#first kiss with bucky

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Something More

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> Since you met Bucky, he's always looked at you with...something more. And you never knew why. One day, you finally find out what he means by it.

Disclaimer: mentions of cheating and swearing, revenge on cheating ex. Bucky deals with said cheating ex. Descriptions of naked/slightly naked Bucky though nothing too explicit. Fluff, found family vibes, Sam and Bucky bickering. Use of nicknames (specifically 'doll'). Not Proof Read.

“What are you still doing here?”

Bucky had just passed your lab. As far as he was aware, you should have left work hours ago. You should have been getting ready, listening to whatever playlist you’d compiled with Wanda, picking your outfit with that perfect smile on your face as you looked in your mirror to fix your lipstick. 

So why were you still here?

You looked up, looking for him and where his voice had travelled from. Your gaze found him standing back in the doorway. The lights behind him were dimer than they usually would be. After the clocks turned six in the evening, they did that to save on energy – even then, they’d only come on if they sensed someone. Before he’d walked down the corridor, the only lights on had been inside your lab with you. 

“Oh, hey.” You turned back to your work. “Just wanted to get some things finished before tomorrow. Hoping Tony might give me half a day.”

Bucky felt himself chuckle as he walked inside. “You do the work of three people. If you asked him, he’d tell you to take a week off.”

You chuckled because you knew it to be true. But you also didn’t like taking too much time away from work. You actually liked your job and the people you worked with. Some more than most. 

“But that still doesn’t answer my question. Shouldn’t you be on your date right about now?”

Bucky looked at his watch. 9:20pm. 

“Oh, uh,” You tried your best to avoid his gaze as you looked away from him. “Yeah…yeah, probably.”

Bucky studied you. And you could feel him doing so. The way he stood there, clipboard loose in his hand and by his side, his eyes fixed on your body, noticing how your shoulders tensed, how you tried your best to hide away from him despite you both being the only two in the room. 

“What happened?”

“Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

Bucky shook his head and pulled up one of your rolling stools until he was sitting down and facing you. “What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter-”

“Yes, it does.”

You forced a smile, still not looking at him but rather at whatever contraption you’d pulled apart only to rebuild again. 

“No, it-”

“It does because you never hide anything from me.”

“Mostly because I can’t,” you muttered to yourself but by the soft chuckle from Bucky, he’d heard you. 

“What is it? What’s going on? Why are you still here?”

It took you a moment but eventually you put down the motherboard and finally looked at him. “If I tell you, it doesn’t leave this room. I don’t need the questions and I don’t need a plethora of super-humans marching or flying down to defend my honour.”

He didn’t like where the conversation was heading but Bucky reluctantly agreed. 

“I’m not on the date, but Matthew is.” 

Matthew was your boyfriend of three years. Bucky had met him a handful of times and he seemed nice enough, but there was always something Bucky didn’t like about him. How he talked, how he walked, how he seemingly didn’t realise how lucky he was to have you. 

“What are you-”

With your hands folded in your lap, you continued to explain. “The date that I told Wanda about, the one that was meant to be for tonight?” 

Bucky nodded. 

“Well, what I thought was meant to be a surprise for me was actually…a surprise for my best friend. Ex-best friend,” you corrected yourself. “Matthew didn’t think I would find out, but when I asked him if I should take any days off work soon, he said no. I thought it was just a fluke, but it wasn’t.”

“Y/n-”

“Matthew broke up with me a week later.”

“What?”

You saw the subtle changes in Bucky’s demeanour as you told him. How his gaze and eyes grew darker, how his shoulders became stiff and alert, how his fists clenched on the table. 

You took a breath. “Matthew broke up with me three weeks ago, but I’m okay.”

“Okay? Okay? I’ll kill him.”

You shot out of your seat and rushed ahead of him, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Bucky Bucky, Bucky, stop. Stop, okay. Look, I’m fine. And I promise, I am okay. Guess finding out that your boyfriend has been sleeping with your supposed best friend for six months kinda softens the aftermath of the break-up.”

“Six months?!”

“Just…sit down? Please?”

It took a little longer than a minute, but eventually he sat back down and you picked up the clipboard that had been dropped to the floor and handed it back to him. 

“How can you be okay?”

You smiled, even if it was still a little sad. “Because I’ve dealt with it.”

“How?”

“Poured glitter into their new washing machine, as well as onto all of their clothes,” you admitted. “Stole the plate out of the microwave, took the hand pumps out of the soap, threw out the car wax from his cleaning kit. You know, just small things that will cause them a nuisance for a lifetime.”

Bucky felt himself laugh. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

“Don’t have to,” you smiled. “You know better.”

“Yeah, I do. I’m sorry, Y/n.”

You just shrugged, trying to ignore the sting in your heart. “It’s okay.” 

Bucky’s eyes followed you around the table until you sat back down in your seat. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry he didn’t know how good he had it.”

You looked up at him. “Thanks, Buck.”

“I mean it, Y/n. I know you loved him. He didn’t deserve you.”

You felt his words wash over you and settle into your bones. You’d been dealing with the break up on your own. You knew you didn’t have to, but it was easier. Simpler. But hearing him tell you that…it was worth its weight in gold. 

You tried your best to place that familiar look in his eyes as he looked at you. It wasn’t pity, or sadness. Well, maybe a little. But there was something else there. Something…more. You’d noticed it before but even then you couldn’t have given it a name. It was just…

Something More. 

Like he knew something you didn’t. Like he was trying to tell you something he didn’t have the courage to say out loud. 

“Want me to take you home?”

You shook your head, “No, it’s okay. I can-”

But then he gave you that smile that always made your stomach do a little flip. The way his lips curved in the corner on his mouth, a slightly sassy but genuine look in his eyes. 

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

With a grateful smile, you smiled and stood up. On the way out, Bucky helped you remove your lab coat before helping put on your actual one. From there, he waited for you to lock up before you finally reached his car and hopped into the passenger seat. 

You’d placed your new address into the car’s GPS and explained to Bucky why you had a new one. 

“Even if she hadn’t moved in, I wouldn’t have wanted to stay there on my own. Knowing everything they’d done together?” You shook your head. “I would have moved, anyway.”

Bucky seemed to adjust himself in his seat, one hand on the wheel as the other rested in between himself and you. 

“Maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t tell the rest of us.”

You chuckled, already knowing what he was thinking. You knew you’d have to tell them eventually. And you would. Preferably in a place where they couldn’t all suddenly disappear on you or wouldn’t see the masked pain behind your expression which would only lead to more questions. 

You’d become friends with the team not long after you’d joined Shield. Tony had studied your work, produced in Shield labs and instantly had given you an offer to work with him on a permanent basis. Before you could finish spending the day thinking about it, you had orders from Hill telling you, you were to become the new resident Lab Tech at the Compound. 

You’d worked along-side Tony and the rest of his science team, fixed equipment for the team and eventually found a friendship with them all individually. 

Wanda had been the first one; she’d been looking for someone to talk to since Clint was out for the day for Training new recruits. The next had been Tony and Natasha and very soon after had been Clint, Bruce and finally Steve.

Steve had been away on back-to-back missions which resulted in him being one of the last. Within a week of him returning, you’d met everyone else since Tony had decided to throw a party. 

You had asked why, but Pepper had just told you that to Tony it was “just because” but she’d worked on a mission plan. Charity Gala. She’s planned the whole thing with Peter’s Aunt. 

It was at that gala that Bucky had first met your boyfriend. At the time, you’d both only been dating eight months. 

“Did you buy a renovation?”

You dug into your bag for your keys but nodded. “Yeah. It’s kinda been a nice distraction.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

You looked at him, a little offended. “I’m an engineer.”

“I know.” Bucky was still taking in the property. “I’ve met you. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Bucky had seen you build some of the most complicated tech in the world. A handful of times, even Shuri had been shocked and impressed. But he’d also seen you try and build a bookshelf from Ikea on your own. 

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’ve got some weekends free.” Bucky told you. “I’ll help you.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to.” 

You were taken slightly aback as you saw the smile on his face. But you smiled back anyway. He’d always had that effect on you. 

“Okay.”

The following six weekends were filled with stripping old paint, pulling out and replacing rotten floors and beams, plastering walls and securing the foundations. The building had been with the bank for almost thirty years. Nobody had ever wanted to buy it. 

You’d guessed it had been built in the forties, or thereabouts. A covered porch had been added on to equal the starting point of the front steps, the shutters on the front windows had either been missing or hanging on by a rotten nail so they were soon replaced. There were three matching windows set at equal distance from each other upstairs. One in the middle and one on either side of it – all facing the front of the home. The garden was overgrown to the point where wildflowers had over run themselves and probably created a new breed. 

The back was much in the same way; a covered porch, windows, shutters, and a larger back garden perfect for an allotment and space for kids or dogs to run around. 

Eventually, those six weeks turned into six months. 

You did what you could within the week and Bucky helped with the rest at the weekends. When Sam found out Bucky was helping, he pitched in, too. Though, he was more helpful when placed away from Bucky and at the other side of the house. That had been something you’d learned quickly. They worked well together but the amount of hours they spent arguing about how to paint…

It was safe to say you’d taped out their own spaces in the house and they were not allowed to cross the tape unless they needed a bathroom break or a snack. 

Wanda had been more than helpful on the days where they’d both decided to sneak past the tape and judge each other's work. 

