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dontpulltohardman · 6 days ago

Note

pleaseee write us abt how gentle nd patience bob towards reader's hormones during pregnancy:))), TIA:)))

Love Poured Gently

pairing: Bob Floyd x pregnant!Reader

requests: OPEN

asks: OPEN

summary: one night you accidentally spill your glass of milk and immediately burst into tears. Bob doesn’t laugh or get frustrated, he just pulls you into his arms, rubbing your back and warms you another glass for you but adds cookies this time.

warnings: fluff, reader is pregnant and hormonal, broken glass, just cuteness.

word count: 861

A/n: tysm for the request lovie, i’m loving writing these for you all please send more. hope you all enjoy, don’t forget to like, comment and reblog. Love you lots and lots like jelly tots❤️.

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You had been tossing and turning all night. Either it was too hot, too cold, or the position you were in wasn't comfortable for you or your large bump, and after counting sheep failed, you decided to try one last thing. Warm milk. You huff as you quietly waddle out of your shared room, making your way to the kitchen, leaving a snoring Bob behind.

You wince as you flick on the light. You make your way to the fridge as your eyes adjust, in search of the carton of milk. You pour yourself a mug and pop it in the microwave for a few seconds, making sure it's not too hot.

As you turn to place the carton back in the fridge, your hand knocks the mug off the counter, shattering it on impact as it hits the floor, leaving a mess of ceramic and milk at your feet.

It was just an accident, but you couldn't stop the tears that welled in your eyes. Your grip on the counter tightens as sobs wrack your body, tears flowing freely down your face now.

In being so distraught, you failed to hear the thud of frantic footsteps coming down the hallway until a very panicked Bob is stood next to you. "Honey, what happened? Are you alright?" his soft, gentle voice and the hand he had rubbing circles on your back slowly calmed you down enough for you to respond.

"I just wanted some milk to fall asleep, Bob." Your voice cracked when you spoke as a new wave of tears formed in your eyes. You scoffed as you looked down at the mess beneath you. It was laughable, really, a grown woman crying over spilled milk, unbelievable. Yet Bob didn't care what you were crying over, just that you were crying.

He held a firm grip on your hand as he led you to the couch, whispering sweet nothings into your ear while you softly hiccuped against his chest. You sat in silence as you watched Bob clean up the now broken mug and spilt milk before pouring you another glass.

He walked towards you, carrying a fresh glass of milk and a couple of cookies his mom had brought when she was in town, warmed up on a plate.

He handed you the glass and plate like it was the most important delivery in the world, crouching down in front of you to make sure you were comfortable, "Here you go, sweetheart", he cooed as he rested a gentle hand on your knee, "One warm milk, two cookies and zero judgement, my love", he smiled, brushing your hair behind your ear.

You felt your face heat up as you stared down at your lap, suddenly feeling a wave of shyness. "I uh, I'm sorry for waking you and crying over something, so," you sniffle, a laugh escaping as your vision goes blurry with tears again. "So stupid", your voice cracking again as you try to laugh it off, even though your chest still felt tight.

"Sweetheart," he whispers as his hand moves to cup your cheek, "Hey, none of that now. You're carrying our baby. Your body's doing so much already; if you need to cry over spilt milk, so be it. Heck, I'll cry with you next time just so you don't feel alone." His thumb gently brushed away the few tears that fell down your cheeks.

You let out a wet laugh as you nuzzle into his palm, "You're too good to me." He leaned in and kissed your forehead gently, lingering before pulling back, "Never. You deserve everything I give you and more, my love,"

You held the warm glass between your hands, the weight of his love settling over you like a blanket. The cookies, the milk, the way he looked up at you like you hung the moon and the stars, it was more than enough.

He settled beside you, allowing you to rest your head on his shoulder as he placed a comforting hand on your bump. "We can stay here until you're ready to go to bed", he muttered against your temple, pulling you closer to his chest. "We've got all night, baby." You smile softly, eyes finally heavy with sleep, knowing that in his arms you can weather anything, even spilt milk.

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dontpulltohardman · 6 days ago

Text

Just So We're Clear

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

----------

It started with a donut.

Not just any donut—your donut. The last one from that bakery in Brooklyn Bucky liked to grumble about being too trendy but always made sure to drive twenty minutes out of the way to pick up for you.

You’d left it on the counter with a sticky note: “Save me for after training. I will cry.”

And somehow—somehow—Clint thought it was up for grabs.

You weren’t even mad. You just blinked at the empty box, blinked again at Clint’s sticky-sugar fingers, and gave a soft, broken little “oh.”

That was enough to unravel Bucky Barnes.

He stood in the doorway like a statue, towel slung over his shoulder, fresh from the gym and already vibrating with post-workout adrenaline. His eyes snapped to you, then to Clint, then back to you. He saw the little furrow in your brow and the way your shoulders curled inward and decided, then and there, that everyone in the compound clearly needed a reminder.

You were his wife. His wife.

And that meant a few things.

—

Rule #1: Don’t touch her stuff.

“I didn’t even see the note!” Clint defended from his upside-down position, wedged in the couch cushions where Bucky had gently (read: aggressively) planted him.

Sam was laughing too hard to help. “You gonna throw every guy who steals a snack into furniture, Barnes? That’s a long list.”

“She left a note,” Bucky snapped, wiping powdered sugar off your cheek like you were made of spun glass. “You don’t cry over donuts. She does.”

You muttered a soft, “It’s fine, Buck,” but he wasn’t hearing it. He kissed your forehead like a soldier returning from war. Then your hand. Then your cheek. Then forehead again, like a prayer.

“Get back up, Barton, and I swear to God—”

“It’s a donut!” Clint howled.

“To her it matters.” Bucky leveled the room with a look, like he was ready to start flipping tables in your honor.

You slid your arms around his waist and buried your face in his chest, shoulders shaking. “Baby,” you giggled, muffled, “you’re insane.”

“For you, yeah.”

—

Rule #2: If she walks into a room, you look impressed. Or you leave.

The next morning, you showed up to breakfast in one of Bucky’s shirts, hair still messy from sleep, blinking blearily and reaching for coffee. Bucky had just returned from a run with Steve and Sam and barely made it five feet before turning around, breath leaving him in a grunt of awe.

“Whoa,” Sam said, eyebrows raised. “You good, Barnes?”

Bucky ignored him completely.

