Summary: An unexpected storm hits your city, and the only nearby shelter is the home of your perfect loverâyour fatherâs best friend.
Tags: MDNI! +18, smut, sexual content (if you are underage, do not interact with this work or I will block you), porn without plot, fingering (f! receiving), pussy slap, oral sex (f! receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, rough sex, breeding kink, baby trapping, dirty talk, pet names, age gap (reader in her twenties and Bucky in his forties), reader and Bucky have a casual relationship, jealous Bucky, possessive Bucky, no Y/N. No beta reader. My native language is not English, so there may be possible mistakes.
Masterlist.
âThanks, Buck. Take care of her. Tomorrow, as soon as the rain stops, Iâll come get her.â
That was the last thing Bucky heard from your father before the call ended and he tossed his cell phone onto the bed.
For a few moments, his attention drifted back outside. The rain lashed violently against the windows of the room in a relentless patter. Every few seconds, a clap of thunder tore through the sky, so close it made the glass rattle. It didnât take long for him to focus on what was right in front of him when he heard your muffled moan and felt your hips move as he fucked you with his fingers.
Bucky gave a crooked smile at the sight of you in need. His fingers shot out of your wet, swollen pussy to deliver a quick slap that made you whimper, then he mercilessly thrust those long fingers back inside you.
âYour fatherâs worried because his beloved daughter is away from home, and all youâre thinking about is coming.â He taunted as he thrust and curled his fingers harder.
Your lips parted to let out a sharp moan as Bucky pressed upward, right on that spot he knew so well thanks to all those secret encounters.
âO-Oh, fuck,â you gasped as you arched your back. âKeep going, Bucky.â
He could see you were getting close just from his fingers, but he knew better than anyone what drove you wild.
Without wasting any time, he pulled his fingers out again, making you whine in frustration until his hands moved to your thighs, spreading your legs wider as he knelt on the floor.
He didnât hesitate to bury his face between your legs, sealing his lips around your swollen clitoris and sucking hard enough to make your legs tremble and release your flesh with a wet pop. His tongue slid through your slippery folds, savoring you as if you were his favorite meal.
His thick, graying beard rubbed against your inner thighs and your swollen flesh with every movement of his licks and sucks.
Bucky loved being loud and making it clear to you that only he would eat your pussy like that. And of course, you loved him all the more for it.
Your fingers tangled in his dark hair, pushing him even closer to your pussy as you felt that intense pleasure coil through your belly.
âD-Donât stop!â you commanded, your voice broken by moans.
Your hips shook as the orgasm hit you with devastating force.
His tongue licked desperately, refusing to let a single drop of your juices go to waste.
You gasped for breath as your body went limp in a haze of pleasure and satisfaction, while Bucky trailed open-mouthed kisses down your abdomen, leaving a trail of saliva and your arousal on your skin.
His large hands reached for your breasts, squeezing them gently, and his lips pressed against yours in a passionate kiss.
âWill you tell me what you were doing out here at this hour, gorgeous?â he asked between kisses on your jaw and neck.
Your hands slid down his torso, savoring the contours of his abdomen and letting his kisses set you ablaze once more.
âJust⊠a date with a guy,â you whispered as your hand brushed against his erection.
Buckyâs body tensed for a second. A second in which that pang of jealousy and possessiveness flashed through his chest, but he could brush it off as a reaction to the movement of your hand over his underwear.
âA guy?â he teased as he leaned in to take a playful bite out of one of your breasts. âYou and I both know a guy couldnât treat you the way you like⊠Only a real man can do that.â
His comment didnât surprise you at all. After all, every time a boy showed up in your life, Bucky would tease you, saying, âOh, come on. You can do better than that,â or âStay away from boys and date a man.â
He pushed you to the center of the bed and effortlessly turned you face down. One hand pressed between your shoulder blades to hold you down while the other guided your hips upward.
âAnd are you really that man, James?â you teased playfully.
His palm immediately smacked your butt, making you let out a little yelp, then he immediately spread your butt cheeks apart and his thumb teased that tight little ring just to watch you squirm in embarrassment.
It was clear he wouldnât go in the back door if you werenât ready, but damn, how he enjoyed making you nervous and bringing you down a notch.
âYou know the answer.â
Bucky pulled his boxers down just enough to finally pull out his hard cock, the tip flushed and dripping.
The way the head brushed against your pussy made you gasp until it finally began to press against your entrance, forcing you to press your chest against the mattress as you moaned at the sensation of it sliding in.
Feeling it thrust those last few inches in one go made your hands clench the bedsheets.
The initial rhythm consisted of slow glides and quick thrusts, simply because James enjoyed the doggy-style positionâit allowed him to see every detail of your ass bouncing and his cock disappearing into your tight heat, while controlling the depth and pace.
âYes⊠I love itâŠâ you blurted out without thinking. His voice was tense and breathless. âI love seeing my beautiful girl take it like this.â
His hand on your waist and your hip held you in place to receive the thrusts that were beginning to increase in strength and speed. Each pelvic thrust made your skin slap loudly and the bed sway beneath you.
âO-Oh, Bucky! You fuck me so good.â You moaned as you buried your face in the sheets.
Each thrust was accompanied by a moan or a growl from him as your words pierced his chest.
If he fucked you so well and your little pussy squeezed him so perfectly, it could only mean one thing to him: you were meant for him.
It didnât matter that you were younger than him, that your relationship was casual and without commitment, or that you were his best friendâs daughter; he didnât want to let you go anymoreâyou fit perfectly in his arms.
His movements grew wilder, more primal.
His body leaned over yours to wrap one arm around your torso while his other hand slid between your legs. The touch on your clitoris was bold; his fingers pinched and rolled the swollen nub in time with his thrusts.
âMine. My pretty girl,â he growled into your ear. âMy little toy.â
Your tight walls clenched around him as you moaned uncontrollably and tears streamed down your cheeks. Each contraction made his vision blur for a second and his muscles tense like a spring ready to snap.
