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Anonymous asked:
Your Stefano fics are so good. Can I get some super cute fluff for my favourite Italian?
Why thank you! I hope you enjoy these headcanons!
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Hello :D I saw, that you write for Stefano and i am craving for new content for my sweet sociopath. So i wanted to request Stefano with an Artist reader. Maybe you could make it nsfw, but i let you the decision :3 (sorry if its bad, thats my first request :s)
It's not bad at all, and I've had a fun idea in mind for something like this for a while, so I hope you enjoy! That being said, 18+ content under the cut, minors DNI or I'll call your guardians.
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MORE STEFANO HEADCANONS :D
- For music, he either knows the most popular artists or the most obscure ones that are only on CD’s and old Vinyls
- He has a HUGE sweet tooth. He loves snacking on small pieces of chocolates while he develops his photos.
- He is quite expressive. You can tell how he’s feeling by how he looks or by his posture and mannerisms. He tried to learn how to mask his emotions after the war so that others won’t tell what he’s thinking but whenever he’s feeling strong emotions he goes back to being very expressive
- He doesn’t like crying in public or around people. He rarely does it, but he remembers the times where he did cry in front of someone or in public: First when he got his first camera ever, Second when he lost his eye on the battlefield, Third when he received the news that he lost his eye, and Fourth, when he commited his first murder
- Growing up in Italy he often went to monuments and went to museums. He loves taking pictures of places
- He loves learning, like a LOT. He loves learning languages and history and especially about art
- He suffers from intense insomnia. At war his insomnia got worse. After the war he began to try to have a normal sleep schedule but it still wasn’t the best. When he gained his powers in Union he was glad he didn’t have to sleep
- Besides photography he likes reading, listening to music, going to watch movies and learning a new hobby (knitting, sewing, etc)
- He knows Italian, English, and French. He can read all of those languages and can also read in German and Spanish
These are my personal headcanons about him! There are plenty more I can make lol
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Anonymous asked:
Hi, this is the same request I initially took to rains-rambles, and they were having a bit of trouble with the request and they said to take this to you, so my request is Stefano Valentini who is insecure about his looks, but the reader gives him a confidence boost via body worshiping him before they make love, because he deserves a lot of love!
Hello! I'm so glad you took this request to me, and I'm more than happy to write it! Stefano, despite his... ahem... art process, deserves all the love and affection! Enjoy the tooth-rotting fluff and the smut!
Stefano was cold and wet from the rain, had been harassed by his colleagues about his eye, all jokes at his expense, and all he wanted was to be loved. Thankfully, he was already on his way home to the one person that could help with that. You greeted him at the door chipper, until you noticed his demeanor.
"Get all of that off, go in the bathroom, and put on a robe. Trust me."
You took off in a hurry leaving Stefano touch-starved and somewhat confused, but he did it anyways, dragging himself into the bathroom upstairs and shedding everything, climbing into his favorite fluffy purple robe. It was helping, sure, but he wanted to be in your arms more than anything. A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts.
"Here, fresh out of the dryer. Nice and warm for you." You spoke softer now. He opened the door, but before he got it open all the way you handed him his pajamas and took off downstairs. With a weary sigh, he got dressed. God, it was nice to have warm clothes, but it still wasn't what he needed.
He waited on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, thinking you might come back, mildly confused now, and when you didn't return he brought himself downstairs to find you at the stove working on something. He walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his forehead on your shoulder, sighing deeply.
"Hello, dear, I love you, but I need you to let go of me, I have hot cups of tea to bring to the table for us." He released you hesitantly and watched dejectedly as you walked away from him, returning his expression to mere tiredness as you turned expectantly toward him. He sat at the table with his tea in front of him, and you hadn't noticed anything was off besides the poor state he was in until you noticed he was staring into his tea with sadness in his eye.
"Stefano, what's wrong? Is there something else I can do? I can run you a bath if you'd--"
"No, no, nothing's... You've done enough, truly. I appreciate it, I do. Thank you." "... There's something else bothering you." "Eh, a few coworkers thought it'd be funny to point out the obvious, and it didn't really bother me, but..." "But?" "But... I really just want to cuddle. I love this, I do, trust me bella, but all I really want to do is just lay on the couch, or the bed with you. I was warm and cheered up by the time you handed me my clothes from the dryer." You nodded in understanding.