“Doll,” he said, like he hadn’t just seen you twelve hours ago. He crossed the room, wrapped both arms around your waist from behind, and kissed your shoulder. “Look at you.”

“I haven’t even brushed my teeth.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re beautiful.”

You laughed and leaned into his arms. Sam made a gagging noise.

Steve sipped his coffee, calm as ever. “You say that every morning.”

“‘Cause it’s true every morning,” Bucky shot back.

Vision wandered in and gave you a nod. “You appear well-rested this morning, Mrs. Barnes.”

Bucky looked at him like he might start a war.

“…I meant that platonically,” Vision added quickly.

“Mm-hmm.”

—

Rule #3: If she needs help, Bucky is already on his way.

Tony had once timed it. You sneezed in the common room and, from three floors down, Bucky was at your side in thirty-eight seconds.

Thirty. Eight.

“You’re not even on comms,” Tony said, eyes narrowed. “How did you know?”

“She sneezed.”

“Barnes, are you—” Tony squinted—“tracking her?”

“No.”

“Then how?”

Bucky shrugged. “She sneezes like a kitten. You learn things.”

You sniffled again, touched your forehead. “Maybe I’m getting sick.”

Bucky picked you up—off the couch, bridal-style—and turned toward the elevator.

“I’m taking her back to bed.”

Tony stared. “What am I, chopped liver?”

“You’re not my wife.”

—

Rule #4: Don’t flirt. Even by accident.

Peter Parker had not been flirting. He’d been asking a perfectly innocent question about one of the books you were reading, his voice just a little too enthusiastic, his grin a little too bright.

Bucky, walking in halfway through the sentence, did not interpret it that way.

“—and I’ve been meaning to check it out! Maybe we could—uh, I mean I could—borrow it sometime? Or you could recommend another one—”

“Hey, Pete,” Bucky cut in, arm curling tightly around your shoulders. “You done with homework?”

Peter gulped. “Uh—no. But I just—”

“Good. Go finish it.”

“Yessir.”

Peter was gone in a flash. You turned in Bucky’s arms, swatting his chest. “James Buchanan Barnes.”

“What?” he asked innocently.

“You’re scaring children.”

“They should be scared. You’re married.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned up to kiss him, which effectively ended the conversation—and started a new one when Sam walked in and groaned, “Do y’all ever stop making out?”

“Not really,” you answered sweetly.

—

Rule #5: She is the standard. Period.

You weren’t a superhero. You weren’t an assassin, an engineer, or a witch. You were just… you. Kind, clever, funny. You made the best grilled cheese in the world. You left notes in Bucky’s jacket pockets before missions. You talked to plants and cried at dog commercials.

And Bucky?

Bucky was obsessed.

“You know Nat could snap your neck with two fingers,” Sam said once, after a sparring session.

“Cool,” Bucky said without looking up from his phone. “My wife made banana bread.”

Steve smirked. “You gonna compare every badass woman you meet to your wife?”

“Yes.”

“She doesn’t even fight.”

“She won me over when I was half a feral metal-armed murder machine,” Bucky said, dead serious. “She’s the deadliest of them all.”

You walked into the gym with a water bottle and smiled. “You left this in the kitchen, baby.”

Bucky’s face lit up.

“See?” he whispered to the others. “Deadly.”

—

Rule #6: He’s not embarrassed. He’s in love.

Natasha had tried to tease him once.

“You’ve gone soft,” she said, flicking a finger toward where you were curled up in Bucky’s lap while he braided your hair.

“I hope so,” Bucky said, without missing a beat. “Took me decades to get soft again.”

You blinked. “That’s the sappiest thing you’ve ever said.”

“And I’ve got more where that came from.” He kissed the top of your head and kept braiding. “You want the little one at the end? The fishtail?”

“You remembered my favorite?”

“Of course.”

Steve groaned in the background.

“I used to be scary,” Bucky said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Now I’m moisturized, well-fed, and deeply in love. Get used to it.”

—

Rule #7: *Don’t call it whipped. Call it devoted.

You found the sticky notes one day—hundreds of them. All over Bucky’s locker, his desk, his nightstand. Your handwriting, your doodles. Silly notes you’d left him over the years.

He’d kept every single one.

“You kept all of these?” you asked, stunned, running your fingers over the rainbow of little squares.

Bucky came up behind you and rested his chin on your shoulder. “Course I did.”

“But why?”

“Because they’re from you.” He kissed the curve of your neck. “Because I love how your mind works. Because they got me through hard days. And because when I’m not with you, I still want pieces of you around.”

Your throat got tight. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“I’ll get you another donut.”

You snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m yours.”

—

So, yeah. Maybe Bucky Barnes was obsessed with his wife.

Maybe he’d burned it into everyone’s brains that you were his. That he loved you with the kind of ferocity that melted metal and rewired his soul. That he had a thousand ways to say “I love you,” and none of them involved subtlety.

The truth was: You’d saved him. And Bucky didn’t let people forget the things that saved him.

Especially not when she was the softest, brightest, most fiercely kind thing in a world that had tried to break him.

So yeah. He was obsessed.

And the whole damn compound better get used to it.

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dontpulltohardman · 7 days ago

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The Arm Bandit

pairing: husband!Bucky Barnes x wife!Reader

requests: OPEN

asks: OPEN

summary: As your daughter grows, her fascination with Bucky’s metal arm gives you a run for your money.

warning: straight fluff, daughters name is Lila but is called sweet pea and baby a couple times.

word count: 1.15k

A/n: Hope you all enjoyy don’t forget to like, comment and reblog. love you lots and lots like jelly tots ❤️

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵

It first started when Lila was teething. In his sleep-deprived state, Bucky let her gnaw on his finger for some relief and also just to stop her from crying. When you both noticed it worked, Bucky became her chew toy for the time being.

You had tried to get her to use something else, but nothing gave her the relief she wanted, and Bucky didn't mind. He found it sweet and gave him a chance to be closer to her.

By the time she was a year old, she started hitting. Every time Bucky was close to her, she beat his metal arm like a drum. Again, you both tried getting her to stop, but the way her face lit up and her giggles filled the room whenever she did it, Bucky caved immediately and let the strange habit continue.

As she got older, her fascination with his arm became less violent as she began tracing the gold lines that ran along it. Whenever he was near her, her hands had to be on him, more specifically, his arm.

