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knowledgeableknitter · 2 days ago

Text

Right?! He's so adorably shy, has no idea how perfect he is, and how anybody would be so grateful to have his attention.

Secret Admirer

An Avengers compound one-shot.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x you (curvy reader, female)

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Bucky is learning to live with feelings he doesn’t quite know what to do with. And even though he barely speaks to you, he’s been quietly leaving you little gifts he knows you'll like. You’re not supposed to notice, but you do. Especially on your birthday, when you finally confront him.

Trigger Warnings: Hurting your hand during sparring?

Author’s Note: Who doesn't love a shy sweet secret admirer Bucky? Also, the book I named is made up.

Masterlist

The kitchen was still, washed in a soft, pale glow from the early morning light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Stark had insisted on "maximum natural lighting" in the redesign, and this was one of the few times you were grateful for it. The compound was eerily silent, save for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of settling floorboards. Your socked feet padded quietly against the tile as you moved toward the counter, blinking blearily and already lamenting your caffeine deficit.

Then you saw it.

A single cup sat in the center of the kitchen island, white, ceramic, no lid. Steam still rose gently from the dark liquid inside, curling in delicate tendrils into the morning air. And on the paper cup sleeve, from the little café down the road that you liked, someone had doodled a crescent moon. Your breath caught. That was your moon. The same stylized shape you’d doodle on notepads, whiteboards, even the corner of mission maps. The same one that matched the silver pendant you wore around your neck, always hidden beneath your neckline.

You stepped closer. The scent hit you first, a rich, bold roast with a hint of cinnamon and just a splash of oat milk: exactly how you ordered it. You picked up the cup slowly, eyes scanning the kitchen, the hall, even the windows, but there was no one. Not a sound of retreating footsteps, no rustle of movement, nothing.

Except…

Out past the glass, heading toward the training wing, a figure moved briskly across the courtyard. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark hoodie pulled up despite the July heat. The way he walked, stiff, precise, like he was trying not to look like he was walking away from something.

Bucky.

You blinked, instinctively stepping closer to the window, the warmth of the cup seeping into your hands. He didn’t look back. His pace didn’t falter. But something in your gut twisted, that odd fluttering feeling, soft and uninvited, like the moment just before a dream becomes something real.

You took a cautious sip. It was the perfect temperature.

There was no note or message, nothing but the doodle and the unshakable feeling that someone, maybe Bucky, had been paying much closer attention than you ever expected.

And for the first time in weeks, the exhaustion faded just a little.

*****

Lunch at the compound was always a strange affair—never quite formal, never quite casual, its tone dictated by who was present and whether the latest mission had ended in triumph or disaster. That afternoon, the kitchen hummed with quiet energy as Sam held court, leaning back with a self-satisfied grin while recounting Steve’s near-collision with a rogue protein shake spill. Natasha smirked into her coffee, Clint chimed in about finishing a thriller on the quinjet ride back, and soon the table had launched into favorite author confessions—Sam swearing by Octavia Butler, Natasha standing firm on Le Carré, and Vision offering a dignified nod to Austen, earning a groan from Sam.

“I used to read The Secret of Rowan Hollow every summer,” you said absently, more to yourself than anyone else, the name tumbling out like a familiar melody. “My aunt had this battered old copy with half the cover torn off. It had these eerie little black-and-white illustrations between the chapters. Felt like magic.”

Wanda glanced over with interest. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“No one has,” you replied with a soft chuckle. “It’s out of print. I looked for it once, but it was like it vanished with my childhood.” You shrugged, brushing it off with a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, then changed the subject before the ache of nostalgia could linger too long.

You forgot about it by dinner.

You remembered it again the next week when you stepped into your room and found the package sitting neatly in the center of your bed.

It was wrapped in brown paper, carefully folded and secured with a thin piece of twine, like something from a quaint corner bookstore . You hesitated, closing the door slowly behind you, and approached it with cautious curiosity. A small white tag had been slipped beneath the twine, but it didn’t have your name, only a tiny ink drawing of your crescent moon.

You slipped your finger under the seam and peeled the paper back.

Your heart stuttered.

The Secret of Rowan Hollow. The exact edition you remembered, aged but pristine, with that haunting forest illustration across the front and those familiar fraying edges you’d once traced again and again as a kid.

You sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, almost afraid the whole thing would vanish if you blinked too hard. Your fingers hovered over the embossed title, then gently opened the cover. Pressed between the pages, page seventy-two, the scene with the ghost in the attic, was a daisy. Dried, whole, and perfectly preserved.

It wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be.

Your mind raced through the few people who might do something like this. Steve? Maybe. Nat? Unlikely. Tony wouldn’t bother. But your gut, your instinct, told you exactly who it was. You looked over your shoulder, half-expecting someone to be watching from the hallway, but it was empty.

Your eyes lingered on the book again. The flower.

No name, but a shape was starting to form in your thoughts. A tall shadow who moved like he didn’t want to be seen. A man who hadn’t spoken more than a few words to you, but always seemed to be somewhere nearby, watching without watching. Guarding without permission.

You ran your thumb gently over the soft edge of the daisy, your chest blooming with something warm and fragile.

You didn’t know for sure yet, but you were beginning to suspect.

*****

The training wing always smelled faintly of sweat and rubber mats, sun-baked steel and adrenaline. Mornings here were usually quiet, early risers like Steve and Bucky cycling through punishing routines in near silence, but today, you’d been roped into a sparring session after Natasha claimed she “needed to see your right hook in action.”

Somehow, that had landed you on the mat across from Bucky Barnes.

He stood across from you now, calm and composed, arms loose at his sides, chest rising and falling beneath a slate gray T-shirt that clung just a little too well to the sculpted muscle beneath. His vibranium arm glinted under the overhead lights, that beautiful, sleek Wakandan design that hummed with silent power. There was a strange softness to him today, like he’d sanded down the sharpest edges.

His blue eyes flicked to you, unreadable. “You ready?”

You gave a playful roll of your shoulders, brushing a lock of hair back with the back of your hand. “Unless you’re scared of being shown up by a girl.”

A flicker of something, a smirk, maybe, tugged at the corner of his mouth. It vanished just as quickly.

“Nope,” he muttered, voice low and steady. “Just don’t want to break you.”

You laughed, stepping forward into position. “Try me, Tin Man.”

Ten minutes later, your lungs were burning and your knuckles smarted.

Bucky moved like water, fluid, efficient, and effortless. You could feel how much he was holding back in the way he dodged just enough to avoid contact, how he didn’t follow through on openings he could’ve exploited. He was careful, like if he hit too hard, you might vanish in a puff of dust.

You pushed harder because of it.

You landed a glancing blow to his side that made his eyebrow tick up. That was reward enough.

But then you tried a more ambitious combo, a sweep, a pivot, and a right cross that didn’t quite land right, and you felt the jolt immediately.

Pain burst across your knuckles, dull and pulsing. You hissed, pulling your hand back and shaking it out.

Bucky stepped forward instantly. “You alright?”

His voice dropped, concerned now. You nodded, stubborn, even as you cradled your hand against your chest.

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth. “Just... overextended.”

He looked at your hand, then at your face. His jaw clenched. “You need to stop when that happens.”

His concern was real, edged with guilt, and something softer, tucked beneath the careful blankness in his expression.

You tilted your head, voice dipping just enough to sound coy. “Didn’t know you cared so much.”

His eyes flicked to yours, a full second of silence, then back to your hand. His next words were quiet.

“I notice things.”

You blinked, heart stuttering. “Yeah?”

A beat. His lips parted like he might say something more, but instead, he nodded once, turned away, and muttered, “You should ice that.”

And just like that, the moment slipped from your fingers.

You made your way to the locker room alone a few minutes later, hand throbbing despite your best attempts to play it off. You sat on the bench, peeled off your gloves, and sighed at the angry red swelling across your knuckles. You were already dreading the stiffness.

Then you opened your locker.

Inside sat a small black zip-up pouch, a first-aid kit. Not the standard-issue kind the compound kept on hand, but a personalized one. Inside were your preferred flexible bandages, a cold pack, some gentle antiseptic balm, and, taped to the top, a square of dark chocolate and a yellow sticky note.

The handwriting was neat and blocky. You recognized it.

“You held your ground today.”

You stared at the note, your fingers curling around the chocolate like it might vanish if you didn’t hold onto it tightly enough.

It was him. It had to be.

And if you weren’t sure before, the tension in the gym, the way he watched you like you were some kind of impossible equation he couldn’t solve, the look in his eyes when you teased him, now you were certain.

You had a secret admirer. And his name was Bucky Barnes.

*****

It had been an offhand comment, one of those throwaway observations you make when you’re running on caffeine and a few hours of sleep, chatting just to keep your brain from turning off. You and Sam were walking side by side, each holding to-go mugs from the kitchen, trading bits of small talk on your way to the admin wing.

You tucked your free hand into your hoodie pocket and let out a breath. “My room still feels like a rental unit.”

Sam looked over, raising a brow. “You’ve lived here for over a year.”

“Exactly.” You sipped your coffee, wincing slightly, too hot. “I keep saying I’m going to decorate, but then missions happen, or someone blows up a hallway, or I just, I don’t know, forget.”

He smiled knowingly. “So decorate. What do you want?”

You hummed, thinking aloud. “I don’t know. Just something small. A plant, maybe. Something green. I feel like it would brighten things up a little. Bring some life in.”

Sam gave you a mock gasp. “You? A plant parent?”

You grinned. “Only the kind that doesn’t judge me for neglect.”

“Maybe you need something cursed and dramatic,” he teased, giving your arm a gentle nudge with his elbow. “Like a poisonous orchid that only blooms at midnight.”

You laughed as you turned the corner. “You joke, but I’d probably forget to water that too.”

The conversation drifted to other things, mission updates, Steve’s growing obsession with protein powder, the truly wretched breakfast Tony had tried to make earlier, and you didn’t think about the plant again after that.

But someone else had.

The admin wing of the compound was always cooler in the late morning, its temperature carefully calibrated to keep Stark’s precious server systems from overheating. Fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead as you made your way through the hallway, the soft soles of your sneakers whispering against the polished floor. You'd only stopped by your desk to drop off a signed report, half expecting a clutter of outdated files and a broken pen or two, but what you found instead made you stop short in the doorway.

It was small, simple, and alive.

A pothos plant sat neatly on the corner of your desk, its deep green leaves spilling over the ceramic edge of a round, glossy pot. The color of the planter was dark, nearly black with a faint shimmer in the light, like night sky glaze, and the leaves looked freshly watered, vibrant and thriving. Tied to one of the stems with a bit of twine was a hand-lettered tag made from thick, soft paper. Your fingers brushed it gently as you read:

“Low maintenance. But still needs care.”

Your stomach fluttered, not from confusion anymore, but from confirmation. Whoever had been leaving these things knew you. Or at least, they were trying to. It was thoughtful and deliberate, almost tender.

Your lips curved upward, slow and involuntary. The kind of smile that bloomed without thought, the kind you couldn’t hold back if you tried.

You turned slightly, scanning the hallway through the glass wall beside your desk. At first, you only glimpsed empty space, but then you saw him.

Across the corridor, half-shadowed near a supply alcove, stood Bucky Barnes. His back was to the wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed on you in the stillest, quietest way.

He didn’t flinch when you met his gaze.

For a moment, one long, suspended beat, the air between you pulled tight, like a cord drawn taut between two ends. You could feel it in your chest. He wasn’t looking through you, pretending his focus was on something else. He was watching you, unblinking, like he needed to memorize something before it was gone.

And then, just like that, he looked away.

He pushed off the wall with one slow movement and walked down the hall without a word, shoulders hunched slightly, head down like he’d just been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

You stood frozen in place, one hand still resting lightly on the edge of the plant’s pot, heart fluttering in your chest like a trapped bird.

He’d seen you smile. He’d stayed just long enough to make sure you did.

*****

The common room was unusually quiet for a Saturday. You sat curled up in the corner of the sectional, an open tablet on your lap, one leg tucked under you and the other swinging slightly over the edge. You weren’t really reading. You’d scrolled past the same paragraph three times, barely seeing the words. Your focus had drifted elsewhere, into a quiet, persistent question you could no longer ignore.

Your thumb idly traced the rim of your mug as your mind replayed the moments in reverse. The quiet footsteps down the hallway. The look across the admin wing. The way Bucky had stood there, half in shadow, watching you smile at something he’d left, like he needed proof that he hadn’t gotten it wrong.

You couldn’t deny it.

It was him.

And he wasn’t just being nice. These weren’t generic gestures, they were personal. He was showing you the kind of attention no one ever gave unless they were really listening.

You shifted on the couch, heart pounding as the realization settled in. You’d been seen in a way that was careful and quiet and completely unspoken.

But the part that made your chest ache was that he hadn’t said a word.

He watched, he gave, and he disappeared.

A part of you wanted to march straight to his room and say something, anything, but there was still that invisible wall between you. You could feel it every time he left a room just before you entered, or how his eyes would flick to you like a reflex before darting away again. Like he was afraid of being caught wanting something he didn’t believe he was allowed to have.

You set the mug down gently and rose to your feet.

You didn’t know what he was afraid of: rejection, being wrong, being seen in return. But you already knew he didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

Tomorrow was your birthday.

And if he left something again, just one more silent offering, one more tender, wordless gift, then that would be it.

You’d stop pretending you didn’t know.

You’d knock on his door and ask him why he was trying so hard to love you from a distance.

*****

You weren’t expecting anything.

That was the lie you told yourself as you stood in front of your door the next morning, fingers hesitating just inches from the handle. You hadn’t mentioned your birthday to anyone. It was buried somewhere in your file or an HR calendar no one ever looked at, but it wasn’t the kind of day you usually drew attention to. Too many birthdays had come and gone with more silence than celebration. You’d gotten used to carrying the day quietly.

But this year felt different.

Because this year, you weren’t alone. Not since the coffee, the book, the chocolate, the plant, and the way he watched you like you mattered, even if he never said it.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and opened the door.

A small gift bag sat on the floor. The tissue paper inside was a muted silver, and it rustled softly as you knelt down and pulled it aside with tentative fingers.

Inside was a slice of cake, your favorite flavor, still chilled, the frosting wrapped neatly in wax paper to keep it from smudging. There was a candle tucked beside it, unlit, but the message was there all the same: someone remembered. Someone cared enough to make sure some sweetness was waiting for you.

You set it aside carefully, breath catching as your hand brushed a small box at the bottom of the bag.

It was velvet. Midnight blue. The kind of box you knew to open slowly.

