How do you think Dean, Russell and soldier boy would be like taking care of their girl when she’s really sick?
Hi there! I've been saving this prompt for a while now, and finally I'm able to dig into it!❤️
HEADCANON: How he takes care of you when you're sick. ❤️🩹
᯽ With Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), Mark Meachum & Russell Shaw ᯽
|| Related Headcanons:
⟢ Man Flu: When you (try to) take care of him 🤧
⟢ Doctor's Appointment: When you try to take him to the doctor 🩺
᯽Beau Arlen
Beau is a sweetheart when you're not feeling well.
He may not recognize it right away when his own body is starting to fall prey to a cold, but as soon as he hears you sneezing and coughing, he's checking you for a fever with the back of his hand to your cheek or your forehead.
Even if you're not feverish, he'll guide you back to bed and encourage you to call out of work.
His demanding job as sheriff won't always allow him to stay with you, but if you're really sick, he won't let you just power through it on your own. He'll insist on taking a PTO day (or as many as he has to) in order to make sure you're taken care of.
"What kind of tea you want, darlin'? We've got Chamomile, ginger and lemon, echinacea? Ooh, I've heard that one's good for the immune system. How about a little tea-fusion with the ginger one, huh? Plus a bit of honey to keep you sweet for me," he says, accompanied by a wink.
You really don't want to laugh, but like most of his jokes, it's too cheesy not to. Even if it's preceded by more coughing.
He'll buy you soup from Tonya's diner, making sure to ask for at least four packets of extra Saltines (he's kind of hopeless in the kitchen, so this is your best bet).
Like a helpful golden retriever, he'll bring you whatever you need. He'll make multiple grocery runs if he has to (and even if he doesn't have to). Medicine, cough drops, more blankets, a book, the portable back massager you got him for Christmas, ice cream for your throat—whatever might make you feel better.
He might go a little over the top sometimes, but it's because you do such a good job of taking care of him when he's down with a cold, or when he's just down.
And he would never want you to feel like he wouldn't do the same for you.
᯽ Russell Shaw
You wouldn't think that Russell would be the caring, doting type.
He cracks a lot of jokes and isn't easily fazed by much, but one thing he takes very seriously is your safety and wellbeing.
By extension, his protective "caring" is quiet, but intentional whenever you get sick or hurt.
He'll notice there's something off with you before you even have to tell him. He'll hear it in the halting way you breathe, or the congestion in your voice, or the paler hue of your skin.
"Hmm, think you're sick, sweetheart," he says, seeing the fatigue in your eyes, and the shiver that ran through your body as you hold yourself.
He'll wrap you up in a blanket on the couch or get you into bed. After getting you medicine, your favorite hot meal, or some toast to settle your stomach (whatever you ask for, really), he'll settle in with you and binge your favorite comfort movies and/or shows.
He'll lull you into a state of ease and comfort while telling you (heavily edited) stories—about the places he's been, the multitude of strange and hilarious mishaps that he's found himself in, and sometimes, he'll even talk about his childhood when you ask the right questions.
He'll rub your back until you doze off, finally breathing easier thanks to the medicine.
It reminds him of when he used to take care of Dory when she was little, needing her big brother to soothe her through a nightmare or comfort her during a cold. He used to sing to her too.
For you, he'll hum a little tune, or follow whatever music plays at the movie's end credits. The sound of his voice seems to comfort you, even in your sleep.
He's spent enough his life taking care of himself to know that it's not always easy, so most of all, he wants you to know, and feel, that you're not alone.
᯽ Mark Meachum
Mark's usual method of dealing with sickness (of any kind) is to either muscle through it, dulling it with medication, or ignore it.
He's not likely to let himself slow down even when he's sick himself, but when you go down, it's a surprise to both of you.
He's sympathetic, and he'll get you medicine and whatever supplies or groceries you ask for on his way home from work.
But before his cancer, he would probably be too busy with his cases at work to truly take care of you. If you really needed him, you'd have to really ask for it. Usually, it'd be a bit of a negotiation too.
"Can your mom or your friend come over or something? You know I can't drop the ball on this case."
After his health battle, however, he realizes how important it is to have that kind of support, let alone offer it to his partner without being asked—especially after the way you took care of him while he was going through his treatment...
The way he had no choice but to lean on you, way more than he wanted to, and pretty often feeling like (almost) dead weight. A burden.
Now that he's cancer-free, he doesn't take his health for granted anymore, which leads him to take it much more seriously whenever you get sick...sometimes a little more seriously than you think he needs to.
"How you feeling? Still with that cough, huh?" he says, giving you an appraising look. He frowns. "It's not getting worse, is it? You need to go to the doctor?"
"No, I think I'll be fine."
"Thinking isn't the same as knowing, sweetheart. Let me know if you're gonna make an appointment with the doctor. I don't mind taking you."
You aren't quite able to hide your smile. "Okay, I'll think about it."
Maybe it's a bit of his trauma mixing with protectiveness, as well as his desire to "right some wrongs," but either way, you appreciate his attentiveness.
You'll just have to be patient about answering all of his "check in" texts and calls throughout the day while he's at work.
᯽ Soldier Boy (Ben)
Sigh.
Ben isn't the best support in this area lol
If weed or a fifth of whiskey won't cure it, you're going to have to tell him exactly what you need and want to help you through being so sick.
To his small credit, he'll fulfill one or two tasks without complaining, but the more help you need, the more his support might come with a taciturn exhale, a raise of his brow, or sometimes even a dry remark at all the used tissues you've got piled up in the bed.
"Christ, the fuck is all this? Looks like your trying to rebuild the Berlin Wall out of phlegm."
Once your lungs give you a break from coughing, you have to remind him that he clearly doesn't remember what it's like to be sick, considering he probably hasn't had so much as the sniffles since before 1944.
He begrudgingly acknowledges that, but he'll start leveraging the delivery apps you've taught him how to use on his phone for whatever you need (money being no object, of course).
He might complain about making your damn tea for the fifth time ("You just boil water and throw in a tea bag and honey. What's so hard about that?")
He also might grouch about your Vix Vaporub smelling like Bengay and ass.
But he does care.
This is no more evident than when you get him to just shut up and let you curl up next to him in bed. His invulnerability and rapid cell regeneration ensure that he can't get sick, and you're feeling worse than hot shit. You still cough into your arm, not on him, out of courtesy. But you find comfort in his warmth and one of your romcoms playing on the bedroom TV.
Ben adjusts the blankets tighter around you, making sure you're fully covered. He glances at you every now and then to make sure you're all right. At least your fever finally broke an hour ago.
When he sees that you've fallen asleep, your face finally more peaceful as you breathe a little easier, he brushes a few sweaty strands of hair from your eyes.
You won't know that he presses a brief kiss to the top of your head, but you burrow into him a little more. His lips quirk in amusement.
You may be a needy thing like this, but he doesn't mind being needed by you.
᯽ Dean Winchester
Dean is a "fixer," a natural caretaker. Obviously this starts with the way he raised Sam.
So when you go down hard with the flu or a cold, Dean wastes no time in checking you over.
"Hmm, not feeling well, are you, sweetheart?" he asks, holding you steady when you can barely get out of bed.
A congested groan is his response. He smiles slightly.
"Yeah, you're down for the count. 'S all right. Tell me what you need."
After he makes sure you're settled in bed, he'll scrounge up all the things you ask for if he can find it on hand in the bunker. If not, he'll make a quick grocery run.
While he's out, he'll grab all the ingredients he needs to make you some chicken noodle soup from scratch.
He's only done it a couple of times (usually for Sam, the rare times he gets sick), but that's enough to have the recipe memorized. Once his hands run through the steps of something, he's got muscle memory locked in and singular focus, despite how casual he might seem throwing things together in the kitchen.
Pretty soon, the whole bunker smells wholesome and warm, like steamed vegetables and dill. He brings the soup up to you on a tray with some buttered toast on the side and a hot mug of tea. He has a kitchen rag sticking out from his back pocket and a couple small pieces of garlic clinging to his undershirt, but your eyes almost water at the sight of him.
You sniffle for more than one reason when he brings you the tray.
"There you go," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed. He smooths a hand over your frizzy hair and down your back while he watches you take the first bite.
He raises his brows expectantly. "What's the verdict?"
The truth is, you can barely taste anything right now with how stuffed up you are, but you still offer him a weak smile.
"So good. Thanks, babe," you say, leaning against his side. You really want to hug him, but you also don't want to get him sick. "You're my favorite, you know that?"
His lips quirk at a smile. "Yeah, I know."
AN: This kind of fluff is my jam loll. Which one of the boys would you want taking care of you when you've got the sniffles? 😘❤️🩹
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you get emotional because husband!bucky isn’t holding you
cw: pregnant!reader, avenger!reader & fluff
apart of girldad!bucky ༻ navi ༻ bucky barnes masterlist
sometimes pregnancy sucks.
you’re not exactly an emotional person. with the lifestyle that you have, being an avenger and all. you’ve seen and been through a lot which has kind of numbed your feelings to certain things. so you never ever thought that when you fell pregnant, you’d be an emotional wreck.
you’re only four months along, just entering your second trimester with your bump barely showing but you’re pretty sure everyone in the tower including your own husband is fed up with your tears. because you certainly are.
it’s gotten to the point that you burst into tears earlier this week in front of the whole team because you made an omelet that you’ve been craving all morning, just to smell it and end up gagging. you literally broke down in the kitchen all because you really wanted to eat it.
and now, now you feel your eyes moisten at the fact that your husband has his back turned away from you in bed.
it’s ridiculous really. you just fell asleep in his arms hours ago, just to stir awake and see that in his sleep he managed to untangle himself from you.
you let out a small sniffle, curling your body around his back just so you can feel a part of his body on yours. you feel the pressure of your tears trailing down your face and you tuck your body even closer wishing that you could feel the warmth and the comfort of his arms around you. that thought alone makes a sob leave your body.
you squeeze your eyes shut, feeling bucky stir at not only the sound of your cries in the quiet room but also the tight hold that you hold on him.
“baby?” bucky says, his voice hoarse and scratchy from sleep.
you let out another sniffle causing your husband to shift immediately. making sure he doesn’t accidentally bonk you with his shoulder, he turns around seeing you sobbing and babbling something that he can’t exactly make out.
“why’re you crying? what happened?” he sits up, cupping your face with both hands.
“you- you… wasn’t holding… me.” you stumble over your words, crying harder at the fact that you woke him up over something so stupid.
“i- doll, i was sleeping?” bucky mentally sighs at you getting yourself all worked up because he wasn’t holding you?
“i know.” you cry, dropping your head onto his chest. “it’s stupid but i just i…” bucky shushes you softly, rubbing his big palm down your back.
“it’s okay. im here now.” bucky feels your hand reach up around his neck and hold him impossible close so your head is now tucked into the crook of his neck. to make it more comfortable for you both he lays back down, pulling the covers over you both.
you hiccup, your cries finally stopping at the comfort of your husbands arms around you.
once bucky hears the evening out of your breathing he allows himself to let out a faint chuckle at the ridiculousness of the situation.
“my clingy girl.” he whispers to himself, holding onto your form tighter.
synopsis ٠࣪⭑ Dean Winchester with a girlfriend that’s so gentle with him, he doesn’t know what to do with himself
contents ٠࣪⭑ Dean Winchester x reader (f), non-explicit, softhearted!reader, yearner!dean, dean winchesters in love, dean getting the treatment he deserves, 1.5k word count
notes ٠࣪⭑ Every time I see this man I have the strongest urge to take care of him, so I wrote a little about it
Dean doesn’t know what he did right in the his life to get a girl like you. Your gentle touches and sweet smiles weren’t meant for a guy like him. He was a broken, bruised, used, angry man— there was no world where he’d ever deserve the privilege and responsibility of holding your heart in his rough hands.
Dean felt a smile pull at the corners of his mouth before he’d even opened his eyes. The warm morning sun filtering through the ratty old sheers, lighting up the outdated motel room with a soft glow that almost makes it look cozy.
Your lips were soft and warm as they pressed gentle kisses onto his skin. He was barely conscious, and you were hardly awake yourself, your frame curled into his side, practically draped over him.
He can feel your soft hand at his jaw as you litter affection across his features. Kissing every freckle, every scar, every curve that made up his pretty face.
“W’dya doin?” His gravely morning voice murmured, a small sleepy smile on his lips, and his hand moving to settle on your waist, fingers flexing against your skin.
“G’morning, handsome” is all you reply with, your own features mirroring his smile, leaning in again to press a soft kiss to his lips, then another, and another. Not caring about morning breath one bit.
His smile softened, almost shyly, at the nickname and finally his eyes start to flutter open. Your hair’s a mess and you’re wearing one of his old band shirts, the stretched out collar practically hanging off your shoulder, flashing that sweet smile that makes his heart skip a beat.
His smile widens and he chases your lips, softly pulling you closer and kissing you back, sleepily but so lovingly.
He sighs in contentment, his hand moving from your waist to pull you even closer, your body comfortably settling over his. A sound leaving your lips, a sound that signifies you feel safe and happy in his arms— his arms. He still can’t believe it.
It was moments like this that Dean never wanted to see end, because if he thinks about it too long he’ll start to wonder why you choose to be here.
A frustrated sigh leaves Dean’s lips, hands scrubbing over his face as he sits back. An array of research, books, papers and Sam’s laptop scattered in front of him. He’d been at this for hours.
The door to the motel room creaked open, the key jingling in your hand. Sam was following a lead while you and Dean stayed behind to research, much to his dismay. You headed out a little bit ago to grab some brain fuel from a cafe close by.
You walked in and set down the takeout bag, the one with thank you printed repeatedly on the thin plastic, and the coffees. Pushing one towards Dean before he could even say “hi”— a black coffee with a sugar packet, and some cinnamon for a little extra pizazz, an order you’d memorized so easily.
You’d always thought he was just one of those gruff guys who drank black coffee and thought it was pansy to have anything else, until one day you stole a sip in a desperate need for caffeine, and you were shocked, but the cinnamon was all you.
A little smirk pulled at his lips, despite his brain being fried, at the sight of the pie and it widened when he took a sip of his coffee.
