#bucky fandom

You swear you didn't put yourself in this situation on purpose. You had denied going to any parties tonight, wanting to just rot in bed with some nonsense movie and chinese takeout.

But your best friend cum roommate being the absolute menace that she is, dragged you out of your bed, chucked one of her dresses in your hand and pushed you into the bathroom to get ready.

Which is how you find yourself in the bar, surrounded by tens of her girlfriends, celebrating whoever’s bachelorette it is by downing your fifth shot of tequila.

“Another” you slam the small glass on the table with a lopsided smile, swaying slightly. The bartender eyes you, then your best friend, totally rethinking his life decisions.

Nat grabs hold of you as you sway dangerously and toddle towards the dance floor.

“That's enough. Were going home” she puts one of your arms across her shoulders to balance you. All while you try your best to drag her to dance.

“Noooo” you whine “I wanna dance”

“You're in no position to dance, girl” natasha scolds just as the music booms. And before she can react someone grabs your wrist to pull you toward the crowd.

Your eyes light up in drunken joy. “YES. MOVEMENT. I will out-dance my emotions.”

Nat scowls, fingers massaging at her temples as she watches you wobble like a drunk raccoon.

You last approximately thirty seconds before:

– tripping over your own foot

– laughing hysterically

– attempting to twirl

– and nearly colliding with a very confused stranger

Natasha immediately intercepts you like a linebacker. “Okay. Nope. That's it. We're done for today”

She starts to guide you out of the bar while you complaint about your heels and demand more vodka.

You both make it halfway down the block before you stop dead.

“Wait.”

Nat sighs in frustration. “No.”

“I need—”

You don’t finish the sentence as bile rises to your throat, and you lean over the sidewalk throwing up with the kind of dramatic betrayal usually reserved for soap operas.

Nat gathers your hair behind you and holds it in a makeshift ponytail as you retch.

“This was a bad idea” she mutters under her breath, wiping your mouth with her handkerchief as you stand back up and hug her with all the enthusiasm of a tiny panda.

She sighs, dragging you towards the car.

The car ride home is somehow worse. Mostly because you decide to ramble your way out of drunken haze.

You slump against the window, mumbling like you're confessing to the glass.

“I love when he says my name,” you murmur, eyes half shut. “Especially when he says it… like it matters. That’s illegal. He should be illegal in congress.”

Your friend drives with one hand and regrets with the other. “Stop blabbering and go to sleep. Hangover's gonna kill you tomorrow.”

“But…… daddy, I love him” you wail, leaning over the gear shift, wiping your nose on her dress and she grimaces, laying you back on your seat.

“I’m never letting you drink again”

—

You reach the apartment in pieces.

One heel is already missing by the time the door clicks shut and you stumble inside like a defeated knight, blinking at the familiar walls like they’ve personally offended you, brfore making a determined beeline—not for the bed, not for the couch—

For the desk.

Natasha drops the keys and groans. “No. Absolutely not. You are going to sleep.”

“I am going to… process,” you say solemnly, colliding with the chair and half-falling into it. “With words.”

Natasha watches as you fumble your bag onto the floor, squint at the laptop like it might escape, and open it with all the gravity of someone launching a missile.

“Go to bed,” your best friend insists, tugging at your sleeve. “You are drunk. You threw up. Your mascara is… abstract.”

“I am still literate,” you argue, expression serious, cracking your knuckles with purpose. “And deeply burdened.”

You open the document and type one line.

Delete it.

Type it again.

Nat leans over your shoulder. “What are you even writing?”

“A document of emotional significance.”

“That’s called a diary. And it lives offline.” she facepalms.

You sway in the chair, pointing at the screen. “This is… more official.”

“No, this is more dangerous.”

You straighten suddenly. “I have been quiet for too long.”

“You have been loud for three hours.”

You stare at each other.

Your best friend sighs, rubbing her face. “Fine. I’m going to shower. When I come back, you will be right here.”

She lifts a finger. “Do not move from this chair.”

You salute so hard you almost tip over.

“Aye aye.”

Nat pauses in the doorway. “Do not write anything.”

You salute again. “I will not… write anything inappropriately.”

The bathroom door shuts with nat mumbling something like, “She’s gonna get herself fired”

Subtle foreshadowing.

The apartment goes quiet except for the hum of the laptop.

You squint at the blank page.

“Dear Sir,” you whisper, testing it out loud.

Then nod, satisfied.

“That is… respectful.”

Your fingers begin to move.

Slow at first.

Then faster.

Posture miraculously perfect despite the sway in your shoulders.

You mutter as you type. “Subject line is important. One must always… set expectations.”

You type one, squinting suspiciously before changing it.

Subject: Concerning a Conflict of Interest (Personal)

You beam.

“Yes. That is… accurate.”

You lean closer to the screen, hair falling into your face.

“It is with considerable reluctance….” you murmur, squinting, “…and an alarming lack of judgment that I must inform you of a developing issue within my professional conduct.

Your head dips, but the words keep coming.

By the time the shower turns off, the document is three paragraphs long, formatted perfectly, margins aligned, tone immaculate.

You stretch, proud.

“Good,” You say softly. “That was very… contained.”

Subject: Concerning a Conflict of Interest (Personal)

Dear Sir,

It is with considerable reluctance and an alarming lack of judgment that I must inform you of a developing issue within my professional conduct.

Said issue involves an excessive awareness of your presence in shared spaces, including but not limited to conference rooms, elevators, and the general vicinity of your desk.

Upon further reflection, I regret to report that the aforementioned “distraction” has escalated into what medical professionals might classify as longing.

This manifests in involuntary behaviors such as: – memorizing the cadence of your footsteps – experiencing unreasonable satisfaction when you request coffee – developing a heroic desire to defend you from mild inconveniences

Your finger slips.

Not save.

Not draft.

Post.

You blink at the screen,smiling proudly.

Then promptly rest your forehead on the desk.

By the time natasha appears in the doorway again, you have fallen asleep on the desk, drooling slightly. The laptop screen is still glowing.

five emails sent to congressman barnes

She groans, wondering what you might have written in there, before wrapping a blanket around your shoulders and leaving the room.

And you? well, you sleep peacefully, unaware of the upcoming storm that you have deliberately thrown yourself into.

——

The office is still half-asleep when he arrives.

