buckybarnes82

[buckybarnes82]

Wildflower

Chapter 15: Thistle Be A Great Day

masterlist

Pairing: Single dad!Farmer!Bucky Barnes x Florist!reader

Mentions: 18+, enemies to lovers, slow burn, sexual tension, angst and hurt/comfort, domestic fluff, sex, f!reader, small town, mutual pining, daddy kink

Author's Note: thank you so much for those following my single dad!bucky journey on both here and on ao3. it has been my greatest pleasure and all the comments/messages were so overwhelmingly sweet and supportive since i transitioned from ao3 -> tumblr. thank you all so sos osoososos much

i do eventually plan on writing an epilogue sometime in the future, and i will be continuing my single dad!bucky journey with stuck with you. if you're reading that, then i'll see you guys there! if not, thanks for reading and sticking along for the ride <3

credit to @juniebjonesin for helping me out with very specific questions (ifykyk HAHA) and @loganficsonly for the banner inspo, your headers are always so aesthetically pleasing

Word Count: 6.1k

be warned: this chapter starts with sex

Six months later. 

Bucky’s fingers thread through your hair, guiding you steadily as you take him deeper into your mouth. His voice drops low, gravelly with pleasure.

“That’s it, babydoll,” he groans. “Takin’ Daddy so fuckin’ good.”

Ever since you got pregnant, he’s been hesitant—worried about hurting you or the baby. You respected it, but the both of you only lasted a couple weeks before the craving for each other became impossible to ignore. Full sex was off the table, but there were still plenty of ways to touch, to claim, to remind each other that the fire had not gone out.

And right now, your mouth is his undoing.

Your mouth hums around him, loving the way his jaw clenches and his head tips back against the pillow. He moans, stroking your hair with a tenderness that contrasts the raw sound leaving his throat.

“Yes, yes baby… just like that. Wrap your pretty hands around it.” 

You lift your left hand to wrap around the thickness of his cock, your wedding ring glinting from the sunlight that pokes through the bedroom window. Bucky lets out another moan at the contact, his eyes half-lidded as he watches you. You have a good feeling that he gets off on handjobs even more so when you have the ring on. 

“Where the hell are my socks?” Jamie’s muffled voice yells from down the stairs. 

Bucky ignores him, his grip on your hair tightening to urge you on. “God, look at you. Daddy’s cock looks so perfect in your mouth—”

“Dad? Did you do the laundry?” Jamie calls again, louder this time.

You paused, pulling his dick out of your mouth with a wet pop. Wiping your lips with your thumb, you glance up at Bucky. “He’s calling for you, sweetheart.” 

He lets out an annoyed groan, the muscles in his stomach tensing as he tries to guide you back towards his aching tip. “Just ignore him, baby. I do.”

You shake your head, leaning back down and sticking your tongue out towards his tip. Before you can even get a lick, Jamie’s voice cuts through the house—even louder this time.

“Dad! Where the hell are my socks? C’mon, we’re gonna be late!”

You pull back instantly, eyes flicking to the clock behind you. “Shit,” you mutter, glancing at Bucky. “He’s right—we need to get going.”

Bucky tosses his head back and lets out another annoyed groan as he reluctantly tucks himself back into his jeans. He’s hard and straining, the outline still obvious, and you can see how much effort it takes for him to ignore it.

“Fine,” he mutters grumpily. “But we’re finishing this later.”

You chuckled softly as you tried to push yourself off the bed. Bucky was immediately at your side, one hand supporting your back and the other around your arm, helping you ease onto your feet. 

You threw your legs over the bed with a soft groan. 

“I feel like a useless balloon,” you sigh.

“Don’t say that,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead tenderly. “You’re carrying our baby. There’s nothing useless about that.”

It amazes you sometimes, how he could be such a dirty, dominant man in bed, yet outside of it the sweetest softie alive. Before he could pull away, you caught his shirt and tugged him back down, kissing him quickly. He smiled against your lips and brushed your hair back.

“I love you, baby—”

The moment was cut short by loud pounding on the bedroom door and Jamie’s voice, annoyed and impatient.

“I said hurry the hell up!” he shouted. “We’re going to be late! Do you not want me to get my license?” 

You and Bucky exchange a look before snorting. You push yourself upright, one hand on your back as you crack the door open just slightly. 

“Hey, squirt,” you ruffle his hair. He groans, swatting your hand away.

“I swear, it’s like you two do this on purpose,” he huffs, arms crossed. You bit your lip, because with that expression, he was the spitting image of his dad.

“What’s Dad doing?” he craned his neck, trying to see around you.

You shrug, trying to hide the fact that his dad is trying to… compose himself before greeting his son. “He’s… getting dressed.” 

He raises a brow suspiciously.

“Just wait downstairs for us, okay?” you spoke before he could question it further. “We’ll be out in a minute.” 

He rolls his eyes, letting out an overdramatic huff. “Fine.” 

He turns on his heel, his converse thumping against the hardwood floor as he jogs down the stairs, letting out a dramatic sigh and groan after each step. 

You shut the door softly, and Bucky begins rummaging through his drawers. He pulls out a sock, squinting his eyes and frowning at it. 

“His socks ended up in my drawer,” he mutters, holding it up.

You roll your eyes, hand on your hip. “You both have giant feet. It’s bound to happen. Now, is your erection gone yet?”

“It vanished the second he started banging on the door,” he replies dryly, shoving the sock back in the drawer. 

A snort escaped your lips. Since your pregnancy, you have been living under the Barnes household. Before Bucky got started on the greenhouse, he finished the last of the renovations on your house. And since you’ve been on a personal maternity leave—and not exactly working—you decided to rent the place out to the occasional rare traveler passing through the small town. It was a little extra income, and it kept the house from sitting empty.

Life under one roof with two Barnes boys, though, was… a challenge. 

They bickered constantly, had gross habits like chewing while talking, tracked dirt through the house because they always forgot to take their boots off, and Jamie’s music was always blasting from down the hall. Most nights, he’d still be up, loud as hell with his video games. 

But as chaotic as everything was, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

This was your world. 

“Alright. Come on, Daddy,” you tease as you pull the door open again, tilting your head towards it. “Jamie is waiting for us.” 

He lets out a low groan as he approaches you, wrapping an arm around your waist and leaning in for a kiss. “He better pass this damn driving test.” 

You smile softly, nudging him forward and giving him a soft spank to his behind.“If he passes, I’ll finally be able to sleep at night knowing he’s driving around town legally.”

Bucky lets out a laugh as you two trot down the stairs. With your belly round with his child, he’s been at your side every moment of the day—even for something as simple as walking down the steps. He trailed behind you, hand on your back, taking cautious steps as he watches you carefully.

At the bottom of the staircase, Jamie was tapping his foot impatiently, leaning against the end of the stair railing with a grumpy scowl on his face. 

“Took you long enough,” Jamie huffs, arms crossed. “You two act like we’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Hey, calm down, kid,” Bucky says as he guides you down the last few steps, his hands still steady on your waist. “She’s carrying new life in that belly. Show a little patience.”

Jamie rolls his eyes. “I am patient with her. It’s you I’m not patient with. Now come on, old man—we’ve gotta go. Otherwise I don’t get my license, and she misses her prenasal exam.”

“Prenatal exam, son.”

“Same thing!” Jamie groans, throwing his hands up as he makes a beeline for the front door. “Let’s go!”

After Jamie rushed the two of you out of the house, the three of you gathered into the red truck. He begged Bucky to let him drive for some last-minute practice, but with you in the passenger seat, Bucky shut that idea down immediately. Your prenatal appointment was coming up, so the plan was simple—drop you off at the doctor’s first, then head to the DMV.

Bucky drums his fingers on the steering wheel, keeping rhythm with the music Jamie was playing. He looks at Jamie through the rearview mirror. “You excited to be a big brother?”

Jamie shrugs casually, eyes fixed on the passing scenery outside. “Yeah, I guess. It’s just… kinda weird. The age gap’s pretty big.”

“Your little brother or sister’s gonna be calling you the old man one day,” Bucky snorts. “Let’s see how you like that.” 

You chuckle softly, turning in your seat to glance at Jamie. “Speaking of which—are you hoping for a girl or a boy?” 

Jamie met your eyes, then a small and shy smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “A boy,” he mutters. “I just feel like it’d be cooler, you know?” 

You gasp, playing offended. “Oh, so boys are cooler than girls?”

He shrugs. “I’d just have more in common with him. Like, I could put them on video games and cool music and stuff like that.” 

“You could do the exact same thing with a little sister,” you raise a brow. 

“Nah,” Jamie shakes his head. “Not the same.” He said, despite his grin getting wider. 

When you and Bucky first announced your pregnancy, you weren’t sure how Jamie would take it. With him, it was hard to tell if the idea of another Barnes baby in the house would excite him or make him gag.

You remembered it like it was yesterday. The three of you had gone to his favorite diner in town, the kind of place where the waitress already knew his order. When you slid the pregnancy test across the table, Jamie froze. His blue eyes went wide, and for a second you thought he might actually drop the fork in his hand. “You… you’re actually pregnant?” he asked, disbelief plain in his voice. Even staring at the test, he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it.

Then, slowly, a small, shy smile tugged at his mouth—one he tried to hide by keeping his gaze fixed on his plate. He picked at his food and muttered under his breath, “You really had to whip out the pee stick in front of my burger?”

Now, six months later, the three of you sat together—your little family, soon to grow with another baby Barnes on the way. And despite Jamie’s endless eye rolls and dramatic scoffs, he was completely smitten with the idea of becoming a big brother. He had even started teaching himself acoustic guitar, claiming that “instruments help soothe the baby.” 

It was unexpectedly sweet of him—soft in a way he tried not to show too often.

Bucky pulled into the doctor’s office, parked along the curb, and was at your side instantly. His hands were steady and careful as he helped you out of the truck.

“Will you be okay on your own?” he asks with a frown. 

Bucky hated leaving you for even five minutes. He had come to every checkup without fail, but today you insisted he be there for Jamie—for this milestone. 

That is if he passes his driving test. 

“I’ll be fine,” you reassured him, rising on your toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He leans down without hesitation—movement instinct, meeting you halfway.

“Just make sure Jamie remembers to slow down,” you added.

Bucky chuckles, cupping your face gently as his thumb brushes along your cheek. “I’ll tell him, but I can’t promise he’ll listen.”

You roll your eyes and look over his shoulder. Jamie was already climbing in the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors, hands gripping the wheel. 

“C’mon, Dad!” he yells out the window. 

Bucky ignores him, his eyes focusing on you instead. “Call me if you need me, alright? Text me. Let me handle everything. And tell me exactly what the doctor says—don’t leave out a single—”

“I will, I will,” you cut him off gently, pressing a hand against his chest. “Calm down, Daddy.”

He gives you a soft smile, warm enough to melt the worry on his face for just a split second. “I’ll try,” he murmurs, stealing another kiss before finally forcing himself to step back towards the truck. “I love you.”

“I love you too!” you wave him off with a grin. “Love you, Jamie! Good luck!” 

Jamie leans forward, trying to be seen around his dad as Bucky climbed into the passenger seat. He managed to give you a quick wave. 

“Love you too!” he shouts back.

Then he shifts the car in drive and the truck jerks forward—spitting dust across the parking lot as he sped out of the parking lot and onto the main road. 

You let out a long sigh, watching the cloud of dust dissipate. 

He’s so screwed.

The waiting room was quiet.

You were absentmindedly flipped through an old magazine. Without Bucky pacing at your side, the silence felt strange and uncomfortable. But still, you reminded yourself he was exactly where he needed to be—with his son, helping him through one of his own big milestones. 

“Mrs. Barnes?” the nurse calls out with a smile. 

Even though it’s been months since he slipped the ring on your finger, your heart flutters every time someone calls you Mrs. Barnes.

