Delicateflappizzaplaid - E.

Charles Leclerc

#cl16🏎️

°•☆Heavenly Touch☆•°

♦️ Bucky Barnes x Reader ♦️

A/N: Just soft, fluffy blurb of Bucky in the tub getting his hair washed cause I’m in a sappy mood today 😔

Words: 650

Bucky Masterlist

☆☆☆

Few things in the world are as heavenly as your hands on his scalp, Bucky’s sure of it. Not food. Not sleep. Not se…Well, scratch that. 

Being inside you, all tight and warm around him is the best feeling in the world.

But your soft hands…massaging and pressing into his scalp, running through his brown locks with patience and care, it’s a definite close second.

It started simply. You offered to wash Bucky’s hair as it seemed so…greasy. And Bucky got a little embarrassed, because he forgot. He always forgets little things that people do and it’s a good thing you’re there to remind him, to ground him. With you, becoming Bucky Barnes again, finding Bucky Barnes, or at least the shattered pieces scattered through his psyche, feels easier. 

As Bucky slumps backwards in the tub, his thick muscles clench and unclench. Tension melts from his limbs beneath your soft touch. He basks in the tender press of your fingers and his mouth parts, long lashes fluttering closed. A low, sultry hum, veering on erotic, escapes his throat. 

"Guess I’m really hitting your sweet spot, huh?" you tease, pulling Bucky from his trance. 

There’s a rosy hue to his cheeks as he bashfully replies, wet chestnut locks hanging in his face, "Sorry…"

You wrap your arms around his neck and drop a gentle kiss on his broad shoulder. 

"Hey, no need to be embarrassed," you whisper. "I’m glad I can make you feel good."

Bucky sinks into silence. It’s not unusual, when he gets into one of his moods. But there’s a wrinkle in his brow that makes you inquire.

You caress his stubbled jaw. 

"Is there something on your mind?" 

He swallows a deep breath, his blue eyes dimming, shadows engulfing them. 

"I was never touched like that…back there," he whispers, almost too quietly for you to hear. 

You give a slow nod.

He doesn’t need to elaborate his meaning for you to understand he’s talking about Hydra and his time as the Winter Soldier. 

Bucky’s lips tremble as his eyes get glassy. Your stomach knots at the sight. He struggles to get the rest of the words out, his voice breaking. 

"Either I wasn’t touched or…touched in a bad way."

Your insides wrench. He never talks about it. The air in the bathroom is heavier, more stifling as Bucky’s gaze gets lost. For a minute, you lose him, to awful memories, to pain and loss. It’s all written on his face. 

Your chest is hollow as you helplessly watch him go through this. 

Your hands roam over his shoulders as you rest your chin in the crook of his neck. 

"I wish I could say something to make it better."

His big, warm hands cover yours, drawing circles into your wrists, reveling in that simple touch. There’s not a minute together Bucky doesn’t marvel and linger in touching you, smelling you, soaking in your essence.

Like he wants to remember you with just his hands, carve your memory deep in his skin, so it can never be taken.

"You don’t have to," he rasps, brushing his lips against the back of your hands, eyes falling shut. "This…makes everything better." A peaceful lilt courses through his tone. "You make everything better, doll."

Butterflies dance in your belly with his words.

Before you can respond, Bucky suddenly rises from inside the tub. Droplets glisten off his naked, muscular frame, dripping to the floor as he climbs out of the tub. 

A stunned shriek tumbles out of you when he picks you up and swoops you in his arms, careful not to squeeze you too tight with his metal arm.

"Bucky, what are you doing?" you gasp, your gaze widening. 

He sends you a crooked grin that makes your chest flutter. 

"You made me feel better. It’s only fair I make you feel better too, doll," he purrs suggestively, striding to your bedroom with confidence.

“Floating up and dreamin”

H.S. - t.p.w.k.

← Main Masterlist

It's literally them

bloopers vs the final scene.

