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mannien · 2 hours

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I’m surprised to see in the tags you saying this is not worth the wait. I get it as a writer, but at the same time, as your reader… let me say that is worth every time I have today, okay? This is beautifully written, the dynamics are hard to match, the conversations are on point, I’m in awe and absolutely glad to be procrastinating at work just to read your works. You are one of these writers that restore my hope in fanfics being high quality literature, I absolutely love coming back to your page after a while, and at the same time hate myself for forgetting about your blog in the past weeks.

You are golden.

Bucky Barnes | Series | Loose

Part two of the Rebellion Series

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: You and Bucky have no idea whether you can trust each other. There is an understanding, but you're not sure of what that understanding is and why it seems to run so deep.

Warning: Angst, violence and fluff (?)

Words: 4,1OO

It is hard enough already for Bucky to fall asleep at night. Yes, it has gotten better in recent years, but there will always be that part of him – awake and aware – that registers every sound and movement, even when he should be knocked out. Though he wouldn’t admit it, that part of him sat more alert ever since you had joined the building. Perhaps because Bucky still wasn’t so confident in your allegiance.

He can’t stop overthinking it. He has seen what you’re capable of. Would you be capable of even more if people cornered you? If you felt like you had no other choice but to manipulate and kill your way out? After all, wasn’t it possible that you felt like you had moved from one prison to the next?

You’d been a delight at dinner two nights ago, but Bucky can’t turn off his brain. This is the part that made you win people over. The way you’d gotten along with Natasha like a house on fire, the way you’d shared stories like you and his team had been friends all along… Yet you had no trouble letting a side of yours slip through the cracks that tantalised Bucky beyond belief. The way you had looked at him, teased him–

The faintest rustle has Bucky shooting back to his current place in time. Lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. He holds his breath in an effort to hear better.

Nothing.

However, something doesn’t sit right. Something is off. He’d learned that hypervigilance was a side effect of his trauma, but he had a hard time believing his intuition would betray him like that. Not when he had relied on it so successfully for years.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” he whispers to the dark ceiling.

“Yes, sergeant Barnes?”

“Is everyone in their respectable rooms?” he tries.

“I cannot divulge that information,” the voice sounds and Bucky sighs. He musters up some strength and swings off his duvet before climbing out of bed.

Yeah, he doesn’t trust you for a second.

…

Your heart is pounding in your throat. This isn’t part of your skillset – the escape and combat. Though perhaps if you do the former correctly, you won’t have to resort to the latter. Escaping the compound had been surprisingly easy, which strangely made your chest hurt. It was way too easy to escape. But it made sense. Steve had told you that you weren’t being held captive and you being here was all in good faith.

Faith you just broke by making your escape.

You probably should have been more patient. Winning their trust a bit more and then making an escape, make sure they really don’t see it coming. But the dinner had made you antsy and impatient. You had to get out.

If you’re entirely honest with yourself, you know that getting attached to a new group of people and deciding to escape then – or worse, leading them into their demise later – would be worse than getting away now that no one has attached themselves to you. Or you to them…

Breaching the edge of the surrounding forest, you finally let go of the breath you’ve been holding. You did it. Out of sight, out of mind. You’re free. No more captivity, no more expectations. All you need to do now is leave the country, change your name and possibly dye your hair. Sounds easy enough. A bit dramatic, but not impossible.

That is, until you get dragged backwards by a hand over your mouth and you lose your footing. The hard body behind you is the only thing keeping you from tumbling to the muddy forest grounds. Your breathing is ragged as your hands both fly to grab the forearm attached to the hand covering your yelp.

The metal forearm.

“Rule number one of making your escape: never assume you’re in the clear,” Bucky’s voice rumbles through the night air, his mouth so very close to your ear. “Shouldn’t have dropped your guard when you reached the edge of the forest.”

His gloved hand removes itself from your mouth, but you know better than to make a run for it, or to scream. He twists you by your shoulders and you muster some playful guilt to your face, masking your disappointment. Disappointment… but you feel strangely relieved. Maybe the largeness of finally being free felt somewhat overwhelming. Move to another country and change your name? It’s ridiculous. And that, when the people here have been so patient and kind to you…

You let out a soft laugh, “Worth a shot, no?”

Bucky studies you intently and something in your gut stirs at it. Not even Natasha seems to have as good of a read on you as Bucky does. It makes you feel naked. Makes you feel like all of your carefully crafted plans are flimsy and no good. Makes you feel like you have to stay far, far away from Bucky. Like you need to run. Now.

And how the hell did he manage to figure out you were making your escape?

You wait for him to tell you off, preach against your indolence and call in backup to shove you into something more similar to a prison cell. But Bucky sighs, disappointed and tired.

He seems so, so tired.

“Let’s go back inside,” he says and you furrow your brows at him.

His defeat has your chest clenching tightly. You want him to punish you, scold you. At least show that he cares. Why? You’re not sure. Maybe you need to know that the relief you felt from being caught is somewhat mutual in a sense. That the people here don’t just see you as a weapon, despite the burden, but that you’re someone worth saving. Worth keeping around.

Worth healing.

“That’s it?” you ask. “No scolding or punishment?”

Bucky scoffs humourlessly. “You get a kick out of punishment, darling?”

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.”

“I’m not your fucking baby sitter,” he mutters and starts walking back to the building, rightfully assuming you’ll follow. “If you want, I can ask Steve to tell you off in the morning. He’s better at that sort of thing anyway.”

Some pathetic part of you wants to sulk at his response like an ill-tempered child. “Then why come after me?”

It stays quiet for a second as you cross the field towards the compound. “I couldn’t let a poor escape plan be successful.”

You can’t help but snort at that answer and decide that fine, you’d play along for now. But you wonder if the curious Bucky you’d seen a few days ago had completely vanished since that dinner.

…

The next morning, Bucky gets cornered by you after breakfast. He looks down his nose at your defiant face.

“You didn’t tell anyone about last night?” you ask him and he raises his brows, unimpressed.

It had surprised you that no one at breakfast mentioned anything or gave you even so much as a dirty look. Clearly, none of them are aware that you tried to make your escape last night. And you cannot for the life of you figure out why Bucky is taking it easy on you. Is he smart enough to assume that your own guilt will do more damage than he ever could? Is this part of some bigger scheme of his? Perhaps he is actually as tired and unbothered as he looked when you saw him in those woods.

“What happened last night?” he asks with a telling smirk. The current look on your face is worth the lack of sleep he had tonight. It’s too easy to rattle you. You roll your eyes and Bucky smirks even wider at that. Is he… flirting?

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” you try again.

Bucky remains quiet and fights to keep a straight face. He did expect your question, but why didn’t he tell anyone? Because he thought you and him would get along after those tiny moments during that first dinner. Because the team would have let you walk away. Because Bucky doesn’t want you to go. Because he thinks he can help. Help the world. Help you. He thinks he can help you. And you can help him. And–

“Want me to tell them now?” he says instead.

He barely notices the flash of panic in your eyes before you cover it with an annoyed scoff and turn on your heel to walk away. He watches you. Every step until you are out of sight.

“You said she trusts you,” Steve’s voice sounds from behind him and Bucky schools his face back to bland interest before he turns to Steve. “That doesn’t look like she trusts you.”

“It’s a work in progress.”

Steve frowns pensively. “Well, speed up the process. We have an important mission and we need her for it.”

“What?” Bucky almost loses his restraint, his body flaring in alarm. “Steve, she hasn’t had any training. She was locked up for months. It’s too big of a risk–”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate, Buck,” Steve tells him regretfully, but instantly notices that Bucky isn’t buying it. “This is the thing we needed her for.”

“She isn’t some kind of weapon!” Bucky exclaims and he notices Natasha turning away from her conversation in the nearest common room to see what the commotion is about. He gives her a warning look, then lowers his voice. “Steve. This could’ve been me,” Bucky breathes. And there it is. Recognition flickers in Steve’s eyes. “We can’t use her like this. She’s all alone.”

Steve looks past Bucky’s shoulder as if you’re still walking away from him. Angry frown, uptilted chin and swaying hips– Bucky almost looks. Then Steve sighs and looks back at his friend. “Take all the time you need. If she’s ready, I’ll explain the mission to her. I think she might want to help.”

…

Bucky reads over the file until his eyes turn bleary. Steve was right, you will want to help.

He thinks you can handle it, but… what if you encounter a trigger on the way? What if it all becomes too much? Bucky realises he isn’t nearly close enough to care this much, and he doesn’t, but who else but him is going to care whether you live or die? Sometimes Bucky wonders if even you care whether you live or die. What would have happened to Bucky if everyone had given up on him? He knows damn well that he’d be long dead if not so many people found him useful.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Bucky never had a choice. So he finds himself knocking at your door at 10pm with the file in hand.

After opening the door, you barely manage to get a word out before Bucky extends the folder towards you. “Steve needs your help on this. It should be fine, but the choice is up to you.”

Quick. Brief. He’s just the messenger and the decision is all yours. Bucky turns and makes to walk away – before you can spot all of the thoughts crossing his mind – but your voice stops him.

“Will you be there?”

The question takes him by surprise. Turning back towards you and slowly walking to the doorframe you’re standing under, he creases his brows together. “You need me to come along?”

You shrug abashedly. “Will you?”

Bucky studies your face intently. “Yes,” he lies. He’ll figure something out with Steve.

“What if I can’t do what you need me to do?” There it is again. He doesn’t get why this vulnerable side of you keeps surprising him so much.

“You’ll be useful,” are his terrible words of comfort. He wants to palm himself in the face.

The suppressed smile you give him heats his face and he’s sure you’ll call him out on his horrible people skills, but you stay quiet. The silence grows and grows and Bucky starts to shift nonchalantly, wondering if he should walk off and let you read the file in private.

“Okay,” you say softly.

“You’re coming?”

“Yes,” you affirm and look up at him, handing the file back. “Do you not want me to go?”

“It’s your choice,” he tells you and gently takes the folder.

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

Some wall snaps up inside of him at that tone – at that hopeful look in your eyes. “You could use the mission to make your escape,” he says with a shrug and makes to turn away from you again. “I won’t stop you this time.”

He walks away, leaving you to gape at his retreating form.

…

The mission was simple enough.

Sam, Natasha, Bucky and you would be attending a gala. Supposedly, there is a certain divide between the guests in attendance. Your job is mainly to feel out just who will be willing to join your cause. What goed unsaid is that you’re also required to butter them up to spring into action when your team would deem it necessary.

The party is in full swing and everyone is finally losing their mask of formality and enjoying their evening. You just hit the sweet spot of their susceptibility and you sweep into casual conversation about politics. Seeing who keeps quiet, who isn’t scared to speak up, whose faces harden at the prospect of change, etcetera. All of your antennas are on and when you know people have stopped paying attention to you, that’s when you dare a glance across the room where you know Bucky is standing.

All dapper and handsome, wearing a very expensive suit.

All of you have taken thorough action to look exceptional and to blend in perfectly with the high class crowd. Being charming is easy enough, looking it was a necessity – yet, all of it does still feel very far removed from yourself. Like a betrayal to the woman who was locked up mere weeks ago. However, being a true professional, you don’t allow your thoughts to linger too much and channel back to the matter at hand.

Then you feel it.

The searing heat that starts at your legs and spreads all the way up to your chest and cheeks. Like a virus burning over your skin. And you know what it is – know who it is. So you look back in the direction of Bucky, if only to catch him in the act.

But he’s unbothered. Brooding and observing from the bar in the shadow of the room, somehow alone and undiscovered by most of the crowd (a skill you assume he has acquired over the years). And his eyes are still on you. They glide down and back up for even more emphasis and you swallow away the dryness in your throat.

Gliding a sensual hand over the arm of the man next to you, you excuse yourself with a warm smile and slowly stride over to the culprit. Bucky waits patiently, and you swear you see a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as you walk over. He hands you a spare glass of champagne and turns his back to the room when you’re close enough to hear him.

“It’s working,” he says and you swear he sounds slightly impressed.

“Did you assume I’d fuck up?” you taunt and lean over the bar, sipping at the glass flute between your fingers. Bucky turns to you and his eyes sweep over the curve of your partly exposed back, the hollow of your spine and the curve of your ass. Then he holds his breath for a moment.

“Wouldn’t be mad if you did,” he tells you and his tone sounds gentle. You know that’s why he’s here, even though neither of you said it out loud, you know he’s here to stick up for you if you can’t get it done yet. If you’re not ready to be that person again.

Just like he probably knows that you’re here because the guilt of trying to escape from your saviours was eating you alive. And you didn’t want to prove Bucky right by escaping. You had glanced at the exits a few times and debated it, yes, but then looked at your team and thought against it. Looked at Bucky and–

“We’ll leave in five minutes,” Bucky murmurs as he finishes his glass. “I noted down all the people you signed as potential allies and who definitely isn’t.”

“There’s a few we can convince to help,” you cut in.

“What? The woman who runs that capitalist shitshow?” Bucky frowns. “Nah, she’s only motivated by money.”

You smile at him knowingly. “Money is a great motivator and our movement could benefit her greatly, so you just have to nudge her in the right direction.”

Bucky studies your face then and you might have found it less penetrating when he looked at your body with that stare. That intrigue. “And you already have a plan to tip her over to our side,” he concludes.

“You chose me for this for a reason, did you not?” you ask.

His eyes drop to your mouth. “I like a woman who takes her job seriously.”

You have no idea where that came from, but decide to go along with it anyway. You smirk and empty your flute, gently setting it down on the bar after. “Here I was, thinking you didn’t like anyone,” you purr and saunter off to find your other teammates and round up today’s mission.

You turn around when you hear Bucky yelling out your name, but then the room spins and debris flies everywhere. You’d cry out if the wind didn’t whoosh from your body and your ears don’t hollow out. You want to voice your discovery, as futile as it is, but the scream dies in your throat.

Someone just blew up the building.

…

It feels like there’s ash in your mouth. And throat. Your body bleats in pain, but nothing too severely. Maybe you’re in shock. Maybe you can’t feel a limb that’s no longer there. Maybe–

The room is dark except for an orange hue that travels over the ceiling and walls every few seconds. You’re slumped in a velvet chair and your fingers pluck softly at the fabric. One by one, your senses weave together and you hear the soft sounds of someone working on something. Paper ruffling, some gentle work, someone who’s trying to be quiet. You rasp in a raw breath and see a shadow at the bottom of your vision. But your body is relaxed. Or… Well, as relaxed as it can be.

There was an explosion.

“Have some water,” Bucky offers from his kneeling position between your legs and nudges his chin to the glass at the small table next to your chair. His voice is soft, raw. And when you squint at him while you blindly reach for the glass, you see soot on his face, dust on his suit.

“Are you alright?” you ask and your voice reminds you to take the drink. The water feels like heaven in your throat and you nearly gulp down the whole glass.

Bucky pauses at your question and surely he didn’t expect that to be your first question. “I’m fine,” he grumbles and focuses on the task at hand. Which, you quickly realise, is cleaning up the wound on your thigh.

Next to him, there’s a small container with small shards of glass in there and a used pair of tweezers. You feel the prickle of the wound at your thigh and observe closely as he presses some gauze to the puncture wounds. His hands are firm and steady as he wraps a bandage around your thigh to secure the gauze. His calluses scrape against your soft skin and you almost swear he takes more time than he should securing the bandage.

You heave a deep sigh and straighten up in the chair. “Natasha and Sam?”

“Natasha was sent to hunt down the ones responsible and needed an aerial patrol, so she took Sam.” Bucky clenches his jaw and you have a feeling it took some convincing to get Bucky to not go after the bastards himself, to let Natasha handle it instead. “There were deaths, lots of wounded.”

You flinch at that.

Bucky notices it. The glaze over your eyes and the tightening of your fingers into the soft fabric of the chair. He barely allows himself to hesitate and he cover your left hand with his right one, taking your fingers and stroking his thumb over your knuckles. “We got out as many as we could, no one saw the explosion coming,” he explains and hopes the information brings you some peace. He’s desperate to take that haunted look off your face, but doesn’t know how.

He gives you time then. Allows you to sort through your memories and shush them. He strokes his thumb gently and squeezes your fingers every once in a while to anchor you to here, to being safe. Your breaths go from shallow to deep as they slow. He hears your heartbeat steady and watches clarity fill your eyes again.

Fuck him. Those eyes.

“Tomorrow, we go over your list and see what we can do. Let’s get some rest for now.” He pushes to a stand and moves to remove his hand from yours, but you hold onto him.

“I’m sorry for trying to escape,” you rasp and Bucky tenses at that. He did not expect that confession. Didn’t expect an apology either – he didn’t think one was warranted.

You slowly push to a stand and Bucky’s heartbeat spikes as you wobble on your legs before you steady yourself. His eyes search your face frantically and he tries not to linger at your lips for too long. You gently stroke a hand down his arm before brushing past him in thanks, and Bucky has to take a deep breath. A flash of you doing the same thing to one of tonight’s guests comes to him and jealousy hits him, a little too viciously. Just like it did when he saw it earlier tonight.

He turns around and watches as you walk up the small bag he packed for an instance like this. You pull out some clothes and Bucky shamelessly stares while you do it. He almost sighs as the sight of that orange hue travelling over your form, most of the sleek dress still intact and definitely still doing its job of making you look good enough to eat.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he blurts. But he stands still as he watches you freeze. You slowly turn to him and tilt your head at him curiously.

Then, a slow smirk spreads over your face and your brows raise playfully. Bucky frowns as he tries to read the expression on your face, even if the lightness of it makes him want to drop to his knees in relief. This is much, much better than that haunted look that was there mere minutes ago.

Until one of your hands lifts from the bag, a small scrap of lace dangling from your fingers. “I am never letting you pack our getaway bag again.”

Bucky matches your smirk and strides over to you, close enough that you have to tip your chin up to remain eye contact. “You can choose not to wear it,” he shrugs and the nonchalant gesture makes your legs weak. Slowly, he starts unbuttoning his own pants and shirt, stripping himself of his clothes and tempting you to break that eye contact. “But we’re sharing a bed, so you decide what is less tempting for me to look at.”

It takes everything inside of you not to balk at this… flirtation. But it’s nice – so fucking nice to deflate that balloon of tension after a mission like the one you had tonight. To have banter and humour and perhaps a little friendship.

“I better not catch you looking at all,” you snipe, but have a hard time keeping the smile off your face.

Bucky smiles too then and gives you a wink powerful enough to set your clothes aflame. “Too bad. You can’t ask that of me and look like that.”

That does render you a bit speechless and Bucky takes his win as he strips himself to his boxers. Climbing under the sheets, Bucky’s powerful body shifts and ripples with movement.

This is going to be a long night.

#fic rec #bucky #do not lose it #for later

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mannien · 19 hours

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Everything You Want

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (Mob!Bucky AU)

Word Count: 1,344

Summary: There's no one you trust more than your husband and he always knows exactly what you want.

Author's Note: Just because I love the idea of being in such a trusting and loving relationship that you can have this kind of fun (whether it's a fantasy or not). Also, we know I love a soft mob!Bucky who will do anything for his girl- even 'give up' control (or let her think he is hehe) Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Dvider by the lovely @firefly-graphics Thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: It's fun and flirty and there's tension and softness, ora-l (m rec), some light dirty talk.

“Where do you think you’re goin’ dressed like that doll face?”

You startle with a yelp and drop your earring, scowling at your husband.

“Buck!”

The muscles in his throat work as he grazes you with a head-to-toe perusal and saunters closer. His splayed hand smooths down your back as he bends to pick up the fallen jewelry. You reach out for it but he pulls it away and takes your chin between his fingers, turning your head so he can put the earring on himself.

“You didn’t answer my question doll.”

“Out with the girls. You know that.”

He spins you around and tugs you against his chest, humming low in his throat when you slide your hands down his chest.

