Latest Posts by erinallene - Page 3

“Life is funny. If you don’t laugh, you’re in trouble.” -Taylor Hawkins

This one hurts and it’s going to take awhile to get past.

Sebastian Stan at the Vanity Fair

Where Broken Hearts go to Heal (2/?)

Pairings: collegehockeycoach! Andy Barber x female college sweetheart reader

Warnings: college sweethearts, the one that got away, soulmates, angst, sad Andy, explicit sexual content- unprotected sex- a lot of it, explicit language (must be 18+)

Word Count: ~2.5K

A/N: for some reason, this one’s got me nervous. Please be gentle.

Not beta read. All mistakes are my own ❤️

Coach B x his sweetheart

Lucky Charms: hockey AU

"And he didn't realize he was printing the entire textbook..." you smiled as Andy returned to the back booth at your old watering hole, handing you a beer before he slid in next to you.

You had politely accepted when his captain's offered to buy you a drink, and Andy? Well he begrudgingly accompanied you.

"Alright" Andy smiled affectionately at you, "that's enough story telling" he said, playfully, but the low timbre of his voice made you shiver slightly, stomach fluttering with butterflies when he wrapped an arm around you, tugging you a little closer to him.

"Come on, Coach B" Steve smiled from ear-to-ear, watching as a few drinks helped you and Andy fall so comfortably back into old habits, "sounds like you were quite the Casanova."

"Takes one to know one” Ari laughed.

"You're one to talk, Levs" Steve smirked, "you could get more tail than me if ya weren't hung up on your best friend" he jabbed innocently before turning his attention back to you.

"So come on, Coach B's college sweetheart..." Steve continued, as Andy let out a heavy exhale accompanied by his signature frown.

You smiled at the young man sitting across from you, nodding for Steve to continue while you discretely ran your knuckles down the length of Andy's thigh- something you used to do to soothe him. Andy's gaze dipped to your face, smiling affectionately to himself as he leaned into that familiar reassuring touch.

"Did Coach B get a lot of ladies?" Steve asked as Ari rolled his eyes at his fellow captain's intrusive question.

"He did" you bit back your smile as Andy grumbled something under his breath, rolling his eyes while taking a long swig of his beer.

"I knew it" Steve laughed, "I told you he was a ladie's man... didn't I, Levs?" Steve goaded, clapping Ari on the back as he signaled the bartender for another round.

"Until I met y/n" Andy clarified, reluctantly joining the conversation. Never one to share much of his personal life with his athletes.

"And the 400 page textbook?" Ari asked, smiling softly at you from across the booth as you felt a heat wash over your face.

"You really just told them our whole story?" Andy teased you, his arm dipping behind your back to find purchase at the soft curve of your hip, "how long was I at the bar?" he murmured against your ear.

"Not our whole story..." you smiled, leaning into him with a carefree laugh while Andy tucked you into his side, "just our meet-cute."

Andy shook his head letting out an exaggerated exhale as he listened to you tell the story of how you met. Andy's chest bloomed, warming his tender heart, watching you with a sadness in his eyes. A sadness for everything he had missed. Everything he had wanted so badly but was too stupid or too young to know how to hold on to…

"That was fun" you smiled up at him, shivering before he reached around you, tucking you into his wool coat with him as you left the bar a little over an hour later.

"Come on, sweetheart" Andy smiled, "let me drive you home."

"I'll just call a rideshare" you said, pressing your hand to his chest to steady yourself as you stopped.

There was a quiet beat where you just stared at each other before you both broke with fond giggles.

"You... wanna get some coffee?" Andy asked, hopeful that he could stretch the night out a little longer.

"Um... it's kinda getting late" you smiled, looking at your phone, "you sure you don't need to get home for the alumni event tomorrow?"

"I'm OK" Andy said and you smiled, agreeing to coffee as he helped you to his car.

Instead of going to a cafe or coffee shop you both decided Andy's place would be a better fit if you didn't want to be surrounded by college kids.

As Andy pulled into his garage you smiled at the hockey gear and skates hanging neatly on hooks along the garage wall.

Andy cut the engine, getting out of his car and quickly making it to your side to help you out. When you got inside he shrugged off his coat and hung his keys on a set of hooks just below a large mirror.

Andy's place was nice. After toeing off your shoes you walked around in your stocking feet admiring his living room while Andy busied himself with the coffee maker in the kitchen.

Andy's place felt like a home. It was warm and inviting, yet neat and orderly- just how you remembered him.

"I really like your place" you called to him.

"Thanks... it's too big for just me" Andy called back from the kitchen, "you want some cookies or something?"

"Sure" you smiled, remembering Andy's sweet tooth, fondly.

Your fingers danced along his bookshelves, reading jacket covers and smiling at a few framed photos of Andy's hockey team after college. Playing professional hockey across seas. Andy had played in several other countries, hoping his time would come to play for the NHL. He made it as far as a taxi squad but didn't make it on the official roster. Ending his hockey playing career about 9 years after college.

You heard Andy behind you before he said anything, quietly taking his place at your side as he watched you look at all the old photos. He had discarded his suit coat and his tie, his shirt unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up casually.

"You really did it" you said, smiling softly at a moment frozen in time that had shattered your entire heart all those years ago.

"I did" Andy said, but he wasn't even looking at the photo you were talking about, too busy studying your face for a reaction.

Truth be told- that moment in your life had crushed your soul. Andy's too. He loved the game too much to say goodbye. So instead, he said goodbye to you. And it was the biggest mistake of his life.

Andy didn't even realize he was holding his breath until you shot him a soft nervous smile. All of this a little heavy for the first time seeing each other in some five years.

"I'm happy for you, Andy" you broke the silence, glancing back at the photos, "you really got everything you wanted."

"No, I didn't" he scoffed, eyes watery as he frowned at the photo frames with contempt, "I lost everything that actually mattered to me... I lost you" he blinked back his tears, looking down at you quickly before turning away and clearing his throat with a cough.

You didn't know what to say. There was a part of your heart that would belong to Andy forever. But could it really be that easy? Move back to town and just pick up where you had left off?

Andy had his hands on his hips- a stance you were familiar with whenever he was upset or gathering his thoughts.

"Andy?" you tried, but he didn't say anything. You saw his shoulders rise and fall with a deep exhale. The weight of both your broken hearts his burden to bear.

You took a steadying breath before taking a step towards him, your heart hammering in your chest as you reached out, tugging his hand from his hip and lacing your fingers together. Andy looked down letting you pull him gently until he was facing you and your palms were touching.

"Andy?" you tried again, looking up at the one that got away. His eyelids fluttered shut, unable to meet your gaze as tears spilled silently down his cheeks. You reached up to swipe a tear with the pad of your thumb, "I'm here" you whispered, fighting back your own tears.

Andy's lips were on yours before you knew what was happening. A surprised squeak escaped you as he groaned into the kiss, his brows furrowed, pressing his forehead to yours and breaking the kiss just as quickly as it started.

"Hey..." you whispered breathlessly, head swimming with the touch of Andy Barber’s lips on yours, unable to contain the smile that broke so wide across your face, it was painful.

Andy's hands were at your waist, eyes screwed shut as if he couldn't bring himself to look at you. The pain of losing all those years hurt too damn much.

"Andy... look at me" you said, reaching up and framing his face gently as you angled his gaze to yours.

You let your fingers rake through his beard, tiptoeing up and pressing your soft lips to the deep crease set between his eyebrows.

A chocked sob escaped Andy's throat before he crashed his lips to your again, lifting you clear off the floor and helping you wrap your legs around his waist.

You were both crying, gasping softly when Andy  licked into your mouth, tasting you with a deep groan. The air punched from your lungs when your back hit the nearest wall and Andy murmured a watery apology against your lips.

You could feel the steely length of him pressed against where you needed him most as you rocked your hips into him, arms wrapped around his neck as you pressed into his chest.

"Sweetheart... you sure about this?" Andy's question came as a grunt against your lips.

"Yes... fuck, yes" you moaned, "please, Andy... fuck... I need to feel you" you moaned, mindlessly and Andy dropped you to your feet without another word. He worked quickly, stripping you out of your leggings and panties and throwing them aside. You made quick work of Andy's belt, letting his pants slide over his narrow waist and to the floor as he finished the buttons of his shirt, adding it to the pile of clothes at your feet.

Andy kicked his pants off, kneeling before you could pull him in for another kiss. He lifted his jersey, pressing his warm lips to your belly before kissing down to your mound. You were trembling as you opened up for him, fingers combing through his hair when he nuzzled into you, a firm kiss to your clit, breathing in the familiar scent of you.

"Fuck" he rasped, pressing another kiss to your clit as you gasped, tugging at the roots of his hair when he licked up the cut of you.

"Fuck" he groaned again, "I missed your taste, sweetheart" his tongue fucking into your quivering hole and pulling a keen from the back of your throat.

It didn't take long until your first orgasm was smeared across Andy's beard, trembling as he pulled his jersey and your bra up over your head so he could kiss his way back up your body. When he got to your lips, he pressed you into the wall with a possessive, toe curling kiss, only breaking it to chain kisses down the column of your neck.

"Please, Andy" you whimpered, fingers tangling in his dark chest hair before running down his chiseled lean body, tracing the trail of hair that disappeared below his waistband. When you dipped your hand into his boxers, fisting his thick weeping cock, Andy hissed.

He pulled his boxers down, freeing his cock as you stroked him with one hand, taking a handful of his firm ass in the other.

Catching the back of your thighs and lifting you up his body, your back bowed into him when you felt his swollen head catch at your fluttering entrance. Andy held the base of his cock, pulling away enough to watch you as he slowly pushed every throbbing inch into your wanting hole.

"Oh, god" you moaned, bottoming out as your cunt hugged him impossibly tight. The familiar stretch felt like home as he let you adjust.

"You keep making those pretty sounds and I'm not gonna last very long, sweetheart" Andy grunted hot against your ear as he pulled out, slamming back into you with a heady groan.

His pace was relentless, making up for lost time as he took back every lost orgasm. Fucking you through 2 more orgasms against the wall until you both ended up on the floor, pliant and panting against his glistening chest.

"Fuck... y/n..." he chuckled, your bodies still connected as you listened to his heartbeat, straddling him, "haven't fucked like that since… college..."

"I really hope you're referring to me" you smirked, sitting up and pushing up on your knees to press a kiss to his lips.

"Of course I'm referring to you" his laugh was warm as you sat back on his cock, his words dying in a grunt when your pussy choked the long length of him.

"You trying to kill me, sweetheart?" he smirked up at you, "not as young as I used to be..."

"You look like you're in pretty good shape to me" you goaded, your knees pressed into the rug, palms on his chest as you began rocking your hips over him faster.

"Oh, god... I could get used to this" you moaned, one hand running up your body to pinch at your nipple while bringing your other hand to your clit, fingers rubbing tight circles as the knot in your belly began to fray.

"You better" Andy groaned, shifting on the rug until his feet were flat on the floor, you whimpered when he gripped bruises into your hips and slammed up into you.

"Please..." you whined, holding on to Andy's waist, the knot fraying with each snap of his hips until his thrusts started to falter.

