grilledcheesewithjalapeno

[grilledcheesewithjalapeno]

☀︎series to read☀︎

Honey & Steel {Series Masterlist}

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x SingleMom!Reader

Series Summary: "A chance encounter in a broken elevator ties together the lives of a hardened , emotionally closed off CEO James Barnes and a struggling single mother balancing her daughter , her new job , healing old wounds , and building something neither of them expected , a family."

Content/Warnings: Listed on each part!

dividers by: @/cursed-carmine

Part One- The Elevator Meet

Part Two- Little Piggie

Part Three- White Wolf

Part Four- The Wedding

Part Five- Breakfast At Tiffany's

Part Six- Carpool Charity

Part Seven- Static Between

Part Eight- Gossip Girl

Part Nine- Coming soon

[grilledcheesewithjalapeno]

OKAYYYY THIS IS GREATTT ! can't wait for moreee !

The First Page

➸ Synopsis: The choice to help a man with a metal arm, bleeding out behind a dumpster on a stormy night changes your life. You thought you’d never see him again, but what happens when you find him in your living room five years later?

Or

Bucky Barnes spent nearly 70 years with Hydra, but only one night he felt safe. Now, as he finally escapes Hydra, he finds himself returning to that safety.

➸ Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

➸ Chapter note: I just wanna give Bucky a big hug but I know in universe if I came across the Winter Soldier I’d last maybe 2 seconds before dying

¯\_╏ ՞ ︿ ՞ ╏_/¯

PS I’d love to get feedback my writing! I’m still very new, and always looking for any advice or critics!

PPS plz send any story or oneshot marvel requests I need more things to write •ू(ᵒ̴̶̷ωᵒ̴̶̷*•ू) ​ )੭ु⁾

Rain taps against the windows, blurring city lights into soft streaks of color. Rainy nights are always the best. Storms hush the usual chatter of the diner, giving you room to breathe. Tables are wiped down, dishes stacked away for the morning, yet you linger by the glass, watching the pavement ripple beneath the downpour.

“Head on home, girl.” Khal’s voice cuts through your thoughts. He’s perched at the counter, finishing inventory. You’d almost forgotten he was still there. The amused curve of his mouth says he’s been watching you drift for a while. Before you can argue, he adds, “Nobody’s crazy enough to be out in this storm except you. Go on, enjoy your night.”

Arguing would be pointless. Khal has run this diner for thirty years, and in the two you’ve worked here, you’ve learned he never budges once he’s decided something.

With a sigh, you grab your coat and purse. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to get rid of me, old man.”

“Sorry, did I not make it clear enough? Yeah, I’m trying to get rid of ya.” His dry tone makes you laugh, the sound echoing through the quiet space. On your way back up front, you notice the little book he’s slid across the counter.

“It’s just a sketchbook—don’t look at me like that,” he says, half-defensive. “Picked it up downtown. Figured you’d need it. You’ve already filled that blue one you’re always carrying.”

You can’t help the small smile tugging at your mouth. Ignoring his grumble, you dart around the counter for a quick hug. “I’ve been looking for a new one. This is perfect.” The leather feels sturdy, the thick paper perfect for using paint without the pages wrinkling.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get it soaked on your walk home.” He ducks his head, scribbling again.

You tuck the book into your bag, pull up your hood, and give one last wave. “I won’t, I promise!”

Even with the rain soaking through your clothes and the weariness from the day, you’re determined to have a good night.

Ideas fill your mind of what you want to put in the pages of your new book. The lights of the local shops look beautiful tonight, the soft glow against the wet brick walls. The way the cars shine, tires splashing water as they pass by. Normally, you’d sit at the park or a café to draw. The world is such a beautiful place, it’s hard not to get lost in watching the way people interact with it. Like now the woman across the street is locking up her corner store. You watch as she turns, eyes tracking up to where she’s now smiling. In one of the cars across the street sits a man, and a little girl who is now excitedly waving as her mom darts across the street and into the warmth of the car. A few blocks down, there are two men on their fire escape smoking; they seem to be lost in their own world as they look out at the dark cityscape.

And now, as you approach your apartment building, your eyes wander down the black alley until they stop. In the back, behind your building’s dumpster, is a brilliant silver. It would be invisible if it weren’t for the puddle reflecting it back to you. Maybe, if you had really stopped to think about it, you wouldn’t have let your mind carry you over. It would’ve been easy to walk away then, let the mystery of it sit in the dark, come back to check it out in the morning. Now, however, as a man comes into view, you know there’s no way you’ll be able to walk away.

The puddle you saw wasn’t just water, but stark red painting the concrete. Without thinking, you kneel next to him, gently moving to see him better, the dark making it almost impossible. He’s unconcious and injured badly, but the leather covering him isn’t giving away the extent of it. Whoever this guy is, he tried to hide instead of getting help. And, judging by the armor and the gun strapped to him, it’s clear why.

Glancing up at the sound of distant sirens, you pause, hands resting on your knees. Those sirens might as well be the voice yelling in your mind that this is a horrible idea. To run back inside your apartment, call the police, and let them deal with the man covered in weapons, bleeding out behind your dumpster. But before you can listen, you glance down, seeing his hand now trying to cover one of yours.

If you had known you’d be spending your night freezing, covered in blood, and dragging a stranger up to your apartment, you might’ve fought Khal a little harder about letting you stay the rest of your shift.

As carefully as you can manage while dragging a grown man across the floor, you finally place him on your rug. Flipping on your lamp to get a better look, you kneel by his side. He’s wearing tactical gear—military style, maybe? What you thought was armor is actually a prosthetic. The silver metal is severely damaged near the shoulder, wires fried, a faint electric hum leaking from it. Whatever it’s trying to do, it’s not working. He’s worse off than he first appeared; the rain must’ve washed away some of the blood now covering him.

Taking a breath to steady your shaking hands, you remove the buckle at his waist, trying to ignore the fact that one holster houses a knife and the other some kind of explosive. Setting the belt on your coffee table, your hands hover over the leather vest. Whoever designed it clearly didn’t prioritize practicality.

“I’m sorry, I need to undress you a little bit.” Right, because he can totally hear you while he’s unconscious on your floor. Groaning, you finally make yourself inspect the vest. After some careful maneuvering, you finally manage to unclasp it, opening it enough to assess the damage.

His entire abdomen is red, and panic bubbles in your chest. You’re supposed to apply pressure to stop bleeding, right? Or clean it first? God, why did you bring a dying man into your apartment when you don’t know what you’re doing? What happens if he does actually die—are you supposed to find a way to get rid of him? Do you just drag him back down to the alley, pretending you didn’t try to do anything? God, why are you even thinking about this right now?

Darting to your bathroom, you grab all your spare towels, wetting one and grabbing your first aid kit from under the sink on the way back.

After wiping as much blood as you can, you finally take in the man before you. His shallow breaths mirror your own as you note the myriad scars covering him. The worst are where metal meets flesh, it almost looks like someone tried to tear off the prosthetic. Those aren’t the immediate concern. Turning back to his stomach, you see the large gash. Knowing how to stitch someone up, or honestly any kind of first aid beyond wrapping, would be helpful right now. After disinfecting and wrapping, you put the vest back in place. You’d really rather not have him shirtless when he wakes up in a stranger’s home.

Now for the part that scares you the most: you stop to look at his face. His long hair is soaked in what you hope is just rainwater. Strangely, there’s a tiny bit of black around his eyes, as if he had paint that got washed away. He’s wearing some kind of mask, covering the bottom half of his face. If he’s not going to kill you right when he wakes up, he definitely will if he knows you’ve seen his face. Your eyes wander to the weapons on your table, then back to the metal arm. The silver is contrasted by a large red star on the side, the paint showing signs of wear. You’ve seen the most identifiable part of him; at this point, also seeing his face doesn’t matter.

You move to unclasp the mask, but before you can, his hand wraps around your wrist with alarming strength, likely enough to snap it if he wanted.

All the worst-case scenarios you dismissed now flood back into you as you try to free yourself from his grasp. The eyes that stare up at you promise nothing but lethal intent. You hold your breath as he tries to sit up, scanning the room, then finally looking at his left arm. In that brief instant he’s distracted, you wrench your wrist free and push yourself back against the couch.

The prosthetic’s damage is worse than you thought, the gears struggle, failing to function. Panic creeps into his eyes as he tries to move it. He feels for further injuries, flesh hand landing on his abdomen—and freezes. His gaze snaps back to yours.

You can’t help but be taken aback by just how many emotions he holds in just his eyes. Where panic and anger just were, now he just looks scared. His damp hair clings to his neck, his flesh hand trembles on his stomach. For a moment, the light catches his eyes, you’re struck by a blue so vivid it’s almost impossible to describe. You’ve painted countless skies and seas, but never a color like this.

Swallowing, you force your voice steady. “You were bleeding a lot. I… I found you in the alley. There were cops in the area, so I thought it’d be safer in here.” His eyes dart around your living room, trying to make sense of what he woke up to. “I can call an ambulance—” The panic in his gaze stops you. “Okay. No ambulance. Look, I don’t know what happened, and I’d rather not. But you’re in bad shape, and I don’t know any other way to help.”

You realize he’s not going to speak, as you both sit on opposite sides of the room just looking at each other. He looks about two seconds from dropping again, his eyes alert but the rest of him giving his condition away. Honestly, as terrifying as it is having him awake, you take that over him dying or passing out again. Careful not to make any sudden movements, you stand on shaky legs and make your way to the kitchen.

Taking a breath, you grab a glass, filling it with water and grabbing a muffin you’d been saving for the morning. He’s tracking your movements as you make your way back over to him. You kneel back down, keeping a safe distance, and set them in view. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. I don’t know how long you were out there. I don’t want you passing out again. Try to eat something.”

After another long moment of him staring at you, you sigh. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you need.” Finally, his hand reaches out, pointing to the table. Great, he’s finally communicating, and it’s asking for the belt strapped with weapons. Carefully, you pick it up and place it next to him before retreating again.

You don’t breathe as he picks it up, setting it on his lap. Instead of grabbing the gun, he opens a pouch and pulls out a tiny round piece of metal. He places it on the prosthetic, and as soon as you hear a click, the gear sounds you heard from the arm suddenly go quiet. His posture noticeably relaxes, and you realize whatever damage was causing his arm to malfunction, that little thing must’ve shut it down. Quickly, he grabs the belt and in one swift move, he stands.

“Okay, whoa, hang on.” You barely catch him before he stumbles, holding him up. “I can’t keep carrying you—you’re really heavy.” You pivot, lowering him onto the couch, and hold your hands up as he attempts to rise again. “Stop, please. You’re not going to make it far like this.”

Once you’re sure he won’t try to get up, you step back, grabbing the muffin and water and placing them on the coffee table in front of him, before moving to leave the room.

Now alone in your bedroom, panic and adrenaline churn. You can’t let him stay, whoever did this might still be out there. As soon as he feels even slightly better, he’ll come after you, or whatever crime lord or secret service he works for will.

The soft patter of rain has faded, leaving your apartment too silent. You rummage through your closet and grab an old T-shirt.

Returning to the living room, you freeze. The muffin is gone, the water empty. The part that stops you, however, is he’s no longer wearing the mask. His facial injuries aren’t as bad as you thought, but just like his abdomen, it’s hard to tell with so much red covering it. After grabbing another wet towel, you approach cautiously, waiting for him to indicate you should stop. “Can I?” you ask.

His eyes dart to the towel, then he gives a slight nod.

You weren’t expecting him to agree. Last time you tried to touch his face, he nearly broke your hand. Leaning in, you lightly wipe his cheek, careful not to aggravate unseen injuries. His gaze is piercing, but strangely, he looks so much younger than you thought. He has to be in his mid-twenties, but beneath that he feels so empty.

Don’t dig into this. Whatever he’s done, whoever he is, it’s better not to know. Even if it’s taking everything in you not to try and convince him to stay here. That he’d be safe, that you’d give him a place to be safe, because really, you can’t promise you could protect him from whatever the world has done to him.

Finally, you’re done, tossing the bloodied towel aside and instead grabbing the old shirt. Ripping it, you almost laugh at the confusion covering him. “For your arm. I’ll wrap it to take the tension off. It should help with the pressure on your shoulder.”

Making a sling, you’re careful as you wrap it around his shoulder, the metal now cradled in the cotton. Sure, it looks funny, but until he can fix it, it’s the best he’s going to get. By the looks of it, it is helping to relieve at least a tiny bit of pain.

As you’re giving him one more scan for any injuries you missed, you stop again at his face. For just a moment, it looks as if he’s going to say something. Your thoughts are cut off by the sound of a siren passing outside, and it seems so are his because he moves to stand again. This time, however, he’s steadier. In one move, he grabs his belt and mask, making his way to the door.

For a moment, you just watch him, and he watches you. His eyes dart around like he’s making a decision, but before you can get another word out, he’s gone.

The rain has started again, the only sound as you stand by your couch, taking in the strange scene. After what feels like a lifetime, you peel your eyes from the bloodied towels littering the floor. Slowly, you make your way over to the bag you discarded earlier. As you pull out the sketchbook, your only thought is you didn’t keep your promise to Khal. A few of the first pages are soaked in red. Still, you flip through to a clean page before walking over to your desk and pulling out blue paint.

[grilledcheesewithjalapeno]

oh, alright then...

his hands are gripping your hips, holding you still. his cock was barely even seated inside you. "c'mon, baby. you want it? then fuck yourself back on it. ain't gonna do all the work for you. show me how bad you need it."

you whimper, pushing back against him, trying to take more.

"that's it," he growls. "work for that cock. fuck yourself on me like the desperate little thing you are. yeah, just like that. takin' it so good. such a greedy fuckin' cunt, drippin' all over me already."

his hand smacks your ass. "faster. arch that back, yeah, show me that pretty little ass for me. fucking use my cock. that's all you're good for, ain't it? a pretty little hole to fuck."

"gonna make yourself come like this? just a dumb little thing chasin' her own pleasure on my dick? do it. then maybe i'll think about fillin' up that tight ass next. fuck yeah, keep goin'. that's my good slut. my perfect, filthy girl."

