YES the Thunderbolts have a fantastic team as family dynamic, yes they are living in Avengers tower, yes history is repeating itself and 2012 tower fics are so back. BUT!
instead of "Alexei eating poptarts" or "Yelena in the vents", we must come up with new headcanons and make history
Bob always does normal domestic chores, often getting in the way of important missions and spy business. "All I'm saying is Bucky is our best sniper" "It would be a much quieter assassination if I just slipped into the condo and cut his—" "Hey sorry guys, anyone have laundry? I'm doing a load"
Yelena and her guinea pig always eat meals together at the dining table. Everyone has their Chinese food or barbeque, meanwhile the rodent is loudly munching on a salad right beside them
Bucky is the mom and always keeps them on track. "Ava you have a dentist appointment in the morning, and bring Bob so they can add him to the insurance. Lena how was therapy? Alexei, I said no vodka until dinner"
Alexei is always coming up with new promotional ideas for the team. Cartoon tv show, cereal, toothpaste flavour...every day he thinks he's come up with the next big thing. Whenever they actually get put into production (Wheaties) he collects and saves it, and won't let anyone use a different product. (He threw out Yelena's frosted flakes and it took both Bucky and John to get her to stop attacking him)
Ava likes to phase and sneak attack her teammates at random. She claims it's for training but really she just thinks it's funny hearing them scream
John gets blamed for everything, even if it isn't his fault. Especially if it isn't his fault: "who ate the last bagel?" "John." "Where's my hair straightener?" "John had it." "Whose turn is it to unload the dishwasher?" "Johnnnn"
summary: just what I think of each of these characters when it comes to pull out 🗣
— 𝒮teve ℛogers ;; He likes to think he’s good at it. And honestly? He is. Respectful, controlled, painfully self-aware. The second he feels himself getting close, he speeds up, grits his teeth, and pulls out right on time—usually on your stomach or chest. Gentleman. HOWEVER—deep, deep down? He does have a breeding kink. He just won’t admit it. The day you whisper “it’s okay, I’m on the pill”? He hesitates just long enough to ruin his perfect record.
Rating: 10/10. Practically flawless. Just a little too responsible.
— 𝒯ony 𝒮tark ;; This man cums like he’s paying rent. He could pull out. He knows how. Won’t. He’s like, “You knew the risk,” and just lets go. Finishes inside you with a smirk, kisses your temple like he didn’t just pump you full, and asks for another round like nothing happened.
Rating: 7/10. Could pull out. Ignores it. Still makes it hot.
— ℬucky ℬarnes ;; NO WAY this man is risking it, but for the sake of the game, let’s say he tries. He means to pull out. He really does. But the second you tighten around his cock when he’s close? Too late. He’s already twitching, already filling you up. Feels guilty after, mutters apologies, but ask him for another round and he forgets all about it.
Rating: 5/10. Tries. Fails. Feels bad. Does it again.
— 𝒯hor 𝒪dinson ;; Sweetheart himbo with the pull-out instincts of a golden retriever. You tell him “pull out,” and he’s like, “But why, beloved?” while thrusting deeper. His idea of affection is cumming in you until it’s leaking down your thighs and calling it “a gift from the gods.”
Rating: 0/10. He means well. That’s the problem.
— ℒoki ℒaufeyson ;; Oh, he can pull out. He just won’t—unless it’s to tease you. Otherwise? He stays buried until the very end, groaning in your ear about how good you feel while he fills you up. He wants to watch it drip out. It’s about power. Ownership. Ruin. You say “pull out”? He says “make me.”
Rating: 0/10. Wicked.
— 𝒫eter 𝒫arker ;; He’s studied the theory. He wants to pull out. He really does. But the second things start getting too good? He’s whimpering, cock twitching, finishing inside you before he even realizes it. Apologizes mid-orgasm and offers to run to the pharmacy still inside you.
Rating: 3/10. He tries. He panics. He fails.
— ℰrik 𝒦illmonger ;; Pull out? Babe, he hears you say it and smirks. Doesn’t even pretend to listen. Holds your hips down, grinds in deeper, and finishes inside like he means it. Tells you “You better take all that,” like it’s a challenge and a threat. Might pull out once—just to finish on your face and call it a reward. But most nights? He’s filling you up like it’s his personal mission.
Rating: -100/10. He’s doing it on purpose. You’re not walking right tomorrow.
