tinkcantwrite - Tumblr blog

tinkcantwrite · 20 days ago

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YEPPPPP SHE’S DONE IT AGAIN

never late is better | joaquín torres x f!reader

pairing: joaquín torres x f!reader

summary: Joaquín is late for your anniversary dinner.

warning: 18+ content mdni!!!!, oral (m! & f! receiving)—69ing, dirty talk, overstimulation if you squint, pet names ("baby" multiple times, "mr./mrs. torres" once jokingly)

note: ok who ordered the smut w/ a splash of angst and a side of fluff? lololololol. no use of (Y/N). established relationship—reader&joaquín are married😁. mentions of the events of thunderbolts* so kinda spoilers. reader drinks wine. ty as always to @buckyspancakes for betareading :*) i heart u, babe. this was crossposted on ao3.

word count: 4098

Nursing the glass of wine in your hand, you watched the clock tick past 7:00, then 8:00, and before you knew it, it was 9:30 PM. It was pitch-black dark outside, dinner (which you had spent hours to make sure it was just right) was beyond cold, you’d nearly drunk half of the bottle of wine you were saving for dinner, and Joaquín had yet to walk through the front door.

Sure, you were upset he was late. I mean, it was your anniversary.

But the icing on the cake was that you’d insisted you not celebrate on your actual anniversary since Joaquín worked that day. “I know you’re busy,” you’d told him. “I’d hate for you to have to rush home.”

It had been a tradition to eat dinner at home, and in your four years of marriage, you’d yet to break that tradition. Joaquín, despite being insanely busy, asserted that you not break this streak.

Usually, you’d cook dinner together, but you knew this time that it just wasn’t feasible—Joaquín hardly came home from work on time, so you knew it’d be impossible for him to leave early. This resulted in a compromise: you’d have dinner ready when he got home so he wouldn’t have to leave work early.

When you initially suggested it, he looked so offended that you would’ve thought you told him you wanted to move out. “Wha—but baby, we always cook dinner together!”

However, after some thought, he knew that if he really wanted to honor your anniversary tradition despite his busy schedule, this would be the best way to do it.

He claimed it wouldn’t be a problem to leave work on time, but you still highly doubted that. He and Sam had only gotten busier, especially with the “New Avengers” fiasco and the impending lawsuit. But Joaquín seemed so set on not breaking the tradition that you relented.

That morning, after he got ready, like every morning, he gently nudged you awake.

Through blurry eyes you peered up at him before wrapping your arms around his waist, your ear pressed to his torso. Inhaling deeply and squeezing your eyes shut, you let his cologne fill your senses.

He combed a hand through your hair before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. “Happy anniversary,” he mumbled into your hair, making a sleepy smile stretch across your features. He let you pull him back into the bed, like he did every morning, your face smushed into the curve between his throat and shoulder.

Now, you glared fiercely at the clock on the stove. “So much for ‘tradition.’”

You weren’t angry that he was working—you understood that when he took on the role of the Falcon, it would be important and demanding work. It was the fact that he’d been so adamant on not changing your plans.

The more you stewed on it, you weren’t sure if you were angry at him for thinking it’d be possible or angry at yourself for believing him.

And sure, maybe it wasn’t a big deal—but you missed your husband. Severely. He worked late nearly every night, and it seemed like he had to catch a flight somewhere every other week. You were hoping your anniversary would resemble some sort of normalcy: he'd leave work on time, you’d eat dinner together, have a couple glasses of wine, and then stuff pillows behind the headboard so it wouldn’t bang against the wall and wake the neighbors again.

On the table, your head rested heavy against your hands, the exhaustion of the day finally making itself known.

I’ll just rest my eyes for a second.

You woke yourself up choking on a snore. Rolling your neck with a wince, you stretched your arms out in front of you, squinting at the time.

11:16 PM.

“Quín, where the hell are you?” You pulled yourself up from the table, limbs stiff from sitting so long. You set your wine glass in the sink, not bothering to move anything else. Trudging along to your bedroom, you switched on the lamp in the hallway.

You changed into one of Joaquín’s shirts—a Miami Hurricanes one, its graphic dull and faded from its various washes. Crawling into bed, you buried your face into Joaquín’s pillow. You were surprised when you pulled back and noticed it was wet. Wiping your face, you realized you were crying.

You rubbed harshly at your face. “It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine,” you mumbled, not because it was true, but more so to convince yourself.

It didn’t work—if anything, it had the opposite effect.

Before you knew it, you were blubbering pathetically. You rested your palms over your eyes in an attempt to pull yourself together. Taking a deep breath, you glared at Joaquín’s pillow beneath you before flinging it off the bed. You knew it was petty, but you couldn’t deny the satisfaction that came from the quiet thump of it hitting your dresser.

Pulling the duvet to your chest, you rolled over and let yourself succumb to the day’s exhaustion.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Joaquín took two steps at a time up to the front door, fumbling with his house key before eventually flinging open the front door. “Baby, I’m so sor—”

The house was dark, save for the lamp you always left on in the hallway when Joaquín worked late. He furrowed his brows, quickly kicking off his shoes before making his way into the kitchen, flicking the light switch on.

Everything was exactly how you left it.

The table was still set for two, the pan of spaghetti sitting cold on the stove. His wine glass sat lonesome at the table, whereas yours sat in the sink. He knew it was yours because you always insisted on using the cheesy “his” and “hers” wine glasses his mother bought as a wedding gift. You thought they were hilarious.

“Well, we have them,” you had laughed. “Might as well use them.”

It sure seemed you did tonight—the bottle of wine was less than half empty.

Sighing, he made his way down the hallway and quietly pushed open the bedroom door. The light from the street lamp outside peeked in through the curtains, illuminating your face—well, the back of your head, really. Your face was pressed into your pillow.

Joaquín shrugged his jacket off his shoulders, navigating in the darkness to the dresser to lay it there. He pivoted, moving to approach you. “Baby, I’m so sor—shit!” His foot caught something in the shadows, sending him stumbling into the side of the mattress, arms scrambling for purchase. He landed against your sleeping form, causing you to roll over with a start.