When he had to put her down for a nap, she had her fingers dragging along each indent until she eventually lulled herself to sleep.

Then it got to the point where she couldn't sleep without it, and I mean absolutely couldn't. There were so many nights Bucky came into the room with his arm gone and his eyes tired, and all you could think was how a man who was built for war had now become so gentle, giving, utterly and completely hers.

Then she turned three, and all hell broke loose. There wasn't a moment when she wasn't climbing his arm like a tree or wrapped around it like a koala. The sight never failed to give a heart attack. "Bucky put her down", you'd say. "She could fall and get injured", he always brushed off your worries with a kiss and a simple, "I've got her doll."

And he did have her, until he didn't, when she learned how to detach his arm after a trip to Wakanda. So every time he got her 'mad' or just for shits and giggles, she would detach his arm and go running for the hills as her laughs echoed down the hallway, while Bucky reattached his arm for the third time in a row.

So that's where you are now, with a toddler who detaches metal arms to get out of trouble and a grumpy husband with said metal arm. "Doll, I can't take this anymore", Bucky groans as he enters the kitchen, reattaching his arm once again. "All the other things she did with my arm were cute. This one is just horrible". He groaned.

You glanced over your shoulder, trying (and failing) to hide your smile. “She’s three Buck, her full time job is driving you insane.” He slumped into his chair dramatically, dragging a hand across his face, “She called me ‘bad daddy’ because I wouldn’t let her put stickers on it”

You snort, “Well, can you blame her after the birthday incident?” You smile as you move between his legs. He narrows his eyes. “I still have glitter in my elbow joint from that”, he muttered, his head now resting on your stomach.

Before you could reply, the soft pattering of feet echoes down the hallway. You both turn to see your daughter; her curls a mess, face all innocent as she twirls the ends of her dress between her fingers.

Bucky smiles softly, “What’s the matter, sweet pea?” He asks, still holding onto you as you massage his shoulders. “Daddy, have arm, please?” Her smile is adorably sweet, and Bucky was just about to give in when you intervened.

“Not right now, baby, Daddy’s shoulder is hurting him.” Which wasn’t a lie; Bucky’s shoulder was in constant pain from your daughter taking his arm off too much, and he just ignored it to see her happy.

She looked at you like you just told her Santa wasn’t real. She sported an Oscar-worthy frown as she folded in on herself, and her eyes welled with crocodile tears. You shifted to lift her into your arms to rest her on your hip.

She pouted, looking just like her father, as she rested her head on your shoulder. You rubbed soothing circles on her back as she let out a tiny sigh, her thumb finding its way to her mouth. "I know, baby", you coo as you gently sway her. "Daddy needs a little break, just for tonight".

She huffs as she cuddles deeper into your chest, and Bucky leans back into his chair, fighting the growing smile on his face. "I'll tell you what," she perks up a little as he continues, "you let me keep the arm tonight so we can help mommy make cookies, and tomorrow we'll play princesses and you can put stickers on daddy's arm, yeah?"

She blinked at him slowly before pulling her thumb out of her mouth, "And glitter?"

Bucky sighed, shaking his head a little, and you can't believe the words that fall from his mouth, "Fine. A little glitter. But none in the elbow joint this time, okay?"

Her face instantly lights up, and her smile just melts your heart. "Okay, daddy!"

She wriggles out of your arms, into Bucky's lap and wraps her arms around his neck. You and Bucky exchange a quiet laugh as he holds her a bit tighter, before she runs off to use her newfound energy elsewhere.

"Tell me why we haven't had a second one yet?" Bucky mutters as his arms find their way around your waist, and his lips travel from your cheeks to your temple.

You smirked. "Because you're arm won't stand a chance against two of them". He scoffs in between kisses, "Don't knock it till you try it, doll," he says smugly before throwing you over his shoulder.

"James!" you shriek, lightly hitting his back as he trudges towards your bedroom, locking the door behind him.

BONUS

A series of giggles and deep belly laughs echo throughout the kitchen. The three of you huddle around a baking tray with some questionably shaped cookie dough, victims of Lila and Bucky's cookie competition that you have the honour of judging.

You watch with a smile as Lila sneaks chocolate chips out of the pack while Bucky figures out how to preheat the oven. "Everything okay over here, Super Soldier?" Your hands wrap around his waist from behind, and you rest your head on his shoulder. "Can you figure this out, please?"

You giggle into his shirt before leading him toward the stove to show him what to do. "Ah! What would I do without you, my love!" He smiles, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

"Who knows?" You shrug with a smile as you gently take Lila into your arms while Bucky places the tray into the oven.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵

#bucky barnes #x reader #fluff #marvel #fem reader #dad bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #james buchanan barnes #husband!bucky #wife!reader #girl dad #mom!reader #the winter soldier

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dontpulltohardman · 8 days ago

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omggg this was too cutee🥹🥹

Bella Notte [Drabble]

Pairing: Boy!Dad!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: A cozy evening , a favorite movie , and a bed full of your boys bundled in pajamas , a quiet night where everything that matters is already right at home.

Word Count: 850+

Content: Nothing but domestic dad!bucky fluff! Boy dad bucky deserves more love!!!

masterlist -- requests/inbox always open!

It was nearing 8:00 p.m. and the bedroom was already dimmed , lit only by the gentle glow and flutter of the TV perched on the opposite wooden dresser.

Lady and the Tramp played softly on the screen , its old-fashioned animation and soothing songs filling the room dark with homey warmth and color. The sweet lull of violins and barks creating a soft rhythm behind the quiet crackle of the spring rain tapping the windows outside.

Your son James Jr. --sometimes lovingly called "Jamie" or "JJ" was nestled between you , and your husband Bucky in your large king-sized bed. The three of you a tangled heap of printed matching pajamas , fuzzy animal adorned socks , and one could argue way too many pillows.

Your son had one of his favorite stuffies tucked under the crook of his arm , an over-loved and worn—slightly floppy brown monkey he called “Monk Monk.” His little thumb was half in his open mouth , the other hand wrapped around Bucky’s metal arm tightly.

You smiled to yourself at your boys , as you ran your fingers through your son’s soft brown hair he got from his daddy. He let out a tiny sigh leaning more into your side making you look down at him with all the movement , whispering. “You okay, baby?”

He nodded with sleep heavy--blueish green eyes without taking his eyes off the dogs as they ran on the screen. “They’re havin’ sketti,” he whispered in awe, pointing to the famous spaghetti scene with his tiny drool covered finger.