Inside was a delicate pendant, a teardrop moonstone set in a fine silver chain, iridescent and pale, glowing faintly as it caught the morning light. You gasped before you could stop yourself. You had told Nat once, months ago, in the middle of a stakeout, bored and shivering in the dark, that you always loved moonstone. That it felt like carrying a piece of the sky close to your skin. You hadn’t thought anyone was listening.

Beneath it, folded with near military precision, was a piece of paper.

His handwriting.

You’re the brightest thing in a place full of shadows. I didn’t want to ruin that by being near it. But I hope this still means something. Happy Birthday.

No signature, no initials, but you didn’t need either.

You were already moving down the hall, heart thudding like a drum inside your chest, bare feet whispering across the cold floor. You didn’t even think. Your body knew the way before your mind caught up, past the kitchen, past the empty lounge, until you stood in front of a door you’d walked past a hundred times without ever knocking.

Bucky’s.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your knuckles hit the wood, three soft raps that somehow echoed louder than they should.

The door opened slower than you expected, like he’d known it would be you. He stood in the doorway, hoodie slung low over his brow, dark hair curling slightly at his temples, eyes wide and unreadable.

You held up the bag gently, “You’ve been leaving things for me,” you said, voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “All this time.”

Bucky’s expression shifted immediately, from blank surprise to something closer to panic, his jaw tensing, eyes flicking down the hall as if looking for a way out.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, voice a little too fast, too tight.

“Bucky,” you said, gently, not moving from where you stood. “Don’t do that.”

He shook his head once, almost like a reflex. “I didn’t— It wasn’t me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He didn’t answer.

“I guess someone else happens to know exactly how I take my coffee. And my favorite book. And the exact brand of bandages I like to keep in my locker. And how I’ve always wanted a moonstone pendant.” You took a slow step forward. “Was it Sam?”

His eyes snapped back to yours.

“I did mention the plant to him.” you pushed, tilting your head. “Maybe Tony? I mean, someone left this outside my door this morning. With a note. In your handwriting.”

He flinched.

“Bucky,” you said again, softer now, letting the weight of everything between you settle into your voice. “You’ve been leaving things for me in secret. And I want to know why.”

He swallowed hard, eyes darting to the gift bag, then to the floor. His voice, when it came, was barely audible.

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes dropped to the bag, then back to yours, throat working around a reply he wasn’t sure he was allowed to give. “Because I didn’t think you’d want to know it was me.”

You took a step forward, holding his gaze. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Bucky’s hand curled around the edge of the doorframe. “Because... I didn’t want to ruin anything. You’re warm. You’re light. I didn’t want to get too close and put shadows over that.”

Your heart cracked, full and aching. “You could never ruin anything.”

He still wouldn’t look at you. “I just wanted you to have good things… And I didn’t think I could say that out loud.”

You reached into the bag, pulled out the moonstone pendant, and held it up between you.

“You did say it,” you whispered. “You just didn’t use words.”

For the first time, he met your eyes and you saw the fear, the tenderness, the desperate hope that maybe he hadn’t misread every silent smile, every teasing comment, every glance you thought was too brief to matter.

“Can I take you out sometime?” he asked, voice low and careful, like it might shatter on the way out.

You smiled, and it felt like sunlight pouring out of your chest.

“Only if next time you get me something,” you said, stepping into his space, “you give it to me in person.”

His breath hitched, and then, for the first time in what felt like forever, he smiled, soft, lopsided, and real.

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m4rv3l-girl · 5 months ago

Text

Slowly…

Bucky and Y/N have been dating for a while, but have yet to explore anything more intimate than making out like teenagers. Maybe things will change when Bucky finally faces his fears.

Warnings: smut. Oral f!recieving. Protected p in v sex. Slight fear of intimacy. Touch starved Bucky?

The hum of the Stark Tower HVAC system was basically white noise.

Bucky Barnes sat sprawled across the couch, one arm looped loosely around Y/N’s shoulders, the other cradling a steaming mug of chamomile tea. Both of them contently sleepy. The windows stretched tall across the living room wall, casting gold-tinged light from the setting sun over the exposed brick and sleek furniture, remnants of Tony’s compulsive over-design.

Y/N, nestled into Bucky’s side with a blanket tugged over both of their legs, sighed softly. Her head was tucked perfectly beneath his chin, like it belonged there. Bucky liked that. He liked that a lot more than he’d ever admit aloud. Especially since Sam would absolutely never let him live it down if he caught wind of Bucky Barnes being the little spoon. Again.

“You know,” Y/N said, voice low and thoughtful, “you’re actually not as terrifying as everyone makes you out to be.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, lifting his mug in mock salute. “Thanks, doll. I’ll make sure to update my LinkedIn.”

She laughed against his chest, the sound vibrating into his sternum and tugging a rare, genuine smile from him. “No, seriously. You’re... sweet. You hold the door open. You bring me coffee just the way I like it. You’re weirdly obsessed with The Great British Bake Off.”

“I plead the Fifth.”

“Oh, come on. You cried when Rahul won.”

He groaned, tilting his head back against the couch and covering his face with the vibranium hand. “I didn’t cry. I just - had feelings. That’s normal. Rahul is a very talented man.”

“You’re soft.”

“I’m six feet tall and made of war crimes.”

She snorted. “You’re my soft war crime.”

“Jesus Christ.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. The kind that only came after months of slow trust-building, of soft confessions over late-night tea, of tentative hand-holding and the quiet awe in Bucky’s eyes when she didn’t flinch away from the cold press of metal fingers. It wasn’t perfect, Bucky still had nights where he woke up gasping, sweat-soaked and angry at ghosts only he could see, but Y/N never left. Never treated him like he was broken or dangerous. Just… human.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed being seen as human until she came along.

“You ever think about…” Y/N began, then paused, fingers tracing idle shapes along his thigh. “Us. Like, going further?”

Bucky blinked, the words taking a second to register through the sleepy haze.

“Further?”

She tilted her head to glance up at him, cheeks flushed. “Yeah. Like… more than just kissing on your couch and pretending we don’t both want more.”

Oh.

Bucky’s breath hitched, but not from discomfort. Not exactly. More like the entire world had suddenly gone still and very, very focused.

He’d thought about it. Of course he had. He was a hundred and six years old, not dead.

But there was always a wall. Not one she had built. Y/N had never rushed him, but one he’d carried with him since Hydra carved up his mind like Thanksgiving turkey. Intimacy meant vulnerability. And vulnerability had always gotten him hurt or used.

“I do think about it,” he said finally, voice soft. “All the time, actually.”

Y/N shifted slightly, giving him room to see her expression. She looked open. Patient. Like she wasn’t expecting anything except honesty. That helped. That grounded him.

“But I also think about messing it up,” he admitted. “I think about what if I freeze up? Or what if I have some flashback in the middle of it and ruin everything?”

“You wouldn’t ruin anything,” she said immediately. “You could never ruin this.”

He wanted to believe her. Hell, part of him already did. But old instincts didn’t die easily. He reached for her hand with his metal one, letting their fingers twine together. That felt real. Solid.

“I guess I just need to know you’re okay with taking it slow. That you don’t feel like you’re waiting for me to turn into someone else.”

Y/N’s smile was soft and fierce all at once. “Bucky, I didn’t fall for the Winter Soldier. I fell for the guy who leaves sticky notes on the fridge reminding me to drink water. Who calls Sam ‘bird brain’ like it’s a love language. Who watched all three Lord of the Rings movies with me even though he thought Frodo should’ve just used the eagles.”

“Don’t tell me I was wrong.”

She laughed, then leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m okay with slow. I’m okay with whatever pace you want. I’m here because I want you.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, tension he hadn’t realized he was holding bleeding from his shoulders. “Okay,” he murmured. “Then yeah. Maybe we take that step. Sometime soon.”

A beat.

The quiet stretched out like a warm blanket, thick with anticipation. Bucky’s thumb traced the line of her knuckles, and the room felt too hot and too cold at the same time. He knew he could say no. He knew she’d understand. But the way she said it - so gentle, so earnest - he couldn’t find the words to refuse.

“Soon,” she murmured, reading the hesitation in his eyes. “Whenever you’re ready. I just - I want you to know that I’m here. That I want to be there for you, every step of the way.”

Bucky nodded, his throat tight with emotions he hadn’t let himself feel in so long. It was strange, this feeling of safety, of belonging. It didn’t sit easily with him, but it was growing more familiar with every beat of her heart against his side. He swallowed hard, trying to find the right words.

“You make it easier, doll,” he said finally. “You make a lot of things easier.”

Y/N leaned into him, her arm curling around his waist. Her hair smelled faintly of coconut shampoo and mint toothpaste. The scent was comforting, like home.

“I’ll always be here for you, you know that,” she whispered, her breath warm against his neck. “For all the hard parts. And the easy ones too. For the baking shows and the bad jokes and the quiet nights just like this one. I’m all in, Bucky. Whatever it takes to help you feel whole again.”

The weight of her words settled into his chest, nestling in alongside his beating heart. It was a heavy burden, but somehow, with her, it felt lighter.

They watched the light change outside the window, the sky deepening into shades of purple and pink. The sounds of the city grew distant, swallowed up by their shared warmth. Bucky’s arm tightened around her, pulling her closer, and she curled into him, her hand coming to rest over his heart.

It was a promise. A silent vow.

He took a sip of his now lukewarm tea and sighed, the warmth of her against him a stark contrast to the cold metal of his arm. It was moments like these that made him feel alive, made him realize that maybe, just maybe, he could have a life beyond the shadows of his past.

“What’s the first thing you’d wanna do?” he asked, turning to look at her. Her eyes searched his, looking for any signs of doubt or fear. But all she’d find was the truth. The reality was that, at present, their sex life was non-existent.

Y/N thought for a moment, her expression softening into a smile. “I don’t mind….what would you want to do..?” She didn’t want to commit to something that he wasn’t comfortable with.

Bucky considered this.

"I just want to be with you," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I want to hold you, and kiss you, and just… explore. Nothing crazy, just… us. Getting to know each other that way."

Her smile grew, lighting up the room even as the shadows grew longer. "That sounds perfect," she whispered.

The air was thick with a tension that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with desire. He could feel the pulse of her heart beneath her palm, and he knew she felt his too, a steady rhythm that grew stronger with every breath they took together.

They sat for a while longer, just watching the day turn to night. Bucky's mind raced with the possibilities of what this could mean for them, but he forced himself to stay present, to enjoy the simplicity of their entwined fingers and the warmth of her body.

Eventually, Y/N sat up, her hand slipping away from his heart to rest on his cheek. She turned to face him, her eyes searching his, looking for any trace of doubt. But all she found was a man who was ready to take the next step.

“Okay,” she said, her voice steady. “Let’s go slow. We’ll figure it out together. No pressure, just us getting to know each other more intimately. I’m here, Bucky. We’re in this together, remember?”

Bucky nodded, his pulse quickening at the thought of what lay ahead. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to be this open with someone, to let go of the fear that had become second nature. But with her, it felt possible.

They stood up, and he set the mug of tea down on the side table with a gentle clink. Y/N reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. She led him to the bedroom, her movements sure and unhurried.

The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn just enough to allow the fading light to cast a soft glow over the bed. Bucky felt his heart rate spike as she turned to face him, her gaze never wavering from his own. She stepped closer, her hand sliding up to his chest, then around to his neck.

Her touch was tentative at first, a gentle question. But as Bucky leaned into it, she grew bolder, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, her thumb brushing against his lower lip. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath, and she leaned in to capture his mouth in a kiss that was sweet and full of promise.

Her other hand slid down his side, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt. Bucky’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer, the heat between them growing with every second. The kiss deepened, and he felt the first stirrings of something he’d almost forgotten - desire, untainted by fear or duty.

When they broke apart, panting slightly, Bucky opened his eyes to find her smiling up at him. She reached for the hem of her shirt, her movements slow and deliberate. He watched as she lifted it over her head, revealing the soft curves of her body.

He took a deep breath, his metal hand hovering over her bare skin for a moment before he let it rest gently on her waist.

Y/N's eyes searched his, looking for the answer to the unspoken question. Bucky nodded, his decision made.

They moved in unison, Bucky helping her to remove the rest of her clothing, his movements slow and careful, as if handling something fragile and precious. Each piece of clothing that fell away revealed more of her, and with it, a part of her soul that he hadn't seen before. Her trust in him was palpable, a silent demand that he not break her. And he knew, with a sudden fierceness, that he never would.

Her skin was warm under his touch, and she shivered as he traced the outline of her collarbone with his thumb. He felt his own heart racing, a thunderous beat that echoed in his ears.

They lay down on the bed, the mattress giving slightly under their combined weight.

Her eyes never left his, the same gentle expression on her face that had been there since the moment she’d brought it up. He felt the pressure of her hand, the softness of her skin, and the way her breath hitched as he kissed her again, his metal fingers brushing against the softness of her stomach. It was a strange sensation, this mix of cold and warm, of hard and soft, of past and present.

Bucky’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but he pushed them aside, focusing only on the here and now. He didn’t want to think about the past, didn’t want to ruin this moment with the specter of his former life. This was about them, about what they were choosing to build together.

He leaned over her, pressing tender kisses along her neck and collarbone, feeling the thrum of her pulse beneath his lips. Her skin was like silk, and her scent was intoxicating, a blend of warmth and vanilla that he’d come to associate with home. Her breathy sighs were music to his ears, each one a silent encouragement to explore further.

Her fingers danced over his shoulders, her nails lightly scraping against his skin as she guided him closer, urging him to explore. His heart hammered in his chest, a reminder of the life he had reclaimed, the humanity he had fought to keep.

Their kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as if they were both trying to convey the depth of their feelings without words. Bucky’s hand traveled up her side, feeling the curve of her hip, the softness of her skin, the warmth that emanated from her core. He was acutely aware of every touch, every breath, the way she arched into his mouth when he kissed her just right. It was as if he was mapping out a new territory, one that was uncharted and full of wonder.

The room was filled with the sound of their mingled breaths, the rustle of fabric, the quiet sighs that escaped their lips. Y/N’s hand slipped under his shirt, her fingers brushing against the warmth of his skin. He stilled for a moment, waiting, but she didn’t pull away.

Bucky felt something unlock inside of him, a door that had been sealed shut for so long he’d almost forgotten it was there. It was a rush of sensation, of need, that made his head spin and his heart race. He kissed her again, harder this time, his hand sliding down to the small of her back, pressing her closer.

Y/N’s legs parted, inviting him in, and Bucky’s heart stuttered in his chest. He’d never been this intimate with someone who knew all of him, who had seen the darkest corners of his soul and chosen to stay. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

He took a moment to breathe, to steady himself. He didn’t want to rush this, didn’t want to scare her away with his intensity. But when he pulled back, her eyes were dark with desire, matching the pulse in his veins. She didn’t look scared. She looked hungry.

