Natasha Romanoff X Ftm!reader

Oh ! This is exactly what I needed right now 🙃

Enamored [43] - Dancing with the Devil

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback my loves, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please let me know what you think, thank you! ❤ And as always, thank you @theskytraveler for helping me with the chapter and the story❤

Summary: Lovers’ quarrels are the renewal of love.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, mentions of sex, some gender specific language and terms, arguments.

Word Count: 7500

Series Masterlist

 You couldn’t sleep that night.

It felt nearly impossible. Your thoughts were like a hurricane in your mind, and more than once you had got up from the bed to pace in the room, desperate for some sort of movement as if that could help with just how restless you were.

It didn’t help that you were alone in your bed for the first time after almost a month.

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Also this mood board is so hot I couldn’t concentrate while reading the fist paragraphs of two minds one body

Ok ok so.

Spencer x male reader where the reader has been working at the BAU for at least a year, maybe a little while longer. But! He has 2 full sleeve tattoos, and none of the team knows about it. Because he is always wearing suits or shirts that cover them well. (Also he has other tattoos but the focus of this idea was the sleeves.) And the reader is pretty buff in my mind but doesn’t have to be.

One night after a case they go to their local bar(O’Keefs? I could be so wrong). And the reader has gone home and is wearing a t-shirt under a jacket so when he gets to the table where everyone is the team is very 😱😮. And Penelope makes a comment about how attractive the reader is(flirts the way that she flirts with Derek) but later(or then, either) Spencer talks to reader and thinks that he is v-attractive with tattoos, not that he wasn’t before, cue rambling Spencer.

Last minute thought! This could also work with Aaron, so whatever you are feeling.

I just made the bar O'Keefe's because I didn't know either loll Also, sorry it's short, I didn't really know what to write 😅 Edited by @mystic-writes

Gif by @reidgifs

You walk into the bar and sigh, already feeling sweaty and gross. You knew this would happen, you just hoped for a miracle. But it's always hot on O'Keefe's, and even if it wasn't as humid out today as it has been, you still probably would be in the same dilemma as you are in now.

You walk over to the table filled with your co-workers, and you give a tight smile and wave, walking over as you take your jacket off, revealing a very tight white t-shirt.

"Hey guys," you say, sitting down, putting your jacket over the back of your chair.

They all stare at you, open mouthed.

"What?" you ask, trying to play it off, but you are incredibly nervous.

"You didn't tell me you had TATS!" Garcia exclaims, and a couple people glare at her, but you just feel yourself blushing.

"Uh, yeah…" you trail off, rubbing your hands up and down your arms.

"How did we not know this?" Morgan asks.

"He's always wearing long sleeves. Even when it's fuckin' hot outside," Emily says.

You shrug. "I didn't really want to show them off in the field I guess."

"What about at work? You could have shown them there?" Rossi asks.

You shake your head. "Where Strauss could see? She would have a conniption!"

Garcia, Morgan, Rossi, and Prentiss all laugh.

"How much have you spent on your tattoos?" Hotch asks, and you look over at him. He's eyeing your tattoos almost enviously.

You smirk. "I have an artist I go back to every time, and he gives me discounts. I can give you guys his number if you want? Just say you're a friend of [Y/N]."

Everyone clambors for the number except Hotch and Spencer, but you see Hotch inputting it into his phone when the others aren't looking.

Eventually, they all move away, and you're left with Spencer at the table, nursing a beer.

Spencer leans over and says, "Uh, ahem. So… I-I like your tattoos."

You feel yourself begin to blush again. "Really? I would have thought…"

"Thought what?" Spencer asks after you trail off.

You sigh and mutter, "I thought you wouldn't like them. That you'd think I was ruining my body with my tattoos."

Spencer's eyes go wide and he says, "What? No! I-I really like them. They're very beautiful."

He reaches a hand out as if to touch, but pulls away. You hold your arm out for him, and he looks up at you, eyes shining. You nod, and he reaches out, tracing your tattoos underneath his fingertips.

"Go out with me."

Your eyes widen as you blurt this put, and you go to open your mouth to say something, anything, but Spencer cuts you off.

"Yes."

You grin, and grab his hand.

Did I already tell you that I FUCKING LOVE YOU ! This is so good maaaan

Hands That Heal - Ch. 1

Bucky Barnes x mechanic!fem!reader

A few background details before we start as they will come into the story throughout: You are a mechanic, you were blipped, your ex is a biker in a 1% gang, your father served as a marine with Chip and Dale - fraternal twins who are like weird uncles to you.

Summary: Bucky is looking for someone to repair his motorcycle but ends up finding something better.  Warnings: 18+ only, canon-typical violence, swearing, fluff, misogyny/degrading comments from some men. Word count: 3266

Chapters: 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 coming soon

The garage was busier than usual and you had barely stopped to take a break all day and it had left you cranky. The banter between the guys had been getting on your nerves, you were working hard and they were just milling about, smoking and cat calling any woman who walked past the open roller doors. Rolling out from under the chassis of a mint green ‘66 Shelby Cobra, you got up off the creeper and grabbed a wing nut that was lying around before tossing it at Chip’s head

“She’s younger than your daughter, you creep.” You chastised as he whistled to a girl in the local high school uniform.

“Old enough to bleed, old enough to butcher.” Dale laughed before holding his fist up to Chip to bump.

A disgusted growl erupted from your throat as you grabbed a torque wrench off the top of your tool box and watched their hands drop. They murmured apologies as they dispersed back to the cars and motorcycles they were meant to be working on. Metal clattered as you tossed the wrench back in your box and grabbed a bottle of water from the small bar fridge that was about 20 years past its prime and probably a fire risk.

You didn’t have time to even run across the street and get a pie from the bakery with the amount of cars that were piling up. Your reputation as the go-to person for high end cars and high spec motorbikes had spread far and wide, with people even flying their cars to your shop in the Bronx for repairs. Ignoring your grumbling tummy you laid back down on the creeper with the parts you had just collected and disappeared beneath the grimey undercarriage.

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Good To You - 4.

This is how I see this particular Bucky

i’m back hehe :) how about a bit of friends to lovers with reader and bucky admitting their feelings to each other and growing into their relationship all while the team watches them fall deeper by the day? in a fluffy and soft mood tonight

Sorry it took so long, I spent so long trying to think of a scene for this to take place that I caused myself a writers block.

Not Enough || Bucky

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, kissing and touching, sexual tension and themes WC: 1.8k

main masterlist || bucky masterlist

“I feel stupid.” You groaned as you tugged at your costume.

“I think it’s cute.” Bucky smirked and bopped you on your nose that was painted pink.

You wrinkled it up both in irritation at him and the costume he chose. The leotard rode up in all the worst places and the fishnet stockings were the cheap kind that dug into your skin rather than stretching over it. Whoever at the costume shop helped him pick the playboy bunny get-up should be forced to endure it as long as you did.

“You think it’s cute because you chose it. I mean look, you can see my ass.”

“I know, it’s great.” He nodded as he licked lips.

“Everyone is going to see my ass. Oh, maybe I’ll wag my little tail and finally get to bring a bed buddy home.” You pointed out and suddenly the costume was his enemy.

“Strip now.” He ordered without a hint of humour in his tone.

“Uh-uh, you chose this Bucky. And I am going to wear the shit out of it.”

Ever since Wanda let slip that Bucky liked you more than just friends, you had been trying to get him to admit it, because the truth was you were desperately, hopelessly, head over heels for him. Unfortunately, aside from a few moments like this, he never showed any sign of liking you as anything but his friend. Picking up your clutch from the table, you began to make your way to the door only for Bucky’s body to block it.

“Please, y/n.” He begged. “Here, at least wear this.”

He pulled his cape off his shoulders and draped it over yours, the hem of it almost touching the floor. It literally covered you from head to toe and you placed your hand on your hip as he tied the bow at your neck.

“Why do you care so much if people see my assets huh?” You asked with a bit of attitude. “Do you have something to confess?”

He winced as he bit his lip, something that wouldn’t hurt him any other day but the porcelain vampire teeth he wore pierced his lip. “Wha-what, no.”

Your eyebrows shot up at his scoff and your hand rose to your lips as you realised Wanda was right. He was totally lying to you and he should’ve known better.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you did not just lie to your best friend!” You gasped and turned away so he couldn’t see your smile growing. “How could you?”

Your shoulders trembled as you stifled your giddy laugh but he heard the soft sounds and thought they were tears. “I’m sorry, doll, I didn’t mean to make you cry. Don’t cry.”

“I thought we promised to tell each other everything.” You reminded him.

“What do you want me to say, doll?” He asked quietly in your ear, his chest pressed against your back as his arms wrapped around your waist. “That I’ll be jealous of anyone who gets to feel you wrapped around them? That I’ll be fucking jealous because I want you all to myself? If I say that then we can’t be friends anymore.”

