouncing around the jet while you tried to get comfy on the thin flight seats.

"Got your territory all marked then, Barnes?" He laughed, eyes darting between the two of you.

"Don't know what you're on about, Wilson." Bucky snapped back.

"She's in your clothes, couldn't find any spares? Nothing of mine of Joaquin's back there? You're getting more possessive." Sam shot you a look, "you need to tell him to fuck off."

"I'm good, Sam, thanks for your concern."

"Ahh so you are —"

"We're not dating!" You shouted in unison.

Which only made Sam and Joaquín laugh harder.

It was okay though, you were safe again now and, snuggling deeper into the body warmth of Bucky's t-shirt and definitely a lot less angry than you had been, you really felt safe too. How could you feel any other kind of way, when you could smell his body wash, when he had dried your face so carefully and helped you into your clean clothes.

He looked over at you, eyes still checking for injuries.

"You okay over there? Warm enough?" You nodded and he nodded back, smiling.

4

Joaquin woke with a jolt when the plane hit turbulence, there was a crick in his neck and a sore muscle in his back screaming for a soft bed and his favourite pillow. But no such luck, just an army evac in the dead of night.

Beside him Sam had spread out a blanket and his jacket on the floor, using his rucksack as a pillow and snoring soundly. He could always sleep anywhere, you all could, especially after the day you'd had.

Bucky had taken up a spot sat on the floor like Sam, but with his back to the thin benches, his pack holding up his head. In the gloom he could see Bucky's left arm rigidly holding his body up, elbow locked, because on the right you were leaning into him. His arm was around your shoulders and you'd curled your body into his, pressing into his side, face tucked into his neck and hand under his shirt.

The plane rattled again and Bucky blinked one eye open, his body still as he scanned around quickly before locking eyes with Joaquin.

"You two comfy?" Joaquin whispered and Bucky scowled back. He'd expected Bucky to push you away, but instead he tugged you closer.

Joaquin made a tiny heart shape with his fingers and then mimed kissing.

Bucky flicked up his middle finger and then closed his eyes.

5

"So, Playboy, got any plans tonight," Sam asked, scuffing Joaquin on the back of the head while you pulled your bag out of the gym lockers.

It'd been a long day and you couldn't wait to order a ridiculous amount of food, put your pyjamas on and forget the world existed.

"You know me, Sam. Keepin' my options open." The younger man grinned back.

"Lotta fingers in a lotta pies, have you Torres?" You snickered.

Bucky shut his locker with a slam. "Don't be crude," he grouched, but you saw the way he smiled when he rolled his eyes.

"Something like that," Joaquin shrugged.

"What about you man, hot date?" Joaquin asked,

"Nah," Sam turned away and Joaquin finished towelling his wet hair and started digging his clothes from his bag before wandering off for some privacy.

You slid your trainers back on, tucking your boots in your locker and wondering why they were both suddenly so interested in each other's dating life.

"Not even Leila," you needled, breaking the silence and poking him in the side.

"What's it got to do with you anyway? You seeing anyone tonight?"

"Nope, just me and some Chinese takeout tonight, maybe a little flirt with Netflix," Sam gave you a slightly sad look, but what did you care, it wasn't the only Friday night that would ever happen and you were exhausted.

"I was going to get noodles, do you want to come back to mine, we can split an order?" Bucky asked, fishing his keys from his gym bag and nodding his head towards the door.

"Ohh yes as long as we can get dumplings."

"Obviously we're getting dumplings."

"And maybe fried rice?"

"Rice and noodles?"

"You get one, I'll get the other, we'll split it."

"Fine."

"Shall I follow you —"

"Leave your car by the hanger, I'll drive you back in tomorrow."

"Perfect, let's grab a bottle of wine from the store on the way back."

Bucky groaned, holding the door open for you, "how many times have I said, the only acceptable drink with Chinese takeout is Tsingtao."

The door shut as Joaquin rounded the lockers again, a confused look on his face."Do they know it's Valentines Day?"

Sam laughed, "I don't think so but I can't wait to see their faces tomorrow when they figure it out."

+1

"I've got him, Bucky, you watch the trucks?" You put your sight back to your eye, shuffling your shoulders, settling lower into the ground, you breathed deeply as you prepared to take the shot.

"You'll give away your position, you're too close, fall back." Bucky's voice was surprisingly frantic in your ear.

"Quiet, please. I can do this."

"Leave her, Buck, she's got this."

"Cap's right, gotta have a little faith."

"It's too risky —"

You turned your comm off. You'd been watching this gang for weeks hoping to catch them in the act and you had the perfect chance.

Sam and Joaquin had been leading your infiltration of their den and everything had been going swimmingly — until their leader had walked out and thrown everything into chaos.

You caught the kickback from your rifle with practised ease, your aim perfect, the apparent leader of the group crumpled to the ground, bleeding from his now shattered kneecap. Nothing fatal, you wanted to see him on the stand as did the rest of the team.

You touched your ear piece again ready to gloat about your excellent hit but Bucky's panicked voice found you instead.

"Run, I'm coming but you've gotta run, go —go! Why aren't you going!"

You turned, surrounded by three armed guards, and did the only thing you could do. Fight back.

This wasn't the best time for close quarters combat, but you needed time to reach your handgun or your dagger or something.

Dodging around you gained enough time to slip a knife from your thigh holster.

"I've got it, Buck. Go to Sam."

"No you fucking haven't."

Your arm moved, swiping at your first assailant and leaving a splatter of blood behind. Still low you lurched for the second man's legs, jabbing upwards as he bent down to you. The blade pierced the top of his thigh and blood gushed out as you twisted your wrist and tugged.

"Don't kill anyone." Sam admonished.

But you were too focused to care. The third guard was huge, broad and carrying a knife to match. But it was the gun pointed at your temple that had your heart pounding.