The nurse leads you to the back and helps you onto the exam table. After a few minutes of prep and checking vital signs, the doctor enters. The cool gel spreads across your belly, and the beeping sounds of the machine fill the room. You watch the screen intently as the familiar little shape flickers into view—your heart immediately melting at the sight.

The doctor adjusts the wand and smiles at you. “Have you been taking it easy on yourself?”

“As easy as I can, living under a roof with a man and a growing teenager,” you joke with a soft chuckle, slumping back against the table. “But they both take care of me.”

And it’s true. 

Bucky is always at your side, every moment of the day. And as grumpy and grouchy as Jamie can be, he’s always there for you too. Sometimes, you wake up to the smell of pancakes drifting up from downstairs, and find Jamie standing there, his face scrunched into a grumpy frown as he mutters, “I woke up to make you guys pancakes. You better eat them.”

The doctor smiles softly at you, continuing to move the wand over your belly. 

“Well, that’s amazing. Everything looks great so far. Heartbeat’s strong,” she glances at you, her tone light. “Would you like to know the gender today? I know you and Mr. Barnes have been putting it off…”

You and Bucky had talked about the baby’s gender a few times. Whether or not to host a gender-reveal party at the farm or just wait until the birth. You could never quite decide. For Bucky, the gender didn’t matter much. He always said, “I’ll love the baby unconditionally, no matter if it’s a girl or a boy.”

And with everything going on back at home—the greenhouse, managing your rental house—it kind of got pushed to the back of your mind. But Bucky made sure to tell you, time and time again, that whatever you decided to do, he’d be happy with.

Your heart thumps in your chest, your eyes naturally drifting to the corner chair where Bucky would normally sit if he were here. A small, shy smile tugs at the corner of your lips at the thought of him. Every time you’re asked this question, he sits up straighter, eyes bright with excitement, always waiting for you to answer.

And even though neither Bucky nor Jamie is here now, you can’t help but imagine how over the moon they’d both be to find out the gender—especially to see if Jamie gets the little brother he’s been hoping for.

You look up at the doctor, your smile growing wider as you nod, the anticipation creeping in.

“I’d be happy to know the gender.”

Bucky and Jamie were seated next to each other, waiting in the large DMV lobby. The sounds of the intercom rings out, calling for random numbers that Bucky tuned out a long time ago. Jamie leans back in his seat, tapping his foot anxiously with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets.

Bucky slings an arm over Jamie’s shoulder and crosses his legs, leaning back. “You feelin’ nervous?”

Jamie lifts his head to look at him. “About the driver’s test?”

“What else?” Bucky teases.

Jamie scratches the back of his neck, letting out a forced, awkward laugh. Bucky notices immediately. He sits up straighter, a brow raised in suspicion. He used to be bad at reading Jamie’s body language, but over time, they’ve gotten better at opening up to each other emotionally.

“Is something wrong?” Bucky asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Jamie mutters, avoiding eye contact.

Bucky rolls his eyes and nudges him playfully. “C’mon, son. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

Jamie presses his lips together, looking down at his shoes as he rubs the soles against the floor. “I… was just thinking,” he mumbles.

“About what?” 

“Stuff.” 

“Son,” Bucky rubs his temple, a little annoyed. “Are you serious?”

Jamie shrugs helplessly, sinking deeper into the hard and uncomfortable plastic chair. “I was just… thinking about the baby,” he admits quietly.

Bucky raises his brows in surprise. Jamie doesn’t usually bring up the baby on his own. He knows his son has his reservations, and while Jamie shows he cares in his own ways, words aren’t usually one of them.

“What about it?” Bucky asks carefully.

Jamie hesitates, chewing on his bottom lip like he’s still working out the right words. Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh. “Once the baby’s born… he’s gonna be calling her ‘Mom,’ right? And all that stuff?”

Bucky draws in a slow breath. He knows exactly where this is going—he could see it in the way Jamie’s shoulders slumped, the way he was biting his bottom lip, the way he wouldn't look at him.

“I suppose you’re right,” Bucky agrees gently. “I guess he—or she—will probably call her ‘Mom.’” 

He tries to lighten the mood with a small joke, but it falls flat. Jamie’s expression doesn’t change, and if anything, it probably makes Jamie feel worse. 

Bucky frowns at the sight of him, leaning closer. “Is there something wrong with that, Jamie?” 

“Don’t you think it’s going to be a little weird?” Jamie shifts in his seat, avoiding his dad’s gaze. “Like, I don’t even call her ‘Mom,’” he mutters, voice straining. 

Bucky places a steady hand on Jamie’s shoulder, his grip firm but gentle. “You don’t have to call her ‘Mom’ if you’re not ready,” he explains softly. “You know she’ll always love you and be there for you, no matter what you call her.”

Jamie lets out a sigh, like he’s not entirely convinced. 

“It’s just strange. I’m gonna have a little brother or sister who’s gonna grow up calling her that, and I…” he swallows hard, trailing off and shaking his head. 

Bucky’s heart clenches at the sight of his son. He knows how deeply Jamie has always longed for a mother, a steady parental figure who wouldn’t leave him. And though you’ve been that person—steadfast, loving, and patient—it still surprises him that Jamie hasn’t let himself use that word for you.

“Hey. Listen to me, kid. She loves you,” Bucky says softly.  “She chose you a long time ago, before this baby was ever part of the picture. And you don’t need to call her ‘Mom’ to prove that you’re hers, or that she’s yours. Titles don’t make family—love does.”

Jamie’s throat bobs as he swallows, his gaze dropping back to the scuffed tile floor. 

“But what if it’s different? What if… she loves the baby more because it’s hers?” his voice cracks on the last word, and he immediately looks away, like he’s ashamed for letting it slip. 

Bucky lets out a soft sigh, leaning back in the chair to give his son a little space—but his hand stays firm on Jamie’s shoulder.

“Jamie, she doesn’t see it like that. She’s never once looked at you and thought you were any less hers. You know she’s not that kind of person,” he glances at Jamie, who’s still staring at the floor. 

“You know what she told me after we took the pregnancy test? Before we even showed it to you?”

Jamie doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look up.

Bucky goes on anyway. “Her first thought wasn’t about herself. Hell, it wasn’t even about me. It was, ‘Oh God, what will Jamie think?’” He lets out a quiet chuckle at the memory, shaking his head. 

“She didn’t even ask for my opinion. She was worried about you—scared of giving you a sibling you might not want.”

Bucky pauses for a moment, waiting to see if Jamie would respond or react in some way, but he doesn’t. His gaze remains locked on the floor. 

“She never anticipated being pregnant, or even wanting a family of her own. She just… came into our lives and thought this was it—this,” he waves a lazy finger between him and Jamie, “was her family.” 

Bucky sits up straight, his voice softening.

“Jamie, loving you made her ready to love this baby. You taught her how.”

There’s a brief pause before Jamie finally looks up, meeting his father’s eyes. He swallows hard, his throat bobbing, lips parting like he’s about to say something—but the sound of his number being called crackles through the intercom, snapping both him and Bucky out of the moment.

Bucky gets up on his feet with a groan, Jamie following right after.

“That’s you, bud.” Bucky pats his shoulder firmly, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “You got this.”

Jamie exhales slowly, a faint smile pulling at his mouth in return. “Thanks, Dad.”

Bucky doesn’t hesitate anymore—he pulls his son into a firm hug, clapping him solidly on the back. 

“Go get that license,” he says gruffly. “So she can finally stop having a heart attack every time you drive with that damn permit.”

Jamie snorts, pulling away with a roll of his eyes. 

“I will.”

You sit in the lobby office, your nervous hands fidgeting—flipping through a magazine again, then your phone, rummaging through your bag, then back to your phone again. Nothing seems to settle you.

Bucky had called a few minutes ago to let you know he was on his way. He hadn’t said a word about whether Jamie passed or not—too busy bombarding you with questions about how you were feeling, if everything was okay, or if the appointment went smoothly.

You had told him you had a surprise, and ever since, he’d been restless. He wouldn’t even hang up until you promised to share it face-to-face. The secret sits tucked inside your chest—the baby’s gender, yours alone for now. 

You’re waiting to see your boys before you let it out.

Every few seconds, your eyes flick to the glass doors, your pulse skipping as headlights flash across the lot. Then—finally—the familiar truck pulls in. Bucky is out of the passenger seat before Jamie even comes to a full stop, already jogging towards the entrance with that wide and bright smile. You watch him through the window, and you can practically feel his excitement as you mentally prepare yourself for the million questions he’s going to throw at you. 

He pulls open the door, rushing to you before you can even rise from your chair. His hand finds yours as he helps you to your feet, his grin softening. 

“How was it, sweetheart? What’d they say?” 

Bucky places a hand on your lower back and the other on the curve of your belly. “Is the baby healthy? How are you feeling? What was the surprise you were going to tell me?”

You chuckle softly, wrapping your hand around his bicep. “The baby is fine, Bucky—”

Before you can finish, the door swings open and Jamie strolls in, keys dangling from his hand, a smug grin stretched across his face.

“Guess who passed?” he announces loudly, grinning from ear to ear. 

You snap your head toward him, your smile instantly widening. “You passed?”

Jamie shrugs like it’s no big deal, though the grin never leaves his face. “Of course I did. I’m an excellent driver.”

You laugh, clapping your hands together, while Bucky grabs his son by the shoulders and yanks him into a quick, rough hug. “That’s our boy!”

Jamie chuckles, still smug. “That means I get to take Camila out on dates and late-night drives.”

“Yeah,” Bucky snorts. “But if you so much as dirty up the truck—or end up in a teenage pregnancy—I’m killing you.”

Jamie chokes out a laugh, flustered. “Dad!”

The sound of Bucky’s booming voice and Jamie’s laughter bounces off the quiet lobby walls. When you glance around, you catch a few women in the corner peering over their magazines, shooting sharp side-eyes glances your way. One even huffs under her breath, muttering something about “indoor voices.”

Bucky doesn’t notice—or just doesn’t care.  He’s too busy ruffling Jamie’s hair and talking a mile a minute, which has been a habit of his since your pregnancy.

“We gotta start practicing on the highways. Maybe we can even do some repairs on the ol’ truck first—” 

“Boys, calm down,” you roll your eyes with a fond smile. “We’re getting weird stares. Let’s take this outside—” 

“Wait, it’s your turn,” Jamie cuts in, crossing his arms. “What’s this surprise you’ve been hiding from us?”

Bucky turns towards you, his smirk growing wider. “That’s right. You still haven’t told us.” He leans in, lowering his voice like he’s interrogating you. “Spill it, doll.”

You glance between the two of them—your husband with his crooked and eager smirk, your boy bouncing on his heels with excitement. A laugh bubbles up your chest at how impatient they both look. 

Truthfully, you have not figured out how you wanted to share the news. A gender reveal party never felt… whatever, and waiting until birth seemed impossible with how eager they both were. Announcing it here, of all places—in the middle of the OB-GYN lobby with strangers pretending not to eavesdrop—wasn’t what you pictured either, and it was hardly special.

But looking at them now, at Bucky’s lopsided grin and Jamie’s sparkly excited blue eyes, your chest swells. 

Just here, with your boys as happy as can be—it felt too full, too perfect to keep it to yourself any longer.

You take a deep breath and let out a soft smile as you watch them carefully for their reaction. 

“It’s a girl.” 

For a second, it’s dead silent. 

You can feel the gaze of the other women in the lobbies, and Bucky’s eyes are completely wide and mouth open like your words just knocked the air out of him. 

Jamie’s face, on the other hand, was completely unreadable. 

“A girl?” Bucky breathes, the word barely more than a whisper. Then, a slow and hopeful smile tugs at the corners of his lips, growing wider with every passing second. “A girl… I—God, I can’t believe it.”

