A collection of one shots featuring Bucky Barnes.
Mostly fluff with some smut here and there. A lot of these were my first exploration back into creative writing so some of them may not be as up to par with my more recent stuff. They're all reader...
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A/N: I don't know what this is but I've had a few days of not enjoying writing and needed to get something out just to get back into the groove. I was also in desperate need of fluff so this might be the fluffiest thing I've ever written. Enjoy!
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Something is amiss. The space beside him is cold, sheets rumpled and pillow askew. Bucky can hear her before he sees her. She's curled up in the window seat of their bedroom, knitting needles moving with a measured accuracy as she hums the tune he sings to her when she can't sleep.
"Baby," Bucky murmurs, voice thick and gravelly having not used it for a few hours. He clears his throat and props himself up on an elbow, repeating himself when she doesn't hear him, "baby."
Her head turns this time, her face illuminated in the moonlight that shines through the window.
"Yeah?"
"What are you doing up?"
He's surprised considering she was dead to the world when he'd returned from his shower earlier, thought that maybe she would sleep all the way through for a change. She was tired from a long day helping Pepper organise Natasha's birthday party. Bucky finally dragged her away, sulking because he hadn't seen her all day, and then they'd had slow, sleepy sex after a dinner of leftovers — a perfect evening in Bucky's eyes. As they'd wrapped themselves around each other, each touch had been the softest he's ever felt. Kisses slow and thoughtful, each rock of his hips languid and deliberate as he filled her to the hilt again and again until she whined his name and quietened her moans against his dewy skin.
"My brain was too loud," she whispers, "and I wanna get this right, I keep dropping stitches."
"Sweetheart, it's 3am."
"I know."
Bucky pulls back the covers, chills erupting over his bare body as he leaves the comfort of their quilted duvet. The soles of his feet pad across the cold walnut floors before his toes meet the plush carpet of the rug they saw at a flea market and couldn't leave without buying. Sam makes fun and Steve often raises an eyebrow at how domesticated Bucky's life has become, but in truth, the apartment he shares with her within the compound is the warmest and most inviting home Bucky's ever had.
The moment they decided to move in together, she took him to thrift stores and markets all across New York. He found treasures from his youth, things he thought he'd never own again. Bucky had immediately asked Tony to remove the standard furniture and decor each of the apartments comes furnished with, in favour of them filling it with their own.
Now the living room and bedroom contain an array of mismatched woods, antique tables and worn-in couches. Second-hand vases filled with flowers and plants, and a vintage gramophone like the one Bucky's father owned. The one he was never allowed to touch as a child. It's Bucky's own tiny slice of heaven. Every time he comes through the door after a mission, he feels his whole body breathe a sigh of relief. His muscles melt as he falls to the soft leather couch, hand brushing over the soft blankets haphazardly draped over the back and his feet, finally freed from his combat boots, bury into yet another thrifted rug. And when he comes home to her, well, he might as well have died and gone to actual heaven.