"Christ... oh fuck... fuck" Andy grunted, flipping you onto your back as he thrust impossibly deep and stilled, balls drawing into him as he painted your insides with his hot release while you trembled around him. His release bringing on yours as you moaned his name, Andy working you blissfully through your orgasm before he collapsed, fully sated, on your chest.

Your eyelids fluttered, heavy as you fought to open them, body feeling deliciously sore when your mind finally registered that Andy was carrying you, cradled to his chest, up the stairs to his bedroom. You felt the bed dip as he lowered you onto the soft mattress.

"Andy?" you whimpered when he left, going to his en-suite and returning with a washcloth to clean you up before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"What time is it?" you whispered into the dark.

"It's late, sweetheart" he said, climbing into bed next to you, "sleep" he urged, softly.

"You don't mind if I stay?" you asked, no real intent of leaving the warmth of his chest ever again.

"Fuck... I never want you to leave" he sighed, happy for the first time in a really long time as he drifted into a peaceful sleep. Finding his home again after all these years.

The hockey dividers were made by the lovely and talented @firefly-graphics ❤️

This is the original Coach B from my Lucky Charms: hockey AU even though someone tried to plagiarize it. Thanks for supporting original fanfic content ❤️

As always, thank you for all the love and support. Please check out my archive blog where I only post new fics @drabblewithfrannybarnesfics ❤️

✨Sebastian Stan manspreading appreciation post✨

DAREDEVIL 1.13 | ’DAREDEVIL’

SEBASTIAN STAN Flaunt Magazine The Phone a Friend Issue (March 2022)

'til the morning comes (6/?)

steve rogers x reader (fluff and angst)

summary: you need to get some air, and see some friends.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: mentions of the death of a father, super vague mentions of MCU-typical violence/terrorism

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 7) (series masterlist)

 “Trouble in paradise?” Helen peers above her sunglasses, frowning.

 “What?” As if you hadn’t spent ten minutes inside the hotel bathroom washing your face with cold water, minimizing its puffiness. “No.”

 “I just thought your hot-shit husband would be the one driving you around,” she explains while you buckle your seatbelt. “He seemed really excited to pick you up last night.”

 Back then, you had expected a text to light up your phone at eleven o’clock, followed by excusing yourself from the bar. But Steve actually found you and walked to the rental car. He greeted your friends charmingly, shaking hands and joking about the late hour, but mostly he ushered you out the door to kiss you again. And again and again—

 “We’re not married,” you mutter.

 “Like, really excited.” She elbows your ribs. "Did you have sex?"

 You roll your eyes. “Can I not just wanna see my best friend?”

 Helen removes her sunglasses in time for you to spot her side-eye. “Not when she’s hungover, and late to work.” She exits the roundabout driveway and starts toward the Fairmont. “Honestly, a school night. You’ve changed.”

 At least these drinks celebrated an accomplishment. Once, you went with Joaquín because a student vomited on your favorite patterned dress and her mom had shamed you for failing to nurse her precious daughter back to health. Still, Helen’s chastisement—no matter how lighthearted—makes you squirm. “I missed you,” you tell her, “Doesn’t that count for something?”

 She checks her mirrors. “How was your art thing?”

 You haven’t given her an update yet. Your friend group had agreed to a No Work Talk policy on nights out. Though, the art festival never felt like work—so unlike the long days you spent prancing around Steve’s office, providing help where it probably wasn’t strictly needed. The event meant something to you. And to Steve, who apparently hid his creative talents from you.

 Paling in comparison to what you hid from him.

 “It was fun,” you say honestly. “It was… everything.”

 Helen gives you a sidelong look. “You don’t sound enthused.”

 You cross your arms. The festival should spark a dozen happy memories: a triumphant return to the elementary school you loved, to doing what you do best. Plus, a definite win for the campaign, the entire night brimming with your favorite people.

 Maybe twenty year’s time will allow you to forget all the bad that happened after. “I wish I could stay longer.”

 “Shut up,” Helen laughs. “I’ve never seen you so happy.”

 Your face warms, because No Work Talk inevitably meant Steve Talk. Your futile attempts to discuss Joaquín’s abrupt switch to kindergarten or Helen’s new roommate or Dane and Sersi’s next vacation all failed to overshadow the rapid questions regarding your fiancé.

 You answered them like a lovesick schoolgirl, the corners of your lips lifting as you pictured him, especially his slightly mussed hair when you reluctantly left the heat of your first real kiss.

 Now, thoughts of Steve turn sour. Nails scraped across his scalp out of frustration rather than passion. His height towering over you. The room filled with his anger, floor to ceiling.

 He made you feel small. Maybe you are, or maybe you should be.

 “It was fun while it lasted.”

 Helen interprets your shift in tone as your mind shifting to Shangqi, and the spirit inside her car lessens. Jerking a thumb toward the backseat, she explains, “I have two things of pajeon. One for him, one for Xialing.”

 You squint at the truly giant containers, crammed with steamed-up food and strapped into each seat. “You cooked?”

 Helen huffs, pulling into the Fairmont’s driveway. “Well, I bought it and then lovingly transferred it to a different container, creating the illusion that I can cook.”

 Apparently, no amount of misery can ever overpower Helen making you laugh. “You’re ridiculous.” You gently dismiss the valet driver as you unbuckle the comfort food.

 Helen doesn’t return your smile, mocking seriousness. “You realize how much takeout I eat now that you’re gone?”

 “Thanks for the ride.” You haphazardly balance the Tupperware against your torso while shutting the door. “Y'know, I can send you my recipes.”

 “Too much work.”

 “For one of the smartest people I know, you’re awful at following directions.”

 “Hey.” Helen stretches across the console. “Double checking. You sure you’re okay?”

 She needs to get to her lab. “Yeah,” you lie. “Love you.”

 “Love you.”

 You weave effortlessly through the bustle inside the Fairmont. Enough red-vested employees give you vague nods of recognition that you sneak inside the staff break room without arousing too much suspicion. There, you find Shangqi poking a vending machine, his crisp white sleeves folded to his elbows.

 “Hi,” you whisper. Then, you realize the room is empty.

 He tilts his head affectionately, flipping his soda can. “Hey, Mrs. President.”

 You wrinkle your nose, bashful at the stupid nickname. “Um…” You shove the pajeon toward him. “Helen sends her love to you and Xialing.”

 Shangqi hums. Then, he lifts the plastic from your hands, stifling any of your weak objections with a tight embrace. You shove your nose into the scratchy material of his uniform, which smells like the inside of a new car mixed with crisp laundry detergent. Reminiscent of home—or what home used to be. You mold yourself to his solid, secure body.

 You’re already sniffling. “Why didn’t you take the day off?”

 He sits at a small round table, cracking open his soda and poking the giant mass of food now in his possession. “Already, with the patronizing.”

 You fold your arms. “Sorry. I know.”

 “Maybe parking cars helps me process my emotions," he chuckles, while motioning you to grab a chair. “The lack of tips is a metaphor for my grief.”

 You place a hand over his, letting one finger trace the bumps along his scarred knuckles. “Shangqi,” you start again, “I’m really sorry.”

 He drinks his soda, his mouth forming a thin line. “It was unexpected but… bound to happen.”

 Thankfully, no foul play. His father passed in his sleep, an oddly peaceful death for such a violent person.

 Although, that side of Wenwu never revealed itself to you. Shangqi and Xialing openly disdained him, and although their tension thickened the air of his cold home, you mostly remembered an old, kind man who made you tea and inquired about your career.

 A nice girl, Shangqi relayed to you later, lightly mimicking his father’s accent.

 The nicest, you replied smugly.

 “Is there anything I can do to help?” You feel stupid asking the question, especially with the hours counting down before your flight back to New York.

 His smile returns, barely detectable, and he interlocks your fingers briefly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

 “Bothering you during your lunch break?” you tease, but your grimace keeps the mood dampened.

 He smacks the plastic lid. “I get to eat scallion pancakes for the next two weeks, thanks to you.”

 “Are you sure you’re okay?” Asking a second time usually earns you a real answer.

 Shangqi softens at your concern. “I don’t know. It’s my dad.”

 “He was intense,” you agree.

 “Not exactly the most healthy relationship I’ve ever had.”

 You bite the inside of your lip. The crack in his voice transports you back to the nights you spent at his place, the rare ones when he opened up about Wenwu. Even underneath the cover of darkness, you struggled to look Shangqi in the eye as he talked through the trauma of living under the Ten Rings’ oppressive shadow. A past he rejected without hesitation, favoring a cramped studio apartment and a low-paying job heavy with entitled customers. Something simple and uncomplicated, far from family.

 Still, you listened, both to his stories and to his heart beating steadily against your cheek, pretending—mostly for your own sanity—that throwing a leg over him and tracing patterns on his chest could protect him from the worst of it, and lull him into a sleep where thunderous nightmares wouldn't jerk him awake.

 “You’re the only one of my girlfriends to meet him.” He clears his throat, eyes going glassy at the realization. “Actually, you’ll be the only one to ever meet him.”

 “Well, I’m lucky then.”

 “You don’t have to lie,” he says bitterly. “He did some terrible things.”

 Six months into your relationship, you accepted Shangqi’s first—and extremely hesitant—dinner invitation to meet his father.

 You owed him. While your personal challenges could never eclipse his, he supported you, through frazzled weekend lesson-planning and long nights. Shangqi drove you to half a dozen art stores to find the best deal, kissed your shoulder when you cried, offered to beat up your administration when you texted him about losing your job.

 No, you didn’t owe him; it wasn’t an obligation. Rather, a privilege. To have a little bit of his pain be yours.

 “That doesn’t change the fact that he’s your father, and a part of who you are.” You nod decisively. “I got to be a part of that.”

 He sighs, a brief and shaky thing. “Thanks.”

 “But I…” You wipe away a tear. “I can’t go to the funeral.”

 “That’s alright. You’re busy.”

 The quickness of that response makes you wince. “I’m sorry, I tried, but I’m not—”

 “Hey." Shangqi takes your hand again. “S’okay.”

 “I should have answered my phone last night,” you choke out.

 “I didn’t even think you were in the city.” He shrugs. “Honestly, I kinda expected you to be asleep on the east coast.”

 You scoff. You would have preferred that. Instead, guilt calcifies inside your stomach.

 Mere months ago, you wouldn’t have so idly dismissed his name flashing on your screen. He seldom called you—never twice in a row. But you were too distracted by your friends, the drinks you shared with them, the prospect of spending the rest of that night with Steve. While you and Shanqi ended on good terms and you’d never purposely ignore him, maybe deep down you rebuffed even the possibility of something sidetracking your perfect night.

 Fucking selfish.

 “I just wanted to hear your voice,” he confesses. “I didn’t expect any more from you.”

 You shake your head, refusing his conjured-up excuses for your behavior. “I should have called back. I would’ve wanted to be there for you.”

 “You’re here now,” he urges. “Even if you are taking up my lunch break.”

 With a cheeky wink, Shangqi grabs a plate and two forks from the miniature kitchen counter. He cracks open the top container, carefully transferring a pancake and cutting it in half.