“What the—Joaquín?” You reached over to your bedside table and pulled the string to the lamp; the room suddenly illuminated. Shifting so he wasn’t narrowly crushing you, he peered at your face in the warm glow.

His heart dropped to his stomach when he noticed your flushed face and puffy eyes. He reached a gentle hand out to your cheek, swallowing deeply when you flinched away to curl in on yourself.

“Where were you?” Your voice was small and shaky. “I waited on you for hours.”

“I’m so sorry—I just got caught up at work. You know Sam and I just got in contact with Murdock, so we’ve been trying to get this ‘New Avengers’ shit—” He shook his head. “It’s no excuse. I told you I’d be home…I should’ve been home.”

“Yeah.” You looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table. “It’s not even our anniversary anymore, Quín.”

He flinched, turning to look at the clock. Sure enough, it was 12:18 AM.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” He shifted closer to you on the bed, his arms outstretched. You easily dodged him, rolling over and pulling the duvet back up to your chin.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not. We had plans, our tradition—you cooked dinner—and I just—” He threw his arms in the air. “It is—was—our anniversary.”

“It’s fine.”

“You know it’s not—”

You swiftly turned back over to face him, sitting back up where you were face-to-face. “Yes! I know it’s not fine. I spent the evening all alone again. And usually it’s fine. Whatever. I get it. You have important work to do. But seriously, Joaquín, tonight? On our anniversary? When we always eat dinner together?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but you weren’t finished.

“We literally talked about how busy you are! You haven’t gotten off work on time in weeks; we both know this. That’s why I just…don’t understand why you didn’t want to just wait.”

“Well, I know I just…” he trailed off, studying the wall behind you. “I didn’t want to let you down,” he eventually said.

“Quín,” you sighed, your heart lurching. “You could never let me down.” Wrapping your arms around him, you continued, “I’m proud of you and the work you do. You’re a hero, and not just because of the suit you wear. You give people something to look up to. Rearranging our plans wouldn’t be a letdown; it’s just…” You pause. “Life.”

He stared at you, a wide smile spreading across his face. “I’m a hero, huh?”

“Is that seriously the part you’re focusing on?”

He rubbed circles along your back, jaw clenched in thought. “I’m gonna do better, okay, baby? Work’s important, but you’re more important to me.”

You shook your head, a light smile on your face. “Don’t say that—”

“No, no, it’s true.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Spending these past nights alone. You don’t deserve that—especially on our anniversary.” He shook his head. “When we got married, I promised you I’d make you happy for the rest of your life, and it seems like I’ve been doing a pretty shitty job—”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” He rubbed his thumb along your cheekbone. “But I’m gonna do better. I’m gonna come home on time.”

You pressed your lips together in a thin line, causing him to envelop your hands with his own. “I promise.” He peered into your eyes. “How about I take next week off?”

“Joaquín, you’re busy—”

“I think Sam can handle a week without me.”

“The lawsuit—”

“Isn’t going anywhere.”

You shook your head. “I’m serious—”

“So am I. Work will be there whenever I get back.” He paused, sighing. “Just like it’d be there in the morning if I left on time.”

At that, you didn’t say anything. Your eyes wandered throughout the bedroom, your gaze pausing abruptly behind Joaquín, making him furrow his brows.

“What?” He watched as a flush crept up your cheeks before peering over his shoulder to see what you were looking at. Squinting, he asked, “Is that my pillow?”

“Dunno how that got there,” you mumbled, moving your hands back to your lap. He looked back and forth between you and the pillow.

“Did you put my pillow on the ground?”

Silence.

“Were you trying to trip me?”

“No!” You exclaimed with a laugh.

“You…you were trying to trip me!” He crowded your face to peer into your eyes, making you erupt into more laughter. “And it worked.”

“...I didn’t mean for you to fall,” you eventually stated, making Joaquín shake his head in disbelief.

“My wife’s trying to kill me.”

You playfully nudged his shoulder. “Oh, hush. I mean, you had me waiting in the kitchen for four hours; I think it would’ve been justified.”

Joaquín winced. “God, baby, I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you this week, I swear. The whole week’s gonna be our anniversary, okay?”

You shook your head with a laugh. “You’re something else, Mr. Torres.”

“Is that right, Mrs. Torres?”

You nudged him again, rougher this time. “Hush.”

He held his shoulder like you stabbed him and let his mouth drop open in mock offense before nodding. “Guess I deserved that.” He leaned forward to press a kiss on your cheek. “How about I start now?”

You pulled back to peer at him quizzically. “Start what?”

“Making it up to you.”

His lips met yours immediately, catching you off guard. You quickly recuperated, relaxing against his mouth with a sigh. His hand tangled into your hair, holding you securely against his mouth. Feeling his tongue prod your lower lip, you welcomed it into your mouth ardently. Sitting up further, you wrapped your arms around his neck.

He pulled back, his nose nudging yours. His fingertips played with the hem of your (well, his, really) shirt. “As much as I like seeing you in my shirt, I think we should take this off, hm?” He whispered against your mouth.

You nodded eagerly, letting him pull it quickly over your head. He paused for a moment to shamelessly gape at your bare chest, licking his lips. “Quín,” you whined. He shook his head like he was snapping himself out of a trance before latching onto you and peppering kisses along your jaw.

You ran a hand through the curls at the back of Joaquín’s neck as he continued his onslaught of sloppy kisses down your throat and to your chest. When his soft mouth nudged your nipple, you couldn’t help the whine that left your throat.

His lips continued their path down your stomach, pausing to plant featherlight kisses along the lace at your panty line. He stopped abruptly to move to the edge of the bed and stand up, pulling you with him. You watched as he lowered to his knees so he was eye level with your cunt.

You felt him run a finger along your cunt through your panties, teasing. Your hand made its way back to his hair, causing him to let out a low chuckle. “She missed me, huh, baby?”

“Thought you were supposed to be making it up to me,” you spat petulantly.

His mouth dropped to plant a kiss right where you wanted him, causing your entire body to go slack. “Yeah, this is what you needed,” he mumbled, giving no heed to your impatience.

