howdy.

soft!dom!bucky who eases you into subspace during your first scene. the scene itself is nothing too extreme, just some new toys and a few silk ropes added to the mix, as well as the quiet understanding that bucky isn't just 'in charge,' he's there to give you all the pleasure you deserve, and it will be intense. bucky lives and breathes to make you happy, so he takes his time in tying your hands to the headboard, kissing your lips every so often and mumbling look at me, princess, need to see those beautiful eyes because he wants to make note of all the minute changes in your expression, ready to stop if your lips even twitch downwards.

soft!dom!bucky who is the king of consent. sometimes, to the point of frustration. he'll have three fingers stretching you out, pressed in all the way to the third knuckle, and he's stopping to ask your color - always green, by the way. he brings you to orgasm twice before he actually fucks you, and somewhere along the way he can see the way your eyes start to glaze over, how your moans turn to pathetic whimpers, how you can't stop mumbling daddyyyyyy, please, yes!, making bucky so so so proud of you for trusting him enough to hand over full control, knowing that he won't hurt you.

soft!dom!bucky who finally cums after your fourth orgasm, grunting and groaning praises even though he's sure you can't really understand what he's saying. when his hips finally still, his eyes locked on the way drool trickles out of the side of your mouth, he feels an overwhelming surge of love, the need to protect and covet you so that no one can hurt you. he hurries to grab a glass of water and a damp cloth, setting the glass on the nightstand and carefully wipes between your legs, shushing and cooing at you when you whine at the overstimulation.

soft!dom!bucky who cuddles you close to his chest after tossing the rag onto the floor, content to worry about it later, after you're back to your senses and not so vulnerable. he's kissing your forehead, your hairline, cheeks, nose, anywhere he can reach without moving too much, murmuring praises the entire time. did so good for daddy, princess. so so good, 'm so proud of you, thank you. he massages your shoulders, running his hands up and down your arms and back, loving on you properly because it's what you deserve. and bucky swears that you've never looked more beautiful than you right now, looking up at him like he's your whole world with shining eyes and a hint of a smile. somewhere along the way, he makes a mental note to ask you later if he can take a picture of you if you decide you want to do this again.

soft!dom!bucky who feels you start to slowly come back to him after nearly thirty minutes of floating. you start squirming a little, letting out little whines, starting to blink faster as though you're just now realizing where you are. bucky continues kissing you and mumbling reassurances, wanting to have the first words you hear to be about how utterly perfect you are for him. but his heart drops a little when you whimper brokenly, your bottom lip wobbling and your squirming becoming a little more frantic. he can hear how your breath hitches, your body shaking slightly. in an instant he knows what's happening; you're dropping.

soft!dom!bucky who coos at you a little louder, assuring you that you're okay, you're safe, daddy's got you, but he can tell your mind is reeling. he knew what happened was intense, considering you've never experienced subspace before, and he knew this was a possibility, but that doesn't mean his heart doesn't hurt when tears start streaming down your face. he feels actual pain when you whimper out daddy? and look at him, eyes glassy now but for a different reason. even in the midst of worry, bucky recognizes that you're turning to him for comfort, that your trembling hands reaching out for him means that you need him closer. he ends up laying half on top of you, hoping that surrounding you with his body, feeling his bare skin pressed against you, will help ground you.

soft!dom!bucky who breathes a sigh of relief when you settle after a few minutes. your noises taper off, and your tears stop streaming down your cheeks, your hands no longer gripping his shoulders for dear life. he keeps his body over yours, though, just until you tap his arm, prompting him to lift up and lay next to you, propping himself up on his elbow and placing one hand on your stomach to keep the contact. you're still quiet for a few moments, focusing on steadying your breathing, but once you seem mostly calmed down, he presses a brief kiss to your forehead before staring into your eyes as he asks you okay, princess?

soft!dom!bucky who nods reassuringly when you mumble I think? he understands that you're vulnerable and emotional, and he wants you to know that it's okay to feel like that. he wants you to know that it's okay to have negative emotions, as long as you don't let it consume you. you talk about how you felt during the scene and afterward, listening with rapt attention as you recount how blissful floating like that was, but coming out of it was a little scary because it felt as though you would never feel like that again and you wanted to hang onto it for as long as you could. but also, you've never experienced subspace before, so bucky assures you that it's normal to feel anxious after coming out of it, that the change in sensation can be overwhelming. that makes you feel better, and you tell him that, and after a little more talking, you both agree that you want to try it again, but bucky makes a mental note to talk with you in depth later and come to a mutual agreement on what bucky can do to make that transition easier.

soft!dom!bucky who has never felt prouder of you, nor has he ever felt so lucky as to have you trust him enough to get you through a subdrop. he cherishes that trust, and promises you that he'll always keep you safe, won't let anyone or anything touch you, because it's his responsibility and honor as your dom to protect you.

But that was just it…it wasn’t real.  It wasn’t a real relationship.  He was paying her.  She was fulfilling a contract.  In the moments where he would say things like, “I’m yours,” “My pretty girl,” and “Mine,” her heart would flutter with hope that maybe he felt something more for her.  But that was nothing new.  She had clients in the past who said the same things in the heat of the moment like he did, so she would hurt her own feelings and crash back down to reality and remind herself that she was being kept.  That he may enjoy her company, enjoy making her feel good and her making him feel good, but not to get too wrapped up in the intimacy.