âI should knock you upâŠâ he whispered to himself at first. âNo more worried dad because youâre away from home. No more idiots who donât know how to treat a girl like you. Just me, having my beautiful girl at home and being so sweet as to let me use her gorgeous pussy whenever I want.
His cock slid in as if its sole purpose were to tear your tight pussy apart as it should be.
You trembled uncontrollably beneath him while your face was covered in tears and salivaâyouâd started drooling, completely drunk on his cock. It was the first time James had been so possessive and talked about getting you pregnant, but you were so overwhelmed that you could only nod weakly.
Buckyâs hips shuddered. He was thrilled to know you were willing to be his.
âIâm going to fill you up⊠Iâm going to put a baby inside you.â
Your eyes rolled back as the orgasm left you breathless for a few seconds and your walls squeezed him tightly. With a hoarse groan, he slammed his hips into you one last time, burying himself deep inside you as his orgasm washed over him.
His hips jerked with every spurt that was released inside you; for your part, you could only tremble and whimper as his throbbing cock pulsed against your sensitive pussy.
âThatâs it⊠Good girl. Take it all.â
He was still fucking you shallowly to squeeze every last drop from his balls, while his hand moved to your belly and he let himself imagine a future in which he would have you all to himself, living in his house with his child growing inside you.
Note: I haven't been able to write anything lately; I have several drafts that haven't progressed and new ideas that I haven't been able to get started on, but I'll do my best to be more active.
Could we get bucky physical touch headcanons? Or just general established relationship fluff :)
Bucky Barnes has always been careful with his hands.
Itâs instinct nowâsomething carved into him just as deeply as the ghosts in his head. His strength is something heâs constantly aware of, constantly measuring, constantly holding back. Even after everythingâafter Wakanda, after the deprogramming, after learning how to exist as just Bucky againâthereâs still that quiet hesitation in the way he reaches for things.
For you.
Especially for you.
In the beginning, it showed up in small, almost invisible ways. The way his fingers would hover just shy of your skin before actually touching you. The way his metal hand would stay tucked behind his back or buried in his pocket when you sat close. The way heâd brush his knuckles against yours instead of lacing your fingers together, like he was testing the waters, waiting for you to pull away.
You never did.
When you first noticed it, you were sitting on the couch together, some movie playing that neither of you were paying attention to. Your legs were tangled, your shoulder pressed into his side, and his arm was draped along the back of the couch behind you.
Not around you.
Behind you.
Close enough to feel, but not enough to hold.
You turned your head, studying him quietly. His eyes were fixed on the screen, but you could see the tension in his jaw, the subtle flex of his fingers against the cushion. Like he wanted to touch you and didnât trust himself to do it.
So you fixed it.
Without saying anything, you reached up and took his metal arm and pulled it down into your lap.
Bucky froze.
His entire body went still, breath catching like youâd just done something dangerous. His eyes snapped to yours, wide and uncertain.
âDollâŠâ he murmured, voice low, almost warning.
You just shrugged, like it was nothing. Like your heart wasnât beating a little faster at the vulnerability in his expression. âYou can touch me, you know.â
His brow furrowed. âI am touching you.â
âNot really,â you said softly, guiding his hand so his palm rested properly against your thigh. âThis is touching me.â
The metal was cool against your skin, but not unpleasant. Different, yesâbut you leaned into it, pressing your hand over his, holding him there.
For a long moment, he didnât move.
Then, slowly, so slowly you almost missed it, his fingers curled.
His thumb brushed once, tentative, against your leg.
You smiled.
And something in his expression cracked open.
From that moment on, things changedâbut not all at once. Bucky doesnât do anything all at once. He learns you the way he learned everything else: carefully, patiently, like heâs committing every reaction to memory.
He starts small.
A hand at the small of your back when you walk through doors. Light at first, barely thereâbut steady. Grounding.
His fingers brushing yours when you sit beside each other, lingering just a second longer each time until one day they stay, sliding between yours like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
He figures out quickly that you like it when he touches your face.
The first time he cups your cheek fullyâflesh hand warm, metal hand resting just beneath your jawâhe watches you like heâs bracing for impact. Like he expects you to flinch.
Instead, you lean in.
Close your eyes.
Press into his palm like you belong there.
The breath he lets out is shaky.
After that, it becomes his favorite thing.
Bucky is not subtle about the things he loves.
He touches you constantly, not in a way thatâs overwhelming, but in a way thatâ deliberate. Intentional. Like every point of contact is a reminder, for both of you, that youâre here. That youâre real.
When youâre in the kitchen, he stands behind you, chest to your back, arms wrapping around your waist. Sometimes he just rests there, chin hooked over your shoulder, breathing you in like it steadies him.
Sometimes his hands drift.
Up your sides, slow and absentminded. Over your stomach. Down your hips. Never rushed. Never careless.
Always aware.
When youâre out with the others, he keeps a hand on youâyour thigh under the table, your back when youâre standing, your wrist when he wants your attention. Itâs grounding for him, you realize. A tether.
Youâre his anchor.
And he makes sure you know it.
At night, itâs different.
Softer.
There are nights when the past creeps in, when sleep doesnât come easy and his body is too tense, too alert. On those nights, he doesnât always say anythingâbut he reaches for you.
Carefully, at first.
Like he always has.
But now, instead of hovering, his hand settles.
Finds your hip. Your arm. Your waist.
And when you shift closer in response, when you tuck yourself into him without hesitation, something in him unwinds.
He holds you tighter then.
Not enough to hurt. Never enough to hurt. Just enough to feel.
His metal arm curls around you sometimes, hesitant even now, but you always pull it closer. Press it where you want it. Teach him, over and over, that youâre not fragile. Not in the ways he fears.
âCâmere,â youâll mumble, half-asleep, guiding his hand to your stomach or your chest.
He always follows.
And once heâs there, once he knows you want him there, he doesnât hold back as much.
His touch becomes confident.
He learns the exact pressure you like when he rubs your back. The way your body melts when his fingers trace slow patterns along your spine. The way you sigh when he presses a kiss to your shoulder, his hand splayed wide over your ribs like heâs memorizing you.
Sometimes, when youâre lying together in the quiet, heâll map you.