 The moment strikes you as alarmingly familiar: yet another one of the hundred meals you’ve shared, yet another time you’ve arrived with food to break up the monotony of his day. In fact, you could both name the exact Korean place where Helen got these pancakes. And if you thought about it, you could probably recite Shangqi’s regular order back to him.

 Earlier today, as you pushed through the hotel doors, the muffled yet cheery beat of Helen’s favorite pop music reached your ears, immediately relieving the burns in your heart after leaving your fiancé speechless on the hotel room floor.

 You suck in a deep breath. It’s been so long since you’ve felt at ease, among friends, your love mutual and long-lasting.

 It’ll never be this way with Steve. The realization crushes you a little.

 “I have to ask about your new guy,” Shangqi remark, offering you a sip of his drink.

 “No, you really don’t,” you mumble.

 “That happened quickly.”

 “Only because—” He wouldn’t believe the truth, if you could tell him. And if he did believe you, he’d pity you. “We should talk about you and your dad.”

 “C’mon.” He leans backward, satisfied with how flustered you seem. “Take my mind off things. Are you with him ‘cause of his money and looks? Be honest.”

 “No, Steve, he’s…”

 “He’s rich and attractive,” Shangqi supplies.

 “He’s… good to me.”

 Most of the time.

 “A very glowing review,” he says, every word drawn out in suspicion. “Not surprised though, I’d trust a politician as far as I can throw him.”

 You laugh. Steve is kinda strong, but Shangqi has mastered, like, every martial art under the sun. It wouldn’t even be a fair match. “You could throw him pretty far, I think.”

 “Not far enough.”

 You can’t finish your food with the funny feeling sloshing inside your gut. “He’s different, sometimes.”

 “Sometimes,” Shangqi repeats sadly. There’s the pity.

 “He won’t let me go to the funeral.”

 “Won’t let you?” Shangqi leans forward, his strong forearms bracing the table, the pale scars on his knuckles flexing.

 You hate this subtle macho display just like you hated Steve’s yelling. It’s not cute, this overprotectiveness, and you wish they would think to comfort you instead. “Most people don’t know, right?” you ask, deflecting. “That your dad was behind all that stuff. They've just heard of the Mandarin.”

 After a pause, he nods gravely, sitting back in his chair. “When it comes to Wenwu, most people just see a very rich and powerful man, with two kids who hated him.” His jaw ticks. “But most people doesn’t mean all people.”

 You wring your hands. “You’re right.”

 “I think your senator made the right call.” You catch the derogatory tone on Steve’s title, yet he doesn’t apply it to yours: “Future First Ladies of the United States shouldn’t be seen at a crime lord’s funeral, no matter how innocent it may seem.”

 You push your half-eaten pajeon toward him. “Yeah.”

 “I’m not voting for him though. Seems like an asshole.”

 A laugh, a real one. “That’s okay.”

 Win or lose, you don’t care. You just wanna get through this, whatever it takes.

 “Is this what you want, with him?”

 You blink. “Is it okay to say that I don’t know?”

 “You don’t have to ask if it’s okay.” Shangqi considers you for a long moment before picking at your food. “Whatever happens, you can always come home.”

— — —

masterlist

#HE’S MESSY SEBASTIAN STAN as Bucky Barnes in THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER (2021) — Created by Malcolm Spellman

Navy! Stud knocking on the door to wake up Smartie from the alarm is so cute. What about when they're dating? 😏

I'm glad you think so, nonnie! And Bucky has ways to wake you up.

Sleeping Arrangements

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You insist on sleeping in your room, but Bucky likes a challenge. Word Count: Over 1.5k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, oral sex (f. receiving), slight dirty talk, slight praise, swearing, implied unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), established relationship, roommate!Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?). A/N: Lovelies, I promise I will actually write how Stud and Smartie get together, but I couldn't pass this up. Partially inspired by a chat with @lookiamtrying (thank you!!!). Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Banners by @vase-of-lilies. and divider by @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Please reblog or comment as it means the world!

It was your idea to keep your separate bedrooms once the two of you started dating. It was a way to maintain boundaries and a small sense of independence since you shared a living space. You didn’t always sleep alone. Some nights he slept in your room and vice versa. It was a good system.

Not that Bucky made it easy. He never did when it involved him wanting you. And you made the mistake of looking back last night as you went toward your bedroom door. You knew better and you did it anyway. All 6’3 of him with his messy hair and beefy frame bathed in the moonlight from the window was staring back at you and pouting. It didn't help that the sexy menace was only in his underwear.

And that your panties were wet just from his gaze.

"My bed is much warmer, Smartie, and I’ll get lonely."

Don’t give in. Admittedly, you always slept a bit better when he was beside you. Even though you were soaked as he slowly sauntered toward you, part of you said to stand your ground with the rules you set. Bucky made it fun to break them, but you would not let your body overrule your will tonight.

“I’m sleeping in my room,” you proudly managed to say, pressing your thighs together as if to silence your weeping pussy. Get it together. “And if you really get lonely, you can wake me up early.”

Bucky hummed as he stopped in front of you, grasping your chin. He smiled as you looked into your eyes and you swore your heart stopped. A second passed before he covered your lips with his, using his other hand to pull you closer by the small of your back. He worked his mouth against yours, spreading desire from your chest down between your thighs. How he managed to always kiss you breathless, you had no idea.

He took his time to pull away, his thumb brushing your trembling lip as he gazed at you. The look of affection in his eyes made you feel cherished and safe. You were proud your legs didn’t give out when he took a step back, his hands dropping to his sides. He spun around without another word and walked toward his door, only stopping when you began to follow him. The smug smirk on his face only turned you on more when he glanced over his shoulder. “Your bedroom is that way. Sweet dreams.”

“I beg your pardon?” was what came out because he wouldn’t really make you sleep alone after that, would he?

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he winked before he went into his room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

You tapped your finger against your thigh, trying to figure out how he turned this around on you. “Well. Fuck,” you said indignantly. You couldn’t be too annoyed with him since you set the rule, but he wasn’t playing fair. I don’t have to either. Smiling, you crept to his door, peeled your underwear off and hung it from the doorknob. Your boyfriend could be a light sleeper and sometimes got up in the middle of the night. So a gift wouldn't hurt.

At least he doesn’t have to steal this pair.

You weren't exactly sure what time it was when you began to wake up, but you knew it was early from the lack of light coming in from the blinds. You hadn't even hit "snooze" on your first alarm. What you did know was that your legs were spread wide on your bed to accommodate the size of your boyfriend, who had already pushed his shirt up around your waist. When you actually wore something to bed, it was always something of his.

And you hadn't bothered to put on a new pair of underwear.

"Was kind of hoping you’d sneak into my room, but I should’ve known better after that stunt I pulled. Was also hoping I’d have my tongue buried in you before you stirred,” Bucky said when you tried to sit up. "Found your little gift, by the way. Could still smell how wet you were.”

“Your fault. You always get me wet,” you argued, blindly reaching for his hair as his breath ghosted over your folds.

“And you always get me hard, so all’s fair, doll,” he said with a drag of his tongue. “Did you have sweet dreams? You must have since you're still wet."

You lost your train of thought for a moment, a soft noise coming out as he brushed his nose against your bundle of nerves. "Yes," you whined as your head tipped back, feeling his grip tighten on your thighs to keep you in place. This is exactly how my dream started and it better end with his cock in me.

“Dream of me?” he asked and you felt him smirk as his mouth wrapped around your clit.

“Fuck, yes!” you shouted impressively considering he just woke you up. Part of you wondered if your neighbors heard you. If he was buried between their thighs, which will never happen, they’d be screaming, too.

“Dreamt about you, too. Woke up aching. I can’t get enough of you,” he groaned as he went back to licking your folds. "Fuck, always so sweet for me. Just lay back and let me keep tasting you."

Tugging a little on his hair in response, you gasped when his metal hand moved under your shirt. Your nipple was taut before he touched it, gently grazing it as he groped your breast. You wished you could see his hot gaze as you arched your back, but you knew you'd see ecstasy in his eyes after he got you off.

His tongue flicked over your clit again as he moaned, like he had all the time in the world to work you over. "You should just sleep in my bed. Let me wake you with my tongue and cock before you start your day. Love tasting you in my mouth before I go to work. Best breakfast I've ever had."

The breathless sounds you made blended together beautifully with his words, that familiar spark felt deep in your core when he suddenly pushed his tongue in deep. "Bucky, there! Please!"

He sighed as pulled out, making you whine. "You know what to call me," he reminded you, the touch of his teeth against your inner thigh making you tremble. "Just say it once."

"Stud, please," you begged. The nickname should've sounded ridiculous like this, but Bucky loved hearing it because you were the one saying it.

“Good girl.”

"Fuck!" you cried when he plunged his tongue back in, licking your walls like he wanted to taste every drop of your essence. The hand that occupied your breast moved to your stomach, keeping you as still as he could. Your legs began to shake as you teetered on the edge of your orgasm before he stopped. "Bucky!"

Your boyfriend simply slipped his tongue out again, the pool of heat in your gut still there. "You're sleeping in my bed tonight," he told you. It wasn't a question.

"Oh, my God! Fine! I will sleep in your bed tonight,” you groaned as he chuckled happily. I might smother him with a pillow. “Just get your tongue back in me before I-"

"I know what you need, Smartie. Let me give it to you."

You almost lost it completely when he did so, adding two fingers. He didn't thrust deep until he knew the stretch wouldn't hurt. How is he still gentle as he devours me? You tried to push your hips closer, needing a little more fiction so you could let go.

"Come for me. Scream my name. Wake the neighbors. I don't give a fuck. Not when you taste this good."

The deep, dark command of his voice as he flicked his tongue once more made the coil finally snap. Your body exploded with your orgasm, screaming and sobbing his name as he worked you through it. Your walls continued to clench as his tongue and fingers slowed, lifting his head to watch. “Fucking beautiful,” you heard, your eyes half open as the world around you stopped spinning.

Bucky crawled over your body and you could make out a bit just how dark his eyes were before he kissed you. The mess you made on his tongue was put into your mouth as he licked into it, drawing another moan from you. That sound stretched on when you felt his hard cock trapped between your bodies.

“Morning,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Morning,” you replied, still catching your breath. “It’s early.”

“It is,” he agreed, dragging his lips to your nose. “We should go to bed early tonight.”

“Yes, we should.”

“And since you’re sleeping in my bed tonight,” he began triumphantly. “You should sleep in my room tomorrow night, too.”

Nice try. “No,” you smiled.

Bucky glanced quickly at your phone before he looked down at you. “I think I can convince you. But right now let’s see how many times I can fill you up before your first alarm goes off.”

*****

More from Stud and Smartie soon. Love and thanks!

undrunk

summary: your friends with benefits situation with bucky takes a turn that could break your heart

pairing: frat!bucky x reader

word count: 3.6k

warnings: explicit language, consumption of alcohol, implied smut, mention of previous cheating (not bucky), reader may have a slight drinking problem, bad rebounds, one (1) game of spin the bottle, bucky is kind of a dick but also reader is kind of crazy, slightly toxic but it works out in the end, like the tiniest bit of fluff (if you squint). loosely based on undrunk by fletcher

a/n: here she is, the long awaited frat!bucky. i hope this was worth the wait, and everyone enjoys the happy ending i tried to do. if you like this please make sure to reblog and comment - i appreciate every single one!!

main masterlist ─ i no longer have a taglist but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary and turn on notifications for fic updates!