Which was easier said than done.  Bucky was attentive, a good listener, always making sure that she was pleasured well before himself, and even seemed to thrive in giving her pleasure more than getting it most of the time.  He cared for her, not just in the bedroom.  He was always making sure she had everything she wanted or needed, that she was comfortable, happy and heard.  It was the best non-relationship she had ever had.

One day Bucky approached her looking a little hesitant.  “Mamas,” he greeted her quietly.

Y/N smiled at him and patted the spot next to her on the couch, which he quickly took and put his arm around her.  “What’s up?” she asked, angling her body to face him and lean more into him, keeping their faces close.

Bucky sighed through his nose and swallowed harshly, making her frown in trepidation.  “Um, I was wondering if you wanted to be my date to a wedding?” he asked.

Her eyebrows shot up and she smiled, feeling pleasantly surprised.  “Really?” she asked.

He smiled bashfully and nodded, nuzzling her nose with his own.  “Yeah,” he said.  “It’s my friend Sam’s wedding, do you remember him?”

“Yeah I remember,” she said, leaning forward to kiss random spots on his face.  “I’d love to.”

Bucky smiled and sighed heavily as he tilted his face whichever way she wanted.  “Thank you,” he whispered.  “It’s cocktail dress, whatever that means.”

Y/N smirked as she reached up and scratched his beard affectionately.  “Mmh, can we go shopping and I’ll help you pick something out?”

He chuckled and kissed her lightly.  “I could use all the help I can get.”

***

After Y/N had taken a look at Sam’s wedding invitation, she was rather proud of the outfits she had chosen for herself and Bucky.  He was wearing a dusty, light blue suit, a white dress shirt that had the first few buttons open and brown loafers, his hair recently trimmed and layered so it lay nicely just along his shoulders and a full beard that he had almost shaved but Y/N threatened him within an inch of his life.  

She was wearing an off-shoulder, long and flowy dress that was the color of a cherry tomato, with long sleeves and a hem that ended in ruffles with bright, cobalt blue wedges that appeared under the dress with each step she took.  Their outfits complemented each other well, and as she held his hand and walked into the ceremony space she smiled and admired the decorations.  It was evident that Sam and his soon-to-be-bride, Misty, were party people, and as she peeked into the next room where the reception would be held and she could tell that they loved a good old New Orleans festival.  Y/N was excited to have a chance to dress up and go out, but even more so that it was with Bucky.

He led her over to her spot to sit amongst the guests before he walked to the front as one of the groomsmen.  Thankfully everything was on time, and she watched as Sam stood at the front, looking handsome in his suit, and then Misty looking amazing in her dress.  The vows were sweet and cheerful, and she watched Bucky looking on at his friend with a proud smile.  When it was over they all moved into the reception area, and Bucky held her hand as he guided her to one of the front tables to their assigned seats.  

The live band started playing and food, drinks and dancing commenced.  It was a great party, and Y/N laughed, danced and enjoyed herself.  As she and Bucky were sitting down for a breather he was laughing at a joke someone at the table told when he glanced at something beyond the table and suddenly froze, the smile slipping off his face.  Y/N noticed the change in his demeanor immediately and frowned as she looked at him.  “Buck,” she said quietly, putting her hand on his forearm.  “What’s wrong?”

He blinked hard and looked at her in shock.  “She’s here,” he breathed.

“Who?” Y/N asked, looking around in bewilderment.

“Sharon.”

Right as he said it she saw her and scowled.  Sharon, the ex-wife, the cheating, lying, pathetic sack of shit that had hurt Bucky, was here on the arm of one of the guests from Misty’s side of the family.  Y/N didn’t let herself react and instead sat in front of Bucky, blocking his view of her as she cupped his face in her hands and forced him to focus on her.  “Hey honey,” she said sweetly.  His eyes softened as he stared at her, blinking rapidly.  “It doesn’t matter that she’s here,” she said quietly, her thumbs rubbing along his cheekbones.  “We’re here to celebrate Sam.  This is his day, and not even an awful ex-wife is gonna get in the way of that, okay?”  He nodded, his breathing evening out as his hands gripped her wrists gently.  “Though if you say the word I will gladly beat her ass,” she said with a smirk.

Bucky laughed, and her heart relaxed at seeing him start to settle down.  “I’d like to see that,” he joked.

“Don’t test me, pretty boy, I may be big but that makes me a big bitch.  I’m scrappy,” she teased before ruffling his hair then smoothing it as she kissed his cheek.

“I bet you are,” he said, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles.  “I’m okay, I was just surprised.”

“Me, too,” she nodded.  “Just focus on me.  You don’t have to even look at her or talk to her if you don’t want to.  If she wants to start shit we can just leave.  I’m here for whatever you want to do.”

He smiled fondly at her.  “Alright,” he agreed.  “Thank you, Mamas.”

Y/N did her best to ignore the new dark cloud hanging over the occasion, focusing on Bucky, his friend Steve, Sam, Misty, and talking to Clint and Natasha who had been invited as well.  At one point she went to the bathroom to relieve herself, and when she was washing her hands Sharon walked into the bathroom.  They stared at each other for a moment before Y/N smirked at her.  “Sharon,” she said coolly, grabbing a towel to dry her hands.

“Y/N,” Sharon greeted her before walking to the mirror and looking at herself.  “I saw you’re here with Bucky.  Hope he’s doing well.”

“Much better now,” Y/N said, looking herself over in the mirror before heading toward the door.  

