Latest Posts by star-reaper - Page 8

Mini Master List - Bucky x Reader

(updated… idk when, it’s been a minute LOL)

🏆  Greatest Hits 🌸  Let’s go on a feels trip 🔥  Get your panties wet 🥺️  Sad bitch hours

All of my readers are female unless otherwise specified. An 18+ rating doesn’t necessarily mean smut (but it usually does!)

[low priority for updates] means I will be continuing the fic!!! I’m just focusing on finishing some of my other WIPs before I do. Please stop sending me asks if I’m continuing these fics, thank you! 😤

Keep reading

Control

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: filthy smut with a smidge of fluff, femdom, restraints, blindfold, 18+

Word Count: 1.7k

THE MOOD™ CONTINUES. Inspired by this ask. Oops.

Bucky isn’t one to relinquish control. He needs it like he needs air, needs to be two steps ahead of any situation, needs to feel like he’s ready for whatever might come his way. And when he’s in control, he is. He’s always ready.

Except when you tempt him not to be.

Your lips and tongue taste of fine champagne, tart and strawberry sweet – heady with love and lust and everything he’s ever wanted. When he kisses you a little more roughly, your pretty plum lipstick smears. It stains his mouth, and then his cheek.

Just a peck.

Just enough to disarm him before you shove him down onto the bed. His body bounces a little when he lands on the mattress, and Bucky stares up at you in surprise.

Keep reading

oops I might have a new hyperfixation for a moment.

would literally lose my fucking mind if you wrote carmy like touch starved, idk maybe everyone is staying after to celebrate something and he’s dragging you into his office to eat you out with absolutely zero shame because he needs it so bad

your wish is my lifelong quest i love you, hope i did it at least some justice loml

Carry You Away With Me

carmen "carmy" berzatto x fem!reader

He looked sheepish for a moment, lips curling into a grin for another split second before returning to his natural expression, eyes finding yours and locking you into his gaze. "Do you think anyone would notice if I took you elsewhere right now?"

[4k] | chef ill be honest with you this is just porn, needy!carmy (he's fucking adorable), office sex if that's even a term, established relationship, cunningulus, unprotected sex, cum-play. my apologies to the church

reblog and/or like for a kiss, feedback much appreciated! not proofread.

It was around 11 when you returned to the restaurant with a bottle of champagne cradled in your arms, watching as Gary and Tina pushed a few tables together to make a bigger one for the rest. Eating together wasn't a rare occurrence, but it often only happened an hour before service in the morning— dinners were mostly had at home or skipped altogether, depending on the importance one put into their health. But tonight called for an after-hours get-together, one that Sydney and Marcus pushed for when Ebraheim showed up in the morning with the latest issue of Gastronomica, featuring a very familiar name this time around— Carmen Berzatto.

"You know— I bet you can like, make it to a Vogue issue sometime later on, too."

"That's not exactly food-related."

"I'm just saying, dream high and—"

The few clinks of a spoon against the glass cut Fak right off and Carmen made a mental note to thank god for that later on, his gaze lifting from the long, full table that everyone was surrounding to the source of the sound; the now-empty champagne glass that Richie held.

"Can we all take a moment to stop stuffing our faces with this whatever-the-fuck it is to congratulate my cousin right here?" he spoke up, bringing a smile to your lips as you reached for Carmen's hand from under the table and muttered out "chou à la crème", another dish that Marcus had been experimenting with lately. A short chuckle left Carmen's lips when he vaguely heard what you said, and he gave your hand a firm, appreciative squeeze before rubbing his thumb along the back of your palm. "Gastronomica isn't just any magazine. I think it's supposed to be one of the good ones, like—"

"—the Vogue of food!"

"Maybe! Who knows, anyway— really, I'm proud of this mess of a man and you all should be, too." and maybe this was the most affection that Richie could whip out in public, but it was more than enough— because despite his hate for having the spotlight directly on him, Carmen was currently busy offering a smile to Richie, which the other reciprocated shortly before sitting back down, his quiet little hum of affection drowned out by the mutterings of 'cheers' along with the clink of everyone's glasses.

Proud was an understatement for this little dysfunctional found-family.

But you knew Carmen, you knew that he'd much rather skip on the compliments and pats to the shoulder; and you were way too sure that he'd need a moment to himself sooner or later. That moment came almost fifteen minutes after, when everyone split themselves into a few groups of completely different conversations, scooped up chocolate sauce and cream and small pieces of the delicate pastry got left behind on the empty plates— you felt Carmy's fingers wrapping around your upper thigh, concealed by the dimmed out lights and the table.

"S'up?" you returned your attention to him upon feeling his fingers tapping along to some nonexistent rhythm on your clothed skin, not too invested in the story Richie was busy telling everybody with the loudest voice he could muster to begin with.

He looked sheepish for a moment, lips curling into a grin for another split second before returning to his natural expression, eyes finding yours and locking you into his gaze. "Do you think anyone would notice if I took you elsewhere right now?"

"Elsewhere?"

"Not too far, jus' my office. For a couple of minutes at most." he leaned in closer to your ear just so you could hear him over the 2012's pop playlist Manny whipped out earlier, a completely mesmerizing turn of events when he started singing along to a random Katy Perry song— but that leaning closer action proved Carmen to be just another self-saboteur because he was feeling specifically out of place all day and to feel your perfume so close was a pull with a force out of this world. He couldn't pull back away then, couldn't return to his own chair and you had no choice but to push him away manually. "I promise."

"Any ulterior motives I should be aware of?" you grinned, letting your fingers curl right over his own on your thigh— and making a mental note to ease him into the habit of using hand moisturizers regularly sometime, upon the roughed up feel of his skin.

"You wound me, baby." his expression seemed to linger over offense, but his eyes told a completely different story; and before you knew it, he was pushing his chair back to get up, patting Gary's shoulder on his way to the back of house, a momentary turn of his head just so he could silently tell you to follow with his eyes.

And that, you did, despite the raised eyebrows of Richie's that you met along the way.

The kitchen smelled like a different kind of citrus, one that only belonged in dishwashing detergents as you maneuvered through the stations, cleaned up from the day's worth of filth. From your peripheral vision, you noticed Carmen reaching behind to undo the strings of his navy apron, leaving out the top string that he'd have to pull over his head until you could catch up and he could get to the office. His shirt was, again, as pristine as ever and it was a work of magic how he managed to come back home with a perfectly clean white t-shirt each day, if not for a few little drops here and there.

Finally, he pushed open the door of his office for you and you stepped in, finding your way to his desk in the darkness to flip the switch of the small light that illuminated the paperwork mostly. When your eyes found him again, the apron was long gone— tucked away in a corner, folded, although not so neatly. "Happy now?"

Instead of a reply, he just plopped down on the old, squeaky chair by the desk, thighs spread and arms wide open to make space for you. You took the offer right away, seating yourself on one of his thighs but still balancing yourself on your feet too, in order to not just dump your whole body weight on him and potentially numb out his leg. He couldn't care less, as he wrapped himself around you tightly and pulled you closer. "I don't really give a shit about Gastronomica."

"I figured," you mumbled against the material of his shirt, lungs filling in with a scent that only he could carry— a surprisingly pleasant mix of cigarettes, sweat, and gravy. It belonged to him, at least. "When's the last time you gave a shit about anyone's opinion outside of here, anyway?"

A soft hum left his lips, one that feigned agreement— but he wasn't paying much attention to what you've been saying to begin with, mind all muddied with specific moments in time that included you. Come to think of it, he'd been like this all day, even when Richie jokingly smacked him across the face with the magazine or when Tina elbowed him while he was trying to explain why she had to strain the mixture twice to get a flowing consistency— on the back of his mind, there was always you; always the lack of time he got to spend with you when the rush hour got too much to bear and he couldn't bring himself to lift an arm when he came back home to you.

When was the last time he properly touched you, took his time to memorize all the little ridges and beauty spots across your body, he couldn't remember.

So as you spoke, listing out all the reasons why he should be proud of himself for all the accomplishments, Carmen's arm curled around your waist and his fingers found your thighs again, the warmth of his palm seeping through the material of your leggings and from the way they teased upwards, you knew where this was going. "... that you managed to turn— are you not listening?"

His smile was so smug that you wanted to either kiss, or slap him. "Not really. But go on."

"Carmy, if you actually think that I'll do anything non-churchy with you here while everyone's literally twenty feet away, you're so wrong." you breathed out, because that's all you could do when his lips ghosted over the side of yours, before trailing down to where your jawline met your neck. He only hummed as a reply, clearly not giving a shit about your opinion either at that moment— but to say that you weren't enjoying the attention would be a blatant lie.

His fingertips traced the seams outlining your underwear through the extra layer of fabric while his lips latched to your neck, finally, with his warm breath hitting against the sensitive skin and the usual wet nature of his kisses leaving behind a glistening spot of adoration. You leaned into it, rather shamelessly— legs parting and fingers carding through the locks on the nape of his neck, and that only encouraged him further, causing him to whisper out a curse and a few sloppy words of praise. "Just let me, hm? Please?"

The sense of desperation in his tone was enough to push back any words of disagreement that you could blurt out at that moment. You knew you had to power through, it would be so embarrassing and disrespectful to let him have his way with you right here, while everyone else was still at the FOH— but the way his palm covered your clothed core and his fingertips teased the slight outline of your slit, all while his pretty lips were oh so busy whispering absolute filth in your ear was slowly taking away all the care you had in the world. "Carm— not a good idea."

"You weren't saying that last week, right here," two weeks ago, to be exact, but you couldn't blame him for not being able to tell time apart. "Had to cover your mouth and all, s'loud for me—"

"You're getting carried away." you chuckled, the deepest of breaths still not enough for the capacity of your lungs as you tugged on his locks slightly, prying him off of your skin just so you could get a look at him.

"Let me carry you away with me. Please, fuck— I can't think of anything else when you're on my mind." he pulled away a little from your neck, eyes of pristine skies staring right at your soul with the expression of a kicked puppy— he knew exactly how to get his way when he was miserable like that. His fingers were still against your heat, expecting permission. "Ten minutes only, just let me touch you."

You could recognize that tone, that incurability way too well— it was often reserved for nights shared between hushed whispers of promises, where he was too needy to form a single thought and all he could do was to cover your body with his and curl onto you, to feel your warmth against himself and to be one body and one soul for an hour. Uncommon in nature, even rarer to take place in a room that he reserved for professional affairs only— but the heart wants what it wants.

To his surprise, you suddenly pushed your lips against his— letting his fever take over you as well, with your hands clutching onto his shoulders and hair. You could hear the slight groan escaping his lips when his fingers breached under the tight waistband of your leggings, pushing the material down slightly with the bend of his wrist before turning his hand a little to tug it all downwards, urging you up on your feet. You got up from where you were seated, now standing between his legs with your back bent just so your lips would be on his, but he broke the kiss with a smile that took over when he finally pulled down both articles of clothing at the same time. Your back straightened when he managed to push them both down to your ankles, your hands on his shoulders to help with your balance as you stepped out of them, feeling his moist lips over your abdomen for a second before he pushed you backwards slightly, towards the desk.

He took that momentary advantage to get up on his feet and pin you right in between his own body and the desk, hands blindly pushing the loose folders to the side. You felt too exposed when his palms gripped the underside of your thighs just to prop you up on the desk, lips finding and panting against yours, a clear indication of his need seeping through the way he tugged and nibbled before his tongue found its way to caress yours.

There was nothing nice about it, but you couldn't bring yourself to care— not when he whispered your name against the plush of your lips so sweetly when your fist closed around his hair, not when he didn't even know what to do with his hands; grabbing, fondling at every inch of your skin that he could reach shakily. He pulled you flush against his body, letting you get a feel of the harsh dark denim against your bare center and you had to bite into his lower lip to stay quiet, ultimately earning a groan from him when his hands slipped under your shirt.

"Bear," you whispered out, his lips chasing yours when you pulled away to speak— which made you chuckle quietly, as he looked at you again. "Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes," he parroted, the usually wide eyes of his now hooded, pupils blown out as if he was looking right at the sun. When you reached in to kiss him again, you couldn't catch him fast enough— he was already holding onto your thighs to crouch down, looking up at you with a Cheshire grin when you spread your legs a little further apart, a force of habit.

Leaning back on your palms against the desk as much as the cramped space could allow, you took a deep breath— but it wasn't enough to prepare you for what came next when his tongue trailed a bold line across your slit, spreading your folds apart gently. It was a pleasant routine, one that you never quite got used to; because when he was down on his knees with his tongue tracing abstract shapes across your clit in a teasing manner, it was all about you and to think that a guy who often rushed things and went through life at a 2x pace would slow down just to put all of his attention on your pleasure only was more delightful than any compliment one could attain.

Carmen's fingertips were perhaps digging into the skin of your thighs a bit too hard, but could you possibly complain? The tip of his tongue dipped between your folds to spread your essence upwards, a mix of his saliva and your wetness covering your clit when he closed his lips around it and sucked— letting out a blissed groan, one that he'd scold you for if you were the culprit. You could only imagine how hard he must've been at that moment, he was always a sucker for situations like this, with the thrill of doing something so forbidden, right where he could be caught and your taste on his tongue, thighs on either side of his shoulders.

Imagining it didn't help your situation at all, it was hard to focus on one coherent thought when he kept flicking his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves but you forced through— with the thought of the blunt tip of his length all flushed and leaking in your palm, curses leaving his soft lips whenever your fingers got a bit too tight around the girth. He liked it when you put your focus there, tip of your tongue tracing the slit and leaving kisses over it while the rest of your palm jerked him off— firm and slow.

And you'd always let your lips stray when he got close, deciding to suddenly bite into the skin of his inner thighs or to lightly trace his perineum with your tongue, just to have him reduced to a writhing, whining mess with not enough air to survive in his lungs. He'd spill onto your fingers and you'd clean him up right away, moving your way upwards with wet little kisses until you reached his lips. And he was one dirty fucker because tasting himself on you when you kissed him all sloppily was probably one of his favorite things in the world.

Drowned out in all the thoughts, you didn't notice how close you were until your thighs were shaking around his shoulders, and he finally added his fingers into the mix then— his middle and ring fingers easily breaching through, grazing all of your sensitive spots from the inside. You had to press your palm against your mouth to not let a sound then, when your climax finally hit you, and you'd probably slide right off the table with how quaky your whole body was at that moment if it wasn't for Carmen's strong grip on your body, holding you right where you belong.

The position was a bit merciless on his legs so far but he made it up to his feet again, giving you a light peck on your lips before his fingers found his mouth, his tongue circling the digits to clean them up as he stared right at you, into your soul. He pulled them out with a slight pop, and licked his lips clean. "How long did we take?"

"I don't know," you panted out. "I was busy imagining the way you come."

His light laughter brought a tender, yet bittersweet ache to your heart. "Fuck, you get off to that?" and you could tell him all about just how beautiful he was, and how much it turned you on to see him blissed out in pleasure— but you didn't know if your lung capacity allowed for it at that moment, as being quiet came with the benefit of holding your breath for longer than you should. "Tell me more."

You giggled against his lips when he braced himself on the desk with his two hands holding onto the edge on both sides of your thighs. Both of your hands moved down to the front of his pants, too fucked out to care about timing as you palmed him through the material just to see that grin on his lips falter. "I'm gonna make you jack off and watch sometime." you mumbled, slowly pulling the zipper down after setting him free from the belt and the button. He hummed, forehead to forehead, before reaching for another little peck.

"As much as I don't see why I should jack off while you're in front of me," he spoke, a sharp intake of breath cutting his line of thought halfway through when your fingers finally wrapped around his cock. "but— shit, if you're into that… Only if you do it w'me, though. I wanna watch too."

"You don't get to watch." you sighed, bringing him closer with your legs to line his length up with your entrance. "You're just gonna sit there and come on your hand like a loser."

Carmen couldn't help the short snort that left him. "Are you even capable of being mean to me?"

"Mm-hm, I'm very mean when I wanna be." and right after that, his tip slid right into your cavern, pulling a deep exhale from both of you when he pushed a bit deeper. His lips found yours, mostly to keep the noises at bay while his hips rolled into yours, grinding against you before retreating a little, only to push in harder this time around.

You felt so full and blessed that you didn't even have to imagine anything to get lost in the feeling.

His pants slid further downwards with each thrust until they pooled around his ankles and your thighs wrapped tighter around his body, trapping him in. His arms were so delicately wrapped around your waist that you had to hold onto him with your whole remaining power to not slide further towards the wall, but he couldn't exactly notice that when he was feeling so damn lucky, whole length wrapped in a warmth beyond his comprehension.

And again, you couldn't blame him, because neither of you managed to notice when the skin slapping against skin got a bit too loud, and your lips pulled away from his just to breathe out the filthiest little nothings, like how much you needed him to fill you right up to the brim. "Fuck, give it to me." your hips met his thrusts half-way through when you pushed yourself against him. "Carmy, come inside me, please."

"Yeah? Are you gonna take it all?" his voice sounded broken, and his fingers would surely leave imprints on your hips with how tight his grip was. "Won't let you waste a drop, baby. I won't."

Somehow, through how feral he was with the way you were begging him, the responsible side came forward and captured your lips in his again— because while his team was full of respectful people, they were also little shits who would never live it down if they heard those beautiful sounds that escaped your lips with each hit of his blunt head against your sweet spot. The thought somehow egged him on further— he couldn't exactly decide if he was too possessive to let anyone hear or if he was possessive enough to make sure everyone knew he belonged to you, but at that moment, both of those thoughts turned him on too much, enough for him to feel his high approaching. And judging by the way your walls cramped down on him tighter with each passing second, you weren't too far behind.

You could feel yourself gushing around him, coating both of you in your essence beyond simple cleaning, but that was a matter to worry about later, not when the love of your life was balls-deep inside of you, his rough grunts right against your ear when he reached to press his lips right below it. "Close?" he mumbled, and even though your mind was too busy to hear and comprehend him properly, you nodded— feeling his arms wrapping around you tighter, pulling you closer to the warmth his body provided. And while as much as you'd like to keep this going for longer, witnessing his pace falter and voice break as he moaned out your name, filling you up in the most delicious way slowly was enough to have your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure, and to have the knot finally snap.

Your whole body was buzzing, shaky even when he held you so tight against his chest as if you'd vanish right there and then— something that he always did after sex, no matter the circumstance. You giggled wearily against his shoulder, leaving a few kisses here and there before he pulled away slightly to pull you into a kiss— nothing like the ones you shared in the past minutes, this one was all sweet and loving. "Might drip if I pull out."

"You can't stay there forever, Carm."

"Oh, but I want to." he huffed out but still moved to slowly pull out of you anyway, having you both hiss in sensitivity and just like he thought, his come was ready to spill all over the place. Quick-thinker in nature, he caught his seed with his fingers right before they could go further, pushing them back into you just to hear you gasp— and slap his shoulder playfully.

"You're a fucking freak."

"Shut up— round two at my place? Kinda wanna see where that watching me jerk off fantasy of yours might lead us."

a/n: once again i could be easily manipulated into breaking into your house with a part two, who knows

also @carmensberzattos consider this a marriage proposal

i read this a while ago and was literally obsessed like, we're talking could NOT stop thinking about it and then today i was looking for it again and i realized i never fucking reblogged it?????

anyway this is everything i needed and infinitely more thanks for coming to my ted talk

Undisclosed - Masterlist

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Desperate to outrun a secret that could cost you your life, you seek refuge in a small mountain town. Its deep forests and small cabins make it the perfect place to hide, but the travel website hadn’t mentioned anything about the quiet, burly lumberjack that wouldn’t leave your thoughts. No one had warned Bucky about you either. 

Warnings: Beefy!bucky, angst, references to death/crime, injury, toxicity, eventual smut (minors dni, marked **), a bit of slow burn!!  

a/n: This series is now complete 🤍

Series playlist ⍋

❆ Chapter One 

❆ Chapter Two 

❆ Chapter Three 

❆ Chapter Four 

❆ Chapter Five

❆ Chapter Six**

❆ Chapter Seven

❆ Chapter Eight 

❆ Chapter Nine 

❆ Chapter Ten

❆ Epilogue

Series art!!

🤍 Bucky

🤍 Bucky and Alpine 

🤍Scenery 

🤍 Bucky at the diner

Extra content!!

Reader gets sick (drabble)

Spring in Stowe Mills (oneshot)

The bear attack (drabble)

Come Home (oneshot)

I KEEP FORGETTING ABOUT MY WIPS I NEED TO GET IT TOGETHER I-

this awakened something in me, I —

Impressions on the Inside of Your Thigh

summary: Head Ranch Hand James "Bucky" Barnes has had a very, very long day. Only way to remedy it is to make you squeal.

pairings: Beefy!Cowboy!Bucky Barnes x F!RanchHand!Reader

warnings: good ol' fashioned grinding up against a wall, petnames and not-so-pet names (tottie means 'fast girl' in western), choking, hand job/fingering (f receiving), horny cowboy has long day and wants to play, making out, dirty talk

word count: 1.9k

a/n: thought y'all would like this little goodie before the holiday one of the things i'm thankful for is sebastian stan in a cowboy hat ;) this was literally birthed from a singular daydream while I was driving home from work the other day listening to Feathered Indians by Tyler Childers. Couldn't stop thinking about it so here we are. This is also the first smut I have EVER FUCKING WRITTEN AND PUBLISHED??? which is something I would have never imagined but the mind is a mysterious thing.

Please consider reblogging my work! Reblogging helps others to be able to enjoy mine and other writers' works! Help me help you help others and reblog <3

Read here on AO3!

divider by @firefly-graphics | gif by @lowkeysebastianstan

Remnants of dust snaked their way into your lungs, the scent of sweat and horse and earth mixing in the familiarity of one another. The kitchen lights flickered as the dishwasher hummed, a pot of homemade roast simmering softly on the stovetop.

There was nowhere else you would rather be than the bunkhouse. 

