𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞
𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐫𝐞
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Synopsis: After a mission filled with close calls and bad decisions, the team comes home to find an even bigger threat waiting at the door—your wrath.
Warning(s): THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS!!! platonic!thunderbolts x reader. no use of y/n. use of the nicknames doll, honey, and pretty girl. canon typical violence. descriptions of injuries. descriptions of explosion, gun use, etc. established relationship. profanities. kissing. VERY suggestive content (minors be advised). talks of having a baby. bucky being a little feral (very briefly). slightly hurt/comfort. basically bucky and reader being the parents of the group.
Word Count: 3.6k-ish
Author's Note: GUYS I saw this fanart on instagram and instantly knew that I had to write something inspired by it!!! I've been itching to post a thunderbolts fic since last week 😭 welcome back 2012-2014 era of avengers' tower fanfics ✨️ anyway I hope they're keeping the revolution hair for bucky in doomsday or else I swear I'm gonna RIOT!!! (I know seb's head is shaved rn but wigs exist yk 😔) don't forget to comment, like, and reblog loveliesss 🩷
Bucky Barnes Masterlist
Bucky Barnes doesn't understand a lot of things since he returned to society.
Cryptocurrency is one of them. Social media is another. Anything that involves more acronyms than actual words is an immediate no on his list.
Above all else, Bucky Barnes struggles to comprehend how exactly he became responsible for the group of walking disasters now hailed as earth's newest, mightiest heroes.
Looking at the pack of hellions in front of him, Bucky has serious doubts about that title.
Right in the middle of the tower's lobby, the Thunderbolts—the New Avengers now, apparently—are scattered like barbie dolls in the aftermath of a toddler's tantrum. John is standing against a column with a tight jaw, his left leg lifted gingerly, wrapped in a makeshift splint that looks suspiciously like someone's utility belt. Beside him, Yelena sits on the ground, legs sprawled in front of her as she cradles a bruised shoulder with an equally bruised hand. Alexei leans atop the front desk with a dried blood streaking down his temple, the young receptionist gone in fright the moment the team walked through the tower's entrance. Even Ava, usually one to disappear before debriefs, is visible for once, propped against the wall with her suit half-glitched and her expression blank.
Everyone is accounted for. Everyone is breathing.
But they all look like they rolled down a hill of bad choices where they banged their heads at every rock.
The mission was supposed to be a quiet recon, a simple surveillance on a rumored underground tech sale in an abandoned shipyard, low risk with minimal engagement. But then someone—Bucky still doesn’t know who—decided that they could handle it.
No heads-up. No plan.
Just four impulsive thrill-seekers interrupting a high-stakes black market deal involving high-tech plasma rifles and an offended buyer with too many goons.
By the time Bucky caught wind of what was happening, it was already chaos. He had to go in solo, extract the squad under heavy fire, disrupt the shipment, and reroute an entire response team of hostiles to avoid further catastrophe. They got out—just barely—and none of them seemed particularly eager to look him in the eye about it, especially after the thirty-minute tirade he launched into somewhere between fourth gear and a traffic jam.
From his place in front of the elevator, Bucky crosses his arms. “If any of you pull something like that again, you're all getting benched. Indefinitely.”
“What?!” Alexei roars.
Yelena scowls. “That’s ridiculous.”
“You don't get to make that call, Bucky,” John protests.
Ava nods. “We're not children. You can't just ground us whenever you feel like it.”
“Yeah?” Bucky laughs. Sarcastically. “Watch me, kid.”
As if on cue, the elevator arrives with a ding. Bucky gestures curtly towards the opening metal door. “Inside. Now.”
Reluctantly, the team shuffles in like a group of sheep being herded back into their pen for a much-needed nap time.
For a beat, the only sound that settles inside the cramped space is the low mechanical hum of the elevator ascending.
That is until Ava decides to speak up.
“I’m just saying,” she begins, “it wasn’t like we meant to crash the deal. We were just improvising.”
“Improvising?” Bucky exclaims, glaring at her. “You call tossing a grenade into an active negotiation improvising?”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Yelena argues, crossing her arms. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?” Bucky screeches, his tone rising. “Walker nearly lost a leg!”
“It's just a sprain,” John clarifies. “Probably.”
“See? It's just a sprain!” Yelena repeats a little too cheerfully. “He'll be good as new in no time. Right, John?”
John nods, failing to conceal his wince when Yelena bumps her unharmed shoulder to his.
Bucky rubs his temples. “I can’t believe I’m in charge of you people.”
The elevator dings again at the top floor.
“You know,” Yelena says as the team stumbles out of the metal trapbox, “we technically stopped the deal. You're not giving us credit for that.”
“That’s because you weren't supposed to stop the deal. You were supposed to observe.”
“Back in my day, observe meant punch first, ask questions later,” Alexei quips.
Bucky lets out a scathing scoff that echoes through the air. “Right. Remind me again how many years you spent rotting in that Siberian prison, Alexei?”
“Well, that's not very nice,” John mutters.
“You know what else isn't nice, Walker?” Bucky growls. “Getting your asses lit up by dozens of machine guns because none of you seem to grasp the basic concept of following orders.”
The group swelters in a momentary silence.
“I mean, in our defense,” says Ava, “none of us actually got shot.”
Before Bucky can tell her off even further, a voice suddenly intercepts, “How fabulous! You guys didn't get shot? Geez, someone really should give you all a medal for that.”
The whole team stops in their tracks.
One by one, everyone turns their head towards the direction from which the voice has come. The view that greets them could probably send a perfectly healthy man straight into an early grave.
On the platform floor a few paces away, they find you standing with arms folded across your chest. Despite the bright tilt of your voice, your eyes are cutting as they assess the entire team with the judgement of a juror who has already decided on a guilty verdict. It's clear from your attire that you were freshly off work before going straight to the tower, and since everyone knows that you were supposed to be on a work trip to Philadelphia for at least another two days, it’s safe to assume that your ticket back was booked right around the time someone shouted “mission compromised!”.
It's a full ten seconds of shared disgrace before Yelena finally breaks the silence.
“You called her?” she hisses, landing an accusatory glare in Bucky’s direction.
“I did not.” Bucky scoffs. “And why does it matter if I did?”
“Bucky didn't call me,” you interject, your posture still rigid, your gaze still icy.
“Then who—no.” Yelena's eyes drift towards the kitchen, squinting as she takes in the figure trying to hide behind the doorway. “Bob.”
Ava snaps her head up. “Bob, you little shi—”
“That’s enough,” you jump in, moving sideways to conceal Bob from Ava's murderous line of sight. “He's got nothing to do with this. This is about you—all of you—and what a stupid, reckless, dangerous thing you just did.”
Under your scrutiny, the whole squad shifts like a pack of raccoons caught rummaging through the kitchen trash. The weight of your stare seems to age them all by a decade.
“I'm gonna give all of you two minutes to explain yourselves,” you declare, the authority in your tone indisputable. “And I already know what happened, so don't even think about trying to trick me.”
There is a lull in the air where everyone seemingly tries to process your demand.
When their mouths open again, what follows is not so much an explanation as it is a verbal dogpile. Everyone starts talking all at once—too loud, too fast, and entirely contradictory. John tries to lead with the logistics, only to be steamrolled by Alexei shouting something about creative liberty. Ava attempts to downplay the situation with a jovial “it was barely an explosion!” while Yelena throws her under the bus with a hasty “she started it!”.
Bucky—standing to the side with the posture of a man watching his funeral getting turned into a Dollar Store circus—doesn’t even bother stepping in. He knows better.
You hold up a single finger and the room quiets instantly, like someone pressing mute on a trashy sitcom argument. The stillness that follows is so heavy, even the lights begin to flicker in anticipation.
“But we got out fine!” Ava sputters, desperate to fill in the quietness, though her voice immediately thins when she adds, “Mostly.”
“Yeah! I mean, it's just a bruise here, a bruise there—everything's great.” Yelena grins.
Your sharp stare slides towards John, the lines between your eyebrows tightening as you take in the awkward angle of his injured leg. John nearly cowers under your piercing gaze.
“How bad is the damage?” you question, your voice booming throughout the surrounding space.
“What, this? Oh, it's not that bad. Probably just need to ice it then I'll be good as new—”
“Walker.”
It's hardly a secret that John is perhaps your least favorite person in that room, with you still clearly holding a grudge towards him for what happened with the Flag Smashers. The man is used to your constant cold shoulder by now. He expects it, even. More often than not, John finds himself wondering if you would ever warm up to him the way you have with the rest of the team.
And yet, as he now stands at the end of your long stare, John can't help but think that perhaps your silent treatment isn't really that bad. Especially if it means he doesn't have to be on the receiving end of the critical scrutiny you're currently aiming towards him.
The blond gulps.
“There's a forty percent chance it might be broken,” John admits. “But it's likely just dislocated. No big deal.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose.
“Get to the medbay and tell them to run a scan,” you command. “Alexei, go with him.”
“That's not necessa—”
The sharp glare you're sending him causes John's words to lodge in his throat.
Alexei springs right into action, steering John away from your ferocious perusal and back towards the elevator.
“C'mon, big guy,” Alexei bellows. “Let's go pay a visit to our doctor friends.”
As soon as the two men disappear into the elevator, your glower shifts towards the remaining two people standing behind Bucky. Yelena pretends to check her nails while Ava's eyes are roaming the ceiling with faux nonchalance, both a pathetic attempt to avoid the clear daggers in your stare. The ridiculousness would've made you chortle were you not livid beyond salvation right now.
“I want you two to go back to your rooms, clean yourselves up, and be back here in no more than thirty minutes,” you proclaim. “We'll continue our discussion after dinner.”
“Wait, hold on—”
“That's not—”
“Just go, you two,” Bucky interrupts, the blue in his eyes colder than the Arctic ocean. “That wasn't a request.”
The two figures slump in defeat, teetering towards the staircase with the speed of a turtle in a morning rush hour. You hear Yelena grumbling something in Russian under her breath, and you force yourself not to think about what the phrase might mean lest you want your skin to crawl in an even higher degree of vexation.
“Good gracious.” Bucky shakes his head.
Behind you, Bob emerges out of the kitchen, his shoulders drooping ever so slightly as he approaches you like a wounded kitten.
“They're mad at me, aren't they?” Bob murmurs. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you guys fight with each other.”