"Alright. Forget the tea, then. Let's just go upstairs and lie down."
He smiled weakly at you and got up, following you into the bedroom, sliding under the covers and laying atop you as you stroked his face, kissed the scars around his eye, rubbed his back, and played with his hair. He breathed a deep sigh and felt completely relaxed and happy.
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THERE ARE MORE???? YES THERE ARE MORE!!!! More Stefano headcanons! (I swear where tf did he get that knife??)
- In STEM, after he got his powers and his camera eye, his scar and the area surrounding it would often throb with pain, but he doesn’t mind it, in fact, he welcomes the pain, he welcomes it because it is a constant reminder of his past, and what he plans to do in his future, which is create art forever
- While he was angry, he was also somewhat devastated that Sebastian didn’t appreciate his art. He found Sebastian somewhat intriguing, but when he destroyed his art, any of that intrigue he had went away and he was ready to finally kill him
- He hates grenades for a long period of time, but he began using them to overcome his fear. He overcame them and used them in his boss fight, but sometimes he flinches whenever a bomb explosion goes off. He usually goes to instinctively cover his eye before realizing what happened and tries to calm down
- He would often get panic attacks whenever he hears a loud explosion and just brush them off. He didn’t think it was anything to worry about and just waits for them to go away, which made him even more of a wreck and his mentality became more unstable. Emily would tell him that he probably needed to get some help for his mental health but he would brush it and say ‘it is what it is.’
- He rarely gets sick but when he does it affects him so bad that he sometimes can barely get out of bed. He doesn’t hate getting sick, he loathes it
- He often rants to Obscura whenever frustrated. He goes on and on and Obscura just stands there making her noises and Stefano responds to them
- While he is an excellent photographer, he is actually pretty good at painting. He just doesn’t do it much because photography is his main passion
- He is actually a very good photographer and treats his models extremely well. He makes sure they are comfortable, which is why he is able to get their trust so easily, because he respects them. He began to use it to his advantage whenever he went to find another person to make into his ‘art’
- Someone once called his art ‘really sick’ and he didn’t know if it was meant as a compliment or an insult due to the tone being as neutral as possible
I swear I can keep going for HOURS about Stefano. I swear he is the best villain in the game (in my opinion)
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Siri, Play Beauty School by Deftones
“I kinda like when you make up the reel; take the phone in your room- stop the tape or resume”
PAIRING: Stefano Valentini x GN reader
WORD COUNT: 540
WARNINGS: NSFW (slight exhibition (does filming count?), implied oral, brief penetration)
NOTES: uhhhhhh stef brainrot is really bad so i wrote this very hastily, sorry if it’s short lol
🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧
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EVEN EVEN MORE STEFANO HEADCANONS!!!!
- He genuinely believes that he is doing nothing wrong. In the real world, he had some doubts, but since entering STEM and given all the power that he needs, he has no regrets, and if anyone asks if he feels remorse he will say no, that he doesn’t feel remorse, because why should he feel remorse for expressing himself?
- He has tasted some of his victims blood, some by accident, but he sometimes tries it to see if it tastes any different. It doesn’t and he usually says he’s never going to do it again, but every time he kills someone he goes ‘what if it actually tastes different’ and repeats the cycle again
- He sometimes gets English phrases wrong due to his first language being Italian. He also sometimes struggles to say a word and says the word in Italian. It frustrates him often
- He doesn’t use social media. He doesn’t use it because he prefer to see art and show his art up close. The closest he gets to having an online presence is a few photos online and a few interviews he has done as a war photographer.