You grinned big and craned your head to your husband. “Hey, Bucky,” you whispered, nudging him with your elbow gently. “Look, it’s your favorite part.”

He didn’t give an answer back.

You squinted at him in the dark , seeing he was completely still, head tilted slightly toward your son, lips parted just a little, chest rising and falling slowly under the blanket. His metal arm remained protectively curled around your boy, but the man himself?

Out cold. And snoring.

Your son looked up at the sound and what was stealing your attention from the movie , blinking. “Pa’s makin’ bear noises again,” he whispered , giggling to himself quietly.

You stifled your laugh with your hand and leaned closer to Bucky, peering at his slack expression, the way one hand was still gently curled on your son's belly like even in sleep, he didn’t want to let go.

“You see this?” you whispered to your little boy, pointing playfully at your very asleep husband. “Your daddy lasted exactly fifteen minutes. After all that ‘I’m wide awake--I dont get tired' nonsense.”

“He fell fast,” your son gave a tiny smirk, delighted to be in on the joke.

You nodded giggling with him. “He didn’t even make it to the meatballs , what a tragedy.”

Your son blinked up at you with wide eyes. “Tragedy means… sad?”

“It means we’re watching the best part without him,” you answered dramatically, draping your arm across your forehead like an actress in a soap opera. “He’ll never know how Lady looked at Tramp with those big eyes while he pushed the meatball with his nose—so romantic.”

Your boy gave a sleepy laugh at your antics and leaned back against your chest. “It’s okay, Mama. We’ll tell him in the morning.”

You kissed the top of his soft head scooching closer in. “You’re right. We’ll reenact it with real spaghetti.”

He yawned mid-nod, blinking slower now as he turned his attention back to the screen.

Beside you, Bucky let out a particularly loud snore and shifted a little leaning closer to his boy , making him giggle softly again and tuck closer to you against his dad's heavy weight with a whisper of, “Daddy sounds like Monk Monk when he’s pretend sleepin’.”

“He does,” you murmured , snuggling both of them closer.

You let your head fall back against the pillows as the movie played on. Your son’s breathing got heavier and more steady against you , and Bucky’s warmth behind him felt like a protective shield wrapped around the both of you.

The puppies on-screen twirled spaghetti noodles. The violins swelled. And your eyes started to drift off , the edges of the room growing softer, dreamier.

You kissed your son’s warm forehead once more.

Then leaned over and kissed Bucky’s temple , then stubbly jaw lingering a beat longer there , enjoying the feel of his skin on your lips. He didn’t stir at the touch but you could've sworn the corners of his mouth twitched just a little into a tiny smirk.

“G’Night, my boys,” you cooed into the room snuggling into the duvet.

And before they could even finish the last note of "Bella Notte," you were asleep too—wrapped in love, laughter, and the kind of peace only a cozy night with your boys could bring.

-end

Comments , Likes , Inbox Messages/asks and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

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dontpulltohardman · 10 days ago

Note

hii lovely, ur writings re so good, wud u write abt bob being so touchy, like ever since u re pregnant he's being so touchy esp ur tummy, just fluff nd luvv >.<

Right Under His Palm

pairing: husband! Bob Floyd x wife!Reader

requests: OPEN

asks: OPEN

summary: Bob constantly touching your belly actually pays off one night.

warnings: extremely fluffy, slightly suggestive at a point in time, not proofread so lmk if there are any mistakes.

word count: 844

A/n: tysm for the requests nonie <33 i really liked writing this it’s tew cutee. hope you all enjoy and don’t forget to like, comment and reblog. love you lots and lots like jelly tots❤️.

•❃°•°❀°•°��•❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

Bob didn't think he could love you more than he already did. After your first date, he called Phoenix and told her, 'You were the woman he was going to marry,' which he did, and in the first year his heart raced every time he heard 'your wife' in a sentence, or he couldn't help but take you to bed whenever he caught a glance at your wedding ring.

Then he found out you were having his baby, and he couldn't keep his hands off you. When he came back home after work, the first thing he'd do was kiss your stomach and mutter some words you couldn't hear. On mornings, you would sometimes wake up to him rubbing circles on your growing belly while telling your baby stories about the two of you.

Even more so while you were both in public. During a brunch with your family, his hand never left your bump until you got back home and even then, you still had to pry his hands off of you. Again, during one of the squad's evenings at the Hard Deck, he had you nestled against his chest while your hands rested, intertwined, over your belly.

One night, as you lay in bed with Bob's hand draped protectively over your belly while he absentmindedly traced shapes over it, you tease, "You're obsessed with my belly, y'know that, right?" he scoffed. "I'm obsessed with you", he replies, nuzzling into your neck. "The belly just makes it impossible not to touch you all the time." He mutters in between the kisses he places on your neck.

Your eyes flutter shut, and his hand slowly dips under your (his) shirt before moving its way up to your breasts, then back down to tease the waistband of your shorts. "Careful, Floyd," you groan as you lightly tug on his hair. "What? Just making sure everything's in check," he retorts smugly. You laugh softly, about to throw a sarcastic remark, when suddenly. Kick. Both of you freeze.

"Oh-oh my God," he whispered, still not moving his hand from your stomach. "Did. You-you felt that, right?" he stammered. You could see the tears welling in his eyes as he glanced between you and your bump.

"I-I felt it", you say, choking back a sob. "They kicked. Oh my gosh, my baby kicked!" he exclaimed, now pressing a multitude of kisses where he felt the baby.

"Hi baby, can you kick for your mommy and me again, please?" his voice cracked as he spoke while you lay with a hand in his hair as tears of joy fell down your cheeks. That's when you felt it, another kick, right where Bob's mouth hovered. "Yes! Yes! Thank you so much, honey. Mommy and I love you so much," he sobbed, his tears now hitting your stomach.

You brushed your fingers gently through his hair as he leaned forward, pressing a long, reverent kiss to the spot where your baby had kicked. Another followed. And another.

Then he looked up at you, eyes glassy, lips parted, overwhelmed by love as he rose just enough to meet your mouth. The kiss was soft and slightly broken by your smiles. But as your hand slid down to cup his jaw, he deepened it, pouring every ounce of love and joy he felt in that moment onto your lips.

When you pulled away, foreheads touching, his hand found yours to rest against your bump.

