ㅤㅤㅤ — Getting Used To Receiving —

Hii! I don’t know if you still take requests, also I’ve never ever really requested anything. What would you say about the prompt "I'm sorry, I just really need a hug right now." With avenger Bucky? Just a comfort bubble with Bucky to brighten up a cloudy day, that’s what I see here. Or a cheer up after a miserable mission that went sideways. Just anything to get a hug from Bucky. It’s just a suggestion though, no pressure! Sending love ❤️

M, I loved the plot. I love writing fluff for our grumpy supersoldier <3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: He thinks that the world owes him this—a safe haven. A special place that's only his, and that never fails to make everything fade to white noise. When Bucky is having bad days now, all he needs to do is find comfort in your arms.

A/n: Feedback is really important to me. Tell me what you think and I’ll adore ya forever :)

Word count: 1.1k

Warning(s): I also do not allow for my work to be copied, translated, or re-uploaded anywhere else.

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ㅤㅤㅤ — getting used to receiving —

His dark days used to be cold and lonely.

Not just any type of cold—the permeating one which sinks into your bones like leeches sink their teeth in whatever they find. Bucky used to feel so cold all of the time, that he grew used to it. In both lives, before and after the fall, his days which were not so good always felt like that: the old and uncomfortable tinge of ice in his veins.

Now, there's you, and nothing brings him more warmth than the way you put him in his embrace.

When he comes back from the mission, it's all he wants.

Therapy. Avengers. Captain America.

(Winter Solider. White wolf. Bucky Barnes. Sgt?)

Sometimes, Bucky finds himself.

Other times, he disassociates, uses punching bags in Sam's basement, drinks with Yori, and even cries now.

Being alive is exhausting, but sometimes, Bucky finds himself and something beautiful as well:

The sight of the Shield which means so much to him in the right hands.

People being good. Forgiving.

The exquisite joy a good food that melts on the tongue brings—those little things that are beautiful and make life worth living are his favorite bits, and the ones he holds onto.

(His therapist is proud of him. What a wild concept, he thinks.)

Still.

Through all of the colorful things piercing the white noise, the favorite beautiful thing he's found while being alive in this 21st century is undoubtedly you.

When you open the door for him, Bucky thinks thank fucking god.

I'm home.

Your hand leaves the doorknob and your arms open wide, and that single image is the reason why he smiled more times these few months than he has in years.

"Hey, you," you say.

His two favorite words.

Bucky throws his duffel bag somewhere behind you and then steps into your embrace.

It's all he wants a lot of the time.

After missions — especially the hard ones like this one they're still stuck on — is everything he wants and craves.

Something about the way you hold him is holy to Bucky.

He's aware that love is supposed to be such a strong, gripping feeling—the drowning sense of peace in being with a person, but you terrified him at first with that power.

The one to bring him peace.

Your arms fit around Bucky's shoulders and in his arms, you melt. Always. As if he was a hot pan and you were butter, your body becomes as relaxed as it can be, surrendering inside both his warm and cold cage.

It terrified him the first time Bucky felt you so comfortable in this position.

You had laid your head on his chest for so long on the couch that his heart had started to pound right where you laid.

"Doesn't—isn't the metal arm a little... uncomfortable? For this?"

"Nope," you said. Softly. Sleepy.

"Oh." He was surprised. He'd always imagined it was. "Okay."

"Never been comfier," you mumbled. Bucky's heart had lept because something told him not only your words were true, but that you were almost asleep.

Since that day, it was here that Bucky liked spending a lot of precious time.

Whenever you hugged him, Bucky was able to think about only the good bits.

Whether he was holding you more or you holding him like right now, fitting your bodies like a puzzle became his founding pillar for peace.

(Sam had even joked about it.

"Dude. You look so chill lately," he had laughed.

"Do I?" Bucky asked, deadpanned.

"Look! Not even now—man, the corner of your mouth just quivered tryin' to be funny about this," he had laughed. "This is golden."

Inevitably, Bucky joined him in laughter. "I'm glad you're entertained."

"Oh, I'm more than entertained," said Sam. "I'm happy for you.")

Bucky felt you sighing against his chest, slowly.

Then, he felt your cute nose nudging his neck, right below the ear.

He chuckled—little wolf.

In probably two seconds, you'd make a comment about—

"You smell like dust," you sounded whiny, but then the feeling of a kiss blooms on that spot of his neck, and Bucky's brain goes even a little quieter. "It's ok. We'll shower."

"Will we?" he asks, interest peaking. You laugh at him, but now with the offer on the table, Bucky switches his plans of cooking you dinner and asking you to update him on the last episodes of the series you were talking to him about over the phone. He picks you up by your thighs, laughing at the squeal that comes out of you. "Alright. Let's go."

"Bucky!"

"What?" He plays dumb, kicking the door behind him with his foot. "You don't wanna shower with me?"

You laugh at him, and Bucky leans his head to get a kiss from you. "I'll cook for us later."

Mouth still touching his, your words come off muffled by both the kisses and the smile. "I've been waiting—hm—for your food for—weeks."

"And you'll get it," he switches to place one last kiss on your neck, then pays attention to hold you right as he switches your weight onto only his metal arm so he can open the bathroom door. "Shower first. I don't wanna see those little faces of yours every time you get your nose on me. They distract me, and the kitchen is not—"

"—a place to be distracted," you join him, holding on for dear life on his neck. "I know."

As if I'd let my most precious thing drop, he rolls his eyes internally.

Bucky gets inside the bathroom but still keeps you in his arm for just a moment longer. He likes to hold you in any way he can. "Let's shower. Then food. Then more hugs on the couch 'cause I need to tell you some stuff, then..." he lets his words drift off, and shrugs his shoulders.

You shake your head, smiling at him. "Coy comes out as a terribly smug look on you, and you know that."

"You love it," he says, pressing a kiss to your mouth as he lets you down gently.

"I do. Love every bit of you," you say, a little shy as you always are when telling him cheesy things.

(If the world could only see the nasty, filthy things you say with a smile on your face.)

He holds your face in his hand and kisses you a little more. He missed being able to do that. "I love you more, angel."

You fought him on it, but Bucky liked to believe he was right.

And it would always make him smile to think you also believed your words.

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