Summary: You move back to your home state of Florida after a failed relationship. On a night out with friends celebrating your return, you meet a hot single dad.
Series Rating: E (18+) I don't want to give away too much but you get the point. Minors DNI.
A/N: I had the idea of a speech therapist!reader x Frankie after reading so many amazing teacher!reader x Frankie fics. This is my first fic EVER, so please be gentle with me <3 My ask is always open for questions, comments, suggestions etc. I’m so excited to be part of this community and I hope you enjoy when I get to post.
Special thanks to @ssuperficialspacecadett, your advice on fic writing was truly helpful and your writing has been inspiring! Hope I make you proud <3 Please be sure to check out her writing!
synopsis: on a rainy night, your best friend bucky shows up unannounced and kisses you slow enough to make the whole world fade away.
w/c: 1K
author’s note: just a little drabble, i was feeling sad and reaaaaallly wanted to kiss bucky. if you enjoy, do let me know. ۶ৎ
bucky barnes masterlist
it’s raining outside, the kind that doesn’t thunder or flash, just falls steady and soft, like it’s trying to hush the whole world. you’ve been curled up on the couch for hours, the tv on low, blanket wrapped tight around you like maybe it could keep everything else out.
you don’t hear the knock. you don’t even hear the door open. what you hear is the sound of boots on your floor, slow, heavy, familiar.
“hey, doll,” he says, and it’s barely more than a murmur. his voice is warm in that way that slides right into your chest, loosening something you didn’t know was clenched.
when you turn your head, bucky’s standing there with damp hair clinging to his jaw, rain drops still caught on the curve of his ear. his jacket’s dark and wet in patches, his hands shoved deep in his pockets like maybe that keeps them warm. he looks at you for a long moment before crossing the room.
he doesn’t ask if he can sit. he just drops his jacket somewhere behind him and sinks onto the couch beside you, the cushion dipping under his weight. the blanket shifts when his knee bumps yours, his thigh solid and warm even through the fabric.
“you didn’t answer my texts,” he says, soft.
“sorry.” your voice sounds tired, even to you. “just… tired.”
he watches you like he’s trying to read the words you’re not saying. bucky’s always been good at that — pulling thoughts out of you without a single question.
you feel the couch dip again as he moves closer, an arm sliding around your shoulders. his palm is heavy at your upper arm, the kind of weight that’s steady, grounding. you lean into him without thinking, pressing your face into his chest where his shirt smells faintly like leather, rain, and whatever soap he uses. it’s clean and warm and something you could breathe forever.
he’s quiet for a while. just sits there with you, his thumb tracing slow arcs on your arm. it’s hypnotic — the rhythm, the heat of his hand, the low thump of his heartbeat under your ear.
when you tilt your face up, he’s already looking at you. his eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen them, like the edges of him have gone gentle just for you.
“what?” you whisper.
his mouth curves, not quite a smile. “just… hate seeing you like this.”
his hand moves from your arm to your jaw, fingers curling in against your skin, thumb brushing the edge of your cheekbone. his touch is warm, the pad of his thumb a slow stroke that makes your breath catch.
“bucky…” your voice shakes, just a little.
“tell me to stop,” he says, quiet enough that you almost don’t hear it over the rain.
you don’t.
he leans in, lips brushing yours in the softest kiss you’ve ever been given — warm, careful, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he moves too fast. he tastes like rain and the faint salt of skin, something dark and sweet lingering there that makes you want more before you’ve even pulled away.
your fingers find his shirt, curling into the fabric. it’s soft and worn and damp in spots from the rain, but underneath is solid muscle, heat that seeps into your cold hands.
he kisses you again, slower but deeper this time. his lips are plush, deliberate, coaxing you open until the tip of his tongue brushes yours. he tastes like coffee that’s gone lukewarm, like something unnameable but familiar, something that makes your pulse trip.
his other hand slides under the blanket to your waist, fingers spreading against your hip like he’s holding you in place. his thumb makes lazy circles there, each pass pulling you a little closer until your knees bump and you’re half in his lap.
you feel the rasp of his stubble against your skin when he tilts his head, the faint scrape making heat curl low in your stomach. every shift of his mouth over yours sends a ripple through you — slow, unhurried, but with something simmering underneath.
you exhale into him, your breath mixing with his, warm and damp in the space between kisses.
“you’re shaking,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough now, like it’s been dragged over gravel.
“i’m fine,” you manage, but your voice is breathless, not convincing.
he pulls back just far enough to look at you, eyes searching, pupils blown wide. “you sure?”
you nod, barely.
his lips are back on yours before you can think, a little firmer now, like the answer unlocked something. his hand at your jaw tips your face just right, deepening the kiss until it feels like he’s pouring warmth into you with every slow stroke of his tongue against yours.
you taste the faint metallic tang of the rain on his skin when you shift, your nose brushing his cheek. it’s grounding and dizzying all at once.
his thumb at your hip slips lower, tracing the curve of your waist, and your breath hitches into his mouth. you feel the faint smile against your lips before he kisses you deeper, his chest rising faster under your hands.
you could drown in the feeling — the solid weight of him beside you, the way his fingers keep you close, the taste of him lingering with every pass of his mouth over yours.
when he finally pulls away, it’s not far. his lips trail to the corner of your mouth, then along your cheek, down to the warm space below your ear. you feel the faint drag of his teeth there, the warm wash of his breath against your skin.
a sound slips out of you without meaning to, quiet but enough to make his hand flex at your waist, pulling you closer still.
“better?” he whispers, his voice so low it feels like it vibrates through your bones.
you nod, eyes closed, forehead leaning into his. the rain keeps falling outside, steady and soft, but in here, the world has gone still.
his thumbs brush slow circles into your skin, over and over, like he’s memorising the shape of you. you stay there, wrapped in the scent of rain and him, letting the warmth of his hands and the taste of him on your lips drown out everything else.
I know I'm biased but Chris and Dakota will have to give the romantic performance of their lifetimes to convince me this chick would leave the rich, handsome, gentleman, confident, sexy, well treating man that pedro is playing. Otherwise we're gonna have problems with believablility.
They're gonna have to throw a curveball like he kicks puppies for fun to sell me this narrative...