Your hands flew to the lace along your waist, beginning to pull your panties down, when Joaquín grabbed your hands, placing them at your sides. “Be patient; I’ll give you what you need.”

You opened your mouth to argue further when you felt his nose nudge your clit through your panties. “Oh.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, more so to your pussy than to you. He licked a line from your hole to your clit, his warm mouth further drenching your already soaked panties. Your hands found home in his curls once again, holding him in place while you nudged your hips up and towards his mouth.

His mouth met your panties again as he lapped greedily. “Joaquín,” you whined.

“What, baby? What do you need?”

“You know what I—oh.” Your eyes squeezed shut with a shaky inhale as he practically made out with your pussy.

“I need you to say it.”

“Y-Your mouth,” you stammered, hands tightening even further in his hair.

“My mouth? What about my mouth?”

You glared down at him, which proved to be a mistake. His chest was heaving, and you didn’t miss the way his hips rutted against the side of the mattress. He was looking at the drenched spot on your panties like he was going to eat you alive. “Fuck,” you mumbled.

Joaquín’s eyes trailed up, locking onto yours, as his mouth neared you once again.

“I need your mouth on me right now,” you exhaled breathily.

“My mouth is on you.” He licked another trail up your pussy.

“Fuck, no, it’s—” You squeezed your eyes shut, shuddering. “Please, Quín, I need your mouth on my pussy so, so bad. I need it; please, please give it to—”

“There we go.” He pulled back, standing, seemingly to pull your panties down. But when you caught a glimpse of the tent in his pants, you quickly sat up.

Reaching out to him, you let your palm rest against his erection before stroking him gently through his pants. You licked your lips, looking up to him through your eyelashes.

“Fuck,” he cursed. “You can’t be looking at me like that.” He ran a gentle hand through your hair, stopping to cup your cheek. “What happened to—”

“Lay down,” you interrupted.

He furrowed his brows at you before shaking his head. “Baby—”

You grabbed his arms in an attempt to get him onto the bed. “Trust me.” He didn’t look entirely convinced but let you guide him to where his head was against the pillows.

You made quick work of his pants and boxers, yanking them down his legs as he pulled his shirt over his head. His cock sprung out, smacking against his stomach, the tip angry and leaking. You licked your lips and rubbed your legs together—you just couldn’t help yourself.

You yanked your own panties down your legs before leaning over to place open-mouthed kisses along his shaft. Joaquín quickly grabbed your hair, not rough but not gentle either. “This ain’t fair.”

“Then make it fair,” you retorted. He still didn’t look convinced.

You moved along the bed until your leg was pressed flush against his torso, not lifting your mouth from his cock—you were hoping he’d get the hint. You heard him mumble, “Oh, oh, fuck,” and could narrowly resist the smirk creeping onto your face.

He quickly looped an arm underneath your left leg, pulling you up and on top of him until your stomach rested against his torso and his weeping cock was right in front of your face. You wrapped a hand around him, holding him right where you needed him. You leaned forward slightly as you gathered spit in your mouth. Pursing your lips together, you allowed the saliva to drip directly onto the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” he shakily exhaled against your pussy as you slowly jerked his hard cock, the spit combined with his precome allowing for your hand to glide easily up and down his cock.

His uneven breath continued to fan across your pussy, which had leaked against your inner thighs. Evidently, he must’ve noticed because you felt his tongue lapping eagerly against them. You moaned desperately, your face flushing bright red.

“That feels good, huh, baby? Haven’t even touched your needy little pussy, and you’re dripping all over me.” His mouth fanned right over your clit.

You wanted to point out how he was the one humping the bed and leaking just from making out with you through your panties, but your body was practically thrumming with need, a whimper being the only response you could muster.

“That’s okay, I’m gonna give you what you need.” With that, his tongue flattened against your clit, making your entire body relax against him, your cheek nudging his leaking cock.

The loud moan you let out should’ve been humiliating, but you were so desperate, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Joaquín’s arms were looped around your thighs, fingertips leaving indentations on your thighs as he held you right against his mouth. His tongue eagerly explored your folds, and it took you a few minutes in order to regain your head.

With a shaky inhale, you finally took his weeping tip into your warm mouth, eliciting a deep sigh from his lips. You dragged your mouth further down his cock, relishing in the groans he released against your cunt.

Taking your time, you began bobbing your head up and down, taking more and more of him each time until his head brushed against the back of your throat. You gagged around him, carefully breathing through your nose.

“Oh fuck.”

You continued moving your warm mouth, swallowing around his length. Feeling him twitch, you sped up when he suddenly closed his lips around your clit and sucked hard.

You pulled off him, a trail of spit still connecting you to his cock. Your legs began to twitch as you felt yourself barrel towards your release.

“Shit, Joaquín, I-I’m gonna—fuck!” You whined against his cock. “I’m close.”

He pulled back long enough to say, “Alright, baby, c’mon. Give it to me.” His voice was raspy, bordering on desperate, and for a second, you thought you could’ve came right then.

When his mouth met your pussy again, lips wrapped around your clit, your orgasm crashed into you harshly, vision going spotty as your release fizzed deep in your stomach. You cried out, hands gripping the closest thing to you in an attempt to ground yourself, which happened to be his thighs.

Your chest heaved with pleasure, which quickly morphed to overstimulation when he kept his mouth latched against your sopping cunt.

“Oh, oh, shit.” You saw white behind your eyes and dug your nails further into the skin of his thighs. “Too much, too much, toomuchtoomuch—” You ripped your hips from his grasp, hips upturned as your face rested against his thigh.

You peeped over your shoulder at him: his pupils were blown wide and his chin glistened in the light, covered in spit and juices. You shuddered when he locked eyes with you and licked his lips.

A broad, toothy grin suddenly broke out across his face, slick shining against his lips. “Sooo…pretty good, huh?”

You only shook your head, biting back a smile in your post-coital haze as you turned your gaze back to his cock, still standing tall in front of you. If it were possible, you might’ve thought he had gotten even harder after watching you come.

You went to move off his mouth, but he swiftly tightened his grip against your thighs, pulling you back close to his mouth. “Joaquín,” you whined. “I wanna make you finish.”

