ADERNA

18!!

[aderna01]

ADERNA

| 18 | she/her | college student (fics>school) | tony stark kinnie | writing mostly one shots | english is not my first language (iykyk) |

im new to posting on tumblr so be nice pls :)

`★ official masterlist

`★ requests are open & encouraged :)

* lace banners by @uzmacchiato<3

[aderna01]

WE ALMOST BROKE UP AGAIN LAST NIGHT

song: We Almost Broke Up Again Last Night by Sabrina Carpenter

paring: pre-wakanda!bucky x f!reader

summary: your relationship feels like it’s coming apart, held together only by the hope and intimacy you’re still clinging to. bucky keeps pulling away from you, haunted by his past, by the people he hurt, by the fear that the darkness in him might spill onto you. he loves you deeply, but he’s convinced that loving you is dangerous. so he tries to let you go before he believes he’ll ruin you too.

warnings: angst, sad bucky, struggling relationship, brief smut: oral (m! receiving), pnv, mentions of bruising and nail scratching. some fluff but its lowkey like fake because its actually sad? (lmk if i missed anything)

word count:  2.9k (this was supposed to be a drabble ngl ;-;)

a/n: lets be honest, i didn’t proof read. i apologize in advance for the ANGST you’re gonna encounter. i heard an audio of sebastian stan getting emotional and i’ve been singing this song all day so i lowkey had to write this. sorry not sorry, i love u all. xoxo, enjoy :)

─˖· masterlist

bullshit repeats itself, is that how the saying goes?

you watch him pace across the living room floor, his movements sharp and erratic. the worn wooden boards creak under his weight with every step, a rhythm that's become all too familiar in your shared apartment. it's three in the morning, and neither of you has slept. the argument started hours ago, though you can barely remember what triggered it this time. something about him flinching when you reached for him in the dark, something about the nightmares that have been getting worse again.

"i can't do this anymore," he says for what must be the hundredth time, his voice raw and broken. "i'm poison to you. everything i touch turns to ash."

your fingers twist in the hem of your oversized t-shirt – his, actually – as you watch him. bucky barnes, the man you've loved since you met him in romania, looks more like a ghost than a person tonight. his eyes are hollowed out, haunted by things he won't speak of, things that live in the dark spaces between his memories and his reality. you know he's thinking about hydra, about the blood on his hands, about all the lives he's taken. you know he's thinking about how unworthy he is of your love.

been here a thousand times (selective memory, though)

"we've been here before, buck," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "we always work through it."

he stops pacing and turns to face you, his blue eyes clouded with pain. "that's just it. we shouldn't have to 'work through it.' normal couples don't have to 'work through' the fact that one of them is a brainwashed assassin who could snap at any moment."

"you're not an assassin anymore," you counter, standing up and walking toward him. "that's not who you are."

"but it's part of me," he says, his voice cracking. "it's in my blood, in my bones. i look at you sometimes and i see everything i could destroy. i see how fragile you are, how... breakable. and i'm terrified that one day i'll be the one who breaks you."

you reach out to touch his face, but he flinches away from your hand like it's fire. the rejection stings, but you've learned not to take it personally. it's not you he's rejecting – it's the darkness inside himself that he's afraid will taint you.

i hear it in his eyes, he sees it in my tone

"i'm not as fragile as you think," you say, your voice stronger now. "i knew what i was getting into when we started this. i knew about your past, about the winter soldier."

"no," he shakes his head, his movements frantic. "you didn't. you couldn't have possibly understood what it would be like. the nightmares, the flashbacks, the way i freeze up sometimes. the way i can't stand to be touched when i'm having a bad day. you deserve someone whole, someone who can give you everything you need."

"i need you," you say simply. "just you. not some perfect version of you, not some sanitized version. i need the real you – nightmares and all."

is what it is and it's predictable

"and what happens when the real me hurts you?" he asks, his voice barely audible. "what happens when i have a nightmare and i don't wake up in time? what happens when hydra comes for me and you get caught in the crossfire?"

"then we deal with it," you say, stepping closer until there's barely any space between you. "together. that's what couples do, buck. they face things together."

he looks down at you, his expression unreadable. you can see the war raging behind his eyes – the desire to stay warring with the conviction that he should leave. you know he's right to be scared. you know the risks. but you also know that life without him would be a kind of death, a slow fading into gray nothingness.

all the "i love you's" and "i'm sorry's" were said

"i love you," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "god, i love you so much it hurts. and that's why i have to let you go."

"i'm sorry," you reply, your own voice trembling now. "i'm sorry you're hurting. i'm sorry i can't fix it for you."

you reach up to cup his face in your hands, and this time he doesn't pull away. his skin is cold under your palms, his jaw tight with tension. you can feel the slight tremor in his muscles, the constant readiness for a fight that never comes.

we had our sex and then we made amends, that's right

your lips find his in a desperate, hungry kiss. it's not gentle or sweet – it's teeth and tongues and bruising force, a battle of wills and desires. his hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against his body as he deepens the kiss. there's an urgency to your movements, a frantic need to connect, to bridge the chasm that's been widening between you for months.

clothes are shed in a flurry of motion, discarded on the floor like yesterday's arguments. his mouth trails down your neck, leaving a path of fire in its wake. your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more, needing everything he has to give.

called it a false alarm to all of our friends

he lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the bedroom. the door slams shut behind you, sealing you in the bubble of your shared world – a world where there are no hydra agents, no nightmares, no past traumas. there's only the two of you, only this desperate need to feel alive, to feel connected, to feel something other than pain.

then we almost broke up again last night

his movements are rough, almost punishing, as he enters you. there's no tenderness here, no gentle exploration. this is raw and primal, a desperate attempt to outrun the demons that chase him. you meet his intensity with your own, your nails digging into his back, your hips rising to meet his thrusts. tears stream down your face, but you're not sure if they're from pleasure or pain. maybe both.

(we almost got so close)

afterward, you lie tangled together in the sheets, your bodies slick with sweat, the air thick with the scent of sex and regret. his head rests on your chest, his ear pressed against your heart as if he's trying to memorize its rhythm. your fingers stroke through his hair, gentle now, soothing.

"don't leave me," you whisper into the darkness. "please, buck. don't leave me."

he doesn't answer, but you feel his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer. it's the closest he'll come to saying yes, and you cling to it like a lifeline.

and when i reached to pull the plug

morning comes too soon, as it always does. the first rays of sunlight filter through the blinds, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets. bucky is already awake, watching you with those haunted eyes of his. you can see the decision has been made again – he's going to try to leave.

i swear, he starts working out

"coffee?" you ask, sitting up and pulling the sheet around you.

he nods, his gaze never leaving yours. "yeah. coffee."

you make your way to the kitchen, your movements stiff and sore. the routine is familiar, comforting in its normalcy. you measure out the coffee grounds, add water, press start. the machine gurgles to life, filling the small space with the rich aroma of brewing coffee.

and on the days i'm a little much

bucky appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame. he's pulled on a pair of sweatpants, his chest bare. the morning light catches the silver of his left arm, making it gleam. there are new scratches on his chest – from your nails, from last night's desperate coupling. you feel a pang of guilt, of shame.

that's when i tell them how sweet he treats me

"i was thinking," he says, his voice still rough from sleep. "maybe we could go to the farmer's market today. get some fresh vegetables. make that pasta you like."

your heart leaps at his words. it's an olive branch, a peace offering. it's him trying, even when it's hard, even when everything in him is screaming that he should run.

and how no other boys compete

"i'd like that," you say, turning to face him fully. "i'd really like that."

he crosses the distance between you, his flesh hand coming up to cup your cheek. his thumb strokes across your skin, gentle, reverent. "i'm sorry about last night," he says softly. "about... everything."

"you don't have to be sorry," you reply, leaning into his touch. "we're in this together, remember?"

he nods, his eyes closing briefly.

i know how it looks, i know how it sounds

the farmer's market is bustling with activity, a riot of colors and sounds and smells. you weave through the crowd, bucky's hand clasped firmly in yours. it's a simple gesture, but it feels monumental – a declaration to the world, and to yourselves, that you're still here, still fighting.

least we'll give 'em something to talk about

you buy tomatoes and basil and fresh pasta. bucky finds a stand selling homemade bread, still warm from the oven. he tears off a piece and

feeds it to you, his fingers brushing against your lips. the gesture is so domestic, so normal, it makes your heart ache. you catch the eye of an older woman browsing nearby, and she gives you a knowing smile. you wonder what she sees – a young couple in love, or something else? does she see the tension in bucky's shoulders, the way his eyes constantly scan the crowd? does she see the faint bruises on your wrists from where he held you too tight last night? or does she just see two people holding hands, sharing a moment on a sunny saturday morning?

all the "i love you's" and "i'm sorry's" were said (sorry's were said)

"i love you," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear. it's not the desperate, broken declaration from last night. it's simpler, steadier, like he's trying to convince himself as much as you.

"i love you too," you reply, squeezing his hand. the words feel both true and false, a promise you're not sure you can keep but will die trying.

we had our sex and then we made amends, that's right

back home, you put away the groceries while bucky starts a pot of sauce. the domesticity of it all feels surreal, like you're playing house in someone else's life. you move around each other in the small kitchen, a careful dance of avoidance and connection. his hip brushes against yours as he reaches for a knife, and you both freeze for a moment, the air crackling with unspoken tension.

called it a false alarm to all of our friends

"steve called," he says, his back to you as he chops garlic. "while you were in the shower. wanted to see if we wanted to come over for dinner tomorrow."

all your friends knew… obviously they knew, they could tell. steve invited you guys for dinner when he sensed something was off, you guys knew that.

"and?" you prompt, leaning against the counter.

"i told him we’d go," he replies. "told him we were good."

you close your eyes, a wave of relief washing over you. it's a lie, of course. you're not good. you're hanging on by a thread, but it's a lie you can live with, a lie you need to believe. it's the false alarm you'll send out to your friends, the signal that everything is fine, that the fire has been contained once again.

then we almost broke up again last night

the sauce simmers on the stove, filling the apartment with its rich aroma. bucky stands behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. you can feel the steady beat of his heart against your back, a rhythm that's both comforting and terrifying. you lean into him, letting yourself believe, just for a moment, that this could be enough, that this fragile peace could last.

you say we're driftin' apart

"we can't keep doing this," he says, his voice soft but firm. "this cycle. the fighting, the... making up. it's not healthy. it's not fair to you." he added, his face slightly frowning.

i said, "yeah, i fucking know"

you turn in his arms, looking up at him. "i know," you say, your voice sharp with frustration. "i know it's not healthy, bucky. what do you want me to do? let you go? let you run away and pretend you can escape this by yourself?"

big deal, we've been here before

"maybe that would be better," he says, his eyes pleading. "for you, at least."

"don't you dare say that," you snap, pushing away from him. "don't you dare pretend that leaving me would be some noble sacrifice. it's not. it's cowardice. you're scared, so you're running."

and we'll be here tomorrow

the fight escalates, words flying like shrapnel. old wounds are reopened, new ones are created. you're both crying now, angry, hurtful tears. you say things you don't mean, things you can't take back. he tells you he's a monster, you tell him he's being selfish. it's the same script, the same scene you've acted out a hundred times before.

oh

and then, as suddenly as it started, it's over. the anger burns itself out, leaving behind the familiar ashes of regret and sorrow. he sinks to the floor, his head in his hands. you stand over him, your chest heaving, your anger replaced by a wave of overwhelming sadness.

all the "i love you's" and "i'm sorry's" were said

"i'm sorry," he whispers, his voice muffled by his hands. "i'm so sorry, doll. i don't mean to... i just..."

"i know," you say, your voice softening. you sink to the floor beside him, pulling him into your arms. "i know."

we had our sex and then we made amends, that's right

he's crying now, really crying, silent, shuddering sobs that wrack his entire body. you hold him, rocking him gently, murmuring meaningless words of comfort. his tears soak through your shirt, hot against your skin. you can feel the desperation in his touch, the way he clings to you like you're the only solid thing in a world that's constantly shifting beneath his feet.

called it a false alarm to all of our friends

later, after the tears have subsided, after you've wiped his face with your thumbs and kissed his eyelids, you lead him to the bedroom. the sun is setting now, casting long shadows across the room. the light is soft and golden, making everything look beautiful, even the broken parts.

then we almost broke up again, oh

he lies back on the bed, his eyes closed, his expression weary. you straddle him, your hands resting on his chest. you can feel his heart beating under your palms, a frantic, desperate rhythm. you lean down, your hair falling around his face, and kiss him. it's a gentle kiss, a tender kiss, a kiss that says everything you can't put into words.

we almost broke up, we almost broke up again

his hands come up to cup your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. his eyes open, and the look in them takes your breath away. it's a mixture of love and pain, hope and despair, a reflection of your own tangled emotions.

we almost broke up, we almost broke up again

you move against him, a slow, deliberate rhythm. there's no urgency this time, no desperation. it's slow and sweet and heartbreaking. it's an apology, a promise, a prayer. it's you saying, without words, that you're here, that you're not going anywhere, that you'll keep picking up the pieces as long as he keeps letting you.

gave me his whole heart and i gave him head and then

you take him into your mouth, your movements slow and deliberate. this is your offering, your sacrifice. this is the one thing you can give him that no one else can, the one thing that can silence the demons, at least for a little while. his hands tangle in your hair, his hips rising to meet you. you can hear his breath hitch, can feel the tension coiling in his body. you look up at him, and his eyes are closed, his head thrown back in ecstasy. in this moment, he's not the winter soldier, not a victim of hydra, not a broken man. he's just bucky, your bucky, and he's yours.

we almost broke up, we almost broke up

afterward, you lie curled up together, the sheets tangled around your legs. the room is dark now, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside, casting a faint glow across the room. you can hear the sound of traffic, the distant wail of a siren, the normal sounds of a city that's still alive, still moving, even when you feel like your world has stopped.

yeah, we almost broke up again

"stay," he whispers, his voice thick with sleep. "please, just... stay."

you tighten your grip on him, your face buried in his chest. "i'm not going anywhere," you reply, your voice muffled by his skin. "i'm right here."

you know it's not a solution. you know it's not a fix. you know you'll be here again, in this same place, having this same fight, making this same desperate, heartbreaking choice. but for now, in the quiet darkness of your shared bed, it's enough. it has to be.

─˖· masterlist

*also thanks @uzmacchiato for the gorgeous banners <3

[w1nter-fairy]

lipstick & headlines

series masterlist | main masterlist

pairing: rockstar!Bucky Barnes x groupie girlfriend!reader

summary: When the world finally notices you, Bucky can't decide if he's proud or ready to lose his mind.

word count: 2.1k

warnings: +18 MDNI explicit sexual content, semi-public sex (bathroom), unprotected p in v, praise kink, established relationship. | english is not my first language so I'm sorry about any mystypos / grammar mistake

a/n: this was a request by the lovely @jai200700 𖹭 been sitting in my inbox for almost two months, I finally was able to complete it and bring it to life. This is situated post SINSA, so they're an established couple by this moment of the story! (I hope I did it good idk how to write without angst and also I know Bucky has a lot to make up for! but it was a relief to not write him being a jerk) Got a few requests more but I'll be answering them on the asks for the next weeks and we're pretty much done with this series. Thank you for all the support ๋ ࣭ ⭑ | dividers by @uzmacchiato

read on AO3

"Babe, have you seen this?"

You look up from your coffee to see Bucky staring at his phone, grinning.

"Seen what?"

He turns his phone around. It's an article from Vogue: "The Woman Who Stole Bucky Barnes' Heart: An Exclusive Look at Music's Hottest New Couple."

Your stomach flips. "Oh god."

"This is amazing," he says, scrolling through. "Look at these photos of you."

The article is full of professional shots—you and Bucky at events, but also solo candid photos of you that some photographer must have taken recently. You look… good. Really good.

"They're calling you a style icon," Bucky says. "And there's already fan accounts dedicated to you. Look—" He shows you Instagram. Multiple accounts tracking your outfits, your hair, your makeup.

"This is insane."

"This is awesome." He pulls you clos. "Everyone's finally seeing what I see, that you're gorgeous and cool and way out of my league."

"I'm not out of your league—"

"You absolutely are, and I love that everyone knows it now." He kisses your temple. "We have that album launch party tonight, you ready to be the most photographed woman there?"

“Is that what’s happening?”

"Oh, definitely. You're the hot new girlfriend everyone wants to know about." He's practically beaming. "I'm going to spend all night showing you off."

"Then I'm not going," you tease him, earning a poke on your side.

The album launch party is massive—a celebration for some indie band's major label debut. The venue is packed with musicians, producers, journalists and photographers.

The second you arrive, cameras flash in your direction.

"Over here! Bucky, look this way! Who's that pretty woman you that came with you?"

Bucky's hand is on your waist and he's smiling like it's Christmas morning. "This is my girlfriend," he announces to anyone who'll listen, giving your name. "Isn't she stunning?"

And he means it. You can tell by the way he looks at you and the pride in his voice.

Inside, it continues. He introduces you to everyone he can—producers, musicians, label executives.

"Have you met my girlfriend? She's incredible." "This is the woman I was telling you about." "Yeah, I'm the luckiest guy here, look at her."

You're getting attention like never before. Photographers asking for solo shots, journalists wanting to know your story. Someone from Harper's Bazaar asking if you'd be interested in being photographed for their next issue.

And Bucky is eating it up.

"You should do it," he tells you. "You'd be amazing."

"You're not worried about me getting too much attention?"

"Are you kidding? I want everyone to see how incredible you are." He pulls you closer and kisses you in front of everyone. "I want the whole world to know how perfect my girl is."

The first hour is perfect. You're laughing, glowing, and Bucky is right there beside you.

Then you meet Brian Clarke. He is an A-list actor, devastatingly handsome, charming. He's talking to a group near the bar when you an Bucky approach.

"Bucky Barnes," Brian says with a hint of recognition on his voice. "Great show in New York last month."

"Thanks, man. This is my girlfriend—"

"I know who she is." Brian's eyes are on you, warm and interested, it's like Bucky's not even a part of this conversation anymore. "I've seen the articles, the pictures don't do you justice."

"Thank you," you say politely.

"I mean it. You're stunning." He's not even trying to be subtle. "What do you do? Are you in the industry?"

"No, I—"

"She's incredible at everything," Bucky interjects smiling, but you feel his hand tightening slightly on your waist.

But Brian isn't looking at Bucky, he's looking at you.

"We should talk," Brian says. "I'm producing a film that shoots this summer and we're looking for fresh faces. Someone with your look—" He hands you a business card. "Call me, let's set up a meeting."

"Oh, I'm not an actress—"

"You could be." His smile is warm. "You've got the presence for it, and the camera clearly loves you."

Bucky's jaw is tight now.

"Think about it," then he turns to greet someone else.

You look at Bucky. His expression has shifted, he's still smiling, but there's tension in his eyes now.

"That was weird," you say.

"He wants to fuck you."

"What? No, he was just being nice—"

"Babe, I know that look. He wants to fuck you." Bucky's voice is low. "And he's not the only one."

You follow his gaze around the room and realize he might be a little right. Multiple guys are looking at you, some of them in a pretty obvious way, while others are more subtle about it. The way women usually look at Bucky when he's on stage.

"Come on, it's not that big of a deal."

But Bucky's watching a photographer asking you to pose for a solo shot, watching the journalist from earlier come back with more questions… and Brian glancing over at you again.

"Everyone wants you," Bucky says quietly.

"So? Everyone wants you, all the time. I deal with it."

"This is different."

"How?"

He doesn't answer, but you know him. He's still proud of you but now he feels threatened. Now other men see what he sees, other men want what he wants.

The next hour is torture for him.

You can feel Bucky getting more tense beside you. His hand on your waist gets tighter, his smile gets more forced.

When a music producer asks if you'd be interested in being in a music video, Bucky practically growls. When a model asks where you got your dress and compliments your figure, Bucky pulls you closer. When Brian comes back and asks you if you want to dance, Bucky steps between you.

"She's good," he says.

"Bucky—"

"We need to go," he mumbles before taking your hand.

"But the party just started—"

"I don't care," his eyes are dark. "I need to—come with me, now."

He doesn't take you to the exit, he pulls you down a hallway, past the bathrooms, finds a single-stall bathroom and pulls you inside, locking the door.

"Bucky, what—"

He kisses you, it's not soft like the ones he gave you when you first arrived. This time is hard and desperate.

"You belong with me, you're mine." He whispers between kisses, his lips traveling down your jaw and throat.

"I know—"

"Do you? Because every fucking guy out there is looking at you like they have a chance, like you're available."

"They know I'm with you—"

"Not well enough." His hands are on your dress hiking it up. "I need—I need them to know. Need you to look thoroughly fucked when you walk back out there."

"Bucky—"

"Tell me to stop and I'll do it if it's too much for you." He's already undoing his pants and you're already turned on, already reaching for him.

"Don't stop," you breathe.

He lifts you onto the counter, pushes your panties aside, and fucks into you in one hard thrust. You gasp, grabbing his shoulders.

"That's right," he groans. "Don't hold back, let everyone know who's making you feel this good."

The music is too loud for anyone to hear you, but you won't be the one breaking it to him, specially not when he's truly invested in making you feel this good. You moan, louder than you normally would, and his eyes darken.

"I love that sound," he sets a brutal pace, one hand gripping your hip, the other braced on the counter beside you. "Love knowing I'm the only one who gets to hear you like this. Tell me who makes you feel this good."

"You," you cry out as he hits deep. "Only you."

"That's my girl." He captures your mouth in a kiss swallowing your moans. You're so close already, the way he's fucking you pushing you right to the edge. He gets his hand between you, his thumb finds your clit and rubs rough circles. "Come for me, let me hear how good I make you feel. No one out there can hear you, just me."

You come with a cry, clenching around him and he groans. His rhythm falters and he comes with his face buried in your neck. For a moment, you both just breathe. Then he's pulling out carefully, helping you clean up with paper towels, fixing your dress.

"Your hair," he says, and helps smooth it down, but then he musses it a little. "Perfect, now everyone will know."

"Know what?"

"That you're thoroughly fucked, that you're mine." He says it with so much pride.

Your legs re shaky when you stand, your dress is wrinkled and your hair is messy despite his attempt to fix it. You look exactly like what you are: freshly fucked.

"I think we should—"

"Come on," he takes your hand, interlacing your fingers. "Let's go say goodbye."

Walking back into the party is surreal. Your legs are wobbly and you're holding onto Bucky's arm for support. Your hair is messed up, and you're pretty sure everyone can tell what just happened.

Bucky's radiating satisfaction at this point. He finds the label executives, the event organizer and some producers on your way out, parading you around with pride. You're flushed and a little embarrassed, but also kind of love it.

Brian catches you on the way out. "Leaving so soon?"

"Yeah," Bucky says, hand tight on your waist. "Got better things to do."

Brian's eyes flick to your messed hair, your flushed face and he smiles. "I'm sure you do, It was nice meeting you both."

"You too," you manage.

In the car, Bucky finally relaxes, pulling you close.

"I can't believe you did that," you say.

"Did what?"

"Paraded me around to everyone in our way out, you said goodbye to like fifteen people, even to the ones you said were annoying."

"I had to be polite," he grins. "Did you see their faces? They all knew exactly what we just did."

"Bucky!"

"What? I'm proud. Sue me." He kisses your temple. "You're my girlfriend and I want everyone to know it."

"You certainly made that clear."

Back at the house, Bucky is quieter. He helps you out of your dress and hangs it up carefully.

"I'm sorry," he says as he's running you a bath.

"For what?"

"For acting like a caveman back there." He sits on the edge of the tub, testing the water temperature. "The bathroom thing, parading you around… I know it was a lot."

"I didn't mind—"

"I know, but I still should've had more control." He looks at you seriously. "I'm trying to be better about the jealousy thing, but tonight when I saw Brian and those other guys… I lost it a little."

"A little?" you tease gently.

"Okay, maybe a lot." He smiles sheepishly. "But I'm working on it, I promise. I want to be the guy who can handle you getting attention without needing to drag you to a bathroom and—"

"I liked it," you interrupt him. "I liked that you wanted me that badly."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You step into the bath and he immediately starts washing your hair, gentle fingers massaging your scalp. "You're allowed to be jealous sometimes, Bucky. You're allowed to want people to know I'm yours, as long as you trust me."

"I do trust you." His hands are so gentle in your hair. "It's them I don't trust."