You’d be an idiot to admit you wanted to be anywhere else, honestly– especially while Head Ranch Hand James “Bucky” Barnes rutted you up against the weathered wooden walls, creaks and moans coming from both house and human. 

Your vice grip on his shoulders only drove him further, devouring you with his lips on your neck while his calloused hands groped you up and down like a desperate and dying blind man. Your shirt lay open without the help of its buttons, long gone since the minute he’d walked through the door and tore you open. They’d scattered about, under chairs and beds and across the kitchen. You only thought it was fair to trade your shirt for his, discarding it somewhere near the dinner table along with his signature white cowboy hat. 

Electricity coursed through you as your torso bared against his, godly large hands palming your breasts as your bra threatened to snap. His thighs, clad in dirtied denim and fitted leather, straddled you, nuzzling a hard knee in between your legs. You fought for your life as you mewled; friction unlocking your throat, allowing a carnal cry to escape. It echoed through the empty house. You squealed, from both the surprise of James’s hand bolting to cover your mouth and even more arousal as he moved his knee just right.

“Careful, now, chickadee,” he rasped into your ear, “Don’t want anyone to hear ya ‘n think you’re a fuckin’ tottie, now, do ya?” He jutted hard into you as the slur left his lips. Your body shook and you moaned behind his hand in response. He smirked, knowing he could hog-tie you and you’d still thank him. 

He didn’t kick down the bunkhouse door after a long day just to spoon you. 

“Yeah, you like that ya fuckin’ tottie, huh? Like it when I call ya what y’are?” His hand moved to your throat, calloused fingers wrapping around your windpipe. You gasped, fingernails digging further into his back and nodding. He could call you a flat-out whore and you wouldn’t even flinch. 

“Please, James,” you choked, feeling his grip tighten further. Your thighs clamped tighter around his, arousal soaking through your jeans as the friction dragged you through pain and pleasure wrapped up in one big coil waiting to snap in your stomach. 

“It’s Buck, chickadee,” he growled, scraping his stubble and lips across your cheek and meeting yours in a hungry kiss. It gripped you, all tongue and teeth and need, ravaging you like a mongrel dog. He bit down on your bottom lip, sucking in the tender flesh as another moan came from your chest. He chuckled, satisfied with your undoing. His free hand left its place from palming your tender breast, gathering your hands from his stone-carved chest and raising them above you, firmly holding them over you like a prized kill. You gaped at his act, jaw slack and lungs gasping for more oxygen– for more of him.

“Mine,” he claimed as he slammed your restrained wrists against the oak wood walls. You panted as your new necklace released your throat and shot to your core, greedily grabbing your denim-clad core hard. 

“Also, mine.” 

You didn’t dare look away from him, his brilliant baby blues demanding every drop of focus you could spare. Your head spun as he continued to roughly grope your core, fingers unashamedly teasing your clit through your clothing as they pinpointed the spot his knee had discovered earlier. Desperate for his lips you lunged for him, only to be firmly held against the wall with gripping restraint.

“What’s the matter, tottie? You don’t like me playin’ with my dinner?” he tsked, shaking his head with a devilish smirk spreading across his face. You whimpered in response, jutting your lip out in an attempt to dissuade him from your restraint against the wall. When that only turned his smirk upward, you batted your lashes as you bit down on your bottom lip and rolled it through your teeth.

“You can play with your food all you want,” you said, sultry honey dripping into your tone. As much as you loved being his prey, you knew he was starving. 

“But daddy’s gotta eat at some point.”

He became undone.

He grunted, pushing back into you as he seared your lips, his tongue jutting into yours as you both collided. He moaned as you took his lip between your teeth and bit down, marking him as he had done to you. His hands moved again, slipping between you and the wood behind and hooking underneath your ass, leaning you back and into his arms. Your ankles instinctively wrapped around his hips, holding on tightly as he turned back towards the kitchen. Your lips continued locked together as he clumsily navigated through the living room and into the kitchen, your feet hitting the edge of the kitchen table as he spun around.

Your core lit ablaze, the rope in your stomach knotting as he fell forward, spilling you onto the antique barn wood surface. Your knees creased the edge, calves hanging off the table as you laid with haloed hair and bruised lips, staring at him through lidded eyes. He took you in, chest heaving as his lust-blown pupils scanned you up and down. He licked his lips, almost drooling over the task set before him. 

“What are ya waitin’ for, cowboy?” you breathed, voice shaking in a horrible attempt to mask your desperation stemming from your throbbing clit. You wanted your jeans off and you wanted them off now.  

“Wanted t’admire ya before I ruined ya.”

In one swift motion, he bent over your core, kissing the denim barrier as he popped the button and unzipped your jeans, his mouth only leaving briefly as he slid them down and off of you, tossing them somewhere behind him. Your breath hitched as he returned to his place at your core, now only one thin wall separating him from his main course. His nose nudged your clit as he kissed the crease between your legs, fingers wandering every which way as he groped you. 

“Bucky, pl–please,” you pleaded, heart racing as you could feel the slick flood out of you. You grabbed the edges of the table, bracing yourself as his teeth skimmed the waistband and took the thin fabric between his lips. You knew what was to come. 

You relished it. 

He held tight to your hips, thumbs grazing the soft spots on each side that made you buck your hips as he tore upwards, fabric ripping away from your body and finally exposing you. He spat the shreds over his shoulder and instantly dropped to his knees– a sight you knew would haunt your dreams that night. 

Your dreams and your pussy.

His tongue took its first lap at your folds, a guttural groan erupting from his chest as he smacked his lips. The first taste was always the sweetest to him, a flavor he never grew sick of as he nudged deeper and licked your entrance. He drank you in with pride, sucking your swollen clit and smiling against you as you uttered the most heavenly sounds. The wines, the gasps– every sound you made was a symphony scoring his actions, egging him further into you as his tongue entered you. He swirled into you, spelling his name with deep strokes as he held down your hips. From above it was a scene of worship: him, kneeled over you like you were the last drink of water he’d ever have on earth; you, back arched with hands in your hair while mewls turned to moans, escaping you relentlessly. 

He moved again, kissing your folds good luck as his hands migrated; one under you to your ass, the other to the top of your mound. His thumb pressed against your clit, bruised and puffy as all hell, before moving to make way for his mouth. Hot breath clouded over your slit as his index and middle fingers dipped in between your folds, slicking and swirling them, teasing your entrance as he played you like a fiddle. The whines, the whimpers– you didn’t care who heard you. 

All you cared about was the rope in your stomach knotting tighter and together, desperate for him to rip it apart. 

He slipped his digits into you, the two stretching your walls with the most pleasurable pain. Your eyes scrunched shut as your hand made a beeline for his hair, fistful of chocolate locks pulling at him like a bridled stallion. He groaned as you grabbed, the pulling making his cock stretch against his jeans. It only made his knuckles bottom out your hole, fingers hooking up into you and releasing a burst of pleasure. You writhed as he thrust faster, picking up speed and bottoming out repeatedly, thumb swirling over your clit harder, faster. Your grip left his locks and you ran your nails over his scalp, scratching his skin and grabbing the roots of his hair. 

Grunting as his hand thrust into you with each clap, his lips found their way around your clit once more, tongue swirling once more around the puffy bud. 

“Chickadee,” he growled. You lifted your head, smug baby blues meeting your gaze and dancing over your heated face. Heart pumping, banging against your rib cage, you gulped as he commanded the only word you’d been waiting to hear. 

“Come.”

In the same beat, he unleashed a wave of pleasure: one final thrust into you with knuckles against your entrance, his other hand bruising your ass with a vice grip, and, pursed, unbeatable lips sucking in your puffy clit to meet his tongue one last time. 

The knotted rope snapped, your back arching and a howl erupting from your chest; your jaw and muscles locked into an ‘O’, eyes rolling back to meet your brain. He stayed buried in you as you rode his hand out, drenching his hand completely with your come. As you come down, he removes his fingers, sliding them out painfully slow, relishing the final jerks of your climax. 

As you came down, breathless with ringing ears, he rose, moving to your side. Looking down at his work, a grin spilled across his face, lustful and proud. You stared back up at him, eyes shining as you reached for him. He obliged this time, bending down with your hands cupping his face and kissing him softly. He tasted like you– and he made sure you knew so by darting his tongue out and quickly swiping across your lips.

You giggled, sitting up and hopping off the table to face him. Looking at eachother for a moment, you reached to tuck a lock of chocolate behind his ear. He kissed your hand as you brought it back, scruff scratching your palm. 

“That’s my girl,” he praised. You smirked, your hands grazing his shoulders and down his chest, looking up at him through your lashes with the doe eyes you knew he couldn’t resist. 

“That’s me, cowboy,” you giggled, hands gliding down his waist and hooking onto the waistband of his jeans. 

“Now, how ‘bout some dessert?”

I'm dreadfully in love with him

SOMEBODY SEDATE ME

slightly mean eddie if you feel so inclined 🥹🫶 like stern kinda like how you do “mean sirius”. i just think him slightly bossing r around or being stern with her is 😍🫶

SMUT 18+ ONLY MDNI (cw: p in v, hard/mean dom!eddie, mostly just rough touches and bossing r around, some degradation, stoplight, all consensual) | fem!reader | 1.2k words

Eddie leans back, looking a tenuous mixture of unimpressed and sympathetic. "Baby, stop hiding." 

You sit with your legs spread over his legs, face pointed resolutely at the happy trail that climbs clumsily up the centre of his abdomen. "I'm not," you say, though you can't lift your gaze to prove him wrong. 

"How are you feeling?" he asks, bringing a hand to your cheek to force your head up. You smile weakly.

"Good." 

"Yeah? You know all your alerts still? What colour is this?" 

"I don't forget them." You let your legs spread wider, hissing as you sink down further on the splitting girth of his cock. "Green." 

As soon as he knows you're okay he gets mean, a subtle cruelty, squeezing your cheek in a too-tight grip. "What did I say before? Stop hiding." 

You straighten your back, hips moving in messy, slow circles and hands braced against his trim waist. You lift your head and try your best to stay up, even when the head of his cock taps into your spongy soft spot and sends a round of pleasure-shocked chills through your abdomen. 

You quiver happily. 

"You liked that?" he pulls his arms down from behind his head to grab your waist, pushing you down hard into his thighs. 

His cock kisses your soft spot again and you feel yourself tipping forward. "Sit up, doll. Up. Wanna see you, wanna see that face you make when I stretch you out." 

He lifts his hips and you gasp. "That's the one," he says, grinning. 

"Too big," you whisper, so full you can't breathe right. You're sensitive to every shift, every drag of his cock, the curve of his shaft as he digs into the pulp of your walls. 

"Say again," he says, pulling your hips into him. 

"It's too big, Eds. I don't think I can take it."  

He stares up at you assessingly. You wilt slightly under his gaze, your eyes half-lidded and lashes heavy with unshed tears. 

His pinky finger is cool as he strokes down the hill of your soft cheek. "Baby, I know how much you can take." He drops his hand abruptly. "So take it." 

He fucks up into you until you're panting, clinging to his waist and wanting desperately to bury yourself in his chest. Every time you try he pushes you back, his annoyed gaze lighting a fire in the pit of your stomach. You try to fuck him how he likes it with your hips rolling, almost bouncing over his length, but the stimulation is overwhelming. 

"Please," you say, hands sliding behind his naked back. "Please, please, Eddie." 

He tilts his head to one side. "You're so fucking clingy. Come here," he says, opening his arms with a well-acted reluctance.

You melt into him, always so relieved to garner his affection. His hands are sweet, roving up and down the length of your back in sweeping lines that soothe you like you'd wanted. "Green," you whisper before he can ask. 

He stifles a chuckle, nuzzling his face into the side of yours. "You're really fucking tight. Do you need something?" he asks. 

You think about it. "Can you touch me?" 

"Try and relax for me, okay?" he asks, hand already moving to the place where your bodies meet, thick fingers searching for the little bead of your clit. He pushes the pad of his thumb into it and draws slow circles. "If you want to take a break, we can do that." 

"I'm okay. Do you-" You gasp as he hits the right spot. "Do you want a break, baby?" 

"No. A break from moulding this sweet cunt? As if." He rolls his eyes, a burning amusement slowly changing to smugness, to mocking. "Why, do you think I need one?" 

You swallow dryly at the character he's become and shake your head. "No, I just-" 

"Just what? Think you know better than me?" 

"I just thought-" 

He laughs darkly. "Ah, and that's where you're going wrong, sweet thing. I don't need you to think about anything besides this," he gives you two sharp thrusts. You wrap your arms tight around his neck, crushing dark curls to your nose. He smells like he always does; cedarwood, a heady cologne sticks to his skin.

You clamp down around him without thinking and listen to him hiss. "That's it, that's it. Fuck. Guess there's some sense in here after all," he says, lips to your forehead.   

Your thighs tighten around him and he's more than perceptive, focusing his efforts on your clit, chasing your climax with tight circles. 

"You gonna ask me?" 

You take a big breath. "Can I cum?" 

He squeezes you tight to his chest and his skin is everywhere, touching you all over, his hands and his arms and his chest, his thighs and his cock rocking into you, as close as he can be. You gasp for air as your high approaches. 

"Be polite." 

"Please," you say quickly, quiet but forceful as you remember yourself. "Eddie, please can I? Please, please-" You squeeze your eyes shut and shy away from his touch, worried you'll cum before he says you can. 

He takes pity. "Go on, sweetheart." 

Everything dissolves. The coil snaps and you really can't breath, biting down on your index finger to stop from squealing in his ear. He pushes you through it, doesn't stop touching until you're over the crest of it and panting again. 

"Good job," he says, and you know he's done playing mean before he says, "Blue. Very blue. How are you feeling?" Blue – I want to keep fucking you, but I don't want to play mean anymore. 

You pull back and feel weak, slouched in his lap, his cock still hard as stone inside you. You do an experimental little bounce. "Blue." 

He beams and you do too, laughing under your breath as you lean down for a kiss. His lips are inviting: so soft, sweet, a short fall from tentative. You brush the hair away from his face as you pull back and take in his cheeks, pink with blush and damp with a sheen of sweat. 

"You're blushing!" you say, ecstatic. 

He groans, covering his face with both hands as he says, "Fuck off, you tease. This is all your fault. You don't know how fucking cute you look trying to climb all over me. How hard it is to push you away." 

You curl your fingers around his wrist and pull them away, pressing a kiss to the back of his hands before letting them drop. "Thanks, Eddie. For playing games with me." 

He blinks. "I like them just as much as you do." 

"I like you." 

"Wait, do you have a crush on me?" he asks suspiciously. 

You burst into laughter. Eddie joins in, though it's strangled as he shifts beneath you. You realise then how close he is to his own release, his chest rising fast. 

"Got more than a crush on you, Munson. I'll show you, if you like?" you ask, working your hips. 

His eyes close as his head drops back into the couch cushion. Neck bared, you watch his throat bob. He moans and it's haunting, you'll be thinking about it all day, a wicked exhale coloured by the deep rasp of his voice. 

"Want me to show you, baby?" 

"Please," he says. 

Glutton for Punishment | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello, hello! I am back back back again. My life has been busy, y'all. School is kicking my ass. But this fic has been like 94% complete for like a month, and I finally got to finish it! yay!

wordcount: 8939

Warnings: angst, self harm, Bucky's trauma

Bucky collapsed onto the bed with a defeated huff. The mattress rippled under his weight and jostled the computer resting on your thighs. His chest rose and fell with another dejected sigh. His meetings with Fury never went well- but they weren’t always bad. Sometimes, things between them were cordial. Neutral. This was not one of those times. Bucky wanted to sink into the bed and never come out. He wanted to dissolve into the earth and disappear. The only thing anchoring him to reality was, as always, you. 

“Hey, how’d it go, babe?” The comforting lilt of your voice floated through the air. Maybe drenching your words in overt positivity was too much, but it seemed necessary. Maybe if you could coat your voice in optimism, it would fix whatever plagued Bucky. But you knew it was useless to hope. 

He didn’t answer. He just stared up at the ceiling, a blank expression on his face. Coming home to you after a bad day or a shitty meeting was always his saving grace; being near you brought him peace. But he hated bringing the shame home with him. 

“That bad, huh?” you ditched your laptop and laid next to him, propped up on one elbow. “What happened?”

Silence. He didn’t tear his eyes from the ceiling. Didn’t even blink. He just gazed upward- hopeless. 

In the quiet, your fingers traced up and down his arm. You pressed kisses to his shoulder. He always had a way of shutting you out before allowing you in. It wasn’t personal; it was just his process. He opted to suffer without your help until the pain ate away at him. And when there was almost nothing left, he tore down the walls and welcomed the onslaught of comfort. 

“He said it was my fault.” Bucky tried not to sound too pathetic. He knew you worried about him- a lot. Knew that his misery always hurt you. Seeing him in pain brought you nothing but heartache. But his efforts did nothing to hide the anguish in his voice. 

You didn’t want to make him repeat the whole ordeal, to relive whatever messed up shit Fury said to him- but you needed context. Your words were soft, your voice gentle. “He said what was your fault, baby?” Bucky didn’t deserve more blame, more guilt. Though none of what he did was his fault, a lifetime of remorse rested heavy on his shoulders after his Winter Soldier days. You wondered how much unjust blame he could carry before it crushed him. 

Bucky sighed, “All of it. Everything that went wrong on that last mission- the explosion, all those agents getting hurt-”

“What? You weren’t even the lead on that job- how is any of it your fault?” Heat rose in your chest. Your heart pounded against your ribs. Defending Bucky was your first instinct, your first priority. And while he accepted the shame with which Fury saddled him, you immediately turned to protection. To rage. 

Bucky shrugged, “he said I’m the most experienced, so I should’ve known better than to let the lead take our team into the lab.”

 “Wait- he said you should’ve argued with the mission lead?”

Bucky nodded. 

“But didn’t he reprimand you last month for that exact reason?”

Again, he nodded. 

“What the fuck?” Wrath sizzled beneath your skin. No one was allowed to treat Bucky this way- not even Fury. He contradicted himself and put his hypocrisy on full display, knowing Bucky hated himself too much to argue. 

“I can-” Bucky’s voice came out hollow. Empty. Guilt had him in a chokehold. “I can see where he’s coming from…”

“No, don’t do that.” It wasn’t a reprimand- but a reminder. You laced your fingers with his, “You know it wasn’t your fault.”

He refused to make eye contact. “I mean, I could’ve spoken up-”

“You weren’t even with them, were you? Didn’t Fury tell you to hit the warehouse on your own?”

He nodded.

“So how is any of it your fault, Buck?” Fury sent Bucky into a tailspin with almost no effort. He knew exactly which buttons to push, which wires to pull. Fury made him his puppet, his scapegoat. He made Bucky work harder than anyone else and never delivered the praise he deserved. Instead, he met Bucky’s efforts with tongue-lashings and bitter insults. With blame. 

“I don’t…” he shrugged. “I don’t know- but it feels like it’s on me. A lot of people got hurt and I am the most experienced. I should’ve said something-”

“But if you did, Fury would’ve called you into his office to tell you that you’re arrogant- like he did last time.” A deep breath filled your lungs and calmed your system; anger wouldn’t help Bucky. You needed to channel that energy into comforting him, easing his mind. 

You softened your tone, “You know you can’t win with him, Buck.”

“Maybe because I tried to kill him… twice.” Finally, he looked at you, “And I can handle being called arrogant- those agents got hurt, doll. That’s different.”

“I know it’s different. I’m just saying… you weren’t involved. You did what you were told- what Fury told you to do.” Your hand cupped his cheek, he leaned into your touch. “And if he wants to get mad at you for that, he’s a piece of shit. He knows he fucked up, and he’s pinning it on you.”

Bucky pulled you close. He curled in on himself with you at his center, his head resting against your chest. The logical part of his brain believed everything you said. It disregarded Fury’s false accusations and willed the blame to dissipate. But the rest of him took Fury’s every word as gospel. It rejected your assurances, categorizing them as obligatory kindness from a significant other. Shame feasted on his soul. He didn’t want to feel this way, but it came easily. By now, it was second nature. 

“Thanks, doll…” He lifted his head and brought his face to yours, “I appreciate you.” He meant it; no one ever supported him like this. But you always listened. You were always there for him, even when he was too ashamed to look you in the eye. You showed him patience and kindness and led him out of the dark more times than he could count. 

He dotted a few soft kisses to your lips, “I’m gonna take a shower.” 

“Wait-” Your hand caught his as he tried to get up, “I love you.”

A shy smile pulled at Bucky’s lips. He once again met your lips with his, needier this time. “And I love you.”

He stripped off his shirt and, immediately, your eyes landed on it. By now, you knew better than to stare. But sometimes, you couldn’t stop yourself.  

The first time it caught your eye, you couldn’t avert your gaze. You noticed it right away- how could you not? It drew your focus the first moment Bucky removed his shirt in front of you. You didn’t think anything could ever distract you from his perfect body- but you were wrong. 

A massive bruise splashed across Bucky’s skin. The cluster of broken blood vessels was dark at the center- nearly black. It exploded into by purples and blues that stained his right shoulder and eclipsed his chest. Sometimes, an angry, red haze leaked from the edges like a wine stain. Greens and yellows- signs of healing- colored the border every now and then. But no matter how many times you bore witness, they never seemed to overtake the tones of violet and navy. 

For whatever reason, this thing refused to heal.

On more occasions than you could count, you asked Bucky about this large indigo mark. And he always had an answer:

“Ran through a wall”

“Jumped out of a plane”

“That John Walker asshole hit me with Steve’s shield”

He did, indeed, have a dangerous job and a penchant for peril. For taking risks. But no one else on the team ever seemed to have a bruise like that. Even you received your fair share of stitches and broken ribs, but never anything as persistent as Bucky’s bruise. 

Wasn’t he a super soldier? Wasn’t he supposed to heal fast- really fast? His other injuries disappeared like they’d never happened; why did this bruise stick around? 

“I think you need to get that looked at,” you told him once, “it can’t be good that it never heals...”