He takes a step toward you, his hand twitching like he’s ready to pull you close, but then he hesitates. He glances over at his shoulder, searching his son’s face instead. You know how much Jamie has voiced wanting a little brother, and a knot tightens in your chest—worried this news might dim his excitement when he’s still riding the high of passing his test.

“Jamie…?” you press carefully. 

Jamie blinks slowly, his face still unreadable as he leans back on his heels. “A girl, huh?” he murmurs, his voice flat enough to make your stomach twist.

You bite your lip nervously and glance at Bucky, and he has the same expression as you do—likely thinking the same thing. But then, his expression softens. A small smile tugs at his lips, his gaze warming as he looks between you and Bucky. 

“Guess I gotta learn how to braid hair and all that crap,” he mutters, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. 

Relief floods through you, and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of your chest. Bucky finally exhales, his shoulders relaxing as his face splits into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.

He doesn’t even let another second pass—he steps forward and pulls both you and Jamie into his arms, wrapping the two of you up in a hug—crushing Jamie, and holding you gently. You squeak out a laugh as your face smushes against his chest, while Jamie groans dramatically.

“Dad—come on—” 

“A girl,” Bucky says again with a laugh. He presses a quick kiss to your temple before squeezing Jamie tighter. “We’re gonna have the best little girl in the world. My doll, our daughter.”

“Sir, could you please keep it down? This is a medical office.”

You glance over Bucky’s shoulder to see one of the receptionists giving the three of you the stink eye, arms folded tightly across her chest. A few other women in the waiting area are watching, clearly annoyed. 

“Alright, let’s get out of here before we really do get kicked out,” you murmur, ushering the boys toward the door. Bucky’s hand stays warm and steady on your lower back, guiding you along with him.

“Sure,” Jamie jingles the keys in his hands, pushing the door open with an evil grin. “But I’m driving.”

Later that afternoon, you, Bucky, Jamie, and Camila were out by the greenhouse. Bucky worked off in a corner, hammering away at an unfinished frame, while you, Jamie, and Camila busied yourselves with the plants and flowers.

Since your pregnancy had limited how much you could bend and lift, Camila had been spending more time at the farm, helping out with the greenhouse whenever she could. You didn’t mind—and clearly, Jamie didn’t either.

“Camila, are you sure you don’t mind helping with all this?” you asked, trying to reach for a pair of scissors that had slipped to the floor. 

Before you could even strain, Camila darted over and scooped them up with a polite smile.

“It’s no problem at all, Mrs. Barnes!” she said cheerfully.

The title still made your chest warm. You remembered the first time she’d slipped and called you that months ago, and how you reeled at the mere thought of being Bucky’s wife. But now, six months later, it was very much real.

“Well, when we finally get this greenhouse up and running and start selling at the markets,” you motioned lazily around the half-finished frame, “I wouldn’t mind hiring you. That is, if you’ve got room in your schedule between your mom’s shop and school.”

Camila’s eyes light up instantly. “That would be amazing, Mrs. Barnes! Oh—actually, my mom has this little open space in her shop. We could put fresh flowers there, and maybe even make a whole section just for your flowers, too!”

You let out a soft gasp. “That’s such a great idea. If your mom doesn’t mind, of course—”

The sound of a heavy cardboard box thumping onto the dirt beside you interrupts your words. Jamie groans as he sets it down, standing up straight and dusting his hands off.

You arch a brow. “And what’s this?”

“Old stuff,” Jamie says casually, crouching back down to pry the flaps open. “Figured it might come in handy once the greenhouse is actually up and running.”

“Old stuff like what?” you lean over him to get a better look.

Jamie digs through the box, pulling out a handful of rusty gardening tools, some faded seed packets, and a coil of twine. “Like these,” he says, holding up a small trowel and offering it to you. 

You laugh softly, taking the trowel from him. “That’s sweet. I didn’t think you’d hold on to all this stuff.” You pass the tool to Camila, who smiles brightly as she takes it.

“I also have these too,” he digs a little deeper into the box and casually pulls out two green familiar aprons and hands them to you.

Aprons that have a flower embroidery across the fabric.

Aprons with the words Thistle Be A Great Day! stitched proudly on the front.

You take them carefully, eyes widening as your lips part in shock. “This is…” your gaze flicks up to Jamie. “You… you kept these aprons all this time?”

Jamie stands, shoving his hands into his pockets with a casual shrug—but you don’t miss the faint flush creeping across his cheeks. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Didn’t have it in me to donate them, I guess.”

Your throat tightens, but you fight the wobble in your voice with a soft laugh. “Well,” you say, smoothing the apron over your palms, “I think it’s only right that these go to the new greenhouse team.”

You hold them out, one to Camila and one to Jamie. “Your official uniforms.”

Camila’s eyes light up as she clutches hers. 

“Really?!” she squeals, hugging the fabric to her chest. “This is so cute! I’ll get to work right away, Mrs. Barnes!” Before you can even answer, she scampers off to the far end of the greenhouse, apron in hand, already babbling about reorganizing a patch of plants.

You’re not sure she realizes she’s not being paid for this yet.

That leaves just you and Jamie. He takes his apron, turning it over in his hands like it’s precious and not just a flimsy piece of cloth. His lips twitch, like he’s fighting off a smile, and then his gaze flicks up to you.

“Thanks… Mom.”

The word slips out so quietly you almost think you imagined it. But when your eyes lock on Jamie’s face,  you see the faint nervous grin tugging at his face, like he’s testing the waters. 

Your chest tightens, warmth blooming all the way to your fingertips. For a moment, you can’t speak—you just press your hand gently to his cheek, eyes stinging. 

“Anytime, sweetheart,” you murmur, then you tilt your head to press a kiss to his temple. 

And this time, he doesn’t swat you away.

“Now go on,” you smile softly, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Camila’s going to need you to show her how to use that trowel.”

He glances over at her from a distance and snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

Jamie walks off towards her as he slips his apron on, and the smile on your face is so wide and bright—it hurts. You walk over to Bucky—who’s still hammering away on an unfinished frame. You rest your hand on his shoulder just before he brings the hammer down.

He pauses and turns to you, wiping sweat off his forehead with his forearm.

“Everything okay, babydoll?” 

Your grin only widens. You glance over your shoulder, making sure Jamie is out of earshot, then lean closer to Bucky.

“Jamie just called me ‘Mom’,” you whisper, unable to stop the quiet squeal that escapes you. “He called me ‘Mom!’”

Bucky looks at you, then over his shoulder at his son, then back at you. A slow, crooked grin spreads across his face. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice warm and a little husky. 

He sets the hammer down and steps closer, his hand finding your waist and pulling you in closer against his sweaty body. “Told you it’d happen. Kid just needed time.”

You nod quickly, biting down on your lip to keep from squealing. “But, Bucky—it was so natural. Like, he didn’t even think about it!” 

He lets out a soft chuckle, his hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly along your skin.“You’re never gonna let this go, are you?”

You swat lightly at his arm, though your eyes are still bright and watery. “Don’t ruin this for me!”

Bucky throws his head back with a laugh and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Before he can fire back another jab, a loud crash echoes from the far side of the greenhouse, followed by Camila’s frantic voice. 

“I didn’t break it, Jamie! Stop laughing!”

You groan, burying your face against Bucky’s chest despite the sweat clinging to him. “I don’t even want to look. If they knocked down a frame, I swear—”

“Why are you the one complaining?” Bucky teases, his hands gliding up and down your back in lazy, soothing strokes. “I’d be the one stuck fixing it.”

A laugh escapes you, muffled against his shirt. “You’re right.”

When you finally glance back towards Jamie and Camila, they’re a chaotic blur—soil everywhere, one plant tipped over, both of them laughing until their shoulders shake. And for a moment, everything slows. 

The half-finished greenhouse, the mess, the noise, the farm, the baby girl growing inside you—it’s all imperfect and beautiful in the same breath.

Your heart swells with it, the sheer fullness of just having this. 

Bucky once promised he’d give you everything. 

And in the end, he gave you even more.

back

[buckybarnes82]

this was supposed to be a joke.. like a crack fic but bwa said it was good. @barnesonly @blowingbarnes @flockoff-featherface @iamthatonefangirl @54nboo

the rec center showers were always too small, the tiles cracked, the water pressure was absolutely pathetic. but none of that mattered right now. not when bucky was focused on this object in his hand.

the bar of soap was cheap, generic, already whittled down from overuse. but it had a hole in the middle, and that was all that mattered

he palmed it in his vibranium hand. his flesh hand was busy elsewhere, stroking himself with slow pulls against the shower walls.

"fuck," he muttered, thumb pressing into the soap's center, testing the give. it was soft. malleable. perfect.

he spit into his palm, slicking himself up before lining up with the hole. the soap was cold against his cock, and the friction shy of too much, but he really didn't care.

he pushed in, and the bar splits wider around him, suds clinging to his length as he worked himself deeper.

"shit—shit—" his hips stuttered forward. the soap cracks slightly under the force, but it was holding just enough.

it was tight. so tight.

his metal fingers dug into the wall for balance, the other hand working the soap up and down his cock. the lather mixed with his precome, making a filthy mess around his hands.

he imagined it was you. your warmth. your mouth. your cunt.

the way you'd looked at him earlier, wide-eyed, like you had no idea what you did to him.

"fuckin'—goddamn—" his thrusts became inconsistent, and the soap crumbles further, breaking apart in his grip, but he didn't stop. not when he was this close.

then—the soap splits completely. crumbling into useless chunks in his hand.

bucky cursed, staring down at the ruined mess in his palm.

"...well," he muttered, tossing the remnants aside with a wet plop. "guess i'm buyin' a new fucking bar."

[buckybarnes82]

some people are afraid to be cheesy. I live my whole life on the charcuterie board

[buckybarnes82]

The production of Justin Kurzel’s ‘Burning Rainbow Farm’ starring Sebastian Stan and Leo Woodall, is starting soon. Production Weekly listed the movie in their newest report.

[buckybarnes82]

BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out 💚

Thank you so much bubs! You’re a beautiful person too!

[buckybarnes82]

I love the way you write Bucky

Really?! I’ll cry right now. Thank you!!

[buckybarnes82]

A You and Me Thing

pairing (romantic): MCU Bucky Barnes x reader (no pronouns used)

synopsis: Bucky loves seeing you laugh. But he doesn't love seeing other people tickle you.

words: ~4200

cw: tickling, swearing, kinda possessive!Bucky, protective!Bucky, Bucky verbally teases a lot. minors DNI (adult-aged character x reader).

note: thank you anon ~ for your beautiful headcannon message that sparked inspiration so profoundly unavoidable that i had to write this immediately <3

The Compound had its own rhythm.

Loud in the morning, chaotic by lunch. By late afternoon, it often softened into something unsettlingly domestic. But you'd grown used to the ebb and flow, the dynamics of it; the occasional crash from the training floor, the laugh from the living room, the bickering in the kitchen. The lives being lived loudly.

Somewhere in all that noise, Bucky Barnes had found you.

And you had found him.

Or, perhaps - you finally allowed yourselves to notice each other.

That’s how it felt, you thought: like a slow reveal, something waiting under the surface for permission to come up for air.

It wasn’t anything dramatic at first. Just looks across the gym. Passing comments in debriefs that made you laugh - followed by the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. The kind of smile that looked like it had to breach surface tension just to show itself.

Then it was a brush of your arms when you passed him a mug in the kitchen. A sharp, quiet joke that made him laugh that rough, rusty sound that always seemed to surprise even him, and nudge your arm with his own.

And now... you were something. Not exactly official. Not exactly casual. You weren’t sleeping in his bed every night - but when you were on the couch and he came in, he gravitated toward you like it was gravity.

He flirted - oh, how he flirted - and he was persistence. Present. Available. In a roomful of people, always choosing you.