"Well, they can see, but I'm not available."

He rinses your hair carefully with a smile on his face. "That's right, you're mine."

"I love when you say that."

"Good because I'm going to say it a lot." He helps you out of the bath, wrapping you in a towel. "I have a lot of time to make up for, all those months I should've been calling you my girlfriend and didn't."

He pulls you close, still damp from the bath and kisses you softly. "I love you."

"I love you too."

The kiss deepens, his hands slide under the towel, warm on your skin. You reach for him, pulling him closer. He lifts you easily, carries you to bed and lays you down gently. The towel falls away and he's looking at you like you're everything.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, hovering over you. "How did I get so lucky?"

"I'm the lucky one."

He kisses you again, slow and deep, and it's different from the party's bathroom. There's no desperation, no need to prove anything, just him showing how much he loves you.

He makes love to you slowly, thoroughly, whispering how much he loves you, how beautiful you are, how he's never letting you go.

When you both finish, you're curled up together in bed.

"Thank you for being patient while I figure out how to be a good boyfriend and for understanding when I get jealous and insecure." He kisses your forehead. "You're it for me, you know that?"

"You're it for me too."

taglist: @wintersoldier-gal @bartonsparrow25 @gilwm @goobers-mcgee @spring-soldier @tw1sters @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @buckybarnesbot @caity1995 @abyy1838 @bumbling-beaa @herejustforbuckybarnes @buckysdecaflove +add yourself here

[aderna01]

Neon Lights and Ferris Wheel Rides

pairing:  junior!bucky x sophomore!f!reader

summary: you head to a famous carnival with your lifelong best friends, steve and bucky, expecting nothing but rides and sugar, only to find bucky brought another girl along. the night twists through neon lights, sharp comments, unexpected jealousy, and bucky defending you when you least expect it. when steve heads out early, you and bucky end up alone under the glowing sky, stumbling into soft moments, shared thrills, and a spark that feels impossible to ignore.

warnings: pure fluff, cursing, friendship, romance, no use of y/n.

word count: 8.2k

song inspo: sugar talking by sabrina carpenter

a/n: ugh i wrote this because i went to a carnival recently and i had so many ideas for this while on the ferris wheel!!! Carnivals are so fun and this story was SO CUTE, i was literally giggling and kicking my feet while editing this EEEK! (i spent too much time on this so i didn’t proof read, sorry!!)

─˖· masterlist

you, bucky, and steve had been a trio since you were all in sandbox together, your three little buckets making a perfect triangle in the golden sand. steve and bucky were born in the same year, two peas in a pod, while you trailed behind them, the tagalong little sister they never actually minded having around. growing up, it was always bucky with the easy charm and the devil-may-care grin, steve with the steady heart and the righteous gaze, and you, the quiet observer who catalogued every stolen glance and every shared secret. it was no surprise to anyone that when your college acceptance letter arrived, you were bound for the same sprawling university campus as them, a fact that had you all bouncing on the balls of your feet with a giddiness that felt like pure, unadulterated sunshine.

college life was a whirlwind of caffeine-fueled study sessions in the library, the smell of old books and stale coffee, your constant companions. you were a sophomore now, navigating the sprawling campus with a bit more confidence than you had as a freshman, but still feeling like you were playing catch-up to bucky and steve, who were juniors and seemed to have this whole thing figured out. bucky, with his effortlessly tousled brown hair and eyes the color of a summer sky just before a storm. he had the campus reputation for being a bit of a heartbreaker. you'd watched him from the sidelines, metaphorically speaking, as he dated a string of girls: the cheerleader, the poetry major, the girl from his chemistry class. each one was beautiful and bright, and each one eventually faded away, leaving bucky unscathed and charming as ever. steve, on the other hand, was the steady one, the one who had a serious girlfriend or two, relationships that were built on a foundation of mutual respect and shared values.

you had always, always had a crush on bucky. it was a fact as constant as the north star, a secret you kept tucked away in the deepest corner of your heart. he was harmlessly flirty with everyone, his compliments as easy and natural as breathing, and you were always on the receiving end of them. "hey, beautiful," he'd say, slinging an arm around your shoulders as you walked across the quad. "that color looks amazing on you." or, "don't study too hard, sweetheart, wouldn't want you to burn out that brilliant brain of yours." and every time, you'd feel a little flutter in your chest, a tiny spark of hope that you'd immediately stamp out. you were too scared of messing up the perfect, fragile thing the three of you had. you were a unit, a tripod, and you wouldn't risk that for anything, not even for the possibility of something more with him. so you smiled, and you laughed, and you pushed your feelings down, down, down, convincing yourself it was all just a part of who bucky was; a charming, slightly flirty player who didn't mean anything by it.

it was a tuesday, and you were crammed into a lecture hall for your intro to sociology class, the professor's voice a monotonous drone that was doing a poor job of competing with the glorious sunshine streaming through the tall windows. thankfully this was one of the few classes you thoroughly enjoyed on campus. not because of the teacher, but because of two of your best friends, one being a gorgeous tall and beefy frame that sat next to you.

the three of you didn’t end up in this class by accident, no. you planned for this. you remember having forced bucky and steve to sit down and create a plan of their semester classes up until their graduation date. now, when it came to choosing the electives, you all agreed to pick sociology together, hoping it was interesting enough to keep you guys entertained for a semester.

you were scribbling notes, your pen scratching against the paper, when bucky, who was sitting next to you, nudged your elbow. you glanced over, and he was grinning, that same mischievous, boyish grin that had gotten the three of you into more trouble than you could count.

"guess what i got," he whispered, his voice low and conspiratorial.

you raised an eyebrow, trying to focus on the professor's diagram of social stratification. "a passing grade on your last exam?" you teased.

"ha ha, very funny," he said, rolling his eyes. "no, better. way better." he reached into his backpack and pulled out three neon green tickets, the kind that looked like they'd been printed at a cheap carnival. "the traveling carnival is in town this weekend. the big one. the one with the roller coaster and the giant ferris wheel. i got us three tickets."

your eyes widened, and for a moment, you forgot all about social stratification. the carnival was a legendary event, a temporary city of lights and sounds that set up on the outskirts of town for one weekend every fall. you'd been talking about wanting to go for weeks, but the tickets were notoriously expensive and sold out fast. "bucky, are you serious?" you breathed, your heart doing a little leap. "how did you even get these?"

"i have my ways," he said, wiggling his eyebrows. "i know a guy who knows a guy. but yeah, i'm serious. for friday night. you, me, and stevie. we're gonna go."

on your other side, steve, who had been pretending to be absorbed in his textbook, leaned over. "the carnival? nice, buck!" he said, giving bucky a fist bump in front of you, his face lighting up. "i've been wanting to try that deep-fried everything stand."

you felt a wave of pure, unadulterated happiness wash over you. it was just going to be the three of you, just like old times. "this is amazing, bucky," you said, your voice full of genuine gratitude. "thank you. i didn't think i'd be able to go."

"of course," he said, his smile softening as he looked at you. "wouldn't leave you guys out." he reached over and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing against your cheek for a fleeting second. it was a simple, friendly gesture, but it sent a jolt through you all the same. "it's gonna be great."

the rest of the week passed in a blur of classes and assignments, but the thought of the carnival was a constant, bright spot in your mind. you found yourself daydreaming about it during your lectures, imagining the neon lights reflecting in bucky's eyes, the smell of popcorn and cotton candy hanging in the air, the sound of laughter and screams echoing from the rides. when friday finally arrived, you felt a strange, unfamiliar sense of nervous energy buzzing under your skin. you were in your dorm room, staring at your closet, a feeling you couldn't quite identify swirling in your stomach.

you should have just thrown on your usual jeans and a hoodie. that was your go-to, your uniform. but instead, you found yourself pulling out a pair of dark-wash, tiny, denim shorts that you usually saved for special occasions, and a soft, dark red sweater. you spent an unusual amount of time on your hair, trying to get it to fall in just the right way, and you even dug out a tube of mascara and a hint of lip gloss. you caught your reflection in the mirror, a flicker of self-consciousness making you blush. what were you doing? this was just bucky and steve. you'd known them your entire life. you'd seen them with food poisoning and broken arms and terrible haircuts. why did it smatter what you looked like?

a little voice in the back of your head whispered, ‘because it's bucky.’ but you quickly shoved that voice aside, telling yourself you were just being silly. you were just excited to go to the carnival. that was all. you slid on your shoes and headed out to meet them, your heart thumping a little faster than usual.

they were waiting for you by the main entrance of your dorm building, just like they always were. steve was leaning against the brick wall, scrolling through his phone, and bucky was standing next to him, his hands shoved in his pockets, a small, thoughtful smile on his face. when he saw you, his smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"hey, look who it is," he said, pushing off the wall and opening his arms for a hug. you walked into them, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne, something clean and woodsy. "ready to have your mind blown?"

"always," you said, your voice muffled against his shoulder. when you pulled back, you noticed someone standing a few feet behind him. she was tall and blonde, with a perfectly manicured smile and a cute miniskirt that looked like it belonged in a club, not at a dusty carnival. she was looking at bucky with an expression of proprietary interest, and your stomach did a little flip-flop that had nothing to do with excitement.

"chloe, this is," bucky said your name, introducing you and turning to the girl and then back to you. bucky repeated your name, continuing with the introductions “, this is chloe."

your smile froze on your face. "oh," you said, trying to recover quickly. "hi! It's really nice to meet you,” your smile more welcoming by the second.

"you too," chloe said, her voice smooth as silk, but her eyes were cool as they raked over you. "bucky's told me so much about you,” she said plainly, still eyeing you.

you glanced at bucky, who was rubbing the back of his neck, a slight flush on his cheeks. "yeah, well, i hope all good things," you said, trying to joke, but it fell a little flat.

"i hope you don't mind that i invited her," he said, turning to you and steve, his expression a little apologetic. "i bought an extra ticket."

"of course not," steve said, ever the peacemaker, stepping forward to offer chloe a friendly smile. "the more the merrier."

you got lost in your thoughts for a second. you recognized her name from campus whispers, a sophomore in your year who was rumored to be as sharp as broken glass and twice as evil. you'd always given people the benefit of the doubt, assuming most rumors were just little white lies born from jealousy or boredom.

bucky's eyes had lit up when he'd mentioned her joining them, a bright, eager look that you'd rarely seen directed at anyone else. you felt a little pang of jealousy, but ultimately shrugged it off because you knew he didn’t like you like that. you had no right to feel that way. you were just his friend. and besides, maybe she was nice. maybe all the rumors were wrong.

the carnival was a sensory explosion from the moment you stepped through the gates. the sun was just beginning to dip towards the horizon, painting the sky in strokes of orange and pink, and the entire place was buzzing with a chaotic, joyful energy. the air was thick with the smells of popcorn, fried dough, and sweet, spun sugar, all mingling with the faint scent of diesel from the generators. neon lights in every color imaginable blinked and pulsed, casting a kaleidoscope of reflections on the wet pavement. the sound system was a cacophony of upbeat pop music, the delighted shrieks of people on the rides, and the booming voice of a carnival barker promising a prize to anyone who could ‘knock down the milk bottles!’

"wow," you breathed, your eyes wide with wonder. it was even better than you'd imagined. "this is incredible."

"told you," bucky said, his voice full of pride. he was standing close to chloe, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back. "so, what first? the tilt-a-whirl? the haunted house?"

"definitely the roller coaster," you exclaimed, pointing towards the massive metal structure that loomed over the rest of the carnival like a giant, skeletal beast. its tracks twisted and turned in impossible loops, and you could hear the screams of its riders echoing across the fairgrounds.

"i don't think so," chloe said, wrinkling her nose. "i just got my hair done. and i don't want to get whiplash."

"oh," you said quickly, your enthusiasm deflating slightly. "right. well, maybe the ferris wheel then? we could see the whole town from the top,” you smiled.

"that's a bit... boring, don't you think?" chloe said, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against her chin. "how about we play some games first? i want a prize." she looked up at bucky, batting her lashes and smiling "are you gonna win me that teddy bear bucky?"

bucky's chest seemed to puff up a little. "for you? anything," he said, half joking and half flirting, his voice a low, a charming rumble. he led them over to a booth where a man with a grizzled face was gesturing towards a pyramid of milk bottles. steve followed, shooting you an apologetic look over his shoulder. you trailed behind them, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach.

you watched as bucky paid for three balls, his muscles flexing in his t-shirt as he wound up for the throw. he was a natural athlete, and it showed. the first ball flew through the air and knocked down all three bottles in the front row. chloe clapped her hands delicately and smiled. the second ball took out another row. but the third ball, aimed at the final, most stubborn bottle, bounced off the rim and flew wide.

"so close," the carny said, a smirk playing on his lips.

"let me try," steve said, stepping up. he was strong, deceptively so, and his first throw sent the remaining bottles flying. "there we go," he said, a triumphant grin on his face.

“nice stevie!” you added, grinning and looking proud. 

the carny sighed and gestured towards a wall of prizes. "take your pick."

steve reached for a purple octopus, but chloe was already pointing at the small teddy bear in the top corner. "the big one, steve," she said, her voice dripping with sweetness. "bucky almost got it for me."

“almost.” you muttered quietly under your breath, trying not to roll your eyes.

steve's jaw tightened for a fraction of a second, but he nodded gamely and pointed to the bear. the carny grumbled as he unhooked it and handed it over. it was small, furry, and she immediately wrapped her arms around it, snuggling into its fuzzy brown fur.

"my hero," she cooed, looking up at bucky, not steve. 

“he didn’t even fucking win it for you” you whispered quietly to yourself, turning your head to hide your annoyed expression.

you really wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, but she made it so fucking hard. you weren’t really sure if you were more angry that she was dick-riding bucky or the fact that she might actually literally dick-ride him. but if there was one thing you knew how to do was push your emotions to the side. you’ve done it with bucky for years, how hard can it be to hide your growing annoyance for just a night.

you immediately snapped back into reality when you heard chloe ask, “what was that?” while tilting her head and giving the fakest smile you’d ever seen.

“oh nothing,” you added, scrunching your nose and shaking your head.

"buck, what should i name him?" she presses.

"how about barnaby?" bucky suggested, his eyes soft as he looked at her.

you felt a little sick to your stomach, like you might actually throw up. so you turned to steve, who was already giving you a side-eye, a wry smile on his face. "come on," he said, jerking his head towards a ride that looked like a giant swinging pendulum. "let's go on that thing. i need a break for a minute." he teased, widening his eyes and shaking his head as he walked.

you laughed, the tension in your chest easing slightly. "you and me both," you said. "that thing looks like it could make a person's brain fall out of their ears."

“are you talking about the ride or chloe? because if its chloe that was a great metaphor” steve added, nudging your shoulder to make you laugh.

you let out a small chuckle. steve always knew how to cheer you up.

"come on, lets find out if this ride will scramble that smart head of yours," he said, ruffling your hair before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the ride. you glanced back at bucky and chloe, who were already lost in their own little world, chloe stroking the bear's head while bucky whispered something in her ear that made her giggle. you pushed the image away and focused on steve, whose warm, steady presence was a comforting anchor in the sea of unfamiliar emotions.

the ride was exhilarating, a stomach-dropping, heart-pounding thrill that had you screaming and laughing until your sides hurt. as you stumbled off, your legs feeling like jelly, steve was right there to steady you.

"you okay there?" he asked, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"i think my organs are all in the wrong place," you gasped for air as you laughed, leaning against him for support. "but yeah, i'm great, wow! that was amazing."

"glad to hear it," he said. "now, i believe we were promised some deep-fried delicacies."

you spent the next hour or so wandering through the carnival with steve, trying on ridiculous hats, making fun of the cheesy prizes at the game booths, and eating yourselves into a state of blissful, greasy stupor. you shared a deep-fried pickle corndog that was surprisingly delicious, and a basket of deep-fried oreos that were pure, unadulterated heaven. for a while you had completely forgot about bucky and chloe. that was up until bucky and chloe caught up with you, but they seemed to be in their own bubble, and you found yourself gravitating back towards steve, whose easy-going company was a welcome relief from the tension that seemed to cling to chloe like a second skin.

"so, what's the deal with her?" steve asked, nodding towards chloe, who was currently trying to convince bucky to win her another prize, this time a giant pink unicorn.

you shrugged, trying to act casual. "i don't know. i've heard some things, but i don't really know her. she seems... nice enough." you knew you were lying, and you knew steve knew it too.

"right," he said, nodding, holding back a laugh. "Nice."

you both made eye contact and immediately broke into laughter. “honestly i can’t even lie anymore,” you said, shaking your head and throwing your hands up in surrender “she’s a bitch!”

steve was always really nice, not often engaging in gossip, but today, with chloe, it was a completely different story. he noticed how she talked to you and made snarky remarks. it was hard not to laugh at her persistent attitude.

after hours, the sun finally dipped below the horizon, the carnival transformed. the neon lights seemed to grow brighter, casting long, dancing shadows on the ground, and the air grew cooler, carrying with it the promise of a crisp autumn night. you were all standing in line for the haunted mansion, a classic ride that promised a scary good time, except this one had a water warning outside of it, but you simply assumed it was probably just a bit of mist and water drops to add fear to the ride. you were getting in line with steve when chloe decided to make another appearance.

"i'm not going on that," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "it looks creepy. and i'll get wet."

"It’s called the dripping in fear haunted mansion for a reason, chloe," you said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of your voice. "that's kind of the point."

she shot you a look that could have frozen hell. "i wasn't talking to you," she said, her voice icy.

you scoffed, a bit fed up with her bad manners.

"chloe," bucky said, his voice a low warning.

"what?" she said, turning to him, her expression instantly softening. "i just don't want to ruin my shoes. they're new."

"it's fine," you said quickly, not wanting to cause a scene. "we can do something else, it’s not a big deal."

"no," bucky said, his voice firm. he looked at chloe, his brow furrowed. "why don't you go get us some funnel cakes? find a table and we'll meet you there."

chloe's smile tightened, but she nodded. "fine," she said, her voice sweet as poison. "anything for you, my love." she stood on her tiptoes and gave him a quick, peck-like kiss on the lips before sashaying away, leaving a cloud of cloying perfume in her wake.

you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy and rage when you saw her do that, but you quickly shoved it, storing it deep in your heart because bucky was still your best friend. you always wanted him to have the best, to be happy, and if chloe somehow did that, that was good enough.

you and steve and bucky stood in awkward silence for a moment, the sounds of the carnival swelling around you. you could feel the anger radiating off bucky in waves, his jaw clenched tight.

"i'm sorry," he said, finally turning to you. "she's not usually like this."

"it's fine," you said, even though it wasn't. "really,” you smiled.

"no, it's not," he said, his voice low and intense. "she had no right to talk to you like that." he ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration you knew all too well. "i don't know what's wrong with her tonight."

"maybe she's just not a carnival person," steve offered, ever the diplomat.

"maybe," bucky said, but he didn't sound convinced. he looked at you, his blue eyes full of a regret that made your chest ache. "i'm really sorry, doll. i wanted this to be a good night for all of us."

"it is a good night," you said, forcing a smile. "i'm with my two best friends at the carnival. it doesn't get much better than that." you reached out and squeezed his arm, trying to convey a sincerity you weren't sure you felt. "come on, let's go on this thing."

the dripping haunted mansion wasn’t as wet as you’d expected, but it sure was scary as hell. you sat in the middle of the cart, steve directly in front of you, and bucky bringing up the rear. as the ride progressed, you encountered all types of scary actors with makeup as well different jumpscares. you could feel the mist coming down from the ceiling, but with the noise around you and seemingly fake blood dripping on the walls it was disgusting and terrifying. 

just as you thought the ride was about to end, the cart quickly turned a sharp corner and a massive clown flashed and moved above your head, a scream tearing from your throat as you squeezed your eyes shut. the cart quickly rolled down a tiny incline and you came out of the house, being ushered out of the seats.

"holy shit," you gasped, gripping your hair in fear. "that was horrible"

bucky was laughing, a genuine, deep-throated laugh that you hadn't heard all night. "you look like you just saw a ghost" he said, his eyes sparkling.

"maybe because i just fucking did" you shot back, splashing him with the droplets of water that were dripping from your hair.

steve was just shaking his head, a grin plastered on his face. "either i’m too old for this, or you’re a wimp, because that was not scary," he said, but he was laughing too.

you weren’t soaked but your hair had taken most of it, but you didn't care. you found chloe sitting at a picnic table under a large tent, a pristine funnel cake sitting in front of her, untouched. she looked you up and down, her lip curled in disgust.

"you're all wet and your hair is frizzy," she said, as if it were a personal affront.

"it's the dripping haunted mansion" you said, your voice sprinkled with a sweetness that rivaled hers. "it’s exactly what I expected" you retorted, taking a step back, pulling your hair in your hands and shaking most of the water out.

"i can see that," she said, her eyes narrowing. "did you have to shake all over the place? you're gonna get water on my shoes."

“my hair isn’t even near you, that's why i stepped back” you defended, slightly irritated.

"chloe," bucky said, his voice dangerously low.

"what?" she said, turning to him, her eyes wide with mock innocence. "i'm just stating a fact. she's being a bit of a mess, don't you think?"

that was it. you'd had enough. you were tired of her snide comments and her condescending tone. you were tired of her making you feel like an intruder in your own group. you opened your mouth to say something, something sharp and witty and cutting, but bucky beat you to it.

"that's enough," he said, his voice cold and hard. he stood up, his posture rigid with anger. "come on, we're leaving."

"what?" chloe said, her smile finally faltering. "can she not take a joke?"

"nobody laughed," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "we're leaving. Now."

he grabbed her arm,  his grip firm but not rough, and started to respectfully guide her away from the table. she stumbled after him, her expression a mixture of shock and outrage. you and steve watched them go, your heart pounding in your chest.

"well, that was... something," steve said, breaking the silence.

"mhm," you voiced.

"well, he can deal with her. I’m gonna go to bathroom" steve said, gesturing towards the green portapotties. "i'll be right back."

you nodded, your eyes still fixed on the spot where bucky and chloe had disappeared. you felt a strange mix of emotions: relief, anger, and a lingering, aching sadness. you'd wanted this night to be perfect, a chance to recapture some of the old magic, the easy camaraderie the three of you had always shared. instead, it had been a minefield of tension and unspoken feelings you had.

you decided to take a walk, to clear your head. you wandered through the crowded midway, the lights and sounds a blur around you. you weren't paying attention to where you were going, your feet carrying you on a familiar path, until you heard a raised voice from behind a row of game booths. you recognized it instantly. it was bucky.

"...don't care," he was saying, his voice tight with anger. "you don't talk to her like that. you don't even look at her like that."

"like what?" chloe shot back, her voice shrill with indignation. "like she's a child who can't take a joke?"

"it wasn't a joke," bucky said, his voice low and dangerous. "you were being cruel. shes special to me and you know that.”

“oh trust me, i know she’s special to you, you never shut up about her.” chloe gritted

“i won't have you treating her like shit." bucky remarked back.

"or what?" she challenged. "what are you going to do about it?"

"wow okay,” he said, swiping his hand over his face. “Yea this," his voice flat, "we're done. go home, chloe."

you heard a scoff, followed by the sound of footsteps stomping away. you held your breath, your heart hammering against your ribs. a moment later, bucky emerged from behind the booths, his face a mask of fury. he saw you standing there, and his expression softened, the anger in his eyes replaced by a look of weary resignation.

"how much of that did you hear?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"enough," you said, your voice just as quiet. “buck, i’m so sorry.”

he ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "no, i'm sorry," he said, for what felt like the hundredth time that night. "i really messed tonight up."

"no," you said, stepping closer to him. "you didn't. you couldn’t have known she would act like that."

"i shouldn't have invited her," he said, his eyes fixed on the ground. "i just... i thought it would be fun. i didn't think..."

"it's okay, bucky," you said, reaching out and placing a hand on his arm. "i promise it's fine."

he looked up at you then, his blue eyes searching yours. they were so full of emotion, a swirling vortex of regret and frustration and something else, something you couldn't quite name. "you're too good for this," he said shaking his head, his voice thick with emotion. "you're too good for me."

"don't say that," you said, your voice soft. "that's not true."

"isn't it?" he said, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "i bring a girl who treats you like crap, i ruin the night you were so excited for, and then i have a public fight with her in the middle of a carnival. some friend i am."