Bucky shrugged it off with a smile. He kissed you on the forehead and thanked you for your concern. But he didn’t get it checked out. He downplayed the massive bruise eclipsing his body and moved on, just like he always did. 

“What are you lookin’ at?” Bucky quirked a brow at you, his shy smile making another appearance.

You shrugged, “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“It’s not- it’s not that bad,” Bucky did his best to hide his bruise with his vibranium hand, but the colors extended far past what he could cover. “I’m used to it.”

Something had to be wrong with him, right? Something inside his body had to be out of order. The first time you saw it- the first time you saw him without his shirt- was six months ago. How long could a bruise last? And how long did he have it before he showed it to you? 

Why hadn’t the serum fixed it by now?

Bucky was well past his expiration date. He lived more years than the universe intended, and his body suffered enough trauma for a hundred lifetimes. He was strong, he was a survivor. But every time you stole a glance at the inky spot on his skin, anxiety blocked your airway. Part of you wondered if this mark signaled his end. There was a chance that his body already started breaking down, that all those years of abuse caught up with him. Maybe his bruise was a harbinger. Maybe his days were numbered. Maybe he was dying. 

Maybe you were about to lose him.

Those kinds of thoughts pushed bile into your throat. You shoved them into the darkest corners of your mind and did your best to lock them away, but they reappeared from time to time just to hurt you. Taunt you. Bring you to tears. And while Bucky made his way into the bathroom and turned on the hot water, you remained fixated on the inky spot. On his demise. 

Bucky did his best to let the shower cleanse his mind. He told himself he’d let it all go- all the guilt and the blame. He knew he didn’t deserve it. But his shame didn’t run down the drain. It didn’t wash away with the warm spray of the shower. No, he remained coated in it, dripping with it, no matter how hard he scrubbed. And though it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, he never welcomed its reemergence.

A sliver of levity wriggled into his chest as he emerged from the bathroom. He found you reading in bed, your brows knit together in that cute way he loved. But your focus shattered when he stepped into the bedroom. He watched you dogear your page and shut your book as he climbed into bed. 

“You don’t have to stop reading because of me, doll-” 

“I was only reading while I waited for you,” you extended a hand in his direction and tugged him closer. He didn’t need to know that you only opened your book to distract from your crippling anxiety about his condition. He didn’t need to know that you read the same paragraph over and over and over without retaining a word. “Now that you’re here, I don’t need any other form of entertainment.”

“Is that so?” He narrowed his eyes at you and gestured to the book resting on your chest, “I’m better than Dracula?”

“Way better. So, the guy drinks blood and sleeps in a coffin-” You shot him a wink and knocked your book to the floor, “big whoop.” A dramatic eye roll and a quick laugh accompanied your comments about Bram Stoker’s masterpiece. But a sudden seriousness banished your playful tone as you gave Bucky a once over. He didn’t look any better- not that he ever looked bad. But the hot shower did nothing to help him relax. All his muscles remained taught. His brow still furrowed. The tension in his jaw seemed to turn to concrete. He was hurting. 

“How you doin’, Buck?” A gentle hand smoothed over his shoulder and slid down his arm. “You okay?”

A manufactured smile spread across his face. His shoulders rose and fell in an all too casual shrug. “I’m fine- I’m good.” He couldn’t seem to maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds.

Another tug of his hand brought him closer. “You don’t seem fine…”

“No, really. I’m okay,” he brought your hand to his lips and pressed kisses to your palm. He was the farthest thing from okay; it was written all over his face. And though he did his best to put on a façade for you, you saw through the cracks. A heaviness lurked behind the grin he wore. A deep sadness darkened his gaze. You knew he probably spent the entirety of his shower replaying Fury’s words and berating himself within an inch of his life. 

An extra helping of guilt dropped upon Bucky’s shoulders as he studied you. One of your nails dug into the cuticle of another. Your smile remained tight and tense. He could practically see the anxiety surging through your nervous system. And it was all his fault. You were worried about him, upset about him. How could he do this to you when you brough him nothing but peace?

He found it in him to take a deep breath, to let his shoulders fall a fraction of an inch. “It’s just gonna take a little time for me to get out of the shitty headspace Fury put me in. I’ll be alright-” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, “I promise.”

Fucking Fury. He seemed to allow everyone else chance after chance; he granted grace to every other member of the team. Everyone but Bucky. “You wanna get some sleep, then?” you cupped Bucky’s cheek, “hopefully, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Bucky nodded. He reached over and flipped off his bedside lamp before giving his pillow a few adjustments. He got settled under the covers and waited for you to do the same- but you didn’t. You laid there, watching him. 

“You gonna turn your lamp off, doll?”

“Not until you’re all situated.”

Bucky looked down at his perfectly arranged covers and then back at you, “I’m um, I think I’m settled, baby.”

You quirked a brow at him, “Are you though? Come on-” you found his hand under the covers and pulled him closer. “Assume the position, Barnes.”

He let out a labored, tired laugh. “Baby, thank you, but I can’t. My hair’s still wet, you’re gonna be cold-”

“I don’t care- you had a rough day.”  You could practically see the war raging within Bucky’s psyche. He was dying to crawl into your embrace a disappear into your warmth. But he couldn’t- not tonight. 

“It’s okay, doll. You don’t have to, it’s-” 

“Come onnn, Buck. You knowwww you waaaant toooooo.” You gave your chest a few light pats, beckoning him to you. “I know it always makes you feel better.”

Of course, he wanted to. Something about resting his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, and feeling your hands in his hair eased his soul. Even on his darkest, most soul-crushing days, he found solace with you. But guilt still gnawed at him; Fury’s rant played on a constant loop inside his head. And after what he’d supposedly done, he didn’t feel as though he deserved your love. 

“Baby, I know you feel bad; And I know you’re trying to deprive yourself. But guilty or not- which you are not-” you gave his hand a squeeze, “you deserve comfort.”

A touch of heartbreak colored your voice. You were desperate to help Bucky, nearly begging him to grant himself some grace. Some care. In his attempts to hurt himself by staying far from your embrace, he’d hurt you instead. He’d made you sad, filled you with worry. He wondered if he’d ever be able to do anything right. 

In an instant, he did as you asked; he’d do anything to make you feel better. His head rested against your chest, his wet hair dampening your shirt. It sent a rush of goosebumps over your skin- but you didn’t care. A deep sigh left Bucky’s chest as he melted against you. He often swore his body was made to fit yours, that he only existed to touch and be touched by you. 

“See? Isn’t that better?”

“Mhmm…” he sighed, “much.”

You ran a hand through his wet hair, “Good. Now, let’s get some sleep. Okay?” You flicked off your lamp and wrapped your arms around Bucky, willing every ounce of your love into his body. He’d feel better in the morning- you knew he would. He just needed time and rest and a little love. And you gave him more than he ever dreamed of. 

But around two in the morning, a strange sound vibrated on the edges of your consciousness. The dense ‘thud’repeated endlessly, like an eternal metronome. It resounded inside your head, mixing itself in with your dream until it finally woke you. 

With your face still smushed into your pillow, you muttered Bucky’s name. The sound stopped- maybe you imagined it. Maybe it really was just part of your dream. Silence settled over your room once again and lulled you back to sleep. 

But only a few minutes later, that sound woke you once again.

Your words came out sloppy, heavy with sleep. “Whass tha noise?” 

No answer. 

“Baby,” you said, more alert this time, “You hear that?”

Bucky didn’t respond. 

With a groan, you forced your eyes open. There was no sign of disturbance or struggle; nothing out of the ordinary caught your eye. Everything was in its place- except Bucky. And when you pressed your palm against his side of the bed, the sheets lacked any remnants of his warmth. 

This wasn’t like him- not anymore, anyway. Back when you first got together, Bucky left the room when he woke from a night terror. He’d slip out of bed and escape to the living room, forcing himself to withstand his panic attack all alone. But one night, you found him on the living room floor- desperate for breath. He clutched the corner of the rug and gritted his teeth, willing the anxiety to receded. 

He flinched when you touched him; he didn’t hear you approach over the pounding in his ears. But the second he saw you, he reached for you. His sickly white knuckles regained their color as he released his fists and collapsed against you. He dropped his head into your lap, falling forward with the weight of his trauma. And he allowed your voice to soothe his racing mind. He let you guide him out of the agony. 

Of course, he apologized for waking you. For inconveniencing you. Of course, you wouldn’t hear it. And when the panic finally subsided, he let you walk him back to bed. He buried his face in your chest and thanked you a million times over. After that night, you made him promise to wake you when these things happened- no matter what time it was. You made him promise not to suffer in silence. And he agreed. 

You didn’t know he had his fingers crossed. 

“Buck?” the anxious pounding of your heart boomed in your chest. “Baby?” You kicked the blankets from your body and abandoned your bed. Slivers of light made their way through the blinds and splashed across the floor, allowing you to search through the darkness. He wasn’t sitting on the floor or in the armchair near the window. Nor did you find him in the en suite bathroom.  

“Bucky?” The hall was empty and the office void of Bucky’s presence. And while you searched for him, the sound refused to cease. It echoed through seemingly every fiber of the apartment. It haunted every space. Unfounded worries threw themselves at you, fighting to topple you to the ground. What if Bucky was hurt? What if he was gone? 

No- he was fine. Of course, he was. Right? He had to be. The home you shared was safe. Nothing here could hurt or harm him in any way. 

Well, maybe not nothing.

The thudding of your heart grew loud in your ears, nearly eclipsing the mystery sound all together. Part of you even doubted the existence of the noise- maybe it was just your anxiety getting to you. Maybe Bucky was in the kitchen grabbing a late-night snack, perfectly safe and happy. 

But when you rounded the corner into the living room, all doubt fell away. Shards of your heart did the same as you stood in shock, watching the source of the sound reveal itself. 

Bucky sat on the floor near the window, his back resting against the couch. 

His metal fist hammered against his right shoulder again and again, beating the flesh a sickly blue. 

The utter shock stole your breath, forcing it violently from your lungs. A burning erupted from your chest and spread through your every cell like wildfire. The floor seemed to tilt and ripple as a wave of dizziness sent you nearly collapsing into the closest wall. And through all of it, the sound persisted. The sickly thud of metal striking skin, striking bone.

But there was no time for your shock or sadness or heartbreak. Bucky needed you.

“Buck? Hey-” In only a few strides, you made your way to his side. But he didn’t look at you. He didn’t meet your eyes when you sat down in front of him, nor did he stop his assault. “Bucky, baby, can you look at me?” 

He didn’t. He simply forced his hand against his chest over and over, no matter the pain. 

“Bucky,” you didn’t recognize your own voice. It came out more strained, more desperate than you’d ever heard it. The sight of Bucky doing this to himself almost made you sick, the sound covered you in goosebumps. A flood of saliva rushed into your mouth, warning you of the impending threat of vomit- but you forced it down.

Every time you asked about it, every time you wondered what caused that bruise- you never imagined it was self-inflicted. 

“I need you to stop, okay?” Your words came out frantic, “Can you- can you just look at me for a second?”

His hollow gaze remained fixed on the floor. Anguish twisted his features, pulling his face into a pained mask. But his eyes held no life. 

“Please-” your palm landed on his bruised shoulder mere seconds before the next strike. The force of his vibranium fist was sure to shatter your hand, but you didn’t care. You’d do anything to stop him from hurting himself. Anything to ease his pain. And if you couldn’t make him stop, maybe you could soften the blow. 

But just as his fist once again neared his shoulder, he stopped. “Move,” his voice was low, almost timid.

“No.”

“Doll,” his eyes remained downcast, “I need you to move your hand.”

You refused. “I’m not gonna move, Buck. I’m not gonna let you hurt yourself.”

Finally, he dragged his shame-filled gaze upward. His despondent look sliced through you, cutting right to the bone. This was worse than the vacant stare he wore moments ago; this was utter misery. “Please…” his voice caught in his throat, barely pushing its way past the tension. “Move.”

But your hand remained; you’d keep it there until the end of time if you had to. 

Warm, salty tears breached your lips as you spoke, and only then did you realize you were crying. “Buck, why are you doing this?”

“Because I know you won’t.” He clenched and unclenched his metal fist in a never-ending cycle, itching to resume his efforts. “None of you will. Not Sam. Not Hill. Not ever Fury. So, I have to.”

“Of course, we won’t. Why- Why would we?” It was an unfathomable thought. 

“I need- I deserve to be punished. I deserve to face consequences for my actions.” The words fell from his lips in what resembled a recitation, like he had a script to follow. Like he’d said this before. “There are always consequences…” Again, he pulled his hand into a fist; the vibranium whined under his strength. “There have to be consequences.”

“There were consequences- your meeting with Fury? That was the consequence.”

He shook his head, “It’s not enough- people got hurt.”

“It’s more than enough…” With your free hand, you reached for Bucky’s cold fist. He resisted at first, almost scared to be without his method of punishment. But he never could resist your touch. One at a time, you uncurled his fingers from his tight fist. You pressed his cold palm against your chest and held it there, allowing the beat of your heart to vibrate through the metal. “Especially because you didn’t do anything wrong. People got hurt- but it’s not your fault.”

Bucky ached to maim himself. He needed to feel pain. Needed to get what he thought he deserved. But he couldn’t bring himself to tear his hand from your chest. And though you blocked his bruise and made punishment impossible, he liked the way your palm felt against his black and blue skin. It was the one part of him you always shied away from for fear of hurting the already tender flesh. But your touch soothed the deep ache.

“Baby, how…” you swallowed the lump forming in your throat, “how often do you do this?” You weren’t sure you wanted the answer; just the thought of Bucky doing this to himself day in and day out filled your chest with storm clouds. But you needed to know.

His words held a deep shame, “Whenever I deserve it.”

“Buck, you’ve had that bruise for at least six months...”

He shrugged, “I deserve it a lot.”

Everything inside you burst into flames. You wanted to tear Hydra apart, to destroy them for what they did to Bucky. They altered his sense of self so violently, so irreparably, that they changed who he saw in the mirror. He viewed himself only as a vehicle for destruction, a receptacle for other peoples’ wrongs. They drilled into him an acceptance of abuse, of pain, of torture. And now, he didn’t know how to operate without it. 

“No, you don’t- you don’t deserve this.” A small quiver forced its way into your voice, “even if this whole thing was your fault- which it wasn’t- you wouldn’t deserve to be hurt.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Sometimes, he didn’t understand. He couldn’t comprehend the sentiment that he didn’t deserve pain and suffering; that he wasn’t always to blame. It was almost like you spoke different languages. Shuri may have eliminated the Winter Soldier programming and rendered his trigger words useless, but she couldn’t remove his shame. His guilt. His instinct to assume blame.  

“I can’t do anything right-” His right hand gripped the edge of the rug. He needed some way to release his tension, his anxiety. The fabric bunched inside his fist and twisted with his every move. 

“It seems like no matter what I do- or don’t do- someone ends up hurt. That says something about me, doesn’t it?” 

“No. It doesn’t.” You slowly removed your hand from his metal wrist and found his right fist. He eased the tension in his grip with your help and released the corner of the rug. It fell crumpled against the hardwood, struggling to regain its shape. “Buck, you always say that you blame yourself because you think you’re a bad person. But I actually think you blame yourself because you’re a good person.”

He gave a small shake of his head. 

“You’re willing to shoulder whatever guilt or blame other people put on you- regardless of whether you deserve it- because you’re not selfish.” He was, in fact, the least selfish person in the world. He’d set himself on fire to keep you warm. Would move heaven and earth to make you smile. He was loyal, devoted. He cared about you, about his friends, without ever putting himself first. 

“And you haven’t buried yourself in ego or pride like some of the other guys we work with.” 

Bucky let out a soft laugh. 

No, he didn’t bury himself in ego; he had no ego. His self-image wasn’t inflated or overexaggerated. He just wanted to do his best. To help. To offset with light some of the darkness he caused. 

“And maybe it’s your way of seeking redemption- not that you need to be redeemed,” you gave his hand a squeeze. “But maybe part of you feels like if you accept enough responsibility, it’ll make up for the things you were forced to do as the Winter Soldier.” 

He let out a sigh from somewhere deep within him, somewhere he didn’t know he had. It seemed to him like he’d been holding on to this truth, this breath, since the day he escaped. And here, in the darkness, he released it. “I just… I don’t want to be the bad guy anymore.”

“That’s the thing Buck,” you gently stroked a few fingertips across his massive bruise, “You never were.”

His forehead fell against yours. The two of you sat there, motionless, for what felt like forever. Cars moved on the streets below. Thunder rolled through the sky. Rain drops tapped against the large windows. But neither of you noticed. 

“If I move this hand-” you tapped your once again fingers against his bruised shoulder, “are you gonna do it again?”

He shook his head. 

With great hesitancy, you removed your palm from the evidence of his self-inflicted punishment. It looked worse in the eerie 2am lighting, like a black hole formed on his skin; you feared it might envelope him completely if you let it. Your lips replaced your hand, leaving the softest of kisses across his skin. Bucky let loose a small sound- something like a whimper- as you traced the bruise with your mouth. He let a few tears slip down his cheeks. 

“Thank you…”

You took a moment to drink him in. He was stronger than humanly possible. Hugely muscular. Nearly indestructible. But in the middle of the night on the floor of your living room, he looked so small. So fragile. His shoulders caved forward, and his read remained bowed. His voice wavered. His right hand shook ever so slightly. He was a man haunted, possessed by his past. Fearing the future. He was hurt. Broken. Lost in others’ perceptions of himself. He lay trapped under his need for validation from those around him. He sought approval from people who never dreamed of granting it. 

You wondered if he’d ever be free from his ghosts, or if they’d follow him until he became one himself. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” you pressed a kiss to his forehead. “All I ever want is to be there for you when you need me.” The tremor in your voice matched Bucky’s. Pure hurt rendered the air around you thick and heavy. You ached for Bucky, and he, in return, ached to be anyone but himself. 

“What do you wanna do? We can go back to bed. Or if you don’t feel like sleeping, we can hang out in here and watch some tv.” You ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, “Up to you.” 

Bucky’s mind still raced. His brain sat stewing in a deep pit of sorrow and anguish. But he was tired- exhausted. And while his mind wanted to stay up for a while, he let his body decide. His chest and shoulder screamed with pain. His skin stung. Each breath forced a sharp agony into his consciousness; he knew he must’ve cracked a rib. “Let’s-” he grimaced as an inhale filled his lungs, “let’s go back to bed.”

As gently as you could, you helped Bucky from the floor. He smiled when your hand found his as you led him in the direction of the bedroom. The two of you shuffled down the dark hall in silence with no clue what to say. Bucky wanted to apologize; you wanted to drown him in promises of your love. 

Bucky stopped short when you paused, almost running into you. You turned to him suddenly, eying his bruise in the dim light. “You go ahead, okay? I’m gonna grab you an ice pack.”

“Doll, thank you, but I’m fine-”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “does it hurt?”

He shrugged; the motion made him wince. “I mean, yeah. But it’s-”

“Exactly.” You pushed up on your tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek, “I’m gonna get you an ice pack. You get your ass to bed- I’ll be there in a second.”

Bucky whispered a ‘thank you’ and headed in the direction of the bedroom, leaving you alone. But just as he turned the corner down the hall, guilt wrapped around his ankles like a ball and chain. He was stuck; his need to apologize rendering him frozen. He watched you turn in the direction of the kitchen and wondered what he did to deserve you. “Hey, doll…” he called after you. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Nothing to apologize for. I promise.”

“But I-”

 “You’re doing your best. You’re coping in the only way you know how. That’s not something to be sorry for.”

Bucky shrugged, winced, and disappeared into the bedroom, eager to escape your line of sight. Everything you did, you did for him. And though that knowledge should’ve eased Bucky’s soul, it only added to his guilt. He marked yet another tally to the long, long list of ways in which he didn’t deserve you. 

The walk to the kitchen wasn’t long- but it provided a sliver of extra time for you to cope in private. If Bucky knew just how much this upset you, how heartbroken you were, he’d never forgive himself. He, instead, would add that knowledge to his ever-growing mountain of shame. He’d adopt a new method of self-punishment, something more subtle, easier to hide. And he’d never express his guilt or shame to you ever again, all to save your feelings. You couldn’t do that to him; he deserved an outlet, a sounding board, a space to vent. You’d never dream of robbing him of that. 

“Alright, here we go,” you pushed open the bedroom door. “I got you one of the big ones, cause that thing is massive, and-” If you didn’t look up at the right moment, you would’ve crashed right into Bucky. 

He stood near the foot of the bed, just inside the door, almost vibrating with anxiety. It rolled through him in waves and placed tremors in his hands. He didn’t stand a fighting chance. 

His massive frame looming in the darkness almost blocked your path completely- and scared the hell out of you. “Shit-” You tripped over your own feet and stumbled backward, but Bucky wouldn’t let you fall.

He caught you in the nick of time, snatching you from the air and righting you on your feet. “Oh, hey- I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Without a word, you pressed the towel-wrapped ice pack to his skin. Though he detested the cold, the sensation awarded him much needed relief. A deep sigh left his chest as his pain receptors deadened and the constant, months-long throbbing subsided. This was the first thing to put his pain on pause in- he couldn’t remember how long.

You searched his face for any indicators of discomfort, “How does that feel?”

All he could do was nod. The two of you stood there a while as Bucky drank in the relief. The muscles in his shoulders released their tension, his breaths came a bit easier. But something dark lurked beneath his quiet surface. 

“Such a gentleman, waiting for me to come back before getting in bed,” you threw him a wink.  

Bucky’s attempted laugh came out broken, disjointed. To his credit, he tried to laugh for real. He wanted to put this whole night behind him and slide into bed with you. Under the covers, surrounded by your body heat, nothing could hurt him. The skeletons of his past couldn’t claw out of the ground and wreak havoc on his psyche. But a nagging dread yanked at his heart. 