You were woken up by the click of your bedroom closing, and the soft sound of padded feet through your hallway and out the front door. You squeezed your eyes tight, willing the tears not to come as you rolled over and checked the time. 5am. At least he was consistent.

It was stupid - you were stupid - to let this happen again. Bucky had broken your heart enough times that you should know better by now. But you never learn.

You guessed you couldn’t really blame him. He had made it clear to you from the very first night that he wasn’t interested in a relationship. That it would only ever be sex. Of course, when you’re half drunk and desperate for him to just fuck you already, you agree to anything. No one could blame you for a one night mistake.

No, the real pain came from the months after. The 1am texts and the secret touches. Because with those came the silly pictures and the late night talks as he laid in your bed. With it came the desperate want for more. Even when you knew it wasn’t possible.

So you laid in bed, staring at the ceiling as the tears streamed down your face, knowing you had no one to blame but yourself.

-

Despite the ache in your chest, there was one thing you could never say no to: a party. Maybe you should learn to stay away from them, considering that’s how you ended up in Bucky’s bed in the first place, but you just couldn’t; there was nothing like the sweet release of drinking your pain away.

At the very least, you could stay away from Bucky’s frat house. Or that’s what you told yourself.

Somehow, though, you ended up in the basement of the Phi Gamma Delta house, even though you specifically told Wanda not to let you anywhere near Fiji tonight. Not after your conversation with Bucky a few days ago.

Not after he had accidentally stayed the night, and you thought it meant more. Not after you had asked him to go to breakfast and he practically sprinted for the door.

But you hadn’t seen him yet, so that was a plus. There was always a chance he had skipped out on the festivities for the night. Maybe he had gone home to Brooklyn for the weekend, or maybe he was upstairs in his room and you could just -

Your thoughts were cut off by the cheers of the group of people around you, and you turned to see Sam in the middle finishing off a handle of vodka. In your experience, that could only mean one thing.

“Let’s play spin the bottle!” Sam shouted as the last burn of the liquor coursed through him. Having no reason to say no, you made room for yourself in the circle and patiently waited your turn.

Sam gave a dramatic look around the room, before spinning the bottle with a twist of his wrist. Everyone watched as the glass slowed, anxious to see who the first person to kiss the frat president would be tonight. To your surprise, the bottle came to a slow stop on you.

You looked up with slightly panicked eyes. Even in your inebriated state, you could recognize that kissing one of Bucky’s brothers probably wasn’t the greatest idea. But then you remembered the look of absolute terror on his face at the mention of more. And Sam was moving across the circle to you, and Steve - Bucky’s best friend - wasn’t saying anything and so you came to the conclusion that you did with most things: fuck it.

When Sam’s warm lips met yours, you felt… nothing. No spark, nothing beyond acknowledging he was a good kisser. It lasted less than 10 seconds before you were pulling away and spinning the bottle yourself.

Which is how you ended up kissing half the people at the party: Peter - everyone’s favorite pledge, Natasha - your chemistry lab partner, and Scott - who you had never met before but was as funny as he was a good kisser, just to name a few.

The game continued until it dwindled down to a handful of people and you switched to another drinking game. One which you were losing terribly and it showed in your glassy eyes and drunken babble.

The last thing you remembered was the feel of strong hands on your hips, the soft plush of a mattress, and an ache between your thighs.

-

A beam of sunlight burned across your face, enunciating the raging headache you had after going to bed without Advil or an acceptable amount of water. You could have sworn you closed your blinds, but figured you must have opened them up at some point during the day before.

It wasn’t until you reached for the bottle of water you usually kept on your nightstand and grasped air instead that you realized you were, in fact, not in your own bed.

You shot up before groaning at the rush of dizziness to your head. Slowly, you blinked until the room came into focus, and assessed the damage of your night.

You were naked, so that wasn’t a good sign. You remembered sloppy kisses and hushed whispers of are you sure? And at least whoever it was was just as drunk as you were, so there was no harm done in your mind.

That was, until you realized who you had spent your drunken night with.

Broad shoulders gave way to a freckled back and narrow waist. The tuft of blond hair was a mess, like he - or you - had run hands through it, a lot. You knew there was no one else you could be, but when he rolled over, his long lashes fluttering awake, it was confirmed.

“Steve?” you hissed, still in shock. “What the fuck happened?”

At the unmistakable sound of your voice, his eyes snapped open, and he nearly fell to the floor.

“Y/N? Fuck, fuck! Bucky is gonna kill me.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” you scoffed, and you wanted to crush the little bit of hope that creeped into your mind. No, he had made it clear there was nothing more than sex between you. But off course he wouldn’t want his best friend to sleep with the same girl. Bro code or whatever.

God, his best friend. This was worse than Sam, who he’d only known a couple of years. This was his other half since they were practically in the womb. You couldn’t have chosen a worse rebound.

Wanting to forget the mess you had just made of your life, you quickly pulled on your clothes while Steve watched with wary eyes, though he didn’t say anything else about Bucky.

“Are you okay?” You heard Steve’s timid voice as you were about to pull open his door. The motherfucker was such a sweetheart, and you couldn’t handle crying on top of everything else right now.

You were so close to just leaving without a word; that would have been easier on everyone. But damn Steven Rogers, so charming without even trying. You walked back to his bed where he had sat watching you, and gave him a quick kiss. It was a thank you and an apology and a let’s never talk about this again all in one, and he seemed to understand.

Pressing your ear to the door, you made sure no one was in the hall before you slipped out of his room. It would be your luck if Bucky was coming out of his room across the hall at the same moment you were leaving his best friend.

Thankfully, the hall was empty, and you couldn’t hear the usual chatter that came from the frat house, so you figured they must all still be sleeping off their hangovers. You pulled out your phone and ordered an Uber, figuring your best bet was to wait outside on the steps for the few minutes it would take to pick you up. You were so engrossed in your phone you didn’t hear the clatter of plates in the kitchen or the abrupt stop of voices.

When you finally reached the bottom of the stairs, you felt eyes on you, and you looked up to see Bucky staring at you from the kitchen.

You couldn’t have predicted how much it would hurt to see his face, even after only a few days. You also couldn’t have expected the gut-wrenching feeling that came with him cooking breakfast… for someone else.

Not just anyone else, Dot, the beautiful redhead from Chi Omega that you had always been insecure about, even before Bucky.

Flashes of walking in on your ex-boyfriend buried between her thighs had you stumbling back, and Bucky could do nothing but watch as you made your way to the front door. You could even hear the snicker of Dot’s voice just before you slammed the door shut behind you.

-

The great thing about having your own apartment is you could get wine drunk every night of the week and no one was there to judge you for it.

So every night for the next week, you poured yourself a glass before you started on your homework, and were happily tipsy by the time you took a shower and fell into bed. Some may call it a problem, but they weren’t around to know.

You got so used to the feeling that by the time Thursday night rolled around and you had nothing to do but drink, you went a little overboard.

After the first glass you didn’t even bother with any etiquette, instead drinking straight from the bottle until it was empty and you were hungry. You started a pot to boil while you uncorked another bottle, and had half of that down by the time your pasta was ready to be cooked. Trying to maneuver a pot of boiling water proved to be difficult with a bottle of wine in one hand, so you tried to set it down to give yourself room to work, but ended up knocking the handle of the pot, spilling hot water across your arm in the process.

Though it stung, your pride was the thing that took the most damage as you pressed a cold washcloth to your forearm. You slid down to sit on the tiled floor, bringing the bottle with you, and only when you drained the last of the liquid did you allow yourself to feel your emotions.

It started off with silent tears, hurt from the shards of your heart, and gradually your drunken mind spiraled until all you could feel was seething anger at the way Bucky had treated you.

How were you not supposed to catch feelings after Bucky was in your bed practically every weekend?

There were even nights where he came over just to study - although you supposed those always ended in hookups too. But he called you beautiful as he pushed into you, brushing your hair from your face and leaving delicate kisses across your flesh. He made you feel more than any other reoccurring hookup. You couldn’t believe you were the only one who felt the spark that always buzzed beneath the surface of your relationship.

Letting your anger and uninhibited brain fuel you, you grasped for your phone, dialing the number you now knew by heart.

The line rang once, twice, before he picked up, and at first all you could hear was the chatter of other people. He yelled something, muffled by his hand over the speaker, before you heard the sound of a door shutting and he finally spoke.

“Hello? Y/N?” He sounded relatively sober, which did not bode well for you. It was a lot harder to argue with someone when they weren’t as drunk as you were - and that’s exactly what you were looking for.

“James Barnes, you motherfucker.” You tried to sound confident and put together, but the tell-tale of slur coated your words. “You fucking suck, dude.”

“Why are you calling me?” You could hear the agitation in his words, and that made you even angrier.

“To tell you that you’re the fucking worst, James. You need to know that. I need you to know that.”

“God, Y/N, how drunk are you?”

“I’m not -” you hiccupped, giving yourself away even more. “I’m not drunk. You’re drunk.”

“No, I’m not the one that’s wasted on a Thursday night. Jesus.” Surprisingly, you couldn’t hear any judgment in his tone - just disappointment. And maybe that hurt worse. What right did he have to be disappointed in you? You weren’t his anything.

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that. Just don’t.” Your voice wavered and you could feel the tears coming again. “How could you?”

A deep sigh, like he knew this was coming. “How could I what?”

“You could have picked anyone but her, anyone but Dot. You know how I feel about her, and you fuck her? It’s like you don’t even care about me.”

“It’s not like that -” You cut him off, not wanting to hear whatever lies he spouted.

“Don’t bullshit me. You even cooked her breakfast. I thought you didn’t do relationships, huh? Or is it just that you don’t do relationships with me?” Finally, the dam cracked and you were sobbing and you heard Bucky sigh again, like you were a nuisance, like he had better things to do.

“Listen, Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re hurt, that you caught feelings, that you thought there was more. But I told you from the beginning that I didn’t want a relationship. More than once.” The truth of the words stung, but he wasn't done yet. No, Bucky had to make sure every piece of your heart was irreparable. “I’m not going to keep explaining myself to you, not when you’re acting crazy like this.”

“At least your best friend doesn’t think I’m crazy. And he was a better fuck anyways.” You were grappling for any way you could hurt him the way he had hurt you but he was a brick wall.

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

Crazy. The word bounced around in your thoughts over and over, even after the call had ended. You stared at the kitchen wall, thinking about where everything had gone wrong. Where you had gone wrong.

Because this was your fault, and that was a hard pill to swallow. Bucky was right, he had been honest with you from the beginning, and you had held onto unfounded hopes.

In that moment all you could wish was to go back in time - to stop from getting drunk that first night. To stop your spitefulness and your anger. To stop from ever falling in love with him.

-

The next morning you woke up, still on the kitchen floor, with a splitting headache and dried tears coating your face.

You thanked the gods you didn’t have a class on Fridays as you stepped into the shower, feeling the ache of last night slowly wash off you. It was after that you decided, staring in the mirror at your sunken cheeks, that you would make a change. You would get your shit together.