“Go ahead, baby.” His breath fanned against you—close, but not touching. “I just want you right here.”

Imagining him staring right at you with that fucked-out, ravenous look on his face had you whimpering.

“Yeah, you like that—oh.” Spitting into your hand, you took his cock back into your mouth, your hand wrapping around his base, jerking lazily. You bobbed your head in time with your fist, twisting your wrist just the way he liked.

“Damn, baby, I’m already about to come.” You began moving with more vigor, egged on by the groans leaving his lips.

Soon after, you felt his cock twitch against your tongue, making you hum around it.

“Com—shit—coming, baby,” he choked out, moaning loudly.

You immediately lowered your mouth completely on his cock, swallowing as he shot his load deep down your throat.

“God, that was…fuck.” Joaquín sighed deeply, attempting to catch his breath.

You went to sit up but decided to bob your head one last time, hollowing your cheeks harshly.

“Fuck!” He practically shouted.

You sat up with a laugh, allowing him to carefully untangle your bodies and move you beneath the duvet. He then stood, bending over to grab his pillow from the floor. You shamelessly ogled his tanned ass, giggling when he turned around and locked eyes with you, his face crimson.

“Are you—stop staring at my ass!” He flung his pillow onto the bed with perfect precision, smacking directly into your face; perhaps a little harsher than he intended. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.” He maneuvered back to the edge of the bed, and his large palms enveloped your cheeks.

He stared deeply into your eyes before beginning to plant huge, sloppy kisses all across your face. You pulled away, laughing, to grab his pillow and smack it against his chest. “Alright, Torres, you were almost back on my good side; don’t ruin it now.”

He planted one final kiss on your forehead before climbing across you to get onto his side of the bed. As he joined you under the duvet, pulling your back against his chiseled chest, you noticed something hard against your ass. Pressing back against him, his hand flew to your hip, holding you steady.

You locked eyes with him over your shoulder. “I said you were almost back on my good side.”

Across town, Sam Wilson was sleeping peacefully in his bed until—

Ding!

He rolled over, blinking sleepily at his bedroom ceiling.

Ding!

Sighing, he blindly reached for his phone on his bedside table, squinting against the harsh brightness of the screen.

[3:43AM] Joaquín Torres: I’m gomna need ghe nezt week off

[3:43AM] Joaquín Torres: Omg

[3:43AM] Joaquín Torres: I’m gonna need the next werk off

[3:44AM] Joaquín Torres: Next week. I need next week off

[3:44AM] Joaquín Torres: Thanks bro

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tinkcantwrite · 21 days ago

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i miss bucky barnes — he’s not dead i just miss him

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #buckyspancakes #thunderbolts

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tinkcantwrite · 25 days ago

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i just know joaquín torres goes crazy at karaoke night

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tinkcantwrite · 26 days ago

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apologies ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

bucky x fem!reader

summary - the thunderbolts* team’s mission goes wrong and you’re worried out of your mind when you don’t hear from bucky. but you shouldn’t worry because he makes it up to you in his own way ;)

warnings - 18+ mdni (you are responsible for the media you consume), oral (f receiving), p in v, dirty talk, little bit of fluff

notes - post thunderbolts* – reader and bucky already have an established relationship !!! and as always ty @luvemmdubb for beta reading ilysm

word count - 2.5k

You swore on everything good in this world that Bucky Barnes was going to drive you up the damn wall.

You sat at the counter of the kitchen in the New Avengers building as you ran a hand through your hair, staring at the tablet in front of you. The team had gone out on another recon mission, something about having to run surveillance on a warehouse used by, yet again, another group of mass weapons dealers. When they had left, Bucky had pressed a kiss to the top of your forehead, reassuring you that it was going to be quick and easy. Simple and nothing out of the ordinary.

You should have known better than to believe that.

Grainy black and white security footage replayed in front of you, reliving the combat that had broken out between the team and men at the warehouse. To put it kindly, the team had sort of gotten their asses handed to them. From what you could tell of the footage, your team had been caught off guard and out numbered. They had tried to fight but it looked like they had taken a really bad beating.

Shortly after the security footage had cut out, presumably by a stray bullet, Val had called you, telling you an extraction team had gotten them out and that everybody was alive. Bob had appeared from whatever alcove he was hiding out in and rubbed a hand over your back, offering you an awkward yet comforting smile. You had smiled up at him, squeezing his hand in thanks before he retreated back to wherever he had camped out with his current read.

You glanced down at your phone. Nothing. It had been hours now and Bucky still hadn’t let you know he was okay. You’d take anything at this point: a text, a call, a fucking email. Hell, you’d even take Morse code.

The two of you had talked about this on multiple occasions, agreeing that if anything went awry on a mission that the other wasn’t on, you’d check in as soon as possible. It didn't have to be this huge paragraph, it could be a simple “hey” or one singular letter or one of those silly emojis Bucky had taken a liking to after you’d shown him how to get to them on his phone.

But exactly 5 hours and 28 minutes later (not that you were counting or anything) and you were still in the dark. Not a single smiley face cat or a lone thumbs up. Nothing.

The pit that sat in the bottom of your stomach felt like it weighed tons, pressing down on you as if trying to smother you from the inside out. You had full faith in the team, knew they were skilled and could handle their own when it mattered most but anxiety still gnawed at you, chipping away as the minutes continued to tick by into hours.

You continued to stare at the footage on the tablet, waiting for something to change, some notification to pop up saying ‘Hey the team is just dandy!’ even though you knew it wouldn’t.

Your head whipped around at the sound of several pairs of boots on tile. The door to the floor slid open and the – now disheveled – New Avengers stepped out. You winced as you took them in, the cuts and bruises and exhausted faces plastered on them all.

Yelena was the first to see you, waving sheepishly at your glare. When you simply raised a brow in response, she cleared her throat, waving a hand behind her at Bucky to motion him forward.

“I think she’s mad. Make her not mad,” she mumbled, twisting her head behind her but never letting her gaze slip from you.

Beside her, Ava snorted softly as you shoved off of your stool and slowly stalked to stand in front of them. Bucky pushed forward from behind the group. Alexei muttered something about how scary you were when you were quiet like this, to which John responded by shooting him a look.