“Why not?” You asked barely above a whisper.

“Because it will never be enough.”

You turned in his arms and wrapped your arms around his neck, something you had done plenty of times before but this was the first time there was an air of insecurity around both of you. “I want you to say all those things.”

His blue eyes widened and the sharp points of his teeth peeked through as a small smile tipped up his lips. “Yeah? You want to hear how jealous I get when I see guys checking you out?”

“I really do.” You nodded as you drew your bottom lip between your teeth.

“It takes every ounce of my control not to throw you over my shoulder and lock you in my room.” He said, fire igniting in his eyes at the thought. “Keep you all to myself.”

A soft moan escaped your lips at the thought and you tugged the short hair that your fingers were running through. All thought of consequence was gone as you pulled his head towards yours and he put up no resistance. His kiss started soft as he brushed his lips against yours but soon he groaned at the taste and pulled you in deeper until you pulled away with a hiss.

“Ouch.” You chuckled as you touched your lip that had been pierced by the teeth he wore. “Those are dangerous.”

His fingers were already reaching to pull them off but you stopped him. “We still have to go to Tony’s birthday party, remember?”

“Fuck.” He groaned and pressed his palm to his jeans. “You live to torture me.”

You turned around as you removed the cape and wiggled the fluffy bunnies tail, looking over your shoulder innocently. “This is torture? Oh dear, just wait until we get downstairs.”

His eyes were still fixed firmly on your ass that was moving away from him and you made it out the door before his brain caught up. Your laugh echoed the halls as you raced away to the elevator and you smashed at the button as his footsteps caught up.

“You’re gonna pay for that later, doll.” He promised as the door opened you he stepped in before it closed.

His body trapped you in the corner and you were surrounded by his endless reflections in the mirrored walls. Your chest was hammering with anticipation and the rise and fall of your breasts pushed up by the costume left him breathless. He was careful of his teeth as he placed kisses along your neck, lightly grazing the sharp points over your racing pulse and you combed your fingers through his hair with a heady moan. “I can’t wait.”

The doors suddenly opened to the floor of the party and you caught Wanda and half of the crowd watching you and Bucky untangle yourselves.

“I don’t like this.” Tony said as he pointed between the two of you. “This is my party and I don’t like sharing the spotlight.”

You sighed as you heard the laugh in his voice before he threw his arm around you and pulled you away from Bucky. “So why was I the last to find out about this? Love the costume by the way, it reminds me of my favourite decade.”

“Thank Bucky, he chose it.” You snickered as you looked around and found him brooding in the corner as he watched you walk away from him. “Wow Pepper looks amazing, wait, is that someone hitting on her?”

Tony’s head shot around looking for his girlfriend and you slipped out from under his arm as he left in search of her. Shaking your head you made your way to Bucky, stopping only at the bar and ordering his favourite drink before continuing. A few men tried to talk to you but you only had eyes for one and ducked out of the others paths.

“What’s Baby doing in the corner?” You teased as you held his glass out to him.

He chuckled as he took the peace offering and tried to take a drink. He couldn’t quite get his lips around it because of the vampire teeth and a drop of scotch clung to his full bottom lip. Unable to resist, you rose up on your toes, tongue rolling across the droplet and gathering it as you shared the taste of it on his tongue.

“People are staring.” He murmured against your lips as his hands pulled your hips closer to him.

“Let them stare.” You replied before taking his hand in yours and pulling away. “I want to dance.”

You weren’t sure why so many people were staring, most of them had seen the two of you dancing plenty of times before, then you realised you weren’t just dancing. You were drowning in the endless blue of his eyes, you were reliving every moment that led to this. You were remembering the many nights like this that led to Bucky carrying your drunk self to bed, or leaving painkillers and water on your bedside for when you woke. You were remembering all the times he had fed you or brought your gifts just because he thought they would make you smile and how every time you told him you loved him.

This wasn’t just dancing. This was the moment you realised you were falling in love.

You could hear their whispers and if you could then Bucky definitely could. Looking across the table you found his smirk growing as the gossip spread around the common room. His fingers traced over your wrist as your hand rested on the table top, his other hand stabbing food onto his fork before offering you a taste. It still surprised you that he could cook, you were sure he was secretly ordering the food and just putting it on plates but then you had spent an hour watching him shirtless in the kitchen, making the dish from scratch. Both the cook and the food were mouthwatering.

“I’m starting to think you like the attention.” You teased after finishing your mouthful.

“I can’t say I don’t enjoy the chaos it's caused.” He chuckled. “But there’s only one person whose attention I want.”

“Keep being all smooth like that and we won’t be going anywhere today.” You said as you stood and took the empty plate to the sink, stealing a kiss as you did. “But that is probably your plan. Are you scared?”

“Am I scared?” He scoffed.

“He’s petrified.” Wanda called out from the table her and Vision were sitting at.

“It’s not everyday I meet someone’s family for the first time.” He defended himself.

“Someone’s?” You cocked your eyebrow and he rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean, my girlfriend's family.” He reiterated. “But I’m not scared.”

“Oh baby,” you sighed as you took a seat on his lap and tucked his hair behind his ears, “what have I said about lying to me…what am I going to do with you?”

“Please don’t ask him that again.” Wanda groaned as she tossed the rest of her half eaten bagel back on the plate and caught Vision’s confused face. “I’ll show you later.”

The couple left together and you just had to know what had left the Scarlet Witch with scarlet cheeks. The cocky look on Bucky’s face let you know it was something that would leave your legs trembling and you squirmed on his lap at the thought. His laugh teased your neck and he gently lifted you off his lap until you were standing beside him pouting. He rose from his chair after and kissed the pout away before draping his arm over your shoulder.

“I would love to show you, doll, but I have some very important people to meet. We should get going.”

taglist join form

@jessica11133 @nash-dara @buckyisperfect @itswanktime @slutforsexyseabass @sea040561 @gryffindorqueensworld @honeywithemoney @kenzieam @tsnelf7 @jmeagin-blog @saranghaey @heavenly-rogers @ashly4 @bibibeauelle @wildcat116 @glxwingrxse @ymasen @ghostpepper21 @thebuckybarnesvault @hoe-4-sebstan @tailsoflightning @avengershoney @hallecarey1 @tonystarksmutgarden @sunflowerfive @tripletstephaniescp @inlovewithbuckybarnes

God knows how every time I read this fic im full of excitement and when a finish a part I’m so sad 😭

Enamored [37] - Engagement Ball

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback my loves, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please let me know what you think, thank you! ❤ And as always, thank you @theskytraveler for helping me with the chapter and the story❤

Summary: Gifts come with special moments.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, mentions of sex, kissing, mentions of death.

Word Count: 6700

Series Masterlist

You had always been good at planning events.

It was one of your favorite things in the world after all. You had only been in a position to help the actual hostess back at home and in here so far, but now that it was your engagement ball and your wedding, you were to be the hostess and you were having the time of your life so far.

Well—

With the exception of a small, very insignificant issue.

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Olly, Olly, Oxen Free {Hotch x daughter!reader}

Warnings: PLEASE, be advised of the SEVERE mentions of gun violence, murder, death, etc. This is a heavy piece, so please, please, please, do not put yourself at risk to read this, if you would like to know the plot without reading let me know and I will accommodate as best as I can!

This is set in “100″, so, daughter!reader is currently trapped with foyet in her childhood home. Alright, enjoy. 

“Y/N.”

You sprung from your place on the floor, watching your brother retreat past the living room, his feet happily climbing the old route he used to take in the childhood home he was raised in. You  doubted he forgot it so soon, even with his young age. This was the house they had made home. Over the last year, you would’ve done anything to be back in this house, surrounded by the memories of your past life. The life in which you weren’t forced into the witness protection program, abandoning all of your friends due to a serial killer hellbent on destroying your father’s life.

Your hand reached out, gently grabbing the cellphone extending from the hands of your mother’s.

“Dad.”

You forced herself to sound calm, composed. Sitting only ten feet from you was a man who had previously shoved a blade into your father’s abdomen just to prove a point. You figured seeming weak wasn’t particularly a good idea.

There was the hum of an engine, one that you knew well. When you was younger- much younger- you used to wait up for you father to come home from cases. Most nights you fell asleep before he came back, but on the rare occasion you actually made it past midnight, you could hear that very same hum of his government issued SUV pulling into the driveway, subsequently causing you to dart out of  bed to jump into his waiting arms. It never mattered to you that you would receive a scolding from your mother for not going to bed at a proper time, not when you would see the smile that grew on her father’s face when you accomplished your goal.