You started with an apology to Steve, one he deserved long before now, then took the time to delete the pictures of Bucky from your phone. The ones that were private and you had kept for when you needed something to take the edge off of missing him. The thought filled you with guilt now, as you pressed delete and hoped he had done the same on his end. Then you texted your friends you had neglected the past couple months, the ones who tried to warn you and who had gotten sick of your own self sabotage.

The last thing you did was type out a text to Bucky, apologizing for your behavior, for the way you had treated him, and wishing him well. But you couldn’t bring yourself to send it, so it sat undelivered in your phone until you could finally bring yourself to delete the entire text thread.

You knew you should delete his number too, erase any temptation, but it was just something you couldn’t bring yourself to do.

The urge to text him and explain yourself took a while to go away, especially when you found out that Bucky wasn’t lying about nothing happening with Dot, that she was there because her sorority sister had needed a ride home that morning, and she just so happened to catch Bucky in the kitchen.

You beat yourself up for that one, though you knew it wouldn’t have made a difference. There was never anything more for you and Bucky, regardless of who he did or didn’t sleep with. That was the hardest part to get over.

But you did it.

You stopped going to frat parties, too, deciding that part of your life was over. You threw yourself into your studies and before you knew it, May was approaching and you were just a couple weeks from graduation.

Preparing for one last hoorah with your friends, you met Wanda at your favorite bar downtown - dressed up for the first time in a while, and drinking more than a single glass of wine with dinner since that phone call with Bucky.

Who, speak of the devil, walked in just as you were grabbing a tray of drinks off the bartop. You locked eyes, but quickly hustled back to your table as you saw him attempt to push through the crowd towards you.

You thought he had gotten the hint, because you only saw him in quick glances from across the bar after that, until you made your way to the bathroom, brushing Wanda off when she offered to come with you.

Unfortunately, there was only a single stall that was annoyingly occupied, so you leaned back against the wall and waited.

You were scrolling through Twitter, contemplating going full Maddy from euphoria and banging on the door, when you felt a presence beside you. You knew without looking up exactly who it was.

Slowly, you slipped your phone in your pocket and turned to look up at him.

He was devastating. Just as charming and handsome as you remembered, and it was a struggle for a moment to catch your breath.

“Hi,” he whispered, and you wondered if maybe he was thinking the same thing about you. You could only be so foolish to hope. “I’ve missed you.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, and you wanted to shove the feeling down but suddenly his hands were cupping your face and he was just a breath away.

“I was an idiot, to say the least, and I’m sorry it took a few months of missing you everyday to realize that.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. It felt like a fever dream - awful and amazing all at once. “Could you give me a chance to not be an idiot?”

What you should do was tell him no, that you had moved on, that he didn’t mean anything to you anymore.

But you had always been a terrible liar.

Instead of falling into his arms like you desperately wanted to, like the you of six months ago would have, you pressed a kiss to his cheek - a forgiveness and a dismissal all in one - and walked back to your table.

After exchanging goodbyes with your friends, you sent one last look Bucky’s way before heading home.

-

It had been a few days since you’d heard from Bucky, and it hurt more than you cared to admit.

Although you had wanted to forgive him and move on that night at the bar, a part of you held back. You wanted to make sure it wasn’t a result of him being drunk and lonely. And unfortunately it seemed your suspicions were right.

You’d spent the days since then with your phone always in arm’s reach, hoping he would call, but on the third day of nothing, you had accepted your fate.

Just as you were about to run a bath and block out the world for a little while, there was a knock at your door. Your heart jumped into your throat, but you shoved it back down along with the lingering hope that it would be Bucky on the other side.

Preparing yourself for anything, you swung the door open to the one person you wanted above all else - Bucky Barnes, weighed down with… grocery bags?

“Uh,” you weren’t quite sure what to say, and the sheepish smile on his face was one you had never seen before.

“Can I come in?” He asked, lifting up the bags. “These are pretty heavy.”

Wordlessly, you stepped aside, and he set the bags down on the counter. When you peaked inside them, you were surprised to find an array of breakfast foods. You sent him a questioning look, waiting for some sort of explanation.

“I spent the last few days thinking about how I could prove to you that I was serious. Probably have about 50 unsent texts. After everything, I thought I could start with breakfast. Low stakes, and you don’t have to decide anything right now. Just let me be here with you.”

Although you had decided the moment you saw him on your doorstep, you let him cook you breakfast. You let him open up in ways he never had before. You let yourself fall more in love with him, knowing he was doing the same with you.

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opposites attract

pairing: steve rogers x villain!reader

summary: based off of the lyrics:

“you and i are two oceans apart

we’re on earth to break each others hearts

in two, and it’s hard

with you, when i’m too far

from you, i look at the stars,

do you?”

from ‘ferrari’ by the neighbourhood

warnings: injuries, sparring, mention of blood and bruises, angst, fluff, and banter

word count: 3.7k

a/n: i am a simple woman. i think of a hurt/comfort concept and am morally obligated to write it. (this is a repost from the other day so if you saw it before, no you didn’t)

if you’d like to be added to my taglist, click here! as always, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

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      𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘; 𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚊𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝟷𝟸𝚝𝚑

  ✧ summary ─ bucky has finally found a family that he deserved so much, and he is not letting it go any time soon. 

  ✧ pairing ─ tfatws!bucky barnes x reader

  ✧ warnings ─ softness, fluff, so much fluff, kissing, pet names, veery light angst, found family <3, happy ending, alpine and amber are the cutest, bucky deserves everything, FLUFF, oh bucky being the asshole that he is btw lol

  ✧ a/n ─ ‘TIS THE FINAL PART. i can’t believe this is the last part *cries ugly*. thank you all so much for being here with me on his journey. thank you for cheering, getting horny and angry with me while this series updated throughout the months. thank you all so much for your nice comments and asks about this series. i really hope you like the ending and that i did justice to bucky. thank you <3

series masterlist ─ previous part

It was almost a month later when Bucky told you that he wanted to take you to Louisiana. You were there when Sam told him to bring you around for the cookout, but you didn’t expect Bucky to take him up on that offer this quickly. You knew that he was protective over this little family you have created together, that he wasn’t ready to share it with the world yet, so it came as a surprise when he told you about it post-coital, laying in the bed all naked.

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What were you thinking?

false god | rockstar!bucky

pairing: rockstar!bucky x popstar!reader

warnings: smut (18+), thigh riding, enemies to lovers, sexual themes, toxic behaviour, swearing, discussions of miscarriage

masterlist (false god)

honey, hell is when i fight with you, but we can patch it up good make confessions and we’re begging for forgiveness, got the wine for you … but we might just get away with it, religion’s in your lips even if it’s a false god …

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play pretend

18+

in order to appease his uncle, bucky needs to prove that he's a family man. what better way to get that image across than with a loving wife? there's only one problem: bucky doesn't have a wife. he does, however, have a little fairy.

content warning: mob!bucky x best friend!reader, fake relationship, idiots in love, friends to lovers, fluff, mutual pining, kissing, angst, mention of sex, dirty talk (degradation kink, dom/sub dynamic).

mob!bucky masterlist

The second you get to your apartment door, you know something's wrong. You feel it in the air. You may be tipsy from the drinks you got with your colleagues after work, and the late hour may be making you paranoid, but if being best friends with a criminal has taught you anything, it's to trust your instincts. When you hear a quiet thud from inside, your eyes widen. Fuck.

You put your key in the door while dialing Bucky's number, before reaching into your purse and taking out the pepper spray. It isn't a gun, but you can't exactly take a weapon into your office every day.

"Hey, fairy," Bucky's calming voice rings through your phone, giving you some relief.

"James," You whisper curtly while slowly turning the key. "There's someone in my apartment. I'm gonna kill him, but I just wanted to let you know, first."

All he does is chuckle while you open the door as quietly as possible, his tone oddly light for someone who claims to be so protective of you. "Go get him, tiger. Show him who's boss."

Did he just hang up?

You frown at his lack of concern, but peg it on him not believing you. Bastard. He'll learn to take you seriously when it's he who has to clean up the blood. Entering your apartment, you drop your bag and hold up the pepper spray. "Whoever you are, show yourself!" You call out, flicking on the light and looking around. "I've been taught how to kill a man with nothing but my bare hands!"

"If you wanted to use your hands on me, baby, you should've just asked." The smooth voice makes you scream in shock, your eyes and mouth wide as you see Bucky sitting in your armchair.

"What the fuck?" You yell, kicking the door shut behind you. "Don't scare me like that, you prick!"

"I'm sorry, fairy, it's just too easy," He laughs, standing up and striding over to you before pulling you in for a tight hug. When he pulls away, he cups your cheek, scanning your face and frowning when he smells the vodka on you. "Why you home so late, huh? Haven't I told you to call me when you come home late? Especially when you've been drinking."

"It's fine; Mr. Stark walked me home from the bar," You tell him casually while taking off your coat.

"Tony?" Bucky repeats with narrow eyes. "Why the fuck were you at a bar with him?"

You grin. There's that protective instinct, back in full swing. "It was a work thing; Margo's last day, so we went for drinks," You explain. "Sorry I didn't tell you. I figured you'd be busy, seeing as it's a Friday night, and all."

"I don't care what day it is; you stay out past 9, you call me," He states firmly, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck. "How many times do I have to explain that to you?"

"Alright, alright, jeez," You whine, pulling his hand off of you and walking over to the kitchen area. "You hungry? I'm hungry. Hummus. I have hummus and pitta. Yum."

While you grab items from your fridge, including the tub of hummus and a carton of orange juice, Bucky takes a seat at the table. He watches you with a smirk as you flit around the kitchen, grabbing everything that looks good and putting it on the table in front of him. After toasting some pitta bread, you cut it into bite sized pieces and place it down too, before sitting next to him.

He wraps his hand around the leg of your chair and pulls you closer, parting his lips when you bring up a piece of pitta bread with a healthy dollop of hummus to his mouth.

"Here comes the airplane," You tease, your eyes filling with delight as he eats it. He bites on the tip of your finger, making you yelp and pull your hand back. "Bad boy! You have lost your pitta privileges."

Bucky pouts but says nothing, sitting back and letting you indulge in your feast. After a few moments, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black, velvet box. "Fairy," He mumbles, patting your thigh. "Got something for you."

"What is it?" You ask with a mouthful of chocolate, raising your brows.

Instead of telling you, he shows you, flicking open the box to reveal the most beautiful ring. With a smile, he meets your eyes. "Marry me."

Your heart skips a beat but a split second later, you snort. "Get the fuck outta here, Jamie. What's that for?"

"You're gonna wear it over the weekend," He informs you. "I need you to pretend to be my wife until Sunday. Two days, that's it."

"What the fuck for?" You ask, utterly baffled. "You got a coupon for a honeymoon package, or something?"

"My uncle's coming to town," He says with a sigh.

"Uncle Jack?" You ask with wide eyes. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"Don't look so excited," He grumbles with an eye roll. "He's expecting to come home and be introduced to my family. I need you to do this for me."

After the death of Bucky's father, Jack took over the business. Then, once Bucky turned 18, Jack left the country, claiming Bucky was capable of running the business himself. You haven't seen Jack in a few years, but every time he visits, Bucky almost goes insane with stress. He feels pressured to impress his uncle; as though he has something to prove.