They moved together in a dance that was both new and familiar, their bodies speaking a language that didn’t require words. He felt the heat of her skin, the softness of her curves, the way she molded against him as if they’d been made for this. It was a revelation, a reminder that he was more than the sum of his parts.

Bucky’s hand slid up her thigh, his thumb brushing against the lace of her underwear. He felt her shiver and knew that she was just as ready as he was. He took a deep breath, trying to slow his racing heart. This was it. The moment he’d feared and craved in equal measure. But with her, it didn’t feel scary. It felt right.

Y/N’s hand reached for the hem of his shirt, her eyes never leaving his. He raised his arms, letting her pull it off. The cool air of the room kissed his bare skin, making him shiver. She traced the lines of his abs with her fingertips, her eyes taking in every inch of him with a mix of awe and affection.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, her voice a warm caress against his ear.

Bucky felt a blush creep up his cheeks, a rare and welcome sensation. He’d never been one for compliments, but coming from her, it felt like the most profound truth he’d ever heard. He kissed her again, his hand sliding up to cup her breast, feeling the weight of it in his palm.

They moved together, exploring each other with gentle touches and whispered sighs. Bucky’s mind was a blur of sensation, each new discovery a revelation. The way she tasted, the way she felt, the way she made him feel. It was like coming home after a long, cold war, finding warmth in the most unexpected of places.

He felt her hand on the elastic of his sweatpants, and he stilled for a moment. This was the part that had always been a minefield before. But she didn’t look up at him with fear or hesitation. Just love. So he let her continue, his breath catching in his throat as she touched him, skin to skin.

Y/N’s hand was warm and sure, and Bucky couldn’t help but gasp as she touched him, her thumb rubbing against the sensitive skin just beneath the waistband. The fabric was the last barrier between them, and the anticipation was almost too much to bear.

With a trembling hand, Bucky reached down to help her, his heart racing as he pushed his pants down. The coolness of the air against his skin was a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies, and he watched as she took him in, her eyes wide and filled with a hunger that made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t been in decades.

They kissed again, a kiss that was more than just a meeting of lips, it was a declaration of trust, of love, of the shared hope that this could be the start of something beautiful. He felt her hand slide down, her fingertips dancing against his skin, until she reached the bulge in his boxers, and he let out a soft groan that seemed to resonate through the very core of his being.

Her hand was tentative at first, exploring his hardness with gentle strokes. But as Bucky’s grip tightened on the sheets and his breathing grew ragged, she grew bolder. Her touch was a whispered promise of what was to come, a gentle reminder that she was here for him, that he wasn’t alone.

He slid his hand down to cover hers, their fingers intertwining as they found a rhythm that sent shockwaves through his body. The warmth of her hand, the softness of her skin, the way she looked at him - it was almost too much to handle. But he didn’t pull away. He leaned into it, craving more.

With a tremble, Bucky reached for the clasp of her bra, his metal digits fumbling slightly. But she was patient, smiling up at him as he finally managed to free her from the garment. Her breasts were perfect in his eyes, the soft mounds fitting perfectly into his palms. He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, watching as they pebbled beneath his touch, and she gasped into his mouth. The sensation of skin against skin was electric, sending currents of pleasure through him that he hadn’t felt in what felt like an eternity. He’d been so afraid of this moment, but here it was, and it was nothing like he’d feared. It was gentle, it was kind, it was everything he’d hoped for.

He broke the kiss to kiss his way down her neck, her chest, her stomach. He took his time, savoring each new inch of her that was revealed to him. Y/N’s breath hitched as his mouth reached the apex of her thighs, his tongue tracing a line along her inner thigh before dipping closer to where she was wet and waiting for him. He felt a small twist of doubt and self consciousness, he hadn’t actually done this since the 40s.

Her legs fell open to encourage him, and Bucky took a moment to breathe her in, to appreciate the trust she was giving him.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” She assured. He kissed her gently, his tongue teasing against her slit, her taste a rich mix of sweetness and desire. Y/N’s body arched off the bed, and she let out a soft moan, her hand sliding into his hair to guide him, to show him just how she liked it.

Bucky took his cues from her, his touch gentle and explorative. He’d never been with someone who knew the extent of his past, who had seen the monster he’d been made into. But here she was, her body open to him, welcoming him in. Her thighs trembled around his head as he worked his way down. His tongue found the spot that made her gasp. She was wet, slick against his mouth and he groaned, his cock pulsing with every soft whimper she made.

He could feel the tension coiling in her, tightening like a spring. Her hips began to move in time with his strokes, her breath coming in short and sharp gasps. He didn’t know how to do this, not really. But he knew he wanted to make her feel good. So he listened to her body, her sounds, her whispers of need. He focused on her reactions, learning what she liked, what made her squirm, what made her moan.

Small, quick flicks of his tongue over her clit seemed to send her reeling.

Y/N’s hands tightened in his hair as he worked her over, her body shaking with the force of her restrained pleasure. He could feel it building, the way she moved against his mouth, her legs tightening around his head, her breaths turning to pants. Her nails scraped against his scalp, a delicious pain that only served to drive him on, to make him want more, to make her feel more.

And then she was coming, her body shuddering with the force of her orgasm, her muscles clenching around his tongue. Bucky felt a surge of pride, of accomplishment, of pure, unadulterated joy.

He pulled back, kissing his way back up her body, feeling her pulse throb against his lips. She was beautiful, so beautiful, laid out before him like this. “Bucky,” she breathed, her eyes half-lidded and glazed with pleasure. He leaned over her, his forehead touching hers. “You’re sure?” he whispered. She nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips.

Bucky reached for the bedside drawer, his hand shaking slightly as he pulled out a condom. He’d had them there for months, hopeful and terrified, but they’d remained untouched. The foil packet crinkled in the quiet room, a sound that seemed unnaturally loud in the wake of their shared intimacy. Y/N watched him, her eyes never leaving his face, her trust in him unwavering. He rolled it on, feeling the familiar tightness in his chest, the echoes of fear that had haunted his every intimate moment. But as he positioned himself over her, her legs wrapping around his waist, he knew he could do this. For her, with her, he could overcome his worries.

He pushed inside her, slowly.

The world outside the window had gone dark, but the room was bathed in the warm glow of the bedside lamp. Her eyes were wide, watching him with a mix of excitement and concern, and he knew he had to get this right. For her, for them. Her heat enveloped him, and he felt his own walls crumbling, the last of his barriers falling away. He’d never felt this connected to anyone before, not like this. It was as if they were two lost pieces of a puzzle finally finding their place.

Their movements grew more frantic as the passion built, their kisses deep and desperate. Bucky felt the ghosts of his past trying to claw their way back in, but he pushed them away, focusing solely on the woman beneath him. Her nails dug into his back, her legs tightening around him as she matched his rhythm, urging him on.

The sounds of their bodies moving together filled the room, a symphony of sighs and gasps and moans. Each thrust was a declaration of his need for her, each kiss a promise to keep her safe. Bucky’s heart thudded in his chest, a drumline of hope and desire. He’d been so afraid of this moment, but here it was, and it was nothing like the horrors he’d anticipated. It was raw and real and everything he’d ever dreamed of.

Her nails scored down his back as she arched up to meet him, her breaths growing shallower, her hips rising to meet his thrusts. Bucky felt the tension in her body, the way she tightened around him, the soft mewling noises that escaped her throat. He’d never felt so alive, so present in the moment. Each stroke was a promise, a declaration that he was here, with her, and nothing else mattered.

Their bodies moved in harmony, a dance that transcended the chaos of the world outside. His metal hand found hers, their fingers entwining as if to anchor themselves in the present. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his touch, the way she clung to him as if he were her lifeline. And maybe, in a way, he was.

The world narrowed down to just the two of them, the only sounds the slap of skin and the harsh pull of their breathing. Bucky’s eyebrow was furrowed. He watched her face, the way her lip got pulled between her teeth in concentration, the softness of her cheeks flushed with passion.

Her breath hitched, her eyes fluttering closed as she neared the precipice again.

Their passion was palpable, a force that transcended the physical, reaching into the depths of their souls.

Her eyes flew open, meeting his, and in that moment, something changed. He saw her, not just the woman he desired, but the person who had seen his darkest moments and chosen to love him regardless. And she saw him, not as the damaged soldier, but as the man who had fought to survive and come back to life.

Their movements grew more deliberate. Bucky’s rhythm slowed, his strokes deepening, as if trying to etch himself into her very being. He felt her inner walls quiver, a sign that she was close, and he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer. But he wanted to give her everything she needed, to show her just how much she meant to him.

Y/N’s breath was a pant on his skin, her chest rising and falling rapidly. He leaned in, pressing kisses along her jaw, her neck, the soft skin of her collarbone. They were both hurtling uncontrollably towards the edge…

Her body tensed around him, a silent plea, and Bucky knew he couldn’t hold back anymore. He thrust into her, feeling her nails dig into his back as she cried out his name, her body shattering into a thousand pieces. He watched her come undone, her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure that sent him over the edge.

With a guttural groan, he followed her, his orgasm tearing through his muscles, leaving him trembling and spent. He collapsed onto her, his heart hammering against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath. The warmth of her body was like a medicine to his soul, a gentle reminder that he was more than just a weapon, that he was loved.

They laid there for a few moments, their hearts beating in sync, the only sound in the room the gentle rustle of the blanket around them. Bucky felt the warmth of her skin, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, and the reality of what they had just shared settled heavily on him. It was a moment that had been months in the making, a moment where fear had been vanquished by love and trust.

He leaned up on his elbow, looking down at her. Her eyes were closed, a soft smile tugging at her lips. He couldn’t help but trace the curve of her cheek with the back of his hand, feeling the heated skin under his fingertips. He’d never felt more alive, more human, than he did in that moment.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at him with a softness that made his chest ache. “More than okay,” she said, her voice a whisper.

He leaned down to kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her lips. Her hand slid up his chest, her touch featherlight and reverent. It was as if she knew just how much this meant to him, just how much of a milestone it was.

They lay there, tangled in the sheets, their bodies still slick with sweat. Bucky’s mind was racing, but in a good way. He’d done it. He’d faced his fears and come out the other side. And she was still here, her arm wrapped around his waist, her breathing evening out as she snuggled closer to him.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice still rough from their earlier exertions. Y/N opened her eyes and gave him a sleepy smile. “For what?” “For making it okay,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “For making me feel like I can do this. Like I’m not just some… some broken toy that nobody wants to play with anymore.”

Her eyes had a glassy pain in them. “Bucky, you’re so much more than that. You always have been. And I want to play with you.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, the sound low and warm. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

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A small gift 🎁🫶 (We’re ignoring mistakes)

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #marvel #bucky fluff #bucky smut #soft bucky #fluffy #Be gentle with bucky #Touchstarved bucky

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heldbybarnes · 3 days ago

Note

hello :3 could you do an angsty one where reader falls for Bucky but she thinks she stand no chance because she’s a very unserious person and everyone’s go-to comic relief who has no experience and thinks Bucky would prefer someone better? have a nice day ahead :3333

this was so angsty for me bc this is def one of my fears. BUT, theres a person out there for everyone, we just have to find them!

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You’re used to being the joke.

Not in a mean way, not in a cruel way. Just… in the way where people expect you to lighten the mood. To crack a joke before a mission briefing, to throw your hands up and play the clown when things get tense, to tease Sam until he’s laughing hard enough that Steve shakes his head. You’ve carved out a place for yourself in the Tower—reliable comic relief, chaos gremlin, everyone’s smile when they need one.

It should be enough.

But lately, it’s not.

Because lately, you’ve caught yourself watching Bucky Barnes.

Not just watching, really. Staring. Memorizing. The little frown line between his brows when he’s reading, the way his hair curls damp at the nape of his neck after training, the sharp tug of his laugh when someone manages to break through that soldier’s calm. You’ve felt your chest ache with it, this ridiculous longing for someone so far out of your league it’s laughable.

You’re the punchline. He’s the kind of man epics are written about.

And worse than that—you’ve never even been in love before. Never kissed anyone that mattered, never had the weight of something real in your hands. The idea of someone like him looking twice at someone like you? Impossible.

So you keep up the mask. Keep laughing. Keep clowning around, keep telling yourself it’s better to be useful this way than risk the embarrassment of wanting more.

Except… it hurts.

It happens on a night when the Tower is too quiet. A mission gone sideways, exhaustion pressing heavy on everyone’s shoulders. You should be in your room. You should be asleep. Instead you find yourself sitting in the kitchen at two a.m., elbows on the counter, face buried in your hands.

You don’t hear him until he’s already in the doorway.

“You okay, doll?”

Your stomach lurches at the sound of his voice. He’s in sweatpants, hair tied back loosely, shadows under his eyes. Of course he still looks devastatingly good. Of course.

You force a smile—your tried-and-true weapon. “Yeah, you know me. Always okay.”

Bucky doesn’t move, just watches you with that unreadable gaze of his. Like he can see straight through the plaster of your grin.

“Funny,” he says softly. “Didn’t look like it a second ago.”

Your throat goes tight. You want to deflect, to crack a joke, but the words tangle. “It’s nothing. Just—me being me. Don’t worry about it.”

He comes closer, slow steps across the tile. Sits across from you at the counter, metal arm glinting under the low light. “What does that mean? Being you?”

You hate the way your eyes sting. Hate the way the words spill out anyway.

“It means I’m not serious. About anything. I’m the clown, the idiot who makes everyone laugh. That’s all I’m good for.” You laugh, but it’s hollow, brittle. “People like me don’t… don’t get taken seriously. Not by people like you.”

The silence that follows is deafening. You can’t look at him. If you do, you’ll shatter.

Finally, he breathes out, voice low. “You think I don’t take you seriously?”

You shrug, staring at your hands. “Why would you? You deserve someone who’s… calm. Strong. Someone who gets what you’ve been through. Not someone who trips over her own feet and tells knock-knock jokes.”

The confession tastes bitter on your tongue. Your biggest secret out in the open now.

You risk a glance up—and freeze.

Because Bucky looks wrecked. Like you just said something unforgivable. His jaw is tight, eyes glassy with something that looks too much like hurt.

“You don’t see yourself at all, do you?” he says, almost a whisper.

Your heart stutters. “What do you—”

“I watch you,” he cuts in, words raw. “Every damn day. You think it doesn’t matter, the way you make people laugh? You think that doesn’t keep us going? Doll, I spent years thinking I’d never feel human again. And then there you are. You walk into a room and it’s lighter. You look at me like I’m not a monster. You—” He breaks off, dragging a hand down his face.

You can’t breathe.

“I don’t need someone better,” Bucky says finally, meeting your eyes with fierce, quiet certainty. “I just need you.”

The words hit like a punch. Your chest aches, sharp and sweet, your head buzzing with disbelief.