That smile, so rare and so blinding, hardly even captured in pictures. Your father was a tired man, a hardworking man, a dedicated father, but all of his good qualities had hardened into stone from the heat of his job and sometimes you feared that eventually, even you might not be able to crack that tough exterior. It seemed silly, sure, but your mother used to be able to find the chinks in his armor, used to make him laugh and smile and love and then one day she couldn’t and who was to say that it wouldn’t happen to you too?

“Y/N/N, I love you, you know that?” He used the nickname Jack had accidentally given you. When he was just learning to talk, the boy was unable to fully pronounce your name and you had been stuck with it ever since. You used to hate it- or, at least pretend to, but you could never yell at Jack. The boy was too good at absolutely melting you.

Your father’s voice, which was typically strong and gruff, came out a bit cracked. It filled you with a sinking feeling. If your father wasn’t composed then how the hell were you supposed to be?

The man who hoisted you on his shoulders every Fourth of July to see the fireworks better, or grabbed every spider that made you scream for your life. The man who taught you how to swing a baseball bat and then immediately yelled because you whacked him right in the knee. A fearless, strong, admittedly taciturn man that was making abundantly clear the ambiguity of your future.

You swallowed down that fear, you couldn’t afford to be afraid right now. Y/E/C  eyes looked up to your mother. She was still beside you, looking at her daughter as if trying to engrain every single facet of your face in her mind, burning the image of her daughter into her memory.

“I know, I love you too.” You didn’t know how you managed to keep your voice so even but to anyone listening it sounded like a normal conversation. She could almost imagine they were sitting at a dinner table (something they hadn’t done in a year because of the Witness Protection Program).

Pass the salt. She would’ve said.

“I need you to listen to me carefully, Bug.” If you hadn’t been so worried that you might die soon you might’ve found yourself scolding the man not to use that nickname anymore. After your friends had slept over in seventh grade and heard your father use it you were teased relentlessly, but now you didn’t mind it. You didn’t mind your father using a nickname you hated. You didn’t mind a lot of things now that you were facing death, serial killer breathing the same air as you and your mother, standing in your living room, staring at you with cold, calculating eyes.  

It’s funny how little things matter when death enters the picture.

“Remember when I taught you to drive?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you glanced to your mother, trying to keep your face void of emotion.

You hadn’t learned to drive. You had begged your father, of course, but he had said no. You remembered the fight that had ensued, his words loud just to overpower your teenaged protests. “There’s no use learning to drive when your mother’s here, sometimes me, and the metro, it’s useless. It would do you better to learn something more useful, like shooting a gun.”

Oh.

The sinking feeling returned in the pit of your stomach. Or maybe it just never left. Your eyes hardened with resolve over what you knew her father was asking you to do, and you nodded.

“Yeah.”

A tiny breath of air left your parted lips, and even with the confusion laced on her mother’s features and the amusement playing on Foyet’s, your mind cleared a bit.

Frontside. Trigger press. Follow through.

“I’m a terrible driver.” You murmured to her father. Your hand began to sweat at what he was asking of you. You recalled the shooting lessons. It had been a year or so ago, the man wanting you to be prepared for anything and then he had been shot and you hadn’t seen him since. Even with the little practice, you hadn’t been too bad, but this was nothing like the shooting range. This was pointing a gun at a killer and hoping to anything that was good and holy that you didn’t miss. Even so, who said you could get to the gun before Foyet got to you?

“You’re good enough.”

Good enough. You wanted to scream.

Foyet rose from his spot on the floor, and Haley stiffened in her place.

“I think that’s good enough, right, Y/N?” The way he moved, eyes trained onto you, alight with a kind of…mischief? Yes, mischief. Like an adolescent boy who just found his father’s stash of fireworks. His body moved like a predator. Refined, sophisticated, and calculated.

And, as he moved closer, you could smell him. He didn’t smell like you thought a killer would smell. Though, to be fair, you hadn’t ever given much thought to the scent of a killer. Maybe you thought that someone capable of such dirty, heinous crimes would smell as such. Like the rotten core would seep through their pores and become a putrid scent recognizable to those surrounding him. Instead, he smelt clean. Like laundry detergent and freshly washed hair. The hand that didn’t hold the gun reached up, taking a strand of your hair into his fingers and running it through them deftly.

“Don’t touch me.” You pushed him back on instinct and, not seeming to expect such force, the man was shoved back two steps. Rather than cocking the gun right then and there, Foyet looked at you with interest and then, he did something you didn’t expect. He smiled.

A laugh fell through his lips. It bubbled and boiled and hit your ears like nails on a chalkboard.

“Wow, you’ve got a feisty one, Aaron. I think she gets that from you, the old ball and chain over here is a bit of a whiner.” He chuckled to himself like he said the world’s funniest joke, and you glared.

“Leave them alone.” Your father may as well have been on mute because the killer paid no mind to his orders.

He breathed in a deep sigh, looking at you with those same bright, calculated eyes. Then, as if coming to a consensus, tilted his head. “How about this, how about you go hide, I’ll give you a head start, and then I’ll come find you.”

You could feel her mother bristle from beside you, quiet whimpers coming from her mouth. The hum of the engine played in the background, and the wind chimes on the front porch sang a tune with the breeze. “No.” You said firmly.

Foyet pouted, going to stand closer to the two. With each step he took closer to the two of you, it felt like a nail going into her coffin. You could see the twitch in his hands, as if itching to plunge a blade into your mother’s flesh, yet, you couldn’t just leave your mother. You couldn’t leave her to die.

“Ah, come on. You’re a teenager- a teenage girl, no less, aren’t you guys supposed to be fun?” His tone was teasing and coupled with his non-imposing figure, he shouldn’t have been able to chill you with his words but the way his eyes bored into yours they did.

You felt a hand on your elbow, a nudge and you glanced back to your mother. Haley was smaller than you, it had been that way for about a year or so now. You had hit a growth spurt once you entered high school, inheriting your father’s height, and it caused you to be a couple inches taller than your mother. Her eyes were filled with tears that were streaming down her face without care. You had seen her mother cry more than most daughters should.

Haley liked to cry at night, after putting her children to bed. She didn’t think about how often you stayed up, listening to the sobbing on the other side of the wall.

A hand cupped your face, and you leaned into the warmth. How many fights had you two gotten in over the past year? You had always been a daddy’s girl. He was never home, and it left your mother to be the ‘bad guy’ in most situations. And then, you all had been forced to pack up your lives and vanish. That year had been filled with nights of yelling at each other. Fights about small things. Like, your music playing too loud, or drinking too much coffee. And big stuff too. Like, you confronting your mother about having an affair.

Your relationship had been rocky. But, she was still your mother. She still reminded you to wear a coat when it was cold out, or washed your sheets when you felt sick. She made your favorite meals when you were sad, and bought  nail polish that she thought you would like. She was your mother, and you didn’t think you would ever be able to ignore that.

“Y/N, go.” Her words were stern, and it reminded you of a scolding. But your mother’s lips were tugging at the corners, and she was caressing your cheek so softly that you thought you would collapse right there. Your heart clenched at the sight of your mother.

Would this be the last time you saw her? The thought made you want to scream, cry, and punch something all at once.

For the first time that afternoon, you let your mask slip. Your eyes welled with tears, lip trembling. “Mom, no.” it came out shaky, and you didn’t have to turn around to see Foyet smiling at the way he could make an entire family fear for their lives in a mere couple of minutes. You could simply feel it.

Haley nodded, both her hands cupping your face now, scanning it over and over again. Your eyes, a fierceness to them that mimicked her own. A button nose that sat above rosy pink lips. On your chin, a small scar. You were an adventurous child. You hadn’t been afraid to climb the monkey bars despite being far too small for them and when you had fallen off, you had busted the skin open. Haley remembered being panicked, seeing you covered in blood, rushing you to the hospital, to find that you were calmer than she was. That’s how you always were. You were never scared. You were brave and fearless and kind and even if you played awful, punk alternative music that made Haley’s ears want to bleed, you were such a sweet girl with a big heart. The mother stood on her tiptoes, kissing your forehead.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, trying to burn the memory of her mother’s lips on your forehead in your mind. And when you opened them again, you tried to burn the image of your mother as well. Even now, red eyed and sniffling, your mother was beautiful. Everyone always told you, you looked just like your mother. Haley used to have blonde hair. It had passed her shoulders and you used to beg her to play hair salon because of it. She had cut it after the divorce and you had a suspicion that it was because she craved change. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, just like yours. It made her skin pull taut when she smiled. Her nose was soft and dainty- something you had always been jealous of.

What if you never saw your mother smile again?

Haley was nodding, nodding and patting the girl’s cheek and it took you a moment to realize she was speaking once more. “Go, baby. I’ll be okay.”

No, you won’t. You wanted to say. You wanted to let your body fall into your mother’s arms and have the woman hold you like she did when you were a child. You wanted to feel your mother’s hands run through your hair and hear the woman sing you to sleep. You didn’t care how childish it seemed, you just wanted your mother.