His fingertips dragging lightly over your skin. Your arms, your stomach, your thighs. Not sexual. Not urgent.
Like heâs reminding himself that youâre here. That this is real. That heâs allowed to have this.
You.
âStill okay?â heâll ask sometimes, voice low, almost unsure, even after all this time.
You always answer the same way.
You take his handâmetal or flesh, it doesnât matterâand press a kiss into his palm.
âMore than okay.â
And every time, something in his shoulders loosens. Something heavy lifts, just a little.
Bucky Barnes has always been careful with his hands.
But with you, heâs learning that he doesnât have to be afraid of them.
Because every time he touches you, you donât pull away.
You lean in.
More than anything, that is what teaches him how to hold you.
Summary - After a night of heavy drinking, some truths come to light.
Warnings - Alcohol consumption, Reader is drunk, Pining, Idiots in love, kissing, Fluff. 18+ Only. My warnings are not extensive so enter at your own risk!
Word Count - 1.7k
It had been a hell of a party, celebrating your latest victory at Avengerz HQ with your teammates.
Yelena had convinced you to go against her in a drinking contest and you had no idea why you thought agreeing to go up against a russian was a good idea.
Now you were stumbling through the Avengerz compound with Bucky's arm around your waist as he guided you to your room, insisting you were too drunk and he wanted to make sure you got back safely.
His earthy smell was all around you, making you intoxicated from his proximity as well as the alcohol coursing through your veins and you could feel the heat pulsing beneath his palm on your waist while you drunkenly rambled at him.
"I feel bad for you ya know?" You mumbled.
Bucky glanced over at you, brow raised in confusion at your sudden change of topic. How the conversation went from grumpy cat to him, he'd never know.
"You do?" He replied.
"Uh huh." You shrugged simply, as though the statement was completely obvious, missing the way his face dropped, mind running straight to the most obvious thing.
He hated that you felt that way, that you pitied what had happened to him. He didn't want your pity, he didn't want you to feel bad on his behalf.
"Right. Of course." He mumbled, pressing his lips together.
"No Bucky no!" You moaned as you looked up at his sad little pout, "Don't pull a sad face. Some regular non super human people can't get drunk either."
"That's what you're talking about?" He grunted back.
"Uh huh." You nodded as you continued wobbling forward, "Being drunk is great."
"I'm not sure you'll be saying that tomorrow." He said, the corner of his lips tugging up in amusement.
"Pshhh, live in the now Bucky." You grinned animatedly, "Now is great."
"It sure is." He smiled back, looking over your blushed face longer than a friend should.
"God you're so muscly." You said suddenly, pulling him from his thoughts as you stopped before him and grabbed his bicep.
"You know I'm a super soldier right?" He smirked.
"Mmm..." You nodded, running your palm along the length of his arm with your tongue slowly swiping your lower lip.
"Sweetheart?" Bucky laughed and your face snapped back to his, a deeper crimson flush spreading over your cheeks.
"Oh hey, sorry." You mumbled, "I was just looking."
"Just looking, right." He teased before placing his arm back around your waist and pushing you along the corridor, back on track.
"I wanna lick em." You mumbled to yourself.
"Lick what?" Bucky grinned and you looked back up at him with wide eyes.
"Your muscles." You shrugged, "They look lickable, you're very lickable."
"Okay, sure." He smiled.
"If I lick it, is it mine?" You smiled playfully.
"What?" He mused as you reached your door, quickly pushing it open to get you into to your room.
"You never saw that meme?" You asked as he helped you over the threshold and guided you to sit on the edge of your bed.
"What the hell is a meme?" He grimaced, as though the word alone had personally offended him.
You chuckled loudly as he crossed his arms over his chest with a raised brow, "Sometimes I forget you're old."
"You forget." He repeated.
"Yeah cause you're just so you and handsome and sexy and moody." You giggled, "The old is just extra."
"Moody..." He grumbled before his eyes widened, "Wait, did you say sexy?"
"Mmhmmm very sexy." You nodded, dropping back onto your mattress with a dreamy expression on your face, "Sexy and very lickable."
Bucky looked over you with a smile, unable to contain his emotions at the thought of you finding him attractive. If only he had the courage to act on how he felt, to tell you how he felt about you.
"Right, time for bed." Bucky chuckled.
"But Bucky!" You moaned, sitting back up with a pout, "I don't wanna."
"Well you need to sleep." He replied sternly, though the smile remained on his lips.
"You're mean." You sassed like a toddler, folding your arms over your chest.
"Mean, moody, sexy." He shrugged, crossing the room to your chest of drawers to find you something to change into.
"You forgot annoying." You grunted at him.
"I'll add it to the list." He replied, as he dug through the drawer, fitting into your space like he belonged in it.
"Can I have your shirt?" You grinned suddenly.
"My shirt?" He responded, looking back over his shoulder at you with furrowed brows.
"Yeah I wanna sleep in it." You shrugged like it was the obvious answer.
"Why?" He grumbled.
"Cause it'll smell like you and I can pretend you're in bed with me, holding me." You smiled sweetly.
"Sweetheart..." Bucky breathed, ignoring the way his heart skipped a beat at your statement as he crossed back in front of you, "You're drunk."
"I know that." You pouted, "Doesn't mean I don't want your shirt."
"But you're saying a lot of things you might regret in the morning." He exhaled, running his palm through his hair.
"I've never regretted being in love with you." You said with furrowed brows as Bucky's body froze, "I just wish I could be enough for you too."
"You...you're in love..." He stuttered while you remained completely oblivious to the bombshell you'd just dropped.
"T-shirt!" You whined, extending your arms and flexing your hands to grab at him, "Gimme."
"Fine, fine." He conceded while his heart hammered and his mind raced.
He slipped the T-shirt over his head, passing it over to you and trying to hide his grin when you snatched it from him with a happy squeal.
You raised the fabric to your nose, inhaling deeply with a smile and a sigh, "God you smell so good, like home and sin."
You stumbled onto your feet, attempting to stand and Bucky threw his hand out, catching your elbow to steady you. You suddenly began to slip your own shirt over your body and he spun around so fast he created his own gust of wind.