"Put the gun down little lady, we don't want any more messes for you to clean up." The man leered forward, pressing the hot muzzle of the gun into your skin.

"Fuck off." You spat back.

He bent closer, sliding his dagger back into its holster, giving him a free hand to pinch your cheeks. "Such a dirty mouth, what will I do with you."

"She said, fuck off."

The man looked blank, turning his head to find Bucky towering over him gun pressed to his back.

"You okay?" He asked, glancing at you quickly.

"Fine."

"You're a lucky bastard today." Bucky pulled the trigger and you closed your eyes against the spray.

The man shouted, clutching at his shoulder where blood was pouring between his fingers, the wound wider at the front.

"How's that lucky, Bucky?" You chastised, brushing leaves and dirt from your tactical suit and grabbing your rifle.

"If you were hurt, I'd have shot him in the head." He answered, simply, and you felt yourself go hot all over at the thought of what he'd do for you.

Sam and Joaquin landed behind you and rushed forwards.

"We heard more shots, is everyone okay? — What the hell guys I said minimal damage." Sam groaned.

"Would've been easier if someone—" Bucky looked at you, "had left their comms on and run when I'd said."

You rolled your eyes, "I was fine, look." All three patrol guards lay bleeding on the ground.

"That guy had a gun to your head, you were not fine."

"I had him on the ropes." You smiled, but it wavered, you had been scared and your heart had been racing seeing Bucky sneak up on him. "Plus, I've got my knight in shining armour to shoot people for me." You grinned up at Bucky, blood painted on your uniforms and across your cheeks.

"Good thing too." Bucky threaded his fingers through your chest holster and tugged you forwards, pressing a deep kiss to your lips. You hummed happily and leant into him before he set you back down

"If you're done, Sam, can we go back to the jet? I've got bad guy blood all over me, yuck." You made a face and wiped your cheek with the back of your hand before strolling off with Bucky, rifles over your shoulders.

"Did they just—" Joaquin looked over at Sam.

"Yeah —"

"How long?"

"No idea."

As you rounded the corner Bucky took your hand again, tugging you closer and pressing a kiss to your head where the imprint of the gun still lingered.

"Does this finally mean I'm your boyfriend?"

"Because you shot someone for me?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, sure." You smiled, resting your cheek on his shoulder.

sarge | b.b

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: in which you and bucky have a quickie in the weapons room before a mission because after two weeks without your boyfriend, you’re horny as hell

word count: 1k

warnings: nsfw, 18+, slight breeding kink, rough sex, unprotected sex

a/n: hello! i’m back again with a bucky smut, this time it is for @a-little-counter-esperanto​ aka the amazing lauren’s smutty sunday, which i’m so excited for! also, please let me know what you think, thank you so much!

masterlist | requests faqs | requests open!

thank you for reading! it really means the world to me!

“We’re leaving in twenty minutes,” Steve says as he dismisses the meeting, it was supposed to a lazy Saturday where the team had their own time to do as they pleased, movies, gym or in your case, screwing your boyfriend into next week because after two weeks of back to back missions, it was save to say that your pussy was aching for his cock to stretch you out and at this point, it was probably sick of your vibrator anyway.

Sighing, you headed towards the weapons room, picking out your usual ammo, two personalised handguns, and probably a few knives along the way, pulling your hair up into a high pony tail you were about to make your way out of the room when Bucky walked in, he had already suited up and you couldn’t stop the smirk that formed on your face when you saw just how fucking good he looked in that black leather vest, his metal arm glinting under the dim lights, and boy oh boy that coy, smug smile he had plastered on his face as he walked towards you, a hint of the devil in those gorgeous blue eyes that could get you on your knees in seconds.

“Friday, lock the door,”

“Noted, sergeant Barnes,” The AI replied curtly.

“It’s sergeant now huh?” you asked as he slowly but surely backs you up and against the cold wall of the room.

“Got Stark to change it,” He replies, leaning in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his hands roamed your body, making you bite back a moan when he slides his metal hand over your covered cunt, his thumb pressing against your clit. “You left me all hot and bothered baby,” he says, his voice low and gruff as he presses himself against you.

“Not my fault that Steve called for a meeting,”

“Wanna finish it princess?” he asks, his mouth moving to your neck, the moan that you had stifled escapes when he bites down on the flesh.

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he’s so cute

if the fates allow

pairing: avenger!captain america!steve rogers x tall!shield agent!female reader

summary: steve rogers accidentally got drunk at the avengers tower christmas party, and you're the one tasked with helping him get to bed. it's a good thing you have plenty of practice keeping your crush on him a secret.

warnings: sexual tension, steve is drunk, reader is conflicted (nothing happens while steve's drunk), feelings are expressed, kissing, sleepy cuddling, i think that's pretty much it!

word count: 2.9k

a/n: here's my december 13 fic for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, using the prompt: "I didn't know the egg nog was spiked!" tried to keep this one short and sweet so that i can catch up, so if something doesn't make sense, just ignore it i guess! also this is my first time writing a specifically tall!reader and that was nice since i'm on the taller side 😅 hope y'all enjoy!! ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

“I didn't know the egg nog was spiked!”

Steve Rogers’ voice was louder than it needed to be, and so close to your ear that you winced a little. You kept walking, a massive arm looped around your shoulders while you half-carried the ungodly large body of Captain America and tried not to think about how good he smelled.

Why exactly you had been tasked with helping the very drunk Steve Rogers to his quarters after the Avengers Tower Christmas party was still a bit of a mystery to you. You’d seen Natasha Romanoff and Tony Stark with their heads bent close, like they were conspiring about something, and the next thing you knew, Bruce Banner was asking you to help Steve get to bed.