“It's not your fault, sweetie,” you assure him, extending your hand and offering a comforting squeeze around his palm. “They're just being idiots right now. You did good, okay? Give it a few hours and I promise you, they'll forget about this already.”
Bob nods solemnly, his voice quiet as he excuses himself and trudges towards the common area. You release a breath as you observe him diving head first onto the sofa, burying his face in the cushion like a Victorian widow fainting onto her chaise.
Turning around, your eyes lock with another pair in blue. The smile on Bucky's face grows as he takes you in, his arms opening with all the intention to collect you in his embrace.
“Hey, doll. I've missed—”
“No. Stay right there.” You raise your palm, taking a step back. “I'm mad at you, too.”
Bucky blinks.
He watches you turn around and walk away from him, his arms coming down limp by his sides before he scutters after your retreating form. Bucky lingers in the doorway as you move about the kitchen, taking out pots, knives, and pans while slamming the cabinet doors shut in the process. You don't even spare him a glance as you start retrieving fresh ingredients from the fridge.
“Honey?” he calls out, voice meek beneath the echo of your knife slicing through onions on the counter. “C'mon, doll, you're really not gonna talk to me?”
“No.”
The chopping continues.
Bucky rubs his face.
“You know I'm just as disappointed in them as you are, right?” he begins. “Swear to God, doll, I had nothing to do with this. Didn't even know what those rascals were planning ‘till I got the call from Alexei. Told ‘em off as soon as I extracted them outta there.”
“Hm.”
Sighing, Bucky takes a tentative step forward, then another, finally closing the distance when he's sure you wouldn't smack him across the head with the chopping board in your hand. His fingers find purchase around your elbow, halting your movements, the gentleness aching as he spins you around to face him. The knife and half-sliced onion lie dormant on the counter.
“Hey,” Bucky utters, so softly that the air nearly swallows the word whole. “Talk to me?”
You heave in a shaky breath, evading his eyes. “What's there to talk about? I told you I'm pissed.”
“Okay, that part I already got.” Bucky chuckles, brushing the back of his palm on your cheek. “Help me understand why? At least tell me how I can fix it, pretty girl. Hm?”
Your silence quivers at the edges, growing more brittle with each swipe of Bucky’s touch on your skin. The walls around your heart crumble under his infuriating tenderness.
“When Bob called and said the team had gone radio silent, I—” you pause, swallowing hard, “—I thought something terrible happened. I booked the first train out of Philly before I even hung up.”
Bucky stays quiet, watching you with careful eyes.
“I couldn’t reach anyone. Not John, not Yelena, not Ava, not Alexei—not you. And the longer I waited, the worse it got in my head. I pictured the mission going sideways. All of you gone.” You inhale sharply. “I pictured all of you coming home in body bags.”
Bucky's heart breaks at the shudder he feels running through your back. His soul is already mourning over the loss of light he would usually find shining so brightly out of your eyes. It makes him cling to you just a tad bit tighter.
“Bob finally called me again to tell me that you're all fine. That you're on your way back. But that's not the point, Bucky.” You look at him then, your fingers flexing. “The point is, I should've never heard about all of this from Bob in the first place. I should've heard it from you.”
Bucky's shoulders sink. “I didn't want you to worry.”
You shake your head, eyes burning with the threat of unshed tears. “But I do worry, Bucky! That’s the point. I worry every single time. The moment all of you step out of this building, I'm counting down the minutes until you guys return to me again. You can't shield me away from that.”
He steps closer, removing what little bit of distance between the two of you until all of your atoms are nearly merged as one. “You're right. You are. I should’ve called. Should've trusted that you'd want to know, even if it might scare you.”
“It did scare me,” you whisper. “And I didn’t want Bob’s voice telling me everything was okay. I wanted yours.”
“I’m sorry,” Bucky murmurs, his arms pulling you nearer. “No more leaving you out. I promise it’ll be me from now on. I'll tell you everything, doll. Always.”
A shuddering breath leaves your lungs, and just like that, you completely melt away under Bucky's touch. Your forehead drops against the line between his shoulder and chest, your fingers gripping his sides as though he was the very force keeping you tethered to earth. Meanwhile, Bucky's lips ghost over the top of your head, whispering sweet nothings, the contrasting temperature of his palms appeasing you with random patterns against your back.
“I don't know how this all started,” you confess. “I'm not sure when I began caring this much about those idiots, but I do. The thought of something happening to them—to you—to all of you…”
Bucky's arms tighten around your frame. “I know, honey. I feel the same way.”
“This is not what I had in mind, you know?”
You tilt your head back to stare at his face, your fingers tangling themselves in the soft waves that Bucky has been growing out over the past few weeks. He almost cut them all off several days ago, but after some convincing on your end—which may have included activities that found your fingers buried in the soft tendrils and his face buried somewhere else—you managed to talk him out of it.
Bucky's eyebrows lift. “What do you mean?”
“Well… when you said that you were joining this team, I thought I'd never seen a more dysfunctional group of people in my entire life. I figured it'd be a miracle if all of you last a whole month without someone quitting or accidentally blowing each other up.” You chuckle, your eyes softening. “I didn't think I'd end up pacing the hallway every time you guys went out, worrying like some overworked mother of five.”
Bucky huffs out a laugh, his forehead falling onto your own. “I get it. This wasn’t exactly how I imagined myself stepping into the dad role either, but… here I am.”
“Yeah?” Your lips quirk up. “How did you imagine it then?”
“Well—” Bucky's voice drops, his breath warm where it fans against your skin, “—I figured it’d start with a little house, somewhere quiet. Nothing fancy. Just enough for us to start building a life in. I’d fix the place up real proper. You’d hum to yourself as you whip up one of those famous pies of yours, and I’d pretend not to stare.”
The cheeky grin on Bucky's face grows, prompting a laugh out of your chest. His thumb continues to trace idle circles upon your waist.
“Then, when you feel the time's right, we’d try for a baby. The old-fashioned way. Real slow, real sweet. I’d kiss you like I got all the time in the world, and make love to you like I didn’t.”
Something flutters inside your chest, like stardust stirring in a forgotten corner of the galaxy. The way Bucky is looking at you makes you feel as if you were the first breath of the universe itself.
“That's how I pictured us becoming parents,” Bucky adds, brushing his lips along your jaw. “Not… this. Whatever this is.”
You smile at the graze of his beard on your cheek, angling your head to capture him in a brief kiss.
“You know what I think this is, Buck?” you ask, teasing your lips against his own. “I think we should view this as a practice run. After all, how hard can it be to parent our own kid if we can do it to a group of five ridiculous, chaotic misfits, right?”
“Doll.” He sighs. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”
“Depends.” You hum, your lips twitching in feigned innocence. “If you think I'm imagining you putting a baby in me… then yeah, you're absolutely right.”
Bucky swallows your cheeky grin with a kiss, grunting against your mouth as he presses you back against the counter. The muffled moans you let out are music to his ears, a lascivious melody that rushes straight towards places he reserves explicitly for you. His hands slip under your blouse, roaming the expanse of skin, drifting lower and lower in search for the one place that could send him straight to heaven and—
“Yelena! Give it back to me!”
“I told you it wasn't me!”
Bucky groans.
The shrill voices resonate all the way down to the kitchen, followed by the unmistakable echoes of footsteps thundering down the staircase. Bucky makes a guttural noise of frustration as his face slumps into the crook of your neck.
“I swear to God, I’m gonna ship them to Asgard one of these days,” he mutters.
You snort, brushing your fingers through his hair and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.
“Let's put a raincheck on the baby-making, soldier,” you purr, smirking when it spurs on a rumble from Bucky's chest. “Looks like I've got a fight to break up before we have two dead superheroes on our hands.”
He groans again, this time at the loss of your warmth as you slip out of his arms. From the kitchen doorway, you raise an eyebrow towards the common area, perching your palms on either side of your hips as you take in the havoc ahead.
“What the hell is going on here?” you snarl.
“She stole my snacks!” accuses Ava.
“I don't even like Jammie Dodgers, you lunatic!”
“What a lot of crap. We all know you'd even eat chicken off the ground given the chance, you pig!”
“Fucking asshole—”
“Hey!” you interrupt, your voice sharp as you march towards the two fuming Avengers. “You call each other any more names, then I promise you, you're gonna wish you got shot on that mission today.”
Bucky watches the whole interaction from the kitchen with his arms crossed and a slow grin spreading across his face. He leans against the counter, studying you with the quiet reverence of a man who has found the meaning of home after decades of searching. Even in the midst of this domestic madness, even with the team’s antics grinding on his last nerve, he wouldn't trade a single thing in his life for anything else.
There are still a lot of things in this world that Bucky struggles to understand.
But with you by his side, and his entire team watching his six, he knows that he's got nothing to worry about.
More Posts from Twotablelamps and Others
▪︎Early Mornings {Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader}
Super short oneshot about waking up next to the god of mischief ♡
Mega fluff, clingy Loki, married au, Loki still in Asgard au, physical affection YIPPEE-
Word count: 855
I'm currently taking headcanon requests :)
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The Asgardian sun rose into the early morning sky, tinting its previously dim surroundings with warm hues of orange and pink. The day was in its early beginnings. The grand city below stirred under its familiar rays and slowly came to life once more, just as it had for thousands of years before. Villagers and merchants gradually began to show their faces and go about their buying, selling, trading, farming, etc.
Life began to bloom within the palace as well. Servants scurried about, and guards switched out their positions with their replacements. The kitchens prepared breakfast for all the palace's inhabitants, and the smells of freshly baked bread streamed out into the corridors.
But as for two specific (and rather lazy) Asgardians, the day had not yet even begun.
Loki, a prince of Asgard, and his lover lay wrapped up together in the silky covers of the god's luxurious bed, limbs tangled, hair frazzled, and bodies pressed tightly against one another. Their soft snores filled the room almost rhythmically, creating a quiet and peaceful atmosphere that neither of them were even conscious of.
As the morning drifted on, the waking world summoned your body awake, causing you to finally stir and crack open an eye. The light made you wince, and you pushed your face into Loki's chest to shield your sensitive pools. A mumbled groan escaped your lips. Your hands gripped his night clothes in a pathetic attempt to pull yourself impossibly closer to him.
Upon sensing your movements, the raven haired god shifted slightly and tightened his hold on your waist. He half-consciously nuzzled the top of your head with his nose, his soft, warm breaths gently fanning your scalp.