- He has always been emotional, but it got worse after he lost his eye. He repressed his emotions and it kind of exploded when he was in STEM, which is why he already had so much ‘art’ already, because he kind of lost it and caught in his rage, passion, and pure euphoria, he caused a major massacre, which he then promptly turned into his art
- He gets an almost childlike excitement whenever he gets a new, better camera. He slightly bounces as he sets the camera up as he laughs loudly before muttering to himself in Italian
- Sometimes he loves using the flash when using his camera because he likes to catch people’s expressions afterwards
- Serenade For String In C Major is not only his favorite song of all time but it’s also a song with the most meaning for him. It’s such an overwhelming song to him and he would listen to it while doing his art as he gets lost in what he is doing, ignoring any doubts or fears he has and ignoring the harsh words from critics. He listens to it all the time and can listen to it until the end of time
- When he’s caught off guard or startled he laughs loudly and brushes it off but internally he stays startled for quite some time but he doesn’t let it show
Honestly Stefano is such a fascinating character with many interpretations of him. I wish get to see more of him! I may make more headcanons! (Or not it depends)
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Anonymous asked:
hiiiii <3 could you write some stefano valentini hcs that you have for him? like, what he’s like in his daily life/in a relationship/or simple general headcanons? any stefano content is good content lol
Hi!
- Always talking. Just all of the time. Half the time, he's not even talking to you just out loud about what he's doing.
- Very good at candid photos. It's not uncommon to hear the shutter of his camera as you go about your day
- Cooks very well, but absolutely cannot bake.
- Picks out your clothes for you in the morning. He's more than happy to let you buy what you're comfortable in, but enjoys choosing your outfit while the two of you get ready for the day. Ninety percent of the time, he matches the vibe you want/need for the day without you having to say anything about it
- Cat person. He has a "stray" at his studio that'll sit on his shoulders while he works. The only reason it's not a pet is because he refuses to bring it home. It finds its own way to your house eventually
- I don't really see him being up for kids but if you did? Girl dad. I mean, did you hear how he talked about Obscura? That being said, he would dote on any kid/s you might have.
- Adores any chance he has to take pictures of you. He has a portfolio he uses rarely, if he particularly wants to have a display somewhere but they refuse his usual works, but it's entirely composed of photos of you (and the cat)
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A turntable (with FX) showcasing a mesh-modded 3D model of Stefano Valentini on the violino. Still angles included below. 🎻 Music: Fractured Elegance by me.
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You Deserve Better
Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: Bucky overhears her defending him to someone who still thinks he’s the Winter Soldier and he can’t help but feel guilty.
Steam still clung to the bathroom mirror as Bucky dragged the towel roughly over his damp hair, the fabric catching against the short strands. Droplets trailed down his chest and back, disappearing into the waistband of the black sweats slung low on his hips. His bare feet padded softly against the cool floor as he stepped out of the bathroom, muscles still warm from the heat of the shower.
He expected to see her—curled up on his bed like she always was after a long day, tangled in his comforter, nuzzled into his side of the mattress where his scent lingered strongest. Usually, her quiet presence was the first thing to greet him: the soft rise and fall of her breath, the way she unconsciously clutched one of his pillows, her gentle snores filling the room like white noise.
But the bed was empty.
His brows pulled together, a flicker of concern tightening in his chest as his gaze swept the room. The space felt too quiet, too still without her there. His frown deepened for only a moment—until he caught the sound of her voice floating down the hallway, light and familiar.
It drifted in from the living room, soft and laced with laughter, easing the tension in his shoulders. His expression softened, the crease in his brow slowly disappearing as he tilted his head toward the sound, already feeling the pull in his chest that always led him back to her.
Just as Bucky was about to step into the hallway, he paused, catching the sound of her voice again—clearer this time.
“Bucky and I are great,” she said, her tone light and full of warmth. “He’s an amazing guy, so sweet. I love him a lot.”
He froze in place, towel still draped around his neck, heartbeat slowing at the unexpected comfort of hearing her speak about him. There was a smile in her voice—he could hear it, soft and unfiltered, like the kind she gave him when she thought he wasn’t looking.
He knew he shouldn’t be listening, that he should respect her privacy and make some noise so she knew he was nearby. But something in her voice anchored him there, rooted in place just outside the living room, one hand braced against the wall. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop—it just happened.
His lips curved into a quiet smile, the kind that tugged at the corners without him realizing. It felt good—so good—to hear her talk about him like that.
But then her tone shifted.
“What? No, he doesn’t hurt me…” she said, the lightness in her voice dimming. “Cindy, what are you talking about?”
Bucky’s smile faded instantly. His body tensed, the warmth from the shower replaced with a cold edge of unease. He stepped a little closer, chest tightening as he tried to piece together the conversation without intruding, heart sinking at the idea that anyone would think that of him—especially about her.