"I love you so much", he whispered, breathless. "Both of you".

•❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•❃°•°❀°•°❃•

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dontpulltohardman · 12 days ago

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lewis pullman you dirty DOG

his face this man is a dirty freak

is it me or did he bite his lip?

#bob reynolds #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts #bob thunderbolts #lewis pullman

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dontpulltohardman · 13 days ago

Text

Secret Santa

pairing: Husband!Bob Floyd x Wife!Reader

requests: OPEN

asks: OPEN

summary: reader tells Bob she’s pregnant in the form of secret santa.

warnings: fluff, secret pregnancy, one curse word literally

word count: 870

A/n: thought of this on a whim hope yall like it, don’t forget to like, reblog and comment. love yall lots and lots like jelly tots.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Secret Santa had become a Dagger Squad tradition for the holidays, it was always exciting thinking about who got you and what you would get but this year you may have rigged it a bit.

You and Bob had been married for a little over two years and the baby fever hit you both like a train. You had been trying for the last couple months to no avail, until last week, when you realized your period was two weeks late.

You were terrified as you watched the stick on the bathroom sink, you glanced at your phone every ten seconds watching the three minute timer slowly go down. As your phone blared through the room, you rushed towards the test flipping it over and in an instant tears sprung to your eyes as two blue lines stared back at you.

You quickly wiped your tears in case the multiple lines were just an illusion created by them but they weren’t. It took everything in you to not instantly call Bob but you knew you had to wait especially since the team was picking their secret Santa the next day.

Instead, you called Phoenix, who cried along with you on the phone as you planned the ultimate surprise for your husband.

You managed to keep it a secret as long as possible, barely, but you made it.

Now here you were Christmas eve, surrounded by all the aviators, Penny and her daughter for a stupid tradition that’s about to change you and your husband’s lives.

It started with Coyote, who originally had Bob but you were able to convince him to switch with you and now has Fanboy. Then Maverick who had you, the Amelia who had her mother and down they went until finally it was your turn.

You shyly walked towards Bob, carefully holding onto the box that held your positive pregnancy test, ultrasound pictures and a little newborn onesie that had “Can’t wait to see you daddy” printed on it in small cursive letters.

“So everyone this year I managed to get my husband” you started, smiling softly down at Bob, “So you know i just had to make it perfect” you gently placed the present in his hands and pressed a small kiss on his forehead, “Merry Christmas baby” you muttered before stepping back.

Bob glanced up at you, a confused look on his face as he noticed Phoenix recording him, but chose to ignore it and instead focus on opening his gift.

A small gasp left is mouth as he pulled off the lid, “Y/n…” he glanced up at you with tears in his eyes,”Tell me this isn’t a joke, Y/n… please.”

“It’s not Bob” you smile unable to hold back the tears now running down your face. He slowly dips into the box and pulls out the onesie to show the others, a series of gasps flows through the room then cheers and laughs erupt from everyone.

Penny and Amelia rush to hug you while the men crowd around Bob who is just starting at you, star stuck as ever. He slowly walks towards you, gripping the onesie tight in his hand, “We’re gonna be parents?” He whimpers as his free hand drops to your stomach, “Yea, Yea we are” you sniffle, the tears flowing freely now.

“I’m gonna be a fucking dad!” He laughs and hoists you up in the air, he places you back on your feet as he drops to his knees so that he’s leveled with your stomach, now holding your future, the start of your family. “Oh baby” his voice cracks has he buries his head into your stomach, pressing feather light kisses to the area.

He shoots back up holding you close to face everyone else who had been watching the scene unfold with tears in their eyes, “We’re gonna be parents!” he announced and was greeted with cheers, claps and wolf whistles. They all crowded around the both of you forming one big group hug, of tears, love and care.

You squeezed onto Bob just a little tighter, you both knowing that this baby isn’t even here yet and is already so loved by their family.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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dontpulltohardman · 13 days ago

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One of Those Days

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

requests: OPEN

asks: OPEN

summary: Bucky is there when you have a bad day

warnings: fluff, no use of gender confirming statements so can me GN!Reader lmk if i’m wrong and i’ll fix anything, very short

word count: 478

A/n: this slump is TERRIBLE oml I wrote this at like 2 in the morning and fell asleep before i could post it, hope you all enjoy tho don’t forget to like, comment and repost. Love you lots and lots like jelly tots🤗

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Bucky hears it the moment you cross the threshold, the way you slam you keys onto the counter and kick your shoes off instead of placing them on the rack by the door like you usually do and you look worse than you sound.

Like the world rests on your shoulders crushing your body more and more with each step, yet he doesn’t question, he just watches from the couch as you slowly peel off your work clothes and flop down next to him, resting your head on his thigh.

Instinctively he runs his metal arm through your hair knowing the cool metal against your scalp calms you down. You sigh at the feeling slightly raising your head to get closer to his touch.

He still doesn’t speak he just mindlessly watches the television, as do you. He glances at you once in a while and he notices how your breathing stutters and your body tenses, then he feels it.

The hot tears falling onto his jeans makes him move in an instant. He cradles you in his arms softly, letting you sob into his shoulder as he whispered sweet nothings in your ears.

“It’s okay my love, I’m right here when you need me” the words make your heart swell as he pulls you closer to his chest. “Tell me whenever you’re ready baby” he mutters against your temple as he rubs soothing circles on your back.

Your breathing finally evens out and your shoulders relax as you melt into his embrace. Soft hiccups replace your sobs and soft kisses dry your tears.

Without a word he picks you up and carries you to the bathroom and runs you a bath before dressing you in his clothes and dropping you onto your shared bed.

You still haven’t spoken and Bucky doesn’t mind, he presses comforting kisses along your shoulders, neck, cheeks and forehead, hoping to kiss away whatever made your day so unbearable.