“You need to change.”

Your mouth falls open in shock and you practically shout, “I absolutely DO NOT!”

His lips twitch with a smile and he backs you toward the dresser, pinning you in place with his body.

“I can’t come with you tonight. I have business to address.”

“I know. And you’re not invited anyway. It’s girls night.”

You try to cross your arms over your chest but he presses closer and prevents any further movement.

His stare is dangerous but you lift your chin and stare right back.

“You just love to drive me crazy; don’t you doll?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mm,” he purrs, dipping his head, his lips hovering just above yours as his fingers trail down the side of your throat.

Your eyes close and your fingers tighten in the expensive fabric of his shirt. His stubbled jaw scrapes along your neck and his hands continue their slow worship of all your exposed skin. His kiss is possessive and his lips linger until you’re hot and bothered and wanting nothing more than him.

“Behave,” he whispers along the shell of your ear.

With one last soft kiss he winks at you and steps away, turning to walk toward his office and call Steve.

You let out an exhale and smooth your hands over your clothing, setting your shoulders back before you head for the door.

“I thought it was girls night,” Steve chuckles from behind Bucky as they approach the door.

“It is,” Bucky answers.

The bouncer sees Bucky and immediately moves over to hold the door open, nodding as he and Steve bypass the line of people waiting to get in.

“She’s gonna be mad Boss.”

“No she’s not. This is exactly what she wants.”

Loud music and laughter greet them when they walk inside.

Bucky glances back at Steve with a satisfied smirk before motioning to the bar. With a simple tilt of recognition Steve takes his post, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings.

It’s still early, the bar isn’t yet filled to capacity but it’s busy. Several people are already dancing and Bucky does a double take.

There you are, a drink in hand, dancing with your friends in the middle of the floor. As he moves closer, he notices that your skin is slightly dewy from exertion and your dress is clinging to your curves as you move your hips to the rhythm of the music.

He would stand there and keep watching but he isn’t the only one enjoying the show. When one random guy elbows his buddy and gestures in your direction, Bucky’s feet are moving purposefully toward you before the other men even get up from their table.

As he gets closer, you look up as if sensing him and when your eyes scan his face, your lips part slightly before sweeping over the rest of him. With a lick of your lips you watch and wait.

He crooks his finger at you and you sway toward him, wrapping your arms around his neck and stretching yourself flush against his body.

Letting your attention fall to his mouth, your fingers trace over his shoulders and down his chest, toying with the open collar of his shirt.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you tell him then kiss the exposed skin near his neck.

Your lips trace a path higher and graze along his scruffy jaw, ending where your mouths meet. He kisses you hungrily and when you moan in your throat he reluctantly pulls away.

“Well, I happen to own the place,” he says with a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah…” you trail off. “You own just about…”

He cuts off the rest of your thought with a kiss and you melt closer, pressing all your softness against him.

Your fingers slip between the strained buttons of his shirt and when you feel his muscles tense under your touch you smile against his lips.

“I was behaving…just so you know.”

“Oh I do know doll. But I also know you’ve been waiting for me to show up and I never like to disappoint my wife.”

Your eyes sparkle and using his shoulders for leverage, you lean up and whisper in his ear.

“Bucky, take me somewhere private. Where you can rip these panties off and fuck me hard.”

“Fuck,” he hisses as his hands drop to your hips and he hauls you into him, letting you feel the affect of your words. “Are you out of your damn mind saying something like that to me in public baby doll? It’s all I can do right now not to bend you over the bar and fuck you senseless with everyone watching. Maybe it would teach you to be more careful with that mouth.”

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip and you look up at him through your lashes.

“My mouth knows exactly how…”

Before your words are fully spoken, he starts dragging you across the dance floor, heading in the direction of the office at the back end of the bar.

He pulls you through a door into a dark, empty hallway, the only light illuminating the corridor emanating from the exit sign at the other end. The music is muffled and all you can focus on is your mingled heavy breathing.

“On your knees doll.”

Every cell in your body hums with needy anticipation and you fall to your knees without a single hesitation.

Your hands meet in a tangle as you both struggle to unbuckle his belt and lower the zipper of his dress pants. You devour the sight of him so hard and ready.

He braces one hand above you on the wall, the other gripping the back of your head and urging you forward. At the last second, just before your tongue makes contact, he stops you.

“Uh huh doll face. First, you finish what you were going to say. Your mouth knows exactly how…what?

You look up from your position at his feet and grip the base of his cock.

“My mouth knows exactly how you like it.”

You flick your tongue out and lick the tip, making him groan. He guides himself between you lips and you moan at the smooth feel of him on your tongue. Your hand strokes in time with your mouth, faster and faster until you feel him start to tremble.

“Baby doll, stop. Now. Fuck, please stop.”

You exult in his loss of composure and ignore his request, unable to get enough of having your powerful and possessive husband falling apart for you. You swirl your tongue around the tip, then suck it hard, distantly hearing his metal fist connecting with the wall.

He drags you to your feet and pushes you back against the hard wall.

“Spread those thighs wide for me,” he growls.

His hand reaches beneath your dress and rips at the thin material of your panties and all the while you focus on his flushed face and the desperation you see there.

“Wait.”

You say the word in a whispered rush and he stills.

“Doll,” he warns through clenched teeth.

“Taste me first.”

He groans out a curse and kneels at your feet, hiking one of your legs over his shoulder before grabbing your hips and eagerly burying his face between your legs.

@randomfandompenguin @goldylions @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @hiddles-rose @buckysdollforlife @lizette50

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mannien · 19 hours

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Unwanted: Chapter 26, Unsurprising - Pt. 5

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of sex.

Word Count: 1.4k

Previously On...: Nat gave you some very interesting, and disturbing news.

A/N: ::giggles like school girl::

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

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“Buck,” you hissed, shaking his sleeping form. You hadn’t been on the phone with Nat for that long; there’s no way he should be sleeping this deeply already. “Wake the fuck up!”

He groaned and rolled over, looking at you through sleepy eyes. “Pocket?” he groaned, bringing up a hand to rub at his forehead. “I told you, I’m not just gonna fuck you if it doesn’t mean anything.”

You shoved him. “That’s not why I’m here, asshat!” you hissed. “Something’s happened!”

Bucky bolted upright and flipped on the bedside lamp. “What is it?” he asked, looking alarmed as he ran his eyes over your frame. “Are you alright? Are there complications? Do you need to go back to the hospital?” You were surprised that his immediate response was concern for your welfare, though you shouldn’t have been– Bucky had always been protective– until it came to protecting you from his actions, of course.

“No,” you said, reassuring him, “I’m fine. Something happened at the Tower. With Carthage.” You quickly recapped what Natasha had texted you, adding the sparse details she’d provided during your call.

“So, she quit?” he asked. “That’s great!”

“No, baby,” you said, and if either one of you noticed the endearment that slipped out, you didn’t acknowledge it. “Fuck… I’m just gonna say it because I don’t know how to put it delicately: Jade’s an undercover Hydra operative and her mission was to bring you back to them so they could reclaim you as their asset.”

You weren’t sure what reaction you had expected from Bucky– shock? Anger? Tears? Any one of them, or, hell, a combination of all three, would have been more than appropriate and expected.

What you had not been expecting, however, was fucking laughter. You looked at him blankly for a minute, wondering if you’d looked this crazy when you’d started laughing after Dr. Carson had informed you of your miscarriage.

“It’s not funny, Buck,” you said, annoyed.

“It’s fucking hilarious, doll!” Bucky gasped, tears coming to his eyes from how hard he was laughing now. “She’s a Hydra agent? She’s got TicTac followers, for Christ’s sake!”

You could feel your blood pressure rising in your veins. Oh, you were getting angry at him, now. “First of all, it’s fucking TikTok, and I don’t know why we have to keep having that conversation! And second,” you took a breath, knowing this was probably not the most appropriate time to start something, but not being able to let it go, “I cannot fucking believe that, after everything, all the bullshit you fed me tonight in the living room, you’re still taking her side, taking her word over mine, as if I would make an accusation like that without any fucking proof!”

Bucky’s demeanor sobered up in an instant, as if you’d physically knocked the laughter out of him. He reached for your hand, and you let him take it. “Oh, sweets, no– that’s not… that’s not why I’m laughin’. I believe you; trust me, I learned my lesson there. No, it’s fucking hilarious, because of course she’s a Hydra agent. It explains everything, actually.” He didn’t need to elaborate for you to catch his meaning– of course she would have only pursued him so aggressively because it was her mission objective to do so. He must have felt himself so foolish to think that she would have had real feelings for him. You thought for a second that the realization should make you angry– you hadn’t needed a secret agenda to love him, after all, but then, he probably thought you didn’t love him anymore, either; you’d certainly given no indication of it. Even now, he still viewed himself as so completely undeserving of affection, and that just made your heart heavy with sadness.

“I don’t think it was just her mission,” you said, not really sure why you were about to come to the defense of the woman who’d made your life a living hell, but also knowing that you couldn’t stand for him to think he was unloveable. “She had the perfect opportunity to incapacitate you and bring you back to them on the Russia trip.” Ugh, just saying those two words left a sick taste in your mouth. “You were alone, in their territory, and she… she had you in an extremely vulnerable position. It would have been so easy for her to incapacitate you there, deliver you to them. But she didn’t. Whatever her mission objective is, I’m pretty sure she’s got one of her own, and I think it’s just you.”

Bucky studied you quizzically. “Are you… trying to reassure me? Because trust me, Pocket, it’s no skin off my back if she never actually cared about me, though it does make me regret everything even more.”

“I just…” you struggled to find the right words. “I just don’t want you thinking the only reason someone would want you is because they were told to,” you said after a minute. “That they were pretending. I’ve seen the way she looked at you, and it drove me absolutely crazy, because I know that’s how I look at you, too. I’m just saying, in her own fucked up way, I think she does care for you, whatever that means to her.”

Bucky’s head tilted as he looked at you, eyes gone gooey. “Present tense,” he said softly.

“What?”

He held your cheek into his big hand, rubbing a thumb along the line of your cheek bone. “You said that’s how you look at me. Not looked. Present tense, not past.”

You snorted; you’d walked right into that. “Just because I stopped trusting you doesn’t mean I ever stopped loving you,” you admitted.

“Pocket,” he said, leaning closer to you, “I’m gonna kiss you now, okay? If you don’t want me to, just say the word, and I’ll stop.”

“What happened to not wanting to be intimate with me if it’s not going to mean anything,” you exhaled. He was impossibly close now, but you hadn’t told him to stop. Not yet.

His breath teased your lips. “I think we both know now it’s anything but meaningless,” he said. His lips brushed across yours in a whisper of a kiss. “Tell me to stop,” he said again in a final warning, but you both knew you wouldn’t. You couldn’t. All you could do was close the millimeters of distance remaining between you until his mouth was on yours, begging for you to let him in.

So you did. And it was like a sudden summer downpour after a drought. A ray of warm sunlight breaking through the chill of snow clouds. The first blossom unfurling from the ground to signal the true arrival of Spring. It was finally coming home, all encompassing and everything you’d ever needed, a promise of sweetness and new beginnings. And it was over all too soon.

Bucky broke the kiss, chuckling as you greedily chased after his lips with your own, a pitiful whine escaping them at the loss of contact. “Come back here,” you grumbled, reaching for him to bring him closer, but Bucky leaned away from you.

“Told you, sweetheart,” Bucky said, pulling down the covers next to him and beckoning for you to join him in the bed, “I’m not gonna have you if I can’t have all of you. Now get in bed.”

Son of a bitch. He wasn’t playing fair. “Not sure how that translates to me getting in bed with you, Barnes,” you said, definitely crossing your arms over your chest.

Bucky rolled his eyes and picked you up, gently depositing you in the space he’d made for you inside his covers, and you couldn’t help but let out a little squeak. “If you think I’m gonna let you sleep on your own when we have no idea where Carthage is, you’re crazier than I thought,” he said, pulling the sheet and blankets up around you. “Now go to sleep.”

If you hoped he was going to wrap you in his arms and hold you close while you drifted off, you were in for disappointment. Instead, he left a respectable distance between the two of you, then, checking behind the nightstand to make sure his gun was where he’d left it, turned off the bedside lamp. “G’night, sweets,” he called softly before settling on his side, facing away from you.

“Night, Buck,” you whispered into the dark, more confused than ever before.

<- Previous Part / Next Chapter ->

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mannien · 1 day

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Unwanted: Chapter 26, Unsurprising - Pt. 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mild sexual situations, frustrations.

Word Count: 1.7k

Previously On...: Bucky suggests you call in sick to the Wiggle Room.

A/N: Pocket makes a play...

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

You weren’t sure which one of you suggested watching a movie to cap off your evening, but there you were, sitting on opposite ends of the sofa as the flickering light of the television danced across your faces in the darkness. If someone had asked you what you were watching, you honestly couldn't have told them. Your eyes kept flickering to Bucky’s profile as he chuckled at whatever was happening on screen.

He was so pretty, you found yourself thinking. How could you have forgotten how pretty he was? You tried to ignore him, you really did, but he was like a magnet, drawing your gaze to him against your will. You felt a familiar warmth begin to pool between your legs just from the sight of him. You wanted him. God, you wanted him so much. You’d spent the last two months trying to forget him, but now, he was right here, just feet away.

Licking your lips, you made an executive decision, knowing full well it was probably not your best one (but still better than the drugs, you rationalized to yourself), and began crawling over to him. He turned to look at you, an unspoken question across his face.

“Hi,” you breathed, so close to him now you could almost taste the memory of his skin on your tongue.

“Hello,” he smiled as he turned to face you better. “What’s up, Pocket?”

“I miss you.” You leaned in and took his earlobe between your teeth, suckling it gently into your mouth. You were rewarded when his entire body shivered and he sucked in a shaky breath. He didn’t move to push you away, so you slowly crawled your body into his lap, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and the corner of his mouth.

Everything about this felt so absolutely right as you ground your hips against him, the familiar, thick length of him pressing against your core as if it had been molded to fit there. Bucky groaned as your lips reached for him, but it was as if the sound he elicited had woken him from a trance. He gripped your hips, gently but firmly, and put space between your bodies.

“This is a bad idea,” he said, eyes closed as if even looking at you would destroy his resolve.

His words may as well have been bullets, the way they dug into your stomach. He was rejecting you? After everything? “You don’t want me?” your voice came out small, a weak plea that would have shamed you at any other time, but in this moment, encapsulated the insecurity you felt in his denial.

Bucky pressed his forehead to yours, eyes still closed. “I always want you, sweets. It’s never a question of that. Never.”

“Then what is it?” you asked, growing more desperate. You brought your hands up to cup his face, urging him to open his eyes, to look at you, connect with you in the way you two used to do so well.

“You just lost a baby,” he breathed. “Didn’t you read any of your discharge paperwork? You’ve gotta wait until the doctor gives you the clear before you can have sex again.”

You rolled your eyes. If that was all he was worried about… “I don’t need your dick in me for you to make me feel good, Buck,” you whined. “Just like you know I can make you cum without ever using my cunt.” As if to prove your point, you snaked a hand down his body and began to palm him through the material of his jeans.

His hand shot down and grabbed you by the wrist, holding it still and keeping you from working him. “Stop,” he pleaded, sounding like he was the one who risked being in pain from fucking, instead of you.

“You’d rather I use my dirty mouth?” you asked with a smirk, beginning to maneuver yourself to your knees, but Bucky had grabbed your other wrist before you could get very far, locking you into place, and keeping you from touching him. “No,” he panted, obviously worked up.

“Then, what?” you asked, growing frustrated.

“I… I can’t be intimate with you right now,” he confessed, as though it pained him to do so. “Even if you were healed up enough for me to fuck you properly, I… wouldn’t do it.”

You shifted your weight back putting more distance between your bodies. The confusion you originally felt as his confession quickly morphed into the shameful anger of embarrassment as you registered his use of the word ‘wouldn’t.’ Not an inability, but a choice.

“It’s just sex, Barnes,” you spat, not being able to keep the hurt from your voice. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“That’s just it, Pocket,” he said, searching your eyes with his own. “I’m not going to have meaningless sex with you.”

You pulled yourself off his lap, yanking your wrists from his hands. Your shame was burning across your face, and you were grateful for the cover of night to hide the rising color of your cheeks. “So, you’re fine having meaningless sex with her,” you snapped, unable to say Jade’s name even after all the time that had passed, “but not with me? God, forget I asked; I see your priorities haven’t fucking changed.” You moved to storm out of the living room, to hide in your bed behind closed doors, but Bucky sprung up from the couch and, in an instant, was standing in front of you, blocking your exit with his immovable frame.

“Hey!” Bucky barked, the force of the one word startling you. “Don’t do that! Don’t run from me, not again!” He ran both hands desperately through his hair. “I’m not going to have meaningless sex with you, because if I do, it won’t be meaningless! Not to me.” The last three words were softer, more vulnerable, a confession he was afraid you would take as a weakness.

“I told you I was greedy, sweetheart,” he said to you, pulling you close to him as he began to nuzzle your neck. The feel of him, so close to you, yet so far away, was making your knees weak, and you clung to him for support. “But I’m not going to have you if I can’t have all of you, not anymore, not when I know what it’s like to be loved by you. I can’t do that to myself. And I’m not going to do that to you.”

“Bucky,” you moaned as his hands roamed the surface of your body, seeking any ounce of uncovered flesh he could get his hands on. His touch was soft, light enough to never be satisfying, always leaving you craving more.

“I love you, doll,” he said, kissing your skin, “and if you can tell me you forgive me, that you still love me, wanna be with me again,” he sucked and nibbled on your neck, the sensation of his mouth on your pulsepoint almost sending you over the edge on its own, “then I’ll give you anything you fucking want. But if you can’t, if you’re not ready yet, or you don’t think you’ll ever be,” he let go, pulling away from you and leaving you longing for him, “then I’m not going to torture myself with something I can’t have, or put you in a position where you end up regretting what we did.”

He watched you, expectantly, waiting for you to say something, to give him an answer that would either bring you back to each other once and for all, or close and lock the door between you both for good, but you had nothing for him.

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

Bucky’s face shuttered, the passion so recently evident in his eyes vanishing into their depths. He nodded once. “Let me know when you make up your mind, doll,” he said, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head before retreating to the solitude of his room, the sound of the door shutting behind you echoing through the apartment with its finality.

You managed to hold your tears until you were back in your room, sobbing into your pillow in the weak hope his super soldier hearing wouldn’t be able to pick up on the sound through the apartment’s thin walls. You let yourself weep, wondering how many more times Bucky Barnes was going to be the reason for your tears.

But you couldn’t blame him this time, your stupid logical reasoning told you. This one was on you. He’d been honest with what he wanted, what he needed, but you hadn’t been willing, or able, to give him what he’d asked for in return. He hadn’t been willing to take from you unless he knew for certain you were sure.

The dinging of your phone caught your attention, and your heart leapt with joy when you saw a notification indicating new texts from Nat. Technically, you weren’t supposed to have contact with residents of the Tower while you were undercover, but you were willing to put that aside in the surge of happiness that rushed through you at the thought of talking to your friend.

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: So

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Don’t freak

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: But I have news

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: About Carthage

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: When she saw Barnes left

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: To go to you in AC

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: She fucking *flipped*

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Screaming and crying

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: That her life was over

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: And she was gonna die

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Destroyed her room

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Punched Steve in the face

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Which was funny

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: But not the point

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Hello?

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Do you ever look at your phone?

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Are you fucking Barnes rn?