"Buck, you're my best friend," you said, your voice firm. "and tonight is not ruined because it's not over."

a slow smile spread across his face, the first genuine smile you'd seen from him all night. "yeah?" he said, his voice a little hopeful.

"yeah," you said, returning his smile and nudging his shoulder. "now, are you going to buy me a deep-fried snickers bar, or do i have to steal steve's wallet?"

he laughed, a real, honest-to-god laugh that made your heart soar. "lead the way," he said, gesturing grandly.

you found steve by the funnel cake stand, looking a little lost. when he saw you and bucky approaching, a look of relief washed over his face.

"everything okay?" he asked, his eyes darting between the two of you.

"everything's great," you said, linking your arm through bucky's. "chloe had to go. something about a... hair emergency, right?" you asked jokingly while looking up at bucky.

he simply nodded, holding back a laugh.

steve's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't press. "well, in that case," he said, a grin spreading across his face. "who wants to ride the scrambler until they puke?"

the rest of the night was a blur of pure, unadulterated fun. you went on every ride you could find, from the bumper cars to the gravity-defying pendulum, until you were all dizzy and breathless with laughter. you ate more fried food than you thought was humanly possible, sharing sticky, sweet bites of funnel cake and crispy, salty onion rings. bucky was back to his old self, his charm and his easy laugh on full display, but there was something different about him now. his eyes kept finding yours in the crowd, a soft, warm look in them that made your heart skip a beat.

it didn’t help your case when he made flirty remarks towards you, or when he looked at you with his gorgeous blue eyes, gosh you were head over heels for him and you couldn’t do anything about it.

by the time you made it to the ferris wheel, the night was in full swing. the moon was high in the sky, a pale silver disc against a backdrop of inky black, and the stars were out in full force, a dizzying array of glittering diamonds. the line for the ferris wheel was long, but you didn't mind. you were content to just stand there, tucked between bucky and steve, the cool night air a welcome relief from the heat of the day.

"i don't know if i can do another one," steve said, his face a little green. "I think that last ride might have been a mistake."

"aw, come on, stevie," bucky said, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "the ferris wheel is a gentle ride. it's practically a rocking chair. you'll be fine."

"i don't know," steve said, his voice a little weak. "i think i'm going to call it a night. you guys go ahead. i'll just... wait here for you."

"are you sure?" you asked, a little concerned. he did look a bit pale.

"yeah," he said, forcing a smile. "i'm sure. just... maybe don’t go on any more rides that go upside down. i don't think your stomachs could handel more."

“pussy” you said jokingly coughing into your arm, steve rolling his eyes and chuckling at your remark.

"no promises," bucky said, grinning.

you said your goodbyes to steve, promising to meet him back at the entrance in an hour, and then you and bucky got in line for the ferris wheel. the line moved quickly, and before you knew it, you were being ushered into a small, swinging car, the metal gate clanging shut behind you. the car lurched as it was hooked onto the giant, slowly turning wheel, and you felt a little flutter of excitement in your stomach.

"i haven't been on one of these in years," you said, leaning your head back against the cool metal of the seat, finally feeling relaxed.

"me neither," bucky said, his voice quiet. As he sat across from you, his knees pressed against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his body touching you. "not since we were kids."

"remember that time we went to the county fair back home?" you said, a fond smile on your face. "and you got stuck on the top of the ferris wheel with that girl from your math class? what was her name? jessica?"

"jenna," he said, a laugh in his voice. "and i didn't get stuck. the ride operator just stopped it at the top to give us a romantic moment." he said, emphasizing his words and wiggling his eyebrows.

"it was the most awkward five minutes of my life," you said, laughing. "i was down on the ground with steve, watching you two just sit there in silence. i thought steve was going to die from secondhand embarrassment."

"hey, in my defense, i was fourteen," he said. "i didn't know what to say to her."

"you never know what to say to girls," you teased. "you just stand there and look pretty."

"and it works, doesn't it?" he said, his voice a low, teasing rumble.

"most of the time," you conceded, rolling your eyes, feeling your heart fluttering a little. "but not with jenna."

"no, not with jenna," he agreed, his smile softening. "she was too smart for me."

"or maybe you were just too busy staring at her boobs," you said, unable to resist the jab.

"hey," he said, feigning offense. "i was a fourteen-year-old boy. what do you expect?"

"i expect nothing less," you said, grinning.

the ferris wheel continued its slow, steady ascent, the world below you shrinking with every rotation. the lights of the carnival blurred into a glittering tapestry of color, and the sounds of the crowd faded into a distant hum. it was peaceful up here, a quiet, intimate bubble suspended between the earth and the sky.

"it's beautiful up here," you said, your voice barely a whisper.

"yeah," he said, his voice just as quiet. "it really is."

you turned to look at him, and he was already looking at you, his blue eyes soft and luminous in the dim light of the carnival. they were the color of a deep, tranquil ocean, and you felt like you could drown in them, happily and without a second thought. the air between you crackled with a tension that was both terrifying and exhilarating, a thousand unspoken words hanging between you, waiting to be said.

"bucky," you started, your voice a little shaky.

"yeah?" he said, his voice a low, gentle hum. 

"why did you invite her tonight? why bring chloe if she’s such a… like a…" you asked, struggling to find the right words, the question tumbling out before you could stop it.

“a bitch?” he asked straight faced.

“well i mean, i was gonna say cunt but yea that too!” you said breaking out in laughter

he chuckled, his gaze slowly dropping from yours to his hands, which were fidgeting in his lap. "i don't know," he said, his voice quiet. "i guess i was just... trying to prove something."

“what?” you asked confused.

“you asked why i brought her here. I was trying to prove something.”

"prove what?" you asked, your heart aching for him.

"that i could date other girl" he said, his voice barely audible. "that i didn't... that i wasn't..." he trailed off, his jaw clenched tight. “nevermind,” he grumbled out.

"that you weren't what?" you prompted, tilting your head, your voice soft and confused.

he looked up at you then swiped his tongue across his top lip, biting back a laugh. “doll, i thought you were smart.” 

“okay rude. i would like you to know that i am ver–” you groaned, stopping mid sentence. “ugh, it doesn't matter, buck, you didn’t finish your sentence–”.

“and i’m not going to.” he said plainly.

“i– what? why not?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“you’re smart doll, you’ll figure it out.” he said, ruffling your hair as he got up to get out of the car.

you hadn’t even noticed you were back on the ground until you were trailing behind bucky, taking massive strides to catch up with him.

“bucky wait, are you gonna explain or?” you said walking after him before he stopped abruptly.

you watched as he looked up at the massive circular structure in front of you. “woah” you whispered, watching the rides car do a full 360, leaving the passengers completely upside down.

"what the hell is that?" you asked, completely caught off guard by the insanely terrifying coaster in front of you.

“that is the ring of fire” he said pointing towards the massive, steel monstrosity that literally looked like a giant, spinning ring of fire

your eyes widened in horror. "nope," you said, shaking your head. "absolutely not. that thing leaves you hanging upside down." you said trying to turn around and walk away from the ride.

bucky quickly grabbed your wrist and pulled in, resting his hand on the low of your back. 

"i know," he said, his voice full of mischief. "it'll be fun."

"it'll be terrifying," you corrected, shaking your head. "i'm not going on that."

"please," he said, turning his head down, his blue eyes wide and pleading. "for me?"

“i’ll tell you what I meant on the ferris wheel” he added.

you knew you should say no. you knew it was a terrible idea. but you were looking into his eyes, and you could see the boy you had grown up with, the one who had dared you to climb the tallest tree in the park and the one who had held your hand when you got your stitches. you saw the man who you were head over heels for. you wanted to know the truth, something he was adamant on not sharing with you. and you knew you were a goner.

you took a deep breath, "deal," you said, your voice a little shaky. "but if i puke, i'm doing it on your shoes."

"deal," he said, repeating the word back to you, his face breaking into a triumphant grin.

you started to walk closer to the queue of the ride. the ring of fire was even more terrifying up close. it was a giant, steel circle, with a single row of cars attached to the inside of the rim. as you watched, it started to spin, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until the cars were perpendicular to the ground, the riders screaming as they were held in place by nothing but a flimsy-looking lap bar. then, as it reached its maximum speed, the entire ring tilted upwards, until the cars were at the very top of the circle, completely upside down, a silent, breathless moment of defiance against gravity.

"i can't do this," you said, your heart pounding in your chest. "i changed my mind."

"too late," he said, grabbing your hand

and pulling you closer to the entrance. "you already agreed. no backsies."

"that's not a real rule," you protested, but you were already being ushered into a car, the metal lap bar coming down to lock you in place. it felt flimsy and inadequate, and you were suddenly very aware of how high up you were going to be.

"it's the most important rule," he said, his hand finding yours in the darkness of the car. he laced his fingers through yours, his grip tight and reassuring. "just hold on to me. i've got you."

you took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "okay," you said, your voice a little shaky. "i'm holding you to that."

the ride started with a jolt, the car lurching forward as the ring began to spin. it was slow at first, a gentle, rocking motion that was almost pleasant. but then it started to speed up, the world outside the car blurring into a dizzying kaleidoscope of light and color. you could feel the g-force pulling at you, a heavy, insistent pressure that pinned you to the back of the seat.

"you okay?" bucky yelled over the roar of the machinery.

"i think so!" you yelled back, your knuckles white where you were tightly gripping his hand.

the ring began to tilt, the ground slowly disappearing from view as you were lifted towards the sky. your stomach dropped, a sickening lurch that made you gasp. you squeezed your eyes shut, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.

"don't close your eyes," bucky said, his voice a steady anchor in the chaos. "look at me. just look at me."

you forced your eyes open, and you were looking at him. his face was illuminated by the flashing lights of the carnival, his blue eyes intense and focused on yours. he was smiling, a wide, exhilarated grin that made your heart do a little flip.

"see?" he said, his voice full of confidence. "it's not so bad."

"it's terrible!" you yelled, but you were smiling too.

the ring reached its apex, and for a terrifying, exhilarating moment, you were completely upside down. the world was a dizzying, upside-down mess of lights and sound, and you were hanging on for dear life, your only connection to reality the warm, steady pressure of bucky's hand in yours. you screamed, a long, loud, cathartic scream that was equal parts terror and pure, unadulterated joy. there were muffled yells around you, but you could hear bucky laughing, a deep, booming sound that was even louder than the roar of the ride and screams.

and then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over. the ring began to level out, the spinning slowing down until you were back on the ground, the world righting itself around you. the lap bar released with a loud clank, and you stumbled out of the car, your legs feeling like jelly.

"i can't believe we just did that," you said, your voice shaky with adrenaline and laughter.

"i told you it would be fun," he said, his arm wrapping around your waist to steady you.

"it was the most terrifying thing i've ever done in my entire life," you said, leaning against him, your body still buzzing with the aftershocks of the ride.

"but you loved it," he said, his voice a low, confident rumble.

"i did," you admitted, a wide, unstoppable grin spreading across your face. "i totally loved it."

you were standing there, in the middle of the crowded midway, the lights of the carnival pulsing around you, the sounds of the rides and the laughter of the crowd a distant roar. you were breathless and disheveled, your heart still pounding in your chest, and you had never felt more alive in your entire life. you looked up at him, at the boy you had known your whole life, the man that you convinced yourself you could live romantically without for years on end, and you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your bones, that you didn’t want to do that anymore. that this was it. this was the moment.

you reached up, your hand cupping the back of his neck, and pulled him down to you. you kissed him, a fierce, passionate kiss that tasted of adrenaline and cotton candy and a future that was finally, beautifully within your reach. he kissed you back, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer, his lips claiming yours in a way that left no room for doubt. it was a kiss that said everything you had ever wanted to say, a promise of all the adventures to come, a declaration of a love that had been there all along, just waiting for the right moment to be set free.

when you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. the lights of the carnival seemed brighter, the music louder, the stars in the sky more brilliant than they had ever been before.

You bit back a smile, "wow," you breathed, your voice full of wonder.

"yeah," he said, his voice a low, contented hum. "Wow."

“well i guess you figured out what i was talking about on the ferris wheel. told you you were smart enough doll.” bucky said grinning.

“oh shut up” you said giving him a small push backwards with a smile on your face.

“where do you think you’re going?” he said, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back in for another kiss. this time it was sweeter and slower, showing the gentle way each piece found its place, like a story meant to unfold this way.

pulling back he immediately took your hand, his fingers lacing through yours, and you started to walk, away from the noise and the chaos of the midway, towards the quiet, tree-lined path that led to the entrance. you walked in comfortable silence, the sounds of the carnival fading behind you, replaced by the gentle rustle of the leaves in the cool night air.

"so," you said, your voice a little shy. "you owe me a pink unicorn" you teased.

he laughed, a deep, warm sound that made your heart soar. "don't worry," he said, squeezing your hand. “first thing tomorrow, we're coming back, and i'm winning you that giant unicorn. and the teddy bear. and that weird-looking fish with the googly eyes." he added, placing his fingers over his eyes and flailing his head around jokingly.

"you don't have to do all that," you said, nudging him, your voice soft.

"yes, i do," he said, his voice firm. "i have a lot of time to make up for."

you reached the entrance of the carnival, the bright lights a stark contrast to the quiet darkness of the street beyond. steve was waiting for you, leaning against a lamppost, a sleepy smile on his face.

"there you are," he said, pushing himself off the lamppost. "i was about to send out a search party."

"sorry," you said, grinning. "we got a little sidetracked."

"i can see that," he said, his eyes darting between your intertwined hands and the goofy, lovesick grin on bucky's face. "it's about time."

"shut up, steve," bucky said, but there was no malice in his voice, only a deep, abiding affection.

"i'm just saying," steve said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "it's about damn time."

you all started to walk, the three of you, a unit, a tripod, just like you had always been. but something was different now. something had shifted. the unspoken tension that had always existed between you and bucky was gone, replaced by a new, easy intimacy, a comfortable silence that spoke volumes. you were walking hand in hand with bucky, your fingers laced through his, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"so," steve said, breaking the silence. "did you win her a prize?"

"not yet," bucky said, his eyes twinkling. "but i promise i will."

"you better," you said, leaning your head against his shoulder. "i've been waiting a long time for this."

"me too," he said, his voice a low, contented hum. "me too."

you walked through the quiet streets of the college town, the three of you, your laughter echoing in the cool night air. you stood between steve and bucky, your hand on their shoulders. the carnival was a distant memory, a glittering dream of lights and sound, but the feeling of it, the magic of it, stayed with you, a warm, glowing ember in your heart. you looked at steve, your best friend, he was there, every year, through every single situation you encountered, then you looked up at bucky, at the boy you had grown up with, the man you had been in love with for years, and you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your bones, that this was just the beginning. the beginning of everything.

─˖· masterlist

*as always, thanks @uzmacchiato for the gorgeous banners <3

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Lay Me Down

✦Read on a03!✦ ✦Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist✦ ✦pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader✦ ✦summary: All you wanted in a roommate was someone not insane, who didn't shift anything in your life who didn't drive you out of your mind. You didn't get either of those things. You got Bucky Barnes instead.✦ ✦warnings/tags: roommates, enemies to friends to lovers, insecurity, jealousy, angst, fluff, pining, shameless smut (fingering, slight body worship, dirty talk, nipple play, softdom!bucky), no use of y/n✦ ✦author's note: I'm trying something. Enjoy!✦

“Do you… have any pets?”

The man across from you blinks slowly, then shakes his head. He hasn’t said much at all, despite this being an interview.

But the last girl had asked some very explicit questions about your sex life. Specifically if you were open to threesomes, and—if not—if you’d be really chill about them happening in the living room. 

Then there has been the guy who told you that you shouldn’t fall in love with him—despite looking and sounding like the human version of Mickey Mouse—the girl who grabbed your palm and started crying because apparently you were going to be in grave danger by the end of the month, and the couple who told you they were professional Youtubers, but when you looked them up after they seemed to be airing on the aspiring side. The guy had made you sit for twenty minutes to listen to his podcast, and the girl had told you she’d leave him for you in a second before they left. 

So quiet isn’t great.

It’s far better than your other options. 

And this guy seems sane enough. He hasn’t tried to sleep with you. He doesn’t look like the type to have a podcast. He’s just been staring at you from the couch, sitting a little straighter than you’ve ever seen, his resting causal on his legs. Jeans, hoodie and leather jacket, boots that he’d wiped on the mat before coming inside. 

Gloves.

It’s not that cold outside, but he’s wearing gloves. And there’s something about his face that seems familiar, but he might just be that kind of pretty. 

He is pretty. 

Which doesn’t matter, because you’re interviewing for a roommate and not a boyfriend, but it’s still nice. Especially if, barring he says something that makes you think he’s a serial killer, he’s probably about to be your new roommate. 

“What do you do for work?” You ask, tapping your pen against your knee, and his eyes flick to the motion before he responds. 

“I clean things up. For people.”

You tilt your head at him. “Like a janitor?” 

He huffs a low laugh, and shrugs. “Sure.”

“Sure? Or you are a janitor?”

“I’m like a janitor.”

“So what are you actually?” You raise your brows, and he sighs. 

“I clean up bigger messes. Me and my… friends. We take care of things that important people fuck up.”

Fucking Christ, he is a murder. “So you’re a hitman.”

He frowns. “I didn’t say that, doll-“

“You’re either a hitman or a janitor…” you glance down at his application. “James. So which is it.”

James stares at you for a long moment, and it feels like he’s seeing into you. It makes your skin buzz and your legs feel kind of soft, and you’re definitely leaning hitman because a janitor would never need to learn how to make you fold with only a look. It could just be that his eyes are a really clear shade of blue, and it reminds you of summertime.  

It’s probably that you’re interviewing a hitman, and you just called him out on being a hitman, and now he’s going to fucking kill you-

“You got my name, on that paper?”

You blink at him. “Yes?”

“Look at it again.”

You hold his gaze, trying to figure out if this is some kind of trick, and he’s going to stab you while you look at the paper. But James just raises his brows and nods to the paper, and you chew on your lower lip, bracing yourself to run, just in case. 

He doesn’t try to kill you, as you scan over his application again. James just waits, patiently and when you glance back up at him, his expression is so neutral you’d think he was a statue. 

You’d read the application before. You don’t know what he’s expecting you to find. James Buchanan Barnes, previous address somewhere a few blocks away, checked the veteran box, born March 10th, 1917, fairly average income but a good credit score when you’d run his social- 

Born in 1917. 

You look up at him, gaping and wide eyed, and there’s a twitch to his lips. You’d think he meant 1971, but even then, he doesn’t really look older than his mid-thirties. And he’s staring at you like he expected that reaction.

“Are you a hundred years old?” 

“Hundred and six.” He shrugs, still looking vaguely amused. “You ever take a history class?”

You scowl. “Of course I’ve taken a history class-“

“They do a unit on world war two?”

“Of course they-“ You cut yourself off, looking back down to the application. James Buchanan Barnes. He’s a veteran. He’s old, but doesn’t look old, and he and his buddy clean up messes. 

You feel like a fucking idiot. You watch the news. You have a subscription to the New York Times that you never fucking read, but you glance at the front page of. It’s not your fault his hair is different, and you also don’t expect superheroes to just walk into your apartment for interviews. You’d always imagined they just had a I’ve saved the world card that they can pull out and flash to get what they need. And-

“Don’t you have a tower?” You blurt, starting to shred the edge of his application paper. “Like, in Manhattan? That’s free?” 

“Yep.” James shrugs, watching you carefully. “But if I keep livin’ with John stealing all the food and Valentina ambushing me for staged dates, I’m gonna jump off the roof.”

You frown. “Staged dates?”

“Apparently I need to be more personable.” He mutters, and you sigh. 

“Okay, well- Would you actually live here-“

“Yes.” 

“And am I going to get a bunch of… super-people trying to get into my apartment. Because I was in the city for the battle of New York, and the Blip, and the Void- Which- Thank you for your service? But I’d really rather just not have that.” You gesture to yourself, and James is looking more amused by the second. “Here.” 

“No super people.” He says. “They don’t know I’m doin’ this yet.”

“And when you move out?”

“I’ll make sure they don’t bother you.”

You swallow, and there’s an option to tell him to look somewhere else. That he seems like an okay guy, and this isn’t about the Winter Solider thing, but that you’d just rather not be anywhere near superheroes and the mess they bring.

But it’s either this, or aspiring Youtubers. 

And he really is pretty. 

It helps. 

“Okay.” You take a deep breath, looking back to your list of questions. “Do you drink, smoke, or use any other narcotic substances?”

James shakes his head, and you can still feel his gaze, searing over your skin. “No. They don’t work on me.”

“Because you’re… old?”

“Because of the serum.”

“Oh. Right.” You kind of feel like you have a fever. He needs to stop looking at you. “Good. That’s it, I think. I’ll call you after I look at all the applicants.”

“Alright.” James pauses. “If the superhero thing is a problem-“

“It’s not. I just, um-“ You clear your throat, and his eyes are really blue. “I need to think about it.”

He nods, pushing off the couch and offering out his hand. “Thank you for your time, even if you decide you don’t want any part of it.” He gives you a tight smile. “Can’t say I’d blame you. There’s a reason I’m tryin’ to get away from it.”

You feel kind of dizzy, so you just nod, and shake his hand. He’s using the normal one—you can feel the soft skin and muscled through the glove—and you can’t stop yourself from glancing at the metal one. 

“It’s safe.” He says, and you flush. 

“I- I know. Sorry-“

“Don’t worry about it.” He takes a step back, and your hand feels like it’s been electrified, but that might just be the nerves. “Have a good day, ma’am.”

“Don’t-“ You wrinkle your nose before you can stop yourself. “You can just use my name.” 

James nods, echoing it back to you. “Have a good day.”

“You as well.” You’re still shredding his application between your fingers. You might be about to throw up. “I- Bye.” 

His lips twitch again, and he dips his head. “Bye.”

James leaves, and you take a deep, long breath. 

Maybe you can sneak in a clause that any superhero stuff means the lease is broken, so you don’t get pulled into all that. But it’s not like you’re rich in alternatives anyway, and he seems like the kind of guy to clean up after himself, and he didn’t try to hit on you once.

You can have him as a roommate.

It’s not the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. You’ll probably never really see him, because he’ll still work at the Watchtower.

It’ll be a nice story, when you’re seventy and have grandchildren, asking if you knew any superheroes. And you’re not prime kidnapping material, because you’d just start crying and you don’t know anything.

You really don’t have that many other options. 

So James Barnes is going to be your roommate. 

———

He moves in fast. About ten boxes that he carries up himself, one delivery of an Ikea bed frame and dresser that he somehow builds by himself in a single afternoon, and a rug that he carries up by himself. He doesn’t even really speak to you, he doesn’t keep that much food in the fridge, and he shower really fast in the morning, so you still get hot water. 

You don’t see him that much, either. After about three days, you realize he’s pretty much always gone before you get up, and back after you go to bed. It’s like you’re still living by yourself, only there’s now a vague smell of leather and pine trees in the living room, a motorcycle parked next to your car, and your rent is cut in half. You see him maybe two times in the first week overall. Once when you get up extra early, and once when he comes home suddenly around four pm, grabs something from his room, and leaves with barely a glance in your direction.  

At first, it’s perfect. 

Then the second week hits. And James is still never home. 

But his presence is everywhere.

You’re not the neatest person. Clothing ends up on the floor of your room, and dishes can pile in the sink. There’s no obvious method to the madness of your fridge or living room, but you understand it. Everything is in its place, and its place may seem insane to anyone else, but it makes perfect sense to you. Nothing ever gets lost, because you know exactly where to find it.

Your keys go under the same jacket every morning. You always pick it up, shove them in your pocket, and shrug the jacket on as you walk out the door. 

But you go to grab them, and they’re gone. 

The jacket, and your keys. 

A lump quickly builds in your throat. You could take a bus to work, but then you’d have to leave the apartment unlocked. Plus your keyring has the keys to your office, and if you don’t have those you’re going to have to beg for a copy from admin, and they’ll yell at you for losing them in the first place. You work for a non-profit, and you really doubt anyone is going to try and steal soup receipts, but they’re still going to yell at you, and you’ll start crying, and it’s going to fucking suck. 

You need your keys. 

And you rip up half the apartment before you find them. 

Your jacket had been hung on the wall, and there’s a new little shelf that has a tiny bowl. A key bowl. It’s cute. 

You’re going to be fifteen minutes late for work. 