"The numbers don't meant a thing to him; he won't care how successful the business is," Bucky explains. "All he'll be criticizing me for is my lack of a family. And that's where you come in."

"Your wife?" You sputter with wide eyes. "You want me to pretend to be your wife?"

"Please," He implores, taking your hand in his. "With this ring, I thee wed - for the next 48 hours."

Your eyes narrow into a glare as you pull your hand back before he gets a chance to slip the ring on your finger. "What if I took you seriously before, Buck? What if I got my hopes high, thinking you were proposing for real?"

"Then I'd marry you for real," He says simply, shrugging nonchalantly. "Now, come on. Put the ring on, and then it's bed time. We have an early start tomorrow."

Rolling your eyes, you childishly stick your hand out. "At least get down on one knee." You know that whatever Bucky wants, he gets, and besides; it's only for the weekend. You'll survive being his fake wife for 48 hours.

Knowing he's got you on side, Bucky laughs before kneeling on the ground. He holds up the ring, an adorable look in his wide eyes. "Fairy, baby, you're the only woman I'd be happy to wake up to every day for the rest of my life. You make the best alfredo, and you're nice enough to feed me when my hands are roughed up. I don't know what I did to deserve a guardian angel, but God gave you to me anyway. Will you make me the happiest, luckiest son of a bitch alive and marry me for the weekend?"

"Oh, Jamie," You coo, smiling widely. "You're a fucking rat bastard, and you give me migraines, and you're the reason my social life is so abysmal. Of course I'll marry you for the weekend!"

He slips the ring on your finger with a grin before standing up and lifting you off the chair in a tight hug. You wrap your legs around his waist as he walks you to your bedroom, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "You're the best, my little fairy."

"Yeah, yeah," You mumble, resting your head on his shoulder. "You owe me one."

"And then he asked me while we were in Venice; proposed on a gondola under the moonlight," You say with a dreamy smile. "We got married in Sicily a year later."

"Well, I'll be damned," Jack replies with a wide grin. "I was beginning to lose hope for you, James. Thought you'd never settle down."

Bucky pulls you closer onto his lap, looking up at you. "When you find a woman as incredible as Y/N, you want her to yourself."

"Took you long enough," Jack mutters. "How long have you two known each other, now?"

"It's coming up to ten years," You tell him warmly.

"Ten?" Bucky repeats with a mumble, frowning at you. "Guess we're gonna have to celebrate, baby, hmm?"

"Ah, young love," Jack sighs, sitting back in the armchair. "You're a lucky man, James."

"I know," He whispers, gently tilting your face towards him. "Give me a kiss, fairy."

Though you're surprised at his request, you can't help but give in. It won't be the first time you've kissed Bucky, but the fact that you're pretending to be a married couple adds a little pressure to this one. Admittedly, it's fun to kiss him, though you know it'll only hurt when you realise it's all for show. The kiss is soft and short, but still utterly magical.

"So, when can I expect some grandkids?"

You almost choke at Jack's query, immediately pulling away from Bucky. "Grandkids?"

"Don't scare her, Jack; we only just tied the knot," Bucky says calmly, patting your knee. "Let us experience marital bliss for a little while before we start having babies."

Having babies. Having babies? Babies?

You stare at Bucky. Oh, shit. This was a bad idea. Hiding your feelings from him is hard enough, but now he's planting the image of making a family with you in your head? It's like he wants to break your heart.

Jack shrugs with a smug smirk, "That's exactly what your father said to my parents. A year later, your ma had you. Life doesn't always go to plan, Buck."

No, it does not.

"Anyone need another drink?" You ask, standing up. "I know I do."

The sound of live music fills the bar, the smell of drinks and food in the air. Bucky's friends and family are celebrating Jack's return with a party, while you do your best to keep up appearances. Somehow, you got through the first day without a hitch, and you only have to pretend to be Bucky's wife until the end of tonight.

"As long as nobody notices the ring," Bucky mumbles into your ear. "They won't even realize the difference."

He hasn't told anyone else what you're up to, which you've told him is a bad idea. Bucky's sure that you'll be able to convince Jack you're married while everyone else remains clueless, but you aren't so confident.

You raise a brow, swaying in his arms as his chest presses against your back. "So, you think we act like a married couple anyway?"

He smirks while taking a sip of whiskey before resting the glass on your shoulder. "Well, we flirt, we dance, we love each other," He lists off smugly, placing his free hand on your waist. "The only thing that's missing is sex."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" You grumble bitterly.

"Very much so, fairy," Bucky teases before turning you around and pulling you closer.

"Jamie?" You begin, to which he nods. "Do you remember any of Tuesday night?"

Immediately, he chuckles. "Fuck's sake. Sam won't stop ripping into me for that; keeps making psychic jokes. Bastard."

"Do you remember when you came to see me?" You ask, feeling your heart thud.

A smirk grows on his lips. "I remember kissing you."

"That's it?" You prod, your cheeks heating up at the memory. "You don't remember when I took you home?"

He looks up, frowning. "Uh, I don't remember anything past the kiss. Why? Was I horrible to you?"

You put on a smile and you can't tell whether you're relieved that he's forgotten your admission, or disappointed. "You're never horrible to me, Jamie," You mumble, placing your hands on his shoulders as the two of you sway gently to the music.

His eyes narrow. "Are you sure? Now that I think about it, you seemed upset the next morning. You can tell me if I was a prick - did I hurt you?"

"Of course you didn't!" You exclaim, lightly hitting his arm for effect. "Don't be stupid."

"I must've done something. Isn't that why you brought it up?" He questions, a look of concern growing on his face. "Did I say something mean?"

"Like what?" You ask curiously. "What do you think you could've said that was mean?"

"Uh, I don't know," Bucky says with a shrug. "Did I try to kiss you again?"

"Actually, you didn't," You tell him with a hint of surprise.

"That doesn't sound like me," He mutters, glancing down at your lips. "Give me one now, to make up for it."

"We're only friends, though," You say, trying to sound nonchalant. "Aren't we?"

A look of mischief blooms in his eyes. "Not tonight."

"Right," You utter. "Tonight, I'm Mrs. Barnes."

"Doesn't that sound good?" He whispers, holding you closer.

You can't help but wince and stop dancing. "I can't do this anymore."

Confused, he takes your hand in his. "What are you talking about, fairy?"

With a racing heart and clammy palms, you take a deep breath and step back. "I- I think I need some space."

"Space?" He repeats, baffled. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry," You whisper, shaking your head. "Just tell Uncle Jack I'm not feeling well. I'm going home."

You make it a few feet before you feel him grabbing your arm and pulling you back, a stern look on his face. "What's going on?" He asks you. "Talk to me, fairy."

Looking around the bar, you cringe when you spot a few people staring at you and Bucky. "Not here, Jamie."

"Bucky," Jack's voice suddenly booms as he appears at your side. "We have a problem."

Immediately, Bucky's face pales. "Fuck."

"What is it?" You ask, your concern overriding your heartbreak.

Cupping your cheeks, Bucky pulls you closer. "Nothing you need to worry about, fairy. Go home, and I'll be there soon. We'll continue talking about this later."

"Are you sure?" You press. "If something's wrong-"

"I told you, there's nothing you need to worry about," He promises. "I'll be at your place in a couple of hours, I swear."

Half-heartedly, you nod. "Okay."

"Good girl," Bucky mumbles, kissing your forehead. "I love you."

"I love you, too," You whisper, hundreds of worries swarming your mind.

When Bucky finally arrives at your apartment, it's almost midnight and he looks a lot less stressed out.

"Just something Uncle Jack needed me to sort out," He mumbles as he joins you on the floor in front of the couch. "Nothing major."

"That's good," You mutter, nodding, playing with the ring he gave you.

After a few moments of silence, he gently nudges your arm. "I've upset my fairy, haven't I?"

Sighing, you look down. "Maybe."

"Help me make it better," Bucky implores. "Come on, fairy. We've known each other too long for you to hold back on me. Give it to me straight."

Looking up at him, you furrow your brows. "What if I told you that you said you were in love with me while you were high on Tuesday night?"

The question takes him aback, and he says nothing.

"That you admitted that you want me as more than just your friend. More than a best friend," You hypothesize. "That you needed more than just friendship from me?

Raising a brow, he lets out a dry laugh. "I'd say, damn. The secret's out."

"Don't fuckin joke around with this shit, James," You say sternly, with no hint of humor in your tone or facial expression.

"I'm not fucking around," He claims. "Did I really tell you that?"

You shake your head. "No," You tell him truthfully. "...I did, though."

He swallows thickly, but he doesn't seem as shocked as you were expecting him to be. Instead, he looks down at the ring and strokes one of the small gems. "This was ma's stone," He reveals.

"What?" You ask, instantly recognising it as one of the gems on his mother's engagement ring now that he's pointed it out.

"I added it to your ring," He goes on to say. "Wanted... wanted a little bit of her love in it."

"Why would you do that for a pretend marriage?" You ask him incredulously.

"Because I don't want it to be pretend," Bucky admits before taking your hand in his. "Let's get married."

Your heart skips a beat. "Jamie-"

"Let's get married."

"Stop-"

"I'm not kidding around," He claims. "This is for real. I love you more than anything."

Utterly baffled, you shake your head. Your heart is racing, your fingers twitching. "Why has it taken this long for you to say it?"

Bucky shrugs, "At the start, you weren't ready for anything serious, and I didn't want to just casually date you. So, I stayed back. Fairy, it's so obvious that we are in love. We have been for so long."

Although you had yourself convinced that he didn't want you in that way because if he did, he would've acted on his feelings by now, you trust him too much to invalidate his words. "I know," You whisper, your eyes filling with tears.

"So, what the fuck are we doing?" He asks you wildly.

"I don't know!" You exclaim.

He grabs your face and pulls you closer. "Let's get married."

Snorting, you pull back. "I'm not just gonna fuckin'... marry you, Bucky Barnes."

"Why not?" He asks you between laughs.

"Because that would be insane!" You tell him, hitting his shoulder.

"Why would it be insane-"

"We need to talk about what we want from each other," You say, shaking your head. "We can't just go from being friends to being husband and wife."

"Sure, we can," Bucky says casually. "What would even change between us if we were to get married?"

"We'd live together," You point out.

"I'm with you almost 24/7, anyway," He states.

"We'd have to share everything," You add. "Bills, responsibilities."

"When have you ever had to worry about money, huh?" He questions you with a frown.

"It's more than just finances, Buck," You say with a disbelieving laugh. "It's... marriage, it's everything."

"I'll give you everything," He vows adamantly, wrapping his arm around you.

Clinging to his shirt, you frown up at him. "We... we don't even know if we're sexually compatible."

He narrows his eyes. "Do you really have any doubts, fairy?"

"Well, what if we aren't?" You challenge him.

"I know what you're into," He claims arrogantly. "And I can more than provide you with it."

You laugh heartily at his claim, raising a brow. "Oh, yeah? Like what?"

"I've seen your PornHub search history," He admits casually.