"Are you awake..?" you questioned in a low tone, your voice a little muffled against his evergreen shirt. Loki only mumbled into your hair in response as he traced lazy patterns up and down your back with his long fingers. The mild chill of his skin made you shiver slightly.
You both lied there in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, enjoying the tranquility that came with being in each other's arms. You pressed your body a little closer to his, and he placed a sleepy kiss to your hairline. He slowly rubbed over your side, feeling over your curves that he was already so familiar with.
"We should probably get up soon.." you sighed as you propped yourself up a few inches on your elbow, slowly opening your eyes and attempting to adjust to the bright morning light. You ran a hand through your hair and went to fully sit up, but was swiftly pulled back down by a strong arm.
Loki grumbled out a low: "five more minutes..." and shifted again, this time moving to lay on top of your body and tangling his legs with yours to prevent you from getting up again. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his lips barely grazing over your skin. You let out an exaggerated sigh at the sudden heavy weight crushing over you and tried to push him off, but he wouldn't budge a single inch. Oh, what a dilemma! Oh well-
Eventually, you gave in and wrapped your arms around his torso again, unable to resist the opportunity to indulge in a clingy Loki. You could practically feel the god smirk against your neck in victory.
"You're such a brat."
Loki let out an amused huff in reaction and settled further on top of you. His touch blindly traveled up your thigh under the covers and found your hip and squeezed it in a firm, yet somehow, gentle grasp. Your soft flesh warm beneath his naturally cool palm.
"Now, now, is that any way to greet your husband good morning?" he quipped, now massaging your hip in a languid manner.
You rolled your eyes yet couldn't fight back the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips that revealed your lack of actual irritation.
"It is when he's being a brat," you sighed, feigning annoyance at his antics that you should have been more than used to by now. But he only chuckled, as he could see right through your little act.
"You can't fool me, darling. I know you far too well to believe even for a second that you're not enjoying this."
You wanted to protest, but the words quickly perished on the tip of your tongue. The bridge of your nose scrunched up in brief annoyance at him calling you out so casually like that. Curse his damn perceptive nature.
"...shut up," you grumbled, pride only slightly wounded. You were thankful that he couldn't see your face and the faint pink hues that tinted your cheeks. He would have enjoyed that far too heavily.
The snarky deity took great pleasure in your hesitant surrender and pressed a lingering kiss to the side of your neck, his face still buried there, taking in the sweet scent of the shampoo and bodywash you use.
"I am capable of many things, but silence is not one of them," he teased with another gentle squeeze of your hip.
"Yeah, tell me about it."
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Faking Injuries & Pure Dedication:
Warnings: Maybe slight spoilers about the living situation.
Summary: You move into the avengers tower and become close with Bucky who doesn’t miss an opportunity to confess his feelings. (Fluff!!)
It was the middle of the night when you moved into the Avengers’ tower with Yelena, Bucky, John, Ava, Alexei, and Bob. Yelena was the only person you knew to call when your relationship ended, and you knew she wouldn’t ask too many questions.
It was only supposed to be temporary until you could find somewhere affordable to live. But none of them minded you living there it was just in your nature to feel like a burden. You pulled your weight as best as possible, making sure to be the primary cook at the house. It only took John one time to burn the food for you to take that initiative.
Bob was helpful around the tower too, you bonded quickly over the fact that you felt like the two who “didn’t belong.” Bob was usually the one who bandaged everyone up and you proceeded to make sure everyone ate, you worked well as a team and the dynamic was more like siblings than anything else.
You did, however, have your sights set on Bucky. Bucky made you feel comfortable, and content and he never pushed too hard. Truthfully, he rarely spoke to you first, and given his history you didn’t blame him for keeping to himself.
You had zero shame following him around the tower like a lost puppy dog knowing he’d never harshly confront it because he found peace within you too. You had spent many nights watching movies together, always in the company of someone else but neither one of you paid them any mind. You had tons of inside jokes, and Bucky knew he could always count on you to stay up late when he couldn’t sleep. He just wasn’t sure if you felt the same way about him just yet.
It was a Thursday night when Bucky got carried into the house by Ava and Alexei, his ankle was swollen two times its normal size and you wanted to rush to his side immediately but hesitated as Bob and Yelena sprung into action.
••••
The next morning Bucky was sprawled out on the couch, two pillows under his ankle, and reading through a book he had no interest in. He sighed out loud more times than you could count and honestly, you couldn’t blame him. Everyone else was out completing their missions and he was stuck in this tower with you.
“Hey Bucky, good morning.” You shuffled over to him, still wearing your wrinkled pajamas and fuzzy slippers.
“Hi. Morning.” He winced as he attempted to scoot over to make room for you to sit.
“No, no! Don’t move!” You sat down by his feet, making sure not to bump into him. “How’re you feeling?” You eyed him up and down, he also had on comfortable clothes which was something you’d rarely ever seen him in. A navy t-shirt and gray sweatpants had never looked so good.
“Useless” he frowned, he hadn’t noticed the loving way you were looking at him just yet. “This has never really happened to me before. Normally the serum just kind of…” he paused for a second to look at you, noticing now how you had been looking him up and down.
When he stopped speaking you made eye contact, smiling back at him. Both of you felt your cheeks grow warm.
“Umm—well, Yelena said in a few hours you’d probably be completely fine right?”
Bucky nodded, wondering to himself why you were outright concerned. He had hoped he was reading this situation correctly, but wasn’t sure how to get it to progress. He didn’t say anything more and you awkwardly sat there beside him for a moment picking at your nails.
“Are you hungry? I can make us breakfast” You were ecstatic at the chance to spend time alone with him without the noise of the group.
“Wait, where’s Bob?” He looked around, wondering why he hadn’t heard him in the room just yet.
Your face dropped, wondering why it was such an issue that it was just the two of you.
“He’s still asleep, and probably will be for a while” Your tone shifted into disappointment and Bucky felt it immediately.
“I just wanted to make sure we were alone is all” he spoke softly, letting you know he wanted the same thing. “Can I help? I feel like you do all the cooking.”
“That’s probably because I actually do all the cooking” you giggled before standing up from the couch. “You really don’t have to help me though, you’re out of commission right now.”
“That’s actually really ableist of you to say” he teased earning a shocked wide-eyed look from you. A chuckle erupted from the both of you, the mood lightening at his joke.
“At least let me sit with you at the kitchen island. I’ve been told I stare but I like to say I observe.” He teased as he stood up from the couch.
“Do you need to lean on me? I can help you walk over there Bucky.”
Bucky shook his head, he stood up from the couch and walked with you to the kitchen.
“What if I told you that I’m completely fine and that I definitely didn’t need to stay home today?” He sat down on the bar stool in the kitchen as you started to take ingredients out of the fridge.
You turned to him and he had a giant smirk on his face, his blue eyes nearly taking your breath from your lungs.
“James Barnes— what are you saying?” You giggled as you stood across the island with your arms tightly crossed against your chest.
“Real answer?” He walked over to your side of the island, nervously shuffling around the ingredients you set down on the granite kitchen island.
“Of course.”
Bucky was never good at being vulnerable, but you had always provided a safe space for him so he thought it was now or never.
“I just really wanted to spend time with you alone today.”
You felt like the world stopped and Bucky couldn’t read your reaction, he started growing nervous at the thought of you rejecting him but he couldn’t find any more words to say so he sat there in silence.
“With me?” Your eyes softened and he realized then that you might just feel the same way about him as he did you.
“I mean yeah, you’re pretty much my favorite person” his voice came out soft and mumbled but you knew by now to pay close attention to the things he said or you’d miss them.
“Bucky, You’re my favorite person too” You took a step toward him and he wrapped his arms around you, wasting no time picking you up and placing you on the counter.
He placed his left hand under your chin to kiss you, the metal was cool against your skin making you shudder slightly. Your legs wrapped around his torso instinctively.
You had always wondered what it would be like to kiss him, and it was better than anything you imagined.
When the two of you came up for air, you saw a genuine smile on his face. It was rare, and it felt nice knowing you were the reason for it.
“Let me make you breakfast for a change” he patted your thighs with his hands, squeezing them softly before he helped you off the kitchen island.
“Only if you promise not to ruin my new pans” you giggled as you sat down across from him.
“I’m offended you’d think I’d even dream of doing that” he laughed knowing you were referring to the one whole time John Walker made food.
You watched Bucky as he made the two of you an omelet, he seemed so at peace which was abnormal for you to see and him to feel.
“Can I ask you something?” You spoke softly as you tried not to startle him. He turned to you with a hand on his hip and spatula in hand, “yes?”
“How long have you… well….” You were trying and failing to try to word this question correctly.
“Wanted to be with you?” He chuckled, plating your omelet and handing it over to you before sliding some hot sauce your way.
“You want to be with me?” You teased knowing how surprisingly easy it was to make him blush.
“I faked an injury so we could spend time together, isn’t it obvious?” his face deadpanned.
“Does everyone else know you were faking?” You cocked an eyebrow at him before taking a bite of your omelet.
“Yeah, they all knew what I was up to.” he let out a loud laugh as he sat down beside you, there was no use in lying now.
“I love the dedication” you smirked, moving your chair closer to his as you kissed his cheek.
He had only hoped that in no time you’d also love him too.
•·.·´`·.·•• You're Lying (and other things Sam won't stop saying) ••·.·´`·.·•
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader
Warnings/Tags: language, mild suggestiveness, comedy, romance, light-angst, found family, slow burn payoff, excessive teasing, established relationship, Sam being annoying
Trope: Everyone thinks you're not really dating. You are. No one believes you.
Word Count: 2.0K
Author Note: Guys this is just like my last one, this is to help me mentally prep for an AP exam tomorrow morning so if this is bad I am so sorry. But I hope you enjoy this nonetheless <3
Please do not copy or translate any of my works. Thank you!
You and Bucky were dating.
Like- really dating.
In the 'he's seen you at your absolute worst and still kisses your cheek like he doesn't look at you any differently' kind of way. The 'you keep an extra toothbrush at his place and he makes your coffee how you like it without asking' kind of way. The 'he pulls you into his lap during team movie nights and smiles against your shoulder, murmuring words into your ear like it's not the most dangerous thing he could do' kind of way.
And no one believed you.
Especially not Sam.
"Oh, come one," he said, flatly, as he walked in on you and Bucky curled up on the couch. "This again?"
