buckys3rdnip

[buckys3rdnip]

working on some freakydeaky nasty smut rn 🤍

[buckys3rdnip]

feel free to send any requests for one-shots, your headcanons, or anything you'd like written and I'll write stuff up for those in the meantime while I work on new fics 🤍

[buckys3rdnip]

thank you for the love on my little one-shot! I'll work up the courage to write up some smut eventually haha

[buckys3rdnip]

Pulling at Heartstrings

"You listen to music while you shoot people?"

"You dont?"

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader (F) 18+ (mdni)

Warnings/Tags: Ambiguous timeline, Classic tower fic, Music lover/dependent reader, a little bit of Sexual tension if you squint, Sniper!Reader, One-shot/Drabble maybe eventually a fic, Fluff, Age-Gap, Possessive Bucky, Mutual-pining, Insecure Reader, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: You hate silence. Every hour of the day, there was either a speaker or earphones feeding you the sweet melodies of hyperspecific playlists and songs that were just right—anything to fill the silence. After a while of being an Avenger, you began to grow feelings for the former Winter Soldier, becoming good friends and work partners. Suddenly, the 40s were sounding pretty good in your ears.

Author’s Note: My first fic on here! I’ve been listening to too much 40s and 50s music and wanted to write something that was tooth-rottingly fluffy. I highly recommend listening to the song attached or maybe reading the lyrics to enjoy the full extent of the story but its not totally necessary! :)

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Everyone has quirks and unique habits that might be considered irrelevant to some, while others rely on these little nuances to better understand those around them.

Bucky was the latter.

Despite being a couple of decades behind, about 10, it didn't go unnoticed to Bucky how whenever there was music playing, it was usually by you, and if anyone cared enough to pay close attention (which he did), it gave pretty good insight into how you were feeling throughout the day. Some songs meant good days, others meant not-so-good days, and then there were the ones that had made him curious. He took note of how recently, in between your usual rotations of 90's rock and grungey new-wave taste you had, there'd be an occasional song or two he could surprisingly recognize coming from your room, only because it'd be something between the 1930s or 40's. Especially on the days you’d spend together, either training, working, or sometimes after just being around one another long enough.

It was the morning after your most recent mission with Bucky. Normally, the mornings weren’t really your thing, meanwhile Bucky’s already on his run just before the sun came up. You wake up at about 8:00am, thankfully, you had no missions today, which meant you could enjoy a Saturday for the first time in weeks. Regardless of the day, you never changed your morning routine. At this point, it was a ritual, so to speak. After waking up and rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you don’t skip a beat as you hurry to rummage through your shelf full of mixtapes, CDs, records, etc. Oh, sure, you had Bluetooth speakers in your room, the compound surrounded you in the latest tech, inaccessible to civilians probably for the next 30 to 50 years- it was like living in the future, confined to just this tower alone. But you also had an appreciation for tangible, real things. Old things. Your civies were comprised of vintage band shirts and ripped jean shorts, all covered in a mix of your perfume and the scent of gunpowder. Maybe in another life, you’d be a video vixen for the newest up-and-coming rock band of the century, instead of being perched on rooftops, taking people out in broad daylight or under the cover of shadows.

You pop a tape into the stereo that’s set up by your dresser, the floor-to-ceiling window flooding in the warm sunlight rising over New York as you hit play and wake yourself up for the day ahead. You’ve always had a broad taste with some select favorites, your usual choices on the more alternative side, but you enjoyed the occasional ballet or 80s hit, to switch things up. However, lately your song choices have been a bit different. As the song began to play, you hummed along. This morning, you were listening to a song from the 50s by a female group that seemed to perfectly capture the inner turmoil you were silently facing.

It didn’t matter how well you shot, how high your mission success rate was, or how proficient your training and performance were. Bucky was stubborn, and had a tendency to doubt. It wasn’t anything against you or your skills, but rather his distrust towards the world and its merciless inhabitants. After growing closer over time, you and Bucky naturally learned each other’s characteristics, you quickly discovered how…protective Bucky was. Overbearing was really the word you were looking for. He had a habit of hovering, almost helicoptering at times, on missions and at home. If you were hanging around someone else for too long or if one of the guys made you laugh a bit too hard, the tension in Bucky’s jaw and shoulders seemed to tighten with irritation. Of course, this usually went unnoticed by you; after all, his grumpy exterior wasn’t exactly out of character for him. One thing he did that got under your skin a bit was remind you of the fact that you’re younger. Not by much (according to your opinion), even if he was about 100 years old, it’s not like he was really that ancient, and you weren’t a child. Being a young woman in your 20s, you didn’t take kindly to being referred to as anything but a grown adult. But it seemed like you couldn’t escape the offhanded use of ‘kid’ he or some of the others threw around while talking to or scolding you. You honestly couldn’t care less if it came from anyone else. But the fact that it was him bothered you to no end. The stories you’d hear from Steve of Bucky being quite the charmer with women and hearing about the type of women he had gone for before the war left you feeling unsettled, maybe at times anxious, and a little bit insecure. You couldn’t deny that at times, when under stress, you had the habit of acting like a raging teenager who was angry at anything- everything. This only strengthened your self-consciousness. As you mumbled the words and hummed along to the tune, you peeled off the sleep shirt you wore to bed, changing into some black shorts and a t-shirt with the neckline cut across so it would hang off your shoulders, revealing the black bra straps hugging your triceps. You make sure to shut off the stereo before heading to the kitchen and common area to fix yourself something up. A smile twitches at the corners of your lips as you see Bucky, white tank top and basketball shorts, post-run run sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee, reading a newspaper.