“I—I don’t know how to do this,” you admit, voice cracking. “I don’t have experience. I’ll probably screw it up. You should want someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“Hey.” His voice softens, steady and grounding. “You think I knew what I was doing when I got a second chance at life? When I tried to figure out how to be around people again? No one knows how to do this. We just… try. Together.”

He reaches across the counter, slow enough you can pull away if you want. You don’t. His metal fingers curl gently around yours, cool and solid, grounding you in place.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he murmurs. “Not with me.”

Your vision blurs, tears slipping hot down your cheeks. For once, you don’t try to laugh it off. You just let yourself feel it—the weight of his words, the way his thumb strokes carefully over your knuckles, the quiet intensity in his gaze.

And for the first time, you let yourself believe it.

Maybe you’re more than the punchline.

Maybe you’re someone worth loving.

#hbb blurbs #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #angst to comfort #unserious reader #comic relief reader #bucky loves you #soft bucky #bucky barnes angst #marvel x reader

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hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall · 6 days ago

Text

B - Body part (Bucky's NSFW alphabet series)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Letter B for the NSFW alphabet of Bucky Barnes Series.

Warning: MDNI, kind of Filrth, Smut things, FiV content, eating out, kinks, filthy language, sex talk, soft Bucky, dirty talk, Bucky in general.

Author's notes: Here comes letter B... I feel like it turned out very filthy... Too much? Or not really?

Word Count: 913

Bucky has a thing for your thighs.

It’s not a casual attraction. Not something passive, or idle, or just another detail he likes. It’s worship. Plain and simple.

He tells you every chance he gets. Murmurs it against your skin, whispers it between kisses, growls it when you’re gasping beneath him. “Fuck, baby… these thighs are gonna kill me one day.”

You never believe him. But you feel it in the way he touches them. Touches you.

Right now, you’re laid out on the bed, legs spread wide, and his hands - those damn hands - are all over you. The metal one grips your knee, keeping it bent just so. His flesh hand moves slowly, reverently, up your inner thigh, fingers dragging in smooth, teasing strokes. His thumb traces slow circles just inches from where you need him, but he doesn’t rush.

Bucky Barnes never rushes when it comes to your thighs.

“You feel how soft you are right here?” he mutters, voice low, rough, focused. He leans in and kisses the inside of your knee, then higher, closer. “Could sleep with my face right here. Hell, might as well ask to.”

Your breath hitches. His lips keep trailing higher, stubble catching on your skin as he goes. You feel his smirk as your thighs twitch, as you try to shift, try to pull him where you want him.

“Easy,” he murmurs. “You know I’m gonna take care of it. Take care of you. Just lemme enjoy the view.”

And you know he means it. Bucky takes his time. He always does. But especially with this. Your thighs, the way they frame your body, the way they tremble when he finally puts his mouth on you. He loves the strength of them. The softness. The way you wrap them around his head and hold on like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

And god help him when they start to shake.

Because once they start trembling? He doesn’t stop.

He presses his lips against the tender skin at the top of your thigh, right where it’s warm and flushed and sensitive. His tongue flicks out, teasing, licking along your skin just to hear the catch in your breath.

Then finally…finally he dips his head between your legs.

It’s like a switch flips.

All that slow, reverent teasing turns hungry. His mouth is everywhere. Licking, sucking, groaning into your skin like he can’t get enough. And those hands?

Fuck. His hands.

The metal one stays firm on your thigh, holding you open. His fingers are cold, but you’re so hot, so wet, the contrast makes you shiver. The warmth of his mouth. The cool press of vibranium. It’s overwhelming in the best possible way.

His other hand - strong, warm, calloused in all the right places - slips between your legs. Two fingers slide through your slick folds, spreading you, teasing you, before pressing in.

You moan. Arch. He groans in return like he felt it inside his chest.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Look at you, opening right up for me.”

His fingers work slow at first, deep and curling with maddening precision. He knows exactly what you like. Exactly how to angle, how to build pressure until your thighs start shaking again.

“Fuck, I love this,” he growls, fucking you with his fingers while his mouth sucks your clit. “Love feelin’ your thighs tremble around me. Love watchin’ my fingers disappear inside this sweet little pussy.”

You cry out, hips stuttering. He tightens his grip with the metal hand, keeping you right where he wants you.

“I can feel you squeezing,” he pants, lifting his head just long enough to look at you. His lips are wet, chin glistening. His eyes are blown wide with lust, but sharp with focus. “You close already, baby?” You nod frantically, fingers clutching the sheets. He chuckles, low and dark. “Thought so.”

Then he does something filthy. Spits softly on your clit, then spreads it with his thumb while he fucks you harder with his fingers, thrusting deep, curling again and again until you’re gasping for air.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let me see those thighs shake for me again. You know I live for that.”

And you do. You can’t help it. Your legs twitch, lock, shake uncontrollably as your orgasm slams into you, sharp and hot and dizzying. You cry out, body clenching, hips bucking. But he doesn’t stop.

Of course he doesn’t.

He works you through it, kissing your thighs, licking slowly, dragging his tongue through your mess and humming against your skin like you just gave him the best meal of his life.

You’re still catching your breath when he finally pulls back. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then looks at you like he’s already thinking about the next round.

He climbs up your body, leans over you, metal hand stroking the outside of your thigh as your legs settle around his hips. His flesh hand rests beside your head, fingers still glistening.

He kisses you, slow and deep, like he’s offering you every piece of himself.

“You know what my favorite part of myself is?” he whispers against your lips.

You blink up at him, dazed. “What?”

He smiles. Reaches down between you. Slides those two fingers back into you - slow, smooth, perfect.

“My hands,” he says, voice rough and sweet. “Because they’re the part that gets to touch you.”

And just like that, your thighs are shaking all over again.

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whitexwolfxx310 · 1 year ago

Text

|| Baby Mine ||

Pairing: Bucky x female reader || Bucky x y/n

Summary: Bucky comes home from from a mission and finds you sick. You make an appointment at the medical bay expecting a routine visit only to find out some pretty surprising news.

Warnings: Unplanned pregnancy, minor talk of options pertaining to, morning sickness, a disgusting amount of fluff, and a small sprinkle of spice at the end just because I felt like it.

Word Count: 3323

A/Ns: First and foremost, I would like to apologize for my hiatus. It was not intended and I hit a writers block. With that being said, I do have a decent amount in my drafts and have been working on getting some new things out there!

I would like to say a special thank you to @lil-darhk who gave me some encouraging words that I really needed to hear & helped get me back on here. ♥️

This is a ONE SHOT. This is not part of my BBWWS. I am still working on that but this is something I have been thinking of for a while and just felt like writing about. I know that a pregnancy troupe is not for everyone. (Personally, I love it and I'm not sure if I will write it into my other storyline.) SO because of that....I give you this. I hope you all enjoy it because the idea of Daddy Bucky to me is just 🤌🏻💋

Waking up to the smell of fresh ground coffee was always a tall tale sign of Bucky being home. Missions can be unpredictable. He can be gone for a few days, to a few weeks, and sometimes even months at a time. Luckily, this time he had only been gone about a month and a half.

Excitement took over as you forego your usual procrastinating in bed stretch to run out of the bedroom. Opening the door, the aroma was heavenly- as if a coffee shop had replaced your kitchen overnight. But your eyes immediately fixed on Bucky who was wearing a smirk while plating two separate stacks of pancakes.

“Breakfast, doll?” His voice as smooth as the warm syrup flowing down from those pancake stacks.

Running and jumping to wrap your arms around his neck was your response. Bucky chuckled, holding both arms out wider so he didn’t drop the plates. He put them down gently onto the counter so that his arms would now be only consumed with you.

“I missed you too.” You don’t have to look up from being buried in his chest to know that he’s smiling, it’s in the lighthearted tone of his voice.

Leaning back slightly with his arms still holding you, he looks into your eyes and plants a petal soft kiss on your lips.

“How come you didn’t wake me up when you got in?” You frown slightly looking up at him.

He shakes his head slightly and shrugs, “You just looked so… peaceful. I couldn’t bare to wake you up. At least, not without sustenance,” Bucky laughs.

Shifting your eyes from Bucky to the pancakes and back, your lips tug in each corner. “Smart man.”

His cooking always felt like home. It was filling, delicious, and you could almost taste the love it was made it with. “Mm,” the small noise escapes low in your throat as you take the last bite. Looking across the kitchen table, Bucky is slumped in his chair, arms folded with a warm smile as he watches you. “What?” The question comes out as a half joke and half concern.

Shaking his head slightly the smile grew. “Nothing, doll. Just missed you is all.” Leaning forward, Bucky rests his elbows on the table continuing to stare a tad bit more than normal.

“You’re acting weird.” You say, adjusting in your seat feeling slightly awkward.

“So what have you been up to while I was away?” He completely ignored your statement, asking an easy and lighthearted question.

“Um..” you start, breakfast starting to feel suddenly heavy in your stomach. “I uh-“ your teeth start to clench down as you swallow hard at the pooling saliva in your mouth. “I went out with Nat-“ your brows furrowed, starting to have difficulty with getting the words out. Bucky’s face quickly contorts to concern as you continue to fight the inevitable. “and her sister for some…s-some drinks-“ the word makes you gag.

Almost as if you channeled some super soldier serum, you pushed back from the table and ran- praying that the pressure of your hand over your mouth will be enough insurance to get to the toilet. It barely was. Breakfast came back up violently, loudly as you kneeled in front of the porcelain king. Even when you thought there couldn’t possibly be anything else to throw up, your stomach wrung on itself, forcing up every last drop of bile.

Breathing heavily into the bowl, skin now glistening with cooling sweat, you realize that your hair has been pulled out of your face. Your eyesight, now no longer blurry, sees Bucky sitting next to you; his right hand holding your hair back in a make shift ponytail and his left hand on the nape of your neck, the coolness of his metal hand being your favorite thing in the world at the moment.

“I’m sorry…” your sob echoed lightly in the toilet. “I’ve never been hung over like this before,” you sit back on your knees, grabbing some tissues to wipe your mouth. You bring yourself to look up at him through hooded and puffy red eyes, feeling instantly embarrassed. Bucky gives you a small reassuring smile as his hand gently rubs up and down your back.

“I’ve had the Russians drink me under the table a few times too. C’mon…” He helps you off of the floor, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

A warm bath, some fresh comfy clothes and a plain cup of tea seemed to make the nausea subside.

“I knew I shouldn’t have drank last night,” you say, looking into the lightly steaming mug. “My stomach hasn’t felt right in a few weeks. I actually have an appointment this afternoon in the medical bay, but I didn’t know you would be home. I can cancel it-”

“What time is your appointment?” He cuts you off,

“Um,” you look towards the wall and squint at the clock. “Actually in 45 minutes,” you laugh softly at the realization.

“Do you want me to go with you?” He offers.

“And miss your debriefing? Why, Sargent Barnes, that’s highly unlike you.” Even with not feeling great you can’t help but give him shit. This is the normal

Shaking his head softly he lets out a small laugh. “Alright,” he puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture, “but call me if anything comes up, okay? I’m worried about you.” Bucky’s voice is soft and sincere as he leans in and plants a small kiss on your forehead. His eyes hesitate, locking on yours for a moment. Leaning back in, he presses his lips to yours. “I love you. So much,”

“Love you more, Bucky.” You smile back up at him.

Sitting on the exam table in nothing but a medical gown, you swing your legs gently back and forth while gently nibbling the tip of your thumb as you wait for the provider.

You jump at the sudden knock at the door. In walks the new physicians assistant for The Compound, a young and beautiful woman who looked like she was straight out of school.

“Hi! My names Bree and I’ll be working with you today. According to the nurse who did your intake, you’re here for-“ she scrolls through your electronic chart on a tablet, “some abdominal issues. Tell me about that,” she sits down on a stool, listening intently.

“It’s.. really not a big deal,” you start, she keeps quiet waiting for you to explain in more detail. “I don’t know,” you start to fumble with a few loose strands of hair. “I’ve just felt this sort of… heaviness? It hasn’t gone away and is just always sort of there?” Your voice is unsure, feeling self conscious as you describe this silly little symptom that you felt the need to make an appointment for. “This morning I got sick. Well, I went out drinking last night, so I’m assuming I’m a little hung over.” Your words start to sound like your rambling.

“Hmm,” Bree says in response. “When was your last period?”

“Um,” the gears start turning in your head as you try to backdate events, plans that had been interrupted because of aunt flow. “About 4 months ago?” It probably wasn’t on purpose, but you could see the clinicians eyebrow raise a centimeter in question. “It’s not what you think!” You quickly try to defend, “I’m on the pill! My periods have always been irregular which is part of the reason I’m on birth control in the first place.”

“Okay,” she responds, skeptical. “And you take the pill religiously?”

“Yes,”

“Everyday?”

“Yeah…”

“At the same time?” Bree’s eyebrow inclines just a little more.

“Well,” now she has you questioning everything that you’ve said. “I always have an alarm on my phone and try to take it the same time everyday.” That makes you feel better, justified.

“Have you been sick recently? Aside from this morning, any need for any prescriptions, antibiotics?”

“I had bronchitis, but that was… god months ago?”

“Okay,” she says flatly, “so we’ll just go ahead and do a minor work up to see if we can figure out what’s going on. The first thing I want to do though, is a pregnancy test.” Even though you could feel your face change, Bree quickly added, “Routine stuff. It’s one of the bases that we always cover early on.”

You suddenly become hyper focused on the urine sample you left on the counter top, as asked by the nurse. Bree takes out a small, flat test from a nearby drawer and uses a pipette to transfer the fluid.

It could have been 30 seconds or 20 minutes, but the idea that pregnancy was even a remote possibility has your insides feeling like they’re folding in on themselves.

“Okay so,” Bree starts, getting your attention. “The test did in fact, come out positive. Since your cycles have been irregular, I’d like to do an ultrasound to see how far along you are and then we can talk about options. Just go ahead and lay back on the table, feet in the stirrups.”

"Positive?" You repeat. "But... What? How?" It comes out breathless.

"Well, sometimes antibiotics can actually cancel out the effects of birth control. We try to advise women to not be sexually active as the body might seize the opportunity to ovulate and result in an unplanned pregnancy. How about we just take a look and go from there, okay?" Bree says just a little too cheerfully as she pats the stirrups.

Following her directions is the only thing you’re able to focus on. Going through the motions of laying down, putting your feet up and opening your legs. Bree’s voice is a murmur mixed with a high pitch ringing as you look up at the ceiling tiles, counting each spect while she sets up the portable sono machine.