Your hums of content were soon replaced by soft snores that tickle his chest, when Bucky let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He didn’t always know how to use his words but he knew how to always physically be there for you, hold you, kiss you, squeeze you a little bit tighter just to pull you back down to Earth with him.

and sometimes that’s all you need.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

#bucky barnes #fem reader #x reader #marvel #fluff #sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan #bucky barns x y/n #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes comfort #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #gender nuetral reader #drabble

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dontpulltohardman · 15 days ago

Text

ugh i loved thisss🥹

your dog hates men due to his past before coming into your life. what happens now that you've started dating bucky?

a/n: slowly getting back into writing? I’ve missed my man bucky barnes so I’ve got a lot in store for him. this one is one of my favourite ideas ugh!!! i hope you enjoy this!!

mentions: animal abuse in the past, abuse mentions related to the dog. fluff, trust fall

do not copy, translate or claim any of my work as your own

minors dni with my blog or my work

You had gotten Sergeant over two years ago while you were volunteering at the local shelter, and both your life and his had changed for the better. He had suffered a life of abuse while living in the streets; other owners before you had mistreated him in ways you couldn't bear to imagine.

It had taken some time in the early stages to somewhat train him and get him used to walking on a leash, being at parks, being social with other dogs and people, but there was something that no amount of time could fix: his fear of men.

And when you began dating Bucky a few months ago, you knew that would be a big problem.

It was a rational fear; who could blame him after all he had been through, right? It had only extended to growling and barking, but you didn't know how bad things could get.

You didn't tell Bucky about your dog at first, and you avoided inviting him to your apartment, making all sorts of excuses and staying over at his place instead.

But then it came up while you were in bed. The side of your face pressed against the pillow, facing Bucky and him as well. His hand on your face gently caressing as he looked into your eyes.

"Is there a reason why you don't want me over at your place?"

It came out of nowhere and you were unprepared for the conversation.

"What? No it's not-

"Maybe it's too soon, I mean we've been at this for four months now, right? I get it if you think having me over is a lot for you or if you live with your parents, which is totally okay I wouldn't be improper at your parent's ho-

"Bucky it's none of that" you interrupt him with a smile and sit up in bed. He watches your moves and sits up as well. "It's hard to bring it up"

"Hey, you can tell me anything doll"

"I have a dog, okay?" he just stares at you and expects the details. What's so bad about having a dog, right? "His name is Sergeant."

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a moment. He just sits there, legs crossed, blanket half-fallen over his lap. His expression isn’t shock or confusion. It’s something closer to tenderness — like he’s trying to piece together how to make this easier for you.

“You think I’d be scared of a dog named Sergeant?” he finally says, smiling gently.

You huff a laugh, but your fingers are already fidgeting with the edge of the comforter. “He’s not just a dog, Bucky. He’s been through more than most people. And he doesn’t trust easily. Especially not men. Ever since he was a pup living in the streets, he was abused and mistreated by them so he growls and barks and can jump up sometimes. I-I've tried to train him, but if you come over, I'm not sure what could happen, and I don't want you or Sergeant to have a bad time so uh yeah.”

“I get it,” he says. And this time, it’s heavier. Not just words — he gets it. You realize, maybe for the first time, that Bucky understands fear. He understands trauma that lingers even after the threat is gone. “I’m not trying to replace anyone or make him like me. But if he’s part of your life, I’d like to meet him. On his terms.”

You look up at him, searching his face for any sign of discomfort or doubt. But all you see is sincerity. Patience.

“You’d really be okay with that?”

“Yeah, doll. We’ll take it slow. I’ll bring treats. He can bark all he wants, I’ve had worse aimed at me.” He nudges your knee with his. “And if he decides I’m a lost cause, you can always meet me halfway. Or we can do the whole ‘dating outside with a chaperone’ thing.”

You laugh, finally. It feels like the knot in your chest starts to loosen a little.

“You’re something else, Barnes.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says, leaning in to kiss your temple. “Besides… I already like the name. Sergeant and Bucky? Feels like fate.”

Eventually, the room quiets. The conversation fades into silence, but it’s not awkward — just still. Peaceful. You fall asleep wrapped up in him, warm and safe. And even though tomorrow still holds uncertainty, it doesn’t feel as scary anymore.

Not with him in it.

--------------------

“Okay, listen,” you murmur, curled up on the couch with Sergeant pressed against your side. “I need you to do something really hard for me tonight.”

Your fingers scratch gently behind his ears — the spot that always makes him huff and melt just a little. He stays still, his big eyes watching you like he knows something’s coming.

“I don’t want you to hate him,” you whisper. “Please, just… try not to hate him. For me.”

He shifts beside you, the weight of him solid and warm, but his body’s already starting to tense. He senses it — the change in your voice, the way your breath catches.

“Bucky’s a good guy,” you continue, voice softer now, your hand moving to stroke between his shoulders. “He’s not like the others. He’d never hurt you. He’s patient, and he listens, and… he makes me feel safe.”

Sergeant’s ears flick. He doesn’t look convinced.

“I’m not asking you to love him,” you say, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Just… maybe don’t bite him?”

Then the buzzer goes off — a loud electric buzz that makes Sergeant’s head snap toward the door, a sharp growl already rumbling low in his throat.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath before walking over to the intercom. You press the button with a shaky hand.

“It’s me,” Bucky’s voice crackles through. “Can I come up?”

You exhale, grounding yourself.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Come on up.”

You glance over your shoulder at Sergeant, who’s now sitting upright, alert. His ears are perked and his body tense in that familiar way that makes your stomach twist. You kneel beside him one last time, running your hand over his back.

“Okay, listen. He’s not gonna hurt you. I swear. But I need you to be brave, okay?” Your voice is gentle but trembling just slightly. “Just like we practiced. You stay here, I’ll open the door.”

He doesn’t move. Just watches you, eyes dark and wary.

You unlock the front door and wait. The seconds stretch like molasses, heavy and slow. Then a soft knock.

You open the door.

Bucky stands there, not his usual confident self. He’s dressed simply — dark jeans, soft henley, sleeves pushed up — but it’s the way he holds himself that strikes you. He’s… careful. A little unsure. Like he doesn’t want to take up too much space.

“Hey,” he says quietly, holding up a brown paper bag like a peace offering. “I brought snacks. For both of you.”

Your lips twitch into a nervous smile. “He’s on the couch.”

“I figured,” Bucky says, stepping inside slowly, his movements measured, like he’s walking through someone else’s war zone.

Sergeant sees him instantly. A low growl bubbles up, not aggressive—more of a warning. A line in the sand.

Bucky stops mid-step, crouches low without looking directly at him, and sets the bag on the floor. Then he pulls out a plastic-wrapped bone and, without extending it, gently rolls it across the floor toward the couch.

“Hey, Sergeant,” he says, his voice impossibly soft. “I’m Bucky. Just here to hang out, okay? You can have that if you want. No strings.”