[grilledcheesewithjalapeno]

i-uh....i need this

tldr;; mechanic!bucky is such a perve when it comes to clueless!reader

(warnings: pervy thoughts/actions, reader could be read as petite but it do be from bucky's pov and that man is massive so... take it as you will, bucky lowkey is a little misoginystic, please don't accept a man who thinks about you this way in real life! unedited because i'm lazy and this was not meant to be so long)

thinking about mechanic!bucky who is too busy trying to sneak a peak up your skirt to properly fix your car. he's a goner from the first time he meets you. a familiar ferrari rolling into the garage, vintage and so red it offends the eyes.

eyes which bucky rolls immediately, because he knows this car and, more importantly, he knows the owner of this car. an older gentleman, with an attitude problem, a rotation of rolexes, and more money to his name than the entire state of new york combined. so, when the door slips open slowly with hesitance, none of that self-assured swing of a man who could not care less if he slams it against something, bucky pauses in his steps.

then out comes you. pretty as a doe, and just as helpless, staining the red bottoms of your heels on oil-slicked floors. naturally, bucky assumes you're the wife, or mistress, of his least favourite client. you look every part the kind of woman a man with money expects to fall at his feet: sharp nails, sparkling lips, mouthwatering legs, all wrapped up in the kind of flouncy skirt that screams 'tennis at 3'.

“is bucky working today?” your voice is the kind of gentle that could haunt a man like bucky, and you’re utterly unaware of it, pushing your sunglasses up your head and flashing him a smile.

“yeah,” he nods, wiping a rag over his hands. the action is pointless: black smudges his skin so deeply, it’s practically tattooed.

head turning slowly to inspect the empty garage, your eyes land back on him with a question, “would you mind fetching him from the back office?”

“we can head into the back office and look for 'im together if you want, doll,” and maybe if he smiles innocently enough, you won't feel the weight of his eyes trailing over every edge and curve of your body. “but you're lookin' at 'im.”

your nose scrunches up, and bucky swears he feels his cock twitch beneath his navy-blue coveralls.

“‘your name tag says james.”

“‘s a formality,” he grows closer, shoving the rag into his back pocket. “everybody just calls me bucky.”

“oh,” a giggle bubbles up your throat, shaking both your shoulders and your tits. it’s as sweet on the ears as you are on the eyes, and suddenly he wonders if it’s a mirror of your moans: soft, teasing, coated in something a little too shy. or are you the kind that screams and shrieks so loud, he’d have to smother a hand over your mouth just to keep the neighbours from knocking? “sorry about that. i didn’t think you would look so...”

he bites back a wolfish grin, replaces it with a stoic line along his lips and delights in the way you shift weight between feet — nothing but a nervous tick, yet bucky can’t help but picture the subtle graze of your thighs pressing against a clothed cunt. does it feel good? bucky could make you feel better.

“so what?” he crosses his arms over his chest, making sure to flex his biceps. if he’s stuck wearing a grubby white tank, day-in and day-out, he may as well take advantage of how exposed it leaves that part of him.

“young!” you spit out so fast, he can’t help but think there’s more you’re not saying. pretty little rich girl like you, you’re probably used to having guys fall at your feet. hell, sit back and spread those legs, and bucky might just fall down too. “my dad always talks about you like you’re a grumpy old man.”

oh.

bucky feels his spine straighten.

oh.

not the wife, but the daughter.

now he’s certain of the twitch between his thighs, like a dormant beast long-last awakened at the smell of a sacrificial lamb. give him the chance snd he’ll gladly make an offering out of you.

“ain’t got all day, princess,” he likes the way you jump at his tone, a little rougher around the edges than it needs to be. maybe your hands could soften him out. he’s willing to test the theory if you are. “you wanna tell me what you were needin’ me for?”

“the engine’s been making a weird noise all morning,” pearly whites press down into your lower lip, accentuating the inviting shape of it as you slowly roll it out from beneath your bite. “at least i think it’s the engine...”

aw, you’re so clueless, bucky might cum.

“well, let’s open ‘er up and take a look under the hood.”

you stare at him.

you blink.

and then you nervously laugh.

“you don’t know how to pop the hood, do ya?” you shake your head and bucky feels a world of opportunities open up right before him. “come ‘ere, lemme show you.”

you’re skittish like a puppy, quick to run when he calls you to heel. one hand perched on the driver’s door, he welcomes you into the space between him and the car — if the door is half-open and the space is a little more cramped than necessary, you don’t mention it. you just glance over your shoulder with eyes awaiting to obey his next command. and, oh, the things he wants to tell you to do...

for now, he settle for a simple finger pointing down at the hood’s lever, “give that a little squeeze for me, would ya?”

you reach down, legs brushing back against his own, and gift him the most beautiful view. one shift of your hips to the right, and you’ll be pressing right back against his cock. he’s tempted to reach out and move you, but it’s too late: the hood pops open and you let out a shocked squeal. what else makes you squeal?

one glance down at the car’s insides — in which he fights off every thought of your insides — and bucky has easily assessed the damage.

“the coolant’s fucked,” you meet his words with a pleading look — the kind that makes him want to put a hand on your shoulder and lower you onto your knees to get a better look at you, a better view of you. he sighs with fake impatience, more than happy to see you fall into the trap he’s laid. “get over ‘ere, gonna teach you a lesson.”

you practically sprint to his side, eager little bunny hopping right into the pointy teeth of a wolf.

“‘kay, now, you see that?” he points mindlessly at the car, fighting off a smirk when you struggle to pinpoint what he wants your attention on. he tuts, like you’re inconveniencing him with your foolish ways, the perfect segue to ghosting a hand over your shoulders and guiding the upper half of your body into lowering itself over the hood. “need to look real close, girl. there, right next to the radiator.”

you turn your head back at him, and it takes every inch of self-control to not grab a fistful of your hair and test just how deep you can arch that spine. “radiator?”

“yeah, princess, they ain’t just for heatin’ up daddy’s penthouse apartment,” suddenly, his mind is flooded with images of you, 50 floors between your feet and the sidewalk, naked as sin and pressed helplessly against a floor-length window, drooling against the glass while he fucks you so full of cum it’s spilling down your thighs and-

“so, it heats up the car?” you ask it so innocently, he almost regrets thinking about how, if you bend over a little more, your skirt will ride up and grant him the view of whatever designer panties you cage your cunt away from the world with.

“opposite,” he returns to the matters at hand. by which, of course, i mean his hands suddenly fulfil their desire to feel how soft your tennis attire is, palm splaying over your lower spine and dipping your body down while he points with purpose this time. “cools it down, using special liquid. but your reservoir’s all out o’ juice, gonna have to fill her up. gotta treat your car like you’d treat your woman: keep her nice and lubricated, else she ain’t gonna be makin’ the noises you wanna be hearin’.”

“oh,” you shift and a flash of white lace winks at him from between your thighs. “so, you can just give me some of that special liquid and i can go?”

oh, darling, if bucky gets the chance to give you his special liquid, there’s no chance in hell he’s letting you go.

“‘fraid not,” bucky delights in the dissapointment that overcomes you. in fact, he wants to see that same pout creep onto your face while he denies your orgasm for the millionth time, followed up with a sob of his name to remind yourself of who exactly is making you feel so good. “she’s a vintage model, a rare breed. can’t be givin’ her any old coolant.”

you’re a rare kind, one that bucky is willing to bet his entire measly life-savings on having only ever felt the touch of affluent boys with twigs between their thighs and a pervasive avoidance of drowning their faces in the sticky goodness of a drooling pussy. the kind that needs to step outside her tax-bracket and get a taste of a real man.

he’s starting to understand why billy joel was so fixated on his uptown girl.

“then what can we give her?” you're starting to speak his language. we, her, like your soft hands are going to fix the car up alongside his calloused ones. hell, bucky would gladly pay you to let him experience such a thing.

“somethin’ that’s as special as her,” his hand slips from your back and there he sees it: a smudge of oil, a marker of where his hand has been on you. something possessive and irrational curls over his heart, and shoots right down to his cock alongside the rest of his blood. hopefully whatever loser your daddy no doubt wants you to settle down with for a new slice of wealth gets a nice glimpse of bucky’s mark on you. “i gotta order it in though, i’m all out. but, tell you what, you leave me your number and i’ll call you once the order arrives.”

your eyes light up, “you’d really do that? promise!”

“scouts honour,” he nods. bucky was never a fucking scout. “won’t even charge you for materials, seein’ as you came all the way here today for nothin’.”

unlike your cunt, money is hardly tight on your end, but bucky likes the way his generosity makes your smile widen.

“thank you!” so, that makes you squeal too. noted. “god, i don’t know why my dad’s always complaining about you. you’re a sweetheart!”

“oh, i’m sure you’re sweeter.”

you’ve barely pulled out the lot before bucky finds himself in the back office, cock in his hand, the shade of your panties on his mind, and a whole row of special coolant containers rattling atop the shelf as he throws his head back in ecstasy.

+ extra hyde !

· disclaimer! i literally know nothing about cars, i had to google this shit. i did not come here to be accurate, i came here to cum. · uh this came to me on a whim, i fear i may be ovulating <3 · pov me looking at mechanic!bucky's tits crammed inside his slutty little tank top

[grilledcheesewithjalapeno]

WAIT ??? THIS IS VERY GOOD ?!????? I AM OBSESSED

For your tiny trouble universe,

How about Bucky introducing her to other kinds of sweets and confections because it makes her happy and she (or both of them) overdo it and she thinks she's been poisoned so Steve and Bucky have to explain what a tummy ache is? Maybe she holds a grudge and refuses to touch human food for a while after.

-🫖

Hello again! I absolutely loved this idea! This would definitely happen 😭 Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy. Happy reading!!!

Tiny Tummy Ache

Summary: Bucky introduces you to a wide variety of sweets, thrilled by how happy it makes you, until you overdo it and spiral into a dramatic panic, convinced you’ve been poisoned. (Steve Rogers x Fairy!Reader x Bucky Barnes)

Word Count: 900+

Main Masterlist | Tiny Trouble Masterlist

It started with a jellybean.

Bucky had offered it to you like it was a peace treaty. He’d crouched beside your little perch on the bookshelf, cupped his hand, and revealed a rainbow collection of glossy little ovals.

“They’re candy,” He explained softly. “Sweet and tiny. You’ll like it.”

You eyed him narrowly, suspiciously.

He smiled. “I had a bunch as a kid. Made myself sick on them once.”

That wasn’t the encouragement he thought it was. Still, you sniffed one, then licked it, waiting to see that it didn’t immediately kill you. And, after another moment of deliberation, you ate it.

It was… astonishing.

You blinked, pupils dilating like a kitten catching sunlight. You pointed to the red one as Bucky chuckled, plucked it out, and handed it over like it was treasure.

From there, it spiraled fast.

Bucky, with a pleased little gleam in his eye, started showing you all kinds of sweets over the next hour: gummy worms, peanut butter cups, sour strings, cotton candy, mini donuts, and some unholy thing called “fudge.” At one point, he even tried to build you a little “candy charcuterie board” with snack cakes and sugar-dusted cereal.

You were in fairy heaven. Sparkling, buzzing, and floating just a little more than usual. You even flopped onto his shoulder in giddy, sticky bliss after tasting caramel for the first time.

Everything was perfect… until it wasn’t.

The crash hit you like a curse.

One second, you were spinning in the air with a glittery paper straw in your mouth and chocolate on your nose. The next, you were clutching your belly, drooped dramatically over the rim of a coffee mug on the counter.

Bucky leaned down. “You okay?”

You made a soft sound, probably some type of groan as you wobbled your fingers like you were casting your final spell. Then, you collapsed with your cheek smooshed to the table.

Steve, walking into the kitchen with a towel over his shoulder, froze.

“What happened?” He asked carefully.

“She had, uh… a few too many sweets,” Bucky answered guiltily, looking very much like a man who’d made a mistake and knew it.

“How many’s a few?”

“…Maybe twelve?”

You let out a soft, pained whimper.

Steve leaned down next to your crumpled form, eyebrows raised. “Did you give her fudge and licorice? In the same hour?”

Bucky grimaced. “I didn’t think she’d actually– Cmon, Stevie. She was sparkling and smiling, how do you say no to that?”

“She’s a fairy. Not a hummingbird, Buck.”

“Apparently, she’s both.”

You let out another suffering moan and whispering that you’d been poisoned.

Steve blinked. “Wait. Did she just say–?”

“She thinks she’s dying,” Bucky said, gently patting your head.

You nodded in agreement, weakly.

Steve stood back up with a heavy sigh. “You’ve got a tummy ache.”

You squinted up at him, confused.

Bucky bit back a laugh. “A stomachache. It happens when you have too much sugar.”

You looked like you had just been betrayed by every known fact in life.

“Unfortunately, it’s normal,” Steve added. “But you’re gonna be fine.”

You narrowed your eyes at both of them, lips pale, limbs limp, and tucked your face back into the coffee mug with a grumble of absolute disgust.

You didn’t speak to them for the rest of the day. You didn’t look at them. You didn’t even flutter near them.

You tucked yourself behind the folds of the living room curtains like a sulking ghost, arms crossed and wings flicking every time one of them had the nerve to enter the room. If Steve called your name, you gave him silence. If Bucky peeked around the corner and asked, “Still mad?” You slowly turned your head away with the theatrical flair of someone who had been deeply betrayed.

At one point, Bucky tried to tempt you out with a small oatmeal cookie balanced on a napkin, but you batted it off the table with one flick of a book and made dramatic eye contact as it crumbled to the floor.

He sighed. “Really committing to the grudge, huh?”

You didn’t respond. You merely glared at his traitorous mortal mouth, the same one that had smiled while offering you treats, and then lied about what they would do to your insides. (Or more specifically, didn’t tell you what would happen.)

Later that day, you relocated to a high bookshelf and perched there like a brooding gargoyle with your knees tucked under your chin. You stayed up there for hours, occasionally shifting just enough to remind them of your presence. At one point, Bucky tried again to sneak in a whispered apology with a marshmallow on a toothpick like a peace offering. You plucked it from the toothpick without a word… and dropped it directly into the fish tank.

Sam came by later that evening and asked, “What’s up with the fairy?”

“She thinks she was poisoned,” Steve muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Bucky just crossed his arms. “To be fair… we might have overdone it.”

“We?” Steve raised an eyebrow at his friend.

Bucky had the decency to look sheepish while you didn’t even roll your eyes. You just laid back on your shelf, looking at the ceiling, as though their words were distant echoes in the void of your broken trust.

You were not ready to forgive. You were not ready for more sugar. And you were definitely not ready to be offered another cupcake.

Taglist: @yasmin12312 @herejustforbuckybarnes @eeveedream @wingstoyourdreams @figtreesandmoonlight @happygalaxymilkshake @hits-different-cause-its-you @the-galaxy-fiend @ordelixx @itsmejen

[grilledcheesewithjalapeno]

😭😭😭😭

Hiiii sweets, if you are taking requests would you be willing to write the reader getting Bucky a stuffed animal? Maybe he used to have one as a kid but with all that’s happened he obviously doesn’t have it anymore…. He hasn’t had one in years so she thought it was time he had one that sits on his bed. Just a sweet/soft gesture really. No pressure if you don’t like this idea- thank you!! - (@buckybarnes82)

who’s cutting onions? i’m afraid my eyes are teary (are you kidding???? I LOVE THIS sorry for taking so long baby.)

you had heard him mention it once through passing— at build a bear to be exact when you guys went shopping for birthday gifts for sam’s nephews.

you walked hand in hand and you skimmed through the various stuffed animals, different outfits, accessories.