The phrasing of the request had sent your heart skittering in your chest, even under the less-than-ideal circumstances of its reality. You’d had a crush on Steve Rogers since you’d met him as part of your SHIELD assignment to Avengers Tower, and you liked to think you’d kept it secret from everyone.

But, well, you did work with spies for a living, and you had a feeling Natasha and Tony’s conspiring had something to do with your predicament.

You’d tried to protest Bruce’s request. Sure, you were one of the taller female SHIELD agents, but you were by no means the strongest person on your team, especially when it included Brock Rumlow. But apparently everyone else had gone home or they were helping someone else, and you were the only one who could do it. 

Frank Sinatra’s “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” had been playing from the sound system of the Avengers Tower lounge as you’d made your way over to where Steve lay sprawled across the entire length of a sofa. He was singing along to the Christmas song—loudly and off-key—and nerves and excitement had fluttered through your belly like snowflakes on a winter wind.

You’d shoved your emotions away and put on the professional mask you always wore around Steve, pasting a polite smile on your face as you leaned over him and told him, in a not unkind voice, that you were going to help him get to bed. 

He’d given you a dreamy smile and did his best to help you lift his large body from the sofa while you’d ignored the way the snowflakes in your tummy had swooped at his happy expression and close proximity. 

With one arm wrapped around Steve’s waist and the other holding onto his wrist so his arm wouldn’t fall from your shoulders, you lifted a leg and kicked the elevator call button with your foot, only remembering to check to make sure no one was around after you’d done so. 

Oh well. If you’d flashed someone with the move, the most they’d see under the short skirt of your cocktail dress was the gun strapped to your thigh and the shapewear the tight, clingy garment had required you to wear. Thankfully, no one was around except the super-soldier draped across your shoulders, his head propped sleepily against yours.

“Of course it was spiked, captain,” you said, picking up the thread of the conversation he’d started. Your voice was patient and professional, if a little cold. “It was Stark’s Christmas party—he spiked all the egg nog with Asgardian liquor.”

The doors of the elevator slid open soundlessly and you huffed a sigh of relief as you dragged Steve in. You made sure he was propped up against the corner of the elevator, then stepped away to hit the button for his floor. As discreetly as you could, you wiped some sweat from your brow before turning back to Captain America. 

The expression on Steve’s face drew you up short. He was…not frowning exactly. Was that a…pout? 

You tilted your head to the side, your eyes poring carefully over Steve Rogers’ familiar features—the little pinched line between his brows, the dimmed sparkle of his blue eyes, the protrusion of his lush lower lip. You forced yourself not to linger on his mouth, even though it looked particularly inviting…

Yes, that was definitely a pout, you decided. 

Before you could wonder about what you’d said to garner such a reaction from Steve, he was talking. Or, rather, muttering.

“I don’t like it when you call me captain,” he grumbled.

The elevator was nearing Steve’s floor so you moved closer to him again, ignoring the way your body warmed when you pressed into his side and lifted his arm over your shoulder. The fresh scent of him wrapped around you like the most delicious blanket, and you wanted more than anything to be able to breathe it in until it lived permanently in your lungs.

“What should I call you then?” you asked, mostly to distract yourself from your body’s reaction to Steve. He was drunk, and you needed to get yourself under control.

You tried to pull him out of the corner, but you didn’t have enough leverage and instead of budging the big super-soldier, you bounced back into him, landing against his hard chest with a surprised little “oomph.”

Before that moment, you’d known, in theory, that you were only a couple inches shorter than Steve Rogers. But it was easy to forget because he had such a large presence, and he could very easily toss you around that mats of the Avengers Tower gym with his super-strength. 

However, in that moment you learned that the minimal height difference between you and Steve Rogers had a consequence you hadn’t considered. When you fell against his chest, your face was almost perfectly level with his—specifically, your mouth was almost perfectly level with his. 

You could taste the Asgardian rum on Steve’s breath and the thought of closing the distance and licking it from his lips was far more tempting than it should’ve been.

“Steve,” he rumbled, his arm tightening around your shoulders and hauling you even closer. “You should call me Steve.”

Your soft curves molded to the hard planes of his body and your breath caught in your throat as your mind raced, trying to figure out what he was doing. His blue eyes were dark, even under the bright lights of the elevator, and they were fixed very firmly on your lips—but they were still glazed from all he’d had to drink.

“Steve,” you said, his name soft and tortured as it fell from your lips, your eyes dropping to his mouth. 

You knew you couldn’t kiss Captain America while he was drunk, and you knew that if he tried to pull you any closer, you’d have to push him away. But you wanted so desperately to close the distance between your lips, the desire felt like it might incinerate you from the inside out. 

The ding of the elevator arriving at Steve’s floor brought you back to reality and you jumped away from the super-soldier, shaking your head at yourself as you grabbed his arm and heaved his weight onto your shoulders. You dragged him out of the elevator on stumbling feet, your mind spinning with what you’d almost done—what Steve actually had done.

For all the time you’d crushed on Steve Rogers, he’d never shown any indication of reciprocating your feelings. He’d always been just as professional and aloof as you’d been, and you’d taken that to mean he didn’t have any interest in you outside of work. But you were beginning to rethink your assessment…

Thankfully, Steve remained quiet and well-behaved for the trip down the hall to his quarters, and getting him inside seemed a bit easier after your practice with the elevator. You half-carried him to his bed and it took only a little push to have him sit down on the soft mattress.

Somehow, the movement left you standing between Steve’s spread legs, his arm curled around your waist from where it had fallen off your shoulder. His face was close again—closer than it should’ve been as he looked up at you from where he sat.

“Pretty…” he murmured, the fingertips of his free hand reaching for you but hovering just a hair’s breadth away from touching you. “You’re so…pretty.”

