Well..

Loving how they used the comic design for the new red star ⭐

THIS IS SO SWEET😭😭😭😭😭💓

Best Laid Plans

Lee Bodecker x Female Reader

When your plans for the town's Easter egg hunt go awry, you find help from an unlikely source...

This is for the lovely's @buck-star 's Easter Special ! Felt very inspired so started this earlier this afternoon and it just flowed! Way longer than planned lol sorry.

Character: Lee Bodecker

Trope: 🌷 Enemies to lovers

Prompt: 🐰 Easter egg hunt

Wordcount: Approx. 3.9k

No major warnings. I have also been deliberate vague about when this is set - so it's up to you! Hope you enjoy - as always I love hearing your thoughts ❤️

🐰

A satisfied grin spread across your face as you arranged the model chicks and bunnies, a sea of pastels brightening up the tired storefronts amongst the floral arrangements you’d already hung. Perfect. You smoothed down your polka dot sundress as you took in the scene. Just beyond the storefronts were the stalls for the fair later, selling everything from lemonade to chocolate, handmade crafts and freshly baked goods. A few of the vendors had started to set up, but there was still a nice amount of time before people would start to arrive. You’d given yourself a wide margin to prepare everything, hopefully you’ll have a little downtime to relax before the festivities began.

Your vision was finally all coming together. It was touch and go there for a while, especially with the well-meaning-but-pretty-useless Jake as your helper, but it was actually starting to pay off. It actually looked…good! Especially for a smalltown fair. You couldn’t wait to see the kids’ faces when they arrived later.

“Looks like the Easter bunny threw up out here,” someone chuckled from behind you.

Your smile dropped as you turned to face the culprit. But you already knew who that smooth voice belonged to.

Ugh. There he was. Again.

His uniform looked surprisingly crisp for him, stretched over his broad shoulders. He must’ve finally given the iron a try. Or maybe he’d convinced old Mrs O’Malley to help out a busy bachelor. You could still spy the curve of his stomach peeking out over his waistband from under the starchy white shirt. Not that it mattered, you normally liked a hefty man.

Just not this hefty man.

He stood there confidently surveying your handiwork, like a judge at a dog show. His sheriff badge caught a flicker of morning sunlight as his mouth pulled into a pensive sneer. He was normally quite handsome, not that you’d ever admit that. He had a gorgeous smile on the rare occasions you saw it, almost boyish in contrast to the severity of his short hair and tense jaw.

“Very funny, Sheriff Bodecker,” you replied in a deadpan tone. “Come up with that one all by yourself?”

He leaned on the roadblock barrier and chuckled. “Yeah. Spent all morning workin’ on it,” he grinned devilishly as he manoeuvred the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other, his eyes alight with mischief. Lee Bodecker had the most beautiful blue eyes, you’d noticed…

…Shame the man they belonged to was utterly insufferable.

“Glad my tax dollars are going to good use…” you sighed as you moved to collect the baskets for the egg hunt.

“Hey, you’re gettin’ free labour from my men and a whole street closed off for your little Easter party here, maybe save me the sass,” he scoffed. You didn’t like the patronising hand gesture he used to emphasis ‘little’.

You sighed incredulously, continuing to arrange the baskets, “it’s not my Easter party. And it’s a fair by the way. And it’s for the whole town. It’s about community, being together – whether you celebrate Easter or not. A little morale goes a long way…”

He rolled his eyes “Mm. Well the residents who lost their parking spaces to the roadblock this morning certainly didn’t have much morale when they came to bitch at the station about it…”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. You turned to him again, one hand on your hip and the other clasping one of the little yellow baskets which you pointed at him accusatorily. You knew exactly who he was referring to. That same vocal minority had also come to PTA meetings, written angry letters to the school – and once even ambushed you at the market. They seemed unmoved that it was a joint effort from the school and the church to do something nice for the town. The way they reacted, anyone might think you were responsible for evicting them from their houses, not using their preferred parking spaces for a few hours. You’d already repeated the same arguments so many times that you could probably recite them in your sleep. You were simply sick of talking about it, which you quickly made clear to Lee.

“Listen here, Sheriff. I’m going to tell you what I told all of them. It’s one day. One. We gave them plenty of notice about it, explaining it was so the kids could do the Easter egg hunt without the fear of getting mowed down, and folks can set up their market stalls with plenty of space. God forbid they park in that lot a few streets over and walk the short distance to main street – they can all fit in there, we’re not exactly New York City levels of population here in Meade…And most of them walk to town anyway!! Besides, the district owns those spaces, not them – just because they park in them most days when they come to shoot the shit at the barbers doesn’t mean they’re theirs.”

A little sharper than you had anticipated, but it did the job. You exhaled, trying to calm yourself down as you felt yourself get riled up.

Lee smirked, cocking his head to the side as he studied you. “Wow. Is that how you talk to your students when they act up? Or is it just me that the local schoolteacher likes to put in his place?” his voice was low, almost a purr.

You didn’t like the strange flush that he somehow brought to your cheeks. You briefly felt off balance. You needed to shake that off.

“My students know how to behave,” you quipped. And just like that, the flush had gone. The familiar irritation had taken its place.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, a strange buzz between you that you couldn’t quite identify. You felt that with him sometimes. You didn’t know why. Maybe it was just anger.

His eyes were on you so intensely it seemed like they could tear a hole in your skin.

Then he just laughed. The irritation burned through you, down to your bones.