Your shoulders shook and you fought to keep your emotions from consuming you.

“I- I love you.” It was a desperate attempt at closure but it did nothing to make you feel better. It only made your mother smile.

“I love you too.” Haley gave one final pat before a light shove and you felt numb. You couldn’t feel yourself hand the phone to your mother, nor could you feel your feet move in the desired direction. Everything in you felt like it was simultaneously being doused in cold water and burned in hot flames. Your mind kept screaming at you to go back. Turn around, grab your mother and hope for the best but you could hear Foyet talking with your mother now and she knew that your father had told you what to do next.

It was weird.

All the nights you had spent in that stupid witness protection program, closing your eyes imagining you were back in your childhood home. You would pretend you were back in your room, waiting for your father to come home. You would pretend your mother was putting Jack to sleep and you would pretend that everything was normal. Now you were back and everything was wrong.

Focus.

After teaching you how to properly use a gun, Aaron had told you where one could be found in cases of dire emergencies. Your feet stepped lightly, moving as swiftly as you could. The laces on your converse slapped against the sides of the shoes and you silently pulled open your father’s nightstand. It hadn’t been touched since you all had moved out.  It was normal upon first glance. A couple of papers, reading glasses, sleeping pills. You knew better.

You pulled at the string on the bottom, the false top giving in immediately and revealing the silver .38. You grabbed for it, cocking it as quietly as you could. The weapon was heavy, yet, familiar in your hand. You thought that in a time like this you would be more shaky, but all you could focus on was your mother’s quiet sobs from the living room a whole story down.

The sound gave you hope. If she could cry, then she was alive. You pushed on with that thought in mind, rounding the corner. Just before you could head back downstairs and possibly take down Foyet, you heard it.

Gunshots.

Your mother cried out the first time, but it was completely silent after the second two. Just the light thud of a body hitting the floor.

You bit down on your cheek to keep herself from screaming. The taste of blood followed soon after. Your hand rose to your mouth, attempting to muffle the cries that attempted to escape.

“Y/N!” A sing song-y voice called out. There was a thumping sound on the stairs and after a sickening moment, you realized it was the sound of your mother’s body hitting the wood. He was dragging her up the stairs, wanting to display her just how he liked. Your eyes burned and you let the tears fall down your cheeks without care. They dripped off your chin, falling onto your shirt. It was a band t-shirt. Your mother hated it, said that the swords were too violent, but she allowed you to wear it anyways.

You darted into the closest door- Jack’s old room- eye’s scanning your surroundings for a plan. Whatever Foyet was doing, you knew you didn’t have much time until he was coming after you.

“I just wanna play, Y/N. Come out, come out wherever you are.” He sang out. He must’ve taken your mother- your mother’s body, you corrected yourself bitterly- to your parents bedroom. With a chilling realization, you remembered you had been there only moments before. He was close to you.

Your eyes landed on the closet, overflowing with toys, even months after not being in use. Jack tended to get whatever he asked for- not that he was spoiled, he was just hard to say no to. It wasn’t difficult to squeeze into it, leaving the door open a crack. The gun sat in your hands ready and waiting.

You steadied the sound of your breathing.

How was you going to tell Jack about mom? Well that was a bit optimistic, now, wasn’t it? Presumptuous of you to think you would live through the next five minutes to be able to tell your little brother that our mother was dead, You thought bitterly.

“I think I’ll lay your body right next to your Mom. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? So you can be together?” He was in the hallway, and even with the barrier of Jack’s door and the closet door, the sound of his voice made you shiver. It was smooth, charming, even. If you hadn’t known he was a complete psychopath you wouldn’t have given the man much thought. You wouldn’t have thought him capable of doing the heinous acts he had done.

There was a creak, the door opening to the room and your arms rose slightly. Your eyes were peaking through the crack, your heart racing. You could see the man moving into the room, searching for his next prey- and that’s what he thought you were. Prey. He thought you were an easy target. Everyone did.

Everyone thought you were just some stupid kid. Some people said it outright and others just assumed. You could tell when you first met your father’s team, some of them had stereotyped you as well. They had asked her about school and about boys and gossip, because they assumed that was all you were capable of speaking about and then you had surprised them by mentioning books and Neo-noir films. You were accustomed to being underestimated. And you were betting your life that George Foyet was doing the same.

As soon as you saw the man move into the middle of the room, you sprung. The door flew open and before you could hesitate, you pulled the trigger. Pure shock could’ve been the reason, you were able to get out of the room. Or perhaps you had managed to shoot him in the head and end your family’s suffering once and for all. You weren’t sure because you were moving purely on instinct. Your feet carried you through the house, jumping over toys and broken chairs and bloodstains that weren’t there before.

“You bitch!”

Okay, so he was alive. He was chasing after you but you didn’t look back. You jumped into the linen closet, out of breath but not allowing yourself to pant as you wanted to. You could hear the slight groans of the man as he made his way through the house, though it was farther, as if he was walking in the wrong direction. You had slowed him down, that’s for sure. The gun in your hand felt warm, like a pat on the back, but the thought of your mother’s dead body lying somewhere in the house sat in the back of your mind.

Where was Jack? You thought briefly. You had to trust that he was safe. Trust and pray that whatever their dad had said to him had made sense. You hoped he couldn’t hear anything that was going on. That he didn’t hear the sound of your mother being murdered and you shooting the killer.

You  felt the towel shelf press into your back, but you didn’t dare move anymore. You were sure Foyet hadn’t died now. If anything, you might’ve made him more angry.

It smelled like fresh laundry in the small space and it reminded you of Sunday nights. Your father was usually home, cases typically being taken during the week and coming home Saturday nights. That’s why you liked Sundays so much. You liked waking up to the smell of pancakes while your father played a Beatles album. He would sing into a spatula and twirl your mother around the kitchen. And Haley would laugh and tell him to stop, but she never actually meant it. And, when he noticed you coming down the stairs, he would take you in his arms- no matter how big and tall you had gotten, he never stopped doing it. He would spin you around as well and when you was little you would dance on his feet, but when you were older, your bare feet would touch the cold hardwood floor.

Your mother would do crossword and pretend not to notice that your father was giving not-so-subtle hints every so often. Your father would have you catch him up on what you had been up to that week, and you would have to help Jack read through the comics because he didn’t really understand the jokes. Sundays were your favorite days because instead of being a separate family like they were every other day, they were all together and it felt normal.

You closed her eyes, trying to imagine it was Sunday.

A large clatter rang out, effectively snapping you from your thoughts. You could hear footsteps, fighting, yelling. It was hard to tell how long you waited in the closet, gun pressed to your chest. You could hear someone outside the door, light footsteps against hardwood.

The light on the bottom was obscured from a large shadow and you tried to prepare yourself. What would death feel like? Maybe you was selfish, or maybe you were a coward, but you didn’t want to know. You wanted to stomp your foot and say that it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that your mother was dead. It wasn’t fair that you were about to die. The door was ripped open and you extended your arms, about to shoot blindly, when you saw who was before you.

“Woah, hey, Y/N. Y/N, look at me.”

You had stopped crying long ago, but your entire body was shaking. There was so much tension in your shoulders, it felt like somebody had tied you up entirely, slowly but surely squeezing the life out of you. You hadn’t realized it before, much too focused in getting as far away from the serial killer in your house as possible, but when you had shot Foyet, some of his blood had splattered onto you. You could see it now that the light was on it. It sat on your hands, partially dried and partially wet. And you could feel some of it on your cheeks.

You wondered what you looked like.

Derek stared at you. Your eyes were wild, darting between the gun in your hands and the gun in Derek’s. Your cheeks, flushed as they were, were painted lightly with splattered blood. The only evidence of previous tears were puffy eyes, but you hardly seemed weak right now. You seemed…feral.

“Y'N, it’s me. You’re safe. it’s me, it’s Derek. Put that gun down.” It was strange. It was like you could see his lips moving, you could see that he was speaking but you couldn’t hear the words. All you could hear was the sound of your mother’s body hitting the stairs one at a time.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

“He’s dead. Y/N, he’s dead.” The sound came back all at once. Everything came back all at once.

You could see people behind Derek. There were cops and medical examiners, flooding in and out of your childhood home. They all seemed to be moving toward the same place, all in the direction where you had fled. They were heading toward the body, you realized. The body of your dead mother. There was the faint sound of sirens, and there was chatter. You wanted to yell at them, scream for them to be quiet. And then you saw someone else.

Your father was coming toward you. He was covered in blood. Who’s blood was that? Was that your mother’s? Was that Foyet’s? Movement caught your eye.

JJ was holding someone in her arms, he looked confused, pointing at his sister, eyes alarmed at the weapon in her hands and the Jaraeu woman seemed to be trying to turn him away. He was asking for you.