Heat suffused your cheeks and you ducked your head. “Steve,” you whined softly, your fingers wrapping around his wrists, trying to extricate yourself from his hold. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” 

“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he said softly, your name falling sweetly from his lips. He brushed his thumb over your cheek so gently, it made your knees wobble.

You’d managed to get some distance from him, but the sound of your name made you stop. You looked at Steve, and his eyes were still slightly glazed from all the spiked egg nog he’d drank. 

You huffed a laugh that was sad and humorless. Of course the only time Steve had shown any interest in you, he was drunk.

“Tell me that again when you’re not drunk and maybe I’ll believe you, Steve,” you said, a little forlornly, and pulled his hand away from your face, dropping it in his lap. 

Stepping backward, you broke out of his hold, ignoring the way he was pouting again.

“Stay with me,” Steve said, his fingers catching the tips of yours as you turned away. 

The desperation in his tone halted your retreat. When you looked at Steve again, his eyes were a little clearer, and his expression was pleading. You didn’t know if it was the best idea to crawl into bed with Captain America while he was drunk. 

You were pretty sure he’d fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, so nothing would happen, but you worried about your heart. If you spent a whole night sleeping in Steve’s bed, breathing in Steve’s scent, it would be that much harder to pretend you didn’t have feelings for him. And you couldn’t seem to imagine he had feelings for you, despite what he’d said.

“Please,” Steve said, his voice cracking slightly. His face was washed in the dim light of the New York City skyline filtering in through the windows, and he looked like a work of art come to life, flawlessly gorgeous features and perfectly expressive eyes.

Your heart thumped in your chest, and were helpless to resist his request.

“OK,” you whispered, twining your fingers with his and giving his hand a small squeeze while you smiled shyly. 

Steve beamed happily at you and then flopped back on the bed. A grin was still fixed on his face while he kicked off his shoes and fought to pull down the blankets so he could slide under them.

You bit back a laugh at his gleeful reaction, shaking your head as you went to the bathroom to clean off your makeup and strip out of your gun holster and shapewear. Thankfully, your dress was comfortable enough to sleep in for one night.

When you returned, you found Steve passed out under the covers still wearing all of his clothes. You took a moment to appreciate his handsome features, softened in sleep, and then slipped into bed beside him, leaving plenty of space between your bodies.

It took you a little while to fall asleep, but the quiet, steady snores coming from Steve helped lull you, and eventually you drifted off.

The soft wintry light of the morning sunrise was just beginning to peak over the Manhattan skyline when you roused, your body bathed in a nearly overwhelming heat that came from something pressed against your back and banded around your waist.

It took you a long, groggy moment to realize the source of that heat was Steve Rogers.

At some point in the night, he must’ve moved closer and wrapped himself around you because one of his arms was curled around your waist while his broad chest was pressed flush against your back. You were so close together, you could feel his steady heartbeat against your spine. 

You must’ve shifted even to wake him because you heard the tenor of Steve’s breathing change. He buried his face in the back of your head and took a deep breath before letting out a contented sigh. 

“Pretty girl,” he mumbled, the words muffled and barely discernable. His arm squeezed tighter around your waist, dragging you even further into the wondrously warm cage of his body.

The sound of you sucking in a sharp breath was loud in the silent bedroom and Steve suddenly tensed. Quick as a flash, he removed his arm from around your waist and shuffled back a few inches, giving you space. 

Cold flooded in, even while you were still buried under the blankets, and you had to fight off a shiver. You missed his warmth, but you also needed to understand what was going on. You took a deep, steadying breath and then rolled over, looking at Steve warily. 

He was propped up on one arm, his blond hair mussed from sleep and his cheeks tinged pink from embarrassment. But his blue eyes were clear and curious, watching your reaction with interest. 

“What did you call me?” you asked in a trembling, hesitant voice. It probably wasn’t the first question you should’ve asked, but you had to know if you’d heard him correctly, and if he’d known he was talking about you when he’d said it.

Steve must’ve recognized the uncertainty in your voice or on your face because his expression softened and he lifted his hand, his fingers tracing the air next to your cheek. He was deliberately not touching you, and you had the urge to close the distance and feel his warm contact.

“You said to tell you you’re pretty when I wasn’t drunk anymore,” he said, his voice low and rough with sleep. His eyes had been wandering over your features, like he was trying to memorize the way they looked in the wintry morning light, but his gaze caught yours before he went on. “Well, I’m not drunk and you’re still the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Steve.” His name was a soft, desperate sound, your heart racing into a gallop as you tried to process the fact that Steve Rogers thought you were pretty. 

Before your mind had caught up, your hands were moving, reaching for Steve, eager to drag him closer. Your fingers were curling around the lapels of his dress shirt and you caught a glimpse of his crooked smile before you were both closing the distance between your bodies, his mouth slanting to yours for a kiss.

Heat and pleasure filled your body and soul, and you kissed Steve Rogers for the first time, your lips pressed together ungracefully in your excitement. After a few moments of blissful fumbling, you settled into a rhythm that was as delicious as it was delightful, made all the more breathtaking by the way you could feel Steve’s reverence for you in the way he held you.

It was a long time before you came up for air, and when you did, you laughed giddily when you saw the way Steve’s eyes were glazed over, a dreamy smile curling his lips, and you knew your expression matched his. He was drunk on kissing you, just as you were drunk on kissing him.

Steve dropped one last sweet kiss to your mouth and then he rolled you onto your side, tucking you into the warmth of his body while you both faced the windows, watching the sun rise over Manhattan. You were for a moment quiet as you enjoyed being with him, but something still bugged you. 

“I still don’t understand why Bruce asked me to help you to bed,” you said, your fingers playing with Steve’s hand that was clasped in yours. “But I’m glad he did, since it led us to this.” You pressed a kiss to his palm, marveling at how even that part of him smelled fresh and wonderful.