And today, for the most part, had been like any other over the past several weeks and months.

Until Thor got a little handsy.

It was stupid, really. Some documentary on TV you were only half-watching, some awe-filled comment from Thor, some sly smirk and snappy retort from you, a pillow hitting your shoulder with force, an even-more-violent pillow missile whacking against his head, then a hand around your ankle - yanking you onto your back - and a reminder that he is an older brother.

Two massive hands struck - tickling with quick and careful squeezes beside your hips, and your reaction was instantaneous; you burst into laughter, trying to jerk sideways, trying to kick against his thigh for leverage to escape.

"No fair!" You squeaked, sniffling between laughter and jerking again when one hand slid down to grab at the muscle above your kneecap. "THOR!" You wanted to argue that his unwarranted attack was a violation of Earth's unilateral peace agreement with Asgard, but the words were garbled in laughter until Thor allowed you squirm your way off the couch, and land in a heap on the floor. "Ow," you whined, but didn't really mean it.

Thor chuckled and turned up the volume of the documentary, a smug smile on his face at his victory. You glowered, no malice behind it, and stood, straightening your clothes.

Across the room, you felt his stare before you saw it. Your smile softened as your gaze flicked past Thor’s shoulder - locking with storm-blue eyes that had gone a shade colder.

Bucky was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, face unreadable - but his jaw was tight. Not angry, exactly. But something darker simmered beneath the surface.

You could feel the weight of it. The shift in him.

You brushed your hands on your leggings, crossing the room toward Bucky, and you clocked Sam watching the exchange with a lifted brow - but he, wisely, said nothing.

Bucky didn’t move when you reached him.

He uncrossed his arms slowly as you approached, but his expression didn’t change.

You stopped just in front of him, close enough that you had to tilt your head to meet his eyes. "Hey."

His gaze flicked over your face, and you felt his eyes settle briefly on your mouth before he glanced away.

"Hey," he said shortly.

You cocked your head. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he said. Clipped. Too fast.

You paused, sighed through your nose. Then, you stepped in closer and leaned your shoulder into his chest, folding your arms as if settling in for comfort, but also calling his bluff. You didn’t push, didn’t ask again. You just settled, letting your body speak trust, even if he wasn’t ready to.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then, with a long exhale, he dipped his head and kissed the side of yours.

It was slow. Lingering. Just behind your ear.

Not performative. Not light.

Claiming.

Your breath caught - just a little.

And when he pulled back, you could feel the heat of his stare trailing down your cheek, your neck, the slope of your shoulder. His voice, when he spoke, was low.

"Didn’t know you were so ticklish."

You smiled, soft, eyes half-lidded now, aware of how close your mouth was to his. "You've never tried."

His lips curved - barely. "Maybe I should."

A pause. His fingers skimmed the hem of your sweatshirt, almost idly - but you weren’t fooled. His touch was precise. Curious. Possessive in the way he wasn’t quite letting himself show.

"What's wrong, Buck."

"I just…" he started, then stopped. Swallowed. Your eyes didn't leave him. He studied your face a moment. Then: "It’s stupid."

"Try me."

Another pause. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. "I like being the one makin' you laugh."

Your brows rose in question. In steady challenge.

"I don't mean..." you could see his breath trapped high up in his chest, "not that I've got a problem with you laughing with other people - that's not what I'm saying - but... that feels different." His eyes held yours. "Tickling feels personal." His voice dropped lower. "Intimate."

Your chest ached. Not in a bad way.

Softly. Warmly.

Gods, you adored this man.

He used the silence to wince at his own words, tick his jaw, shake his head, start to over-explain. "Shit. I'm not sayin' any of this right. The last thing I want is for you to feel... controlled or-"

"No, I get it," You smiled gently, leaning a little further into him. "You'd just... prefer if tickling was a you thing."

He tilted his head, eyes not wavering, a small grateful tug at the corner of his lips. "A you and me thing," he clarified.

You smiled, gave a single nod, and slipped your fingers through his metal hand, warm and easy, and you tipped your face up to his. "That's fine by me, Sergeant." You placed a quick kiss on the curve of his jaw. Then whispered: "and just you know for sure... it's a perfectly reasonable ask."

And that earned you a real smile. Small. Lopsided. Relieved, and real.

And even better - it reached his eyes.

You gave a flirtatious little smile and added, "especially since we're 'goin' steady' - isn't that how you said it?"

"Shut up," he murmured, hooking an arm around your shoulders to pull you back in. "Punk," he whispered in that playful way of his, but then smoothed a hand down the centre of your back, and placed a kiss on the top of your head.

Time continued as it usually did - long days, short weeks, even shorter months, and you’d mostly forgotten about that day in the lounge.

New rhythms were forming.

You and Bucky weren’t exactly a textbook couple - you still had separate suites, separate closets, and more trauma between you than one relationship should reasonably have - but fuck, you were good together.

Especially those quiet moments. In the in-between.

The evenings where he let you play with his hair with a distracted hum, or the mornings where he pressed his face into your shoulder, refusing to get up until you whispered something filthy just to make him chuckle.

He was still healing, and it wasn’t linear. Some days were heavier than others. Some nights he held you like he was trying to tether himself to reality. And some days, you gave him space because you knew he needed to figure it out in his own head first.

This day had started like any other.

You’d laced up your boots and headed to the gym. Steve was there, you decided to spar. Bucky came in just after you started, watching with a proud spark and approving nod of your form. Your fierceness.

You were halfway through a round when Steve really got the better of you, and your back hit the mat with a breathless OOF. Steve’s hand planted against your sternum, keeping you down.

You winced. "Jeez, Rogers. Doesn't the serum have an expiration date or something?"

He lifted a brow. "Not that I'm aware of. Guess you'll just have to do better."

You rolled your eyes and muttered something snarky about brittle old-man hips coming for him, and before you could react - Steve’s fingers dug in where they were planted, hitting several ticklish spots on the front of your ribcage.

Your squeak echoed through the gym.

"Shit!" you gasped, laughter bubbling up as you squirmed, curling in on yourself as his hand continued the onslaught for a few torturous seconds. "Cut it out," you wheezed, swatting as he finally pulled his hand away and you started to re-compose yourself.

He smiled and held out a hand. "C'mon. One more round."

You narrowed your eyes playfully, but took his help. "Clean this time."

He nodded once. "Scout's honour."

But as you moved back into your stance to reset the drill, your attention flicked - automatically, instinctively - to the space where Bucky had been standing earlier.

It was empty. And the doors were sliding shut.

You showered and dressed for the rest of the day before seeking Bucky out, deciding to check his room first. You didn’t knock right away - just rested your knuckles against the door and waited a beat. Long enough to hear the subtle sound of a page turning inside.

Then you knocked. In the same rhythm you always did.

"It's open," came Bucky’s voice. A little too calm.

You entered, seeing him freshly showered, legs stretched out on the mattress in front of him, a few pillows between his spine and the headboard, paperback in hand. His hair was messily-tied, loose strands half-dried and curling against his temples.

"Hey," you said softly, closing the door behind you.

He glanced up. His face warmed slightly, but it didn���t quite reach his eyes.

"Hey."

He looked back at his book.

You flexed your hands and crossed the room, perching on the edge of the bed beside him. Not crowding. Just sitting there, quietly, letting the moment settle around you both.

After some silence, you spoke. "I'm... hoping you’re not upset at me for what happened in the gym today."

Bucky didn’t look up again. "I’m not upset at you."

You studied his profile. The tension in his jaw. The way his eyes wouldn’t meet yours.

"But you are upset."

He closed the book. Sighed. Scrubbed a hand down his face, voice low. "I'm not mad. I don’t blame you for anything. I just..."

"Didn’t like it," you finished gently.

He didn’t answer.

You pressed, voice soft but pointed. "It was Steve, Buck. And I didn't start it."

"I know. I know, it's-"

"Look... I know we agreed tickling would be and you and me thing, but it feels like you just want it off the table completely. I mean, you've never even tried. And if it's something you don't like, that's okay, you just need to-"

His laugh was dry. "What I don't like is wondering if I'd accidentally crack one of your ribs."

Your lips parted.

There it was. The vulnerability behind the sarcasm.

The muscle in his jaw flexed as he looked away. His shoulders had gone stiff, like he was bracing for battle. But a fight wasn’t coming.

You turned your body more fully toward him, knees bending to tuck under you beside his hip. You reached out, fingers curling lightly around his thigh.

"Buck."

He still didn't meet your eye, held up the metal hand with a little shake of his head. "It’s not exactly the most delicate tool in the shed."

You let a beat pass. Then slid your hand over his thigh more firmly - gentle, slow, grounding. "That doesn’t mean it would hurt me." You traced your fingers lightly over the seam of his sweats. "It's never hurt me before, has it?"

He gave a long exhale through his nose and closed his eyes. "'m sorry," he tilted his head back against the headboard. Your thumb brushed his thigh.

"I get where you're coming from. I do. And I don't wanna push you to do things you're not comfortable with, but I... I like a little roughhousing," a wry chuckle burst through your lips. Bucky's neck went upright again, eyes opening and finally finding yours. "I know we're not kids - I know who we are, I know what we do - but we can still... play. That's part of being human. Part of being together. We're supposed to have a little fun."

He let out another breath, and his eyes narrowed. Head tilted. It was an effort - you could see that; he was consciously trying to change his mood. And it was working. You could feel the shift. The warmth seeping back into his eyes.

He let his voice drop to that flirty tease he knew worked wonders against your composure. "Sounds like you're begging for a tickle fight."

You bit back a smile. "No - that’d be boring."

He lifted a brow. "Boring."

You shrugged one shoulder innocently. "It's not really fun to fight when I know I'd win."

His expression twitched. "Y'know, you can be a brat sometimes."

You smirked, whispered. "You’re just mad cause I’m better at it than you."

He blinked. "At what, exactly?"

You lunged at him.

Your hands landed at his ribs, fingers jabbing quickly, finding flesh over muscle - and Bucky jerked, letting out a startled sound that was halfway between a laugh and a scoff.

"Oh-ho," he said, voice dropping an octave. "Okay. That's it."

Before you could react further, his book hit the nightstand, and he twisted, grabbing you around the waist and hauling you over his thighs onto the centre of the bed.

You giggled and scrambled as you landed half-tangled in your own limbs, and Bucky followed. This was a chase. A mess of skin and clothes and laughter, your bodies rolling awkwardly across the mattress, twisting and dodging while he made exaggerated grabs for your sides.

You caught his wrist once, tried to twist, and he used the opening to finally get his fingers against your ribs - eliciting a squeal you barely bit back.

"Oh, sweetheart..." he chuckled, triumphant. "You’re doomed."

"Just you wait," you wheezed, pulling your leg away just as he made a grab for your ankle.

He grinned, ducking your flailing elbow. "You asked for this." His right hand slipped under your hoodie, fingers finding the edge of your hip.

"Wait!" You arched immediately, hands pushing against his wrist, laughter bubbling from your throat, wild and breathless.

"Oh, that’s a good spot," he murmured, delighting in the discovery. "I'm makin' a mental note of this one." He dug in again, making you kick your legs uselessly against the bedspread.

You shoved at his shoulder, half-laughing, half-wrestling. "You call this a tickle fight? This- ugh! This is weak!"

"Weak?"

He went for your ribs this time. You shrieked again, dissolving into laughter, twisting and squirming on the bed as his hands chased you across the mattress.

"Bucky! Wait- okay- let's reset!"

"We haven’t even started."

It turned into a tangle. A full-body scuffle - your limbs thrashing against his as he followed you wherever you rolled, one hand darting in to squeeze the side of your knee, another digging into your waist, drawing all sorts of laughter and flustered sounds from you. He broke your defences with each passing second.