'Y/N/N?’ He said.

Your shoulders dropped, the weapon falling into the Morgan man’s waiting hands. You stepped forward. Despite your sudden awareness, everything felt like it was in slow motion. The world was moving with resistance, and you opened her arms, almost crumpling in relief when Jack squirmed away from the blonde agent and ran into your waiting arms. You scooped him into your arms, sitting him on your hip.

“Y/N!” Despite all the chaos around you two, you let yourself focus on your brother. He seemed fine. Confused, surely. He had looped his arms around your neck but his eyes squinted at the blood on your cheeks that hadn’t been there before. His little eyebrows furrowed, and he reached one hand to poke your cheek. “Are you okay, Y/N?”

Jack loved you. Before you two were put into witness protection program, he didn’t see you all too much. You were so busy with school and hanging out with your friends, that you hadn’t even been home very often. Then, you didn’t have much of a choice.

You  liked showing Jack your music- the clean versions, of course. He would scrunch his nose at certain metal heavy bands, but you assumed he liked most of them just because you did. He liked to play cards with you, and have your draw him funny sketches. And when he would have bad dreams, you never hesitated to let him sleep with you.

You felt multiple sets of eyes on you, your father pulling you into a hug. They all pretended not to notice you flinch. You kept your eyes on Jack.

“I’m fine.” You took a hand, running it through the boy’s ruffled hair from hiding god knows where. He giggled at the action, and you let your hand rest on his cheek for a moment. Your mother was dead somewhere in this house, her body laid across the floor, slaughtered. You swallowed down the rising bile in your throat.

“Let’s get you checked out, yeah?”

Killing Time [pt.1]

Bodyguard!James 'Bucky' Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: You are the daughter of an underground kingpin, held prisoner in your own home for your protection and only being allowed out when it suits your father's agenda. Things finally start to change for the better when you get a new bodyguard. Series Warnings: 18+ only, there will be smut, violence, alcohol and illegal activities throughout, individual chapters will have warnings. WC: 2686

This is completely AU, Sam Wilson is your head of security and best friend. Helmut Zemo is unfortunately your husband from a failed alliance your father set up. Bucky is the forbidden love interest.

|| Main Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist ||

Knock, knock. You placed the book you were engrossed in face down on the table beside you. You moved the mug of hot chocolate further away from the novel then stood to open the door. A handsome man in an elegant black suit stood with his hands behind his back. It was hard to tear your eyes away from the intense ice blue ones that stared back at you and you could see him run his eyes over your body, making you feel self conscious.

You hadn't been expecting anyone this evening so you were in comfortably loose sweatpants and a singlet. Nervous beneath his scrutiny you crossed your arms over your chest and stood up a little straighter. You looked down the hall and saw your regular guard standing to the side watching the exchange with a small smile and a nod that it was alright.

"Can I help you with something?" You asked the man.

"My name is James. Your father hired me to be your personal bodyguard." He had a very slight accent but you couldn't place exactly where. You would hazard a guess that he had been living here for many years to have lost most of the lilt.

"As nice as it is to meet you James, I am in no need of a guard. As you can see, this prison has an over abundance of armed men." You started to close the door but his boot blocked it and you raised your eyebrow to him but he still did not remove it. Losing patience, you stomped on the wayward appendage and, when he pulled back in pain, slammed the door closed.

Flopping back down on the over padded chaise you grabbed your phone and fired your father a rather brutal message.

Dad: Unless you plan on letting me leave, I don't need any more guards. Just leave me the fuck alone.

You didn't expect a reply. He never did but you did see the sent change to read, at least he opened the message. You tossed the phone down beside you and gathered the worn book to try and get back into the story.

The thought of the piercing blue eyes distracted you and you couldn't concentrate on the mystery thriller anymore. Slamming it closed, you walked to the bookshelf it came from and slid it back into its rightful place. Picking up the remote next, you pointed it to the gas fireplace and turned it off. The warmth in the library dipped quickly as you tidied up after yourself and turned the lights off before opening the door. You found yourself facing the back of James' suit and luckily for him the man moved to the side before you could ask him.

Padding your way through the quiet mansion, you made your way downstairs to the main living area and kitchen. You grabbed two tumblers and the open bottle of vodka from the freezer drawer. You slid one glass across the marble countertop towards James and he didn't say anything as he lifted the glass to his lips. You watched as he pulled a face as he swallowed the fiery jet fuel.

"So you're not Russian. Where are you from?" You asked as he placed the empty glass back down.

He frowned at your question. "Why can't I be from Russia?"

You laughed as you poured yourself another glass. "They drink vodka like water. You don't. So?"

"Born in Romania but my family moved here when I was 10."

You watched the way the man held himself, his perfect posture. He had to be like most of the men your father employed, ex military. You wondered what the man would be like when he loosened up. He had his dark hair pulled back into a tidy low ponytail but you could imagine how it would frame his face if it was allowed to hang free. You tilted your head as you pictured him more relaxed and knew he would be devastatingly handsome. He already looked good now, just too stiff.

You both turned your heads as the front door opened and James’ hand went to his holster until he saw it was your head of security, Sam. Your father seemed to enjoy torturing you by surrounding you with handsome men, with the notion of a painful death to anyone that touched you. Sam was no exception, he was just as fit as the next guard but he had instantly fallen into the friend zone. You both looked at James, amused.

"If someone made it this far into the property, you are probably already screwed." You laughed at Sam's statement because it was true. The property was fully fenced and patrolled by guards and dogs 24/7. You were fucked of someone made it through all that to get in the house.

You grabbed another glass and refilled all the empties with more vodka. Giving Sam his and carrying the bottle, you walked into the lounge and sat on the large plush suite. You laid your head on Sam's lap and he rested his free arm along your side. He had been head of security for the last 5 years but before that he was your brother's bodyguard. He had also been your brother's best friend and when he died, well, somehow the two of you bonded.

You could see judgement in James’ eyes. To everyone else, it looked like Sam was sleeping with the boss's daughter but you weren't, he was just your best friend. He was there for you at the worst time in your life, your mother and father were too busy dealing with the loss of their son they forgot that you had lost your big brother. Now the two of you looked after each other.

"Have you eaten?" You asked Sam as you rolled to look up at him and he shook his head. He was always so busy making sure you and your family were protected that he didn't take the best care of himself. You stood up, feeling the effects of the alcohol on your empty stomach, and collected the empty glasses, putting them in the dishwasher before prepping some dinner.

You made a large serving of creamy chicken penne pasta since you knew Sam would be hungry but didn't know if James would join so you made sure there was enough. You opened the wine fridge and looked along the shelves for the right pairing, deciding on a Chardonnay. You opened it and set it on the island before grabbing three wine stems and yelled to the men that dinner was ready. Turning around you jumped when you found James was already behind you.

"Jesus Christ, remember to buy him a collared bell." You said quietly to yourself but he must have heard as he smirked. You were right, he would be drop dead gorgeous if you could remove the stiff facade, just the smirk alone was able to send butterflies flapping in your stomach.

"Isn't there staff to cook for you?" He asked curiously and you went to open your mouth but Sam beat you to it.

"Sure, she's just too picky. Everything has to be done her way, right?" You squinted your eyes at your friend and threw a piece of pasta at him but the little shit caught it in his mouth and winked back.

"I am not picky, I just don't see why someone else has to do what I can already do. Like you," you pointed at James, "I don't see why I need a personal bodyguard when I can defend myself and I never leave this prison anyway."

The man shrugged insincerely and took a mouthful instead of rebutting. He was paid to guard you, not argue. Sam spent most of the meal talking to James, since they would be working closest with each other it was probably a good thing they got along. You couldn't help feeling a bit left out and jealous that Sam's attention had been stolen. You knew it wasn't like you were going to lose your best friend but the stupid little voice in your head started whispering anyway. After the meal was finished you cleaned the kitchen and James helped since: quote 'the cook shouldn't clean.' You were used to it but it was nice to have some help.

"Are you working tonight?" Sam asked as he popped back into the kitchen and had his phone covered and you looked at the time, 8pm.

"I haven't checked yet. Why?" You asked him but he had already walked away with the phone back to his ear.

"Where do you work?" James asked as he leant against the marble countertop.

"Here. I never leave, remember. I'm a cyber security analyst, for the most part. On the books, people pay me to test their companies security for weaknesses and off the books, people pay me to hack other companies for information or whatever."

Your father in particular made regular use of your skills but he was still the worst criminal by far. James looked impressed and you had to admit it made you feel a bit prouder about yourself.

"Go change, we are going out."

You looked wide eyed at Sam, sure that you had heard him wrong, you hadn't left the compound in almost 6 months. Joy flooded your system and you ran into his arms laughing before running up the stairs towards your room. You skidded to a halt before turning and running back.