You blinked. "We're watching Pretty Woman, Sam."
"You're spooning."
"We're affectionate."
"You're not even kissing! He's probably just cold. You know he runs cold. Like a cyborg space lizard or something."
Bucky growled. "Cyborg space-?!"
"Right," Sam interrupted. "Sure. Keep telling people you're dating. I'll be over here living in reality."
You buried your face into Bucky's neck. "I hate him," you mumbled.
"You love him," Bucky corrected with a sigh. "You just want him to validate our relationship."
"I want him to believe in our relationship. There's a difference."
Sam, in the kitchen, called out: "I don't!"
Bucky flipped him off without looking.
~~~~~
The problem wasn't that you and Bucky didn't act like a couple.
The problem was that you didn't act like a normal couple.
You didn't post mushy selfies. You didn't wear matching shirts. You didn't coo pet names across conference tables. You just... existed. Comfortable. Quietly in sync. The kind of romance that felt more like a heartbeat than a firework.
Too subtle for people like Sam Wilson, apparently.
"You didn't even kiss when you got back from that mission," Sam pointed out, a few weeks later. "She was gone for five days, man."
Bucky, polishing a knife, didn't look up. "I kissed her afterward. In private."
"See, that's the problem! You hide it. Makes it look fake."
"I'm sorry," you snapped. "I didn't realize our love life was for public broadcast. Want us to livestream the next one?"
Sam looked delighted. "That's a strong reaction. I hit a nerve. This is faker than Tony's allergy to gluten."
Tony called from down the hall: "It's real, you bastard!"
~~~~~
At first, it was funny.
Then it got exhausting.
You weren't insecure about your relationship- Bucky made sure of that, every day, in a dozen quiet ways. He cooked for you. Kissed your temple. Held your hand under tables. Brushed his thumb along your jaw like it was the most precious part of you.
But still. No one believed it.
Not Nat, who called it "convenient physical proximity."
No Clint, who claimed he'd never seen you kiss with tongue (as id that were a valid benchmark).
Not even Steve, who offered a gentle "Are you sure he's not just emotionally dependent on you?"
It all came to a head one night at a bar.
You'd just finished a mission and everyone was letting off steam. Sam leaned against the bar counter beside you, a shit-eating grin on his face.
"So," he started. "You and Barnes still 'dating'?"
You narrowed your eyes. "Yes."
"Hmm. Okay." He sipped his beer. "So if I leaned in and kissed you right now, he wouldn't deck me?"
You stared at him.
"Try it," Bucky said darkly from behind, voice like cracked gravel.
Sam smiled. "Still not proof."
Bucky grabbed your hand. "You want proof?"
"Bucky-" you warned.
"No, no. He wants a show. Let's give him one."
He yanked you flush against him, hand cupping your jaw, and kissed you.
Not a polite kiss. Not a we're-dating-I-swear kiss. A I-know-every-inch-of-your-mouth-and-I-love-you kiss. Hot. Possessive. Unapologetic.
You melted into it, clutched his shirt, kissed him back with something that sounded like a whimper because Jesus.
When he pulled away, Sam blinked. "...Okay. Damn."
"Believe us now?" Bucky raised a brow.
Sam blinked again. "Not really."
You grabbed a pretzel stick and stabbed it into the foam of Sam's beer. "I hope you step on RedWing."
~~~~~
Even after that, the teasing didn't stop.
Because of course it didn't.
"You probably practiced that," Sam said a few days later.
"What?"
"That kiss. You planned it. Just to throw me off."
Bucky rubbed his temples. "You are the most annoying man I've ever met."
"You're just mad I cracked the code."
"There is no code!"
You yanked open the fridge, pulled out a tub of frosting, and started eating it with a spoon. "I actually cannot live like this."
Sam pointed at the spoon. "See? No real girlfriend would let her boyfriend see that."
"Bucky bought me this frosting."
Bucky looked like he was about to get up and beat the shit out of Sam if he didn't start walking away.
~~~~~
Eventually, you gave up.
Let them believe what they wanted.
You and Bucky still kissed behind closed doors, curled together on the couch, whispered sleepy confessions after long days.
Until-
One night, you got sick.
Really sick. The kind of body-aching, fever-drenched flu that turned you into a grumpy, sniffling, corpse with a bag full of used tissues beside your bed.
And Bucky took care of everything.
He brought you soup. Rubbed your back. Helped you shower when you were too weak to stand. Brushed your hair out of your face. Slept beside you even when you told him not to.
Sam stopped by to check on you and walked in on Bucky holding your hand while you slept, forehead pressed to your wrist like he was praying.
He backed out slowly. Didn't say anything. Didn't tease. Didn't breathe.
The next morning, there was a small gift basket on your nightstand.
From Sam. With a card.
"Okay. You win. He loves you. I won't say another word. P.S. Please don't tell anyone I'm capable of this level of sincerity. I have a rep to protect."
~~~~~
You- of course- showed Bucky the card.
He smirked. "About damn time."
You kissed him with a smile.
And this time, no one questioned it.
~~~~~
The peace lasted exactly five days.
Five beautiful, uninterrupted days.
No teasing, no smug side-eyes, no Sam accusing you of being part of an elaborate CIA cover operation. Just you, Bucky, some early morning kisses over coffee, and one blessed evening where you somehow convinced him to slow dance in the kitchen to 40s music.
And then Sam broke into your new apartment. One you thought would give you full time peace compared to the Avengers compound.
(he claimed he "used the spare key." You knew he just picked the lock.)
"Morning, lovebirds," he smiled brightly, leaning against the doorframe like this wasn't the worst intrusion since Ross kissed someone else while he and Rachel were on a break.
You stared at him over Bucky's shoulder, still wrapped in his hoodie with sleep-mussed hair and a mug of tea between your palms. "It's 7:13 a.m."
"I brought bagels."
"And chaos."
Sam strolled in. "And relationship advice."
Bucky looked up from the couch, dead-eyed. "Why?"
"Because now that I know you two are the real deal, I gotta make sure you stay real."
You rubbed your temples. "We're not a gas leak, Sam."
"No, but you're both stubborn and weirdly avoidant and emotionally repressed, and frankly, I'm impressed it took me this long to be needed."
Bucky mumbled, "I'd rather be waterboarded."
Sam ignored him and slapped a notebook onto the table. "Step one: scheduled communication check-ins."
"Oh my god-"
~~~~~
You tried ignoring him.
Didn't work.
Because Sam became relentless. He started showing up with couple's quizzes. Brought you a deck of 'relationship conversation starters.' Installed an app on Bucky's phone called 'LoveTracker.'
("It's like Find My iPhone, but romantic," he said. Bucky installed it in twelve seconds.)
And worst of all- he documented everything.
"Bucky," he'd say mid-mission, "when was the last time you complimented her non-physically?"
You stared at him. "Non-physically?"
"Yeah. Like her intelligence. Or her moral compass. Or how she hasn't murdered me yet."
Bucky rolled his eyes. "I call her my girl every morning."
"That's possessive endearment, not a compliment."
"I tell her she's smarter than Tony."
~~~~~
Somewhere around Week 3 of Sam's Unsolicited Couples Therapy, something unexpected happened.
He stopped being annoying. (Okay, no. He was definitely still annoying.)
But... he also started being kind of helpful.
Like the night you and Bucky got into your first real fight.
It wasn't explosive. Just sharp. Quiet. Full of jagged silences.
You'd been on back-to-back missions, and Bucky had started pulling away. Fewer cuddles. More brooding. Less talking. You tried to be patient- God, you tried- but when he snapped at you for asking what was wrong, it all unraveled.
"I'm trying to help," you said, voice trembling.
"I didn't ask for it," he muttered.
The room froze. You didn't cry. You never cried in front of him. But that night, you shut your bedroom door behind you and curled up alone.
Bucky didn't come in. Not until morning.
But Sam came over first.
~~~~~
He found you on the balcony, hoodie pulled over your knees, cold tea forgotten beside you.
He didn't say anything at first. Just sat down next to you, offered a granola bar.
Then, quietly: "You know, when Sarah gets mad at me, I do this thing where I pretend I'm not scared I'll lose her. But I am. I always am."
You looked over. "You think Bucky's scared?"
Sam tilted his head. "That man loved you like it's gonna be taken away from him. Like he's holding something he thinks he shouldn't have. So yeah. He's scared."
You didn't cry. But you breathed. And it helped.
~~~~~
Bucky apologized that afternoon.
He stood in the doorway, fists clenched, breathing hard like it took everything in him to walk in.
"I'm sorry," he said. "For being a coward. For making you feel like you weren't wanted when you're the only thing I ever want."
You looked at him.
He stepped closer. "I never learned how to let myself be... this happy. It scared the hell out of me. But not as much as losing you."
You opened your arms, and he came apart in them.
That night, Bucky fell asleep with his hand on your heart.
And you whispered, "You're safe with me."
~~~~~
The next morning, Sam dropped off muffins.
"I told you you'd fight eventually," he said smugly.
You grabbed the muffins and shut the door in his face with a smile.
~~~~~
Over time, you adapted.
You didn't expect Sam to be a normal friend, he didn't know how to do that. But you did start to appreciate him as a part of your life. Your weird, overinvolved, chaotic platonic marriage therapist.
He became your sounding board. Your crisis texter. Your sarcastic but loyal brother figure who threatened anyone who looked at you funny and called Bucky 'lover boy' just to watch him twitch.
One night, you all sat around a campfire during a retreat mission. Quiet stars. Crickets. Steve snoring faintly in the background.
Sam looked over at you both.
"You know," he said, voice softer than usual, "you're actually really good together."
Bucky looked at him. "Took you long enough."
"Yeah, yeah. Shut up. But I mean it. You make him more human," he said to you. Then, to Bucky: "And you make her feel protected without caging her."
You blinked. Bucky squeezed your hand.
Sam threw a marshmallow at you both. "Don't get soft on me. I'll revoke my own compliment."
~~~~~
Months later...
You stood at the edge of a field after a joint mission, hair tousled, laughing with Bucky as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.
Sam walked past, muttering into comms. "She's in love, he's in denial, and I'm still unpaid for all their therapy."
You smiled to yourself.
You were real. You were loved. And you had the most chaotic friend group in the world.
Which honestly... was kind of perfect.