“Why are you even here? The roadblock is up, nothing starts officially for another couple of hours…” you shrugged. “Surely the Sheriff has better things to be doing than supervising me putting up toy bunnies…” you muttered.

“Wow…so much for community and morale,” he replied in a mock-outraged tone.

You didn’t know why you let him get to you so much. You didn’t know why he did get to you so much. It had always been this way with him, nothing but a sliding scale from feisty jibes to outright loathing.

You weren’t like this with anyone else. You were a schoolteacher, priding yourself on being approachable and kind – a figure in the community who was happy to be a listening ear, who took her responsibility for the town’s children and their education very seriously. You were heavily involved in the church, in the PTA, volunteered at the old folks’ home when you had time. This strange feud with the Sheriff was the one misshapen puzzle piece that didn’t fit with the rest of the picture. A fault by the manufacturer.

And it had been like this since day one, since you moved to town just over a year ago. You had been keen to meet the local Sheriff, hoping to ingratiate yourself with him and work together to benefit the community – but he’d shut you down almost immediately when you’d introduced yourself at a town meeting. He’d lazily looked you up and down in a way that could only be described as with contempt. Your smiled had faded as he introduced himself with disinterest, moving back to talk to his deputies like you were some chore he couldn’t wait to finish. You had no idea what you’d done wrong.

Since then, you had just never met eye to eye. Never been on the same wavelength. He just had a way of getting under your skin, of draining your patience in a way that even a rowdy group of six-year-olds couldn’t pull off. Although you generally aimed to always be the bigger person in life and rise above petty things, Sheriff Bodecker seemed to be the exception to that philosophy. Maybe his dismissal of you before he’d even properly spoken to you was what provoked such strong feeling, but you couldn’t explain the inevitable descent every time you met him.

You bickered every time you crossed paths. Arguing in line at the market, squabbling in the street, once there had even been (hushed) strong words at the back of church during a service.

You’d turned up to the station one afternoon to meet with Deputy Carter about arranging a school safety talk and the officers on the front desk had audibly sighed knowing what was going to happen. The whole town was aware of this rivalry, and just sort of took for granted that this was just how things were with the Sheriff and that schoolteacher.

…and yes. The officers were right. You and the Sheriff had managed to get each other’s backs up after a mere few minutes because you had laughed a little too loudly when his hat briefly slipped off his head. Business as usual.

You couldn’t really admit it to yourself. But maybe you also kinda enjoyed it. Just a tiny bit. Sometimes.

“Oh whatever…” you hissed, trying to focus on the task at hand. You didn’t have time for this, you can’t let Lee distract you when you have so much still to do. “Go. Stay. I don’t care either way. I need to hide the eggs and-”

You froze as you tugged at the trash bag containing the coloured eggs that you were going to hide for the hunt. It didn’t feel…right. The weight was off. It didn’t sit like a bag of small toy eggs.

You untied the bag and gasped when the contents were revealed.

Not eggs.

Not even close.

…a bag of trash.

You let out a pained moan as you fell to your knees, rifling through the bag in the weak hope that the eggs were at the bottom, and someone had put trash in the wrong bag by mistake. But no. Not a one there.

How could this-

And then it all fell into place at once. Jake, the enthusiastic but somewhat hapless school coach who had offered to help with the planning. Yesterday, after school you’d given him the eggs as you bagged up the classroom waste bin…he then offered to take it out for you as he was parked near the dumpster…so he must’ve mixed up…

Oh.

Oh God.

…And trash pick-up had been early this morning.

Those eggs were long gone.

Even if by some miracle you managed to somehow track them down, they’d most likely be crushed by the truck anyway – or all mixed in with the town’s other garbage. Covered in God knows what.

You stomach churned. You thought about the kids in your class, how excited they were about the hunt. They’d all been talking about it for weeks, all claiming they were going to win and find the most eggs – win the ‘mystery prize’ that the flyer tantalisingly offered (a brand-new bike, sponsored by one of the richer families in Brewer Heights. You had been so proud to source that).

How could you let them all down? See the disappointment on their little faces when they realised?

You couldn’t.

So, you switched into problem solving mode. As satisfying as it would be to tear Jake a new one for his mistake, that wouldn’t help the kids. Where could you get more eggs? You had already bought out almost the entire supply locally to ensure as many kids as possible could participate. You could drive to another town, but would you make it back in time? What if they were sold out too? This close to Easter…how many eggs were going to be left in stores exactly? Would they even be open? A lot of places had already closed up to spend time with their families. It was that way around these parts, these were mom and pop operations - not national chain stores. You could call ahead but-

“Well. That’s gonna be a weird egg hunt,” Lee interrupted your internal monologue as he toed at the now ripped open bag of trash. “I know the school budget has been cut, but damn…”

You closed your eyes. You’d been so caught up that you’d almost forgotten he was still here. “Just…not now, please,” you snap without looking up.

“Didn’t need to close the street just for you to hide garbage. Ain’t that just littering…?” he chuckles.

You look up at him, tears of frustration swimming in your eyes. “Coach Jensen must’ve switched the bags by accident,” you say softly.

Lee furrows his brows, his ever-present smirk shrinking as he takes you in. Maybe for the first time ever. His features soften as he starts to absorb that look on your face. The look that tells him this is serious. “That guy’s an ass…” he replies, his voice low.

“Yeah, I know,” you whispered. “God…The kids are so excited…”

“You can’t just call it off?”