"Uh where are we going? What's the dress code?" You didn't want to make an ass of yourself showing up looking out of place, wherever it was you were going.

"Casino. Classy."

He didn't even look up from his phone as he answered so you went back up the stairs. You had mentally walked through all of your outfits before you even got to your room. You knew exactly what you were going to wear, you just had to find it along the long shelves that were full of outfits. You skimmed your hand along each outfit that was wrapped in a garment bag until you found the one.

You quickly changed out of your sweats and into the cocktail dress that hugged your frame, accentuating all your assets. You still had foundation on from the day so you just added some eyeliner and mascara before grabbing a clutch for your phone, ID and credit cards. Lastly, you slipped on a pair of comfortable heels and you were set to go.

"Ready! Let's go!" You could hardly wait, as you were sure they could see.

You watched as James’ eyes ran over your body and felt a flush follow so you looked down at the stairs you didn’t want to trip on. The entire descent was you fighting the urge to look at him and the time you did you found his eyes still very much fixated on you.

"You look stunning, y/n."

You smiled at Sam and his complement as he offered his hand as opened the front door. At the bottom of the steps was one of your father's drivers, Lincoln. He was ancient and you still didn't know how he had a licence at his age. He had been in the family since before you were born, and possibly before your father was too. Ancient.

You wondered what the ploy was tonight. Sam could have driven you in the Escalade but instead you had Lincoln driving the Rolls Royce. Trying not to let the mystery ruin your night you focused on walking in heels. Sam hopped in the front while James opened the door and offered his hand which you took. You couldn't help but notice how good his hands felt and the warmth that ran up your arm. You felt the absence as soon as he removed his hand and had to consciously stop the pout from appearing on your lips.

It only took 30 minutes to drive from your estate to the casino you were going to. The car came to a stop in front of Circus Circus and Sam hopped out first followed by James. You stayed in your seat, there were a hundred options of casinos so why did they take you  here?

"Get out." You shook your head like a spoiled child but you could see Sam was not finding it amusing. "We need your help so please get out of the car."

You slid out from the seat and closed the door loudly.  "I am not responsible for my actions tonight from here. Got it?"

He nodded to you, accepting that much at least. You held out your hand and he placed a thin ThinkPad in your hand. You quickly found the IP of the CCTV for the casino and used a backdoor command line of code to circulate footage from an hour ago. "We are good to go. Yay." You handed the ThinkPad back to Sam with your sarcasm. "You need to take the suit jackets off if you two want to blend in."

They both removed them and put them back in the car before you reached up to James’ collar and unbuttoned the top two buttons before making your way to the front door. When you got inside you made a beeline to the first bar and ordered three shots of tequila before downing them in quick succession. With your nerves settled you ordered a Long Island to take with you to the tables. You needed to be drunk to face what was coming, Sam and James would have to look after you when it got messy.

You led the way to the high rollers lounge and sat in the middle seat of a 21 table. A stack of chips were placed in front of you and the games began. You’d always had a thing for numbers, they came easily to you and were definitive. There was no interpretation like literature, one plus one equals two. You chose to go take maths a step further and count cards so as the dealer dealt the cards you started a running count. When the favour started to build your way you upped the bets and started winning big.

About 30 minutes into playing you saw the floor manager make his way through the crowd. That was your queue to go and Sam started packing the chips into trays and headed to the cashiers. You, however, kept $50,000 and continued to play until you felt the man take the seat beside you with a scowl on his face.

"I'm going to need you to come upstairs please, ma’am."

You raised your eyebrow at the man and rested your face on your palm. “Now, why would I do that? I am comfortable here, thank you. Zemo is more than welcome to come down here if he wants to talk." You patted his shoulder mockingly and the manager quietly made his way back to the doors to the operations rooms.

"Do you think he will come?" You asked Sam when he came back with a bag of money and you packed up the remaining chips to put them in the bag too before heading to the bar.

"He doesn't have a choice. He owes restitution and he knows what happens if he doesn't pay."

You saw James’ confused look but he didn't pry into what you were talking about as Sam handed you the ThinkPad and you ordered another Long Island iced tea. You logged into the device you had slipped into the manager's pocket and placed your airpod in your ear.

“Sir there is a woman in the high rollers that I'm sure was card counting.”

“And..?” Your lip curled at Zemo’s voice. “Why are you bothering me about it, that’s your job.”

“Well she said if you wanted to talk you should go to her.”

You could picture him already, running to the monitors and looking over the footage so you looked at the closet camera and blew a kiss at it.

Taglist: || Taglist Join Form || @jessica11133 @nash-dara @buckyisperfect @itswanktime @slutforsexyseabass @sea040561 @gryffindorqueensworld

Fuck this is so good !!!

Sweeter than Sugar

Summary: She broke his heart but you're not going to let her win. Bucky deserves the best and you're going to give it to him.

Pairing: Chubby Baker!Bucky x Reader, mentions of former relationship with OFC.

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: Smut, Oral (fem receiving), body shaming by OFC, language, mentions of insecurities. painful break up (not reader) bit angst, fluff. As always 18+ only.

A/N: Do not copy, rewrite, repost or translate my works. Comments and reblogs are welcomed. Beta'd by the lovely @deann and @makbarnes but all mistakes are my own.

A/N II: @star-spangled-bingo 2021 Squared filled: Curtain fic and @gotnofucks Body positivity challenge

"Wait till you try this. I think this is my best batch yet." Bucky promises as he pulls the tray out of the oven with his vibranium hand.

You cringe for a second before remembering that he can handle the heat.

You stretch, looking around the large bright kitchen. A fresh breeze floats through the open window carrying in notes of rain and freshly cut grass and the faint sounds of the neighbor's kids playing with their dogs.

Leaning back in your seat, you turn your gaze back to him, a faint smile on your lips as he blows on the pastries, cute little puffs he named after you.

His blue eyes shine under the soft yellow lights, an apron under the swell of his pudgy belly. He looks incredible, wearing only a pair of black boxers that stretch across the curves of his ass. His hair is pulled back into a small bun at the nape of his neck, and there's always something smeared across his cheek.

Yesterday, it had been red velvet frosting, and today, cherry.

Bucky scoops a puff on to a small white plate, grabbing a fork from the drawer. He beams, his entire face radiant as he walks towards you.

That's the look that makes your stomach twist and leaves you feeling dizzy.

Dating Bucky has been a dream. He's loving, kind and he looks at you with such love that you lose your breath just thinking about him.

According to him, you've improved his life in several ways; he swears his food tastes better now, that you somehow make his cakes perfect, his frostings sweeter, and well, he can’t look at a peach without grinning like a drunk-in-love idiot.

You’ve spent many late mornings and lazy afternoons watching him patter around the kitchen, listening to him explain his baking processes while you lounge in a chair.

You don’t understand half of what he’s saying, but he speaks with such passion, his hands animatedly flying in the air as he talks about chocolates, melting points, and the differences in pans.

Bucky has discovered early on that he loves to watch you eat. To be more specific, if it's his food. Only his food, if he’s being honest. He gets so nervous every time that his stomach plummets because he wants to make things for you.

Give you so many things.

Starting with your own custom-made pastry.

“Here, Peach, it just melts on your tongue,” his deep voice lowering to a near moan.

He slips the pastry into your open mouth, his thumb grazing over your bottom lip as you swallow. Oh, your eyes almost roll back in your head when the flavors explode on your taste buds. You’ve never tasted anything that wonderful.

“Oh my god, Bucky,” you gasp, leaning forward for more. “I-that’s so good! Can I have another?”

He grins, lopsided and wide, his heart thundering so hard it feels like it might fly out of his chest. Bucky will give you pastries as much as you want if you keep looking at him like that. He puts his all into his baking and the fact that you enjoy it makes him feel as if he can walk on air.

Bucky kisses your forehead as you chew, pushing away from the table, he slides on his sock-covered feet to the fridge. “What do you want to drink?”

“What do we have?” You giggle as he dances in front of the fridge, calling out options for you.

It’s hard to believe that the carefree man in front of you is the same one that was ashamed to remove his shirt a few weeks ago.

Bucky holds your hands at your sides, fingers laced between yours as he feasts between your thighs. He promised to make you come for him at least three times and you swear it’s been double that by now. His warm, wet tongue flicking over your swollen, sensitive clit over and over, sucking and pulling it into his mouth like he can’t get enough of you.

You moan incoherently, voice hoarse from begging and mewling, your legs limp around his broad shoulders. “Buc-Bucky, oh right there, Bucky,” you plead, feeling pressure build in your belly as his tongue traces patterns over you.

Bucky grinned, his face covered in your slick. He can’t remember the last time he had a better meal in his life. “That’s my girl, so sweet, need one more taste, just a little more,” he whispers before his lips wrap around your clit again. Your mouth falls open in a wordless scream, back arching off the bed when he gently shakes his head, sucking so hard that you see stars.