Of course Sharon couldn’t help herself before blocking Y/N’s way.  Y/N rolled her eyes and sighed heavily as she met Sharon’s sharp gaze.  “I don’t know how much ‘better’ he could be with a sex worker,” she jabbed, her nose crinkling at the title.

Y/N snorted a laugh.  “Think about what you just said,” she said with a smile.  “I think anybody would be doing better with a sex worker than being in a relationship with an emotional-verbal-sexual abuser, liar and cheater.  But what do I know?” she shrugged and stepped around her.  “I’m just the one he fucks until I scream, squirt, or both.”  Sharon’s eyes bulged and her mouth dropped open as she watched her leave.  “Have the life you deserve, bitch,” Y/N said in mock sweetness, flipped her off then sauntered out of the bathroom.  She walked back to their table to find Bucky sitting alone as the rest of the table was up on the dance floor.  She used the moment alone to plop herself on his lap, making him humph in surprise before she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply.

Bucky hummed, his hands automatically moving to hold her in a way so she wouldn’t fall as he kissed her back.  When she pulled away he smirked as he looked up at her.  “Well hello to you, too,” he chuckled.  

She smirked back at him and took a deep breath to calm herself.  It wasn’t that she was angry, necessarily, just annoyed and frustrated.  “Wanna find a quiet spot?” she asked lowly.

Bucky’s eyebrows raised and his eyes slightly widened.  “What…here?”

She shrugged playfully.  “Why not?” she teased, nuzzling his nose as her fingers scratched the nape of his neck.  “You look absolutely delicious in this suit, honey.”  Her hands moved to his shirt, unbuttoning two more buttons before his metal hand stopped her as he blushed.  “I’d love nothing more than to suck your pretty cock until you cum down my throat as these perfect fingers fuck my fat pussy.”

He shuddered, his eyelids fluttering as his hips slightly jerked beneath her ass.  “Y/N,” he said in a warning tone, looking around for eavesdroppers.  “Fuck, I…I don’t know if now is a good time or p-place—”

“Okay, then wanna get out of here?” she asked, subtly bringing his metal hand up to her face and licking the tip of the pointer finger before wrapping her lips around it and sucking it softly.  “We could park somewhere secluded or—-”

“Did something happen in the bathroom?” he asked teasingly.  

“Nothing that matters,” she said, kissing the tip of his finger.  “I just want you.  I always want you.”

That seemed to stun him momentarily until there was applause that interrupted the moment and he laughed breathlessly.  “Okay, um, yeah we can go—”

“Alright everybody, our lovely couple is ready to head out on their honeymoon!” Sam’s other friend Joaquin announced from the stage.  “Let’s head out to the front to bid them farewell!”

Y/N kissed Bucky’s nose before standing up from his lap.  “It’s okay, let’s see them off,” she said.

Later when all was said and done Bucky held her hand as he led her back to his car so they could head home.  Before opening the door for her he looked around then pushed her against the car, pressing into her before leaning down and kissing her lewdly.  Y/N giggled against his lips, wrapping her arms around his waist as he held her by the back of the neck with his metal hand and his flesh hand reached down to grab her ass.  They made out for a while until they heard footsteps, but Bucky didn’t stop, surprising her.  She subtly opened her eyes just enough to see who it was that was approaching and saw Sharon with her date, who was averting his eyes and opening the door for her at a car a little ways away from them.  Sharon looked like she wanted to say or do something, but Y/N caught her eye and winked at her before moaning as she licked into Bucky’s mouth.  Sharon’s face turned red and she quickly sat in the car.  Y/N heard them eventually drive away and smiled.

“Did you know she was coming?” she asked between kisses.

“Maybe,” he teased, his flesh hand moving to wrap around the front of her throat while his metal hand still held her by the back of her neck, like he was anchoring her to the spot.  Even in this vulnerable position, she had no fear as she looked up at him with a proud smile and he watched her with adoration.  “Thank you for tonight,” he said quietly.  “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

You were already trembling from the last two orgasms, but Bucky wasn’t done. He shifted angles, hitting that spot inside you with ruthless precision, his thumb circling your clit in tight, slick strokes. The coil in your belly wound tighter, hotter, until it snapped with blinding force.

The orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave—harder than anything before. Your vision whited out, back arching sharply off the bed as you cried his name. Pleasure bordered on pain, every nerve singing. Then the edges of the world blurred, your limbs going limp, and everything faded to black.

Bucky felt it instantly—the way your body went slack around him, your walls still fluttering but your breathing shallow and uneven. He froze mid-thrust.

“Baby?” His voice cracked. He pulled out carefully, cupping your face. “Hey—hey, sweetheart, talk to me.”

No response. Your eyes stayed closed, lashes dark against pale cheeks.

Panic hit him like a freight train. “No, no, no—fuck!” He scooped you up, heart hammering against his ribs.

Your head lolled against his shoulder as he grabbed the nearest shirt—his own—and yanked it over your head. He didn’t bother with pants for himself beyond boxers, wrapping you in a blanket before bolting for the door.

The drive to the nearest ER was a blur of red lights he ignored and frantic calls to Steve, who promised to meet them there.

Bucky kept one hand on your pulse the whole way, whispering apologies and pleas. “I’m so sorry, doll. Should’ve been gentler. Stay with me, please.”

By the time he carried you through the sliding doors, nurses were already rushing forward with a gurney. They pried you from his arms despite his protests, wheeling you back while a doctor fired questions at him.

Bucky paced the waiting room like a caged animal, metal fingers flexing, until Steve arrived and forced him to sit.