“You remembered,” he murmured, letting the warmth of the drink take over.
“Of course— it’s what you always get,” you shrugged, “but I did add the cinnamon” you said with one of your sweet smiles, walking closer, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to his hair. He somehow already begins to soften at that alone.
“Figured a little pick me up was in order” you muttered, hands drifting to massage his shoulders a little, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "y’working too hard.”
Dean's shoulders relaxed, his eyes closing for a moment, hand coming up to briefly squeeze yours. Humming a soft sound of agreement.
He played it off well but something as small as you knowing his coffee order and telling him to take a break, pulled at his chest. Just the fact you’d cared enough about minuscule details enough to memorize them, for him, and taking time to take care of him did something to his insides.
Another day, another night coming back to a motel room after killing something awful. You, Sam, and Dean walk into the motel room, everyone banged up and exhausted. Sam practically beelines it to shower first, leaving you and Dean to finish peeling off your dirty bloody layers.
“Sit,“ your gentle voice broke the silence, tone syrupy sweet even now, your arms reaching for the homemade first aid kit that’s saved all of you so many times.
“m’fine, sweetheart” Dean mumbled, waving you off, his tone dripping with fatigue. He winced just a little as he pulled off his jacket— definitely not helping his case.
“Dean—” you warned, meaning it even though the kindness in your voice hadn’t wavered. You sat the, now opened, kit on the bed, motioning for him to sit again.
He complied with a little sigh of defeat, he couldn’t resist those soft pleading eyes of yours even if he tried. You got a rag damp with the spare water bottle on the nightstand, walking back over to Dean, standing between his legs and tilting up his face. His hands automatically settling themselves on your hips, like it was an inevitable gravitational pull.
The damp rag glided across his jaw, cleaning the half-dried monster blood off his face while your other hand cradled his head, your thumb absentmindedly caressing, just a little, where it rested on his skin.
The concentration on your face was so unnecessarily adorable, Dean just couldn’t look away. The tiny crease in your brow, the focus in your eyes, it made something warm grow in his chest.
“There he is,” you half-whispered under your breath once you’d finished, pressing a kiss to his cheek. His heart fluttered and a smile teased his lips at the endearment, hands flexing where they rested over your jeans.
He was quiet, suspiciously quiet, as you finished patching him up— he didn’t even make a slightly suggestive joke when you told him to take off his shirt, in order to get to his shoulder.
Unbeknownst to you, he was having a mini mental breakdown every time you touched him, every time you whispered a little “sorry” with a kiss when he’d tensed or winced, every glance or smile you threw his way.
Nobody ever took care of him, he took care of him along with everyone else. But you take care of him like it’s as easy as breathing, like it’s somehow automatic. He couldn’t let you slip away. You were the soft to his hard, the gentle to his jagged, the warmth to his emptiness, he’s never felt so affected by one person.
He’d thanked you when you were done, with the softest voice he could muster up. The smile it brought to your face made him want to speak like that forever.
“You don’t gotta thank me, Dee.” You replied with a kiss, “can’t have my guy hurt and bleeding all over the place, now can we?”
He just pulled you in again as a response, arms circling your waist, kissing you deeper than the little peck you gave him. You melted into it anyway, dropping the roll of bandage in your hands and your fingers moving to his hair.
When he pulled away you were a little breathless, cheeks dusted pink and there was a smile plastered on your face. Before you could say anything or remind him that Sam would be done showering any minute, he breaks the silence.
“I love you”
You freeze, genuinely pause— still looking in his eyes, wondering if you heard him wrong or if Dean Winchester actually just said I love you.
Before you could ask for clarification he kissed you again, and of course you followed despite your state of shock. It was a shorter kiss but nonetheless heartfelt. You blinked when he pulled away again.
Yep— that was definitely an I love you.
It wasn’t a you’re sweet, or a thanks, angel, or even a love ya, like usual. It wasn’t casual, it was a real “I love you” and he said it with the softest expression you’ve ever seen him wear. He didn’t stutter, didn’t hesitate, didn’t take it back, and wasn't drunk. He was stone cold sober.
You didn’t think you’d ever hear him actually say it— sure, you knew he cares about you, he likes having you around, and he kisses you like it’s his birthright, but— you’ve always loved or cared about people more than they loved you. Not to mention, Dean's reputation didn’t really scream commitment.
“I mean it…” he practically whispered, no doubt sensing your shock. You snapped out of it, a big shy smile growing bright on your lips despite how hard you tried to contain it.
“Yeah?…” you murmured, your smile audible. You ran your hands through his short strands, suddenly a little nervous.
He just nodded, the most lovesick expression taking over his face, your stunned state wasn’t lost on him. It felt like a physical pain to his chest that him saying I love you was so unbelievable that it would render you speechless, but the thought was interrupted by a little squeal escaping from behind your lips and many excited kisses.
accidentally sending a boob pic to dean winchester
cw: 18+ MDNI, degradation, phone sx, dominant dean, petnames, mention of age gap, female reader, no mentions of y/n
wc: 1,040
inspired by some fragrantica scent video on tiktok
a few weeks ago, you met a handsome stranger at the bar. dean, he said to call him. he was wearing a leather jacket with a cocky smile on his face when he offered to buy you a drink. of course you accepted, how could you not? he was tall, seemingly older and gorgeous. the night was going well until he had to cut it short due to a “family emergency”, but he gave you his number to keep in touch.
since then, you’ve been messaging constantly. sure, you’ve met up once or twice but he always seems to be busy so you have to resort to late night calls and texting throughout the day. a few days ago you bought a cat, you’ve been sending dean photos of it non-stop. you take photos of it sleeping, photos of it eating, photos of it doing literally anything and send it straight to dean’s phone. he never complains.
as of right now, you’re laying in bed messaging dean about some tv show you’ve been watching.
“it’s so good! im literally obsessed with it rn”
“yeah? i might have to watch it.”
you smile, liking how he takes an interest in the things you enjoy. you turn your head to the side when you hear something jump onto the bed, your cat. it walks towards you and places itself right on-top of your chest, purring and all. you look at your baby in awe, reaching up with one hand to stroke it’s head and the other to take a quick photo.
without looking at the photo, you send it to dean. every photo of your cat goes to dean, you can’t leave this one out! you’re scrolling on tiktok absentmindedly while you wait for a reply.
your phone pings and dean’s message appears at the top of your screen.
“oh? didn’t know we were sending those type of photos now.”
you furrow your brows in confusion, those type of photos? what does that even mean? scrolling back up, you look at the photo you took.
oh my god.
you basically sent him a photo of your boobs. you completely forgot you were wearing a low cut top, and now you look like a weirdo who’s showing off her breasts to a man she only met the other week! in the photo, your cat is laying its head in the middle of your boobs. you wanted to show him the cat, nothing else!
“that was an accident!! i’m sorry!”
you quickly respond, your cheeks red with embarrassment. you get an even quicker reply.
“don’t apologise, sweetheart. let me send somethin to make you feel a bit better.”
a photo follows.
you have to hold yourself back from screaming when you view the photo. it’s dean, shirtless. his perfectly toned abs are on display just for you. how is it possible that this man gets even more attractive?
“gonna respond, or you too busy admiring me?”
another text snaps you out of your daze. you almost roll your eyes at his words. instead of responding with a message, you lift your phone up to take another photo. this time, you gently push your cat off of you and pull your shirt down slightly to reveal your lacy bra.
dean doesn’t try to act unbothered, he starts typing as soon as he receives the picture.
“take it off, now.”
you rub your thighs against each-other, the dominance doing something to you. obviously, you obey. you sit up to pull your top over your head before laying your head back on your pillow. you’re now laying in bed with only leggings on and getting hornier by the minute. you take another photo and send it, not double-checking because you don’t want to waste any time.
dean doesn’t reply over text, he calls you. chills run down your spine when you see the answer button pop up on your screen. you answer, not letting your anxiety get the best of you.
“mh..hey, baby.”
he greets you, his voice is strained and his breathing his heavy. you drag your hand under your leggings and start rubbing your clit slowly.
“you touchin’ yourself right now? huh?”
you bite your lips as your fingers speed up.
“y-yeah..”
he groans at that, wishing he was there to help you out.
“dirty girl, sittin’ alone, touchin’ her pretty little pussy to my voice..”
he drawls, using his own hand to stroke his dick faster. you squirm, pressing down on your clit while you rub.
“put a finger in there, let me hear you.”
you listen and insert a finger, causing you to moan softly as you push it in and out. you imagine dean’s big hands roaming your body, squeezing your boobs and spreading your legs apart further.
“good girl, faster now.”
you speed up, inserting another finger as you do so. your mouth drops open, allowing every single noise to escape. you hear low grunts coming from dean, as-well as the wet sounds of him pleasuring himself.
“such a dumb thing, accidentally showing an older man her boobs. or maybe you wanted me to see. are you that much of a slut, darlin’?”
he purrs. you whimper, the mix of shame and arousal makes your stomach tighten.
“didn’t mean to-“
“shh, shut up. don’t wanna hear it. only wanna hear your sweet moans.”
you purse your lips together and close your eyes, focusing on the sounds coming from your phone. your soft fingers plunge deep inside of you, you don’t know how an innocent photo of your cat turned into this but you’re not complaining. you swipe off of the call and back onto your messages with dean so you’re able to view the image he sent you.
god, he’s attractive. you can’t help but focus on the v-line poking out of his jeans. your walls clench around your fingers as you get closer to finishing.
“come on, cum for me.”
at that, you let yourself go. your breathing begins to slow down and you push your fingers in a few more times before stopping completely. dean doesn’t cum long after you, you hear him growl in satisfaction on the other end.
( +18 ) mdni : explicit content ahead afab!watcher ִ ࣪ ⋆ ٫٫ must be logged onto twt/x to watch these! do not watch in public or with the sound on, unless alone ★
destroying your panties ﹏ fucking you with your own toy ﹏ creampie with ben ﹏ playing with him ﹏ prone bone situation ﹏ grinding against your panties ﹏ in billy’s car ﹏ making you squirt ﹏ pounding you into the mattress ﹏ he loves anal! ﹏ sex in public ﹏ fingering you ﹏ sharing you with bombsight ﹏ making a mess with him ﹏ he’s so big!
logan x male reader, post sex, Logan scratched your back THE FUCK up and is guilty for 5 solid seconds before getting turned on by it, im JUST getting into the mcu and xmen shit so uh. Don't expect this to have the best characterization, I’ve seen like 3 movies only
Words: 399
Hm.
As fun as marking you was, leaving bites and scratches and hickeys on you was great, but… well.
He felt a bit shitty looking at your back. Scars coloring the broad muscle of your back, fresh cuts still steadily bleeding.
Damn.
…he didn't get carried away often, he had control of himself in bed. Still, there were… times, as much as he hated to admit, where he would get a bit lost when you were being particularly rough with him, pounding him into the mattress like you were trying to kill him via destroying his guts.
It wasn't his fault that when you were bullying him so sweetly, his claws had a habit of popping out and raking down your back.
“You're staring,” You glanced back at him as you rummaged through a medkit.
Logan grunted in acknowledgment, staying sprawled where he was on the bed. “Yeah,”
“…let me help,” he mumbled after a moment, sitting up with a huff.
You just gave him a dry look. “Can you even stand?”
Logan scoffed. “‘Course I can stand—” he shifted to the edge of the bed, feet hitting the hardwood floors and putting his weight down.
He stumbled.
Shit.
Logan quickly sat back down, giving his legs a betrayed look. Why did his body behave like this after you fucked him? He doubted he would ever know. “…Come here,” he muttered after a moment, tearing his gaze from his legs to you.
You chuckled softly and grabbed a handful of bandages and wipes before making your way over. “Scooch,” you ordered, and he complied, scooting back and giving you space to sit down in front of him.
“S’rry,” he mumbled as he wiped away the blood sluggishly rolling down your back as it clotted
“For?”
“…the obvious,”
“Hm.” You glanced back at him from the corner of your eye, watching his work with furrowed brows, one of them twitching every now and then. “… it's fine.”
He paused briefly. “Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. It's not like I hate them.”
Logan swallowed thickly. “…yeah?” he repeated, thumb brushing over the raised skin around one gash, making you hiss.
“…yeah,” you huffed, reaching back and swatting his leg. “Less ogling, more fixing.”
Logan blinked. “Ah. Right.”
Well. Having his mark permanently on you also had its own appeal. He’d have to figure out a way you could leave a permanent mark on him…
being logan’s wife had its perks, he was the most caring man you’d ever known. he was sweet in his own.. gruff way. always buying an extra quantity of an item because he knew you’d want more of them. say for instance, oreos. he knew better than to only get you one case of them; knowing that they’d be gone in a millisecond and he’d have to trail his behind back to the store to get you more. he’d also buy you flowers every week; making sure that you still felt loved and appreciated even while being well into you two’s marriage. logan wanted nothing more than for you to still feel his love, as he would never stop loving you.
but.. being logan’s wife also came with other perks. one of being the fact that you didn’t have to initiate sex, because logan already knew when you wanted him. he could smell your arousal from a mile away. so when he smells the fact that your pussy is practically flooding, it doesn’t take long before he’s between your thighs and feasting on you like it’s nobody’s business.
“oh fuck! l-logie!” the sound a hitched moan spilled out of your mouth as you looked down at logan between your plump brown thighs as he feasted on your essence. logan simultaneously sucked on your overstimulated bundle of nerves while also stopping to send nice and long flicks up and down your pussy lips. your hand instantly became intertwined with his dark brown locs.