“Hey, hey, hey, would you- Wanda, put me down.”

“Stay in your tape.”

After the first three months, you were finally able to go out and buy new furniture and return the rented ones. 

“Left a bit, left a bit.”

“We need to go right.”

“No, we need to go left.”

Wanda leaned over to you. “How long have they been like this?”

“Two hours. I have tried.”

You sighed and crossed your arms, watching as Sam and Bucky tried to take your new sofa inside. 

“Right, right. Now go up.”

“Up?”

“Yes, up?”

“What are you gonna do? Make it fly?”

Sam just started at Bucky. 

“Oh, for the love of-”

As you threw your arms into the air, Wanda laughed and started walking towards them. Eventually they dropped the furniture and she moved it herself. It fit through your door simply – just as you had expected before the double comedy act decided to take charge. 

Finally, after six long months of stripping, plastering, painting, repainting, rearranging, building, and everything in between, you were finally done. 

You and Bucky lay on the floor together, staring at the ceiling, your beers sweating with condensation onto the placemats. 

“Thank you for helping me.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“As much as I love my new kitchen, I think I’m just gonna order in. What do you want?”

“Where are you getting it from?”

After twenty minutes, you and Bucky had decided on a place and ordered two pizzas with a side of fries. “Half an hour. Right.” You stood from the floor. “I’m going for a shower. You can hop in after me.”

Bucky was glad your back was turned from him since he could feel the heat spread across him. 

“Why?”

“Because you stink.”

You heard him laugh. Since day one, you’d never held back from telling him what you thought. It was one of the things he loved about you. 

Upstairs, you turned the shower and stepped inside only to watch the dust and paint flakes fall down with the water and into the drain. Twenty minutes later, your hair was washed for the third time that week – white paint from your skirting boards following the suds of the shampoo. 

And then Bucky walked up the stairs. 

As he reached the top of the staircase and turned his head down the hall, he called out your name. 

“Shower’s free! Just getting dressed!”

“Hey, uh, I-I left you something downstairs. Feel free to open it!”

“Really? Okay.”

Bucky smiled before walking into your bathroom and closing the door but leaving it cracked open slightly. The steam was still leaving the room and he couldn’t open the window just yet. 

However, what he didn’t notice as he carefully got undressed was you walking down the hall. Fresh in your pajamas which consisted of an old t-shirt and shorts, you towel dried your hair except in the defogging mirror in your bathroom, you caught a glimpse of Bucky. 

Naked Bucky. 

His back was turned to the mirror, his muscles lightly flexing as he moved to draw back the shower curtain and step into the shower. You tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest or how your legs unconsciously clamped together as you looked at him. 

But as the curtain was drawn back, hiding him from sight, you took in a small breath before hurrying down the hallway, down the stairs and into the living room. 

You were thankful Bucky was in the shower at that moment in fear of him seeing and knowing what the embarrassed and heated look on your face meant. 

The image you’d just witnessed, it was safe to say, was burning into your mind. 

It was the knock on your front door which startled you out from your daydream about Bucky and the way he-

“Hey, two pep- Matthew.” 

What should have been the pizza guy with your pizzas was your ex. 

“What the fuck?”

“Please, please just hear me out,” he begged. “I am so sorry for what I did. I shouldn’t have slept with your best friend but I thought that was what I wanted. But-”

“Goodbye.”

“Wait! Please!”

His hand landed on the door. “Please. I-I thought that was what I wanted but these months apart have made me realise something.”

“Look, I don’t know how you found me but please leave.”

“I’m still in love with you, Y/n. I always was. And I’m ready for more, if that’s what you want.”

Down the hall, you heard your name being called. But Matthew didn’t. 

“I should never have cheated on you, but I promise I never will again. It was good, right? You loved me? I loved you.”

“Please leave.”

“I will spend everyday making it up to you because I realised, I am worthy of you. Please, just give us a chance. I promise-”

In the space of about three seconds, you saw Matthew’s face change from begging to terrified and shocked at the same time before the door you were holding onto tightly opened wider from behind you. 

Then you found yourself met with a freshly showered, completely naked save for the towel wrapped around his waist, Bucky. You felt the heat spread across your entire body as you tried your best to not make it obvious how you were trying to remember the moment for a lifetime. 

The definition of his muscles, the way his arm flexed as it remained on his hip, the metal arm behind you, holding the door securely. The way the beads of water dripped down his neck and tracked down his body and into the top of the towel. The way his eyes burned with a kind of darkness you’d only ever seen in him when he was ready to attack, but somehow still remained soft when they fell on you. 

“Holy-”

“What are you doing here?” 

“I-I-I came to get Y/n back.”

“Oh, really?”

You felt yourself smile up at Bucky, for more than just the reason he was making your ex crap his pants. 

“Y-Yes. I’m worthy of her.”

“You’re not worthy of shit.”

Matthew tried his best to ignore Bucky as he turned back to you. “Please. Y/n. I’m ready. Just come home with me.”

“I have a home. A new home. Very, very far away from you.”

“How did you even find this place?” Bucky asked. 

Matthew had to look at him and eventually spat out that your ex-best friend had seen your car turn down the avenue a few weeks back when she was heading to work. So, he looked out for it and hoped for the best. 

It was in a sudden motion Bucky’s right arm reached out and held Matthew up by the scruff of his collar. “You’re gonna forget you ever learned this address and leave Y/n alone. Do I have to repeat myself, or are we clear?”

A clearing cough came from somewhere behind Matthew. 

The pizza guy. 

“H-hi? S-Sorry about the wait. They’re working on the road at the top of the street so-so I-I had to double back.Two pepperoni?”

You nodded and the guy told you the price that had been exchanged over the phone. 

“Thanks.”

“I hope you resolve…whatever this is. Bye.”

Hopping back on his pizza scooter, he headed towards his next address. 

Matthew finally looked back at Bucky who’s stare hadn’t left him since he picked him up. 

“I don’t like repeating myself, Matthew.”

“But she still loves me.”

“No, she doesn’t.” 

That much had been made clear to Bucky over the last six months. He watched you put whatever anger and sadness you’d bottled up and put away into how you’d pulled out rotting beams and how you stabbed and yanked dead weeds from the ground with all your might. 

He also saw it in your quiet moments after that. How you built yourself a home without any reminiscence of Matthew or your ex-best friend, how you found freedom and love in what was around you and how you let yourself date again. The dates didn’t last too long but they always ended mutually – not one sided. 

“She does.”

You practically rolled your head with your eyes. “I really don’t.”

Bucky just smirked. 

“B-but what about our life together?”

“The one you torched when you fucked my friend? Yeah,” you heard yourself laugh. “That will never exist.”

As you went to walk away, leaving Bucky to deal with Matthew, he called out. 

“You can’t seriously be fucking him?”

Turning on your heel, you looked at both of them. Bucky seemingly didn’t react. Until a sliver of unrecognisable courage came pouring forward. 

“And what if I am?”

Bucky reacted to that. Not that Matthew noticed. 

“Not that it’s any business of yours,” you added. 

“But-”

“Goodbye, Matthew.”

As you walked into the kitchen and laid out the pizzas, it was a few minutes before you heard a cry from Matthew, followed by a crash of plywood from the skip that was ready to be collected the next day. 

Finally, the door closed and Bucky walked back into the kitchen, towel still around his waist. 

Walking out from your laundry room, you took the last mental image of a practically naked Bucky, standing in your home, looking sun-kissed and all kinds of handsome. 

“You left some clothes here the last time you stayed over.” Standing in front of him, you handed him his clothes. 

“Thanks.”

Taking them from you, Bucky smirked as he caught your gaze scanning his entire body. 

“How are you feeling?”

Your gaze flicked back to his, acting as if you hadn’t just been checking him out, but the heat on your face gave you away. 

“Good.” You smiled. “Actually, really good. Kinda shocked me when it was him and not the pizza guy- thank you, by the way. For dealing with him. I’m sure there’s some speech I should give you about threats of violence but it was nice to see him scared after everything he did.”

“Clearly he didn’t get a new washing machine.” Bucky held up his hand, small flecks of glitter on the palm. You laughed. 

“You can’t escape it.”

Bucky chuckled, too. “Guess you can’t.”

It was in the silence that followed, your hand holding onto his from when you moved it to see the glitter, that you saw that look in his eyes again. That something more look. He’d looked at you like that since the beginning. 

For a while you thought that was just how he looked at people. But you saw the way he looked at Steve and Sam and Natasha and Wanda. You saw the way he looked at strangers on the street as they walked past him, you saw the way he looked at kids when they walked up to him and asked for his autograph, you saw the way he looked at reporters when they asked about the 40s or asked a question he didn’t like. 

You saw the way he looked at everyone else. 

And then there was the way he looked at you. 

Something more.

You felt yourself step forward a little as he dropped his hand and held onto yours. It was a subtle difference. The way he looked at you, the way he held you, the way he spoke to you. 

It was his turn to step closer. 

Carefully placing his clothes down on the kitchen island beside you both, his other hand reached out for you, brushing the hair from your eyes. 

And for a rare moment, you shocked him. Usually, he knew everything with you. It was rare you had to actually tell him something. He spent that long looking at you, it was almost as if his gaze could stare directly into your soul and know what you needed. 

But this. 

This he didn’t see coming. 

No matter how long he’d hoped for it. 