"I'll just...face...over..yeah..." He swallowed thickly, already cataloguing the small patch of exposed skin he'd seen.
"Wait!" You yelled, stilling your hands.
"What?" Bucky rasped as he turned back to you worriedly, "Are you okay?"
You crossed the small space between you with a mischievous grin and quickly placed your tongue on his exposed chest, trailing it up between the valley of his pecks with a giggle.
"I licked you, so you're mine now." You grinned.
Bucky's mouth was agape, shock painting his features, until it turned into a shy smile, his cheeks and ears tinting red.
"Okay sweetheart." He smiled shyly, before turning back around to let you change.
You slid from your evenings clothes quickly, teetering on your feet like a newborn deer before slipping Bucky's shirt over your head, smiling when it dropped over your ass and you were surrounded in his scent.
You climbed into bed and settled under the duvet with a happy sigh while Bucky turned, assessing you with a nod before heading for the door.
"Bucky?" You called out to him shyly.
"Yeah?" He replied, glancing back at you over his shoulder.
"Will you come see me?" You mumbled, "In the morning? I'll wanna see you but sober me might be too shy to ask."
"Of course." He sighed, "I'll even bring coffee."
"You're the best Bucky." You smiled happily, before sinking further into the mattress, ready for sleep to take you.
"Goodnight sweetheart." Bucky sighed before leaving the room with a smile pulling at his lips.
"Hey you." Bucky grinned as he padded into your room the next morning, extending the to-go cup in his hand, "Coffee."
"Oh god...thank you." You groaned, sitting up on the bed and rubbing your forehead, "My head hurts."
"But being drunk is so fun." Bucky mocked with a smile as he dropped onto the bed next to you, "That's what you said."
"Asshole." You pouted, taking the cup from him and taking a large gulp before raising your brow at him suspiciously, "And why am I in your shirt?"
"You asked for it." Bucky chuckled, "Said you wanted to feel like I was wrapped around you."
"Oh god." You gasped as your face turned a deep marron and your ears went hot, "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be." He laughed before reminding himself that it was now or never, "And just so you know, you are good enough."
"Huh?" You breathed with furrowed brows, feeling heated from the way bucky was looking at you.
"For me, I mean." He confirmed softly, "You're more than good enough, I'm not good enough for you."
"I..you...what..." You stuttered, as you tried to follow what he was getting at.
"You told me you were in love with me." He announced and you felt your soul leave your body, eyes widening and mouth snapping shut in horror.
"I did?" You squeaked.
"You licked me." He grinned.
"Oh my god. I'm so sorry." You gasped, burying your face in your hands, "I'm so embarrassed."
"Don't be." He laughed again before his face softened, "Hey, look at me."
He pulled your hands away from your face, gazing at you with such affection that you thought your heart may combust. He reached out and gently tucked your hair behind your ear, before settling his palm along your jaw.
"You licked me, so I'm yours now, right?" He questioned, eyes flicking between your own and your lips.
"I...please...yes..." You breathed.
"Well then." He smiled and he began to close the gap between you, lips closing in on your own while your breath hitched and your heart skipped a beat.
His lips brushed against yours, pressing the softest kiss against them before he placed another on your cheek, when suddenly his tongue darted out, licking a stripe up the side of your face while you squealed and giggled.
"Bucky!" You giggled manically.
"What?" He chuckled, "Just returning the favour, now you're mine."
You smiled widely, eyes shimmering with glee despite the hangover trying to pierce through your skull.
Hi Kennedy! Kinda feeling a little angsty today and i had an idea for a blurb!
The classic tale of reader being Buckyâs best friend, Bucky starts dating an agent who is secretly mean to the reader whenever theyâre alone so no one is there to believe her if she ever tries to tell anyone. Reader starts pulling away slightly and of course Bucky notices but thinks maybe itâs just stress around the next mission or whatever.
On the next mission, reader, Buckyâs gf, Bucky, Sam, Nat, and Steve are all there and get split up into teams, leaving reader with Buckyâs gf and maybe Sam or Steve sees Buckyâs gf intentionally leave reader to fight alone knowing she would be outnumbered and before they can go to help, reader gets beat up pretty bad. So they get reader back to the compound and of course Bucky is flipping a fucking lid and then Steve or Sam tell him what happened and itâs a scene and when reader wakes up itâs apologies and love confessions and happy ending lol sorry this is so long Iâm just feeling the cliche angst vibes today
-đ
You almost convince yourself youâre imagining it.
Marnie Cross smiles at you in front of everyoneâpolished, sharp, all easy charm and knowing glances that make her look like she belongs beside Bucky. She laughs at Samâs jokes, trades strategy notes with Natasha, even asks you for your opinion like it matters.
But the moment youâre alone, something shifts.
The first time it happens, itâs so subtle you barely register it. A comment slipped under her breath while youâre grabbing gear.
âFunny,â she murmurs, eyes flicking over you, âhow he never shuts up about you. Youâd think heâd want something a little less⊠predictable.â
You blink, caught off guard. âWhat?â
She just smiles, sweet as anything, like she didnât say a word.
After that, it becomes a pattern.
Little things. Sharp things. Things no one else hears.
âYou know he only keeps you around because youâre familiar, right?â
âYou should see the way he looks at me when youâre not there.â
âYouâre not exactly hard to replace.â
Each one lands softer than a punch but sinks deeper.
And the worst part?
No one would believe you.
Because Marnie is perfect on paper. Efficient. Respected. The kind of agent people trust without question. And you⊠youâre just the best friend whoâs been around too long, maybe a little too close for comfort.
So you donât say anything.
You just start stepping back.
Itâs small at first. Sitting a little farther away during briefings. Letting conversations drift without jumping in. Skipping movie nights because youâre âtired.â Avoiding the way Buckyâs arm naturally drapes over the back of your chair like it always has.
He notices.
Buckyâs always been tuned into you in a way that borders on instinct, and it doesnât take long before his brows start to knit together every time you slip out of a room too early or dodge his questions.