“Just a little pressure,” she says, guiding the wand like probe, looking at the screen. “Okay. So, judging from the size… I’d say you’re close to about 9 weeks, give or take a bit. Do you want to hear the heartbeat?” She asks, sweetly. And it’s the first time you’re able to look at her since lying down. Bree patiently waits for your answer with a warm smile. You reluctantly nod your head.

The room fills with soft, muffled whooshing. “It’s so fast. I-is that okay? Is everything okay?” You’re searching her face for any hint of something being wrong. In return, Bree just nods gently as she keeps her smile, still examining the screen.

“A fetus’ heartbeat is a lot quicker than ours. Everything looks perfect actually. Would you… like to see?”

“Yes, please.” You didn't hesitate with your answer this time.

The screen gets tilted towards you and your eyes start darting all around looking for the baby. Your baby. At first you don't see anything. It doesn't look like photos you've seen on Instagram of pregnancy announcements. But then, in the middle of what looks like a black balloon, is a bean with limbs. In the center of this bean is a lively flicker. Bree uses her index finger to point to the screen.

"There's the fetus' arms and legs," she points to the extremities, "and here," her finger gently taps on the pulsing center, "is the heart."

The whooshing matches the pace of the flicker; lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. Hearing the heartbeat in synch with the pulsing on the screen causes your own heartbeat to match for a moment.

So this is love.

After a moment, Bree removes the probe and rips a paper from the ultrasound machine. "Here's some pictures for you," she hands them to you as you sit up on the bed. "I want to see you back here in three weeks for another check up... unless you want to discuss other options?" You shake your head. "Do you have any questions for me?"

“No, not right now.” You’re solely focused on the pictures now in your hand. Even though the image is burned into your brain, holding a physical copy has some how made it more real.

The rest of the afternoon was a whirlwind. There was no possible way that you’re actually pregnant. Even with the new noticeable symptoms and bathroom counter littered in double pink lined tests, it still seemed so unbelievable. That’s not even the hardest part. How am I going to tell Bucky?

Just as the reality starts to set in of having to tell the other adult who is directly involved, the front door to the apartment opens.

"Hey, doll!" Bucky calls loudly from the hallway, the thumping of his boots following his voice. "Sorry that the meeting ran late. I figured we could order in tonight. What about that Thai place you like?" He waits for a response while buzzing around the kitchen, no doubt making himself coffee for the dozenth time today. "Doll?" The question echoes through the quiet apartment.

"I'm in here," you acknowledge softly from the living room couch. Bucky pokes his head out from the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief.

"There you are," he starts walking towards you. "If you tell me what you would like for dinner, I'll call it in and then-" his voice and steps stop abruptly. "Hey... you okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." You answer, obviously distracted.

"That doesn't sound too convincing," Bucky hesitated, looking you over and taking a few steps closer.

"I-I have to tell you something." Your tone is soft, scared. You’re fidgeting with the edges of your sweater sleeves.

“Is it something the doctor said?” His voice is softer now, reluctant and afraid. While his piercing, cerulean blue eyes continue to search yours for the answer, wide and terrified.

“I-“

Should I have gotten balloons? Made him open a box with one of the pregnancy tests or a cute onesie inside? Bake a damn cake?

“Y/n?!” Bucky didn’t yell but definitely had to get your attention. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?!” He pleaded. Why were the words so difficult to say? Maybe because it hasn’t been said out loud yet. Or that it’s still so shocking. Or maybe that verbalizing it will just make it that more real. You turn on your heels and run to the bathroom.

“Y/n!!” He calls after you, but you know he’ll be just a few steps behind.

Picking up a handful of the positive tests off of the vanity counter with your heartbeat pounding in your ears in combination with his heavy footsteps getting closer.

“Seriously! What is going on-“ Bucky is flustered as he steps into the entryway and stops abruptly at the sight of you facing him, holding the tests fanned out.

“I’m pregnant.” There it is. You’re holding your breath, waiting to see what he’ll say. Aside from contraceptives, you’ve never had any kind of discussions pertaining to a family.

His face softens as he takes a step forward, his eyes hyper fixated on all the double pink lines. Bucky’s chest rises and falls deeply now. “You’re… pregnant? Not sick?” He asks to clarify, being cautious.

“Morning sickness, apparently”, a small laugh escapes and it surprises you. “But other than that, I’m fine. We’re fine.”

The ‘we’re’ part catches his attention. He’s looking into your eyes once again, searching. But, for what?

“Is this… something you want? With… me?” He suddenly sounds so adolescent and anxious. Who can blame him? This took you both completely by surprise. Knowing Bucky, he would support you in whatever you wanted. Whatever decision you thought was best for you, your body, your health in every aspect, he would respect and advocate for. He is being cautious with his response to the news until he knows what your decision is.

Putting the tests down, you take both of his hands into yours and take a deep breath.

“Bucky, if you had asked me this morning, I wouldn’t have known what our future would hold. But knowing what I know now… I want this baby. I want to be a mom and for us to be a family. That being said, I know that this is something that we never talked about. If this isn’t something you want, I underst-“

You’re suddenly cut off by his lips pressing into yours. It feels like a weight has been lifted as Bucky’s arms gently wrap around you to bring you closer. Kissing becomes increasingly difficult around giggles and the obnoxiously big smiles you’re both wearing.

When your lips finally part, Bucky’s eyebrows are raised in excitement. His eyes are darting around your torso as if the news would suddenly show physical changes on your body.

“I can’t believe it…” he breathes, “I actually get the chance to be a Dad-” The word comes out almost as a choked sob. My heart.

Reaching into your back pocket, you pull out the ultrasound Bree had given to you earlier, holding it up for him to see.

"Look, our baby's first photo!"

Bucky takes the picture as gently as if someone were handing him an actual newborn baby. He just stares, probably confused as to what he was looking at similarly to you just a few hours ago.

"I know it doesn't really look like anything right now- but I go back in a few weeks and-"

"Are you kidding?" He looks up from the black and white photo to meet your eyes, a watery sheen coating his own. "This is the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my life." Bucky says softly, as if to himself, looking back down at the picture. And he's smiling. A genuine, heartfelt smile.

That night was the closest he had ever held you in his arms. The two of you made up for lost conversations and started planning for your future and what it held as you laid in bed. Bucky talked about how he wanted to build a crib instead of buying one and was curious what the appropriate amount of time was to wait until you could both start telling everyone. Excitement was an understatement for this man.

"Can I go with you to your next appointment?" He asked, in a hopeful tone as his fingers traced along smooth, soft circles around your belly button. You giggle, wincing at one specific caress.

"Hey! That tickles! But, of course you can. You can come to all of them. I was... kinda hoping you would?" In return, your tone holds the same anticipation.

"I wouldn't miss it." Bucky's palm flattens against your belly as he places a kiss against your temple.

"Don't get used to that," You say looking down. "We're going to start growing and getting bigger any day now." You fake a frown, although there is a small part of you that isn't necessarily faking.

"Hmm." A low hum vibrates from the back of Bucky's throat as he shifts his body down along yours.

His fingertips skim the hem of your sleep shirt before pulling it up and exposing your stomach. The coolness of the air makes your abdomen tighten, but is soon replaced with petal soft kisses. "When you say 'grow', I hope you mean grow more beautiful by the day." Each firm press of his lips feels like its igniting your skin on fire with the newfound sensitivity. Your toes start to dig down into the mattress.

"Because, y/n..." Bucky repositions himself onto his knees, one now conveniently pressed in-between your legs. The pressure alone makes your heart rate spike and has you borderline panting. He hovers over you, "There isn't anything in this world I find more beautiful or more attractive than my girl carrying my child." He holds your gaze, intense and primal- more than you've ever seen.

"Do you understand?" Bucky asks with a raised brow. You nod hastily and he grins in response. "Good girl. Now, let's see if those rumors about hyper sensitivity are true. Judging by how you're writhing under me and the wet spot on my knee... I'm really going to enjoy the next few months."

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firelilyfox · 3 months ago

Text

This doesn't define you

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Summary: The cryo sleep left Buckys body damaged and sometimes he feels like freezing all of the sudden. When his girlfriend find him in the shower, trying to warm up again, he can't keep this a secret anymore.

Warnings: anxiety. hurt/comfort. mention of trauma. established relationship. couple kissing. tears.

Wordcount: 0.9k

___________________________________

The left side of the bed was empty.

As you reached out, to look for Bucky, you could only find his pillow. It took your brain a few seconds to realize the fact that your boyfriend wasn’t lying next to you. A nerve wrecking moment you felt terror painfully squeezing your chest, you sat up to search the dark bedroom for a sign of his tall frame.

But there wasn’t any.

There was only a narrow strip of light, coming from underneath the closed bathroom door. You could here the shower running and felt a little ease. It was the middle of the night, but it wasn’t unusual that he would get up at an hour like that, if he was called in to a mission. But then something dropped with a loud sound. And again.

Your curiosity was aroused and you untangled your legs from the warm blanket, to walk over to the door.

You knock slightly. „Bucky? Is everything alright?“

No answer. Just a groaning. It sounded tortured and you stepped inside.

Your gaze flicked instantly to the running shower and there stood Bucky in a big, steamy cloud. His back was turned to you but you could see how his hands were wrapped around his torso, gripping into the back of his arms like he was hugging himself tightly. He wasn’t fully naked, he still had his boxers on, as if he jumped in the shower without thinking.

„Hey. Bucky?“ You announced your appearance.

He throws a look over his shoulder and the unspoken pain you saw in his blue, widened eyes, made you gasp. „I-I’m so-sorry, doll. D-Didn’t wan-t to wa-ke you.“

His words came haltingly and his voice sounded strained. He was shivering. His whole body was vibrating, although the water seemed to run hot over his skin.

You didn’t hesitate any longer and stepped inside the glass shower with your nightgown still on. The hot water made your back bow, you wanted to squeak in shock but you forced your body to obey.

„What’s wrong, Buck?“ You raised your voice a little, so he could hear you over the rushing water.

For a moment he stayed still. The drops running over his face and dripped down from his dark lashes as he blinks slowly. His lips were blue. Slightly parted and also trembling. Bucky looked down to meet your gaze, still holding his torso.

„I-I’m so cold. Had a … nightmare“, he spoke. „Hy-dra and cryo sleep. It was so cold.“

You softly laid your hands on his chest. The skin was already red from the hot water. His muscles were all tensed up beneath your touch, as you slowly reached up to cup his face with your palms.

His eyes squeezed shut, as if relived the pain and the torture all over again. You could feel his jaw clench and you knew it must’ve cost him everything he had not to break down entirely.

„I’m so sorry, Buck. You shouldn’t have to experience this all over again.“ Your thumb brushes over his cheek. „Can I hug you?“

„P-Please“, he stutters.

A little clumsy you got up on your tiptoes, wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down. He leaned in almost desperately. Like he was a drowning man and you were the only air left. He was searching for the warmth of your skin, the warmth of your hug, that felt like a silent promise that everything will be alright. That he can rest now. There is no-one who wants to harm him.

He was safe.

Bucky holds you close. His strong arms felt like a safety blanket and for him it was the same. The way you planted soft kisses in the curve of his shoulder, behind his ear, on his cheek made him realize that the coldness was slowly vanishing. Gentle hands on the back of his head, in his hair. Massaging his back in slow circles to calm his racing heart down.

„I’m sorry, love. You shouldn’t have to see me like this“, Bucky whispered against the soft spot right beneath your ear.

You leaned back in his arms, to look him in the eyes without letting go. „Like what? What do you mean?“

„Like this…“ he rested his forehead against yours, swallowing hard. „Weak.“

„Bucky you are not weak. You’re talking nonsense“, you replied. „You are the strongest person I know.“

His eyes were underlined in a light red tint. Bucky was tearing up, but tried to fight against it. „In moments like this, I don’t feel very strong.“

You pressed your lips on his. Partly to reassure him and mostly to shut him up. „In moments like this I see your true strength, Bucky. Moments like this show me how much you’ve been trough and how much you have suffered in the past.“ You placed a hand directly over his heart. „And you are still here, still looking forward.“

Bucky blinked a few times, to make his tears go away. His jaw clenched again and the sad look in his eyes - so deep, so endless - began to soften.

You wipe a few strains of his wet hair out of his eyes. „You are Bucky Barnes. You are the most loving, deep caring and thoughtful person I know. I can see the light in you, even in moments like this.“

You kiss him again, softly. „This doesn’t define you.“

He leans into the kiss. Braver this time. You could feel the muscles under his skin loosen up, regaining their confidence. For Bucky was this - holding the woman who owns his heart - the most intense feeling he ever experienced. It kicked the helplessness - the darkness - and even the feeling of being put back into cryo sleep, out of his mind.

„Thank you, love“, he mumbled against your lips.

„Anytime, Darling.“

_____________________________

Thank you for reading my loves! All interactions are highly appreciated! 💙 (but please don't copy my work)

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iamthatonefangirl · 4 months ago

Note

grumpy x sunshine but filthy smut where reader is just his wittle baby :( loves and does anything for her and she’s the same for bucky

baby - nsfw bucky barnes

this might be the softest smut I've ever written in my life. totally got away from me.

(lmk if you'd like to choose an emoji, I'd love to hear more from you 🤍)

~~~

you're wrapped up in his arms, the lights dimmed low. the soft, warm luminescence from the lamp makes you glow like an angel, he thinks.

you are an angel. you have to be, because how could you be real?

you are ethereal, a beam of joy and happiness for him in a world that is otherwise nothing but a void of endless nothingness and despair. you can do absolutely no wrong in his eyes; he'll defend and protect you until the day that he dies.

he's got you in his lap, wrapping his arms around your torso to keep you close. you dangle your arms over his shoulders, lazily wrapping them around his neck.

your foreheads are pressed softly together, the act so intimate and full of love it makes you feel like you’re one.

he's just barely moving you back and forth, keeping you oh so close to him while you moan lowly at the pressure of him buried inside you.

he breathes in your scent, just feeling the way you make his whole body soar with love and the surge of happiness that runs through him like a never-ending jolt of electricity.