“why’re you doing me like thiss!” you whined as a shiver rolled down your spine. “smelling how wet you were; the whole entire day drove me fucking crazy.” logan grumbled, pausing between the juicy kisses he was giving your clit. your eyebrows began to furrow as you proceeded to let out a very pornographic moan. the sound of your moan fueled logan’s primal need to devour you. his mouth went even more wide and wet, tounge continuously the slits of your walls and circling your clit.
a pool of heat started to form in your stomach, your muscles started to tense and the familiar feeling of being close to your peak started to take over you. “logie, hah—‘m gonna cum!” you declared, ripping your hand away from logan’s locks and instead proceeding to fist the sheets. “cum f’me hun,” logan grumbled. the sound of his words didn’t even get to linger in the air for a moment before you released, your back arched off of the bed and you’re muscles tightened. juices began gushing and trailing out of your essence, and right into logan’s mouth. he instantly began lapping up every trail of cum.
this was a originally an ask.. but tumblr took it down, so i’m going to say thank you to @aizawash0e for requesting this! i love you so much! i swear if tumblr takes this down too i WILL be sending a VERY angry email to them!
a while back @pyraomen you sent me a ask similar to this idea, and i never got back to you… but! i thought since you sent it.. you might like this little drabble.
ᨳଓ Congressman Barnes is always so tense. And as his assistant you have to take some of that weight off him. It hurts you to see his brows furrowed and shoulders hunched, “it’s just his personality” is what everyone would say. But no one knew what he was like when you were under his desk and between his legs. His cold fingers tangling in your hair, guiding your head over his fat cock. He doesn’t know what to say, so he fills the air with his groans. You take him so well, holding the base of his length in your hands. He’ll never admit that he likes it. Lifting you onto his lap so you can ride him. He’ll shove his fingers into your mouth when he takes a call, cause he doesn’t know if you’ll behave. He doesn’t bother the teasing when you ask what vibranium feels like. Laying you onto his desk so he can finger fuck you out of asking more questions. He’ll say he doesn’t care but you’ll wake up with a box of new lingerie by your door. He replies to your photos in one word with a full stop of course, other hand holding his cock, cause you’re just his assistant and he doesn’t care. Yet every time you walk into his office, his shoulders relax and he thinks of the next way he can fuck you dumb.
You don't know what compelled you to get up out of your semi-comfortable motel bed. Maybe it was just a feeling, a dream that you don't quite remember leaving you uneasy or maybe it was just because Dean's snoring like a lawnmower.
You often considered smothering him with a pillow.
Either way, you quickly threw on a jacket that was lazily forgotten around on the ground, You could tell it was Sam's due to the sheer size of it.
You made your way to the door, Bare feet going softly against the carpeted floor. You didn't bother grabbing your shoes. Too tired for that.
All you wanted to do was just get outside and get some fresh air to settle this nerve in you.
The cold breeze hit you in the face as you opened the door. The slightest bit of light entering the room. The sound of loud chirping cicadas drowning out Deans noises.
Halfway through the door and a different sound hit your ears.
A jagged, suppressed sobbing—the kind of noise a person makes when they're trying to hide the fact they're breaking. You looked around. Trying to find where the noise is coming from, then you saw a slumped silhouette sitting on an old wooden bench that looked like it had been rotting since the 60s.
You were hesitant to approach, unsure if this person was dangerous or a tweaker, but you said fuck it. They're in some kind of pain. Why don't you try your best to figure out what the cause is. You had nothing better to do.
The small knife you felt in the coat pocket also gave you some reassurance to do so.
The more you slowly walk towards the figure, the more you piece together who it is. The bulkiness of his shoulders should have given it away seconds ago.
Sam.
He looked less like a hunter and more like a wet puppy dog, Shoulders shaking slightly. His large hands clasped tightly between his knees, knuckles almost completely white.
He was just staring at the ground. Eyes focused on the gravel beneath his boots. The silence between the sobs was heavy. Making youd heart twinge and break.
You were confused. Why was he out here at this time, and why was he crying? Nothing bad had happened since you saw him last, there was no indicator that he was having a hard time since the moment you guys entered town.
But as you've come to know, the Winchesters are good many things, including hiding. Didn't matter what it was. Body's, people, feelings.
When you sat beside him, the bench groaned, shifting under your combined weight. He flinched. It was subtle, but you saw it. Something that made your eyebrow furrow.
He was still facing downwards so you weren't able to make out his face, but you could tell he was suppressing his noises. Trying to at least, act like he wasn't crying. Even though you had already caught him in the act.
He opened his palms, glancing at them with some sort of disgust, they had red, crescent marks on them, indents that have been left by his fingernails digging into them.
It was a while before he spoke, being forced to listen to his shaky sobs as your own tears start to spill over, see him like this hurt something in you. You just wanted to protect him. That's all you ever wanted to do.
Shield him away from all the horrors he's already witnessed. Fix all the wounds that have ripped open inside of him.
"I'm scared" He whispered, finally admitting something he tried so hard to ignore. His voice sounding absolutely crushed. The words hit you like a punch, making your heart sting. You hated seeing him like this.
You three knew what was happening, with the threat of his so-called destiny looming over him constantly. You all worked your best to stop it, stop whatever war was going to happen. Stop Sam from thinking he was a monster.
Well, you were the one doing that. Dean wasn't much help in that regard. He wasn't much help at all when it came to comforting his brother. At least not in the way he needed.
He acted tough. Acted like this whole ordeal didn't scare him. That his brother was going to become a murderer as everyone had told him. You didn't believe it though. You know Sam. You know his sense to do good will overcome whatever "evil sense" he has in him.
"I know, I know Sammy" You got out, Your hand making its way to his back, rubbing circles over the heavy fabric.
The contact seemed to break him a little more. Suppressed sobs finally spilling over. Hot tears gliding across his cheeks as a ragged breath shook his whole frame, he leaned into you. Trying his best to hide his face in your shoulder, wet tears damping the jacket you stole.
You didn't say anything. You didn't offer a promise that everything would be fine. That everything would work out in the end, and no one would get hurt, Because you knew better; he knew better. You all knew that.
When this hopefully comes to an end, nothing would be the same.
You wouldn't be able to look at him without thinking of all the monstrous things he may have done. It was terrifying. You were scared at the thought so you couldn't even imagine what he was feeling.
All you could do was hold him as your eyes looked out into the parking lot, The flickering motel light offering some form of guidance.
"Youre sentenced to 50 years of not writing small drabble fics and actually fleshing out your ideas" NOOOOOOOOOO
Bucky Barnes is using that metal arm to lock your shit down. Beard rubbing on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, fingers pistoning in and out of your squelching cunt while he’s got the heavy metal sitting on your hips, not even pushing down, just letting it sit heavy on your tummy while you’re helplessly thrashing against his tongue. Can’t even kick up off the bed, your hips aren’t lifting an inch with that heavy metal resting on your hip bone, bruising as he’s curling his fingers up into you, pressing long tongue stroking kisses on your aching clit.
reader who is a huge cuddle bug but is constantly shy to ask bucky if he wants to cuddle with her. and bucky who, every single time, just melts when she stumbles through asking him for cuddles.
You’ve been thinking about it for the past ten minutes.
Well, thinking about it, circling it, building it up into something much bigger than it actually is. Because it’s just cuddling. Just asking your boyfriend if he wants to hold you for a little while. That’s normal. People do that all the time.
But your brain doesn’t really care about “normal.”
Your fingers twist in the hem of your sleeve as you sit on the couch, angled just slightly toward him. Bucky’s sprawled beside you, long legs stretched out, one arm hooked over the back of the couch like he owns the space without even trying. There’s a quiet movie playing on the TV, something neither of you are really paying attention to. His attention keeps drifting back to you anyway—little glances, soft and curious.
You notice every single one of them.
You always do.
Your knee bumps his accidentally and your heart jumps like you’ve done something wrong. He doesn’t pull away, though. If anything, his leg shifts just a little closer, pressing more firmly against yours.
God.
You swallow.
“Buck?” you try, and immediately want to hide.
His head turns toward you instantly. “Yeah, doll?” His voice is soft, warm in that way that always makes your chest feel too tight.
You open your mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Because suddenly the words feel embarrassing. Too needy. Too much. What if he doesn’t want to? What if he’s comfortable like this and you mess it up? What if—
You shake your head quickly. “Nothing. Sorry.”
You turn your attention back to the TV like you didn’t just implode right next to him.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then, quieter, closer—“Hey.”
His hand finds your wrist. Not grabbing, not forcing. Just there. Thumb brushing gently over your pulse like he’s checking in.
“You sure?” he asks.
You nod too fast. “Mhm.”
Another pause.
His thumb keeps moving.
“Because,” he says slowly, like he’s choosing his words with care, “you’ve been fidgeting for the last ten minutes. And you keep lookin’ at me like you’ve got somethin’ to say.”
Your face burns.
“I—no, I haven’t.”
Bucky huffs out a quiet, amused breath; eyes twinkling in fondness.
“Doll.”
And that’s it. That one word, all warm and coaxing, and you crumble.
“I just—” you start, and your voice immediately gets smaller. “I was just wondering if, um—if you maybe wanted to—like, if you’re not busy or anything—”
His brows pull together, not in frustration, just confusion. “Not busy,” he repeats gently.
“Right, yeah, I know, I just mean—if you didn’t want to, that’s totally fine, I just—”
“Hey.” His hand slides up from your wrist to your arm, grounding. “Slow down. What’re you askin’ me, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart.
You might actually pass away.
You take a breath, staring determinedly at a spot on the couch instead of at him.
“Can we… cuddle?” you mumble, so quiet it barely counts as sound. “Just for a little bit. If that’s okay.”
Silence.
Oh God.
You knew it. You knew you shouldn’t have asked. You start to pull back, already preparing to laugh it off, to say you didn’t mean it, to pretend—
“Oh.”
It’s soft. Almost breathless.
You risk a glance up.
Bucky looks like you just handed him something precious.
His expression has completely melted. There’s no other word for it. The sharp lines of his face have gone soft, eyes wide and warm and a little bit awed, like he can’t believe you just asked him that.
“Yeah,” he says immediately. Then, a little stronger, like he needs to make sure you hear him properly, “Yeah, of course we can.”
Your shoulders loosen just a fraction. “Really?”
“Really?” he echoes, almost incredulous. “Doll, you never gotta ask like it’s a big favor.”
“I just didn’t wanna bother you,” you admit, voice small again.
That does something to him.
You see it, the way his jaw tightens just slightly.
“You could never bother me,” he says, quiet but firm.
Before you can overthink it again, he’s already moving.
His arm drops from the back of the couch, sliding around your shoulders, guiding you gently into him. Like he’s giving you every chance to change your mind, even though you never would.
You go easily, curling into his side.
And the second you settle against him, it’s like something in him gives.
He exhales, long and slow, like he’s been holding that breath all day. His arm tightens around you, pulling you closer until you’re practically draped over him. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, pressing you into his chest.
“There we go,” he murmurs, more to himself than anything.
You can hear his heartbeat. Feel it under your cheek—steady, strong.
Safe.
Your hand curls against his shirt, bunching the fabric lightly as you relax into him. The earlier nerves start to fade, replaced by something warm and soft that spreads through your chest.
“You okay?” he asks after a moment, voice low.
“Mhm,” you hum. “Sorry I made it weird.”
He lets out a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating through you.
“You didn’t make it weird,” he says. “You made my day.”
You tilt your head just enough to look up at him. “I did?”
“Yeah.” His thumb starts tracing slow, absent circles against your arm. “You askin’ for this? Means you want me close.” A small pause. “I like that.”
Your face heats again, but it’s softer this time. Less panic, more… something shy and happy.
“I always want you close,” you admit.
That completely ruins him.
You feel it in the way his hold on you tightens, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you there. Like he’s not letting go anytime soon.
“Then c’mere whenever you want,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Don’t make yourself nervous over it, alright?”
You nod against his chest.
“Okay.”
His fingers drift through your hair, slow and careful, and the movie continues playing in the background, forgotten.
You stay tucked against him, warm and quiet, listening to his heartbeat.
hiii! since you requested bucky thoughts, since his resurgence i’ve been thinking of him and a shy!reader? like maybe he takes her to some sort of avengers charity gala and helps her with her nerves and anxiousness with all the people? love your work:))
oh this is so cute!!! I did change it a bit so they're at a kind of government related party but it's very vague, but that's it!
“Hiding from everyone?” Bucky whispers behind you making you jolt where you stand, your body shielded by two corners that crest a perfect blind spot.
You hadn’t heard him because you were busy chewing on the skin around your nails and scanning the Justice Hall for people you knew.
“Bucky you can’t do that.” You slap at his chest, and he chuckles.
Your heart’s already beating a thousand miles per minute, any more nervousness and you’re sure you’ll pass out.
He smiles, shaking his head as he leans against the wall.
“You can’t stay up here forever, doll. They’re going to come looking for you.”
Your body stills, eyes wide as you look up at Bucky. There’s some small part of you that hopes he’s exaggerating, but the other part of you knows he’s being so totally serious you’re worried you’ll get hives from the anxiety that builds in you.
Bucky doesn’t let you spiral too far, “Or, I can be your date and show you off so everyone sees your pretty face and doesn’t come looking for you.”
That’s another thing that gives you anxiety. Bucky’s very free with his compliments of you, though you’ve hardly done anything to earn them.
He calls you ‘pretty’ or ‘doll’ and when he’s in a very flirty mood, he’ll call you his girl which makes you feel just as you imagine butter on a warm day.
He notices every reaction too, he knows when you can take his over the top flirting and when you just need a simple but effective, ‘how’s my girl today?’
You’re not together, or dating, Bucky just likes you and you’re too shy to take any of his advances seriously. He’s trying though, to make you realise that he’s very committed to the possibility of you and him. You’re running out of reasons to brush off his advances and you’re sure with all his super enhancements he can tell that you’re just as infatuated with him as he is with you.
“Bucky,”
He only shakes his head and holds out his arm for you. “I won’t leave you to fend for yourself, what sort’a gentleman would I be?”
You mumble under your breath and thanks to his super hearing he makes it out, ‘This can’t be gentlemanly,’ but he doesn’t want to embarrass you further so he says nothing. You hook your arm through his, and Bucky smiles.
Bucky takes measured steps to get you both back to the glitz and the glamour of the party in full swing, he doesn’t say much of anything, but you feel a little less anxious knowing he’s with you.
“Breathe doll,” he whispers as the people come into view and you seize up where you stand.
You’re trying, but there’s so many of them here and they’re going to want to know something about the project you’re working on, and that makes you scared.