He couldn’t pretend things were resolved. He couldn’t forget his troubles and intertwine his body with yours like the knit of a well-loved sweater. The crushing weight of Fury’s blame sat atop his shoulders, growing heavier by the second. But he couldn’t find it in him to tell you, to ask you for help. 

“Come on, let’s go back to sleep. Okay?” You tucked the ice pack into Bucky’s hand and started toward your side of the bed, “I know you’ve gotta be exhausted.”

But Bucky didn’t follow. He didn’t join you, didn’t even nod. He stood there, stuck, his feet anchored to the floor. The cold pack ate through his nerve endings until his hand went numb. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fill his lungs. They felt shallower, somehow- like they lost all capacity. 

His deadened fingers fell open, allowing the ice pack to fall against the floor. The sound pulled your focus, halting your efforts to right the sheets and blankets. 

“Buck?”

He didn’t answer. 

“Hey…” Quick steps brought you face to face with his empty stare. “Is everything-”

His knees met the hardwood as the weight of his anxiety forced him into submission. He fell against the cold floor with a sickening thud, his body shaking with the force. His head bowed; his spine curved forward. Ragged inhales forced their way into his ever-constricting lungs.

“Please-” he begged through choppy breaths, “if you won’t let me do it myself, I need- I need you to.”

“Buck, I’m-”

“I need you to hurt me.”

His words gutted you. 

“Baby, no.”

He begged over and over for punishment. For pain. 

Bucky fell against you the moment you joined him on the floor. His head lay buried in your neck, his sharp breaths fanning your skin. He begged through the tears, through the torment, for pain. And you refused. Instead, you gave him the lightest, softest affections you could manage. 

Under different circumstances, your gentle touch would’ve saved him. It would’ve brought him comfort in his moment of distress, grounded him during a bout of panic. But he didn’t want kind hands. For the first time, your soft touches prolonged the agony. The light circles you rubbed against his back filled him with impending doom. With misery. He wanted torture. Agony. 

And even if he were dying, he’d willingly sacrifice his last breath to ask for punishment. 

As carefully as you could, you helped Bucky lay down on the floor. How his body continued to run remained a mystery to you. He was drained, physically and emotionally. He was hurt. Panic ravaged his nervous system and pumped him full of cortisol. He was running on empty. 

“Let’s try to relax a bit, okay? Let’s try to breathe-”

He shook his head against the rug, “No, I need- I need it. I need you to- can you…” His words came out weak- but desperate.

Your hands raked through his hair and massaged his knotted muscles. Over and over again, you swore your love to him. You showered him in assurances and words of kindness. And though he was grateful when sleep won him over, it didn’t stop his efforts. Even as he finally dozed off, he begged. 

“P- please…” he sighed, his eyelids fluttering. “Need you… need you to.” His hand twitched, his brow furrowed. “Hurt- hurt me.” Hearing it didn’t get any easier. 

For what must’ve been the millionth time, you refused. 

And while Bucky slept in your arms, you remained wired. Every cell in your body swam in a cocktail adrenaline and cortisol. You wondered if you’d ever sleep again.  Just when you thought Bucky’s story couldn’t get any darker, it seemed to do just that. His life was all shadows and wormholes wrapped in an inky abyss. No stars, no moon. Just shapeless, unsettling, endless night. 

He deserved better. 

The sun rose as you fell asleep. Your mind shut off; your body gave out. Thinking yourself in circles while Bucky slept in the safety of your arms depleted your every ounce of energy. Worrying this much didn’t seem healthy; you didn’t think it was even possible to feel such deep concern. You never knew how taxing crying could be. But Bucky was worth it- hands down. 

No part of you wanted to fall asleep; Bucky couldn’t be left unsupervised. But a biological need for rest demanded you get some shut eye. And while you slept off the gut-wrenching night you’d spent with Bucky, anxiety seeped into your dreams. Images of Bucky maiming himself flashed behind your eyes. You saw him bloodying his body, abusing himself. His bruise haunted you. 

Waking in bed threw you for a loop. Only a few hours ago, you’d dozed off on the throw rug covering your bedroom floor. But when you opened your eyes, you found yourself snuggled under the duvet with Bucky’s body under yours. His arms held you tight, your face nuzzled into his neck. This was how things were supposed to be. 

It was then you realized- your head lay against his bruise. Even in your sleep, you did your best to protect him from himself. He wouldn’t dare strike his shoulder and risk hurting you. But the weight of your skull had to hurt him, didn’t it? He was sore, miserably so. Just the pressure of your palm resting against his bruise the night before made him wince- surely, your head was too much. With the utmost caution, you pulled your head from his chest.

“It’s okay- doesn’t hurt,” his voice was weak, full of exhaustion. You didn’t know he was awake. 

“Oh. Okay, good. I, um,” you looked around for a few seconds. “I don’t remember getting in bed.”

“We didn’t- well, you didn’t.” He couldn’t believe that after everything he put you through the previous night- all the pain, the heartache, the worry- he let you fall asleep on the floor. It was selfish of him, inconsiderate. He should’ve insisted that you get in bed. He should’ve done what you asked and crawled under the covers with you. He failed you- again. “I didn’t want you to sleep on the floor…” 

Your lips met his skin in a chain of soft kisses, “You know I don’t mind.”

“But I do,” he returned every kiss you granted him.

He woke nearly half an hour after you finally dozed off and found you curled up against him. Your head rested against the cold hard wood; the itchy rug left marks against your skin. A small shiver rattled up your spine and pushed you closer to Bucky’s warm embrace; it was too cold for you to sleep without a blanket. His body begged him to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t- not yet. He lifted you from the floor, his shoulder aching with the effort, and tucked you into bed with all the care in the world. Only then could he fall asleep once again. 

“I’m sorry about- about all of it,” he said. “Last night was-”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you pulled your face from his chest, “I just wanna know what that was about.”

Bucky hoped that acting innocent would save him. “What?” Maybe if he pretended like he didn’t know what you were talking about, you’d move on. Maybe you’d tell him to forget it and save him the explanation. You didn’t.

“When you asked me to…” you gave a small shake of your head, “to hurt you.” The pain in your voice sliced through Bucky. He wondered if words could make him bleed. 

“Oh. Yeah. That was… I was out of line,” his jaw tensed. “That wasn’t okay. I know I made you uncomfortable- I’m sorry. I never wanna upset you. I was being stupid. And selfish. It wasn’t fair of me-”

The shame practically dripped from Bucky’s lips. You could almost see in running down his chin, staining his skin. He expressed his remorse for things that weren’t his fault, for things he couldn’t control. He told you how sorry he was for his trauma responses and the anxiety that held him hostage. Maybe one day, he’d believe you when you told him he didn’t have to apologize. Today was not that day. 

“I’m just worried about you, Buck. And I wanna help in any way I can-” you took a deep breath, “I just can’t help in that way.”

“I know.”

“Can you maybe tell me- can you help me understand?”

He remained silent for a long while. If he stayed quiet long enough, he could avoid any further distress on your part. With his silence, he could provide solace. But no. You had a penchant for knowing what made Bucky tick, no matter the pain it caused you. 

Your unflinching stare drilled through him until he couldn’t take it any longer. “I needed you to hurt me because that’s what I’m used to. I’m used to punishment,” he finally said. “Because when I fucked up at Hydra, there were consequences. They’d beat me within an inch of my life to get the message across.”

Of course, this was a sad truth you already knew. But hearing it aloud- from his lips- gutted you. The image of a cowering, broken Bucky sent bile rushing up your throat. You could see him lying in a cell somewhere, his blood staining the concrete as Rumlow tore him apart. And of course, he’d never fight back- he couldn’t. Not unless ordered to. 

“And now, that’s what I’m accustomed to,” he rested a hand against his bruise, almost on instinct. “I don’t know how to operate without it. I thought I’d be happy to never experience it again but… I feel like I need it.”

Showing Bucky kindness and understanding sat atop your priority list- but you couldn’t grasp his perspective. It didn’t make sense. He lived a life so foreign to you, so utterly other, that the things he said often left you confused. While the two of you had many similarities and things in common, some experiences would simply never be relatable. Some stories could never be shared. 

And similar to how Bucky couldn’t understand your flagrant disregard for locking the front door, you couldn’t fathom why he’d beat himself blue.  

“Why, Buck?” It wasn’t that you wanted to know. No, the truth could only serve to hurt you. But you needed to understand. You needed to untangle every knot within Bucky’s psyche and help mend his frayed edges. In order to help him, you had to first grasp his perspective. “Why do you ‘need’ it?”

“Because I know I deserve it.” The words came out course, almost aggressive. Bucky shot you a sheepish look, his method of a wordless apology. The next time he spoke, his voice was softer, his tone more even. “I’ve been conditioned to expect it. And waiting for that pain is- it’s torture. It’s almost worse than the punishment itself.” 

He thought back on all the beatings he received as result of fucking up missions. On one occasion, they broke all twelve of his ribs in one sitting. Another time, they turned almost his entire body blue with bruises. But the times they made him wait it out were far worse than any bloodshed. He jumped at every sound, lost the ability to think. To sleep. To breathe. Every moment fell prey to the anticipation of agony. Bucky shuddered. 

“I keep expecting pain. I feel like I have to look over my shoulder.” The urge to tear himself apart scratched at the inside of Bucky’s skull. If he could just deliver his punishment- if he could just get what he knew was coming- he’d be okay. By destroying his body, he could soothe his mind. But with you so close, staring at him with your blood shot, heartbroken eyes, he was stuck. “It’s like this sense of impending doom that doesn’t end unless I get what I know is coming.”

Things fell quiet as you thought over his words. Anxiety was an old friend you knew well. It accompanied you through everything, never leaving your side for more than a few days. But what Bucky described- that was the stuff of nightmares. That was misery. 

“Hang on,” you tripped over a detail in his story, “then what happened last night?” You didn’t mean to sound skeptical- it wasn’t like that at all. You believed every word Bucky said. One part, however, didn’t quite make sense. “Last night, you got your punishment. You got the pain. Why did you ask me to-”

He sighed, “Last night was different. You caught me. I had to stop- I’ve never done that before. I’ve never stopped right in the middle. I was only out there a little while before you found me.” His vibranium hand pulled into a fist and slowly released. He did this time and time again as the urge hurt himself gnawed at him. “I didn’t do enough. It felt like holding in a sneeze or something. And when we came in here to go to sleep, I still had this sense of looming pain, an impending punishment. And I knew you wouldn’t let me give it to myself. So, I asked you to do it.” 

The far-away look in his eye dissolved as he came screeching back to the present. Guilt dragged his features downward into a near scowl. “But I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry.” The remorse weighed more than he could shoulder. If he thought he knew what guilt felt like before, he was wrong. 

“It’s okay, Buck.” You knew the memory of Bucky begging you for punishment would haunt you forever. It took up prime real estate in your mind and cut you deeper each time you paid it attention. But he couldn’t help it; this was part of his journey. When you started dating Bucky, you knew he wasn’t a ‘regular’ person. Darkness and demons followed him wherever he went, filling his mind with horrors most people could never imagine. Of course, there were going to be speed bumps and rough patches on the road of your relationship. But he never did anything with malice in his heart. He was simply trying to survive. “I know you’re just doing your best-”

“My best is pretty shitty.”

He was always so callous with himself, so unforgiving. It wasn’t fair. “Baby, you’ve made a lot of progress.” He was a completely different person than he was a few months ago. He’d worked hard every day to wade through his trauma and find himself on the other side- all while saving the world. “But it doesn’t all have to happen at once. You can’t heal from everything in one fell swoop. It’s not linear. It’s a slow process-”

“Really slow.” He let out a huff and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Part of him wanted to run; he couldn’t believe he’d subjected you- the kindest, most loving person on earth- to this corner of his awful reality. But he knew being without you was a fate worse than death. Worse than Hydra. 

“I don’t want to do this-” he motioned toward his bruise. “I don’t want to hurt myself. But I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to heal the part of me that’s always looking over my shoulder for a punishment.”

You smoothed his hair back and let your hand drift down his cheek, “You don’t have to do it on your own, Buck. Maybe you should talk to someone-”

He shot you a pointed look.

“Not Dr. Raynor. Someone else. Someone with empathy.” 

Bucky gave a firm nod and a quiet laugh. “Okay, yeah. That works. 

“And in the meantime, whenever you feel that impulse, I want you to tell me, okay? I want to help you through in whatever way I can.”

He tried to protest, but you silenced him. “I’m in this with you- full stop. I’m with you for all the hard stuff and the things you hate about yourself. I’m always in your corner.”

He snaked his arms around you and pulled you as close as possible, relishing in the feeling of your heart beating against his skin. 

“This is a pain-free household, okay? We don’t do punishments here. We don’t hurt ourselves, and we don’t hurt each other.” You wiggled a hand free and offered Bucky your pinky, “promise?”

Not hurting you was a given; Bucky would never dream of causing you pain. But refraining from hurting himself was another story. The need sometimes possessed him, drove him to harm himself when the guilt grew too heavy. The look in your eyes, though, pushed him to promise you. You held such love for him, such adoration. And he knew you meant every word you said. You were going to help him through, to support him, no matter what. 

He linked his pinky with yours, “Promise.”

“Good.” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips before pulling away, “hey, do you have Fury’s address?”

Bucky cocked his head to the side, “Uh, yeah. I think it’s in my notebook in the office. Why?”

In one swift motion, you slithered from Bucky’s arms and slid out of bed. “Oh, no reason,” you sighed as you headed for the door, “I’m just gonna egg his house.”

———————

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Actor Sebastian Stan has come on board to produce “Blue Banks,” the feature debut of Romanian director Andreea Cristina Borțun, whose 2021 short film “When Night Meets Dawn” premiered in Directors’ Fortnight.

Stan, who was born in Romania, will produce the film alongside Romanian producer Gabi Suciu, French co-producers Jean-Laurent Csinidis and Jerome Nunes and Slovenian co-producer Ales Pavlin. Shooting will take place in Romania throughout the year and is set to wrap in October.

Best known for playing Bucky Barnes in Marvel Cinematic Universe films and also starring in A24’s horror comedy “Fresh,” Stan — who first met Borțun in Cannes in 2021 — said the film’s script hit close to home.

“Being that I was raised by a single mother, moved and lived in three different countries at an early age, with my mother determined to find me security and a better life out of communist Romania and my inability to grasp the sacrifice and the profound impact of all this at the time, this story really spoke to me on a deeply personal level,” said the actor.

“I’ve been an admirer of Romanian films for a long time, in awe of their rawness, authenticity and unfiltered, fearless lens on life. When Andreea talked to me about the story, I was immediately drawn in,” he continued. “I understood the characters, their journey, the inner struggle against the primal instinct we are born with, and especially the torn mother-son relationship at the core.”

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Just One Kiss Masterlist

(photos not mine, storyboard very much mine)

Series Summary: Bucky Barnes has been chasing after you since he was ten years old, but you’re determined not to give in. How long can you hold out when all he’s asking for is just one kiss? (40′s happy ending AU)

Series Warnings: Language, excessive amount of fluff, slow burn, mutual pining

Part One - The Beginning

Part Two - A Walk Home

Part Three - Moving Day

Part Four - A Dance

Part Five - Girls’ Night

Part Six - The Fight

Part Seven - Christmas

Part Eight - The Question

Part Nine - First Date

Part Ten - Afternoon in the Park

Part Eleven - Last Date

Part Twelve - The Goodbye

Part Thirteen - The First Letters

Part Fourteen - Broken Silence

Part Fifteen - Finale

Epilogue Pieces

Bonus Material Masterlist

there's just something about 40s bucky man

Come back to you

Bucky x pregnant!reader 

What happens when a time travel mission ends up with a version of Bucky from the 40′s standing on the time travel platform. 

Warnings: FLUFFFFF, sweet charming 40′s Bucky, time travel, teensiest bit of angst. 

-

“Buck, are you sure about this” You shuffled nervously by the platform Bucky was standing on, his latest mission requiring him to travel through a time portal. It wasn’t something he hadn’t done before but time travel was still tricky and the last thing you wanted was something happening to Bucky. 

Especially now. 

“I’ll be fine doll” Bucky assured you, holding onto a device Tony had made to gather information, the time stamp on the portal set to 1943. All he had to do was locate the coordinates he was given, scan a few documents and return to the present. Ever since you found out you were pregnant, Bucky pulled himself out of high risk missions but this seemed easy enough and he was the only one familiar with the location. “Promise I’ll come right back to you in just a few seconds babygirl” 

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ahhhh i know, i know i'm trying to keep it ✨interesting✨ i was so excited to post i haven't even edited yet, i'm getting ahead of myself

Through Sea Mist and Shadows (Two) Bucky Barnes x Reader

series masterlist

tuesday, march 13th, 1:06am;

The three girls lay slumped over one another on the squishy brown sofa that lives in the family room. Laughter erupts down the halls of the home, filling the space with the lovely noise that had become a stranger to the property. Their bellies are full with their mother's stew (and nearly a whole bag of twizzler's candy split between the three as the evening progressed) and bodies warm beneath the shared stitched quilt.

Kennedy had arrived home from work in a frenzy that evening, shoving open the poor front door with a shout, "Is it true?" she asked her father, who sat unsuspecting at the breakfast nook with the paper pulled open and a beer.

"Is what true?" He had asked, peering up at her from the length of his nose.

"(Y/n)'s home? The teacher across the hall had mentioned on our lunch break that she'd heard a rumor. I didn't have time to call home and confirm it!"

"Well," The old man chuckled coyly, "Go see for yourself, why don't you?"

With that, the girl gasped, bounding up the steps two at a time, black kitten heels left strewn across the landing.

Joyously, Ella had proposed a celebration in the form of a sleepover, or rather, an all-nighter slumped together on the family couch. Just like old times.

The old tv drones on incessantly, a VHS tape of The Little Mermaid set to a low volume, the grain in the picture distorted ever so slightly. It's blue glow illuminates the wallpapered walls and results in a ghastly, iridescent hue on the girls faces. Their parents had long since retired to bed, leaving the sisters to their shenanigans. An old scrapbook sits on (Y/n)'s lap, Ella's head on her right shoulder and Kennedy's arm wrapped around her left bicep endearingly. They take turns flipping the laminated pages, giggling at their old baby photos and cooing at the particularly adorable ones.

There are polaroids of (Y/n) as a toddler, before the other girls were born. A blue sand bucket is perched on her little head like a fashionable hat, and the sunset in the background casts gold reflections on the waves. In the following photo, three year old (Y/n) holds baby Kennedy, of course assisted by Dad. In his younger age he is almost a completely different person, aged bleakly at the hands of the Island.

The marred cover of the book holds memories the girls don't even remember, the figment of their childhood experiences a distant dream in the back of their mind.

Ella flips the next page, revealing (Y/n) and her big patterned book bag on her way to the first day of kindergarten. Her polka dotted sundress flowing at her calves and a lunch box at her side. A big grin decorated her face and her eyes twinkle in excitement. Next to her stands a similarly posed little boy, with dark brown hair and those salient blue eyes.

"It's little Bucky!" Kennedy exclaims, "Did you see him today, (Y/n)?"

"Oh, she saw him all right." Ella pokes, nudging the oldest with her shoulder.

(Y/n) groans, "Honestly!" she scolds, "Would you knock it off? Yes, I saw him. He came by to drop off wood with Dad today."

Kennedy hums, "He helps out a lot, it's nice to have him around. You know, his Mum passed while he was away in Afghanistan two years ago."

"What?" (Y/n)'s face screws up a little with the news, "That's awful. I didn't even know he joined the service, when did that happen?"

"Yeah, after high school he enlisted and left for a while." Kennedy nods, "He doesn't talk about it though, so I wouldn't ask. He - uh, he lost a lot those couple of years, to say the least."

"So it's just him and Rebecca all alone in that house then?" (Y/n) asks, she feels her heart cry out sympathetically at the thought.

When they were in middle school together, years before she had left the island, the siblings had lost their father in a freak boating accident. The poor man had been overworking himself and had drifted asleep on deck, out alone on his small gill-netting boat at dusk. Despite having been the most experienced fisherman on the island, he had crashed into the rocks and capsized, leaving the harbor patrol to find his body in the early hours of the morning after Mrs. Barnes called to ask about her husband. For the first time in eleven years of walking to school together, James didn't meet (Y/n) at the end of her driveway that morning. When he didn't arrive late to school either, (Y/n) had begun to worry. As soon as the bells dismissed her final class she had rushed out of the building to the Barnes' small cottage home just a few blocks away. She remembers the cop car sitting in the driveway and the front door ajar, she remembers the wailing of Mrs. Barnes as she crossed the threshold of the entrance and James sitting stiffly at the head of his dining room table, his eyes staring blankly at the wall. James never ever cried in front of anyone, but as he locked his gaze on hers she felt the dam snap and watched helplessly as the tears streamed from his eyes like a waterfall. She remembers the day before when Bucky begged his father to take him along that night to check the lobster traps. Selfishly, she couldn't bear to think what she had done if Bucky had met the same fate as his father. And to know now that the boy had now lost both of his parents hurts her heart in a way indescribable.

Kennedy sighs, "Yeah, she was sent out to foster care in Portland for a while before Bucky became her legal guardian. She's like - what, Ella? Your age?"

Ella thinks for a moment, "Sixteen, maybe. She's a year younger. We have some of the same classes though."

"I feel so horrible for not reaching out to him." (Y/n) sighs, throwing her hands up, "I don't even have a good excuse! I'm downright terrible. I can't believe no one told me she passed."

"You'll make it up to him. He's never been one to hold grudges, you know." Kennedy says, "I think we assumed you knew and didn't want to talk about it."

It's true. She remembers many trivial arguments on the playground, whether it be with her or another child. Bucky has always been loyal and fiercely protective of the people he loves - protective of himself even - but he's also forgiving. However, it's not being forgiven that (Y/n) is worried about. Deep down she knows Bucky would forgive her for anything. No, what she's really afraid of is if the time apart has changed the two of them beyond recognition. She worries that even if she tries, she won't be able to repair the friendship they had when they were kids. There's so much to say, so much to tell each other about and (Y/n) doesn't even know where to start. How is she meant to pick up where they left off?