Lights off in most corridors.

Security nodding quietly.

The city outside his windows just beginning to breathe.

This is his hour — before meetings, before numbers, before decisions that weigh on other people’s lives.

He sets his coat on the back of his chair, loosens his cufflinks, and sinks into his chair.

For a moment, he just stares at the desk.

Files stacked in perfect alignment.

His schedule printed and clipped the way you know he likes it.

A pen placed parallel to the folder, because you once noticed he straightened it unconsciously.

He exhales.

You do this every night. Stay later than you need to. Prepares tomorrow before you leave today.

He blinks, loosening his tie, eyes drifting automatically to the small details you leave behind:

A faint floral scent in the air.

A sticky note reminding him to eat lunch.

Your handwriting in the margins of a report—small, precise, careful.

You.

He exhales slowly.

He notices everything about you. He wishes he didn’t.

The way you bite the inside of your cheek when concentrating. How chirp “good morning” like you didn't lose sleep last night on today's meetings.

It is inconvenient, this feeling.

Unwise.

Ill-timed.

You're too young for him. Too bright.

Too unguarded in the way only someone who still believes in effort and fairness can be.

And he is… not.

He has meetings that decide futures. Scars from past battles. A life made of careful choices and restrained wants.

You're brilliant. Efficient. Too young to be tangled in something as complicated as him. And technically, professionally, untouchable.

He presses his thumb against the edge of the desk.

But he still looks at you, he can't help but watch you.

The way you tilts your head when thinking.

How you say his name in that sweet bird like voice like the name belongs to you.

How you stay late without being asked.

How you never look at him when you laughs — as if afraid you might give something away.

And God help him, he is in love with you.

Quietly.

Carefully.

From a distance he pretends is enough.

He has rules for himself:

Do not stare.

Do not linger.

Do not want.

Especially not someone so young. so innocent.

Especially not someone who trusts him with her time, her career, her future.

“She doesn't think of you like that, bucky. For fuck's sake, get a grip,” he murmurs to the empty office.

If only he knew.

He shakes his head, ridding himself of his regular morning brooding session and turns on his laptop.

The screen glows to life.

Inbox loads.

He expects to see board messages, legal reminders, market reports.

What he does not expect—

Company-wide post:

“Concerning a conflict of interest (personal)”

That… is not a budget memo.

He frowns, clicking it open.

And the universe collapses directly into his chest.

Dear Sir,

It is with considerable reluctance and an alarming lack of judgment that I must inform you of a developing issue within my professional conduct…….

Your words.

Your tone.

Your formatting.

His heartbeat stumbles as reads and rereads.

Subject: Clarification Regarding the Severity of the Situation

Dear Sir,

It has come to my attention that my previous messages may have understated the gravity of my condition.

I do not simply admire you. I suffer from an ongoing preoccupation with the way your sleeves roll up when you are focused, and how your expression softens when you believe no one is watching.

This has resulted in a persistent desire to be nearer to you than professionally necessary, and an irrational disappointment when meetings conclude.

The said meetings are spent by me wondering how you might react finding me on my knees under your desk, mouth working meticulously on your cock while you try to lead the meeting.

Hence, should you notice increased efficiency in my work, please be advised it is fueled entirely by such improper fantasies, inappropriate affection and an alarming amount of emotional attachment.

With troubling sincerity, Your assistant (emotionally unsound)

His throat tightens. Another message appears.

Subject: Formal Notice of Want (Unprofessional Edition)

Dear Sir,

It is no longer possible to categorize my feelings as a minor inconvenience. They have evolved into a persistent craving for your attention, your approval, and, regrettably, the warmth of your proximity.

I find myself imagining being seated on your lap while your metal fingers explore me in the ways I am unable to explain. Coaxing the whines and moans out of me as my warm, wet walls envelope the said metal fingers.

It is essential for you to know that the desire I have to be on my knees before you and have your hands rest in my hair while I wrap my lips around your cock is irrepressible.

It is pre-eminent for me to hear you moaning my name as you hold me against the glass window of your office, cock pounding into me while you usher me to stay quiet. And having you shove your fingers in my mouth when i’m unable to do so.

Should you inquire, my other fantasies include but are not limited to, riding you until you pass out, making out with you in your office, being bent over your desk while you fuck me from behind.

Then another. His eyes are wide enough to pop out of the sockets as he takes in each filthy, agonizing detail you've written in your letters.

Subject: Final Report on My Emotional Collapse

Dear Sir,

I hereby confess that my professionalism is now held together by routine alone. Beneath it exists an unrestrained desire to be chosen by you in ways that extend far beyond quarterly objectives.

I wish to be the first person you see when you arrive and the last you speak to before leaving. I wish to be indispensable not only in function but in feeling.

It is vital for me to be fucked by you so as to be relieved of having to do it myself while imagining your cock instead of my hands.

I find it highly uncomfortable to not he able to kiss you when I want to and to sit on your lap like it's my assigned position.

If this sentiment is inappropriate, I accept full responsibility. If it is mutual, I will require several minutes to process the miracle.

I remain, disastrously yours in spirit, The assistant who has crossed several emotional boundaries

By the time he's done reading the last of the letters, his heart is thudding wildly in his chest.

His throat tightens at the raw vulnerability in each letter.

Each one worse than the last.

Each one more honest. More filthy.

Each one written like a confession wrapped in professionalism.

He leans back slowly in his chair, hand over his mouth.

You wrote this, he thinks. Drunk, probably. Brave, definitely. Not knowing what it would cost you.

And somehow the fact that hits him the hardest is that you wrote all this… about him.

Of all people.

He scrolls again, rereading it. Not because he needs to. Because he wants to.

Because every line sounds like something he has been forcing himself not to feel.

He thinks of your age. Of his position. Of the way the world would look at this.

Then he thinks of the way you look at him.

And for the first time in months, the rules feel… negotiable.

He eyes close themselves, a tender, mischievous smile blooming across his face as an idea plants itself in his head.

—

You wake up with no memory of last night and cursing at the alarm clock.

“Ughh” you groan, rolling over in your bed to hide from the bright lights peeping in from the curtains, except you're not on your bed.

The desk chair creaks as you try to roll over and fall to the floor with a loud thunk.