“No!” you said incredulously. “This is all they’ve been talking about in class, all through school! I can’t just cancel it. I just need to figure out how to find more eggs before the hunt. There’s none left in our store but maybe I could drive to the next town over…”

He put his hands on his hips, his stance authoritative like he was doing a traffic stop, or talking to a perp. He checks his watch. “At this hour? You won’t make it back in time…”

“Thanks for your help Sheriff, as always,” you snarl.

He sighed defeatedly. “Could you just…hide something else for them to hunt? Matchsticks or something? I dunno…”

“It’s Easter! They were promised eggs!” you huff, “what kind of easter egg hunt would that be?”

You are unable to stop the few tears that break through the barrier and onto your cheek. You’re just so frustrated, so tired after staying up late to prepare all of this. And all your hard work is coming unravelled because of a few lousy eggs and a feckless man who doesn’t check garbage bags.

God, what a mess. Why do you even care so much? This is silly. Mistakes happen. The town will understand.

Right?

“Hey, hey,” Lee coos gently and takes a step closer to you, “don’t get upset…it’s just eggs…” His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it, it barely sounds like him at all.

You feel a wave of shame, mortification that he is bearing witness to this. The unfamiliarity of his tone is so unexpected, so jarring, that it adds to your embarrassment rather than soothes it. Why did he have to be here? Why him of all people? And what, he pities you now? More ammunition for his side in your little war – the silly, emotional teacher who cries over easter eggs. A chink in your armour, vulnerability for him to mock and dine out on for years to come…as if he didn’t already think you were a fool…

“It’s not just eggs,” you reply dully. Your eyes lock onto his. He simply doesn’t understand how important this is. How many children are counting on you. He doesn’t understand anything about you.

You turn away from him, taking a deep breath as you quickly wipe away your tears with your knuckles. You won’t let him have any more of you than you’ve already given. You shakily get to your feet.

“I’m gonna go around to a few parents’ houses and see what I can find,” you say out loud, more for you than for him. To anchor you, make you feel like you have a plan – however weak. “I should be able to rustle up some from their Easter decorations at least. I’ll be back to finish setting up”.

Lee stares at you. It seems like he has more to say, but he remains quiet. He clears his throat, nods. “Uh. Alright. Well, I’m going to go back to the station. Check on a few things. Good luck…with the eggs…it’ll work out.”

You nod, but don’t turn around as you leave him behind. You don’t believe him.

🐇.•*¨`*•.¸ 🐇.•*¨`*•. 🐇¸.•*¨`*•. 🐇

A little while later you make your way back to the fair. You feel so downtrodden that there could almost be rocks in your pockets, every movement takes effort and energy you no longer possess. You dread every step closer as you trudge heavily across town.

Despite a committed campaign, working your way across several neighbourhoods, you were only able to source a pathetic few eggs. Nowhere near enough to sustain a full-on egg hunt for all of the town’s children. Maybe even neighbouring towns if word got out. You check your watch; and you’re running late, too. You were going to have to explain to dozens of disappointed kids (and their angry parents) why their most anticipated Easter activity wasn’t happening. You practiced your speech in your head as you walked.

As you rounded the corner to the roadblock, you took a deep breath and prepared yourself for the worst. Your stomach swam with nausea, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. You should’ve called Jake and made him do this. It was his fault after all.

You brace yourself for the crowd of confused children, when…

You can’t quite believe your eyes.

The kids are here, yes. But they’re running around, yellow baskets in their little hands as they shriek and holler, darting underneath doorsteps and plant pots to hunt. A small pile of coloured eggs sits in each of their baskets. Every single one of them is having a blast. Their parents watch on proudly, sharing their joy.

Are you going insane?

Some of them notice you and wave excitedly, calling your name and shouting over to you about how much fun it is. Their parents echo similar sentiments, and you just wave back gormlessly, trying to figure out what the hell is happening.

Is this some sort of hallucination?

“Phew. Told ya it would work out.”

You turn to the figure who has sidled up next to you, your eyes wide with surprise as Lee watches the joyful chaos unfold in front of you both.

“How…what…” you splutter.

“I remembered we did a similar thing a few years back,” he says casually without taking his eyes off the fun. “It was a police fundraiser around Easter time. One of my dim-witted deputies thought he ordered 100 eggs…turns out he ordered 100 cases…”

Your mouth falls agape as realisation slowly dawns.

“Shoved ‘em in the old outbuilding and forgot we had ‘em if I’m honest, ‘til this morning. Never thought we’d use them all, but here we are”. He laughs and rests his hands on his belt buckle.

“You…you did this?” you whisper, your throat tight with shock.

He shrugs, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Sure. Rounded up a bunch of the boys and we got ‘em all out. Not the most creative hiding places, you probably woulda done better – but the kiddos don’t seem to mind. Some of them are a bit dusty from storage – but again, kids are paying that no mind. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell no one. So, you’ll still get all the credit, you deserve it anyway – you put all the work in”.

Your eyes round as you stare at him. He stands there nonchalantly, like he didn’t just save the day. Didn’t just save you.

“You did that…for me?” you ask, bewildered.

“Sure. You needed help. That prick Jensen wasn’t gonna fix it, was he?”

“B..but. You don’t even like me?” you stammer weakly. Your brain simply can’t absorb any of this.

He finally turns, an eyebrow cocked in confusion. His blue eyes squint as his lip curls. “What? ‘Course I like ya”.