Because the truth is, they aren't kids anymore. That's the hardest pill to swallow. They won't be running off to the shore barefooted with their bikes discarded in the dunes, holding hands and soft touches will no longer be innocent - maybe not even natural - no more folded notes passed silently during class, no more forts built in the woods with his mother's linen sheets and mossy branches. It'll be like navigating uncharted territory, except it's not uncharted, just lost. Forgotten.

It isn't long before the two younger sisters succumb to their sleepiness, (Y/n) left awake listening to the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the entryway. It's always been there, passed down through her family for generations and she hopes to any god that will listen that her parents won't give it to her next. There's been many several nights she has lied right here on this couch tormented by the rhythmic tick of its incessant song. Though hypnotic it's never been successful at lulling her to sleep, instead it's talent lies in keeping her awake, trapped in the advancing reminder that time doesn't stop.

Time is inevitable. It's always passing, spending, wasting, reminding you of what you've lost. She only wishes it would stop for a moment, so she may be able to catch her breath.

(Y/n) hadn't realized she had fallen asleep until she wakes up the next morning. The sound of eggs sizzling on the cast iron pan in the next room over is what tickles her awake. She hears her father mutter something about the coffee being burnt and her sister rattles around in the silverware drawer looking for a particular knife. She's alone on the couch now, the quilt pulled up and tucked around her body tightly. (Y/n) rises slowly, collecting her pillows and placing them back neatly on the couch before rubbing her eyes of sleep.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty." Chimes Ella's teasing voice as (Y/n) rounds the corner into the kitchen, the youngest not even sparing her a glance up from her bowl of cereal, only a coy smirk. Beside her sits a small baby blue backpack with a plethora of sailor knot keychains tightened around the zippers.

"School today?" (Y/n) asks after greeting the rest of her family. Her mother hands her a mug of hot coffee, the perfect amount of cream swirling around in the porcelain.

"Yeah. Kennedy and I leave at the same time, she said she'd drive me today 'cuz of the rain."

(Y/n) hums in response, taking a sip of her coffee.

"What are you up to today, hun?" Her mother asks softly, plating the food from the stove for everyone.

"I don't know, I guess I'll just hang out around the barn. Did you guys feed the horses yet?"

"No, that's my next step. But be my guest if you beat me to it, everything's listed in the little notebook in the grain room." Her father responds, "The fence is finished too, so you can turn them out after they eat. I got some work to do around town today."

(Y/n) takes a seat at the table as her mother places down the food for everyone. "I'll take care of it today, Dad." She responds.

Kennedy bounds down the steps and takes a seat next to her, her hair done up in a stylish bun and a black pencil skirt adorning her legs. It was almost strange to see her so done up, she was so grown up now and even though she was only a few years younger than (Y/n) it still felt bizarre to see her so . . . adultish. How fast time has gone. It seemed only yesterday she was still playing dress up with her sisters in pretty, pink, princess dresses and plastic heels. Now she was off to her dream job in real heels and a whole wardrobe of business casuals.

"So, (Y/n), am I allowed to tell people you're staying with us when they ask? Or is it like . . . a secret?" Kennedy asks as she takes a bite of her bacon.

"As if the whole island doesn't already know," Her mother interjects, rolling her eyes, "You know how everyone gossips around here, there's not a single thing you don't hear about. Everyone already knew by dinner time yesterday, guaranteed." She laughs.

"It's true. I'll be here for a while anyway, no point in trying to hide it."

"Well, you know, the town fair is only a few weeks away. I'm sure everyone will be too busy worrying about their booths and the competitions then to cause too much trouble." Ella remarks.

"They mean no harm girls, you know that. We're all just a little bored, gotta have something to talk about around here." Dad says as he gets up and washes his plate. "You two need to get going or you're gonna be late."

"Crap! I'll start the car." Kennedy replies, handing off her dish and kissing her mother on the cheek, "Thanks for breakfast. See you, (Y/n)."

Ella shovels the last of her eggs into her mouth before doing the same, rushing out to the driveway in her sister's wake.

"If you're staying for a while did you want me to fix up my extra truck?" Her father asks, turning over his shoulder to look at her. "Buck and I can work on it, just needs a few parts."

"It's no big deal, Dad, I wouldn't want you guys to overwork yourselves. You have so much on your plate already, I'll make due without a car for a bit."

"Alright well, you let me know if you change your mind." 

After breakfast (Y/n) goes up to her room to fish out some clothes and takes a quick shower to freshen up. She pulls on a pair of worn jeans and her emerald green rain jacket before descending down and out to the barn. The horses nicker at her instantaneously as she flips up the lock and slides open the thick barn door. Though there are eight stalls, the barn only holds five horses currently. There was a time when her mother made decent money training and selling working horses and holding riding lessons for the local kids, and back then there was never an empty stall. Now times have changed, the business has diminished and there's no longer the money for her mother to pour into their horses. She still teaches a few of the kids nearby, and it's just enough to support the existing horses but it's not the same.

(Y/n) greets the horses one by one and unlocks the door to the grain room at the end of the aisle. The black notebook sits upon a stack of vet paperwork and other various items, she flips open the cover and locates the page with the feeding schedule. The grain buckets sit in a neat stack against the wall, (Y/n) arranges them on the floor and begins to scoop the correct amount of grain into each one, topping them off with the required supplements and powders.

Each bucket is labeled, a thick piece of silver duct tape attached to each bucket with the names written in sharpie marker. She delivers each meal to the horses and tidies up the grain room while she waits for them to eat. After a few moments pass, she flips her hood over her head and halters Hera, leading her out to the paddocks for turn out. The rain patters on the rigid fabric of her rain jacket as she takes each horse one by one out of their stall and to the gate. When that task is complete she focuses on cleaning the stalls and starts to head inside when's she's finished. She had to admit, as silly as it sounded she missed the barn chores. There's a sort of strange gratification in mucking the stalls and cleaning everything up, the sweet smell of hay and musk of the horses surrounding her.

(Y/n) pulls open the door to leave the tack room and shuts it behind her, turning to lock it closed as well. As she spins around soundlessly, she's met with a solid wall striking her in the chest. Or rather, not a wall, but a person she realizes as she looks up with a surprised gasp.

"Shit, I'm sorry! I didn't even hear you." (Y/n) pulls back, removing her hands from Bucky's strong chest where she had braced herself. His right arm comes up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly, a greeting smile creeping to his lips.

"No, no that's my bad, I snuck up on ya'. Your mom said you were in here."

He's wearing another baseball hat, this one a navy blue that went well with his eyes, and a thick gray sweatshirt under a carhart jacket, both hoods are pulled over his head. His clothes are wet and (Y/n) becomes suddenly aware of the surging rain outside and the thick grey clouds rolling into the horizon through the sky from the half opened barn door. He towers over her figure almost comically, never before had she felt so small.

"Remember when I used to be able to look down at you." (Y/n) blurts out. She almost regrets the sudden, random statement until Bucky begins to laugh, his eyes squinting and his crows feet imprinting on his face.

"I was never that short." He huffs, "We were like the same height from age eight until like - I don't know, the summer you visited when we were sixteen?"

"Mmm, no, I was definitely taller," (Y/n) retorts. Bucky begins to open his mouth to disagree, brows furrowed. "Don't worry, you're huge now. You could fight a black bear." She grins, delivering a teasing punch to his shoulder.

"I do not want to fight a black bear."

(Y/n) huffs a laugh, she spins to turn the light off in the aisle and grabs her water bottle off the hay bale stack. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I came to drop off a few packages of fish for your parents. Whenever I work on the boats I get a share of whatever we catch so I split it with your folks. Figured it's the least I can do."

"Well, it seems like you do a lot around here. They're grateful to have you." (Y/n) responds. He looks away from her shyly, as if being thanked made him feel uncomfortable. "So what, do you do everything around the island? Fishing, fixing fences, working at the harbor . . . You sound busy."

"Yeah, I like it that way." He nods, "I work as a deck hand some days, I go out on the boats with Dad's old friends to fish and sell at the markets. I do all kinds of weird jobs around here, sometimes I work at the lumberyard and I help around where I can."

"You're like, the Island's handyman."

Bucky chuckles at that. "Yeah, guess so. But what about you, what were you up to all these years?"

"Oh," (Y/n) wasn't prepared for that question. She's not too great at talking about herself, "Well, after high school I went to the University of California, for Fine Arts. Graduated and got my own studio, ran a small gallery and just spent my time painting and such. Made some good money and decided it was time to come home. It was great while it lasted though."

"Why would you ever come back here?" Bucky teases, but she knows he really begs the question.

She thinks for a moment before answering with a shrug, "I guess I just missed home."

Bucky nods like he understands, "You see cool things out there?" he asks.

"Yeah." She sighs, "Wish I coulda shown you. Maybe one day you can come back with me and I'll show you around."

"I'd like that. And I'd love to see your art sometime, too. Can't even imagine how good you must be now."

"I did make a name for myself out there. It was . . . gratifying to say the least."

"You should open a gallery downtown, and host art nights. There's so many vacancies now I'm sure you'd get a good deal on a retail space."

"You know, that's actually not a bad idea." (Y/n) agrees thoughtfully. A modest little building to display her work and other local artists, hold little art classes for the community, bring in a little money. Maybe it's something she'll have to keep in mind if she's planning on staying for a while.

Bucky slips his hands in his pockets, nodding towards his truck at the end of the road.

"I gotta get going, I have some errands to run before I pick Beccs up from school. I'll see you around right?"

"Absolutely." (Y/n) nods. As the two turn around and start to walk out the barn together, she stops, grabbing hold of the fabric of Bucky's jacket.

"Hey," She starts, looking down at her shoes and shifting her weight on one foot before looking back up to his face. "I'm really sorry, for not keeping in contact. You didn't deserve that." She says, trying to keep her voice from wavering.

"It's okay, doll. I'm sorry too. I'm sorry for what I said before you left, it was unfair of me."

A lump almost forms in her throat as she thinks back to their last meeting when they were young. She has to swallow it back into her stomach where the energy flutters uncomfortably. "Can we just agree to put it behind us?" She asks, offering a small smile and a gentle squeeze of her hand on the back of his arm.

"I'd like that." He complies. "Let's forget about it. We were stupid kids, we have all the time to make up for it now."

As they step off the concrete platform of the barn's floor and onto the slick dirt path, the sludge of the sticky brown mud squelches under (Y/n)'s boots. It's in an instant that the ground is being pulled out from under her like a carpet and she's sent straight into the mud with a comically loud splat.

"Shit, (Y/n)! You good?" Bucky calls alarmingly. He's holding his hands out to help her up but before she can even comprehend her position he's falling too.

He manages to catch himself on his hands and knees, unlike (Y/n) who can feel the wetness creep through her jeans from her bottom all the way down the back of her thighs.

Bucky let's out a boyish laugh coming from the depths of his chest, "Careful, doll. It's slippery." He grins.

(Y/n) can't hold back her own laugh, letting her pained chuckle overtake her until she's just as loud as Bucky.

They're all smiles and pink blush as they pick each other up off the ground, the rain drenching their skin and clothes covered in mud now.

"God, I'm sorry. We look like idiots."

"We are idiots." (Y/n) corrects, "Come inside, there's gotta be something for you to change into. I'm sure you don't wanna run your errands like that. Or even get into your truck like that."

Bucky shrugs but follows her into the house anyway. They discard their shoes on the front porch and (Y/n) calls to her mother to let her know they are coming in.

She leads him upstairs and hands him a towel from the linen closet adjoining the bathroom and knocks on her mothers bedroom door. She opens it confused, raising her eyebrow at the pair's appearance. Bucky waves a hand in greeting.

"Does Dad have a pair of jeans that might fit Bucky? We slipped in the mud."

Her mother laughs, "You two are always a mess. Reminds me of old times. Give me a second."

She returns with a pair of dark wash jeans, a small hole down the seam in the side.

"These should do the trick. Let me know if you need anything else, hun." She says sweetly, before retiring back to her room.

Bucky changes in the bathroom while (Y/n) waits and then they switch. An awkward goodbye is shared in the hallway, the two not really wanting to depart. Bucky goes back downstairs and out the front door, stopping to wave at her once more at the top of the landing.

written 5/17/23

Through Sea Mist and Shadows (Two) Bucky Barnes x Reader

series masterlist

tuesday, march 13th, 1:06am;

The next morning you're eating breakfast at the kitchen table across from your mother. Just moments ago she had tossed a fat binder of old photos onto the wood, right next to your plate.

"I thought we'd have a laugh looking at these?" She said, and now as you flip through the frayed pages you find she was absolutely right.

There are polaroids of you as a toddler, long before your parents even thought about separating. A blue sand bucket is perched on your little head like a fashionable hat, and the sunset in the background casts gold reflections on the waves. In the following photo, you're swimming on a great big elephant raft, of course assisted by your Dad. In his younger age he is almost a completely different person, aged bleakly at the hands of the Island.

The marred cover of the book holds memories that you don't even remember, the figment of those toddler experiences a distant dream in the back of your mind.

You flip to the next page, revealing you and your big patterned book bag on her way to the first day of kindergarten. Your polka dotted sundress flows at your small calves and a lunch box hangs at your side. A big grin decorates your face and your eyes twinkle in excitement. Next to you stands a similarly posed little boy, with dark brown hair and those salient blue eyes.

"It's little Bucky!" You exclaim, pointing it out to your mom to confirm.

She hums, "Yes, I remember that. I took him with us for his first day because his mom was caught up in work on the mainland. You know, he really does help out a lot, and it's nice to have him around." She smiles sadly, "You know, despite this whole island being involved in everyone's personal lives I never really got to know his Mum. She passed while he was away in Afghanistan maybe four years ago. He was twenty-two, Rebecca was fifteen."

"What?" Your face screws up a little with the news, "That's awful. I didn't even know he joined the service before yesterday, and his mother died?"

"Yeah, after high school he enlisted and left for a while." She nods, "He doesn't talk about it though, so I wouldn't ask. He lost a lot those couple of years, to say the least."

"So it's just him and Rebecca all alone in that house then?" You ask, and you feel your heart cry out sympathetically at the thought.

When you were in middle school together, years before you had left the island, the siblings had lost their father in a freak boating accident. The poor man had been overworking himself and had drifted asleep on deck, out alone on his small fishing boat at dusk. Despite having been the most experienced fisherman on the island, he had crashed into the rocks and capsized, leaving the harbor patrol to find his body in the early hours of the morning after Mrs. Barnes called to ask about her husband.

The memory still felt fresh even for you.

For the first time in the many years of walking to school together, James hadn't met you at the end of your driveway that morning. When he didn't arrive late to school either, you had begun to worry. As soon as the bells dismissed your final class you had rushed out of the building to the Barnes' small cottage home just a few blocks away.

You remember the cop car sitting in the driveway and the front door ajar.

You remember the wailing of Mrs. Barnes as you crossed the threshold of the entrance and James sitting stiffly at the head of his dining room table, his eyes staring blankly at the wall. James never ever cried in front of anyone, but as he locked his gaze on yours that day you swear you felt the dam snap within him, and watched helplessly as the tears streamed from his eyes endlessly.

You remembered the day before this fateful event as well; when Bucky begged his father to take him along that night to check the lobster traps. And to know that the boy had now lost both of his parents hurts your heart in a way indescribable.

Your mother sighs sorrowfully, "Yeah, Rebecca was sent out to foster care in Portland for a while before Bucky came home from over seas and became her legal guardian. She must be around nineteen now?"

"God, I feel so horrible for not reaching out to him." You groan, "I don't even have a good excuse! I'm downright terrible. I can't believe no one told me she passed."

She shrugs at you, "You'll make it up to him. He's never been one to hold grudges, you know that. I assumed you knew, anyway, didn't realize you two hadn't been talking."

It's true. You remember plenty of trivial arguments on the playground, whether it be with you or another child. Bucky has always been loyal and fiercely protective of the people he cares about - protective of himself even - but he's also forgiving.

However, it's not being forgiven that you're worried about. Deep down you knows Bucky would forgive you for anything, that's just who he is.

No, what you're really afraid of is that the time apart has changed the two of you beyond recognition. You worry that despite you're best attempts, you won't be able to repair the damages your friendship took while you were growing up— while you were away. There's so much to say, so much to tell each other and you don't even know where to start. Are you even meant to pick up where you left off?

After all, you aren't kids anymore. That's the hardest pill to swallow. There won't be any more running off to the shore barefooted, bikes discarded in the dunes. Entwined fingers and soft touches are no longer innocent —maybe not even natural—and there will be no more folded notes passed silently during class. No more forts built in the woods with his mother's linen sheets and mossy branches.

It's practically uncharted territory, except the terrain never changed— it's just . . . different now.

Who knows, maybe Bucky doesn't even want that side of you anymore. Maybe you don't either.

~

After breakfast you goes up to your room to fish out some clothes and takes a quick shower to freshen up. You pull on a pair of worn jeans and an offensively purple rain jacket (cringing at your teenage self's outfit choices) before descending down and out to the barn.

The horses nicker at you instantaneously as you flip up the lock and slides open the thick barn door. Though there are eight stalls, the barn only holds four horses currently. There was a time when your mother made decent money training and selling working horses and holding riding lessons for the local kids, and back then there was never an empty stall. Now times have changed, the business has diminished and there's no longer the money for your mother to pour into her horses. She still teaches a few of the kids nearby, and it's just enough to support the existing horses but it's not the same.

You greet the horses one by one and unlock the door to the grain room at the end of the barn aisle. The black notebook sits upon a stack of vet paperwork and other various items, you flip it open and locate the page with the feeding schedule. The grain buckets sit in a neat stack against the wall, which you arrange on the floor and begin to scoop the correct amount of grain into each one, topping them off with the required supplements and powders.

Each bucket is labeled, a thick piece of silver duct tape attached to each bucket with the names scrawled in sharpie marker. You deliver each meal to the respective horse and tidy up the grain room while you waits for them to eat. After a few moments pass, you flip your hood over your head and halter each horse, leading them out one by one to the pastures for turn out just like you used to when you were young.

You must admit, you miss this part of home. You were always fond of the horses and it was one of the few ways you and your mother could bond together.

The rain patters on the rigid fabric of your rain jacket as you walk back into the barn from the paddocks. When that task is complete you focus on cleaning the stalls and starts to head inside when you're finished. There's a sort of strange gratification in mucking the stalls and cleaning everything up, the sweet smell of hay and musk of the horses surrounding you.

You pull open the door to leave the tack room after grabbing your water and shut it behind you, turning to lock it closed as well. As you spins around soundlessly, you're met with a solid wall striking you straight in the chest.

Or rather, not a wall, but a person you realize, looking up with a startled gasp.

"Shit, I'm sorry! I didn't even hear you." You pull back, removing your hands from Bucky's strong chest where you had instinctively braced yourself. His right arm comes up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly, a greeting smile creeping to his lips.

"No, no that's my bad, I snuck up on ya'. Your mom said you were in here."

He's wearing another baseball hat, this one a navy blue that went well with his eyes, and a thick gray sweatshirt under a Carhart jacket, both hoods are pulled over his head. His clothes are wet and you become suddenly aware of the surging rain outside and the thick grey clouds rolling into the horizon through the sky from the half opened barn door.

He towers over your figure almost comically, and you think you've never felt so small.

"Remember when I used to be able to look down at you." You blurt out. You immediately regret the sudden, random statement until Bucky begins to laugh, his eyes squinting and his faint crows feet imprinting on his face. You'd definitely caught him off guard.

"I was never that short." He huffs, "We were like the same height from age eight until like - I don't know, the summer you visited when we were sixteen?"

"Mmm, no, I was definitely taller," You retort, grinning broadly. Bucky begins to open his mouth to disagree, brows furrowed. "But don't worry, you're huge now. You could fight a black bear." you quip, relishing in teasing him just like you used to.

"I do not want to fight a black bear." He laughs, shaking his head with his eyes blown wide.

You huff a laugh, and spin to turn the light off in the aisle, "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I came to drop off a few packages of fish for your mom, fresh caught yesterday evening after I left here. Whenever I work on the boats I get a share of whatever we catch so I split it with a few people on the island."

"Well, it seems like you do a lot around here. I'm sure everyone is grateful to have you." You respond. He looks away from you, a pink dusting on his cheeks, as if being thanked made him feel uncomfortable. "So what, do you do everything around the island? Fishing, working at the harbor, helping out with the horses. . . You sound busy."

"Yeah, I like it that way." He nods, "I work as a deck hand some days, I go out on the boats with Dad's old friends to fish and sell at the markets. I have my dad's sailboat now, like I said so sometimes I take it out myself on the nice days. I do all kinds of weird jobs around here, sometimes I work at the lumberyard too."

"You're like, the Island's handyman."

Bucky chuckles at that. "Yeah, guess so. But what about you, what were you up to all these years?"

"Oh," You weren't prepared for that question. You could talk about him forever but talking about yourself was a lot harder, "Well, you know, college. Graduated with an art education degree, got my own studio. I ran a small gallery and taught out of it, just spent my time painting and such. Made some good money and met a ton of awesome people." You sigh deeply, meeting Bucky's eyes, "My dad, he passed, and I think I was just ready to come home. It was great while it lasted though."

"I'm sorry about your dad. But why would you ever come back here? You of all people." Bucky tone is teasing, but you can't tell he's been begging to ask the question.

She thinks for a moment before answering with a shrug, "I guess it just felt right."

Bucky nods like he understands, "You see cool things out there?" he asks.

"Yeah." She sighs, "Wish I coulda' shown you. Maybe one day you can come back with me and I'll show you around." You smile, hopefully.

"I'd like that. And I'd love to see your art sometime, too. Can't even imagine how good you must be."

"It was . . . gratifying to say the least." The excitement of selling a piece of work and getting the praise you always wanted for the things you poured your heart into. It was exhilarating really, to be successful at something you love.