Me sitting in my room after talking to myself in great detail of a fanfic I just read before realizing this is what would get a person locked away in an insane asylum
Tony "I have better things to do" Stark who immediately adopts a dog because he overheard Peter saying that he had always wanted to raise one.
Bucky "Get this kid out of here" Barnes who immediately drags Peter into the gym because he saw Peter get hurt and wants to teach him better self defense techniques.
Steve "I have no time for this" Rogers who goes to Peter's report card day whenever Aunt May or Tony are busy. (He secretly gets happy when Peter asks him to go)
Natasha "I don't need this relationship" Romanoff who spoils and treats Peter like he's her kid because she won't ever be able to have her own.
Bruce "I don't have the patience" Banner who drops everything and anything whenever he finds out that Peter is injured. (He patiently listens to Peter's rambling while he's treating him)
Thor "Who do you think you are" Odinson who treats Peter like a little brother because he reminds him of Loki's clumsy personality when they were kids.
Clint "I don't need another kid" Barton who plays catch with Peter at 5:30 pm when he has to stay in the tower for a long time because that's the time he plays with his kids.
finally a long one cause I was inactive for a few days, hope you guys enjoy♡
P.S - made a TikTok account to post edits! Please check it out, xoxo
You want Steve Rogers to stay in the past with Peggy? That bad huh? Fine then.
But let him lie awake at night staring at the ceiling, wondering what Hydra is doing to Bucky right now, a pit forming in his gut because he knows just how powerless he is to stop it.
Let Howard Stark invite him over to hold baby Tony for the first time. Let him hold that peaceful little bundle, and let him count down the days. Every breath, milestone, birthday, until that baby inevitably sacrifices himself.
Let him have some days where he can't even look his own wife and children in the face. Where he feels like a bird smashing around in his cage, wanting to claw out of his own skin because that itch to fight is still there. Primal. The kid from Brooklyn he took out back and killed is haunting him as a ghost and won't lay to rest.
Let him be a firefighter, his only relief. He needs to throw himself straight into the flames, he's gasping for air but its the only time since he came back he can truly breathe because he actually feels like himself again. Not someone's husband or father, but Steve Rogers. Fighter for the little guy.
Description: You thought you were being quiet when you touched yourself. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault he could hear everything from his bed next door every single time. And when you moan his name out loud, he’s done pretending he doesn’t hear.
Tags/Warnings: Smut. Menace Bucky is back on this one. Fem!reader. Bucky spying on her. Mutual masturbation. Oral f!rec.
Note: this is literally just Bucky being feral about a helpless doll next door, he just has to step in. Enjoy lovelies 🫶🏼
Masterlist
It wasn't his fault. His room just happened to be next to yours, beds pressed against the same wall. A thick wall. But it wasn't his fault he had enhanced hearing, so he just couldn't help it. Couldn't help hearing the nights you gave yourself over to pleasure.
And fuck, he listened. Every single time.
He learned every sound you made. He could tell when you were already worked up, getting yourself off in just a few minutes. Other nights where you would drive yourself to the edge, again and again, dragging it out for hours.
Hours he spent with his cock in hand, back pressed to the headboard, leaning towards the wall so he wouldn't miss a single wet, filthy sound your fingers made.
And then other ones, rare, where you couldn't quite get there. Frustrated groans. The creak of the bed as you shifted restlessly. He could even picture the sweat dripping past your furrowed eyebrows, when your fingers just weren't enough.
Nights where he fought everything inside him, that feral instinct to tear the wall between you and show you how it feels to be fucked right.
Tonight was one of those nights.
He wasn't expecting anything, he never really did. He'd taken a hot shower, put on a pair of boxers and sat on his bed with a book in hand. His back rested on the headboard, legs crossed over his ankles. A warm, cozy light coming from the lamp on his nightstand illuminated his room. The place was quiet, the only sounds disrupting the silence were his fingers flipping over the pages as he read, and the occasional chuckle the story provoked.
But then there it was.
A faint, almost inaudible whimper slipped from your mouth on the other side of the wall. He froze in place, just like he always did, like it was somehow still a surprise. Like he didn't expect to hear you again. Like he knew it was wrong to listen. To want to listen.
But he did. Every damn time.
He snapped the book shut in his hands, dropped it over his lap, and instinctively leaned closer to the wall, to your side of the bed. He listened, focused hard, until he could finally hear that familiar sound of slick fingers sliding in a desperate rhythm. A breath got caught up in his throat, when you moaned, and blood rushed to his crotch.