Mine
Prompt idea by: @fightclubendingscene
Tag: @superwholockbooknerd526
Thanking for @fightclubendingscene inspired me to write this as my first BBC sherlock x reader ^^
Tag: Jealous Sherlock, feelings, female reader
-------------
The first time you worked with Sherlock at 221B Baker Street, you fell for him at first sight. His intelligence was captivating, his mind a fascinating labyrinth of insights and analyses that seemed almost otherworldly. You were struck by how quickly he could piece together clues, revealing connections that others would overlook. There was a stoicism about him, a cool detachment that often made you wonder if he was, in some ways, more machine than man.
Yet, deep down, you sensed there was more to him—a complexity of emotions that he kept hidden beneath his sharp exterior. The way he approached each case was both brilliant and bewildering, making it hard to reconcile the thought that he might lack feelings altogether. You knew he was no machine; there was something profoundly human beneath his enigmatic façade that drew you in and made your feelings race each time you witnessed his brilliance in action.
As time passes, your feelings for him deepen, evolving into something more profound and complex. You find yourself constantly grappling with the notion that Sherlock Holmes, famously devoted to his work and often emotionally detached from others, might not reciprocate those feelings.
However, some moments ignite hope within you. In those fleeting seconds when your eyes meet, an unspoken connection lingers in the air before you both inevitably look away, your cheeks flushing with a mix of confusion and longing.
Then there are the rare instances when Sherlock expresses his sentiments through actions rather than words—small gestures that, at first, seemed insignificant but now stand out in sharp relief. The way he remembers your favorite coffee or the specific foods you love speaks volumes about his attention to you. These thoughtful details, once overlooked, now fill you with a sense of warmth and possibility, suggesting that beneath his stoic exterior, there may indeed be more to him than meets the eye.
John mentioned that he had never seen Sherlock behave in such a way before. It’s interesting to note that he has known the detective far longer than you have, which makes his insight all the more significant. Encouragingly, John believes that one day, both you and Sherlock will have the courage to reveal your feelings for each other.
Although he often feels like a third wheel, acting as a somewhat reluctant wingman in his friends' romantic escapades, he remains optimistic.
Until that fateful day when Irene Adler appeared at Baker Street, you found yourself returning the apartment after a trip to the market, the scent of fresh produce mingling with the cool, crisp air of a late autumn afternoon. As you stepped through the door, her captivating presence immediately drew your attention. She looked up from her poised position near the fireplace, her expression transforming into a warm, gentle smile that held a hint of seduction.
You placed the bags of groceries on the kitchen table, the clatter of jars and the rustle of paper momentarily breaking the spell of her gaze. In the background, you could hear Sherlock Holmes pausing mid-experiment, the unmistakable sound of vials clinking together fading into silence as he became aware of your arrival.
The atmosphere in the room shifted, filled with unspoken tension, as the two of you—one the immensely logical detective and the other a woman of enigmatic charm—interacted in a space that felt charged with possibility.
"Well, she's quite the adorable one! I had no idea you brought such a charming woman with you," Irene purred playfully. She stood up gracefully, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she gently tugged you toward her, drawing you both into the warm glow of the fireplace. The flickering flames danced around you, casting a soft, golden light that made the moment feel even more intimate.
Her eyes flickered momentarily over your shoulders, where she caught sight of Sherlock Holmes. His jaw was set tightly, and his hands were clasped firmly behind his back. He moved his knuckles in small, restless circles, betraying the turmoil brewing beneath his composed exterior. It was clear that he was grappling with a mix of jealousy and confusion, particularly regarding Irene's audacity in pulling you toward her.
John burst into the room, his breath still quick from a brisk walk along Baker Street. He paused mid-step, momentarily immobilized by the scene playing out before him. His eyes darted from Sherlock to Irene and then back to Sherlock as if trying to piece together the unfolding drama.
"‘Aren’t you a pretty little thing?’ Irene chuckled softly, her eyes sparkling with interest as she leaned in closer. Her fingers brushed against your cheeks, the gentle caress sending a warm flutter through you. With a playful smile, she let her other hand rest on your chest, feeling the steady rhythm of your heart thundering beneath her touch.
At that moment, Sherlock unexpectedly tugged you closer, his firm grip pulling your back snugly against his chest. The suddenness of it caught John off guard, and he couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the sight. It was a rare display of possessiveness from Sherlock, a side of him that John had never witnessed before.
His sharp gaze was locked onto Irene, filled with an intensity that seemed to burn right through her as if he was silently staking a claim on what he believed to be his. The air was charged with tension, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, an unfamiliar blend of protectiveness and desire that left you both exhilarated and slightly breathless.
"That's quite enough for today, Irene," Sherlock said, his voice steady and calm, though a slight tremor. Irene, ever perceptive, couldn’t help but notice the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he spoke your name with a softness that seemed at odds with his internal struggle. "We have a case to attend to," he added, steering the conversation to business. "Is urgent."
"You don—" John starts yet Sherlock gave him a angry glare.
"Case?" Irene chuckled, she stepped closer, the playful tension in the air thickening. Suddenly, without warning, Sherlock wrapped his arms around you,it caught you off guard. You could feel the warmth of his embrace enveloping you, a stark contrast to Irene's playful challenge.
With a swift motion, she grabbed your wrist, gently yet insistently tugging you toward her, as if trying to reclaim your attention from Sherlock. It felt like a whimsical tug-of-war, both of them vying for your focus. "You don’t have a case today, Sherlock," Irene teased, a smirk on her lips, her tone light but daring. "You never said you have a case today."
"We have now," Sherlock said, his voice low and laced with tension as he clenched his jaw. He tightened his hold around you, pulling you closer to him, as he took a determined step back, forcing you to stumble slightly along with him. "Good day, Irene." he added, his tone firm and unyielding, as he slid his other arm securely beneath yours, guiding you toward the door with an unmistakable urgency.
As he led you away, his eyes flicked back to Irene, a storm of anger and jealousy swirling within their depths. The silent message was clear—he was claiming you as his own. Mine. The intensity of his gaze spoke volumes, a silent declaration that you belonged to him, and he would not easily let go. His footsteps echoed down the staircase, each thud resonating like the petulant stomp of a child denied.
In a nearby corner, John rubbed his weary face with both hands, disbelief etched across his features. He hadn't expected this turn of events at all. The way Sherlock tightened his hold on you, the possessive aura emanating from him, was unmistakable—he had finally revealed the passion that simmered just beneath the surface.
Bot Besties
Fandom: Marvel (Actor AU)
Pairing: Joaquin Torres x F!Reader
Summary: Because he’ll be away for months to shoot a movie, Joaquin gets enabots for you and himself as a way to keep contact with each other through the distance.
A/N: I wanted to write another fic where Joaquin uses the enabot but slightly different lol
Joaquin Torres Masterlist
"I can't believe you!" you exclaim with a cackle as Joaquin reveals two enabots, "I was joking about getting those!"
"Well I wasn't! They're cool and we can use them when I'm away for filming!" He hands you your bot for you to unbox.
Together you both set your respective bots up with the app. The round bots zoom around your shared apartment while you and Joaquin both giggle like kids.
"This is so sick!" He exclaims, looking at his phone to see the view his bot has, "Hm. We need to clean under the couch more." He says spotting the dust and a few loose socks and cat toys.
Speaking of cat, your cat Luna watches from her cat tree. Her curious eyes follow the bots around.
"These are supposed to be used to watch your pets, so not only can I bother you, but also my little Lulu!"
Hearing her nickname, Luna jumps down from her cat tree, approaching Joaquin, however, she jumps when your enabot moves towards her.
"Aaaww Lulu! Did mommy scare you?" Joaquin gets off the couch and scoops the white cat into his arms, "This is why you love me more, huh?" he kisses her head and you roll your eyes.
"Two things: one, I didn't mean to scare her. Two, she's a literal traitor because she's my cat and yet she loves you more!"
"Can't help that we have a special bond, mamas," he kisses Luna's head and she rubs her head against his chin.
You can't be mad though, because you love how cute the two of them are together.
____________________
You're reading a book on the couch in the living room when you hear the sound of wheels against the wooden floors.
"Whatcha readin'?" you hear Joaquin's voice through the enabot.
You place your book on your lap and look down, "Apprentice to the Villain."
You show him the front of the book and he rolls a little closer to get a better look, "Didn't you start the first one like two days ago?"
You nod, "I finished it that same day and then immediately bought this second one."
He whistles, "Damn, babe. You read fast."
You shrug, "When it's something that really piques my interest, then yeah. Anyway, you just finish filming?"
"Yeah. We're on lunch right now, but I'm taking lunch in my trailer."
"What'd catering have today?"
"Taco truck for Taco Tuesday! Fucking delicious, baby. Wish you could try them."
You chuckle, "I'll take your word for it," you kick off the blanket you were snuggled in and begin to walk away.
In his little bot form, Joaquin follows you, "Where ya going?"
"To the bathroom. Don't follow me!"
"Why?!"
"It's weird!"
"No, it's not!"
"Go bother, Luna. I'll be quick!" you shut the door behind you and you hear a faint, "LULU, BABY! WHERE ARE YOOOUUU?!"
__________________________
While away for filming, Joaquin stayed at an AirBnB for the next few months. He also took your enabot with him so you can "keep and eye on him" while he's away.
You don't use yours as much as he does, but you still check in with him via enabot every other week or so.
"Pst, baby. Psssstttt...baby."
Joaquin smiles to himself as he turns around from the desk he's sat at, "Hi, mamas. Need something?"
"I'm boooooored. I finished all my work today, so I wanted to check in." Your little round bot rolls towards him and tilts up, "So whatcha doin'?"
"Just looking over the notes on my script," he lifts up the packet of paper.
"Booooring! Take a break."
He chuckles, "Mamas, I just took a break."
"Okay but you didn't take a break with me!" you roll the bot to his foot. You continuously bumping into his foot, "Take a break. Take a break. Take a breeeaaak!"
He laughs again, "Alright, alright." He stands from his desk and moves to the floor. You roll around him, "Weeeeeeee!!"
"Is this what it feels like when I bother you?"
You stop and move your bot up and down to simulate nodding, "Yes."
"You're so cute, baby," he boops the bot.
"Wait," you roll a little closer, "You cut your hair?!"
Joaquin's eyes widen, "Shit. I forgot to tell you! They wanted to cut my hair a bit for the role." He shakes his head to show its length, "How's it look?"