Bucky tilted his head with a hesitant smile, pushing hair and dirt from his tired face. “Doll, look we –”

“Nuh uh,” you tsked, shaking your head. Glancing at the group behind him, you pointed to the side towards the hallway. “All of you go get cleaned up and get some rest. Val is expecting you first thing in the morning for mission reports.”

They nodded, the group dissipating in quiet mumbles and sympathetic glances back to Bucky as the other four turned to go to their rooms. Bucky moved to go as well but your hand darted out, grabbing his metal arm. “You don’t get to leave just yet.” Without looking at you, he closed his eyes and groaned inaudibly, turning on his heel to stand in front of you. You blinked up at him, your glare hard and unwavering.

“Look. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that, okay? We were supposed to be in and out. Just go in, get the layout, get an estimate of how many people were inside, then come straight back, but we weren’t ready for an ambush.” Bucky tried to explain, hands situated on his hips as he looked down at you, daring to meet your eyes. “They knew we were coming, I don't know how, but they did. And after that first shot it all went to hell and I got sidetracked and I'm sorry I didn't call.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, tentatively stepping towards you. Your gaze softened momentarily. You swallowed, rolling his words over before nodding.

“I know. But you can’t just not tell me. I had to hear it from Val that you were okay. And I know that you had more pressing matters at that moment, I am well aware of that, but Buck, you said if shit like this happened you would let me know.” You chewed on your bottom lip, arms crossed, turning your head away from him to look out at the city below you.

He nodded, ducking his head. “I know that, doll. I’m sorry, okay?” Bucky stepped closer, tilting your head with his hand to face him. The feeling of his cold, metallic hand against your flushed skin sent a shiver down your spine.

You met his steely blue eyes as you nodded softly. At your nod, his shoulders slumped, tension vanishing from his face. Bucky smiled softly, pulling you into his chest. Your arms twined around his neck, leaning into him.

Bucky rested his chin on your shoulder, nose brushing against your neck, lips pecking your shoulder through your shirt. You rolled your eyes as you pushed him back gently, swatting at his chest.

“Go shower. You aren’t getting in that bed covered in whatever that is.” You motioned at his shirt which was now ripped and littered with dirt and blood. Bucky smirked, leaning down into you once more.

“I will but you know you like me when I’m all ratty like this.” He smirked harder at the red blooming across the apple of your cheeks. You scoffed, hitting his chest again.

Bucky grinned, stepping even closer, your chests brushing. He kissed your nose before bending down and hooking an arm around your waist, hoisting you over his shoulder.

“James Buchanan Barnes I am not doing this right now. I’m still pissed off at you. Put me the fuck down.” Your fist met his back as he laughed, deep and rich, sliding a hand over the back of your knee and giving it a possessive squeeze.

Your vision swayed as he started forward, hauling you towards your room. The door to your room opened and Bucky flicked the light on with his free hand before stalking towards your bed and tossing you down unceremoniously.

You flopped back on the bed among the untucked blankets and sheets with a soft oof, hair splayed around you like a halo. Bucky grinned above you, holding your wrists with his hands as he caged you in. You rolled your eyes, tugging your wrists to no avail.

“I’m still mad at you,” you muttered, meeting his eyes as he moved to rest his knee between your legs.

“I know, but I’m hoping I can make it up to you,” Bucky hummed, low and raspy, as he gathered both of your wrists in his broad metal hand. He ducked his head to your chin, leaving a trail of scalding, sloppy kisses down your neck and towards your collarbone. Your knees twitched at his side as he hovered above you, desperate for connection, desperate to soothe the ache that had begun to grow between your thighs.

In one fluid motion, Bucky had slid your shirt off of you, and continued his path with his mouth over your chest, brushing against the swells of your breasts. He toyed with the edge of your bra with his teeth, grazing your tender skin, sending a shiver through your limbs.

You felt him smirk into your skin at your shiver, slipping a hand between your back and the cotton sheets beneath you. Your bra shifted forward, loosened by his hand, as he slipped it up and over your arms.

Holding your gaze, Bucky dipped lower, exhaling gently onto your exposed nipples. He hummed against you, before kissing around the now-perked nipple and taking it into his mouth. Working the soft flesh with his tongue, he took the other in his vibranium hand, rolling the bud between his thumb and pointer finger.

Underneath him you squirmed, a mix of pleasure and need swirling inside you like the beginnings of a thunderstorm in mid-July. You felt it coiling in your belly, tight and hot and consuming, as he worked at your chest, pulling soft, wordless moans from your lungs.

Bucky traveled lower even still, kissing along your ribs, down along your stomach, and across the waistband of your underwear. He hummed as one hand toyed with the tiny silk bow in the center of the lace elastic.

“You just casually wear these?” He glanced up at you, eyes teasing. You groaned, rolling your eyes, as he flicked the bow with his forefinger, slipping it under the elastic and popping it softly against your skin

“Shut up,” you huffed, face turning scarlet as he slipped the fabric off of you. Bucky inhaled sharply as he nudged your clenched thighs apart.

“Spread your legs for me, doll. That’s it,” he muttered, peppering soft kisses along the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs. Your fingers threaded through his hair as his nose brushed just above where you wanted him most.

You tugged at the ends of his hair and he glanced up. You nodded gently and he smiled, kissing your belly before licking a stripe up your folds. You gasped, back arching slightly as he teased your core with his tongue, darting in and out just enough to make you grind your teeth in desperation.

Bucky pulled back, blowing a puff of cold air against your clit, making you groan his name, the side of your cheek pressed firm into the mattress beneath you. “Taste so fuckin’ good for me.”

He gripped your thigh, hoisting it over one shoulder while bracing himself against the other as he dove into you like a man starved.

His tongue worked at you meticulously, pressing into your harder with each grunt and whimper you let out. Bucky grunted against you, a sound hard in his chest, that sent a white hot flash of heat down your trembling spine.

“Buck…” you exhaled, voice quivering. Bucky looked up from where he was situated between your legs, face flushed with something raw, almost primal, tongue stilled inside of you. “Need you,” you gasped, “Now.”