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: This is serious tea

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: And you’re leaving me on ‘delivered’

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: It’s offensive

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Anyway

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: She’s gone

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Packed her shit

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: No clue where she went

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Vanished into the night

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: She’s gone AWOL

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Thought you’d want to know

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: And one more thing

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: It’s big

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Fucking huge

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: But your not answering

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: I’m not telling

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: So

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Suck it xoxo

Natsassin🖤🩰🔪: Call me

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

100 notes · View notes

mannien · 1 day

Text

Unwanted: Chapter 26, Unsurprising - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of sex trafficking, drug use, jealousy

Word Count: 890

Previously On...: You and Bucky had a good discussion about how to forgive.

A/N: "Brother?" Yeah, that's a whole different kind of fic... lol

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm after that. Working together came as naturally as breathing, and you almost wished you had had the opportunity to do it long before now, before everything had gone to shit between the two of you.

Though you were feeling better, Bucky insisted you call in for that night’s shift at the Wiggle Room. “You just experienced a major trauma,” he’d told you. “Give yourself a night to heal, please.” You really couldn’t argue with that, so you called the club, putting it on speaker.

“Viggle Room,” a heavily accented voice said on the other end of the line, “vhere every viggle haz a purpose, every giggle iz magic. Ziz is Dimitri speaking.”

You stifled a laugh at the clubs heretofore unknown tagline. “Uh, hey, Dimitri; it’s Cherry.”

“Ah, little dove!” the big man bellowed across the line, “you are to be coming in soon to see Dimitri tonight, yes?”

“Uh, yeah, about that.” You nibbled nervously on the skin of your thumb. “Listen, Dimitri, I’m not going to be able to make my shift. I, uh, had a bad reaction to some pills I took last night,” you offered, hoping he would buy your fib. “Ended up having to go to the hospital.”

“Little dove, no!” Dimitri sounded genuinely concerned. “And zat durak boyfriend of yourz haz left you alone. Does little dove need Dimitri to come take care of her?”

Oh, fuck. You’d forgotten that you’d used the excuse that you and your ‘boyfriend,’ Sam, had broken up, and that’s why he wasn’t going to be around anymore. You’d have to make sure to tell him that Dimitri thought he was an idiot.

“Um, no, Dimitri,” you said quickly, “I’m alright. My, uh…” You paused, trying to think of some excuse to keep him from trying to come over to the safehouse. “My brother’s here with me,” you finished lamely.

“‘Brother’?” Bucky mouthed with a smirk and a quirk of his eyebrow. You gave him a panicked look and shrugged; it was the best you could come up with on the spot.

“But thank you so much for offering, Dimitri,” you added, wanting to keep Kozlov’s right hand man on your side in case you ended up needing more from him in the future. “It’s just so sweet of you to offer. Really.”

Dimitri chuckled on the other end of the phone. “Tell no one, but little dove iz Dimitri’s favorite of all Kozlov’s girls. Only little dove iz so kind as to take time to speak to Dimitri, ask about hiz day. Little dove haz good heart. Dimitri not forget zat.”

You were momentarily at a loss for words. Sure, the man had ties to a sex trafficking operation, but you didn’t know the extent to which he was actually involved, and he had always been kind to you. It made you a little sad to think about how you’d only been manipulating him this entire time.

“Thanks, Dimitri,” you said, needing to end the call before you said something stupid. “You’re my favorite of all Kozlov’s guys, too, you know.” That wasn’t even a lie. The bar was just really, really low.

“Ah, little dove make Dimitiri blush!” he laughed. “Now, go get rest, Dimitri will tell Kozlov little dove is sick. Oh, and little dove?” he added. “Zis iz vhy you should not be taking all Kozlov’s drugz, yes? Iz not safe.”

You assured him you’d learned your lesson about illegal substances (that was the truth, at least) and, thanking him, disconnected the call. You looked up to see Bucky scrutinizing you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“What?” you asked, moving past him to place your phone on its charger in your room.

“Nothing, little dove,” he said, mouth turning up into a smirk. “Just hadn’t realized you were… fraternizin’ with the targets, is all.”

“Stop,” you warned, turning around to face him again. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, it’s not?” Bucky asked, and this time you noticed a hard edge to his teasing. “Tell me, little dove,” he said, giving the words every bit of the same accented inflection Dimitiri had, yet somehow making them sound so much fucking hotter, “how was dear old Dimitiri planning on taking care of you, then? He one of your twenty-eight?”

Holy shit, you thought with some sick satisfaction and sense of pride, was he actually… jealous? A part of you wanted to play into it, see how far you could push him, get him riled up, but the part of you that had had her insides scraped out last night honestly wasn’t in the mood.

“Don’t be gross,” you said instead. “He’s decent. Honestly, the only guy in that entire damned place who’s been remotely kind to me.”

“Decent?” Bucky asked, clearly not buying your assessment of the Russian henchman.

“Yeah, well, you know,” you defended, “as decent as a guy whose boss is on the Hydra payroll probably can be. He’s never been inappropriate, or creepy. Or even stared at me too long when I danced. Not once. And he’s been on my ass about the drugs.”

“Yeah, alright,” said Bucky with a chuckle. “This Dimitri’s a saint.”

“Not a saint,” you countered. “Just, you know, not evil.”

Bucky shrugged a shoulder and waved a hand. “Semantics.”

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

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mannien · 1 day

Text

Unwanted: Chapter 26, Unsurprising - Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of miscarriage and aftermath, fluff.

Word Count: 1.1k

Previously On...: You and Bucky actually had a good talk.

A/N: Chapter 26 begins!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

You woke up early the next afternoon with your face feeling puffy and your body still sore, but not nearly in as much pain as you’d been in the night before. You’d only been in the hospital for a few hours in total, but it had felt like days. Glancing around, you realized Bucky must have tucked you into the bed in Sam’s bedroom after you’d fallen asleep on him last night. Well, Bucky’s bedroom, you supposed, now that he’d be taking over as your partner until Sam got back. You wondered where he had slept.

Hearing voices from the front of the apartment, you gingerly got up, tossing a sweatshirt Sam had left behind over your sleep clothes, and padded your way softly into the living room, noticing that Bucky must have been up half the night cleaning the mess you’d left behind, as there was no sign of any of your previous debauchery. Bucky was standing at the front door, waving off a couple of delivery men.

“Hey,” you said softly from behind him as he shut the door. Bucky turned around and gave you the once-over, as if he could assess your current state of mind from the sight of you alone.

“Hey,” he replied. “How’d you sleep?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Alright. You?”

Bucky exhaled a soft laugh. “Fine; couch is uncomfortable as hell.” There was an awkward silence, as though neither of you knew how to talk to the other any more.

“How are you feeling?” he asked eventually.

“Better,” you admitted. “Not nearly as sore. Kinda hungry.”

He looked at you, blue eyes scrutinizing. “I don’t mean physically, Pocket.”

“Oh.” You weren’t sure how to answer him, because the truth of it was, you didn’t know how you felt. You’d been in complete shock, and then you’d barely had a moment to process before exhaustion had overtaken you.

“It’s… it’s just been a lot, I guess,” you said. “I think it’s going to take me a while to process everything. I still don’t think I fully believe that all happened to me; feels like it happened to someone else.”

Bucky nodded and walked past you, toward the kitchen. “Come on,” he called to you over his shoulder. “You’ve got to be starving. I picked up some takeout while I was out.” In the kitchen, he reached into the oven and took out a few covered dishes he’d left in there to keep warm. “Wasn’t sure how long you were going to sleep,” he explained. “So I got some burgers and fries. That cool?”

Was that cool? Burgers and fries were your go-to comfort food, and it thawed your heart a little that he would remember. “Yeah, that’s cool,” you said, sitting down at the kitchen island. Bucky gently placed the containers with the still-warm food down, and you immediately began digging into your meal. “Oh man,” you moaned sinfully as you let the flavor roll around on your tongue. “That’s a fucking good burger. Only thing that would make it better would be a–”

“Chocolate shake,” Bucky finished for you. He’d gone into the fridge and pulled out two large paper cups filled with the blended beverage. “You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?”

You took the shake from him and lowered your face to hide behind your hair, not wanting him to see the pleased blush that was coloring your cheeks. “Thanks,” you murmured as you took a sip. It, too, was delicious.

“Don’t mention it, doll,” Bucky popped the lid off his shake and, quick as lightning, stole a fry from your plate, dunking it in the shake before bringing it to his mouth.

“Hey!” you chastised. “Don’t you have your own? No fair stealing mine!”

Bucky raised and dropped a shoulder. “Super soldier metabolism,” he said. “Need all those extra calories.”

You gave him a wry smile, and the two of you just looked at each other as you ate in companionable silence. For a minute, it felt like old times, as though the chasm that had divided you had never been opened, had never ripped the earth that stood between you, irrevocably separating you from one another.

“So,” you said, clearing your throat as though it could break the spell he had over you, “who were those guys?”

“Huh?” he asked, tearing his eyes away from yours as though it were physically difficult. “Oh, them. Yeah, uh, delivery guys.”

You furrowed a brow. “Delivery guys? You haven’t even been here twenty four hours, Barnes, and you’re already making decor changes?”

Bucky chuckled. “Please. You’ve seen my room at home. You think I’ve suddenly gotten into interior design over the last few weeks you’ve been gone?” You laughed at that. “While you were sleeping, I, uh, got the idea that it probably wouldn’t do you any good… seeing your bed with, you know…” He left it hanging, but you could easily fill in the blank– all that blood. “Tried to get it out with that hydrogen peroxide we got; just kinda ended up making more of a mess, so I figure I’d just order you a new mattress, so you’d–”

You left him in the kitchen as you stood up and walked back to your room. Sure enough, there was a brand new mattress laying across your bed frame, the plastic that had been covering it shoved into a garbage bag, along with what, you assumed, were your soiled bed clothes.

On the floor, over the spot where you’d collapsed, was a brand new throw rug.

“I made sure to check the tags on the old one,” Bucky said, coming up behind you to stand in the doorway, “so I could get the same exact kind. I, uh, didn’t want you havin’ trouble sleeping if the new one was too different, makin’ you uncomfortable.” He sounded timid, almost unsure of himself, as if he worried that he’d done the wrong thing. “And I tried to get everything outta the carpet, but, uh, there was still a stain, so… I figured a rug would work for now. ‘ll probably have to get the carpet replaced when we leave, if the cleaners can’t get everything out.”

Wordlessly, you turned and wrapped your arms around him, squeezing him in your gratitude. You weren’t sure what state you would have been in if you had had to deal with last night’s aftermath on your own. “Thank you,” you whispered, cheek pressed against his hard chest.

Your gratitude must have struck Bucky by surprise, because it was a moment before he was gingerly placing his hands around you to return your embrace, keeping them loose, as though wanting to ensure you he wasn’t trying to keep you in a cage. “Of course, sweets,” he murmured into the top of your head. You felt him place a gentle kiss into your hair. “Of course.”

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mannien · 2 days

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i cant read your mind | chapter two

Summary: After hearing the news, you go to confront Sam. However, you end up on your first mission since the return of Thanos.

Warnings: MCU Spoilers. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier spoilers throughout.

Word Count: 1584

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A/N: Two chapters in one night. I did plan for this chapter to cover the whole of episode two of FATWS however, I also don't like the chapters being too long so here's the first half.

Tags: @blackhawkfanatic | @cjand10 | @wintrsoldrluvr | @missvelvetsstuff

Your heart pounded in your chest as you scrambled for the remote, turning up the volume. On the screen, a man clad in red, white, and blue filled the screen as he stood tall, winking at the camera. The new Captain America.

Racing with questions, your mind couldn’t stop. How could they replace Steve like that? And who the fuck even was this new Captain America? Was he even worthy of carrying the shield?

Frustration and anger boiled your blood, mixing with the hurt from Bucky’s appearance the day before. The world felt like it was spinning out of control, and tears began to trickle down your cheeks.

Taking a deep breath, you wiped away the tears and forced yourself to focus. With determination, you got up and made your way to find Sam.

“You had no right to give up the shield, Sam.” you listened to Bucky and Sam talk about the situation as they made their way closer to you. Not yet noticing your presence.

“Hey. This is what you’re not gonna do.” an amused smile tugged at the corners of your lips as Sam began to tell Bucky straight, “You’re not gonna come here in your overextended life and tell me about my rights. It’s over Bucky.”

Applause echoed through the room, drawing the attention of Sam and Bucky. Bucky’s gaze locked with yours, while Sam’s eyes rolled.

“You too?” Sam’s voice filled with annoyance as he addressed you. Your smile remained as you stepped forward.

“How could I resist this party?” you quipped, voice laced with amusement. “Sam, you know I respect your decision,” you sent him a sincere smile as his expression softened at your words. He was grateful for your support, now and back in Washington. “But, we need to fix this.”

“I have bigger things to deal with now,” Sam exclaimed, taking both you and Bucky by surprise. “What could be bigger than this?” Bucky asked, his disbelief was evident.

You listened to Sam and Bucky go back and forth about the group called the Flag Smashers and The Big Three. You were on Bucky’s side about the wizards, but you knew agreeing with Sam would rile him up.

As the conversation carried on, you felt a sense of urgency. Without a second thought, you began walking toward the waiting jet. “Where do you think you’re going?” Bucky called out to you, his tone mixed with frustration and concern.

As you reach the jet, you turn to face Bucky, “I’m going with Sam,” you stated firmly, meeting his gaze. Bucky’s gaze hardened as both he and Sam walked towards you, you heard them bickering between each other but resulted in rolling your eyes as you boarded.

The flight to Germany was quiet for the most part, there was an occasional interruption from the rumble of the jet’s engine. You found yourself consistently checking your phone for texts from your date, and stealing glances between Sam and Bucky. They had been engrossed in a silent staring contest for most of the flight. Their unspoken tension filled the cabin.

“Is that your boyfriend?” Bucky’s snarky remark cut the tension, his annoyance evident as he observed your constant glances down to your phone.

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. “Jealous, Barnes?” you teased. He rolled his eyes at your response. You tucked your phone away, ready to turn your attention to the mission.

As the journey to Germany continued, Bucky and Sam returned to their staring contest, only breaking again when Sam got up to pick his comm up. Bucky followed his lead and you followed Bucky’s. And, within an instant, they returned to their arguing: This time about a plan.

“Where’s the chute?” Bucky asked, resulting in finding out you were too low for them. He looked back at you with concern, he knew he could survive the jump, but you wouldn’t. You knew you couldn’t afford to waste time, it was too risky to attempt jumping with Bucky.

“I’ll catch up with you from the ground,” you reassured the super soldier, his concern was palpable as he looked back at you. His eyes betrayed him as they filled with worry.

He nodded, reaching his Vibranium hand to your cheek and running his fingers down your neck. A shiver was sent down your spine, you missed the cool feeling of his left hand. “Be careful, baby,” he whispered in your ear before turning to prepare for the jump. You watched him as you allowed yourself a moment to apprehend the feeling of being called ‘Baby’ by him again.

Stepping out onto the solid ground, you felt the urge of determination course through you. You heard over the comms that Sam and Bucky wasted no time, they immediately sprung into action. Immediately, you began searching for a car you could use to catch up to them. Your mind focused solely on reaching them, you wasted nothing rushing towards a car you knew would be fat enough. Using your government identity to secure it, you thanked the salesman and wasted no time roaring the engine and speeding off in the direction of Sam and Bucky.

As you sped toward their location, Sam updated you on the tracking information for Redwing over the comms. “Shit!” Bucky’s exclaim echoed through the small earpiece, you pressed down harder on the gas pedal, determined to reach them.

Finally reaching their location, you witnessed Sam swiftly grabbing Bucky from under the truck, and soaring with him into a nearby field. Meanwhile, you continued to trail behind the truck, your eyes widening in surprise as you noticed the new Captain America engaged in a fight on top of it.

“Those are Super Soldier, kid, get out of there.” Bucky’s voice was urgent as it crackled through the comms, his concern for you still evident as he warned you of the danger.

Your voice was laced with determination as you responded, “Don’t call me ‘kid’.” You prepared to face the Super Soldier head-on. As you prepared mentally, you didn’t see the new Captain America about to collide with the car. The impact was catastrophic, causing you to lose control of the vehicle and tumble off the road and into the woodland area by the field.

Before you could register what had happened, new Cap and his friend had vanished. Sam and Bucky were by your side in an instant. “I told you to be careful,” Bucky reminded you as he gently pulled you from the wreckage, steadying you.

As Sam and Bucky conversed between themselves, you found comfort in intertwining your fingers with Bucky’s, his silent gesture of support. A chill swept over you, causing your body to tremble.

Coming to a halt, Bucky crouched down to meet your gaze as concern plastered over his face. “You okay?” he asked, noting the shallow and rapid rise and fall of your breathing. You nodded, feeling the chill of shock settling.

Bucky swiftly removed his jacket and draped it over you. Despite the absence of his left sleeve, the jacket still provided warmth and comfort.

After walking for a while longer, the sound of a horn honking beside you caught the attention of the three of you. You looked up, meeting the gaze of the new Captain America. John Walker, Sam had explained to you previously. Despite his efforts to engage in conversation, you followed Sam and Bucky’s lead, choosing to ignore them.

However, it didn’t take long for Walker to provoke a reaction out of Bucky, unknowingly circling back to the topic of wizards. This led to Bucky defending the Captain America title, causing a rise now out of Walker. After realizing that Bucky was unfazed, Walker shifted his approach, acknowledging the state you were currently in.

“Look, it’s 20 miles to the airport. You guys need a ride.” Walker offered, and he tried to convey a sense of goodwill despite the unlying tension. Your eyes pleaded with Bucky as he glanced down at you. Walker might not have been your choice of Captain America but the idea of sitting down sounded appealing.

Bucky assisted you into the car with a sigh. You couldn’t but grimace inwardly as you locked glances with Walker the moment he shot you the same wink you had seen earlier on television. The one moment you wouldn’t have protested Bucky throwing a punch for someone looking at you, and he misses it.

You nestled your head against Bucky’s shoulder as they discussed the issue of The Flag Smashers. With each glance from Walker toward you, Bucky's body tensed beneath you, prompting an episode of the infamous Bucky stare-off.

“Does he always just stare like that?” Walker asked Sam, a smile tugged at your lips at the thought of Bucky’s intense stare making Walker so uncomfortable, he needed reassurance. “You get used to it,” Sam huffed in response. The conversation resumed as they spoke about the government and what they were trying to do to help after The Blip.

“Battlestar?” Bucky exclaimed, a sense of annoyance mixed with amusement in his voice. “Stop the car!” He commanded the driver. The car came to a halt and Bucky wasted no time to exit leaving Walker shouting back toward him. “Come on, Y/N!” Bucky’s voice boomed a clear demand for you to follow him.

For a moment you debated if you should follow your ex-situationship or simply stay in the car and avoid walking the rest of the way to the airport.

---

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mannien · 2 days

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i cant read your mind | chapter one

Summary: It has been six months since half the universe came back, six months since Steve left, six months since you lost Natasha, and three months since finding out the man you were sleeping with wanted to end it.

Warnings: MCU Spoilers. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier spoilers throughout.

Word Count: 1600

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A/N: I have watched FATWS at least 6 times this week so I am prepared for this.

Tags: @blackhawkfanatic | @cjand10 | @wintrsoldrluvr | @missvelvetsstuff

As Sam addressed the crowd at the Smithsonian, you listened to his every word by Rhodey’s side. You let yourself laugh at the appropriate moments and fought back tears as your friend paid tribute to another. Your heart ached as you watched him pass on the shield, the symbol that guided you to become the best agent you could and more.

“I can’t do this,” you murmured almost inaudibly as you slipped away from the crowd, retreating to the quiet street. You steadied your thoughts, taking a few deep breaths. Retrieving your phone from your purse, you hesitated before dialing a number. “Come on,” you urged as the ringing persisted.