~~~

when you met him, you were told to expect the worst. you were briefed that he doesn't talk to anyone, doesn't leave his apartment except for work, etc. you were mentally prepared for the antisocial homebody you had been forewarned about, but you weren't nervous. you would just be yourself and hope for the best.

but when you met him, he wasn't staring at you like everyone said he would. yes, he was staring at you, but not with the rage of a thousand suns like you anticipated. his eyes were wide open in... curiosity?

he was shy, but he shook your hand no problem.

internally, he was a wreck. he was melting just from seeing your smile, something that had never happened to him before. he was stunned into silence. sure, he never really made the effort to speak to anyone else anyways, but you?

how was he supposed to talk to a pretty girl like you?

he would only embarrass himself, or look like a pathetic loser, or maybe you had made your decision about him before you met him. maybe you already hated him, and he didn't even stand a chance.

he knew how his demeanor came off; he didn't care what people thought of him. ideally, they wouldn't perceive him at all. the dream life would be to work, stay in the shadows, and never have to speak to another soul again.

but you... god, you were just something else. he wanted to say more to you than he had, he wanted to prove to you that he was more than the angry, people-loathing person everyone else probably told you he was.

after your first meeting, he felt a fool. he blubbered and stuttered like an idiot, and Sam smacked his shoulder and chuckled as you walked away. he scowled at him and stalked off, as usual.

he was just a hateful person. no reason for you to think he could be more than that.

~~~

"you're so pretty, sweetheart," he whispers to you, taking in the sight in front of him. your eyes are shut so softly, relishing in the way he's making such gentle love to you. it's almost sickening how sweet the scene is.

he brings a flesh hand to your cheek, cradling your face in his palm. brings new meaning to "his whole world in the palm of his hand."

"oh, baby," you mumble to him, moving your hips against him a little, neediness taking over your mind. "Bucky, baby, my baby..."

"come on," he whispers. with your eyes closed, you don't see the way his face pinks up. "I'm not a baby. you are my baby," he says, adjusting his grip on you, keeping his hands pressed against your soft skin. his fingertips dip into your flesh ever so softly, making sure not to hurt you. he'd go to the ends of the earth to protect you, rip out anyone's spine for you...

"but you are my baby," you whisper back to him, eyes still shut. your voice is a soft whine as you slowly move back and forth. "you’re my baby, Bucky. my baby, my Bucky, all mine..."

your words send him into a spiral. him? your baby? he's fucked.

"would... would you say it again?" he says, so low in the back of his throat, the words are barely audible.

"you're my baby," you repeat, and he somehow pulls you even closer, as if you're not already as close together as humanly possible.

"and you’re mine, sweetheart,” he tells you as he begins to move you both, still keeping you pressed tightly against him as he lays you on your back and begins to move his hips between yours so slowly and perfectly. “god, I love you,” he breathes.

you let out a soft little cry. "shh, pretty baby, I'm here," he says to you, his tone just a little higher, the way it shifts only around you. "you know I'm here. I'll always be here. just let me take care of you, my baby.”

~~~

every time you spoke to him him after your initial meeting, he felt like his entire reality was warped. time seemed to speed up, moving way too fast whenever he got the chance to speak to you. it was never enough time.

he found himself smiling, even blushing around you. everyone else was shocked, wondering if the man was on drugs or something with the way he seemed to perk up around you.

but no, no drugs.

you lit up something in his soul that he didn't know was possible.

no matter how scared he was, how convinced he was that you were going to say no, he knew he cared too much about you to not make the effort. he was so deeply in love with you to not ask you.

and if you said no, he would deal with it the same way he dealt with everything else: by pretending he didn't care and falling deeper into his hatred for the world.

lucky for the both of you, when he asked you out, you said "yes!" with a vibrant smile and a small spring in your step. he thought he would never be happier than he was in that moment.

oh, but he was wrong. that moment when he got down on one knee, and saw the way your face lit up in pure delight and excitement as you exclaimed, "yes, yes, yes!" over and over again?

that was the happiest moment of his life.

~~~

he reaches down to where your hands are now interlaced, running his fingers over the metal band on your ring finger. he proceeds to bring your hand to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles, to the permanent mark he's now left on your skin, forever.

a beautiful diamond for the most beautiful girl in the world.

having you, here, under him. it's the biggest privilege of his life to call you his, and he's going to spend the rest of his life trying to prove that he deserves to have you.

"you feelin' good, baby?" he whispers to you, cupping your face in his hand once more. "tell me what you need. anything at all, it's yours."

you shake your head. "it's perfect, baby..." you whine, lifting your hips to meet his.

"you ready for me to make you come, baby?" he asks, pushing a strand of hair out of your face.

"yes, please, James," you ask him, and he brings his lips to your neck.

"no need for pleas, baby, I'm gonna give you everything you want for the rest of our lives."

he moves your legs to wrap around his waist and kisses your neck up to your jaw, doubling down on his efforts as he fucks you so sweetly.

"that's my girl. my baby, my fiance," he whispers as though he's speaking to himself. "you're doing so well, babydoll. come for me."

your legs tighten around his waist, trapping his hips against yours as you bear down and reach your release with a cry of his name.

"so beautiful, that's it, baby," he whispers, holding you through it.

"I love you, James," you whisper as you find your breath again.

"oh, baby, you'll never know how much I love you. how much you've changed my life for the better. how afraid I am of the feelings I have for you... and how I'd rather die than run away from the feeling, no matter how much it scares me."

your eyes well up with tears of joy, and he wipes them away with a soft brush of his thumb.

"I'm yours, forever, babydoll," he whispers, and leans in to kiss you like the world depends on it.

because it does. you are his world.

~~~

who am I and what have I done with horny bri. I guess I'm a softie now

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#fem reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #soft bucky #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky #soft smut #bucky smut #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #iamthatonefangirl #thatonefangirlwrites

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buckyalpine · 1 year ago

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Bucky's baby girl who loves his metal arm.

She runs hot just like her daddy, the serum also coursing through her keeping her extra warm. She's all fussy until Bucky cradles her in his left arm and the content sigh she lets out feeling his cool metal against her warm, chubby cheek is unmatched.

It's also perfect when she starts teething. No other toys do it like daddy's thumb. She's happily tucked in the crook of his arm, two tiny hands holding onto his much larger one so she can get a proper grip and chew on his fingers. The coldness soothes her gums.

Bucky's babygirl who only falls asleep when he holds her. It's not that she doesn't fall asleep with her mommy, but she's clearly picked up this habit directly from you. Her daddy's chest is her favourite place to be and you can't complain because you feel the exact same way. There's nothing cuter than her little gummy smile while sleeping contently on daddy's chest, his metal fingers rubbing her back in soothing circles. She practically gets lost in him when he holds her, such a tiny bundle wrapped up around metal and muscle. Of course he gives you the exact same treatment after she's around asleep in her crib and you're also softly snoring moments later.

(Just a rogue thought but imagine Bucky doesn't get the playful pout you make whenever his daughter whines to cuddle up with him, taking away from his snuggle time from you. He so very clearly has time for you both. Then you have a son. The places have been switched as he watches his babyboy coo and giggle in your arms between nursing and Bucky isn't jealous of his own son but he 100% ready for his turn to be in your lap with your boobs in his face. When his son only sleeps on mommy's warm chest with all the skin to skin contact, he's side eyeing you with his shirt off, ready for cuddles immediately after. He's a menace and it's the cutest thing)

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marvelstoriesepic · 1 year ago

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Casual Sweetness

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x reader

Summary: You seek out your roommate and best friend Bucky for comfort after a girls night out leaves you shaken up.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: slight mentions of handsy strangers at a bar (nothing graphic); so much comfort

Author’s note: I don’t know where this came from. I started writing it, then finished it and now it’s existing and I’m putting it out there.

Masterlist

Never once has a night out with your girls left you this unsatisfied. Or, shaken, really. Every pre-planned rendezvous or spontaneous meet-up at a local bar with Wanda and Nat had always been a reliable escape from the daily grind.

You three like to cozy up at home, preferably at Wanda’s, and binge-watch a worthy series. And while that held its certain appeal, every once in a while you would find yourselves dancing and drinking, surrounded by people who wouldn’t remember enough of you, if the amount of liquor drove you to making decisions that sober you wouldn’t have even thought of. It has always provided an outlet for stress and helped you recharge.

Not tonight though. The strangers in the new bar you girls tried out tonight were far too handsy, your head started pounding uncomfortably even before taking the first sip and thinking about the bartender only makes dread pooling in your gut.

You also weren’t able to distract your mind, or rather your heart.

Usually, you would think about getting an Uber to meet up with your friends but Bucky always insisted on driving you when he wasn’t busy. But really, he never seemed to be, anyway. Not when it meant you would have to leave the apartment on your own. Nothing had his priority other than chauffeuring you around. You never asked him to do that, he just had a habit of insisting and there was nothing you could do. He had told you as much.

And tonight was no exception. He had sprung up from the couch, movie already paused, and keys in hand when you had emerged from the bathroom and practically ushered you into his car to drive you to the bar you girls had agreed on meeting at.

“Just don’t like the idea of you sittin’ in the backseat of some car, looking all pretty and dressed up with some guy in the front, thinking god knows what. Not takin’ any chances, doll, let me drive you.”

You always roll your eyes and scoff at his exaggerated concern, reminding him that it was said guy’s job to drive you to your wanted destination. You usually ignore the rest of his words. A simple shirt and jeans would hardly qualify as ‘dressed up’ for you and the idea of you being ‘pretty’ was something you would usually laugh at.

But it was hard to laugh at that when it came out of Bucky’s mouth. Your roommate. Your friend. Maybe even your best friend. But that’s where it stopped because nothing more ever happened. And you doubted it would.

So you let his words slide and let them wash over you because if you would address them, you would start thinking. And think, you do not want to. Because thinking only leads to foolish hope. A hopeless belief, that perhaps Bucky feels what you feel and suppresses it the same way you are. A ridiculous belief that he has the same overwhelming feelings about a friend that goes way beyond what friends normally feel for each other.

So you never let yourself think too hard, shoving those feelings into a box at the very back of your mind and swallowing down the key with the hard liquor when you went out for some drinks. It always burns on its way down. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s that lingering ache. It really is not clear to you, but it does offer you a sense of reprieve, if only temporarily.

With every hungover the next day, follows the inevitable onslaught of that knot inside your chest and that rusty key resurfaces, reopening the box and unleashing a fresh wave of longing.

It only worsens in the way he would take care of you.

Every glass of water, each soft touch, each softly whispered inquiry is a gentle prod to the already gaping wound that was caused by the feelings of unrequited love.

The pancakes he would bring to your bed - because you were too grumpy to leave it - never satisfies the nourishment your soul craves. The pain relievers he would put on your nightstand, already there when you’d get back, would only serve as a cruel reminder that nothing could relieve the ache inside your chest.

With every “You feelin’ better, doll?” and “There anythin’ else I can do for you, sweetheart?” the ache deepens, spreading like wildfire through your veins, reaching your bones and searing through them like branding irons with the intention to leave marks that you believe to be permanent.

The hangover eventually leaves your body, but your heart festered.

However, the ache is not always the dominant emotion in Bucky’s presence. It isn’t always the first thing you acknowledge. First and foremost, being in Bucky’s proximity elicits a profound sense of comfort and warmth.

It let the butterflies in your stomach flutter uncontrollably with every belly laugh he let out unabashedly, tipping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut, crinkles forming at their corners.

Your heart does unwanted flips at every pet name Bucky lets casually slip passed his lips, seeming so nonchalant about calling you doll and sweetheart but to you it means everything.

Every tender gesture leaves you breathless. You had been living with him for nearly a year now and you had come to acknowledge how sharing a space with him had become a delicate balancing act between euphoria and agony.

Bucky would bring you a hot water bottle at times when your cramps got too bad, or simply when you experienced menstrual discomfort, trying to soothe you with sweets he extra went out for.

He would jokingly chastise you to fold your clothes before storing them in the closet to prevent them from wrinkling and tease you when you didn’t. But it always ended with him taking matters into his own hands and carefully folding your clothes while you watched him from your bed, making fun of him when he turned red attending to your undergarments, despite trying to remain indifferent.

He would cook with and for you, make you coffee in the mornings, distract you with terrible jokes when you had a bad day, and leave you to it when all you needed was some me-time, only checking in when he needed to be sure you were okay.

His casual sweetness was a constant assault on your composure.

But right now, as you klick the door to your shared apartment shut and slip out of your shoes with a heavy sigh, it is all you can think of. His gentle touch, the sparkling blue of his eyes, the cheerfulness of his smile that makes your insides do somersaults.

It is still early. Earlier than you had ever been home after a night out and you’re sure Bucky is still awake. The lights in the living room are out which means he is in his room, perhaps engrossed in his laptop, reading a book, or idly scrolling through his phone.

Yet, you hesitate, staying rooted to the spot in the hallway. It was nothing unusual for you to knock on Bucky’s door, sometimes simply barging in if you felt particularly bold or just wanted to annoy him. But you had never sought him out before simply because you needed him. Needed his comfort, his reassuring whispers, the warmth that radiates off him and seeps into your skin.

So to buy some time, you retreat to the bathroom; emptying the contents of your bladder, splashing water on your face, and brushing your teeth.

There is only so much time you can stall, and soon enough you find yourself standing in front of Bucky’s bedroom door, clothes discarded and changed for more comfortable sleepwear. There is no noise filtering through the wall of his room but the soft glow seeping beneath the door offers a glimmer of hope.

You try to soothe the shakiness of your hands and rub them along the fabric of your shirt before lifting one hand to knock on his door. The sound is softer than intended, but Bucky’s gentle ‘come in’ was immediate.

Opening the door slowly you find him leaning against the headboard of his bed, dark sheets loosely draped around his waist. His grey shirt makes him look cozy and in his lap lay a book. One you had recommended him to read.

Your body reacts in an instant, shoulders dropping ever so slightly and a breath leaves your lips at the comfort he already provides.

“You’re back early,” he starts when you keep standing at the door unmoving, “didn’t expect you home til’ midnight at least.”

The familiar cadence of his tone provides you the sense of stability you had needed to let go of his doorknob, however, the teasing in his voice wasn’t lost on you. He seems to have expected you to tumble through the door at an ungodly hour, dropping in your bed and waking the next morning with a hangover worse than the last time.

You assume the bottle of water and the painkillers already found their place on your nightstand.

A huffed laugh leaves your lips but your expression remains unchanged as you shift awkwardly in his doorway. “Uh, yeah, we decided to leave earlier. Weren’t really feeling it, I guess.” You shrug, attempting to sound nonchalant, but Bucky’s brow begins to furrow softly and he shuts his book, placing it on his nightstand without taking his eyes off you.

“You alright, doll?” His voice was devoid of the teasing tone he had held moments before, “did something happen?” His eyes are intense, scanning your face and you break eye contact, letting your gaze wander across his room as if you see it for the first time.

You take a deep breath, hands twisting nervously and your heart picks up in pace. “I, uhm…It’s-” You stumble over your words, a shaky breath escaping your mouth instead of a coherent answer.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Bucky shift on his bed, straightening as if preparing to come closer to you but your next words halt him in his movements.

“Can I maybe stay with you? Tonight?”

It comes out more pleading and quieter than wanted but you don’t care about that right now. Not with the way Bucky looks at you. He is halfway out of the bed already, sheets thrown back onto the mattress but he still doesn’t take his eyes off you.

“Course you can stay, doll! Of course you can.”