“i used to have one as a kid.” he said, turning your attention from the bears to him, looking up.

“really?” you asked, curious to know more.

“yeah, i remember it was my birthday and my ma got me one, it was a simple brown teddy bear, she sprayed her perfume on it and gave it to me said i could have it forever—it’d be like she was always with me till the day i die.” he explained

and you swear you almost started crying.

which is why the next day after the birthday party you were on a hunt, after finding out what perfume his ma used to wear, you were on a mission.

you stepped foot into build a bear, choosing a soft cuddly teddy bear— brown one just like he had. you stuffed in and even recorded a cute message, just a simple “i love you james.” so whenever you pressed the teddy bear’s tummy it would turn on.

coming home, luckily bucky was still at the tower finishing a meeting, you took the bear out the box and sprayed the perfume his ma use to wear. setting the bear on your guys shared bed you heard the door open just in time.

“doll?”

“in here! wait! close your eyes.” you scurried out the room before making him close his eyes, guiding him to the bedroom.

“doll what are you—“

“just trust me.” you said, “okay. open!”

bucky opened his eyes, his piercing blues immediately settling on the soft, brown teddy bear propped against the sheets, he swear his heart stopped for a moment. he walked closer before picking it up— soft, small, and— he sniffed instantly recognizing that perfume.

he looked over at you in awe and you could’ve swore he was about to started crying, “is that—?” you nodded already knowing what he was going to ask.

“it is..” you confirmed, coming closer to him. “press his tummy.” you instructed. he obliged, pressing it and that’s when he heard it.

“i love you james.” your sweet voice rung out from the recording.

a tear flowed down his cheek as he sniffled quietly, and you swear you’ve never seen this big man cry not after steve left.

“do you like it?” you asked nervously.

“like it?” he asked, looking at you with so much love, “baby i love it, fuck I—“ his voice wavered as he pulled you into a hug, his muscular arms wrapping around you, tucking you against his body.

“don’t know what i did to deserve you.” he murmured into your soft hair.

“you deserve happiness baby..” you said.

[grilledcheesewithjalapeno]

oh, i LOVE THIS TROPEEE !!!! AND THE CROWD ISㅡ wait....where is the crowd ??

essay - bucky barnes

summary: you have an essay due in three hours so bucky settles for what he can get at the moment.

cw: college & bestfriend bucky. lil bit of smut ig. thigh lover bucky!! thigh fucking. minors dni

a/n: for @plumtartt since they got me into college!bucky, and @54nboo for helping me with motivation and this stupid writer's block LOOLLLLLL

your essay is due in three hours, and you’ve written maybe two coherent paragraphs. the sheets are rumpled as you type half-heartedly, deleting more words than you keep.

then the mattress dips behind you. you don’t even have time to react before bucky’s warmth blankets you, his chest pressing against your back, his hips slotting snug against your ass.

he’s already hard. you can feel the thick line of his cock through his sweatpants, heavy where it nestles against the curve of your thighs.

“busy?” his voice is low and quiet against your ear. his breath is tinged with the mint of toothpaste, and his day old stubble scrapes your neck.

you hum, showing indifference. your eyes are still stubbornly fixed on your stupid screen and stupid essay that you can't seem to write. “mhm. essay due at midnight.”

his lips leave sudden kisses all over you shoulder and neck, and you stifle a gasp as his hands slide under your oversized shirt. his fingers are soft in the best way as they skate over your ribs, down to your thong and he finds this is the only thing you’re wearing besides the shirt. he exhales sharply when he realizes.

“that’s cute,” he murmurs. you can hear the smirk in it.

you roll your eyes, forcing yourself to type another sentence. “glad you approve.”

bucky huffs, but doesn’t stop. his hips roll against you, grinding down against your ass. you can feel the way his cock strains against his sweats, desperate for more, and when you don’t react, he huffs again and tugs his sweatpants down just enough to free himself.

you bite your lip, concentrating on your work and trying not to give bucky that satisfaction when his cock slides between your thighs, bare skin against bare skin.

he’s so hot, almost feverish, and the way he grinds against you is filthy, with slick pressure and desperate little thrusts. precum smears against your skin, making the glide effortless, and you bite your lip to keep from moaning.

“gonna ignore me, sweetheart?” his voice is desperate already, rough with want, begging for your attention. but this stupid essay. stupid class. stupid due date that is in less than three hours now.

one of his hand grips your waist, steadying himself behind and above you, while the other braces beside your head, his bicep flexing with the effort of holding himself back.

you swallow hard, forcing your eyes back to your laptop. “yep.”

bucky curses under his breath, but he doesn’t stop. if anything, he moves faster, fucking into the tight space between your thighs.

he buries his face in your neck from behind, grunting every once in a while, and you can feel the way his muscles tense, the way his hips stutter when he gets close.

“fuck,” he grits out, his whole body nearly twitching in pleasure as his cock stays nestled between your thighs. you tighten them instinctively. “you feel so good—fuck—”

you finally glance back over your shoulder, just in time to see his face twist in pleasure. his cock pulses between your thighs, and then he’s cumming, white stripes painting your thighs and ass, feeling his release hot and sticky against you.

you can hear his heavy breathing behind you, the occasional moans as he comes down. then—“you done?” you ask, blinking at him, voice deliberately flat.

bucky collapses beside you with a groan, his arm slung over his face. “evil.”

you smile, turning back to your essay. “love you too.”

[grilledcheesewithjalapeno]

urgh, i need it touching me too 😔🥀

flesh arm? no thank you, give me the metal one

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x avenger!Fem!Reader (y/n) Genre: Fluff - Angst - Reader hurt - Lies  Word count: 1888 Summary: Bucky spent years feeling guilty for what he was and what he did. Y/N, his girlfriend was the only thing that reminded him how good life can be. Having a metal arm was difficult and when he accidentally hit her, his world collapsed. Y/N found a easy way to make him change his mind

The common room echoed with laughter. You were curled up at one end of the couch, half-covered by a thrown blanket, giggling at something Sam had said while Bucky sat beside you, a rare grin stretched across his usually guarded face. His vibranium arm was slung lazily across the back of the couch, his whole posture relaxed in a way you didn’t see often.

Now alone, you were teasing him. Something about his outdated music taste when he chuckled, leaning back and waving that metal arm in mock offense. And then it happened. A sharp but light tap on your upper arm. You didn’t even register it at first. It wasn’t painful. Just surprising, like bumping into a doorknob you hadn’t noticed. Your laughter barely faltered. But he did. Bucky went still. Utterly, terrifyingly still. His smile faded instantly. His eyes locked onto your arm, wide and full of alarm. He pulled back like he’d touched fire.

“Bucky?” you asked, tone gentle, brows furrowing when you saw his expression.

“I-I didn’t mean to,” he said quickly, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t see where you were-God, I didn’t mean-did I hurt you?”

You blinked, confused at first. “What? No-wait, is that what you’re-?”

But he was already retreating, both physically and emotionally. That wall he worked so hard to keep down around you started building itself back up brick by brick. He rubbed his flesh hand over his face and muttered, more to himself than to you, “Damn it. I wasn’t paying attention.” You reached for him.

“Bucky. Hey. Look at me.” He didn’t. So you scooted closer, placing your hand carefully over the one he kept clenched in his lap. “It didn’t hurt. I swear. It was barely anything.”

He shook his head slowly. “It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have—Y/N, I hit you. Even if it was by accident. Even if it didn’t hurt.” His voice cracked on the last word. You could feel his guilt radiating off him in waves. It made your heart ache. “Bucky,” you whispered. “You didn’t hurt me. You startled me. That’s all. It wasn’t violent. It wasn’t scary. You’d never hurt me.” He finally looked at you then, and God, the look in his eyes broke something in you—because he wasn’t looking at you, not really. He was seeing a past he couldn’t escape, one you knew he carried like chains around his wrists. So you brought his metal hand to your lap, cradling it gently. A soft breath of laughter escaped him, almost involuntarily.

You smiled. “Come on, Barnes. You really think I’d let you off the hook if you’d actually hurt me? You think you’d still be sitting upright?” That made him huff, and you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. “There he is,” you said, leaning into him, resting your head lightly on his shoulder. “You’re allowed to have fun, Bucky. You’re allowed to laugh. You’re allowed to be human.” He swallowed hard, then whispered, “I’m always scared I’ll slip. That I’ll forget how strong this thing is.” You squeezed his hand. “Then we figure it out together. Okay?” He didn’t answer with words but when his fingers curled around yours, warm and steady, you knew he believed you.

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

The incident in the common room was small. Barely a blip in the timeline of your lives at the Tower. But something shifted after that. Not between you two at least, not in a bad way. If anything, you were closer. But Bucky noticed how you started asking him for things. Little things. Specific things. It was always something simple. Something harmless. And always something that meant he had to use his metal arm.

It started with the jar. “Hey, could you open this for me?” you asked one lazy afternoon, handing him the stubborn pesto jar from the fridge. He took it without a word and popped it open with a smooth twist of his metal hand. “Wow,” you said, eyes wide with mock awe. “My hero.” He snorted, handing it back. “You loosened it.” You shrugged, grinning. “Still counts.”

Next came the bookshelf. You stood in your room, frowning at the towering wooden shelves like they’d insulted your ancestors. “Hey, Buck?” you called, and he was there in a second. “Can you help me move this? It’s too heavy.” He gripped the side of the shelf with his metal arm and lifted it like it weighed nothing. “Where do you want it?” he said, holding in the air the bookshelf. You blinked. “Seriously? You didn’t even grunt.” He smirked. “That was me being polite.”

Then there was the couch incident. You apparently choose the heaviest couch in the shop, but when you first bought it that wasn’t a problem. So now you were going to use it for your purposes; movie night in your room while all the avengers were out. You were stretched out across half the couch with your legs draped over his lap, blanket tucked under your chin. The remote slipped behind the cushions with a dull noise. “Ugh. It fell under the couch,” you mumbled. “Mind grabbing it?” Without missing a beat Bucky slid your legs off his lap, stood up and reached the floor with his arm founding the remote, then casually lifted the entire couch just enough to retrieve it. You gawked. “Did you just… lift the couch?” He handed you the remote like nothing happened. “You wanted it, didn’t you?” You narrowed your eyes. “I could have reached for it myself, you know.”

“Then why didn’t you?” You didn’t answer. He raised an eyebrow. And then it clicked.

That night, while you brushed your teeth, Bucky leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom, arms crossed, watching you through the mirror. “You’ve been doing it on purpose,” he said. You spat out your toothpaste. “Doing what?”

“The metal arm thing.” You shrugged innocently. “Have I?” He stepped closer, his voice softer now. “You’re trying to make me use it more.” You glanced up at him. “Trying to help you stop flinching when you look at it.” There was a pause, just the faint buzz of the bathroom light between you. Then he slipped his metal arm around your waist and pulled you gently toward him, the cold plates warming slowly against your skin. “Did it work?” you whispered. His voice was low, steady, full of something quiet and sacred. “Yeah. It worked.”

▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️

You continued the following days, lifting your suitcase or handing him your favorite mug, trusting him not to crush it when your hands were full. One night, during movie night, you shifted the bowl of popcorn into his left hand without even looking up from the screen. Every time, you smiled like it was nothing. Every time, his chest tightened a little.

You were tucked into his side on the couch, his vibranium arm wrapped snugly around your shoulders like it belonged there (because it did). His flesh hand rested lightly on your thigh, thumb brushing back and forth as the movie flickered on in the background. He’d been quiet tonight, but not the tense kind of quiet you used to worry about. Just… settled. At peace. That peace, of course, was exactly why you decided to stir the pot. You turned to him, completely straight-faced. “You know, your real arm is starting to give me the ick.” His head snapped toward you. “Excuse me?” You gave an exaggerated shiver. “Yeah. I dunno. It’s just so… skin-like.” He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “You mean human?” “Exactly!” you gasped, as if it was the most horrifying concept in the world. “It doesn’t even glow. No shiny parts. No dramatic sound when you move it. Honestly? It’s a little boring. Kinda scary even.”

“Oh my God,” Bucky groaned, throwing his head back against the couch. “You’re impossible.” You leaned into his side, tapping his metal bicep. “This one, though? Top tier. Looks cool, feels cool, opens jars, moves furniture…what doesn’t it do?” you said smirking.

“It doesn’t feel,” he said quietly, without bitterness. Just stating fact. You looked up at him, your teasing fading into something softer. “That’s not true.” He met your gaze, puzzled. “It holds me,” you whispered. “That’s all I need it to feel.” He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just looked at you like you hung the moon then, “You’re the worst. You know that?” You grinned. “And yet, here you are. Letting the ick arm touch me.”

“Okay, first of all-” He tackled you gently onto the cushions, rolling you beneath him with a laugh. “If anyone’s getting the ick, it’s me. You’re obsessed with this arm.” You giggled, running your fingers down the smooth, dark plating. “Maybe. But can you blame me?”

“No,” he muttered, dipping his head to press a kiss to your neck. “Not one damn bit.”

You were perched at the kitchen island in one of Bucky’s Henleys and a pair of sleep shorts, nursing your second cup of coffee while half-listening to Tony rant about someone leaving the toaster dial set to 7. Nat was calmly buttering toast. Steve was flipping through a newspaper like it was still 1943. Sam was already on his third protein shake.

Bucky entered quietly, looking almost shy, until he spotted you and immediately softened. He padded over and, without a word, slid his vibranium arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. You leaned into it like it was second nature, pressing your cheek to the cold metal with a content little sigh. None of this was unusual anymore. What was unusual was that Steve had apparently just noticed the pattern.

He tilted his head and frowned a little. “Hey, Buck… I’ve been meaning to ask.” You glanced up lazily from your mug. Steve pointed between the two of you with his spoon. “Why do you always now touch her with your metal arm?” Bucky didn’t miss a beat. With the most deadpan expression, he said, “Oh. She’s afraid of my real arm.” There was a pause. Tony blinked. “I’m sorry-what?” You sipped your coffee. “Yeah. It gave me the ick.” Bucky nodded solemnly. “She said it’s boring.”

“I never said boring…” you added casually.  “Yes you did” he replied. Nat choked on her tea. Sam nearly spit his shake across the counter. Steve looked between the two of you like his brain had blue-screened. “You… you’re kidding. Right?” You finally grinned, nudging Bucky’s stomach with your elbow. “Obviously.” Bucky chuckled, eyes bright. “She’s not afraid of me, punk. Not even a little. She’s the reason I don’t flinch when people look at this thing anymore.” He flexed the vibranium fingers gently, still resting them over your shoulder. Steve softened. “Well… good. I just noticed it and thought…well it’s nice.” Tony raised an eyebrow. “Nice? Steve, he literally wraps her in an arm made of Stark tech every morning like a human weighted blanket.”