“I'm guessing you're awake” comes Nat's sarcastic voice from the kitchen.

“Shut up. It's your fault” you wince, getting up.

“But it wouldn't be my fault if you get fired for being late at work.” She shouts back and you glance at the clock.

“FUCK”

You rush to the bathroom, yelping when you stub your little toe against the bed in hurry.

By the time you're ready and on the way to capitol hill, you're already late by an hour.

You dash across the parking lot and through the reception, towards your desk. Hoping you didn't miss any early morning meetings or events that you had to remind bucky about.

God forbid he misses something important because of your foolishness and you'd lose this one thing you love doing.

Only if you remembered the stuff you pulled off last night.

Your anxiety almost makes you trip over a crate of water bottles when Jane, from reception catches your arm.

“Careful there, honey” she smoothes your coat, smiling amiably before adding “congressman barnes was asking for you in his cabin”

“For me?” You confirm. It isn't too rare of bucky to ask for you, you're his assistant. Of course he'll call you if he needs something.

But you can't get the feeling out of you that there's definitely something wrong. You brush it off, thinking its because you're late that you're feeling this way.

Jane intercepts your train of thoughts “Don't worry, it's not because you're late. He needs you to review some files”

“Oh thank god.” You sigh a breath of relief and hastily walk over toward bucky's cabin after thanking Jane.

You don't knock before entering. Knowing he can hear you approach anyway. And after working for years as an assistant for him, you've crossed the bridge of professionality to being friends.

“You asked for me, sir?” you chime as you walk in, smiling slightly as you watch him write something in his notepad.

“If I didn't know any better, I'd think you like me correcting you every time you call me sir” he looks up, eyebrows slightly raised, voice laced with his teasing lilt.

You giggle, making your way across the room and sinking in the chair in front of him. “Jane said you wanted me to review some files?” You question.

“Yeah. Here. Have a look at this.” He slides a leatherback folder across the table toward you, and leans back in his chair, smirking.

His eyes are bright like you've never seen before, almost mischievous, like he's….. up to something.

You open the folder and stop dead at the very first line that gets your attention…

I find myself imagining being seated on your lap while your metal fingers explore me in the ways I am unable to explain.

Your eyes trail upwards, reading the whole thing.

What the fuck! Is this your formatting? Oh…fuck yeah it is.

You turn the page and find another letter, then another, then another.

Each one filthy.

Each one highly Unprofessional.

Each one vulnerable and raw in a way that you'd never be if you weren't drunk.

Oh My God

The memories slam back to you like a freight train. Nat's party, the shots, the desk……the emails, all of it.

You look up, embarrassed to your very bones and wishing the earth would swallow you whole, this instant.

You're so fired

“So…” Bucky begins and you close your eyes, knowing what he'd say. Something among the lines of ‘this was very Unprofessional’ or ‘you're fired’ but the words that come out of his mouth are something you'd never even thought of in your wildest dreams.

“About that….” he leans towards the table, tapping a spicy nasty line in particular “….how would you like to proceed”

Your mouth falls open but no sound comes out.

Out of all the ways you expected this to go, this was not it.

Your cheeks burn red with embarrassment and anticipation as bucky gets up and stalks closer towards you.

You turn in your chair as he reaches you, stooping down so he's eye level with you. His eyes are tender now. Almost adoring.

“You aren’t supposed to love me like this,” he murmurs.

Then adds just as quietly, “…but I don’t think I can pretend I didn’t see it.”

You don't know what you see in his eyes that makes you want to tell the truth “I do” you nod “I really do”

His metal palm cups your face as you whisper “I love you bucky”

He leans in, close enough that your nose nudges his, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fan your face.

His eyes flick toward your lips, then back at your eyes, giving you all the time to pull away if you want.

You don't.

You tip your face up, closing the gap and meeting his lips in a slow, tremulous kiss.

His lip quivers slightly when your tongue sneaks out to lick at it. His mouth opens itself, letting you in, deepening the kiss.

Your tongues slide against each other, exploring, fighting for dominance.

His hand is tangled in your hair, yours holding on to his shirt for dear life.

Bucky's palms slowly make their way across your back, settling themselves around your thighs and hoisting you up from the chair.

You break the kiss with a yelp as bucky places you on his desk “you wanted to be fucked on my desk, didn't you?” He pecks your lips, smiling.

You nod, shy beyond measure.

“I need your words, baby” his fingers grab hold of your chin, tipping it up so your eyes would meet his.

“I want you to fuck me, bucky” you murmur, hiding your face in his chest as he chuckles, breathy and amused.

“Not yet, sweetheart” he mutters, dropping to his knees.

“Buck, what're you—” you start but he shushes you.

“I need to taste you, baby. Can I?….please” his eyes are dark with lust, restraint running thin, yet he asks so nicely, so patiently, how can you say no to him.

“Have at me, bucky” you reply

His hands slowly skim across your thighs, sliding your skirt up until its bunched at your waist.

He groans at the sight in front of him, before leaning in and pressing his nose to the thin material of your panties.

You gasp at the contact. “Fuck, sweetheart. You smell so sweet” he mumbles against you, kissing your inner thigh before sinking his teeth into the flesh then soothing it with his tongue.

“Take them off” you tell him, voice breathy. As he hooks his fingers into the waistband and pulls the panties down slowly, you push them away when they reach your ankles.

Gasping as bucky's mouth finds your wet core. “Aww baby, you get this wet from reading your filthy letters” he teases.

You frown “No. It's—um—it's because of you” you confess shyly.

He smiles, proud and smug, pressing a chaste kiss to your core. Before his tongue slips out, licking a thick stripe through your warm, wet heat.

You shudder at the feeling.

“Fuck, You taste even better.” He pulls away, looking up at you before diving right back in. Slow teasing licks that make you gasp and chaste kisses that leave you craving for more.

Your hips move on their own. Inching closer to him, chasing more of his tongue. His mouth. “Bucky, please” you whine in frustration as he laps at your pussy, avoiding your clit yet again.

“Begging already? I haven't even touched you properly yet” his voice is low and teasing.

Your eyes narrow at him, feigning annoyanace “Shut —Ahh” your insult is cut off as a moan tears through you when his mouth closes on your clit, suckling slightly.

Your thighs shake where they're held apart by him around his head.