You don’t want to have to speak to any of them or endure their never ending questions that come across so condescending that your skin itches.
“I don’t think I can do this, Bucky.” You feel like the walls are closing in around you just standing there and Bucky’s quick to notice when your breath rattles.
Your breathing is shallow and sharp, your hand squeezing Bucky’s arm hard. He doesn’t flinch or say anything, he lets you squeeze his hand as he looks for another secluded area.
When he does, Bucky’s quick but gentle as he leads you into the cove of two walls. You’re starting to get pale and it worries him more than he cares to reveal.
“Hey,” he uses his vibranium arm to press into the skin of your neck, knowing that the coolness of it will help focus you a little. His voice is sharp but it helps snap you out of your panic a little.
Bucky presses his other arm on your chest, “I’m right here, gorgeous. Focus on me, yeah?”
You nod, but your eyes are unfocused as Bucky guides your chin upwards.
“Doll, you’re gonna have to take a breath unless you wanna pass out right here.” He’s terrified of you actually doing that, but the ease in his voice makes you gasp on what he hopes is a laugh and then you take a breath.
“Good,” Bucky demonstrates a few till you can take deep lungfuls of air without his prompting. “That’s good, baby.”
When you’ve calmed a little, Bucky gets you to catch his gaze and gives you a little smile. “Want something to drink?”
You shake your head, not wanting Bucky to leave just yet. “Just wanna stay here for a little bit.”
Bucky can’t help it, “Want me all to yourself, doll?” When you sputter he smiles, “You didn’t have to have an anxiety attack for that.” his hand cups your cheek, stroking your cheek as your face heats.
“Bucky,” it’s all you can manage and he smiles, a little dimple poking through his beard.
He takes a peak out of the corner and finds one of the senators looking for him. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll bring you something to drink, I promise.”
Bucky doesn’t move until you nod, and even then he doesn’t let you go until he’s pressed a kiss to your cheek.
You stay in your hideaway till he comes back, and when he does it’s with a glass of water.
“How’s my girl?” he asks as he comes closer, tie discarded and hair a little more disheveled as a few strands caress his forehead.
You scowl but accept the water, “M’better.” Bucky’s grin stretches his entire face, lighting his eyes. Bucky presses a hand to your neck, feeling your pulse and finding it slow, it lingers there for a moment and as he pulls away, little goosebumps erupt on your arms.
“Wanna get out of here?” he asks, shucking off his jacket and placing it over your shoulders when he notices them.
You look up at him mid sip, “But I haven’t spoken to anyone.”
Bucky shrugs, “I may have said that you’re coming down with something and are possibly contagious.”
Your eyes widened in shock, “And they believed I’d go home with you.”
Bucky’s smile is impish, “We can’t get enough of each other doll, what do you mean?”
You roll your eyes, and gesture for Bucky to escort you.
Halfway to his car he asks, “What about dinner? There’s a really nice place that serves that pasta you like.”
You’re a little shocked Bucky remembers the pasta you like, but you can’t help but smile.
“Sure, but I’m paying. As a thank you.”
He opens the door for you and scoffs, “I’d love to see you try that, doll.”
18+ drabbles. Imagine Bucky finally gets his hand on the sweetest doll he’s been pining after for months, absolutely taking her apart every which way when he finally has her all to himself. He could only be a gentleman for so long until the mask slips because she feels so good. Too good. He tried to take his time but his body moves on its own, chasing the addicting feeling her pussy makes his cock feel, his thick length gripping and massaging in her tight little cunt.
He has her in his room, no longer giving her soft gentle strokes; no. His hands are grabbing her hips, slamming her back on his cock to meet his thrusts, that spongy head kissing her cervix each time, precum and her arousal creating sticks webs where their skin meets.
“F-uck, I-mph!” Your moans come out muffled and broken, tears wetting his mattress as you try to keep your voice down. Bucky couldn't care less if anyone else heard, a part of him going feral knowing his cock is making you feel so good you can't even form words.
“Yeah? Y’like that, angel?” Sweat glistened off his tanned skin, a drop rolling down his back as he continued to rail you, groaning at your ass smacking against his pelvis, the sight enough to make him blow on the spot, "You're so fuckin' pretty, baby" His voice is a low rumble, talking more to himself as his cock somehow grows harder at the way you squeal. "Sweetest thing I've ever stuffed my dick into, my perfect bunny, fuck you make me feel so good" His head is thrown back, pounding harder, absolutely lost in his own world. His muscles burn, his body hotter than ever but he won't stop.
“S’too much Jamie” You nearly slip but he holds you in place like a limp ragdoll, using you for his pleasure at this point, hitting a spot that makes you gush with no control. Your arms give way, slipping onto your front but he continues to fuck like an animal without losing his pace. The weight of his body is pressed against you, his chest and stomach pressed on your back, his hands coming to pin you against the bed, forcing more of your perfect cream out of you "Oh God, m'gonna-fuck Jamie-J-AMie!"
“Yeah, milk me baby, cum on this cock, can’t help it, you just feel to. Damn. Good” he moans against your neck feeling your pussy clench and squeeze his length, coaxing his full balls to grow heavier, cum desperate to shoot from his swollen tip. "M'so full of cum for you baby, needed y'so bad. fuckk-needed it, look at how well y'take it, m'gonna fill you up angel-oh fuck a-angel-FUCKKK" He lets out an obscene moan, biting down onto your sensitive skin and his body goes into overdrive feeling everything all at once. Ropes of his creamy spend coat your insides, spilling onto the sheets as he continues to grind though his orgasm.
"Shit-m'still cumming, fuck I-I'm cumming again" A whine slips between a growl he lets out as more of his seed pumps into you, the weight of his body fully resting on yours. He wraps his arms around you, pressing a kiss onto your shoulders, now indented with his teeth marks.
You giggle at the feeling of his stubble tickling you as he nuzzles into your skin with a satisfied purr, now peppering more kisses to coax more of that sweet sound you make.
"B-Bucky, it tickles!" You squirm around, catching a glimpse at the French doors near the bed, your giggles turning into a near cackle. Bucky curiously follows what you were looking at when he sees your eyes widen, your skin heating up against his.
“We fogged up the windows” you bit your lip trying to hold your laughter down while Bucky smirked, getting off the bed, tracing his finger on the glass.
“There” he says with a satisfied grin, the words look what we did looking back at you. He pounces back on the bed, pinning you down, his tongue dating out to lick up your neck, nipping your earlobe, “can’t let that disappear just yet, ready for round two?”
(Backstory for the windows? this was a result of my sweet Italian menace. He did that. He will see this.)
Uhm okay, can I please request something with (beefy) Bucky Barnes (maybe it takes place after tfatws) who wears a dark emerald green suit, his hair combed back with a few strands falling in his face (like in captain america strange new worlds) and he looks so strong and handsome and I just 🫠
He attends a gala with Sam and the (shy/curvy/chubby) reader who is Sam's best friend and she is the one who gives them the whole informations (the smart one), who does the work behind the computer. Well Sam and Bucky part and Bucky is with the reader and they are dancing like an undercover couple, the sparks are there and he protects and flirts with her (that's when a little bit of his 40s manners slipping out, a rare side only for the reader to see and he keeps it only for her, which means he feels save, comfortable).
They get incredibly closer, the tension is already their and Sam sees the whole scene and smiles in disbelief and thinks: the sunshine and the grumpy man (of course he knows that they have a crush for each other and they won't admit it, yet) but then someone has started to shoot with a gun and Sam and Bucky found them, then the attacker was aiming at the reader and Bucky throw himself infront of her so he caught the bullet (which only strives the side of his stomach, so luckly a bleeding scratch) for her.
Bucky didn't say a word and keeps her save leaving the gala soon, when their outside they get into the car and the driver drives them to the reader's home. Bucky has been quiet for a moment being in his thoughts, then he looks down to his lower abdomen/side and hides it with his jacket. His healing is fast, so the bleeding already stopped. Bucky checks up on the reader and she does the same but Bucky lied and says that he is okay 🥺.
When they arrive at her home, they enter her apartment and offers him water and snacks (Bucky just thinks that she is adorable). When he sits down the reader sees a glimpse of his side and is worried and asks him what happened. When he tries to play it down like it's nothing, she gently takes his wrist and he looks into her teary eyes, his heart clenches and he tells her.
The reader prepares a warm bowl of water, bandages, a cloth and desinfection. She tells him to take his shirt of, which he does and the reader is of course staring at his toned torso, broad shoulders, strong stature, scars which are telling stories, he can’t help but tease her about it "do you like what you see, princess?" The reader flusters "I-I'm observing...", "for what?", "for another bruises and injuries" he just looks at her in awe.
She is cleaning his injury, her hands are warm and soft. When she cleaned his wound and patched him up she puts everything away and breaks the silence "You scared me, you know". He apologizes to her for not telling sooner and that protecting her was more important to him. The reader protests gently, tears are falling, she rambles to him that she feels guilty, that everything is her fault and that she shouldn't come with them because she cares a lot about him and couldn't lose the person she fell in love with.
Bucky's heart clenches and he wipes her tears away and tucks a strand behind her ear. They didn't realize that their faces are incredibly close and Bucky asks for permission (whispers a "may I?") to kiss her. The reader nods and they finally kiss. He pulls her closer, she is stradling his lap and the kiss turns into something more. Just Bucky being gentle and caring and confesses to the reader too.
It gets heated immediately and they start to make out and the reader gets all shy and flustered. Bucky being gentle and soft, kisses the reader, ask for permission and the reader knows where it leads to and she tells him that it's her first time and Bucky's reaction is so loving and caring that the reader has tears in her eyes because how he treats her and that she was nervous to tell him. She also trust him alot, so their making love 🙈. The morning after, he so caring too, wakes the reader up with kisses on her neck, shoulders. Bucky draws gently patterns on her arm. The reader asks him how he would treat his girl in the 40s and he replies with the sweetest answer ever (with in between kisses). "If I met you in the 40s?... *kiss* jesus I would definitely take you out to a restaurant *kiss* and we would be dancing through the night *kiss* then walk you home, maybe you ask me inside and... *kiss*", "and?", "and... we would be kissing, maybe making out *kiss*, well and then I would put a ring on that finger *kiss* as a promise to marry you one day"
The reader smiles at him in awe "do you mean it?, that you want to marry me one day?" , "Every single word" . Then he kisses the reader fully, and grabs after a tiny velvet box with the most beautiful ring in it (his mother's engagement ring). As a promise that she is his, his to love, to cherrish, to kiss, that he is going to marry her one day. That he is going to love her every minute, every day, every month, forever. He breaks the kiss to put the ring on her finger and is surprised that this ring fits perfectly "so... will you marry me?".
He dosen't care if it’s rushed in this moment, she is the one, he knows it. It just feels right. She nods with teary eyes and kisses him.
He never believed in love at first sight and true love but now he knows better. They kiss and cuddle for the rest of the day
Thank you and I'm so incredibly sorry, I got carried away 🥺🙈 but this was living rent free in my head
*I just imagined this ring, I found this pic months ago*
Again so sorry, please tell me if it’s too detailed and I'll send something else 🙈
Grazed By A Bullet For Love -> Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier
Pairings-> Bucky Barnes x Shy/Curvy/Chubby!Female Reader
Summary-> Bucky protects you from being shot during a gala and he gets grazed by a bullet in the process.
A/N-> @jackys-stuff-blog thank you for the beautiful request🩵
Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes
Header made by my friend / divider made by me
GIF MADE BY ME!
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞
You and Bucky entered the building where the gala is being held at with your arm linked with his. You two let go of each other to greet Sam when you two saw him.
“Took you two long enough to get here.” Sam playfully jokes.
“You can’t rush perfection, Sam.” Bucky says, smiling and looking at you.
You smiled as blush crept up on your face.
“You know you’re perfect.” He says softly and flirtatiously.
The blushing didn’t stop. Then the three of you talked for a moment before separating and going to different parts of the gala. You and Bucky stayed together. You two kinda acted like an undercover couple.
“Do you want to dance?” Bucky asks.
“I don’t know how to dance.” You say shyly.
“That’s ok. All you have to do is move with me and you’ll get the hang of it.” He says.
“Ok.” You say.
You put your hands on his shoulders and he put his hands on your waist. Bucky’s 1940s charm comes out as you two danced. It doesn’t come out often, but when it does, it’s always when you’re around. Sam looks over at you and Bucky. He heard Bucky’s 1940s charm slipping out for you. He smiles. He knows that you and Bucky have crushes on each other. He thinks you’re like sunshine and Bucky is like grumpy by the way you two act around each other. Although, Bucky is never grumpy when he’s around you. When you’re around, every ounce of grumpiness leaves his body. He thinks it’s cute.
Then all of a sudden, gunshots erupted in the room. Everything turned to chaos and everyone started screaming in fear. Bucky wraps his arms around you and shields you from the bullets flying around the room. He winces when a bullet grazes the side of his stomach towards his lower abdomen. He didn’t make any noises of pain. He just winces. All he cares about is protecting you. He always does. Then he quickly and carefully gets you two out of there before anything worse happens. You two got in a car and you told the driver to take you and Bucky to your apartment.
On the way to your apartment, Bucky moves his suit jacket and looks down at the side of his shirt. There was a little bit of blood soaking through his shirt from where the bullet grazed him. He thinks silently to himself. He’ll be fine. He’s a Super Soldier. He’ll heal fast. Besides, he has had worst injuries than this. He puts his suit jacket back into place before checking on you.
“Are you ok?” Bucky asks softly.
“Just a little shaken up. Other than that, I’m fine.” You say. “Are you ok?” You asked.
“I’m fine.” He lies.
Bucky hates lying to you. He only did it so he didn’t worry you. When you and him got to the apartment complex you live in, Bucky pays the driver and then you two go up to your apartment.
“Would you like something to eat or drink?” You asked sweetly.
“Surprise me, doll face.” Bucky says.