At your comment, Steve made a rough sound in his throat, something halfway between a cough and a laugh. It piqued your curiosity and you turned your head, catching his eye over your shoulder.

“That might be my fault,” he admitted, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “I may have confessed to Nat that I think you’re pretty—and she’s been trying to set me up for ages.” 

Suddenly, everything from the night before clicked into place. Natasha and Tony’s conspiring, the way your SHIELD teammates were all otherwise occupied, the fact that Bruce—the least devious, and therefore, least suspicious of all the Avengers—had been the one to ask you to help Steve. 

It was all a very elaborate setup, and you had to feel a little impressed with Natasha, even as you rolled your eyes because it didn’t need to be so complicated. She could’ve just asked if you were interested, and then set you two up on a normal date. Instead, she’d concocted an elaborate scheme, just to get you and Steve alone. 

But you had to admit, it did work…

“You Avengers can never do anything the easy way, can you?” you teased, grinning at Steve over your shoulder. You reached back, fingers twining in his hair and pulling him close enough to brush a kiss to his lips. 

“Now, where would be the fun in that?” Steve murmured playfully against your mouth, kissing you more deeply before settling back down on the bed. 

For the next little while, you watched the December sunrise with Steve Rogers, basking in the feeling of being in his arms while he idly hummed “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” in between brushing delicious kisses to your neck. 

You did have yourself a very merry Christmas indeed.

december daze challenge masterlist

What do you want to read?

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Meeting for the first time:

#meet cute

#meet awkward

#first meetings

Already met:

#established couple

#canon fic  or  #canon divergence

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Light and fun themes:

#rom com

#humor

#fluff

#love confessions

#domestic fluff

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Angsty themes:

#identity porn

#pining

#hurt comfort

#light angst

#angst with a happy ending

#angst with a hopeful ending  or  #hopeful ending

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Some of these may overlap a bit with a couple fics. Remember, if you want a more specific search, just enter in the key words to the search. For example type in “bucky hurt comfort” or “rarepair hurt comfort”, and so on.

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Want to read less graphic themes? Check out:

#gen rated

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For smuttier themes check out:

#bottom bucky barnes

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Want to browse more? this post shows you how.

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-HYBB

soft days [Bucky Barnes]

summary: After facing The Flag Smashers and saving the world once more, Bucky offers you his place to crash after yours got burned to the ground. But with the constant flirting, you almost regret accepting... almost.

prompt: "All you need is a little love, and some freshly baked cookies. But an orgasm never hurt anybody."

pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: +18 smut, Bucky being a smug little shit, language, Shirtless Bucky, fingering, allusions to fem receiving.

A/N: This wasn't proofread. I'll fix the mistakes later. Please leave a like, comment and reblog. Enjoy❤️

Bucky Barnes is a fucking tease. And he fucking knows it.

Through all the months of paperwork, you had to sort through after the Flag Smashers attacked, you realized this annoying little fact when Bucky would walk around the apartment half-naked.

You didn't have a crush on him. You swear you weren't attracted to him and didn't think of him that way. This was of course a complete lie because your brain would short circuit whenever you'd see miles of muscle and black and vibranium gold.

You sat on the couch, typing away and chose to ignore his tall figure as he strode around his kitchen. Or rather, tried to. Your thighs clenched as you watched the muscles on his back muscles flexing while he ransacked the fridge.

He drank from the carton of milk and turned to look at you. "You work too much."

"Well, someone has to." you muttered, focusing on the screen of your laptop.

"When was the last time you ate?" he asked, tilting his head.

For the first time, you really took the time to pause and think about something other than the workload that has been pushing you to the limit. "I think yesterday?"

It hadn't been a few hours into this new day, right? The only time you remember putting something edible in your mouth was in fact yesterday, you just couldn't recall the time. However, you did recall Bucky making a lot of lame jokes and smiling when you almost choked on your food.

God, that smile made you weak.

Then your attention shifted back to your laptop as soon as you put a stop to that train of thought. No need to dwell on those distracting moments. You need to work.

"Yeah, at breakfast." he pointed out, propping down next to you. "Doll, come on."

You chose to ignore him simply for the fact that he chose the worst day to be showing off his godlike form. "Have something to eat."

"Barnes, I'm not in the mood for sugar at this hour." Your brows furrowed as you focused. You might have found a good enough living arrangement just yet. Only for your device to be snatched from your lap. "Wha— Hey!"

He held it in his vibranium hand. "Since when are we on a last name basis now, sweetheart?"

"Since you keep trying to distract me from work and house hunting."

"Am I really that bad?" he smirked, licking his lips. The fucker knew how tempting he fucking was. And how annoying. "I offer you a place to sleep and remind you to eat and take care of yourself."

He leaned further into your space, which made you inhale sharply. You played it off by putting your feet on the couch, adding a barrier between the you two.

"Yeah, and you drink straight from the milk carton." You will never cease the satisfaction you get from calling him out on his bullshit. "Give it back."

"Not until you eat." He waved the pastry in your face.

You brushed him off, rolling your eyes. And then you felt his arm draping over your shoulder. His warmth oozed into your skin, and as did his scent, which did things to your raging mind.

"Just sayin, sweetheart." His hand caressed your knee, slowly gliding further and further and you found your thoughts bending to his will. "All you need is a little love, and some freshly baked cookies."

You watched him safely put the laptop away and closed it. Then he put the pastry on top of it. What you didn't expect was for him to lean closer to you.

"Wh—what're you—" you stuttered feebly, backing away when his nose touched yours, fully aware of the vibranium hand pressed on your ribcage as his stature loomed over you.

"But an orgasm never hurt anyone."

Goddammit, Barnes.