“Bucky—Ahh—just like that” he doubles down at your praise. Pushing two fingers inside of you while he nurses at your clit.

His fingers curl slightly, brushing a spot that makes you see stars. You whimper, already trembling in his arms as bucky's hands find their way to your ass, pulling you closer to his face.

The sound you make is animalistic as bucky picks up the pace. Fingers thrusting faster, mouth suckling harsher.

“Bucky—I'm gonna—”

“Yes, come on my tongue, sweetheart. Let me feel it” he curls his fingers, pressing harder against the spot that makes your hips jerk.

Your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave. Making every bit of your body shiver as your thighs tighten around his head and you come with a choked gasp.

You're still gasping when he comes up to kiss you. You taste yourself on his tongue and moan into his mouth.

You grab the collar of his shirt, tugging him closer. His hands land on your waist, swiftly sneaking under your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin.

Your fingers make quick work of the buttons of his shirt before letting it fall to the floor while you stare at bucky's bare chest in awe.

You trace your fingers over every ridge of muscle, every scar tissue, every bulging vein, with reverence.

He lets you explore. “Like what you see?”

“I do” you smirk before pressing your lips to the centre of his chest.

You feel a shiver run through his body as he tries to maintain his composure, his hard length pressing against your exposed core through his pants.

Your lips move upwards, tracing the path of your fingers before pressing a kiss to his jawline and closing around his Adam's apple.

He groans and you feel it in your veins like a zap of electricity. Your mouth trails farther, kissing and nipping at his collarbone. His hips rut forward, helplessly, grinding against you.

“I need you inside me bucky” you murmur against his neck, impatient.

“I thought you'd never ask” Bucky groans, pulling away to rid himself of his pants.

Your mouth goes dry when you see him. All of him. His cock is thick and flushed pink. Slightly curved towards his stomach, veins clinging across his shaft.

You reach for him. Stroking slowly. His eyes close, “Don't—don't do that, or this will be over before it starts” he warns when your hold tightens around him.

“Then don't wait.” You inch closer, lining him up.

“You're sure?” He confirms. You nod.

He shakes his head “Words, baby”

“I'm sure bucky. I think I'd die if you don't fuck me now” he chuckles that turns into a choked breath halfway as he eases himself in slowly.

His eyes flutter shut, pulse thundering against your hand where its pressed to his chest. “Fuck” he swears “fuck, baby. You're—you're so tight. I won't last”

“Who said you have to” your reply is earnest “I just want to feel you buck”

“You feel so good, sweet girl” he pushes in slowly “Fuck, never felt anything like you”

You feel the sting of his cock stretch you open and you hide your face in the crook of his neck as he pushes all the way in and stills.

His breath is heaving “I won't move until you say so” his fingers tremble when they get hold of your hand, intertwining with your fingers.

The sting slowly fades into a warm thrumming beneath your bones. You roll your hips experimentally and sparks of pleasure shoot down your spine.

“Move, bucky. Please” you grind harder against him, making him groan before he pulls out almost all the way and sheathes himself back in.

He doesn't find a pace, too lost in pleasure, in you. His thrusts remain ragged and erratic as he tries to hold himself for longer.

His metal palm wanders down to rub tight circles on your clit and you cry out at the sensation.

Your orgasm hits you like lighting. Sudden and overpowering as your vision whites out and you almost scream “James”

The sound that comes out of him is almost a whine when he hears his first name from your mouth. His thrusts grow shallow, breath heaving, heart thundering as he spills inside groaning your name.

By the time you both slump into his chair, your ears are still ringing.

You're nestled on his lap, as he palms your ass in quiet, reverent caresses. He presses warm and chaste kisses to your forehead. Your cheek. Your nose.

“You still with me, sweet girl?” He asks, voice laced with concern and love. You nod against his chest. Tired and boneless.

“You did so good for me” he praises and heat rises to your cheeks yet again. You top your head up, enveloping him a kiss that's sloppy and playful, yet loving all the same.

“I guess getting drunk is not so bad after all” you pull away, smirking slyly.

“Of course not if it ends like this” he agrees slapping your ass playfully. You squeak before breaking into giggles.

“But I have a complaint” bucky states, making you meet his eyes in a serious expression.

“What complaint?” You question

“Next time you want to confess your naughty fantasies, you don't need to write letters.” He winks “you can just tell me” then swiftly adds “we'll recreate it however you want”

You hide your face in his neck with a loud whine, although the way your eyes shine and your lips twitch in a smile, betrays you.

And you think, “Sometimes the dumbest detours are the ones that accidentally lead you straight to the best place.”

A/N : When I tell you I was SUFFERING while writing the smut, it's an understatement. I rewrote it four times and I still think I've done a shit job. I find all the dialogues cringy and the description just feels bleh to me.

I'm so fucking nervous and anxious. If this fic flops, I'm never writing smut again, thank you 😭

Dividers : @dividers-are-us

Tag list : @redstarleftarm, @sweetserendipity65, @sambuckystony, @nymphhbabiee, @darlingdenise, @quantumbarnes, @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger, @bstan01, @phoenix-in-writing, @singulartoast, @danerb67

The supermarket was quiet. Just a few people were strolling calmly through the aisles, looking at the well-stocked shelves as they decided what else, besides the items already on their lists, they would end up taking home that day.

Bucky was one of those people.

The cart was already full with everything you had written down on the shopping list, but he kept wandering through the aisles more out of distraction than necessity. It was a way to keep Grant entertained while you were in the toy section looking for a birthday present for your son.

He pushed the cart slowly, staying close behind the little boy as he walked around staring at everything within sight. Grant grabbed anything within his reach just to inspect it curiously before putting it back—or at least trying to.

“Put that back where it belongs, buddy.” Bucky said calmly.

And every single time Grant obeyed, a small smile appeared on Bucky’s lips almost immediately.

The moment he noticed the boy was about to turn toward the toy aisle, Bucky reacted quickly.

“Grant, let’s go this way.” Bucky said as he steered the cart into another aisle.

The child turned around with a small pout painted across his lips, clearly unhappy about it, though he still ended up following his father anyway.

“I wanna see the toys...” he mumbled, dragging out the words a little before adding more quietly, “And I miss Mom...”

Bucky’s expression softened instantly.

He missed you too. The need to take care of you had only grown stronger since your new pregnancy.