It will be fine. You’ll tell your boss that you just ran into worse traffic than usual, and you’re almost always early, so she’ll let it slide. You’ll ask James not to move things without telling you, the next time you see him, or just text him if he keeps barely actually living in the apartment.

Overall, it’s not even the worst thing about the day, because you go out on a date with a guy your friend introduced you to, and he tries to get you to chain smoke with him. 

But it only gets worse from there. 

You forget to text James. Between the date, being overflowed with work, and putting back everything you’d torn apart in your frantic search, it just slips through the cracks.

So it doesn’t stop. 

The cleaning.  

Something is in a new spot, every time you step into the living room. You’re not sure he ever sleeps, because if he did there’s no fucking way he’d have the time to do all this. The dishes are all cleaned and in a neat order. The fridge has been classified by food group. He got coasters instead of napkins, and he fixed the broken cabinet hinge, and there’s no more dust on the floor, and all the towels in the bathroom are color-coded. You feel like you’re living in a fucking hotel. 

It needs to stop.

You keep forgetting to text him. The only time you see him is after you get back from another failed date, and you’re too tired to yell at him, so you just stumble past him with a grumble and slam the door to your room. When you wake up in the morning, coffee is already waiting for you, and this feels like a waking nightmare. 

James must think you’re a fucking mess. A disaster of a woman, who can’t clean, can’t organize, can’t take care of herself enough to make her own coffee. You’d seen the frown on his face when you’d kicked off your heels and tossed your jacket onto the couch. You know you hadn’t looked your best—you’d walked home in the rain, and your hair was stuck to your face and lipstick smeared with your too-small dress clinging to your body—but it had been a shit date. The guy had asked how many kids you wanted, and when you said you weren’t sure, he’d told you that you’d have six. 

“Six?” You’d laughed, swirling the wine in your glass. It was easier to play that type of comment as a joke. “That’s gonna hurt.”

“You’ll get through it.” He’d shrugged, winking at you. “You’ve got birthing hips.”

You’d left early. He’d tried to stop you, and you’d punched him in the face because you can take care of yourself. 

So this cleaning you up shit is going to end, now. You’re not a pet project. And James doesn’t get to just barrel into your life, move everything around, and then never even fucking talk to you. 

You stay up, tonight. It’s a Saturday, and you’re talking to him, whether he likes it or not. 

The door clicks open after midnight, and you stand up, rubbing your eyes. You’d only managed not to fall asleep with coffee and a lot of alarms, and every nerve in your body feels wired to snap. You don’t know why the fuck he’d been out so late—it’s Saturday, and if it’s superhero stuff he should have just stayed with the other New Avenger’s—but you just want to go to sleep. 

If you go to sleep, you’ll forget to have the conversation again. You’re barely going to be able to keep it together as it is, to not scream at him and do this like an adult.  

So you take a deep breath, cross your arms over your chest, and clear your throat as he kicks off his shoes. 

“I see you.” He drawls, and you dig your nails into your arm. “What’re you still doing up?”

You raise your chin, keeping your voice level. “We need to talk.”

James glances at you, features impossibly neutral. “Do we?”

“Yes.” It might be an intimidation tactic. You won’t let it get to you. “Stop moving all my shit around.”

“Your… what?”

“My stuff.” You snap. “My jacket and my key and- Everything. Stop changing everything without asking me.”

He frowns at you. “I’ve been cleaning up.”

“You did ask me to clean up.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” he says slowly, still watching you carefully. “I live here as well, and this place was a fuckin’ mess-“

“It wasn’t a mess!” Your voice is rising. You push it back down with a deep breath. “I had a system, and I- I was late to work because of you moving my fucking keys-“

“The keys that were under the jacket? They were about to fall on the floor-“

“And I would have known they were on the floor! You don’t just get to come in and change my whole life-“

James snorts, shaking his head. “I’m not changing your life. I’m barely even here-“

“So you have no right to move everything around.” You hiss, and he blinks at you. “If you wanted to live somewhere neat and perfect or whatever, you should have chosen that. You saw my place before you moved in, and it’s still my place. Touch my stuff again, and I cut off your other hand.”

He stares at you for a second. “You’re a lot more than you want people to think, huh.” 

It’s like he’s punched you right in the gut. Knocked your right in the windpipe, make you choke on your own words and stare at him, your head grabbing his words and grounding them into a toxin for your blood. He’s still looking at you. It’s still burning all over your skin. There’s a lump forming in your throat, and your nails are going to leave little indents on your arms, and he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about so why is it burning in your gut-

“I’ll stop moving your shit.” He says, walking right past you with a bored tone, and his eyes are still a pretty, clear shade of blue that seems to shine in the dark.  

White-hot. Sparking through you in a hot, furious way that makes your head spin and fingers curl into fists. 

“Good.” You manage to mutter, and he snorts. 

“Yeah, well, if you start makin’ a big mess again, I’m cleaning it. My ma raised me better than that.”

Before his words can sink in, he’s gone, the door to his room closing behind him. 

His mother raised him better than that. 

Than you. 

You whip around, ready to bang your fists on his door and snap that your mother raised you just fine, you just have bigger things to worry about than installing fucking shelves. The only thing that stops you is another alarm, going off on your phone and snapping you out of your thoughts. 

Even if he’s a shit roommate and you should have gone with the sex-life girl—at least you might be getting laid—he still signed the lease, and is at least pretending he wants to be here. 

You still don’t understand why the fuck he’d do this at all, if it’s so disgusting for him. The New Avengers have to have a cleaning crew.

Hopefully, by the end of the month, he’ll give up on you and return to the watchtower. 

Until then, you’ll just pretend he doesn’t exist. 

It won’t be that hard. He’s barely around anyway. 

——

You need to stop making predictions. You’re really fucking bad at them.

He’s around. A week passes, and you don’t see him at all, then suddenly you go out into the living room and he’s there. Sitting on the couch and reading a book, a mug of coffee on a the side table. 

He’s wearing a long sleeve shirt, sweatpants, and the gloves. It’s the closest you’ve seen to him looking normal, and it feels wrong. Even when he’d just been interviewing, there had been a rigid, careful aura around him of someone more than a man. But there’s a half-eaten apple in his hand, and his hair is still mussed from sleep, and he’s so settled into the couch it’s clear he’s not moving any time soon. 

You don’t know what you’re supposed to do with that. 

For today, you settle on ignoring him. Pouring the coffee—already made again, but maybe he’s just really bad at estimating proportions—and pulling on your shoes, walking out the door without a glance back. You’ve got work, and if he wants to sit on the couch, he does technically live here. He’ll probably be gone when you get back, anyway. 

But he’s not. 

You’re home around six, and James has moved to the kitchen. He’s making dinner, like he’s a person. Who eats. 

It feels like you’re intruding on something. Like you’re watching Thor take a shit. 

You elect to keep pretending he isn’t there. He probably just had a day off, and tomorrow will be back to normal. You close yourself in your room for the rest of the night, watching TV on your laptop and messaging with a few friends about going out this weekend. It might be a trap to make you go on another date, but you don’t really care. 

All your friends are married, and they really do mean well. They want you to have what they found. One of them just had a baby, and she’s been sending you the least photos because she feels bad. You’ve stopped complaining to them about not having a partner. It’s not that you don’t want one. 

You’re just really really bad at dating. At going out and meeting people, showing them all the best angles of you to adore, then holding onto them. It might just be something you can’t do. That you’re not meant for, no matter how bad you want it.

And you want it. You want it when you watch stupid romcoms, and when you walk your friends dance around with their partners, and when you think about your future there’s always someone there. A faceless silhouette, who may never get to have a name. 

If they do, you doubt it will be Keith, the blond-haired guy who’s had a suspicious amount of his photos texted to the group chat. You’ll give him a shot, just to say you missed. If nothing, it can be a good night at his place. 

Not your place. 

Not with James changing all his habits, and actually living with you. He’s even more inescapable, now. He’d stopped touching your things, but the little bowl on the shelf now holds his keys, and you feel like a bitch if you don’t put yours in as well. Your clutter stays organized, because it would be petty to scatter it everywhere just to get back at him. Petty and childish. 

And you’re not petty and childish. You’re a grown woman, and you’re going to force yourself to behave as one. Even if it would be satisfying to keep your shoes just off the mat he bought, and put your food wherever you’d like in the fridge, instead of according to James’ system. But you’re going to be mature. You’re going to follow the vegetable and fruit drawer designations, and you’re going to put the dishes on the stupid drying rack. 

And you will not admit to him that it all makes your apartment feel nicer.

James can just silently be smug about that himself. With his stupid books and gloves and thick thighs on your couch. He’s still pretty. 

You still want to strangle him. 

“I like the candles.” You mutter a few nights later—well into the sudden shift into him being a person instead of a ghost—and you’re trying to be sweet. You can be sweet. That’s a gear you can have. “Apple cinnamon is nice.”

“They’re your candles.” James doesn’t look up from his book. “You’d left them in the closet, figured you weren’t touchin’ them anymore.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. It’s not bait. You won’t take it. “Oh? How’s that?”

“They were covered in dust, doll. Like half the shit in-“ James’ cuts himself off, and you turn with a small frown. 

He’s staring at you. Scanning over your body in a way that makes you think you’re covered in some kind of fucking goo. Your legs, your arms, your dress- 

Oh. 

Your dress. 

Somehow, in just two sentences with James, you’d forgotten that you were out in the living area for a reason. To get the heels, and test if they went with the outfit. You’re about to head out, to meet Blond Keith and hopefully at least get laid. So you’d dressed like you’re trying to get laid. 

James’ eyes are pushing a little out of his head, his jaw is clenched, and his fist is curled on his leg. He’s acting like you’re a 14th century noblewoman who just showed her ankle. 

To a hundred-year-old, you might be.  

It’s the biggest reaction you’ve gotten out of him yet.

“You’re going to get cold.” He mutters, voice stuttering slightly, and you smile at him. 

This kind of sweet you can actually do. Full lips and batting eyelashes and a crude, mocking tone under all the sugary fluff. “Really? Why do you think so?”

His jaw ticks. “No jacket.”

“I have a jacket, though.” You shrug, turning around to walk back into your room. “And I’ll be getting a ride home tomorrow.”

You can hear the frown in his voice. “Tomorrow.”

“Yep.” You grab your jacket, and—even though you weren’t going to leave for ten more minutes—shrug it on. “Bye, James.”

He doesn’t respond. Just watches you walk out the door, all the way until it slams closed behind you. He hadn’t snapped and told you to change, but he had stared. Had acted like more than the tauntingly neutral statue that’s been sitting in your living room all week.

You’re not childish. 

As long as he keeps acting like he knows what’s best for you, you’re going to milk this for all its fucking worth. 

——

“Where are you going?”

You hum, focusing on your mascara in the mirror. 

You could be doing it in the bathroom. But James isn’t in the bathroom. And half of this is just doing a show to get a rise out of him. 

So you’re doing it in the living room. 

“Out.”

“Out.” He repeats, voice low. “You just got back.”

“That was from work, it doesn’t count.”

He grunts, and you can feel him staring. “Last night count, as well?”

You just shrug, running your tongue over your lips to test the lipstick. He doesn’t need to know that this is most you’ve gone out, ever, in your life. That most of the nights are just spent with your friends, and only one or two have been with Blond Keith. Then you’d met Dan the bodyguard, who you never managed to sleep with, and Miles who wore a thousand-dollar watch, and tried to fuck you in the bathroom after the second date.

But those are all just normal date failures. The hanging out with friends all the time is getting exhausting, and they do keep trying to set you up with people, but you’ll eat glass before you hang out with Thousand Dollar Miles again. 

It’s all exhausting. 

Work is exhausting. Putting so much effort into pissing James off is exhausting. Dating is exhausting. 

You still give him another sweet smile, before you walk out the door for your next date. It should be casual, with a guy from a dating app who had a nice face and fairly normal opinions about things. James doesn’t say anything, but—just like every night before—you can feel him watching you leave. It makes you stand a little taller, sway your hips a little more. Rushes a hot, sparkling feeling through your veins before you close the door. 

It’s the high point of the night. 

Dating App Henry does have a nice face. His opinions are normal.

He also won’t stop asking you for your opinions about things, then cutting you off before you can actually give them. 

“Can you see yourself having kids?”

You almost choke on your shitty wine. Not again. “I-“

“I’ve thought about having, four or five? You seem like you’d be a good mother, like you organize your cabinet by colors or whatever.” Dating App Henry laughs to himself. “That’s good, because I can’t clean at all. I don’t even know how to do laundry.”

You blink at him. “You don’t know how to do laundry?”

Dating App Henry shakes his head, grinning at you like that’s supposed to be cute, and you shake your head. 

“Then… I’m sorry, who does your laundry?”

“My ex did it for a while.” He shrugs. “Lately I’ve just been buying new stuff, whenever I run out. I got another raise at work, so I can afford it.”

Later, you learn that Dating App Henry is a lobbyist for AI companies.  

He asks if you want dessert. 

You shake your head politely, and call a cab. 

Maybe it’s you, is all you can think as the dark of the city rushes by. Maybe you really can’t date, or there’s something about you that screams weirdos only. You might have to be one of those women who really focuses on their career, and retries early to paint birds. 

You press your brow against the glass and squeeze your eyes shut. You already really focused on your career. 

You’re going to die, and nobody’s going to come to your funeral. Sure you’ll have friends who will attend, but no one who’s going to talk about how they love loved you. Work is going to name a conference room after you, and in twenty years you’ll be nothing more than that room on the third floor, where the boss boned her secretary, because it’s being rubbed in your face from beyond the fucking grave. 

James is still up, when you shove the door open and kick off your shoes. 

“How was going out.” He drawls, and you shoot him a glare.

“Dogshit.”

He chuckles to himself. “Sorry, doll.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You shuffle across the room, and he looks up with raised brows.

“She bites back.”

“I’ll bite your fucking cock off.” You mutter, and it’s probably too far, but you’re so tired. “I know you’re on superheroing sabbatical or whatever, but I’ve got some work due tomorrow, and if you do anything to distract me, I’m going to put shit in your shampoo.”

James stares at you for a second, then says, “How do I distract you?”

You flip him off, and slam your door behind you. 

You’re not going to die alone. 

Fucking James Barnes is going to die right next to you, in this stupid apartment, and you’re going to turn into soil that shoves his further down because you hate him. And his stupid small grin, and jawline, and smooth voice, and pretty blue eyes that light your skin on fire. 

And it’s not anyone’s business how—after a long day of pure frustration, working until three in the morning, and his handsome face being the last one you saw before bed—you fall into bed with your hand between your thighs and his name in tiny moans on your lips. 

He’d be rough. Or soft. And he’d wrap fully around you, and only look at you. Never cut off any of your moans. He’d tease and pry them out you, and kiss your neck with slight scruff brushing sensitive skin, and a deep drawl in your ears, and everything in a neat, easy place. 

You cover your mouth with a pillow, as your body shakes through your orgasm.

He’s still pretty. 

A hate fuck might you. The idea of having him sneer and tease you until you cum in his big arms is a good one.

But you’re tired of just sex.

So you fall asleep, and dream of that faceless man, dancing you around in the kitchen.

———

You finished all your work. Your feet hurt from standing and giving the same presentation, over and over and over, to different rich people who still only might give you money. But you did it. 

And now you get to shuffle home, order food because you don’t want to talk to James, and sleep for a hundred million years. 

You push open the door, keeping your attention away from his spot on the couch—you really don’t want to see him, don’t have the energy to fight—and kick off your shoes. They land off the mat. 

With a soft groan, you lean down, pick them up, and place them on the mat.

You draw back up, ready to walk right into your room, but there’s a chest blocking your path. A chest with legs, and arms, and gloves, and- 

“Are you hungry?”

You slowly drag your gaze up to James’ and he’s staring at you in the way you can feel again. You swallow, and shake your head.

“No-“ Your stomach cuts you off with a deep grumble, and James huffs softly. 

“No, huh.”

You scowl. “I’m not going out, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried about it.” His brow draws, and that’s a point for you. “I just think- Shit-“ He runs a hand over his face, and you frown. 

“What-“

“I made food.” His words are fast, but strained. Like he’s trying to push them out as fast as possible. “You are welcome to it, if you want.”

He must have fallen and hit his head. There’s no possible reason for him to be making you food. You didn’t even know he could cook, and honestly, smelling the air, you’re still not sure. 

“What did you make?” You ask wearily, and he shrugs. 

“Tortellini.”

“And it’s… good?”

His lips twitch. “I’ll let you be the judge of that, doll.”

You could tell him no. Could shove past him and storm into your room, and just keep fighting forever. 

But he’s trying. 

He made you dinner. You’ve been ordering out too much this week, solely to avoid him.

You really are far too tired to fight. Even if it is some kind of trap, at least you’ll get food out of it. 

“Fine.” You mumble, crossing your arm over your chest. “Where is it.”

He tilts his head to the kitchen. “C’mon. Should still be warm.”

It is still warm. More than warm. James pushes the bowl towards you, and steam is rising from the pasta. 

“Are you not going to eat?” You ask as he passes you the fork, and he shakes his head. 

“Ate at the Watchtower.”

“Oh.” You pause. “Then why did you make this-“

“Just eat it,” he drawls your name, and you roll your eyes, but listen. There’s something in his voice that makes you want to poke at it, to see it snap, but not now. Not when you can feel the weight of your eyelids, and the pressure of James’ stare. 

You hold his gaze, taking the slowest, most dramatic bite you can manage.

It tastes like salt. Salt and slightly burnt vegetables. You don’t spit it out—you’re stronger than that—but you lean back slightly, wrinkling your nose. 

“Have you ever made tortellini before?”

“No.” He grunts. “Followed the instructions on the packet thingy. Is it-“

“It’s shit.” You shrug, and go for a second bite.

James frowns. “You don’t gotta eat it-“

“I’m hungry.”

He nods slowly, and there’s about a minute before he clears his throat, and his gaze somehow burns deeper into your skin. 

“There’s no superhero sabbatical.” 

You glance up from the bowl, mouth full, and all you can make is a hurh? sound in response. James’ sighs, looking up to the ceiling before continuing. 

“You said I was on superhero sabbatical. I’m not. Right now there are just no imminent threats, so I only have to work normal hours. That’s why I’m home.”

Home. 

You don’t love how he says that so casually. Or how it makes your skin buzz a little, because home is the same place for you both. Even if you’re trapping yourself in your room, and he still won’t take off his gloves. 

It’s even worse how that makes you feel sore, something twisting in your gut. 

It’s easier to pretend you don’t feel any of it, and swallow your pasta. 

“Okay.” You tap your fork on the edge of the bowl. “What are normal New Avengers hours?”

“Changes every day.” He mutters, words slow. “I’m doin’ whatever Yelena tells me to, and she’s trying to help, so it’s not much. Paperwork. Saved a cat from a tree a few days ago. Busted into a nightclub that was dealing some heavy drugs. Nothing important.”

You hum, taking another stab of your pasta, and James braces his hands on the table, leaning over you with that intense, impossible to ignore gaze. 

You don’t flinch, or move back, but you don’t think he’s trying to be intimidating. So just tilt your head at him, keeping your voice semi-sweet and casual. “Do you want me to say something?”

“No.” James grunts, letting out a long, slow exhale. “I’m just- I think we got off on the wrong foot or something.”

“Did we?”

His nostrils flare slightly. “Yes, we did.”

“Okay.” You look back down to your pasta. “Are you asking to start over?”

“Uh-“ He coughs, and you focus on keeping your foot from bouncing under the table. You’re really not sure what’s happening, if he’s being serious, or if this is going to be some kind of trick. “Yeah?”

“Why?”

He pauses. “Because we live together.”

“People live together and hate each other all the time.”

“Well, do you hate me?” 

You let out a slow breath, and look up at him. He’s still pretty. His face is still that almost unreadable mask. 

But his words sound sincere. 

And not fighting anymore sounds okay. He doesn’t have to be your best friend. But if you decided to ignore him, then you’re certainly being a petty bitch, and that’s too exhausting to keep up. 

“No.” You sigh, and his eyes flash slightly. “I don’t.” 

“Good.” His tongue flicks over his lips, and he leans a little further forward. “I don’t hate you either.”

You hum, and whatever evergreen shampoo or cologne he uses is starting to invade your sense, making you feel a little drunk. If he kisses you, you’re not going to have the willpower to shove him away. He’s too pretty, and there’s a lot of heat radiating from him body, and it won’t be a hate-fuck or making love or whatever, but a stress-fuck also sounds pretty fucking nice- 

“My therapist tells me I can be off-putting and controlling.” He mutters, and you blink. No kiss. 

You don’t know why the fuck you thought he would. 

You take a large bite of the pasta as he continues, before you can say something stupid. 

“I’ve been focusing on interpersonal skills. I used to be pretty damn good at them, but- Things change.”

You mumble an agreement through your food, not really sure what you’re supposed to be contributing to the conversation here.

“I am going to ask you a question.” He keeps staring at you, and you swallow your bite.

“Oh- Okay.”

He nods, jaw clenching slightly before he speaks. “Why do you call me James.”

You blink at him. “Because it’s your name?”

“Most people call me Bucky.”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

“Yeah. Alright.” He sighs, giving you a weak, slightly strained smile. “If we’re startin’ over, you should mostly call me Bucky.”

“Mostly?” You frown at him. “When would I call you James?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. You’re smart. You’ll find it.”

A softer heat rises in your cheeks. “I’m smart?”

“Yeah. You are.” He runs his hand over his face, jaw ticking as his voice drops. “Might have Googled that place you work at. They do good work. Not for stupid people.”

That’s making your chest glow. You try to push it down, and keep your voice even. “What jobs are for stupid people?”

He snorts. “My job. Jumpin’ on bullets and saving the world when it keeps trying to kill itself.”

“Do you not like your job?”

“It’s complicated.” Bucky mutters, something like caution crossing his features. “Am I allowed to ask you another question?”

“Is it something stupid?”

“Nah.” He huffs a low laugh. “But it might piss you off.”

You hum, and give him a small smile. It’s not forced. 

None of this is forced. 

And it’s a little terrifying, how quickly you went from ready to mock and shove him to eating a little slower in order to keep talking to him. 

It probably doesn’t mean anything. Bucky is just easy to talk to, when you’re not trying to think of insults or picking apart how he might be calling you a mess. And he really is nice to look at. 

So this is easy.

“I think you should ask me anyway.” You hum. “Just to see what happens.”

Bucky nods, he does the tongue thing again. You don’t know if he’s been doing the whole time you’ve known him and you just never noticed, but you can’t stop noticing now. His lips are full and pink. They move so smoothly when he talks. 

You might be losing your mind. 

“When you go out.” He says slowly, and you raise your brows. “Where are you actually going?”

He doesn’t sound as if he’s judging you. Just that he’s curious. 

And you refuse to be ashamed about it, even if you’re still feeling like there’s grime growing over your heart, and there’s a tiny voice in the back of your head reminding you that you’re unlovable. That’s not Bucky’s problem. 

So he gets the simple, bored, casual answer, and he can do whatever the fuck he wants with it. You don’t care.

“Mostly out with friends. But sometimes dates.”

“Dates,” he echoes, frowning at the air—most with what seems to be confusion—and you give him an amused look. 

“Yeah. Like, we get dinner or a drink and talk. See if we’re compatible. Learn about each other, then maybe have sex-“

“You’re havin’ sex on dates?” 

He seems shocked, and you snort. It’s not judgment. Bucky just seems truly baffled by the concept, and you have bite your cheek to stop yourself from laughing more. 

“Yeah. Casual sex. Don’t tell me you’ve never had sex, dude, I know you’re from the 40s or whatever, but-“

“I’ve had sex.” He mutters. “But it was with girls I liked. Knew for a while.” 

“What, all two of them?”

He shoots you a dry look. “You got a mouth on you, you know that?”

You give him a sweet smile. “I’ve been told it’s one of my best qualities.”

Bucky’s hand curls on the table as he snorts, and his gaze is going to brand you. “Could say that, yeah.”

Before you can ask what that means, he’s pushing on. 

“Stevie called me a ladies man. But that just meant I got dates easy. Never really just fucked in a backroom. Not my style.”

“Yeah?” You’re saying it before you can stop yourself. “What is your style?”  

He chuckles, and it’s a deep, rich sound that makes your head spin slightly. He’s smiling. At you. And laughing, and this is so much fucking better than fighting with him. You don’t even know why you were so determined to fight with him to start, when it could have been like this. 