You scowled, feeling your cheeks burn at the lazy grin settling on his smug face. The warmth between your legs grew exponentially with each moment his hand inched closer to your your shorts, his fingers slipping underneath the hem.

You sucked in a shaky breath when his cold fingers instantly made contact with where you wanted him the most. Instantly, your thighs clenched around his hand.

Fuck, he was just touching your clit and it already feels like you were boiling in your own skin. Your teeth caught your bottom lip as you struggled not to let out a sound, as you were struggling to breathe properly.

"Sweetheart, you're drenched." He licked his lips, humming as he observed how your head lolled back. "I've always wondered if you'd taste as good as you look."

"Fuck you..." you hissed through clenched teeth, struggling to keep your eyes open because his fingers -God, his fingers- made tight little circles on your clit.

"Oh, I'm about to."

You hadn't had an orgasm in months. Bucky's enhanced hearing was always that one factor that inhibited you from touching yourself. Whenever the itch needed to be scratched, you drowned yourself in work instead.

Which is why the pressure built rapidly, taking you higher and higher so fast, you were scared of the fall. Heat pooled in your belly, swirling, threatening to burst you right open.

He gave you a smile so dubious when you let out a shaky moan, you thought you were staring straight at a predator. You hadn't realized he was prowling over you until your back hit the couch. His arm being the only thing keeping your legs from shutting in completely.

"You're full of shit."

"And you about to be full of me, baby." You wanted to smack the smug grin off his face.

"Barnes—" you hissed, trying to close your legs, more out of instinct than anything, despite your pussy clenching so tightly around his fingers. He didn't let you, pushing more of his weight on top of you until your knees were on either sides of his torso and he pushed his fingers so deep that your toes curled while you sighed in delight. "Y—you're such a..."

Your hand grasped his wrist, the one between your legs and you didn't realize your hips raised to find more pleasure, more of his touch. You wanted more, but you didn't want to say it. Didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

"Sorry, doll." he said, kissing your neck. "What was that?"

You keened harshly, the heat in your stomach building faster, taking you higher and and higher. Bucky plants another delicate kiss on your pulse, his teeth grazing your collarbone and that had done it.

The orgasm hit you harder than you'd expected. Hot-white pleasure flooding your entire system with a force than numbed every last frantic thought in your mind. Your spine bowed tightly as you barely turned your head to mewl into the cushion that was beside your head.

Leaving you vulnerable, unaware of Bucky's gaze. Unaware of the desire just waiting to be unleashed as he watched you cum on his fingers. For he's waited too long to see this happen in real time. You didn't see how he looked at you, like you were the most precious thing to ever exist because your eyes were tightly shut.

"That's what I thought." Your limbs were too weak to smack him in the face.

You breathed deeply, turning your head in time to see him licking his fingers and a moan slipped through his lips. The sight made your cheeks burn hotter than they already did. Your heart might jump through your chest and that worried you.

He leaned back on his knees and took off his shirt. Then he looked down on you, and you felt more like prey with each passing second.

You gasped when he threw your legs over his shoulders and you see his tongue swiping over his lips as he pulled your shorts off, along with your soaked panties to the side. He siched your legs apart this time, groaning as he kissed your weakened thighs.

"Now sit back and let me help you relax."

───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

I’m With the Band Pt 4

Pairing: RockstarBucky x Rockstar!Steve x Reader

Word Count: 2,000 something..

Summary: You've been Bucky's plaything on his US tour but when he brings drummer Steve home, things heat up.

Warnings: 18+ - Minors, DO NOT INTERACT please! cursing, drinking, unprotected vaginal and anal sex, fingering, light choking, male piercings, dubcon, double penetration, stripping, verbal degredation and humiliation, mild cuckholding, mention of drugs, threesome. There is just lots going on here 😩

--------------------

You had been touring with Buck for nearly two weeks now and your status as a glorified groupie had been solidified after TMZ ran a story the night prior. A paparazzi snafu outside of a haute celebrity steakhouse had made the website’s front page; Bucky’s arm was draped around you, cig hanging out of his mouth. The headline blasted, “Bucky Barnes Steps Out With Barely Legal Floozy - Will it Last?”

All of the negative press and faux glamour was well worth it though because Bucky would perform to sold-out crowds clamouring with screaming co-eds, and then return to you in the earliest hours of the morning to fuck you mercilessly.

You knew the band’s set inside out by now and while you had grown partial to their heavy metal ballads and electric riffs, some nights you just preferred to curl up into your plush hotel robe, watch a cheesy pay-per-view rom-com, and indulge in overpriced room service. But on this particular night, you had no idea what Bucky had up his sleeve.

Like clockwork, Bucky would always stumble in around 3 or 4am, his breath reeking of 80 proof and his fingertips lingering with tobacco resin. Most women wouldn’t tolerate the behaviour and though you had identified his recklessness and boy-like stupor as fatal flaws, you were falling for him. Hard.

He would fuck you with heedless passion - never once inquiring about your feelings or concerns. He couldn’t even throw a rag your way to clean up his salty messes - his sole objective was to get off and if you happened to also find pleasure in the process, he wouldn’t protest. Self-care just wasn’t a part of his repertoire. Bucky was nauseatingly self-serving but you just never questioned it because you were still embarrassingly enamoured with this achingly beautiful rockstar bestowing attention on you.

You laid atop the pillowy soft California King bed, nothing on but a satin La Perla robe that Bucky's black Amex had doled out. You thumbed through your US History textbook, unable to focus on the task at hand - Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello. Bucky should have been back by now. You frantically tapped your acrylic nails on the edge of your phone, anxiously awaiting his return. You thought about texting him but you didn’t need to want to seem needy. He had warned you that it wasn’t cute when you seemed needy.