“I’m just looking out for you, babe. It’s not every day someone dates a murderer—especially the Winter Soldier.”
The words hit like a punch to the chest.
Bucky’s breath caught, his body going rigid where he stood just outside the room. The voice on the other end of the call wasn’t loud, but it cut through the air like glass, every syllable sharp and unforgiving.
His jaw slackened slightly, lips parting as if to say something, but no words came out. He just stood there, stunned, like the air had been knocked out of him. The towel slipped from his fingers, landing soundlessly on the floor.
He wasn’t even in the room, and yet it felt like someone had peeled back a part of him he tried so hard to keep hidden—a wound that never fully healed, exposed in an instant.
Murderer.
The Winter Soldier.
He could practically feel the title wrapping itself around his neck like a chain. It didn’t matter how far he’d come, how hard he worked to be someone better. For some people, he’d never be anything more than the weapon Hydra made him.
And the worst part was… she was having to defend him. Again. Because of him.
His heart felt like it had been wrenched up into his throat, thick and unmovable, making it hard to breathe. A hollow ache settled in his chest, one he knew too well—the kind that always came when his past crept too close to the present.
Maybe this was it.
The moment he’d been quietly dreading from the start.
The day she would finally see him for what the rest of the world still whispered about behind his back.
Not Bucky. Not the man who brought her coffee half-asleep in the mornings, or held her close when the world felt too loud.
But him.
The monster carved into history books. The ghost in the shadows. The Winter Soldier.
His fingers curled into a fist at his side, nails biting into his palm as if pain could anchor him. He’d always known it was a matter of time—because who could really love someone like him once they saw it all? The blood. The guilt. The impossible weight of what he’d done.
And if today was that day—if she finally realized what he truly was—he wouldn’t blame her for walking away.
But it would break him. She was the only thing that kept him sane. And if she was gone. Well he didn’t want to think about that.
He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat refusing to budge. From the hallway, he could hear her shifting on the couch, her voice following a beat later—sharper now, tinged with disbelief.
“Cindy, stop,” she said firmly. “You don’t know him.”
Bucky’s eyes flickered to where she sat on the couch.
“You think you do, because of the news or some article you read five years ago, but you don’t know James.”
Her voice rose slightly, filled with something fierce and protective, and for a second—just a second—Bucky let himself hope.
“You weren’t there when he stayed up all night with me after my panic attack. You didn’t see the way he talks to stray cats like they understand him. You don’t know how he flinches when he thinks he’s taken up too much space, or how gentle he is with people even when they treat him like he’s dangerous.”
She paused, her breath audible over the speaker now, quieter—soft and full of something achingly sincere.
“He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore. And he’s never been a monster to me.”
And then she hung up throwing her phone on the place next to her with a huff.
Bucky’s heart flipped in his chest, stumbling over itself at the sound of her voice—so steady, so sure, so damn loyal. It stirred something warm and overwhelming inside him, something he didn’t quite know how to hold.
But right on the heels of that warmth came the weight. The guilt.
Because no matter how fiercely she defended him, no matter how many times she called him gentle or kind, he couldn’t ignore the gnawing truth in the back of his mind:
How many times had she had to do this?
How many times had she stood up for him—shoulders squared, voice raised—while someone gave her that look? That cautious, fearful stare. The “are you sure he’s safe?” glance. How many quiet conversations had she endured, gently trying to undo the damage of things he had actually done?
It wasn’t fair.
Not to her.
She deserved soft love, uncomplicated and easy. Not whispers behind her back. Not friends pulling her aside with concerned voices. Not a boyfriend whose past made people flinch.
He rubbed a hand down his face, chest tightening as the familiar guilt twisted low in his stomach. She chose him, yes—but that didn’t mean she hadn’t paid a price for it.
He stood in the doorway, silent, watching as she sat on the edge of the couch, her elbows braced on her knees, head buried in her hands. The sight twisted something in his chest. Even without seeing her face, he could feel the weight she was carrying—the same weight he’d unknowingly placed on her shoulders.
His gaze dropped to the floor, jaw tightening. He didn’t mean to hear what he did. But now he couldn’t unhear it.