"Hm...," you roll back to look from a distance and roll closer again, "I mean...regardless, you're hot."
Joaquin throws his head back in laughter, "Thanks, baby. Love the honestly."
"What? Did you want me to say like 'no, I hate it. You look ugly.' Because I would be lying! You look hot no matter what and it's unfair!"
"You're so funny, babe."
You sigh, "Okay. I'll leave you to your work now."
"Alright. I'll call you later. Love you."
"I love you toooooooo!" you elongate the word as you roll back to the dock, leaving Joaquin chuckling as he goes back to work.
the kind that makes you proud
'one look and they'll know' collection masterlist See my full list of works here!
Placement: a few years after 'how you light up'
Summary: It finally happened. You called Tom the "D" word.
Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader
Word Count: 1.2k
Warning/s: language (but in a funny way)…and then nothing after that, this is mostly fluff [let me know if i missed anything!]
Things to be aware of: new and final era unlocked; cute married blorbos hours
In a beautiful, lavish estate built in the heart of a forest just outside the city proper of London, a little girl ran around the vast living room of her home, chasing around a brown Spaniel dog, going as fast as her little legs could take her.
Eloise, "Lulu" to her family, was still struggling to form words "properly", seeing as her mom and dad said things very differently. And as such, now as she tried to form the word "here", her mouth landed somewhere in the middle of her parents' voices and said another word entirely.
"Heeya! Heeya!" she said, walking after the dog. She didn't see her father watching the exchange with an amused smile on his face, seeing the perfect mix of him and his wife in the little girl.
Barely over a year old and already wobbling around the house with a determination in her eyes that eerily replicated her mother's.
The brown Spaniel walked away from her again after hearing her "Heeya" draw closer, and Lulu let out a huff, a pout on her adorable little face that quickly faded when she looked up and saw her father on the steps. "Dada!" she said excitedly, throwing her hands up in the air in his direction.
He was just about to make his way down the rest of the stairs and lift her into his arms when their dog walked past her again and she was back to chasing after him. Her tiny hand just barely brushed at his tail, and once again the little girl formed words. Only this time in a voice that she'd clearly pulled from her mother.
Words that left her father stunned silent on the stairs.
"Aww fucking dammit".
"This doesn't look right…" you muttered, looking through the various reference photos you'd pulled so that you could sketch out the suits that your husband would be wearing in his next project. Maybe you'd been staring at the pictures for too long, maybe you needed to rest your eyes for a second. Or maybe there was really something just unspeakably lameabout the type of character you had to craft for this series.
The task itself even sounded impossible on paper. To make a character played by Tom look "frumpy". The man was incapable of it, and you were sure that even your best attempts would fall flat.
"Fucking dammit." You rolled your putty eraser furiously across the paper, the fine lines of the collar design now disappearing from the paper. "How in the flying fuck am I supposed to--"
"You sound like you need a break, sweetheart."
Your shoulders relaxed at the sound of Tom's voice at the door to your work studio, a smile stretching across your face as your gaze met his. Leaning against the frame of the open door with such a relaxed stance, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Break…distraction…" you trailed off, setting your sketchpad down and stretching your arms. He took that as a cue to cross the distance between you in three long strides, taking hold of your outstretched hands and pulling you into a warm embrace. You let out a contented sigh as his arms snaked around your back and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
"A nap," he told you, picking you up effortlessly by the backs of your thighs and carrying you out and away from your workspace. "You haven't been sleeping enough lately."
"Sweetie, we both haven't been getting enough sleep," you shot back. "Ever since Lulu was born." Your bottom lip jutted in a pout as you looked closely at his unfairly perfect face, barely even a line out of place from under his eyes. "It's just that it shows less on some faces compared to others."
"Speaking of our darling daughter…it looks like she's learned some new words."
"Oh?"
"From you, goddess."
The sides of your mouth drooped downward in a grimace; you had a pretty good idea where this was going. "Which ones?"
He sat you down on the chaise lounge near the stairs and gave you a signal to wait and listen. "She's playing with Bobby, you'll hear it soon enough."
Your heart warmed at the sound of her excited laughter drifting into the area downstairs. But not even a few moments later your eyes bugged out so hard they nearly popped out your head when you found out exactly what words your daughter had learned from you.
"Aww dammit," her little voice filled the room. "Aww fucking dammit."
You clapped your hands over your mouth to muffle the gasp and chortle that wanted to come out of you. "Good God I've made a tiny menace." You took a breath before you stood up and made your way downstairs, hand in hand with Tom, all thoughts of breaks and naps flying out the window.
Lulu stopped her waddling toward Bobby once her wide eyes saw you both at the end of the stairs, her face lighting up in a mostly toothless grin. "Mumma! Dada!"
You still struggled on finding what the right approach would be towards your daughter's newfound vocabulary as she slowly made her way to you and Tom. He picked her up as soon as she got close enough, happily giggling and kicking her little feet as soon as she was airborne in her father's arms.
"Oh sweet baby girl," you cooed at her, smiling wide when she wrapped her tiny hand around your finger. "You're way too young to know any better, we can't correct that even if we wanted to."
"And we do want to," he said, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Don't we?"
"Of course we do. Just not today." You gave her little kisses to her hand, making her smile and giggle some more. "Maybe in another year, when we know she can start retaining information. Forcing it now involves trauma, and I can't do that to our daughter."
He only gave you a quiet, solemn nod, telling you he understood and agreed completely. He held you close with his free arm and pressed a quick kiss to your lips, making Lulu break out into a fresh round of delighted giggles as she clapped her little hands together. When you turned to face her, she placed her hands on your cheeks, pressing her nose to yours, and then she did the same with her father.
"One of these days though Daddy and I are gonna need to talk to you about saying those words in public."
"Who knew all it took for you to call me that was--"
You clapped your hand over your husband's arm to stop him mid-sentence. "Don't you f…" Your mouth made a wheezing sound as you tried to hold back the rest of the word, remembering that he was still carrying Lulu. He gave you a playful look as if to tell you 'Keep going, sweetheart. I dare you.' All you could do instead was let the sound die down and scrunch your face at him. "Hmph." You pointed a finger at him, and he didn't hesitate to kiss the tip of it.
"Hmph," Lulu mimicked you, a proud little smile on her face.
"I think it's safe to say that between the two of us, we know who our daughter is going to idolize," Tom mused. "Excellent taste. I think she gets that from her father."
A/N: Eeeee I'm so excited to finally unlock the final era of this couple. Welcome to…the parents era! And pls give little Eloise "Lulu" Hiddleston a warm welcome; she's gonna be every bit the menace her parents are 🥹💖
'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist @alexakeyloveloki @lulubelle814 @jaidenhawke @km-ffluv @huntedmusicgardenn @steaa90-blog
shall I? SHALL. I.
Oka soo I dare to send in a Bucky imagine <3 Maybe one where you're dating but you're not an avenger, so you sometimes feel not good enough for him even though he always makes you feel special and he loves you more than anything. One time while he's at a mission, you're back at the compound waiting for him, but then also Sharon comes up to you being a bitch again and makes you feel even more unwanted and leave before Bucky returns. Later then he's happily waiting to see you, but frowns when he finds out you're not there. So he calls you, asking you to come over and you reluctantly agree. As you finally confront him with your doubts he immediately tries getting this thought out of you and gives you also his dog tags to prove he's yours forever and it's all cute then and also some soft smut where he tells you how much he loves you ? ♥️
Here we go! Here's our boy making everything better when the doubts creep in and we can shut it down on your own. Title: Yours to Keep
Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x SHIELD Analyst!Female Reader
Summary: You feel like your not enough, and when Sharon gets in your head it makes it so much worse. But to Bucky you’re the reason to make it home.
Word Count: 3.3k
Warnings: / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Insecurity, emotional manipulation (from Sharon because she's a mean girl), soft possessiveness, smut, unprotected sex, established relationship, oral (f- receviving), praise, dog tag kink, Angst with Fluff, Romance.
A/N: Something softer for everyone this weekend. Thank you for the ask @wintersoldierchronicles
The compound was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that seeped into your skin and clung to you like static. You sat curled into one of the deep leather chairs in the lounge, knees tucked beneath you, a tablet in your lap. The screen glowed softly, lines of mission data scrolling as you half-heartedly skimmed them, reading intel you’d collected yourself over the past few days. Every enemy movement tracked. Every building layout mapped. Every communication protocol updated and tested.
All to help keep the Avengers safe. To keep him safe.
You should’ve felt accomplished. Proud. Instead, you felt like a ghost in your own home.
No one had said anything, not directly. But they didn’t have to. The looks, the nods you didn’t get in the hallway, the way everyone seemed to talk around you instead of to you. It all added up. They were Avengers. Legends. Gods. And you were… what? Just the analyst who happened to be dating one of them. An ordinary woman in love with an extraordinary man.
And somehow, no matter how often Bucky looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, the thought kept crawling back up your throat like bile: You’re not good enough for him.
You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to focus, tried to chase away the fog settling over your mind. But it was no use. The feeling had been a quiet whisper in the dark for months now, and lately… it was starting to scream.
You had seen the way people looked at Bucky- like he was a living monument to strength and survival. A relic of history wrapped in modern muscle and trauma, wearing his past like armour. People admired him. Revered him. And yet, he came home to you. You, who shuffled files and ran analyses. Who flinched when the training team sparred too close to your desk. Who once got winded jogging down the corridor when your badge lanyard snagged on a doorknob.
What could he possibly see in you that someone like Sharon, like Natasha, couldn’t offer in a more fitting package?
Footsteps echoed lightly down the corridor, the sharp click of designer boots hitting the polished floor like a countdown. You didn’t even need to lift your eyes. That cadence was familiar, the kind that always made your stomach twist with a mixture of dread and forced politeness.
Then came the voice. Smooth. Sweet. Laced with superiority.
“Still here?” Sharon Carter stepped into view, her tone dipped in passive-aggressive honey. She was perfectly made-up, of course, with not a single hair out of place, her sleek suit hugging her figure in all the ways that made people notice when she walked into a room.
She looked you up and down like you were something out of place, something small, insignificant. “Thought they kept the admin staff in the basement.”
It was a joke, probably. One of those faux-friendly jabs that everyone was supposed to laugh at. Except she wasn’t smiling. Not really.
You fought to keep your expression neutral, fingers tightening slightly around the tablet in your lap. You weren’t going to let her see how deep that cut went, not when she was already poised to twist the knife.