You feel like you’re going insane. “What?? We fight, all the time! You are always jabbing at me, making fun of me, riling me up…”

His face mirrors your own puzzlement but for a different reason, “yeah, but it’s just fun, isn’t it? Banter. I love fighting with you. It’s always a highlight of my day. You’re so…fun. Feisty. I love it. I never actually meant any harm…”

If you’d been sitting on a chair at that moment, you would’ve fallen out of it.

“WHAT?” you roar so loudly that some people turn around. You hush yourself immediately, trying to avoid a scene. “You were SO RUDE, the first time we met…it’s been hell ever since…”

He finally has the decency to look embarrassed as his eyes drop to the ground. “Oh, right. That. Yeah. That was shitty. I should’ve apologised…you just caught me off guard…”

“What do you mean?! All I did was say hello?” you sneer through gritted teeth.

“Yeah…and be gorgeous. Nobody told me the new teacher was a goddamn beauty. I panicked, couldn’t form words. You made me feel like a damn teenager with how nervous you made me”.

You just stare at him as you try and process what he’d just said, your mother would say you could catch flies with your mouth hanging open like that.

“Wait…You were rude because…you thought I was pretty?”

“Damn beautiful, actually. And I didn’t mean to be rude. Really. My brain just damn near stopped working”, he says bashfully.

“So, wait, this whole time you…”

You trail off as you suddenly reframe every interaction with him in your memory in a matter of seconds. The strange, unidentifiable buzz you felt with him sometimes. The way he got to you like nobody else. His smile widening every time he saw you, which you’d always assumed was just him getting ready to rile you up. How he would always gravitate to you if you were in the same place. The way he seemed to take so much pleasure in making fun of you, of talking with you…

…being with you?

“I should’ve just not been a coward and spoken to you properly, I’m sorry,” he sighs as he looks down at his feet. His voice more passive than you’d ever heard it. “Ask you on a date. Treat you nice, court you a little. I guess I never thought a pretty girl like you would go for a schlub like me, and I always had your attention when we argued – so why risk it?”

You look over at the giggling kids, the proud parents, the townspeople enjoying the stalls, sipping lemonade and laughing. You look back at him. You think of him hauling those old boxes from the station, getting his staff to help. Trying to find good hiding places for the eggs, wiping the dust from them. Greeting the kids and their parents as they arrived, giving them the little baskets. Doing it all for you without being asked, doing it for you because he wanted to.

Maybe he understood more about you than you realised.

He cautiously stands in front of you, you look deep into his cerulean eyes and before you know it, you’re kissing him. He wobbles slightly in surprise but corrects himself and finds his feet, kissing you back, his arms around your waist like they’d always been there. The rest of the world melts away and suddenly everything feels right. You don’t care that they can all see. You don’t care about anything else.

You break away and rest your forehead on his. You both laugh at the hooting and hollering from behind you, the cries of ‘about time!’ from his deputies. Apparently everyone could see it but you.

“Don’t I get a thank you? For fixing it?” he grins.

“Why? It’s just eggs,” you beam.

“…it’s not just eggs,” he chuckled as he moves to kiss you again.

THE END

Bucky is gorgeous and he needs to be reminded everyday 💓‼️

More to Love

Summary : Bucky marries you, someone who shows love through food. When his body changes, you show him he’s cared for no matter what.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x wife!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : FLUFF! Hurt/Comfort, Body Image Issues, Insecurity, Established Relationship, Weight Gain, implied sex, cursing, Food as Love Language.

Word count : 2.4k

Note : If you’d like to be on the taglist, message me! It gets lost in the comments sometimes. Enjoy!

Bucky hadn’t meant to gain weight.

It wasn’t like he woke up one day and decided, hey, let’s pack it on.

It crept in, slowly, like moss between cracks, or rust under paint. At first, it was just little things: seconds at dinner, not skipping dessert, an appetiser here and there.

See, when you and Bucky first started dating, it didn’t take long for him to realise that food was your love language. You cooked like it was second nature—every ingredient always added with care. He’d come home from missions or long training days to find you in the kitchen with your sleeves rolled up, humming to some old tune while stirring sauce or kneading dough. And your smile always lit up when you fed him, like watching him eat something you made was its own kind of joy. And Bucky, who’d spent so much of his life surviving, hadn’t known how hungry he was for that kind of care until you started filling his plate and his heart at the same time.

Somewhere between your late-night pastas and Sunday roasts, his shirts started to fit tighter around the middle. The scale ticked up a few numbers. He still trained, but it was different now. He wasn’t on a calorie deficit, and he was doing things for functional and not aesthetic purposes. He focused on Pull-ups, sparring, lifting until his arms couldn’t take any more. He could throw a grown man across the room. Probably you too, and that wasn’t a fantasy you were opposed to.

But even when his body changed, and time went by, your cooking didn’t stop. If anything, after you got married, it grew more intentional. You experimented more— comfort dishes from his childhood, thick stews you imagined his man might've made, and big, carb-heavy meals to help him recover after a mission. You packed him leftovers in little glass containers, sometimes with a note tucked in the lid. You didn’t just feed his body. You fed his memory, his heart, his right to be human again.

Still.

He’d catch his reflection in the bathroom mirror, shirtless, sweaty from a workout, and stare at his stomach. 

He hated that it made him feel weak. Sloppy. 

“Used to be leaner,” he muttered once, toweling off after an especially brutal workout session. 

You rolled your eyes, but with love, and tossed another towel at his chest. “Yeah? Well, I used to think I liked abs, but turns out I like a powerhouse husband who can deadlift a damn car more.”