He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling himself harden against the hardback cover of the book he had completely forgotten about. He sighed deeply, shoving it aside, and reached to switch off the lamp on his nightstand.
He knew what came next, what he was about to do. He knew it was wrong, dirty. But somehow, being swallowed in complete darkness made it easier to pretend it wasn't.
Maybe if he couldn't see himself, then maybe he didn't have to feel guilty.
His hand slipped into his boxers, gripping his swollen, painfully hard cock. He pulled it out and immediately started stroking at a fast pace, no buildup, no teasing this time. Just tight, large punishing pumps of his fist to the sounds that came out your mouth. His head dropped back to the wall, eyes closed to block out everything but you.
To try to feel you.
He swore he could even smell you, the arousal, the wetness between your thighs, the sex emanating from your skin as you fucked yourself with your fingers like there was no one else to do it for you. Like he wasn't next to your room, stroking his cock to your whimpers like a fucking pervert.
Like he wasn't willing to split you open if you just said the word.
So he just kept stroking, up and down, cause it was the only damn thing he could do when you were unknowingly putting on a show for him.
But after a while passed, he noticed you just went on and on, but it wasn't edging. Not this time. It didn't bother him, he knew he could go for hours if he wanted to, but you? He knew you weren't getting there.
He knew those frustrated sighs escaping your mouth, when you paused because your fingers were probably cramping from pumping in and out without getting anywhere. That soft thump against your mattress when you hit the bed desperate.
It wasn't fair, he thought, you deserved to see white, to come so unbelievably hard that you screamed without a single care if the entire team heard.
He heard you stop, chest probably rising up and down, panting, as a groan escaped your lips. He stopped too, dick resting on his palm as he waited for your next move.
"Come on ... please" You mumbled to yourself, words muffled by the wall separating him from completely ruining you.
Every fucking part of his body twitched to that plea. Fuck. You were lonely, you needed someone.
You needed someone to fuck you right.
He takes a deep breath, restraining himself with whatever is left of his will, whimpers invading your room as you began moving your fingers once again. He restarts with you, sloppier this time, feeling frustrated too because if you're not coming then neither is he.
And then, in the middle of the moans, he hears something else, it's not just incoherent sounds, you're whimpering someone's name.
"B-b ... Bucky"
Shit. Holy fucking shit. His name? he couldn't have heard that right.
He stopped stroking himself, body rising up from his seating position to kneel on the bed, left ear to the wall, hands on either side of his head. He held his breath, closing his eyes, part of him wishing he misheard you, the other part craving to be right.
He heard more moans, but in between, there was something else. Slurred B's. He was sure.
"B-buck ... Bucky please just like that…"
Shit. You were fantasizing about him. Out loud. About his head between your legs, about his tongue eating you out while his fingers wrecked you.
You wanted him. You needed him.
His legs moved before he could think with his brain instead of the cock he shoved back into his boxers. He took long strides to his door, metal hand messing with his hair as if that would do something to take away the heat on his face or bring his heart rate back to normal.
Suddenly he was out of his room, in front of yours, chest heaving like a lunatic in heat. He shook his head, it was too late to back away now, so fuck it, might as well try it. His hand knocked against the door, instantly making you stop your little session.
You sat on the bed all flustered, quickly wiping your hand on a small towel you had tossed to the mattress in case you made a mess of yourself. Which quite frankly you were doing, before someone decided to interrupt your sacred self love time.
Who the hell is knocking on your door and what the hell do they want right now?
You let out an exasperated sigh, finally getting up from the bed, the oversized shirt on your body falling down to cover the drench between your legs. You threw the towel to a hamper, taking a deep breath before reaching for the doorknob.
A gasp caught in your throat the second you opened the door. There he was. The man whose name rolled out your tongue so painfully easily.
Bucky.
Standing right there, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and his dog tags on his chest. Jaw locked, face visibly on edge. His hair was a mess, the front strands sticking to a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His eyes were dark, exactly how they looked in your little fantasy just minutes ago.
Shit. He didn't know, he couldn't know. Right?
Bucky was having his own fight inside his head. When he saw you open the door, pupils dilated, your rapid heart rate thumping on his ears, all agitated and ... kind of glowing. Glowing in that arousal I'm-fucking-myself sheen. He had to fight every urge in his body that told him to wrap his hand around your neck and pin you to the ground to make you scream in the hallway, so everybody in that floor knew what name you were pleading to in your room.