Bucky groans actually groans deep and vulgar when you cum,and you feel it as your body explodes, waves of pleasure surging through you until you’re gushing on his beard. He eases up, nuzzling into your puffy folds as you come down from your high. Bucky looks up, his dark slate-blue eyes taking in your heaving chest, a bead of sweat rolling down your belly.

“One more?” he says hopefully, wanting to dive back into your pussy.

Your eyes widen as you frantically shake your head. “No. Oh no. Bucky, I can’t, I really can’t, I’m not sure I can handle any more.” You laugh breathlessly, tugging one of your hands free from his tight grip. You rake your fingers through his hair, smiling down at him. "Besides, I’ve been dreaming about you fucking me until I can’t walk.”

A faint blush sweeps across his cheeks as he averts his eyes. “Peach,” he mumbles shyly like he just didn’t spend the past hour worshiping your pussy with his mouth.

Bucky stands up, wiping a hand down his face. He stares at his glistening palm for a second, and then his pink tongue darts out, swiping across the wet surface. You wonder if he’s aware that he's moaning, your pussy throbbing at the guttural sounds.

“You’re filthy,” you jest when he does it again. His face gets even redder as he sucks on his finger.

“You taste better than my pies,” he retorts. “I could eat you all day, every day.”

“Tomorrow, for sure, but right now I want you inside me.”

His smile drops a little when you tell him to get undressed. He’s been dreading this moment, doing everything he can to avoid it. You scoot back on the bed, reaching out for him. Bucky looks down at his body, at his belly, his eyes narrowing, he scratches the back of his neck, telling himself he can do this.

He lifts the edge of his navy blue Henley, freezing when he hears her voice in his head. “Who would want a fatty? No one is going to love you looking like that.” Even now it stings thinking about her. Bucky glances over at you, his heartbreaking at the thought of you rejecting him.

Bucky drops his shirt and reaches for the lamp. “One second.” He says. An unmistakable hint of sadness in his voice has you sitting up. He’s never sounded like that before.

You tilt your head to the side, searching his face. “Bucky, what’s wrong?”

“Just gonna turn the lights off first.” The corner of his lips lifts in a weak, watery smile.

You move to your knees and grab his large hand before he can switch them off. “Why?”

Bucky swallows, “no reason, just like the lights off, 'is all.”

Bucky’s admittedly good at a lot of things, but lying isn’t one of them. He briefly meets your gentle gaze, worry and fear swimming in his beautiful clear blue eyes.

Placing your hands on his chest, you grab his chin. “Bucky, look at me.” He immediately follows your soft command. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

Bucky blinks, shaking his head, almost confused at the thought that you could do anything wrong. “No, no, you’re perfect! It’s me. I don’t wanna disappoint you.” His voice tapers off in a whisper, hearing her sharp laughter the last night they were together. “I know I’m fat, so it would be better if we turned off the lights, that way you don’t have to look at me. “

You stare at your generous, doting boyfriend. “Why wouldn’t I want to look at you?,” you question, befuddled because who on earth would jump at the chance to see a naked Bucky Barnes.

He shrugs a shoulder, his somber eyes drifting down. He grabs his belly and jiggles it. Another shrug followed by a quiet, “I look different with my clothes off.”

You crane your head back, “I love your belly, it’s perfect. Who made you feel like you have to hide it?”

Bucky sighs, rubbing his cheek into your palm. “My ex, Moxie- “

Bucky dated her two years ago. She latched on to him when he and Steve bought the bakery, wanting to be the girlfriend of the rising baking star.

Bucky slowly gained weight as he sampled his baking and designed dessert menus for local restaurants, his joy for baking expanding each day, finally getting to see his dreams become reality.

He hadn’t noticed the changes in his body until one night Moxie cruelly pointed them out.

He was getting ready for bed, eager to be with his girl after a full day of running around. He had been telling her about how another restaurant wanted his input, so excited to share his news that he didn’t notice the way she glared at him.

Tossing his shirt in the hamper, he turned to her and smiled, his hands on his belt. “I’ve been thinking about you all day baby, I can’t- “

Moxie sneered at him, pretending to gag. “Are you serious?”

Bucky’s brows furrowed. “Um, what?”

“Um, what,” she mocked, pulling the blanket up to her chest. There's a pause, tension seeping into the room. “You know what, I have to say it, I can't take this anymore James. Look at you and look at me, why the fuck would I let you touch me anymore?”

Moxie sighed, “can you put on your shirt back on or something because that- “she gestured at him “-is disgusting” She let out an irritated groan when he flinched at her words.

A punch to the gut would have hurt less. Bucky felt his heart split. “Moxie,” he whispered, unable to find words to express the pain currently ripping through him.

“Look, I didn’t sign up for this, you were in shape when we got together, what the hell happened to you? Why do you think I stopped letting you touch me.” She ranted, ignoring his soft pleas for her to stop.

“Either lose the weight or I’ll fuck Steve, at least he still looks good.” She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, yawning, “can you go somewhere else, I don’t want you accidentally rolling over me and squishing me in your sleep.”

His mouth floundered open, but he couldn’t speak. It all hurt too much, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe, the air was too thick and his chest grew tighter with each breath; he needed to get away, terrified of what might happen if he cried in front of her.

Bucky shuffled out the room, his heart shattering with every step. He thought she was happy, that he made her happy. Her laughter following him out to the hallway made his head droop even more.

What did he do wrong?

He spent the night on the couch, staring at his old pictures through tear-filled eyes, Bucky always had a little fullness to him, but he was always happy with his body. And he had been having so much fun with the grand opening and all the new opportunities that he never noticed that he stopped needing belts and his shirts were a little snug over his belly.

Bucky called Steve, his best friend fuming when he told him what happened. By the time he was done speaking with him, Bucky felt a little better, his heart may have been in pieces but he knew what he needed to do.

He kicked her out the next morning.

Much to Moxie’s surprise and Bucky's. He may be chubby but he's not going to be her pushover either.

Bucky ignored her apologies and said she had to go. It shocked her when Steve had shown up with a roll of garbage bags, tossing them at her feet with a sharp quip that he doesn’t fuck losers. Both men stood side by side, watching silently as she packed her belongings.

The only things she left behind were his broken heart and a few nagging insecurities that plagued him.

He finishes, his broad shoulders slumped under the weight of his confession, you want nothing more than to stamp out the sadness marring his beautiful eyes.

“I thought she loved me but--“ he sighs, “--I don’t want you to look at me the way she did, I love you too much, Peach, and I know I should probably lose a few -”

You’ve never been angrier in your life. You want to punch little Ms. Moxie in her throat, she better hope she never runs into you because they will have to pry you off of her.

Clearing your head, you clasp his face in your hands and pull him down for a kiss. “Bucky Barnes, you are the sweetest man I know, you’re beautiful and I love everything about you.”

You silence his objections with another kiss. “I mean it Bucky, I love all of you. You don’t need to change anything.”

Bucky swallows the small protest, letting himself relax. You’re not her, you won’t hurt him. Placing a kiss on his soft, round belly, you murmur, “you have no idea how sexy you are, honey.”

You stand on the bed, holding on to his bicep for balance, and tug his shirt off. Looking down at him, you bite your lip. He’s ridiculously handsome and you’re going to prove it to him.

You pepper kisses along the curve of his neck as you sink back down, praising him and telling him how much you love him, describing in vivid detail how each part of his body is perfect.

His confidence and love for you growing with each word. By the time you reach the band of his boxers, he panting, his eyes darkening with an almost feral need to possess you.

Bucky tears off the last barrier keeping you from him and he pounces. You giggle as he pushes you into the soft blankets, the solid, comforting weight of his body encompassing you as he kisses you with such passion you forget to breathe. His warm lips melding into yours, his wet tongue dipping into your mouth, the taste of you still lingering on his tongue as it dips into your mouth.

Bucky reaches down with one hand, grabbing his cock, his other hand cupping the back of your head as he deepens the kiss. He breaks the kiss, resting his forehead on yours so he can gaze into your eyes. Bucky watches your mouth fall open, a gasp pouring out when he guides his thick cock into you.

He rolls his hips, moving deeper into your wet, hot heat. “That’s it Peach, you’re so good,” He brushes his lips across yours, swallowing your oh Bucky as he stretches your tight pussy around him. The slight burn gives aways to pure bliss, you circle your hips after a minute. A quiet I’m ready breathed into his mouth.

Bucky thrusts languidly into your pussy, each deliberate slow drag of his throbbing cock against your soft walls sends bursts of pleasure up your belly and down your spine. His lovemaking tender, yet so possessive that your head is reeling.