JOSEPH QUINN  as  eddie munson  in stranger things season four.

Better?

Eddie Munson x fem!reader [0.8K]

Eddie’s bedroom was a lavender blue haze in the night. The shadows were only and the streetlight that managed to leak in from behind the curtains was a tangerine, barely illuminating the lumps and bumps of legs and hips under the duvet.

You watched the hours tick by, Eddie’s beside clock mocking as the red numbers changed over. It seemed an impossible task, falling asleep. You weren’t sure why, it could’ve been a number of things, really. Our impending exams, college applications, the fact that your boyfriend had only just been exonerated from first degree murder charges.

Ironically, the boy in question was asleep beside you, bare chested and warm, leaning into your side in a way that was soothing, but steady up and down of his chest still wasn’t enough to pull you into a sleep.

You shuffled, winced when the bed creaked, and tried to find a spot on the pillow that would be the comfiest. Everything smelled like Eddie, his cologne, his laundry detergent, a little smoke and spice. It was easier to push your head to his shoulder, sneaking the chance to press a little kiss to the exspanse of his throat, hopefully without waking him up.

It was a little selfish but it calmed you, the way you could feel his pulse jump a little under your lips. But the boy stirred, mumbling a little, his body turning and seeking out your own even half asleep. His hands found your waist under the sheets, fumbling to push under your shirt - his shirt - for bare skin. He hummed, pulling you into him as his eyes fluttered open.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Eddie mumbled, voice deep and scratchy, his lips brushing over your forehead as he curled into you.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him you hadn’t managed to sleep in the first place, the clock telling you it was nearing half past two. So you hummed back and let him hold you, a warm, wide hand tracing patterns over your spine, guitar string callouses catching at you and making you shiver.

You weren’t sure how he knew. Maybe it some kinda magic, some soulmate thing, maybe Eddie could just feel the way you held yourself too stiffly in his arms, unable to relax no matter how hard you tried. So he pulled back from where his nose was pushed into your hair, eyes a little blurry and his curls sleep mussed. He peered down at you, gaze aching soft in understanding and he sighed.

Not unkindly, not impatiently, just a little sad for you, knowing how awful you’d feel in the morning despite how much you longed to close your eyes now. He knew you couldn’t help it and he hated seeing you when the sun came up, lips downturned and cradling a mug of coffee like it was your firstborn.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” Eddie told you softly, swinging his legs out of bed. “You comin’?”

He didn’t leave much room for discussion, gathering the duvet from you and tucking some pillows under his arm. He headed for the empty living room, bare feet shuffling, cotton shorts low on his hips and the black ink of his tattoos only just visible in the dark.

You didn’t ask questions, didn’t argue. Not this time, not when you’d tried before and lost, Eddie throwing you over his shoulder when you protested and told him to sleep, that you were okay, it was fine.

So you tumbled out of bed after him, walking down the hall until you could watch him throw the bedding on the sofa, the remote control already in hand as he fussed with the TV, flipping through static until an old school horror filled the screen, still in black and white.

Eddie flopped onto the couch, curls messy over the pillows and he held his arms out to you, smiling that smile you swore was just for you.

“C’mere, sweetheart.”

He made an exaggerated “oof” when you let yourself fall onto his chest but the boy was grinning, arms wrapped around your waist to pull you closer, legs tangled, lips dancing across your hairline.

“You okay?” He asked when you got yourself settled, covers pulled over you both as you lay between his legs, cheek pressed the warmth of his chest. “This better?”

The movie played low, a gentle buzz of dialogue and background music, bad special effects and low light. It made the living room feel cosier, the light bouncing off of the walls, reflecting off the windows. Eddie’s arms were strong and solid around you and he nosed at your temple, a different but sweet kind of kiss.

Sleep already tugged at you, soft and kind like an old friend.

“Yeah, Eds,” you mumbled into his neck, smiling “this is better.”