You gave her a polite nod, trying not to let your discomfort show. “Just going over the post-mission data. They’re due back in an hour.”
"Must be hard. Being with someone like Bucky." Sharon's smile was the kind that never quite reached her eyes.
“What do you mean?” You stiffened, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the tablet.
She stepped closer, arms folded casually like this was just idle chatter.
"I mean- he’s one of us. Field-ready. Weapon-trained. A living legend. And you… well, you make great coffee."
You swallowed hard. "I do more than-"
"I know," she said quickly, with that same dismissive tilt of her head. "You’re smart. Very behind-the-scenes. Essential in your own way, I suppose. But let’s be honest…Bucky’s built for war. He needs someone who understands that. Who can keep up. Who can be more than just a comfort waiting at home."
Your heart pounded painfully in your chest, each word driving in like a nail. It was everything you'd feared, laid out in someone else’s voice. Someone who was supposed to be on your side.
"He probably misses someone who can actually stand beside him out there," Sharon added with a shrug. "You know… someone who belongs."
The tablet in your hands blurred as tears threatened. You blinked hard and forced yourself to breathe through your nose.
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because if you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure whether you’d scream or sob.
So you just stood, quickly and quietly, and walked away- shoulders stiff, throat tight, eyes stinging. You had to get out of there before someone saw you fall apart.
You left the compound entirely, slipping out the back entrance and taking the long way home. Your mind ran in circles the whole walk. What if Sharon was right? What if everyone had just been too polite to say it out loud? What if the only reason Bucky was with you was because you were safe? Easy? A soft landing after years of running and pain?
~#~#~#~#~#~
Bucky came back two hours later, bruised and sweaty but grinning. The mission had been long, much longer than expected. But successful at least. He was covered in dirt and grime, dried blood flecked across one temple, the strap of his weapons bag cutting into his shoulder. His muscles ached, and the adrenaline had long since worn off, but one thing kept him upright, kept him moving: you. The thought of you waiting at the compound, probably curled up with your tablet and a warm drink, maybe looking up every time the door slid open- yeah, that thought had gotten him through worse days than this.
He slung his weapons bag over one shoulder, still covered in dirt and dust from the mission, and scanned the lounge immediately.
“Hey, Sam,” he called. “She around?”
Sam looked up from his protein bar, brow furrowing slightly. “She left a while ago. Didn’t say much. Looked kinda off, though.”
Bucky’s shoulders stiffened. “Off how?”
Sam stood, tossing the wrapper aside. “I dunno, man. Quiet. Real quiet. Didn’t even look me in the eye. Thought maybe she was just tired, but now…” He trailed off, reading the worry blooming on Bucky’s face.
“You think something happened?” Bucky asked.
Sam gave a slow nod. “Could be nothing. But you know her better than anyone. If it’s not nothing- you’ll fix it.”
Bucky’s heart dropped. Something was wrong. You always met him after missions. Always.
Without another word, he turned and pulled his phone out of his pocket, hand still a little bloodied. ~#~#~#~#~#~
You pulled your car over to the side of the road, the quiet hum of the engine the only sound breaking through your spiralling thoughts. You hadn’t made it home. It felt too far. Too final. The space inside your car was tight, suffocating, but it was still safer than walking through the front door like nothing was wrong.
The phone vibrated in your hand again, lighting up with his name.
You stared down at the caller ID like it was a bomb about to go off. You didn’t answer right away. How could you? How could you speak to him when all you wanted to do was disappear?
You were a coward. That much was clear. Running off like that, not even saying goodbye. You should’ve stayed. Faced it. Faced her. But the words Sharon had said... they hadn’t been new. They were just the same cruel thoughts you’d had about yourself, dressed up in someone else’s voice.
You weren’t right for someone like Bucky.
You were just an analyst. A desk jockey. A tagalong to the world of gods and heroes.
And he was... everything.
He was strength and legend and pain and hope, all wrapped up in that scarred, steady way he looked at you like you were worth the whole damn universe. And you? You couldn’t even look yourself in the mirror right now.
The phone buzzed again.
Guilt stabbed through your chest.
He’d just come off a mission. He was probably still aching, tired, maybe even hurt—and here you were, making it all about you. Selfish. So unlike him. He always made you feel like the only girl in the room. One look from him and the world melted away.
You swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in your eyes, and finally picked up.
“Hey,” you said, voice too quiet.
“Doll, where are you?” he asked, voice already softening. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just… needed some air.”
There was a pause.
“You lying to me, sweetheart?” he said gently.
You closed your eyes. He knew you.
“No.”
Another pause. “Come back to the compound. Please. I need to see you. You're scaring me.”
Your chest cracked open. He sounded so… real. So Bucky. You found yourself nodding, even though he couldn’t see it.
“Okay,” you whispered.
~#~#~#~#~#~
He was already waiting by the elevator when you arrived, walking slow, tense loops with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His jaw was tight, lips pressed into a thin line, the lines around his eyes carved deeper than usual. Every few seconds, his gaze darted toward the entrance, like he couldn’t help but check again, hoping- needing- you to appear.
The moment his eyes landed on you, he stopped dead. Everything in him just stilled. Relief hit him like a wave, shoulders dropping, hands unclenching—but his expression didn’t ease completely. No, his eyes stayed cautious, flickering across your face like he was afraid one wrong move might send you running. Like you were something breakable he didn’t dare press too hard.
He didn’t speak. Just opened his arms.
You tried to fake a smile, to smooth the cracks in your mask. But it was shaky, barely there, and he saw right through it. You saw the flicker of sadness in his eyes at the attempt.
You stepped into his embrace slowly, almost shyly, as if uncertain you still deserved it. The moment your body met his, the dam inside you cracked.
You buried your face in his chest, exhaling like you’d been holding your breath since you left the compound.
“Hey,” he murmured into your hair, voice rough with emotion. “There’s my girl.”
You clung to him, fingers twisting in his shirt like you were afraid he’d vanish, afraid this was all a dream that would dissolve when you let go.
“Do you wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked eventually, drawing back just enough to look into your face. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, like he wanted to catch the remnants of that broken smile.
You looked up at him, eyes glassy and aching. “You’re Bucky Barnes. You’re an Avenger. A war hero. And I… I sit at a desk.”
“Stop,” he said instantly, thumb now tracing your cheekbone like he could wipe the pain away.
“I don’t fight aliens. I don’t have powers. I’m just… support staff.” Your voice wavered, trembling like your heart might break in two right there in front of him. “Sharon said you’d get bored of me. That you’ll want someone who can stand beside you in the field.”
His jaw tensed like he’d been struck. A flicker of something dark and cold passed through his expression, steel sharp and silent. His entire body went still.
“She said what?” he asked, voice low and dangerous, but even as the fury gathered behind his eyes, he didn’t let it take hold. He inhaled slowly, grounding himself. Because right now, you were what mattered.
You looked down, ashamed. “Doesn’t matter. She’s not wrong.”
There was a pause. Not long. Just the space of a heartbeat and then the weight of metal settled into your palm with a soft metallic clink.
“Look at me,” he said, voice low but unwavering.
You looked up, surprised by the intensity in his gaze.
“You see these?”
You nodded.
“These?” he said again, his voice thick with meaning as the tags clinked quietly between you. “These don’t just mean soldier. They mean survivor. They mean second chances. They mean you, okay? I don’t give these to anyone. I want you to have them.”
You stared at them, too stunned to speak, too overwhelmed to breathe. They were warm from his skin. Heavy with meaning.
He cupped your face gently, both hands trembling slightly now.
“You’re not support staff. You’re the person I come home to. My person. You keep me grounded. You’re the one thing that’s real.”
Your lips trembled, voice caught in your throat. “Bucky…”
He leaned down, voice husky and sure. “Put them on. Right now.”
You slipped the dog tags around your neck, hands shaking, heart pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears.
“There,” he said, eyes gleaming- not with pride, but with something softer. Fierce, unyielding love. “Now everyone knows. You’re mine. Forever.”
~#~#~#~#~#~
In the hallway, without a word, he scooped you up into his arms. Not rushed. Just worshipful, like you were something sacred he’d been aching to hold all day. You wrapped your arms around his neck, face tucked into the crook of his shoulder as he carried you, his footsteps steady and full of purpose, all the way to his room. Every step was careful, intentional, his hold firm but gentle, like he wanted to shield you from everything that had hurt you today.
He kissed your forehead as he laid you back on the bed, then your cheeks, your jaw, each press of his lips like a vow.
“So beautiful… so smart…” he murmured with each kiss. “Couldn’t do any of this without you.”
His soft kisses pressing into your cheeks, the corners of your mouth.
“You’re everything to me,” he said, pulling your shirt over your head. “Every breath, every second.”
His mouth moved to your collarbone, your chest, trailing down your stomach , while his hand eased you out of your pants.
“You think I don’t need you?” he said between kisses, each one a soft promise against your skin. “Baby, I fall apart without you.”
His mouth moved lower, worshipful and unhurried, kissing every inch of you like he was reacquainting himself with something sacred. By the time his tongue slid between your thighs, you were already trembling.
He groaned when you gasped, the sound low and reverent. Not just desire but devotion. His tongue moved with slow, deliberate precision, savouring every soft, slick response he pulled from you. He licked a long, teasing stripe up your centre, then circled your clit with a maddening tenderness, his hands gripping your thighs just firm enough to keep you open and trembling beneath him.
He moaned into you, like the taste of you was salvation, like he’d starved for this and finally had permission to feast. One hand slid up your stomach, grounding you as your hips bucked gently, chasing every press of his mouth.
“So sweet,” he murmured against you, voice thick with love, his lips brushing your most sensitive skin. “Taste like heaven. My heaven.”
He didn’t stop. Not yet. Not when you were trembling so perfectly for him. His tongue moved in slow circles, each pass deliberate and precise, coaxing you higher with gentle persistence. His grip on your thighs tightened slightly as your breath caught, his mouth parting you with reverence.
He flicked his tongue softly, then flattened it, letting the heat of him soak into every nerve ending, every gasp. He alternated pressure and pace, reading every twitch of your body like scripture. When he sucked your clit into his mouth and moaned, the vibration made your entire body arch into him.
“You’re not allowed to think you’re not wanted,” he rasped between strokes, his voice wrecked with affection and need. “Not when I love you.”