âYou good?â he asks one night, catching you in the hallway.
âYeah,â you say quickly, offering a smile that doesnât quite stick. âJust tired.â
His eyes narrow slightly, not buying it. âYouâve been âtiredâ for like a week.â
You shrug, already stepping back. âMission coming up. Just in my head, I guess.â
He doesnât like that answer, you can tell. But Marnie calls his name from the common room, and the moment breaks.
You pretend not to notice how easily he lets himself be pulled away.
---
The mission is supposed to be straightforward.
Infiltrate. Extract intel. Get out.
You, Bucky, Sam, Steve, Natasha, and Marnie.
It goes sideways almost immediately.
Alarms blare. Footsteps thunder down corridors. The team splits on instinct, falling into smaller units to cover more ground.
You end up with Marnie.
For a second, you think maybe this is a chance to prove somethingâto smooth over whatever tension has been building, even if itâs mostly one-sided.
You move together down a dim hallway, backs to the wall, weapons raised.
âTwo guards ahead,â you whisper.
âI see them,â she replies.
You take one. She takes the other.
Clean. Efficient.
For a moment, it feels normal.
Then more footsteps echoâtoo many.
Your grip tightens on your weapon. âWe need to regroup.â
Marnie glances around the corner, assessing. âYou hold them here. Iâll circle around and flank.â
Your stomach twists. âThatâs notââ
âIâve got it,â she cuts you off smoothly, already stepping back. âTry to keep up.â
And then sheâs gone.
Youâre left standing there as fiveâno, sixâarmed men round the corner.
For a split second, you just stare after her, disbelief cracking through you.
She knew. She knew exactly how many there were, and she left anyway.
Thereâs no time to dwell on it.
You move.
You fight.
Youâve been in worse situations, you tell yourself. You can handle it.
But six on one is never a fair fight.
The first hit lands hard against your ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs. You recover, swing, drop one, but another comes from behind, slamming you into the wall. Pain sparks across your vision. You taste blood.
You keep going. You have to. But itâs too much.
A boot catches your knee. You go down. A fist cracks against your jaw. Your head snaps to the side, vision blurring.
Somewhere down the hall, thereâs shouting then gunfire.
Precise. Controlled.
The pressure around you disappears almost as quickly as it came.
You donât even see who takes the last shot.
Everything fades to black.
---
When you come to, itâs quiet.
The sterile hum of the med bay wraps around you, steady and unforgiving. Your body aches in places you canât even fully register yet, heavy and distant.
Thereâs a hand in yours.
Warm. Familiar. Bucky.
His head is bowed, shoulders hunched like heâs carrying something too heavy to hold. His grip tightens the second you shift.
âHeyâhey,â he breathes, voice rough, snapping upright. âYouâre awake. Doll, hey, look at me.â
Your eyes struggle to focus, but you find him eventually.
He looks⊠wrecked.
âYouâre okay,â he keeps saying, like heâs trying to convince himself. âYouâre okay.â
Your throat feels like sandpaper. âBuckâŠâ
He swallows hard, squeezing your hand. âIâm here.â
Thereâs movement behind himâSteve, Sam, Natashaâbut Bucky doesnât take his eyes off you.
And then Steve speaks, quiet but firm.
âSam saw what happened.â
The words hang in the air.
Bucky stills.
âWhat?â he asks slowly.
Sam steps forward, jaw tight. âMarie left her. On purpose. There were six guys and sheâshe just walked away, man.â
The room shifts.
You see it happen in real time, the moment the pieces click into place in Buckyâs mind. Every unanswered question. Every time you pulled away. Every âIâm fineâ that clearly wasnât.
His grip on your hand trembles.
âWhy didnât you tell me?â he asks, voice breaking in a way youâve never heard before.
You blink up at him, exhaustion pulling at you. âDidnât think youâd believe me.â
The hurt that flashes across his face is immediate and devastating.
âI always believe you,â he says, like itâs the simplest truth in the world. âItâs you. Itâs always been you.â
Your chest tightens.
âIâm sorry,â he adds quickly, shaking his head. âI shouldâve seen it. I shouldâveâGod, I left you alone with herââ
âBuck,â you interrupt weakly. âNot your fault.â
âIt is,â he insists, voice rising. âI was too busyââ He cuts himself off, jaw clenching. âSheâs gone. Nat dealt with it.â
Thereâs something final in that.
You donât ask.
You donât need to.
Silence settles again, softer this time.
Bucky leans closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours, his voice dropping to something fragile.
âI thought you were pulling away because you didnât need me anymore,â he admits. âI didnât think it was because I was letting someone hurt you.â
Your heart stutters.
âI could never not need you,â you whisper.
His eyes search yours, desperate, like heâs been waiting to hear that.
âYeah?â he asks, almost afraid.
You nod as much as you can. âYeah.â
Something in him finally breaks open.
âI love you,â he says, the words tumbling out like theyâve been trapped for too long. âI think I always have. I justâI didnât want to mess up what we had, and then sheââ He shakes his head. âDoesnât matter. You matter.â
Your breath catches.
Even through the pain, even through the haze, warmth spreads through your chest.
âTook you long enough,â you murmur, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at your lips.
He lets out a shaky laugh, relief flooding his features. âYeah. I know.â
His thumb brushes gently over your knuckles, grounding, careful.
âIâm not going anywhere,â he promises. âNot ever again. You donât have to fight alone. Not while Iâm here.â
You tighten your grip on his hand, holding on just as firmly.
âGood,â you whisper.
And this time, when your eyes drift closed again, itâs not from pain.
Male loneliness this, male loneliness that. Have they tried lobotomies? Tranquilizers? Being fingered by medical professionals? Tearing the yellow wallpaper off the walls of the attic room where your husband keeps you locked up?
Reader always falling asleep next to Bucky, yes. BUT. Hear me out okay, Bucky always falling asleep next to reader. Pre-relationship. All reader has to do is be in the same room as Bucky and he's out like a light. It becomes comical because the team tries to figure out who it is and stay w Bucky alone to see if he falls asleep, but it's not until he's sitting alone with reader that he passes out within the minute. The team thinks it's funny, Bucky is embarrassed, but reader thinks it's cute and gets him to start sleeping in her room so he can sleep properly đđ
It truly was an acccident.