Disappointment washes over you as you realize there’s no answer on the other end, you stand there for a moment. Staring at your call lost, feeling the loneliness creep in as you see that none of your calls have been picked up. Taking another deep breath, you put your phone back and start walking. Each step is a deliberate effort to move forward.

While navigating the streets of Washington, your thoughts are focused on the events at the Smithsonian. The passing of the shield symbolized the end of an era for you. An era that had taken over her entire adult life.

You enter your quiet apartment and sink onto the couch. The weight of the day, flight, and lack of food were starting to seem heavier, you couldn’t bring yourself to get changed out of the formal black dress you had been wearing since half four that morning. You retrieved your phone from your purse once again, your fingers hovering over the screen as you debated whether to try calling again.

You knew it was getting late but you dialed the number again, heart pounding with anticipation. As the phone rang, you tried not getting your hopes up, but they were crushed when it went to voicemail.

Sighing deeply, you set your phone down as you got back up from the couch and made your way back out into the street. You were proud of yourself for not letting the tears spill down your cheeks.

The streets were quiet, and the soft glow of the streetlights offered a semblance of solace. With no destination in your mind, you wandered as the hunger gnawed at your stomach. Searching for a nearby restaurant for a late-night bite, you approached the diner you knew as Izzy.

Your heart lurched in your chest as you recognized the figure through the window, sitting opposite a woman, she seemed to be laughing at whatever it was he was telling her. Playing a game of Battleship and drinking. “Not like that’s going to affect him,” you thought as you took in the sight. For a moment, you stood frozen in place, the tears you previously held back now beginning to spill.

Once you were home and washed the day off of you, a hint of optimism rose from within you. Deciding to open yourself up to a new experience, you downloaded a popular dating app and uploaded all the photos of you in dresses that hugged your body just the way you loved. The way he once said should be for his eyes only. Swiping through profiles, it didn’t take long for you to come across someone who caught your eye, and match with them.

You exchanged messages for the rest of the night, at some point agreeing to meet for brunch the next morning.

Your date was waiting for you when you arrived at the cafe, a friendly smile lighting up his face. Exchanging greetings, he pulled out a chair for you and helped with your coat and bag. You thanked him, finding yourself relaxed in his company.

Settling into conversation, you shared stories, laughed, and began feeling a genuine connection. You hadn’t allowed yourself to truly feel this happy in three months, letting yourself let go of the weight that had been pressed into your chest for so long.

“Is that? Is that The Winter Soldier?” your date asked, his focus moving away from you and instead toward the entrance of the cafe. Turning your gaze over to where your date had been looking, it felt like time stopped as you looked into the eyes of a furrowing James Buchanan Barnes. His fist clenched under his leather gloves.

“Here we go,” you mumbled under your breath as you noticed him making his way over to you. With trembling hands, you reached for the glass of champagne that sat on the table in front of you. Tilting the glass back, you swallowed every last drop of it in an attempt to calm yourself down.

“I need to speak to you,” Bucky growled, his voice low and commanding as he towered over you. As much as you’ve wanted nothing more than to be around him for the last three months, you kept your gaze fixed on your date. “Now.”

“I’m on a date,” your tone even with a hint of defiance as you responded to the super soldier. You watched as the eyes of your date filled with fear and amazement.

“I can see that,” he replied dryly, sarcasm dripping in his tone as he gave your date a pointed look. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, sensing the tension between you and Bucky.

“Whatever you have to say, it can wait,” your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I’m here with someone else,” you added emphasis on ‘someone else’ as you sensed him tense up beside you.

Your date cleared his throat, shooting a hesitant glance between you and Bucky. He spoke up, his tone polite but uneasy. “Perhaps I should… give you two some privacy?” He began to stand from the table, making his way over to the restrooms. Bucky quickly sat in the seat he had previously occupied.

Your gaze was ablaze with a mixture of hurt and frustration as you finally made eye contact with Bucky. “What do you want?” your voice trembled slightly.

Bucky couldn’t suppress the sarcasm that came from his tone as he looked over toward the restrooms. “Well, he seems like a real charmer,” his tone full of irony.

You shot him a disapproving look, eyebrows knitting together in a silent warning. “Again, what do you want?” Bucky looked back at you, a smirk playing at the corners of his hips. Rolling your eyes, you defended the man you had known for less than 12 hours. “He’s a nice guy,”

Leaning back in his seat, Bucky folded his arms across his chest as he sent you a knowing look. “If you say so,” he remarked. If it wasn’t for the dry and snarky tone, you’d have thought he was backing down. “And, I’m sure he can handle a doll such as you,” he continued while sending you a wink.

“Can’t you just go back to ignoring me like you have done for the last three months?” you sighed, picking up your fork and using it to move food around your plate.

“I saw the pictures you used for your little dating profile,” he glared at you when he noticed a smirk now taking place over your lips.

You shrugged nonchalantly and replied with a calm tone. “Yeah, and?”

His jaw tightened at your response, frustration simmering beneath the surface. “Thought they were only for me?” he pressed.

Your expression softened, remorse flickering over your features as you looked back at him. “Things change,” you murmured, your voice tinged with regret. “I waited five years for you to come back, five years of not even knowing if you were coming back,” your voice quivered with emotion.

Bucky’s gaze softened, and he straightened his posture. “I know-” he began to speak but you cut him off before he could finish.

“No, Bucky, you don’t” you shot back at him, your voice rising with each word. “You couldn’t possibly understand what it was like, not know where you went, or if you were alive or dead, or if you’d even come back,”

His jaw once again clenched, “I waited over 90 years for you to come into my life,” he confessed, his voice thick with emotion and vulnerability.

Your eyes widened at his admission, you were both surprised and in disbelief, “But yet, you only waited three months before jumping into bed with someone else,” you accused, voice thick with bitterness. “How was your night of Battleship, by the way?”

His hands balled into fists on top of the table, his voice raised to match yours. “Firstly, I didn’t sleep with her,” he retorted. “And secondly, what the fuck is this?” he gestures toward your date as he started to make his way back out of the restroom.

“I’m sorry,” your date now interrupts your conversation with Bucky as she makes his way back over to you. “I didn’t know you two are exes,”

“He’s not my ex!”

“She’s not my ex!”

Alone in the dimly lit apartment, you allowed yourself to have a moment to rest, closing your eyes and taking a few deep breaths. The weight of your date pressing down on your shoulders. Surprisingly, he asked for a second date. Once Bucky had left, he offered to take you out again another time. You happily agreed.

As you began to drift into a state of relaxation, the sound of the television caught your attention. “... it is with great honor that we announce here today that the United States of America has a new hero. Join me in welcoming your new Captain America.”

“What the fuck?!”

---

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mannien · 3 days

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Unwanted: Chapter 25, Unprotected - Pt. 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, medical procedures, Pocket getting called out on her shit, deep discussions, mentions of drug use and anonymous sex.

Word Count: 2.7k

Previously On...: You woke up in the hospital to some quite... surprising news.

A/N: LET THE HEALING SORT OF BEGIN! I AM READY FOR IT.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

A few hours later, you were discharged with antibiotics to stave off any potential infection and over-the counter iron tablets to help replenish all the blood you’d lost. The car ride back to the safehouse was awkward in its heavy silence, the only words spoken between you and Bucky were when you asked to stop at the local pharmacy to buy out their stock of hydrogen peroxide. You’d need to tackle those blood stains in your bedroom before they had time to fully set.

As you walked in the door to the apartment, Bucky on your heels, you took in the space as he would be seeing it for the very first time– it was an absolute mess, with clothes strewn about, fast food wrappers and empty liquor bottles littering every available surface. You watched his eyes as they raked over the mess, pausing to linger on the empty condom wrappers your last Bad Decision had left on the coffee table, next to the remnants of the coke you two had done.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked. “Did someone break in and trash the place while you were in the hospital?”

You grabbed a discarded bra from the back of an armchair, where Bad Decision #... something, had tossed it in his hurry to get at you. “Wasn’t exactly expecting company,” you grumbled defensively.

Bucky laughed nervously. “What, so you’ve just been having random sex and getting drunk everyday?” The look he gave you was desperate, as though begging you to contradict him, to tell him it was all some sort of joke you were playing on him, but you just stood there in silence, not meeting his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Pocket, this isn’t you,” Bucky exhaled. “None of this is who you are. What have you been doing to yourself?”

“No,” you scoffed, “this is who you made me, Barnes. So, if you have a problem with what I’ve become, you’ve only got yourself to blame.” You opened your arms wide to encompass the entire apartment, and by extension, the evidence of your downward spiral. “Welcome to the consequences of your own actions!”

“Fuck.” Bucky ran a tired hand down his face after a moment of stunned silence. “I did do this to you, didn’t I? God, I’m so sorry, Pocket. If I could take it back, I would. I know that’s just more empty words, and you’re probably sick of hearing them, but it’s the truth. Hurting you is the biggest regret of my life.”

“Yet, you keep doing it,” you said, sighing heavily. You flopped down on the couch, exhausted and sore. The nurse had warned you there’d be residual cramping, and had insisted that regular ibuprofen would take care of it, but you’d already had six-hundred milligrams and were still aching. You wondered briefly if you had any oxy left from the club, but decided that getting high in front of Bucky was probably not the smartest move you could make right now, so you opted to deal.

Bucky walked over and made a move like he was about to sit down next to you, but something caught his eye. Bending over, he ran a finger through the white powder residue on the coffee table, bringing it to his tongue to taste.

“Shit,” he said, making a face. “Pocket, is this cocaine?!”

“What are you, McGruff the Crime Dog?” you asked sarcastically, before realizing the reference was probably completely wasted on him. He just continued to stare at you expectantly. “So what if it is?” You asked with a shrug.

“Since when do you do coke?” Bucky asked incredulously. You really didn’t like the way he was looking at you at the moment. Like he had opened the fridge, looking for a carton of milk, but instead found a giraffe in a three-piece suit.

“Since I ran out of oxy,” you said nonchalantly. “And molly.”

A change came over Bucky’s features, and you watched them go hard, judging. “You’ve been doing all this– the drinking, the drugs, sleeping around with god knows who, while you’ve been pregnant?! What? It wasn’t enough to kill our baby, you had to try to kill yourself in the process? Do you know how absolutely fucking stupid you’re being?!” He was shouting at you now, the anger he’d been holding at bay since the hospital coming out in full force.

You stood back up, taking in a shuddering breath. You hadn’t expected him to blow up at you so unexpectedly. “I didn’t know,” you said softly, voice trembling. “I didn’t know I was pregnant.”

“Would it have made a fucking difference?” he roared. “You already admitted you would have aborted it if you had known! Can you honestly say you wouldn’t have risked the baby’s health– your health– even if you did know?”

You didn’t have an answer to that. “I don’t know,” you whispered.

“Pocket,” the anger seemed to leave Bucky almost as quickly as it had come, “if you hadn’t gotten medical attention right when you did, you could have died. You could have bled out, gone into septic shock. This miscarriage could have fucking killed you. Do you know what that would have done to me? To Sam and Steve? Nat, Wanda, Pepper? What it would have done to fucking Tony?” You were hit with a sudden wave of guilt. In your spiral, you hadn’t considered for a moment what your actions would have meant to the people who loved you. You only cared about forgetting your own pain.

“When you were getting dressed to come home, I asked the nurse what could have caused the miscarriage. One of the things she mentioned was heavy drug use, but I didn’t pay it any attention. I thought ‘no, not my Pocket, she’s too smart to do something so incredibly dumb; has to be something else.’ But here you are, throwing your entire life away. And for what? Some cheap thrills? And now, you’ve gone and lost a baby and you don’t even care!”

It was too much. His words were getting to be too much, and you were dangerously close to losing it. “Of course I fucking care!” you sobbed, the damn breaking and setting free a flood of tears you’d been pretending weren’t just waiting to spill. “I had our baby– ours, yours and mine– and I fucking lost it because I needed to forget how much pain I was in! How much you fucking made me hurt! It’s been almost two months and I still want to die when I think about you with her. I want to fucking die.”

Bucky’s arms were around you as you collapsed into him, gasping for air between choking sobs. “I close my eyes, and it’s all I can see,” you wailed. “I’ve fucked so many men trying to forget about you, to feel anything besides despair, but all they do is remind me of what I’m missing, what I lost. All the drinking, the drugs, all the sex– I just wanted to forget, to have a few minutes where I could pretend my life wasn’t ruined, that the best thing I ever had hadn’t been stolen away from me!”

Bucky held you tighter, rubbing soothing patterns into your back in an attempt to calm you. “And I just keep losing,” you cried. “I lost you, I lost our baby, I lost Chloe.”

If Bucky wondered who Chloe was, he knew it wasn’t the right time to ask. “Hey,” he said, tilting your chin up so you were looking at him and wiping the tears from your cheeks, “you haven’t lost me. I’m still right here. I know I fucked up. I don’t expect you to forgive me; I don’t deserve it, but I’m always going to be here, no matter what. And, okay, you lost this baby. But that doesn’t mean you won’t have a chance for another.”

“I don’t want someone else’s baby,” you told him, wiping at the tears that just wouldn’t stop coming, and choosing to completely ignore the fact that you’d lost him in every way that actually mattered. “This was the only chance for our baby, and I destroyed it! It’s the universe’s way of telling me I’m not supposed to be a mother.”

“Why the fuck would you think that?” Bucky asked accusingly. “What makes you think you wouldn’t be an amazing mom?”

You let out a hard laugh through your tears. “What the fuck do I know about being a mother?” you asked him bitterly. “It’s not like I had a shining example of one growing up. All I know how to do is push people away. To make them not love me.” That was the sick truth, your exhausted brain and broken heart were telling you in the moment: your biological father, your mother, Bucky. All of them had turned from you, had pulled their love at the first opportunity. A logical part of your brain would have known this wasn’t the case, and that you had so many more people who did love you, but you weren’t running on logic right now.

“Stop,” Bucky begged, voice cracking. “That’s not true. Sweetheart, that’s not true. You are so damn easy to love, I fell for you immediately. I know you don’t believe it, but I never stopped loving you. I’m never gonna stop loving you.”

“Then why, Bucky?” you cried, clinging to him, desperate for an answer that made sense. “Why did you do this to me?”

Bucky pulled you down onto the couch with him, cradling you in his lap. He gently rocked you back and forth. “Because I’m broken, sweets. I’m broken, and I’m stupid, and I let my anger get the best of me. I was so convinced that you were too good for me, that I didn’t deserve you, that I sabotaged us to prove myself right. But none of that is worth seeing you like this. None of that was worth putting you through all the hurt I did. And I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Nothing I say can undo it. Nothing I do is gonna change what happened, fix the damage I did to you. All I can do is show you that it’s never gonna happen again, whether or not you ever end up forgivin’ me. There’s never gonna be another girl for me, and if you never want me again, that’s okay; I’ll understand. I deserve it and I’ll learn to live with it, but it’s not gonna change how I feel. You’ll be the last girl I’ll ever make love to, even if you decide you never wanna give me another chance.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that. Simply because you weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to give him another chance. But that reminded you– there was something you wanted to address with him.

“I’m sorry,” you told him softly.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at you with a tilt of his head. “What are you sorry about, doll? I’m the one who should be spending the rest of their life apologizin’ to you.”

You turned away from him. “I’m sorry about what Hydra did to you,” you said. When he didn’t say anything, you went on: “I, uh, asked Sam,” you continued. “About what you’d told me with the sparring and how you get… excited.” You felt him still beneath you, but didn’t want to lose your nerve. “I’m sorry that I doubted that they put you through that kind of abuse, and I’m so sorry it happened to you. And… I’m– I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel like I was a safe person you could share that part of your past with.”

Bucky let out an agonizingly slow breath. “Sweets,” he began, “it was never about feeling like you weren’t a safe place for me to be open about it. Not once.”

You took in a shuddering breath, hating that you were making this moment, in a way, about you. “But… you told Steve, and Sam and– and… her. But you didn’t tell me.” You risked a glance at him, afraid he was going to be angry at you, but all you saw was patience in his eyes. “I must have said or done something that made you feel like you couldn’t share it with me, and whatever that was, I’m sorry.”

Bucky shook his head sadly and rubbed his human hand up and down your back. “No, baby.” He exhaled. “It was never like that. I didn’t tell you, because I was ashamed.”

You raised your eyes and gave him a questioning look.

“I could tell Sam, and Steve, and even Carthage, because I didn’t give a shit if they thought I was… fucked up… sexually. It didn’t matter what they thought about it, because, well, I wasn’t trying to impress them, to make them want me, want to be with me. But you?” He brought his vibranium hand up to cup your face, turning it so you were looking at him. “I didn’t want you lookin’ at me and thinkin’ that I was broken, that I didn’t… didn’t work right in the way I wanted you the most. I’d never be able to stand it. I was just so ashamed and embarrassed; and I couldn’t stand the thought of you lookin’ at me the way I looked at myself.”

“Barnes,” you offered with a small, small smile, “I have never, not once, even considered you were broken, sexually. Not before I found out, and certainly not after. In fact, I’ve spent the last two months desperately trying to make myself forget just how not fucked up you are in that department.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “Just, uh, outta curiosity, sweets, how many attempts at forgetting are we talking about here?”

You scrunched up your mouth. “You seriously want to know how many guys I’ve fucked since we broke up, Barnes?”

Bucky shrugged his shoulders in a completely failed attempt at seeming nonchalant. “Like I said, just curious. What are we talking… like, two? Three?”

You snorted. Multiply that by ten, you thought. “You really don’t want to know, Barnes. Trust me.”

“Jesus Christ,” he moaned. “More than three?!”

You shrugged awkwardly. “It’s really not any of your business, Bucky.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck,” he said. “Yeah, yeah, I know it’s not. I just can’t stand the fucking thought of someone else putting their hands on you,” he said through clenched teeth.

You raised a brow and gave him a sarcastic look. “Hypocrite much?” you asked, though there was no bite behind your words.

Bucky lowered his head, not meeting your gaze. “Givin’ me a taste of my own medicine, huh, doll? Well, can’t say it’s not fucking bitter, or that I don’t deserve it.”

“I didn’t do it with the purpose of hurting you,” you told him, feeling your tears start to build again. “I did it to get over you. To forget you.”

He brushed a tear from your lashes. “Did it work, doll?” he asked, voice low. “Did you forget? Are you over it?”

You hadn’t. Of course you fucking hadn’t. But you didn’t want him knowing that. Not fully; it was enough though, knowing that he’d felt even a fraction of the jealousy you’d felt. “Hard to say,” you told him, instead. “Maybe the twenty-ninth time’ll be the charm.”

Bucky spluttered and gasped for breath. “TWENTY-NINTH TIME?!? Are you telling me you’ve fucked twenty-eight pieces of shit since you’ve been down here?!” Almost as soon as his frustration burst from him itself, it had died out. “Not my business,” he said, though you could tell he was struggling.

You’d had enough tormenting him for the night, so you snuggled further into his chest. “Not a single one of them made me forget for a second,” you told him, tilting your head up to look into his eyes. Bucky chuffed and leaned down to kiss the top of your head, and for the first time in months, you felt a hint of the safety you used to feel with him. It was small, but it was there, a tiny ember in a fire you’d feared had long died out. With a rattling sigh, you rested your head against his chest as he continued to rock you, and soon, you were lulled asleep to the sound of his steady, familiar, beloved heartbeat.

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mannien · 3 days

Text

Unwanted: Chapter 25, Unprotected - Pt. 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language,

WARNING: THIS PART HAS A MAJOR THEME THAT SHOULD HAVE A WARNING, BUT I DO NOT WANT TO SPOIL THE PLOT. THEREFORE, IF THERE IS SOMETHING YOU FEAR YOU MAY NOT BE ABLE TO HANDLE, *PLEASE* DM ME FOR THE WARNING BEFORE READING!