“When she comes back, the three of us can go look at the toys together, okay?”

Grant gave a tiny nod and quickened his pace with small hurried steps to catch up to him. He reached out to grab onto the sleeve of his father’s jacket.

Bucky didn’t hesitate to let go of the cart with one hand so he could intertwine his fingers with his son’s as they entered the frozen food aisle.

They walked together for a few seconds before Grant suddenly let go and ran toward one of the glass freezer doors. He pressed both hands against the glass while staring with completely lit-up eyes at a box of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets.

“Dad! Dad!” Grant exclaimed excitedly, bouncing on his feet. “My nuggets! We have to get them!”

Bucky pulled the folded shopping list from his jacket pocket and looked over it quickly.

You hadn’t written down nuggets.

“Mom didn’t put nuggets on the list.” he replied to his son.

The pout returned to Grant’s face, this time much deeper. His blue eyes began to fill with that watery shine of crocodile tears that rarely worked on you, but your husband was weak.

Bucky let out a barely audible sigh as he quickly stuffed the list back into his pocket before giving his son a conspiratorial smile.

“Maybe your mom forgot to write them down. Go ahead, grab one.”

“Yaaay!” Grant squealed immediately, unable to contain his excitement.

His small hands hurried toward the handle of the glass door, though he only managed to move it a few inches before Bucky stepped in to help him.

The second the door opened completely, Grant grabbed one of the nugget boxes and hugged it tightly against his chest as if he had just discovered treasure. Barely a second later, he let out a high-pitched giggle when the cold seeped through the fabric of his hoodie.

“It’s so cold!” he exclaimed between laughs while holding the box out to his father.

Bucky chuckled softly under his breath before taking the nuggets and placing them into the cart.

“That’s what happens when they live in the freezer."

Grant laughed again and continued walking beside him, though the peace only lasted a few seconds.

“Dad! We should get ice cream!”

This time, Bucky didn’t even need to pull out the list. He already knew ice cream wasn’t on it, especially since there was still half a tub left at home thanks to your constant pregnancy cravings.

“There’s still ice cream at home, buddy.”

The pout instantly returned to Grant’s face with impressive speed.

“But I want chocolate ice cream...”

Bucky held firm for exactly five seconds.

Five.

Because Grant crossed his arms and, with all the dramatics a small child could possibly gather, dropped himself onto the cold supermarket floor.

“I miss my mom...” he said in a shaky, high-pitched voice while the first tears started rolling down his cheeks.

Bucky looked up just in time to notice a woman passing through the aisle watching him with a slight frown, as if silently judging what kind of terrible father he was.

He let out a resigned sigh.

Setting the cart aside, he walked over to Grant and easily lifted him up by the underarms before settling him against his hip.

“Okay, okay... we’ll get a small tub of ice cream for everyone to share.”

The crying stopped so fast it was almost offensive.

Grant immediately burst into laughter again, completely recovered, while Bucky grabbed a small tub of chocolate ice cream and placed it into the cart, shaking his head faintly even as a small smile tugged at his lips.

After that, things got a little out of control.

Aisle after aisle, Grant took full advantage of his father’s far-too-soft heart to convince him to add more things to the cart. First, it was a strawberry yogurt “because it looked yummy.” Then a small box of crayons he apparently “urgently needed.” After that came grape juice.

And finally, a pine tree-shaped car freshener that Grant found so funny he spent nearly an entire minute laughing at it by himself.

By the time Bucky finally lifted his gaze and spotted you in the distance, he let out a sigh of absolute relief.

Because honestly, if Grant continued having unlimited access to his guilt and emotional weakness, they were probably going to leave with half the supermarket.

The moment Grant saw you at the end of the aisle, his eyes lit up even more.

“Mommy!” he shouted excitedly while already waving his arms from where he sat in his father’s hold.

Bucky barely had time to set him down before the boy took off running toward you as fast as his tiny legs could carry him, wrapping himself around your legs the second he reached you.

“Oh, God! Careful, sweetheart.” you said, startled but smiling.

One of your hands instinctively went to your swollen belly while the other rested on Grant’s head, gently stroking his hair.

You only managed to take a few steps before Bucky approached with the shopping cart.

“Look at everything we got!” Grant announced proudly, as if he had been the one doing all the hard work.

Bucky tried to look completely normal.

He failed.

Because the cart no longer resembled the original shopping list in the slightest.

The bags of vegetables and the things you had actually needed were buried beneath dinosaur nuggets, yogurts, juice boxes, chocolate ice cream, crayons, and the pine-scented car freshener still hanging ridiculously from the side of the cart.

“James...” you murmured while looking at him.

Bucky felt that look the same way a soldier felt the sight of a rifle aimed at the back of his neck.

“Before you say anything...” he started, raising one hand slightly, “I just want to clarify that technically all of this was emotional manipulation.”

Your hand left your son’s hair to rest on your hip while the other continued rubbing your belly.

“This kid is dangerous.” Bucky defended himself quickly.

“Dad let me get nuggets!” Grant interrupted with a huge grin.

“Grant also cried on the floor." Bucky added immediately, pointing at him in an attempt to shift the blame. “There was an audience. People were judging me.”

You raised an eyebrow while letting go of your stomach to pick up the air freshener between two fingers.

“And this?”

Grant burst into laughter as he finally let go of your leg.

“It’s a tree! And it smells good!”

Bucky looked away, completely incapable of defending himself this time.

“I have no explanation for that one.”

Grant wrapped himself around your leg again while continuing to ramble nonstop.

“And we also got chocolate ice cream because I missed you and Dad said we could all share it and there’s juice and crayons and-”

Bucky closed his eyes for a brief second.

“He psychologically manipulated me for forty straight minutes. I wasn’t prepared for this.”

And even though he tried to sound exhausted, the small tired smile on his face completely ruined any real attempt at complaining.

Because seeing you there, with Grant clinging to your leg, a baby on the way, and a shopping cart full of unnecessary things, still felt dangerously close to a perfect life.

One he had never believed he deserved, but somehow had now.

“What am I going to do with you, Barnes?” You murmured in amusement while looking over the contents of the cart. “You become weak when it comes to Grant. I don’t even want to imagine how you’ll be once this little girl is born.”