And he’s still pretty. In the soft-edged light of the kitchen, every shadow is gentle on his face, and it makes his jaw seem sharper, the pace of his face more rugged, and you want to trace your hand over his jaw. 

That might be too far. 

You just started liking him. 

You’re not going to turn this into something it’s not. He can be your friend. 

But he’s so handsome. And you think you could live in his face, frozen in time under his gaze and small grin. 

Shit.

You’re just horny. You’re thinking like this because you’re horny, and nothing else. It has nothing to do with how he leans closer when he speaks, and lets you speak, and made you food to try and talk something out. Like an adult, instead of two bitter teenagers. 

You’re just horny.

“I’m an old man,” he drawls your name, and it makes that glow in your chest bloom, but you’re just horny. “I don’t think people my age do casual.”

“Old people fuck.” Your voice is more breathless than you want it to be. “And- I don’t think there are people your age.”

He snorts. “Fair point. You like casual?”

You shrug, looking back to your bowl, because you can’t look at him while you say this. “I don’t know.”

Bucky just makes a low sound of agreement. “Well, you at least bring pepper spray, right? Men can be creeps.”

“Okay, dad.” You roll your eyes, kicking his shin under the table. “I bring pepper spray and a pocketknife. I’m not dumb.”

“I didn’t say you were dumb. Just want to make sure you’re being safe.”

“Thanks.” You mumble, and he said that like it was obvious. As if you should have assumed that he’s worried about your safety. 

As if you’re something that matters. 

It feels nice. The glow in your chest is moving over your ribs, and it makes you sit a little taller, all while making it harder to look him in the eyes. If you do, you’re certain you’ll get trapped in them. 

That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. 

“No problem, doll.” You can hear the small grin in his voice, and the heat rises again. “We good?”

“Yeah, Bucky.” You poke at your tortellini. It really does taste like shit. 

But he made it for you. 

“We’re good.” 

———

It’s happening so fast. 

You stop fighting with Bucky—not James anymore, Bucky—and everything falls into an odd, perfect place. 

He still can’t cook, but he cleans the apartment, and it doesn’t feel like he’s trying to invade anymore. He knows with things to leave in their strange places because you tell him to, and you follow all the new, small rules without thinking about it. In exchange, you make him food, and you take turns doing each other’s laundry. 

Which means you’ve touched his boxers. 

And maybe you’d stared at them for a few minutes, trying to not think about the part of Bucky the fabric had touched. If the size of the boxers in any inditement of the size of… other things. 

You won’t think about it. That would be a violation of his privacy, and he is now your friend. You don’t think about your other friends underwear, of it they think you’re cute when you shuffle around in too-big shirts and smaller shorts. 

You’ve got something good here. Something easy. If you ruin it, you’re going to have to reach out to orgy girl and see if she’s still in the market, and you really don’t want to do that when you can have Bucky. 

Because you do have Bucky. You’ve learned all his favorite foods. You watch TV together, at the end of the night, and you’ve started exchanging book recommendations.  He even showed you his motorcycle. 

“You can ride it, if you want.” He’d nodded to the seat, giving you the half grin that sort of set you on fire, and you’d flushed, shaking your head. 

“Pass. I’m not trying to die, Buck.”

“I wouldn’t let you die,” he’d drawled your name back in a teasing tone. “I need you. Without you here, I’d starve to death.”

You’d rolled your eyes. “Well if that’s your only reason for keeping me around-“

“It’s not and you know it.” He’d held out his hand, the metal glinting into the flickering garage lights. 

He’d taken off the glove a couple of weeks ago. Walked into the living area wearing a t-shirt, the black and gold vibranium on full display, and you hadn’t said a word. There wasn’t anything to be said. He was comfortable enough around you to show his arm. That made you feel like you were floating up, up, up into the sky.

You’d smiled at him, passed him a bowl of cereal, and that had been it. 

In the garage you’d backed away, shaking your head, spinning around what other reasons he might want to keep you around. 

And you really hadn’t wanted to get on that motorcycle. 

“Well, what if- The engine could blow up-“

“No, it couldn’t.” He’d flexed his hand, giving you a firm look. “You’ll like it, doll, promise.”

“Maybe, but I think I’ll like it, and then I’ll die when the engine blows up-“

Bucky had grabbed your hand, his mouth curved into a small, gentle grin, and you’d swallowed. He’s always so fucking handsome. You might have been about to drool. 

“We don’t gotta do it today.” He’d said. “But I do think you’d like it. Offer stays on the table.”

You’d nodded, voice breathy again. “Okay.”

“Okay.” He’d pulled you forward slightly, and suddenly you were holding his hand as you walked out of the garage. 

And it just kept escalating. Higher and higher. Bucky stands with you while you cook every night, and touches your lower back whenever he has to reach over you to grab something from the top shelf. You stop going on all the dates, because so, so fast, you don’t want to do anything but hang out with Bucky. 

But your friends don’t about that. They know you’re complaining about your roommate less, but you never told them it was the Winter Solider. Or anything about him as a person. 

You’re keeping it like that. If not for yourself, and all the millions of questions you’ll have to endure, for Bucky. 

He doesn’t love being a public person. It’s easy to tell whenever you’re reading the news and he leans over your shoulder, seeing a New Avengers photo where he looks like he’s trying to figure out the best way to kill the person behind the camera. 

“What’re they sayin’ now.” He’d asked this morning, putting on the coffee, and you’d made a dramatic look of mock thought. 

“That you’re a hero. A god among men. That we should elect you king, and every street in Brooklyn should be called Saint Barnes road.”

Bucky had rolled his eyes, but his glare had been soft. “I’m not a saint, doll.”

It’s not fair how deep and smooth his voice always is, when he says that. It makes you feel fuzzy. 

“You’re not.” You’d hummed, giving him a small grin. “They just misprinted Sargent.”

Bucky had snorted. “Alright. What are they actually sayin’?”

“About you?” You pretend to check the article, even though it’s the first thing you’d looked for. “The hair again.”

He’d groaned, voice dropping under his breath. “Always the fuckin’ hair.”

You’d shrugged, but you understood it. He has really nice hair. You’ve been having fantasies about running your fingers through it, or petting his head, or yanking on it as his face dove between your legs- 

Not going to ruin it. 

This is a good thing, so you’d taken a deep breath and dug your nails into your wrist, because you wouldn’t fucking ruin this. 

That’s why you agreed to go out at all. Bucky isn’t really an option on the table, and you still want to have that. The love. The faceless man, spinning you around and around, kissing your neck and holding your hand and whispering with you in the dead of night. 

You’ve been whispering with Bucky. He sits with you on the couch until the silent hours of the morning, sometimes just to be there while you work. 

He’s not an option. 

So you took a date with Polo-Shirt Michael, and really, really tried. 

But he keeps telling you about his gains. And how many female friends he has, and how they all want him but he’s looking for true love. 

“They’re going to try and scare you off, ‘cause I gave them one hit and they got addicted.” He winks at you, and you swallow a little bile. “You the tough kind of woman? You gonna be able to take it, babygirl?”

You gave him a sweet smile, folding the napkin in your lap, and stand up. “I need to shit.”

It’s not worth seeing his reaction. You head straight for the bathroom and pull out your phone, scrolling for who can pick you up. You could call an Uber, but you don’t get paid until next week, and you’re not sure getting away from Polo Michael will be that easy without backup. All your friends have date nights or vacations. 

Your thumb hovers over Bucky’s contact for a minute before you bite your thumb, and call him. 

He picks up in two rings. 

“Hey,” he says your name and you swallow, pressing your back against the wall. “What’s up?”

“I need your help.” You mumble, playing with your skirt. “If I send you an address, can you pick me up?”

“Yeah, of course.” There’s some shuffling on the other end of the line. “What’s goin’ on, doll, are you-“

“I’m safe.” You sigh. “Bad date.”

He grunts. “Pepper spray bad?”

“Not yet. I just really want to go home.”

“Alright. I’ve got you. Be there in,” there’s a pause, then, “ten.”

You nod, the line drops, and you start to pace. You should go out and say goodnight to Polo Michael. Lie that something came up, and you’ll text him to reschedule. But he also said his girlfriend was a crazy bitch. 

That’s enough of a reason to slip out without any words. You hadn’t ordered yet, so you’re not leaving him with a bill. You’d even only gotten water, so at worst he’s paying for his $90 wine. 

You glance over your shoulder as you stand on the curb, to check if he’s still waiting at the table. Bucky should be here soon, and as long as you’re not spotted, everything will be-

Michael looks at you. Right at you, as Bucky’s headlights appear down the street. He stands as Buck pulls up to your side. 

“Hey, what-“

“Drive.” You climb on the bike without a thought. “Fucking drive, Bucky, go-“

Bucky turns, drops an oversized helmet onto your head, and buckles it. His knuckles brush over your chin, you mouth falls open with a soft breath. By some miracle, you don’t think he hears it. 

He turns back around, speeds off without anything else, and you let out an exhale of relief. 

Then it hits you. 

You’re on the motorcycle. The world is rushing past you and you’re on the motorcycle and you’re going to die-

Bucky pulls off to the side and you squeak at the movement, pressing your face into his back. 

“It’s fine, doll.” His voice is clear as the engine turns off, but you don’t let go. “You’re gonna strangle me, you know.”

“No, I’m not.” You don’t let go. “Thank you, Bucky, I- I can walk home-“

“You are not walking.” He grabs your wrist, keeping you against his chest, and you shake your head. 

“I’m okay-“

“You get dinner?”

“I-“ You lean back. “What?”

“Look like you were gettin’ dinner.” He mutters, turning to look at you. “You eat?”

You shake your head, and somehow, let Bucky talk you into one of those 24-hour diners. Your date outfit and makeup a little messed up from the motorcycle, his shoes slip-ons that make him look like an actual old man. 

Bucky glances at you across the booth, and you give him a weak smile, playing with some of your jewelry. 

“You wanna take this home and eat there?”

You let out a soft breath. “Yes, please. My feet feel like they’re being stabbed and vomited on.”

He snorts. “Gross, doll.”

You shrug, and your smile feels a little more real. 

Then you’re at home. Bucky somehow talks you into taking the motorcycle back, and he gives you a few minutes to change and clean while he put out the food. You join him on the couch, kicking up your feet with a dramatic moan, and Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“So what was wrong with him?”

You turn to look at him with a frown. “What?”

“The date.” Bucky shrugs. “What was wrong with him. He not up to your standard.”

“I guess, yeah. But my standard isn’t really that high.”

He raises his brows, and you sigh. 

“I just want someone that doesn’t, like, hate me.”

“That’s it?”

You nod, and Bucky snorts. 

“Jesus, that is a low bar. This guy-“

“He didn’t hate me. But he seemed to not love women in general.”

“Ah.” Bucky pauses, looking down to his food. “Don’t know how you could hate women. All the women I know are the best.”

You nudge his calf with your foot. “Even me?”

“Yeah, doll, even you.” He gives you a small, real smile. 

He’s being serious. 

So you smile back. “Thanks, Buck.”

“No problem.” He pokes your food with his fork. “Eat, doll. I didn’t spend twenty dollars for nothing.”

You focus on your food, but your fingers are shaking a little. You rode on Bucky’s motorcycle and didn’t die. But you’re also sitting still on the couch, and you can feel your heart at the top of your chest, hear it in your head. 

It’s a bigger rush, just sitting with Bucky and eating. 

And maybe it’s how Polo Michael looked like he was going to strangle you, or how busy you are with work, but you might be done with dates for a while. 

It’s not a hard choice to make, when Bucky starts to tell you about how he worked on the shower while you were gone, and laughs at all your pipe jokes. Or Bucky’s low, rough version of a laugh, which you like better. 

Not one date has ever even gotten to hear a sex joke. 

So you’d really rather stay here. 

———

You’re wasted.

It was a celebration. Someone just got engaged. Or broke up. Or had a baby. Or broke up and had a baby. 

You’re not sure anymore. And you don’t really care. Someone had something good happen to them, and you’d wanted a reason to drink. 

So you drank. 

And now your head is spinning, and all your effort goes into swallowing down the vomit rising up your throat. Your skin feels like it’s lighting on fire, but it’s also freezing cold, and there’s a harsh wind but it’s not enough to shock you out of the colorful hazy lights dancing over your vision. 

The hallway is spinning, and you giggle as you walk, arms out like you’re on a tightrope. 

Bucky sighs from behind you. 

You don’t remember calling him. 

It’s making you feel bubbly, that he’s here at all. 

“James.” You sing, spinning around to smile at him. “You have a funny face.”

Bucky raises his brows, catching you easily. Grounding you down to the earth, because you might have been about to float away. “Do I.”

“Uh huh.” You keep walking as he moves you, moving your fingers to trace over his features. “It’s all serious and pretty. Like a magnetic painting of a handsome person.”

His voice remains flat. “You mean majestic?”

“I dunno.” You turn again, but Bucky keeps holding you, keeping your back to his chest. “Like a… wolf.”

He hums. “I was called White Wolf in Wakanda.”

“In…” You trail off, squinting at the wall, then gasp as the word reach through the fog. “You went to Wakanda?”

“Yeah, for about two years.”

“Were there stars?”

Bucky sighs, kicking the door shut behind you. “There- Shit-“

A rush of nausea sweeps through you, and you double over, covering your hand to stop the vomit. 

Big, strong arms wrap around you, and one of them is nice and cold. You hold that one, as you’re carried through the air and into the bathroom. The world spins as a toilet comes into your vision, and you let your dinner spill out into the bowl.

Your hair is somehow moved from your face, and you groan, slumping to the ground. The cold hand tries to leave, but you grab it. Press it against your brow as you take a ragged breath. 

Bucky mutters your name. “I need my hand-“

“No.” You mumble, moving it to press on your cheek. “’S nice.”

He sighs, but doesn’t argue with you. Keeps sitting with you, when you surge back up for another round with the toilet. Bucky rubs your back with that cool hand, then let you nuzzle into it when you get a break. He hums, deep and smooth, and the sound is easy to hold onto, keeping you from flying out of your skin as it prickles. When you’re finally run out, he gets you water. Helps you move against the wall, and stays at your side. 

Your voice slowly comes back, and you turn to look at him, only one thought managing to stay in your head. 

“Were they pretty?”

“What?”

“The stars?”

He blinks, then lets out a long, slow sigh, turning back to look at the wall. “Yeah. They were beautiful.”

That’s the answer you wanted. And you’re sort of done for the night. 

You let your eyes flutter shut and tip your head back, making a soft noise of content. 

Everything drifts in and out, morphing between Bucky, carrying you to bed, and that dream. The one where you have someone, and it’s easy. 

The light leaks through your blinds in the morning, but you don’t remember falling asleep. There’s a glass of water on your nightstand, but you didn’t put it there. 

You know Bucky did. 

And when you close your eyes again, you can see it again.

The faceless man isn’t faceless anymore. 

You giggle in the fantasy, spinning around and around and around, only coming back down when a smooth voice hums your name. 

Blue eyes watch you with a look that you might have seen before, but can’t remember. 

Bucky sways you back and forth in his arms, but only in your head. 

And you never want to do anything but sleep again. 

———

You did something stupid. 

You offered to teach Bucky how to cook. Not told him about a video or blog or book to teach him. Offered yourself. Because you like being around him too much. And when he focuses you’ve noticed he gets an adorable expression on his face, and you want to see it more. 

Tonight you could have gone out on one last date, because your friend had practically begged you to. This one had a six-pack and knew three languages. 

All you could think what that Bucky knows at least five. 

And that’s how you ended up here. 

“I know you don’t want any part of the superhero shit.” Bucky says as you ride up the elevator. “But it’s the weekend. None of the idiots are working, which means they’re all doin’ their own thing. No one will even know you’re here.”

You swallow, but nod. “I still think we could’ve done this at home-“

“We got more options here.” He bumps your shoulder, and it makes your body rush with heat. “Plus if I fuck up, nothing important gets burned.”

You give him a flat look. “How much is this building worth, James.”

“’bout a billion.” He shrugs. “Means they got the money to replace things. Come on.”

The elevator doors open, and Bucky starts to herd you through the halls of the Watchtower. You don’t know how he talked you into this, but you’re also hitting a strange, foreign point of doing almost anything Bucky asks you to do. You trust him. He’s usually rational, and always has a logical reason for things—even when that thing is why the cheese needs to go in this drawer—and it makes your brain do a funny kind of static drawl. 

You don’t know if he feels it the same, with you. If he feels anything at all.

But you’re not going to ruin it.  

So you won’t ask. 

“Here.” He turns you into a massive, glossy kitchen, and your mouth falls open. 

“Are you saving the world with cooking?”

Bucky snorts, and moves you further into the room. “No, we’re just overfunded. What’re we making?”

“I-“ You stare around the room, trying to force yourself out of the daze of Bucky right behind you and the majesty of the kitchen. “I was going to do pizza?”

“Alright.” His voice is right in your ear. It’s distracting. “Tell me what to do, doll.”

You flush again, scanning over the cabinets. “I’m just going to give you all the instructions, but you’re going to do the actual work yourself, okay?”

Bucky hums, and you start to list off the ingredients. You’re expecting to have to run out for some things, but this miracle kitchen has everything. Even if this building does get attacked by terrorists and supervillains all the time, you sort of want to stay here forever. There’s soft music playing over speakers, and everything smells like cookies, and you’ve never seen so much space in your life. 

But Bucky chose to leave. 

And you still don’t really understand why. 

“Bucky?” You say carefully, watching him roll the dough from your seat on the counter, and he glances up with raised brows. 

“What, am I rollin’ it wrong-“

“No, you’re- You’re doing fine. Can I ask you something?”

He nods. “Shoot.”

“Why’d you decide to move out of here? It’s… really nice.”

Bucky sighs, stopping his rolling, and you swallow. 

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to-“

“No, it’s fine.” He lets out a slow breath. “Guess I just got sick of it. My family wasn’t the worst off, in the 40s, but I haven’t been used to… this.” He waves to the kitchen. “In years. Feels wrong.”

You nod, swinging your legs back and forth. “The luxury?”

“All of it.” Bucky does the tongue thing. He does it all the time. It’s never helpful in making you focus. “Never really wanted any of this. Just sorta happened. Valentina wanted me to walk this weird fuckin’ line of being down to earth and normal, after the news broke about John’s divorce. I told her I’d quit if she made me parade around like a monkey.”

“But…” You frown. “You didn’t quit.”

“No. Got a deal. I’d keep workin’, but I’m allowed to live normally otherwise.” He chuckles to himself, resuming his work on the dough. “Least I don’t have to be in congress anymore. I nearly punched about fifty people a day.”

You giggle, rolling your eyes, and before you can respond, a bellowing, thickly accented voice echoes through the room and nearly starts you out of your skin. You fall off the counter. 

Bucky catches you around your waist, and his face is oddly tight—almost apologetic—but you don’t really have the brainpower to think about it. 

He’s touching you. You’re pressed right to his chest. And he really is warm. 

It’s taking a tremendous amount of effort to not press yourself into his chest. You won’t ruin the only easy thing in your life. 

Certainly not in front of other people.

“Bucky Barnes!” A large, bearded man walks into the kitchen with spread arms, and a wide grin on his face. “You have returned!”

Bucky lets out a slow breath, and he’s still holding onto you. You’re not sure he’s going to let go. “I’m not back, Alexei, we’re just using the kitchen-“

“We?” The man—Alexei, the Red Guardian, you’re meeting a second superhero and Bucky promised this wouldn’t happen and you’re going to kill him—leans around, his eyes landing on you. “You have brought a girl!”

Bucky tenses. “No-“

“Yelena!” Alexei calls over this shoulder, voice echoing through the halls. “Bucky Barnes has returned with a girl! Ava- Ava, look-“

Alexei grabs someone from the hall, and a terrifyingly beautiful woman walks into the kitchen, shoving his arm away. 

“Do not grab me, Alexei-“

“I did not know if it would work.” He shrugs. “You might have vanished, was a fifty-fifty. And this is important, Barnes-“

“Brought a girl. I know, I saw them enter the building.”

Alexei gapes at her. “And you did not tell me such important news?”

“No, she didn’t, because she respects privacy.” Bucky glares between them, and you’ve started to hold his arm. You don’t really want him to let go. “I told you, we’re just using the kitchen, we don’t all have to-“

“What is so urgent that we are screaming.” A shorter, equally scary and pretty blonde woman appears, growing around the small group. “It is loud, Alexei, you could have texted me-“

“There is no time for texting.” Alexei waves her off. “Bucky Barnes has brought a girl to meet us.”

“I don’t think she’s here to meet us.” Ava drawls, looking more amused than anything. “He’s been avoiding the hall cameras. And he would have told us, if he was bringing someone, he cared about enough for us to know.”

“Really, Ava?” Bucky glares at her, his grip on you tightening, like he thinks you’re going to run. “It’s not a matter of caring, I was just trying to avoid this happening.”

He waves his hand to Alexei, and Ava grins.

“I know. You’re cooking.”

“He is cooking?” Yelena frowns at Bucky. “You do not cook, Bucky Barnes. You burn everything.”

Bucky’s words sound like he’s pushing them through his teeth. “I know. That’s why we’re practicing here.”

“Why would you practice here, Bucky.” Ava hums, still grinning. “Why not at your apartment.”

Alexei gasps, and the glare Bucky shoot Ava probably would have made you start crying, but she just grins. 

“This is the roommate?” Alexei claps his hands, and suddenly they’re all looking at you. Every inch of your body wants to move closer to Bucky—see if he can shield you from all of it—but you don’t think that would help your case. “You work for charity, yes? Very good cause, I believe we could talk about an opportunity. Red Guardian sponsored vaccines-“

“Alexei.” Bucky grunts, and his glare is somehow scarier than before. “How the fuck do you know where she works.”

“Because I ran a background check on her.” Another person, a blond man with a beret, materializes next to Yelena, and you’re starting to think they’ve just been hiding in the walls. “You think I’m just going to let a member of our team go and live with some random woman? She might have been a murderer.”

Bucky’s jaw tics. “She’s not a murderer, John, you’re an idiot.”

“That’s hurtful, Bucky. I could have saved your life.”

“I do not think you saved his life, Walker.” Yelena says flatly. “Look at her, she is like a baby bird.”

“Well, we didn’t know that before- Hey, wait.” John frowns at you. “This is the roommate, Bucky? The girl that you-“

“John.” Bucky hisses. “I will take your taco shield, and turn it into pieces of a taco shield.”

John sighs. “Look, I’m trying to help you, man. Unless you want Ava to be your wingman.”

“I don’t need-“

“Hey, guys.” Another blond man—why are they all blond—appears from behind Alexei, and if you’re up to date on current events, that should finally be all of them. “Why are we all in the kitchen?”

“Bucky is back, Bob. He has brought a girl, but not to meet us.” Yelena sighs. “John is being an idiot. Alexei needs to take a walk before he begins to ask stupid questions.”

Alexei frowns. “I am not asking stupid questions, Yelena-“

“What was the next thing you were going to say?”

There’s a long silence, and Alexei heaves a long, dramatic sigh. 

“I will take my walk.”

He starts to shuffle away, Ava following him with a mock pat on his back.

Bob clears his throat and raises his hand. “Bucky, as long as you’re back, can you please fix the toilet? I don’t want to bother Valentina, and I’m pretty sure John would just make it worse-“

John cuts him off with a scowl. “Hey-“

“Yeah, I can fix the toilet.” Bucky turns back to you, squeezing your arms. “Stay here. If anyone starts to be a dick or bother you, ignore them. I’ll be right back.”

“Oh- Okay.” You give him a small smile. “Bye.”

He does the tongue thing again, then nods and walks out into the hall, taking a nervous looking Bob and annoyed John with him. 

Leaving you with Yelena. 

She stares at you, and you fidget with your fingers, trying to work out if you should smile at her or not. Probably not. She doesn’t seem like the type to love smiling. All you can really think about is what just happened. How Bucky’s told them about you. Which means you’re not just his roommate. You’re at least his friend. A good enough friend to mention to other friends. The girl that- 

Something.

John hadn’t finished his sentence. 

And it’s going to fucking eat at your every thought, until it’s all empty except for what John going to say. What does Bucky tell them about you. Is it good. It should be good, or they probably would’ve been acting differently.

But you need to know.

Yelena’s right here. 

And when you look up at her, she’s still staring at you.