An hour later, a nurse finally emerged. “Mr. Barnes? She’s awake and stable. You can come back.”

Bucky nearly tripped rushing after her. You were sitting up in the hospital bed, looking sheepish in a gown, an IV drip in your arm and color slowly returning to your face. The moment you saw him, your lips twitched into a tired smile.

“Bucky—”

He crossed the room in two strides, pulling you into his chest. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” he muttered into your hair, voice thick. “Thought I killed you, doll. My fault. Too rough—”

“It wasn’t,” you whispered, hugging him back. “Felt amazing… until it didn’t.”

The curtain rustled and the doctor entered, chart in hand, with two nurses trailing. “Well, Mrs. Barnes—” (Bucky didn’t correct the assumption; he liked the sound of it too much.)

“Everything checks out fine. Vitals normal, no underlying conditions. Just a classic case of vasovagal syncope triggered by extreme physical exertion and an exceptionally intense… climax.” The doctor’s lips quirked. “Your husband’s, ah, enthusiasm got the better of your blood pressure for a moment.”

One of the nurses—a sharp-eyed woman in her forties—snorted. “We’ve seen it before, but never with a super-soldier on the chart. You two must’ve broken some kind of record.”

Your face flamed. Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, ears red. “It, uh… wasn’t planned.”

The second nurse, younger and clearly enjoying herself, leaned in. “Honey, next time maybe keep some snacks and Gatorade by the bed. Or, you know, pace yourselves. That man looks like he could go all night.”

Steve, who had slipped in behind the doctor, choked on a laugh and quickly turned it into a cough. Bucky shot him a betrayed glare.

You buried your face in Bucky’s shoulder, mortified but giggling. “We’ll… work on that.”

The doctor cleared his throat, fighting a smile. “Hydrate, rest for twenty-four hours, and maybe take it easy on the acrobatics. You’re free to go once the IV finishes.”

As the medical team filed out, the first nurse winked. “And congratulations on the stamina, Sergeant. The whole floor’s impressed.”

The curtain closed. Silence fell for half a second before you both dissolved into laughter—Bucky’s deep and relieved, yours lighter and still slightly dizzy.

“You fainted because I made you come too hard,” he said, incredulous, pressing kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose. “I’m never living this down.”

“Pretty sure the nurses are already texting the group chat,” you teased, looping your arms around his neck. “Super-soldier sex: now with blackout warnings.”

He groaned, but his eyes were soft, warm blue full of love. “I was terrified, doll. Thought I hurt you bad.”

“You didn’t.” You tugged him down for a gentle kiss. “It was perfect. Until the hospital part.”

Steve poked his head back in. “I brought clothes. And I’m never mentioning this again if you both promise to never speak of it either.”

“Deal,” you and Bucky said at the same time.

Later, back home, Bucky refused to let you walk.

He carried you straight to bed—fresh sheets, a mountain of pillows, and a tray of water, electrolytes, and your favorite snacks already waiting.

He curled around you like a protective shield, metal arm cool against your waist.

“No more passing out on me,” he murmured, nuzzling your neck. “Next time I make you see stars, you stay conscious so you can tell me how good it feels.”

You laughed softly, threading fingers through his hair. “Promise. But maybe we test the ‘taking it easy’ theory tomorrow. Slow and sweet.”

His grin was wicked and tender all at once. “Whatever you want, baby. As long as you’re okay.”

Drabble #1 - Documented condition Rating: Teen

"You put me on your medical forms?" Sam scowled.

"Documented condition." Bucky shrugged

"I will destroy you."

"Symptom four: risk of death."

"I will end you—"

"Fascinating. Keep going."

"Steve!"

Steve looked up from his coffee. He'd been on this couch for eight minutes. He'd aged considerably.

"Bucky. Remove Sam from your allergy list."

"Medical records are confidential."

"I'll show you confidential—" Sam started.

"That doesn't mean anything," Steve said.

"It means something to me—"

"Barnes, I swear to God—"

"Symptom five," Bucky said serenely.

Steve put his coffee down. Stood up. Walked out.

They didn't notice for four minutes.

Drabble #2 - Faker Rating: General Audiences

Bucky faked a cat allergy for years. “Cats make my eyes swell shut.” Convenient. Effective. 

It started with Bucky piggybacking you during a rainstorm. He’d ducked into the alleyway behind your shared apartment. There was a tiny meow, then thunder.

“I hear something!” 

On cue, a tiny meow.

You slid off Bucky, crouching down. Between two trash bins was a rain soaked white kitten.

“Bucky!”

“I’m allergic,” he lied.

“That’s what Benadryl’s for. Just for tonight.”

That night the kitten was asleep on Bucky. Months later, the kitten, now Alpine, lived her best life,, spoiled rotten.

Conveniently, the allergy vanished.

Drabble #3 – Side Effects May Include Rating: General Audiences

At first, Sam thinks Bucky is allergic to your perfume.

A reasonable theory; every time you pass him in the hall, Bucky’s ears go red, his breathing catches, and he finds urgent reasons to leave.

Then Sam blames your lotion.

Then the plants on your desk.

“Serum does weird things,” he says, genuinely worried.

“Yes,” Natasha drawls. “Super soldiers have allergies too.”

Bucky glares. “I’m not allergic.”

You glance up from your mission report. “To what?”

Bucky opens his mouth.

Closes it.

Natasha smiles.

Sam, finally understanding, is delighted.

“Oh,” he grins. “It’s chronic.”

Bucky has to leave the room.