“Y’know most people watch the news nowadays.” You say, walking over to the coffee maker against the kitchen backsplash. He doesn’t look up, but the chuckle in his throat makes your heart skip a small beat.

“Yeah, well, I’m not interested in hearing a news anchor shout at me this early, so words and pictures are doing just fine for now.” He speaks through another soft chuckle, his lips curling into the most heartthrobbed smile, and he wasn’t even looking in your direction, yet it was enough for you to make the mistake of overpouring your coffee. “Oh shit-” You winced and put down your mug, whispering a small string of curses under your breathing, verbally berating the hot liquid as you quickly wiped away at the small spill on the counter. Bucky's eyes shot up from the paper, following you as you scrambled, quickly cleaning your mess despite the lack of actual urgency to do so. He found your erratic nature…endearing. “You okay?” His tone was toeing the line between genuine concern and slight amusement in seeing you flustered over spilled coffee. “Yeah, I got it..” You reluctantly grumbled as you wiped down the side of your mug.

A few minutes pass, you finish making your coffee with no more casualties to the counters and floor, taking a seat beside Bucky, with your elbows propped up as you sip on the warm beverage. A couple more seconds of quiet continue to fill the room before Bucky thankfully breaks it. His next words, however, nearly make you choke as he casually speaks. “So, The Poni-Tails, huh? I prefer the stuff made in the 40s, but maybe the 50s is acceptable, not sure how great those were.” You realize halfway through his sentence that he’s looking at you again. “…I knew my stuff was loud, but I didn’t think it was that loud.” You reply in a bit of a nervous laugh. “That’s a lie. You know exactly how loud you can be.” Bucky’s still smiling, you had to pretend you weren’t absolutely reeling at the sight of it, not to mention his words making your brain make associations that probably weren’t appropriate for this conversation. “I gotta admit, I don’t think I’ve heard you play that one before. That one's new.” He added on, leaning in a little in a slightly playful manner. The fact that he could pick up on the correlation between you and your music selections made your brain short-circuit a little from the disbelief that anyone on this planet would even pay the smallest bit of attention to that kind of detail about you. You could’ve sworn you forgot how to speak for a second. You don’t even notice his empty cup as he stood up from his seat to go put it in the dishwasher, your gaze following him as you struggled to find anything to say, but that was okay because he wasn’t done.

“If I wasn’t busy being such a hardass, I would’ve picked up on it sooner.” He began, setting the cup down before walking over to you as you shifted in your seat a bit, your eyes soft and full like a doe in the forest as you looked up at Bucky. His hands reaching down to grip the sides of your stool, you felt his thumbs graze the outer part of your thighs as his fingers curled around the edges of your seat, his gaze boring into you. “Do you really think I don’t…feel things for you?” His voice was soft, the gravel at his throat rumbling in his words as he spoke in a gentle, almost vulnerable tone, searching your eyes for how you truly felt. Your lips were slightly parted as you stared up at him in surprise, taken aback by his forwardness.

“No, I-” You cleared your throat a bit as you felt embarrassment creep up on your cheeks as they grew warmer. “…I didn’t.” You managed to finish. Bucky hung his head for a moment with a soft sigh, he seemed disappointed…but in himself? He shook his head disapprovingly before lifting it back up to meet your nervous eyes. His thumb gently rubbed small circles on the side of your thigh beside your knee. “I didn’t know you were having a hard time. I never meant to make you feel this way, like you couldn’t be enough for me. It’s the complete opposite…” He trailed off. Bucky chewed at his bottom lip for a moment to stifle a curse as he brought up his hand to cup your cheek. The flesh of his palm was warm as it met your face, his touch gentle. “...The fact is, I need you, I rely on you to keep me from losing my mind in all this noise...Even if it makes me selfish I don't care, I can’t stand the thought of having to share you with anyone...” He breathed, hanging his head again with a small sigh.

"You're more than what I deserve and all I desire."

Your heart is beating so fast you feel it in your head and at the tips of your fingers as his words sink in. You had spent hours, even full nights, consumed with dread, telling yourself that you were the wrong girl from the wrong time, doubting yourself and your chances with someone as extraordinary as the man before you. But here he was, snuffing your doubts and proving your demons wrong. Not only was your love for him requited, but he was looking at you like you were his salvation, and as far as Bucky was concerned; you were.

"Stop looking at me like that before I kiss you..." You say, your breath shaky as your worries from before had subsided, now your only concern being whether or not you can practice the little sense of self restraint you had left when it came to Bucky.

He doesn't even hesiate, not sparing another second being away from you as he leans forward. Your lips locking and drowning into one another, as if you had been stranded in the desert and this was your oasis. It was perfect, he was perfect and so were you- Bucky didn't care what he had to do to make sure you knew that. He'd spend every day of the rest of his life convincing you if he had to. You both pull away, your lips ghosting each other, brushing against the skin as even your breaths seemed to synchronize from the small heat of passion.

"Can..we do that again?" You softly panted.

Bucky couldn't hold back a toothy grin, chuckling softly. "We'll be doing that and a whole lot more."

END.

[buckys3rdnip]

erm hai this is my 2nd blog my other one is @seradotway but I'm hoping to turn this one into my main for writing and fic purposes :3