You kissed him. 

And for a moment he was still, feeling your lips against his. Then it was like he was brought back to life. Feeling your hand in his, he squeezed your hand and you squeezed back. Finally, he kissed you back. His hands came to hold your face as he stepped into you, his kiss matching yours. 

In a few turns, your back was against the counter of your kitchen island, your hands sending goosebumps throughout him as they trailed down his chest, sides and held him closer by his neck and back. 

It wasn’t long before he lifted you onto the counter and your legs spread open for him to step closer. Slowly, the kisses peppered away until you were both left gasping for breath, feeling his forehead against yours. 

“Shit.” Bucky eventually breathed, a small laugh escaping him. And you giggled, holding him closer. 

“You better get dressed before you give my new neighbours an exclusive.”

Bucky looked behind him, realising you were both in a semi-clear view of the blind-less windows. They were getting delivered and installed on Monday. For now, you just had curtains and the panels on the windows. 

Then he looked down. The towel was slowly coming loose from his hips. Then he swore for a different reason. 

“You might have to give me a minute.”

It took you a second to realise what he was talking and blushing about. Then you tried to hide your laugh. “Either you put on some shorts or you give my neighbours an original welcome to the neighbourhood.”

Bucky gave you a look before looking around. Finally, grabbing his clothes, he surprised you with a quick kiss to your lips which made you smile and distracted you enough to let him go. Behind your kitchen island, he slipped on his shorts before removing the towel. 

“Thought I might get a show.”

Bucky gave you another look. “I’d rather save that for when it’s just you and me, doll.”

You hummed, your arms coming back to his shoulders. “Fair enough.”

A shorter silence came over you both as Bucky looked at you again. 

“What? What is it?”

You just kept looking. 

“You’re looking at me like I’ve got two heads.”

“You always look at me like that.”

“Like you’ve got two heads?”

You shook your head. “No. Like I’m…something more. I’ve noticed it for a while but I don’t know…why do you look at me like that?”

Bucky just smiled, already knowing what you were talking about. “Because you are something more, doll. You’re more than something more to me.”

You searched his face for what felt like hours, trying to decipher his cryptic message until it finally clicked with you. His message hadn’t been cryptic at all. It had been staring at you, quite literally, for years. 

Bucky watched as the expressions changed on your face; trying to find his meaning, wondering if you’d found the right one, convincing yourself it wasn’t possible, coming back to your original conclusion, accepting it though not fully, hoping it was true, not wanting to embarrass yourself if you were wrong, being certain you were right, and then not, until finally you’d found the courage to ask him if you were. 

And he just smiled. Freely, and without hesitation, he answered. 

“I’m in love with you, Y/n. That’s why you’re more than something more to me.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You already had someone.” Bucky said, a little defeat in his voice. 

“Had being the key word.” 

He smiled and looked back at you. “I didn’t want to rush things. We…we both needed time.”

Unconsciously, your body moved closer to his touch as his hand traced down your arm before he held onto your hand. Fingers danced around each other before he finally pulled your hand close to his lips and kissed your knuckles, then your palm, and finally your inner wrist. 

Finally, your head touched his. Eyes closed, breaths taking in and let out in sync. 

“I am in love with you, Y/n. I have been for a long time and I don’t wanna rush this.”

You leaned up and looked at him. “Then we won’t. Like you said, we both needed time. And, Bucky?”

He looked at you, again. 

“You’re more than something more to me, too.”

Then he smiled, that genuine if slightly sassy grin. “I know, doll.”

[levanswrites]

underneath the tree

pairing: steve rogers x agent!reader

summary: Everything is where it should be: a giant pot of mulled wine simmering quietly on the stove, colorful bags of icing and sugary sprinkles strewn all over the cookie decorating station. Even an old-timey record player crackles softly in the corner, one you’d thrifted on a whim in hopes of teasing a certain someone about it.

Except that certain someone wasn’t… here. 

warnings: fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, first kiss, light angst

word count: 2.7k

a/n: hey friends, this one’s a holiday special w/ pure fluff (and a pinch of angst b/c who am i without it?) feedback is always welcome! thanks for reading and happy holidays 🎄✨

“Santa’s… Favorite… Ho.” 

The words glitter in bold, obnoxious cursive, smack dab across the chest of your favorite red-haired assassin. 

“Good one, Romanoff.”  You smirk, biting back a laugh as she levels you with a deadpan stare, betrayed by the faint twitch at the corner of her crimson lips.  

Your very first time hosting a Christmas Party. 

Or, as Nat lovingly dubbed it—a ’Derelict’s Christmas.’ 

It’s a tradition you’re determined to start this year, for anyone on the team without family during the holidays—a way to make sure no one spends this time of year alone.

And, naturally, another opportunity to humiliate your coworkers. 

The rules were simple: everyone had to show up in the ugliest, most eye-searing sweater they could find. No exceptions.

And I mean ugly, Nat. A basic red sweater is not ugly. 

Even Bucky’s adhered to your law, donning a laid-back penguin wearing sunglasses, sprawled beneath the words ‘Chill Vibes Only.’ A festive tinsel garland spirals around his left arm, which will undoubtedly be the subject of jokes he won’t live down until well after New Years.

Wait, does this make you the Winter Wonderland Soldier?

As you glance around your living room, soft, warm light dances off the mismatched decorations adorning the walls—the kind you’d spent all week setting up—and you can’t help but feel a distinct melancholic warmth reserved for this time of the year.

Everything is where it should be: a giant pot of mulled wine simmering quietly on the stove, colorful bags of icing and sugary sprinkles strewn all over the cookie decorating station. Even an old-timey record player crackles softly in the corner, one you’d thrifted on a whim in hopes of teasing a certain someone about it.

Except that certain someone wasn’t… here. 

Your eyes flick to the door for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes.

No luck. 

You try to tell yourself it’s just traffic, that he’ll walk through any second. But the party flows on, cruelly indifferent—drinks flowing, laughter bubbling—Sam’s already made his second sappy toast of the night and is well on his way to a third. With each passing minute, the excitement in your chest grows heavy, twisting into disappointment.

Sure, he’s probably got a million other things to do. Even on Christmas. 

But when you’d brought up your little soiree, he’d agreed with a gentle nod of his head, and smiled in that boyish way that made your heart flutter.

Sounds fun, I’ll be there.  

It’s not like him to just leave you hanging. But when there’s no work emergency and everyone else is here, it’s hard not to take it personally. 

Your mind feels exhausted, steaming like a train running low on fuel, huffing its way to its final station, desperate to come up with more excuses. You’ve run out of them about two drinks ago.

You’re about to prepare your third, slumped against the kitchen island with a cutting board under you, when a quiet voice cuts through your haze.

“Not feelin’ the holiday spirit?”

You start at the interruption, the lime in your hand slipping from your fingers and tumbling away, rolling off the cutting board with a soft thump.

“Jesus, Barnes, give a girl a warning.”

You abandon your knife with a quiet sigh, eyes following the trail of red and green tinsel up Bucky’s arm as he steps in closer.

Lips twitching in something like amusement, he leans casually against the counter, gaze flicking pointedly toward your apartment entrance before drifting back to you.

“Noticed you’ve been staring at that door all night.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. You force a roll of your eyes, dismissing his observation with a shrug. But your fingers hesitate over the cutting board, the lime mocking you from its spot against the cool backsplash. 

“I’m not—” You cut yourself off, the words tasting too defensive.  

A heavier sigh slips from you when you reach for your glass instead.

“It’s just not like him, you know?” You mutter, swirling the last sip in your glass before downing it. Your lips come up sticky-sweet from the rim when you mumble, more to yourself than him.

“I mean, sure, he’s busy, but…” You trail off, meeting Bucky’s gaze to find that the teasing glint was gone, replaced with something softer, unreadable. The shift unsettles you, and your stomach twists.

“What?” The word comes out sharper than you intended.

He tilts his head, as if weighing his words, and the silence grows heavy—a non-answer wrapped in a knowing look. Brows furrowed, you wait, trying to decipher his hesitation. 

It’s another long beat before he sighs, lifting himself off the counter, and taps his fingers absently against the edge. 

His eyes dart to the side, glancing briefly over the room. “He… didn’t want me to tell anyone.” 

Your fingers tighten instinctively around the stem of your glass, teeth scraping over the remnants of sugar sticking to your bottom lip. 

“About what?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, Steve’s…” His gaze flicks to yours, softening, “He’s probably over at New York-Presbyterian.”

Your stomach drops, fingers slipping around the glass as you reach for the countertop. The train jolts back to life, racing faster than ever, the wheels screeching as each thought barrels forward, colliding with the next in a blur of frantic speed.

The hospital?Why, was he hurt?What happened?How had you not heard?

“No, no, he’s not—” Bucky cuts in quickly, raising a hand to stave off your growing panic. The wince on his face softens into a small, apologetic laugh,

“He’s fine. Just…volunteering for the kids. Does it every year.”  

You blink, the rush of thoughts screeching to a sudden halt.

“He’s…”

It takes all of two seconds for the realization to register, your body moving before your mind can catch up. The glass is abandoned on the counter as you scramble for the nearest coat, not caring whose it is, and rush for the door.