The bone rolls to a stop in front of Sergeant.

He doesn’t lunge. Doesn’t bark. He growls again, softer this time, but his tail twitches once. You hold your breath.

Sergeant looks at the bone. Then at Bucky.

And he doesn’t move. But he doesn’t retreat either.

Bucky stays crouched for another moment, then slowly lowers himself to sit cross-legged on the rug. Not on the couch. Not in Sergeant’s space.

“I’m not gonna touch him,” Bucky says, glancing up at you with a faint smile. “Promise.”

You sit down beside Bucky, close enough to touch, but not quite. He lets his knee brush yours, grounding you.

“I know this probably isn’t what you expected,” you whisper.

He shrugs. “I’ve dealt with tougher first impressions.” He nods toward Sergeant, who’s now sniffing the air but hasn’t made a move for the treat. “He’s a smart guy. Just cautious.”

“So you don’t hate him?”

Bucky looks over at you, really looks, eyes soft. “Of course not. He’s protecting someone he loves. I get it.”

Your throat goes tight.

Sergeant lets out a huff. Then slowly — slowly — he leans down and takes the bone between his teeth, pulling it toward him on the couch.

Bucky doesn’t react. Just smiles to himself like it’s a small victory.

You reach for Bucky’s hand, threading your fingers together.

“He took the treat,” you whisper.

“I know,” Bucky says. “We’re making progress.”

And for the first time since you met him, Sergeant lies back down — still alert, still cautious — but chewing his treat just a few feet away from the man he once would’ve seen as a threat.

You rest your head on Bucky’s shoulder. He leans into it, gently.

And even if it’s not perfect, it’s a start.

Bucky learns to move slowly in your space.

At his own apartment, he’s handsy — teasing touches at your waist while you cook, his palm on your thigh while you talk, kisses that start soft and turn into something else entirely. But here, in your home, it’s different. Not because he doesn’t want to touch you, but because he’s being watched.

By Sergeant.

The dog never barks anymore — not unless Bucky moves too quickly. He’ll let him in now, doesn’t growl when he steps over the threshold. But once Bucky gets near you, once there’s a kiss or a hug or even his hand brushing against yours, Sergeant’s ears go up. His eyes sharpen. A quiet growl hums in his chest like a warning bell.

And Bucky respects it. All of it.

He sits on the opposite side of the couch unless Sergeant’s had time to settle, and even then, he doesn’t try to pull you into his lap or hold you close like he usually would. Sometimes, he’ll rest his hand beside yours, close but not touching, and let you be the one to reach first.

You hate it, a little. Hate the way the space between you feels wider than it should. But you love Sergeant too much to rush him. And Bucky? Bucky never complains.

He brings a new kind of treat every time — liver jerky, sweet potato chews, chicken-flavored bones. He doesn’t offer them directly. He just sets them by the door, or on the edge of the coffee table, and lets Sergeant choose.

“Buying his love?” you tease once, curling against Bucky's side when Sergeant’s finally dozing across the room.

“Bribery is underrated,” he says with a crooked smile. “Besides, I get it. If some guy walked into your space and started hanging off me, I’d growl too.”

You laugh, and he kisses your temple — slow and soft, watching Sergeant’s reaction out of the corner of his eye.

Sometimes, late at night, you lie in bed together. Bucky keeps the touches gentle — just his hand on your back, or your fingers loosely twined. Sergeant sleeps at the foot of the bed, one eye half-open, like he’s not ready to fully trust the man beside you yet.

But one night, when Bucky shifts slightly to kiss your shoulder, Sergeant doesn’t growl. He doesn’t move.

He just lifts his head, watches for a beat, then lays it back down.

And Bucky exhales against your skin like it means everything.

-------------

Bucky’s sitting on the couch, one arm slung over the backrest, eyes half on the TV and half on you as you move around the apartment.

He watches you tug on a hoodie, then sees you grabbing poop bags from the drawer and unclipping the leash from the wall hook.

“You heading out, doll?” he asks, voice low and easy.

“Yeah,” you say, stuffing the bags into your hoodie pocket. “Just taking him for a walk. I won’t be long.”

Bucky nods, tapping his fingers absently against the armrest. Then, after a pause: “Can I tag along?”

You turn, surprised. “You sure, Buck?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “If Sergeant doesn’t mind. Thought it might be good—some progress, y’know. If not, I’ll just hang back here.”

You glance down at Sergeant, already sitting patiently by the door, eyes locked on the leash in your hand. Then you look back at Bucky — and the quiet, steady kind of hope in his expression.

You give a small nod. “Alright. Let’s give it a shot.”

You glance at Sergeant. His gaze is locked on you — not Bucky. But he doesn’t growl. Doesn’t retreat.

You clip the leash to his harness carefully, then reach for the door. “Okay, let’s try it.”

Bucky doesn’t rush. He waits until you’re already stepping into the hallway before he moves — slow and steady, arms at his sides, shoulders loose, like he’s trying to shrink himself smaller than he is. And Sergeant watches him every step of the way.

Outside, the air is crisp and cool. The sun’s beginning to set, casting soft gold over the pavement. You keep Sergeant close to your side, walking a few paces ahead, giving him space.

Bucky walks just slightly behind, hands in his pockets, not making eye contact with Sergeant, not reaching for you. He doesn’t even try.

But Sergeant keeps glancing back. Not in fear — in curiosity.

At the corner of the block, a jogger passes close, and Sergeant shifts in front of you protectively, body tense.

Bucky reacts without thinking — takes a small step forward, just enough to shield you.

And that’s when Sergeant turns to look at him. Really look.

There’s no growl. Just a long, silent pause.

Then — to your complete disbelief — Sergeant takes one step toward Bucky. Then two. His nose lifts, sniffing the air near Bucky’s knee.

Bucky freezes, eyes wide. “I’m not moving,” he whispers.

“It’s okay,” you say, your voice hushed.

Sergeant’s nose bumps lightly against Bucky’s leg. He sniffs, circles behind him, then returns to your side.

“That was…” you blink. “That was new.”

Bucky’s expression softens, almost awed. “I got vetted.”

You laugh, stunned, and a little choked up. “Yeah, I think you did.”

Bucky glances down at Sergeant. “Thanks, buddy,” he murmurs.

And maybe Sergeant doesn’t wag his tail — not quite. But he doesn’t bristle, doesn’t growl.