“Jealous?” Bucky asked with a smirk. Tony sniffed. “Please. If anyone touched me before noon, they’d be dead.” You laughed softly, leaning further into Bucky’s embrace. His metal thumb rubbed slow circles into your upper arm. And as the kitchen filled with laughter and snark, Bucky just looked down at you safe, warm, alive in his arms and thought, Yeah. I trust myself now. Because she did first.

[grilledcheesewithjalapeno]

i LOVE this trope !!

scary dog privileges

bucky barnes x reader

synopsis: everyone tells you bucky is so scary, but you don’t see it—until your teddy bear of a boyfriend breaks someone’s jaw for you

warnings: attempted abduction/assault, fear, biting, blood, breaking someone’s jaw lol, unedited as always

notes: i saw a lot of love for this idea on my ‘works in progress’ post so here you are!! this was a request but i lost it so whoever requested a scary protective bucky, this is for you. enjoy :)

you’d met bucky barnes at one of the wilson’s neighborhood parties; you’d known sarah since playground days, and had reluctantly known sam, as he refused to abide by the “no boys allowed” sign taped on your treehouse door. since then, you had come to every party, every one of the kids’ events, and every holiday, so you knew all of these people like the back of your hand.

but then bucky had waltzed in, a platter of homemade cookies in hand, jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and you just about keeled over.

“holy biceps, batman,” you mumbled, trying to hide your obvious stare with a sip from your drink.

“that’s bucky, sam’s new friend,” sarah explained, poking your side. “you should talk to him.”

“talk? the man looks like he was carved out of marble, i’m not just talking to him.”

nevertheless, sam decided that simply wasn’t your choice, and introduced you two with suspicious haste; after all these years, he was still such a pain in your ass.

however, you did have him to thank for the past six months of bliss with the man of your dreams.

as you’d told sarah, ‘man of your dreams’ was not an exaggeration in the slightest. bucky barnes was a gentleman in the truest sense of the word.

he opened every door, carried every bag, guided you around with a hand on the small of your back. he spoke to you gently, touched you even gentler, and he looked at you like you’d hung the moon and the stars.

he was perfect.

however, as little as you could believe it, the rest of the world did not view him that way.

you’d noticed quickly that when you and bucky walked down the street, people crossed to the other side. when you went on dinner dates to fancy restaurants or on morning hikes in the park, people quieted their conversations and kept their heads down. even bucky’s teammates joked about the intimidating air that followed your boyfriend around like a storm cloud.

but you just never saw it! your bucky was the sweetest man on earth, and under all those muscles and rough callouses, he was really just a big old teddy bear.

“teddy bear?” sam had snorted when you told him about your observation. “more like real bear. you’re prancing around with the white wolf, kiddo, people are gonna stare.”

“why should people stare, huh?” you defended. “just because of his past? that’s not okay.”

“it’s not a bad thing! it’s like when you see someone with a big dog,” he explained. “you have scary dog privileges.”

you’d scoffed, dismissing him and returning to your movie. you didn’t speak of it again—honestly, in the whirlwind of romance that came with bucky, you had hardly had time to think of it.

it was the first thing you thought of, though, when you were walking home one night, phone dead, and realized someone had been following you for the past few blocks.

you turned, they turned.

you slowed, they slowed.

you walked faster, they nearly broke out into a jog.

god, what you wouldn’t give to have your scary dog privileges right now.

luckily, you were only a block from your house, where bucky was inside, waiting for your phone call saying you were ready for him to come get you from work. but with your stalker closing the distance between you, you began to worry if you would even make it inside.

sure, you could defend yourself; but you weren’t a superhero. what if this guy had a gun? a knife? some sort of chloroform rag? you wouldn’t stand a chance.

as you reached the neighbors driveway, you could practically feel breath on the back of your neck. you kept your head forward.

so close, you are so close.

when you reached your house, you decided to make a run for it, barreling up your driveway like a mad woman. unfortunately, you only managed to slam your first against the door once before an arm wrapped around your middle.

you screamed bloody murder, thrashing against your assailants hold. he tried to put a hand over his mouth and you bit ferociously until you tasted blood, and your fists pounded on his arms.

“god—just stop struggling, you stupid bitch—” before he could finish, the door swung open, and there stood bucky: tight black t-shirt, metal arm whirring, cold stare targeted right above your head.

your assailant dropped you with a curse and attempted to run, but bucky was on him in a slow and steady stride—jesus, it was like michael fucking myers.

you backed yourself into the corner of the porch, watching as bucky pulled the other man back, first bunched in the hood of his sweatshirt.

your attacker was a middle aged man, balding, probably about forty-five, and vaguely familiar in the way a lot of middle aged men were. bucky did not bother pulling him to stand, opting to drag him by the hood back to the steps of your home.

“do—should i call the police—”

bucky shook his head. “nah. go inside and wait five minutes, then call sam.”

you nodded, trying to ignore the pleading look the man on the ground sent your way. huh. predator becomes prey.

you’d followed his instructions (almost) and called sam five minutes later. however, bucky had implied you stay away for those five minutes, and the curiosity had gotten the better of you after about two.

tiptoeing to the door, you looked out the crack, hidden enough so neither men would notice you. at first, you couldn’t really see what bucky was doing—he had pulled the man to his feet and backed him against the wall, broad shoulders blocking your view, but you did hear something.

a sickening crack of bone.

you stifled a gasp as your attacker screamed, muffled by bucky’s hand as he shoved him back down to the ground, hand going back to his hood like it was a leash.

sam arrived in record time and the man was gone before you knew it, clutching his jaw and cowering all the way.

when bucky came back in, you were sat on the sofa, flicking through streaming services and trying to hide your shaking hands. your boyfriend had just broken a man’s jaw like an eggshell. you’d hardly even seen him cock back.

he sits down next to you, making sure to leave some space between you. “are you okay?” he asks softly. “hurt?”

you shake your head, still not meeting his eyes. “i’m fine. just a little bruised.”

you let the silence hang over you, that scary storm cloud suddenly present. after an agonizing minute of silence, bucky speaks up.

“you saw me break that guy’s jaw, didn’t you?”

you nod shyly.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, raising a hand but stopping short of your arm. “are you okay to—”

you nod, settling in against his chest, letting him wrap his arms around you like a weighted blanket. “that was intense,” you admit. “i’ve never seen you like that before.”

he nods, smoothing your hair and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “i’m sorry, honey, i didn’t mean to scare you.”

you couldn’t help but notice the distinction in his words; he was apologizing for letting you see him do it, not that he did it in the first place. “it’s okay. i should’ve stayed inside.”

he continued to pet your hair, arms tightening every once in a while, like he was scared you’d get up and run away. you could almost here the thoughts running through his mind: ‘i’m not dangerous, i promise. please don’t leave me.’

“thank you for protecting me,” you whispered, rubbing his chest right over his heart. “i don’t know what i would’ve done without you.”

“please call me next time,” he whispers. “i don’t want you walking home alone in the dark.”

“my phone died,” you grumbled.

“call me from a payphone then.”

“a payphone?” you laugh.

he cringes. “did i say an old people thing again?”

you nod, leaning up and kissing the little creases by his eyes. “it’s okay, i love my old man.”

he grunts, and you feel it vibrate in his throat as you bury your face in his neck. god, you could suffocate in his cologne and you’d die happy.

“you promise you’re not scared of me now?”

you shake your head, kissing his pulse point. “you’re still a big teddy bear to me. plus, i plan to take advantage of my scary dog privileges now.”

“dog? i’m not a dog.”

“hey, sam said it first.”

[grilledcheesewithjalapeno]

i love this ! can't wait to read the sec part ㅜㅜㅜ

★ ⎯one beach and one bed.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x reader. Bucky Barnes x New Avenger!reader.

Tags: Thunderbolts, New Avengers. Enemies to lovers. One bed trope. Forced proximity.

Synopsis: REQUEST! The relationships within the team were rocky, especially between Bucky and you. Until one day, a failed mission changes everything. From that day, they all make it their duty to get the two of you together. Even if it means giving you one bed to share in Alexei's beach island vacation.

Warnings: Canon divergencies. Possible grammar and spelling mistakes. Minor mentions of injury. Not quite proofread. Forced proximity, I guess.

Taglist: @balladofareader @lovethornes @viqwxcs @raineraspberries1 @urmumsfan @bloodwrittenletters @tellybearryyyy @princess-luka @wonwoosthetic @hiraethmae @cluvsya @faiszt @sra7riddle-malfoy @canisusmajor @nicolebarnes

A/N: I'm not usually one for enemies to lovers, but I actually like the way this one turned out. Silly Thunderbolts fic—oh, the things I write for requests. Also, I have never been on one of those beach island vacations, so I'm just making this up based on the images in my head.

I do not consent for my work to be uploaded onto other platforms or translated. Reblog to support. Comment to be added to my taglist

When the Thunderbolts became the New Avengers, nobody actually believed they could become a functioning team. They had already proved to be antithetic—a dysfunctional family with superpowers.

Yelena had to constantly tell Alexei not to tell embarrassing stories from her childhood, Ava argued with John about who had drank the last carton of orange juice. Yelena argued with John about who had won the training duel of the morning prior, and then Ava would aggressively beg Alexei for an hour of peace and quiet.

However, out of the whole team, the ones with the biggest arguments, were Bucky and you. Every insignificant detail would spark a heated debate; failed missions, missing reports, dirty counters, open windows that allowed rain to come in, you name it.

There never seemed to be a moment of truce between the both of you. So much so that Yelena had forced you to sit at opposite ends of the table during briefings, dinners, and especially during Alexei's game nights.

Missions would often go sideways due to your inability to let go of grudges. Always trying to show off, to prove who was the smartest, the strongest. Bucky had never been one to quite want to exhibit his power, but for you, he made an exception.

Everything you did infuriated him; the way you talked too loudly when you had something to say, your stubbornness to stick to the plan, your unrelenting thrive to be good and help people. Your pressingly smooth moves on the battlefield, and the definitely not gorgeous way you tied your hair tighter when you knew a big fight was coming.

He was also totally not amazed by how well you seemed to understand his past. You never asked questions, never laughed at Alexei's Winter Soldier jokes—but that was just the bare minimum, right? It was what a normal teammate with half an ounce of respect would do. It wasn't like he appreciated the support that lingered despite all the fights.

Until the mission came. This one was considerably more dangerous than your usual ones. All of you went in prepared; loaded guns, sharpened knives, extra layers of protective gear, and one big plan.

It was still not enough to prevent the damage brought by having been so close to being beaten by a group of rouge, enhanced individuals, and after that, escaping an exploding building.

You barely made it out of there, your leg had got stuck under a piece of concrete on your way out—the only reason you survived was a certain metal arm, which was able to free you.

With time, the aggressive glares started to hide something beyond anger. They carried something deeper, something that had been brewing over a lot of time, and a shared past neither of you were willing to discuss.

And the Thunderbolts? They all sure noticed. It was quite the difference to see the both of you go from absolutely yelling your lungs out to each other, to calmly arguing like decent people with smart arguments.

They took the civil treatment as a show of true love.

The tension within the rest of the team started to ease as well. In a painfully slow manner, the Thunderbolts started to understand one another.

For a few months, the team was nearing something resembling peace. Que for Alexei's brilliant, dashing idea; a beach vacation. It was supposed to make the team bond, and take some edge off.

The team landed on the island during a warm, and quiet afternoon. Alexei got out of the jet with a broad grin on his face, opening his arms widely as he walked around the villa. “Well, Thunderbolts, I present you with the Amazing Thunderbolt Sunny Resort!”

Ava suppressed a laugh, crossing her arms in a questioning manner. “I'm sorry, just how did you get this?”

“Everyone wants to do the Red Guardian a favor.” Alexei retorted, half offended at her query, and half overly proud of himself.

The rest of the team shared a look, not wanting to further press on the matter. Whatever he had done, you would deal with later—after your vacation.

“Alright,” Alexei turned to you, placing his hands on his hips. “Why don't you and Mr. Soldier go bring our bags, eh? Leave them there, by the entrance.”

“Why—never mind, we'll go.” You shook your head, nodding from Bucky to the jet.

Once you were out of sight, the Red Guardian brought the team into a circle. Their heads were close—as if they were a football team discussing their next strategy—and the words that came out of their mouths were whispered.

“Time to begin with our master plan,” he grinned. “I made sure they had to share a room—and more.”

Yelena, then, chimed in. “This better work. Because I don't know for how much longer I'll be able to stand their sexual tension.”

Bucky insisted he could carry four bags on his own, and to be completely honest, you were too exhausted to argue with him. You closed your eyes for just a moment, and allowed him to carry Alexei, Yelena, Bob, and Ava's bag all in one trip.

You took John's and started walking, both of you had previously arranged you would take care of your own bag once the team was set.

“Alexei said the rooms had names on the door,” Bucky huffed out, adjusting his grip on the straps of the bags on his right arm.

You nodded, setting your eyes on the different huts that laid next to one another. “This is a really sweet thing for Alexei to do—even if his sources are questionable. We all could use some time away from New York, especially after the last mission.”

“He tries. He always does.” It was true. Despite how frustrating Alexei's constant attempts at friendship were, you all knew that all he ever wanted to do was help.

“Thank you, by the way.” You lowered your pace, and something in your voice turned deeper, gentler.

“Whatever for?” Bucky cocked an eyebrow, his blue gaze shifting from the short path ahead to you.

“You know what for.”

“You're my teammate, of course I'd save you. We may argue, but I'm not about to leave you behind.” His statement was direct, precise, and clear as if there was no other plausible option other than turning back around to pull you out of the rubble.

Then you smiled, and for the faintest of moments, he almost did, too. His eyes caught yours, and this time, they held no enmity.

A beat passed, and Bucky cleared his throat. “Look, over there,” he pointed towards one of the rooms. “That one's got John's name.”

The rooms all looked alike, one bed, a wooden closet, two bedside tables, a large window, a few paintings of all things tropical, and a bathroom.

After both of you were done dropping the bags in their respective spots, you walked the way back to the quinjet to get yours. Separately this time, you took your personal luggage, and took it to your room.

That was exactly where the problems started.

The hut in the middle had your name on the door, yes. But it was right underneath Bucky's. It was the biggest one of out of the six—perhaps it had been all Alexei had been able to afford.

However, when you walked through the entrance, another thing came to your attention. Despite having enough room for two, or even three twin-sized beds, there was only one—king-sized, meant for two people, and meant for a couple.