"B-Bucky?" You blurted out, eyes darting around nervously.
He almost laughed at that. Why were you so shy now when you were praying his name just minutes ago?
"Are you okay? Is it a nightmare?" You shifted your tone, eyebrows furrowing. Figured that must be the reason of his unsettled expression.
He did let a chuckle out then, shaking his head as he slowly pushed himself into your room, closing the door behind him, backing you up like he was cornering a prey.
"I guess you could say I was having a nightmare, doll" He growled, voice deeper than you've ever heard before. "One where you desperately called out my name, all helpless and needy, and I wasn't here to help you"
Your legs threatened to buckle when you realized what he meant. He'd heard you moaning his name, like a freak.
You'd fantasized about him before, you did it every single time your fingers traveled down to your thighs, but his name had never left your lips then. However, this time, you were so frustrated, so swollen from teasing, rubbing, pushing and not getting anywhere, that his name just rolled out your tongue like a plea, like a call for help.
The back of your legs hit your bed, making you stumble, but his arms were quick to catch you. Your hands hit his bare chest for support, grazing the dangling metal tags, looking up at him with wide eyes and a hint of embarrassment washing your features.
The huge bulge pressing against your stomach didn't help either, too warm and solid to ignore.
He lifted his metal hand to cradle your face, you instinctively leaned into his cold touch closing your eyes, almost purring. He took a deep breath, this wasn't about him, this was all about you. He planted a kiss on your forehead, making you open your eyes at the gesture.
"You don't have to be ashamed angel, not when you were calling my name so sweetly" He said, too softly, like he wasn't about to ruin your life. "And I think it would be real fucking rude if I didn't give you what you were begging for"
You bit your lip, his chest was fire against yours even through your shirt, the cold vibranium hand in your cheek was keeping you grounded, but you weren't sure how long your composure would last under his touch.
"Are you gonna let me make it better for you, doll?" He asked, in mock sweetness.
Cause he already knew the answer, he'd already decided you weren't going to sleep until your legs were shaking.
You nodded, desperately, you were too flustered from the haze, too frustrated with all the bottled up tension in your body. You barely had time to blink before he pushed you onto the bed, flat on your back, sinking to his knees in front of yours. He bunched up the shirt up to your waist, big hands dragging your thighs apart, the cool air hitting your wet skin made you gasp.
"Shh, I know angel" Bucky mumbled against your skin. "Let me take care of you"
His hot breath ghosted its way up your legs, trailing wet kisses that made it hard to maintain eye contact with him, when your head threatened to fall back in pure bliss. He slowly went higher, like he was not only teasing you, but himself.
Something inside him went feral the moment he finally caught the sight of your glistening pussy. Something he had pictured before, all those lonely nights in his room.
"Fuck me... look at you doll" he groaned, spreading your legs even wider, his firm grip pressed the soft flesh of your thighs. "You thinking about my mouth on this pretty little pussy? That what got you dripping all over yourself?"
You nod shakily, hips twitching when he leaned in, hot breath grazing your soaked folds.
"I just, I-I couldn't..." You tried to explain, but he was already shaking his head.
"I know, doll" He cut you off, placing a quick, teasing kiss on your clit, making you whimper. "I heard you, I know every single sound you make. When you're close, when you don't want to let yourself go, when your fingers don't cut it anymore"
Your back arched, trying to grind up against his lips again, beard tickling your skin, but his metal arm wrapped around your thigh and held your hips flat to the mattress.
"Nuh uh, stay still for me dollface" he warned. "You move again and I stop. You hear me?"
You nodded rapidly, chest heaving with anticipation. You were becoming undone and he hadn't even started yet.
"Good girl" He praised, placing another kiss in your bare pussy, this time letting it linger for a few seconds.
He draws back satisfied when he hears your moan, and licks his lips to let the taste of you sink into his mouth.
"Now, good girls aren't supposed to play with themselves like that. So fucking messy with no one to help them" He shook his head, with a devilish grin. "Not when a man willing to break them is next door"
"B-bucky ... please" You begged, this was taking too long, you were dripping over the sheets.
He grinned wider, now this is the way you were moaning his name earlier.
That was all he needed.
You lose it the second his mouth touched you. It was so warm, greedy all over you, groaning into your skin like he was the one getting off from it.