You blushed when he called you doll face and then went to the kitchen to get something to snack on and something to drink for you and him. Bucky thinks it’s adorable when you do that. He texted Sam and told him that you and him got out of the gala safely and you two are now at your apartment. You went back to the living room and put the snacks on the coffee table and gave Bucky a bottle of water. You didn’t see the blood on Bucky’s side till he sat down on the couch. At this point, the blood soaked through his suit jacket. Your eyes went wide and your heart dropped when you saw it.
“Bucky, you’re bleeding!” You exclaimed worriedly. “Were you shot?” You asked.
“I just got grazed by a bullet. It’s nothing to worry about. It’ll heal.” Bucky says.
“It is something to worry about.” You say.
Bucky looks up at you when you grabbed his wrist gently.
“Please let me patch you up.” You say.
“Ok.” He says softly.
You got a bowl of warm water, a wash cloth, and the first aid kit. You went back to the living room and got everything set up on the coffee table.
“Can you take your shirt off please?” You asked.
Bucky took his suit jacket off, along with his button up shirt. You couldn’t help but stare at him. Your eyes lingered his body. Bucky smirks when he caught you staring at him. You didn’t even realize that you were checking him out until he said something to you.
“Do you like what you see, princess?” Bucky asks teasingly.
You stammered with your words for a second before forming a coherent sentence.
“I-I’m observing…” You say shyly.
“For what?” He asks.
“For another bruises and injuries.” You say.
Bucky looks at you in awe when you said that. Then he lays on his side so you can clean his wound. You sat down on the couch next to him. Your hands are soft, warm, and gentle as you patched him up. You gently cleaned the wound with soap and warm water before patching it up. Then you put alcohol on it so it doesn’t get infected. Bucky hisses when the alcohol touches the wound. Then you put a bandage on the wound and you were done. You put everything away and went back to the living room.
“You scared me, you know.” You say, breaking the silence.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want anything to happen to you. I just wanted to protect you and get you out of there safely. You’re very important to me.” He apologizes softly and sincerely.
Your eyes teared up. You couldn’t help but feel guilty.
“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have gone to the gala anyway. I shouldn’t have been there. It’s my fault for going. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I lost you. I can’t bear to lose the love of my life.” You rambled, your voice cracking.
Bucky’s heart clenches at your words. He lifts his hand, gently wiping your tears away and tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. You two don’t even realize how close yours and his faces are.
“May I?” Bucky whispers, asking for permission to kiss you.
You nodded, giving him permission. Bucky kisses you softly and passionately. After a moment, Bucky pulls you onto his lap so now you’re straddling him. He’s so gentle and caring with you.
“I’m in love with you too, doll. I always have been.” He confesses softly.
The kiss gets heated quickly. Everything about Bucky right now is soft and gentle.
“Would you like to go any further?” He asks softly.
You couldn’t help but get flustered when he said that. You knew what he meant by that.
“You should know that I’m a virgin.” You tell him shyly.
Bucky pulls away and looks at you.
“There’s nothing wrong with that. We don’t have to go any further if you don’t want to.” He says sweetly.
“It’s ok. I don’t mind.” You say.
“Are you sure?” He asks just to be sure.
“I’m sure.” You say.
Bucky’s loving and caring reaction made you tear up. He wiped away your tears again. Then you and him stand up from the couch and went to your bedroom. Bucky was so gentle with you when he undressed you.
“You’re so gorgeous.” Bucky compliments softly, kissing your shoulders and the sides of your neck.
You couldn’t help but blush. You got settled on your bed while Bucky undresses himself. Again, your eyes lingered his body. He didn’t tease you about it this time. He just let you look at him. Bucky gets on the bed in between your legs. He sits back on his knees and he props your legs up on his thighs. His hands gently rubbed the tops of your thighs as you prepared yourself to lose your virginity.
“I’m ready.” You say after taking a deep breath.
Bucky leans over you and kisses you softly and sweetly before going any further. Then he leans his forehead against yours.
“Do you trust me?” Bucky whispers.
“With my life.” You whispered back.
Bucky smiles when you said that. Then he sat back up and lines his cock at your entrance. You gasped when his tip entered you.
“Breathe.” He says softly.
You took deep breaths as he slides his cock into you. He talks you through it. Then he gives you a moment to adjust to his size. He kisses along your neck, marking you up.
“You can start moving.” You say after a moment.
Bucky kisses you softly before doing anything.
“If at any point, you feel uncomfortable, tell me and I’ll stop.” He says softly.
“I will.” You say just as softly.
His hands rested on your waist when he began thrusting. You gasped softly at the new sensation you’re experiencing. It was a pleasure filled gasp.
“Are you ok?” Bucky asks softly.
“I’m- I’m fine.” You stuttered.
“Are you sure?” He asks.
Bucky talked you through the whole thing. Even if it was the simplest thing during it, he still talked you through it. He just wanted your first time to be special. It’s obviously special since it’s with him. You’re on cloud nine right now. That’s how good you’re feeling. Actually, more than good. Amazing. That’s how you’re feeling right now.
“Bucky!” You moaned softly.
“Yes, babydoll?” He almost whispers.
“It- It feels so good!” You moaned.
You put your hands on Bucky’s shoulders and pulled him closer to you. Then you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close and tightly. You also wrapped your legs around his waist. You made sure to be careful to not accidentally bump his wound with your leg. One of Bucky’s hands left your waist to caress your thigh. Your head falls back in pleasure. Bucky took that as an opportunity to kiss the column of your neck. Then his free hand goes up to your head, gently putting your head back into its original position to kiss you softly and passionately, which turned into another passionate make out session. You two were moaning against each other’s lips.
“Bucky, I-” You cut yourself off with a moan before you could finish your sentence.
“What is it, babydoll?” Bucky asks softly.
“I think- I think I’m close.” You moaned.
“You are, doll. I can feel you. Go ahead. Let go.” He says softly.
You did just that. You moaned his name loudly as you did so. Your nails dug in his back, making red scratch lines on his skin. Bucky praised you and made love to you through your orgasm.
“There you go. Good girl.” Bucky praises softly.
Bucky wasn’t too far behind you. His thrusts didn’t falter for a second. He leaned his head against your shoulder when he came inside of you. His thrusting comes to a complete stop. You two remained in that position until you two caught your breaths. Then he pulled out and laid down next to you. He covered both of you up with a blanket and pulled you closer to you.
“How are you feeling now?” Bucky almost whispers.
“Amazing.” You say softly and smiled.
Bucky smiles and kisses you softly. You two cuddled till you two fell asleep. The next morning, you woke up to Bucky softly kissing along your neck and shoulders. He was also drawing patterns on your arm with his fingers. You smiled as he did so.
“Good morning, Bucky.” You say softly.
“Good morning, gorgeous.” Bucky says just as softly.
You turned over so you could give him a proper morning kiss. You two laid in silence for a moment before you spoke up.
“Can I ask you a question?” You asked.
“You can ask me anything, doll.” He says.
“If we met in the 1940s, how would you treat me?” You curiously asked.
Bucky smiles before answering your question.
“If I met you in the 40s?” Kiss. “Jesus. I would definitely take you out to a restaurant.” Kiss. “And we would dance through the night.” Kiss. “Then walk you home. Maybe you ask me inside and…” Kiss.
“And?” You asked softly and curiously.
“And… we would be kissing. Maybe making out.” Kiss. “Well and then I would put a ring on that finger…” Kiss. “As a promise to marry you one day.” He says softly and kisses you once more.
“Do you mean it? That you want to marry me one day?” You asked softly.
“Every single word.” He almost whispers.
Bucky kisses you softly again and then leans over the edge of the bed to grab his pants. He got a small velvet box out of the pocket and sat upright in bed. You sat up as well. You gasped softly when he opened it. The most beautiful diamond ring is in it. His mom’s engagement ring to be exact.
“So… will you marry me?” He asks softly.
“Yes! Yes, of course I’ll marry you!” You happily answered.
Bucky smiles widely and puts the ring on your finger. Then he kisses you passionately. Tears of happiness were rolling down your cheeks. Then you looked at the ring to admire it.
“It was my mom’s engagement ring. She told me to give it to the woman I fall in love with and that woman is you.” He softly tells you.
“It’s absolutely beautiful.” You say.
“And so are you.” He says softly.
You smiled and pecked his lips softly a few times.
— neither of you could resist what was always meant to happen.
alpha!bucky x omega!reader (9.2kw)
TW: 18+ MDNI; nsfw, dubcon a/b/o dynamics, possessive behavior, biting/marking, power dynamics, including praise kink, size kink, rough intimacy, physical restraint, sexual tension, emotional dependency, desperation, and themes "feral, uncontrollable need.", elements of mating/claiming, explores intense feelings of vulnerability and submission.
a/n: honestly,, i have no words -- weeks in the making and im not satisfied w how this turned out. like when you stare at something for too long. and it starts to look weird
———
On the day of Bucky’s arrival, it was safe to say the only one truly excited was Steve. The air in the compound felt charged, heavy with anticipation and unspoken tension.
Tony walked up beside you and Nat by the massive window, the sharp scent of machine oil mingling with his expensive cologne as he wiped stubborn grease from his hands. Years of working together had made their commanding presence familiar and comfortable, like the steady hum of lab equipment around you.
The window shook as debris kicked up from the descending helicopter, which was landing in the middle of the field. Tony inhaled deeply, his dark eyes meeting yours and Nat’s with a characteristic assessing look that instinctively made others straighten their spines. Nat smirked and raised an eyebrow, prompting a small smile from you, though you couldn't fully shake the flutter of nerves in your stomach.
The helicopter door slid open in slow motion as Steve emerged, his broad shoulders and confident stride capturing every gaze in the vicinity. He turned and, stepping out behind him, a dark figure followed—a stark contrast, night to Steve's day. The moment Bucky appeared, the air seemed to shift—a raw, untamed energy that made your breath catch and your pulse quicken. Even from a distance, there was something different, something dangerous about him, that made your skin prickle with awareness, and your fingers curl tightly around the tablet in your hands.
"Disperse, disperse," Tony muttered, his natural authority causing everyone to instinctively move as he turned away. The others followed suit, including an omega technician who stumbled in their haste to appear busy at their station.
You turned back to your workstation, pressing your palms to the cool steel table to ground yourself. You could feel Steve and his companion approaching—Steve’s familiar warmth contrasting sharply with the newcomer’s intensity.
The familiar scents of solder and circuitry should have been calming, but they couldn't quite mask the oncoming storm of Steve’s sunlit warmth mixed with something darker and wilder—like pine needles and leather and crisp winter air.
When the main doors opened, the room was flooded with alpha energy, subtle yet impossible to ignore, like fog rolling in at dawn. "Guys, this is Buck," Steve said, the sound of his hand landing on leather echoing in the sudden quiet.
"Bucky," came the correction—a voice like gravel over silk, sending a shiver down your spine as you gripped your soldering iron tighter, the metal warm against your suddenly trembling fingers. It wasn’t their presence that unsettled you; it was the way your instincts responded before you could think.
Nat’s silent approach gave her the air of a predator as she circled closer. "Barnes," she acknowledged, her voice cold and steely. The space between them crackled with unspoken assessment, neither yielding nor challenging.
"Good to see you again, Robocop," Tony called out, his voice cutting through the tension. His hologram's blue glow cast shadows over his face as he peered over his glasses. "Make yourself comfortable, but not too comfortable." His words, casual yet sharp as ozone before a storm, hung in the air.
“The rest of you, back to work—we have a deadline,” Tony added with a wave of his pen, and like magic, the lab resumed its rhythm, though the atmosphere had fundamentally shifted.
You bent over your work, hyper-focused on the tiny components scattered across your station, but every nerve seemed attuned to Bucky’s presence. The familiar lab scents—hot metal, coffee, and sharp electronics—were muted beneath this new awareness.
"Y/n~" Steve’s warm, knowing voice rolled through the space, and your fingers stilled on the circuit board, your heart stuttering. The approaching footsteps seemed to echo with your pulse, each step tightening the coil in your shoulders. That scent—leather and pine now mixed with something metallic and sharp—grew stronger, drying your mouth.
You managed a confident smile and turned, only for Steve to pull you into an embrace, lifting you slightly off your feet. His familiar scent—soap and sunshine—wrapped around you like a blanket, momentarily drowning everything else.
"Missed ya, kiddo," he murmured, affection coloring his tone. Warmth bloomed in your chest, and you relaxed into his comforting presence.
"Missed you too, Cap," you managed with a breathless laugh as he set you down. Movement caught your eye—Bucky shifting behind Steve—and that new awareness crashed back like a wave. You met his gaze for a split second before he looked away, but that brief connection felt electric. His storm-gray eyes held something untamed that made your knees weak.
“Buck, this is Y/n,” Steve introduced. “Y/n, Buck.” The contrast between them was dizzying—Steve's golden warmth beside Bucky's winter-sharp presence. Suddenly, your workspace felt too small, the air heavy with unspoken things.
"Bucky," he repeated, his voice rougher up close, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. He stepped closer, hands at his sides, yet his presence seemed to fill the entire space around you. The fluorescent lights reflected off the plates of his metal arm, casting shifting shadows. Your throat felt dry, and you resisted the urge to fidget with your tools.
Steve’s voice cut through the thick tension, either unaware of it or ignoring it. "Listen, I tried the magnets again," he said, the sound of leather hitting steel making you jump slightly as he tossed his gloves onto your workstation. His worn leather scent mingled with Bucky’s, making focus difficult.
You raised an eyebrow, grateful for the distraction. "And...?"
"And I hate it." He rolled his shoulder, trying to ease the tension. "It's just not the same."
You glanced between the gloves and Steve's sheepish expression, ignoring how Bucky’s gaze seemed to track your every movement. Even without looking directly at him, you felt his attention like static electricity, raising goosebumps along your arms.
"Think you could just yank 'em out for me?" Steve asked with that irresistible smile, though your attention kept drifting to Bucky, who stood silent and watchful.
You scoffed and shook your head, stepping around the counter to switch on the table light. Sitting on the stool across from Steve, you shot him a look.
“Fine, fine,” you said, picking up the gloves. “Guess you still have a chance to dread the day I say no.”
Steve grinned. “I don’t even wanna think about it.” He gestured subtly towards Bucky. “Figured you could handle this too. Bucky’s got some gear that might need adjustments.” It wasn’t a command, just Steve’s assumption that Bucky would be sticking close.