Word Count: 1.7k

Previously On...: Uh... something went horribly wrong.

A/N: BUCKY IS BACK, and just in time <3

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

You weren’t sure what woke you up– the incessant beeping or the dull ache between your legs.

“Ugh, Sam, turn off your fucking alarm clock,” you muttered, pulling your blanket above your head. When had the apartment lights gotten so hideously bright? “Sam’s not here, doll. ‘Fraid it’s just me.”

Your eyes shot open at the sound of his voice, and you slowly pulled the blanket down from your face. You were lying on a bed in the middle of a hospital suite, and Bucky Barnes was sitting in an armchair in the corner. He looked haggard, as if he hadn’t done anything but worry and fret since arriving.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you asked him, fighting to keep your voice steady. You’d hoped time would have helped lessen the pain you felt at the sight of him, but no– he still tore at your heart.

“You never changed your emergency contact,” he said, getting up from his chair to sit at the edge of your bed. Lovely. You were going to have to re-traumatize yourself because you hadn’t been assed to update fucking paperwork.

You rubbed your eyes with your hands. “What happened?” you asked.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Bucky said. He reached for you but you, but you pulled away, leaving him to frown at the space where your hand had been. “All they would tell me was that your distress beacon was activated, and when SHIELD operatives responded to your safehouse, they found you passed out in a pool of blood. They had you in surgery when I got here.”

“Surgery?” You began patting your body, searching for bandages or stitches, some sign of an incision, but you found nothing. “I don’t feel like I had surgery.”

Bucky shrugged. “That’s all they told me. Since I’m technically not family, they wouldn’t say anything more.” You scoffed. He was a lot less than ‘technically not family’.

“Well, I’m not dead,” you said dismissively, “so no reason for you to stay.” You shooed him away with a flap of your wrists. “Go on home now.”

Bucky snorted. “All laid up in the hospital and still, you got jokes,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere. Sam called Steve on his way to the airport, told him what went down with A.J., so looks like you’re in need of a new mission partner.” The smirk behind his eyes was enough to make you sneer.

“No,” you said, crossing your arms, and you were sure you looked very intimidating in your hospital gown with an IV sticking out of your hand. “I’m good, thanks. Don’t need any help, especially not yours.”

Bucky rolled his eyes at you. “Always so stubborn,” he chided. “Doesn’t matter what you want, doll. Captain’s orders; I’m here to stay, at least until Sam gets back.”

Fucking wonderful. As if you didn’t have enough to worry about, with girls getting murdered, Hydra funding the Wiggle Room, you randomly bleeding out and collapsing, and poor A.J.’s condition still unknown. Maybe there was something so seriously wrong with you, they’d make you go back to the Tower to recover and Bucky would be forced to stay down here, alone. God, was that actually what you were hoping for, now? Your life had indeed gone to shit.

There was a soft knock on your door and a man in a white doctor’s coat and glasses entered, carrying a clipboard.

“Ms. (Y/L/N)?” he asked. When you nodded, he continued: “I’m Dr. Carson; I’ve been attending to you during your stay with us. I’m glad to see you awake. How are you feeling?”

You barked out a humorous laugh. “Like I’ve been thoroughly fucked by a cactus, Doc. Care to explain what the hell happened to me?”

Bucky suppressed a snort as the doctor blushed and averted his gaze. “Yes, well, it’s quite normal to experience some mild discomfort following a D&C,” he began.

You sat up straighter, positive you had misheard him. “I’m sorry,” you interrupted, “a fucking what now?” He couldn’t have said what you thought you heard him say.

Dr. Carson coughed. “A Dilation and Curettage,” he explained. “It’s a procedure to–”

“Oh, I know what it’s fucking is,” you said, raising your voice. “What I don’t understand is why I would even need one in the first place!” Except you did. There was only one reason, and it made everything make perfect sense– the vomiting, the fatigue, all of it.

Before the doctor could answer you, Bucky spoke up: “Uh, I don’t know what it is. One of you care to explain to me what the hell all this means?”

“It’s none of your fucking business, Barnes,” you grumbled, just as the doctor spoke over you:

“It’s a surgical procedure that requires dilation of the cervix and the removal of tissue from the uterus,” he said. “In this case, that would be necrotic fetal tissue.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Um, okay,” Bucky said as he considered the doctor’s words. You watched as the realization came over his face. “Holy shit. Fetal tissue? Like… like a baby?”

Dr. Carson nodded slowly. “Yes.” He turned back to face you. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Ms. (Y/L/N), but it appears that you’ve experienced what we call a spontaneous miscarriage. Near as we can figure, you were about sixteen weeks along.”

You brought both hands to your temples. Was this real life?

“Were you not aware you were pregnant?” the doctor asked, taking in the look of complete shock on your face. “When was the date of your last period?”

Before you could control yourself, you began laughing with the absolute absurdity of the entire situation. “I’ve been slightly preoccupied,” you managed to get out. “Between the baby’s father” you thumbed at Bucky, “cheating on me with my greatest enemy, working undercover to save a bunch of women from sex trafficking and now solving a murder, too, I guess, so forgive me if I haven’t really been keeping track.”

The look Dr. Carson gave you then was a mixture of concern and alarm, and you were fairly confident he was this close to having you held for a mandatory psych eval. Good; you could benefit from a vacation.

“Could, you, uh,” Bucky cleared his throat, “give us a moment alone, please, doctor? I’m sure Pock– I mean (Y/N) needs a minute to collect herself, to process.”

“Yes, of course,” Dr. Carson said, seeming relieved that one of you appeared sane, at least. “I’ll send a nurse over in a little while to check your vitals, and we can see about getting you discharged.”

Bucky nodded and offered the doctor his thanks on your behalf, because you were still laughing. Dr. Carson left the room, his haste evident.

“Pocket,” Bucky said, trying to get your attention, but you ignored him. “Pocket,” he tried again, this time grabbing both your shoulders in his hands and gently shaking them. “Hey, get yourself together, come on!”

Your laughter tapered away and you wiped a tear away from your eye. “Oh my god,” you exhaled. “I’m sorry, but this is just… I’ve been running around pregnant for four fucking months? Come on! That’s, like, an entire third of a year! You gotta admit, that’s fucking insane!”

Bucky studied you. “You really didn’t know?”

You snorted. “Of course not! If I knew, I wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with, because I would have taken care of it the second I found out.”

A frown took over Bucky’s face. “What do you mean, ‘take care of it’?” he asked.

“I mean, like, I would have aborted it,” you said, as though the answer was so unbelievably obvious that it was stupid of him to have even asked, but Bucky’s frown deepened. “You can’t honestly think I would have kept it?”

“It was our baby, Pocket,” he said after a beat, his voice a rough whisper. “You would have killed our baby?!”

You rolled your eyes. “What? Just because you knocked me up, I’m supposed to forget everything you put me through and play happy co-parents with you and step mommy Carthage for the next eighteen years? No fucking thank you.”

“I would have married you,” he said, and you noticed for the first time that his voice was full of sorrow, his eyes lined with tears. Jesus Christ, this was hurting him. “We would have raised him or her together. Been a family.”

You laughed, the sound harsh and awkward to your own ears. “There’s no way in hell I’d marry you,” you told him. “Not after what you did. A clump of cells doesn’t just absolve you from your sins.”

“That was our child,” Bucky said, with so much anguish in his voice that you pulled yourself back. “That was a baby we made, out of our love, and you’re talking about it like it’s… it’s inconvenient garbage.”

“Yeah, well, I guess the trash took itself out,” you said bitterly.

Bucky looked at you in abject horror. “You don’t mean that,” he said, as though trying to convince himself as much as you. “You’re… you’re in shock. You’ve been through a trauma, and you’re not thinking straight.” He shook his head in disbelief. “You don’t mean that,” he reiterated.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, James.” You turned your head away from him, not wanting to see the way he was looking at you, as if you were a complete stranger.

The suite’s door opened again, and a nurse came in, dragging a portable computer cart behind her. Saved by the vitals, you thought.

“This conversation isn’t over,” Bucky said under his breath, and you sighed, knowing that you weren’t going to be able to table this discussion for long, but not knowing what he hoped to get out of you.

He couldn’t seriously have expected you to want to have had a baby with him, could he? Not after everything. To be forced into close proximity with him for the next two decades, and be tied together for the rest of your lives with a constant reminder of what could have been, should have been, with what he prevented you from ever having? That was just… delusional.

Even though, if you had given yourself a chance to truly think about it, outside of the initial shock of it all, that was what you would have wanted, too.

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mannien · 3 days

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Y/N: I don't know how to tell you this, but... I love you.

Bucky: That's great, Y/N. Especially considering the fact we've been married for 6 fucking years.

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mannien · 3 days

Text

This is so cute I can feel my insides squirming in pure joy

don't overdue it

bucky barnes x librarian reader

words: 850

a/n: it's not much but it's honest work *tips cowboy hat* not proofread! but big thanks to @brandycranby for taking a gander at it :') any and all mistakes are mine. feedback is encouraged & appreciated ♡

part 1 ❀

When Bucky returns to the library in the hopes of surprising you and maybe asking you to lunch, he is not prepared for the events that follow.

He's heading straight for the circulation desk, assuming that's where you'll be, but sweet, tinkering laughter pulls his attention to the left and he promptly trips over his own feet. Your hands are on the table in front of you as you lean into it. The way your spine curves should be a crime. It makes your ass stick out in an extremely enticing manner, and Bucky may have physical strength, but mentally he is weak.

The tennis skirt that peeks out from under your pink cardigan is… tiny. Are you allowed to wear something that short to work? Surely not. Right? Like, there has to be rules against everything currently happening, to keep innocent people from imploding at such a visual.

He watches as you turn your head to muffle fresh giggles into your shoulder, the women sitting around the table, who he's just now noticed, joining in. You press your finger to your lips, trying to shush them, but your frame shakes with the effort of keeping quiet.

He’s gonna give himself an aneurysm if he keeps imagining what it'd be like to stand behind you in that position, hands possessively on your hips, perhaps with less clothes between you.

By the time he shakes the mental image from his brain, you're walking away, waving to the women at the table as they push their chairs in. You turn a corner and he hurries to follow. He's determined, goddamnit. The flirting over text after your first date the other night has been cute and all, but he couldn't wait another minute to see you.

When he takes the same turn as you, entering an aisle of tall bookshelves, he trips over his feet for a second time. You're on a stepladder, stretched onto your tip-toes as you try to put a book away. Bucky has a clear view of the swell of your ass and the baby blue lace covering it beneath your skirt.

“Did I fall and slam my head into the ground? Am I dreaming?”

His voice startles you, making you wobble precariously. He strides over to steady you. It's only after he has your hips in a tight grip that he realizes what he's done, and yet he can't seem to remove his hands.

“Bucky,” you murmur in surprise, looking over your shoulder at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I wanted to ask you to lunch, but now I'm having very ungentlemanly thoughts and I think I should probably leave before I do something I’ll regret.”

Even though he says it, he makes no move to leave whatsoever.

Your small hands come to rest atop his. “Why don't you help me down, big guy?”

Bucky jolts into action, slowly guiding you off the ladder until you're on even flooring and smiling up at him, eyes twinkling in amusement. He drops his hands as he feels his ears go hot.

“Thank you.”

He nods. “You're welcome.”

You hold his stare for a moment, then tilt your head, letting out a soft giggle. He's pretty sure you're laughing at him, but he honestly couldn't care less, not if it makes you happy. He will gladly make an idiot of himself every single day if it means he gets to hear that adorable giggle.

“You're so cute,” you say with a sigh.

He blinks incredulously. “I’m cute? Have you seen yourself? You're like the CEO of Cute Patoot. You look like you mastered in Charming Everyone You Meet with a minor in Wooing Even the Crankiest of People. When you sneeze, thirty fairies get their wings. Every time you laugh you heal a blind person. Your smile could literally end wars. You—”

“Oh my god, stop,” you plead, laughing so hard you gasp for breath.

“You just gave sight to like, at least five people.”

You shove his shoulder as more laughter bubbles out of you. Bucky grins, powerless to stop himself. He's so far gone and you've only been on the one date. He's fucking screwed.

You manage to calm down, wiping at your eyes. “Didn't you mention something about lunch?” you ask.

“I did,” he confirms. “But honestly, all I wanna do now is kiss you for a little while. I could live off that for probably two days.”

You roll your eyes with a huff. “Not this again,” you mumble.

“I’m so serious.”

“I know you are, which is the absurd part of this whole situation,” you reply, shaking your head with a smile.

“How about this,” he starts, tangling his fingers with yours, “I’ll still take you to lunch, but only after I get a kiss.”

You groan playfully and it makes Bucky’s stomach tingle.

“Okay, okay, fine. One kiss.”

He refrains from clicking his heels and shouting yippee! but it's a near thing. The way you're looking at him makes him think you know anyway. Oh well. You're still leaning up to press your pouty lips against his, so who's winning?

#fic rec #bucky #THANK YOU #DO NOT LOSE IT #important

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mannien · 3 days

Text

a shore thing

bucky barnes x fem reader

i decided to write it hehe

a/n: any and all mistakes are my own! feedback is encouraged & welcomed :) xoxo

Bucky calls your name for the umpteenth time, beyond exasperated as you stumble away, giggling uncontrollably as you evade capture. He's hardly tipsy anymore, having decided to nurse a single beer for the last couple hours when he noticed how heavy you were drinking. Somebody needed to be responsible, he told himself. Even Steve was letting loose more than usual. But, to be fair, they were all on vacation.

“Guys, the taxis are here,” Nat announces, yet again, leaning heavily against one of said vehicles. “Bucky, we gotta go.”

“I’m trying my best here,” he replies. Although, that's not entirely true. “Someone should've cut her off ages ago.”

“Boooooo,” you heckle as you run past him.

Bucky sighs heavily. “Fine. You can stay here by yourself.”

You pause abruptly, almost tripping over your own feet, but you catch yourself before you face-plant into the gravel. “You're leaving me?” you ask in a pitiful tone.

“Yup.” Bucky turns and takes a few steps away, hearing you whine in protest. “Have fun.”

“Noooo, wait!”

Your uneven steps come closer and closer to Bucky and as soon as he gauges you're within arm’s reach he spins around with a smirk. It makes you lurch to a stop, gasping as it dawns on you.

“Betrayal!” you shout, pointing an accusatory finger at him. You try to take off running again, but Bucky is quicker. You're swooped up into a fireman’s carry before you even register your feet leaving the ground. “Ack! Put me down, you absolute caveman!”

Sam sticks his head out of the taxi. “There's room in this one.”

Bucky steers his steps that way, feeling your tiny fists beating his back the whole way, and plops you into the open seat. You let out a cute oof that he ignores as he tries to latch the seatbelt. You're a squirmy little shit though, and he soon finds that the only way he’ll be able to get the group back to the hotel is to enter the taxi himself and pull you into his lap. He quickly shuts the door and finally latches the seatbelt around the both of you, telling the driver to go.

Sam shakes his head in amusement in the seat beside Bucky. “You're seriously the only one who can rally that firecracker of a woman.”

“Hey!” you object with a pout. “I'm drunkies, not deaf. I can still hear you.”

You and Sam begin bickering and Bucky rolls his eyes, but he doesn't do anything to interfere. He's too busy trying to think about literally anything else other than the ginormous mistake he made by placing you on his lap. You, the person he's been in love with for far too long now, who has absolutely no clue of his feelings and sends constant mixed signals.

There are days he's sure you feel the same with the way you look at him, but then the next day you go out of your way to make sure he knows the two of you are just friends. He's losing his fucking mind. He doesn't know if he should tell you how he feels or try to move on.

You're wiggling suddenly, body jostling atop Bucky’s and his mind is forced to return to the present, only to see you and Sam slap-fighting like children.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” he addresses the driver, “I swear they're actually adults when they're not three sheets to the wind.”

The driver waves off the apology with a chuckle. The fight ends with you pinching Sam’s nipple, his cry of pain and outrage making you giggle wildly and throw your head back onto Bucky’s shoulder. After you catch your breath you sit up and wiggle some more until you're sitting sideways and can look at Bucky. Your eyes are glassy and your smile is sly and a touch wonky, and Bucky still thinks you're the cutest, sexiest woman he's ever known.

“Why don't you like me for real?”

The taxi is uncomfortably quiet. Bucky blinks a few times, shifting his gaze to Sam, who’s suddenly very interested in the passing streetlights and palm trees outside the window. Traitor, Bucky thinks. With no help from his supposed friend, Bucky looks back to you.

He clears his throat. “I do like you.”

“No,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “I mean like, like me like me. Like, more.”

Bucky is silent again, his mind whirling with a million questions–the biggest one being what the fuck?

“I'm not sure what you mean,” he says carefully. He hopes playing dumb will work in deterring the conversation, but he should've known better.

“You always just joke about it, but you never mean it. Always get my hopes up.”

“What are you talking about?” he blurts, truly flabbergasted, but he cuts you off before you can reply. “No, don't answer that. You're drunk, okay? You don't know what you're saying.”

You poke his cheek roughly, pouting. “I just want you to like me back, Buck. Wanna kiss you whenever I want.”

Bucky swallows thickly, unable to take his eyes away from yours as you lean in closer.

“Don't you wanna kiss me?” you question, reaching up you play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “Can I kiss you, Bucky?”

Your lips graze his, a feather-light touch, and he exhales shakily. Of fucking course he wants to kiss you. He's wanted nothing else for the last year. But he doesn't want it like this. He says your name, voice low in warning. You either don't hear him or you don't care.

Bucky’s eyes flutter closed as you continue pressing light kisses to his lips, the corner of his mouth, his chin, along his jaw. He fists his hands where they rest on either side of you, praying for the will to remain strong.

“You're drunk,” he repeats, a last ditch effort in getting you to stop, but even he can hear how weak the protest is.

“I still know what I want, what I feel.” You brush your nose against his. “I want you.”

Sam coughs pointedly beside both of you. “We’re here.”

Bucky is quick to unlatch the seatbelt and help you out of the car. Nat walks over and grabs your hand, Steve walking leisurely behind her.

“Let's go to bed, please,” she begs as she drags you with her.

You begin whining again, reminding Bucky of your inebriated state. He shouldn't have let you kiss him. You're not going to remember any of this tomorrow. Guilt punches him in the gut. He's so fucking weak when it comes to you.

“I wanna sleep with Bucky,” you complain as you resist.

Natasha squawks. “What?!” Her eyes are as wide as saucers, flicking back and forth from you and Bucky. Sam fails to hide his snort.

“His bed is bigger,” you explain, “You take up too much space.”

Natasha gasps. “How dare you!”

You turn to Bucky with pleading eyes. “Bucky, please let me sleep with you.”

“I… I'm not sure that's a good idea,” he replies.

You stomp your foot. “Pleeeease?” Your pout is lethal. “I promise I won't take up too much space.”

Sam puts his hand over Nat’s mouth before she can start yelling, doing his best to frogmarch her into the hotel so they don't cause a disturbance. Steve follows languidly, which is the sign that he's quickly coming down from his drunken high and will likely crash the moment his head hits the pillow.

“You should just sleep in your room with Nat,” Bucky advises.

“I don't wanna sleep with her,” you say, stepping back into Bucky’s space. One of your hands grasps his shirt, the other trailing across his chest. He fights the shiver threatening to run down his spine. “I wanna cuddle you.”

You look up at him through your lashes and Bucky knows he's lost. He sighs. You grin and giggle, grabbing his hand to lead him inside the hotel. He's quiet the whole ride up in the elevator. Your head is resting on his shoulder, humming along to whatever song is playing in your head. You’re still holding his hand.