"Sweetest fucking thing I've ever tasted, angel" he mumbled, lips dragging up to your clit, sucking it into his mouth until you cried out. "How the fuck did I go this long without it? Without kicking that door and showing you what is like to be pleased properly"
Your hips lifted involuntarily at his words, thighs shaking, but he wasn't having it. His vibranium arm pinned you in place, cold palm heavy on your lower belly, sending you into overdrive. "I said hold still" he growled, before diving right back in.
He was sure he could bust into his boxers just from hearing you become undone under him. This time there was no wall muffling your sounds, your scent, your wetness. This time he had you moaning so loud under his touch, he was sure no one in that floor needed enhanced hearing to know what was happening in your room.
"Bucky...f-fuck, I can't" You cried, unable to control your feet kicking next to his head, but every time your hips jerked he just grunted and pressed down harder.
"Yeah you can" He growled. He let you go briefly to hook your legs over his shoulders and pulled you closer to the edge of the bed until your pussy was even deeper into his face. "Gonna hold you down and make you take it, doll"
Your back arched, trying to escape the overwhelming pressure of his mouth, but he just tightened his grip and kept going. Bucky's tongue worked heavenly over your clit, and when you thought it couldn't get any better, he slipped two fingers inside, curling just right, like he memorized every sound you made through the wall and translated it into his hand.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling tight, and he moaned at every tug, while he kept fingering, licking, sucking, groaning into you like he needed every drop of your pleasure. Like he was fucking addicted.
"C'mon, angel" he whispered, agitated breaths hot against you. "Let me hear it, let me hear what it sounds like when I make you come"
"B-bucky" His name was the only thing you blurted out, body trembling, ragged breathing.
"Come on my tongue, doll" He begged, too drunk in your sweet taste. "Soak my fucking face. Show me who this pussy belongs to"
That was all you needed to let yourself go. Your vision blurred as your orgasm hit, ripping through you so hard you pushed his hands and head away but he kept you pinned, kept licking through it, like he wasn't done until you were sobbing. He only stopped when your legs were shaking uncontrollably, pussy clenching his fingers, and your breath came in broken gasps, eyes lost on the ceiling.
That drove him to the edge too.
He wiped his beard with his right arm, before yanking his boxers down, cock springing free, thick, leaking, heavy in his hand as he wrapped his fingers around it.
"You did this, angel. Look at me" He leaned over your body, his metal hand reached behind your neck, lifting it slightly. "Look what just tasting you does to me"
You were still dazed, eyes blinking to focus yourself on him.
He didn't even need his hand to come, so he used it to hold himself above you. He straddled your shaking body, placing his cock over your stomach with a wet slap, sliding against your soft skin while you were too wrecked to move, just whimpering again and again under him. He grabbed your hand and put it over his cock, to push himself deeper into your skin.
"That's it, dollface, just lay there and take it. Let me use this sweet body to finish" He grunted, hips jerking forward, desperately seeking for that release he'd sought after in his room.
You were breathless, overwhelmed by the weight of his cock on your stomach and it’s width under your hand, while he panted like you were the only thing that could save him.
After a few more pumps, he finally came hard with a groan. Thick, hot white landed on your stomach in long, messy streaks. The first spurt made you flinch, the second had him cursing under his breath, hips jerking uncontrollably as he emptied himself on you. His chest heaved as he watched it drip down your skin, and a proud look flashed across his face like he just marked what was his.
The warm fluid felt almost comforting, running down the side of your leg as you still twitched every now and then, trying to remember how to breathe again.
Bucky falls onto the bed beside you, panting, with that painfully arrogant smile like he didn't just come from rubbing himself to you.
“Next time …” He whispered low in your ear, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m not stopping until it’s dripping out of every hole you have”
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reblogs and comments are always appreciated, thank you so much for reading 🫶🏼
INCLUDES -> yelena belova, bob reynolds, john walker, bucky barnes
WARNINGS -> literally all fluff! no need to fear angst here (there is some minor swearing tho); walker calls the reader beautiful, and bucky calls them 'doll'
NOTES -> y'all i feel crazy about thunderbolts. i haven't had a writing kick like this in YEARS. also, no one hate me for john in this one, he's my problematic wife, ok? also i want wyatt russell bad. anyways, my requests/asks are open! and as always comments and reblogs are much appreciated <3
YELENA BELOVA. — sleepy movie night? you got it. there's snacks, blankets, a random movie, and so many cuddles.