You heard the muffled laughter of two male voices outside of the room door - two voices? Yeah, definitely two. But this made zero sense because The Winter Soldiers were always under contract to stay on separate floors - hotel policy to discourage the stereotypical rocker raucousness.

As you darted off the bed, Bucky traipsed through the doorway. You made out the second man who followed closely behind - it was Steve Rogers, the drummer. Oh FUCK.

Steve wasn’t a partier like Buck, he was the private, pensive type that ran a militant ten miles each morning and filled his spare time with Seinfeld re-runs or FaceTiming his mom. You had never once witnessed him doing lines or shooting back Jack Daniels at the bar - he just seemed like the foil to Bucky’s rebel without a cause attitude. It was a shock to see him here, honestly. He was usually the first to leave the venue and would never join the boys in their depraved debauchery.

The two men were giddy and as Bucky tripped over the edge of the dresser, he put his ebony-polished finger up to his mouth in a shushing motion, as if you were the one creating racket. Was he too stoned to realize he was the one sneaking into the room like a teenage boy missing curfew? Probably.

“Hiiiiiiiii baby!” Bucky purred as he threw his flimsy hotel keycard haphazardly onto the table and stumbled towards the couch. “We just played a fuckin’ amazing show and I told Stevie he should come back and party with us.”

You glared, eyes narrowing scornfully. Really, Bucky?Post-show sex was something you had grown accustomed to and you weren’t really sure how Steve would fit into that equation. You were instantly cranky, knowing that your nightly dick appointment had been ruined by the tall, blonde super soldier.

Steve slunk into the sofa, a domestic beer in hand. "Did you have a good night, hun?" Hun, huh?

You tightened the the silken robe around your waist curtly, crossed your arms, bottom lip pouty and possessive, on the verge of a tantrum. “Bucky.. what the hell? I wasn't planning to entertain guests.”

Bucky completely ignored your clear disdain for the situation. “Why don’t you give us a lil’ striptease, eh?” He grabbed the silky tassels of your robe and pulled you toward him harshly, almost falling into his lap as you teetered uneasily. You considered protesting but after ogling Steve and realizing how effortlessly gorgeous he looked just non-chalantly vibing on the couch, you decided to let the night play out.

Steve had been so attentive throughout the entire tour, bringing you London Fogs from local cafes or making sure you had the best spot to watch the show at every venue. You sometimes felt homesick and Steve empathetically clued in, trying his best to provide creature comforts or lend an ear when you tried working through your college assignments. You were sure he was just being polite, part of his traditional upbringing, but it went a long way because Bucky never seemed to give a shit about you unless he was blowing your back out.

You swayed from side to side, hooking a strand of hair behind your ear as you plopped onto Steve’s lap. “Go on, dance up on him baby,” Bucky commanded as he threw back a swig of whatever alcoholic concoction he was sipping on, stretching his legs out eagerly.

Steve was so much bigger than Bucky - bigger shoulders, bigger quads - his bigger hands gently squeezing the top of your thighs. You could assume that he was bigger everywhere as the outline of his length tented in his navy velour trousers.

You could have sworn he whispered, “you’re beautiful.”

Your brow creased with confusion as he thumbed his way up your supple thighs and towards the vulnerable gap between your legs. You just knew your pupils were blown out, dumbstruck, clit throbbing. You recoiled at his touch, it felt wrong for Bucky’s best friend to be pawing at you and for you to be enjoying it.

Bucky sat across from you, legs splayed out, elbows resting on his knees and gazing at you two intently. He wasn't a cuck but he clearly had an hidden kink for watching.

This came as a shock because Bucky was territorial and would seethe with envy when other men leered at you. Whenever you were hit on in public, Bucky took out his jealous frustration on you - whether that meant shoving his hands up your dress and curling a few fingers up into you, or fucking you up against the bathroom wall mere moments after a harmless gentleman caller called you cute. He may have been a rockstar but insecurity still permeated from him.

“You gonna let us take turns, babe?” Bucky yanked the side table drawer open and grabbed a bottle of sticky, well-used lube. “Or you gonna smarten up and let us take a hole each?” He glanced at Steve, hoping for an air high five or a “yeah, man!” in return. But Steve was laser-focused on groping your smooth, tanned thighs.

“She’s so tight, Steve.. tightest chick I’ve ever split open,” he bragged, undoing his pants to expose his bare, inflating cock. You hated when he talked about you like you weren’t even in the room. You hated it.

It was clear to you that Bucky was going to offer you up as some sort of sacrificial lamb tonight but you were oddly fine with the arrangement. You fixated on Steve, the sexual tension mounting for weeks. He grazed the back of his palm against your cheek, “you smell like peaches, angel.”

Bucky grabbed you by the forearm, mounting you over the edge of the couch. Firm hands gripped your waist, “bend over.. gonna fuck this sweet ass,” he hissed, pushing the small of your back forward and hiking your robe up. You had never taken anything, not even so much as a single finger, in that hole. Bucky knew you wanted to keep anal off limits but tonight, he craved popping your cherry and his violent decisiveness made your pussy throb. Or maybe it was Steve's sweet sweeping motions as his hand inched towards your clit. Or maybe it was both.

“C’mon Stevie, come fuck this skank,” Bucky beckoned. Steve dropped his trousers and revealed his length. Yep, definitely bigger.

“You got a box of rubbers, Buck?” He looked around curiously, scanning for a box of Magnums. Bucky huffed, you both knew he didn’t do condoms.

And while Steve was trying his best to be respectful, in this moment he could still be reduced to a typical hormonal thirty-something. The sight of his best friend bending you over had him pumping his meaty cock hungrily.