The pediatric ward offers a welcome reprieve from the usual maze of sterile corridors—paper snowflakes and crayon drawings adorning the walls, giant inflatable snowmen standing guard at the entrances to patient rooms. A small Christmas tree, twinkling with homemade ornaments and tinsel, stands next to the nurse’s station. 

Your desperate steps falter when you spot him in the corner of the ward, sat cross-legged over a rug in a makeshift play area, surrounded by a small circle of children. The Captain America outfit stands out amongst the sterile blues and whites—and it’s not the usual tactical gear he wears on covert missions, muted tones and coarse to the touch. 

No, its the spandex version of his uniform, that ridiculously colorful suit he’d worn to punch Hitler on stage every night. Soft patches of red, white, and blue that fit snugly around his shoulders, but hang a little loose over the rest of his frame.

He’s reading from a tiny children’s book, splayed open in one hand, while the other steadies a little boy in a hospital gown perched on top of his shoulders. The boy’s eyes are wide, glued to the page as Steve gently rocks him side to side.

You hesitate, pulse quickening, letting his soft, steady voice wash over you for a moment—a rhythmic murmur that envelops the quiet corner of the ward. 

It’s not until he finishes the book that he realizes you’re standing there.

Soft blue eyes crinkle at the edges when he frowns, starting to uncross his legs.

"Hey, uh… guys, new mission,” He’s still a little unsure when he sets the book down, gaze still on you. “…whoever can help me clean up the blocks gets to pick the next game, okay?” He clears his throat, smiling back at the eager group as they scramble off to the toy bins in the corner. He gently lowers the boy from his shoulders, letting the little one rush off to join the others. 

You move forward, feet shuffling against the soft foam padding of the floor. As Steve meets you halfway, you clutch the sleeves of your sweater tightly, heart hammering.

“Hi.” He breathes out, surprise still evident in the small dip between his brows, though it gives way to a gentle smile. 

“Hey.” Your words come out choked, something unmistakably tightening in your chest. 

“How did you…” His eyes flit down to the loud pattern on your sweater, then behind you at the clock. His gaze lingers there for a moment, eyes fluttering shut in disbelief. 

“Shoot. I’m sorry, I had no idea it got this late. I was going to—”

“—Steve.” Your voice cracks, thick and watery—frustration, sadness, guilt, longing, all tangled with a deep, aching incredulity. 

And goddamn it, why was the tip of your nose prickling?

You take another step toward him, now close enough to notice the tiny details of his uniform—the delicate lines of stitching, the faded patch of white over his chest. And as your eyes trail over the frayed seams, you can’t help but lift a hand, the tip of your index tracing a gentle line against the end of a loose thread, pressing it down and watching it pop back up. It’s all you can do to keep from collapsing into his arms, or punching him square in the chest. 

“It’s been sitting in my closet too long,” he murmurs, the low timbre vibrating against your palm, “Figured I’d take it out for a spin.”

Your eyes snap up, and the air that escapes your nose is somewhere between a snort and a desperate cry because you know you’re fucked. 

Utterly ruined by this ridiculous, stupid, dumb man standing in front of you. 

And when he tucks his bottom lip under his teeth, trapping the soft pink flesh in quiet hesitation, the spring finally snaps. 

Brows furrowed, he's halfway into offering some kind of reassurance—maybe another damn apology—when you rise on your tiptoes, yanking him down by the loose collar of his uniform.

And then it’s nothing but the heady sensation of his lips flush against yours, a little stiff but warm and alive just the same. His broad hands find their way to the small of your back, the pressure against your lips growing firmer as he bends down, pulling you in closer. You’re gripping his uniform so tight your knuckles have turned white, but you refuse to let go even when he pulls back, his breath warm and steady against your skin. 

His gaze is soft, searching, and you become acutely aware of the hot sting rising behind your eyes, the bruising grip on his collar the only thing holding you together. You wonder if he feels it too, the weight of so much time lost and longing unspoken, rushing to fill the space between you. 

Then he smiles—a quiet, unguarded thing that tugs at the corners of his lips and lights up his eyes.

And just like that, the weight in your chest slips away as if it was never there.

His gaze flits down to your lips, eyelids fluttering tenderly as he starts to lean back in, only to be stopped short by a ripple of delighted gasps from about three feet below.

“Look, look, they’re kissing!”  

“Steve is that your girrrlfriend?"

A gaggle of children ambushes you two—a surprise strike from all sides with no escape route. Squeals of joy pierce the air as tiny hands grasp at Steve’s uniform, tugging at his sleeves, pulling at his boot. It's a full-on siege, and you’re caught squarely in the middle. Steve looks back at you, brows raised in defeat.

“Oh my god, she’s toootally his girlfriend!”

“Cap-tain America sitting on a tree,” A loud chorus of singing erupts. “K-I-S-S-I-N—“

“Okay, okay, guys–“ He’s got the biggest, dumbest grin on his face when he raises a hand to try and quiet the noise, the other still resting on your waist. 

He’s blushing something fierce, redder than a Christmas stocking, and hell, if your cheeks aren’t warming up too. 

The nurse on duty eventually settles down the noise, gently ushering the children out of the play area and leading them to their rooms. You watch warily as the kids shuffle out, stuffed animals raised in the air as they wave goodbye.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“No, we should’ve wrapped up a while ago.” Steve smiles sheepishly, his cheeks flushed as he ruffles the back of his neck. “It’s late.”

“Right.”

Silence stretches between you, deafeningly loud without all the tiny agents crowding your space. 

He steps forward, hand still curled around his nape, and you resist the urge to kiss him again. 

“Do you… wanna grab some hot chocolate?”

You sit idly in the waiting area, observing the ease on Steve’s face as he chats with the nursing staff, thanking them before heading back toward you with two plastic cups in hand.

The seat beside you creaks under his weight, and you go to cradle the warmth in both hands with a quiet smile. Your eyes drift over to the lights wrapped around the Christmas tree near the nurse’s station, shining brightly—and with it, the familiar knot tightening in your chest.

“Every year, huh?”

“Yeah,” He nods in your periphery, “The kids seem to like it.”

Your lips quirk up in a sideways smile, “Yeah, I bet.”

A beat, then: “Did Bucky tell you?”

You nod, and his smile widens, his gaze dropping to the floor as his leg bounces ever so slightly. The shiny red of his boots gleams against the linoleum, as he taps once, twice.

“I’m sorry I missed the party.” 

You track the rhythm of the tree lights as they blink—on, off, alternating between bulbs then flashing all at once—and he’s still apologizing. 

“I was looking forward to going.”

“Steve, it’s…” you sigh, brows furrowing at the absurdity of his apology, only for a new ridiculous thought to take its place. You blink, then, nose crinkling in amusement as you swivel around in your seat. 

“Wait, were you, planning on showing up in that?”

He laughs, the sound breaking out so warm and easy. “That bad, huh?”

You gaze incredulously for a long, deliberate beat.

“You know what? I’m actually glad you didn’t come tonight. I mean, for your sake.”

Quiet laughter bubbles up in your chest, a smile tugging at your lips as you turn your gaze back forward. But in the silence that follows, a thread of bitterness winds its way back through your thoughts.

"You know," you murmur, eyes drifting to the neatly stacked parcels beneath the tree, "you’re always helping out, doing things for everyone else." A warm, fuzzy feeling hums low in your stomach—though you're not entirely sure if it’s from all the cocktails you’ve had tonight.

You sigh, your head lolling onto one shoulder as you turn to meet his gaze. 

“…does Santa ever get anything for Captain America?”

He blinks, a quiet tilt of his head followed by a slow, knowing smile.

“Well,” the chair creaks again when he leans back, stretching out his legs with a satisfied breath. “He did this year.” 

At the puzzled furrow of your brow, he shrugs, eyes dropping down to the narrow strip of linoleum between you two.

Then, a gentle tap of his ridiculous, shiny boot against your foot.

When your gaze snaps back to his, he’s wearing that same boyish grin again, wide and stupid and far too charming for its own good.

You can’t decide if it makes you want to shove him, or punch him, or kiss him—or maybe do all three just to get it out of your system—because yeah, you’re completely done for.

Utterly ruined in ways you never saw coming, and it’s all his fault.

And if he leans in for another kiss, and you let him pull you in with a shaky breath and a smile that feels like surrender—

Well, that’ll have to be between you, him, and the giant inflatable snowman keeping guard just two feet away. 

(It’s not until you’ve both finished your hot chocolate, and shared just as many kisses as laughs, that you glance down at your phone to notice Sam’s text: 

bird boy 1 hour ago

yo di u take my fcking coat??)

[happy74827]

The Slowest Dance

[Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You helped him heal, so now he's teaching you how to let go

WC: 2309

Category: Slow-Burn, First-Kiss, Mentions of Past Events {Bucky taking the lead ✨😏}

This was 100% inspired by a random song I discovered 💀

『••✎••』

You helped him learn how to stand again. How to live again.

It started in fragments — little things, small moments that almost felt like accidents. The way he started drinking his coffee without flinching at the silence. The way he’d walk alongside you on the sidewalk and not scan every rooftop. The way he stopped apologizing when he smiled, as though joy was something he didn’t quite earn.

You didn’t push. You never did. You let Bucky come to you, step by step, at a rhythm entirely his own. And somehow, somewhere along that fragile timeline, he’d begun to reach for you — a quiet presence in the doorway, a hand at your back when the world got too loud, his voice saying your name like a prayer at midnight.