Drabble #4 – Cheap Soap Rating: Teen

Vicious cursing followed Bucky out of the shower, towel slung low on his hips.

“Cheap soap,” he grumbled. “Feels like I rolled in poison ivy.”

Your gaze dropped before you could stop it, taking in his damp skin and the trail of water slipping down his stomach and you forgot yourself for a second.

“You’re naked,” you blurted out, not thinking.

Bucky frowned. “I’m itchy.”

That pulled your eyes higher. Angry red blotches spread across his skin, made worse by where his fingers scratched.

“Shit,” you breathed, already moving. “I’ll see if I’ve got chamomile or something. Stop touching it.”

Drabble #5 - Plan B Rating: General Audiences

“Think of a new plan,” Bucky said, “I’m allergic.”

Sam was eavesdropping; he shouldn’t have jumped in. “Allergic? Do supersoldiers even have allergies?”

“I got the shitty Hydra serum,” Bucky explained. “Just my luck.”

Steve’s face was planted solidly on the table. “You’re not allergic,” he mumbled into the wood.

“Uhh…” Sam wondered what he had wandered into.

“Then explain the tightness in my chest whenever this dumb punk jumps out of a plane, no parachute.”

“You’ve done that, Barnes.”

“He’s what?” Steve’s head shot up, eyes wild.

“Looks like allergies are catching,” Bucky said evenly. “New plan?”

“New plan.”

Drabble #6 - Pickle Juice Rating: General Audiences

“What kind of pickles come on the burger?” Bucky looked up at the waiter.

“Uh, standard? Dill.”

“No pickles, then,” Bucky stated. “I’m allergic to dill.”

“Oh,” Kevin responded, “I’ll be sure to tell the kitchen.”

You fixed Bucky with a look.

“What?” Bucky asked once Kevin left.

“You’re not allergic to anything, super soldier.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t change, but his ears turned pink. “If I say I’m allergic, they actually leave it off.”

You raised one eyebrow.

“I just… I hate them. Unless I’m particular, they throw them on anyway, then the whole burger’s contaminated with dill pickle flavor.”

Drabble #7 – Like a Liar Rating: General Audiences

Bucky crossed his arms, his eyes narrowed as he looked down. A pair of eyes stared back at him, daring him to blink. He wasn’t about to lose that battle. 

“I can’t take you home,” he said, watching the small creature tilt her head. “I’m allergic to cats.”

Yes, Bucky Barnes told a cat, who couldn’t verbally communicate, that he was allergic to her. 

Like a liar. 

He sighed when the feline brushed his leg with a purr. “I have to ask my girlfriend, who is also allergic to cats.”

Another lie.

And you’d love a new pet, right?

Right.

AH-CHOO. *sniff* Well, that about covers it for today! We hope you enjoyed the seven drabbles--now it's time to vote!

Please follow this link to the Google poll to choose your two favorite drabbles.

The authors of the two drabbles with the fewest votes will be announced Friday afternoon. See you then!

As soon as the apartment door clicks shuts, Bucky rounds on you. 

“What was that?” He girts out. “You could have really hurt yourself…” 

You roll your eyes as you drop your bag by the door. Tuning him out, you take stock of the apartment and exits. A bedroom, an ensuite bathroom, pull out couch, fire escape, and four windows with almost no sight lines. Bucky follows you, prattling on about field safety.

His lecture has very little to do with any of that and everything to do with the crater sized crush on you that he refuses to acknowledge. The last time you directly confronted him about it, he left the room sputtering. It’s beyond you as to how you are attracted to his man in so much denial, yet here you are.

You are looking through the pantry when he finally pauses. The silence is tense, but you ignore it in favor of noting the number of canned meat, beans, and instant ramen left.  

“Just what were you thinking?” Bucky says, frustrated.

 “That I probably shouldn’t let my partner to die,” you say without sparing him a glance and continuing to look through the kitchen cabinets. 

“I had it under control,” he says. “That was a really stupid move you pulled with the furnace.” 

“I’m fire-proof,” you snort, finally turning to face him. “Do you need to be reminded what AIM did to me?” 

Bucky gives you an indignant look before he starts rambling again.

“That’s not the point! You can’t keep taking risks….” 

Good grief, you’re so sick of him pulling your pigtails. What is it going to take? You close the distance between you in three determined steps.

“… It’s the principle of the —” You haul him towards you, fisting the collar of his jacket and press your lips against his. 

Bucky stills.

The last of his tirade effuses into the stunned silence. This close, you are surrounded by the ash and char of mission, and some delicate whiff of spice and musk. Just as you are about to pull away, his lips move against yours, slow and careful. Warmth seeps into your veins, and your hold on his jacket loosens. Bucky trails his hands up your arms, cupping you jaw. The brush of his fingers on your bare skin ignites something new. You can’t help but answer, coaxing yet another sweet morsel from his lips. And another. 

It’s only a borrowed moment of an unrealized future. 

You pull away, Bucky follows, stealing one last kiss from you. He opens his eyes, blinking slowly as if he’s trying to recall where he is and what he was doing. He makes such a tempting sight — lips kiss swollen and parted, slate gray eyes looking at you like you might be the answer. The prideful creature in your chest preens that you made him feel like this. You are tempted pull him back into another kiss but you need clarity more than that. 

Bucky’s gaze drift down to your lips and he leans forward but you stop him. 

“The sooner you admit what these safety lectures are really about, the faster we can start having fun,” you pat his cheek, just a touch harder than it needs to be before walking away. 