Bucky laughed lowly against you, sending a tremor through you once more as he sat back, resting on the backs of his thighs. “For somebody who was mad at me just a little bit ago, you sure are needy now, aren’t you, doll?”

You attempted to glare at him but it was lost on him as he tugged his black shirt over his head. Bucky leaned up over you once more, pulling your head up as his hand cupped the back of your head, capturing your lips in a kiss. This time, a more gentle kiss, more sincere.

He stood from the bed, slipping his belt off and stepping out of his battered jeans. Despite having seen him this way dozens of times before, you still blushed, biting the inside of your lip as he tossed his boxers down beside his jeans.

Bucky situated himself back between your legs, pressing a kiss to your collarbone as he toyed with your clit with his fingers. His head hovered near your ear, the scruff of his 5 o’clock shadow tickling your cheek as he uttered filth into your ear, sucking at the skin just under it as you whined. You grasped at his face with your hands, pulling him into a deep kiss, opening your mouth as he teased at your lips with his teeth.

On top of you, you felt Bucky’s hand move from between your legs. You gasped into his mouth, eyes fluttering as his tip nudged at your entrance.

“Let me make it up to you,” he mumbled, resting his forehead against yours. You nodded, half conscious eyes blinking up at him, brimming with a mixture of need and anticipation.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, moving to rest his head in the junction between your neck and shoulder as he pressed into you. You gasped, thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he sunk into you completely.

“Fuck…” he mumbled, ragged and tense, as your hips bucked up into his. “You can get mad at me anytime you want if this is what it takes to apologize, doll.”

You whimpered at both his words and at the way Bucky lifted his hips, sliding out of you and pushing back in. Slowly but surely, his pace sped up, ramming in and out of you. An amalgamation of moans and grunts, sweat and sex, heat and intensity, filled the space around the two of you. Your bodies connected together in soft thuds, matching the pace of the need thundering through you both.

You tensed around him and he groaned, lips attaching to the tender spot underneath your ear as he braced himself against your arms.

“I’m sorry baby,” he panted beneath thrusts, punctuating each word by hitting that spot inside of you, “I’ll call you next time, I fucking swear it.”

You whined, as Bucky filled every inch of you, babbling back at the praises that tumbled recklessly from his mouth. You gasped, hands spasming underneath his vice-like grip as you squeezed around him, body tightening suddenly. You blinked, stars swimming across the horizon as he continued to rock into you, riding out your high as you relaxed back into the bed underneath you.

Bucky came undone, panting into your shoulder and pressing deep into you with one concluding grunt. He stilled, remaining inside of you, before holding himself over you on his forearms. You blinked up at him blearily, exhaustion taking over your face.

He smiled at you lazily, face flushed and glowing in the soft light. “Am I forgiven now?”

You laughed weakly, reaching up to push a strand of hair away, plastered to his temple by the light sheen of sweat that coated his face.

“I dunno. I think you should try apologizing again.”

#bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #buckyspancakes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #thunderbolts #the new avengers

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tinkcantwrite · 27 days ago

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oh this eats

Would you still love me if I was a worm? - Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 1k

Description: A stupid little question turns into a makeout session. Your teammates hate to see it, except for one.

Note: Bucky is an absolute menace in this one. Tower fics are so back, enjoy 🫶🏼

Masterlist

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

Your question startles Bucky from his half sleep state.

Bucky’s body is stretched out across the Watchtower's living room’s couch. You're half splayed on top of him, your cheek against his chest, and your fingers playing with the chain of his dog tags.

You can feel his beard grazing your temple, and his vibranium arm is slung over your body, pulling you tighter to him like he can't stand even half an inch of your bodies being apart.

"What?" He asks, in amused disbelief. His voice is rough, he’d been at the brink of falling asleep.

"Yeah" You lazily mumble, tracing the edge of one tag. "What if you woke up and I was suddenly... a worm?"

His soft laugh vibrates against your ear. You feel his hand twitch against your back, like he's resisting the urge to check your temperature or look for a possible concussion.

He ultimately decides it's probably just you being silly.

"Just like that? In our bed?" He asks, eyes wide with mock concern. "I would probably roll over and crush you. Then cry about it for the rest of my life"

He pinches your side playfully.

"Bucky!" You gasp, laughing into his chest.

God. You don't even know what that laugh does to him.

"Come on, be serious" You whine. "Just answer the question”

"It's not necessarily a serious question, doll"

"Still needs an answer" You lift your head to glare at him. "Or else."

"Or else?" He playfully mocks, eyebrows rising in feigned shock. He throws his head back, shaking it, and his mouth curls into a teasing smirk. "Hell of a threat coming from a worm"

You narrow your eyes at him.

He chuckles, and the way he smirks is different now. You know it meant he was onto something.

"Fine, doll" He says, no longer mocking. "You really wanna know what I would do?”

In one fluid motion, he flips you beneath him, pinning your back to the cushions. His metal arm beside your head holds his weight as he leans down, lips brushing your jaw.

"I'd be real fucking sad, doll" He mumbles against your skin "Because if you were a worm, I couldn't do this…“

His mouth travels to your neck.

You gasp under him as his beard tickles your skin, his lips trailing hot kisses down your throat. He sucks a spot just below your ear and you whimper, an involuntary, needy sound that he easily pulls from you.

“See, doll?” He mumbles against your skin. “I wouldn’t hear those sweet sounds of yours”

Your hands get lost in his hair, tugging, trying to keep yourself grounded. But it’s no use. He’s all over you.

“Bucky…” you say in a haze, already forgetting what you were even talking about.

He knows you’re melting under his touch, but it’s the only way he can get his point across.

“So yes, I’d still love you” he mumbles, his voice is low and smug “but I couldn’t love you right, doll”

His vibranium arm slips under you, lifting your hips closer to his.

“You feel that, doll face? you wouldn’t be able to take me like this, couldn’t wrap your body around me, couldn’t—”

“BUCKY”

The chorus of disgusted voices and grunts calling him out crashes into you like cold water.

You freeze on the spot. Bucky immediately pauses and closes his eyes for a second.