So you swallow, trying to stand a little taller, and give her a small smile. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Me?” Yelena blinks at you, and you nod nervously. “Is it something about the New Avengers? Because I do not know any of the approved press answers, Valentina thought we should be memorizing them, but I think that is stupid, so I have not-“

“It’s not about the New Avengers.” You cut her off, rubbing at your arms as you speak. “I, um- I just wanted to know what Bucky’s told you guys about me?”

Yelena nods slowly. “Why?”

“I-“

“You know, I do not actually care.” Yelena moves across the kitchen, starting to sort through a cabinet. “He has only said good things about you.”

You flush, and the glow spreads down to your toes. “Really?”

“Yes. Are you who he is texting, all the time?” Yelena turns back around with a bag of chips, and you blink.

“I- I don’t text him all the time.”

“Yes, you do. All he does now is smile at his phone. Like a puppy. I did not know he could make that kind of face, but now he will not stop making it.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You should be.” Yelena mutters, taking a large bite of a chip. “He is all soft now. Like a-“ She cuts herself off with a frown. “All I can think of is puppy. But that is what Bucky Barnes has become. It is adorable, and annoying.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to figure out a proper apology, but you can’t really think outside of he says good things. And he smiles at his phone. And- 

“It is nice.” Yelena sighs to herself, cutting through your thoughts. “He is more focused now, on a mission. No more brooding, like a-“

“Puppy?” You finish for you, and she stares at you for a long, tight second before smiling. 

“I like you. You are funnier than Bucky. If he breaks your heart, you can call me and I will steal his arm and hide it where he will never find it.”

You open and close your mouth a few times, then shake your head. “No, Bucky doesn’t- We’re not-“

“I know, it is not worth ruining.” Yelena rolls her eyes, taking another chip before starting out of the room. “It isn’t anything, Yelena, and we’re supposed to be focusing on the mission, so shut the hell up.” Her voice has dropped to a deep, mocking tone similar to Bucky’s. “Like he does not smile all the time.”

“He-“

“I had seen Bucky smile three times.” She snaps, holding up her fingers. “That is a pathetic amount of times. But yes.” She turns to walk out of the kitchen, voice echoing behind her. “Keep acting like it is nothing. I am sure that will be very fun and fulfilling for both of you.” 

———

The ceiling hasn’t changed in hours. It won’t. It’s a static object, it’s white with all the same little popcorn dots, because this is a nice apartment but it’s not that nice. 

You don’t stop staring at it though. 

Maybe, if it starts to shift, that will be a sign. A clear green light from the universe, that you should do something about this. 

About you and Bucky.

There is no you and Bucky. There shouldn’t be a you and Bucky. It wouldn’t make any actual sense. He’s a hundred-year-old superhero, and you’re you. Nothing about you screams superhero’s girlfriend. Nothing about you screams girlfriend in general, because you have horrible streaks of luck in love, and you don’t want to hit Bucky with any of that. 

You don’t even know if Bucky would want to date. He’s got other things going on, like being a New Avenger and trying to reintegrate into civilian life. You can’t really be worth that much time over the world, over something that he’s been trying to do since before he met you. And he might not even like you like that. 

He smiles all the time. 

Bucky’s always sort of smiled at you. It had been a crude, slightly mocking smile at the start, but you’d also screamed at him a lot. When you’d met him, he’d let out that low, amused noise that was basically a barking laugh in Bucky-words. 

But he’s also talked about you, with the other people that—despite what he might grumble on the drive back home—he considers friends. And they’d all tried to keep talking to you, after he’d fixed the toilet, because they’d seemed to think you’d have information for them. 

You don’t. 

All you know is that Bucky is Bucky. He’s the first really good thing you’ve had in a while. It easy to come home to him and harder to leave him in the morning, and when he texts you, it always makes that glow in you rush right down to your core and toes and fingers. He’s pretty, but he’s always pretty, even when you want to rip out his stupid, handsome throat. 

And maybe you’re in love with him. The longer you stare at the ceiling, the more it remains the same, the more you feel the same. 

Like you love him. 

There’s not much more to say.

Every time you close your eyes, he’s lingering behind them. You can still feel every place he’d touched you all day. He’s scattered all over your apartment now, but you’d never want a single trace of him to go away. 

He went to work today, even though it’s the weekend, and you’ve spent most of the day glancing at the door or your phone for an update. 

You don’t know why he’d give one to you. It’s probably some big, fancy classified mission. 

But you’re still rolling to the side, just to text that you haven’t missed the buzz of your phone. 

Your screen remains dark. 

The ceiling doesn’t change. 

When he gets home, you should tell him that you love him, so he can text you safety updates.

No, you shouldn’t. That’s a stupid fucking reason to tell someone you’re in love with them. Especially when you’re not sure they love you back. 

He smiles all the time. 

He could just be more relaxed, when he’s not doing superhero things. 

He hadn’t been relaxed the first month of you living together. 

This is going to drive you insane. You won’t sleep until Bucky is home. Until you know that he’s safe, or you get a sudden text from him saying I love you, in case you were wondering. But Bucky wouldn’t type like that. He wouldn’t just tell you over the phone if he loved you, either. 

You can’t picture him telling you that he loves you. That might be a bad sign. 

Or you just haven’t had someone say that in so long that you’ve forgotten what it sounds like. 

Bucky might not even be coming home. He might have had the mission run late enough that he decided to crash at the tower, and he could stay in all that luxury and decided he’d rather have that over cleaning up after you and eating dinner on the couch, and the text is going to say he’s moving back out and you’re never going to see him again- 

There’s a loud bang out in the living room, and the ceiling shakes. You shoot up in, grabbing for your pepper spray, and slide quietly off the bed. Bucky’s told you, if you ever did have a break-in, you should barricade your room or go out onto the fire escape, while he deals with it. 

But Bucky isn’t home. So it’s just you and the pepper spray. 

You keep your steps light across the floor, carefully taking the doorknob and pulling it open, holding the pepper spray far in front of you as you scan over the dark. 

No one is there. The door is even closer, but- 

A little off its hinges. The wood looked sort of splintered. And you definitely heard a bang. 

There’s a low groan of your name from across the room, and it sounds like- 

“Bucky?” You grab for the light switch, wincing slightly as you’re blinded by the lamps. “Bucky what-“

Your mouth falls open as you round the couch, and he’s lying on the floor, eyes half open, breathing heavy, and a lot of red staining his clothing. 

Blood.

That’s fucking blood. 

“Oh my fucking- Bucky-“ You kneel down, tossing the pepper spray off to the side and taking his face between your hands. “What the fuck happened, I- We need to go to a hospital-“

“No.” He grunts, grabbing one of your wrists. “No hospital, doll- ‘m fine-“

“You’re bleeding-“

“Not mine.” He starts to push up with a low groan, and your hands move frantically, trying to find some way to help him. “Just tired, doll, I’ll be alright- Fuck-“

He groans, slipping back slightly, and you only manage to catch him with your full body weight to his back. 

“You’re not fine, Bucky.” Your voice isn’t strong, but you’re either about to stop crying or throw up. It’s like a small, waking nightmare. You’re not going to lose him because of luxury. He’s just going to pass out on the floor and not wake up. “Can I at least get you to your team?”

“Don’t need ‘em.” He starts trying to sit up again. “Not injured, nothin’ they can do.”

“Not- You’re obviously fucking injured, you idiot-“

“I don’t get injured, baby.” He squeezes your hand, and your eyes are stinging too much to really register his words. “We got any food-“

He groans, slumping against the couch, but at least he made it upright this time. 

“You’re not eating until I figure out what’s wrong with you.” You mutter, settling yourself between his legs, and he groans. 

His hand is resting on your waist. You’d bet a lot of money he doesn’t know he’s doing it. 

“Nothin’ is wrong,” he mutters your name, but doesn’t fight it as you turn his face, trying to find some sort of writing that says infected wound on leg or something. “I told you, I don’t get hurt, would take a fuckin’ bomb to get me.”

“Was there a bomb?”

“No, doll, just some assholes shootin’ bullets.”

You glare at him. “Did you get hit?”

“No.” His lips twitch slightly. “You’re worried about me, huh?”

“Yes. I am.” You grab his jaw, turning it up, and he hisses. “Does that hurt.”

“No.” His words are through his teeth. “I swear, I’m just tired. Everything is spinning, if I go to bed it’ll be fine in the morning.”

You pause, your hand dropping to rest on his chest. “Everything is spinning?”

He nods, reaching up to cover your hand with his own. “Not you, though. You look like you’re glowing.”

“Thanks.” You mumble, flushing slightly as you scan over his features. “Bucky, did you hit your head at all?”

“Uh…” He pauses, and you can see it now. The lack of focus behind his eyes. “Maybe.”

“How hard?”

“Don’t know.”

“You don’t-“ You let out a slow breath. “Well, what hit you?”

“Pipe.” He mutters, suddenly avoiding your gaze. “Big pipe.”

“Big-“ You sigh, bowing your head. “God, fucking- You have a concussion, dummy.

“No-“

“Yes.” You grab his hand, slowly pulling him to his feet. “Come on, you need to get to bed.”

Bucky groans, but lets you help him up. His arm tosses around your shoulders, his face pressing into the back of your neck, and you bite the inside of your cheek to stop the shiver it sends up your spine. 

“You smell nice.” He mutters against your skin, nose nuzzling against a soft spot, and you take a deep breath. 

“Thank you, Bucky.”

“Look nice, too.” He’s a deadweight over your shoulders, and it’s an effort to keep him moving when he doesn’t seem to want to contribute all that much. “Like a flower.”

“I look like a flower?”

“Yeah. Pretty.”

You’re not going to let yourself think about that. He’s basically drunk right now, so it doesn’t really mean anything. Your only job is to get him into his bed—which, through an almost herculean effort, you do—and make sure there’s no serious brain damage with the limited knowledge of concussions you have. 

“I think you’ll be okay.” You mumble, watching his eyes dazedly follow your finger. “But if it’s still this bad in the morning, we’re going to the Watchtower so your team can look at you, okay?”

“Fine.” He grumbles, his hand still resting over yours. “I’m sorry, doll.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“You didn’t want any of this heroing shit in your life. I dragged it in with me.”

“You didn’t mean to. And it’s not like you wanted any of it, either.”

“Doesn’t matter what I want-“

“Yes, it does.” The words fall out of you before you can stop them “And it’s not like aliens are invading my bathroom. I think that would be the line.”

He sighs. “I bled on the floor.”

“We’ll clean it in the morning.” You shrug, smiling softly. “I’m just glad you’re safe, James.”

Bucky’s jaw twitches, and he’s still holding your hand. His eyes scan over you, almost blindingly blue through the dark, and a little more focused than even a second ago. 

Time seems to slow to a drizzle like honey, slipping through your fingers but sticking to them at the same time. It can’t go slow enough, but it’s still too fast to give you the chance to think. 

Bucky pulls you gently down, his free hand cradling the back of your head. His tongue does the little flick thing, and you swallow, settling a little further over him. He’s warm, but his metal thumb is sweeping over the back of your hand, and it’s just enough to tell you that this isn’t a dream. 

You let out a small, soft gasp as Bucky kisses you, and it’s lazy. His lips move perfectly against yours, his touch on your careful and tender. He tastes a little like sweat, but it’s hard to care when his tongue presses between your lips, and he groans down your throat. 

It’s easy to deepen it. To push a little further, and run your fingers through his beard, maybe lean further down and try to feel him everywhere when he nips at your lower lip, and you whine. 

Then he pulls back suddenly. Without warning. Leaving you still lightheaded, but falling back to earth far too fast. 

Bucky shakes his head, pulling away with a low groan, and it starts to sting. Your eyes, your throat, your skin. 

He didn’t want that. 

He didn’t mean it, or you took it too far, or you took advantage of him in a vulnerable state, and now you’ve ruined it. 

“I- I’m sorry.” You move off the bed, wrapping your arms around your stomach and staring up at the ceiling. It’s the same as before. 

But everything has changed.

“I’ll check on you in the morning,” you whisper, and Bucky grunts your name.

“Wait, let me-“

“It’s okay. You don’t have to-“ You swallow, and you’re not going to cry in front of him. “I understand. I’m sorry.”

Bucky tries to call after you, as you walk out of his room, but he’s hurt. He shouldn’t have to deal with your feeling being hurt right now. You can wrap your head around just friends later, right now you just need to sit in the pain. In what you destroyed, in all the lies you’d been quietly telling yourself that maybe this time it would be different. 

It won’t be. 

It never is. 

But when you cry in bed, the man in your fantasies is still Bucky. Because you love him, and that’s not going to be as easy to brush off as a meaningless date.

You hope it will pass.

But there’s a chance he’s going to linger in your head for the rest of your life.

You fall asleep with muffled sobs into your pillow. 

And your brain is cruel. 

Because you dream of Bucky all night long.

———

You’re have a plan to avoid him. You spent the bleak hours of the morning, thinking about it. You’ll give it just enough time and space for Bucky to understand that you’re not hurt by it—he never needs to see the tears staining your cheeks, or the swell of your lips from chewing them into oblivion—and then everything will go back to normal. 

Your heart hasn’t stopped beating for him, no matter how hard you’ve grabbed your throat and tried to force it down. Bucky doesn’t love you back, and that’s okay. It’s in line what you know. How painfully aware you are that you’re just not the type of person who gets to have that. Which can be fine. You have good friends. A good career. Maybe to make up for the gaping hole splitting through your chest, you can talk Bucky into getting a cat.

Or he’ll just move back into the tower, to avoid the awkwardness. Which means you’d get that cat. 

But lose him. 

You’ve sort of already lost him. You’re not sure you ever actually had him.  

Which is what you’d thought. So you were right. 

You’d never wanted so bad to be wrong in your life. 

It’s easy to avoid Bucky, for most of the day. You poke your head into his room while he’s sleeping, just to make sure he’s still alive. He’s snoring, his hair mussed and face smushed into his pillows, and it takes a lot of effort to pull yourself away. He doesn’t want you. You have absolutely no right to watch him in this vulnerable state, when he’s very obviously already feeling better.

After that, you dance around him. Put on the coffee, and leave enough for him to have before you go out to get some food. Sit in a cafe and turn off your notifications, but still glance at your messages every few minutes, just to see if he’s messaged you.

It’s an hour before the first text comes through. 

Where are you?

You sigh, quickly type back, out working, and close the thread. You’re only telling him, so he doesn’t worry about kidnapping or something. If you keep talking to him, you’ll just miss him more, or he’ll bring up last night and you’ll have to act like everything is fine. 

Finishing work happens too fast, so you go for a walk. Then another walk. Then get lunch, and stare at your phone. At the little 3 notification on your calls, and the 10 on your messages. It might not even be Bucky. It’s still better to not look. 

You only go home once the Sun starts to set, and you have it all rehearsed. If he stops you, you’re going to tell him that it’s not a big deal. It was only a kiss. You never have to speak of it again, and nothing has to change. If he pushes it, you’ll keep your head level, because you’re an adult. You’ve had a lot of failed romances, and this wasn’t even an actual relationship. So it’s not a big deal.

One failed kiss hurts more than any previous break-up, though. Feels like your heart is being split in half, and you’re never going to put it back together quite the same. 

But that’s not Bucky’s problem. 

So you’ll stick to your lines, and recover in your room, where he can’t hear your tears. 

You open the door slowly, close it silently, and yelp as Bucky grunts your name from right behind you.

“Jesus fucking- James-“

“Where were you.” He snaps, and he’s standing really close. His arms are cross over his chest, eyes narrowed, and all the carefully practiced words are dissipating in the heat from his body. He sounds angry, his eyes boring into you like he’s going to pull the answer out of you with only a glare. 

He might be able to. 

You feel lightheaded again. 

“Out working-“

“All day?” Bucky narrows his eyes, and you swallow.

“I had a lot of work.”

“Enough that you couldn’t pick up the damn phone?”

Your eyes are starting to blur again. “I was busy,” you whisper, and Bucky lets out a slow, heavy breath. 

“Well don’t fuckin’ do that. I came home from a mission, someone coulda followed me, and if you-“ He shakes his head, glowering at the air. “Just tell me. Okay?”

“Okay.” You give him a small smile, rubbing your wrists behind your back. “Is that it?”

Bucky’s jaw tics. “Is it?”

“I don’t know. You’re the one who cornered me-“

“And you’re the one who’s been ignoring me all day.”

Shit. “I wasn’t ignoring you-“

“Yes, you were.” He grunts, taking a step forward, then freezing as you take a smaller one back. Something like hurt flashes over his features, and it drives right into your heart. 

“Bucky-““No, it’s-” His voice is low, and it doesn’t sound fine. “I’d never hurt you, doll. Nothin’ could make me hurt you-“

“I know.” You say quickly, and you want to cross over to him, so he knows, but your knees feel like they’re about to give out. “I just- I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I’m trying to give you space-“

He cuts you off with a frown. “Give me space?”

You nod weakly, and he stares at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“I don’t want space.”

“But-“

“No, I was callin’ you all fucking day, and you think I want space?” He takes another step forward, eyes driving into some raw, needy part of you that’s pulling to him like a magnet. “You’re the one dodging me, doll. Do you want space?”

You take a deep breath, trying not to sound like every thought in your head isn’t melting into Bucky. “I just don’t want it to be weird-“

Another step. “Why would it be weird.”

“Because I kissed you.” You mumble. “And- It’s just a kiss-“

“It wasn’t just a kiss.” He grunts, and it’s getting harder to remember what you’d told yourself you’d say. 

“Well, it doesn’t have to be a big deal-

“No, it doesn’t.” Bucky stops, right in front of you, but he’s not touching you at all. It’s a small, strange torture. You can smell him, see twitch of his jaw and breath. But he’s not touching you. “But I kissed you, doll. So it’s up to you if we want to make it a big deal or not.”

The world does a stutter-stop. Time slows back to that honey, and his words take a second to skin under your skin. Another second for you to understand them. 

When you speak, your voice is just a whisper. “What?”

“It’s fuzzy for me.” He mutters, and you’re trapped under his attention and low voice. “But I know I kissed you. So we can forget it, if that’s what you’re telling me to do. Is that what you’re tellin’ me to do?”

You shake your head. “You- You stopped kissing me-“

“I didn’t want it to happen like that.”

“Like… What?”

“Casual.” He mutters. “Just because you felt bad for me or some shit.”

“I-“

“If you want to keep doing your casual thing, I’m not going to stop you.” Bucky leans down as he says your name, and his breath is hot over your lips. “But I’m not going to be a part of it. I’m takin’ all of you, or none of you. Again, your choice.”

You feel dizzy. “You- You want me

Bucky chuckles, his lips curling into that handsome, teasing smile. “I’ve wanted you since I saw you, doll. You were the prettiest thing I’ve ever fuckin’ seen. Smart, too. Spent a lot of nights wondering what mighta happened if I just asked you out instead of moving in.”

“What might have happened?” You’re half echoing, because your brain is caught in a loop of whatever Bucky is saying. But the other half is a question. Because he can’t mean what you think he means. 

That would mean you hadn’t ruined it. 

That would mean there was a chance. 

“Between us.” He mutters, just his metal hand moving on trace over your wrist, sending small shivers up your spine. “We could’ve skipped all the fighting, doll. Just gone straight to spending time together. Doing crosswords. Makin’ dinner.” He gives you a small grin, something teasing behind his eyes as his voice drops. “I might be bendin’ you over the couch right now, instead of trying to convince you that I wanted that kiss more than I’ve wanted anything in eighty goddamn years.”

He’s still looking at you. It’s making your tongue loose, your core molten. “I wanted it to.” You whisper, and he nods. 

“I know, babydoll. But,” one last step, and you’re almost pinned to the door by his weight above you. “You need to tell me what you want. I’m not old-fashioned enough that I won’t touch you, but if we’re doing this, we’re doing it for a while. I-“ He takes a long breath, looking down to where he’s still stroking your wrist. “I don’t get to keep things I love, usually. So I’m not just gonna mess around.”

The world is definitely blurry. It doesn’t hurt anymore. “You love me?”

Bucky’s throat bobs, but he looks back up, and nods. 

You take his face between your hands, and give him a wide, bright smile, the glow from your chest seeming to burst through your whole fucking body as time comes rushing back. It’s going to keep moving. 

You’re not going to be alone. 

“I love you too,” you keep smiling, and Bucky’s eyes shine on yours. “And I don’t want it casual, I- I just want you.”

Bucky’s voice is hoarse, as he drops his brow to yours. “I want you, too.”

You hum, standing up a little taller, just enough for your lips to brush. “Can you show me?”

Bucky makes a low, deep sound from his throat, and time isn’t dripping anymore. It’s flying, rushing through you and sweeping you away, and it doesn’t matter if it’s the dead of night or the middle of the day or the end of the world. 

All you can feel is Bucky.

His mouth crashes over yours, and this isn’t a soft, slow kiss like last night. It’s hungry. Rough and possessive, with his hands groping at your ass and hips, his pelvis pressed right against yours, and your grip on his shirt the only thing keeping you upright. Every single second the kiss only gets deeper, until you’re gasping against his lips for air and scratching at his chest for more, you can feel him pressing right into your leg, thick and big, and you need more-

“You have no idea,” Bucky almost growls, starting to kiss—open mouthed and wet—down your neck. “What you do to me, pretty girl. How hard it’s been,” he thrusts his hips forward, and you let out a high squeak as he sucks on a soft, pulse point. “To be a gentleman, to not get on my knees and fuckin’ beg you to give me a shot.”

“You- You wouldn’t have had to-” You let out a needy moan as his hand slips under your shirt, playing with your nipples as he kisses over your shoulder. “God, you wouldn’t have had to beg, Bucky, I’ve been thinking about it too-“

“I got that now.” He hums, grinning at you as he draws back, and you only gape at him as he slowly pulls your shirt over your head. “Fuck, you’re perfect, doll. Look at you.”

He leans back down, kissing your open mouth with an almost mocking sweetness, and unhooks your bra in one motion. You melt into him as he kneads at the skin of your hips, his cool, metal hand groping and squeezing at your breasts. His thumb runs over your nipple and starting to roll it, and you arch into him with a whine. The groan that rumbles from his chest is animalistic, and it vibrates right into your core, making your thighs rub together for a little friction. 

“Oh, Bucky, I- Fuck-“

He pulls you up, keeping you trapped between the wall and his body. Your pants are quickly shed by your own frantic hands, and Bucky tosses them away, rubbing your pussy over your panties. You moan as his fingers tease your slit, then whine when they move away. He grabs your ass, lifting you a little higher, and your legs manage to wrap around his torso, your chest level with his face. He looks up with a hooded awe as you grind against his body. You throw your head back, a coil starting to build in your core, and Bucky groans your name.

“You’re like a fucking painting, baby.” He mutters, and you whimper as he kisses over your breast. “Think I could watch you try to fuck yourself on me forever.”

You shake your head, your hips rutting up as another needy sound leaves your throat, and Bucky chuckles. 

“You want a little more, though, don’t you.” He takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue against the sensitive bud. You writhe above him, thighs starting to get sore as he doubles his efforts. 

“Oh my- Ohmygod-“ Your words start to slur, and Bucky’s teeth graze against you.

He pulls back with a lazy grin, the metal hand slowly starting to tease back over your panties. “You’re soaking,” he says your name, a low reverence in his voice. “This for me?”

You nod weakly, and his gaze drops down to where you’re spreading your legs. You try to use your grip around him to pull him closer, but he pinches your inner thigh, and you squeak. 

“Patience, baby.” He mutters, kissing your neglected breast as he slowly pulls your ruined underwear to the side. “I’ve got you. Gonna make you feel so good, treat you right.”

Two metal fingers drive right into your core, curving right against a bundle of nerves deep inside your cunt, and his mouth wraps around your nipple once again. Your mouth falls open in long, loud moan as he starts to pump in and out of you at an unforgiving rhythm, always crooking at that same spot, twisting slightly every few thrusts. His tongue plays over your nipple, taking the peak between his teeth before his tongue presses flat. 

Your fingers fly into his hair, and you tug hard. 

Bucky fucking moans around you, and the vibrates against your tit, shooting right down to your core. You yank again, grinding down onto his hand, and he grunts. Bucky pulling his fingers fully out and leans back, licking his lips as he glares up at you. 

“You get bratty.” He mutters, spanking your clit once—just enough to make you shake and send a rush through your body—and kissing your neck softly. “Keep doin’ that and I’m gonna get you in bed before we even get a proper date.”