"Buck-"

"And I know exactly who you're subscribed to on OnlyFans," He adds with a wink. "You have good taste, baby."

"You're- that's a breach of my privacy!" You complain, pushing his shoulder.

He grabs your hand, his face dropping as he wraps his free hand around the back of your neck. "I know you like being taken care of, fairy," He mumbles lowly, making you shiver as he trails his fingers up your thigh. "I know you're aching to give up control. You need someone you can obey; someone who can fuck your brains out and reduce you to nothing but a dumb little fuckdoll."

The breath is stolen from your lungs. You feel as though your mind has gone blank, and all that matters is Bucky and his honey-like voice.

"All you have to do is say the word," He tells you, squeezing your thigh. "I can make your fantasies come true, fairy. You know I will."

"Jamie," You whimper, slowly moving your face closer to his.

"I'm right here, fairy," He whispers, stroking your neck. "I always have been, and I always will be. Do you trust me?"

"You know I do," You reply quickly, letting him pull you into his lap.

"Do you love me?"

"You know I do."

Without another word, he plants his lips on yours in a sweet kiss. At first, it's gentle and slow, until his hands find your ass and his tongue pushes past your lips. Just as the butterflies erupt in your stomach, though, there's a harsh knock at the door.

"Ignore it, fairy," Bucky mumbles against your lips, too lost in the kiss to notice the fact that someone's at your door in the middle of the night. "Just be a good girl for me."

His words get rid of your concern as you return to the kiss, running your hand through his hair as your tongues dance and glide across one another. Mere seconds pass before there's another knock, though - this time it's a lot louder and aggressive.

"Police, open up!" A gruff voice comes from the other side, making your heart skip a beat.

Bucky's grip tightens on your hip as his face drops. "Oh, fuck."

"Jamie?" You whisper, terrified. "What the fuck is going on?"

Looking at you, he cups your face and utters lowly, "We need to get the fuck out of here, fairy. Now."

side blog for updates: @kinanabinksupdates

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drifting (6)

[cw!bucky barnes x female!reader]

summary: bucky saves the life of a woman when she’s buried in an avalanche. faced with the possibility that his cover might be blown, bucky must keep the woman alive, and try to keep her from finding out who he is… or what he’s done.

how long can he hide?

warnings: angst. reader is hurting. bucky is an idiot* (*scared).

word count: 2.5k+

a/n: some of you called the angst coming... here it is, babes.

series masterlist

***

I’ve been compromised.

She sits on the porch, wrapped up in Bucky’s coat with the sheepskin lining, and his hat jammed over her ears. Her phone is propped up on the railing, so she can see if the notification pops up, but she can’t hold it in her hands anymore. She sent the message ten minutes ago–the chat indicated that he had seen it, but he isn’t responding. If she were out on any other mission, he would already have deployed emergency protocols and replied in seconds. He’s slacking.

But she’ll wait, because she can hardly look Bucky in the eye. He hasn’t been able to manage more than a grunt in response to her since she told him her theory about meeting in the Red Room. He just got up, put the kettle on, and smoked a cigarette in just his sweatpants and a light t-shirt. So she did the only thing she could think of (or at least the only thing that needed to happen, according to her training), and she reached out for help.

Steve was vague about what should happen if she and Bucky ever crossed paths, because that wasn’t on the agenda, so it’s not like there was some grand plan if he found out who she was working for. Usually in this case, she would take her principle out. That was so far from an option that the thought of having to kill him makes her dizzy. The frigid air helps her stay focused, but she can’t feel her fingers.

The feeling of Bucky’s hands on her face is still present on her tingling cheeks. The way he clutched at her, wordlessly begging it all not to be true.

The phone buzzes, finally. Steve is calling.

“Steve.”

“What happened?”

“He found my phone,” she admits, casually leaving out the part where he discovered it because he was in bed beside her.

“Okay. Are you safe?”

“Yes, I’m safe,” she scoffs. “He’s not a monster.”

“I’m just trying to assess–”

“I know how this works, Rogers.”

“I’m sorry it took a moment to get back to you. Fury has declared you AWOL. I just got out of a meeting—”

“Did you know?” she demands, and then she curses herself for not quelling the anger which is rapidly bubbling to the surface. The man on the other end of the phone sighs.

“--action will begin shortly for your recovery.”

“I don’t care about a fucking desertion designation–did you know that I knew him?”

“...Yes.”

She laughs wryly. “You sent me on recon knowing it might compromise us both–”

“Y/n, I sent you because you are the only person who has ever broken him out of his programming, and if he gets triggered, you’re his best chance to stay in control. I didn’t know that you didn’t remember.”

“That wasn’t in my assignment!”

“It was the worst case scenario.”

“I walked around that compound thinking I was being ridiculous. I slept with his photo next to my bed, feeling like such a creep–”

“Is he stable?”

“He is great, no thanks to you. Might never speak to me again after finding out I’ve been lying to him, but in my defense, I didn’t know how covert the lie was.”

She glances over her shoulder. Two clear blue eyes are watching her through the window. He doesn’t even try to play it off like he wasn’t listening in. She nods to the door. If he wants to listen, he might as well hear it all. She presses the speaker button as the front door opens. Bucky stands there stiffly, hands in his pockets.

“What do you remember?” Steve asks.

She sighs. “Not much. I think… I think they forced him to hurt me.”

Bucky huffs.

“That is consistent with what information Nat found.”

“I can’t believe that you sent me here without figuring out what I knew.” she peers at Bucky out of the corner of her eye. “Before I got to know him, I just thought I was feeding off your concern for him, but all this time I’ve been acting on muscle-memory–how well did I know Soldat?”

“Does he remember anything?”

“Some,” Bucky murmurs.

“Very little,” she translates. “I swear to god, Steve.”

“Is he there?”

Bucky shakes his head.

“No.”

“Alright. Just thought I heard something. Nat could be more specific–”

“I don’t want to talk to her.”

Steve takes far too long to respond. Enough time that she looks up to Bucky in panic, but he nods, like reassurance. Like he’ll tell you, just give him a second. It occurs to her then that Bucky still knows Steve, and that’s why she’s here. Isn’t it? At least in part. But she isn’t ready for the breadth of this secret which Steve has unknowingly kept from her, and when he still doesn’t answer, even after Bucky holds up his hand to stay her, she sighs.

“Steve–”

“I don’t know everything,” Cap says softly. “But you knew him better than most people. Maybe even me.”

“You’re not serious…”

“Apparently when Nat found you, you were being treated for a stab wound in your abdomen, in a small hospital outside of Bucharest. You didn’t know how you got there, but you kept asking for him. You didn’t even recognize Nat at first. All the nurses could get out of you was ‘my love.’ She didn’t suspect his identity until she found reports about the Asset breaking his programming for a top-level trainee at the Red Room. He was pulled from active service and HYDRA discontinued his involvement in the Academy, but not before he was given the order to kill the woman to whom he showed preference.”

She runs a hand over her face. “Why don’t either of us remember? Steve–I went through six months of rehabilitation and I never had one flicker of a memory. I don’t even have a scar.”

“Self-preservation? I don’t know. Maybe it was too painful.”

Bucky is nowhere to be seen when a hot tear splashes on her hand. “More painful than finding out I loved someone I don’t even remember?” she murmurs, and she prays that Bucky isn’t listening around the corner. Super-soldier hearing is a plague on this conversation, in more ways than one.

“I’m sorry. I–Nat made it seem… you weren’t even going to meet him.”

“Unless he was triggered. Which it seems like you expected. Did neither of you think about what would happen to me?” She huffs. “

“Your mission, now–”

“I’ll make sure he’s safe, but I’m not doing it to make you feel better. You compromised me. If something goes wrong, worse than both of us having to cope with this, it’s on you. Okay? Great. I’m going to go try to persuade him to eat something. Be sure to send me more information about who’s coming after me so I know whether to use the pocket knife from World War 2 that Bucky loaned me–” her voice wavers on the name she hasn’t called him the entire time she’s been here– “or a fire poker, because my pack is at the bottom of this mountain with my gun. Which of those things do you think would be best against Iron Man, or whoever Fury’s about to send?”

“I’ll have a supply pack airdropped–”

“And compromise us more? The psychological damage was generous enough, but thanks anyway. I’ll contact you once we’re safe, but… I don’t know if you’ll see me again. I can’t speak for Bucky, but. I wouldn’t blame him for disappearing, too.”

“Y/n… you have every right to be upset, but there’s reason to assume that HYDRA is still looking for him. Let me help you.”

“You think I haven’t considered that? What’s going to happen if they find us together? Or did it slip your mind that they ordered him to kill me? I said I’d keep him safe. I can’t–I can’t talk to you anymore. Leave me alone. And Steve? Tell Natalia that she broke my heart.”

She hangs up the phone and tosses the basically indestructible thing onto the wooden slats. She puts her face in her hands and screams.

“Come inside.”

She starts. Bucky is back, at her side, hand outstretched like he’s going to touch her shoulder, but he stops just short. He stares at the ground.

“Please look at me,” she whispers. “Jamie–I’m so lost, here…”

“It’s supposed to snow,” he replies. He reaches for her phone, and hands it back.

“Are you angry?”

Bucky cards a hand through his hair. “Not with you.” When he looks at her finally, his eyes are glassy. Her heart is in her throat. “Come inside,” he asks again. His silvery fingers extend to her. She sets her hand in his, and just for a moment, he squeezes. Bucky tugs her behind him, and into the house. He leads her into the kitchen, and releases her. She lays his coat and hat on the back of a chair, and then pushes herself up onto the counter; Bucky has pulled a few things from the cabinet like rice, and some dried mushrooms, and there is water gently simmering on the stovetop. He puts the rice into the water like she taught him, and fits the lid on the pot, and sets the timer on his watch. He braces his hands against the oven and sighs.

“So.”

“Yeah.” She pulls her legs to her chest, and lays her cheek on her knee. “I–should I have let you talk with him?” The question comes out before she can stop it.

Bucky shakes his head. “No.”

“Should I have kept the call private–”

“Y/n–” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just… tell me. About your mission.”

“What it was meant to be…”

“Yes.”

“Alright. I work… with special forces most of the time,” she says, though that feels like an insufficient place to start the story. “Steve had been searching for any sign of you, after Insight. He got his pardon, so he had access to Shield’s data again, and there were rumors through the intel community that you were somewhere in the American West. But he couldn’t look into it himself without drawing Shield’s attention to you. Which is when Nat suggested… Me.” She closes her eyes, because she can’t stand to see him there, in arm’s reach, still as a statue.

“I read through about three boxes worth of files from Nat’s contacts about the Winter Soldier–mostly records of how you usually appeared when HYDRA had a new job for you, patterns of behavior. Like how often you went MIA after a job, and where they found you. Like–you would ditch your handlers on a busy train platform, and show up a hundred miles away working on a dock. Or one time, you hitched a ride on a box truck and they found you because you got into a bar fight. They always found you because something would happen, a–a fight or an accident that brought a little publicity. So. I built a profile.

“You weren’t intercepted by HYDRA after the destruction of Insight, so it was safe to assume they thought you were dead. Which meant you probably felt safe enough to go into more rural areas where people would notice you. There was a ping in Albuquerque’s small paper about a George Barnes being pulled over for driving without a license, in a stolen van, and–”

“That’s how you found me.”