This entire interaction had made your brain go all fuzzy. Bucky splattered a long string of lube into his hand, dragged it along his length, and rammed his cock into the tight ring of virgin muscle. "Jesus, fuckin' hell, this ass is so damn tight, baby doll," he moaned, pushing himself into you deeper, no regard for you. The silver metal ring first, then the tip, then his entire engorged cock. Your eyes rolled back, tears welled in your eyes, and you knew instinctively to fight through the punch of pain and pressure.

“Steve…” you struggled to get the words out, sharp breaths escaping your lips as Bucky rhythmically smashed inside your tight ass, desperation dripping from you. You needed him inside you, too. You looked up at him, long eyelashes fluttering. He couldn’t resist.

Steve approached correctly, peeling his tight onyx wifebeater to reveal a chest inked with tats. His thick cock in hand, he used your slick to slide in underneath Bucky, gently pushing into your pretty pink entrance. You expected him to rut into you furiously, just like Bucky always did. But Steve fucked into you with slow, gentle strokes. Bucky shot him a dirty look, “Man.. she’s not gonn’ break, fuck her!”

Though you couldn’t see his face, you heard Steve hum lowly into your ear, “every piece of you is perfect .. sooo tight.” You lapped up every scrap of praise he threw at you.

Steve picked up the pace, stretching you out with his girth. You could feel both buff men inside you, could feel radiating friction - feel their lengths touching - just a sheath of thin skin between them. Measured cadence as they both pumped back and forth inside you made you realize why these two were some of the most revered musicians - they were so in sync. Bucky’s cock dragged in and out of your virgin hole while Steve’s swollen length pierced your velvety walls. It was ecstasy.

Bucky jammed his index finger into your mouth, tugging violently - his signature move. You knew he wasn’t going to last much longer because his thrusts got shorter and faster, his cock entirely engorged with blood, his breaths shallow. He pulled out with wanton disregard, ropes of his white pleasure marking your back.

"Good girl..” he huffed, “I need a smoke.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead and slicked his jet black hair back, sliding the glass balcony door open.

It was just you and Steve now and you were glad one of the super soldiers had vacated your body. You loved being filled up to the brink but it was a relief to not be air-locked any longer. Steve bent down as he was balls-deep inside you, dusting your ear with his knuckles and whispering, “are you gonna cum for me, pretty thing?”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, ruminating over your response, butterflies swelling in your stomach. Bucky never asked what you wanted, he just took what he needed and left you with the fallout. You nodded weakly, “I..I wanna cum for you.”

He dipped his left hand down between your thighs, rubbing your clit in small, quick motions. “Do you like that, angel?” You were absolutely cockdrunk on this man and nodded sloppily, your walls pulsing. Steve kissed the side of your neck, “I’m going to cum inside you, peaches - uhhnn - you’re such a perfect girl for Steve.” Bucky would be back any moment and he wouldn’t like this - Steve was here to give you a nasty fuck, not romance you.

Steve fucked you beautifully, every languid motion deliberate and well-timed. It made sense that he was a drummer - his rhythm was immaculate. It was the closest thing to making love a rockstar could offer up. It didn’t make sense but it didn’t matter.

You became entirely untethered as a wash of pleasure swept over you. He peppered your shoulders with kisses as he shot his creamy load deep inside.

As you heard the glass door slide shut, you jolted up and snapped out of the fucking tizzy Steve had put you in. “How was it bud? Wasn’t she a good fuck?” Bucky asked rhetorically.

“Yeah bro, she’s a good gal,” he replied as he tugged his trousers back on. “I better go, we got Tokyo 101.2 in the morning.”

Steve left without a word to you, likely because he didn’t want to piss off Bucky and get you into any trouble. He knew Bucky had a viciously jealous temper and Steve was just grateful his buddy was willing to share you. No need to rock the boat, especially if he wanted this sexual relationship to continue.

Relishing in the obscenely depraved romp you had just been gifted, you fetched a cold bottle of Perrier from the mini-bar and plunked down on the bed. You were a puddle of emotions, eyes glazed over, dumbfounded at what happened. What was his motive? Bucky was his best friend, his bandmate, hell - he was pretty much his platonic life partner. It just didn't make sense.

You flicked off the bedside lamp and crawled into bed with Bucky, the sun just beginning to peek over the Santa Ana mountains.

-------------------- Bucky had slunk out of the suite at an ungodly hour to meet up with Steve for the Japanese press junket. He probably hadn’t slept more than an hour or two at best. Selfishly, you were just relieved that you could sprawl out in the bed and get a few more hours of beauty sleep before the jaunt to San Diego.

You were startled awake with a rap at the door, still groggy. Your lower body swelled with a dull ache - you really pushed your limits the night prior and would just be smitten with any kind of pain reliever. You rubbed your eyes and slinked out of bed, kicking on your pink shearling slippers.

You shuffled to the door, yawning widely as you unlatched and swung it open. It was concierge with a bouquet of big, beautiful Stargazer lilies. The note affixed to the flowers read, “Good morning, peaches." Two extra-strength Advil were taped to the note.

You gulped anxiously, acutely aware of the triangle that had unintentionally formed. Thirty-four dates were still remaining on the tour and things just got really interesting.

--------------------------

Thank you sooo much for reading, my angels !

All other parts can be found here

fanfiction isn’t enough, I need to chew on him

this is facts

so lemme get this straight. bucky asks steve if he's "keeping the outfit", and steve decides on the spot that yes!!, he is in fact keeping the outfit, as of right now. because bucky likes it. so then steve goes out of his way to have what is essentially a padded, more functional version of his stage costume specially made, and proceeds to sneak around enemy bases in his signature stars-and-stripes outfit, in lieu of a more sensible camo uniform - or, you know, anything that wouldn't make him stick out like a sore thumb amongst the greenery - all because bucky liked it. and then bucky goes and matches him with his own fashionable blue jacket, because they're just that married. am i forgetting something