That earned you a faint smile, but it didn’t erase the dread in his eyes— the one that said you’re lying, or you’re just saying that to make me feel better.

You weren’t.

God, you weren’t.

Because Bucky Barnes built like a brick shithouse? Bucky Barnes with thick arms and wide shoulders and thighs like tree trunks and a stomach that was less abs and more functional muscle? He was the kind of man you could climb like a jungle gym and bury your face against to feel safe. That strength wasn’t just aesthetic— it was real. 

And every meal you cooked was another way of telling him so. Every tray of roasted veggies, every slow-cooked braise or pan of cinnamon rolls was a reminder: You’re still cared for. You’re still mine.

To be fair, he’d never been satisfied with his body, not really. Not when it was used as a weapon. Not when it was hyper-lean, a machine starving for control. And not now, when he felt like losing the only grip he’d ever had on himself.

Then came the movie night.

You were watching some dumb action flick, all glossy lighting and guys with chiseled jaws and ten-pack abs. The kind of thing that didn’t usually bother you. 

C’mon, watching a superhero movie while being married to one? It was kind of surreal, kind of stupid. 

You’d whipped up a bowl of nachos earlier, layered with roasted veggies, black beans, just enough cheese to feel indulgent, but still a net benefit for your body, the way Bucky liked. He’d been halfway through the bowl, one hand resting on your thigh, when he suddenly stopped eating.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. Maybe he was full. Maybe the movie was just boring. But then you felt the way he shifted like his body was trying to shrink.

You turned your head to see him.

His eyes flicked to the screen. Then to the bowl. Then to his stomach. And then away.

You paused the movie.

“Buck?” you asked gently.

He didn’t look at you. “I’m fine.” He said it too quickly.

You set the nachos aside and turned toward him. “What’s going on?”

He hesitated.

“Look at those guys,” he said, motioning toward the frozen screen. “All shredded. And I’m just—” He trailed off, letting the bitterness finish the sentence for him.

Your heart broke.

You reached over and rested your hand on his chest, right where his heart beat under your palm.

You frowned in that goddammit I love you, why don’t you see what I see? kind of way.

You didn’t say anything right away, but moved closer, settled into his lap, and rested your forehead to his. 

“Bucky,” you whispered, voice soft as a feather, “you could have abs again tomorrow and I wouldn’t love you more than I do right now.”

He swallowed hard. 

“You say that now,” he insisted. “But maybe one day you’ll wake up and realise you’re married to some washed-up vet with a gut and a metal arm.”

You cupped his face firmly and made him look at you.

“Hey,” you scolded playfully, “Don’t you dare talk about my husband like that.”

A ghost of a laugh bubbled out of him. 

“You carry people out of burning buildings, Bucky. You wrestle Walker for fun and win more than half the time.” That earned you another chuckle. “You’ve got a body that’s survived hell and back. And you still use it to hold me like I’m the most fragile thing in the world.”

He looked like he didn’t know whether to cry or pull you into his arms and never let go. So you did it for him— you held him close, kissed the curve of his neck where tension still pulled on his muscles.

“You are so hot, Bucky Barnes,” you whispered. “So fucking hot. Built like a damn tank. Fuckin’ making me feel like the luckiest woman alive.”

He buried his face in your shoulder then, arms wrapping tight around you, so you didn’t move for a while.

He held onto you like you were tethering him to the Earth. His arms were so big, so safe and real. 

Eventually, his rapid breathing slowed. Then, slowly so as not to startle him, you leaned back just enough to look at him. His eyes were pink, glassy, and still a little distant.

“C’mere,” you whispered, taking his hand.

Bucky didn’t ask where you were going. He just followed you, quiet and trusting, fingers interlaced with yours. You led him into the bedroom, and he paused near the mirror at the side of your shared bed.

“I don’t—”

“I know,” you said. “But I want to show you something.”

You stood behind him at first, wrapping your arms around his thick waist, your cheek resting between his shoulder blades. He tensed up at his own reflection. You could feel it in the way his shoulders were bracing for impact.

But instead of asking him to look, you slowly stepped around him, sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled him gently toward you.

He didn’t resist.

You kissed the underside of his forearm first, the one made of flesh. Then his metal hand. You worked your way up, past scars and veins and muscle, until he was standing between your knees, and you lifted up his shirt and lowered his sweatpants just a bit, until you were kissing the stretch of skin just above his waistband.

Then, higher.

His stomach rose and fell under your lips.

You kissed the curve of it. One, then another. A third, right by his belly button. Your hands held his hips like he was loved. 

“You think this makes you less?” you said in disbelief, your breath warm against him. “Because all I see is more. More to hold. More to love. More of you.”

Bucky’s fingers twitched at his sides. He was stock-still, as if when he moved, he might fall apart. You looked up at him and saw the tears gathering again.

“Every inch of you is mine to love,” you whispered, “and you don’t get to tell me which ones I can’t.”

A choked sound made it last his lips. 

He dropped to his knees in front of you and wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face against your chest like he was starved for touch.

“I don’t deserve you,” he mumbled, voice breaking at the seams .

You kissed the top of his head.

“Tough,” you whispered into his hair. “You’re stuck with me. And so is that stomach. And that chest. And fuck— those thighs.”

He huffed a laugh against your skin. “You like the thighs, huh?”

“Obsessed.” You nuzzled into his hair. “Do you even know what it does to me, watching you exist in this body like it was built for loving me?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His cheeks were pink, and for the first time that night, you saw something wonder bloom behind the disappointment in his eyes.