And still, it took nearly a year before you two even spoke about the word "together."

It was slow. God, it was so slow. But it wasn’t stagnant. No, it was warm, steady — like a pot of tea steeping on the stove, growing stronger the longer it was left alone.

He never rushed you. And you never rushed him.

Because you were just as terrified.

You’d never had anything like this before. Not even close. No relationships. No first kiss. No fumbling hands in the dark. Your life had been a quiet one, filled with books and daydreams and the kind of affection that lived solely in fiction. You weren’t broken, but you were untouched. New to it all. And until Bucky, you’d always thought maybe you’d just missed the window for something real.

But then he showed up. Healing and hurting. Trying. Learning. Soft with you in a way that no one else had ever been. And when he asked you out — really asked — it was the only yes you’ve ever felt in your bones.

That was three months ago. You’ve been dating ever since.

And still, no significant change.

Only his hands in yours. His arms around you. His smile across a candlelit dinner. And it was enough. More than enough, most nights. Until something inside you started wanting more.

And tonight… tonight, he feels different.

You felt it when you answered the door to find him already holding a grocery bag, his metal fingers tapping softly against the handles. He’d brought over ingredients for dinner — simple, homemade pasta. You cooked together, laughed through the sauce splatters and garlic burns, and now…

Now, you’re standing at the kitchen sink, sleeves rolled up, warm water running over your wrists as you scrub the last of the dishes.

You don’t hear him move behind you.

You just feel a shift in the air, like gravity tilting ever so slightly toward something inevitable. The sound of his boots softly stopping a few feet behind you.

Then—hands. Gentle, careful, but deliberate.

One arm wraps around your waist, the other lifts your elbow. You squeak, caught off guard, but before you can spin, he does it for you.

His strength is effortless. With one smooth twist of your body, he lifts you onto the edge of the counter like you weigh nothing at all. Warm hands on your thighs, cool metal bracing your hip.

And then he slides in.

Not touching you anywhere he shouldn’t, not forcing a thing. But he's there, between your legs, close and watching you in that way only he can. Like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this earth.

"Buck?" you whisper.

He says nothing at first. Just looks at you — really looks at you — and you realize this is it.

His eyes soften.

"I’m ready," he says, voice low. Rough like smoke, tender like velvet. "If you are."

Your heart is pounding so hard it echoes in your ears.

You nod, unsure, your breath caught in your chest. "I— I think I am."

“You sure?” he asks, tilting his head. “Because once we start, I don’t want you second-guessing. I want this to feel right. For you.”

He’s so close now. His thumbs rest just above your knees. His dog tags peek out from beneath his shirt. You’ve never seen his face like this — not just open, but certain.

"I want this," you say, honestly. Your voice shakes. "I want you. I just never…"

He leans in. Not to kiss. Not yet.

Just enough to ghost his lips near the curve of your neck. Close enough to make your whole body shiver.

"I know," he whispers. His stubble grazes the line of your jaw. "I know."

Your breath hitches. It’s not fear that makes you freeze — not anymore. It’s the weight of this moment. The fact that you’ve imagined it a thousand different ways and still… none of them prepared you for this.

The way he holds you steady, even when your hands start to tremble. The way your whole body pulls tight like a wire at the quiet promise in his voice.

"I just don’t know how," you say suddenly, breathless and vulnerable. It slips out before you can catch it. "I mean, I’ve never… I don’t even know where to put my hands, or how to tilt, or if I’m supposed to—"

"Hey," Bucky murmurs, cutting in before your spiral can finish. His metal fingers come up, tucking gently beneath your chin. His touch is impossibly soft. "That’s okay."

You meet his eyes, wide and uncertain, and he smiles. Not teasing. Not amused. Just kind.

"You know how I said it’s like a dance?" he asks.

You nod, lips slightly parted, trying to breathe through the storm in your chest.

"Well… it kinda is. There’s a rhythm to it. A give and take. Sometimes you lead, sometimes you follow. But either way, you’re not doing it alone."

He brushes a thumb along your cheekbone, and you lean into it before you even realize.

"You don’t have to know how," he says softly. "You just have to let go."

Let go.

God, if only it were that simple.

"But what if I mess it up?" you ask, voice small.

His smile deepens — that gentle crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

"Then we laugh about it," he says. "And do it again. As many times as it takes."

You breathe out, the smallest huff of a laugh escaping through your nerves.

And then he leans in again — not to kiss, not quite yet. His lips find your neck, a whisper of a touch, softer than a sigh. His breath trails down the hollow of your throat, his nose nuzzling gently against your skin like he’s grounding himself in you.

"Just follow my lead," he murmurs, and his voice is lower now, wrapped in heat. "Like a slow dance."

Your hands, still unsure, find the hem of his shirt. Fingers twist into the cotton, anchoring yourself to him as his lips slowly work their way up your jawline, the curve of your cheek, your temple.

He’s patient.

He’s so patient.

And when his mouth finally brushes yours, it’s not a collision.

It’s a question.

You answer it the only way you know how: by leaning in.

It’s awkward at first. A little stiff. You’re trying too hard, your lips too tense. But Bucky’s hands never leave you. One cradles the back of your head. The other stays steady on your waist. He doesn’t deepen it right away. He lets it be clumsy. Lets it be yours.

"Easy," he whispers, pulling back just enough to breathe you in. "Don’t think so much. Feel it."

He kisses you again, slower this time. His mouth moves with yours, coaxing. You try to mimic the way he tilts, the way he lingers a little longer than you’d expect. You exhale shakily through your nose, and when your lips part for him, his tongue barely grazes yours.

Your whole body melts.

Your fingers tighten in his shirt. Your knees fall open just slightly. And something warm and electric flickers in your chest.

He deepens the kiss — not demanding, but inviting — and it’s like your heart is on fire. Everything in you lights up, nerve endings tingling, lungs gasping for air you didn’t realize you were losing. It takes a minute, but slowly, your hands find his shoulders. And then they slide up his neck, the nape of his hair, his scalp, until your fingers tangle in his messy strands.

He makes a noise—not a moan, not quite a groan, but something caught in the middle. His grip tightens at your hip, and when his teeth scrape gently at your bottom lip, it pulls a whimper from your throat.

It shocks you.

Not the noise, but the feeling that follows — the heat that rushes through your body, pooling deep between your legs. Your knees press together automatically, thighs clenching as your hips start to rock.

You want. God, you want.

And the second you realize, the moment you feel it, everything changes.

"Buck—"

Your words catch, lost beneath his mouth. You don't even know what you want to say. What words would even describe the sensation, the feeling, the overwhelming, burning desire that starts in your toes and travels up.

"Bucky," you try again, and this time, his hands move.

They slip around to the backs of your thighs. Metal and skin, both gripping, both lifting, as he slides you off the counter. He holds you easily — effortlessly, like he was made for this — and then his arms are wrapping around you, caging you in, and when his back hits the fridge, the cool metal is nothing compared to the heat of his body against yours.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to look at you. To make sure you're still okay.

And when you are — when your lips find his again, a little more confident, a little more sure — that's when his fingers curl into your hair. That's when his mouth opens against yours, his tongue dipping in to taste you, to tease you, to make you whimper and squirm against him.

You've never felt like this before.

Never in your life. Not once.

It's all-consuming. Like a wildfire. Like a star collapsing. Everything in you is burning and yearning and needing and wanting, and it's almost too much, almost more than you can stand, until his hands leave your hair.

Until he cups your face instead. Until he pulls back, just an inch, just enough to let you breathe.

"You alright?"

The words are husky and heavy. The sound of his voice makes you shudder, and suddenly, it's not his hands or his body or his lips that make your skin flush — it's the way he's looking at you. The way he's always looked at you.

Safe. Wanted.

Like you're the one thing he can't live without.

You're not scared. Not anymore. But that doesn't mean it's easy.

"You’re… a really good kisser," you whisper, and even saying it is enough to make you blush.

Bucky grins — slow and lopsided and so damn handsome it makes your heart stutter.

"Well, when you get to be a hundred years old, you have a lot of time to practice."

"I hope you haven't been practicing," you say, without thinking.

Bucky chuckles.

"Oh, doll," he murmurs, leaning in to brush his lips across yours. "In my mind, I've been practicing with you for years."

And just like that, the world tilts again.

Not from the heat of his mouth or the way his body holds yours so perfectly, but from the truth in his voice. The way he says it like it's the most natural thing, like it's been written into his bones from the start. Like every lonely night, every haunted dream, every quiet morning he ever endured before you was just rehearsal.

You press your forehead to his, and you’re still breathless, still trembling, but it's not fear that holds you anymore.

It’s wonder.

“You really mean that?” you whisper.

His metal hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. His blue eyes search yours — unguarded, open.

"Every word."

You knew then, deep in the marrow of your bones, you’d never forget this moment.

Not because of the kiss, though God, you’d never forget that either, but because of the way he looked at you when he said it.

Like there was no one else in the world.

Like there never had been.

Your fingers relaxed in his hair, your body still tucked so tightly against his, and for the first time in your life, it didn’t matter that you didn’t have a map for any of this.

You didn’t need one. You had him.

And maybe that was the point — maybe love wasn’t something you learned ahead of time, rehearsed behind closed doors, mastered before anyone could see you stumble.

Maybe it was something you built together, step by awkward step, just like a dance.