“Bucky?” you called out, knowing he was somewhere nearby.

“What?” He answered while climbing up the small stairs to the hut.

“I think there's been a mistake here,” you moved out of the way, allowing for him to see the bed in question.

“I'll take the floor, don't worry, not the first time I do. And I'll talk to Alexei.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him how absurd it was to sleep on the floor, but you knew better than to start an argument right in the middle of your island retreat.

By the time you came back, the team was engrossed in a heated volleyball game. Yelena, Bob, and Ava on one side, John and Alexei on the other. It didn't take grand wisdom and sports knowledge to be able to notice that the girls—and Bob—had quite the upper hand.

“You—” John turned around, pointing a finger at you. “You're coming to our side.”

You snorted, making your way to the boys. “Weren't you some super fit jock in high school?”

“I played football. It's not the same.” He deadpanned, moving his hands to do an awful bump. The ball went flying right into the net, falling back again to the sand of your own side. Yet another point for the girls, and Bob.

Ava took the ball, serving sharply. Despite your best attempts to make some sort of counter-attack, it went flying right past you. It was exhausting at this point.

“I'm outta here,” John waved his hand dismissively, grumbling as he walked away. The girls cheered, and Yelena fist-bumped with Bob.

“C'mon,” Ava looked at you, smiling as she crossed her arms. “Yelena said she wanted to show us something. Girls only.”

You nodded, and Bob grabbed his book, sitting down next to a tree as the three girls of the team went away to discuss their own issues. Bucky was too deeply immersed in his own thoughts to notice the giant Red Guardian approaching.

He swung his arm around his shoulder, grinning as he patted Bucky's shoulder. “So, Mr. Soldier. This is all so amazing, isn't it?”

“Yes, it's good,” he responded flatly, summoning all the patience in his being to be able to get through this conversation.

“Let me ask you one question, yes?” Alexei had the look in his eye of a questioning father-in-law. “Do you have girlfriend?”

“What?” Bucky's face scrunched in confusion. Out of all the words that could have come out of his mouth, out of all the questions in the world, this was definitely not one he had expected. “Do you seriously think I've got time for that?”

“Well, if you don't have girlfriend, why haven't you asked [reader] out on a date yet?” Alexei leaned closer, overly proud of his questioning, feeling as though he had the Winter Soldier Cornered.

“So this is what it was all about? The room, the bed.” Bucky pushed the Red Guardian away, who now stood with a sheepish expression, scratching the back of his head. “No, no, that was just a coincidence.”

The rest of the evening went by quite quickly, faster than what you would have thought. Turns out, a vacation with your team was tad more fun than what any of you would have anticipated.

You went swimming with the girls, and then shared stories over the campfire dinner with the rest of the team. You even had an extensive conversation with Bob about the book he was reading.

The fire eventually began to die out, and the cold wind encouraged everyone to retreat to their own rooms, and call it a day. You waved goodbye to everyone, and from the corner of your eye, you caught Yelena mouthing something that very well could have been 'good luck'.

When you opened the door to your hut, you found yourself with the sight of Bucky, half-asleep, arms crossed, back to the headboard of the table, and legs stretched out. The minute he heard the floorboards creak, he was jolted awake.

“Oh, hey,” he greeted, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes as he stood up. “Take the bed like we talked. Don't make me argue over this.” He stated flatly, taking a pillow and the blanket that was folded over the duvet, and placing both on the ground.

“Bucky—” you tried to voice out, only to be cut off.

“Goodnight, alright?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, pushing you to comply, as he sat on the floor.

“Good night, Bucky.”

If you guys like this, maybe there will be a second part. And maybe in that second part, Bucky and you will end up sharing a bed after all... Perhaps a little vacation was the last push you needed to fall in love.

[grilledcheesewithjalapeno]

beautifully written 🫶🏻

If We Talked

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: After overhearing some choice words between Bucky and his best friend, you make the difficult decision to avoid him. For a week. Bucky loses his mind in the process.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: Some angst and miscommunication

a/n: I love this trope!! It was so fun to write a little one and I loveee reading it. I hope you enjoy!! Thank you for reading ily ❤️❤️

Masterlist

~~

You fought off the swell of your throat with tight lips, stirring the contents of the pot with unnecessary care. He was staring at you. He had been staring at you from the moment he came inside, but there was nothing you could do about it—nothing you should do about it. 

The spices from the haphazardly thrown-together dinner were beginning to burn your eyes. This felt awful. The past week had felt awful. 

After overhearing Bucky call you intense, everything you felt was amplified. 

It had been an accident, you being at his apartment at that exact moment. You were dropping by unannounced, but you hadn’t even knocked on the door before his words had vibrated past the locked threshold of the door. And then you had left. 

You had taken great care to be less intense over the past week. This was the first time Bucky had been in your apartment since that day, and that hadn’t been without struggle. He asked to come over several times, even showing up and knocking on the door while you pretended to be asleep. It all felt very juvenile—the ignoring and avoiding and missing calls. But you didn’t know how else to respond. 

You loved Bucky. You loved him and it felt intense, but, apparently, things had moved too fast for him. A few months of dating were not enough. You were too much.

You had told him you loved him for the first time just days before you overheard his confession, so connecting the dots hadn’t been very hard.

You were too much. 

Avoiding him had been made easier by your intense work schedule. You stayed overtime and texted brief excuses. That had worked for a time. But last night, Bucky showed up at your office with a bag of takeout and an uncomfortably furrowed brow, and you knew it was probably time to face this. 

You gave him space for a week, and now it was time to practice being less intense in person. You couldn’t avoid him forever. And it hurt—being away from him for too long. Not that you would admit that. Not now. 

“I don’t know how good this is going to be,” you huffed out a laugh, ladling noodles into two bowls. “It’s a new recipe, and I’m kinda low on groceries.” 

When you glanced up at Bucky sitting on the couch, his smile looked strained. “‘M sure it’ll be great.” 

You replied with a short smile, glancing down at the bowls as you joined him in the living room. You sat far enough away for it to make sense—one cushion over, not halfway in his lap like you used to. The television created a soft backdrop of some show you weren’t paying attention to, but the meal was otherwise silent. 

You missed kissing him.

When he came in, you gave him one quick press of your lips and then darted back to the kitchen, ignoring the feel of his hands on your waist as they rushed to grab you. He was only doing all of that to appease you—the calls and trips to your office and the affection. 

If you let him do what he didn’t want to do, you would lose him. 

“Well,” you prompted, your teasing smile almost wobbling over the bowl. “How is it?” 

Bucky caught your eye from the other side of the small couch. His expression narrowed on your mouth, and then he winced, almost imperceptibly. 

Something dropped in your gut. 

“It’s good, sweetheart.” 

You kept up your smile, but as you turned back to your meal and pretended to watch TV, everything felt final. Your jaw was stiff as you took your next bite, the food tasting like nothing and curdling in your stomach. You hadn’t done enough. You hadn’t given him enough space. He had been so adamant about coming over because this was the end. 

You left your bowl half-filled when you placed it on the coffee table, the smell of it nauseating. The inside of your cheek was bleeding from where you bit into it. 

“Done already?” Bucky asked. He had finished a few minutes before you, his dish next to yours, and his arm looped back behind the couch. He wasn’t touching you. Almost, but not. 

“Yeah,” you replied. The single word sounded unstable, and you cursed your throat for feeling so thick with anxiety. You looked at Bucky from the corner of your eye, only to find his eyes closed and his expression pinched. 

Your lips parted. Were you going to beg? That would only make it worse, surely. Too intense, too much. 

Maybe this would be for the best. Some time for a break would—

“Please, tell me how to fix this.” 

You blinked at the TV, and then you blinked over towards Bucky, lips still parted but no words escaping them. 

A pause as breath was caught in the heaviness of your chest, and then, “What?” 

Bucky moved his tongue to his cheek, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. He was wearing a hoodie today, and it felt so uncharacteristic that you had almost been distracted at the door. 

“I can’t… I can’t lose you, okay? I don’t know what I did, but you gotta tell me or I’m—” his hands came up to run over his head and fall at the nape of his neck. “—just tell me what I did, sweetheart. Please.” 

He turned to look at you then, only a foot of space between you but the distance almost stifling. Your hands clenched atop your knees, and he watched them, eyes flickering to any movement you made. He tracked your unsteady breath, the way your gaze couldn’t stay rooted in one place, and each minute shift in your features. 

“I don’t—I don’t understand,” you offered, because it was the truth. 

Bucky’s jaw rocked to the side. “You barely said three words to me this week. You didn’t want me over—didn’t want to see me. I fought through your building security to bring you dinner, and you looked… Baby, I walked through the door and looked about ready to cry. I mean, you didn’t even—you barely even kissed me today.” 

Your gentle sigh weighed down your chest. You dropped your gaze down to the couch, unaware that Bucky was desperately trying to find himself there, leaning his head down to no avail. This didn’t make any sense. You really couldn’t do anything right, it seemed. 

“It’s just—baby, I thought you said—” Bucky started, speaking in such disjointed sentences you looked up to try and parse them out. His shoulders untensed as you did, but then he said, “Thought you loved me, is that still true?” and the confusing swirl of emotions turned to devastation. 

“I do,” you fervently replied, shaking your head as if that made sense. “Of course I do, Bucky, but you…” 

“I what?” Bucky rushed to get clarification, the vulnerability so clear on his face it made you ache. 

“I thought I was too much for you. I was trying to give you space. I thought you were going to end things tonight.” 

“Why in the hell would you think that?” he exasperated, the words harsh but his delivery of them so gentle. 

You bit into your bottom lip and let out another breath, the pressure on your chest looming down into your ribs. The fists on your knees moved to pick at a loose thread on the couch. 

“I came by on Saturday—to your apartment, I mean. You left your jacket in my car, and I knew you were going to be out late with Sam.” 

“But I didn’t—” 

“I never actually got inside your apartment,” you revealed, knocking your head to the side, still unable to fully meet his gaze. 

A tick of silence passed. 

“You heard me.” 

This was the worst part. It made you seem immature, eavesdropping from the hall of his building. It made you seem immature, and you were also petty because you avoided him for a week. You fought the urge to allow the couch to swallow you whole.

“I didn’t mean to hear you,” you stressed, pulling and tugging at the loose corner of your cushion. “I left pretty quickly. I didn’t—” 

“Hey,” Bucky interrupted. He placed fingers under your chin, forcing your gaze up to his. The concern in his features masked lingering hurt, and you moved your hands into your lap to squeeze them together instead. “What did you hear, baby?”

You flickered your gaze between his eyes. “I’m not mad at you. I understand, you know? I wouldn’t want—” 

“Y/n. What did you hear?”

“That you think I’m too intense. That this—us—is too much, maybe.” 

Bucky kept you in his hold, but he closed his eyes. The hurt melted from his face only to be replaced with something akin to regret. He shook his head slightly, jutted out his jaw, and then he looked at you once again, his features strained. 

“Damn,” he whispered. The fingers under your chin moved to cup your cheek, rubbing soothing shapes there. “Thought you were leaving me, did you know that? Whole time this has been my own fault. God.” 

Bucky shifted forward on the couch until your legs were pressed close. You untucked yours to accommodate him, greedy for the contact despite your confusion, and he only got closer. When his forehead touched yours, you gave in to the burn in your waterline, vision blurrier than it had been. 

“I love you so goddamn much,” Bucky began, moving back only an inch to find your watery gaze. “When I said you were intense, I meant that this is the most I’ve ever felt for someone. That the intensity was mutual. That maybe, at the rate we’re going, it would be too much for you. I was asking Sam for advice—seeing if he thought I should back off.” 

“You?” you asked, the word crackling in your throat. 

“Yeah, me, sweetheart. Not you. I was afraid you were gonna bolt one of these days. I’m not exactly the easiest to get along with, according to quite a few people, and I know that loving you means that I’m probably the worst around you.”

The muscle at the corner of your mouth twitched, and along with it went the stress that had settled in every nerve ending in your body. The tension in your jaw released, your chest began to ease, and the only remaining negative was the sadness at Bucky’s confession—at his fronted vulnerability. 

You reached up to catch his wrist in your grip, and he responded by bringing his other hand up to hold you fully.

“I love you,” you affirmed. Bucky’s own smile was sad. “I’ve never thought about ‘bolting.’ I spent this entire week sad and lonely because I was afraid you were going to leave me. I was trying to show you that I could be… chill, I guess.” 

“Chill?” Bucky repeated with a scoff-like laugh, brows shooting up as he brushed his thumbs along the dampness of your cheeks. “I drove past your apartment every night this week. I used that shampoo you left in my shower just to make my bed smell like you again. I wrote…God, I wrote you this letter because I figured maybe if you got something in the mail—” 

“You sent me mail?” you interrupted. 

Bucky’s face blushed a bashful pink, his mouth open in a defensive smile. “We can forget about the mail, okay? Now that we’re talking it out.” 

“Right. I’m going to check my mail when you leave.” 

“Hey,” he demanded, his playful, pointed look reorienting you to the reason behind the tears now drying on your face. When you settled back into his gaze, Bucky readjusted you in his hands, bringing your head into his shoulder until you were fully in his arms. “I love you, you got that? I’m sorry you heard what you did and thought—thought that wasn’t true. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I never want to feel like that again—like I’m losing you.” 

You tightened your fingers into the material of Bucky’s hoodie, taking a moment to relish in his arms around you. You nodded against him, hoping that would suffice, and it did. He kissed the side of your head and leaned back against the couch, bringing you with him. 

“Can’t even check the mail,” Bucky eventually grumbled out. “You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving any time soon.”

[grilledcheesewithjalapeno]

i'm melting 🫠 i love thisss ! ♡

2am YouTube Video.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You wake up to the sound of Bucky whispering under the covers—watching YouTube tutorials on how to make you smile. You don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or never let go of him again.

Genre: clingy soft Bucky, emotional support fluff, comfort after sadness, secret boyfriend tenderness, crying but in a good way, love you can feel in your ribs

Word Count: ~1.2k

Author Notes✍️ : He’s not just watching cat videos. He’s learning how to love you right. At 2am. In a whisper. With a furrowed brow and his whole entire heart 🥺💻

It’s 2:17 a.m. when you wake up. The bed dips beside you.

Blankets are rustling, but softly—like someone’s trying really, really hard not to wake you.

You blink blearily into the dark. Bucky’s sitting up, hunched forward under the covers with a faint blue glow lighting his face.

You squint.

…Is that your laptop?

“Bucky?”

He jumps. Literally flinches like he’s been caught committing a federal crime.

“Hey,” he whispers, slamming the laptop shut like it might self-destruct. “You weren’t supposed to wake up—go back to sleep, I was just—”

“…Were you watching YouTube?”