Youâre in the common room late one night, curled up on one end of the couch with a blanket tucked around your legs and a file open on your tablet. The compound is quiet in that rare, fragile way it only ever is past midnight. You hear the soft, familiar whir of servos before you see him.
âCanât sleep?â you ask without looking up.
Bucky grunts something noncommittal and drops onto the opposite end of the couch. Heâs fresh from a shower, hair damp and pushed back, wearing gray sweats and a black Henley that stretches across his shoulders. He smells like clean soap and something warm and distinctly him.
You hum in acknowledgment, keep scrolling.
Itâs less than three minutes before you glance over and realize his head has tipped back against the cushions, mouth parted slightly, breathing slow and even.
You blink.
âBarnes?â
No response.
You lean closer. Heâs out cold.
You stare at him for a second, then snort quietly to yourself. He had been tense when he walked in, shoulders tight like piano wire. Now he looks⊠soft. Younger. Peaceful in a way you donât get to see often.
You slide the blanket off your legs and drape it over him instead.
The next night it happens again.
And the next.
It becomes a pattern so quickly itâs almost ridiculous. Youâre in the kitchen, leaning against the counter while he nurses a cup of tea? Heâs asleep at the table before it cools. Youâre on the training mats stretching after a workout? He sits down âjust for a minuteâ and is snoring softly within five. Youâre on the Quinjet, shoulder brushing his, and heâs gone before takeoff.
The first time Sam notices, he nearly chokes on his drink.
âMan,â he says slowly, eyes bouncing between you and the unconscious super soldier slumped in his chair, âI have never seen him do that.â
âWhat?â you ask innocently.
âSleep. Like that.â
You glance at Bucky. Heâs folded in on himself in one of the common room armchairs, chin tucked to his chest, looking so deeply asleep it borders on absurd.
âMaybe heâs tired,â you shrug.
âUh-huh,â Sam says, squinting.
Natasha catches on next.
She tests it.
One evening, she corners Bucky in the kitchen while youâre still in the gym. She talks to him about mission reports, about old Hydra intel, about nothing at all. She even sits him down on the couch and lowers her voice to that smooth, soothing cadence she uses on frightened witnesses.
He doesnât so much as yawn.
You walk in ten minutes later, towel around your neck, cheeks flushed from sparring.
âHey,â you say, smiling when you see them.
Bucky looks up at the sound of your voice.
And promptly passes out mid-sentence.
Natasha stares at him.
Then at you.
âOh,â she breathes.
Within a week itâs a full-blown investigation.
Clint tries keeping Bucky company in the rec room. Steve insists on staying up with him one night to âsee whatâs going on.â Sam even suggests it might be some weird delayed serum side effect.
Nothing.
Bucky stays stubbornly, frustratingly awake with everyone else.
But the second youâre alone with him?
Lights out.
The breaking point comes during movie night.
The whole team is sprawled across the couches. Bucky is sitting ramrod straight on one end, clearly determined to prove a point. He even says as much.
âIâm not tired,â he mutters, jaw tight.
You bite your lip to keep from smiling and sit beside him anyway. Not touching. Just close enough that your knees almost brush.
The movie starts.
Thirty seconds later, his head tips sideways.
And lands squarely on your shoulder.
The room erupts.
Sam howls. Clint actually applauds. Natasha hides her smirk behind her hand. Even Steveâs lips twitch.
Bucky jerks upright, horrified. âI wasnâtâ I didnâtââ
âYou were snoring,â Sam informs him gleefully.
âI was not!â
âYou absolutely were,â Clint says. âLike a tiny chainsaw.â
Youâre laughing now, warmth blooming in your chest as Buckyâs ears turn pink.
âItâs not funny,â he grumbles, refusing to look at you.
It is funny.
But itâs also⊠something else.
Because youâve started to notice the details. The way his breathing evens out almost immediately when youâre near. The way his shoulders drop. The way the constant, subtle vigilance that hums beneath his skin finally goes quiet.
It hits you one evening when itâs just the two of you in your room.
He hadnât meant to come in. He was pacing the hall after a nightmare, trying not to wake anyone. Youâd opened your door at the sound of his footsteps.
âYou okay?â youâd asked softly.
He hesitated.
Then nodded, once.
âCâmere,â youâd said, stepping aside.
He perches on the edge of your bed like heâs afraid it might bite him. You sit cross-legged across from him, close but not touching.
âYou donât have to stay,â he says roughly.
âI know.â
You talk about nothing. About the new recruits. About a recipe Sam ruined. About the weather.
His eyelids start to droop.
You watch it happen in real time.
âBuck,â you murmur gently.
He blinks at you, trying to fight it.
âYouâre safe,â you tell him, because you think maybe thatâs the key. âYou can sleep.â
Itâs like someone flips a switch.
He sways once.
Then slumps forward, forehead pressing lightly against your shoulder as he goes completely limp.
You freeze for a second.
Then slowly, carefully, you ease him down against your pillows and pull the comforter over him.
He doesnât stir.
The next morning, the team finds him there.
In your bed.
Still asleep.
Sam leans against the doorway, grinning. âWell. Mystery solved.â
Bucky groans and buries his face in your pillow. âKill me.â
You just smile, brushing your fingers gently through his hair.
âOr,â you say sweetly, âyou could just start sleeping in here.â
His eyes flick up to yours, wary but hopeful.
âYou serious?â
âSeems like you only sleep when Iâm around,â you shrug. âMight as well get a full night out of it.â
Thereâs a beat.
Then, slowly, shyly, he nods.
The team never lets him live it down.
But that nightâand every night afterâBucky falls asleep within minutes of you climbing into bed beside him.
hello! Idk if you're taking requests at the moment so i'm just gonna try it đ«Ą love your writing style btw! Thought i already followed you but i didn't. What a SHAME!
so my idea is: grumpy x grumpy where bucky and reader are grumpy to the others but soft around each other. When they are on their own, they talk less but still participate. But once they are around each other, they are soft and cuddly and stuff. Do what you wanna do with that idea! And if you don't wanna work on this, that's totally fine too!đ
Everyone in the compound agrees on one thing: youâre difficult.