“Wait, where are you going?” Bucky asks after a pause, voice thick. 

“I’m going to shower,” you call over your shoulder. “You can make us dinner while you think about what you want to say to me.”

Instead, you’re leaning into him without thinking, your shoulder brushing his arm as you laugh at something he said five minutes ago, the sound lingering between you like something soft and lived-in.

“You’re doin’ it again,” he murmurs, voice low, amused.

“Doing what?”

“Smiling at nothing.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow, grounding. “Makes me think you’re plannin’ something.”

You huff out a quiet laugh. “Maybe I am.”

His eyes flicker—bright, curious, fond in a way that still catches you off guard. “Should I be worried?”

“Probably,” you say, but there’s no bite to it. Just warmth.

You’ve known him longer than this—months of missions, late nights at the compound, shared glances across briefing rooms and quiet conversations that stretched a little too long. This is new. The dates, the lingering touches, the way everything feels like it’s slowly unfolding into something bigger.

But it doesn’t feel new.

That’s the strange part.

It feels like slipping into a routine you didn’t realize you already had memorized.

“I’m gonna hit the restroom,” you say after a moment, sliding your hand out from under his.

His fingers chase yours for half a second before he lets you go, like it’s instinct. “Want me to order dessert?”

You pause, already halfway out of your chair. “You know what I like?”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “Chocolate cake. But you’ll say you only want a bite, then steal half of mine.”

You stare at him.

“…Okay, first of all—rude.”

He grins, a little crooked, a little too pleased with himself. “Am I wrong?”

You narrow your eyes. “We’ll discuss this when I get back.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, watching you go, his gaze following you in a way that makes your chest feel tight and warm all at once.

---

Bucky doesn’t realize he’s still smiling until the voice next to him breaks through it.

“You kids act like you’ve been married forty years.”

He blinks, turning his head.

At the table beside him sits an elderly man, his wife across from him with a knowing little smile, both of them watching Bucky like they’ve caught onto something he hasn’t quite figured out yet.

Bucky huffs out a quiet laugh, a little surprised. “That obvious, huh?”

The older woman leans forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. “It’s the way you look at each other.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

Because… yeah. Maybe.

The man nods toward the empty seat across from Bucky. “My wife used to look at me like that. Still does, when she thinks I’m not paying attention.”

“I do not,” she protests, nudging him with her foot under the table.

“You do,” he insists, smiling at her in a way that’s soft and worn-in, like it’s been practiced over decades. “Same look you’ve got right now.”

Bucky watches them for a second too long.

There’s something in his chest that pulls tight at the sight—something quiet and aching and hopeful all at once.

“Guess we’ve just known each other a while,” he says finally, rubbing the back of his neck.

The woman hums. “It’s more than that.”

He glances back at her.

She smiles gently. “That kind of comfort? You don’t fake it. You earn it. Or…” She tilts her head slightly. “…you carry it with you.”

Bucky’s brow furrows, but before he can ask what she means, you’re coming back.

And everything else fades.

---

You slide back into your seat, smoothing your hands over your jeans, immediately aware of the way Bucky’s looking at you.

Not unusual.

But… different.

“What?” you ask, half-laughing. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just studies your face like he’s trying to memorize something.

“Nothing,” he says eventually, softer than before. “Just missed you.”

You blink. “I was gone for like, two minutes.”

“Still counts.”

Your mouth twitches, trying to hide a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, still watching you like you’ve said something profound instead of teasing him. “Probably.”

You glance toward the table beside you, catching the older couple’s gaze for a brief second before they look away, both of them smiling like they know something you don’t.

Weird.

You look back at Bucky. “Did I miss something?”

He hesitates.

Then—“They think we’ve been together forty years.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

“Yeah.” He huffs out a small laugh, but there’s something underneath it. Something quieter. “Said we act like it.”

You open your mouth to joke, to brush it off, but the words don’t come.

Because… you get it.

You feel it.

This ease. This familiarity. The way you didn’t think twice about reaching for his hand, about leaning into him, about knowing what he’d say before he says it.

The way it feels like coming home to something you don’t remember leaving.

“…That’s a little insane,” you say finally, your voice softer than you intended.

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

Neither of you look away.

There’s a beat—quiet, heavy with something neither of you have named yet.

Then you huff out a small laugh, shaking your head. “I mean, we don’t even live together. We’ve never even—”

“—folded each other’s laundry on a Sunday night?” he finishes, a faint smile pulling at his mouth.

You blink.

“…Why does that feel weirdly specific?”

He shrugs, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “Just does.”

There’s that feeling again.

That pull.

Like you’re standing on the edge of something bigger than this moment.

You reach across the table without thinking, your fingers slipping into his like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

His grip tightens immediately.

“Hey,” you say softly. “We’ve got time, you know.”

He exhales, something in his shoulders easing as he squeezes your hand. “Yeah.”

“Forty years is a long time,” you add, a teasing lilt creeping back into your voice.

His smile deepens, warmer now. “Good thing I’m patient.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t let go of him.

And neither does he.

Across the room, the older couple shares a quiet glance, the kind that says everything without a single word.

Like they’ve seen this before.

Like they know exactly how this story goes.

Your gun is in your hand, fingers clenched around the grip and trembling. Why are they trembling? Dirt is caked under your nails, crimson splattered across your skin and the dark sleeve of your shirt like a Jackson Pollock painting. You blink.

A shiver wracks through you. It's cold in here. You blink again, mind foggy as another explosion goes off, a voice following shortly after. Was that your name?