“Sounds good. I’ll find some time this week to schedule you in, so we can see what I’m working with,” you said, motioning to his arm.
“Okay,” Bucky replied, his voice low with a hint of warmth.
---
That was two weeks ago. Since then, you’d been buried in projects with Tony and Banner, testing prototypes and troubleshooting quirks in Stark’s tech.
Missions came and went, but you mostly stayed at the compound—tuning weapons, running diagnostics, and keeping Stark's experiments from exploding (again). The lab had become your sanctuary, where complex problems could be solved with enough focus. Yet lately, your normally steady hands trembled at unexpected moments, your concentration slipping at the sound of familiar footsteps in the corridor.
There wasn’t much time for that one-on-one work with Bucky you’d promised, though you occasionally glimpsed him around the compound. Still finding his footing here, he was a shadow at Steve’s side, quiet and watchful. Tony would drag him into the lab occasionally to discuss modifications—if he wanted any.
You tried not to notice how his eyes found you whenever he was in the lab, lingering until you accidentally met his gaze. At first, he’d look away, jaw tightening as he focused on whatever Tony was explaining. But minutes later, you’d feel it again—his attention like a compass pointing north.
In brief hallway encounters, your greetings came out softer than intended, his response a quiet rumble that stayed with you long after he walked away. One time, both of you reached for the lab door handle simultaneously. His fingers brushed yours, sending electricity up your arm. He pulled back, muttering an apology before disappearing around the corner, abandoning whatever awaited him in the lab.
It was ridiculous how such small moments left you distracted for hours.
Then one morning, Tony burst into the lab, with Steve following closely behind, practically dragging a reluctant Bucky.
“Hey, kid,” Tony called out, startling you. You lifted the magnifying goggles off your face, welcoming the cool air. Banner, hunched across the table with identical goggles, glanced up briefly.
“Please tell me we have Barnes’ baseline readings from when he got here,” Tony said, his tone implying a slight scolding. You looked at Banner, embarrassed. When you shook your head, Tony groaned dramatically.
“Seriously? Three weeks and—“ He took a deep breath, hands on his hips as he surveyed the cluttered lab, evidence of recent activity. “Okay, that’s on me. Fixed. Now.” He practically pushed Bucky onto the stool beside your workstation.
“Do your thing. Science, data, all that—" Tony trailed off, looking at Banner, who took the cue and clumsily exited, engaging Tony in a transparently forced conversation about a new gadget. Steve left shortly after, flashing an encouraging smile that made your cheeks burn.
The moment they left, the lab felt impossibly smaller. Bucky shifted slightly behind you, and though he was quieter than quiet, his presence seemed to fill every inch of space around you. He kept a respectful distance, but it didn’t matter—you could feel him, each breath and subtle movement stirring the air, making your skin prickle with awareness.
Your hands trembled slightly as you pulled up the diagnostic programs. "I'll need to..." you began, voice softer than you intended, "run some basic tests first. It might take a while." Turning toward him, you found his storm-grey eyes already fixed on you, dark and intent.
“Okay,” he replied, his gaze heavy and unrelenting, as though he was trying to read the thoughts you couldn’t quite form. Your throat tightened under the weight of his stare, and your hands instinctively curled into fists to ground yourself.
“I’ll need you to…” You gestured vaguely, your voice catching. “You’re gonna have to take off your sh-shirt. Just... so I can get a better look.” Your voice faltered, and heat bloomed across your cheeks.
For a beat, Bucky didn’t move. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he reached behind his neck, tugging the navy henley over his head. The fabric slid away, revealing his broad shoulders and sculpted chest, veiled by the thin fabric of his white tank. The subtle shift of his muscles as he moved sent a quiet jolt through your system, making your breath catch.
He tossed the henley carelessly over his shoulder, and you tried—desperately—to stay focused.
“Extend your arm for me,” you murmured, the words coming out softer than intended. He complied with that same quiet grace, his frame stiffening as you gently adjusted his arm.
Without thinking, you stepped between his legs, close enough that your hips grazed his thighs. The heat of his body radiated toward you, and the scent of pine, winter air, and leather curled around you, heavy and dizzying.
Bucky shifted again—a slow, unconscious movement as he spread his legs a little wider, as if making room for you without realizing it. The gesture was likely nothing, but to you, it felt far too intimate, and it took all your willpower not to react to the heat pooling in your belly.
You focused on the smooth metal of his arm, running your fingers along the seams and joints, marveling at the precision of its construction. His hand found your waist. The touch was light at first, perhaps just to steady himself, but his palm lingered, broad and warm over your lab coat.
The weight of his hand sent a shiver up your spine, your pulse fluttering beneath your skin. His thumb brushed the hem of your coat where the white fabric met your wine-colored shirt, as if testing its texture. Your breath caught involuntarily.
Slowly, your gaze traveled from his fingertips up the seams of his arm to his face. When you looked up, his eyes were already on you—dark, intense, unreadable, but consuming. His gaze dropped briefly to the curve of your collarbones peeking through your shirt before flicking back to meet your eyes, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.
The room shrank around you, the tension pulling taut—an invisible thread tugging you closer. Neither of you spoke; neither of you moved.
The air between you stretched, heavy and charged, the weight of his hand on your waist making it impossible to focus on anything but him. His thumb grazed the edge of your shirt again—soft, deliberate—and you swore the world slowed down, teetering on the edge of something inevitable.
The comm system beeped, loud and sudden, shattering the moment. Both of you jerked slightly, like surfacing from deep water.
"Y/N?" Tony’s voice crackled through the speaker. "Banner needs you in the main lab—now."
Bucky’s hand slipped from your waist, his jaw clenching as though grounding himself. You took a step back, heart pounding, the absence of his touch making the space between you feel colder and emptier than it should.
Clearing your throat, you looked anywhere but at him. “I–uh, I should go.”
He nodded once, slow and unreadable, as you turned quickly, your hand dragging hesitantly down his arm, slipping out of the room before the tension could pull you back in.
You slipped out of the room, heart still racing, Bucky’s presence clinging to you like static electricity. Even as you tossed and turned in bed later that night, the moment lingered—his hand on your waist, his scent in your lungs, and the weight of his gaze heavy on your mind.
That evening clung to you like a live wire beneath your skin, but the next few days brought subtle shifts in the compound's atmosphere. Where Bucky once moved like a shadow, now he inhabited spaces differently. During morning briefings, you noticed him leaning against workbenches instead of standing guard by the wall, his gaze still watchful but carrying something new—curiosity, maybe.
Since that evening in the lab, you buried yourself in projects with Tony and Banner, testing new prototypes and troubleshooting quirks in Stark's tech. Small out-of-town missions came and went, but you remained rooted at the compound—tuning weapons, running diagnostics, and preventing Stark's experiments from turning into full-blown disasters (again). The lab had become your sanctuary, where complex problems could be solved with enough focus. Yet, no matter how hard you tried, focus had become a luxury you couldn't afford. Your usually steady hands betrayed you, trembling at the worst moments, especially whenever familiar footsteps echoed down the corridor.
If Bucky did come into the lab, there weren’t many opportunities for one-on-one work, though you’d catch fleeting glimpses of him. He still seemed to be finding his footing, a shadow at Steve’s side—quiet and observant, as if measuring every person and place before stepping too close. Occasionally, Tony would bring him into the lab to discuss possible modifications, though Bucky seemed reluctant, deflecting with grunts and unreadable glances.
But it was impossible to ignore how his eyes always sought you out. Whenever he entered the room, your senses sharpened, drawn to him without permission. His gaze lingered a second too long—enough to make your stomach flip, your pulse flutter beneath your skin. But whenever you met his eyes, he’d glance away, his jaw tightening as if wrestling with something unspoken. Yet, moments later, you’d feel the pull again—his attention returning like a compass that couldn’t help but point north.
This awareness began to happen outside the lab too, in brief, inconsequential encounters that left you unraveled. Once, passing each other in the hallway, your soft greeting was met by his low, rumbling reply, curling around your senses long after he’d disappeared. Another time, reaching for the same door handle, his fingers brushed yours, the shock of contact sending electricity racing up your arm. He pulled back as though burned, muttering an apology before vanishing without explanation. You stood there, stunned, wondering how such a fleeting touch could leave you restless for hours.
Each day made it harder to maintain composure. It was as if your body had developed a traitorous awareness of him—heart stuttering beneath your ribs, skin flushing at the slightest thought of him, senses sharpening to track his movements before your mind even registered he was near. No matter how hard you tried to lose yourself in work, even Tony’s endless stream of projects couldn’t silence the way your pulse leapt whenever Bucky’s footsteps echoed down the corridor.
These changes appeared in fragments—a barely-there smile when Tony's prototype backfired, sparks shooting across the lab; the way his shoulders lost their rigid set when Steve drew out his dry humor during mission prep. Each small victory revealed another layer beneath the soldier’s facade.
Your paths began crossing more often. Sometimes, he’d appear in the kitchen during your late-night tea runs, nursing coffee while reading news on a tablet. His silent nods evolved into a new half-smile that never failed to make your heart race. His scent—pine and leather—began to carry warmer notes, softening from sharp winter to something more approachable.
Then, when Sam suggested movie night, every instinct screamed at you to decline. The thought of being in an enclosed space with Bucky—away from the clinical safety of the lab, surrounded by comfortable, dim intimacy—made your stomach flutter with anxious energy. But before you could find an excuse, Nat flashed you a knowing smile, firmly pulling you from your workstation. You barely had time to protest.
Now, nestled between Nat and Sam on the couch, you tried to focus on the movie, but your attention kept drifting across the room to him. Bucky sat in an armchair like he owned the space, his relaxed body only making him look more dangerous. His legs were spread wide, one arm draped over the back, the other resting on his thigh—a casual pose that somehow felt deliberate.
You told yourself to stay present, to engage with Nat and Sam’s easy banter, but Bucky’s presence made it impossible. His scent—faint but unmistakable—hovered at the edge of your awareness, a mix of pine, leather, and something deeper that spoke to a part of you beyond reason.
Then it happened. During a lull in the movie, when everything fell quiet, you felt it—his gaze.
A pulse of heat spread through your chest, as if an invisible thread had tugged you toward him. You risked a glance, only to find him already watching you. Even in the dim light, his storm-gray eyes were locked on yours, intense and unwavering. His expression was unreadable, but there was a weight to his stare that made your pulse stutter and breath catch in your throat.
The flickering blue light of the TV softened the sharp lines of his face, but it did nothing to dull the tension humming between you. For a moment, it felt like the room had fallen away, leaving only the two of you in the dark—silent, secret, caught in a moment neither dared to acknowledge.
You tried convincing yourself he wasn’t really looking at you, that maybe he was watching Sam or had drifted off into thought. But the flip in your stomach, the way your pulse fluttered beneath your skin, told a different story.
Bucky didn’t look away. His stare held steady, as if something deep and instinctual was keeping him tethered to you—as though he was drawn to you in the same way you were to him. The connection between you wasn’t just a passing glance. It felt ancient, inevitable, as if some unseen force had been guiding you to this moment long before either of you realized it.
The air between you felt heavy, charged with something you couldn’t quite define, and you were certain that even if you could name it, neither of you was ready. Your scent, warm and sweet, had changed in subtle ways—just enough for Bucky to notice, to make his chest tighten with a growing certainty. This wasn’t just attraction; it was recognition. Instinct. Raw instinct clawed through him, responding to the quiet, subtle shift in yours. You were close—too close—and every part of him, from the deepest part of his mind to the tension winding through his muscles, felt it.
The spell broke when Steve shifted on the couch beside him, dragging you both back to reality. You blinked, heart hammering as you tore your gaze away, heat blooming beneath your skin, spreading like wildfire, a faint sheen of sweat on your brow.
You swallowed hard, trying to refocus on the movie, but the moment lingered like a phantom touch. Even as you stared straight ahead, you could feel the weight of his gaze, its memory humming along your nerves, leaving you restless and aching in ways you didn’t understand.
When the movie ended, you escaped as quickly as you could, muttering a rushed “good night” and fleeing to your room, hoping the familiar comfort of your own space would ground you. But even surrounded by your belongings, wrapped in your own scent, you couldn't quiet the hum of awareness thrumming beneath your skin.
Bucky's scent clung to you, lodged in your senses like a memory you couldn’t shake. Pine, leather, and something darker—something wild that kept teetering you on the brink of losing control. There was something building inside you, a slow-burning awareness you weren’t ready to acknowledge, hoping no one else could sense the change taking hold of you.
Each encounter with him pulled at something deep within you, like a tide responding to the moon. His scent overshadowed everything, lingering in your senses long after he was gone.
And Bucky—you noticed everything now, every detail sharp and vivid, though you tried to convince yourself you were reading too much into it. The way his eyes lingered a second too long—but of course, people always stared at him. The slight flex of his fingers when you passed by—a habit, surely. The barely audible catch in his breath when you were near—probably just your imagination, heightened by whatever was happening to your body.
Maybe you were imagining the way his carefully controlled demeanor seemed to slip around you—those tiny cracks in his composure you couldn't stop noticing. After all, a man like him, always so disciplined, wouldn’t be affected by someone like you… would he? Yet, something raw beneath his surface called to you, making your heart race whenever he was close. The air felt electric between you, crackling with possibility—even as you tried to tell yourself it was just his effect on everyone, that you weren’t special, that it was just your body playing tricks.
After tonight, you couldn’t deny it any longer. During movie night, his stare had lingered like phantom touches, and your skin had felt hypersensitive, every nerve ending alive with awareness. Even in the sanctuary of your room, surrounded by familiar scents, you couldn’t escape the memory of pine and leather.
And as days passed, it only seemed to worsen. When Fury assigned you to oversee the team’s training equipment and Tony ensured you continued working with Steve, observing Bucky was already inevitable. Watching him felt different than those first weeks. You’d glimpsed the man beneath the careful control—caught fragments of dry humor in mission briefings, witnessed quiet camaraderie with Steve. The dangerous edge remained, but now it felt more… intentional. Like he was choosing to let people see beyond the soldier’s facade, revealing glimpses of the man underneath.