You donât smile much. You donât linger in common areas. You donât indulge Samâs jokes or Clintâs constant need to fill silence with noise. You do your missions, file your reports, and retreat to your room like the world is an obligation youâre fulfilling out of sheer stubbornness.
Bucky Barnes is exactly the same.
He broods in corners, metal fingers tapping impatient rhythms against tabletops. He answers questions in clipped sentences. He glares when someone touches his arm without warning. He has perfected the art of looking so deeply unimpressed that people second-guess themselves mid-sentence.
Together, youâre a nightmare for team morale.
Separate? Youâre quiet but tolerable. When youâre not around him, youâll occasionally respond to Natâs dry humor with a faint huff that might pass for amusement. Youâll sit in the same room as Wanda and read, offering the occasional low comment. Youâre not warmâbut youâre present.
Bucky, when youâre not there, is the same. Heâll train longer than necessary, grunt through conversations, but he doesnât leave the room. He exists alongside the others like a wary cat that hasnât decided whether it likes the household yet.
But when youâre together?
God help anyone who witnesses it.
It starts subtly.
A mission debrief. Youâre standing across the room from each other, both leaning against opposite walls like youâd rather be anywhere else. Sam is talkingârambling, reallyâand youâre staring at the floor like it personally offended you.
Bucky glances up and sees you. His entire posture shifts. There is no grand smile or obvious change. Bucky Barnes simply looks softer.
His shoulders lower a fraction. The tension around his mouth eases. He pushes off the wall and crosses the room without announcing it, stopping just close enough that your arms brush.
You donât look at him immediately. You just leanâbarelyâinto his side.
Thatâs it.
Thatâs all it takes.
Sam trails off mid-sentence.
âAre you two⊠okay?â he asks slowly.
You lift your head just enough to glare at him.
âWe were fine before you started talking.â
Bucky hums in agreement, metal hand sliding casually around your wrist. His thumb rubs slow circles over your pulse point, hidden by the angle of your bodies.
Sam throws his hands up. âUnbelievable.â
The others have stopped questioning it.
Theyâve learned that your softness is reserved. Exclusive.
On the rare nights everyone gathers in the common room for a movie, you and Bucky take up the far corner of the couch. Not the middle. Not where people can lean on you.
The corner.
Bucky sits first, sprawling in a way that makes it clear no one else is fitting there. You arrive a moment later without a word and slide directly into his space.
No hesitation.
You settle against his chest, legs thrown over his lap. One hand wraps around you waist automatically while they other tucks under your thigh, anchoring you there like heâs afraid someone might try to steal you.
You donât speak much.
You donât need to.
He presses his nose into your hair and breathes you in like oxygen. You tilt your head back just enough for him to press a kiss to your temple.
Nat, sitting across from you, watches the exchange with a knowing smirk.
âYouâre disgusting,â she says flatly.
You donât even open your eyes. âMind your business.â
Bucky tightens his hold, resting his chin on top of your head.
Anyone else trying to drape themselves over him like that would get a warning growl. A tense shrug. A muttered âdonât.â
With you, he melts.
The grumpiness doesnât disappear entirely. It just redirects.
Someone makes a loud joke? You both glare in perfect sync.
Someone interrupts your quiet moment? Buckyâs metal fingers flex in irritation while your nails dig lightly into his thigh in silent agreement.
But when itâs just the two of youâwhen the door is closed and the world is quietâitâs different.
Thereâs less biting commentary. Less defensive sarcasm.
More⊠warmth.
You donât fill the silence with chatter. You sit together on his bed, backs against the headboard, your feet tucked beneath his thigh. He traces idle patterns over your shoulder while you scroll aimlessly through your phone.
âHungry?â he murmurs eventually.
âNot yet.â
He hums. Adjusts the blanket higher around your shoulders.
Sometimes you talk about nothing. A comment about training. A complaint about Sam leaving dishes in the sink. A brief, dry observation about the latest mission.
But mostly, you exist.
You rest your head against his chest and listen to the steady thump of his heart. He rubs slow circles into your back, grounding and familiar.
Heâs gentler with you than anyone realizes.
If you wake from a nightmare, you donât thrash. You just go stillârigid and quiet. He feels it instantly. His arm tightens. His lips brush your ear.
âIâm here,â he whispers, voice rough with sleep. âYouâre okay.â
You nod once against his chest. He presses a kiss into your hairline and doesnât let go until your breathing evens out again.
During the day, if someone criticizes youâeven mildlyâBuckyâs head snaps up like a guard dog scenting danger.
âShe handled it,â he says, voice low and final.
You roll your eyes. âI can defend myself.â
âI know.â His gaze flicks to you, softer than anyone else would ever see. âDoesnât mean I wonât.â
It works both ways.
When Bucky withdraws too farâwhen the ghosts creep in and his silence turns heavyâyouâre the only one who can reach him without pushing.
You donât force conversation. You just sit beside him, shoulder pressed to shoulder.
âStay,â youâll say simply.
And he does.
It confuses people.
How two of the most irritable, closed-off members of the team can turn into something so undeniably tender the moment youâre within armâs reach of each other.
But the truth is simple.
You donât need sunshine personalities. You donât need constant chatter or exaggerated affection.
You need quiet understanding.
You need someone who doesnât demand smiles or explanations.
You need someone who knows that your silence isnât emptinessâitâs comfort.
One afternoon, Sam finally asks the question everyoneâs been thinking.
âHow are you two so grumpy and so⊠disgustingly cute at the same time?â
You and Bucky exchange a look.
A small, private one.
You shrug. âWe donât like people.â
Bucky nods. âJust her.â
You roll your eyes but your hand slides into his automatically.
Bucky and reader who have been intimate for a bit now, but heâs always the giver or focusing on her pleasure cause he struggles to accept love. he comes back from a mission really tense so she offers to lend a âhelping handâ if you catch my drift⊠cue spice and emotional intimacy
The apartment door clicked shut harder than necessary.