A pair of hands reach for you, an odd but familiar combination of warm flesh and cool metal, but something's wrong. The trembling in your fingers stops, only for them to loosen the hold on your weapon completely.

"No, no, no…" you hear the voice say. What should be a warm, comforting voice is dejected and full of fear. You want to look at them and tell them it's okay. That everything is fine. But your mouth won't move, and neither will your body.

Their hand moves to cup your cheek, turning your face like they had read your mind, only to be met with steel blue eyes swimming in an ocean of tears.

"Stay with me, sweetheart, please," Bucky whispers, voice horse. "I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you. I tried, I swear—"

His voice cracks, lip trembling as a single tear begins to fall, landing somewhere on you…but you can't feel it. Darkness closes in like a weight pressing on your chest, all consuming and clouding your vision. A choked sob is the last thing you hear before the darkness swallows you in a cold embrace.

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A/N 2: Is it normal to cry while writing angst or am I just that sensitive? I literally had to take breaks every sentence or so. I need help.

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JANUARY 3, 2020 — AVENGERS COMPOUND — RÉA

“It smells really good in here,” Bucky says as he walks into the kitchen. “What are you making?”

“I,” Sam says, “am teaching Réa my Titi’s gumbo recipe.”

“Your…your ‘Titi’?”

“My aunt,” Sam explains. “Now get away. This is super-top-secret. Shoo!” he says, waving his hand at Bucky.

I laugh, a loud, hang-my-head-back cackle. “I can’t believe you just ‘shooed’ him! That’s priceless!” I exclaim through my giggles.

Bucky and Sam both chuckle.

“Fine. I’ll go sit over there,” Bucky tips his head towards the kitchen table. “Is that far enough away for you, Sam?”

“I guess,” Sam replies with a grin.

Sam finishes talking me through his aunt’s recipe, whispering the steps as quietly as he can.

“And now we just add all of this back to the pot and let it simmer on low for forty-five minutes. We’ll put the shrimp in after that, and let it cook through.”

“No okra?” I ask.

“Nah. Even though that’s traditional, my Titi didn’t really like it…she used filé powder instead. But that goes in close to the end of cooking…the last ten minutes or so.”

With the gumbo simmering, and after starting the rice cooker, Sam and I head to the lounge; Bucky joins us.

“Hi, sweetheart,’ he says, placing a quick peck to my lips before settling onto the couch beside me.

The three of us fall into easy conversation; slowly, the others trickle into the kitchen and lounge, no doubt following the delectable aroma wafting through the air.

“It smells awesome in here!” Nat says. “Who cooked?”

“Réa and I did,” Sam tells her.

“Oh God, I need to go put on my stretchy pants…I’m going to eat so much!” she says and darts out of the room to soft chuckles from several of the others.

As always, dinner is a lively affair, filled with laughter, banter, and camaraderie. When everyone is finished, Bruce and Steve start on the dishes.

“We should watch a movie,” Wanda suggests.

The others murmur their assent; Bucky looks at me.

“You in?” he asks.

“I’m actually going to go upstairs…I’m working on a piece. I’ve been hearing snippets of it in my head all day, and I’d like to work on it. You go, enjoy hanging out with everyone,” I say with a smile.

He nods. “Alright.”

While everyone else heads to the cinema room—minus Tony and Pepper, who head to their suite with Morgan—I head to the music room.

I take a seat at the piano and start the recording, then let the melody that’s been rolling around in my head all day flow out of me. Once I’ve recorded it, I play back the track, transcribing the notes into my staff notebook, then playing through it again, adding harmony as I go. I continue this process, fine-tuning the piece at the piano, but it doesn’t feel quite right. I set down my pencil, then rise from the piano bench and move to take a seat by my harp.

I play the piece again, and this time it feels perfect. I play it through a few more times, making minor adjustments. My fingers glide over the strings, and the world fades as I get lost in the music. The feeling that I’m not alone pulls me back to the present, and I look up to see Bucky standing outside of the booth, watching me.

I smile softly as part of the memory from the first time he was in here floods my mind.

“And you’re not reading into things,” he says as he walks slowly towards me. “I did want to kiss you…I do want to kiss you.”

My eyes widen. “Y-you…you do?” I ask, stunned by his admission.

He cups my cheek with his right hand, his eyes moving between mine and my mouth. My breath hitches as he skims his thumb over my bottom lip, a spark of desire flickering to life in my belly.

“Yes, I do,” he says, his tone husky. “The question is, do you want to kiss me?”

I nod. “Yes,” I say, my voice breathy.

At my response, he slowly leans in, his hand still on my cheek and his gaze locked on mine. Suddenly, a frisson of self-doubt slithers into my gut, almost completely smothering the spark of desire, and I duck my head.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I, um, I don’t…I haven’t…and you…” I stammer, fidgeting with my fingers. “I’ve heard Steve say that you were a ladies’ man, and I…well…you were there for Truth or Dare. And you said you want to kiss me, but wouldn’t…wouldn’t you rather kiss someone who knows how?”

His hand slides from my cheek to my chin, tilting my head up to meet his gaze, before returning to where it was.

“No, Réa, I wouldn’t.” He pauses, inhaling deeply. “I want to kiss you.”

At his words, that spark of desire reignites, and my breath catches. My tongue involuntarily darts out to moisten my lips, and his eyes follow it. I see his pupils dilate, and he once again brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. He brings his vibranium hand up to my other cheek, gently cupping my face.