These glimpses made training observation even more daunting. Because now you knew what lay beneath his cool exterior—had witnessed the subtle humor in his eyes, the careful way he was learning to exist in spaces without defending them.
Your fingers trembled against the tablet's smooth surface at the thought of watching him work. Being that close to him during combat training, with his presence at its most intense… The thought alone made your mouth go dry.
Training sessions became their own kind of exquisite torture. Your role was simple—monitor the team’s gear, run diagnostics, and ensure everything functioned. But watching Bucky spar was anything but simple.
Between rounds, you brought him water—a straightforward task that became anything but as his eyes tracked your movement across the training room. Your fitted jacket clung to your curves, and you felt the weight of his stare as you approached. It was refreshing, seeing him like this. The quiet, brooding soldier was still there, but lately, there had been glimpses of something else—a playful charm that felt both dangerous and irresistible.
"Tryna’ keep me hydrated, doc?" His voice was rough from exertion, teasing in a way that sent heat pooling in your stomach. This was the Bucky emerging more and more lately—the one who’d somehow found his footing again, letting his guard down just enough to allow a trace of Brooklyn charm to slip through.
"Can’t have our best asset passing out from dehydration," you managed to reply, proud of how steady your voice remained. When you handed him the bottle, his fingers brushed yours, sending electricity skittering across your skin.
"Our best asset, huh?" He tipped his head back to drink, and you couldn’t help but watch his throat work, beads of sweat trailing down his neck. His eyes met yours over the bottle, darkening as they drifted to where your jacket dipped low. "Like what you see?"
This was dangerous territory—this newfound confidence of his, the way he was testing the waters between playful and flirtatious. "Just making sure you’re drinking enough water," you murmured, but the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you. You wondered if he could hear how your heart stumbled in your chest, if he sensed the hitch in your breath when he licked a stray drop from his lower lip.
He moved with a predator’s grace—smooth, controlled, and lethal. Each punch, each fluid shift of his body, sent a pulse of heat through you. Your throat felt dry as you watched the muscles in his back ripple beneath his fitted shirt, the metal of his arm gleaming under the lights. You told yourself this was normal, that anyone would be affected watching him move like this—but deep down, you knew this was different.
At one point, he had Steve pinned to the mat, his arm flexed, holding Steve in place with ease, chest heaving with exertion. His gaze flicked to you, locking eyes for a split second that sent butterflies surging in your stomach—and a darker, more primal flutter somewhere lower. That slow-burning awareness inside you flared hot and urgent.
Your fingers slipped, and your tablet clattered to the floor with a loud thunk. Everyone turned to look, including Steve, but all you could focus on was the faint grin curling at the edge of Bucky’s mouth. Your face burned with embarrassment, but there was no mistaking the glint in his eyes—a look that made you wonder if he could sense the changes in you, if he could feel how your body was betraying every attempt at control.
You couldn’t bear to face the team after that display—after dropping your tablet like some starry-eyed recruit. Your skin felt too tight, too warm, your body thrumming with an energy you couldn’t contain. You retreated to your room, but even buried in your own blankets, you couldn’t escape the memory of his knowing smirk, the way his eyes held yours like he knew exactly what was happening to you.
The next few days passed in a haze of mounting tension. Your skin felt hypersensitive, every nerve ending alive with awareness. Even in the sanctuary of your room, surrounded by familiar scents and belongings, you couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental was shifting inside you. Sleep became elusive, your body alternating between feverish and chilled, leaving you restless and aching for... something.
By the time you wandered to the kitchen at 3 AM, exhaustion clung to you like a second skin, but sleep remained just out of reach. The compound was eerily quiet at this hour, the hum of electronics the only sound as your slippers whispered across the cool tile.
You sat at the kitchen island, elbows resting on the countertop as you flipped through your options—tea or coffee. Settling on tea, you rose to grab your favorite mug from the cabinet. The dim lighting softened everything, making the space feel smaller, more intimate, as if the night itself carried a promise of something unspoken.
You were so focused on your task that you didn’t hear him approach.
"Can't sleep?"
His voice, low and rough with sleep, startled you enough to make you gasp softly. You whirled around to find him emerging from the shadows, stepping into a sanctuary—one where, in this moment, it felt like only you and he existed. The dim light traced the sharp lines of his face, deepening the shadows beneath his cheekbones and along his jaw.
He wore soft sleep pants that rested low on his hips, and the black shirt clung to his frame, leaving little to the imagination. The kitchen suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier with something you couldn't name—something that thrummed between you, waiting to be acknowledged.
"I…" Your voice faltered, throat dry under his gaze. You cleared your throat and tried again. "Just wanted some tea."
Bucky stepped further into the room, his movements slow and deliberate, like a wolf closing in. For someone so large, he moved with unsettling grace—silent and fluid. "Having trouble sleeping?" he asked, though his question held a depth, as if he were offering more than conversation.
You turned back to the cabinet, reaching for your mug, but your fingers trembled. Before it could slip from your grasp, his hand wrapped around your wrist, steadying you.
"You okay?" His voice was closer now, concern threading through the rough edges.
"Yeah, I’m—" you began, but stopped as you felt his thumb pressing unconsciously against your pulse. The gentle pressure sent electricity dancing up your arm, and you couldn’t help but track how his throat worked as he swallowed.
"Hey," he murmured, voice low. His eyes darkened as they searched your face, and you watched something shift in his expression—recognition, maybe, or realization. His nostrils flared slightly. "You’ve seemed… off lately."
"I'm fine," you managed, but your voice came out breathy, unconvincing. "Just haven’t been sleeping well."
He held your gaze a moment longer, then stepped back slowly, as if it took effort to put distance between you. The absence of his touch left your skin tingling, aching for contact you couldn’t afford to want.
"Maybe some chamomile, then," he suggested, his voice rougher than before. You noticed his fingers curling into fists at his sides, his jaw clenched as he worked to maintain the distance.
You managed a small nod, turning back to the cabinet with unsteady hands. Though he’d released your wrist, he hadn’t moved back far—still standing between you and the island, leaving you caught between his body and the counter. His presence lingered, heavy and warm, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his chest.
The small space between you crackled with electricity, making it impossible to focus on the simple task of making tea. The kettle felt too loud in the silence, steam rising like a physical manifestation of the tension thickening the air.
When you finally turned back around, gripping your mug like an anchor, you found his eyes stormy, his jaw set as if he was fighting something within himself. He took a deliberate step back, creating distance that somehow made the air feel even heavier.
"I should…" he started, voice rough. "Let you get some rest." But he didn’t move immediately, as if reluctant to leave.
Something in you wanted to tell him to stay, but the words stuck in your throat. The space between you felt charged, like the air before a storm. His scent—pine and leather—wrapped around you, stronger now, making your head spin.
He moved first, turning toward the entryway with careful control, his movements almost rigid. But he paused at the threshold, his metal hand gripping the wall frame with enough force to make the material creak softly.
"Get some sleep, doll," he said without looking back, his voice carrying something dark and hungry that made your skin prickle with heat. Then he was gone, leaving you alone with the cooling tea and the phantom sensation of his touch still burning around your wrist.
After standing frozen in the kitchen for what felt like hours, you finally forced yourself back to your room. Your skin felt too tight, every nerve hypersensitive as you stumbled through the doorway. The trek down the hallway was torture—his lingering scent clung to your clothes, your skin, leaving you dizzy with desire.
You barely made it to your bed before your legs gave out. The sheets felt rough against your fevered skin, and you kicked them off with a frustrated whimper. Your wrist still burned where he touched you, the memory of his thumb against your pulse making your breath hitch.
Rolling onto your back, you pressed your palms against your eyes, trying to ground yourself. But behind closed lids, all you could see was the way his eyes had darkened in the kitchen, the tension in his jaw barely contained. Your body thrummed with awareness, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths as waves of heat washed over you.
You forced yourself to breathe deeply, counting each inhale like Banner had taught you during training. One breath, then another, even as your skin prickled with need. The steady hum of the air conditioning became your focus, not the memory of Bucky's voice, rough and low in the darkness.
Slowly, exhaustion won over the fever burning through your veins. Your muscles ached from fighting against the tension, and eventually, your body surrendered to the pull of sleep. The last thing you registered was the ghost of pine and leather clinging to your shirt before darkness claimed you.
Consciousness returned slowly, like surfacing from deep water. The first thing you registered was warmth on your face—sunlight streaming through your windows, casting everything in hues of honey and gold. Your room looked almost dreamlike, dust motes dancing in the amber rays.
As your vision focused, you noticed signs of Banner’s care—a bowl of soup on your nightstand, now cold; several water bottles arranged within reach; and a damp cloth on your forehead, long since losing its coolness. The quiet thoughtfulness of it made your chest tighten with gratitude.
You sat up gingerly, testing your body’s response. The fever hadn’t broken—if anything, it burned hotter now—but the rest had given you enough strength to make you restless, to make the walls of your room feel like they were closing in.
The water bottles mocked you, lukewarm and useless against the heat coursing through your veins. Ice. You needed ice. The thought became an obsession, driving you to your feet despite shaky legs. You pulled on a thin robe over your sleep clothes, ignoring how even the silky material felt too rough against your sensitized skin.
The hallway stretched before you, bathed in that same golden light that made everything feel surreal. Your slipper-clad feet made no sound on the cool floor as you made your way toward the kitchen. The compound felt different—eerily still, as if everyone had vanished. No voices from the labs, no footsteps down corridors. Just silence, with the strange amber glow making everything look softened, dreamlike.
You moved as if in a trance, your body feeling both heavy and weightless. The fever made everything hazy, like you were watching yourself from a distance. Each breath drew in air that felt too thick, too warm, despite the steady climate control.
Your feet carried you forward without conscious thought, your path wavering slightly as you trailed a hand along the wall for balance. The golden light streaming through the windows turned the hallway into something otherworldly, making the simple journey feel infinite.
Then it hit you—pine and leather, winter air and something darker. Your body responded before your mind could catch up, drawn to his scent like a moth to flame.
As you reach the living room, your destination becomes hazy, forgotten. The room opens before you, bathed in honeyed light pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows. The hardwood floor gleams like liquid amber, stretching toward where Bucky sits, his broad frame sunk deep into the plush sofa, seeming to melt into the cushions.
His eyes lock onto yours over the book he’d been reading, and even through your fevered haze, you see the way they darken, storm-gray deepening into something darker. Neither of you moves. The air between you feels charged, heavy with unspoken words.
"Y/N," he breathes, your name a warning. His whole body tenses as if to rise, but something keeps him frozen, fingers white-knuckled around the forgotten book. You watch his throat work as he swallows hard. "You shouldn’t—you need to go back to your room."
To him, you must look like something out of a dream—or a nightmare, depending on his self-control. Your silk robe catches the light as you move, revealing glimpses of your tank top and shorts underneath. One sock has slipped down your ankle, and your hair falls messily around your face. Your cheeks are flushed, lips parted in shallow breaths.
You take an unsteady step into the room, looking as if you’re floating across the hardwood, each faltering step a deliberate tease. When you reach the armchair, your robe slips further off one shoulder as you grip the chair for support. "I needed…" The words trail off. Did you need ice? Water? Everything feels secondary to the pull you feel toward him.
The room sways slightly beneath your feet. Bucky shifts, fighting the instinct to reach for you. You watch his chest rise with a sharp breath as your scent reaches him, sweet and heavy in the golden air. A bead of sweat trails down your neck, disappearing beneath your tank top.
"You're burning up," he says roughly, his voice holding a darker edge that makes a heat pool in your stomach. His pupils are blown wide as he tracks every small movement of your body.
You attempt to lower yourself into the armchair, but the world tilts. Your knee catches the edge of the coffee table as you stumble, a breathless giggle escaping your lips at your own clumsiness, and your robe slips down to reveal more of your shoulders.
"Shit," Bucky mutters, finally breaking his careful stillness. "You're gonna hurt yourself." He rises in one fluid motion, crossing the space between you in two strides. His hands hover near your arms, not quite touching. "Let’s get you situated."
"M’okay," you insist, though your legs feel like jelly, and you sway into him unconsciously as your robe slips off completely. His hands finally make contact with your bare arms, and the touch sends electricity racing across your fevered skin. "Just needed to sit..."
"Yeah, I can see that." His voice is strained, almost amused, but you hear the concern underneath. He tries to steady you, guiding you toward the chair, but your knees buckle in that moment.
"Alright—" He catches you against his chest, the sudden contact drawing a small huff from you. You feel more than hear his sharp intake of breath. “You alright?” he asks, peeling you off him, holding you at arm's length.
“Mm—” Your body aches at the loss of heat, eyebrows scrunching in annoyance. You sigh, dragging your gaze up Bucky’s large frame until you meet his darkened eyes. “Yeah, m’fine.” Huffing, you look away.
“Don’t lie.” He steps closer, pulling you in. Your breath hitches.
“I’m not…” Sweat beads on the back of your neck, and a lump forms in your throat. You try to take a deep breath, but with Bucky so close, it’s unbearable. Unknowingly, you grab at Bucky’s shirt, fisting the fabric in your hand.
“Tell the truth.” His gaze drops to where your hand grips his shirt, and something unreadable flickers across his face. He gently pries your fingers from the fabric, his own hands lingering on yours a moment too long. His voice is low, almost a growl. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me, doll.”
The nickname makes your throat tighten, pulse jumping, skin prickling with awareness. You should step back, say something to break the magnetic pull between you, but the words stick in your throat. Instead, you lean in closer, closing the small distance between you. God, you wanted him so badly, and it was excruciating.
He inhales sharply, his hands settling on your shoulders, as if to steady you—or maybe himself. “Doll…” The word escapes him again, rough and raw, like he’s barely holding back. “Say something—tell me to leave.” The command is more a plea, his voice thick with barely contained desperation, brows drawn tight in concern.
He watches you, his words hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. You feel their weight pressing down, his warning wrapped within the plea. Your mind races, considering every reason to step back, every way this could complicate things.