He cleared his throat softly, voice caught somewhere between hesitation and guilt.
Her head shot up, eyes landing on him instantly—and just like that, her entire expression shifted. The sadness vanished, replaced with that soft, familiar smile that always managed to disarm him.
“You’re back,” she said gently, already on her feet and walking toward him.
He gave a small nod, unable to find words. She stopped right in front of him, the light from the hallway spilling over her face, and without a second thought, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close like she’d been waiting for him all day.
She tucked her face against his shoulder, silently hoping—begging—that he hadn’t heard what she said. That he wouldn’t ask. That he wouldn’t carry any more weight than he already did.
He hesitated, then slowly slipped his right arm—his flesh arm—around her waist, holding her gently, like she might break if he held too tight. His metal arm stayed stiff at his side, unmoving.
She felt the difference immediately.
Pulling back just enough to look up at him, her brow furrowed. Then, without a word, she reached down and grabbed his vibranium hand, lifting it and wrapping it firmly around her waist.
His throat worked around a knot of emotion, eyes searching hers, but before he could speak, she asked softly, “What’s wrong?”
Bucky let out a deep, weary sigh as he gently pulled her closer, resting his chin against the top of her head. His arms tightened around her, holding her like she was the only steady thing in a world that never quite stopped spinning.
“You weren’t in bed when I got out of the shower,” he murmured, voice low—almost too low.
It was a lie, and a flimsy one at that. But it slipped from his lips before he could stop it. He didn’t want to open that door again—not tonight. She had enough to carry without adding his ghosts to the pile. If pretending everything was fine kept the storm inside him quiet, then so be it.
But she wasn’t fooled.
She tilted her head, just enough to look up at him, her eyes scanning his face like they were searching for something hidden between the lines. She had always been able to read him, even when he wished she couldn’t.
She tilted her head slightly, offering a soft, sad smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You were taking forever.”
He let out a low laugh, more breath than sound, but it fell flat. The warmth didn’t reach his eyes either.
He knew she was letting him off the hook.
And that only made the guilt worse.
She didn’t push. Didn’t press him to say more. But her arms tightened around his neck, her thumb brushing gently along the back of his neck—like she knew. Like she felt the storm he was holding back and was quietly letting him know she was still there.
Still choosing him. Even when he couldn’t say why he didn’t feel worthy of it.
Without saying a word, Bucky slid his arms beneath her and gently lifted her off the ground, his movements slow and effortless. She let out a soft breath of surprise, but instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, her fingers brushing against the back of his neck as he carried her.
He held her like she was the most delicate thing in the world—like he needed her close just as much as she needed the reassurance of his arms. His bare chest was still warm from the shower, solid beneath her palms as he carried her toward the couch.
He sat down carefully in the corner, his body sinking into the cushions as he settled her in his lap with quiet intention. One arm remained curled securely around her waist while the other guided her gently into place, her legs draping across his right thigh as she shifted to sit sideways.
She melted into him without hesitation, her cheek pressing against the bare skin of his chest, warm and smooth beneath her. Her arms circled his torso, and she could feel it—the subtle, uneven rhythm of his heart. Beating just a little too fast.
She smiled softly against him.
He was quiet, but his body betrayed him. The quickened heartbeat, the way his hand gripped her side just a little tighter, like he needed to know she was really there. She pressed a kiss to his collarbone without saying anything, grounding them both in the silence.
So they stayed like that—tangled together in the quiet comfort of each other, the weight of unspoken truths settling around them like a soft blanket. The only sound in the room was the low murmur of the TV, its dialogue a distant hum that neither of them was really listening to.
Her fingers traced lazy, absentminded circles along his spine, and his hand rested at her waist, holding her close—closer than usual, like if he let go even a little, she might slip away. His chin rested lightly atop her head, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular. The steady rise and fall of her breath against his chest was the only thing keeping him grounded.
He held her like a lifeline. Like she was the only thing anchoring him to this world, and if he let himself wake up, the warmth of her body and the soft weight of her love would vanish like a dream he wasn’t ready to leave.
Time passed in silence. Minutes, maybe more. He didn’t know—he didn’t care.