With heat all over your faces, you peek over the back of the couch.

There in the open kitchen, John is leaning over the counter, with Ava sitting across from him. Yelena lounges beside her with a bowl of popcorn they’d been sharing.

“The stupid worm talk was kinda entertaining” Yelena says, flicking a handful of popcorn at you “But now you’re just being disgusting”

Bucky blocks the kernels with one arm.

“Do you have to get freaky every time you’re in this room?” John complains.

“We’re literally right here” Ava makes a gagging noise.

“We weren’t even doing anything” Bucky says innocently, then grins like the little devil he is. “Yet”

You smack his arm and shove his chest to get up from the awkward position. Bucky groans theatrically but stands, running a hand through his tangled hair like he’s proud of the mess you made.

He offers you a hand up, but when you take it he pulls you back against him the moment you’re standing, pressing a kiss to your neck, eyes locked with them like it’s a challenge.

That horny little bastard.

“Okay, that’s our cue to leave” Ava stands abruptly, the stool screeching across the floor. Her nose wrinkles in disgust.

John follows with the popcorn bowl in hand, muttering “It’s literally every damn week”

“Always the same with these two… at least have some shame” Yelena sighs, shaking her head like a disapproving church aunt before trudging after them.

They vanish down the hallway.

“Alone at last” Bucky whispers over your ear. He gently tucks your hair behind it, then lays another warm kiss against your neck.

You’re just starting to melt again, when the sound of the flick of a page makes you freeze again.

You both whip around to find Bob, still curled up in his reading chair in the corner, legs crossed, his left foot bouncing. He’s been there this entire time, and his expression was calm.

Too calm.

“Bob” Bucky squints at him. “You okay over there, buddy?”

Bob blinks, just noticing you. “Huh? … Oh! Yeah yeah. I’ve had roommates who were way worse. If you don’t mind me, I don’t mind you.”

He shrugs, then slips on his noise canceling headphones and continues reading, completely unfazed.

You stare at him horrified. Worse roommates? What on earth has he seen?

You look at Bucky, whose face mirrors your horror.

“Okay… this got weird” he mutters, shaking his head. But almost instantly, he catches your eye, lips curling. “Unless…”

He looks at you, with that devilish smirk he only does when he knows he's out of line.

This time you smack him harder.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you did not just suggest that we …”

You couldn’t even finish as you break off in a chuckle when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, completely unbothered.

“Yeah … whatever, doll. You know those headphones wouldn’t have helped Bob once I had you screaming into the cushions”

You groan, one hand covering your face as the other grabs him by the belt to drag him towards the elevator.

He just lets you, very happily.

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tinkcantwrite · 28 days ago

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boyfriend bucky barnes moodboard ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

*all pics from pinterest -- not mine*

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes aesthetic #boyfriend bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes moodboard #buckyspancakes #james bucky barnes #husband bucky barnes

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tinkcantwrite · 28 days ago

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thunderbolts tweets (dont let them get twt)

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tinkcantwrite · 30 days ago

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Alexei: what’s your plan?

Bucky:

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tinkcantwrite · 1 month ago

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Do you fed Bucky good? With lots of pancakes?🥰🥰

YUP!!! pancakes for daysssss

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tinkcantwrite · 1 month ago

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the chop ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

summary - bucky decides he wants to cut his hair and you gladly help him

warnings - super brief mentions of HYDRA and what they did to bucky, pure fluff, they kiss a few times but that's it, oh also bucky doesn’t have a shirt on :P

notes - set before tfatws + the reader and bucky are already in an established relationship !! ALSO TY TO MY BBY @emmdubbwrites FOR PROOFING THIS FOR ME

word count - 1.9k

“Are you sure about this?”

A beat of silence. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

You exhaled and nodded, meeting Bucky’s eyes with a soft smile in the bathroom mirror in front of you. He had drug one of the chairs from the kitchen table in your apartment into the bathroom, and now sat in front of you, shirtless, with a towel in his lap. He fiddled with the pair of dog tags on the chain around his neck, their soft clinking against each other drifting between the two of you.

Your fingers threaded through his long hair, tugging softly, teasingly, at the ends of them before resting your arm over his vibranium shoulder. Your face hovered next to his in the mirror. A pair of hair scissors glinted in the bathroom light as you turned them between your fingers mindlessly.

“If this looks like actual shit after I’m done you don’t get to be mad at me. You gave me the go ahead.” You squeezed his shoulder, grinning at the huff that came from the man in front of you. Bucky took your hand, pulling it around and towards his mouth, brushing a kiss across your knuckles.

He knew that you could tell he was tense. And it was stupid. It was so stupid that he was this worked up, this anxious over a damn haircut. But Bucky knew it needed to happen. Despite the unease that settled over his frame as he glanced at the shears in your hand and at the electric clippers that sat plugged in on the counter in front of the two of you, he knew that by doing this, by cutting off his hair, he would have some skewed sense of freedom.

For so long, his hair had brushed his shoulders, long and messy. It had been there the entire time HYDRA had owned him, a symbol of their hold over him. They had never let him cut it, giving the excuse that the long hair helped to hide his face. When he had come back, Bucky had kept it long. In an odd way that he didn't totally understand, he had been afraid to cut it off and what that meant for himself and who he was. His hair had been a sort of comfort for him, albeit an odd sense of comfort. It was the only thing he had. Sure, he knew about Steve and the Howling Commandos and his life in the 1940s but that had only come later. His hair had been a constant in the midst of hundreds of memory wipings and erasures. It had remained long, as it was currently.

He had been toying with the idea of cutting it for a while. When he first brought it up to you, you had crawled over to him on the couch, scooting into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. You had told him that whatever he decided that you would back him, support him, no matter if his hair was long or short.

And now, with you standing behind him, your hand on his shoulder, bringing an overwhelming wave of calm over him, Bucky knew it would be okay. He knew that by getting rid of the hair that was now growing a bit past his shoulders, that it meant he would be okay. That he was okay. That James Buchanan Barnes is okay.

It meant that he was no longer the Winter Soldier. No longer a weapon for sick, powerful men to manipulate. Rather, he was his own man. His own person. A person that made their own decisions and choices, and he was stepping a foot forward and making the choice, his choice, to cut his hair.