You leaned in again, your lips brushing over his—soft first. It deepened the moment he kissed you back. It wasn’t desperate, not yet. 

Just… vulnerable. 

It was as if everything unsaid between you was being poured into it, every little bit of doubt and love and hunger bleeding through.

His hands found your hips, fingers flexing like he couldn’t believe you were real. You felt him, too—not just the muscle, but the man who wanted, who needed to be seen, to be held, to be devoured.

“You drive me insane,” you whispered between kisses, your hands running up under his shirt, palming heat and muscle and that slight softness you loved more than you could say. 

He groaned low in his throat, and you felt it reverberate all the way down. 

You tugged his shirt up and over his head. You bit your lip as he fixed his posture, solid and built like sin.

God, you couldn't get enough of him. He had thighs thick enough to crush, arms big enough to cage you in. You ran your palms down his chest, over the swell of his sides, and kissed just above his waistband again.

“I want all of this,” you whispered. “Want to feel it. Fuckin’ climb it, baby.”

That did it.

He leaned forward before picking you up like you weighed nothing. You let out a gasp as he plopped you on the bed. His mouth was back on yours in an instant, kisses turning rougher and hungrier as his hands roamed  with that same desperate worship you gave him.

And when his thigh slid between yours, thick and commanding, you nearly whimpered.

“Bucky—” your voice broke on his name.

He pulled back just enough to growl, “You love this?” His thigh pressed harder, “Love how big and strong I am for you?”

You could barely think, could only nod, fingers tangled in his hair, body arching to meet his.

“Say it.”

“I love it,” you moaned. “I love the way you take up space. I want you to break me in half.”

His blue eyes darkened, his grip tightening just slightly. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Then he kissed you again, and there was no more sound except for bodies moving like they were made to fit, made to ruin each other sweetly.

And when he finally, finally settled over you like the living embodiment of every gentle and savage thing you even loved—you whispered against his ear, “Don’t hold back.”

He didn’t.

—

You woke up to sunlight cutting through the curtains, the kind of light that felt too ethereal to feel real.

Bucky was already up.

He was standing, shirtless, hair still sleep-mussed, his sleep trousers hanging low on his hips, metal arm catching a glint of light as he rubbed at the back of his neck. You watched him from the bed for a minute.

He was staring at the mirror.

And not with that same bitter expression he usually did. This time… it was different. His brow was still furrowed, sure, but he looked… thoughtful. He looked like he was seeing something new.

Or maybe just seeing it the way you had all along.

There were faint bruises along his hips—your marks. Scratches across his back, red and already rapidly healing thanks to the serum, that they would be gone before the day. His skin was still flushed in places, the way it always got after you touched him like you meant it, like every inch of him was holy ground. 

You let the silence steep, just long enough to not startle him. “Staring at yourself like you’re in love, Barnes,” you finally mumbled sleepily from the pillows.

Bucky turned, but not ashamed. His eyes met yours across the room, and god—there it was. 

A smile.

“Maybe,” he said. His eyes dropped to his stomach, his chest, his body— painted in proof of your love last night. Then he looked at you, still tangled in the sheets, bare-legged, cheek creased from the pillow, looking at him like he was the answer to a prayer you hadn’t even known you wanted.

He shrugged, but it wasn’t dismissive. More like he didn’t know how to put it into words yet.

You sat up and let the sheet fall a little. His eyes flicked down and lingered, mouth parting, even after all this time.

“You didn’t seem to mind this body last night,” he said, quieter and teasing.

You gave him a look—are you serious?—then got up and walked across the room. You stood in front of him and slid your hands up the planes of his torso, over his stomach, then around to his back.

“Bucky,” you said, lips brushing his collarbone, “I wrote scripture out of this body last night.”

He laughed an open, sleepy-morning laugh, like you’d summoned it right out of his ribs. He ducked his head into your neck and held you for a second, arms around your waist.

When he pulled back, you kissed him once, then you glanced toward the mirror.

“Go ahead,” you whispered, brushing your fingers over his stomach. “Smile at yourself again.”

He did.

And he didn’t look away.

-end.

Extra Notes : This was really special to write, especially with so many fics like this going around! I used to have an unhealthy obsession with working out purely for aesthetics, but a few years ago, after moving out of my home country, I started reconnecting with my culture’s food. Cooking and eating became a way to feel close to home, so my body changed! I also shifted toward weight training and functional exercise, and while I’m definitely more muscular than lean now, it took me a while to realise this version of me is so much healthier than when I was stuck in an obsessive calorie deficit. Remember, bodies change, and I find our inherent ability to be look so different and still be worthy of love wonderful!

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life

@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst

@goldengubs @maryevm @helen-2003 @maryssong23

@yesshewrites1 @thewiselionessss @sangsterizada @jaderabbitt

@hopeofwinter @nevereclipse @tellybearryyyy

Can we talk about how no one seems to acknowledge in the mcu that Bucky took the serum unwillingly. That he was experimented on against his will and absolutely terrified of what it would do to him.

Yet you have John walker talking how much Bucky must enjoy it. At what price and what use when he’s to afraid to use that strength

Sam talking about how he should have taken it like him. When Bucky literally did not.

Even now the red guardian being all like oh the fancy stuff. As if it wasn’t a experiment that had high failure and Bucky was lucky enough to survive.

And even with all that, no one even sees he’s as much as a exceptional like Steve by not being corrupted by the serum.

And please marvel please let someone please acknowledge these two things and say it in the mcu because he deserves to hear them.