He loved the sound of it all. Loved seeing you lose your cool. Your cheeks warmed, eyes gleaming as you tried to scramble up the bed.

"You're all talk, you know that?" he said, catching your ankle and dragging you back down with one hand. "All mouth."

"You love my mouth." You countered, twisting, trying to push up on your elbows.

"You’re not getting away that easy." He chuckled, catching the place above your knee and yanking you more fully into his reach. You landed on your side with your back to him, and couldn't get away before his arm hooked low around your stomach.

He pressed his thumb against your hip and you bucked, laughing uncontrollably as your hands tried to pry his free. He was laughing too now - the kind of warm, dark sound that made your stomach flip. And you were caught. Really caught. With every passing ticklish second, you lost more fine motor control, more tension seeped out of you, more fight evaporated.

Your mouth though... that kept going.

Kinda.

It tried.

"You- I- I swear I’m gonna-"

"Tell me," he leaned in, smiled against your ear. "Tell me what you're gonna do."

You craned your neck to look at him, giggling, breathless, still defiant. "Careful, old man. You’re sounding winded."

Bucky stilled.

Smiled and- oh, fuck. Not just smiled.

It was that rare grin. Full, and boyish, and wicked.

And suddenly you were flat on your back, his weight braced over you, knees straddling your hips. Your wrists were pulled against your chest, caught tightly between the two of you in one of his hands.

Your breath hitched.

He hadn't been letting you win...

But he had been letting you fight.

And it looked like you'd just lost that privilege.

"Repeat that?" he said, voice husky with mock offence.

You smirked, opened your mouth to do so-

You gasped at the cold as his metal hand slipped under your hoodie. Before you could protest the icy temperature, he dug in.

Right beside your hip, just on the side of your stomach. The spot you didn't even know was there to be found. But he pressed in fast, little circles, cold metal fingers expertly tormenting the exact right place to send you into chaos.

You threw your head back and laughed, deep and loud and hearty, unable to do anything else.

Bucky kept grinning, delighted, wisps of his hair falling forward as he leaned in close, not letting you escape any part of his attention.

"Mmm," he hummed, smug. "There's the goldmine."

He picked up his pace and you started squealing, legs kicking the bed as you bucked under him, laughter tearing out of your throat.

"I'm gonna die-" you gasped.

"No no. You’ll live. I'll make sure of it," he chuckled, hand still tormenting, switching up his rhythm just enough to keep you on edge. "... I'll make sure you feel every second of this."

You were shrieking now, helpless, because any movement sent you right back into him, his hands, his body, his laughter. The cold of his fingers under your shirt.

His touch stayed with you, devilish and steady and clawing at the softest part of your belly. And his grin only widened, his lips ducking to your neck. "You like my metal hand now, sweetheart?" he cooed, lips and stubble grazing the sensitive skin below your ear.

You arched between the bed and his body, crying out in a half-sob of laughter. "NO- NO- not my nnn- not there-!"

"You still wanna tell me what you're gonna do?"

"Oka- OKAY! You proved your point! You WIN!"

Blessedly - he stopped, watching as the air flooded your lungs, chuckling as you squeaked when he pressed a brief kiss to the side of your neck.

His metal hand stayed on your skin but slid to rest on your waist, idle and strong and now docile.

And you? You were completely undone, breathless, runner's high, chest rising fast under his hand still holding your wrists. And your dazed eyes met his.

His face had softened. That teasing glow still lingered behind his smile - but now it came with something gentler. Something warm.

"Y'alright?" he asked, voice quiet, eyes flicking to your lips for a brief second.

You took in a big breath. "I think my lungs collapsed."

He snorted. "Yeah. You're fine."

You tried to glare, but there was no sharpness behind it, only relief. Only fun. Only something heating up a little more. So you slipped one hand out of his hold, and hooked a finger around the chain poking out just above the side of his collar.

Thin metal slid against itself, and fabric. Your eyes locked on the shape of it beneath his shirt.

You pulled, gently, and watched the shape move. Up, towards his collar. More chain free. Then, his dog tags peaked out. Tipped free.

They tinked softly as they landed in your open palm.

Then your eyes flicked back up to his, winding the chain once more around your finger. Insistent.

He let you pull him down to meet you.

And he let you kiss him senseless.

And after all that... all of this really became a thing. A part of your rhythm, threading itself into your days like muscle memory.

Because it wasn’t just tickling. Or roughhousing. It was you.

Your laugh. Your joy.

The way he coaxed it free.

The sound of it.

The way your body shook against him when it hit, wild and unrestrained and helpless. The way your smile went crooked when you tried to talk through it. The way you always fought back and never won. The way you let him have that side of you.

All of it. He loved it.

And he got very good at it.

One time, you were curled up on the couch watching something dumb, your legs draped across his lap, tank top riding up slightly from how you'd twisted onto your side. You were deep into some half-witty analysis about the movie when Bucky’s hand slid, slowly and deliberately, beneath the hem of your top.

You barely registered the motion - just a subtle movement along your back, near your ribs, his thumb brushing soft skin.

Then he pinched right under your shoulder blade, and your whole spine jolted like you’d been shocked.

"Hey!"

He smirked, leaned back like the smug bastard he was, and repeated the quick, precise motion.

You tried to grab his hand, but he caught your wrist, chuckling low as you tried to twist away - only for him to push his hand in deeper, fingertips seeking that little pocket just under your back ribs.

"You didn’t tell me about this one," he murmured, with the gall to feign offence.

"I didn’t know!" you wheezed, giggling helpless, kicking at him. "You must've found a- a new spot, you- jerk!"

He hummed with faux-thoughtfulness, easing his touch there, drawing slow and light circles that made you shiver and curl your toes. "Hmm. It's on the list now."

Another time, he caught you in the kitchen, reaching for a bowl in a higher cabinet, stretched out in your sweats and socks, tank top riding up in the back. He came up behind you, bracing your hips between his hands.

You stilled. Warm. Neck heating. You turned your head slightly.

"Well are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna help me reach?"

And then-

He ducked, leaned in, and blew a raspberry against your lower back - right where your spine dipped and your skin was exposed.

You half-yelped, half-laughed, knees buckling, arms shooting down to brace yourself on the counter.

Too quickly, he stood, arms looping around your waist as you tried to stumble away, and he smiled against your neck. "I'll never get tired of that."

"Hmph," you tried, but couldn't feign annoyance. Especially when he reached up and brought the bowl down without another word.

But he didn't always have great timing. Like the one singular time he got you while you were brushing your teeth.

You were standing at the sink in your little black sleep shorts, thin-strapped tank, mouth full of minty foam, groggy, half-awake, and apparently something about you screamed: ah yes - this is the perfect target.

Because Bucky walked up behind you, wrapped his arms around your waist, kissed the curve of your shoulder... and then tickled your ribs. Not soft. Not gentle. Ruthless. Firm, deft, digs of his fingers.

Toothpaste foam erupted from your mouth, splattering the sink and mirror, toothbrush clicking against the floor as you doubled over and shrieked and squirmed, whacking your knees against vanity.

That time - you really did scowl at him. And he apologised. Profusely. Through his laughter, through his chuckling as you threw a towel at him to clean the place up.

You only eased your glare ten minutes when he placed a coffee in your hands and kissed you, slow and deep and languid, one hand still on the mug to make sure it didn't spill.

Apart from the one Toothpaste Incident, he was wise about it; he never played when you were upset. When you were anxious, closed off, in pain. When it was clear you only wanted to be touched carefully. Wanted to be grounded.

So it was when you were present. Close enough for him to read you, to feel it was okay. Only when he was sure you’d let yourself go for him.

Because your laughter - your real, wild laughter - wasn’t something everyone got. Not your deep kind. Not your body-shaking, wheezing kind that made your cheeks hurt and your voice go hoarse. Not the kind that made your body weak and vulnerable.

But he got it. Over and over again.

And every time you caught him grinning down at you while you gasped and laughed and shrieked for mercy - his hair falling into his face, eyes gleaming, voice rich with affection...

You could see it that same flash of joy. Like he couldn’t believe his luck. Like this was the sound he’d been waiting to hear on the other side of the ice.

So you gave it, played it, da capo, over and over, and over again.

[buckybarnes82]

[buckybarnes82]

Oh this made my heart do flips. 🥺💕

╰┈➤ Old School Love Letters

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You were just trying to help Bucky clean out his apartment when you found them. Love letters. In a cute old box.

Notes: Doing a little change from Supernatural... Bucky time!!

"This place is smaller than I imagined," you said, brushing your fingers across the windowsill. Dust clung to your skin like a memory.

Bucky let out a half-laugh from behind you. "Yeah… it's not much, but it was quiet. No one really paid attention to me here."

You turned, smiling at the sight of him in a soft gray t-shirt and jeans, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His vibranium arm glinted under the fading sunlight as he leaned down to tape a box shut.

"Well, say goodbye to being ignored. The Avengers Compound is the size of an airport and has like - what? Fifty security cameras? You won’t be able to sneeze without someone knowing."

He smirked. "Can't wait."

The two of you had been dancing around something for months now. Your friendship had always been easy - full of sarcastic banter and long nights watching old movies on the Compound’s giant TV - but lately, the air between you had changed. Softer. He lingered longer. You caught his eyes more often. But he hadn’t said anything, and neither had you.

It was supposed to be a normal day. You’d volunteered (been dragged by James) into helping Bucky pack up his tiny Brooklyn apartment to officially move into the Avengers Compound, and the man was not an efficient packer.

"How did you even fit all this in here?" you asked, holding up a third box of old paperbacks.

Bucky shrugged from across the room, folding clothes into a lopsided pile. "Wasn't like I had anything else to do for the last seventy years except collect things and avoid people."

You laughed, throwing a shirt at him. He caught it midair and gave you a rare smile that melted you every single time.

"I mean, fair," you said, "but some of this stuff looks like it belongs in a museum."

"Probably does," he muttered under his breath, half amused, half nostalgic.

The sun was starting to dip lower through the grimy windows, golden light catching in dust particles as you moved an old shoebox off a cluttered shelf. It was plain - worn cardboard, no label - but surprisingly heavy. You sat cross-legged on the floor and pried it open.

Inside were yellowing envelopes, neatly stacked, all addressed to… you.

Your heart skipped.

"Hey, Buck?" you called softly.

He looked up from where he was taping a box labeled 'kitchen?' and saw what you were holding. His eyes went wide, like you'd just uncovered a secret he meant to take to the grave.

"You weren't supposed to find those," he mumbled, looking away, ears turning red.

"They're for me," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitated, then walked over, crouching beside you. "I wrote them when I couldn't say things out loud. When I didn't know how to tell you what I was feeling… or if I should."

You picked up the top envelope, heart hammering in your chest. The first line on the letter was in his neat, slow handwriting:

I know you’ll probably never read this. Maybe you won’t even want to. But today you smiled at me, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was home.

Tears prickled in your eyes.

"Bucky…" you breathed. Then you read another one:

Y/N, you laughed today when I spilled coffee on my shirt, and I didn’t even mind. That’s how I knew I was gone. I didn’t care about the mess. I only cared that you were laughing.

He gave you a soft smile, a little shy, like the nervousness hadn't completely left his bones even after everything. "I didn't mean for you to find them, but… I'm kinda glad you did."

You set the letter down and looked at him, really looked at him - his steady, storm-blue eyes, the metal arm resting nervously on his knee, his lip between his teeth like he was bracing for rejection.

Instead, you leaned forward and kissed him, slow and certain. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide again but this time for a much better reason.

"You could’ve just told me, you know," you said, voice warm. "I'd have kissed you a long time ago."

"I didn't know if I deserved it yet," he said honestly, brushing his thumb across your cheek.

You smiled, placing the letters gently back in the box.

"Well," you said, standing up and holding out a hand, "good thing you've got a lifetime to figure that out."