"You should open a gallery downtown, and host art nights. There's so many vacancies now I'm sure you'd get a good deal on a retail space." Bucky says.

"You know, that's actually not a bad idea." You agree, thoughtfully. "I don't know how well it would work out though given the population of the island is like . . . four." You laugh.

"Basically," He agrees, nodding. Bucky slips his hands in his pockets, nodding towards his truck at the end of the road. "I gotta get going, I have some errands to run before I pick Beccs up from work. I'll see you around right?"

"Absolutely." You nodd. As the two of you turn around and start to walk out the barn together, you stop, grabbing hold of the fabric of Bucky's jacket.

You don't know what came over you but suddenly, it just felt right to get it out right then and there.

"Hey," you start, looking down at your shoes and shifting your weight on one foot before looking back up to his face. "I'm really sorry, for not keeping in contact. You didn't deserve that." You say, trying to keep your voice from wavering.

"It's okay, doll. I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry for what I said before you left, it was unfair of me."

A lump almost forms in your throat as you think back to the last time you had visited as a teen. You have to swallow it back into your stomach where the energy flutters uncomfortably.

"It's okay. We were kids, right? Stupid kids, at that." You say gently, offering a small smile and a gentle squeeze of your hand on his arm, "Can we just agree to put it behind us?"

"I'd like that." He complies. "But I already have. We were stupid kids, we have all the time to make up for it now." Bucky smiles, hand squeezing gently on your shoulder, soothingly.

As you both step off the concrete platform of the barn's floor and onto the slick dirt path, the sludge of the sticky brown mud squelches under your boots. It's in an instant that the ground is being pulled out from under you like a carpet and you're sent crashing down into the mud with a comically loud splat, the air in your lungs being pushed out in a gasp.

"Shit! You good?" Bucky calls alarmingly. He's holding his hands out to help you up but before you can even comprehend your position he's falling in too.

He manages to catch himself on his hands and knees, unlike you who can feel the cold wetness creeping through the fabric of your jeans from your bottom all the way to the back of your thighs. You grimace, but neither can't help but laugh.

Bucky let's out a boyish laugh from the depths of his chest, "Careful, doll. It's slippery." He grins and for a second you really do feel like a kid again, the clumsy, giggly mess that you are.

You let your pained chuckle overtake you until you're just as loud as Bucky. Your tailbone aches and now your stomach does too as you curls in on yourself, shoulders heaving as you laugh together.

You're all smiles and pink blush as you pick each other up off the ground, the rain drenching your skin and clothes covered in thick mud now.

"God, I'm sorry. We look like idiots."

"We are idiots." You correct, "Come inside, there's gotta be something for you to change into. I'm sure you don't wanna run your errands looking like that. Or even get into your nice truck like that."

"You think my truck is nice?" He asks, eyes glimmering in child-like joy.

"Uh, who wouldn't?"

Bucky shrugs but follows you into the house anyway. You both discard your shoes on the front porch and you call to your mother to let her know you are coming in; mud, rain, and all.

You lead him upstairs and hand him a towel from the linens closet adjoining the bathroom and knock on your mother's bedroom door. She opens it confused, raising her eyebrow at the pair's appearance. Bucky waves a hand in greeting.

"Do you have men's clothes that might fit Bucky? Or a robe while we throw his clothes in the wash? We slipped in the mud."

Your mother laughs, disbelievingly, "You two are always a mess, you never change. Give me a second."

You two exchange fleeting glances, shoulders bumping one another in the narrow corridor that Bucky seems to dwarf with his size. Your mother returns with a pair of dark wash jeans, a small pin-prick of a hole down the seam in the side.

"These should do the trick, they're old as hell though. Let me know if you need anything else." She says sweetly, before retiring back to her room.

Bucky changes in the bathroom while you wait and then you switch out. An almost awkward goodbye is shared in the hallway, neither of you really wanting to depart.

Bucky goes back downstairs and out the front door, stopping to wave at you once more at the top of the landing before you hear the rumble of his truck and start the shower

written 5/17/23 rewritten 5/22/25

Redemption

Bucky x reader, Morgan & Tony Stark, Alpine!

A/N: Been sitting with this idea for a while and I finally decided to write it. This doesn’t follow the events in the movies. Always wanted to see something where Bucky feels like he redeems himself with Tony, and Tony accepts Bucky. The ending felt a little rushed, might go back and edit this later but I hope you enjoy it! Please like, comment, reblog <3 

Warnings: Angst (some violence), fluff

Word count: 3.4k

Bucky padded down the hall, wondering how come the left side of his bed was cold and empty this morning, though he had a sneaking suspicion of why.

“Alpine? Where’d you g-”

Bucky smiled, shaking his head as he entered the living room, watching Morgan set up her tea party, her stuffed animals and Avengers actions figures all lined in a row. In the middle, was a large fluffy cushion with the special guest of honour.

“Did you want Friskies or Temptations today Alpine?” Morgan held up two treat bags she had snuck out of Bucky’s room, nodding when Alpine pawed at the chicken treats.

“Chicken for you, shawarma for daddy’s friends, cheese burgers for daddy, Mr. Snuggle, you’ll have to share with me, I only have 1 chocolate chip cookie”

Morgan put 3 teats in a dish for Alpine, setting it in front of her. Alpine sniffed the bowl, waiting for Morgan to give her permission to eat.

“Let’s see, scotch for daddy, Thor I have Asgardian mead for you, and for Alpine- oh! I forgot your water bowl, let me go get it!”

Morgan got up, making a bee line to Bucky’s room, turning back to make sure the little white ball of fur stayed in her seat.

“Just give me a second Alpi- Oof!” She collided with a large wall of muscle, two strong hands safely catching her before she stumbled back.

“Hi Morgan” Bucky smiled softly, setting her back down “Whatcha doing?”

“Hi Mr. Barnes” grinned sheepishly, knowing he was looking for his fur baby “I’m having a tea party! But not a boring one, we can have alcohol! Did you want to join us, Alpine is the special guest”

Bucky snorted, nodding his head; he’d noticed Alpine getting slightly fuller from the many tea parties she’d attended but he didn’t mind. Alpine certainly didn’t seem to mind, enjoying the pampering and head scratches she got for hours on end.

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Spiral

Bucky Barnes x teacher reader 

Warnings: AANGST Arguments, mean Bucky, break up, make up, fluffff 

listen, don’t eat me alive for this, I’ve been craving some angst (with a happy ending), the type that makes my chest itch so here we are. If this is too toxic for you and you only live for sunshine and rainbows and perfect communication, then this is not the fic for you. He gets mean because that’s what I wanted. So mean. I wanted to feel physical pain while reading. But then my hamster brain got exhausted to write more groveling. So don’t come at me about “she shouldn’t have taken him back, he should’ve begged and groveled more” He groveled. 

-

You sighed, rubbing sleep away from your eyes, trying to get them to focus on the time on the clock. 

2:57 AM

You stretched out some of the kinks from your neck after falling asleep on the couch, reaching for your phone and squinting at the bright screen, all your calls and texts left unanswered. He didn’t respond to one. You sat up hearing the lock click open, some of your anxiety melting away hearing the thud of his bag hit the floor. 

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I'm in love with this

Congratulations on your milestone! 😘

Can I request a little Bucky fic with an angsty/fluffy mix?

"Why didn't you say how bad it was?"

"Can I hold your hand?"

❤❤❤

Thanks love! Have a bartender!bucky <3

Pairing: Bartender!Bucky x Artist!Reader

Word Count: 1124

Warnings: minor injury, mention of blood and alcohol, bucky's a sad boy in this for a little bit.

come celebrate with me! || Series Masterlist

The turning of the key in the door had you springing to your feet with a giddy smile. 

Bucky had been working at his bar day in and day out while Natalia was away on vacation. He didn't mind at all, in fact, he told you how he missed serving customers and talking to them all night. You just missed spending so much time with him, but you still got the hours in the early morning when he'd come home and shower with you and love on you and cuddle you. 

You always had mugs for tea ready just in case he wanted one. The towels for your shower together were already warming up in the dryer, and the next episode of your show was set up and ready for when you got into bed.

But when he swung that door open and you saw the exhaustion on his face and the wrap on his hand, your smile fell into a frown of worry. 

"What happened to your hand?" You asked, doing your best to wait a few feet away and give him time to decompress before you enveloped him in your arms. 

He sighed as he shut the door and dropped his keys on the counter. "Just a little cut." 

"Oh, okay. . ." You kept eying the bandage, knowing it had to be worse than that for him to use as much bandage as he did. But you couldn't get a glimpse of any bleed through, so you didn't say anything. "Did you wanna shower together?" 

He gave you a tired smile but shook his head. "Not this time, sugar. You go on ahead, I'm gonna take a minute to relax," He rounded the counter to grab your waist, pulling you in for a peck on the lips, "Today was exhausting and I just need a minute." 

Despite the sudden gnawing in your stomach, you nodded and put on a smile for him, "Okay." 

The whole shower, you couldn't shake the weird sinking feeling in your gut. You knew you didn't do anything wrong, you didn't do anything to upset him. That he just needed some alone time, which was perfectly normal and fine. 

It was just so unusual for him to not want to join you. For him to not be all over you the second he walked in the door. 

There just had to be more to it.

And your suspicions were proven correct when you walked out of the bathroom. 

You were patting off the moisture on your face when you walked out and froze. Bucky was seated at the table. A bottle of liquor - no glass, paper towels, bandages, and a bowl sat on the wooden surface next to him. He was hunched over his hand, tweezers in his uninjured fingers and a look of concentration on his face. 

You waited until he wasn't poking his skin with the tweezers to step into his bubble, kneeling in front of him and reaching for his hand. "Can I hold your hand?" 

You waited with your hand open, giving him a small smile when he looked at you. When he placed his hand in yours you gingerly pried his fingers open. He unfolded his fingers so you could see the damage and you gasped. The palm of his hand was sliced to hell, glass shards stuck in his skin and blood dripped from his fingertips. 

"Why didn't you say how bad it was?" You asked, looking up at him. His eyes were avoiding yours as he let you gingerly hold his hand. "Bucky." 

He glanced at you, and you could see there was something else wrong. His mood wasn't due to his injury, but you also knew he wasn't going to spill it right away either. 

So, you sighed as you settled on to your knees in front of him before reaching to take the tweezers from him. He unfolded his fingers so you could see the damage and you gasped. The palm of his hand was sliced to hell, glass shards stuck in his skin and blood dripped from his fingertips. 

You covered your legs and the floor in your towel, catching the crimson droplets as you got to work removing the glass as gently as you could. After a moment, you peaked up at him to see him take a swig of his whiskey. 

"Are you gonna tell me how this happened?" You asked, setting the tweezers aside and reaching for the antiseptic. He hissed as you cleaned his hand, but cleared his throat, ready to answer. 

"My hands just aren't. . ." he trailed off, sniffing as he sat up straighter, "My hands just don't work the way they used to, I guess. Was just trying to make a drink and I don't know what happened. The glass broke against the ice. I don't know if I just didn't have a good hold on it, or what." 

You finished wrapping his hand back up, "Well, I don't think you need stitches, but it's gonna hurt for a while." 

"Yeah, I kind of figured," he scoffed at himself, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "Here's to getting old." There it was. 

You knew he'd been growing insecure in his age for awhile, and that it'd been getting worse. But he didn't talk about it often and you never wanted to seem pushy asking about it. Now, you knew you should've asked, and he knew he should've come to you. 

"Sorry," He muttered, "We don't need to talk about this right now, it's late, I'm sure you're tired." 

You pulled yourself up from the floor, wrapping the towel up and placing it on the table to be dealt with later. Perching on his knee, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into your chest, resting your chin on the top of his head as his arms wound around you in a death grip. 

"I think you're perfect," You muttered into his hair before kissing the crown of his head, "If your hands hurt or they shake, just let me hold them. Teach me how to bartend, I'll make drinks while Nat's gone. Hell, maybe I'll even keep it as a part time thing, what do you think?" 

He pulled back from your chest, "Oh, Sugar. What about your art?" 

You giggled at him, "I can do my art during the day silly. And on my days off." You brushed his hair off his forehead, "Plus I need an income while I wait for commissions." 

He chuckled at you as he shook his head, "Alright, alright." He placed a kiss to your sternum before resting his cheek against your skin again, "Tomorrow, but right now I just wanna hold you."

Disarmed | Bucky Barnes x Reader

After the events of the GOTG holiday special, I think we all know where this came from and where it’s going…

I have not been able to stop thinking about how this actually went down for Bucky. And it makes me sad.

Warnings: violence, injuries, pain, blood, Bucky’s arm, home invasion

No answer followed your knocking. Just silence. No movement from inside the apartment. 

Another round of knocks echoed through the quiet hall. Again, silence. 

“Buck? It’s me…”

You leaned against the door, listening for any sign of life. And finally, soft steps made their way in your direction. A deep sigh came from behind the wood. 

Checking in on Bucky like this always made you feel like a bit of a bother. You never wanted to irritate him or make him feel like a child. But you liked knowing he was alright. And he never seemed to mind. He even welcomed your unannounced drop-ins. Bucky liked knowing that someone- anyone- cared about him. He just couldn’t believe you, of all people, were that ‘someone’. 

The metallic rattling sound of Bucky undoing his door’s chain brought a smile to your face. Sure, he’d gone radio silent. He’d ignored your texts and calls all day and skipped out on your lunch plans. But he had a lot on his plate. And even as he worked through his issues and eliminated some of his mental load, more problems often materialized out of nowhere. And so, you granted him grace. You didn’t chastise him or nag him for drawing in on himself. He was doing his very best, and you only wanted to help.

Bucky tentatively pulled open the door a sliver, granting you a view of only half his body. He looked tired, dejected. But he smiled when he saw you- he couldn’t help it. “Hey, doll…” 

“Hey, I was-” You noticed a large scrape running the length of his arm, a bruise resting below his eye. “Woah- what happened? I just saw you yesterday…” Anxiety flooded your system- he was okay less than twenty-four hours ago. How did this happen? And when? 

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thank you for taking the time for me, you're the best ☺️

Through Sea Mist and Shadows (Prologue) Bucky Barnes x Reader

series masterlist

monday, march 12th, 5:37 am;

The salty mist spraying from the bow of the ferry stings in a familiar way. It reprimands the skin like the pained gaze of a tired mother, racking her body with a subtle guilt she thought she had forgotten years before. The morning moon dips lazily into the horizon, casting a hazy grey film over the sky and across the reflective waters. Somewhere beyond the distance, the sun is beginning to rise, awakening the small coastal village which holds the heart of her childhood.

Beneath her fingers the rough, raised grain of the ship's wooden rails keep (Y/n) grounded from her fleeting anxiety, she runs her fingers into the grooves until they leave indents on her skin. It had been many years since she had returned to the cold, dreary island, it's hidden beauty laying deep beneath its layers. Six years, she recalls, though it had been more like ten since she had stayed for more than a simple visit. The time had treated her well, it taught her more than she could imagine - both about herself and the world around her. When she looks back on her youth she feels like a stranger now, she's nervous that her home will see her that way too. To be swallowed and spit back out in rejection, cast into the sharp rocks of the coast.

The remote island sits modestly in the Gulf of Maine, somewhat near Winter Harbor. It's terrain ranges from dark, foreboding forestry to beautiful rocky coastlines, lush pastures, and seaside cliffs. The village is quaint and friendly, lined with old, mossy cobblestone and run down fish markets, humble boutiques, and an unvisited gift shop. You'll always find a doting neighbor, but you can guarantee that everyone will know your business as well. It was a community she knew she belonged to despite her reluctance. When she was a child, her time was spent barefooted on the soft sands, the smell of sea salt and petrichor tickling her nose. A leather saddle tucked beneath her and the rhythmic beats of the horses' gait on the cobblestone paths. Laughter amongst siblings and time spent with dirt-covered hands and brown fingernails from the vegetable garden. Calloused hands pulling her up into the twisted branches of the apple trees and bouquets of wilted wildflowers. The brush of shoulders and shy smiles, school bells and then 'goodbye's.

She huffs, long and drawn out, closing her eyes and feeling the sway of the boat encasing her.

Home.

thank you endlessly :)))) I've just sent you the link!!

hey! I'm only curious and hope this doesn't come off as rude or demanding! just wondering if you ever take requests to read other people's work? kinda like beta-reading but i've already posted it lol, i just really admire your writing style and was interested in knowing if you'd share your tips :) I'm super new to like aCTUALLY creating on tumblr so it's a little nerve-racking. also, please don't feel pressured at all, I know you're probably super busy and I wouldn't feel offended if you said no!

hi darlin!

I'd be happy to read whatever it is you posted! i know how nerve wracking it can be to start posting stories on here, trust me, i've been there. the best thing is to just be patient <3 in regards to writing and waiting for feedback or traction, sometimes it just takes time

but if you want to send me the link to the story you posted, i'd be happy to read it <3

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

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Soak with Me

Pairing: Bartender!Neighbor!Bucky x artist!reader (intended female reader)

Word count: 1.2K

Summary: Bucky didn’t use to love baths, but with you? How could he not?

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI, Bucky is a menace, fingering, naked people in a bath, fluff, Bucky’s in love

If you enjoy the story, please consider supporting me on myKo-fi <3

Series Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist || Main Masterpost

Baths weren’t really something Bucky did very often, only succumbing to them when he’d had a particularly grueling day and his muscles needed to relax. He’d fill the tub with hot water and throw in some bath salts, the green ones that filled the air with eucalyptus, menthol, and spearmint, and let his body relax in the hot water until he deemed himself fine again before getting out. 

Now that he had you though, baths had sort of become a staple in his life. 

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Adoring Fool

Part 1

Pairing: knight!bucky barnes x queen!reader

Word Count: 7.7K (don’t come at me, y’all voted for this to be a long one)

Summary: Sir James competes in the annual tourney every year, always winning in your name. But with how things have been the past couple weeks, his heads not quite in the game, not with the decision he’d made regarding his feelings for you - and the mystery person you mentioned courting. 

Warnings: smut 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI, katoptronophilia (sex involving a mirror), fingering, p in v sex, angst, minor injury, hurt/comfort, bucky is dense but so is reader a little bit, bucky and reader are emotional messes, forgive me for anything that doesn’t line up with historical accuracies - i took a lot of creative liberty with this one. I will include a divider where the smut begins for those of you who do not wish to read it. 

A/N: Thank you so so so much to my friend @perdidosbucky-yyo​ for talking with me on this and bouncing around ideas with me and for helping me bring these two to life and for beta reading it! I love youuuuu <3 

Bucky Masterlist || Main Masterpost

The kingdom was busy recently, bustling with constant energy as everyone worked to ready for the Annual Tourney being held in your name. Townsfolk and servants alike had spent days readying the south field for the events and the town was decorating itself in the kingdom’s colors as they prepared for the fair that would follow. 

Usually, plenty of visitors meant that James was as near as ever, always keeping close just in case. But you hadn’t seen much of him. 

Steve had taken over most of his shifts during the day, and they’d switch around supper time. You’d asked him after the second day where he had been and he’d claimed he was training for the tourney. You missed having him near, talking and eating with him throughout the day, but he fought in the tourney every year. He fought in your name, for your honor - and won every year - so you didn’t argue against him. 

However, you couldn’t help but feel something was wrong. You knew he was training, you’d walked past the training grounds enough times to see him with your own two eyes, so it wasn’t that. 

Rather, it was the way he carried himself. 

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Bucky Barnes Angst!

Hi, friends! Welcome to angst-central! I love me some Bucky Barnes angst, and I hope you enjoy my angsty posts :)

Find my Ko-Fi here!

After All This Time | impending danger puts you and your ex, Bucky, in close quarters.

All in My Head | Your perfect boyfriend Bucky just wants to take you dancing, and his sweeping romantic gesture is almost too good to be true.

Anti Hero | Bucky can’t believe someone like you would be with someone like him. And he’s certain it won’t last.

Baby, It’s Cold Outside | In the dead of winter, the heating in your building goes out. You don’t mind the freezing temperatures, but Bucky is miserable.

The Ballad of Love and Hate | Bucky refuses to open up to you even after you've moved in together. You need some time away to think while Bucky spirals due to your absence.

Begin Again | Bucky broke up with you six months for an unspecified reason, leaving you absolutely heartbroken. When he shows up on your doorstep, your feelings come rushing back.

Blood on My Hands | A text from Sam sparks anxiety about Bucky’s state of mind after his most recent mission, and all you want to do is fix it for him.

Burning the Midnight Oil | Bucky says he’s okay. He tells you that he just can’t fall asleep, but his continuous absence from your bedroom spells trouble.

Call Me When You Get This | Bucky always worries about your safety, but his anxiety gets worse when he’s away on a mission. He doesn’t hear from you for an entire day, and it makes him spiral.

Chemical Imbalance | Bucky finally returns from his latest mission, and goin and you can’t wait to see him. But when his old instincts resurface, the two of you are forced apart.

Clean Up Crew | You’d do anything for your best friend Bucky. And when he calls you in the middle of the night with a strange request, you jump at the chance to help him.

Damaged | It’s date night, but your chronic pain is rearing its ugly head. Bucky spends the night worrying about you and trying to care for you.

Dark Reflection | A particularly dark night terror wakes Bucky in a panic. He reaches for you and finds your side of the bed empty, save for a few drops of blood.

Darling, You Will Bury Me Before I Bury You | You know Bucky is a super soldier, but you worry about how long he'll be around. He is 106, after all.

Disarmed | Bucky’s radio silence prompts you to pay him a visit. When you see him, you notice new injuries and one missing piece.

Documentary Now | In his free time, Bucky wants to catch up on all of your favorite movies and tv shows, but he stumbles upon something darker.

Do You Want to Die Together? | Bucky’s lost a lot of people in his life, and it’s only a matter of time before he starts thinking about losing you.

Double Agent | Bucky can’t control his rage as he sees you, a former Hydra operative, joining the team. His fury is quelled, however, when you reveal the truth about your past.