Bucky’s smile widened instantly, turning into something shamelessly flirtatious.

He slowly stepped closer and cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently against your cheeks. The cold vibranium of his metal hand made you shiver and laugh softly.

“Maybe you should just love me anyway...” He murmured close to your lips before pressing a soft kiss against them. “...Even with my weak heart.”

And then another.

And another one after that, barely brushing against your lips with that absentminded tenderness that always managed to undo you far faster than you were willing to admit.

For a moment, you completely forgot that you were still standing in the middle of a supermarket.

Until a small indignant voice interrupted the moment.

“You’re squishing me!”

You and Bucky burst into laughter as you quickly pulled apart.

Grant was still wrapped around your leg, accidentally trapped between the two of you. The little boy finally let go only to cross his arms over his chest, a small offended pout appearing on his face.

“You’ll survive, champ.” Bucky said, still laughing.

Grant didn’t seem convinced.

Before he could start protesting again, Bucky spoke first, suspiciously quick to regain control of the situation.

“Didn’t you want to go look at the toys, Grant?”

That was enough.

All indignation disappeared instantly.

“Yes!”

Grant immediately took off running toward the toy aisle without wasting a second, forcing both of you to follow before he decided to take home half the store.

You ended up holding onto Bucky’s arm as you walked behind your son, watching him excitedly dart through the aisles.

Bucky lowered his voice slightly so Grant wouldn’t overhear him.

“Did you get the presents?”

You nodded with a proud smile.

“They’re hidden in the trunk.”

Bucky let out a small sigh of relief.

“Perfect. Because if that kid saw the toys, he’d probably try to convince us to buy them right now.”

“Probably?”

Bucky barely turned his head to look at you with amusement.

“Okay. Definitely.” He admitted.

A laugh escaped your lips as the two of you kept walking together, watching Grant stop in front of a massive shelf filled with action figures.

The boy immediately turned toward you both, his eyes shining with excitement.

You just smiled to yourself as the doors closed in front of yourself and Bucky.

It was noticeable, the change, between yourself and Bucky. 

The rare good morning grunts, or more often; complete, yet heavy, silence. They had been swapped for smiles and genuine good mornings. The training and shift patterns were easier to assign, mission reports were completed with less dent marks in the paper, and the evening dinners were less awkward. 

Sam and Wanda had become hopeful. They all had. 

“They look happy, don’t they?” Sam asked aloud, already knowing Wanda was silently standing beside him. 

She smiled. “They really do.”

Down the hallway, you and Bucky were exiting the training room, laughing. The look in Bucky’s eyes – the light – had been rare to see in the last year. But when he was with you…

The light between both of you could blind any shadow. 

“Is it permanent?” Sam asked, something in his gut denying him true joy. 

Wanda smiled, hopefully. “I think so. Their connection runs deep. He helped her heal. She helped him. Nobody can end a connection like that.”

Sam nodded, turning his head to look back down the corridor where you and Bucky had just turned. He could only hope it would last. 

Bucky had been in love with you for a long time, even if he didn’t like it. Sam didn’t want him to hide it away. He deserved love. And so did you. 

Even when all you did was fight, you were each other's safe space. 

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Shut up.”

“Because one wrong hit and it all falls down.”

You were starting to regret agreeing to family games night at Kate’s apartment. It was yourself, Kate, Yelena, Clint and Bucky; all sat on the floor. 

“Careful, doll.”

“Shut up.”

You knew you’d taken a risky move with the jenga block, but if you’d chosen the one Clint had first been trying to ‘help’ you towards, you’d lose. 

“You know, this is a stupid game. We should play something else.” Yelena said. Her’s would be a different tune if she hadn’t lost the last round. 

Kate shushed her, “She’s gonna do it.”

Clint looked at his work partner. “This is a one for all game. Can’t be girls vs boys. We’re outnumbered.”

Yelena scoffed. “Bucky is like…ancient. He qualifies for two people, at least.”

You sniggered, trying to keep your focus on the wooden block. 

“You are a child.” Clint deadpanned before turning to Bucky. “They’re children.”

“Ah!” You pulled the brick free and held up your arms. “Done it!”

The tower remained standing for another minute before Clint took his go and the tower came falling down. 

Yelena just laughed, “Ha.”

You chuckled, pushing yourself to stand. “Okay, I’m getting another drink.”

“I’ll set up the next game.” Yelena called out before picking up the monopoly board. 

“I’ll come with you,” Bucky said as you stepped over his legs before helping him up.

As the pair of you walked into the kitchen, you could hear the other three stuck in an argument over who should be the banker. 

“Beer?”

Bucky held out his hand and you passed him the two in your hand. Popping off both caps, he threw the tops into the sink before handing you yours. 

You both clinked the necks of the bottles against each other’s. “You did good.”

“Would have been easier if I didn’t have this super annoying voice coming from across the table.”

Bucky smirked a little, narrowing his eyes. “Now where would the fun in that be?”

You just shook your head as you took a sip of your beer. You leaned against the sink as Bucky leaned adjacent to you. 

“So…”

“So?”

Bucky lowered the beer bottle from his lips and braced himself on the counter. “I’ve got a free day tomorrow if you want to…do something. With me.” 

You looked him over. “Why are you shy?”

You saw him blush a little as he looked away. “I’m not- I’m not shy.”

You smiled and Bucky felt like he needed to look away despite that being the last thing he wanted to do. 

“Bucky,” your voice was soft as you looked at him. “What is it?”

“I just…” Bucky’s question was on the tip of his tongue. But then he chickened out. “I was wondering if you wanted to train with me tomorrow?”

“You were nervous to ask me to train with you?”

Bucky nodded. “Last time I asked, you said no.”

You just stood back for a moment, your eyes fixed on him. “I’ll train with you.”

Bucky felt like his crush in a 40s dancehall had just finally agreed to dance with him. “Really?”

“Really,” you nodded. “Don’t know who would train on their day off, but sure.” You smiled before grabbing the bowl of snacks on the kitchen counter. 

“We better get back in there before the bank has a hostage situation.”

Bucky chuckled, following you back into the living room. 

By the time the next afternoon rolled around, you and Bucky were beat. 

Bucky held his side. “I thought you were taking it easy after your injuries.”

You laughed, “I got a full clearance from the hospital four months ago. Good as new. Thought I’d go easy on you? Never.”