7

joaquin post cabnw

'cause he's just so cool

Chocaholics Anonymous

For @buck-star 's Easter Challenge 🐣🐰

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Trope: Friends to lovers

Prompt: 🐰 Choclate (way toooooooooooo much)

Word count: ?

Tags/Warnings: None. Just really goofy fluff

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through AI. All of my work is 18+ so read at your own risk.

Summary: You notice that your chocolate stash is depleting rapidly and begin a note exchange with your chocolate thief.

Dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

A/N: Also 350+ followers?? Hi you guys!! ☺️

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Navigation

Your chocolate stash was a chocoholic's dream. Hidden in the back of the dustiest, least used kitchen cupboard was a fake backing; with no pipes running through it to make sure no one accidentally stumbled upon your stash.

Steve and Thor were cretins when it came to chocolate and - probably due to their size and training regimens - could eat your stash in one sitting. However, you'd chewed them out so bad you thought they would burst into tears, and then promptly devised your super secret stash cupboard to ensure it never happened again.

Which was why you were surprised to find that, even though you'd definitely replaced your fake backing when you last used it, your stash had most definitely depleted.

You couldn't remember eating the bars that were missing. Even if you had somehow managed to sleep walk to your cupboard, the lack of evidence in wrappers and chocolate smears was concerning.

You didn't want to signal to the other avengers that you had a new secret stash, or that you knew one of them was a thief, so you opted to leave a note printed from the team's computer. With a team full of spies, geniuses and magic users, you didn't need the thief to know who you were from your handwriting.

Placing the note clearly upon the chocolate pile you re-fix the fake backing, the words slowly fading from view.

I know who you are. Count your days chocolate thief (<.<)

Bucky was surprised to find a note left on top of the supposedly abandoned chocolate stash he'd stumbled upon. He had - incorrectly - assumed that the chocolate stash had been long forgotten about and that the goldmine of sweet, cocoa-y goodness was his and his alone. Knowing that he was in fact a thief, made him feel only slightly guilty as he reached for another chocolate bar, deciding that he would leave a note of his own and replace what he'd taken.

Clearly, whoever had left the note and created this hidden stash wanted to remain anonymous. However, he wondered who on earth on the team it could be.

You read out the newest note aloud in the quiet of your room, trying to put together a mental list of suspects as you skim the words.

"Dear Chocolate Fairy," you begin, already frowning. "I'm sorry for eating your chocolate. Great. At least there's an apology."

You sigh. An apology meant it couldn't have been Tony; he'd never apologise for something like that. Maybe buy you stock in Cadbury but never apologise apologise.

"To make it up to you, I'll buy your favourite to replace what I stole. Just leave me a note of your chocolate of choice."

You nod approvingly but keep your frown as you type up your new note into a word document. Who on earth was your Anonymous Chocolate Thief?

A week later, you were no closer to finding the identity of your Chocolate Thief.

Steve and Clint were on a mission when the last note appeared, Thor was off world and when you'd subtly asked Bruce if he'd like any chocolate from the store he'd told you he preferred savoury snacks and asked if you'd pick up some Pringles instead.

On your weekly coffee meet with Natasha, you ask her about her chocolate preferences, only earning you a sigh.

"This again?" She tuts. "You're a chocaholic. Besides, with Steve and Thor gone you have nothing to worry about and you don't keep chocolate in the tower anymore. What's bothering you?"

You look sheepishly into your hot chocolate and try to come up with a good excuse.

"Nothing." You sip at your chocolate-y concoction. You couldn't tell Nat about your chocolate issue because she'd find out who it was immediately and truth be told you were enjoying your game of Whodunnit. "Anyways, tell me about that last mission you were on..."

"Man, this is too much chocolate. Even for you." Sam had rummaged through some of Bucky's grocery bags to find that at least two of them were filled with chocolate bars. "What are you gonna do with all this?"

Bucky eyes him suspiciously before snatching the bar he was holding out of his hand. "None of your business."

Sam throws up his hands in defeat before sneaking another bar into his pocket. "Do I need to let Steve know in case this is a... Thing?"

Bucky frowns over at Sam, picking up the grocery bags in his left hand. "A Thing?"

"Yeah. A Thing." Sam frowns back, folding his arms over his chest. "You're hoarding chocolate like it's gold so unless you're plotting something, I don't see how you're gonna eat that much."

Bucky purses his lips in consideration before sighing, realising Sam was correct and that he was acting stranger than usual. "I...you're gonna have to trust me Sam, this isn't for me."

"Right."

"I swear."

"Yeah." Sam shakes his head. "Whatever man, if you get stuck in a chocolate coma I'm not helping you out of it."

Bucky rolls his eyes and is about to pad off to his room to wait until everyone is asleep to access the secret stash but halts when Sam chirps behind him.

"You should ask Y/N if she wants any of your bars."

"What? Why?" Bucky turns back to Sam with a curious look.

"She's a chocaholic to the max." Sam chuckles and gives Bucky a knowing smirk. "Besides, it might gain you some points in her favour don't you think?"

Bucky spins around on his heel to try and hide the warmth gracing his cheeks but Sam had already spotted it and snorts, calling after him.

"And try smiling more!"

The following night, you almost burst into laughter when you open up the false backing. The stash is filled to the brim with your favourite chocolate that you feel sick just looking at it. Attached to the very top is a note that reads "Sorry :(".