The music didn’t matter. The rhythm didn’t matter. Only the hands holding yours. Only the arms that caught you when you missed a beat. Only the voice, warm and steady, reminding you through every slip and tremble—

"You don’t have to know how. You just have to let go."

And so you did. You let go.

And when he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper — you kissed him back.

Not perfectly. Not expertly. But fully.

Because this time, you weren’t thinking.

You were feeling. You were falling. You were his.

And somewhere — between the warmth of his lips, the strength of his hands, and the quiet rasp of your name from his mouth — you knew, without a doubt, that you’d never been more alive.

You helped him learn how to stand again. And now, he was showing you how to fall.

[robertdowneyjjr]

bucky’s favorite way of thanking tony for literally anything is kissing him on his cheeks.

a little tune up for his arm? he kisses tony’s cheek when they’re done. tony pours an extra cup of coffee just for bucky? a little peck, right there on tony’s cheek. a villain tries to sneak up behind bucky and tony flies in and repulsor blasts them away? a loud smooch right on iron man’s faceplate where tony’s cheek rests just underneath. they get home from their first date and are both reluctant to say goodnight? a shy, gentle press of bucky’s lips to tony’s cheek, a touch closer to the corner of his mouth than usual.

and every time, every single time, tony’s cheeks heat up from the sheer pleasure of such a simple touch. bucky feels the blush under his lips and smiles against tony’s skin, completely delighted he gets this reaction out of him.

[sparklefics]

Abnormal heart rate

Bucky & F!reader

WC: 400 ish

Warnings: first date nerves 😂 other than that it’s just marshmallow fluff

A/n: inspired by a tweet I can’t find now 😫 but it’s cute and fluffy and enjoy 😘

[Masterlist]

It was your first date with Bucky Barnes. By the time Bucky gathered up the courage to ask you on a date you two already knew each other pretty well. So there was no reason to be nervous— and you weren’t.

You were excited but not nervous, you liked him and he liked you. What was there to be nervous about?

When he picked you up, he brought flowers which you appreciated the attention to detail because of course he bought your favorites. He also surprised you by picking you up in his bike, which you had been dying to ride.

He confessed that he bought you a special helmet just for you, he had spare ones but he wanted you to have one for, hopefully, any future rides.

The ride was thrilling to say the least, and dinner went even better. The food was excellent but what really made the night was being there with Bucky.

He was a mumbling mess, cheeks were flushed all night. But you could tell that beyond his nervous energy he was enjoying his time with you, it was like he couldn’t believe that you said yes to a date with him.

When you’re getting ready to leave, Bucky grabs your helmet to help you put it on before he pulls his on.

“Up.” He whispers and when you look up his eyes are the shiniest most perfect hue of sky blue. You smile at him and he blushes again and crinkles his nose as he smiles back at you.

You press your palms up his chest, sliding along his neck and pull him down to press your lips to his. The kiss is soft, gentle and measured, like you’ve done this a million times already.

Beep beep beep

You pull away when you hear Bucky’s watch beep incessantly. You manage to catch a glimpse at his smartwatch and it reads ‘Abnormal heart rate detected’.

“You okay, Bucky?”

Stupid technology! Bucky thought to himself.

“I’m okay, baby. It’s just my old heart…it’s outta practice.”

And now it’s your turn to overheat as you realize what he called you. He never called you anything besides your name or doll. And—

Beep beep beep

Now it’s your watch going off. ‘Abnormal heart rate detected’.

“Okay watches are definitely coming off before sex!” You exclaim and Bucky just about died laughing.

[samazing0831]

The Only One I Want - Bucky Barnes x Reader

1.2k words

You thought helping Bucky navigate the world of dating apps would be a fun way to spend the evening - until it turned into slow, aching torture. Watching the man you love swipe through profiles of people who aren't you? That was bad enough. But when teasing turns to tension and quiet confessions finally bubble to the surface, you realize Bucky may not be as clueless - or as unavailable - as you thought. A heart-on-the-sleeves friends-to-lovers moment filled with longing, vulnerability, and one hell of a first kiss.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Fluff, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers

Bucky Barnes was sitting on your couch like the whole world rested in the palm of his hand. Or rather - your phone did. Same difference. His vibranium fingers hovered over the screen like it might explode, brows furrowed in deep, surgical concentration.

"Alright," he muttered, squinting. "So... I just swipe right if I like 'em? Left if I don't?"

You nodded from your spot beside him, doing everything in your power not to let your feelings twist this moment into something more painful than it already was. You weren't sure how this had become your evening - watching the guy you liked, really liked, comb through dating profiles like he was flipping through a menu - but here you were.

He tapped on a profile, reading aloud. "'Live, Laugh, Love, and if you don't have a boat, don't even bother.'"

His face twisted in confusion. "What - why is a boat a requirement?" He swiped aggressively, muttering something about people being ridiculous.

Another swipe. "'Fluent in sarcasm, tequila, and bad decisions.'" Bucky let out a half-laugh, glancing sideways at you. "Yeah, that's a no. Do people actually think that's a selling point? Bad decisions?"

His smirk was playful, but you saw the hesitation behind it. The self-doubt he tried so hard to keep buired.

Swipe.

"'Looking for someone who can match my energy.'" He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Doll, if they had my energy, they'd have a metal arm and ninety years' worth of trauma. I don't think that's what she means."

Your lips twitched despite yourself, trying to hold back the laugh bubbling in your chest. Watching him struggle with this app was equal parts hilarious and devastating. Hilarious because he clearly hated it. Devastating because every swipe reminded you he was searching for someone - and it wasn't you.

He glanced at you again. "Am I being too picky?"

His eyes held yours, like he actually cared what you thought. Like your opinion mattered more than anyone else's.

You shifted on the couch, trying to focus your brain and not your heartbeat. "Well," you said gently, "dating apps are hard. A lot of people are just looking for quick hookups, or... something temporary. I've never had much luck with them."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?" He tilted his head, curiosity lighting up his features. "Didn't take you for the dating app type."

"There's no judgment in his voice," you told yourself. But something about the way he said it makes your heart flip.

"No luck, huh?" he went on, leaning back with a teasing grin. "Guess that means no charming cowboy pictures or picture-perfect guys have swept you off your feet yet?"

You smiled awkwardly, shaking your head. "Not even close."

He sighed, staring back at the phone. "Y'know, maybe this whole thing's a waste of time. Feels like everyone on here wants easy. And easy's never really been my thing."

You looked at him, his profile lit by the dim glow of your lamp. "What about you?" he asked, turning back to you. "What is it you're lookin' for?"

Your throat tightened. "Well... I guess someone old-fashioned. Someone who isn't afraid to show me they want me. Someone vulnerable, someone with a soft side. The kind of guy who'd sweep me off my feet and treat me like I'm the only girl in the world."

Bucky went still. Not the combat-ready kind of still - this was something quieter. Thoughtful. His hand gripped your phone a little tighter, but his eyes never left your face.

"That's... a rare thing to find these days," he said softly.

His knee brushed yours, but he didn't pull away. If anything, he leaned in slightly, something flickering behind those steel-blue eyes.

"Someone old-fashioned, huh?" he said. "The kind of guy who pulls out chairs and gives up his jacket when you're cold?"

There was a half-smile on his face, but his eyes stayed serious. "You ever think maybe you've been lookin' in the wrong places?"

Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist in a way you couldn't ignore anymore. The tension between you wasn't subtle. Not anymore.

You let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah, tell me about it... Sometimes it feels like guys don't even notice me. Like they wouldn't give me a second glance, or even tell me the time of day."

His smile dropped.

He sat forward slightly, setting the phone aside like it didn't matter anymore. His hand ran through his hair, and when he looked back at you, something in his expression had shifted.

"You really think that?" he asked, voice low. Quiet but intense.

"Doll... if some guy isn't givin' you the time of day, it's 'cause he's blind. Or stupid. Or both."

You blinked.

"Hell," he continued, "maybe he's just scared. Maybe he's been sittin' next to you this whole time, tryin' to work up the guts to tell you that he'd give you more than just the time of day - he'd give you whatever you wanted. If you'd just look at him the way he looks at you."

The world stilled.

Bucky Barnes just admitted it - admitted something that sounded an awful lot like he wanted you.

You swallowed hard, heart hammering.

"How do you know I'm not looking at him the same way?" you asked quietly.

His eyes widened just slightly. The smallest flicker of disbelief crossed his face as he processed what you said.

"Am I just too damn stubborn to notice?" he whispered, voice hoarse.

He let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair again. "You're tellin' me I've been makin' a fool of myself with these stupid dating apps, when the person I shoulda been payin' attention to was right next to me?"

You didn't speak, you didn't have to.

He looked at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered. "Tell me if I'm wrong, doll. If I'm readin' this all wrong, say the word, and I'll shut up right know."

You reached out, fingers wrapping around his. Steady. Certain.

"Bucky," you said, voice barely above a whisper, "I've been single since I met you. Don't you think that's a sign of something?"

He sucked in a breath like you'd knocked the air right out of his lungs.

"You mean... all this time-?"

You nodded, inching a little closer.

"You really mean that?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly under the weight of it all. "Because, doll, if there's even a chance you feel the way I do -"

You didn't let him finish.

You reached for his hand - his warm, human one - and squeezed it tight.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," you whispered, leaning in closer, heart pounding.