Bucky stood in the entryway with rigid shoulders, tactical jacket hanging heavy off his frame, the faint scent of gun oil and sweat still clinging to him. His metal arm whirred softly when he flexed his fingers, jaw tight enough to crack stone.
Another mission. Another stretch of being what the Winter Soldier had been built forâviolence, precision, detachment.
Youâd been waiting on the couch in one of his old henleys, legs tucked beneath you, the fabric skimming your thighs. Three weeks heâd been gone. Three weeks of texts that grew shorter and sharper the longer he stayed away.
You knew that look in his eyes the second he met yours.
Exhaustion wrapped in armor.
âHey, soldier,â you said softly, standing. âCome here.â
He crossed the room, but he didnât reach for you the way he usually did. No immediate tug into his chest. No burying his face into your neck like he needed your skin to remember who he was.
Instead, he dropped onto the couch with a heavy exhale, elbows braced on his knees as he stared at the floor.
âRough one?â you asked quietly, stepping between his spread thighs.
âToo many ghosts,â he muttered. His voice sounded like gravel. âFelt the old programming whispering again. Had to shut it out.â
Your fingers slid through his hair, brushing it back from his forehead. He leaned into the touch for half a second before catching himself and straightening.
âIâm fine,â he said automatically.
âYouâre not.â
You cupped his jaw, thumb stroking over the stubble there. âYouâre wound so tight Iâm worried youâll snap. Let me help.â
His blue eyes flicked up to yours, wary.
âDoll, Iâm notââ
âI know.â
You kissed him slowly, soft and patient. He kissed you back instantlyâhungry, desperate, familiarâbut when your hand drifted down his chest toward his belt, he caught your wrist.
âYou donât have to,â he said roughly. âIâd rather focus on you. Thatâs what I need.â
Your chest ached at how practiced the response sounded.
Because lately, every intimate moment had become about you.
His mouth. His hands. His body.
Always making you come apart while he held himself back like pleasure was something dangerous. Like accepting it would mean accepting the love attached to it, too.
Like he still couldnât separate being wanted from being useful.
âBucky,â you whispered, kneeling between his legs. âI want this. I want to take care of you for once.â
Conflict flickered across his face immediately.
The tension in him was everywhereâcorded neck, clenched fists, the stiffness in his spine. For a moment you thought heâd shut down completely.
Then, finally, he gave the smallest nod.
You undid his belt slowly, deliberately, watching the way his breathing changed with every touch. By the time you freed him from his jeans, he was already half-hard, heavy against his stomach.
Your hand wrapped around him gently.
Buckyâs head tipped back against the couch with a broken groan.
âFuck⊠baby.â
You stroked him slowly, twisting your wrist at the head the way you knew he liked. His metal fingers dug into the couch cushion while his flesh hand rested lightly in your hairânot guiding, not controlling.
Just holding on.
Like he needed the reminder that this was real.
You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of his thigh before taking him into your mouth. The sound he made was wrecked immediately, low and helpless in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.
âJesus Christ.â
You worked him carefully, slow and warm, letting him feel every ounce of affection behind it. His thighs trembled beneath your hands. His breathing turned uneven.
And still, even now, he tried to hold himself together.
âSlow down,â he rasped. âIâm not gonna last if you keepââ
You pulled back just enough to look up at him, hand still stroking him steadily.
âGood,â you whispered. âI want you to let go.â
That did something to him.
You saw it happen in real timeâthat final crack in the control he held onto so desperately.
His eyes darkened as he watched you. Vulnerable. Bare. Almost frightened by how badly he wanted this.
Wanted you.
You took him deep again with a soft hum, and his hand tightened carefully in your hair as his thighs shook beneath you.
âDollâshitâIâmââ
He came with a guttural moan, head falling back against the couch as every bit of tension snapped at once.
When you finally pulled away, wiping your mouth gently, Bucky looked stunned.
Completely wrecked.
His chest heaved beneath the open collar of his shirt, cheeks flushed pink, shoulders finally loose for the first time since heâd walked through the door.
You climbed into his lap immediately, straddling him.
His arms wrapped around you on instinct, pulling you flush against his chest like he couldnât stand even an inch of distance now.
âYou didnât have to do that,â he whispered into your hair, voice cracking slightly.
âI wanted to.â
You pulled back just enough to look at him properly.
âI love you, Bucky. Not what you can do for me. Not what you can survive. You.â
Something fragile crossed his face at that.
His metal hand lifted to your cheek with impossible gentleness.
âI donât know how to let somebody love me like that yet,â he admitted quietly. âSpent too long thinking I didnât deserve it.â
You kissed him slowly, letting him feel every word you didnât say aloud.
âThen we keep practicing.â
His forehead rested against yours for a moment before the kiss deepened again naturally, heat building slow and sweet between you. His hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirtâhis shirtâpalming over bare skin like he needed to reassure himself you were still there.
This time, when he laid you down on the couch beneath him, there was no frantic rush to make it about you first.
Bucky settled between your thighs, letting you guide him inside with one smooth thrust while he buried his face in your neck with a shaky exhale.
âMove, baby,â you whispered against his ear. âLet me feel you.â
And he did.
Slow, deep strokes that felt less like sex and more like surrender.
Every sound he let himself make felt like a victory. Every gasp against your skin, every quiet groan, every trembling breath.
You whispered praise into his ear the entire timeâhow good he felt, how safe he was here, how loved he wasâuntil his rhythm finally broke and he came again with your name breathed against your throat, pulling you apart with him in one warm, rolling wave.
Afterward, wrapped together beneath a throw blanket, Bucky traced lazy patterns along your back with cool metal fingertips.
The tension was gone now.
In its place was something softer.
Quieter.
âIâm still gonna struggle with this,â he admitted eventually. âOld habits die hard.â
You pressed a kiss to his collarbone.
âI know. But Iâm not going anywhere.â
His arms tightened around you instantly.
And for the first time in weeks, Bucky Barnes let himself be held.
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