When you're both standing in front of his room door, Bucky pauses, about to try one last time to get you to go two rooms down to the one you're supposed to be sharing with Nat, but you snatch the key card out of his hand and open the door before a word can leave his mouth. He doesn't trust you to be alone right now, and with Sam babysitting Nat and Steve probably snoring away in his own room, Bucky accepts his fate. He enters the room, closing the door with resignation.

“Ugh, god, these heels are the worst,” you grumble as you trip your way over to sit on the bed. You fight with the small buckle before making a noise of complaint. “Buckyyy…”

“Jesus,” he mutters, huffing as he walks to you.

He kneels in front of you and carefully takes your shoes off. You hum, pleased, once your feet are free, wiggling your toes.

“Why do you wear them if you hate them so much?” he mumbles.

“Because they make my legs and ass look fantastic, duh.”

Well. That's fair, Bucky supposes.

“Can you unzip me now?”

Fuck. Bucky chokes on nothing.

“Unzip you? What are you planning on sleeping in? Your pajamas are in your room,” he points out.

“Can't I borrow one of your shirts?” you ask, blinking innocent eyes up at him.

He doesn't trust it one bit.

“Please, Bucky? My dress won't be comfortable.”

Your pout makes yet another appearance. He doesn't bother pointing out that you wouldn't have this problem if you went to your own room. You'd ignore him anyway.

“Fine,” he grumbles. He rifles through his bag to find a shirt for you, grabbing pajamas for himself while he's at it. “I'll go change in the bathroom.”

He turns to head that way, but you stop him.

“My dress,” you remind him, spinning around and pointing at the zip.

Bucky's pretty sure you could do this by yourself, but he's just ready to go to bed at this point, so he’ll do whatever he has to to get there. He tries not to put too much thought into the action, but his mind can't help but wander, imagining unzipping your dress with different intentions. The more skin that is revealed to him, the more his breathing picks up. He takes note that you didn't wear a bra with this dress, which makes him realize you'll be wearing his shirt with only your underwear beneath it. He curses mentally.

He steps away like he's been burned once the zipper reaches the bottom. “There you go,” he says, voice gruff.

He doesn't wait for your response, quickly escaping into the bathroom before anything else can be asked of him. It doesn't take Bucky long to change his clothes, but he still lingers in the small space to gather his wits, taking his time as he brushes his teeth, and even splashes some cold water on his face. He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment.

“She’ll forget all of this by morning,” he assures himself.

He's not fond of the way that statement makes his stomach twist.

When he leaves the bathroom, he finds your dress pooled on the floor in the same spot you stood as he unzipped it. You're standing next to the bed, fidgeting with the hem of Bucky’s shirt that hangs off your small frame. He raises a quizzical brow.

“I don't know which side you prefer,” you say, unsure.

Bucky feels himself soften at your expression. “I'm good either way.”

You dart for the left side, lifting the comforter and sheets and snuggling underneath them. Bucky's lips twitch, but he resists smiling.

“C’mon, Buck, I want cuddles,” you entice, patting the spot beside you exaggeratedly.

He only hesitates for a split second. It's late and exhaustion is settling in his bones. He’ll worry about consequences in the morning.

You waste no time in invading his space once he's in the bed. You nudge his arm until he lifts it, worming your way under it and placing your head on his chest, your own arm slung over his waist. Bucky goes still, holding his breath until you get comfortable. Slowly, he lets his arm fall across your back, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh.

“Bucky?” you whisper.

“Hm?”

You nuzzle into his pec. “Love you.”

Bucky's eyes snap open then. His heart begins hammering in his chest and he prays that you're close enough to sleep to not notice.

“Goodnight,” he rasps after a minute passes by.

Your only reply is a light snore. Bucky feels his heart crack in his chest.

The next morning, Bucky lies awake, staring at the ceiling. He's not sure exactly how much sleep he got, but it wasn't a lot. You only got clingier as you slept, practically wrapping your whole body around him.

Bucky is a weak, weak man.

Sunlight begins peeking through the curtains, eventually finding its way to the bed and across your closed eyes. A frown forms between your brows and he almost smoothes it with his thumb. The only reason he stops himself is because you groan and turn away before he can.

“Turn it off,” you croak.

“The sun?” he retorts with a laugh.

“Yes,” you reply derisively. “Kick its ass for waking me up.”

Bucky smiles to himself. “Whatever you want, my love.”

It feels like the room freezes in time after the endearment escapes him. With a jolt, you sit up and face him. Bucky can't read your expression, but that's mostly because he's doing his best to look anywhere but your face.

“Seriously?” you gripe. “You're still going to poke fun about that kind of shit even after what I said last night?”

That gets his attention pretty easily. He meets your gaze and hates the dejected look on your face.

“What–what are you talking about?” he questions, thrown.

Your chin wobbles slightly before you scoff, whipping the comforter off your body as you attempt to leave the bed, but Bucky sits up and grabs your wrist to stop you.

“Wait–”

“Let go of me,” you demand, refusing to look at him.

“Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on,” he replies firmly.

You turn to him with a glare. “You're still joking about my feelings for you, even though I made it perfectly clear how I felt last night.”

“Felt? You… you don't feel the same anymore?” He's grasping for straws here. “I thought–I mean, I didn't think you were serious. You were drunk, I…”

“It doesn't matter if I still feel the same or not,” you reply, the fight leaving your body.

“Yes, it does!” he exclaims. “God, of course it fucking matters. If you have feelings for me, I need to know.”

“Have I not made it abundantly clear already?!” you retort. “If you're that fucking dense, then here you go: I'm fucking in love with you, you big, stupid, gigantic ass–”

He cuts you off by dragging your body to his and kissing you. You make a sound of shock, but you don't push him away, so he deepens the kiss, tilting his head and flicking his tongue at the seam of your lips. You open for him with a gasp, your tongue meeting his and making you both moan. He pulls away, chest heaving.

“We're both stupid,” he declares. “I'm in love with you too. I thought you were the one not taking it seriously.”

Your dazed expression begins clearing and realization sets in. “Oh my god,” you mumble as you yank him back into a kiss that has him reeling.

“Do you know,” he starts between kisses, “how fucking hard it was—to be a gentleman last night?”

You giggle. “I was hoping you wouldn't be a gentleman.”

Bucky curses, manhandling you until you're flat on your back. “That can be arranged.”

“Promises, promises,” you goad, biting your lip.

“Exactly,” he replies, lips tugging into a smirk.

Needless to say, the two of you have to put up with merciless teasing for the rest of the trip… But it's worth it.

2K notes · View notes

mannien · 3 days

Text

and baby makes three

(the reboot)

bucky barnes x fem reader

words: 11.3k

warnings: **18+ ONLY** friends to lovers, pining, smut, oral (f receiving), breeding kink, pregnancy kink, cockwarming (kind of??), trigger warning for having troubles with getting pregnant. it's still super fuckin soft despite all of that though, i swear.

a/n: okay so it's currently 6am as i'm typing this and i haven't been to sleep yet bc i decided to just heavily edit this instead of rewrite it bc i'm lazy i guess idk. this was posted originally back in 2021 i believe and it's still on ao3 it's just orphaned rip. i promise i'll be writing and posting new stuff soon ok pls have faith in me and cheer me on bc it's hard and scary and i don't wanna disappoint anybody :( ANYWAY, as usual, any and all mistakes are my own. if i've missed anything important pls let me know so i can correct it. feedback is encouraged (pls) and appreciated (i am begging...)

The idea of you having a child one day always seemed foreign and very unlikely. Sure, you liked kids well enough, but having one of your own…

It’s a thought that’s sat in a corner deep in your mind, buried beneath a million other impossible concepts; a thought that you’ve only ever glanced over and never gave your full attention, having ruled it out ages ago as something you just couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do.

And then, on a day like any other, it pushes its way to the forefront of your mind, making itself known and unwilling to leave.

You’re going into the clothing store to find a new cardigan after your most favorite one got eaten by the dryer. Usually you’re a single-minded shopper, walking into a store with tunnel vision and on a mission to get what you need and that’s it.

Today, however, you make the mistake of letting your eyes wander on your way to the sweater section. Your gaze just so happens to land on the baby clothes… and your steps falter. It’s there that you see it, a tiny, pink onesie with a sleeping teddy bear printed on the front, displayed on an even tinier hanger. There’s matching pants with teddy bears all over them and ruffles on the butt and all your brain can muster up is cutecutecutecutecute.

Your feet carry you closer and before you realize what you’re doing you pick up the outfit, letting out a coo when you realize the teddy bear is fuzzy, softly rubbing your thumb across it. Somehow, you walk out of the store, not with a new cardigan, but with the cute baby outfit and a bow you thought looked adorable with it.

It’s not until you get home that it hits you, that you bought baby clothes for a baby you don’t even have.

The feeling that rushes through you is hard to describe. Shame? Embarrassment?

...Yearning?

No. Definitely not. Nope.

There’s absolutely no yearning going on here, not for a baby. You’ve never even had that desire before and you certainly don’t see yourself having it now. You shake your head to clear it, telling yourself you’ll take it back tomorrow.

Except you don’t take it back. You conveniently “forget” and it stays shoved on the top shelf in your hall closet. You pretend you don’t pause in front of said closet throughout the following days—weeks—chewing on the inside of your cheek and staring at the door like you can see through the wood at the evidence of your impulsive purchase.

It gets harder to ignore, though, when you start getting ads for baby clothing brands. And baby toys, bottles, handy little gadgets for new parents, nursery decor… It’s endless.

Then, as if it wasn’t already bad enough, all of your childhood friends start popping out babies like it’s a brand new trend. You don't think you've seen your social media this flooded with pregnancy announcements and baby arrivals, ever. Your emotions are mixed; happy for them, and for their excitement, but there’s also a weird discomfort settled in your stomach.

You hesitate to be that person who thinks the universe is trying to tell you something, but you do wonder. Why else would you suddenly have these feelings? Why else would there be baby stuff everywhere you look now?

It brings on other thoughts, as well. In this day and age, it’s not too unusual for women to have babies without being married, or without a significant other at all. There is the pressure, still, to at least be in a relationship, but considering you’ve been practically in love with one of your closest friends for the last two years, it’s safe to say that you’re tragically single, so having a baby with someone is out of the question.

And god, do you even want a baby?

As soon as the thought crosses your mind, with a sudden clarity that hits you like a ton of bricks, you realize you do. It feels like a freight train has slammed into you. Your mind’s eye supplies you with images of a swollen belly and wide smile, a precious baby wrapped in a soft blanket, cradled in your arms, a gummy grin and happy giggle.

Emotion consumes you then, longing like you’ve never felt in your life, chest aching with how badly you want that.

It’s not as if you’re too young. You’re plenty old enough and you’ve got a secure job. You don’t subscribe to that whole biological clock nonsense, but you do feel that if you are going to potentially have a baby, it might be better to do it now while you’re still in relatively good health.

You groan, dropping your face into your open palms, the movie you'd been watching to try and distract yourself long forgotten as it continues to play on the television.

This is a lot to think about, you ponder to yourself. Taking a deep breath in and releasing it slowly, you decide the mature thing to do is give yourself more time to ruminate on it. Having a baby is no small decision. You need to be absolutely certain it’s what you want. It’s going to change your entire life, everything, and you’d be responsible for a new life. So, you’ll have to give yourself a few months to decide and then you can go from there.

***

You’re scrolling through yet another article on your laptop, engrossed in every detail of the process of artificial insemination and the symptoms and side effects that come with it. So engrossed, in fact, that you don’t hear the key turning in the lock, the door opening and closing, and the heavy footfalls that follow.

It’s only when Bucky asks, “Whatcha reading?” that you are even aware of his presence.

You startle so hard that your knee slams into the underside of your table. Ignoring the throbbing pain in your knee and your wildly beating heart, you close your laptop with a snap and turn to Bucky.

“You could knock,” you grouse.

“Why give me a key, then?” he retorts, unapologetic.

You roll your eyes and grumble under your breath, “Clearly, it was a mistake.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

Brows furrowed, you ask, “What?”

He gestures to your laptop. “What were you reading? Your nose was nearly smushed against the screen.”

You blink, trying to think of a reasonable excuse and coming up empty.

“Nothing,” is all your brilliant mind can supply.

Bucky’s eyes narrow for a few seconds, and you pray to every higher power and all that is holy and good that he won’t press further. You remain frozen under Bucky’s suspicious stare, hearing that Old West shootout music playing in your mind.

Thankfully, it seems the deities are feeling indulgent, as Bucky chooses let it go.

He holds up the bags he carried in. “I brought lunch.”

You perk up instantly. “Did you go to that one place—?”

“With the fried rice you like so much, yes,” he finishes for you, smiling.

“You’re the best,” you sigh, stomach rumbling eagerly.

“I know,” he replies, solemn and dramatic like the idiot he is.

He begins taking out the styrofoam boxes and chattering on about something dumb Steve did the other day, and you mean to listen, you really do. It’s just. That article is still lingering in your brain. There’s so many steps and hassles. Plus, it’s not cheap. It would be a hefty investment.

You’d only researched it because, after months of contemplating the pros and cons of having a baby, you determined the pros far outweigh the cons. But then the problem was: how to even make it happen.

Your first thought was that you didn’t think you’d let just any man come inside you, for many obvious reasons. You’d shuddered to think of it. Then there was surrogacy, which is admirable and wonderful, but you’d quickly dismissed that idea as you realized you wanted to actually carry the baby yourself. So that led you to artificial insemination. You weren’t sure how you felt about it yet. There was something a little too clinical about choosing a random man’s sperm to have injected into your uterus.

Bucky’s still speaking as he grabs plates and forks, unaware of your inner monologue. “And then he got Sam involved,” he’s saying, scooping out food onto the plates, “which, as you know, I always think is a dumb thing to do.”

“I want to have a baby,” you blurt, eyes widening at your outburst.

Bucky fumbles with the spoon, sending fried rice flying, muttering curses as he tries to catch it with no luck as it lands with a dull clunk on the table. The silence that follows is loud. It feels like your heart is in your throat as you wait for him to just say something, anything.

“This is… quite a mess I’ve made,” Bucky finally observes. His voice is a bit higher than usual. “Where’s your vacuum? Actually, do you have one of those mini ones? Or would Clorox wipes be better? You know what, I’ll do both.”

He nods decisively then turns an expectant look towards you. His eyes look a bit wild, but you wisely keep that to yourself.

Wordlessly, you direct him to your hall closet. You realize your error a second too late when he opens the closet and reaches for the vacuum on the top shelf, where the purchase you’d made months ago also rests. His fingers get caught in the plastic bag when he grabs the handheld vacuum and its contents spill out. He goes to catch them right away, but once it registers what they are, he lets go of them like they’re on fire and nearly drops the vacuum on his foot.

Heat has been steadily creeping up your neck, but now your whole body feels aflame with embarrassment. The two of you stare at the baby clothes lying unassumingly on the floor for a long moment, until Bucky quietly walks back to the table with the vacuum clutched tightly in his fist. He flicks the switch on and it whirs to life, sucking up the bits of rice scattered around the table.

There’s another lengthy silence after he turns the vacuum off and you're unable to find the right thing to say to break it. Bucky does it for you.

“So… You’re serious.”

You meet his eyes and sigh heavily. “Yeah.”

He blinks a few times before clearing his throat, schooling his expression carefully. “I didn’t realize you were seeing someone.”

You cough lightly and start picking the peas out of your fried rice. “Well, that would be because I’m not.”

“I don’t think I follow,” he admits slowly.

You sigh again, lowering your gaze to your lap. “Look, I’ve thought about this a lot, okay? I’ve given myself months to really make sure it’s what I want. I’m in a good place in my life to have one, Bucky, and I don’t want to feel pressured to wait until I might get married.” You lift your gaze to his. “I want to have a baby,” you repeat firmly. “And I don’t need a partner to have one.”

You’re not sure why you feel the need to defend yourself. It’s not up to Bucky what you decide to do. You don’t need his approval, or anyone else’s. Maybe it’s because, even though you know it's not true, it feels like you're making too hasty of a decision.

After a beat, Bucky amends, “Well, I mean… You do…”

“Oh my god, shut up, you know what I mean,” you groan as you smack his arm, glad that he's not calling you crazy or trying to talk you out of it.

He doesn’t even flinch, the jerk.

“Wait, so what were you reading when I got here?” he suddenly questions, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” you say too quickly, guiltily.

“Let me see your laptop then,” he counters as he crosses his arms over his chest.

You flounder for a second, scoffing. “What? No!”

“It can’t be that embarrassing, just show me,” he wheedles.

“Absolutely not.”

“Let me see!”

“It’s private!”

“Don’t be a chicken.”

Your eye twitches. “I’m not a chicken.” Bucky smirks and before he can even open his mouth you interject with a finger pointed accusingly at his face, “Do not start clucking at me, Bucky. I’ll kick your ass,” you threaten, though it's weak and you're not the only one who knows it.

You glare when his smirk only widens. Slowly, he moves his arms like he’s gonna flap them like chicken wings.

“Ugh! God, fine! You wanna know what I was reading?” You open your laptop and slide it over to him, turning it to where he can read it. “There.”

Bucky scans the page, then scans it again, eyes flicking all over like it’s in a different language. His cheeks grow redder and redder as he reads and you get a small sense of satisfaction at the sight.

“Wow,” he mutters finally. “You’re turkey baster serious.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“What?” he asks innocently.

When you make eye contact with him, you purse your lips to keep the laughter threatening to bubble out at bay, but the ever growing smile on Bucky’s face is hard to resist and you find yourself snorting a laugh that leads to uncontrollable giggles. Bucky’s laughing with you, his eyes crinkling on the sides. The tension you hadn’t realized you held in your shoulders loosens and you nudge his knee with yours in silent thanks.

“So,” he says after you've both calmed down.

“So,” you repeat, dragging it out, drumming your fingers on the tabletop. “I’ve been doing research, checking out all of my options, and while artificial insemination seems like the best choice… I don’t know, there’s just something too clinical about it,” you reply, voicing your concerns, “It doesn’t feel right. I know I said I don’t need a partner, and I don’t, but… Having absolutely no connection is weird.”

You shrug, waving a hand as if to say oh well, putting an end to the conversation, and pick up your plate to carry it over to the microwave. You reheat Bucky’s food while you’re up, and then you both start eating in comfortable silence. He gets halfway through his meal before speaking up.

“Have you… I mean, did you think about… I’ve heard that, uh. Some people ask another person…”

He trails off, clearly frustrated that he can’t just spit out what he’s trying to say. You think you understand what he means, though.

“I read up on surrogacy,” you say, biting your lip. “But I don’t think I’d want someone else to carry my baby.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean—I wasn’t suggesting, uh, that. Not that there’s anything wrong with it!” he rushes to say.

You tilt your head. “What did you mean then?”

“Well,” Bucky starts, stilted, licking his lips. “For the artificial insemination, have you considered… you know. Asking someone you’re close with?”

You frown, not following.

“For—for the sperm,” he clarifies, shifting in his seat.

“Oh,” you breathe, blinking rapidly, surprised as you think of how to reply. “Um. No? I wouldn’t even know who I could ask, to be honest. That’s quite the request, you know? Who would—“

“Me,” he interrupts, determined and cheeks flushed, “I would.”

Your own face heats. “Oh,” you say again, quieter.

You can say, with full confidence, that not once did it cross your mind to ask anyone to help you, but you especially would have never given thought to asking Bucky.

For a list of reasons, really, with “it’s Bucky” being right at the very top. Like—sure, yes, you’re in love with him, but after two years of no signs of reciprocation you’ve learned to stop dreaming, to stop hoping. If the attraction was mutual he would have shown it by now, right? And on top of that, his friendship means the world to you and you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it. You'd never forgive yourself if you ever managed to fuck up the one good, constant thing going for you.

“Bucky,” you start, slow and careful, “this… This isn't something you can just jump into. It’s something you should think about for a while.”