He took your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

[buckybarnes82]

I guess there are still good men out there 👀

everything he wasn't

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader (y/n) Genre: Fluff - Established relationship - Soft!Bucky - comfort - Shitty ex boyfriend Word count: 1601 Summary: A lazy evening with Bucky turns into a cathartic vent session as Y/n starts listing all the little things her ex never did and Bucky quietly, lovingly proves he’s everything she ever deserved. a/n: since my computer is really giving me the ick, i'll post this and another one of the storied i made and not the request. I' trying to understand why the requests are working so slow today when i published the post

“You okay, doll?”

Bucky’s voice was soft as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You were curled into his side on the couch, a fuzzy blanket pulled over both of your legs, your hand resting lazily on his chest. The movie you’d been half-watching had long faded into background noise, replaced by the quiet hum of city life beyond the windows and the rhythmic beat of his heart. You hesitated before answering, tracing a slow pattern on his shirt.

“Yeah,” you said eventually, voice muffled. “Just thinking.” Bucky’s arm tightened around you. “Dangerous habit.” You chuckled, but it faded almost as quickly as it came.

"What if I vent a little?” you asked, tilting your head to look up at him. “You don’t mind?” Bucky’s brows furrowed slightly. “You never have to ask. I’m here for all of it. Even if you need to complain about…what was his name? Chad? Brad?”

You snorted. “Kyle.”

Bucky winced. “Even worse.”

You laughed for real then, the tension in your shoulders easing a little. Bucky’s thumb was drawing soft circles on your arm, grounding you. “I was just remembering how… small I felt with him,” you said, voice low now. “Not in a ‘he made me feel delicate’ way. Just… invisible. Unimportant.”Bucky didn’t say anything. He just kept holding you, listening.

“He never opened the car door for me,” you said suddenly. “Not once. I didn’t expect a grand gesture or anything, but he’d always get in first and just… sit there. Sometimes I’d be struggling with my bag or holding coffee, and he’d just watch.”

“That’s the bare minimum,” Bucky murmured, voice a little tight. “I’d open ten doors for you if it meant you didn’t have to lift a finger.” You smiled, a little sad. “He never made me feel special, you know? He never noticed things. Like when I got a haircut, or when I started wearing new perfume. I don’t think he ever told me I looked beautiful unless it was tied to something physical.” Bucky’s jaw tensed.

“You’re beautiful every damn day,” he said. “When you’re dressed up, when you’re half-asleep drooling on my shoulder, when you’re ranting about plot holes in romance novels. All of it.”

“And don’t get me started on birthdays,” you added bitterly. “One year he forgot completely. Just sent me a text that said ‘happy bday’ after lunch. Didn’t even capitalize it.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.” Bucky muttered something under his breath that sounded very unfriendly but definitely satisfying. Then he kissed your temple. “Remind me when your birthday is again?” You rolled your eyes. “You know it already.”

“Right,” he said. “So, that gives me time to plan four different surprises and handmake a card with glitter. Because you deserve nothing less.”

You giggled, your heart squeezing in the best way.

“He never cooked for me either,” you went on, letting the memories spill. “I always made dinner. Even when I had long days, he’d just say, ‘You’re better at it than me.’ Which okay was true, but it was never even an effort. He never offered. Never brought home my favorite snacks, never made tea when I had cramps.”

Bucky was keeping note in his mind, reaching over to tug the blanket higher over your legs. “Your favorite snacks are the chocolate-covered pretzels and those spicy chips you try to hide in the pantry. Your tea is peppermint, especially when your stomach hurts. And I’ve got three new recipes saved just to try cooking for you.” Your chest tightened, in the best way. You buried your face in his neck for a moment. “He never really listened, either,” you whispered. “I’d talk about something I was passionate about, and five minutes later he’d be on his phone. Or he’d say ‘that’s nice’ without actually knowing what I said.” Bucky didn’t say anything this time—he just gently turned your face up to look at him. His eyes were so damn blue, and so full of quiet emotion it made your throat ache. “I could listen to you all day, every day,” he said. “Your voice is the best part of my day. And when you talk about something you love? Your eyes light up. Your hands move. Your whole face glows. How could I not listen?”

You blinked fast, willing yourself not to cry.

“He never made me feel wanted. Not really.” You paused. “He never reached for my hand first. Never held me just because. Never kissed me in the middle of the kitchen for no reason. And he definitely never looked at me the way you do.”

Bucky exhaled slowly and took your hand in his. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, then he leaned in and kissed your fingers, one by one. “I don’t care what that guy didn’t do,” Bucky said softly. “All I care about is what I will do. I’ll be the man who makes you feel seen. Loved. Chosen. Every damn day.” You smiled, tears finally slipping down your cheeks.

“I love you,” you whispered. “I love you more,” he said, brushing your tears away with the back of his fingers. “And I’m going to keep proving it. Not just when things are easy, but when they’re messy and complicated and even when you’re mad at me.”

“I’m never mad at you,” you said, sniffling. “You will be,” he said with a small smirk. “Wait until you find out I alphabetized your spice rack.” You gasped. “You didn’t!”

“Just the top shelf.”

“Bucky!” He laughed and caught you as you tried to pull away, dragging you back into his arms and smothering you with kisses. “You’re never allowed to feel small again, baby,” he murmured into your hair. “Not on my watch.” And just like that, the weight of the past felt a little lighter—because this time, you weren’t carrying it alone.

Months passed and you didn’t expect to see Kyle at the gallery opening. You barely even remembered he liked art—though, to be fair, he’d never come with you to any exhibits when you were dating. But there he was, dressed in some sleek navy suit, drink in hand, and a girl clinging to his arm like she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to be there. You squeezed Bucky’s hand. He noticed instantly.

“Something wrong, doll?” he asked softly. You nodded toward the bar. “That’s him. Kyle.” Bucky followed your gaze calmly. “That’s him?”

“The one who forgot my birthday, never cooked, and thought emotional intelligence was a Buzzfeed quiz? Yeah.” Bucky’s lips twitched. “Noted.” You expected him to be annoyed—or maybe brush it off. But instead, he leaned closer, kissed your cheek, and whispered, “Want me to make sure he knows exactly what he lost?” You laughed. “Are you about to start a fight at an art gallery?”

“I don’t need to throw a punch, sweetheart.” He winked. “I’ve got charm, history, and receipts.” You were still grinning when Kyle spotted you—and started walking over. You inhaled sharply. Bucky’s hand slid to your lower back, steady and warm. Kyle still looked exactly the same. Expensive cologne. Perfect stubble. Cold smile. “Y/n,” he said, pausing just a few feet from you. “Wow. You look… different.” Before you could decide whether that was a compliment or not, Bucky extended a hand smoothly. “Hi,” he said, cool and friendly. “I’m James. Her boyfriend.” Kyle’s eyes flicked to Bucky’s outstretched hand like it offended him. “Right. The new guy,” Kyle said with a tight smile, shaking it anyway. “Not that new,” Bucky replied easily. “But I guess time flies when you’re treating someone right.”

You bit your lip, hiding your smile. Kyle didn’t.

“I didn’t realize you were into… military types,” Kyle said to you, ignoring Bucky now. “Bit of a downgrade from finance, no?” Bucky didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. Instead, he smiled. “I guess that depends on your definition of value,” he said smoothly. “Some people measure it in stocks. Others in how well you know someone’s favorite tea when they’re sick. Or how often you remember their birthday.” You choked back a laugh. Kyle looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. “I never forgot her birthday,” he said sharply. Bucky tilted his head. “She has the text saved. All lowercase. ‘happy bday.’ Sent after noon. No emoji. Cold.” You gawked. “You remembered that?”

“I remember everything about you,” Bucky said without looking away from Kyle. Kyle rolled his shoulders. “Look, we didn’t work out, okay? It happens. No need to play hero, man.”

“I’m not playing anything,” Bucky said quietly. “But let me be clear: she’s not invisible anymore. Not unloved. Not ignored.” There was a pause. Kyle looked away first. Then he gave you a stiff nod. “Well. Glad you’re doing… good.”

“I’m doing better than good,” you said, finally finding your voice. “I’m happy. And seen. And spoiled. And loved.” Bucky wrapped his arm around your waist. “And adored. Let’s not forget that.” Kyle muttered something and walked away. You watched him disappear into the crowd, your heart thudding—but not from nerves. It was relief. Peace. Closure. Bucky turned to you, his blue eyes softening. “You okay?” You nodded slowly. “I didn’t know I needed that.”

“I did,” he said simply. “And if he ever tries to come near you again, I’ve got a list of Shakespearean insults ready. You want ‘canker-blossom’ or ‘goatish hedge-born scut’?” You burst out laughing, leaning into him. “You’re everything he wasn’t,” you whispered. Bucky kissed the top of your head. “Damn right I am.”

taglist -> @onlyjunisworld @moonlitmorgan @thewitchhofoz @peanutbutt3rcup @overwintering-soldier @thelastbluecookie @chronicallybubbly @staley83 @mistalli @morphoportis @iyskgd @imjusthere1161 @herejustforbuckybarnes @punkprincesskingdom @thursdaylen @asfkoie @pearldouglas @multiversefanfics @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @highhopes1008 @boomyoulookingforthis @avgdestitute @minminswag04 @kodzuvk @sleepysongbirdsings @figtreesandmoonlight @wintrsoldrluvr @that-b-word-lol if you wanna be added, reply here

[buckybarnes82]

I love the idea of this so much! This was so cute and I loved the dialogue between them.

the memory box

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader (y/n) Genre: Fluff - Grumpy x Sunshine  Word count: 1002 Summary: Bucky is a golden retriever boyfriend while Y/N is a black cat. They complete each other, and Bucky swore he would never love her more. Until she get a box out of the room

The warm hum of the stove filled the kitchen as Bucky stirred the pasta, humming something vaguely Sinatra. You sat across from him, legs curled beneath you on the stool, sipping wine and watching him like you weren’t completely, utterly, in love with the super soldier in your kitchen wearing plaid pyjama pants and a grease-stained T-shirt.

Dinner was his idea. Something simple. Something just the two of you. “You know what I’ve been thinking about?” he asked suddenly, tossing a glance over his shoulder with that boyish, too-handsome grin. You raised a brow, tilting your wine glass toward him. “Do I want to know?” He chuckled. “Yes, you do. That diner. The one we went to on our first date.” You blinked, caught off guard by the direction. “The one in Brooklyn?” “Yeah! The food was kinda terrible, but I loved it anyway. What was it called again?” He frowned, clearly trying to remember. “Something with a moon? Star? I don’t know-”

Before he could spiral into overthinking, you silently got up and padded out of the kitchen. “Wait, where’re you going?” he called after you, confused but not worried. You didn’t answer. A couple of minutes later, you returned barefoot, hoodie slightly falling off one shoulder, and holding a small box in your arms. Bucky blinked. “What’s that?” You placed the box gently on the counter and opened it without a word. Inside were memories. Ticket stubs. Polaroids. The wristband from the small concert he dragged you to. A napkin with a doodle he made of you during brunch one lazy Sunday morning. And on top of it all, a worn little card. You held it out to him.

 Blue Moon Diner.

Bucky stared at the card, then up at you. “You… kept this?” You shrugged like it was no big deal, but your fingers were curled around the box protectively, like you hadn’t just cracked your ribs open and offered him a look at your heart. “Of course I did,” you muttered. “It was our first date.” Bucky’s lips parted slightly, stunned. The tough, sarcastic girl he adored, the one who glared when she blushed, who loved her space, who pretended she didn’t care about romantic clichés—had kept everything. “Doll…” he whispered, stepping around the counter, gently taking the card from your fingers.