He’s blushing. You can hear it in the dark.

“…Maybe.”

You sit up, reaching for the laptop. “What were you—”

“No, wait—!”

Too late. The screen lights up again, still halfway loaded on the video he paused mid-whisper.

“HOW TO MAKE YOUR GIRLFRIEND SMILE WHEN SHE’S SAD 🥺❤️ (10 Tips That ACTUALLY WORK)”

You freeze.

He groans and buries his face in his hands.

“I knew the thumbnail was too much,” he mumbles.

You just stare “…Were you really watching that?”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look at you “I just—” His voice is rough, wrecked. “You’ve been quiet lately. And I thought—maybe if you were ever sad and didn’t say anything, I could still know how to fix it. I just wanted to be better at… that. For you.”

Your chest cracks open. Like an eggshell. Like a sunbeam. Like something tender.

You blink fast “James.”

He still won’t look at you.

“Hey,” you whisper, reaching for him “Baby. Look at me.”

He finally does. His eyes are glassy. Wide. Embarrassed.

And you don’t say anything else.

You just kiss him. Soft. Deep. Heart first.

He melts. Right there, under the covers at 2:20 a.m., laptop still between you, guilty search history exposed to the world—he melts in your arms like your lips are the only thing tethering him to solid ground.

When you finally pull back, your eyes are wet.

“Y-You’re crying,” he whispers, stunned. “Oh no—I messed it up—”

“No,” you breathe, shaking your head. “You didn’t. I’m crying because I didn’t think I could love you more. And then you go and do this.”

He sniffles.

“You already make me smile when I’m sad,” you say. “Every time you bring me tea. Or hold my hand. Or look at me like I’m the only thing that matters.”

“You are the only thing that matters,” he murmurs.

Your face crumples again. “God, stop being perfect.”

“I literally typed ‘how to be a good boyfriend’ into YouTube twelve minutes ago.”

“Exactly. Perfect.”

⸻

Later, you fall asleep curled up against him, laptop still open beside you.

He watches you. Then whispers softly into the mic:

“Hey YouTube. Mission accomplished.”

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────────

💌 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 💌

@nerdreader @starstruckfirecat @baguwagu @sunday-bug @thiscornerofmyfanficbrain @okaytrashpanda @aceofheartsssss @the-real-kellymonster🎀🩷

wanna be tagged in all upcoming theories + emotional damage + forehead kisses? ➝ reply or send me an ask and i’ll add you ♡

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────────

[grilledcheesewithjalapeno]

i need this too, yk 😔

Shut Me Up

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Summary: You rant after a long day and want Steve to shut you up.

Word Count: Over 1.3k

Warnings: Established relationship, oral sex (m. receiving, f. receiving discussed), implied sex, dirty talk, swearing, slight feels, possessive behavior, Steve Rogers (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Yeah, I don't know where this came from. Yay for Steve Rogers! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“Fuck this day!” You flopped down on the bed with a sigh and pointed at Steve who stood by the closet with a small smirk on his face. “And don’t you dare give me that ‘language’ bullshit. I know what kind of mouth you have on you.”

I said “language” one time, and it’ll haunt me forever.

Steve chuckled and put his hands up in surrender. When you were in this kind of mood there was no arguing with you. Well, people could try to argue with you, but chances were they’d lose spectacularly. It impressed Bucky and Sam, and it may have scared them, too. “Wasn’t going to, sweetheart.”

Your gaze softened before anger took over your beautiful features again. “Damn right, you aren’t,” you muttered, slowly exhaling as you looked at the ceiling. “But, seriously, fuck this day.”

“Tell me about it,” he urged, shutting the closet door and leaning against it so he could keep his eyes on you. He didn’t go to the bed just yet, knowing you’d motion him over or give him a sign once you wanted him there. He also knew that whatever you had to say, you didn’t want his advice. Sometimes you needed to vent, and he was more than happy to listen. “Please?”

You sighed. “Since you asked so nicely…”

Steve listened as you launched into a tirade about the frustrations you dealt with at work today, such as fixing errors made by people in higher positions, changes to a policy that would affect your day-to-day that no one knew about in advance, and more. He tried his best not to smile when you realized how loud your voice had gotten during your rant or how you threw your hands up when something in particular got under your skin. You were so passionate, so raw, and he loved that about you. 

He also did his best not to get angry on your behalf, but his jaw clenched when you mentioned a rude coworker. You could defend yourself, but it was in his nature to stand up for anyone wronged, especially his girl. If there was any kind of battle you needed to fight, he wanted to fight beside you.

“I’m sorry,” he cut in. “You deserve better.” 

The words weren’t to placate you. He was sorry he couldn’t force your company to do better, and you did deserve better with all the work you put in. At the very least he needed to see if there were better jobs out there for you if things didn’t improve or somehow convince you to quit.

“Thanks,” you whispered before you continued.

He didn’t interrupt again, but he occasionally hummed or grunted so you knew he was paying attention to every word, and he was. Whenever you talked, he listened. It would always be that way. 

But he wasn’t prepared for what you said next.

“I’m done,” you exhaled once your rant was over. “Now shut me up.”

“What?” he asked, his brows furrowing when you stretched out more on your back.

“I’m tired of talking and I’m tired of listening to myself rant,” you replied, hanging your head off the edge of the bed. “So fuck my throat and shut me up.”

Steve’s ocean eyes widened and he was lucky he didn’t break the door when he pushed himself off of it. “As much as I want your mouth around my cock, I should be taking care of you.” The bulge in his pants said he clearly wanted it, but you were the one who had a rough day, not him.

You giggled. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be going down on me before the day is over and you’ll give me at least two orgasms before you fuck me,” you said as a matter of fact, color creeping into his cheeks. Bold and unfiltered. He appreciated that. “And you’ll cuddle with me after.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “You want to cuddle?”

You nodded slightly and whispered, “Yes.” At the end of the day, what you wanted was for someone to love and hold you, to let you know they’d be by your side. 

“All the cuddles you want,” he promised because he wanted to hold you, too.

“Good,” you said, pointing at your mouth. “Now shut me the fuck up.”

His fingers curled as he took slow strides toward the bed. “You giving me orders?” he asked, a hint of a growl in his voice.

“I am, and I expect you to obey them, Captain,” you said, letting your mouth fall open. It was a beautiful sight.

“Fuck,” he hissed, unbuttoning his pants. It was almost unfair how quickly you could make him hard. A single look, a word, and he was ready for you. He couldn’t complain when he turned you on just as easily. He knew you soaked your underwear just from the thought of his dick sliding across your tongue.

“Language,” you teased in a sing-song voice. 

He shoved his pants and underwear down and heard the way your heart sped up when he stroked himself. “Thought you wanted me to shut you up.”

“Oh, I do. Shut me up. Make me choke on you, Stevie,” you said, moaning when the tip slid in. 

“You gonna take me, sweetheart?” he rasped, resting a hand on your throat. “Gonna feel me here when I come?” 

You moaned, taking him in deeper. With your head upside down he wanted to make sure you could still breathe. And, fuck, did your mouth feel like heaven. 

“You’re gonna sit on my face and shut me up, too,” he groaned, sliding his hand to your breast and toying with your nipple through the top, his thrusts shallow at first. “But I’m writing my name with my tongue ‘cause it’s my cunt, sweetheart. Mine to worship and fuck. It’s mine.”

Your whine vibrated around the length of him. People thought he was America’s golden boy with a polite mouth, but you knew better. You loved how dirty he was with you. And, yes, he was a little possessive. So were you. 

“That’s it. Don’t talk, don’t even think about work,” he ordered, his hips moving faster. You sputtered only once, but quickly adjusted like you always did. “Just suck my cock like a good girl and I’ll eat my pussy so good you’ll cry for me.”

You’d cry, beg, ride his face like your life depended on it and you’d scream his name when you came. And you’d swallow down every drop when he spilled down your throat. Give and take. 

He moaned when you reached back to cradle his balls and gently squeezed. You were so good to him, knew exactly what he liked, what got him off. “Fuck, sweetheart, do that again,” he demanded, his toes curling. “Fuck, I’m-”

He couldn’t finish his warning when you squeezed once more, triggering his orgasm. He moaned your name and coated your throat with his release with a few more thrusts. Once he finished, his head still spinning, he quickly pulled out so you could breathe. Both of you panted as he checked on you through the fog of his orgasm. You didn’t lift your head just yet, but you locked eyes with him and smiled a devastatingly beautiful smile.

Beautiful. Perfect. Mine.

“Fuck me,” he whispered, bringing a hand to your cheek. “Better?”

You finally lifted your head and nodded. Between the venting and having your throat fucked, you seemed in better spirits. And instead of speaking, you pointed to an empty spot on the bed. It was his turn to get you off.

“Yes, ma’am,” he smirked.

And before you shut up for good, you’d softly thank him again for everything.

And in the quiet of the night, he’d thank you, too.

I need to give Steve more love, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[grilledcheesewithjalapeno]

this is so goodddd !!!!! love it !

Drunk Confession

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: You got a little too drunk while out and Bucky brings you back to his apartment. What happens when you confess your feelings to him?

WC: 911

Tags/Warnings: Lots of Fluff, alcohol

A/N: This is my first “official” imagine on tumblr, I’ve written many before though. (Just haven’t posted them.) Please be kind, I feel like my wording and how I describe things kind of sucks. I just wanted a cute, short imagine of caregiver Bucky. :) I am planning on making a part 2 for the morning after so you’ll have to wait. 😎

Your head was spinning. Your vision blurry. You weren’t quite sure where you were, but you could feel some very muscular arms carrying you.

All you remember was going out with some friends. Bucky, Sam, and Yelena. You had a few drinks and now you’re on somebody’s shoulder. What if you were being kidnapped?! You squirm in the grip of the person carrying you, but it made no difference.

“Stop squirming, we’re almost to my car.”

You recognized the voice. Bucky. Of course he’s carrying you over his shoulder. You definitely could not walk a straight line, let alone walk to his car.

Bucky approached his car, keys in hand and unlocked it. He opened the passenger side door and sat you down gently into the seat, leaning over you to buckle the seat belt. You could smell his cologne. Musky, a little bit of an ocean scent, maybe some…jasmine? It was hard to tell.

You felt a smile tug on your lips as you were in such close proximity to him.

“You smell good..”

You spoke, horribly slurring your words. All you heard was Bucky scoff and your seat belt clicked into place. Your eyes darted to Bucky as he stood up straight, shutting the passenger side door and walking to the drivers side.

You really didn’t think you had that much to drink. Maybe you’d remember in the morning. You could still smell his scent, it got your thoughts running wild.

You’d had this crush on Bucky for…a while now. He had a hard exterior but for some reason..he wasn’t as rough and grumpy with you. There were little moments where he would stare at you for a second longer than he should have, his words being harder than his touch was. You just knew he had a soft spot for you.

By the time you had went through your thoughts Bucky was pulling you out of the passenger seat again, throwing you over his shoulder. How was he able to do that so easily? Oh right…super soldier serum, metal arm…don’t even think about his arm around your….

“I’m giving you some water when we get inside”

You heard his smooth voice again. You could listen to him talk for hours.

You just hummed, a small smile stuck on your face. You could hear Bucky jangling his keys, seemingly trying to find the right one.

Soon enough, you could see the open door as he walked inside his apartment. He sat you down gently on his couch while he went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

You were not having this though, you couldn’t be away from him. So you stood up, a little wobbly, and stumbled your way into his kitchen. You saw him with a glass of water in hand, about to come back to give it to you but then he saw you.

“What are you-“

He sighs softly, extending his hand with the water.

“Just drink this”

You stared at the water for a moment. (More specifically his hand.) You grabbed it from him, taking a few sips before setting it on the counter and pulling Bucky in for a hug. You could smell his cologne again and hear his heartbeat as your head rested on his chest.

Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t thought you’d be like this. And secretly, he didn’t hate it.

“You know, I think you’re pretty cool”

You weren’t sure what you were saying, words just seemed to be coming out of your mouth.

“Mhmm”

Bucky just hummed, allowing you do to what you had to do. He wasn’t going to push you off of him, he didn’t hate your touch. He was actually enjoying it.

“Yeah, your arm and cool super serum stuff”

You were slurring your words but with your arms around Bucky, you seemed to be grounded enough to stand up straight without wobbling.

“Alright doll, let’s just go to the couch, hm?”

It wasn’t really a question because as soon as he finished speaking, he placed a hand on your lower back and started walking you to the couch. He let you sit down first and then he would sit down beside you.

You, of course, leaned into him, your head on his chest as he turned something random onto the tv. You weren’t really interested in the tv, you only really wanted Bucky.

“I like you, you know.”

You had blurted out of nowhere. It didn’t seed to phase you, you were still quite drunk.

You could hear Bucky’s breath hitch slightly as he heard your words. It took a moment before he spoke.

“We can talk about it in the morning.”

He said simply. He knew you were drunk and while drunk words, sober thoughts was a phrase, he wasn’t sure he completely believed it. He hesitated for a moment before he moved his hand behind you to play with your hair.

The feeling of him playing with your hair was euphoric. It would soon put you to sleep and maybe that was his intention.

It sure did work because before you knew it, you were asleep on his chest, snoring lightly.

Once Bucky knew you were asleep, he moved to lay you down on the couch, pulling a blanket over you. He let out a sigh, unsure how he would bring this up in the morning…

Tags: @lovinqbella

[grilledcheesewithjalapeno]

so soft 😔🫶🏻

someplace mystical and warm (his lucky charm)

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: Bucky shows up at your apartment after being MIA for three days during a mission. Basically nothing happens fluff with two emotional stunted humans in love (+ their best friend!)

tw: uhh mention of bullet wound? swearing !!!! nothing graphic...no beta reading (yes that's a warning i never edit)

wc: 3.5k

author's note: personally..i don’t believe in endgame canon so like…this can take place nearly anytime if you’d like to think of it as an au of everyone lives no one dies, but i picture it happening after captain america the winter solider and before civil war (aka peak bucky content era <3) also this was written during writers block so ......

have a request? ask away!

masterlist

Bucky’s whole body fucking hurt. He knew he smelt like blood and sulfur and that weird tangy mix of someone else’s sweat with dirt. Still, he pulled himself up the dark stairwell and ignored the strain in his upper thigh. He tried to remember the last time a mission went so wrong so quickly for him. Logically, his last mission that went so bad was in D.C when Steve showed his bastard of an angel face and pulled him out of 60 years of hell, (but was that really a failure? It got him here, got him the chance to be Bucky again even if it is this weird version of who he used to be), so instead he thought back further. Maybe that half-empty base back in 1934, that was a pretty shitty mission. He stomps his foot down a little aggressively and suddenly, his ears pick up a rustling inside the room behind the door at the top of the stairs. 