“I—” You rake your hands up his torso, fingers dragging lightly against the fabric of his shirt. Snaking your arms around his neck, you pull him impossibly close, sharing the air between you. Neither of you speaks, neither of you moves. You feel his chest heaving against yours.
“Y/N…” he whispers, almost painfully. His hand, still warm on your arm, travels up to cradle your neck, thumb on your jaw as he tilts your head. His hooded eyes linger on your lips, and you unconsciously lick them. He sucks in a sharp breath.
The golden light streaming through the windows catches in his dark hair, turning the loose strands framing his face into threads of amber. Your hands slide up, fingertips brushing the back of his neck, where his shoulder-length hair falls free, some pieces tucked carelessly behind his ear. You let your fingers tangle in the soft strands, feeling them slip like silk between your fingers. You hesitate for only a second before you whisper, “I need to know I’m not the only one.”
For a heartbeat, he’s utterly still, his eyes searching yours, and then his hand tightens just slightly on your waist, with a tenderness that steals your breath. “You’re not,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose against yours, his voice rough and honest. “Not even close.”
The moment his words register, your last thread of control snaps. You finally, finally meet his lips with all the desperation that’s been building for weeks. A rough sound escapes him, vibrating through your chest as his other hand finds your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss is devastating in its intensity—wild, demanding, and absolutely consuming, like you’re both trying to devour each other whole.
His lips press firmly against yours, the scrape of his stubble rough on your heated skin, and a pained whine escapes your mouth—whether from pain or need, neither of you can tell, but it spurs Bucky on. He deepens the kiss, his hands pressing you closer, tighter.
Your fingers, tangled in his hair, tug at the strands as you push yourself up on your toes, arching into him, your body ignited by his touch. A wave of need crashes through you, driven by every instinct you’ve been holding back, and you’re already pushing him back toward the sofa, your movements frenzied as his hands trace the curve of your waist, his fingers firm and possessive.
As you push him toward the sofa, a flicker of guilt pierces through the fog clouding your mind. It’s quick but sharp, cutting through the pull that’s been building for weeks. Everything’s moving too fast, crossing boundaries you haven’t even had time to define, and the uncertainty knots inside you. But your body refuses to listen, as though it recognizes him in a way your mind can’t fully grasp, holding you close.
You stumble back with him until his legs hit the edge of the sofa, and he sinks down, pulling you with him until you’re straddling his lap. His hands slide up to grip your hips, steadying you as you settle over him. The moment you feel his body beneath you, hard and solid, a fresh wave of heat surges through you, causing you to grind your hips against his slowly, testing the waters.
The guilt slips through the haze once more, cutting into your thoughts like a knife. You press your hands to his chest, fingers splaying over his muscles, and pull back enough to see concern flicker in his eyes.
“Buck,” you whisper, caught between confession and apology. “I wanted us to take our time…” Your hands drift lower, grazing just beneath his shirt’s hem, brushing over the coarse hair trailing downward. The warmth of his skin under your fingertips makes your breath hitch, and a shiver runs through you as you continue, voice softer, more vulnerable. “To let this mean something.”
Your fingers trace over the waistband of his pajama pants, then dip lightly between the open buttons, your touch featherlight, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him. His body jolts beneath you, jaw clenching in response. His hands flex on your hips, holding you steady, his gaze dark and hungry, struggling for restraint.
“I can’t… I can’t stop myself,” you murmur, voice thick with need. Yet, your hands betray any hesitation, moving slowly, steadily, opening each button, exposing his skin inch by inch, the heat radiating from him only spurring you on. The admission escapes your lips, almost a whimper. “I feel like I’m losing control.”
Bucky’s breath comes out ragged, his fingers pressing into your skin as he fights to stay steady beneath your touch. “Then lose it,” he murmurs, voice rough with desire, his thumb tracing slow circles over your hipbone, sending warmth through you. “Take control, baby.” His tone is a low, commanding murmur, yet open, a willing offering beneath you. “I’m here to give you exactly what you need… use me, all of me.”
“God, you’re unbelievable…” You laugh breathlessly, but with his words, all your anxieties dissolve, the tight knot inside loosening as he smirks and pulls you down for another heated kiss.
With his permission, something inside you snaps, all restraint dissolving as his hands guide your hips down onto his, pulling you in close. You both let out a guttural moan as you sink into his lap, the thin layers of fabric between you doing nothing to dull the intense pressure of his thick length pressing up against you. Heat radiates from him, his arousal straining beneath his pants, sending a dizzying surge of need through you, leaving you breathless.
With each roll of your hips, you’re consumed by him, the ache pulsing through your core, tethering you to the warmth of his body and the intoxicating pull of his scent. He presses against you, hard and unyielding, a promise of everything you crave, every inch of him driving you closer to surrender. A shiver runs down your spine, every nerve alive with anticipation; it’s too much, yet somehow not enough.
A low chuckle escapes him, his chest vibrating beneath your hands as he watches you grind on him, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. His hands wrap firmly around your hips, guiding your movements in a possessive grip that leaves no doubt he’s claiming you in every way. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice dark and rich, gaze sweeping over every inch of you. “Such a needy little omega, strung out and desperate, aren’t you?” The words ripple through you, sparking heat that surges through your body, making your heart pound, filling you with a warmth that blurs your vision.
A soft whimper escapes your lips, each grind amplifying the tension clawing through your chest, and it’s overwhelming—almost too much. You’re losing yourself, each moan growing louder, desperate, until Bucky’s thumb presses over your lips, quieting you.
Bucky’s hand covers your mouth gently, a warning smirk tugging at his lips. “Keep it down, sweetheart,” he whispers, his tone edged with danger, but you can’t help the needy sound that slips past his hand, your body bucking in response. You pull back slightly, eyes wide, voice a breathless murmur as you ask, “Where is everyone?”
The gleam in his eyes darkens, and he grabs your jaw, pulling you close until his breath brushes your lips. “Forget them,” he growls, voice low and possessive, “Focus on me. Eyes on me, omega.” His grip tightens, his words sending a rush of warmth through you, making your hips grind harder, a needy whimper spilling out as he pulls you into a hungry, messy kiss. Teeth graze, tongues tangle, his control evident in the way his hand holds you in place, claiming every shiver, every gasp.
“Alpha… please…” you gasp, voice cracking as you press yourself harder against him, slick soaking through the fabric, feeling the thick, throbbing bulge of his knot beneath you. “Need you… need it so bad.” Your words spill out, desperation lacing every syllable, your body responding to his presence in a way that both thrills and terrifies you. The pressure, the heat, his intensity—it’s everything, almost too much, yet somehow not nearly enough.
“That’s right, sweetheart,” he growls, voice dark with possession as his hands slide up to grip your waist, fingers pressing with a force that makes your skin burn. “You’re mine, all mine… dripping for me just from grinding on me.” His words spark something wild and primal, your body moving without thought, surrendering to the rhythm, feeling yourself unravel beneath his gaze.
But as the tension mounts, something inside you starts to break. It’s overwhelming, an aching need so intense that your chest tightens, a gasp escaping as tears begin to blur your vision. It’s too much—the pressure, the pleasure, the helplessness of being so completely in his hands, needing him but unable to take it all just yet. A single tear slips down your cheek, and then another, and soon you’re trembling in his hold, soft, helpless sounds falling from you as you press closer, uncertain if it’s pain or pleasure overtaking you.
Bucky’s eyes narrow as he notices, his thumb brushing over your cheek, his gaze softening for a moment. “Look at you, all worked up,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, yet laced with something almost tender. “Can’t handle it, can you? My little omega, so sensitive.” His words make the ache worse, the tears coming faster as he leans in, pressing a possessive kiss against your lips, swallowing the soft, broken sounds you make.
“Shh… you’re okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice dark and rich in your ear, a shiver coursing through you as his hand steadies you, grounding you in his hold. “Not yet, but soon. I’m going to give you everything,” he promises, his tone thick with possession as he presses you firmly to him. “Fill you, claim you, mark every inch of you until there’s nothing left but us, nothing left but me inside you.” His grip tightens, his words a dark promise, and your pulse quickens.
Slowly, Bucky shifts, guiding you back as he leans forward, tilting you until your neck is exposed. Your breath hitches, anticipation winding tight within you, thinking for a split second he’s going to mark you. But instead, he presses a hot, lingering kiss to your collarbone, his lips grazing down your skin as his hand holds you steady. Each soft kiss along your collar sends a thrill through you, his mouth tracing up to the nape of your neck, where he lets his teeth graze lightly, nipping just enough to make you shiver.
Then, with a low growl, he pulls you closer, thrusting hard against you as his teeth sink into your skin, just shy of a mark. The sharp bite sends you over the edge, your body trembling, every nerve igniting as you come undone in his arms, shaking as he holds you steady, his possessive touch grounding you through each wave of pleasure.
Your body quakes in his hold, tremors rolling through you as you cling to him, breathless, every pulse of pleasure leaving you weightless, completely taken. Bucky’s arms stay wrapped around you, grounding you, his lips brushing tenderly over the spot he just bit, his tongue soothing the faint sting as you gasp softly against him.
“There we go… that’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick and velvety as he strokes your back, one hand pressing into the small of your spine, holding you close as your breaths slow. His eyes are dark, filled with satisfaction as he watches you, savoring the sight of you so vulnerable, so utterly his.
Your body settles against him, the intense high fading into a soft, hazy warmth. Almost instinctively, you continue to move your hips in slow, gentle circles, soft whimpers escaping as you melt into his shoulder, eyelids growing heavy, drifting somewhere between bliss and sleep.
His hand strokes up your spine, grounding you with each possessive touch. “You feel that?” he whispers, his mouth brushing your ear, his words sending another shiver through you. “This is just the beginning, sweetheart. You’re mine, and I’m far from done with you.”
A small, needy sound slips from your lips as your hips press against him, despite the exhaustion pulling at you. He smirks, fingers tracing slow, possessive patterns along your waist. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice a low, satisfied growl. His hand grazes your hip, drawing gentle circles. “But I want more. Think you can handle that?”
You manage a nod, a sleepy, eager response, melting further into him as your eyelids flutter shut. Just as you’re drifting toward sleep, he chuckles softly, pressing a warm kiss to the top of your head. “First, let’s get some rest, sweetheart,” he whispers, voice a gentle command as he lifts you effortlessly, cradling you against his chest.
The golden hour light that once bathed the room has deepened into the cool, quiet blue of night, shadows settling around you as he carries you to the bed. The ache in your body has softened, replaced by a warmth, a certainty that relaxes you in his hold, knowing you’re exactly where you belong.
As he lowers you onto the sheets, your fingers instinctively curl into his shirt, needing to keep him close even in your drowsy haze. His hand brushes tenderly over your cheek, the glint in his gaze a promise that makes your heart race yet leaves you calm, knowing he’s yours, that you’re meant to be right here in his arms. The last thing you feel is the weight of his touch grounding you, a promise of what’s to come as sleep finally pulls you under.
For @fluffyjuly Day 9 - Blanket Nest | “Stay with me?”
And @juniebjonesin picnic prompts "dance with me.” - “There’s no music.” - “There doesn’t have to be.” /
Masterlist | Marvel | Give Me Shelter, For My Heart | Bucky Barnes
The wind whistled through the trees around your little cabin, picking up the leaves that lay scattered on the ground still and churning them into eddying patterns beyond your window.
It was far more than you'd ever hoped for, when you'd left the facility with James all those months ago. Far more than you could've ever hoped for your pup.
They'd tried, while you were captive, to make it happen between you both. So many cold rooms and so much pain. But it'd been so easy out here. So natural for you and for your wolf, to allow your instrincts to take over and your body to open to this new life.
Your hand drifted to your swollen belly. Not so big, yet, but big enough that you sought comfort at every opportunity.
James had searched for more blankets than you'd ever seen, even his friends had brought some. Though they'd left these tentatively at the edge of your clearly in a large plastic bag, waving their hands slowly in greeting before backing away.
They were kind, you were sure, but it was too much for your wolf. Her pawing at your mind, pacing in anguished circles at the thought of them taking your pup away. No matter how many times James assured you that it wasn't going to happen.
You'd used the blankets to make the huge nest that you found yourself snuggled up in. Perfectly placed on the middle of the bed James had found for you back at The Compound, a place you'd never really visited but that sotunded awful.
You were drifting into another nap when James gently pushed the door opened.
"Hey, baby, how're you feeling?"
You have him a wan smile, still tired from a morning spent throwing up and trying to inject the rehydration medicine James had brought you.
"Sleepy."
"Do you wanna be sleepy on the porch, it's nice out?" He held the door open, letting the warm breeze into the cabin along with a few stray leaves.
"Maybe."
That was good enough for James, who was with you in two strides, lifting you up with a secure arm tucked against your back, the other under your knees.
Instantly, you snuggled into his neck, breathing him in and letting your body relax into his hold.
He set you down slowly, lowering your feet so that you remained pressed against him the entire time. The gentle roundness of your belly keeping you slightly further apart than you'd like.
"Missed you today, 'Mega." He kissed your temple and cheeks, behind your ears, and nuzzles his bite on your neck.
"Missed you too Alpha, the winds been singing today."
"Yeah?" Bucky smiled down at you, cupping your cheeks. "Dance with me then."
"But there's no music," you smiled back, he could be so silly, your Alpha. How could you dance without proper music!
"There doesn't have to be real music, besides you just said the wind's singing."
He gave an exaggerated bow and then reached for your hand, you let him twirl you towards him. The wind picked up again, making his long hair fly out from behind his ears, twisting around his face while he led you in a slow, clumsy, waltz around the porch.
"If you want real music, I could get you a radio." He offered.
Always the hunter, even if it was just for your whims.
"That's okay, I'd rather you didn't go out again today."
"Okay, I don't need to go."
"Are you sure? You'll stay with me? No more meetings and training and Steve and Sam?"
"No more of anything but you." Bucky kissed you again, hands tilting your face towards him, his whole body surrounding you. And you felt safe, this was your nest, not just the blankets, the cabin, James, his arms and loving kissing.
In your belly, the pup pushed outwards and James slid his hand down to the little foot kicking against you.
"You both."
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