“A- Oh-“ Bucky’s fingers push back into you, now going at a torturous, taunting pace. “A date?”

He hums against your skin. “I’m taking on you on a date before I fuck you, baby. I told you, we’re not doing casual.”

You nod, voice breathy as his thumb presses over your clit. “But- We can still- Fuck-“

He chuckles, starting to rub slow, firm circles over the bundle of nerves. “Not until the date. But don’t worry.” His fingers start to rub fast against that spot inside of you. “I’m still gonna make you cum on my hand.”

Bucky’s mouth moves back to your breast, and you take a sharp breath as release threatens to snap in your core. 

“James-“

“Shit,” he mutters, kissing on a bruise he’d left on your collar. “Keep saying my name, babydoll. Make all those sounds I’ve dream about.”

You moan, loud and lewd, and Bucky grunts, his fingers picking up the pace. You tug at his hair again, and his thumb starts to flick your clit.

“I- James, I’m close-“

“I know.” He growls, returning his to your almost abused nipple. “Play with your tits for me, baby, c’mon-“

You cry out, grabbing your free breast and pinching your nipple, pulling at Bucky’s hair as you fall right over the edge. Your vision goes white as you clench around Bucky’s fingers. He presses in further, every shake of your body only seeming to make him work harder. Your thighs press together, when his finger finally pull out, but then he refocuses on your clit. Gives it small, rough hits that make your breath short and eyes roll back. 

You try to squirm away from him, but he’s stronger, and into not until you’re a shaking, soaked and panting mess that he pulls away. 

Bucky grins, leaning up to press at sweet, gentle kiss to your lips, and you melt over him. It’s just a kiss. 

But it feels like everything. 

Like you’re right where you’re supposed to be. 

Eventually you find your voice, murmuring against his lips. “Do you have to pay my father a dowery now?”

He chuckles. “I’m not that old, baby. And,” he nips the of your nose. “We aren’t gettin’ married right now.”

“Right now?”

Bucky hums in acknowledgment, you lean away with small grin, playing with his hair. 

“If we do…” You focus on his lips, swollen from touching you. “What would it be?”

“Your dowery?”

You nod, giving him a small smile, and he rolls his eyes. 

“How about I just get you a cat, doll.”

Oh. 

He’s perfect. 

You beam at him, moving back down for another kiss. Bucky meets you halfway, his hand rubbing gently against your still-sensitive skin. Holding you carefully. 

Holding like he never plans to let go. 

“You like that?” He mutters, and you smile. 

“Yeah. I do.”

✦End note: I need those metal fingers to do unspeakable things to me okay. Please join me on that journey ✦ ✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦✦Buy me a coffee!☕️✦ ✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)✦

[obsessedromancereader]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ James “Bucky” Barnes

Welcome to my Bucky Barnes directory, full of all the stories I love! Each work is credited to their amazing author, and if you enjoy a story as much as I do don’t hesitate to reblog or comment to encourage and show them some love.

masterlist ● marvel

⋆˚⟡˖ ࣪ rec list

✪ ruin the friendship ┃@mcrdvcks

The only thing Bucky can think about while captured in Azzano is that he should've kissed you before being shipped off. Now that he's back home he's not going to waste his second chance, that is until he finds out you're engaged.

✪ manchild┃@houseofhyde

bucky can’t help but wonder why they always come running to you,, or your living fossil of a roommate disapproves of your taste in men and its totally not because he wants a taste of you.

✪ flour┃@geminiwritten

sam kisses you to save your cover on a mission, and bucky punches him... but you still don’t believe he’s in love with you?

✪ (I only came to this) party 4 u ┃@street-smarts00

For the first few months you worked with the avengers, they barely knew you. Beyond what you were like during a mission, you were a mystery to them. It was truly marvelous how well you worked with the team and yet there was so little they knew about you. 

✪ dead of the night┃@bruisedboys

bucky calls you, his loyal assistant, in the middle of the night, asking for your help. he’s got four assassins with him and they need a place to hide. you’re too in love with him to say no.

✪ Jesse’s girl┃@geminiwritten

natasha encourages you to date one of the new recruits in the hopes that it might provoke bucky to confess his feelings for you

✪ don’t you ever end up anything but mine ┃@flowersforbucky

everyone is born with a mark that matches their soulmate’s. but what if the red room erased yours before you were old enough to remember it?

✪ Let it happen┃@flowersforbucky

"So that's all it takes, then? I kiss you one time and you get all possessive over me?" Undercover marriage trope

✪ pressure points┃@crybabycabin

bucky's gotten good at keeping his distance from his harmless, sunshine-y neighbor. but when you get taken because of him—because someone figured out you're his weak spot—he realizes how spectacularly that plan backfired. turns out the winter soldier's soft spot is a lot more dangerous than he thought.

✪ His and his only…for 24 hours┃@salem-s

The last person you would ever consider dating — much less touching with a ten foot pole — is Bucky Barnes. Yet somehow here you are: packing a bag to spend the night of the Fourth of July as his fake girlfriend, all to get his pestering family off his case. But admittedly you can’t help but lean into the bit. Just a tad. Especially when his ex-girlfriend makes it very clear she wants him back.

✪ hair┃@magicaloneandmystery

bucky doesn't let anyone touch his hair. well... anyone except you. [written from the pov of Sam.]

✪ all we know of heaven, all we need of hell ┃@flowersforbucky

you fell in love with the man who trained you in the red room. he helped you escape - and made you promise to never look back. years later, when an old friend asks for your help, you find yourself working with a group of anti-heroes. including him.

✪ on the subject of marriage┃@salty-tang

It was supposed to be simple: plan the wedding, survive the vendors, don’t strangle Bucky Barnes. But perfection cracks when an unexpected disaster hits, and in the quiet aftermath you discover the last thing you'd expect - that falling in love isn't exactly what friends do.

✪ we won’t not in a million years on ao3 by ┃buckybossanova

nobody in the ton could have expected lord barnes to take interest in a certain bachelorette. it is undeniable that there is passion between them, but there is one question that i'm certain we all have. is it love or lust?

✪ I told my therapist about us pt2 ┃@snowleopardkisses

In a court ordered therapy program, Bucky Barnes— the haunted former Winter Soldier— finds himself doing something harder than facing his past: talking about his developing feelings for his best friend, Y/N. When Dr. Raynor discovers he’s been avoiding you and an impromptu session lands you face to face…all hell breaks loose

✪ bad idea right┃@starburstbarnes

Bucky Barnes can totally handle an undercover mission with his ex. It was his idea to ask for her help, after all.

✪ blind deaf and mute┃@aderna01

you are hired as the avengers’ new public relations specialist, a sunshine‑bright force dropped into a tower full of exhausted superheroes and one very grumpy former assassin. bucky barnes wants nothing to do with you, and you seem determined to befriend him anyway. what starts as mutual annoyance slowly shifts into something softer as the two of you stumble through awkward teamwork, unexpected moments, and one disastrously chaotic baking challenge that proves the avengers might actually be a family after all.

[aderna01]

Blind, Deaf, & Mute

pairing: avenger!bucky x PRspecialist!f!reader

summary: you are hired as the avengers’ new public relations specialist, a sunshine‑bright force dropped into a tower full of exhausted superheroes and one very grumpy former assassin. bucky barnes wants nothing to do with you, and you seem determined to befriend him anyway. what starts as mutual annoyance slowly shifts into something softer as the two of you stumble through awkward teamwork, unexpected moments, and one disastrously chaotic baking challenge that proves the avengers might actually be a family after all.

warnings: pure fluff, more friendship that romance, baking chaos, mentions of public image, bonding, no use of y/n

word count: 2.9k

song inspo: i like me better by lauv

a/n: lowkey love blind, deaf, mute challenges so I had to add it to this universe somehow (also I didn’t proof read so fingers crossed)

─˖· masterlist

it started out rough. no, rough was an understatement. it was a car crash in slow motion. you, the avengers’ newly hired public relations specialist, all sharp wit and sharper tongue, a whirlwind of deadlines, crisis management, and social media strategy. and him, james buchanan barnes, a ghost with a metal arm, a man so buried under layers of trauma and stoicism it was a miracle he could speak at all. he found your energy grating, your constant stream of chatter and chaotic movements an assault on his carefully constructed quiet. you found his perpetual silence and brooding presence a personal challenge, a brick wall you were determined to chip away at, if only out of spite.

tony had been annoyingly smug about hiring you. “we need someone who can handle our image,” he’d said, waving a tablet full of disastrous headlines. “someone who can keep us from looking like a walking PR nightmare.”

steve had frowned. “we’re not a brand, tony. we’re a team.”

bucky had muttered, “feels like a reality show,” under his breath.

tony ignored them both. “too bad. she starts monday.”

they hated the idea. steve because he didn’t like the thought of the team being “managed,” and bucky because he didn’t like the thought of being perceived at all. but tony was right. public support mattered. government support mattered. and someone had to keep the avengers from accidentally setting the internet on fire every other week.

tony, to his credit, had been weirdly kind about the whole thing. he’d insisted you move into the tower almost immediately, claiming it was “more efficient for workflow” but really because he knew you would start pulling eighteen‑hour days trying to keep the team’s image from spontaneously combusting. you’d protested at first, but he’d waved you off, muttering something about hazard pay and unlimited coffee. so you moved in, bright-eyed, caffeinated, and ready to fix everything. you had set up your little corner of the tower with your laptop and color‑coded digital planners, and tried not to feel too out of place among superheroes.

for the first several weeks bucky avoided you like you were a landmine.

he was grumpy about it too, in that very specific bucky barnes way where he never actually said anything but somehow managed to radiate irritation like a space heater. every time you walked into a room with your bright “good morning!” and your stack of color‑coded schedules, he would tense like you’d just thrown a grenade at him. you tried to be friendly, tried to make the whole “living with superheroes” thing less awkward, but he met every attempt with a grunt, a scowl, or a pointed exit. you were sunshine and caffeine and relentless optimism, and he was a thundercloud in combat boots who clearly wished you came with an off switch.

months in, nothing had changed.

"ugh! he's like a sentient, angry statue, and im nothing but nice to him," you'd complained to natasha one night, sprawled across her bed while she cleaned her knives with unnerving focus. “also, he makes my job ten times harder! i hate him.”

"he's been through a lot," she'd said, not looking up.

"so have i," you'd shot back. "i had to sit through tony’s three-hour lecture on brand consistency. i have trauma too." you joked.

natasha had just hummed, a small smile playing on her lips. 

steve would try to mediate, his earnest attempts at getting you two to ‘find common ground’ usually ending with you making a sarcastic comment and bucky retreating further into himself. sam just found the whole thing hilarious. "look at them," he'd whisper to clint, not so quietly, as you and bucky sat on opposite ends of the common room couch. "the grumpy cat and the little bird. it's a nature documentary."

but weeks turned into a month, and then two. the ice thawed, not with a grand gesture, but with a series of small, almost insignificant moments. it was you leaving a cup of coffee next to the book he was reading, not saying a word. it was him wordlessly moving a large stack of your paperwork from a chair so you could sit down. it was the day you'd been up for 36 hours straight preparing a press release and scheduling interviews, and you'd fallen asleep at the kitchen table. you woke up a few hours later with a blanket draped over your shoulders and a glass of water and two aspirin next to your head. you never saw him, but you knew.

"team bonding," you'd called it the first time you'd dragged him out of the tower. it was just a walk through central park, you chattering about everything and nothing, him listening with his hands shoved in his pockets, a noncommittal "hm" his only contribution. but he came. the next time, it was to a ridiculously obscure foreign film you wanted to see during your free time. he fell asleep ten minutes in, but he'd bought the popcorn. slowly, the grumpy statue started to look a little less like granite and a little more like a man who just needed a friend.

and then came the day you needed content.

not damage control. not rumor control. not a PR emergency.

just… content.

“we need something fun,” you’d told tony, scrolling through analytics. “something human. something that shows the team isn’t just doom and gloom.”

tony raised an eyebrow. “define fun.”

“a youtube video,” you said, already grinning. “the blind, deaf, and mute baking challenge. everyone seems to love it, so it might just help our case.”

tony stared at you. “you’re insane.”

“and you hired me,” you shot back smiling.

and that was how you found yourself setting up a tripod in the middle of the avenger tower’s ridiculously large kitchen, while sam wilson was trying to stick a piece of duct tape over his own mouth.

"i don't think this is going to stick," sam mumbled, his voice muffled by the tape.

"that's the point, sam," you said, adjusting the camera angle. "it's supposed to be a challenge. now, no more talking from you." you teased.

bucky was already sitting at the massive island, looking deeply unimpressed. he was fiddling with a pair of your oversized, hot pink, noise canceling headphones. "this is your idea of damage control?"

"this is my idea of good publicity," you corrected, grabbing a soft silk scarf from your pocket.

you filmed a quick little intro to explain the challenge. your bubbly personality being perfect for the camera as you introduced sam and bucky. 

"now, you're deaf. put those on. i've got my playlist queued up. it's... eclectic." you said smiling up at him.

he sighed, the sound long-suffering, but he put the headphones on. you hit play on your phone, connected via bluetooth, and the sound of sabrina carpenter blasting directly into his ears. you saw his eye twitch. perfect.

"and you," you said to yourself, tying the silk scarf securely around your eyes, plunging yourself into darkness. "are blind. okay, the camera's rolling. we're making chocolate chip cookies. the recipe is on the counter. let the chaos begin.” you spoke to yourself, knowing you would just edit this out later.

the kitchen was already a war zone, but somehow things got worse once you started mixing.

you reached for the bowl, hands sweeping blindly across the counter. bucky saw this and immediately panicked.

“wait— WAIT— you’re gonna knock it over!” he shouted, even though he couldn’t hear himself.

you froze. “bucky, i can’t see you. use your words.”

“i am using my words!” he yelled, arms full as he held ingredients in his hands. he frantically nodded towards the bowl as if that would help “the bowl! the bowl is— it’s— it’s somewhere near your elbow!”

“that’s not helpful!” you yelled back.

sam, who had given up on the tape entirely, made a strangled noise and grabbed your wrist, guiding it to the bowl before bucky had a meltdown.

“oh,” you said. “there it is.”

bucky put his hands on his hips. “i told you. i definitely told you.”

“you didn’t tell me anything,” you said. “you were just yelling the word ‘wait’ like i was about to detonate.”

“you were about to detonate,” he insisted, being able to read your lips. “that bowl is our last hope.”

you snorted. “dramatic.”

“you know I can read your lips right?” bucky pointed at his own chest. “super soldier. everything is dramatic.”

you rolled your eyes behind the blindfold and reached for the whisk. bucky watched you grab a spatula instead.

“no, no, no— wrong thing!” he shouted, leaning over the counter. “the whippy thing! the— the— the—”

sam slapped a whisk into his hand.

bucky blinked at it. “yes. this. the whippy thing.” he shoved it toward you. “use this.”

you felt something poke your arm. “is that… is that the whisk?”

“yes!” bucky said proudly.

you grabbed it. “okay. mixing.”

bucky nodded, satisfied—until he saw what was happening inside the bowl.

“no— no— you’re not mixing, you’re… stabbing it,” he said, annoyed. “why are you stabbing it.”

“i can’t see,” you reminded him.

“well i can’t hear,” he shot back, reading your lips, “but you don’t see me stabbing things.”

you paused. “bucky, you stab things all the time.”

he opened his mouth, closed it, not hearing what you said and not being able to respond.

sam made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

you kept whisking—sort of—and bucky leaned closer, trying to supervise. “okay, okay, slower. slower. you’re gonna fling it everywhere.”

“if im not doing it correctly then you do it!” you snapped back, moving your hands away from the bowl and crossing your arms.

at this point sam was near the cabinet, quietly rummaging for more ingredients. 

“i can’t hear a word you’re saying,” bucky yelled, after he watched you speak.

you moved your head up, towards where you assumed he was standing. “bucky. look at my mouth.” you said pointing at your lips.

he leaned down, squinting like that would help.

“mix. the. ingredients,” you mouthed slowly.

bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “kiss the expedients?! WHY WOULD I KISS ANYTHING RIGHT NOW?!”

sam doubled over, wheezing.

you slapped your hand over your face. “mix! MIX!”

“oh!” bucky said, nodding. “mix. right. that makes more sense,” he grumbled.

he moved towards the bowl in one fluid motion, accidentally nudging you on the shoulder because you didn’t move, still not seeing a thing. you quickly stepped back, knocking a spoon onto the floor. he froze, staring at it like it had personally betrayed him.

“i didn’t do that,” he said immediately.

“you absolutely did. you nudged me!” you yelled, loud enough so he could hear you over the pop girl music in his ears.

“nope,” bucky insisted. “that was you… and gravity i guess. but mostly you.”

sam tapped your shoulder again, trying to warn you about something. 

“what sam? i can’t see a thing!” you retorted. you turned your head back, hearing the shuffling of what seemed to be a plastic bag. maybe the chocolate chips?

“i’ll add these,” bucky said confidently.

“bucky, wait—” sam tried to say, but it came out as a garbled mess.

bucky ripped the bag open like it was an enemy combatant. chocolate chips exploded everywhere—across the counter, the floor, your shirt, sam’s hair.

you gasped. “what was that?!”

sam pointed at bucky.

bucky pointed at the bag. “it attacked me!” he retorted.

“it did not attack you,” you said.

“it did,” he insisted, still managing to read your lips somehow. “it was aggressive. i defended myself.”

you reached out blindly and your hand landed on his arm. “bucky. you massacred the chocolate chips.”

he looked down at the mess in silence.

sam made a noise like he was choking on his own laughter.

you sighed dramatically. “okay. okay. we can still salvage this. maybe.”

bucky crouched down to pick up the chips, muttering, “five second rule,” even though he couldn’t hear himself say it.

“don’t put those back in the bowl!” you warned, loud enough for him to hear.

“i wasn’t going to,” he lied immediately.

sam snatched the handful from him.

bucky looked offended. “i was helping.”

“you’re doing great!” you yelled, patting the air until your hand landed on his shoulder. “chaotic, but great.”

he straightened a little at that, like he’d just been promoted.

“okay,” he said, rolling his shoulders back. “what’s next. what do we ruin now.”

you laughed. “hopefully nothing.”

“unlikely,” sam muttered.

bucky faking a nod of agreement because he heard absolutely nothing.

you all ended up successfully placing the cookies in the oven without burning the tower down. sam wiped the counters while you salvaged what you could of the used ingredients, and bucky, with his surprising steadiness, managed to actually help produce a decent batch of chocolate chip cookies, mostly by following the recipe like a normal person. by the time you were done, the kitchen smelled like chocolate and sugar, and the three of you were sitting on stools, munching on slightly lumpy but delicious cookies, a comfortable silence settling between you.

later that night, after a long, hot shower that washed away the flour and the stress of the day, you were sitting cross-legged on your bed, your laptop glowing softly in the dark room. it was well past midnight, the rest of the tower quiet. you were editing the video, your fingers flying across the keyboard, cutting out the boring parts and adding silly music and captions. you zoomed in on bucky's confused face as he tried to measure sugar with a liquid cup, added a "womp womp" sound effect when you dropped the flour, and put a giant question mark over sam's head when he was trying to mime instructions. it was perfect. it was ridiculous. but it was perfect, especially for the public.

a soft knock on your door made you jump. you glanced at the clock, 1:17 am.

"come in," you called softly, your voice hushed in the quiet.

the door creaked open and bucky peeked in, his hair messy, wearing just a simple grey t-shirt and sweats. he looked softer like this, less like the winter soldier and more like just... a guy. "couldn't sleep," he murmured, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

"me neither," you said, patting the space on the bed next to you. "editing our masterpiece," you giggled quietly.

he sat down, his weight dipping the mattress, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. he leaned over to watch the screen, his shoulder brushing against yours. you tried to focus on the timeline, on the little clips of you all flailing around the kitchen, but all you could think about was the solid presence of him next to you, the clean, faint scent of his soap.

on the screen, sam was having his silent meltdown, and bucky let out another soft chuckle. "he looked like a distressed penguin."

you giggled, leaning your head against his shoulder for a moment. "he really did." the contact was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through you. you straightened up quickly, your cheeks feeling warm. you finished adding the last few touches to the video, a simple thumbnail: "avengers: baking challenge (fail)." your finger hovered over the 'post' button.

"you sure about this?" he asked, his voice quiet in the darkness.

"positive," you said, and clicked it. the video uploaded, a tiny spinning wheel appearing on the screen. "there. it's done. lets hope it does well"

you closed the laptop, plunging the room into near darkness, besides for the soft glow of the city lights through your window. you both sat there for a moment, the silence comfortable, easy. you could feel his gaze on you, but when you turned to look, his eyes were fixed on the window.

"thanks for today," he said, still looking away. "it was... fun."

"yeah," you agreed, your heart beating a little faster. "it was."

he finally turned to look at you, his blue eyes soft in the dim light. he reached up, his metal hand cool against your skin, and gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. his fingers lingered for a second, tracing the line of your jaw. then he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. it wasn't romantic, not really. it was just... sweet. a quiet acknowledgment of everything you'd become to each other.

you didn't say anything. you just closed your eyes, leaning into the touch. when you opened them, he was leaning back, a faint blush on his own cheeks. you both were oblivious, dancing around a feeling neither of you could name, content to just exist in this quiet moment.

"get some sleep," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"you too," you replied.

he didn't get up. he just shifted, settling back against your pillows, his eyes already drifting closed. you watched him for a moment, his breathing evening out, his face relaxed in sleep. you felt your own eyelids getting heavy, the warmth of his body next to yours a comforting weight. you curled up on your side, your laptop forgotten at the foot of the bed, and let yourself drift off, the faint smell of chocolate chip cookies and the lingering warmth of his kiss on your temple the last things you registered before sleep took you.

─˖· masterlist

*as always, thanks @uzmacchiato for the gorgeous lace banners <3

[starburstbarnes]

GIGGLINGGGGHH this was so silly omg I loved it!!! you know sam was losing his mind the entire time haha🫶

[aderna01]

YAY!! i’m glad you enjoyed it :)

[aderna01]

Blind, Deaf, & Mute

pairing: avenger!bucky x PRspecialist!f!reader

summary: you are hired as the avengers’ new public relations specialist, a sunshine‑bright force dropped into a tower full of exhausted superheroes and one very grumpy former assassin. bucky barnes wants nothing to do with you, and you seem determined to befriend him anyway. what starts as mutual annoyance slowly shifts into something softer as the two of you stumble through awkward teamwork, unexpected moments, and one disastrously chaotic baking challenge that proves the avengers might actually be a family after all.

warnings: pure fluff, more friendship that romance, baking chaos, mentions of public image, bonding, no use of y/n

word count: 2.9k

song inspo: i like me better by lauv

a/n: lowkey love blind, deaf, mute challenges so I had to add it to this universe somehow (also I didn’t proof read so fingers crossed)

─˖· masterlist

it started out rough. no, rough was an understatement. it was a car crash in slow motion. you, the avengers’ newly hired public relations specialist, all sharp wit and sharper tongue, a whirlwind of deadlines, crisis management, and social media strategy. and him, james buchanan barnes, a ghost with a metal arm, a man so buried under layers of trauma and stoicism it was a miracle he could speak at all. he found your energy grating, your constant stream of chatter and chaotic movements an assault on his carefully constructed quiet. you found his perpetual silence and brooding presence a personal challenge, a brick wall you were determined to chip away at, if only out of spite.

tony had been annoyingly smug about hiring you. “we need someone who can handle our image,” he’d said, waving a tablet full of disastrous headlines. “someone who can keep us from looking like a walking PR nightmare.”

steve had frowned. “we’re not a brand, tony. we’re a team.”

bucky had muttered, “feels like a reality show,” under his breath.

tony ignored them both. “too bad. she starts monday.”

they hated the idea. steve because he didn’t like the thought of the team being “managed,” and bucky because he didn’t like the thought of being perceived at all. but tony was right. public support mattered. government support mattered. and someone had to keep the avengers from accidentally setting the internet on fire every other week.

tony, to his credit, had been weirdly kind about the whole thing. he’d insisted you move into the tower almost immediately, claiming it was “more efficient for workflow” but really because he knew you would start pulling eighteen‑hour days trying to keep the team’s image from spontaneously combusting. you’d protested at first, but he’d waved you off, muttering something about hazard pay and unlimited coffee. so you moved in, bright-eyed, caffeinated, and ready to fix everything. you had set up your little corner of the tower with your laptop and color‑coded digital planners, and tried not to feel too out of place among superheroes.

for the first several weeks bucky avoided you like you were a landmine.

he was grumpy about it too, in that very specific bucky barnes way where he never actually said anything but somehow managed to radiate irritation like a space heater. every time you walked into a room with your bright “good morning!” and your stack of color‑coded schedules, he would tense like you’d just thrown a grenade at him. you tried to be friendly, tried to make the whole “living with superheroes” thing less awkward, but he met every attempt with a grunt, a scowl, or a pointed exit. you were sunshine and caffeine and relentless optimism, and he was a thundercloud in combat boots who clearly wished you came with an off switch.

months in, nothing had changed.