And then, after a long stretch of quiet, his voice broke the stillness. Barely above a whisper. Almost like a confession.
“I don’t deserve you.”
The words were raw, jagged at the edges, as if saying them out loud hurt. Because they did. He hadn’t meant to say it, not really, but it slipped out anyway—too heavy to hold in any longer.
Her fingers paused against his back, her breath catching for just a moment before she pulled back enough to look up at him. Her expression was soft, pained. Loving.
But he couldn’t meet her eyes. His gaze dropped to her shoulder, to the floor—anywhere but her face. He didn’t want to see the pity. He didn’t want her to have to carry this part of him too.
But she cupped his jaw gently, coaxing his gaze back to hers. And what he saw there wasn’t pity at all.
It was heartbreak.
For him.
“Buck…” her voice was soft, barely more than a breath, but the ache in it was unmistakable. “Why do you think that?”
Her eyes searched his with a heaviness that came from love and sorrow intertwined. “You know that’s not true.”
She her fingers brushed along the stubble on his cheek, then rested there—gentle and grounding. His eyes finally met hers, hesitant and glassy, like he wasn’t sure he could bear the way she was looking at him. Like he didn’t think he deserved it.
“I just…” he swallowed hard, his voice barely holding together. “You deserve someone who… who doesn’t come with a past you have to defend. Someone you don’t have to keep convincing people isn’t dangerous.”
The words fell from his lips like a weight he’d been carrying for too long—and now it was hers to hear.
And it broke her.
Her heart cracked in two, eyes welling instantly, burning as tears threatened to spill.
He had heard. All of it.
The call. The judgment. The hurt in her voice.
And worse—he thought it meant he was less worthy of her.
“Bucky…” she whispered, voice trembling as she brought her forehead to his. “You’re not dangerous. Not to me. Not to anyone anymore. You’re not him. You haven’t been for a long time.”
She pulled back just enough to make sure he was looking at her when she added, “I don’t have to convince myself of that, Buck. I know it. I know who you are.”
Her thumb brushed the edge of his jaw, gently coaxing him to believe her.
“James…” Her voice trembled, his real name falling from her lips like a sacred vow. Her hands on his face still, trembling slightly. “I love you. I love you so much that it hurts.”
A single tear slipped down her cheek, catching in the soft glow of the room. “I can’t imagine my life without you.”
Bucky’s chest tightened, the ache behind his ribs almost unbearable. Before she could wipe it away, he reached up and gently brushed the tear from her skin with his thumb, like he could somehow take the pain with it.
“Don’t cry, doll,” he whispered, his voice low and raw, cracking on the edges. His hand lingered on her cheek, fingers trembling. He hated seeing her like this—hurting because of him.
She sniffled, trying to be strong for him like she always did, but her eyes were still glassy with emotion.
Bucky looked away for a moment, blinking up at the ceiling to stop his own tears from falling, but it was useless. The emotion was too much, too close. He took a shaky breath, then looked back at her, eyes now glistening with everything he’d kept buried for too long.
“I love you too, doll,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “God, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything.”
His hand fell to her waist, holding her like she might slip through his fingers if he let go.
“But…” His throat tightened as the words forced their way out. “I don’t want to be the thing that holds you back. I don’t want my past to be your burden.”
There it was—the fear that had always lingered beneath his love. That he wasn’t enough. That loving him came at too high a cost. That someday, she’d look back and wish she had chosen someone easier to love.
Someone without blood on their hands.
But she was already shaking her head, tears still on her cheeks, hands still on his face, refusing to let him spiral any further. Refusing to let him believe that being loved by her was something he had to earn.
She shook her head slowly, firmly, like she couldn’t believe he even thought that. Her thumbs swept across his cheeks as she cradled his face in her hands, like she was trying to anchor him to her. To now. To the truth.
“You’re not holding me back,” she said, her voice cracking around the words. “You’re the reason I wake up feeling safe. You’re the reason I believe in second chances. You don’t hold me back, Bucky—you carry me through.”
Her chest heaved with a shaky breath, but her eyes never left his. “I knew who you were when I fell in love with you. I knew about your past. I knew what the world said about you. And I still chose you. I still choose you. Every single day.”