He contemplates that for a second. “You’re right,” he concedes with a nod. “But…” He purses his lips, glancing away for a minute before turning back to you, leaning forward. “Okay listen, this is important for you. It’s going to change your whole life. You said it yourself, not having a connection to the sperm donor feels wrong. You’re my best friend, alright? I—care about you. You should pick someone you can trust.”

He clenches his jaw after he finishes speaking. You sort of hate the way your heart both flutters and plummets at his words. It’s nice to know you matter to him, just not in the way you’ve wanted for too long.

And if you’re really honest with yourself, Bucky would be a great choice as a donor. He’s in great health, has strong features that would look wonderful on any gender. But would you be able to handle the repercussions of having his child? Would you be able to look at your baby and see those features without it sending a pang through your chest every single time? You can’t say for certain.

Yet, the chance to have that type of connection with him, selfishly, sounds too good to pass up.

“At least think about it for a few days,” you murmur reluctantly.

It’s the most acceptance he’ll get and he knows it. A smile blooms across his face and you have to swallow down the warring emotions rising within you.

***

With the amount of research you do on the subject now, it doesn’t take long for you to find out that there are at-home kits for artificial insemination that are much easier (and cheaper). It’s easy to settle on that, clicking on the info to order your kit with butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You read through the instructions online and it all sounds simple enough, until you get to the part where it says that having an orgasm after injection helps increase your chances of conception.

Blinking, heat crawling up your neck, you read that step several times, hoping you read it wrong, but it doesn’t change.

You… You can’t masturbate with Bucky’s sperm inside you. That’s a line you refuse to cross.

And besides, he’s a healthy man in his thirties who exercises regularly and eats fairly healthy food! You probably—definitely—won’t need to take that step. It’ll be fine. Probably.

Once the kit arrives, you call Bucky and ask him to come over so you can explain the process to him. Since he’s only across the hall of your apartment building, he’s there a moment later, letting himself in with his key.

“Let’s make a baby,” is how he greets you.

“Hold your horses,” you reply, fighting back a laugh. “I gotta walk you through everything first.”

He plops himself down next to you on your couch. “Fine, fine. Go ahead.”

Squaring your shoulders, you begin telling him how it all works, and what parts he is key for. You speak through your awkwardness, avoiding eye contact, when you explain that he’ll need to masturbate into a clean, sterile cup. You leave out how it’s suggested for you to also masturbate, deciding it’s not pertinent information for him to know.

“When do we start?” he asks once you’re done.

“I have to take an ovulation test first to find out the best days for me to conceive, but once I do that we’ll be able to, um.” You gesture vaguely. “I’ll be able to do the injections.”

He nods. “Alright.” He looks at you then, taking your hand in his and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be here every step of the way, okay?”

“I know,” you say, smiling. “Thank you, Bucky.”

“You’re welcome,” he returns softly.

“No, really, thank you,” you assert. “This is a lot to take on and I can never fully repay you.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I want you to be happy, and I can see that having this baby is going to do that. I’ll do whatever I need to do to ensure it happens.”

You pull him into a hug, willing yourself to not cry. You’re not sure he’ll ever understand what this means for you, personally, or that you’d ever find a way to express it. He’s giving you so much more than just a baby.

***

The first injection time comes and you find yourself fidgeting where you sit as you wait for Bucky to bring over the, uh… sample. You do your best to not think about what he’s doing in his apartment, to not think about exactly how he’s collecting his sperm.

Now is not the time, you mentally scold yourself. Get it together.

A timid knock at your door alerts you to his presence. The fact he’s knocking says a lot about his own level of embarrassment about the situation.

His cheeks are pink when you open the door. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” you return.

He clears his throat and lifts the small cup in his hand. “Here’s… well, you know.”

You gingerly take it from him, not knowing what else to say, but when he smiles somewhat crookedly and turns to leave, you find yourself asking, “Will you stay?”

Bucky’s steps pause. “Huh?”

“Will you—I mean… Would you mind staying?” You shift on your feet. “This is a big moment for me. I-I don’t want to do it alone.”

“Are you asking me to…?” He trails off awkwardly.

“Oh! God, no, I wouldn’t—no,” you assure, huffing a laugh, “I’m doing the injection, I just need a little moral support. That’s all.”

Bucky smiles. “Sure, I’ll stay.”

Relief floods through you. You step aside to let him in, closing the door behind him. He follows you to your bedroom and just before entering you stop in your tracks, nearly causing Bucky to bump into you.

“Um,” you mutter, turning to him. “You’ll have to, ah, sit out here,” you explain. “I have to be lying down…”

Understanding dawns on him. “Oh! Right, right, of course. Sorry.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m done,” you promise.

He nods and watches you close the door. You walk over to your bed and sit down, glancing at the syringe you’ll be using and biting the inside of your cheek.

This is it. There’s really no going back after this. Sure, you may not get pregnant the first time, but Bucky’s already said he’d help you for as long as it takes. It’s just… very real now. You don’t feel any doubts, though. You want this.

Inhaling a large breath and slowly letting it out, hands shaking, you take the lid off the cup and pick up the syringe. You remember the instructions, making sure there’s as little air sucked in as possible when you draw out the semen, and getting rid of the few air bubbles that you see. You grab your pillows and lie down, propping them beneath you to lift your hips.

“Here I go,” you mumble to yourself, taking another deep breath and releasing it.

A couple minutes later, the syringe is empty and you’ve got your legs pulled up to your chest. You cover yourself with your blanket and call out Bucky’s name.

“You okay?” you hear through the door.

“Will you come here, please?” you ask.

He walks in cautiously, making sure you’re decently covered before entering fully, wisely not commenting on your position. “Well?”

“I did it,” you whisper.

He stays quiet, letting you parse through your thoughts. You blink when you feel tears threatening to gather in your eyes. He’s beside you in an instant, crawling in the bed and lying down, taking your hand in his.

“Congratulations,” he says softly.

“Don’t congratulate me yet,” you reply, sniffing and wiping at your eyes.

“Still,” he presses. “You’re one step closer now.”

He pulls your hand up and kisses the back of it. You give him a watery smile. The two of you lay there in silence for a moment before Bucky breaks it.

“This isn’t how I pictured myself making a baby.”

It startles a laugh out of you and Bucky grins, pleased to have helped ease the tense atmosphere. He distracts you with idle conversation after that, talking about his plans for the upcoming weekend, asking about yours, tells you about the newest stupid thing Sam did; he talks and talks and talks, until your anxiety is gone, and then he stays to cook dinner for you.

Your hug when he gets ready to head back to his apartment lasts a couple minutes longer than usual. Bucky quietly allows it, dropping a kiss on your forehead when you pull away.

“Same time next week?” he jokes, making you crack a smile.

“Goodbye, Bucky,” you reply exasperatedly as you close your door.

“Bye, sweetheart,” he returns over his shoulder.

***

Weeks pass. More injections. Pregnancy tests taken.

But nothing happens.

All of your tests come back negative.

When reading up on artificial insemination, and pregnancy in general, you’d understood that there was a chance it wouldn’t happen right away. You thought you were fine with that, that you’d be alright with the waiting and all. Looking at your growing collection of negative tests, however, has a sense of dread building within you. You do your best to quell it, telling yourself there’s no need to stress over it. Yet.

Besides, your mind supplies in an overly cheerful manner, there’s still one more method to try!

***

The next time Bucky brings over his sample, he lets himself in, like always, and passes along the cup with an encouraging smile. You try to smile back, but it feels more like a grimace. He either doesn’t notice or he at least pretends not to, thankfully.

But when he goes to make himself comfortable to wait, you’re reminded that you haven’t told him about the, uh… change in procedure, so to speak.

You clear your throat delicately. “I don’t think you’ll need to stick around this time.”

Bucky frowns. “Why not?”

“Because…” You trail off, cheeks pinking, yet not finishing the sentence, because how do you explain this?

“I promised you I’d be here every step of the way,” he recalls. “I intend to keep that promise.”

You wince. “I really appreciate where your heart is, Bucky, I really do, but I literally cannot let you be here for this injection.”

“Why not?”

You look heavenward for mercy. “I have to…”

When you don’t finish your sentence again, Bucky raises a single brow, gesturing for you to go on. “You have to… what?”

You huff, throwing your arms out. “I have to orgasm, okay?”

His eyes go a little bit wide, but you can tell he tries to control his reaction. He swallows, shifting where he sits on the couch.

“Oh,” he mumbles. “Have… have you had to do that before?”

“No. Well, I mean, it was suggested, but I never…”

His eyebrows furrow. “Does it help or something?”

You absently scratch your neck. “They say it increases the chances of conception.”

“But you haven’t been doing… that.”

“I didn’t think I’d need to.”

Bucky inhales like he’s going to say something, but then doesn’t.

“Yeah, so, I don’t think you should be here,” you utter, quickly adding, “No offense.”

“No, yeah, that’s fair, um. I’ll just—I’ll head back to my apartment,” he states as he stands. “You can—I mean, if you still want me to—I can come back over? After you… uh…”

“I’ll let you know,” you reply, voice tight and high.

He nods, looking lost and like he wants to say more but thinks better of it. Finally, he mutters a soft bye and is out the door.

Alone now, your stomach feels like it’s tying itself in knots and your heart is doing its damnedest to beat out of your chest. You try to tell yourself that it’s just another injection, that this is the same as any other time you've done this, but you know it’s not. It's really, really not.

Laying down on your bed, syringe in hand, is much more nerve wracking than before. On your left lies a new addition to your routine. You don’t know why you’re acting like such a prude all the sudden. It’s not like you’ve never masturbated before. Though, you suppose the major difference is that you didn’t have Bucky’s sperm hangin’ out in your vagina all those other times while you did it.

“Quit being such a goober about this,” you tell yourself.

This has to be done for a reason. If you want to have a baby—and you do, very badly—then you’re gonna have to deal with the process.

Once you’ve injected the sperm, you reach for your bullet vibrator next to your left hand. The instructions say not to insert anything, only to stimulate your clit. You try to clear your head, think of it as a chore or something, yet it’s hard not to think of a certain someone.

The vibrator buzzes with the press of a button. You adjust your hips, making sure they’re tilted, then bring the vibrator to your clit. The first touch makes your stomach tense and thighs spasm.

You close your eyes, running the toy along your slit. You really don’t want to drag this out, would prefer to get it over with as quickly as possible, but your mind begins running away with images.

Bucky, settled between your spread thighs, one hand resting on one of them, the other controlling the vibrator. You imagine he’d tease you, slowly trail it along the crease of your thighs, over your hips; everywhere but where you wanted it.

Bucky would probably give in once you whine and beg enough, once your desperation bled into your voice, and hold the vibrator directly to your clit, drink in your cries of pleasure like they’re the finest whisky.

He’d mutter soft but firm encouragement, tell you how good you’re doing, how good you sound. He’d start circling the vibrator, going from quick to lazy swirls, then he’d change the setting to a higher one just to hear you whimper. His free hand would run up your torso to pinch at your nipples for added stimulation.

When you imagine him leaning down to add his tongue into the mix, your mind blanks as your climax hits you, a ragged moan forcing its way out of your throat. You’re quick to turn the vibrator off and toss it to the floor, deciding you’ll worry about cleaning it later, chest heaving as you pant for breath after an intense orgasm.

Shame and embarrassment consume you, mock you for using Bucky to rub one out. You’d given in to the fantasy so easily.

Truthfully, it’s not the first time you’ve thought of him while pleasuring yourself, but the context this time is completely different, and you feel immediately guilty. Admittedly, it’s probably irrational.

That doesn’t stop you from cringing at your actions.

***

You’re sure you’ve bought out the entire pregnancy test section from the convenience store down the block. Currently, there are six different brands in front of you, all promising the most accurate results.

Bucky is sitting in your bedroom, quietly waiting for you to pee on all of them so you can both find out what they say. You chug the last bit of your third bottle of water even though your bladder is fit to burst at any moment. Turning the faucet on for modesty, you make quick work of the tests, then wash your hands.

And wait.

You call Bucky into the bathroom with you. The two of you quietly sit on the edge of your bathtub, counting down the minutes. Part of you wishes Bucky would say something dumb to break the tension, like he usually does, but you're also kind of glad he's just here, next to you, a silent comfort.

It seems like hours have passed when you’re finally sure you can check them.

The first one is negative, and so is the second. The third, however, reads positive. Your heart begins racing, clutching at the counter, but before your hopes get too carried away you read the rest. To your dismay, they are all negative. You stare down at them all, eyes falling on the loan positive test multiple times, knowing that it’s likely a false positive, yet stupidly hoping otherwise.

Your chin wobbles. Bucky hugs you from behind, resting his cheek on your shoulder.

“What do I do, Bucky?”

At your broken whisper, he sighs. “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

Neither of you know what to say or do after that. Bucky continues offering quiet support, his solid presence at your back, and you’re grateful. Eventually, he leads you out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, sitting you down at the table as he starts preparing dinner.

When you’re both eating the spaghetti he made, he breaks the silence.

“Do you think…” he starts, pausing to think of how to phrase his question before carefully carrying on. “Are you going to stop?”

“I don’t want to,” you answer, the implied but hanging heavy in the air.

Bucky sits his fork down. “I know you want this, very much.” He pushes his hair out of his face as he leans forward, elbows settling on the table. “But I hate seeing how sad you get when the tests come out negative. I feel so… powerless. Like I could be doing more or something.”

“You’re doing all you can, Bucky,” you assure.

“That’s the thing, though. I don’t think I am.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

He licks his lips, locking his fingers together. “I think we should have sex.”

Your fork drops to your plate with a clang, eyes going wide.

“I apologize for how blunt that came out,” he states with a wince. “But, I mean, think about it. You’ve only been using my sperm from a syringe, and up until the last time, you hadn’t been, um, orgasming with it.” You look away, bashful. “I just wonder if maybe trying the old-fashioned way would give you better results.”

“Bucky,” you start, opening and closing your mouth a couple times before shaking your head. “It’s one thing for you to offer your sperm, which I’m thankful for, truly, but… Having sex?”

“I’ve already told you I’m willing to do whatever I need to do,” he retorts earnestly. “Your happiness means a lot to me, okay? I hate sitting around and watching your heart break every week. You’ve tried it your way, now I think we should try mine.”

“I-I don’t know,” you hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek, knee beginning to bounce under the table.

His hand slides onto your knee, stilling the movement as he ducks his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are impossibly sincere and your resolve crumbles in an instant.

“It won’t… It’s not going to change anything,” he assures. “I won’t allow it.”

You swallow roughly. He may not, but your heart is going to take its toughest beating yet. It’s going to be hopeless trying to overcome the inevitable emotions that come with sex.

Even so, somehow, your longing for a baby eclipses all of this. Now that you’ve imagined holding your child in your arms, raising them and loving them, you can’t go back. Not anymore.

“Okay,” you allow, softly.

Bucky’s shoulders relax, lips tipping up into a devastating smile.

You’re so fucked. (Pun intended.)

***

Two nights later, you’re pacing in your bedroom, impatiently waiting for Bucky to arrive. You’d been unsure whether or not you should dress up. You didn’t see the point, honestly. Still, a small part of you wondered what his reaction would be if he saw you all done up in lingerie. At the moment, you’re in an oversized t-shirt and pajama shorts.

It’s Bucky, you think, and this isn’t a normal situation, it doesn’t matter what I’m wearing.

You hear his key turning in the lock then and your heart begins hammering away. He calls your name as he enters.

“In here,” you reply, twisting your fingers nervously.

He walks into your room looking just as on edge as you are. He also seems to have had the same idea about his attire, comfortable in his white tee and sweatpants. His feet are bare and for whatever reason that feels way more intimate than it has any right to.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hi.”

You bite your lip, eyes flitting around your room and coming back to settle on Bucky. He huffs.

“This is ridiculous,” he declares, “It’s just us.”

“Right,” you nod, biting the inside of your cheek.

“It’s not gonna be weird.”

“Nope.”

His jaw ticks. You stare back at him. It only takes a moment for you to realize that somebody has to make the first move, so you steel yourself and turn on your heel, walking towards your bed.

“I’m keeping my shirt on,” you announce as you unceremoniously drop onto the mattress, grabbing your pillows to stuff them under you.

Bucky follows at a sedate pace, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He pauses next to you, taking a second to roll his shoulders, then he climbs in and settles in front of your bent legs. He gingerly places his hands on your knees.

“May I?” he asks.

Mouth suddenly dry, you nod. He moves his hands to the waistband of your shorts and tugs. You lift your hips to help him slide them down and off, along with your underwear. Gently, he spreads your legs.

Your breathing has picked up considerably, eyes firmly trained on the ceiling. You know you’re already wet and are blessedly thankful he doesn’t mention it.

The first slide of his fingers has you inhaling sharply. He slowly gathers your slick and trails it up to your clit, lightly circling it. Your mind recalls your fantasy, but you quickly shove it back to the depths of your thoughts, lest you do something idiotic like tell him about it.

He spreads your legs more, adjusting his position between them. His fingers move down until he can sink one into you. You gasp, hands shooting out to grasp your sheets. He wastes no time and begins thrusting his finger inside you.

It becomes quickly apparent to you that it’s going to be very difficult to hold back any noise or reactions. Goddamnit, you will try, though!

When he decides it’s time to add another finger, you feel yourself clench around them, and his soft fuck does not go unnoticed, evident in the way your pussy traitorously clenches again.

“Can I…?” he asks, voice cracking, but doesn’t finish his thought, making you have to break your staring contest with the ceiling and look at him.

He’s not even looking back at you, he’s staring at his fingers, watching them pump in and out of you, half bent over with a slack jaw, like he wants to…

He meets your eyes then, licking his lips.

Oh.

Swallowing around the sudden lump in your throat, knowing you’re probably going to regret it, you nod.

He’s leaning over and sucking on your clit before you can even blink. You cry out, thighs trying to clamp around his head, but his free hand shoots out to hold you open. It makes you squirm, fisting the sheets even tighter. His fingers curl inside you as his tongue licks around them and you whine, high and needy, and then mouth is back on your clit, tongue swiping over it, sucking on it with loud, obscene noises.

His hand comes up to grab the hem of your shirt, shoves it upward until it’s bunched underneath your breasts. Those fingers ghost back down your torso, goosebumps erupting in their wake.

He speeds up his thrusts and your hand flies down to grip his hair. You don’t think you’re meant to hear the quiet grunt he lets out, but you do, and it has you panting even harder. Your orgasm is building, fast, and you pull on his hair in warning.

“Bucky,” you say on a gasp.

Using his arm to hold you down, his free hand joins, thumb swiping over your clit now as he dips his head to slide his tongue in alongside his fingers. It draws a yell out of you, the ever expanding pleasure within you bursting into the hardest orgasm you’ve experienced thus far in your adult life. You know you’re moaning, bucking into the sensations coursing through you, and you’d feel abashed if you didn’t feel so fucking good.

Before you can become too sensitive, Bucky withdraws his fingers and sits up. You can’t even really catch your breath, though, because in the next second he’s whipping his t-shirt off and shoving his sweatpants down far enough to free his cock.

Your thighs do clamp closed then, at the sight of how thick he is, and he tries and fails to keep his smirk hidden.

“Oh, shut up,” you wheeze.

“Didn’t say anything,” he counters.

He doesn’t let you argue, choosing that moment to shuffle closer and line up with your opening. Cautiously, he eases himself inside, inch by inch. Your mouth drops open, brows furrowing as he fills you, stretching you so perfectly. When he’s in as far as he can go, the breath wooshes out of him, his head falling back. You know he’s trying to be polite and let you adjust, but—

“Oh my god, move,” you demand, impatient.

He huffs a laugh, dropping his heavy lidded gaze to yours. “Bossy.”

“Did you really expect anything else—oh!”