Bucky pauses for a moment and focuses on the sounds beyond the door. Fuck the serum, fuck Hydra, but man does he like being able to hear something without having to be so close. He closes his eyes and imagines the scene that’s playing out on the other side. The rustling is so obviously Steve’s gentle steps as he pulls himself off the armchair he claims as his own a pause of whatever is being played on the television as he tries to hear another sound from the stairwell and finally his voice soft as he whispers your name. At the sound Bucky immediately kept stepping up the stairs, he knew you’d be here, it’s your apartment, it’s the reason he dropped Natasha off at the compound ignored the blood leaking from his thigh, and raced here. When no response comes, Bucky listens a little closer and makes the assumption you’re asleep, on the couch by the fact that Steve doesn’t move far away, but is still asleep. 

“Just me pal, let her sleep,” Bucky says out loud to the empty stairwell. And again, fuck the serum, fuck the U.S. government, but man isn’t it nice to know your best friend can hear you no matter what. That you’re both the only one who’ll listen for the other no matter the distance. 

“Buck,” Steve’s voice, despite being behind a closed brick wall, despite being eight stairs away, comes out crystal clear. It settles something in him, how despite everything changing, this, Steve and Bucky, doesn’t. It was something he clung onto when he first entered the 21st century, that Steve is still Steve, even if the others around him don’t see him for the asshole he is. It’s hard that he can’t be the person he was before, but Steve doesn’t seem to hold it against him. 

Bucky finishes climbing up the stairs and goes to knock on the door, but isn’t given the chance. Instead, he’s greeted by Steve swinging the door open. Bucky knows this look, it’s the look he used to wear when he found Steve bloody in alleyways when he would show up late to their hangouts, some excuse of helping someone out. It’s a look that screams so obviously in annoyance that yet again someone is fucking bleeding and ‘really Rogers? You can’t go a goddamn day without checking to see if you still bleed red?’ 

But nowadays, Steves gets to be the one giving the looks, and fuck things do change, even if Bucky tries to bask in the sameness of before. 

“Three days without any sort of communication is a dick move,” Steve moved himself out of the doorway and watched as Bucky lugged himself into the apartment. 

The living room was dark, off-lit by the kitchen light shining into the room and the television screen. Bucky took a moment to assess the room, green armchair crumbled by the super soldier who was lounging in it, cartoon on a low volume setting playing, a coffee table littered with some mugs and files. His eyes land on their final spot.

You. 

Fast asleep on the couch. 

Cheek smushed against the throw pillow he assumed Steve put there once you fell asleep. 

His favorite blanket tossed over your body, feet peeking out just a little at the bottom. 

Bucky doesn’t register the way he seems to drop his shoulders a little and let out a small breath of relief. 

“Three days getting my ass kicked and trying to keep Romanoff alive, excuse me if I couldn’t find a payphone,” Bucky grumbled a little and stayed glued to his spot near the door, not wanting to dismiss Steve, but keeping his eyes on your sleeping form. He watched the blanket move against your chest and without a second thought, started to follow your breathing with his own. 

“Nat?” Steve said in a way that most people wouldn’t have caught the fear in his voice, most of the agents that they work with would assume he was simply asking for a report. 

Bucky is not like most people, he knows Steve, his Stevie, Steven fucking Rogers. Who cares about his friends and doesn’t bleed because he wants to, but because he assumes someone has too, and would rather it be him. 

“Natasha is fine, beat up, but no worse for wear, dropped her off at the compound,” Bucky moved a little towards your sleeping body before he turned to Steve, “I fucked off before they had the chance to debrief,” Bucky raises his eyebrow a little at Steve. 

And yeah, Steve understands without question because he’s Steve and this is Bucky, “I’ll call in,” Steve moves into the kitchen grunting a small, “You smell terrible, clean up before you wake her up,” 

Bucky grunts back a small confirmation and waits until he hears Steve rustling around in the kitchen, followed by the beeps of a microwave before he moves over to where you lay on the couch. You were deep in sleep, Bucky could tell from the moment he saw you, but as he got closer he noticed the fact that despite the way your face was completely relaxed, your fist was clenched under the blanket, curled against your chest. Bucky crouched down next to the couch so he could be face-to-face with you. His thigh burned in pain and he gritted his teeth to avoid the grunt of pain he wanted to let out. Once it passed he brought his right hand up and reached out towards the ball of fist under the blanket. 

He stopped his hand before he actually touched you through the blanket and plopped himself down onto one knee, his other leg stretched in an uncomfortable position. He huffed out a breath when the pain slightly subdued in his thigh, the breath reached you because of his closeness and he noticed a piece of hair flutter into your face. Your nose crinkles a little in your sleep, obviously tickled by the slight movement. He goes back to his original movement but instead reaches out to move the hair that tickles you. His left hand picks up the warmth of your skin before he’s really that close and it lets something loose in his chest. He shutters out a small breath and softly presses his hand against your cheek once the hair is moved. You’re soft under his moving thumb, warm in a way he didn’t think would be possible. He caresses the apple of your cheek and shuffles closer when he notices the way you seem to press into his hand unconsciously. 

Bucky isn’t angry he’s in the 21st century, not really. He likes the future, it’s got some really shitty things, but mostly, he’s glad he can be here, in front of you, with his best friend in the kitchen mumbling over the phone (one of the cool things of the future, even if he doesn’t particularly care enough to use them.) But he forgets when he’s sent on another mission, he forgets every time, too busy being reminded of the horror he suffered to get here, of the family he never got to say goodbye to, and the life that he was torn from. This mission was no worse at first, having to clear out a Hydra base that was found hidden, try to shuffle through the ruins of information, and pick out what’s important and what’s not (“Just bring it all. Tony can pull his weight for once,” Romanoff’s tone obviously annoyed at the situation.) 

The mission was fine, and as miserable as it always was, until the discovery of a basement that neither of them should have missed, and a crowd of goons that knew exactly how to throw off a widow, how to capture a spider and a solider in one go and god damnit they could really they could have the Winter Solider back? (Bucky bite back the bitter laugh, he’d find a way to kill himself before that happened. Romanoff glared at him when she realized what he was thinking. Fucking spies and their uncanny mind-reading abilities) and suddenly Bucky was stuck taking a bullet for Natasha fucking Romanoff as they escaped and they spent two days in a dark damp abandoned mineshaft and then a shitty rundown “safe house”. 

But none of that matters now, not with you breathing in front of him, even if the bullet wound had been ripped open over and over to keep more metal from becoming a part of him. He didn’t notice Steve finish his discussion on the phone, didn’t move when he heard the microwave open and close again and Steve stepped back into the living room. 

“Nat says she owes you a bullet,” Steve whispers as he pulls the coffee table closer to where Bucky is sitting, “Also said I should take it out of you,” Steve sighed and dropped a paper box full of something full of spices onto the coffee table. Bucky felt his mouth water at the smell reaching his nose, yeah the 21st century isn’t too bad, 40s Bucky Barnes wouldn’t have been able to dream of the foods he has now grown used to. The box of Korma makes him think of his Ma, of her own cooking, he’s sure she would have been able to recreate anything she tried, she just never got the chance to try so many things. 

“Indian for dinner?” Bucky says. 

“If you consider watching her push around her Paneer and mindlessly chewing on cold naan at 1am as dinner, sure” Steve sighed back. 

Bucky’s hand still rested on your cheek, his eyes double-checking over you just once before he finally pulled his eyes to Steve, and sat back in the armchair. Steve, for the most part, looks the same as when Bucky left for the mission two weeks ago, but Bucky knows better. He squints just slightly and takes in Steve’s tousled hair, the clench in his jaw that he doesn’t seem to realize he’d been holding. Bucky knows Steve worries, if anyone understands what it means to worry about your best friend, it’s Bucky. They were made to care, to worry, about each other. Bucky’s eyes land on Steve’s gaze and he holds it for just a moment before finally shrugging his left shoulder, Steve lets out a humorless laugh and unclenches his jaw. 

“First time I’ve gotten her to sleep for more than three hours since we lost your comms,” Steve mumbles, “Seriously punk, you smell raggedy,” Steve crinkled his own nose. 

“Gotta take the metal outta my thigh before I get shiny clean Rogers,” Bucky’s head motions to the thigh he has laid out parallel to the couch. 

Steve doesn’t say anything else instead just moves again and pulls a first aid kit from some drawer under the coffee table. He plops himself near Bucky’s leg and starts to rip off the pants leg without asking. Bucky bites back the urge to bitch at how messy Steve is going to make his thigh but quickly loses whatever fight he had in him. 

“Humans need sleep, at least a healthy 5 hours a night” 

“Well tell your girl that, not me” 

Bucky huffed out a little and his eyes went back to focusing on your sleeping face. If you were awake he’d crucify Steve for calling you his girl, because you’re not, at least not really. You’re his girl in the way that he doesn’t think there is anyone else in the world. In the way that in that stupid damp cave, he thought about praying but only to keep you safe. You’re his girl in the way that he goes to Starks gala’s to be able to dance with you and every Sunday dinner is now yours. You’re his girl in the way that he has taken the time to root through the piece in his chest where his heart was supposed to be pulled out the scrapes left of it and put them into your pocket for you to keep. He thinks he might love you, but also knows that it’s better if he doesn’t. 

So instead, he finds himself acting as a loyal guard dog, (at least that was what Sam called him last week, when Bucky moved himself between you and the empty New York city street after a night out drinking.) He spends his free days with you, had learnt about the 21st century through what you like. He thanks whatever is out there that Steve was your friend to start with, made it easy for him to simply be around. 

“Three days, Buck. You’re lucky she didn’t hijack a plane and come search for you herself.” Steve started to poke his fingers into the wound, a pair of long tweezers in the other. Bucky gritted his teeth. 

“If she even tried you better kick your star-spangled ass into first gear and stop her,” 

Steve looks up from his mangling of Bucky’s thigh and gives him a look that screamed contempt, “You disappear again and I’ll be joining her, dick” 

Bucky rolled his eyes without thinking. He moved his hand from where it was still against your cheek and moved it to let his fingers run gently through your hair. He gritted his teeth a little when he felt Steve jab the tweezers into the wound. Bucky debated bitching at Steve, then remembered it was Steve. The fact that he wasn’t in more pain was shocking considering Steve’s bedside manner. 

“It’s out” Steve mumbles and Bucky hears the plink of the bullet against the wood floor. 

Bucky didn’t acknowledge it instead just moving his leg so it was no longer stretched. He reached out with his empty hand to grab the cartoon of food on the coffee table and set it down close to his thigh on the ground as Steve moved himself back to the green armchair he was taking up before. 

Bucky kept his hand gently against your hair before he tore his eyes to the television playing a late-night cartoon still. 

“This show sucks,” Bucky sighs a little. 

“There’s a Battlestar Galactica rerun on another channel?” Steve is already moving for the remote as he speaks. Bucky grunts in acceptance. 

___ 

You don’t remember falling asleep. The last thing you remember is Steve stealing the plate of Indian food he had doled out for you the one you barely touched, and tossing a blanket towards you. 

It had been the longest three days you had ever experienced. It had started when on a random Thursday, Bucky and Natasha missed their call in for a simple mission. It wasn’t like either of them, really they rarely went on missions together as it was, something about the two agents together made people a little nervous. You personally, did not get it, maybe you were biased but you found both of them secretly delightful, funny in a sly way, the kind of funny that makes you feel like you’re in the joke. 

It had been three days, Three days of no sign of either of them. Three days of listening to Tony Stark debate over and over with JARVIS or FRIDAY sometimes both about the geography of the land, of the possibility of survival of stats, and more stats. You assumed Steve was planning his own rescue mission after the second day, so you had started to plot how to let you into the plan. The begging you’d do to have a chance to help. 

After a second the sleep fog seems to have finally cleared and you hear Steve’s small sleep mumbling from the armchair close by, sunlight try and peek through the curtains over your windows and the small noise of New York City existing outside your window. You grimace, annoyed that he let you sleep for so long, how much time have you lost that could have been used searching? Why hasn’t he acted on his plan yet? How much longer before something finally happens? 

You go to step off the couch when you feel a hand suddenly wrap around your ankle, 

“At least wait for the bullet wound to finish healing before you start steppin on me,” Bucky grumbles from the floor. 

You feel your heart stop at the same time the startled gasp is let out. Quickly you pull your feet up and sit up for just a second before Bucky follows suit. 

Despite having just woken up, you move faster than you think you ever have. It doesn’t completely register to you as you throw yourself towards Bucky’s slightly sat-up form. You throw your arms around him, feeling his warmth through the skin-tight shirt he is wearing. It’s the closest you’d had been with Bucky since for weeks and maybe if you didn’t think he was dead just a few hours ago you would have thought twice before the affection. 

“Jesus,” Bucky grunts a little at the sudden armful of you. It takes only a few moments of brain freeze before he’s wrapping his own arms around you. He pushes himself into a full sitting position with his left hand before it comes up to rest on the back of your head. He feels himself soften at the way your face goes to rest in the crook of his neck and shoulder, the tight grip you have barely registers to him until you squeeze just a little tighter. The exhaustion he felt early was still lingering in his bones, but your weight against him causes him to let go of the tension in his shoulder. 

“Thought you were- “ 

“Well, ‘m not, I did miss Sunday dinner, sorry,” Bucky interrupted before you had the chance to freak yourself out. 

“It’s okay, told Steve you’d be fine,” You try and sound lighthearted but know you miss the mark. 

Bucky lets out a soft laugh and without thinking presses his face down towards the top of your head. He waits for you to say something else, waits for this moment to break. When it doesn’t right away, he lets himself adjust, moving so you’re still on top of him, but now he can lean against the front of the couch. He lets his eyes flutter shut when he feels you completely melt against him. It was this that had him living in that shitty mine shaft, it was this he was thinking of when Natasha mentioned the fact that they had missed their call-in. He thinks of telling you how he feels and has been living through the fantasy for the last three days. How you’d coo at him once you realized how soft he’d gotten for you, how you might even kiss him before he even finishes telling you. 

But now you’re here, and he feels your hands move across his back slowly, over his arms, as if you’re making sure he’s real. You pull your face from the place it was resting against his neck and he keeps his own eyes shut, the fluttering of his heart enough to keep him from being able to face you. He knows he doesn’t deserve this, that what he has is already more than he should be given, so he bites his tongue, and thanks the world for letting him have at least this. 

“Did you say bullet wound?!” Your arms are running down the side of Bucky’s arms as he nods at your words. 

“Steve took care of it,” Bucky sighs at the touch and finally opens his eyes to see your own worried expression. 

“I’m all good now, sugar” He whispers as you pout, “I’m all good,” He repeats even softer keeping his eyes focused on yours until you crinkle your nose and go back to squeezing him, your face pressed against his right shoulder. 