He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t laughing. He was smiling like you’d just given him the world. “You always act like I’m the sentimental one,” he said softly, pulling you into his arms, “but look at this.” You rested your cheek against his chest, hiding your face. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.” He chuckled, arms tightening around you. “Too late. You love me.” You groaned, muffled into his shirt. “Shut up.”

“You so love me.”

“…Fine,” you said, a little breathless, a little defeated. “But if you tell Sam I’m a softie, I swear-”

“I’d never,” he grinned, kissing the top of your head. “This is just for me.” And it was. Every memory, every quiet moment, every scar and smile. All his.

You stayed pressed against his chest, half because you were hiding your face, half because it was your favorite place in the world. Bucky rested his chin on your head, card still in his hand. “You know, I was kinda nervous that night.” You scoffed. “You? Mr. ‘I fought Nazis and wore leather before it was trendy’ was nervous?” He chuckled. “Yeah. I was scared you’d take one look at me and leave.” You leaned back to look up at him. “Okay, first of all, you wore that stupid Henley on purpose. You knew what you were doing.”

“I absolutely did not.”

“You absolutely did,” you echoed, jabbing his side lightly. “And I wore eyeliner for the first time in six months. We were both trying.” His grin softened. “Guess we both wanted it to work.” You glanced down at the memory box and nodded. “Yeah. And it did.” He brushed a knuckle along your cheek. “You kept everything…”

Your voice dropped. “I didn’t mean to. It just kinda… happened. One thing turned into another. The ticket from that weird horror movie. The fortune cookie you made me open after I said they were rigged.” He reached into the box and pulled it out, reading aloud the fortune: "Someone special sees the fire in your soul." He looked at you, eyebrows raised. “Kinda spooky accurate.” You smirked. “Yeah, I picked that one. Switched it out when you weren’t looking.” His jaw dropped. “You did not!” You shrugged innocently. “Black cat energy, babe.” He laughed loud, delighted, and helplessly in love. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it,” he said, tilting your chin up gently. “You always act like you’re the guarded one. And maybe you are. But this box? This is… this is us. And you kept it. That means everything to me.” You swallowed, the weight of his sincerity crashing into your chest. “It means everything to me too,” you admitted. “I don’t always say it. Or show it the way you do. But you make me feel safe, Buck. Like… like maybe it’s okay to care this much.” His eyes were shining a little. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

You smirked again. “Even go to that terrible diner again and eat their cardboard pancakes?” He grinned. “I’d eat a dozen of them if it meant watching you roll your eyes and steal all my bacon again.” You leaned up on your toes and kissed him slow, sweet, a promise tucked into the quiet between heartbeats. When you pulled back, he whispered, “I love you.” You looked into those honest, hopeful eyes and smiled, soft and real. “I know,” you said. “And I love you too.”

He kissed you again, arms wrapped around your waist like he’d never let go. You didn’t mind. The box stayed open on the counter, memories spilling out like petals, proof that even the blackest cat could find home in the sun.

taglist -> @onlyjunisworld @moonlitmorgan @thewitchhofoz @peanutbutt3rcup @overwintering-soldier @thelastbluecookie @chronicallybubbly @staley83 @mistalli @morphoportis @iyskgd @imjusthere1161 @herejustforbuckybarnes @punkprincesskingdom @thursdaylen @asfkoie @pearldouglas @multiversefanfics @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @highhopes1008 @boomyoulookingforthis @avgdestitute @minminswag04 @kodzuvk @sleepysongbirdsings @figtreesandmoonlight @wintrsoldrluvr @that-b-word-lol @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 if you wanna be added, reply here

[buckybarnes82]

non-writers will never understand the mental illness of writing an entire conversation in your head while doing dishes and then forgetting every word the second you open a blank doc

[buckybarnes82]

As someone who can’t fucking sleep tonight. This was so perfect. I feel like this was a comforting hug.

┈┈ in your arms ✮⋆˙

Pairing — Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary — After a restless night, you run into Bucky. He brings you to the couch to cuddle and calm your racing mind. You fall asleep in his arms—and in the morning, the team find you both snuggled up, leading to teasing and a few surprised looks.

Warnings — comfort, post-mission fluff, insomnia, anxiety, post-mission stress, emotional vulnerability.

Author’s Note: I couldn’t sleep, so here’s some Bucky fluff for you guys. I hope you guys enjoy. Love ya’ll lots xxx

The refrigerator door clicked shut behind you, the faint hum of the appliance filling the dark kitchen as you stood barefoot on the cool tile floor, a glass of water in hand. The city lights outside filtered through the half-drawn blinds, casting long slats of blue-white shadows across the counter.

It was 2:47 a.m.

Another night, another round of battling sleep like it was a fresh enemy.

You leaned against the counter, sipping slowly, trying to ease the tight coil in your chest that hadn’t unravelled since the mission ended.

It wasn’t that anything had gone wrong. No one had gotten hurt. The objective had been completed. On paper, it was a win. But your body didn’t believe it. Your brain sure as hell didn’t. Everything inside you was still vibrating with that quiet edge of adrenaline, too exhausted to function but too wired to let go.

The weight of the silence pressed down on you until the creak of footsteps across the hardwood pulled you from your spiral.

You didn’t turn right away. You already knew who it was.

“Can’t sleep?” Bucky’s voice was quiet, raspy from sleep. Familiar in that way that always made your chest feel a little lighter. “Figured I wasn’t the only one.”

You turned to face him.

He was leaning against the doorway, arms folded across his chest, hair pushed back in lazy waves, dark joggers hanging low on his hips. The long-sleeved shirt he wore clung to him in all the right places, sleeves pushed up to reveal the metal lines of his arm catching the soft light.

You gave a small, tired smile. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” He pushed off the doorframe and stepped further into the kitchen. “I was already up. Thought I heard something.”

You raised your glass slightly. “Just me, raiding the kitchen for water and existential clarity.”

He huffed a soft laugh and stopped beside you. He didn’t say anything right away, just stood there, close enough that your arms brushed when either of you moved. His presence was quiet and solid. Steadying.

“You okay?” he asked eventually.

You hesitated.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “Physically? Fine. Mentally? Still on the field. Still hearing comms in my head, still expecting something to go wrong around every corner. It’s like I’m still in it even though it’s over.”

Bucky nodded like he understood. Because he did.

He didn’t offer a platitude. He just said, “Come sit with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Come on,” he said again, gently. “Couch is better than standing around trying to convince yourself you’re fine.”

Something in the softness of his tone, the way he didn’t push or pressure, made it easy to follow him.

The living room was dim, only lit by the low glow of the streetlights outside. He sat first, back against the armrest, legs stretched out, and looked at you expectantly.

You raised a brow. “You want me to—”

“Come here.” He opened his arms.

And you went.

You curled up beside him on the couch, your body slotting easily against his, head on his chest, his arms wrapping around you like they were made for it. The blanket from the back of the couch was pulled over both of you, warm and worn and smelling faintly of him.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. He just held you. One arm around your waist, the other hand slowly stroking your hair, fingertips grazing your scalp with patient tenderness.

Your breathing slowed. The pressure behind your eyes eased.

“I used to sleep like this on missions,” Bucky said after a while, his voice a low hum in the dark. “Back when I was still getting used to… all of it. The noise. The memories. The fear. Some nights I’d crash on the couch just like this, curled up in a blanket and pretending it was normal.”

You tilted your head up. “Did it help?”

He shrugged. “Not always. But sometimes it was the only thing that made me feel like a person again. Like I wasn’t just… surviving.”

You rested your cheek against his chest again, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. That alone was helping more than you expected.

“I don’t like feeling weak,” you admitted, voice soft. “Even though I know it’s not weakness. I just… hate not having control over my own mind.”

“You’re not weak,” he said firmly. “You’re human. And what you’re feeling—this?” He squeezed your side gently. “This is the cost of caring. You didn’t shut off the second the mission ended because part of you still thinks you have to protect everyone. That’s not weakness. That’s heart.”

You blinked against the sting in your eyes.

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re really good at this?”

He smirked, brushing a thumb over your temple. “Not often. Most people expect the Winter Soldier to be emotionally unavailable.”

You smiled at that. “Well, lucky me.”

His tone grew quieter again. “You don’t have to fight right now. You don’t have to be anything. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

You felt something shift inside you, like a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding finally let go. Your fingers curled into his shirt, grounding yourself in the feeling of him, in the steady presence he offered so freely.

He adjusted slightly to get more comfortable, never breaking contact. One of his fingers trailed up your spine in a lazy path, then returned to your hair, repeating a slow, soothing pattern.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, more softly now. “So just stay here. Let yourself rest. That’s enough.”

You let your eyes drift shut.

The hum of the city outside faded. The tension in your chest eased. The darkness didn’t feel heavy anymore, not when you were wrapped up in him.

Somewhere between his heartbeat, his hand in your hair, and the warmth of his voice murmuring soft, grounding words, you drifted off, safe for the first time in days.

And Bucky?

He just held you tighter.

-----

Sunlight streamed faintly through the slats of the blinds, golden and soft, warming the quiet building in the early morning hush.

You stirred slowly, the sound of distant voices and the soft clink of mugs somewhere behind you nudging you toward consciousness.

Your head was still nestled against a warm chest. The steady rise and fall beneath you hadn’t changed. A metal arm remained securely wrapped around your back, cool but comforting, fingers splayed protectively across your waist.

Bucky hadn’t moved all night.

Neither had you.

For a moment, you stayed like that, savouring the unfamiliar feeling of having truly rested. No nightmares. No restlessness. Just him.

And then—

“Oh my God,” a voice whispered, not nearly as quiet as they thought it was.

“Shhh!” came another voice, clearly amused.

Your eyes opened just a crack.

Standing at the edge of the living room were Yelena, John, and Ava—all with varying degrees of holy shit, what are we seeing? plastered across their faces. Yelena was sipping coffee with an evil glint in her eye, Walker had both eyebrows halfway to his hairline, and Ava just looked… confused but curious.

“Should we be—like—taking a picture?” Yelena said, grinning over her mug. “Because this is adorable.”

“I mean, Barnes has emotions now?” Walker added, clearly torn between mockery and shock. “I thought he powered down at night.”

You groaned softly and started to pull back, but Bucky’s arm tightened around you like it was instinctual, even in half-sleep.

“Don’t,” he mumbled, voice rough and sleep-heavy. “Five more minutes.”

Yelena let out a mock gasp. “He cuddles and begs for more sleep? You guys, this is the best day of my life.”

You peeked up at Bucky. His eyes were barely cracked open, but the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

“Barnes”, Ava said slowly, “is this… a thing?”

Bucky looked down at you, then back at the group. “It is now.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you tucked your face back into his chest with a tired groan. “I should be embarrassed.”

Bucky’s hand came up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “Don’t be. Let them talk. They’re just jealous they didn’t get held by a supersoldier last night.”

Yelena wheezed. “Honestly? A little.”

Ava shrugged. “Fair.”

Walker turned and headed for the kitchen. “I don’t know what’s more shocking: that you’re sleeping on a couch or that you voluntarily touched another human.”

Bucky yawned and settled back against the pillow. “Team bonding. You should try it sometime.”

The team slowly trickled away, still whispering and chuckling under their breath as they went. Within minutes, the kitchen clatter picked up: coffee being poured, a pan sizzling, voices drifting in and out.

You looked up at Bucky again, still wrapped in his arms.

“That wasn’t nearly as mortifying as it could’ve been,” you said.

He smirked lazily, blue eyes soft as he brushed his thumb across your cheek.

“Give it time. Yelena’s probably printing t-shirts as we speak.”

You snorted, letting your eyes fall closed again. “Let her.”