Bucky nodded at you once more and you smiled back at him in the mirror, your eyes warm and patient. Your hand slid off of his shoulder, coldness replacing the heat it brought as you ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back and out of his face.

He closed his eyes, fully trusting you as you sectioned a bit of his dark hair. You spread the hair between two of your fingers. Kissing the top of his head briefly, you clipped the section off with a gentle snip.

Bucky’s eyes tensed at the sound, blinking up at you where you stood at his side, a chunk of dark brown hair in your hands. You smiled like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“See? Not so bad.” You handed the hair to him, his arm reaching up and taking it from you. The hair slid across the cool metal of his hand, stray strands fluttering down to the tile floor beneath him.

You continued to trim off the length of his hair, pausing every so often to squeeze his shoulder or peck his cheek. Bucky kept his eyes closed most of the time, softly answering you when you checked in on him or muttering a comment about how you had better not have been fucking up his hair.

The sharp clink of the metal shears against the counter snapped his eyes open, watching warily as you picked up the electric razor. Bucky glanced up at the mirror and winced.

“Maybe I should’ve seen Sam’s guy.” Bucky muttered, running a hand through his now choppy hair. It was uneven on the sides, some bits long, some shorter. You scoffed, rolling your eyes, playfully kicking his shin with your bare foot.

“I’m not done yet. You gotta trust the process.”

You flicked a painted fingernail over the side of the razor, the soft hum of electricity whirring to life. Bucky tensed. You noticed and shut the razor back off, leaning back against the counter.

“You okay?”

He nodded, swallowing hard, adjusting in the hard wooden seat of the chair.

“I’m good. It’s just…different. Not a bad different. Just weird.” Bucky mumbled, meeting your eyes and quirking the left side of his mouth up in a half-hearted attempt at a smile. You nodded in response, pushing off the counter and tilting his chin up. He relaxed into your hand, muscles exhaling. You kissed him easily, tongue ghosting his, before pulling back and resting your forehead against his.

“It’s okay for you to be different now. You’re allowed to not be him and just be Bucky. To be your own man.” You pecked his forehead once more before switching the razor on again and moving to stand behind him.

When the razor buzzed against the nape of Bucky’s skull, moving across his neck and over his ears and against his temple he didn’t tense up. He didn't panic. He didn’t get the urge to react that he typically did.

Instead, he breathed.

He breathed and it was easy, it didn’t take everything in him to steady himself. His chest loosened and his eyes stayed open this time, focused on you. The tip of your tongue stuck out of the corner of your mouth as you concentrated on not nipping his neck. Your hair was tucked behind one ear, a stray piece falling in front of your eyes. His own shirt, the stupid one Sam had given him for his past birthday that had Grumpy Old Vet plastered on the front in alarmingly bold letters, hung on your frame, a size or two too big, but he thought it fit perfectly.

In moments like these, Bucky knew he was absolutely in love with you. He knew it most certainly when you did what you thought were little things for him, such as this haircut, but in reality, things that meant everything to him. When you would take the long way home from work just to stop by that diner the two of you loved to grab his favorite pancakes to bring home for supper that night. Or when you would go scrounging around in some dingy antique store, just so you could return with a stack of old black and white movies that you hadn’t heard of in your arms just because you knew that he would know them.

Bucky paused and furrowed his brow at the silence in the bathroom that had suddenly dawned on him, stirring him from his thoughts. You still stood behind him, the razor, now off, hung lopsided in your hand. You chewed on your bottom lip and he noted the slight rose tint that now stained your cheeks.

“Is it that bad?” He teased, breaking the stillness, your eyes snapping to his. You shook your head, reaching around him to set the razor on the counter, balancing on one foot as you leaned over him, your chest pressing into his back.

“You look good, Bucky. Like, really good.” You tousled his hair, smoothing the sides and running your fingers through the top. “How’s it feel?”

Bucky finally looked up, startling slightly at the man that looked back at him in the mirror. His hair was no longer lengthy, cupping his chin and grazing his shoulders. Now, it sat cleanly, trimmed and short, but not too short. Bucky reached a hand up, brushing over the hair around his ear.

He ran his tongue over his teeth as he nodded, clearing his throat. His voice felt stuck, like a boulder lodged in his windpipes.

“I like it.” He mumbled softly, running his hand, again, through his hair. “It feels good. Feels like I can, I don't know, like I can breathe. God, that’s dumb.”

You shook your head, a grin tugging at your lips as you pushed his hands down from where they had been aggravating his hair.

“That’s not dumb. It makes sense. You know…,” you kissed the side of his neck, slipping around in front of him and hopping up on the counter, crossing a leg under you, “...people say that hair can hold memories and all that. That when you cut it, it's like starting fresh. Clean slate. That’s what you just did.”

Bucky glanced up at you as his chest prickled as he watched you get comfortable on the hard granite of the counter. “Yeah?”

You nodded, leaning over to rinse the shears in the sink beside you. “Besides, now when people compliment you on your hair you get to tell them how your talented girlfriend oh so graciously cut your hair.” Your eyes flashed up to his, biting back a grin.

Bucky rolled his eyes, folding up the towel in his lap and standing. He stepped towards you, moving to stand between your legs. You finished drying off the shears, setting them to the side and tossing the towel into the pile of laundry near the door.

He smiled at you, the causality of your actions causing the prickle in his chest to grow. He ducked his head down and kissed you, gently rubbing a circle on your boxer-clad thigh with his metal thumb.

“Thank you,” Bucky mumbled as he pulled back, kissing the top of your head. You wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face into his chest, body straightening as you inhaled against his ribs. His chin rested on your head and he smiled to himself as the soft scent of strawberry from your shampoo tickled his nose.

This was what it was for.

What the cutting of his hair was for. He was a different man, the man that loved you, and by cutting his hair, he knew that he could fully be that. He could fully breathe, fully exist, fully love.

And for the first time in ages, James Buchanan Barnes was fully himself.

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #tfatws #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fluff #bucky barnes one shot #buckyspancakes

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