She opens her eyes again, and he’s closer now, leaning his back against the counter beside her. He’s not watching her anymore, but she’d only have to breathe in a little deeper for her arm to brush against him.

“I tracked you from Santa Fe,” she confirms. “You couldn’t stay away from the draw of other people. I told Steve once, it was like you were so lonely that you wandered into a bar, only to realize that drunk men are the worst. He said that made sense, considering–well. That you often had to pull drunk bullies off of him. You stayed on my radar because you were doing the same for other strangers. I had a conversation with a bartender in Pueblo who described a tall man, blue eyes… longish brown hair… who ordered a whiskey he didn’t drink, and then took a guy down for touching a woman before the bouncer could even react.

“But then you headed into the mountains, and I could tell you were slowing down. I was days behind you, and then I saw you walking down the street in Breckenridge.”

He frowns. “Before I bought the truck.”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

“I put a tracker on it when you were inside the guy’s house making the deal, so that’s how… yeah. But along the way, I was doing my best to erase your trail. Technically Shield owns that truck you abandoned five miles from here.”

Bucky nods. “I… I was hallucinating.”

“Hmm?” She touches his shoulder. He flinches, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Thought I was being followed.”

Bucky leans into her. She grips his shoulder as if to say… I’m sorry for making it worse. I–I did this to you. He covers her hand with his own.

“I was going to ski down the back side of the mountain, and wait you out a while in town. I had gotten visual confirmation that you were here, and it seemed unlikely anybody else would find you out, if you stayed put. I did not know how dangerous it was to ski in the back country this time of year, given how much the temperature yo-yos. So. That’s the whole of it.”

“Other than… what you said. You had my picture.”

She bites her lip. “God. Um. Yeah, your enlistment photo. I carried it around with me like a war widow.” War widow–fuck. She presses her eyes closed. What a fucking horrible choice of words. She can’t think. Everything is cloudy. “Not remembering a thing.”

“That first time you woke me up, I was dreaming about it. What Soldat did to you. It’s the only thing I remember about it, but… I told you you were safe in the dream, that I wouldn’t hurt you. But he–I did.” He shakes his head like it might clear up his own foggy memory. “You don't remember anything else?”

“No,” she whispers. “I’m not even sure how… this–” she gestured between them– “would’ve happened in there. I was watched like a hawk.”

Bucky nods once.

“I’m sorry. For not telling you about Steve.”

He shrugs. “You were doing what you thought was right.”

“I know now, why I felt like I had to help you.”

He digests that for a moment, but what she wants is for him to respond like… I’m glad you did. I’m glad you’re here. But he doesn’t.

“You’re AWOL?”

She laughs painfully. “Yeah. Feels like I never got a chance to know what being safe felt like, it… it was supposed to be Nat who kept me safe, that was her promise to me when she brought me home. But I don’t know why I trusted her. Turns out I’ve only had one good thing which meant anything to me, and I don’t even remember. Why didn’t she tell me? God, Nat kept warning me not to let it go too far.”

She folds herself, pressing her forehead to her knees. It feels like a betrayal so deep that some little string inside her has been severed, and now she’s bleeding internally. For herself, and Natasha’s betrayal, and what happened with Bucky… in such recent history in her life, causing such ripples through her unconscious mind, and yet–with no memory to bring it into focus. She weeps.

“I wish I didn’t know,” she whispers. “I wish this was the first time I met you.”

Bucky’s hands find her shoulders, and he’s coaxing her feet down until he can stand between her knees. She curls her fingers into the front of his shirt–the very henley he loaned her when she first arrived. He doesn’t pull her closer and it feels like a rejection. Like he’s comforting her because he has a heart, and not because he wants to help her through it. This is not how he wakes her out of a bad dream. This is a stiff touch with no warmth in it. Still, she presses her forehead to his chest.

“You told him it was muscle memory.” His voice rumbles between his ribs.

“Yeah,” she laughs through thick emotion. “I just know you. I know you in a way that my body is adamant about, and I can’t explain it, it’s like this phantom pain every time I look at you, and it’s getting worse the longer I’m around you…” she trails off, forcing herself to look up at him. Her cheeks are hot, but she can’t help but babble. “Do you feel it, too? Am I crazy?”

“No.”

His eyes say otherwise. They’re glassy again, so blue that it hurts, and his mouth is twisted up like he can’t afford to say anything else or he’ll admit it. He shakes his head, and stands back from her, but she won’t let go of his shirt. Please don’t run, she pleads in her mind. I need you to help me figure out what’s real. Slowly, Bucky raises his hand and works her fingers free. He squeezes her hand. Then, he turns away.

She chokes back a rush of pain. The tears renew themselves, and she covers her mouth. She is nauseous. She pushes off the counter and runs into the bedroom–hardly making it into the washroom and kicking the door shut before her stomach heaves. She clutches the porcelain… and sobs. There’s nothing else to do but cry, because… this man who her whole body seems to reach for, who she loved in another lifetime, who every day seems to let her in a little bit more… She cries because the woman who was supposed to be her family kept this from her, and sent her on an assignment she was destined to fail. She can’t go home now, and this certainly can’t be it. The man who she’s spent two weeks with, held and been held by–he doesn’t want this. And there is a whole host of people about to come looking for them both. What is there for her, now?

And is this going to ruin The Hobbit for her? She chokes out a pained laugh at the stupid thought, wiping her mouth with a piece of tissue. She stands so she can wash her face, and she remembers her father’s words again. Not the ones about Gandalf, and powerful men. But what he said to her every night when he pulled her blankets up to her chin.

You’re loved, honey bee. By a lot of people. Everybody’s love looks a little different, but every form is good if it’s honest and kind.

She cries, and it’s all her body has left to give.

Later, her phone chimes. She checks it when the curiosity gets the best of her. It’s from Natasha, and it makes her blood go cold.

I’m sorry. I thought I was protecting you.

***

Bucky stirs the mushrooms into the rice, and takes his punishment like a stab to the stomach, as every sob of hers rips through him.

Listening to her demand answers over the phone from the only person Bucky has ever considered a friend, the pain in her voice–she was heartbroken. She was an innocent agent sent to help him, first of all. Innocent people shouldn’t get mixed up with Bucky Barnes. That’s how bad things happen.

She couldn’t be another tally he carved into the back cover of the book she loved so much.

“You’re not what I expected,” she had said, holding that book in her hands. He didn’t know that she meant it compared to the photograph she carried around, from when he was just a bright-eyed boy from Brooklyn. Bucky can’t even fathom it. It’s such a sweet thought, absolutely tainted by the way she’s been manipulated. On the other hand, the thought of her laying in a hospital begging for моя любовь… he came back to lucidity in Bucharest, while she pleaded for him. Wouldn’t he have remembered someone calling him that? Did they use that kind of language, or was their connection made from fleeting moments in that hellish school? Did she know his body the way his seemed to know hers, that first night he held her for warmth?

Wait... that's not what Steve said. He said 'my love.' From what dark corner is Bucky's brain pulling out 'моя любовь'? Shit.

He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s felt something for her before. Every fiber of his being is pulled towards her, like he breathes because she breathes. He wants to give in, and hold her while they both come to terms with the reality of their shared history. All of it, maybe even more. But if Steve is right, he was ordered to kill her, and that part of him still exists alongside the phantom pain of her. He can’t make any space in his heart for hope, knowing that it was ripped away from him before. If HYDRA took her from him once. They can do it again. Ten words, and he will be the one to kill her. Losing her again will kill him.

No more bedtime stories, or gentle touches to soothe her awake from a nightmare. No more pretending like this is something either of them were going to be able to keep.

Now that she’s healed, they have to part ways.

After this snowstorm. The weather band said to expect up to two feet. He can’t leave her unless he knows she’ll be safe. The roads are about to be even more encumbered. The only chance for a quick getaway once they’re clear is the truck five miles down the hill, like she said. If he leaves now, he strands her alone, and very likely dies himself from exposure. He sighs.

He doesn’t sleep that night, because she doesn’t come out to eat. She shuts the bedroom door, and locks it… he relieves himself outside, and he can’t help but feel like he deserves it. When she screams in her sleep, he tries to knock, to wake her up if nothing else, but she doesn’t stir from her whimpering episode. He could break the door, but then there wouldn’t be anywhere for her to go. To get away, and shield herself from him. He sits in the hallway until her voice gets hoarse, and her breathing turns soft again.

Bucky wants to be angry with her for hiding that she came on Steve Roger’s errand, but after the way she reamed Steve out, all he can muster is worry. Between three and four in the morning, he stares at the bedroom door, bouncing his knee anxiously. When was the last time you worried about another person, Barnes? And why did he tell her ‘no?’” She has that laser vision–she always sees right through him. He expects to go on about his life as if he hasn’t spent the last few weeks becoming addicted to reaching for her, and she will know, the whole time, that he is lying.

She centered him. He finally started feeling like he had some semblance of control over his mind again, all because of her. What the hell am I doing?

Protecting her, right?

And Steve… if the time comes where Bucky sees him again, as this relentless search proves is likely, he will have to answer for this. Because even though it’s best if he’s not with her, he’ll be damned if anyone gets away with hurting her. What was Steve thinking? Of all the stupid things that he had done, this was up there. Trying to find him–Bucky doesn’t want to be found, least of all by Steve Rogers. Then there’d be another person he used to care about who’d have to see what he has become. He’s spent this long trying not to think about the last time they met.

The door unlatches. Bucky jumps. She peers at him, frozen for a moment. Her eyelids are swollen from crying.

“Just getting some water. Excuse me–”

He gets up. “I’ll get it.”

“No. I–I don’t need your help. It’s okay.” She skirts around him, ducking under his arm.

Bucky follows her slowly; there’s not far to go in such a small cabin, but he jams his hands in his pockets and watches her fill a cup at the sink. She’s shaking. She must be starving. The rest of the rice is still in the pot, staying chilled on the porch. He can warm it up for her, easily.

“You should eat,” he murmurs.

“No thank you.” She knocks back the small cup’s worth of water, and refills it. She crosses towards the bedroom and he can’t help himself–Bucky reaches out and grabs her elbow. A bit of water sloshes out of the cup in her hand, but she doesn’t move to pull away. She doesn’t even look at him.

“‘M sorry. That I don’t remember.”

“Hmm. If that were true… that you’re sorry… I think you’d let yourself try, now. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to say that you’ve been acting like you feel something. But. I can see that you don’t want to. I’ll get over it.”

She isn’t angry as she says it, and that makes it twice as cutting. She’s resigned to it. When she pulls her elbow free, Bucky feels like somehow he’s made everything worse. He’s hurt her, too. And even apologizing didn’t fix it.

Why does that feel so much worse than actually putting a knife in her belly?

***

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15 years of Sebastian Stan (2006-2020)

Oh my god! Sebastian Stan! Man, you’re looking good!

BUCKY BARNES BEING A SNACK™ IN THAT T-SHIRT THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER (2021)

Nicholas DADDY Fowler

SEBASTIAN STAN as NICK FOWLER in The 355 (2022) dir. Simon Kinberg