His expression softened in an instant, the vulnerability in his eyes making your chest ache. "You got nothin' to be sorry for, doll," he murmured.

He laced his fingers with yours, lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. "If anything, I should be apologizin'. For wastin' time swiping' left and right, when the only person I wanted was right here."

He reached up, his hand gentle against his cheek, lingering there as he looked into your eyes.

"So..." he said, voice low, "what happens now?"

You didn't answer with words.

You leaned forward, closing the distance, and pressed your lips to his.

And kissing Bucky Barnes? It was like breathing - like something you were always meant to do.

[thatmexisaurusrex]

A Meeting in the Bayou

Hey, people! This is for the @sambuckyhalloweenbingo for the prompt "Transformation". Enjoy! 🥰

A Meeting in the Bayou

| Pairing: SamBucky | Rated: T | WC: 1.7K |

Summary: Sam Wilson gets dared by his friends to hang out in the woods for ten minutes. There, he meets a mysterious young man.

Excerpt:

“Dare, huh?” asked Misty as she looked around for inspiration, taking a sip of her solo cup, “What about… the woods?” “The woods?” asked Sam, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah! The woods,” said Colleen, pointing her solo cup to the woods, “Ten minutes in the bayou, Sam.” “Sounds like the start of a horror film,” said Nat, shaking her head, “You can’t ask him to just walk into the woods.” “Hey. No. Dare is a dare. It’s not like I don’t know the woods next to my own house. It’s not even dark yet,” said Sam. There wasn’t really a fence between Sam’s backyard and the woods that backed up to his home. He spent most of his childhood exploring those woods with his siblings. He would be okay at the edge of the woods for ten minutes in broad daylight. “Better save me some of those cupcakes for when I return,” said Sam as he began walking to the tree line. “Will do!” yelled Misty as Sam made it into the woods.

READ THE REST ON AO3!

[silverraes]

the emotional rollercoaster I go through when I see someone on my team pick Star-Lord or Bucky bc I know damn well they're going to be either the most helpful, skilled teammate you've ever seen or a toxic pos who goes 0-5, cries for heals every 5 seconds and starts spamming slurs in chat on defeat

[normaltothemax]

"You smell like a dumpster." [bucky @ clint. you dared me]

He glares, but seeing as he’s also currently picking bits of garbage out of his hair, it’s not as effective as it could have been. “Gee, thanks. I hadn’t noticed.” The garbage is promptly thrown at Bucky's face (and Clint never misses) because screw him. Clint’s very clearly had a shit day—he’s got two black eyes, a busted lip, his head is bleeding, his body’s beat to hell, probably sporting a few cracked ribs, and he’s pretty sure he’s got garbage in his ass crack—and Barnes suddenly has jokes? Has decided to be funny? Nah, no thank you, Clint does not need the sass, today. All he wants is to fix his bow, take a nap, and have a long, hot shower, not necessarily in that order. “Was there an actual reason you came here, or was it just to make fun of me?”

@dramatisperscnae (x)

[kaiwithikonic]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America (Movies) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Other Avengers Additional Tags: First Kiss, First Love, I Love You, Sleepy Kisses, Sleepy Bucky Barnes, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Is a Mess, Steve Rogers is Bad at Feelings, Bucky Barnes is a Mess, Cute Ending, Drabble Summary:

Like most movie nights, Bucky and Steve were sitting so close that their thighs and arms were touching, despite the fact that there was plenty of space to sit.

[autumnrory]

i really think stucky fandom is the only one i've been in where making another relationship pretty much just as significant as theirs in fanfiction is the norm and obvs it used to not bother me but now it makes me crazy

like. i'm used to another pairing being together but then they break up and the main one gets together and you're like okay cool but stucky writers just muddy the waters and i'm like you know you can ignore them being with other people right this is fanfic you can do whatever you want you don't have to prop up this relationship to prove you're not misogynistic or whatever you can still write stucky exactly as they are without all this extra nonsense

[daddytonysbaby]

Teach Me (77484 words) by stucktogether Chapters: 7/? Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America (Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Minor or Background Relationship(s) Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Natasha Romanov (Marvel) Additional Tags: Minor Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Minor Maria Hill/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Mentioned Sam Wilson, First Time, Bi-Curiosity, Panic Attacks, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, Beefy Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Confused Steve Rogers, Alternate Universe - College/University, Hand Jobs, Locker Room, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Semi-Public Sex, Charming Bucky Barnes, First Time Blow Jobs, Frottage, First Kiss, Friends With Benefits, Anxiety, POV Steve Rogers, Masturbation, Slight Voyeurism, america's ass, Horny Steve Rogers, Horny Bucky Barnes, Steve is a SLUT for Bucky, Anal Fingering, Deepthroating, Drinking, Rimming, Vibrators, Steve Rogers Has a Crush, Friends with Benefits Who Cuddle Too Much, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault Summary:

“You know what I think, Rogers?” Bucky is whispering right in his ear, low and filthy and smug.

He can’t get his mouth to close in order to form words, so he just shakes his head.

“I think you might be a little into guys.”

Steve would argue, but he’s currently leaking a shocking amount of precome onto another man’s fist, so…

  Fair assessment, I guess.

[alienoresimagines]

ALIIIIII, they are all so exciting 👀👀👀. Could you tell us a bit about "Have a break, have a threesome"? 😊

Thank you, Ame 🥹❤️

It's about time I answer your, @coastiewife465 and the *reads scribbled writing on hand* three anons that are definitely not Ginia

So this WIP started out as me giving Ginia a random line I had written from a Clegan WIP that goes like this "Like Benny sees him in a way he isn’t used to by anyone who isn’t Bucky." and since I didn't give any context, @amiserableseriesofevents thought I was writing a Benny x Buck piece. As it often happens, we joked around about Benny and Brady (established relationship) giving Gale a handjob to help him relax since he works himself to the bone to help his boys in the Stalag, just friends helping friends, y'know

But... well, me and Ginia now have 800+ messages related to that WIP which has turned into a 23 chapters outline of basically, Benny and Brady taking care of Gale while they wait for Bucky to arrive in the Stalag and then for him to be transferred to their compound. Gale and Bucky aren't in a relationship yet, they're pining really hard but lots of things come between them, especially during the Stalag where Bucky has a Lot of Feelings about Gale and Benny and Brady being so close, on top of his general misery at being stuck in Sagan.

Gale and Benny and Brady do fall in a relationship (after a lot of talking because in Gale's logic, giving hj and bj is just friends behavior right?), Gale will get his world turned upside down multiple times and of course, John will reconcile with all of them, repair his relationships with all of them, fall in love with Brady and Benny too, and confess to Gale and they will have a Fantastic Foursome (and a fantastic polyamory relationship), leaving in their Farmhouse with Meatball 🥹

Buck will be hurt (a lot) but there will be a lot of comfort and protective boyfriends too, and he'll have the time of his life with a nice little bit of DP. Also he'll cry, but he'll feel really good, don't worry

I'm really excited about this WIP, and explore these characters and their different dynamics with each other 🥹❤️

And yeah, Gale's the Stalag princess in this, I don't make the rules

I just think Benny x Brady x Buck x Bucky is really neat. Me and Ginia have grown really attached 😩❤️

If you have any questions about this I'd love to talk about it 🫶🏻

[rebelmeg]

Chapters: 5/13 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis, Jane Foster & Darcy Lewis, Jane Foster/Thor, James "Bucky" Barnes & Clint Barton Characters: Darcy Lewis, James "Bucky" Barnes, Jane Foster (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), Clint Barton Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Baker Bucky Barnes, Happy Eater Darcy, Jane is a grimy science gremlin, Thor is her secretly smart himbo boyfriend, Fluff and Humor, Dessert & Sweets, you might say there is..., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, I'll show myself out, First Dates, First Kiss, Dating, Jane Foster & Darcy Lewis Friendship, Human Disaster Clint Barton, No plot just fluff, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, but they are all fluffy, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Background Jane/Thor, as backgroud as they can be when they are actively snogging onscreen at least once, Bucky Barnes & Clint Barton Friendship, Feelings Realization, yes i made myself hungry as i wrote this, i've been craving cake all year because of this fic, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Flirting Summary:

Bucky runs a bakery and tries to keep his disaster best friend from eating him out of business. Darcy loves baked goods and tries to keep her science gremlin bestie out of shenanigans. It's a match made in heaven, so just add a dash of fluff and a dollop of humor, mix until the plot is thin on the ground, and bake until cute. Serve with a generous portion of frosting, and don't forget to kiss the cook on your way out.

Chapter 5: Kiss the Cook 

Summary: The first date is a great success, and Bucky has an extra surprise for  Darcy back at the bakery.

Notes: This chapter is for my @buckybarnesbingo​ square K2 - Bucky with the Good Hair, Warm & Fluffy bingo square O5 - made you something, and @lyricalescape​ square G5 - "It's like a force of nature. No stopping now."

And the moodboard is for my BBB square U4 – First Kiss!

[daydreamerdrew]

New Avengers: The Reunion (2009) #1

[samazing0831]

Shelter Me from the Storm - Bucky Barnes x Reader SMUT, MDNI

SMUT, MDNI

I guess I'm just a slut for Bucky, lol. This is the 8th one-shot I've written (and now over half of them will be smut... oops). Enjoy you freaks!