The grin he aims your way after grinding into you is downright sinful. You mentally tell yourself to kick him for that later.

He grabs your hips and the pillows and settles you closer to his lap, changing the angle, then pulls out and glides back in, creating a painstakingly slow rhythm.

You have to close your eyes. You can’t look at him anymore. You knew he was probably a god in bed, but to now have firsthand experience? There was no way you’d be able to fuck anyone else without comparing them.

His grip on your hips tightens, the only warning you get before his thrusts turn sharp.

“Fuck,” you cry out, your hands reaching up to grip the pillow beneath your head.

The sound of your skin meeting his is harsh in the otherwise quiet room. Well, okay, you’re not exactly being quiet, but you can’t be blamed for that.

Bucky, however, is nearly silent. The only thing you hear from him is heavy breathing. You wonder if he’s holding back, the thought crossing your mind for a split second, and then you’re clenching around his cock, trying to see if you can gain a reaction. And boy, do you get one.

He grunts and sucks in a breath, lips parting as his eyes squeeze shut. His hips pick up their pace and hair falls into his face. You find yourself wishing he was closer so you could brush it out of the way.

Stop it, you scold yourself.

He pauses to grind into you again, your walls fluttering around his throbbing cock, and you both sigh. Bucky leans forward, hooking your legs into the crooks of his elbows, and resumes his brutal pace.

“O-Oh,” you whimper.

The new angle is heavenly, his cock dragging along a spot inside you that you thought nobody else could find. Unable to help yourself, you clutch at his arms, nails digging in.

“Shit,” he groans, thrusts faltering.

He lets go of one of your legs to slip his hand between you, rubbing at your clit and sending you that much closer to your second orgasm. He can tell you’re close, but you’re gonna need something to push you over the edge. He leans down even closer, breath fanning out against your cheek.

“C’mon,” he pants. “Let go.”

You shiver when his tongue flicks your earlobe and sucks it into his mouth, keening as the pressure builds. He thrusts harder, faster, and when you grasp his hair and pull, he growls and latches on to your shoulder, biting down. You gasp from the added pain and then you’re coming, shuddering and whining through your release. Bucky isn’t far behind, raising up and fucking into you savagely before pausing abruptly, groaning as he finally comes. He lazily thrusts a few more times to draw it out, then stops, stilling with his cock inside you.

Your hair is sticking to your forehead, as well as your shirt to your clammy back, breathing in lungfuls of air. Bucky is softly caressing your thighs, letting out shaky breaths as your pussy continues to flutter around him.

It takes several moments for you to gather your wits, for the rest of the world to come filtering back in. You are truly and completely fucked now, in every sense of the word.

“Well…” You trail off, voice scratchy.

“That was…”

“Mhm,” you mumble.

Bucky sighs heavily. “Let’s hope it worked this time.”

You hum. “Thank you for your service,” you reply with a lazy salute.

You yelp when he pinches your hip, kicking at him in retaliation. The jostling reminds you, with a gasping groan, that he’s still buried balls deep inside you.

“Um.” You cough lightly. “You wanna, you know… pull out?”

He looks down where you’re connected like it hadn’t even dawned on him. “Oh, uh. Well, I thought maybe it could, like. Help.”

His gaze stays locked, fingers flexing on your hips, and you feel like squirming again.

“I think it’s good,” you say quietly.

Bucky finally glances back up at your shy tone, cheeks pinking. He clears his throat.

“Right.”

Carefully, he eases his softening cock out of you, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from making a noise.

You can’t hold back yours, though, gasping once he’s gone. You feel unbearably empty, but refrain from voicing that incessant thought.

Bucky’s intense eyes stare at your pussy until you reach for the throw blanket next to you. He watches you throw it over your lap, drawing your legs up to your chest, and takes that as his cue, jolting into action.

“Okay, so.” He starts, then stops, climbs off your bed and pulls his sweatpants back up. “This was—I mean, if it doesn’t take this time, we can… try again.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “Sounds good.”

He nods, bending to pick up his discarded t-shirt. “Great. I’ll just, um, see myself out, I guess.”

You nod, sending a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes in his direction. He seems to contemplate something for a second, then leans down to kiss your forehead before saying a quick goodbye and leaving.

As soon as you hear your apartment door shut, you let your tears fall.

***

It’s not really like you mean to avoid him after that.

Honest.

You simply become busy, that’s all. You definitely don’t go out of your way by taking the stairs in your apartment building to avoid possibly bumping into him in the elevator. No, you take the stairs because you could use the cardio. It’s important you stay healthy right now. And when he texts you to ask if you want to have dinner, you can’t help that you’ve got boatloads of work to catch up on—all five times he asks.

Okay, so, that’s a lie. You’re totally avoiding him. But what on earth are you supposed to say to him now? You don’t think you’d even be able to look him in the eye anymore, not after the fuck of your goddamn life.

That night confirmed what you already knew for the last two years: Bucky absolutely ruined you for anyone else.

More than anything, though, you were angry with yourself. He’d only offered because you weren’t getting your desired results the other way. You should have been able to separate your feelings and emotions from all of it. After all, none of this was about whatever you feel towards Bucky. This was about trying to conceive a baby.

You try telling yourself to get over it. He’s your best friend, you can’t just cut him off because you’re a spineless pansy.

I just need some time, you reason. You can give yourself a few days to wallow over what could have been and then you can reach out to him and pretend like everything is fine. Because it is.

***

Flash forward two weeks to you attempting to sneak into your apartment, only to jump out of your skin when you turn around and find Bucky sitting on your couch, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Oh, good, you’re still alive,” he drawls.

His tone suggests annoyance. You suppose you deserve that.

“Hey,” you say after a pause.

He stares at you for a moment longer before speaking again. “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t let it get weird.”

You agreed, you almost say, thankfully biting it back. You drop your purse on the entryway table, sliding your shoes off and making your way over to sit next to him.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. You tug your sweater sleeves down and tuck your feet beneath you. “I haven’t ever… I’ve never been intimate with a friend before. It was just… a lot.”

It’s a half truth, at least. You haven’t had sex with a friend before. Or, well, not one you had feelings for.

“You could’ve just told me,” he replies, reaching for your hand.

You nod. “I know, and I should have, I just. Things are all out of whack lately with the whole… trying to get pregnant thing.”

“If I overstepped in any way—” Bucky starts, but you’re quick to interrupt.

“You didn’t,” you promise. “You’ve been nothing but fantastic throughout this whole ordeal. Honestly, Bucky, you’ve done way more than anyone else would have in this situation. I just had a lot going on in my head and let it get the best of me. I’m fine, I swear.”

He searches your eyes and must find what he’s looking for.

“Don’t shut me out again,” he pleads.

Heart cracking in your chest, you can only nod, shuffling closer to pull him into a hug. He buries his face in your neck and holds on tight.

***

Another week passes.

Bucky is with you as you wait for the results of the latest pregnancy test. He’s reassured you that you’ll keep trying until it happens if it didn’t work this time.

When the timer on your phone goes off, you release the breath you’ve been holding. You take tentative steps over to the sink and gingerly pick up the test.

Positive.

Your stomach swoops. It’s positive. You check again, reading the digitized screen, but it stays the same. Positive. Holy shit.

“Okay, wait, no, I need to do more. I can’t get my hopes up again,” you mutter, rushing to open the cabinet under your sink to dig out several more varieties of tests.

You don’t even wait for Bucky to leave before you’re peeing on the other sticks. He’s seen it all at this point anyway, and he doesn’t seem to care, sitting on the edge of your tub with an anxious expression. The downside is that you have to wait another few minutes for these tests to finish and you can’t sit still, pacing back and forth in the small space of your bathroom.

The timer goes off again. You feel like you’re going to throw up when you finally work up the courage to look down.

Every single one of them… Positive.

A shocked, happy laugh escapes you. You cover your mouth, turning to Bucky with wide eyes.

He rises to his full height, coming closer and peering down at the tests, then back to your teary eyed expression.

“Did we…?”

Words failing you, you nod, giggling in astonishment. Bucky’s face breaks into the biggest, handsomest, most gut-wrenching smile. His happiness is palpable and you’re suddenly so overcome with emotion. Your hands are gripping his face and angling it to align your lips to his before you register what you’re doing. He freezes and you hurriedly pull away, taking a few steps back.

“I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know why—”

“Shut up,” he cuts you off, closing the gap between you in a single stride.

He kisses you like his life depends on it, pressing your bodies as close as possible, his hands cupping your cheeks. You clutch his shirt desperately, never wanting to let go. He steals the breath straight from your lungs when he swipes at the seam of your lips with his tongue, moaning happily when you allow him access. A feeble whine from you after he flicks his tongue against yours makes him break the kiss.

“I have a confession,” he breathes into the miniscule space between your mouths.

“What?” you question distractedly.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your gaze shoots up to his, astounded. He brushes stray hairs off your forehead, runs his thumbs softly under your eyes.

“I’ve been selfish this whole time,” he reveals. “I couldn’t let you choose some random stranger to be your sperm donor, to father your child, couldn’t bear the thought of you carrying their baby, because I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you. I wanted to be the one. And I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but I’m not sorry I did it.”

You’re hearing the words, yet your brain can’t seem to make sense of them. Surely you’re hearing him wrong. You can’t possibly have this too, right? You can't have Bucky and have his baby…

But he’s here, very real and solid beneath your hands, looking at you like you’re his entire world.

“Bucky…” You trail off, struggling to find the right words, at a complete loss. “I-I’ve loved you for so long now, I didn’t think you…” You shake your head, a giggle escaping you as you stare at him in wonder. “I couldn’t let myself hope.”

He grins, relieved, planting a few chaste kisses to your mouth. “I know this entire circumstance is totally backwards, but I want you, and I want this baby. I meant it when I said I’m not going anywhere.”

Fresh tears gather in the corners of your eyes. “Are you sure?” you still ask.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

You have to kiss him then, uncaring of the tears that trickle down your face. The only thing you are focused on is the way his hands trail down your back, pausing to squeeze your ass, then grip underneath to lift you. Your legs wrap around his waist, arms locked around his neck, as he heads for your bed. He makes a point of throwing your extra pillows on the floor before settling between your thighs and kissing the hell out of you.

He pulls away only to undress you and himself, but he’s always back as quickly as possible, lips pressing kisses wherever he can reach. You impatiently tug at him until his lips are attached to yours again. The way he fucks his tongue into your mouth is nothing short of indecent and it sends a rush of pure want all the way to your core.

When you bury your fingers in his hair, gripping it tight, he grunts, biting your lip. You whimper and he grins as he pulls away.

“You make the most beautiful sounds,” he praises, his hands beginning to sweep down and up, tickling under your breasts.

His thumb and forefinger pinch one of your nipples and you gasp, back arching off your mattress. He repeats it on the other side, just to hear the same noise.

“Bucky, please,” you beg.

“Please what?” he prods. His hands drift further to the creases of your thighs, spreading them open. “What do you need?”

You whine, canting your hips up. “You, I need you, please.”

“You have me, sweetheart.” He tilts his head and you make a noise of frustration. “Use your words, darlin’.”

“Fuck me, please,” you burst out, feeling your pussy clench around nothing.

Bucky smiles, slow and torturous. “Yeah? Want me to fuck you? Fuck this perfect pussy until you’re so full of my come that it drips down your beautiful thighs?”

“Oh god,” you mumble.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he teases.

His fingers slide down your slit, gathering your slick then thrusts two fingers in at once. You groan brokenly, shifting your hips to try and get more friction, but he holds them down with his metal arm. Agonizingly slow, he begins fucking you with his fingers. It’s good, it’s amazing, but it’s not enough. Not when you know what his cock feels like. He takes his precious time fingering you and you’re sure you’re going to lose your mind before the day is done.

“You have no idea how incredible you felt around my cock,” he tells you in a ridiculously conversational tone. “I was trying to think of any excuse I could come up with to have you at least one more time.”

He shifts until his mouth is directly above where you’re dripping for him, and he waits until you make eye contact with him.

“But now I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making you come apart on my cock any chance I get.”

You hardly have any functioning brain cells at the moment, but even if you could form a coherent sentence you wouldn’t have been able to say it aloud, because then he’s descending and all you can feel is the wet warmth of his mouth.

He definitely doesn’t hold back this time, that much is apparent in the way he devours you, lips and tongue drawing out noises you’ve never heard yourself make, pressing his face so far into your pussy that he has to come up for air. His mouth and chin shine when you chance a look down, and when you clench on his fingers his smile goes smug at the corners.

He plants kisses along your hips, the insides of your thighs, around where his fingers are buried within you. He curls them, in search of the spot he found last time. He knows he found it when you try to close your thighs around his head and cry out. Now that he's found it, he angles to brush it on every thrust of his fingers and attaches his mouth back on your clit.

You chant his name, nearly sobbing as you approach your climax, until finally you fly over the edge. Your vision blurs and you’re not sure if you’re making any noise now, unable to hear past the blood rushing in your ears. Bucky helps you ride it out until you’re shuddering from sensitivity.

He kisses your thighs again, trailing them up your stomach and between the valley of your breasts.

“So good, did so well,” he mutters.

Weakly, you lift your hands to trace them down his toned stomach and around his back, down further so you can cop a feel of your own, smiling at his grunt of surprise.

“That was great and all,” you say, arching your back so your chest presses against his, “but I do believe I asked you to fuck me.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Who said I was done with you?” It’s apparently a rhetorical question, as he continues before you get a chance to reply. “I’m gonna fuck you until you come, and then I’m gonna keep fucking you until you come again, and only then will I come so deep inside you there’ll be zero doubt I’ve put a baby there.”

Your legs are lifted and thrown over his shoulders in a blink, his cock pushing into your pussy, dragging out a high-pitched moan from you. There’s barely a pause and then he’s fucking you, just like you asked. The pace is brutal right from the start, a steady rhythm that has you mewling and writhing in pleasure. Bucky is watching his cock as he thrusts in and out of you, his mouth hanging open slightly as he pants. He hikes your hips up a little higher and you jolt through your startled moan. This angle is divine and the telltale signs of your second orgasm start tingling at the base of your spine.

“Can feel you,” Bucky says through panting breaths, “so close. C’mon, let me feel you.”

He pulls you down on his cock, grinding into you, his thumb reaching to rub tight circles over your clit. You sob through your release, shuddering against Bucky as you clench around him. He groans, still barely moving as you come down from your high.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Come here.”

He helps you sit up, still seated on his cock, making you both hiss from your movement. Your arms automatically wrap around his shoulders and his around your waist. He kisses you so sweetly, a stark contradiction to the way he just fucked you. When you pull away, resting your foreheads together, he grins.

“Hi.”

You crack a smile. “Hi.”

“Ready for more?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You think you got it in you?” you tease as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

The light smack to your ass startles you and you let out a soft sound of surprise, hands tugging his hair harshly. Bucky’s eyes light up.

“Interesting,” he muses.

Another slap, a little harder than the first, and you’re whimpering, your walls clenching around his still hard cock.

“I’ll play with that later,” he promises, voice breathy.

You bury your face in his neck and start shifting your hips. He takes the hint, gathering you as close as he can and thrusts up into you. He can’t pull out as far this way, but the snap of his hips more than makes up for it. You mouth at his collarbone messily, kissing and licking your way up to his jaw, biting marks wherever you see fit. You make it up to his mouth and he kisses you, wet and filthy. You suck on his tongue and a ragged moan claws its way out of his throat. The need for air eventually has you pulling away.

“It’s a good thing you love me back,” you whisper in his ear. “Nobody else could ever compare to you.”

He growls, fisting your hair and yanking your head back to look him in the eye.

“Nobody will ever compare,” he corrects.

You moan. “Yes,” you agree, whining, “No one else could’ve given me a baby.”

Bucky thrusts harder and faster at your words. You’re picking up on a few hints and you can’t say it’s not doing it for you either.

“Filled me up so good, fucked me so well. Gonna be round with your baby soon.”

“Fuck, fuck,” he keens, hurrying to lay you flat on your back so he can fuck into you easier.

The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, your cries of pleasure mixing in with Bucky’s grunts and curses. His grip on you tightens almost painfully as he chases both your and his orgasm. You’re sure to have bruises tomorrow and you already know you'll be poking at them to remember this moment.

“C’mon, baby, wanna feel you too,” you beg.

His thumb finds your swollen clit once more. It’s beyond sensitive now, feels like a shockwave coursing through you, and without any warning, you come. You spasm around Bucky and he swears under his breath, thrusts going sloppy. With a final groan, he comes inside you, his hips moving seemingly on their own as he draws out both your pleasures. Slowly, he comes to a stop, but he leaves his cock buried in you like he did last time.

You know you’re gonna feel too empty when he does pull out, so you don’t mind sitting like this for a while. Bucky softly runs his hands across every inch of your skin he can touch and you bask in the affection. You card your fingers through his sweaty hair, smiling when he hums happily. It takes only a minute for you to notice the way his hands migrate to your stomach, and when you do you kiss his shoulder.

“Maybe we should go again later,” you suggest faintly.

Bucky grins. “We can do it a hundred more times if you want.”

“Guess I better enjoy it while I can.”

His smile goes soft at the edges.

It’s not lost on you how incredibly crazy all of this is. There will undoubtedly be a conversation, a much needed one that isn’t going to be simple or easy, but it’s necessary.

For now, though, you bask in Bucky’s warmth and loving embrace.

***

Keys jingle as they unlock the door and you perk up where you’re sprawled on the couch. Bucky enters, arms laden with bags from the convenience store.

“They didn’t have the banana ice cream you asked for,” he announces, continuing before your pout fully forms, “but they did have the double chocolate brownie kind you love so much, so I got that, as well as the sour gummy worms, beef jerky, and fried pickles from the deli on your list of demands.”

“What about—”

“And your strawberry Fanta,” he adds with a fond, slightly exasperated smile.

You’re unable to stop your expression from going soft and dreamy.

Ever since you and Bucky figured out where to go with your relationship, he’s been even more attentive and accommodating (and that’s saying something).

You expressed your worry about the possibility of something going wrong, that one or both of you would get bored and leave, or there’d be a big fight that neither of you could forgive. He was quick to reassure you of his commitment, told you there was no way he would ever get bored of you, and that as long as you both promise to talk things out in a calm, mature way, then you’d be alright.

It all sounded so easy when it was put like that. The more you thought about it, though, the more you realized he was right. It wasn’t fair to either of you to already give up before you’d even started. So you’d taken a deep breath and leaped.

Now, you’re five and a half months in, your belly steadily growing and making everyday life increasingly uncomfortable. The changes to your body were physically and emotionally draining, to say the least. Moreso the emotional side. You’d hoped you wouldn’t be one of those pregnant women with strange cravings, and for the most part they were pretty tame, but you do like to dip your sour gummy worms in banana ice cream. Bucky didn’t attempt to hide his disgust over that.

“What did I do to deserve you?” you ask on a pleased sigh.

He places your small cornucopia of goods on the coffee table. You sit up, huffing for breath during the struggle. You go to reach for the ice cream first, but Bucky catches your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and kissing your knuckles as he kneels in front of you.

“You were yourself. Smart, kind, selfless, unbelievably sexy.” You snort at that, but he’s undeterred. “And you’re giving me the best gift I could ever dream of. A family.”

Instantly, you’re crying. He’s grown accustomed to the mood swings by now, taking it in stride as he wipes away the tears with gentle hands.

“Stop being so disgusting,” you blubber through your hiccuping cries. “You’re such an asshole.”

Bucky laughs. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

You sniffle, kissing him. “Love you,” you grumble.

He leans down and plants the softest of kisses to your belly. “And I love you, little lady.”

The idea of you having a child one day always seemed foreign and unlikely, but life has a way of turning out exactly how it’s supposed to… And you wouldn’t change a thing.

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