It’s something.

It’s progress.

-------------------

It’s one of those nights where sleep slips through Bucky’s fingers like water.

He lies there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, the hum of the city outside your window barely cutting through the fog in his mind. Your breathing is soft beside him, a slow rhythm he usually finds comfort in. But tonight, even that can’t quiet the buzz under his skin.

Eventually, he shifts, careful not to wake you. Your hand twitches where it rests near his ribs, but you don’t stir — just turn slightly, a soft snore catching in your throat.

He watches you for a moment longer before slipping out of bed.

The floor creaks under his weight as he pads out of the room, and Sergeant lifts his head from his spot near the foot of the bed. There’s no growl, no sound at all — just alert, curious eyes following him.

In the kitchen, Bucky pours himself a glass of water, hands steady even though his chest isn’t. He doesn’t drink right away. Just stands there, leaning against the counter, letting the coolness of the glass anchor him.

He hears soft nails clicking on the floor before he sees Sergeant.

The dog pauses at the edge of the kitchen, watching. Not close, not too near — but there. Present.

Bucky offers a small, almost sheepish smile, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to speak.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says softly. “Brain’s loud tonight.”

Sergeant doesn’t move, but his head tilts slightly.

Bucky huffs a quiet breath, more air than laugh. He walks to the couch and sinks onto it with a groan, setting the glass on the coffee table. Sergeant follows at a slow, deliberate pace, keeping his distance, but still close enough to see him.

Bucky leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands hanging between them. His eyes stay on the floor.

“Just a hard night,” he murmurs. “You’d get it… right?”

He glances over, and Sergeant is watching. Ears perked. Silent.

“I’m afraid of men too, Serg,” Bucky says, voice lower now. “Not all of them. Just...the kind of men that did this to me," and moves up his metal arm for him to see.

Silence.

Then the faintest shift — the quiet sound of claws against hardwood as Sergeant lies down, just a few feet away.

Not touching. Not close.

But closer than he’s ever been without you there.

Bucky doesn’t say anything else. Just leans back, breathes in the stillness, and lets the presence beside him speak louder than words.

Bucky stays quiet on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped. The weight in his chest hasn’t eased, but he’s breathing through it.

Sergeant still lies a few feet away. Watching.

Then, slowly, the dog gets up.

Bucky hears the soft shift of weight, the light tap of claws on the floor, and glances over.

Sergeant is approaching.

Not fast. Not aggressive. Just… deliberate. His movements are cautious but steady as he walks to the edge of the couch, his head dipping low to sniff at Bucky’s bare forearm.

Bucky freezes — not in fear, but reverence. Like something sacred is happening.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Sergeant sniffs again, and then—he sits.

Right in front of Bucky. Not pressed close, but not far either. Just there. Solid. Present.

Bucky looks down at him, uncertain. His instinct is to reach out — but he doesn’t want to ruin it. Doesn’t want to misread this rare, quiet invitation.

He lifts his arm slowly, inch by inch.

Sergeant doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t growl.

Just watches.

So Bucky moves closer — slowly, gently — until his hand is hovering just over the dog’s head.

Still no growl.

He lets his fingers lower, the tips brushing against Sergeant’s fur. It’s coarse, thick. Real.

Bucky exhales like he’s been holding his breath the whole time.

He rubs slowly, one soft stroke down the center of Sergeant’s head. Then another.

Sergeant blinks. Then shifts, not away, but closer. A quiet nudge under Bucky’s hand, like: go ahead.

Bucky swallows hard, eyes stinging.

“Thanks, pal,” he says quietly, voice rough with something unsaid.

And for the first time in this apartment, in this complicated triangle of trust, Bucky isn’t just the guy trying to be patient.

He’s accepted.

And neither of them says anything more.

They just sit there, in the soft hum of the night, the soldier and the dog — both still healing, both still learning to trust.

The sun is barely up when you wake, the sky outside still painted in soft gray and peach. You blink a few times, expecting to feel Bucky beside you.

But the bed’s empty. Cold.

You sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes, and glance toward the bedroom door, cracked open just enough to catch a faint sliver of light from the living room.

Quiet footsteps carry you out into the hall, heart already tugging with concern. Maybe he had a nightmare. Maybe—

You stop.

Your brain short circuits.

Bucky is on the couch, fast asleep.

Laid out on his back, one arm dangling off the side, his mouth just slightly open, brow smoothed in rare, deep rest.

And Sergeant?

Sergeant is on top of him.

Half on his chest, half wedged along Bucky’s side, snoring lightly, his head nestled right into the crook of Bucky’s shoulder like he belongs there.

Your hand flies up to your mouth.

What the fuck.

You stand there frozen for a beat, not breathing, like moving too fast might wake them up and shatter the impossible moment in front of you.

Then, slowly, carefully, you reach for your phone.

You hold it up, biting your lip to suppress a gasp-laugh as you frame the shot. The click of the camera is muted, but your heart is pounding.

There is no way anyone would believe this without proof.

You take another photo.

And then another.

And just for good measure, a short video — the way Sergeant’s paw twitches in his sleep, the way Bucky unconsciously shifts closer like he’s anchoring the weight against him, like he wants it there.

You lean against the doorway, blinking hard.

Bucky stirs, blinking up at you with sleep-rubbed eyes. His gaze flicks down, then back up, confusion written all over his face.

“Uh… what the—”

You hold up your phone, grinning as you make your way over to the couch. “Care to explain this, Sergeant’s Majesty?”

He glances down at Sergeant, still curled on his chest like a furry little king, and then back at you.

Bucky’s lips twitch into a sleepy smile. “Guess he finally decided I’m not too bad.”

Sergeant lets out a soft snore, stretching his paws lazily.

You shake your head, still grinning. “Looks like you two made a truce. I’m just glad one of you finally got some sleep.”

Bucky reaches up, pulling you down for a slow, warm kiss.

“Best night I’ve had in a while,” he murmurs.

And as Sergeant settles in deeper, a gentle weight and steady heartbeat beneath you both, you realize this is just the beginning of a little family made of bruised hearts and soft fur.

---------------------------

Did I cry while writing this? maybe...

No, but I genuinely smiled so hard writing this that my cheeks hurt.

Likes, comments, and reblogs are all greatly appreciated!!✨🩷

@sflame15-blog

#bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #fic rec #must read #this was cute #bucky barnes x reader

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