A small twinge of guilt twists in your stomach and you feel a little disappointed that your Chocolate Thief is no more. You'll never know their identity - and you wonder if your mysterious Chocolate Thief will visit your dreams as a handsome man who looks suspiciously like one Bucky Barnes.

You sigh picking up a bar. There's so much chocolate stuffed inside it could take you a year to eat through it all. You startle when you hear the approach of footsteps, and begin hurriedly shoving chocolate bars back into the cupboard, smacking your head as you jump off the ground.

"Hi." You say, trying not to look too frazzled as Bucky appears.

"Hey." He says and for a moment you both stare at eachother in the dark of the kitchen.

"What are you doing up so late?" You stall, kicking a stray bar across the kitchen floor.

"Uh..." Bucky panics and then wiggles a piece of paper he's holding. "Report."

"Couldn't it wait till the morning?" You ask, starting to smile.

"Couldn't sleep." Bucky finishes lamely before smiling shyly. "You?"

"Same." You lie but if staying up meant eating chocolate and speaking with Bucky, you'd gladly pay the price of no sleep. "Want a cocoa?"

Bucky snorts. "Sam said you were a chocaholic."

You shrug trying to play it off but man, you really did have a reputation.

"I'm thinking of starting a club." You say playfully, heading to the cupboard for a mug. "Chocaholics Anonymous. What do you think?"

Your grin widens when you hear Bucky's laughter, heart fluttering when you catch a playful gleam in his blue eyes.

"I think you'd be the only member." Bucky says, watching you make your chocolate drink with a hint of jealousy.

"I could get Steve and Thor involved." You say mock-thoughtfully.

"Do you even have a favourite chocolate if you're a chocaholic?" Bucky asks curiously.

"Oh yeah." You say nonchalantly, adding heaped teaspoons of cocoa mix to your mug, uttering your favourite bar without a second thought. "But there's different brands who use different amounts of cocoa to milk solids and blah blah blah."

You turn and fix Bucky with another smile. "What about you?"

Bucky opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. He can feel heat crawling all over his face and a smile itching to break free; you were the Chocolate Fairy. It was your stash he'd broken into.

No wonder you'd been so touchy about your chocolate.

"I don't have a favourite." Bucky says. "I take what I can get my hands on."

You falter at his words for a moment before grabbing the milk from the fridge. "Yuh huh. I know the type."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bucky teases and you giggle as you put your cocoa in the microwave.

"Nothing."

"It didn't sound like nothing."

"Bucky, come on -"

"Sounds like you were insinuating I was some sort of Chocolate Thief."

You spin around to face him pointing wildly. Bucky points back accusingly.

"You're the Chocolate Thief!" You gasp.

"You're the Chocolate Fairy!" Bucky exclaims back.

A moment passes before you both dissolve into a fit of giggles, interrupted only by the ding of the microwave.

"You bought wayyy too much chocolate, Buck." You snicker, grabbing your mug. "But I'll happily share it with you."

"Sam did say I went overboard but I have a better idea." You raise an eyebrow at Bucky, who gives you a cheeky smile. "We choose some snacks and a movie, melt the chocolate and gorge ourselves into a chocolate coma."

You nod excitedly, your stomach swooping with joy. "It's a date, Thief."

Taglist

Add yourself here

@irishhappiness , @awkwardgiraffe726 , @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers , @dugiioh , @cieraboobear , @railmesebstan , @kei943 @norseloki26 , @sebastians-love @valenzie , @xamapolax , @lonelyghosts-stuff , @winchestert101 @read-just-cant-stop @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @looking1016 @blackhawkfanatic @almostglitterybear

My mann

༻ ♡ ༺

He’s never considered himself to be a religious man. Not in the 40’s and certainly not now. Though….he does feel the slight guilt when he’s with you. Like there really is a big man above wagging his finger because he’s dating a twenty something year old. Dating as a centurion just feels icky. Like touching something sticky, or stepping on a wad of gum. Even the word “boyfriend” makes him cringe. He’s far past the stage of “boy” and he’s sure it makes people expect some college aged brat, and not well…him. He’s a congressman now, dating at his age is…embarrassing to say the least. He feels less embarrassed when you’re giving him kisses in and attention, irrelevant. You got carded when he took you out, carded, he didn’t get checked—well he did just in a judgy sort of way.

He would’ve courted you if he had gotten the chance. Would’ve asked for permission and pick you up to go out to the theatre or to a carnival. Though things never seem to work out the way he wants. He’s rubbing your back as you lie on his chest scrolling on your phone, taking the time to show him something silly that made you laugh. The little tank top you’re wearing isn’t jarring, he’s gotten used to 21st century fashion. Still, he knows, had this been his early twenties it would really make his head spin. You regularly keep him on his toes.

He sighs, which makes you look up at him. “okay?” You ask, he smooths your hair down and nods. “Fine, little sleepy.” He murmurs, getting you to lay your head back down. “You wanna go to sleep?” You ask and he shakes his head, he feels like an old man enough, he doesn’t need a bedtime. You go back to lying down and he feels like a worm again. The softness and smoothness of your skin, god, you aren’t even calloused. Just never worked a day in your life have you? He wants to make sure you never have to. You’re not some midlife crisis, he’s ready to ride or die. Both probably soon, he doesn’t worry about it that much anymore, you’ve done a lot to ease his worries. He’s knows you aren’t a baby, you’re a modern lady, and he’s trying to be your modern man.

credit to @cursed-carmine for dividers

Brother from another mother

#Welcome back The Winter Soldier (insp)