Bucky’s voice holds a reassuring firmness, while he still talks softly. Your teeth clamp down on your lower lip, watching him cross the room to you and placing his hands gently on your upper arms to take a better look at you. His eyes move between yours, brows deepening, concern etching itself into every line of his face.

“You wanna tell me what happened? Somebody make you uncomfortable?” There is something in his tone you can’t concentrate on, only shaking your head at his questions.

“I don’t- Can we not-” Your words were cut short by the gentle touch of Bucky’s hand on your face. His thumb begins to steadily swipe over your cheekbones so tenderly, a shiver rushes down your spine. He had never touched you like this before and you are trying your very best not to let your eyes droop and melt into him.

“We don’t have to talk about this right now, doll, I just-” So many emotions are swirling in the depth of his blues, his worry still the most outstanding. “Just wanna make sure you’re okay,” he whispers. “Is there anything you need? Anything I can do?”

His thumb doesn’t ease the motions over your skin and it is that you realize your hands stopped shaking and your heartbeat fell back in place without conscious effort. He has done so much for you already, without knowing it.

A deep, audible sigh escapes your lips and you offer him your first genuine smile of the night. “Just wanna stay here with you,” you whisper, your gaze locked onto his and if the world stopped moving for a second you would be none the wiser.

The comforting circles of his thumb paused and you feel that damned rusty key turning in the deadbolt of the lock to the box of your feelings, opening them with a screech and letting the contents spill out, open for him to see. And there comes the hope again. The belief that the depths of his eyes reflect the very same emotions you have plastered on your face.

But how can you not believe it when his expression holds something that looks to you a lot like love. A love, an affection, that, as you’ve established goes way beyond friendship.

Warm lips brush against your forehead and you let your eyes close for a second, savoring the feel of them. Gentle hands guide you towards his bed and you move like putty, allowing yourself to be enveloped in the soft sheets, full of his scent.

Bucky crawls in beside you, laying his body to face yours and you can’t help but study the way the soft glow of the moon that seeps through the curtains, reflect on the planes of his face, after he shut off the little lamp on his bedside table.

“Thank you, Bucky!” you whisper, the sound almost getting lost in the sheets, but he hears you, a soft smile forming on his lips, the moon allowing you to see it.

“Not for this, sweetheart. Never for this,” he whispers back and you let your eyes fall shut with a content sigh.

Right before sleep can claim you, you feel the comforting weight of his hand, covering your own over the sheets and silently linking with your fingers.

“I’ve found a natural drug for all of my panic, anxiety, and anger. It’s his voice. It’s him.”

- J.R. Rogue

#bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky oneshot #Bucky comfort #soft!bucky barnes #soft bucky #roommate Bucky #roommate!Bucky #Casual Sweetness

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buckybarnesslutshop · 3 months ago

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i think bucky is a weighted blanket.

like chronically. he will lay on top of you, ESPECIALLY if you ask for it. oh especially then. he revels in the ways he can make you relax, only he can do that. “Look at you, shoulders aren’t as tense baby,” he whispers, nuzzling into your neck.

but he loves it too, just as much, if not more. and after a bad day or mission, he will walk into the room, stripping his tactical gear as soon as he can and getting into something cozier. “need you,” he mumbles all grumpy and tired. and you just lay back on the bed and open your arms for him. and of course, he makes grumpy little groans but settles in, face in your neck, inhaling your perfume and softening slowly.

“thank you,” he murmurs, and you kiss his forehead. He, in turn, lifts his head to kiss your lips softly, humming.

Yeah. Bucky is a sweet weighted blanket

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #soft bucky #i need bucky #bucky thoughts #he’s so sweet #bucky snuggles

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queencaptainbarnes · 1 month ago

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Little Confessions

🦾 pairing: bucky barnes x reader 💬 genre: soft domestic fluff, emotional intimacy, love confessions 🖋 word count: 2.4k 📖 summary: You didn’t think people like him existed anymore. He didn’t think love like this was real—until you.

It was a sunny morning, and the simple smell of coffee from the kitchen was always a pleasant way to wake up. Getting an automated coffee maker with a timer had turned out to be one of the best purchases she’d ever made.

Feet planted on the cold floor, she stretched out the sleep from her body, eyes still shut to shield against the bright morning light. Her fuzzy house slippers were a must — the warmth of them a comforting contrast to the chill of the hardwood.

Wandering into the kitchen, she pulled out her favorite mug and poured a fresh cup of coffee, fixing it just the way she liked. The first sip was magic, jumpstarting her senses.

Before she could even think about breakfast, a couple of knocks sounded from the front door.

Confused, she quickly made her way over, peeking through the peephole. Her breath hitched — the last person she expected to see stood on the other side.

Opening the door, her surprise melted into a smile. Bucky stood there, a brown paper bag in one hand, the aroma wafting from it enough to make her stomach grumble.

“Hi… what are you doing here?” she asked, still a little stunned.

“Hey,” he greeted with a smile. “Sorry, I can’t stay — I’m headed to the office. But I brought you some breakfast.”

He held up the bag casually, like it was no big deal.

She blinked, accepting it slowly. “You came all this way to bring me breakfast?”

He shrugged. “Your apartment’s on the way to work. So is this place.”

She looked inside. “Wow… it smells amazing.”

“I remember you said you wanted to try it,” he replied, clearly pleased with himself. “I’ll call you later when I get off.”

She nodded, watching him head down the stairs. Back inside, she closed the door behind her, glancing down at the bag again with a quiet smile.

It had been two months since Y/n and Bucky started dating, and saying he exceeded expectations would be an understatement.

After four years in New York, she’d nearly given up on the idea of a good relationship. The “nice” guys always flaked, ghosted, or turned out to be something else entirely. Exes had been serial cheaters, emotionally unavailable, or simply not ready for anything real. It was exhausting.

And then, Bucky happened.

They’d met by accident — literally — when she ran straight into him on the way to work, sending his coffee spilling across both of them.

He’d caught her before she could fall, gloved hands gripping her forearms firmly but gently.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his soft voice a surprising contrast to his rugged exterior.

“I— yeah, I’m okay. Oh no, I’m so sorry!” She’d fumbled through her bag for napkins, trying to blot his shirt. “I’m definitely making this worse,” she added with a nervous laugh.

He caught her wrist gently. “It’s fine.”

“It’s really not. Let me buy you another coffee,” she insisted, already turning toward the shop door behind him.

Before he could argue, she was gone. Moments later, she returned with a fresh cup — and some sugar, just in case.

“I got sugar, but I wasn’t sure if you—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted again, glancing down and quickly away. “Uh… I think the coffee got you more than it did me.”

She looked down — and winced. The hot coffee had stained her shirt, turning it translucent enough to reveal her bright blue bra. Folding her arms across her chest, she mumbled, “I can’t go to work like this.”

Without a word, Bucky pulled off his leather jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, giving the front a gentle tug to secure it.

“I hope your job’s not too strict on dress code,” he said.

She blinked up at him. “I can’t take your jacket.”

“You can,” he said simply. “I’ll survive without it.”

It was only then she noticed how well his white tee clung to his broad chest. His metal arm reflected the morning sun, giving him a kind of glow that made her heart skip a beat.

“I’ll get this back to you,” she said quickly. “Can you hold this?” she added, handing the new coffee to the man standing nearby. He nodded politely, smirking a bit as he glanced between the two. Although she wasn’t sure why.

She scribbled her number on a slip of paper and handed it to Bucky, who hesitated before taking it with a small, awkward smile.

“I really gotta go,” she said, stepping backward. “But thank you — again.”

He nodded, watching as she disappeared into the crowd.

Now, two months later, she sat on the couch with a smile as she took a bite of the breakfast he’d brought. He’d remembered the place she mentioned once, in passing — and that alone meant everything.

Bucky always did things like this. From the very first date, he brought flowers, opened doors, pulled out chairs, and walked her home. He planned most of their outings, remembered small things she said, and never hesitated to show he cared.

Being so independent for most of her life, dating someone like Bucky was an adjustment. He made her feel like a princess — in the simplest, most thoughtful ways.

When she mentioned that to him once, he just shrugged it off. “It’s not a big deal,” he’d said. “Just something I like to do.”

And sometimes, after long workdays, he’d still insist on taking her out, even when the exhaustion showed in his eyes. She suspected he was doing it mostly for her.

So tonight, she decided to return the favor.

She sent him a quick text, inviting him over right after work. He replied almost immediately: Absolutely.

After finishing breakfast, she ran errands, cleaned the apartment, cooked dinner, and got cozy in her favorite pajamas and fuzzy socks. The living room was lit with candles, pillows and blankets arranged on the couch, and a movie queued up with snacks ready on the coffee table.

Ten minutes after his “on my way” text, came the knock she was waiting for.

She opened the door with a wide smile — which faltered just a little at the sight of his tired face. Bucky tried to perk up, but she could see it.

“Hey, come on in.”

He stepped inside, slipping off his shoes and scanning the setup. “What’s all this?”

She rubbed her hands nervously against her shorts. “I… thought I’d plan the date tonight. You always do, and I know work’s been exhausting lately—”

“What?” he interrupted. “Why would you say that?”

She blinked. “Well, you’ve just seemed tired after work lately, and I thought maybe a relaxing night in would help…”

Bucky sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Oh… I’m sorry. Did I mess up?” Her voice was small, and insecurity crept in fast.

He looked at her then, face unreadable. “Absolutely not.”

He closed the distance between them in two strides, cupping her face with both hands before pressing a kiss to her lips — firm, hungry, and unrelenting. His cologne lingered faintly, a pine-wood scent that mixed with the warmth of his touch.

His metal hand slid along her thigh, sending shivers up her spine. She reached up, gripping his tie mostly to steady herself — though the way he responded made her breath catch again.

When she finally pulled away, he moved to her neck, pressing soft kisses before resting his forehead against hers.

“Thank you." he whispered. "And 'I'm sorry."

Confused, she leaned back looking up at him. "Sorry? What for?"

"I thought I was doing a good job at keeping work at... work. Guess I need to work on that." He laughed lightly at his play at words.

Trying to smile herself, it didn't last long, a new troubling thought coming to surface. "You know, if you want to ever talk about work-"

"I don't wanna bother you, its never anything worth talking about, and coming here, seeing you, it takes me away from it. I don't wanna revisit it when I'm with you, I just wanna be with you." His voice faulted towards the end, it only worried her a bit more.

"You know, I do watch the news." Reaching up to the back of his head, she started to mess with the tips of his hair. "I kinda already have an idea of what you've been going through, although I'm sure its even more stressful behind the scenes."

He hummed an agreement, closing his eyes he tilted his head back at her touch. "Worse."

She smiled sadly, taking a deep breath, leaning on her toes to reach his face she pecked the side of his cheek. "Common, i'll fix ya a plate."

“Smells incredible in here,” he said, glancing toward the kitchen.

“It’s nothing fancy,” she replied, walking to the kitchen. “Just some pasta. And brownies. And ice cream. Because… obviously.”

“Obviously,” he echoed with a tired smile. “You’re spoiling me.”

“You deserve to be spoiled,” she said without hesitation.

His eyes followed her as she walked around the kitchen making them both plates. He wasn’t used to hearing that — like he didn’t quite believe it yet, but really wanted to. She glanced over to him

“Go sit. I’ll bring everything over.”

Bucky made his way to the couch, settling into the mountain of pillows and blankets she’d laid out. He watched her in the soft candlelight — the way she moved around the kitchen with confidence, the way she hummed to herself, the way she poured two glasses of soda and carefully balanced the plates.

When she returned, she handed him a plate and curled up beside him, her fuzzy socks brushing his slacks as she pulled the blanket over both of them. He immediately reached for her, pulling her closer against him as she leaned into his side.

They ate in comfortable silence, save for a few soft murmurs about how good everything tasted. When they finished, she took the plates back to the kitchen, returned with the brownies and ice cream, and pressed play on the movie.

Bucky didn’t even ask what it was. He didn’t care.

Her head rested on his shoulder. His fingers traced lazy shapes on her arm beneath the blanket. Her body fit perfectly into his side, like they were puzzle pieces that had been waiting to snap into place.

Halfway through the movie, she glanced up at him and caught his eyes already on her.

“What?” she asked with a smile, voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head slightly. “Nothing. Just… you really have no idea what you do to me.”

She turned her body toward him, her cheek resting on his chest. “You always make me feel like I’m dreaming,” she whispered. “I thought guys like you didn’t exist anymore.”

“I didn’t,” he said honestly. “Not until I met you.”

She smiled again, lips brushing the fabric of his shirt. “You’re such a sap.”

He grinned. “Only for you.” Gently, he brushed a few strands of hair from her face, fingertips lingering longer than necessary. “Sam was right.”

Her brows furrowed. “Sam? Right about what?”

“He’s the one who told me it’d be worth calling you that day.” His voice softened as the memory came back.

“What day?”

“The day you spilled coffee on me.”

She sat up a little, suddenly more alert, curiosity flaring in her eyes. “He did?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “After you left, he went on this whole rant about how I needed to get out more. Said I wouldn’t get another shot with a pretty girl brave enough to approach me."

“Brave enough?” she repeated with a laugh.

“He says my resting face always looks like I’m about to strangle someone.”

She snorted. “That’s sweet. Sam’s a good friend.”

“Yeah—when he’s not annoying the hell out of me,” Bucky muttered, though his tone was fond.

“You love him,” she teased, eyes narrowing playfully.

He nodded, quieter now. “I do.” There was a pause. His eyes didn’t leave hers. Something shifted in his expression—serious, steady, uncertain but hopeful.

“And you.”

Her smile faded, blinking as his words settled over her. “Bucky, do you mean—? I don’t wanna read too far into it, but you just said—well, you didn’t say it exactly, but you implied—”

“I love you.”

He said it without hesitation this time. Bringing her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, his gaze never wavering. “No implication. Just a fact.”

Her smile returned, brighter then before—this time a full grin that reached her eyes. She grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him forward, catching him off guard.

The kiss was rough, almost clumsy, her aim just a little off—but the second one landed perfectly. Bucky’s hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her into his lap. She shifted, straddling him with ease, and his arms tightened to hold her steady.

His metal fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns along her spine, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake. She shivered in response, breath hitching.

When she finally pulled away, Bucky was gazing up at her, eyes soft and glassy, like he was seeing something precious he never thought he’d have.

He tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear, then let his hand rest against her cheek. His touch was feather-light, reverent.

“I love you too, Bucky.”

His smile was quiet, but radiant. He leaned up to kiss her again—gentle this time, savoring it, as if sealing a promise between them.

Reaching over to grab the remote and pause the movie she turned back to him. “Want to skip the rest?”

“Not if you were watching it.” He said, already knowing her answer.