"are you sure you don't want to go to bed, love?" yelena mutters to you. the tv softly glows in front of you both, whatever period piece was playing long forgotten. you've been curled around her side since the movie began, but now your arm is draped over her and your head has fallen to her shoulder.
"no, i'm up," your voice is rough from sleep, but you pick your head up anyways and stretch. "see?" yelena rolls her eyes at your loopy, exhausted smile.
"whatever you say," she replies with a teasing smile.
"mhm..." you adjust your position under the blanket so you can be sitting upright next to her. but the blanket is just so soft and yelena is so warm, and before you know it, it's only a few minutes before you're curled against her once more.
yelena works hard to stifle her laugh when you fall asleep, but she lets you stay there. the movie plays on dully—the man in it has made some apparently irredeemable mistake that the woman he loves will no doubt forgive him for. yelena leans her head against yours, swearing that she'll get up once the movie is over so the two of you can sleep in a proper bed.
the next morning, when bucky is getting coffee he sees the two of you curled up on the couch and can't help but smile. it's nice seeing that yelena's found someone she trusts.
BOB REYNOLDS. — both of you are up late at night, entirely unable to sleep. you because you're working on tech for the thunderbolts new avengerz, and bob simply wandering the tower at night.
bob doesn't exactly sleep well these days, not after the mess with the void. it isn't unusual to find him roaming the tower at odd times, and this time it's your turn to run into him.
you're working in some old lab that you assume was tony stark's back in the day. your back aches, your fingers raw from tinkering with yelena's widow equipment, and you can hardly keep your eyes open. it's a miracle you haven't electrocuted yourself already.
"you're still up?" a voice softly speaks from the hallway.
your heart nearly stops right there and then. "holy shit!"
"sorry," bob steps into the dim lights of the lab, his hands up in a show of peace. "i didn't mean to scare you."
"no, no, it's fine! you're fine." you smile at him. "what are you still doing up, sweetheart?"
"i can't sleep," his response is sheepish.
you stand, stretching your arms above your head, and walk over to him. "let's see if we can do something about that." you pull him along by the hand, fingers entwined.
by the time you both get to bed, your eyes are heavy with sleep. you pull bob closer to you, letting his heartbeat lull you gently to sleep. the comfort of your body against his, a reliable weight to keep him still and grounded, has him dozing in no time.
JOHN WALKER. — he's the one up, unable to sleep. you're fast asleep and he just takes in everything about you. maybe it's the slight frown you have in your sleep, or the way your hair falls into your face just a little, but he's captivated.
john lays opposite of you on the bed, just tracing your features with his eyes. he takes everything in slowly: the flutter of your eyelashes, the curve of your cheek, the curl of your lips. you're so beautiful, and honestly, john has no idea how he got so lucky.
with his track record, it's a miracle you-
"why'd you stop?" you mumble, still half asleep, interrupting his train of thought entirely. his hands, which had been tracing patterns softly over your skin, have long been still.
"didn't wanna keep you up," he mumbles back, and you crack open an incredulous eye at him.
you grumble something under your breath that john can't quite catch before pulling yourself closer to him.
"it was nice," you say, sleep already calling your name. so john continues.
he traces abstract patterns from the nape of your neck to your shoulders to your back. he feels the way your muscles loosen beneath his touch and the way your breath evens out.
and you know what? fuck his track record. if he got lucky enough to be graced by you, he damn well won't mess it up.
BUCKY BARNES. — this time it's you who can't sleep, and it's a good thing bucky has a tendency to stay up obnoxiously late reading his novels despite his other old man tendencies.
a soft knock comes from the door, startling bucky from his book. it's too late for anyone to need him urgently for anything, so he's almost inclined to ignore it until your voice rings through the door.
"bucky? you still up?" you're tentative, almost wary, as you ask for him.
"yeah, doll, i'm up." he sits up, ready to open the door for you when you walk in wrapped in a blanket.
"can i stay with you?" you mutter, still standing a ways away from the bed.
without saying a word, he pats the spot next to him on his bed and leans back against the headboard, leaving enough space for you to curl up next to him.
"what're you reading?" your voice is muffled by his shirt and the blankets wrapped around you.
"the hobbit. mind if i keep reading?" you shake your head, listening to the steady beating of his heart.
"it was at this point that bilbo stopped. going on from there was the bravest thing he ever did. the tremendous things that happened afterwards were as nothing compared to it..." bucky's voice rumbles soft in his chest, gentle despite the intensity of the moments he read out to you.