Double Agent: Part 2 | A nightmare violently wakes you up, but Bucky is there to take care if you. After calming down, you tell him every last detail of your time under Hydra.

Double Agent: Part 3 | All Bucky wants is for you to get some rest, but there’s no way you can sleep. He picks your brain over some breakfast, and learns more about your past.

Double Agent: Part 4 | Things between you and Bucky improve consistently, and you quickly become close friends. But one unfortunate middle of the night event sends the two of you back two square one.

Dust to Dust | Bucky’s on a long mission, and you’re preparing for his return home. But Sam has some unfortunate news that shakes you to your core.

End of My Rope | Bucky’s been down lately, and you’ve been doing your best best to help. But things come to a head when you come home early from work.

End of Story | An injury forces you to examine Bucky’s mortality head on and talk about things you never wanted to admit.

Excuses | An unexpected relapse of Bucky’s Winter Soldier mindset makes him do something he doesn’t remember- the worst thing he’s ever done.

False Reality | Running into an unpleasant person from your past sends you into a shame spiral. Bucky gets you home and takes care of you- reminding you of your worth.

Family Man | More than anything, Bucky wants you to be happy. He’d do anything to help you find someone, no matter how much it hurts him.

Fixer Upper | Bucky knows he’s got issues. But with your help, he’s been making great strides. His long recovery seems to be going well, but he wonders how long you’ll stick around.

For You, I Would Ruin Myself | Work’s been kicking your ass lately, and Bucky knows it. But you come home and try to seduce him anyway, just like you always do.

Glutton For Punishment | After being blamed for something that wasn’t his fault, Bucky spirals. And it’s in the midst of his breakdown that you learn the origin of the bruise on his chest.

Happiness is a Butterfly | You never expected to meet the Bucky Barnes somewhere so mundane, but bumping into him at the grocery store leads to a first date.

Haunted | You and Bucky have finally admitted your feelings for each other, but when he hurts you by accident, he runs. You're left to pick up the pieces in his absence.

Help me | Bucky wakes from a night terror and divulges the details of a particular horrifying memory- one he’s never shared with anyone.

Hold My Hand | Keeping your emotional struggles to yourself is just the way you operate, until Bucky wakes one to find you sobbing.

Home | Bucky is your best friend in the compound and your favorite person to spend time with until he ices you out completely.

Hopelessly Devoted | Yet another failed date leaves you tired of being alone. Bucky makes it his mission to help you feel better, and ends up making a surprising confession.

I’ll Show You Mine | Bucky’s nightmares get to him each and every night, but he refuses to ask for help- until one night, he knocks on your door.

I’ll Never Smile Again | Part two of Honey, Come Home | Bucky’s mission keeps getting extended, leaving you sad and alone.

I’ll Wear Your Ring | Bucky loved you. He gave you a ring and asked you to be his wife- and then he left without a trace.

I Never Learned to Read Your Mind | Bucky broke up with you just over a month ago, yet gets jealous after seeing you with another man.

It Feels Easier to Just Swim Down | Several unanswered texts make Bucky work about you, and he ends up at your apartment to check in on you. What he finds breaks his heart.

It Will Come Back | Bucky is your very best friend but he’s very hot and cold toward you, so you confront him.

It’s My Party and I’ll Cry if I Want to | It’s a special night- the night of your birthday party. But Bucky has yet to show up.

Just in Case | On the run after the events of Civil War, Bucky hasn’t gotten nearly enough sleep. You offer to sit with him, and he makes an off putting request.

Let Go | Bucky knows there’s something you’re hiding from him, and all he wants is to help. But you remain closed off and tight lipped until everything falls apart.

Like a Secret, Like an Oath | Bucky never misses an opportunity to give you a kiss or hold your hand- unless the team is around.

Long Gone | The greatest tragedy of your life, Bucky’s disappearance in the blip, finally comes to an end when he returns home- but is he really back?

Lost Without You | Your mission team returns home safely… without you. Bucky launches into an investigation, doing everything he can to get you back.

Love Language | You notice that Bucky has started pulling away from your usual physical affection, and it makes you rethink the way you show your love.

Lucky | A dicey mission has Bucky looking a little worse for wear. You’re already worried about him, but he makes a comment that sends your anxiety into overdrive.

Making Amends | You’ve never seen the inside of Bucky’s secret little notebook, and when you accidentally take a glance, you can’t believe what you find.

Means to an End | Bucky comes home from a mission injured and bloody- just like always. But the details of what happened make you unravel.

Metamorphosis | Bucky never anticipated meeting someone like you, let alone befriending you. He bares his soul to you, showing you every dark corner of his mind, and you help him become a new man.

Monster Mash | A Halloween party goes very south when you and Bucky are met face to face with someone from both of your pasts.

Muscle Memory | Things with Bucky are perfect until he touches you in a way that brings back terrible memories.

Necessary Evil | when you end up hurt after a mission, Bucky is tasked with taking care of you. But you’ve never experienced pain like this before.

Never Alone | Bucky is afraid of who he is deep down, and thinks leaving is the best option for the both of you.

Never Stop Searching | When the jet returns from a mission without you, Bucky is fiercely determined to find you.

The Night We Met | Bucky comes to you with a question, a file full of redacted documents, and a broken heart. He needs to know- why didn’t you tell him?

Nothing Fucks With My Baby | Bucky shows up late to a Shield party and finds out that a new agent made you uncomfortable. He takes care of it.

Nowhere to Go | Bucky’s temporary living situation falls through and he needs a place to crash, but he’s too embarrassed to ask for help.

Old Habits | Bucky’s old Winter Soldier training starts rearing its head, causing him to become more protective of you than ever before.

Packed Bags | Bucky comes home to find your things neatly packed into a suitcase, and he does everything he can to convince you not to leave him.

Penance | Bucky comes home from a mission bloody and injured. You want him to get some medical attention, but he refuses.

Protect Yourself | Bucky worries endlessly about your safety and just wants you to know how to keep yourself safe. Unfortunately, you end up injured in the process and he blames himself.

Put My Mind at Ease | You return home from a successful mission with plans to have a pizza night with Bucky- but things go awry when an injury rears it’s head.

The Quiet | Bucky is gone all the time on mission after mission, fulfilling his duties as an Avenger- but is he doing too much?

Red Light, Green Light | Sex with Bucky is better than you’d ever experienced, but he has a habit that draws your attention.

Revenge | A mission gone sideways finds you bloodied on the floor of a Hydra base, and Bucky knows exactly who’s to blame.

Safe With Me | A mission goes sideways, putting you in the hands of a notorious Hydra arms dealer. Upon returning home, your well-being takes a turn for the worst, but Bucky is there for you.

Self-Inflicted | A strange sound wakes you up in the middle of the night, and you discover a sleeping Bucky covered blood.

She Never Asked Me Once About the Wrong I Did | Bucky comes home from a mission, racked with guilt and covered in blood that isn't his. He needs comfort and safety and that only you can provide.

Silent Lucidity | Bucky calls in the middle of the night, and something is clearly wrong. He doesn’t sound like himself. He needs you.

Somebody’s Watching Me | Bucky knows you’re being stalked by the creepy guy who frequents your work place, but you shrug it off- until the man takes things a little too far.

That’s My Girl | Bucky hates when you go on missions without him, and he counts the hours till you return. When you end up in the med bay without him knowing why, he loses it.

Til it Happens to You | An unsavory encounter with an old friends leaves Bucky picking up your broken pieces.

Unanswered Letters | Bucky is your best friend in the Avengers compound...until he leaves with no warning. His return is confusing and complicated for the both of you.

Under the Influence | Girls night out with Nat and Wanda gets ruined by a particularly creepy stranger, and Bucky spends the night taking care of you.

Unforgivable | Bucky can’t contain himself when you defy his orders on a mission and out yourself in danger.

Unhinged | An argument between you and Bucky gets a little out of hand, prompting him to leave with no intention of returning.

Watch You Sleep (sequel to Just in Case) | Bucky falls asleep in your lap and finally gets the rest he deserves. One tiny mistake by you wakes him, however, leading to a violent outburst.

Weak Link | Bucky is your favorite person to work with on missions, and you’re partnered together every time- until someone keeps changing things up last minute, making you doubt your friendship with him.

What Could Go Wrong? | A SWORD function at the compound has Bucky feeling uneasy. He can’t seem to stop himself from checking up on you, but you swear to him that you’re not in danger- you’re wrong.

Why Are You at the Wake? | Bucky sits by your hospital bed, anxious for you to finally open your eyes. He’s got to set the record straight, and apologize for what he said before you got hurt.

Winter in my Heart | Bucky just can’t get a handle on his emotions as he tries to adjust to a normal life with you.

The Words | While out with you at the store, Bucky encounters something from his past that messes with his head.

The World Stopped Moving | A mission gone wrong leaves you and Bucky both gravely injured.

Unforgivable | Bucky is your closest friend, he’s the person you care about most. But things take a negative turn when he snaps at you in front everyone.

You Drew Stars Around My Scars | you and Bucky trade off telling the stories behind your scars. But one of Bucky’s stories is worse than you could ever imagine.

You Don’t Own Me | Bucky’s wounds land him in the med bay after a mission, much to his dismay. A particular scar of his catches your eye, forcing Bucky to unravel even more of his traumatic past.

Yours | Bucky loves being your boyfriend, but he knows he's got a lot of baggage. He worries that it's too much for you, so you talk him through it.

You're Here Now | Bucky always begs you to lock the front door, but you're forgetful. Too bad you forgot to lock it the day Hydra came after you to get back at Bucky...

Find my Bucky smut here 🔥

Find my Bucky fluff here 🥰

All in My Head | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, friends! This was a request from @breakablebarnes, who described this ic idea as "dark and meta", so obviously I'm here for it.

Send me your comments, requests, and / or suggestions! 🥰

Tag list: @beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes@glxwingrxse @psychoticmason @deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy @lonewolf471 💘

"Your eyes are glowing and I'm holding your hand You ask if I'll run with you up to the edge Hands on my waist and fingers running through hair Well, I know that it's all in my head...

If the stars ain't showing, the whiskey ain't burning Well, I'm still gonna be your girl When we both stop growing and they dig us deep Yeah, I'm still gonna be your girl..."

The light of the sunset had your apartment glowing gold. Bucky's body leaned up against yours, letting you play with his hair while the two of you watched the classic Gene Kelly musical, Singin' in the Rain. As Gene Kelley swept Debbie Reynolds into his arms near the end of You Were Meant for Me, Bucky nuzzled in closer to you. "How have I not taken you dancing yet, sweets?" he asked as he turned to face you. An unexpected chuckle fell from your lips at his question, making him cock his head to the side with confusion.

"Buck, I don't have any idea where- people don't really go dancing anymore. If you go dancing these days, it's at like, a rave or a nightclub" you told him, "I'm sure that's not the kind of dancing you're looking for." A disappointed frown twisted his lips downward and he sighed out a huff. Then, without a word, he was up off of the couch.

He turned off the tv and pushed the coffee table out of the way with no effort at all, creating a makeshift dance floor right in the middle of your living room. He flew across the room to his record player and pulled out his favorite Frank Sinatra record, letting the sweet sound of your favorite Sinatra song, Be Careful, it's My Heart slowly fade in through the crackling and popping of the record.

"May I have this dance, gorgeous?" Bucky asked as he offered you his shiny vibranium hand. A warm sensation took over your cheeks as you accepted his proposal, letting him pull you up off the couch and into his arms. His hand found your waist and yours wrapped around his neck as the two of you began to move with the music. "I don't think anyone's ever asked me to dance before..." you murmured against his chest, making Bucky stop moving completely.

"Oh, doll. That's criminal," Bucky said, clearly disturbed by your confession, "if you were my girl back in the day...I would've taken you dancing every Friday night- would've bribed the band to play a slow one for us". He pulled you tighter against his body and hummed in approval at his favorite sensation: your body pressed against his. "I'm glad I found you now, though..." he continued, "there's no way I ever could've left for the war if you were my girl. Probably would've ended up a draft dodger". The thought of Bucky leaving for the war, being gone from you for so long and in such a dangerous situation, made you press yourself even closer to him. You let your eyes close as you rested your head against his warm chest, listening to his heartbeat and letting it remind you that he was right there with you.

"I would've waited for you, Buck," you murmured against his chest, "I would've written you letters and counted down the days until I got to see you again". Your promise hit Bucky strangely, reminding him that he never would've even gotten the chance to come home to you. He quickly swatted the thought from his mind, instead quietly singing along with the music:

"Remember it's my heart. The heart with which so willingly I part. It's yours to take to keep or break, But please, before you start, Be careful, it's my heart."

He crooned along with Sinatra until the song ended, being replaced with more crackling and popping sounds.

When the warmth of Bucky's body began to fade from your touch, you allowed your eyes to slowly flicker open.

Before you sat your living room-dark, empty, cold. The coffee table sat in its correct position- not shoved out of the way to make room for a dance floor- and there was no record player in the corner. The only light in the room came from the screen of the laptop that sat balanced on your thighs. Your hands remained frozen, poised over the keyboard and ready to type. The flickering of the cursor on your screen drew your attention as you read the last sentence of your fic over again:

"He crooned along with Sinatra until the song ended, being replaced with more crackling and popping sounds".

A sudden ache took root in your chest, filling you with a sense of loss, a sense of loneliness. It had felt so real- you could’ve sworn you were really there with Bucky, slow dancing in your living room. The emptiness you felt at his absence clawed at your heart and ripped it to shreds, leaving you hollow. Not only was this man not in your arms, he wasn’t even real. Something resembling grief took hold of you, as you yearned for the touch of a person you’d never meet. You mourned his smile, his gentle touch, his oceanic eyes, the way he held you close-

Only one thing could take the awful sensation away, and so you let your eyes close once again, diving back into the world in which you were Bucky's girl- the world that was all in your head.

Through Sea Mist and Shadows (One) Bucky Barnes x Reader

series masterlist

monday, march 12th, 7:02am;

The blare of the ship's horn and the sickly distinct smell of the fishing docks is what clicks everything back into place.  Your head, which had previously been bobbing along to the music in your headphones, raises to attention as you observe your surroundings. There aren't many aboard the small ferry - deemed the Wayfarer, it's name written in faded cerulean paint along its side - and yet the quiet crowd shuffles slowly together towards the gangway to depart, seemingly in a rush. An older couple chatters amongst themselves, something about the Island's declining economy and you immediately tune it out, uninterested.

As you gather your belongings you begin to wonder what your mother will say when you wash up on her doorstep, the same mortifying 'what-if?' scenarios swirling around in your head that you've been thinking about since you first made the decision to move back home. You can't shake the anticipation of a fight, butting heads with your mother as you always had (hence the distance for the many, many years). And honestly, you can't blame her either. Your decision to move across the country with your father after the divorce cut her deep, and over and over again as you continued to keep your distance throughout your young adult-hood.

You sigh aloud, honestly, what were you thinking? Showing up unannounced with the intention to stay indefinitely, despite the fact that you hadn't properly spoken in years.

Change is hard. The divorce was hard. It was a long time coming, and you've never resented either of your parents for their parting, only the alienation, the fighting, the uncivil manner in which they handled their parting. Your mother had always been stubborn, and harsh, and she always knew what to say to hurt someone without the punch. She was a force to be reckoned with and she loved fiercely and protectively. You never hated your mother, you love her truly, but getting away from her when you were a teen was the only thing you naively wanted for yourself back then. So, when your father asked for custody and proposed moving out to the West Coast, you took it as your ticket out.

You've matured since then. You're still angry deep down, for the way things went, for the way both of your parents made you feel. For the decisions that were made for you under the guise that you were the one making the choice at only fourteen years old. You shouldn't have been making the choice between two parents, and they should never had made you feel like you had to pick one or the other.

But it was a double-edged sword, because on the other hand, the time you spent in California gave you your passion. Art. You picked up painting and you never put it down. The local artists in the city were lovely, and smart, and welcoming, and full of inspiration. You spent every weekend in local galleries and did all sorts of workshops and then even got accepted to college and majored in Fine Art Education. In the past three years you had opened your own gallery which you taught community classes out of and sold your own work. It was enough to support you and it was fulfilling. You had found your purpose. And you had found the best of friends. Your heart ached to leave them behind.

As much as you loved the home you had made for yourself, there was still something missing. Home-cooked meals, the smell of the earth and the cold ocean waves on your ankles, perhaps the hands of a lover or the embrace of your mother, your old mare and the prickle of hay in your clothes. With each fleeting moment you can't help but catch yourself thinking more and more of your home by the docks. The crunch of gravel roads under worn tires, and the incessant screeching of the gulls. Of course, you still spoke to your mother over the years, but the conversation lacked emotion, and trust. You talked about nothing and told her about recent projects. Asked how the horses were doing and bantered about trivial matters. Still, the calls were few and far between.

You hadn't told anyone you were coming home. After the incident you quietly ended your lease on your gallery space, found a young college student to take up your quaint apartment, sold your car, sold all your belongings, and bought a one way plane ticket to Maine all in a fortnight.

As you stand from your seat and make your way to the exit of the ferry you wonder if showing up unannounced was a bit too impulsive, after all.

Too late to worry about it now.

You thank the deck hand as you pass by, who tips his hat in response with a kind smile. With your two suitcases and side bag all packed to the brim with the rest of your belongings, you step off the platform and let the breeze take you. The dock is just how you left it, the weathered wooden boards creaking under your weight, rusted nails poking through every few steps. Inside of your ribs there's a bird, fluttering frantically against your heart with nerves. The nostalgia is almost too much to bear, hands sticky with sweat as you grip your cases.

You remember the way instinctively, you could do it blindfolded if you had to even after all the years passed. You pass the small downtown square, a common ground sitting pretty in the center of the old-timey buildings with windows thrown open and crooked signs. Everything looks exactly the same save for a few extra cracks in the cobblestone and a business or two no longer flourishing, the mossy roofing sloping downwards a bit in the center. You take a left at the old red post office and the out-of-order telephone booth (it hadn't been used in the past twenty years anyway) and a right at the second dirt path.

After the clearing, is home. The tall grass sways with the ocean breeze, the white fences surrounding the pastures chipped from the weather. The big eight stall barn sits at the top of the drive in all its glory, the sliding door pushed halfway open to reveal the aged wood and stacks of bales inside.

The house stands still proudly on the hill just behind the barn, a fresh coat of paint on the wrap around porch but the screens in the front window still ripped and threadbare. You make your way up the front steps before dropping all your belongings at a heap by the door.

Before you can raise you hand to knock the screen door is thrown open haphazardly.

The older woman's face is painted in an expression of bewilderment. "What on God's green Earth are you doing here?" She asks in a rush, gathering you up in her arms in a crushing hug. She smells of lemongrass and vanilla, the scent of the hand soap at the kitchen sink and her perfume mingling. It's distinctly home.

You chuckle nervously, "Surprise?" you say, hugging her back.

Your mother smiles happily, pulling back to take a good look at you while rubbing your shoulders lovingly. There's a twinge of worry lingering in her eyes and you take a deep breath to prepare yourself to explain and break the news.

"I'm sorry, I know I should've called first but I just . . . I didn't know how to tell you and I was afraid you would tell me not to come."

She nods, but there are more questions swimming in her irises, "I would never tell you not to come." she says stiffly.

You resist the urge to retort, eye twitching, you have before is what you really want to say. Instead you take a deep breath and practically feel the words come to fruition on the tip of your tongue and suddenly your eyes are welling up with tears instead and theres a tight ball in your throat.

Your mother senses your hesitation and gathers your bags in her hands and urges you inside with her free arm at your back.

You're standing in your old living room now and the walls and crashing in on you like the tides and you can't stop the flow of tears down your cheeks and you have half the sense to be mortified by your slew of emotions. You had planned on keeping it together, but there are old pictures still hanging on the walls and its the same sofa your mother has had your whole childhood and the carpet is still stained in that one corner from your late dog and it smells like home everywhere.

"Talk to me," your mother pleads, "Whats going on?"

"Dad's dead." You sob, "I didn't even know he was sick. He refused treatment and didn't tell anyone and he passed three weeks ago. He'd been sick for months apparently."

The older woman shakes her head sorrowfully, her own eyes growing watery as well, "I'm so sorry you had to go through that alone. I know how close you were with your father." She says, rubbing your back soothingly. "The funeral?"

"It's passed. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

She only nods her head, understanding albeit still clearly upset. She knows she wouldn't have been welcome anyway. She sighs and swipes the back of her hand across her cheek. "If you want to talk about it I'm happy to listen. But I know you prefer not to."

You nod, "Thanks, Mom."

"Let me get some sheets cleaned for you, I haven't touched your bedroom since you were last here. I'm sorry it's probably a mess, I can help you clean up later." She says, moving towards the stairs leading to the bedrooms. "How long will you be staying?"

"Oh," you bite your lip hard, sniffling, "I, um, I sold everything. I'm not going back to California." you wring your hands tight at your lap, nervous.

But your mother smiles happily, although she turns away in attempt to hide her joy in such a sorrowful moment. You catch it anyway. A twinge of worry still lingers in her eyes, pulling gently on her crow's feet. She nods without hesitation and offers to take one of your bags up.

You sigh shakily as you crash upon the plush corduroy sofa cushions and put your head in your hands. The worst of it was over, and it was easy. Perhaps preparing yourself for the worst scenario was the key.

"Do you need to eat? Anything at all?" Your mother shouts down from the staircase. You can hear her starting the washer, the metal door clanging loudly as it locks shut. You decline, though you know you should eat soon. The nerves haven't quite run off yet and you're not so sure you're ready to put anything in your stomach yet for fear of it coming right back up.

"Bucky is stopping by to drop off eggs and a load of grain for the horses in a bit, he'd be happy to see you."

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, "Bucky? New farmhand?"

You mother chuckles as she makes her way back downstairs, "Sorry, James. He goes by Bucky now, I didn't realize you hadn't kept in contact with him either."