“I wasn’t. I was just enjoying this.” She gestured between them. “You.”

A quiet beat passed before Bucky pulled her closer, practically folding her into his lap as they settled deeper into the couch.

There, in the glow of candles and the low hum of a paused movie, he let his guard down completely — the mask of exhaustion slipping away, replaced by something softer. Calmer. Safe.

Neither of them spoke again for a while.

They didn’t need to.

#bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #marvel #mcu #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #the winter soldier #soft bucky #domestic bucky #bucky x female reader #queencaptainbarnes

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bunniebarnes · 2 months ago

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sweetest secret

pairing: avenger!teammate!dad’scoworker!Bucky x femStark!reader

summary: where Bucky Barnes falls for Tony Stark’s daughter, and she falls too. 💞

content warnings: mentions of father’s death, slight grieving, implications of sexual activity. other than that, all fluff because we love sweet, soft Bucky. <3

a/n: FIRST FIC, YAY!!! no but, tbh, this is a terrible blurb i couldn’t stop writing while creating for a cai bot, so it became too long and decided to post it here 🥰 bear with me, i’m still getting the hang of this.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔

You’d always had a thing for your dad’s coworker.

It started when you were fourteen. He was the new addition to the team—quiet, brooding, always lurking in the corners with eyes that had seen too much. You knew he was older. Much older.

But that didn’t stop the flutter in your chest whenever he spoke near you, his voice low and gravelly, like a secret only you got to hear.

Bucky Barnes had that effect on people. But on you? It was different.

At first, it was silly—just a teenage crush. The way you’d stammer around him, the way your pulse would quicken if he so much as looked at you.

He always smiled softly, amused but kind, never crossing a line. Never inappropriate. He kept his distance, respectfully so.

But when you turned eighteen, everything shifted.

The tension you’d always felt became something more. Something magnetic. Something electric.

You noticed it in the way he would clench his jaw when you walked by in your training gear, how his eyes would flick to your lips when you talked, how his metal hand would twitch slightly, like it ached to touch you but knew it shouldn’t.

You noticed, too, how he was always near. Always watching. Always protecting. His hand would hover near the small of your back in crowded hallways.

He’d position himself beside you on missions. He’d wait until you were safely in your quarters before going to his. It was subtle, but it was Bucky—and subtle for him meant volumes.

And then your father died.

Everything changed again. You broke.

But Bucky? He was there. Not as a soldier. Not as your dad’s teammate. As himself. He sat beside you at the funeral. Held your trembling hands through sleepless nights. Whispered comforting words when the grief clawed at your chest.

He never pushed, never asked for anything. Just stayed. One night, after hours of crying in his arms, you felt his lips barely graze your hairline. Not lustful. Just… aching.

Something bloomed in you then—trust, maybe. Or love. Maybe both.

You started spending nights in his room when the loneliness got too loud.

At first, you’d fall asleep in his bed, his hand smoothing over your hair, his chest warm against your back. But eventually, things changed again.

One night, you kissed him. He kissed you back. And that night, for the first time, he let you see the softness in him—the man beneath the weapon.

You gave yourself to him, and he gave himself to you. It was desperate and tender all at once, like the two of you had been waiting years for that moment. And maybe you had.

From then on, those nights became frequent. Needed. Secret.

No one could know.

Not Tony’s daughter and the ex-Winter Soldier. The man who had murdered your grandparents. Not the Avengers who were left, not the Thunderbolts, not the public. The headlines would write themselves.

The betrayal. The scandal.

So you kept it hidden. Your stolen kisses. His fingers tracing lazy circles on your back in the dark.

The way he whispered “baby” into your neck like it was a prayer. The way you loved him more with every breath.

Because he wasn’t just your dad’s coworker anymore.

He wasn’t just Steve’s best friend.

He wasn’t just The Winter Soldier.

He was your Bucky.

And in a world full of chaos, secrets, and haunted pasts—you had each other.

And that was enough.

Always.

⸻

One night, long after the world was asleep, you lay tangled in his sheets, your head on his chest, fingers trailing slow shapes over the metal lines of his arm.

He broke the silence first, voice husky and low. “You ever think about the future?”

You looked up at him, heart doing that fluttering thing it always did when he spoke like this—unguarded. “All the time.”

His thumb brushed over your bare shoulder. “I mean… us. What this is.”

He paused, then added, “What it could be, if we ever stopped hiding.”

You blinked slowly, letting the words settle. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to not worry about who’s watching. To kiss you in front of the others and not care what they think.”

His smile was small but aching. “They’d tear us apart, you know. Not just the team. The world. I’m not… the guy people want for you.”

You reached up, touching his jaw with gentle fingers. “But you’re my guy.”

He exhaled shakily, like your words were both healing and dangerous. “God, I want a life with you. I want mornings with you in my arms. I want to take you out and not look over my shoulder. I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up knowing I can keep you forever.”

You swallowed hard. “Then let’s want it. Even if we can’t have it yet. Even if the world doesn’t get it.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re not afraid?”

“Terrified,” you whispered. “But I love you more than I’m scared.”

And he kissed you then—slow, deep, reverent. Like he was promising you a forever, even if the world wasn’t ready for it yet.

⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔

a/n: okay, this is not my favorite thing but it’ll do because i have been wanting to post a blurb here, so enjoy, i guess 🥹 reblogs & comments are very much appreciated 🤍

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kitty384 · 5 months ago

Text

He Knew Before I Did

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: During a simple recon mission, you suddenly get sick—and Bucky is the first to realize what it might mean. You’re pregnant. And somehow, he knew before you did.

Warnings: Nausea/vomiting, implied pregnancy, soft emotional support, fluff, established relationship

The mission wasn’t supposed to be complicated.

Simple recon. No combat. No one even fired a shot. We were in and out in under twenty minutes, and the van ride home was smooth and quiet.

So why the hell was I sweating through my suit, stomach twisting, mouth dry, eyes locked on the floor like I was going to die right then and there?

“Y/N?” Sam asked from across the van. “You look kinda pale. You okay?”

I nodded too fast. “Yeah. Just… hot.”

That wasn’t a lie. But it also wasn’t the whole truth.

Something felt off.

Wrong.

Too tight in my ribs. Too loud in my ears. Too unsteady in my body.

And then the nausea rolled in like a freight train.

My hand slapped over my mouth. I barely managed to scramble to the van door before I threw up.

Hard.

The world blurred. Everything spun. I leaned against the side of the van, gripping the edge like it could keep me upright, trying to catch my breath.

“Y/N!”

Boots hit the pavement. A hand touched my back, firm but careful. Gloved fingers pulled my hair away from my face.

I didn’t have to look to know it was Bucky.

Of course it was Bucky.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low and serious—but not panicked.

“I—I don’t know,” I croaked.

He didn’t ask more questions. Just rubbed slow circles on my back and waited.

When I finally stood upright, dizzy and mortified, I saw the way he was looking at me.

Not confused.

Not surprised.

But like something had just clicked.

“Buck,” I mumbled, wiping my mouth, “please don’t say it.”

He tilted his head. “Say what?”

“You know what.”

He hesitated.

Then gave me that look—the one that was equal parts “I love you” and “I’m worried out of my mind and trying not to freak out.”

“Have you… taken a test lately?”

I blinked at him.

A test?

Oh.

I froze.

“I mean—no,” I said quickly. “But I—I don’t think—”

Bucky gently took my hand, grounding me. “Y/N. It would explain a lot.”

I started doing the math.

The weird cravings. The mood swings. The late period I’d blamed on stress. The way he’d been eyeing me for the last two weeks like he knew something I didn’t.

“Holy crap,” I whispered.

Bucky didn’t smile. Not yet. But his eyes softened.

“We’ll stop by the pharmacy on the way back,” he said. “Just in case.”

The second we got home, I locked myself in the bathroom.

Bucky didn’t knock. Didn’t push. Just sat outside the door like he had a thousand times before.

I took the test with shaking hands.

Set it on the counter.

Waited.

And when the time passed, I looked.

Two lines.

Clear.

Positive.

I sat on the floor, the test clutched in my hand, suddenly crying and laughing at the same time.

Then I opened the door.

Bucky stood up instantly.

One look at my face and he knew.

I held out the test, voice shaking. “I think we’re gonna have a baby.”

His hands hovered, like he didn’t want to grab me too fast. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “Are you?”

That’s when the smile broke across his face.

Gentle. Overwhelmed. Bright.

“I knew it,” he said, pulling me into his arms. “I knew the second you threw up.”

I laughed into his chest. “That’s not very romantic.”

“It is to me.”

We didn’t tell anyone that day.

We just laid in bed, curled together under soft blankets, my hand resting over my belly while his hand covered mine.

We didn’t speak much.

But we didn’t need to.

We were building something now—something brand new.

And he knew before I did.

Because of course he did.

Because he always does.

Masterlist

Request

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heldbybarnes · 3 days ago

Note

40s medic!reader who gets alerted when both Steve and Bucky get in a fight- not to help them, but to tell them off once they get to her med bay. Then she fixes them up.

same reader in present day, getting alerted when her boys are back from a mission that she wasn’t on. Tony thinks that it’s funny, watching two 200 pound 6 foot men get told off by an angry woman.

That is until she turns on him for being too reckless.

just a slice of life!

omg i love this. those boys need somebody to keep them in check

----------

The first time you raised your voice at them, it wasn’t in the field, wasn’t when blood was pouring or bullets were flying. It was in the med bay.

The door had swung open with a bang, two familiar idiots stumbling through like they hadn’t just been throwing punches at each other on the Brooklyn streets ten minutes ago. Steve’s lip was split, Bucky’s knuckles were already swelling, and both looked far too smug for their own good.

You’d been called in because “the sergeant and the punk got into it again.” At this point, you half expected to see them like this weekly.

“You two are unbelievable.” Your voice cut through the room sharper than the antiseptic smell. “Do you know how many real soldiers are actually bleeding out right now? And I get dragged away because you—” you jabbed a finger at Steve—“couldn’t keep your mouth shut, and you—” now it was Bucky—“couldn’t keep your fists to yourself.”

Steve, to his credit, tried to look sheepish. It didn’t work, mostly because his nose was bleeding down the front of his shirt.

Bucky just shrugged, his trademark smirk tugging at his mouth. “He started it.”

You pressed your lips together and reached for a roll of gauze before you said something unprofessional. “Sit. Both of you. Now.”

Like chastised schoolboys, they obeyed, sinking onto the cots while you moved between them with practiced efficiency. Swabs, gauze, antiseptic—your hands worked quickly, but your mouth didn’t stop.

“I swear, one of these days, the two of you are going to land yourselves in traction. What will you do then? Steve, you’ll be useless with a broken hand. And you, Sergeant Barnes, how are you going to dance your way out of missions if your jaw’s wired shut?”

“Doll—”

“Don’t ‘doll’ me, James.”

He winced, caught. Steve had the audacity to snicker until you shoved a cold compress against his split lip hard enough to make him hiss.

By the time you finished, both men were quiet, bandaged, and considerably less smug.

“Good. Now apologize.”

They blinked. “What?” they said in unison.

“Apologize. To each other. I didn’t just patch you up for you to go back at it like alley cats.”

Steve shifted, Bucky grumbled, but eventually there was a muttered exchange of sorries, and you finally let them leave.

That had been the first of many. Somewhere along the line, your scoldings became as much a part of their routine as the fighting itself.

Present Day

Some things never changed.

FRIDAY’s voice pinged in your ear before you even finished setting down your coffee. “Doctor, incoming—Barnes and Rogers, ETA two minutes. Alerting med bay.”

Of course.

When the elevator doors opened, you didn’t even need to look up to know it was them. The shuffle of boots, the faint grunt of pain someone was trying too hard to hide, and the immediate guilty silence when they realized you were waiting, arms folded across your chest.

“Well?” You arched a brow as they filed in like boys caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Steve had a gash down his forehead, Bucky’s sleeve was shredded, and both looked like they’d been through hell. Which wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was the way they straightened like schoolchildren under your stare.

“Don’t ‘well’ me,” Steve started, but you cut him off with a sharp: “Sit. Both of you. Now.”

Behind you, someone snorted.

You turned to see Tony leaning against the doorway, an apple in hand, watching with the kind of gleeful amusement usually reserved for comedy nights.

“This is adorable,” he said. “Like watching my grandparents get scolded. You’re really telling me the two star-spangled geriatrics jump to attention when you—” he gestured vaguely at you—“raise your voice?”

You ignored him, snapping on gloves. “Steve, shirt off. Bucky, arm here.” They obeyed instantly, and Tony’s grin widened.

“Oh my god. They actually do it. This is—this is gold. FRIDAY, record this—”

“FRIDAY does not record my med bay.”

The AI’s crisp voice made him pout, but his eyes were still sparkling as he leaned on the wall.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered as you pressed gauze against Bucky’s arm. “You’ve both been doing this for nearly a century and you still don’t know how to cover each other’s blind spots?”

“It was a rough mission—” Steve began.

“No excuse. You’re alive because of teamwork. Not because you enjoy collecting bruises.”

Bucky grunted but didn’t argue. You taped the dressing down firmly and gave him a look that made even the former Winter Soldier glance away.

Tony chuckled around another bite of his apple. “I mean, don’t stop on my account. This is the best entertainment I’ve had all week.”

You turned slowly, fixing him with the same stare that had made Steve Rogers apologize back in 1943.

“And you,” you said, voice dangerously calm.

Tony blinked, pointing at his chest. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Maybe instead of standing there heckling like a middle-schooler, you should explain why I had to spend forty-five minutes last week pulling shrapnel out of your side.”

The grin faltered.

“You’re reckless, Stark. Every mission you go out there like you’re invincible, and one day your suit isn’t going to keep up with your ego. What then? Do you want to end up on one of these cots next to them, with me stitching you back together while you make quips about how funny it is?”

For once, he didn’t have a comeback. He just raised his apple like a shield.

“Not so funny now, is it?” you pressed. “You’re supposed to be the genius here. Start acting like it.”

Behind you, Steve coughed into his hand to hide a smile. Bucky leaned back, smirking openly.

“Never thought I’d see the day Stark got told off,” Bucky muttered.

“Consider it a public service,” you replied dryly, stripping off your gloves.

Tony huffed, muttering something about “tyranny in scrubs” as he slunk away, but you caught the faintest sheepish tilt of his mouth. Maybe, just maybe, he’d actually think twice next time.

You turned back to your boys, both patched up and looking considerably more human now.

“Anything else?” you asked, hands on your hips.

Steve shook his head quickly. “No, ma’am.”

Bucky smirked. “No, doll.”

You sighed, but your chest warmed all the same. Same boys. Same routine. Seventy years, and some things never changed.

And maybe you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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