He makes sure that you feel all of him, each inch as you clench down, greedy for more of him, even as he goes deeper and deeper, his soft lips caressing your neck. His body keeping you pinned, so you have to take everything he’s giving you.

That pressure builds again, heavy and hot in your belly, digging your heels into the top of his thighs, you meet his strokes, pleading with him to please move a little faster, you need it so bad.

You don’t have to beg; he wants you to cum for him; he wants to feel your sweet pussy flutter around him as you cry out his name.

Bucky sucks a bruise on your throat, his hips pounding into yours. The headboard smacking against the wall with each powerful thrust. The dull thuds drowned out by your loud moans, the pressure getting more intense.

“Bucky,—” you cry out, scratching his lower back when he grinds his hips down, “—oh fuck, do that, do that again,” you frantically chant, slapping your hands on his ass, keening when he does, god yes, he does it just right, hitting a tender spot inside your cunt so hard that you bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming.

“That it Peach, is that what you need.” He slips a hand between your bodies, his wide fingers circling your clit, “Go on, cum for me, give it to me Peach, be my good girl, and cum for me.”

You do, your walls clenching down as the pressure snaps, sensations firing off as your orgasms winds through you. Bucky’s pace falters, becomes erratic when he feels you milking his cock, unable to hold himself back any longer he lets himself go, relishing in your warmth until he spills inside you.

He tries to roll off of you, but you wrap your arms around him, murmuring for him to stay for a minute. You smooth your hands over his slick back, Bucky relaxes on top of you, grinning at your contented sigh. “I love you Peach.”

“Love you too,” you respond, plotting all the ways you’re going to let him know how much he means to you.

After that night, you began to praise Bucky, complimenting his body every chance you got, smacking his ass whenever he walked past you, hugging and kissing him.

The first couple of weeks, he would hide his face behind one of his large hands and his cheeks would resemble one of his bright red apples. “Peach, you don’t have to, I mean I’m-” he would stammer each time, always tucking his hair behind his ears.

It took you three days to figure out that he has a praise kink and you amped it. He barely opened his eyes before you were saying something that made him hide his face behind his pillow, laughing when you wiggled under it to tell him how good he looks when he smiles.

While you loved making him blush, you cherished how confident he became. And you reaped the benefits, one second he was a bashful baker with buttercream frosting on his forehead, the next he was bending you over his counter, railing you so good you couldn’t even scream his name.

After a while, he stopped avoiding the bathroom mirror in the mornings. And you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face, the first time you saw him cooking, shirtless, in the kitchen. He turned when he heard your footsteps, his face turning that familiar shade of red as you openly gawked.

“C’mon Peach, don’t you start-” he playfully grumbles, his lip twitching as he held in his smile, he moved back to the frying pan turning off the stove as he braces himself.

You squeal, flinging yourself at him, peppering his back with kisses. You couldn’t contain the litany of praises on your tongue, so proud of him. Bucky twisted in your grasp, cupping your face in his hands. “God I love you Peach.”

Bucky and Steve are celebrating the grand opening of another bakery. The largest one to date. The new building is full of investors, press, other bakers and chefs, a live band playing in the corner, drinks, and food everywhere, and of course the tower of desserts in the middle of the room. The atmosphere light and airy, glasses clinking, people dancing and every kind of cake, pies, and pastry imaginable on silver platters through the room.

You’ve never had so much fun, although a slightly buzzed Bucky is having an even better time because you’re wearing one of his favorite dresses. You remember when he first saw you in it, you twirled out of the dressing room and he nearly lost it in the middle of the store.

The more he celebrates, the more he’s giving you that look. Steve has to keep interfering, he’s close to going feral in front of all his guests.

Steve sent him to the kitchen after he caught him trying to put his hand between your thighs. You’re laughing as a contrite Bucky gets up from the table to refill the rapidly diminishing display.

“You know I’ve known Buck my whole life and I’ve never seen him this happy.” Steve remarks as he takes a seat across from you. His warm blue eyes glistening. “Thank you for that. He’s been through a lot and you’re the best thing that happened to him.”

Your cheeks get heated at his words. Steve leans forward, holding your hand between his. “I mean it, even though he’s getting on my last nerve talking about you.“

Steve squeezes your hand as he looks up at the ceiling for a second. “God, the man never shuts up, and I’m this close to strangling him if he compares you to another peach, but I love-“

He cuts off, his head jerks back so fast, you think something struck him. “What the fuck is she doing here?”

You turn around in your chair, searching the crowded room. “Who are you talking about?”

“Moxie,” Steve spits out, his hand curling into a fist. “White dress by the bar.”

You find her flirting with one of the investors. Moxie puts her hand on his chest, her shrill laugh cutting through the surrounding conversations. Whatever she tried fails spectacularly. The tall, sturdy blonde grimaces and walks away. You would almost feel bad if you didn’t want to slam her face into the wall.

She spots Steve and waves, making her way through the crowd. “Hey, long time no see.”

Steve raises a brow, his eyes hardening. “Why are you here?”

She laughs, patting his shoulder. “I’m here to apologize to Bucky, I know he misses me, he must be lonely.”

“Really?” you question, keeping your voice light and even.

Moxie dismissively glances at you before returning her attention to Steve. You chuckle under your breath, tapping your heel on the floor.

Don’t ruin your man’s event. Don’t ruin your mans’ event. You repeat the thought as you inhale through your nose.

“So I heard you two are doing really well.” She says, her manicured nails roaming over Steve’s suit. “Really well.”

Steve flicks her fingers off him, “We are. No Bucky’s not lonely. He doesn’t miss you. He’s very happy. With her.”

Moxie’s polite veneer cracks when Steve points at you. Waving your fingers at her, you grin at her. “You go near my Bucky and I’ll rip that cheap necklace off and shove it down your throat.”

She turns to Steve, gesturing to you as if she's the innocent one here; he raises his glass, blowing a harsh breath through his lips. “Don’t look at me, I still don’t fuck losers, but I’ll call if you if that changes.”

You laugh in your empty glass when she sputters. She turns to you, hand on her hip. You slowly raise your eyes, returning her stare. Part of you wanting her to do something, so you can wipe the smirk off her overly painted face.

“Whatever, I don’t need this. Keep the fattie. I can find another rich loser like that.” She snaps her fingers, storming over to the bar. You blink a few times in disbelief. The audacity of this bitch, thinking that she can stay and mingle at his event.

You're debating if you should have her thrown out by one of the staff or if you should drag her out by her hair.

You look her up and down as you ponder your choices, pausing when you see the edge of a tag sticking out the back of her dress. Hmm, interesting. She must plan on returning it after tonight.

A devious smirk slowly takes over your face, you know exactly what you’re going to do to little Ms. Moxie.

You glance at Steve, picking up his wineglass. Steve shakes his head while grabbing your hand. “Hey hey, I know what you’re thinking, and no.”

Before you can say anything, he’s pouring more burgundy wine into the glass until it’s nearly sloshing over the sides. “If you’re going do it, you gotta do it right.”

You exchange knowing glances. No one hurts Bucky. You saunter over to her, keeping your hand steady, not wanting to lose a single drop on the floor.

“Hey Moxie,” you call out. She turns around and you ‘trip’ over your heels, the deep red liquid flying forward in a perfect arch, splashing across her ivory dress, her face and you even got some in her hair.

“Oops, gosh, I am so clumsy,” you state, hiding your grin as she shrieks.

Steve jumps up, offering to help before she can swing at you. “I got you, darling.”

He places a hand on her back, quickly ushering her away “a little club soda will get that right out,” he reassures a pouting, whining Moxie.

He's lying through his teeth, that stain will never come out. Steve gets a peek at the price tag, almost laughing at the $899 imprinted on the card. He maintains his façade, leading her through the room, he stops, giving her a wide smile.

“And you can find some at the drugstore down the street.” He states, opening the front door and pushing her out. Her indignant shouts cut off when he slams the door in her face.

You throw your head back and cackle, startling some guests around the bar, you apologize for your outburst between fits of laughter, wiping the tears pricking at your eyes. You wave down the amused bartender, placing an order for you and Steve.

Steve joins you, raising his fresh glass of wine in a toast. “No one fucks with Bucky.”

"No one."

Neither you nor Steve realizes Bucky saw the whole thing. He ducks back into the kitchen, clutching the tray of Cannelés to his chest. For weeks after the breakup, he had rehearsed what he was going to say that next time he came face to face with Moxie.

But what you and Steve did was even better, the love of his life and his best friend always looking out for him.

Loving him unconditionally.

And just like that, the last traces of his insecurities vanished.

Later that night, you fall asleep with your head on his shoulder. He smiles at your hand on his belly. He places his large hand over yours, wondering how he got so lucky to have you.

And if Steve would kill him if he named another dessert after you.

He’ll risk it.