Your head cocks to the side— James. You hadn't heard that name in a long time, not that you had forgotten— you could never. But you would've thought he'd have been long gone off this island and had never looked back.

"He helps out a lot, painted the porch for me earlier this week when we had a rare, sunny day. The boy's a saint, I couldn't do all this work around here without him and his sister. I don't think he ever really recovered from combat though."

"Combat?" You exclaim, since when did he join the military?

"Honestly," Your mother chides, "You've missed so much around here, you've got to catch up!" she says, but there's a lightness to it and you can't hep but crack a smile. "Go on upstairs, you can bring the rest of your things up. Just push whatever is in there out into the hallway we can put it in the attic when we get to it."

You nod, thanking her again before making your way up the creaky narrow stair well to your old bedroom.

The door to your room swings open with a creak, revealing old boxes and crates of miscellaneous items and old broken furniture that looks like it hasn't been used in decades. Your old books sit in a pile on the nightstand and haphazardly in the old painted bookshelf. There are glow stars still stuck to the ceiling and a few stray ones on the walls, accompanied with an array of old posters and stickers and photos pinned to the surface with clear thumbtacks. The baby blue curtains are faded from the sun as is the thick quilt spread out on the bed from the big bay window.

"I'm sorry it's a mess, things started to accumulate in here since the room wasn't being used. Maybe Bucky won't mind helping us move everything to the attic before he leaves. The sheets will be done before noon." Your mother says gently, shrugging.

You thank her and the older woman turns to leave, a gentle hand resting upon your wrist and a soft smile in her wake. "Come down for breakfast please? I won't make you talk about anything." She says softly over her shoulder. "Its just good to have you back."

You nod, you figure it's the last thing you could do thing for her at this point.

"I think it's good to be back, too." You reply.

~

You sit in the old wooden chair propped up next to your desk, surveying the room around you. You make a mental note to remove those monstrosities on the walls as soon as possible, maybe throw them up in the attic with the rest of the junk. If you're planning on staying for the foreseeable future, you'd like to not live in a literal time capsule from your childhood. An old mug of cheap paintbrushes and broken pencils sits on the corner of the desk, along with a torn up eraser and an old peppermint candy that has probably been there for at least six years. The bed still adorns an old quilt set with yellow flowers and green vines, stitched with a thick yarn at the seams where you had accidentally torn it on the old wooden bed frame. A glance at the empty vase on the windowsill and you find your mind wandering to a certain James Barnes, or 'Bucky' now you suppose. Boyish hands holding yours and fresh bouquets from his mother's garden. The vase has never been empty for so long, you think sadly.

You remember a time when things were simpler, spent side by side with your best friend no matter the location. The boy was always sweet, doting, thoughtful. You wonder how you could've possibly gone so long without hearing from him, hell, you would be lying if you said you hadn't at least thought about him (like, everyday). Your heart aches for him, even if just for the quiet moments between the two of you when you were both naive, and young, and it was the world against you both. You hope with a sad smile that he hadn't been too lonely.

Perhaps he had a girl now, maybe he too left for college, or maybe the military was his ticket out but you did wonder how that came to be. And why he had returned here after. Suddenly, you feel terribly guilty, selfish even. You left someone truly important to you behind and on such poor terms. You never even called, texted, tried to reach out. God, the stupid things you do when you're only a teen. You can only hope he'd forgive you now that you were both grown— and hopefully less stupid.

You try to picture what he would look like now, and if he would be as handsome as you'd imagined he'd grown up to be. You grin at the idea. Perhaps his dark hair would have grown out or he'd have it cut short in a military fashion. If his steel blue eyes had darkened as he aged or if his face would be littered with freckles from the sun. Had he grown into those gangly long limbs and that boyish frame?

With a sigh, you push yourself up and throw open the window, letting the fresh morning air pour into the bedroom as you begin the task at hand: sorting through all this junk.

It's nearly noon when you finish putting away your belongings, getting rid of the dust, and making the bed with fresh, new sheets and a pretty, pin-striped comforter. You'd even taken a few trips to the attic yourself with the things she didn't need. Your mother had brought breakfast to you when she had seen how caught up you had gotten in the mess. But, the room felt big and spacious compared to what it once was, despite recalling that you used to complain about having no space when you were young.

It felt good to have an almost fresh start yet in a place so familiar.

Lost in thought, the deep growl of a truck climbing up the driveway rustles you from your mind. You rise to the large window and peer out at the sage green vehicle. It has a lovely vintage charm to it, and its frame is well cared for a free of rust, the tires are worn but the rims are sparkling silver, glinting even in the overcast. New lumber sticks out of the bed of it, harnessed together with a thick rope tied in a sailors knot and besides it are three bags of feed and a milk crate of eggs wrapped in a linen cloth. You can hear your mother calling out from the porch below her and its with sudden clarity that the anxiety you had forgotten about comes reeling back to your chest.

James.

And suddenly you feels like a teen again, rushing to check your appearance in the mirror and then pushing your fly-aways back from your face with shaking hands. You don't know why it matters to you even after all the time you've been away, honestly, it's laughable. But you can't stop worrying. What if he has absolutely no desire to see him after what happened the last time you were in town? Or what if he's disappointed by how you look? Or he's married?

You're slightly horrified by the realization, and even more horrified that it matters to you. Get over yourself! You want to scream. Honestly, what if he's ugly now? You have no idea!

You dig your nails into the wood of your dresser before turning on your heels and shaking the thoughts from your head. You're bounding down the steps before you can think any harder about it and when you finally throw open the front door you're nearly knocked back as soon as you lay eyes on him.

The first thing you notice is how tall he's gotten, and broad. He's shutting the driver's side door and walking around his truck, rolling up the sleeves of his henley when he stops in his tracks, eyes locked onto yours in shock.

It feels like a million moments pass and you're sure that you're oogling him disrespectfully and you're sure he knows. His eyes are bluer than they've ever been but not in that shockingly icey, cold way, but in the way that the ocean swirls and mingles with the cliffs, in that deep, dark, beautiful blue of the sea at nightfall, and the dark blue of the sky just before the last of the golden sunset falls away to the night. His hair is long, falling in cascades of ink just above his shoulders, some pieces cut short to frame his chiseled face, the lightest speckling of facial hair growing at his jaw. He raises an arm to fasten the baseball cap on his head before flashing that award winning smile, just the way he always used to.

He looks strong, and grown, and gorgeous. Healthy. And it's everything you could've wished for him.

You actually don't notice the glint of black metal at his left arm, not until you watch him deliberately hike his sleeves back down and cover it just as soon as you saw it. It's casual, but you do notice.

"Hi, James." You greet once he finally reaches within distance, your voice breathy and you almost shy away at how desperate it must've sounded. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his jeans, the fabric wrinkled and faded at the knees from wear.

He gazes at you curiously, those damned blue eyes glinting.

"It's Bucky now," your mother scoffs teasingly, "I already told her, you know she never listens!" she says to Bucky, laughing.

"No, thats okay, I'll allow it." He says, cheekily, "Hey, doll."

Doll. That was new. A wonderful and enticing new that lingered a little bit too long in your mind— seriously, had you been reduced to mush from a simple smile and a set of lovely blue eyes? Yes

"Right! I'm sorry, I forgot. It'll take some getting used to, I guess." You reply apologetically.

Your mother pulls open the screen door, "Let me grab that cash for you, Bucky. I'll be right back." she says, and when she's disappeared within the house he turns to you again.

"It's okay, I don't mind the way it sounds when you say it." He grins again, "'James' I mean."

You smile back shyly, unsure what to say back, but honored honestly.

"Anyway, you've been well?" He asks, stepping up to the edge of the porch and leaning against the railing.

"Yes," You nod, "yeah. I've been - well a lot has happened, I can't believe it's been so long since I've spoken to you. There's so much to tell you." You say.

"Yeah? I can't wait to hear all about it." He's so sickly sweet. He should be angry with you, anything but this.

"Well, what about you, how have you been? You look - well, you look good." You say, fighting back the blush you can only imagine with great disdain is creeping onto her face. "This is new", you point to the mechanical hand sticking out of his sleeve. You hope it's not too sore of a subject.

"It's been good." He answers quickly, "Missed having you around, for sure." He raises his metal arm sheepishly, "And this . . . this is just a little work-in-progress. A friend and I are working on furthering prosthetics in our free time. She's a goddamn genius, you wouldn't believe it."

You guess that he must have lost his arm in combat, and you're sure it probably is a sore subject, so you don't ask anything more. But you do marvel in the engineering of the device— well, what you can see of it.

Your mom comes back out with an envelope of money and hands it to Bucky, who thanks her generously, telling her it really isn't necessary.

"Oh, and those boxes too, do you want him to help you bring them up to the attic?" She asks, turning towards you.

You shake your head, he's clearly done plenty around here in the time you were gone, "I can handle it, it's okay. I don't want to bother you with it."

Bucky smirks, raising an eyebrow, "I'll head up there now, I got it." and he's already ascending up the front steps.

"Hey! No really, you do enough, I can take care of it!" You're calling after him but he's already bounding up the steps two at a time like its his own home, and you suppose, it really is. Some things never change.

"Thank you!" Your mother calls out to him, before turning to the barn and making her way up the gravel path, making it your problem.

You're chasing after him with a wide smile but he's already grabbing boxes and on his way to the attic before you can stop him, so you grab a box of your own and figure next best is to do it together.

It does go faster that way and you both fall into rhythm quicker than you had expected. That awkward tension leaves your body and you're left with a comfortable, pleasant hum of energy.

"Will I catch you later?" He's asking, tilting his head to your level.

"Yeah, I'll be here."

"I have my dad's boat now. We could take it out together while you're home? Catch up."

You smile again, and you can't think back to a time where you've smiled so much for such a silly, simple little reason. "I would love that, James."

~

Bucky heads back outside soon after to drop off the rest of the things he had for your mother and promises to say goodbye before he leaves.

You decide to pad over to the barn where you mother is, to see what she's up to before you tackle another project.

You make it barely a step into the old wooden building before she's cornering you.

"You're still in love with him." She states.

Your jaw drops incredulously, "I'm not in love with him! He's my childhood best friend." you counter, bewildered. "We haven't even talked in like, six years!"

"Right. He just happens to be entirely gorgeous now, that's all." Your eyes widen impossibly more and you have to bite your lip not to laugh aloud at your mother's brazen accusations.

"Shh! He's still here you know!"

"Did they not have any good looking boys in California?"

"They had plenty, thank you very much. Now leave it be." You're trying to hide it but you are smiling. Your mother knows you want her to can it, and so for once, she does, but theres a silent promise in her eyes that she will bring it up again.

You're glad she had stopped talking about it when she had, Bucky ducks his head into the barn just after and waves, bidding goodbye and saying thank you again to your mother, which she only deflects with her own thanks.

And then he's gone, the scent of pine wood and cinnamon left lingering in his tracks.

written 5/3/23 rewritten 5/22/25

Through Sea Mist and Shadows — Bucky Barnes x Reader — Masterlist

after many years away, you return back to the small family farm that was once considered your home. nestled above the cliff-sides of a remote Maine island, sea mist cresting at its edges, you find that things are far different now. your family bears you sad smiles, the fisherman's boy is quiet and reserved, and you yourself have changed beyond your own recognition over the years.

a story about returning to your roots and finding yourself where you least expected it; in the arms of an old friend.

started: 5/2/23 rewrite: 5/22/25

status: ONGOING! IN THE PROCESS OF BEING REWRITTEN!

warnings: mature readers only! 18+, discussions of mental illness and emotional trauma, death of a loved-one, suggestive, no use of (Y/N), cursing but come on now, we're all adults, I do include vague descriptions and interactions with readers' parents for plot points

CHAPTERS

prologue

one

two

Through Sea Mist and Shadows (Prologue) Bucky Barnes x Reader

series masterlist

monday, march 12th, 5:37 am;

The salty mist spraying from the bow of the ferry stings in a familiar way. It tingles your skin like the guilt you swore to forget years ago and never could, but its grounding, cold. The dawn moon dips lazily into the horizon, casting a hazy silver glow over the sky and across the reflective waters as it sets. Somewhere beyond the distance, the sun is beginning to rise, awakening the small coastal village which holds the heart of your childhood. If you close your eyes you can still see it; the way the gentle warmth of the morning light would stretch upon the rocky cliff-sides, the soft grass of the fields, and curl up o your bedroom windowsill. You've missed that. Such a small detail yet you'd taken it for granted.

Beneath your fingers the rough, raised grain of the ship's wooden rails keep you grounded from the fleeting anxiety, you runs your fingers into the grooves until they leave indents on your skin.

It's been a long while since you'd returned to the cold, dreary island, it's hidden beauty laying deep beneath its layers. Six years, you recall, though it had been more like ten since you'd stayed for more than a simple visit. The time had treated you well, it taught you more than you could imagine - both about yourself and the world around you, you wouldn't change that for a minute even with the bad memories. But, looking back on your childhood, it's hard not to feel like a stranger to your own home. Would you be welcomed back with open arms, or are you to be swallowed and spit back out in rejection, cast into the sharp rocks of the coast?

The remote island sits modestly in the Gulf of Maine, somewhat near Winter Harbor. It's terrain ranges from dark, foreboding forestry to beautiful rocky coastlines, lush pastures, and seaside cliffs. The village is quaint and friendly, lined with old, mossy cobblestone and run down fish markets, humble boutiques, and an unvisited gift shop. You'll always find a doting neighbor, but you can guarantee that everyone will know your business as well. It's a community you knew deep down belonged to you, despite your reluctance in younger years.

As a child, your time was spent barefooted on the soft sands, the smell of sea salt and petrichor tickling your nose. A leather saddle tucked beneath you and the rhythmic beats of the horses' gait on the cobblestone paths. Laughter amongst siblings and time spent with dirt-covered hands and brown fingernails from the vegetable garden. Calloused hands pulling her up into the twisted branches of the apple trees and bouquets of wilted wildflowers. The brush of shoulders and shy smiles, school bells and then 'goodbye's.

You huff, long and drawn out, closing your eyes and feeling the sway of the boat encasing you. Home is just past the horizon.

Home.

Okokok so this could be for knight bucky 👀

(if reader is like a queen or princess), Bucky is in charge of your safety, he's always near and one day he escorts you to the gardens for a walk and him and reader are alone and he's so tempted to grab your hand!!!! It's aching to know what it's like to feel your skin against his (hand scene from Pride and prejudice iykyk🤭)

carrot you genius

i definitely followed this prompt pretty loosely and it kinda took on a form of it's own but i hope you enjoy it <3

Yes, Your Grace

Pairing: Knight!Bucky x Queen!Reader

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings: a little bit of angst, but that's honestly about it.

You never lasted too long at galas, especially when they weren't in your own kingdom. 

Not having the familiarity of your staff. The smell of salt in the air as the ocean breeze washed in through your open corridor. The certain click of your shoes against the marble floors. It was all yours and safe and commonplace. 

Being in someone else's kingdom, at an event where everyone wants a chance to dance with the unwed queen was exhausting. You almost never left the dance floor with how many suitors were trying to win you over, to take the seat of King next to you. You never enjoyed any of them though. You knew they were just in it for the title, the power. Most of them not believing you should be able to rule on your own. That it was sacrilege that you still remained unwed. 

But you put on a brave face, a large fake smile to appease them and to keep the peace. If you didn't provoke them, it gave them no reason to storm your castle's walls. 

The exhaustion was evident on your face as James watched you from the sidelines. He was to have eyes on you at all times, especially since you weren't in your own home. He was your protector, hand picked by your father before he passed to be your personal knight until you relieved him or reassigned him. You had yet to do either in the five years he'd been by your side. 

His armor clinked as he made his way to you, mindful not to bump into anyone with the bulky metal. Expertly moving through the sea of royals, he paced his steps with the musicians playing in the corner - he'd practiced this dance with you too many times to count. You'd wanted a partner to brush up on your skills and you'd asked him one day during your breakfast. That was the closest he'd ever been to you for that long.

Your dance partner spun you out from their arm and towards James, who gave you a knowing look when you spotted him. He smirked at the pleading in your eyes and quickened his pace, stopping next to you. 

"Pardon me, Lord Wilson, I was wondering if I could steal her grace for a moment," He requested, the tone in his voice really leaving no room for argument. He watched as you curtsied and the lord bowed to you before you turned and grabbed James's elbow, allowing him to lead you outside. 

"I thought you might like a breath of fresh air," He leaned down a bit so you could hear his whispers as you passed other attendants. "I could tell you weren't enjoying the way Lord Wilson was spinning you around the floor. 

The noise that left your lips was a mix between a scoff and a laugh and it pulled James lips into a smile as he looked down at you. 

Your hand slipped from his elbow and he let you walk just a step in front of him. You glanced over your shoulder, "I appreciate the concern, as always, Sir James." 

"I thought we discussed this," He started, following you as you wandered the gardens that, in his opinion, could never rival your own, "I requested you not to call me James."

"You did," You smirked, stopping at a stone railing that overlooked the small pond as you turned to face him entirely, leaning against the stone, "but I do love seeing you in a fit over it." 

"I'd hardly call me reminding her highness of my request a fit," He chuckled as he stood just out of reach, which you took notice of. You always did. 

"Why are you standing over there," you asked, your smile slipping, "I won't bite." 

He gave you an easy smile, soaking in your attention, basking in it. 

It wasn't that you never gave it to him or that you were stingy with it. In fact, it was quite the opposite. You were always speaking with him. He accompanied you everywhere you went, so why wouldn't you? What kind of queen would you be if you didn't speak with your personal knight at all while he protected you? 

You two had grown close over the years, your relationship becoming more of one between friends rather than one of subordinate and superior. And James didn't mind one bit. He'd never tell anyone, for risk of being reassigned away from you, but he loved you. 

He was in love with you. 

He had been for years and it was one of the many reasons that he was so persistent about protecting you, even when you told him to get some rest - he'd just sit on the floor outside your chamber doors those nights. You started having Steve switch with him at night so he could sleep too, but he'd only sleep for a handful of hours and get washed up before coming back to switch again. 

You held your hand out to him, waiting for his gloved fingers to gently grasp yours. He did so, but at the expense of the tug in his chest. 

In all his years of serving you, he'd never touched you. He always made sure something was between the two of you, his gloves, your fur coat, something. 

It wasn't that he didn't want to touch you, he was actually dying to do so. He dreamed of the day that he could feel your skin against his, but he didn't want to taint your perfectly smooth complexion with his dirtied callouses. You deserved someone with a softer touch than his own. You deserved someone's hands who hadn't been covered in blood and dirt and grime and sin. 

He let you guide him to stand next to you, waiting for you to drop his hand, but you continued to hold on to it, absently fiddling with the leather covering his skin. God, what he wouldn't do to be able to actually hold your hand. To brush elbows. To feel your fingers on his arm as he led you around town. 

"Jamie?" He glanced up from your fingers to see you staring at the still water of the pond. 

"Yes, your highness?" 

It was a moment before you responded, but you didn't look over at him. Instead, you gazed down at the stone under your fingertips, scratching your nail along its surface - something he knew you did when you were nervous. 

"Do you think they're right?" If he hadn't been waiting with baited breath, he would've missed the question with how quiet you were. He figured you didn't want anyone else hearing your conversation so he dipped his head lower towards your ear. 

"What about?" 

"About me," You glanced up at him then, causing his heart to almost leap out of his chest. He'd never been close like this. Close enough to speak in hushed tones, sure, but never enough to see the details in your irises, the individual lashes that brushed against your cheeks when you blinked. "Do you agree that I'm some - some mad woman to not be married? To not have a husband to do the ruling while I give him heirs?" 

"Well," he started, testing the waters and giving your fingers a gentle squeeze, "I guess that depends on why you have yet to wed someone." 

You were silent at that as you refused to look away, but you squoze his fingers back, gripping his hand as you pulled it closer to you. 

He wanted to pull away from you, surely this close proximity would bring more talk about you to the other royals. Someone of your standing shouldn't be this close to him, holding his hand, noses almost touching. 

Yet, here you were. 

"I fear someone may already have my heart," You stated, glancing between his eyes. A pit formed in his chest and he had to ignore the ache as he steadied his breathing. 

Of course you had your eye on someone. With as many potential suitors as you had, how could you not already have a certain person in mind? But that left the question - why hadn't you wed them yet? Surely, whoever had caught your eye would be pleased to wed you. Who wouldn't was the better question. 

"Why haven't you wed them yet, your grace?" He gruffly asked, swallowing down the sudden surge of emotion in his throat. He was your personal knight - he couldn't let something like this break him down. Especially when you were not within your own palace walls. He had to remain calm and collected, at least until you retired for the evening. Then he could let the cracks spread until morning. 

You tipped your head down to look at his chest as you placed your free hand over the armor there, your nails gently tapping against the metal. "That's a sensitive conversation that shouldn't be held outside of our home walls, don't you think?" 

You looked back up at him, almost craning your neck with your proximity. He nodded, dazed at how your voice sounded when you said 'our home.' It wasn't the first time you'd referred to it like that, you did both live there. But there was something about the way your voice lightened when you said it. Like it was lifting a weight off your chest saying you wanted to tell him your secret. And though he may not be ready to hear who'd stolen your affections, a sense of pride filled him. You trusted him enough to tell him this secret of yours. 

And even if he wasn't ready to hear it, he'd protect that secret with his life if need be. Because it'd be for you.

He nodded, muttering a word of agreement and you smiled, but it lingered longer than usual. The corners of your mouth stayed lifted as you pried your gaze from his and released his hand, turning back to the path. You took a couple steps away before looking back over your shoulder at him, your smile ever-present. 

"Let us go home, shall we?" You asked. 

He shoved his nerves down as far as they'd go, steeling himself in preparation for your secret, and nodded once.

"Yes, your grace." He stepped away from the pond to follow you to the waiting carriage. 

He knew the time would come when you'd find a proper suitor, he couldn't expect you to stay unwed forever. 

He just didn't expect it to hurt as much as it did.