And for a little while longer, wrapped up in each other on that beat-up couch, you just existed. Together. Warm, rested, and, for the first time in a long time, completely at peace.

join my тαgℓιѕт -

@avgdestitute, @xoxo-moonlight, @spring-soldier, @vyviiennestar, @avengemepercy, @wickedfun9, @floweradroble1123

[buckybarnes82]

“Well, well… fuck me well.” with buckyyyy

Ummm is this a follow-up to Bucky suggesting a new hole?? Yes it is. Read part one here if you're interested!

Content: anal fingering and anal sex (female reader receiving) - I know it's not everyone's cup of tea so skip if you're not into it, although Bucky is very sweet and encouraging throughout

18+ Minors DNI NSFW under the gif

You watch Bucky pump lube onto his pointer and middle finger and bite your lip. Are you going to be able to handle this? You've never done it before. It's not that you've never wanted to, but trust is a big piece of the puzzle for you when it comes to that hole.

"Okay, just lay on your back, baby. I'll be gentle. And please please tell me if it's too much, okay? I want it to feel good for ya," he says gently as your head hits the pillow.

You nod and look into his eyes. He loves you and you trust him with your life. He smiles softly at you and leans down to capture your mouth in a warm kiss. His tongue explores the seam of your lips and you open your mouth, tasting him on your own. You feel his fingers massage before pressing gently.

"Take a deep breath for me, baby," he instructs you. You inhale with him and on the exhale you feel one finger slide in a bit. "There you go. How is that?"

"That's fine. It doesn't hurt," you inform him with a slight nod. "You can keep going." He presses the finger in deeper and you feel his erection press against your thigh. "Are you enjoying it?"

He chuckles and nods his head. "Very much."

"Keep going," you whisper, gasping as you feel the tip of a second finger breach the tight ring of muscle. His eyes snap to yours at your reaction and you smile. "I'm okay. It's just a new sensation."

"You're doing amazing," he rasps. "I'm… I'm… fuck, this is hot," he admits, blushing.

"Yeah?" You breathe out, clenching around nothing.

"Definitely," he whispers, kissing your neck and chest, capturing a nipple in his mouth and sucking roughly as his fingers work to prepare you for the real show. He keeps this rhythm up for several minutes and rubs your clit with his other hand until your thighs are shaking. "Cum for me, darling," he commands reverently.

"Ah, yes," you whine softly, coming undone around his fingers. He checks in with you delicately and kisses your forehead. His cock is rock hard and almost looks angry against your stomach. He removes his fingers gently from you and pulls you closer to him by your thighs.

"Are you sure you're ready to try this?" He asks. "Because we can wait."

"I want to," you say eagerly. "Maybe I can be on top? It might be easier for me and give me more control," you suggest.

"Sure, baby. Whatever you need," he replies with a kiss to your nose. He lays down and you straddle his waist. His erection creates a perfect friction between your legs and you rock back and forth on him, coating him in your arousal. You lean forward and let the head of his cock line up right where you need it. You palm his length and guide him ever so slowly into your ass. The head of his cock breaches the entrance and you feel a pleasureable burning sensation as you take a deep breath.

"Just the tip," you moan, breathing steadily. You look down at Bucky to see his pupils blown wide.

"God, look at you. You're so perfect," he murmurs, tracing patterns down your waist with his fingertips.

You smile coyly and sit down a bit further, feeling a stinging stretch as he fills you even more. "Oh my God," you whimper. "I don't think I can take any more."

"Baby, you're doing so good. That's almost all of it anyway," he says, glancing down at himself sheathed inside of you.

"Is it?" You ask with a gasp.

"Yeah, hey - breathe in and out. You okay?" He asks, checking in with you again.

You close your eyes and sit down fully on your exhale. You feel your ass meet his thighs and smile.

"Well, well… fuck me well. You're incredible. I can't believe you took it all like that," he rasps.

"Ye of little faith, Bucky Barnes," you tease, rocking your hips slowly.

He chuckles and the vibration sends shivers across your skin.

"I've never felt this full before," you admit, looking at him.

"I can rectify that," he replies with a devilish grin, inserting a finger into your core. Your eyes flutter closed in pure pleasure as you continue rocking your hips, moving a bit more now as your body accomodates his size.

"There she is. Good job, baby," he whispers gently, praising you, and you wonder why it took so long to try this in the first place.

The End.

[buckybarnes82]

I love reading anything with Sam involved! I also loved all the little details within this. You do such a good job at sprinkling details in that are memorable. 🩵

41. "Just say it. Please just say it." With bucky please! Maybe the reader is pranking him to give bad advice to their friend on the call (its from a tiktok trend, basically like this https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSS3C1Ruw/) and he gets a bit serious bc they need 'help' & worried😅

I hope this is what you were asking for! Thank you for sending a fun ask!

You're stacking a pile of clean towels and wash cloths and listening to Bucky read a text out loud from Sam about his newest crush.

"Sam is asking me for advice about Darcy. He said they exchanged numbers and they're texting," he murmurs.

"Oooh, just tell him to leave her on read for a couple hours. Girls live for that," you say with a smile, nudging Bucky's arm playfully.

"They do?" Bucky asks with a quizzical expression. "I didn't know that."

"Oh, yeah, we love it! It adds an air of mystery to a man. Just say it. Please just say it," you add.

"Okay, I sent it," Bucky says, setting his phone down on the coffee table with a sigh.

You giggle quietly to yourself and continue folding laundry on the couch. His phone buzzes twice.

"Is it Sam?" You ask, sitting down next to him.

"Yeah. He said he's going to call me," Bucky says with an eye roll. His phone buzzes again and Bucky picks it up and puts it on speaker.

"Hey buddy, what's up?" Bucky asks calmly, settling back into the couch cushions. You listen in.

"Buck, man, are you sure about the leaving her on read thing? Did that work with your girl? That seems odd," Sam prattles.

"I mean, yeah, it obviously worked. She's folding my socks as we speak," he lets out with a small laugh. You kiss his shoulder.

"Hey, am I on speaker?" Sam asks.

Bucky looks to you before answering and you shake your head and bring your pointer finger to your lips to tell him you'll be quiet. "No, it's just me," Bucky lies.

"Alright, well, I really want to impress her on the first date. Where should I take her, man?" Sam asks. You lean over and press the mute button.

"Tell him to take her to a buffet. Women love buffets and seeing how much a man can eat," you say to Bucky with a wink. He looks at you with slight disgust before shrugging.

"Buck?" You hear Sam's voice through the speaker, thinking he lost him.

"Yeah, man, why don't you try a buffet? Ladies love a man with an appetite," Bucky says into the phone, brow furrowed, not really believing what's coming out of his own mouth.

"A buffet? On a first date? That's… out of the box," Sam says. You can practically see him nodding his head, taking the bait. You press mute again and giggle.

"Oh, I know what you're doing now. You're diabolical," Bucky sighs, letting out a soft laugh. He nods now and takes a stab at the bad advice bit you have going. He presses unmute.

"Yeah, it's unique. Plus, she'll know upfront what her half of the bill will be. No surprises," Bucky says, running a hand down his face at what he's suggesting to Sam.

"Whoa, you're suggesting we split the bill? That's not very gentlemanly, is it? I mean, that seems-"

Bucky cuts him off. "It's modern. It's what women wants nowadays."

"I guess I should be listening to ya, man. You got the girl."

You giggle quietly and cover your mouth listening to Sam fall for Bucky's horrendous dating advice.

"Should I get her flowers? I know you always got flowers on a first date, and, honestly I just really don't want to mess this up. She's so funny and beautiful and smart and damn - she said yes to going out with me. I just want it to be perfect, ya know?"

You swallow, hearing the pining and tension in Sam's voice. This first date really matters to him. You look to Bucky, and he tilts his head knowingly, handing you the phone.

"Sam?"

"Hey, where'd Bucky go?" Sam asks, changing his tone a bit.

"He's right here," you say. "Um, don't listen to our advice. I was just playing a prank on you. It's a TikTok trend. I can tell how much you're into Darcy, and I don't want you to screw it up by listening to our bullshit."

"Bucky!" Sam exclaims through the phone. "You said I wasn't on speaker, man!"

"And? I can't say no to her! She's adorable, and she's folding my… unmentionables," he says sweetly.

"Sam? Listen. Do not leave that woman on read. Reply to her like normal. Definitely get her flowers. Take her to a nice but not too fancy restaurant - not a buffet. And for crying out loud, pay for dinner!" You giggle at the end.

"That's the kind of advice I was expecting. Ya'll had my damn head spinning!"

"We have to keep you on your toes, Wilson. Especially with a girl like Darcy. She's a spitfire," you reply.

"She sure is. Well, I'll let you two get back to folding laundry or whatever euphemism that's a stand-in for," Sam says with a chuckle. "Bye!"

Sam hangs up and you look at Bucky with a sheepish grin. "Almost had him!"

"You're too soft. I could have kept the charade going!" Bucky exclaims.

"You would've caved," you quip.

"Maybe. Now… want to get back to folding laundry?" He asks with a wink.

"Mmm. Fluff and fold, Barnes?"

The End.

[buckybarnes82]

BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out 💚

Soels, my angel. Thank you so much, I’m so glad to know you!!!!

[buckybarnes82]

The banter between them is so damn good. 😩

Toothpaste

Bucky Barnes x gn!Reader

A little follow-up to yesterday's Towel 😏 This time, you're in search of toothpaste.

Warnings: nudity, flirty Bucky

Word Count: 500

Bucky Masterlist

It was days later. Weeks even. Nothing had happened. Nothing was going to happen.

You'd put it so far to the back of your mind that you only really remembered it when he held you eye for a second too long.

As if he was remembering what was underneath your threadbare ABBA t-shirt.

You yanked that same t-shirt over your head and went to brush your teeth. Yelena had big plans which involved knife shopping of all things.

The toothpaste was looking a little low, but surely there would be enough to just squeeze out for you to use.

After squishing and smushing the tube, it became clear that was not going to happen.

You left your door wide open, skipped Bob's room - he always pinched everyone else's and was likely the reason you had no toothpaste in the first place - and went to Bucky's room.

You knocked firmly - loudly - and gave the door a little push.

“Hey, you in? Can I borrow -”

You stopped.

His door swung shut behind you.

He was in the doorway to the bathroom - towel in hand, drying his hair.

The only towel.

Your eyes landed exactly where they shouldn't and widened like saucers.

“Holy shit.”

The ceiling.

You looked up, your chin decidedly pointing up enough to make it clear that you definitely weren't looking at Bucky.

Naked Bucky.

“Something you need?” He asked, the amusement very clear in his voice.

That smug bastard.

“No! Nope, I will go to Lena instead. I didn't see anything.”

“You absolutely did.” He echoed you, but sounded far happier about it.

Oh. Is that how it's gonna be? You bit the bullet, determined not to let him have the upper hand.

You looked down from the ceiling and held his eye.

Then you let your gaze drop - slowly, deliberately, taking your fill from head to toe before meeting his eyes again with a steady look.

“Ok, I guess I did. So now we're even.”

“Even, huh?” He leaned against the doorframe, towel loose in his hand, clearly not worried about modesty.

You stayed fixed on his face, not that that was really much help.

His hair was damp, curling at his temple, a bead of water sliding down his chest.

“Yep.” You crossed your arms, tilting your head like you were the one in control. “Besides, I didn’t see anything worth remembering.”

That earned you a sharp bark of laughter. He shook his head. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Am I though?” You mused with a shrug.

“Uh-huh.” He dragged the towel slowly over his shoulder, his smirk widening as your throat went dry. “But, y'know, if it helps you sleep at night, doll?”

You turned, aiming for the door. “There's nothing keeping me up at night, Barnes. Don't you worry about that.”

Behind you came his laugh again - low, husky, and totally unbothered.

“Funny,” he murmured, not even pretending to hide his grin, “’cause I’ve been up every night thinkin’ about you.”

You didn’t see the way his eyes lingered on you as you escaped, but you felt it anyway, seared between your shoulder blades.

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