Bucky stared at her, his expression raw and unreadable. His heart pounded against his ribs, overwhelmed by the weight of her love—so full, so certain, even when he couldn’t understand why.
He shook his head slowly, more to himself than to her, like he still couldn’t quite believe it.
“But what if one day you regret it?” he whispered. “What if you wake up and realize you deserve someone… someone clean. Someone whole.”
She didn’t hesitate.
“Then I’d still choose you,” she said fiercely, her voice steady now despite the tears still slipping down her cheeks. “Because you are whole. Not in spite of everything you’ve been through, but because of it.”
She leaned in, pressing her forehead to his, her fingers threading into his hair.
“I love all of you, James,” she whispered. “Even the pieces you still try to hide. Even the ones that hurt.”
Bucky’s breath shuddered out of him, and finally—finally—he let his arms wrap fully around her, both of them. His vibranium hand pressed firmly against her back, grounding him in her warmth, her certainty.
He buried his face in her shoulder breathing in all of her.
⸻
An hour had passed, though neither of them had moved much from their place on the couch.
The world outside had gone quiet—just the occasional distant car or soft rustle of wind against the windows. The TV played on in the background, long forgotten, casting soft light and flickering shadows across the room. But inside their little bubble, everything felt still. Safe.
Bucky had pulled a blanket over her at some point, tucking it around her shoulders while she remained curled in his lap, her body nestled perfectly against his chest. His arms had never loosened, and she hadn’t tried to leave them. She didn’t need to. She was home.
She shifted slightly in his lap, stretching just enough to glance up at him. Bucky’s eyes were closed, his head resting back against the cushion, long lashes casting shadows across his cheeks. His brow—so often furrowed in thought or worry—was smooth now, completely at ease.
He looked peaceful.
Unburdened.
Like all the weight he carried had finally been set down, even if just for a moment.
A soft smile tugged at her lips as she watched him, her heart swelling with a kind of love that didn’t demand attention—it simply was. Quiet. Constant. Deep.
Carefully, she snuggled back into his chest, pressing her cheek against the warmth of his skin. The moment she settled, his arm instinctively tightened around her, pulling her a little closer in his sleep-like daze. His thumb brushed slowly along her side in a lazy rhythm, like even unconscious, he needed to know she was still there.
She let the silence linger for a moment longer, not wanting to disturb the peace in his face. But then she whispered softly, almost guiltily, “Buck… I have to make dinner.”
His brows twitched faintly at the sound of her voice, but he didn’t stir much. Eyes still closed, he let out a low, sleepy breath and mumbled in a gravelly tone wrapped in warmth and affection,
“No, you don’t… You’re not going anywhere, doll.”
She laughed quietly, the sound muffled against his chest. “I’m just saying, I’m getting kinda hungry. And I can hear your stomach rumbling, not mine.”
There was a beat of silence, then the slow flutter of one of his eyes cracking open—just barely. His expression was half-amused, half-pretending-to-be-innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She gave him a playful look before poking at his side, where she knew he was ticklish. He twitched and let out a small grunt, then grinned, eyes still heavy with sleep.
“Oh, that’s how it is?” he muttered with a smirk, pulling her in tighter with both arms, trapping her in the warmth of his embrace like she was part of him. “Guess now you really can’t go.”
She let out a dramatic sigh but didn’t make any real effort to move. “Five more minutes?”
“Exactly,” he murmured, burying his face into the crook of her neck, the stubble on his jaw brushing softly against her skin. “That’s all I ever need.”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile was wide and real, her heart feeling impossibly full. “You say that every time.”
“And I meant it every time,” he replied without missing a beat, his voice lower now, edged with sincerity.
He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, lingering there for a moment. She felt the way his whole body relaxed again—the tension that usually sat in his shoulders completely gone. His breathing had evened out, his grip firm but gentle. No fear. No ghosts. Just him, fully present, wrapped in the warmth of her.
She looked up at him, taking in the way his jaw had unclenched, how peaceful he looked—like he had finally found some corner of the world that didn’t ask him to be anything but loved.
And in that moment, dinner could wait.
Because if this was what it took to keep that look on his face—even for a little while—she would have stayed in his arms forever.