For once, despite the healing wound and days of exhaustion settling over him, he’s not lying. He’s good, even if the desire to kiss you is screaming, he’s good with this. He’ll take what he can be given and be thankful you even look at him. 

________ 

“Hey, Bucky?” You whisper against the skin of his neck after a few hours of sitting in the same position. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” 

“You smell absolutely terrible,” You pull away and grimace a little at him, playful but sincere.  

“Told you to clean up before you woke her up,” Steve grumbled from his spot eyes still closed but obviously awake now, “I’ll go pick up breakfast, I’m thinking sandwiches from that shop on the corner of 18th?” 

[grilledcheesewithjalapeno]

omg ! a lion based a/b/o !

The Lion's Den

Pairing: Alpha!Ari Levinson x Omega!Reader

Word Count: 687

Warnings: Bratty!Reader, A/B/O, Dom/sub vibes, Alpha Commands, hints at smut but not actually written, Ari is a warning!

Summary: You're nearing your heat and you decide to tease your Alpha to get his attention.

A/N: This is my version of A/B/O and I hope you all enjoy it! It is more lion based than wolf based but still has some of our favorite tropes! I wrote this for @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420 and their community extravaganza! The prompts I chose were: "I swear to God, if you make me come in there, you're gonna regret it," A/B/O, and Primal Play. This is an 18+ fic so no minors are allowed to read this!

🦁

You lounged back in your nest, the picture of luxury like the lioness you were. You had on your favorite satin cami set and a fluffy robe on top. Your nails were freshly painted and now you were letting a face mask dry as you watched your favorite comfort movie.

Your heat was coming on, and you had to try to hold yourself together until Ari, your Alpha, got home. While you tried to take care of your needs yourself with one of those pathetic knotted dildos, you needed the real thing. Nothing compared to your Alpha’s fat knot- you drooled just thinking about it. Another cramp hit you and you whined, curling up in the safety of your nest.

Ariiiiii when will you be home? :(

I'm dying here

I can't survive this

Alpha 👑: Oh you poor thing

Alpha👑: I'm 5 mins away

That's 5 minutes too long

I said I need you

Alpha👑: Are you trying to be bossy with me? That's cute, honey.

Alpha👑: Maybe I should take my time instead of what I had planned…

You gasped at his last text. The audacity! The last time Ari teased you, he had edged you for an hour before he finally knotted you. You thought about back pedaling and begging for forgiveness. But honestly your heat was making you feel grumpy and bratty, so you decided against it.

With a mischievous grin you went into the bathroom with a plan. After wiping the face mask off, undressed and took a series of lewd pictures. Some hinted at nudeness in a tasteful manner while others were very explicit.

You knew Ari would absolutely love all of them.

You picked out your favorite pictures and sent them to Ari without anything else. Nervousness fluttered in your belly, as did excitement. Perhaps this wasn't the best idea, but boy was it fun.

A minute passed and Ari didn't reply. You checked the text thread and- yup, he's seen the pictures. That made you even more nervous. You knew he'd be home very soon but you didn't want to go through whatever he was planning right away. So you gathered up your things and fled the living room to the safety of your guys’ shared bedroom. At least there you could lock the door.

Just as you were settling down into your comfy nest, you heard the door unlock and Ari's scent filled your nose. You could smell how aroused he was and it made you chirp involuntarily. You covered your mouth even if it was useless- Alphas had amazing hearing and if Ari smelled aroused, then you definitely did as well.

Ari's footsteps got closer and closer to the bedroom, and when he found that the door was locked he chuckled darkly.

“I swear to God, if you make me come in there, you’re gonna regret it.” While the words were menacing, his tone was one filled with playfulness and lust. He could feel your mischief through the bond and he let out a low roar. An Alpha's roar was so deep that betas and omegas could feel it vibrating through their core. And since Ari was your Alpha, it just made you even needier.

“C'mon, mega, be a good girl and open the door.” It was a gentle Alpha Command, but you still couldn't resist. You chirped as you got up- feeling Ari’s pride bleed through the bond- and you slowly opened the door enough to peek through the crack.

“Hi, Alpha.” You said in a gentle, docile voice. Ari smiled in amusement at your sudden change in demeanor.

“Hi, Kitten. Wanna open the door some more for me?” You knew it wasn't a suggestion but you still hesitated as you obeyed your Alpha once more.

All at once he was on you, pinning you to the nearest wall and burying his nose in your neck. You whimpered as he snuffled along your neck, nipping at your mating gland that he claimed just months before.

Finally he pulled back, eyes dark with lust as he uttered the words you were longing for all day.

“Present for me, Omega.”

🦁

[grilledcheesewithjalapeno]

OH. MY. GOD.

somniloquy (bucky barnes x f!reader)

- the action or habit of speaking in one’s sleep summary: to you, it used to be a kind of embarrassing fun fact about yourself, to bucky, it was absolutely adorable that you sleep talked. at least until you accidentally started mumbling the words that brought forth the winter soldier content warnings: angst, more hurt/not so much comfort, canon typical violence, no use of y/n mcu timeline placement: post civil war, pre wakanda!bucky, everybody lives at the tower, so canon divergent timeline whoops word count: 2.1k a/n: sorry if you do speak russian/can read cyrillic, for the purpose of this fic i’m stealing that ability from you :)

The first time before you slept over at Bucky’s place, you had sat him down on his couch and peered up at him with nervous eyes. You would have immediately switched out your little habit of accidental confessions, senseless one-sided conversations and creepy mutterings for a normal problem like snoring.  Too many friends, boyfriends and the occasional one-night stand had been scared off by your sleepy chatter – and this was only made worse by the way you could never recall a single word you had said.  So, when the words “I sometimes talk in my sleep” finally broke past your lips and he didn’t immediately get up and leave, the lump in your throat shrunk a little bit. “Okay,” he had replied, neither particularly concerned nor appalled by your revelation. To be honest, he seemed rather amused – a small smirk made its way upon his face. “So?” You blinked at him a couple of times, searching for the right words to make him understand that it wasn’t just a few mumbled words per night, it sometimes happened to be entire monologues.  “I mean, I really… like… talk. I tell you stuff- stuff that I can’t remember the next day. Sometimes even things that I don’t mean,” you explained. “That’s okay,” he replied so casually that it almost made you cry, “I won’t promise to not listen to your… nightly secret spilling but I won’t hold you to it.” And it turned out to not be as big of a problem as you had expected – in the beginning. Many mornings, you woke up next to Bucky, wrapped in his arms while he smiled down at you, faint amusement present on his face and a sparkle in his eyes that made you groan.  “I didn’t know you felt that way about my beard,” he greeted you one time. Or “Do you really think I look better in short sleeves?” Everything was fine – still humiliating but fine – as long as you only confessed your adoration for his arms at night. But it became a genuine reason for concern after you hit the six month mark in your relationship.  You of course knew about Bucky’s past, partly revealed to you by himself and in other parts through others. He had told you about the dark days he had spent in HYDRA’s grip in sparing details, leaving out some of the more gruesome parts.  But the longer you were together, the more he opened up, wanting to lay himself open before you in more than just one way. 

He showed you the words. He didn’t say them, had only scribbled them down onto a page, and then slipped it to you to read.  The Cyrillic letters didn’t make a lot of sense to you until Bucky gave you the English translation.  This is not where the problems began. The English words didn’t trigger the Winter Soldier, only the Russian ones did. And you didn’t speak Russian. You never heard them out loud. Until you did.  It was accidental, just you in the wrong place at the wrong time. You went to visit Bucky at work but couldn’t find him, so you stumbled into Bruce’s office in the hopes of asking him for directions. But he was in the middle of watching old footage, the volume low but you picked up the sounds nonetheless. The language was foreign to you and would have laid strangely on your tongue but your brain picked up the words subconsciously. 

Желание – Ржавый – Семнадцать – Рассвет – Печь – Девять – Добросердечный – Возвращение на Родину – Один – Товарный вагон You didn’t think too much of it, didn’t even remember it by the time you had found Bucky in one of the training rooms and went about your day as always.

By nighttime, you were beyond tired and ready to sleep for a week. Cozied up against Bucky’s side, one cool metal arm wrapped around you and the soft, steady sound of his breathing lulled you into your dream world within seconds.

Tonight’s manifestation of your subconscious mind happened to take place in a room you had never seen before. Faceless figures, taller than the average man, dressed in white lab coats, were surrounding a metal chair that stood in the centre of the room.  On that chair sat Bucky. Only he didn’t look like your Bucky. His hair was greasy, his skin slick with sweat and split open in places you had only ever seen scars.  Dream-you didn’t run to him, didn’t free him from the restraints or attempt to do anything to set him loose. Instead, you opened your mouth and strange words tumbled from your lips.  Желание – Ржавый – Семнадцать  “Sweetheart?” That voice didn’t stem from your dream. It came from far away, muffled by the invisible wall of your sleep.Рассвет – Печь – Девять  “Stop it. Please, what are you doing?” Dream-you didn’t stop. More words spilled, words that you still didn’t recognise. Добросердечный  “Stop it!”  You woke with a jolt when you felt the cold metal press of his fingers against your mouth. Bucky stared at you, mouth slightly open while tears shimmered in his blue eyes.  He didn’t remove his hand from your lips almost as if he was frozen in place. His chest heaved and sweat pearled down his temple. A cloudy, removed look had glazed over his eyes. Your eyebrows knitted together, and he must have recognised the confusion in your eyes as he slowly lowered his arm.  “What happened? What did I say?” You whispered. Immediately, you heard the hoarseness in your voice and wondered just how loud you had been this time. Usually, anything you said in your sleep came out as mutterings, but your throat felt like you had been yelling. He still looked at you, fear and disbelief etched into his face.  “I shouldn’t have…,” he began, scrambling out of bed quickly, “I shouldn’t have showed you the damn words.” Your jaw dropped, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.  “What?” You croaked, hoping there was some kind of misunderstanding. “I never should have showed them to you,” he repeated, running a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “I didn’t even know you spoke Russian.” “I don’t,” you whispered, and now your hands began to tremble as reality began to set it. You had almost freed the Winter Soldier in your sleep.  “Bucky, I’m so sorry,” you mumbled, sitting up in between your shared sheets.  He looked at you, his chest still rising faster than normal.  “No, it’s not your fault,” he protested immediately and brought another step of distance between the two of you.  “I… I should have…,” he gestured weakly, trailing off. “No, baby, you don’t understand,” you began, “When I came to visit you today, I couldn’t find you, so I was gonna ask Bruce. But he was busy, watching some old footage. That’s where I heard the words. I didn’t even think… I forgot about it. It didn’t seem important at the time.” Bucky listened to your explanation, his expression growing dimmer with every word you said.  The two of you sat in silence for a few moments until he cleared his throat. “I’ll have to talk to Bruce. I’m sure he can figure something out. He’s been trying to remove the words from my head for a while, so this is just… additional motivation.”  You stared at him as he headed for the door. “Bucky, wait,” you called out after him and followed him. The floor was cold under your bare feet as you stumbled behind him. He showed no inclination of slowing down.  “Just go back to bed,” he answered and disappeared around a corner. By the time morning came around, you hadn’t gotten a single second of sleep. Bucky hadn’t returned and had left his phone in the room so you couldn’t even call him.  When you had texted Bruce at 4:32 a.m., he shot back a short reply: We’re working on it. Bucky avoided you all day. You didn’t see him once, not during meals or in the evening. It was already past midnight when he finally stumbled into his room where you were waiting for him. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you, asking everybody for updates, I-,” you began but your voice died down as you got a better look at him.

He had deep shadows under his eyes and what seemed like burn marks on his temples. “Baby, what happened?” You asked and jumped to your feet. With two quick strides you had crossed the room and planted yourself before him, cupping his face gently to tilt it towards the small source of light next to your side of the bed. “It didn’t work,” he mumbled. Resignation tainted his voice as he spoke. “Banner ran tests, tried to cook the words out of my brain but he said it didn’t work.” With little to no pressure your fingertips ghosted over the already healing marks, but he flinched slightly. Not from pain but from your touch. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Please.” Tears welled up in your eyes, but you swallowed them. “Come to bed, baby,” you pleaded, pulling on his wrist to get him to move but he stood firmly in place. “I can’t,” he muttered, “I can’t sleep next to you.” You had to bite back the sob that threatened to escape your mouth. “Bucky,” you started, “You don’t know that it’s gonna happen again. Maybe it was a one-time thing. I can’t even remember the words.” He shook his head. “Maybe not. But it’s too dangerous. Banner said it’s probably in your subconscious. Just like in mine. I don’t wanna turn into… into him. I don’t want him to hurt you. I don’t wanna hurt you.” “You won’t.” “You don’t know that.” The room was silent, except for your breaths – a little too fast and too shallow. “Bucky,” you whispered, “How long will it take… until… until the words are gone from your mind?” He sighed heavily. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Could be days, could be… weeks… or longer.” Before you could even utter your protest, he shook his head again. “Sweetheart, I cannot risk it. So, I’m gonna sleep on the couch until… until I’m not a danger to you anymore.” You stared up at him with tear filled eyes. “I trust you,” you whispered. “But I don’t trust myself,” he replied defeatedly. You wanted to head home, not willing to take Bucky’s bed and make him sleep on the couch but he insisted that it was too late for you to drive home.

It took you hours to fall asleep. Between pitiful yawns and crying fits, sleep evaded you until the sky was just shy of turning golden and then finally, you drifted off. You were alone in a snowed-in clearing but you knew Bucky wasn’t far. So, you started walking. Determined, you made your way through the white dust, flakes falling and melting on your face. You didn’t feel the cold. Or the wind. All you knew was that Bucky was close. He laid on the ground and looked as if he was sleeping, his dark hair contrasting with the white background. When you reached out for him, his eyes opened and revealed the beautiful blue you loved so much. Your lips parted in greeting, but the words you spoke did not match the ones you had wanted to say. “Желание – Ржавый – Семнадцать – Рассвет – Печь – Девять – Добросердечный – Возвращение на Родину – Один – Товарный вагон” Like the night before, cold metal rested against your face when you woke. This time however, it didn’t cover your mouth. Instead, it cupped your cheek, almost cradled it. You found yourself in the living room and your heart dropped. Sleep talking was normal for you, sleepwalking however definitely not. The fingers on your face moved gently, so typical for Bucky. But the eyes that stared at you, fixated you, did not resemble his at all. They were darker, narrowed and sharp; they pierced through you and practically pinned you in place. “Bucky,” you whispered, knowing well that it wasn’t him at the moment. Not a single motion of recognition crossed his face. Bucky wasn’t here right now. Only the Winter Soldier.