“Say the word, Réa, and I’ll stop,” he says as he leans in, his gaze searching mine.

My eyes drift shut, then I feel his lips on mine. As soon as our lips meet, something inside me screams ‘This one!’.

I stop the recording, and rise from my seat, making my way to Bucky. I pull his lips to mine, pouring all of the love I feel for him into the kiss. He kisses me back, his right hand cupping my cheek before sliding into my hair, his left hand skimming down my spine, settling on my lower back and pulling me against him. I feel his hardness against me, and I deepen the kiss, gently nipping his bottom lip before slipping my tongue into his mouth to tangle with his.

As we kiss, his hands move to the hem of my sweater and mine move to the hem of his shirt; our lips part just long enough for us to pull the material over each other’s heads. He crushes his lips back to mine and I reach for his belt buckle. I undo it, then unbutton and unzip his jeans, shoving the material down his muscular thighs. He presses kisses down my neck to the curve of my shoulder, scraping his teeth over my skin before he steps back. He finishes removing his jeans, kicking them aside before shedding his boxer briefs; while he does that, I quickly peel off my leggings and my underwear, adding them to the strewn-about clothes on the floor.

Bucky gathers me into his arms, his lips once more meeting mine as he lifts me. My legs wrap around him as he carries me towards the door; he presses my back against it and grinds against me, his thick length gliding against my core.

“You’re fucking dripping for me…God, doll, you’re soaked,” he growls.

I slide my right hand between us, wrapping my fingers around him and lining him up with my entrance.

“I want you,” I murmur.

“You have me,” he replies as he slowly presses into me.

Given that I’m pressed against the door, I expected hard and fast; his slow gentleness surprises me. The contrast between our position and the way he’s moving inside me sends a rush of heady pleasure through my veins.

“Te simți uimitor,” he says, his voice husky. (You feel amazing.)

He increases his pace, and soon his hips are slamming into mine, each stroke pushing me closer to the edge, but I want more.

“W-want to feel y-you. On t-top of me,” I pant, wanting to be underneath him; to feel his weight on me.

He manoeuvres us so that we’re on the floor, his weight pressing me into the carpet. I arch into him as much as I’m able, wanting him to be as close as possible. His right arm wraps beneath my neck and his left forearm settles beside me, bracketing me in. He presses kisses to the column of my throat and my collarbone as he repeatedly plunges into me; my hips tilt up to meet him, matching him thrust for thrust.

“Ești incredibilă…absolut incredibilă,” he groans into the curve of my neck. (You’re incredible…absolutely incredible.)

“Și tu ești,” I breathlessly reply. (So are you.)

His mouth returns to mine, and the kiss quickly turns into us just resting our foreheads together, our breaths mingling as he pants, and as gasps, sighs, and moans of his name tumble from my lips. My channel flutters around him; it only takes a few more thrusts for me to come apart, my walls squeezing his length as I soar into the stratosphere. I feel him follow me into bliss.

“Réa,” he groans as he spills inside me.

He slows but doesn’t stop, stilling only after he works us both through our climaxes. He lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine. We don’t speak, we just gaze at each other, still breathing heavily. Eventually, our breathing steadies, and he rolls off of me, but keeps his arms around me and his legs tangled with mine. His right hand cups my face, and I cover it with my left, holding it to my cheek. My right hand cups his chin, my thumb gliding over the dimple in the centre.

“I love you,” we say in unison, before smiling at each other.

We lie quietly for a while longer; eventually, the floor starts to get uncomfortable.

“This floor is not comfy.”

“Agreed,” Bucky softly chuckles.

“And my, um…my legs feel like wet noodles, and I like being like this with you, and don’t really want to move…so I’m going to just blink us to my bed. If that’s okay,” I say.

“Yeah, doll. That’s okay.”

I do just that, and Bucky and I both let out a happy sigh at the feeling of the comfortable mattress and soft covers beneath us.

“Much better than the floor…at least for the after,” he smirks.

“Agreed,” I nod.

He gives me a kiss then untangles his legs from mine, rising from the bed.

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart. I’m going to run us a bath.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

I watch him pad into the en suite, then hear him opening the shower door, turning on the waterfall, and closing the drain in the pool; it doesn’t take long for him to return to me.

“Do your legs still feel like wet noodles?” he asks. “Y’know, it doesn’t matter. I’m carrying you anyway.”

He grins and scoops me up, holding me close as he carries me to the pool and settles us in the water. I move from my usual position—in his lap with my back against his chest—to sit so I’m facing him.

“You alright?”

“Yeah. I just want to be able to see you without having to contort,” I reply with a small smile, which he returns.

We soak until the water cools, then rinse off under the waterfall. We dry off, then Bucky once more scoops me up and carries me to the bedroom, setting me on the dresser. He pulls on a pair of charcoal-grey boxer briefs before grabbing one of his t-shirts and a pair of my underwear. He hands them to me and I pull them on while he folds back the covers and settles into the bed.

He opens his arms, holding them out to me, and I gladly settle between them, sighing in contentment as he holds me close. My left hand moves over his chest, my fingers tracing patterns on his skin. I look up at him; cupping his cheek with my left hand, I gently pull his lips to mine. Though the kiss is brief, it’s full of love, devotion, and tenderness.

“I love you, Bucky,” I say as I watch his eyes open and fix on mine. “Always and forever.”

“I love you, Réa. Always and forever.”

I settle under the covers, and, wrapped in Bucky’s arms, I drift off to sleep with a contented smile on my face.