Reblogged
A Window Open to the Moon - Masterlist
Welcome to a cozy little collection of one-shots and drabbles set in the modern Bucky Barnes roommate Au. ⋆˚🐾˖°
I’ve already written two one-shots set in this universe. Another fic is currently in the works, and I still have a bunch of ideas I’d love to explore for these two/three.
So, to keep things more organized and easier accessed, I’ve decided to make this a proper series. These pieces are all standalone snapshots; some soft, silly, tender, chaotic, cozy, comforting and perhaps also a little angsty. There’s no ongoing plot, just glimpses into the moments that make up their lives together. But there is going to be a loose timeline, and I’ll be listing the stories in chronological order for anyone who wants to follow along that way.
Updates will happen whenever inspiration strikes ≽ܫ≼
Thanks for being here ❤︎
Divider by @saradika-graphics ♡
Adopting a kitten from the animal shelter was an easy decision for Bucky and you. But Alpine soon becomes the excuse you never needed to finally get close.
𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈
ᴥ Home With You [4.3k]
ᴥ Steam and Silhouettes [2.4k]
ᴥ Soft Spot [1.8k]
ᴥ […]
ᴥ Halfway to Saying It [8.3k]
…
“I have late night conversations with the moon, he tells me about the sun and I tell him about you.”
- S.L. Gray
Reblogged buckybarnesfic
Halfway to Saying It
Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader
Summary: You agree to a date with another guy to forget about the boy you’ve loved forever, only to acknowledge that your heart keeps finding its way back to him.
Word Count: 8.3k
Warnings: pining; emotional hurt/comfort; unresolved feelings; self-worth worries; perceived unrequited love; jealous!Bucky; sad!Bucky; two idiots in love
Author’s Note: This took me a while to write and post, but now it’s here, so please bear with me. It’s part of my little roommate series A Window Open to the Moon, but can be read as a standalone. And y’all, these two are idiots here, I’m not even exaggerating. But they’re idiots in love, and I’ll be honest, this could be me lmao. Anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy ♡
Reblogged buckybarnesfic
no one else 𐙚 b.b
pairing: new avenger!dark!bucky barnes x fem!reader (non-con)
warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, non-con sex, forced oral (f and m rec), forced deepthroating, orgasm during assault, creampie without consent, size kink, physical restraint, verbal degradation, coercion, emotional manipulation, fear responses, delusional obsession, absolutely no consent throughout (please read all the warnings)
summary: you have a boyfriend, but bucky could care less. he waited, watched, let the fantasy of you rot until all that was left was his need and obsession.
word count: 4.1k
author's note: hi my loves! i took a break from writing dark fics, and i'm finally back with them! this fic consists of non-consensual sex, everything's in the warnings, please read them first! thank you for stopping by, love you guys and stay safe out there! 💌
It always started with you. Always.
Reblogged buckybarnesfic
Fireworks and Cuddles
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: You soothe Bucky through a rough Fourth of July with quiet rooftop cuddles and silly stories.
Disclaimer: emotional comfort, PTSD triggers (fireworks/gunfire sounds), veteran trauma, fluff, cuddling, hurt/comfort
Author's Note: Maybe I'm back? It's my birthday month and I want to fully enjoy myself. I'm not familiar with this specific day or how it's celebrated in the US btw.
It was the Fourth of July. Even from your apartment windows you could see the sky lighting up in early, overeager test shots—streaks of red and green that fizzled before the sun had even fully set, leaving smoky tails curling like ghosts in the warm, heavy air. Down on the street, kids darted between cars with sparklers, their shrieks high and ecstatic, dogs barking frantically at the noise. Car radios blasted clashing versions of the same anthems, tinny and off-beat, mixing into an unsteady chorus.
It felt like the whole world was in celebration.
Inside your apartment, though, it was too quiet.
Reblogged
Anonymous asked:
Imagine Bucky absolutely drunk on pussy where he’s just cumming freehand from the mere taste (I know that man is skilled with his tongue)
HE IS FUCK.
“fuck…” he groans as he feels his cock twitch then leak, blushing darkly as he looks up at you desperately
yeah. just by eating you out he’s cum. he can’t help it.
“you just cum?”
“fuck i can’t help it baby, pussy tastes fuckin’ sweet”