WARNING - dirty talk, SMUT to the nth degree, a little degradation

1.8k words

-

When a sudden storm forces you and Bucky to take shelter in a remote cabin, the power outage, dwindling fire, and close quarters leaves nowhere to hide - especially not from each other. What starts as reluctant warmth under the same blanket quickly spirals into something deeper, something neither of you can ignore. And when old feelings surface in the flicker of candlelight and the hush of rain, it's clear: the storm outside isn't the only one you're weathering.

The storm outside raged on, wind howling against the windows as sheets of rain poured down in relentless waves. The power had gone out over an hour ago, leaving the tiny cabin cloaked in darkness except for the flickering glow of a few scattered candles. The only source of warmth? A dwindling fire in the old brick fireplace - and each other.

You glanced over at Bucky, who was leaning against the armrest of the worn-out couch, staring into the flames. His metal fingers tapped absentmindedly against his knee, the only outward sign of his discomfort. It wasn't the storm that bothered him. It was the situation. The way you'd been forced to take shelter here, stranded until the roads cleared. The way you were currently wrapped in the same thick blanket because, of course, there was only one.

"You're shivering," he muttered, not looking at you.

"I'm fine.

He huffed, clearly not buying it. Before you could protest, he shifted closer, tugging you into his side. The warmth was immediate, but so was the tension. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your body responded to being this close to him.

"Just until the storm lets up," he added, his voice low - like he was reminding himself more than you.

"Right. Just until the storm lets up," you echoed, knowing full well that the storm outside wasn't the only one you had to deal with.

The cabin creaked under the wind's weight, branches scratching at the windows like fingers trying to get in. You adjusted beneath the blanket, trying not to focus on how perfectly your body molded to Bucky's side. But every little movement seemed to magnify - every accidental brush of his hand, every shift of his thigh against yours.

"So... this wasn't exactly how I pictured my night going," you muttered, trying to lighten the air.

Bucky let out a low chuckle. "Yeah? What'd you have planned? Glass of wine? Cozy evening alone?"

"Something like that. Definitely didn't involve getting stranded in a cabin with you."

He smirked, finally glancing your way. "Wow. I'm offended."

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. "You know what I mean."

His expression softened just a bit. "Yeah. I do." A pause. "You warm enough?"

The question was innocent - but it still sent a jolt down your spine. Your answer caught in your throat.

"Not really."

Before the words even settled in the air, Bucky was moving again - pulling you in closer, practically tucking you into his side now. The blanket shifted with the motion, your bodies now flush, your breath catching as his arm curled firmly around you.

"This okay?" he asked, voice low and earnest.

"Yeah," you murmured, your cheek resting on his shoulder.

The silence returned, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was charged.

"You trust me?" he asked after a moment.

You lifted your head just enough to look at him. "Yeah, Bucky. I do."

He nodded slowly. "Good."

His fingers brushed along your side, featherlight. He shifted again, pulling you more fully into his lap, and you went willingly - overwhelmed by the sense of safety, of something unspoken finally rising to the surface.

He smelled like pine and smoke, like warmth and comfort. The roughness of his beard scratched lightly against your temple. The pressure of his thighs beneath you, the coolness of his metal hand steady on your hip - it was all too much and not enough at the same time.

You gasped softly, the sensation shorting something inside you.

Bucky's body stiffened at the sound, his hold faltering as if he wasn't sure he'd heard right. "You okay?" he asked, voice thick now, eyes searching yours.

"I'm fine," you breathed, though nothing about you felt steady. "You're just... warm."

He let out a quiet laugh. "That's the blanket."

You looked up at him. "No. It's you."

His smile faded slowly, replaced by something more serious. "Can I tell you something?"

You nodded.

"I like this," he admitted. "Being here. With you. I don't get this a lot." His hand twitched slightly where it rested on your side. "I didn't think I'd ever want it again. But I do. With you."

You reached for his metal hand, lacing your fingers with his.

"You have it now," you whispered. "If you want it."

His eyes darkened with something deeper. Something that had nothing to do with survival and everything to do with want.

"I don't want to push you anywhere you don't want to go," he murmured, hesitation bleeding into every word.

You searched his gaze, your breath shallow, your lips barely a whisper away from his.

"Bucky," you said steadily. "You're not pushing me. I'm right here." And you were.

He held your gaze, something unraveling in his expression. A softness. A spark.

"I've been right here," you whispered. "Waiting."

And then, you kissed him.

Not out of pity or comfort. But because the pull between you had become too much to resist. Because everything you'd pushed down for months had come boiling up in the quiet of a candlelit cabin and a storm that wouldn't let up.

For a second, he didn't move. And then, he kissed you back - slow at first, cautious, reverent. Then deeper, stronger, as if to say everything he couldn't find the words for.

When you shifted slightly in his lap, you felt him underneath you - tense, solid, responding to every movement. Your body was on fire, nerves crackling beneath your skin like the lightning in the sky outside.

His hands gripped your waist with purpose now. He groaned softly against your mouth, pulling you tighter, and you knew - this was the point of no return.

You straddled him fully now, your thighs snug around his waist, your core grinding down against the thick bulge straining behind his jeans. The pressure made you gasp - he felt huge. How the hell had he been hiding this? A rush of heat spread through you, your panties already soaked from the friction alone.

Bucky's lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your head spin, like he couldn't get enough of you, like breathing was secondary to touching you.

One hand gripped your waist while the other fumbled with the button on your jeans, his fingers trembling - not from nerves, but from restraint.

"I promise - fuck," he groaned, dragging the zipper down. "I promise I'll take my time next time, sweetheart. I'll treat you right, slow you down, make you fall apart proper." His voiced was strained, nearly begging. "But right now? I need you. So bad, mkay?"

You nodded, unable to speak, eyes glassy and wide. Maybe it was too early to call it cock-drunk - but with how you were already melting for him, maybe it wasn't.

Your hands roamed his chest blindly, feeling the thick lines of muscle beneath his thermal. You clung to his shoulders as he tugged your jeans down to your knees, rough with need but careful not to hurt you.

He groaned as his fingers grazed your panties, now clinging to you like a second skin. "Goddamn, look at you," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "Dripping, and I haven't even touched you properly yet."

His voice dropped lower, thick with arousal. "You gonna take my cock like a good girl, princess?"

You nodded fast, almost desperately, hands sliding up to clutch the back of his neck as you rocked against him. "Please," you whispered, breath hot against his cheek.

Bucky hissed through his teeth, one hand slipping down to push your panties aside. "Hold tight, baby," he rasped. "Gotta get you ready - can't just shove this into you, tempting as that sounds."

With a flick of his wrist, he reached into his boxers, finally freeing himself - and your eyes widened at the sight of him.

Bucky spit into his hand, slicking himself with practiced urgency before guiding you down onto him. You didn't wait - you couldn't. The need had taken over, fierce and aching.

As you sank down, inch by inch, a breathy moan escaped your lips. The stretch burned in the best way, and by the time you were fully seated on him, your thighs trembled from the intensity.

"Fuck, Barnes," you gasped, voice caught between awe and desperation. "You feel so good."

His hands gripped your waist, the pressure firm - almost bruising - as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His jaw was tight, his eyes screwed shut, chest rising with ragged breaths. He was holding back - but just barely.

Bucky's restraint snaps.

With a low groan, he thrusts up into you, his grip tightening on your hips as he takes control, driving deeper with each movement. The sound of skin meeting skin echoes faintly through the dim room, the storm outside long forgotten.

"I'm -" your voice breaks on a moan, "I'm close, Bucky."

His eyes fly open, dark and desperate. "Me too, doll. Where do you - can I finish?"

You don't even hesitate. "Inside," you breathe.

That's all it takes.

His pace falters as he buries himself in you one final time, groaning your name like a prayer as he lets go. You collapse onto his chest, orgasm rippling through you, spent and trembling. His cock still nestled deep inside you, both of you caught in the aftershocks of something that felt like more than just need.

Your cheek rests against the warm, sweat-slick skin of Bucky's chest, the sound of his heartbeat pounding against your ear. It's erratic at first - still racing from everything you've just shared - but slowly, it starts to settle.

His arms wind around you, holding you close like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go. One hand finds the small of your back, the other lazily tracing lines along your spine. It's quiet for a moment, the kind of quiet that feels safe, sacred.

Bucky shifts just slightly beneath you, careful not to move too much. "You okay?" he murmurs, voice low and rough against your temple.

You hum softly in response, nodding where your head rests against him. "More than okay."

He chuckles, and the vibration of it rumbles through his chest. "Good. 'Cause I didn't exactly plan to lose my mind over you like that."

You pull back just far enough to look at him, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. "You didn't?"

He gives you a lopsided grin, one hand rising to tuck a loose piece of your hair behind your ear. "I planned on being a gentleman. Blanket fort, a mug of tea, maybe some intense brooding by the fireplace. But then you went and climbed on top of me and, well..."

"Well?" you tease.

He kisses your forehead, a soft press of lips that makes your chest ache in the best way. "Well, now I don't think I'll ever get enough of you."

You smile, burying your face back into the crook of his neck. Outside, the storm begins to calm, the rain shifting from a downpour to a soft patter against the cabin roof. Inside, there's only warmth - your skin against his, your breaths syncing, and the quiet promise of something that won't disappear when the sun comes up.

Not just a storm.

Not just a night.

Maybe something more.