You almost had Bucky to his feet but he pulled a reverse on you. Somehow you found yourself trapped on your knees, your back against his chest. “Little too cocky, sweetheart. And who said I wanted you to go easy on me?”

Jabbing him in the ribs, he calculated your next move. You were rolled onto the mat together. As you had Bucky on his back, you felt him reach for your knife. Only, it wasn’t there. 

He felt a small pinch by his side. He looked down, a little breathless. “You remembered.”

A small chuckle left you. “I remember a lot of things about you, Barnes.”

You didn’t know what it was. Your words and their hidden meaning, the smile on his face as he was looking at you, the way his eyes flicked to your lips, or the fact that yours did the same with him. Maybe it was his hand, holding onto the side of your leg, his thumb mindlessly rubbing back and forth. Maybe it was the breathless exchange. Or maybe it was your constant reminder of him that fell forward from your t-shirt. 

Dangling between you both were Bucky’s dog tags. 

Pulling your attention away from the slow-swinging metal, Bucky spoke, “You’re still wearing them.”

Your gaze locked onto his. “Yeah…never take them off.”

Maybe it was the fact that Bucky was looking at you like…like he wanted to kiss you. Or the fact that you wanted him to. 

But something shifted. 

You cleared your throat and quickly moved yourself from Bucky’s body and stood up. “I, uh, I should…there’s somewhere I’ve gotta…” 

You couldn’t think straight. You just needed to get out of there, before you did something reckless. 

The rest was a blur. Gathering your things up, Bucky slowly standing up and trying to keep you calm. He was clueless and worried. And somewhere between it all, you’d pressed his dog tags into his palm and left. 

For the next month, things were…awkward, to say the least. 

“Has she told you anything?” Bucky asked, once again frustrated that you weren’t talking to him. 

It was bordering on week 5 of you ignoring him. 

And it. Was. Maddening. 

Wanda shook her head. “No, nothing.”

In saying you’d told her nothing, that was the truth. But deep down, Wanda already knew why. Whatever had happened between you and Bucky after that day…it had scared you. It had opened something up inside of you that you’d been forcing down for a long, long time. 

“I thought we were finally getting somewhere,” Bucky sighed as he sat down. 

“Maybe you should just try and talk to her.”

“How?” Bucky almost exclaimed.

“And we’re standing again,” Wanda whispered to herself as Bucky launched himself from the sofa and started pacing again. 

“Everytime I see her, she doesn’t look at me. If she sees me coming down the corridor, she takes a completely different exit. We got assigned a three day recon mission last week, she won’t take the mission.”

“She’ll take the mission, Bucky.”

He just shook his head. “She won’t. She hates me. Again. I don’t even…”

“She doesn’t hate you, Bucky. She never has.” Wanda told him. “Look, Y/n…she’s not someone who trusts easily. And she trusts you, Bucky. I know she does. Maybe even more than she even knows. Which also means, I know that it scares her.”

Wanda stood and laid a light hand on Bucky’s chest, a little over his heart. “Just talk to her. Find her. Make her sit down if you have to. Talk. It’s the only thing you can do.”

Bucky bowed his head and sighed. That was even if he could get you alone in a room for ten minutes. 

“We need to talk.”

You ducked your head as if a bullet had just been fired towards you. “Jesus- James.” You closed your eyes and sighed heavily. “You need to stop sneaking up on me. Make a noise or do something. How long have you been standing there?”

“Ten minutes. At least,” Bucky answered honestly before pushing himself from the wall. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t about to run off. And, from the way you’ve been punching that bag, I’d say you’re really pissed at someone.”

“Want me to give you three guesses?”

Bucky just hummed and continued to watch you as he stood a little closer. 

“What do you want, Bucky?”

“I want to talk.”

“What about?” You continued to hit the punching bag in front of you. 

“You know what.”

“No, I don’t.”

Bucky came and held the bag still and for a moment, you stood back. Breathless, sweaty and tired, you looked at him. 

“I know you’re not dumb, Y/n. You know what.”

You stepped away, untying the bandage from your hands. “Enlighten me.”

Bucky watched as you walked away from him. He could take a lifetime of you hating him, but not a lifetime of you ignoring him. 

“Aren’t you tired of this game?”

“What game?”

“This one. And the one we’ve been doing for the last few years. I thought we made up. I thought we were finally friends.”

You shook your head. “You don’t wanna be my friend, Bucky.”

“Yes, I do.” He stood in front of you before you could walk away. You finally looked at him. 

For the first time in over a month, you finally looked at him. And he knew it was still true. He could drown in your gaze for the rest of his life. 

“Or maybe I don’t.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What I do know, however, is that I want you to talk to me. I can take you hating me for the rest of your life, Y/n. But I can’t take you ignoring me. Pretending like we don’t exist.”

“We?”

“What happened here?” You knew what he meant. The training mats were less than eight feet away from you. “That day?”

You turned your gaze away from him, trying to run away from the conversation. “Nothing. Nothing happened.”

He let you pass but he still followed behind you. “Something happened.”

“Nothing happened, Bucky.”

“Y/n.” Bucky stopped walking. 

“Goodnight, James. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Y/n, wait!” 

Finally, you stopped in your tracks. Your back was still facing him, but you had stopped running. For the moment. 

Slowly, you turned around to face him. Your grip tightened on your bag. “What?”

Bucky stood looking at you. Breathless. Angry. Worried. Sad. Annoyed. Tired.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he muttered, almost to himself as he bowed his head and braced his hands on his hips. “I can’t.” He looked back up at you, a little more determined. “I like you, Y/n. I can deal with you hating me. I’d prefer it, actually, compared to you ignoring me. If I’m being completely honest, I more than like you. But since I’ve barely been able to keep you in the same room as me for the last month, I’m gonna keep that to myself until I know you’re not gonna run away from me.”

You didn’t know what to say, so Bucky continued. 

“Just…tell me what happened…please.” Bucky was ready to get on his knees and beg. 

Your words were caught in your throat. Stuck in place, burning underneath whilst freezing on top. So you did the only thing your body was allowing you to do. 

Move. 

You could have turned away. You could have ignored it all. 

But you stayed. 

Bucky watched as you dropped the bag from your shoulder and it landed with a loud thud on the ground. Then you were making your way over to him. 