You cupped his face as he kissed up your body again, pausing to nuzzle the dog tags now lying warm between your breasts. “You feel like home,” you whispered, eyes glassy, voice raw with truth.
When he finally pressed inside you, it wasn’t fast or greedy. It was achingly slow, like he was trying to carve a place for himself inside you, not just in body but deeper. He let out a low, unsteady breath as he sank in, his forehead dropping to yours, his hand tightening around yours like he couldn’t bear to let go.
He didn’t thrust. Not right away. He stayed there for a beat, deep and still, forehead resting against yours as his breath caught in his throat. His hand stayed tangled in yours, his vibranium one anchored at your hip, grounding you both. “I need this,” he whispered. “Need you. Like this. Just us. You make everything quiet.” Bucky needed you to feel every inch, every part of him that belonged to you.
And then he moved like a tide rolling in to soothe what had been broken, to wash away everything that hurt. His hips rolled back with unhurried grace, then pressed forward again in a smooth, reverent stroke, making sure to drag himself along your velvet walls with each motion, slow and devastatingly deep. The way he filled you, the way he moved inside you. Like he was writing his name into your soul with every breathless thrust, imprinting himself where no one else had ever reached. Every motion was a promise: that he was here, that he was yours, that you were loved in the most complete, carnal, and emotional sense of the word.
Every slow push and pull was deliberate, reverent, the kind of lovemaking that felt like a conversation without words. He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your temple, murmuring softly between each breath.
“I love you,” he whispered, voice cracking as you trembled beneath him. “So damn much it hurts. You make me feel like a man. You see me.”
You cupped his cheek, tears sliding down your temples. “You see me.”
He let out a soft, shaky breath and kissed you again, Bucky pouring everything he had into it.
His rhythm stayed slow but insistent, hips pressing into yours with aching tenderness, like he wanted to be memorized, like he never wanted to be forgotten. The friction, the closeness, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever made him feel whole—it all built into something consuming, something soft and sacred.
When you came, your soft cries muffled into the curve of his neck, he held you tighter, like anchoring himself to you, like if he let go, the whole world would tilt. He whispered your name over and over again like a prayer, like a lifeline, like a vow, following close behind you with a quiet, broken groan into your skin.
And you knew, in that moment, that this wasn’t just sex.
It was coming home.
~#~#~#~#~#~
Afterward, he wrapped the blanket around you both, tucking you into his chest like he was trying to shield you from the rest of the world. His metal fingers traced soft, soothing circles against your spine, grounding you in the silence that settled warmly between you.
“You ever doubt your place again,” he murmured, lips pressed to your hair, voice rough with sleep and sincerity, “I want you to remember tonight. Remember how I touched you. How I looked at you. Remember this.”
You nodded against his chest, overwhelmed, your cheek pressed to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Your fingers curled around the dog tags still resting over your heart, the weight of them a quiet promise.
“I’m yours,” you whispered, the words small but certain.
He smiled, eyes closed as his arm tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer.
“You always were,” he said, so softly it was nearly a breath, but you felt it more than heard it, like a vow etched beneath your skin.
'he would not fucking say that' maybe he would if he knew he was starring in his very own porn fic for the sole purpose of delighting some freaks on archive of our own dot org. maybe he'd play it up for the cameras. ever consider that
The Secret Notes
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
Summary: Bucky leaves little notes for you.
Word Count: 1.4k
Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, cute doodles
A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". It doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)
It all started one afternoon when you fell asleep on the couch, a book slipping from your hand. Bucky passed by and found you there, peaceful and unaware. Smiling to himself, he gently picked up the book and noticed the page you’d been reading.
With a quiet laugh, he scribbled a note on a scrap of paper:
“You stopped here. Heroine’s rule: naps first, saving the world later. - B”
He slid the note inside the book, marking the page, and placed it on the table beside you. As he left, he couldn’t help but smile at the idea of you finding it when you woke up.
The next day, you found the note in your book, and you couldn’t help but smile. It was silly, but it made your heart warm. You had to reply, of course.
Taking a fresh piece of paper, you wrote:
“A nap is a hero’s secret weapon, Bucky. Thanks for the reminder. If I do end up saving the world today, I’ll be sure to credit you. - Y/N”
You tucked the note inside his jacket pocket, hoping he’d get a good laugh when he found it. It felt so simple, so small, but the thought of sharing little moments like this with him made everything else seem a little brighter.
It wasn’t long before the notes became a daily exchange. They started off funny—sometimes quoting ridiculous lines from movies, or making playful jokes about the Avengers’ absurdly weird missions. You would find them in your locker, under your coffee mug, or tucked inside your boots. They never failed to make you smile.
Even now, after months together, he still took the time to leave you notes and little reminders.
After a particularly brutal mission, you found another note tucked into the pocket of your jacket. You nearly missed it in the rush to get ready for a debriefing. But when you unfolded it, you found it written on a torn piece of notebook paper, and a doodle of a sleeping cat at the bottom.
“You’re allowed to rest, you know. I’ll guard your coffee while you nap.”
You smiled before you could stop yourself, warmth blooming in your chest. It had been a rough couple of days—bruised ribs, no sleep. The note felt like a soft exhale in the middle of chaos.
Unfortunately, you weren’t the only one in the hallway.
“Whatcha got there?”
You spun around to see Sam squinting at the piece of paper now very obviously in your hand. And before you could shove it back into your pocket, the man had already snatched it like he was intercepting a rogue football.
“Sam, come on—”
He blinked and read it once. Then again. Then a third time.
““You’re allowed to rest, you know. I’ll guard your coffee while you nap”...and there’s a little cat at the bottom. Why is there a cat?! WHO DRAWS CATS?!”
You stared at him, trying very hard not to look like someone caught hiding a secret. “You done?”
“Oh, I’m so not done,” Sam said, holding the note like it was radioactive. “This is a nap-themed love letter, Y/N.”
You rolled your eyes. “It’s just a...friendly reminder.”
“With a doodle,” he said, as if that was damning evidence in a court of law. “Who writes you sweet notes about coffee and naps after a mission? That’s like—domestic.”
“Maybe I wrote it to myself,” you tried.
“You’re not a cat doodler. I know your vibe. You don’t doodle.”
You grabbed for the note. He dodged you.
“Sam—give it.”
“I will not. I’m onto something here.”
Just then, Bucky strolled around the corner with a cup of coffee in hand and a granola bar between his teeth, looking way too casual.
Sam froze.
You froze.
Bucky stopped mid-chew, immediately sensing the chaos in the air. “…Did I miss something?”
Sam, eyes narrowed like a detective in a sitcom, turned slowly toward him.
“Barnes.”
Bucky blinked. “Wilson.”
Sam raised the note like it was a badge. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”
Bucky looked at the paper. Then at you. Then back to Sam.
There was a half-second pause.
And then Bucky shrugged. “Cute cat.”
You choked on a laugh and immediately turned it into a cough.
Sam squinted. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? ‘Cute cat’?”
Bucky popped the last of the granola bar into his mouth, completely unfazed. “You’re getting worked up over a doodle.”
Sam pointed at both of you, eyes wide with dramatic betrayal. “Okay, I don’t know what is going on, but something is going on. I feel it in my soul.”
You patted him on the shoulder. “Maybe you just need a nap.”
“I—NO! No, you don’t get to use the nap line on me! That’s part of the conspiracy!”
Sam was already walking away. “I’ll guard your coffee, Wilson,” Bucky called over his shoulder, deadpan.
The hallway finally settled into silence after Sam’s echoing footsteps disappeared around the corner. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.
Bucky lingered beside you, coffee in hand. His eyes flicked toward you, and the smallest smile curved at the corner of his lips.
“So… cat doodles are suspicious now?”
You laughed under your breath. “Apparently. Next time, maybe draw a dragon or something. Keep him guessing.”
“Well,” he said, voice low and amused. “That could’ve gone worse.”
You glanced down at the note in your hand, then back at him. “I mean... he didn’t accuse you of writing love sonnets. So, yeah—definitely could’ve been worse.”
Bucky huffed a laugh, leaning casually against the wall. “Should I stop? The notes, I mean. I didn’t mean to... cause a scene.”
You looked up at him, warmth already blooming in your chest. “No. Don’t stop.”
His brow quirked slightly, curious. “No?”
“They’re one of the best parts of my day,” you said honestly, your voice soft. “They make the hard days easier, and the quiet ones feel full. I’d rather risk a hundred Sam-level interrogations than miss even one of them.”
A grin pulled at Bucky’s mouth, slow and sweet. “Yeah?”
You gave him a playful nudge. “Even if Sam tries to launch a full-scale investigation.”
Bucky let out a quiet laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Let him. He doesn’t scare me.”
Then, softer, with that familiar gentleness he always saved just for you, he added, “I’ll keep leaving them, then. Every note, every doodle... they’re little pieces of me. And you’re the only one I want finding them.”
Your smile widened, heart fluttering in that helpless, happy kind of way.
“I guess that makes you my favorite mystery author,” you said lightly.
Bucky leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours. “Only for you, doll.”
You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a folded note—you’d planned to tuck it under his pillow later, but something made you decide to give it to him right now. You held it out to him, your smile a little shy.
He opened it slowly. Inside, your handwriting was a little messier than usual, but still clearly yours.
“You’ve got a way of making everything seem a little brighter, even when it’s a rough day. I’m lucky for it.”
Bucky looked up at you, lips parted just slightly. For a long second, he said nothing.
And then he stepped closer, closing the small space between you. His hand brushed yours, slow and warm, and he laced your fingers together.
“You’re gonna destroy me with these notes,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
You leaned into him, heart full and beating a little too fast. “Guess we’re even.”
Bucky pressed a kiss to your forehead—gentle, lingering, like a promise he never needed to say out loud. Then he tucked your note carefully into the inside pocket of his jacket, where all the best ones lived.
“Don’t tell Sam,” you whispered with a smile.
Meanwhile in the kitchen...
Sam sat at the table, muttering to himself with a pen tucked behind his ear and a spiral notebook open in front of him. On the top of the page in large, underlined letters:
Case #109: WHO THE HELL IS Y/N DATING???
Underneath it were four bullet points:
suspicious nap note
Bucky is too chill
cat doodle = code??
is Steve somehow involved???
This was war now.
And you and Bucky? You were winning.
taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd @poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust
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Mel • 18 • 1# loki defender
101 posts