Pulling him in by his dog tags, you placed your other hand by the back of his head and kissed him. 

It was safe to say Bucky hadn’t been expecting it. Dreamed of it a few times, but never expected it. 

It felt surreal. 

You felt his hand clasp your waist, his fingertips pressing lightly into your skin almost as if to check you were real. It wasn’t long before you felt one of his hands beside your face, trying to hold you closer as he kissed you right back. 

Eventually the kiss broke apart, but Bucky wasn’t ready to let you go. 

“That,” you eventually said. “That was what happened…what almost happened,” you corrected. 

Bucky felt lightheaded and unsteady on his feet but in the best way. 

“You should have stayed that day.”

You found the courage to finally look at him. 

You shook your head. “I…couldn’t. I know it’s bullshit but…it scared me. More than anything. I’ve been hiding that part of myself for so long I just…I didn’t know what to do.”

“Well, just for future reference, this is the better answer.” 

You felt yourself chuckle a little once you saw the corner of Bucky’s mouth lift up. 

“I can take you hating me, doll. But I can’t take the silence. Even when we’re fighting, I still know you’re there. You still talk to me.”

That was when Bucky let you go. 

“What are you doing?”

From around his neck, he pulled the dog tags up and over his head. “Giving you these back.”

“But they’re yours.”

Bucky just laid them over your head and around you, holding them with a smile. “They’ve been yours since you stole them, doll.”

Holding them in your palm, you looked at them. 

“They haven’t been the only thing you’ve stolen from me.”

You looked back to Bucky, a softened smile on your face. And he was looking right back at you, the same stupid grin on his face that had been making your stomach fill with butterflies. 

“Promise me you won’t run away from me, again?”

You shrugged. “Like you said, this is the better answer.”

Bucky grinned, sharing a laugh with you as he cupped your face before kissing you again. 

"It's so fuckin' hard, angel" He moans against your neck, one hand squeezing your waist, the other reaching up you to tug your nipples. "My cock is so fuckin' hard cause of you"

He hasn't felt anything this soft in years and he's putty in your hands. He feels so sensitive all over, letting you push him onto his back so you can kneel between his thighs, your mouth so dangerously close to where he needed you so bad.

"Wait-wai-oh God, fuckkk meee" Bucky's head is thrown back with the deepest groan when you take his flushed tip into your mouth, dribbles of precum wetting your already silky tongue. He nearly shoots when you pull off with a pop and dip down to play with his sac, your warm mouth so much different from his hand.

"Oh my god my balls are so fuckin' heavy, yeah just like that baby, never had em' sucked before, fuck I- m'cumming!" His back arches and he has to careful not to clamp his legs shut as he starts to cum without warning. His hips thrust up against the air and his hands rush down to hold onto your head as he practically rubs his balls against you.

"Let's empty your cock, baby" You coo when his orgasm starts to slow, your hand coming up to wrap around his now semi hard cock. Your slow strokes cause spurts to dribble out and he starts to get harder against your palm.

"Shit, m'getting hard again baby, put it in your pussy, c'mon please angel, wanna feel it, it's been so long" Bucky's always considered himself a dominant man but that was until it came to you. He was definitely going to redeem himself but not tonight. Tonight he was just a needy slut for you and he was going to own every bit of it.

He spreads apart his thighs more for you to see how big and hard he is, not like you didn't know. He's pouting with those flushed cheeks, pupils blown, pawing at your body to get on top.

"Can I suck your boobs, wanna suck em' so bad, fuck-c'mere, put your nipples in my mouth angel, feed me those perfect breasts with my cock in you"

"Ready Jamie?-

"Yeah, yeah please, m'ready I promise, I'll be good, my balls are full again, feel them, please, wanna empty my cock" You hush his needy whines, reaching behind and cupping his sack with a smirk on your face.

"S'full again baby?"

"So full" He nods, his jaw falling slack when you start to sink down on him, chest heaving, how the fuck was he already ready to blow, there was no way-

"FUCKKKK" He cried out, shoving his hips up so he was stuffed all the way, pulling you down and rolling over, giving you sloppy thrusts while cum spilled from his sensitive head.

"Don't even think I came this fast the first time I touched myself" Bucky mumbles against your neck, practically purring while basking in the best post orgasm haze he's ever felt. He loves the smell of raw sex filling the room, your combined arousal the best thing on the planet. He's not ashamed from cumming multiple times, hardly lasting, making such a sticky mess on the bed.

He's too busy getting in all his needy cuddles while you baby him like he deserves, kissing his forehead and rubbing his back, cooing at the way he hugs you extra tight.

But it doesn't stop there.

Bucky is insatiable and after finally getting a taste, he's not going to stop now.

"For fucks sake Barnes" Sam shakes his head seeing Bucky make out with you while your perched on the kitchen island, the sight sort of wholesome except he can see the way the soldier is slotted between your thighs. Your legs wrap around him and Bucky's hips are rutting against your core, shamelessly trying to hump you, barely muffled groans slipping past his lips. If rubbing his dick on you was all he could get, then he'd fuckin' take it without a question.

It wouldn't be the first time.

You'd been caught more than once in the middle of missions. Bucky knew he was down bad when he was injured once and forced to just keep surveillance over a mission you were leading. He was watching everything on a large screen, lasting all of 5 minutes watching you in combat unless he couldn't handle the ache between his legs anymore. At first he hid what he was doing pretty well.

Then you sliced someone's neck and-

"Oh fuck me!"

"You better be shot, stabbed or missing an eyeball" Sam hissed through the coms while Tony's cackled crackled through, everyone's frequency synced to keep in contact.

"Sounds like he's the one whose about to shoot-

"FUCK BOTH OF YOU"

"MMPH" Bucky didn't bother responding, continuing to jerk his cock off while watching his gorgeous girlfriend.

"I know you're happy with y/n, and I'm happy for you both, trust me, but for the love of God can you please get your hand out of your pants?!"

The muffled groan that follows has Sam contemplating letting his wings fall off mid flight. Steve nearly gets stabbed with how distracted he is.

-

"Does Barnes every put his dick away?" Clint snorts hearing the muffled sounds of the bed hitting the wall from Bucky's room and seeing as you're nowhere to be found, it's clear what's happening.