"ugh! he's like a sentient, angry statue, and im nothing but nice to him," you'd complained to natasha one night, sprawled across her bed while she cleaned her knives with unnerving focus. “also, he makes my job ten times harder! i hate him.”

"he's been through a lot," she'd said, not looking up.

"so have i," you'd shot back. "i had to sit through tony’s three-hour lecture on brand consistency. i have trauma too." you joked.

natasha had just hummed, a small smile playing on her lips. 

steve would try to mediate, his earnest attempts at getting you two to ‘find common ground’ usually ending with you making a sarcastic comment and bucky retreating further into himself. sam just found the whole thing hilarious. "look at them," he'd whisper to clint, not so quietly, as you and bucky sat on opposite ends of the common room couch. "the grumpy cat and the little bird. it's a nature documentary."

but weeks turned into a month, and then two. the ice thawed, not with a grand gesture, but with a series of small, almost insignificant moments. it was you leaving a cup of coffee next to the book he was reading, not saying a word. it was him wordlessly moving a large stack of your paperwork from a chair so you could sit down. it was the day you'd been up for 36 hours straight preparing a press release and scheduling interviews, and you'd fallen asleep at the kitchen table. you woke up a few hours later with a blanket draped over your shoulders and a glass of water and two aspirin next to your head. you never saw him, but you knew.

"team bonding," you'd called it the first time you'd dragged him out of the tower. it was just a walk through central park, you chattering about everything and nothing, him listening with his hands shoved in his pockets, a noncommittal "hm" his only contribution. but he came. the next time, it was to a ridiculously obscure foreign film you wanted to see during your free time. he fell asleep ten minutes in, but he'd bought the popcorn. slowly, the grumpy statue started to look a little less like granite and a little more like a man who just needed a friend.

and then came the day you needed content.

not damage control. not rumor control. not a PR emergency.

just… content.

“we need something fun,” you’d told tony, scrolling through analytics. “something human. something that shows the team isn’t just doom and gloom.”

tony raised an eyebrow. “define fun.”

“a youtube video,” you said, already grinning. “the blind, deaf, and mute baking challenge. everyone seems to love it, so it might just help our case.”

tony stared at you. “you’re insane.”

“and you hired me,” you shot back smiling.

and that was how you found yourself setting up a tripod in the middle of the avenger tower’s ridiculously large kitchen, while sam wilson was trying to stick a piece of duct tape over his own mouth.

"i don't think this is going to stick," sam mumbled, his voice muffled by the tape.

"that's the point, sam," you said, adjusting the camera angle. "it's supposed to be a challenge. now, no more talking from you." you teased.

bucky was already sitting at the massive island, looking deeply unimpressed. he was fiddling with a pair of your oversized, hot pink, noise canceling headphones. "this is your idea of damage control?"

"this is my idea of good publicity," you corrected, grabbing a soft silk scarf from your pocket.

you filmed a quick little intro to explain the challenge. your bubbly personality being perfect for the camera as you introduced sam and bucky. 

"now, you're deaf. put those on. i've got my playlist queued up. it's... eclectic." you said smiling up at him.

he sighed, the sound long-suffering, but he put the headphones on. you hit play on your phone, connected via bluetooth, and the sound of sabrina carpenter blasting directly into his ears. you saw his eye twitch. perfect.

"and you," you said to yourself, tying the silk scarf securely around your eyes, plunging yourself into darkness. "are blind. okay, the camera's rolling. we're making chocolate chip cookies. the recipe is on the counter. let the chaos begin.” you spoke to yourself, knowing you would just edit this out later.

the kitchen was already a war zone, but somehow things got worse once you started mixing.

you reached for the bowl, hands sweeping blindly across the counter. bucky saw this and immediately panicked.

“wait— WAIT— you’re gonna knock it over!” he shouted, even though he couldn’t hear himself.

you froze. “bucky, i can’t see you. use your words.”

“i am using my words!” he yelled, arms full as he held ingredients in his hands. he frantically nodded towards the bowl as if that would help “the bowl! the bowl is— it’s— it’s somewhere near your elbow!”

“that’s not helpful!” you yelled back.

sam, who had given up on the tape entirely, made a strangled noise and grabbed your wrist, guiding it to the bowl before bucky had a meltdown.

“oh,” you said. “there it is.”

bucky put his hands on his hips. “i told you. i definitely told you.”

“you didn’t tell me anything,” you said. “you were just yelling the word ‘wait’ like i was about to detonate.”

“you were about to detonate,” he insisted, being able to read your lips. “that bowl is our last hope.”

you snorted. “dramatic.”

“you know I can read your lips right?” bucky pointed at his own chest. “super soldier. everything is dramatic.”

you rolled your eyes behind the blindfold and reached for the whisk. bucky watched you grab a spatula instead.

“no, no, no— wrong thing!” he shouted, leaning over the counter. “the whippy thing! the— the— the—”

sam slapped a whisk into his hand.

bucky blinked at it. “yes. this. the whippy thing.” he shoved it toward you. “use this.”

you felt something poke your arm. “is that… is that the whisk?”

“yes!” bucky said proudly.

you grabbed it. “okay. mixing.”

bucky nodded, satisfied—until he saw what was happening inside the bowl.

“no— no— you’re not mixing, you’re… stabbing it,” he said, annoyed. “why are you stabbing it.”

“i can’t see,” you reminded him.

“well i can’t hear,” he shot back, reading your lips, “but you don’t see me stabbing things.”

you paused. “bucky, you stab things all the time.”

he opened his mouth, closed it, not hearing what you said and not being able to respond.

sam made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

you kept whisking—sort of—and bucky leaned closer, trying to supervise. “okay, okay, slower. slower. you’re gonna fling it everywhere.”

“if im not doing it correctly then you do it!” you snapped back, moving your hands away from the bowl and crossing your arms.

at this point sam was near the cabinet, quietly rummaging for more ingredients. 

“i can’t hear a word you’re saying,” bucky yelled, after he watched you speak.

you moved your head up, towards where you assumed he was standing. “bucky. look at my mouth.” you said pointing at your lips.

he leaned down, squinting like that would help.

“mix. the. ingredients,” you mouthed slowly.

bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “kiss the expedients?! WHY WOULD I KISS ANYTHING RIGHT NOW?!”

sam doubled over, wheezing.

you slapped your hand over your face. “mix! MIX!”

“oh!” bucky said, nodding. “mix. right. that makes more sense,” he grumbled.

he moved towards the bowl in one fluid motion, accidentally nudging you on the shoulder because you didn’t move, still not seeing a thing. you quickly stepped back, knocking a spoon onto the floor. he froze, staring at it like it had personally betrayed him.

“i didn’t do that,” he said immediately.

“you absolutely did. you nudged me!” you yelled, loud enough so he could hear you over the pop girl music in his ears.

“nope,” bucky insisted. “that was you… and gravity i guess. but mostly you.”

sam tapped your shoulder again, trying to warn you about something. 

“what sam? i can’t see a thing!” you retorted. you turned your head back, hearing the shuffling of what seemed to be a plastic bag. maybe the chocolate chips?

“i’ll add these,” bucky said confidently.

“bucky, wait—” sam tried to say, but it came out as a garbled mess.

bucky ripped the bag open like it was an enemy combatant. chocolate chips exploded everywhere—across the counter, the floor, your shirt, sam’s hair.

you gasped. “what was that?!”

sam pointed at bucky.

bucky pointed at the bag. “it attacked me!” he retorted.

“it did not attack you,” you said.

“it did,” he insisted, still managing to read your lips somehow. “it was aggressive. i defended myself.”

you reached out blindly and your hand landed on his arm. “bucky. you massacred the chocolate chips.”

he looked down at the mess in silence.

sam made a noise like he was choking on his own laughter.

you sighed dramatically. “okay. okay. we can still salvage this. maybe.”

bucky crouched down to pick up the chips, muttering, “five second rule,” even though he couldn’t hear himself say it.

“don’t put those back in the bowl!” you warned, loud enough for him to hear.

“i wasn’t going to,” he lied immediately.

sam snatched the handful from him.

bucky looked offended. “i was helping.”

“you’re doing great!” you yelled, patting the air until your hand landed on his shoulder. “chaotic, but great.”

he straightened a little at that, like he’d just been promoted.

“okay,” he said, rolling his shoulders back. “what’s next. what do we ruin now.”

you laughed. “hopefully nothing.”

“unlikely,” sam muttered.

bucky faking a nod of agreement because he heard absolutely nothing.

you all ended up successfully placing the cookies in the oven without burning the tower down. sam wiped the counters while you salvaged what you could of the used ingredients, and bucky, with his surprising steadiness, managed to actually help produce a decent batch of chocolate chip cookies, mostly by following the recipe like a normal person. by the time you were done, the kitchen smelled like chocolate and sugar, and the three of you were sitting on stools, munching on slightly lumpy but delicious cookies, a comfortable silence settling between you.

later that night, after a long, hot shower that washed away the flour and the stress of the day, you were sitting cross-legged on your bed, your laptop glowing softly in the dark room. it was well past midnight, the rest of the tower quiet. you were editing the video, your fingers flying across the keyboard, cutting out the boring parts and adding silly music and captions. you zoomed in on bucky's confused face as he tried to measure sugar with a liquid cup, added a "womp womp" sound effect when you dropped the flour, and put a giant question mark over sam's head when he was trying to mime instructions. it was perfect. it was ridiculous. but it was perfect, especially for the public.

a soft knock on your door made you jump. you glanced at the clock, 1:17 am.

"come in," you called softly, your voice hushed in the quiet.

the door creaked open and bucky peeked in, his hair messy, wearing just a simple grey t-shirt and sweats. he looked softer like this, less like the winter soldier and more like just... a guy. "couldn't sleep," he murmured, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

"me neither," you said, patting the space on the bed next to you. "editing our masterpiece," you giggled quietly.

he sat down, his weight dipping the mattress, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. he leaned over to watch the screen, his shoulder brushing against yours. you tried to focus on the timeline, on the little clips of you all flailing around the kitchen, but all you could think about was the solid presence of him next to you, the clean, faint scent of his soap.

on the screen, sam was having his silent meltdown, and bucky let out another soft chuckle. "he looked like a distressed penguin."

you giggled, leaning your head against his shoulder for a moment. "he really did." the contact was fleeting, but it sent a jolt through you. you straightened up quickly, your cheeks feeling warm. you finished adding the last few touches to the video, a simple thumbnail: "avengers: baking challenge (fail)." your finger hovered over the 'post' button.

"you sure about this?" he asked, his voice quiet in the darkness.

"positive," you said, and clicked it. the video uploaded, a tiny spinning wheel appearing on the screen. "there. it's done. lets hope it does well"

you closed the laptop, plunging the room into near darkness, besides for the soft glow of the city lights through your window. you both sat there for a moment, the silence comfortable, easy. you could feel his gaze on you, but when you turned to look, his eyes were fixed on the window.

"thanks for today," he said, still looking away. "it was... fun."

"yeah," you agreed, your heart beating a little faster. "it was."

he finally turned to look at you, his blue eyes soft in the dim light. he reached up, his metal hand cool against your skin, and gently tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. his fingers lingered for a second, tracing the line of your jaw. then he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. it wasn't romantic, not really. it was just... sweet. a quiet acknowledgment of everything you'd become to each other.

you didn't say anything. you just closed your eyes, leaning into the touch. when you opened them, he was leaning back, a faint blush on his own cheeks. you both were oblivious, dancing around a feeling neither of you could name, content to just exist in this quiet moment.

"get some sleep," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"you too," you replied.

he didn't get up. he just shifted, settling back against your pillows, his eyes already drifting closed. you watched him for a moment, his breathing evening out, his face relaxed in sleep. you felt your own eyelids getting heavy, the warmth of his body next to yours a comforting weight. you curled up on your side, your laptop forgotten at the foot of the bed, and let yourself drift off, the faint smell of chocolate chip cookies and the lingering warmth of his kiss on your temple the last things you registered before sleep took you.

─˖· masterlist

*as always, thanks @uzmacchiato for the gorgeous lace banners <3

[aderna01]

A MISSION APOLOGY

parings: avenger!bucky x avenger!f!reader

summary: you and bucky barnes were never meant to cross paths, yet a smoky kitchen mishap turned silence into friendship and friendship into something neither of you talked about. now, with your past still hidden from the world and your first mission pulling you straight into danger beside the one person you’ve been trying not to miss, the tension between you finally snaps. in the chaos of a high‑speed diversion and everything left unsaid, the truth you’ve both been avoiding refuses to stay buried.

warnings: MDNI, 18+, lots of emotional tension, high-speed action, guns, car chase, mentions of cartels, mentions and undertones of trauma, arguments under pressure, mission chaos, secret feelings, avoidance, plot for smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected pnv (don’t be silly, cover your willy), creampie, no use of y/n

word count: 4.9k

song inspo: shut up and drive by rihanna

a/n: literally got the idea from CATWS when nat and steve are in the car. also, i yearn for stupid ahh plots so here you go :)

─˖· masterlist

the silence between you and bucky barnes had become a physical thing. it had weight and texture, a suffocating blanket that had been slowly smothering you for three weeks. three weeks of empty hallways, of him turning corners the moment he saw you, of meals eaten at opposite ends of a table that suddenly felt a mile long. it was a stark, brutal contrast to the months before, when his quiet presence had been the most comforting thing in your new life at the tower.

you remembered the beginning so clearly. you’d moved in, a ghost, a secret weapon the team had plucked from the clutches of a colombian cartel who trained you. years of your life, stolen and twisted, had turned you into something sharp and deadly. you’d refused them at first, the idea of being anyone’s soldier again leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, but you’d watched the news, seen the world teetering on a precipice, and knew your skills could do more good than harm hiding away in some remote corner of the globe.

the tower had been intimidating at first. all that glass and steel, filled with gods and super-soldiers and men who built their own personal flying suits. you’d kept to yourself, your past making you wary of forming connections. bucky had been the most intimidating of all, a silent shadow with a haunted look in his eyes that mirrored your own. for the first month, you didn’t speak a single word to each other. you’d share space in the common room, a careful distance between you, two broken things trying not to shatter the others.

the ice broke over a batch of burned pancakes. it was your turn to cook breakfast, a simple task you’d thought you could manage. you’d gotten distracted, lost in a memory, and the smell of acrid sugar and blackened batter had filled the kitchen. you’d been frantically waving a dish towel at the shrieking smoke detector when a low chuckle cut through the chaos. you turned to see bucky leaning against the doorframe, a genuine, unguarded smile on his face. the sight of it hit you like a physical blow, so unexpected and warm.

“need a hand there, pyro?” he’d asked, his voice raspy from disuse.

something in you broke. a hysterical giggle escaped your lips, and then another, until you were laughing so hard you had to brace yourself against the counter. it wasn’t even that funny, but the release, the sheer absurdity of it, was overwhelming. he laughed with you, a deep, rumbling sound that felt like the first thaw of spring. from that moment on, you were inseparable.

he was the only one who understood the nightmares, the phantom pains of a past that wouldn’t let go. you’d spend hours talking in hushed tones in the dead of night, sharing stories that were too heavy for the light of day. those talks led to other things. stolen kisses in the training room, his lips tasting of mint and sweat. nights spent tangled in your sheets, his metal arm a cool, comforting weight on your hip, his touch chasing away the demons that haunted your sleep. he never treated you like you were fragile, but he handled you like you were precious. it was the safest you’d ever felt.

and then, three weeks ago, it all just stopped. no explanation. no fight. just a sudden, cold distance that left you reeling and more alone than you’d felt since you first arrived.

now, you sat in the sterile conference room, the holographic display in the center of the table painting a tactical map of tokyo in blue light. your first mission. it should have felt like a victory, a culmination of all your hard work and training. instead, it felt like a punishment.

“as you know,” steve was saying, his voice calm and steady, “we’ve intercepted intel on a major weapons exchange. the buyers are a high-level terrorist cell, the sellers are dealing in a new chemical agent. the location is a warehouse in the shibuya district.”

tony swiped a hand through the air, bringing up a 3d model of the target building. “the exchange is scheduled for 2200 hours. our objective is to hit them during the transaction, secure the chemical agent, and neutralize all hostiles. but,” he added, zooming in on the surrounding streets, “their security is no joke. they’ve got multiple patrols circulating the perimeter. highly mobile, heavily armed. we can’t get the strike team in without drawing their attention.”

he looked directly at you and bucky, and your stomach plummeted. “so, we need a diversion. a loud, flashy, and highly mobile one.”

steve’s gaze followed tony’s. “we need a pair to draw the patrols on a high-speed chase through the city, leading them as far away from the exchange site as possible. it needs to be convincing, and it needs to last until we’ve secured the warehouse. thankfully, we sent an anonymous tip their way so they know your car might give them trouble.”

your heart hammered against your ribs. you knew what was coming. you were the best shot on the team, your aim honed by years of brutal, unforgiving training. and bucky… well, bucky had learned to drive in a war, and he’d never forgotten how to handle a car like it was an extension of his own body.

“bucky, you’ll be driving,” steve said, confirming your fear. “your skills are unmatched for this kind of evasive maneuvering.” he turned to you. “and you’ll be his gunner. we need someone who can disable those vehicles without destroying them completely, and your precision is exactly what we need.”

you couldn’t bring yourself to look at bucky. you could feel his stillness from across the table, a palpable tension that radiated from him. for weeks, he had been a void where your friend used to be, and now you were supposed to trust him with your life. you were supposed to be a seamless unit, a well-oiled machine. the irony was so bitter it almost made you laugh.

“any questions?” steve asked, his eyes scanning the room.

silence. you just stared at the glowing blue map, your jaw tight.

“great,” tony said, clapping his hands together. “wheels up in two hours. try not to wreck the car. I kind of like that one.”

the meeting adjourned, and you were out of your chair before anyone else, needing to escape, to breathe. you practically fled to the quinjet hangar, needing to feel the open space, to prepare your gear and your mind for the mission without his suffocating presence nearby.

the sleek, black sports car sat waiting in the cargo hold, a beautiful machine designed for speed and destruction. you ran your hands over the cool metal, checking the mounted gun on the passenger side, the custom modifications tony had made. it was perfect. deadly. just like you.

you heard his footsteps before you saw him, a familiar tread that made your shoulders tense. you didn’t turn around.

“hey,” he said, his voice quiet.

you continued checking the ammo clip, your movements sharp and precise as your fingers glided over the gun. “barnes.” you state flatly.

he flinched at the formality. “look… we should talk before we head out.”

“don’t,” you cut him off, your voice dangerously low. “you can’t be serious… you’ve been avoiding me for weeks and you choose now, right before a mission, to suddenly talk to me? let’s just do our job and go back to ignoring each other afterward, yeah?” you snapped.

you finally risked a glance at him. the hurt on his face was plain, but it was quickly masked by the familiar, stoic mask of the winter soldier. he deserved it. every bit of it.

“right,” he said, his voice flat. “the mission.”

you nodded curtly and turned back to the car. “just stay out of my way, and i’ll stay out of yours. we’ll get it done.”

the quinjet ride to tokyo was thick with unspoken words. you sat as far away from him as possible, cleaning your weapons, going over the mission specs in your head, anything to keep from looking at him. but you could feel him watching you, his gaze a heavy weight you couldn’t shrug off.

by the time the jet landed and you and bucky had driven the car off the large jet, night had fallen over tokyo. the city was a dazzling blur of neon and rain, the lights bleeding across the wet pavement. bucky drove with an unnerving calm, weaving through traffic with an effortless precision that was almost beautiful. you were supposed to be the bait, as you drove by the marked location, you’d found your tail almost immediately. two black suvs immediately recognized the car, their engines roaring as they closed in on you.

“here we go,” bucky murmured, his hands tightening on the wheel.

“let’s give them a show,” you replied, your voice all business.

he gunned the engine, and the car leaped forward, a surge of adrenaline shooting through your veins. the chase was on. he drove like a man possessed, taking corners on two wheels, threading through impossibly small gaps, using the cityscape as his personal playground. the suvs stayed with you, their headlights cutting through the rain.

“ready?” he called over the roar of the engine.

“born ready,” you shot back, rolling down your window.

the cold, wet air whipped past you as you climbed halfway out, bracing yourself against the door. you raised your rifle, the scope a familiar comfort against your eye. you found the lead suv, aimed for the engine block, and squeezed the trigger. the shot was true. the car swerved, smoke billowing from the hood, but it kept coming.

“nice shot,” bucky grunted, rolling his eyes at your near-perfect aim, all while swerving to avoid a taxi.

“you ain’t seen nothing yet,” you muttered under your breath, taking aim again.

you took out the second suv's radiator, a plume of steam erupting into the night. it fishtailed, slowing considerably, but the first one was still on you, relentless. the chase was a violent symphony of squealing tires, roaring engines, and the percussive beat of your rifle fire. you were a well-oiled machine, just as steve had wanted, but the silence between you was a grinding, dissonant chord.

“more coming up on your left!” bucky grunted, looking through his mirrors to see more cars joining the chase. he wrenched the wheel hard to the right. the car skidded, the back end sliding out in a controlled drift that sent you slamming against the door frame. “two of ‘em. i can’t shake them on this side.”

you swore under your breath, ducking back into the car to reload. your back was facing the dashboard as you glanced out his window, you saw them. a sleek sedan and another suv, flanking you, matching your speed. there was no clean shot from your side. you were exposed.

“hold on,” you said, your voice tight.

“what are you—”

you didn’t give him time to finish. you threw your rifle onto the back seat, ignoring his shocked look. in one fluid, practiced motion, you swung your leg over the center console, straddling his lap. the shift in weight made the car lurch, but he corrected it instantly, his hands steady on the wheel.

“what the hell are you doing?” he ground out, his eyes wide as you settled against him, your chest pressed to his. the position was intimate, explosive, and utterly insane.

“i can’t get a shot from my side,” you yelled, pulling your sidearm from its holster. you braced one hand on the top of his doorframe, the other on his shoulder, and leaned out his window. the wind and rain lashed at your face. Your eyes flickered down quickly to where he was driving, him looking straight at you, “eyes on the fucking road barnes!” you yelled as he swerved quickly to avoid hitting an object in the street. The car jutted, making you fall back onto his lap.

for a second, he was frozen beneath you, the heat of his body seeping through your tactical gear. then, with a low growl that was pure frustration and something else you couldn’t name, he complied. the car surged forward, and you took aim at the sedan.

the first shot shattered the driver’s side window. the second blew out a front tire. the car spun out, crashing into a barrier. one down. the suv, however, was more persistent. it swerved behind you, and you knew you couldn’t get a clean angle.

the anger you’d been bottling for three weeks finally erupted. “you know what, bucky? this is just like old times! except for the part where you actually talk to me!” you shouted over the wind, firing another shot that ricocheted harmlessly off the suv’s armored frame.

“i’m driving!” he yelled back, his knuckles white on the steering wheel as he took a sharp turn down a narrow alley.

“no, you’re avoiding me! you’ve been avoiding me for weeks! what the hell did i do?” the words were torn from you, raw and painful. “was it bad? did i do something wrong? just tell me!” you said, trying to steady your aim on the car.

the suv rammed your bumper, and the car jolted hard. you were thrown back against his chest, his metal arm automatically coming up to brace your waist, holding you steady. the touch was electric, a painful reminder of what you’d lost.

“it’s not you!” he finally roared, the sound ripped from his throat. he swerved again, narrowly missing a stack of pallets. “it was never you!”

“then what?” you demanded, both frustrated that he wouldn’t give you an answer and annoyed that you couldn’t shoot the chasing suv. “what was it, bucky? you can’t just… you can’t just kiss me like you mean it and then vanish! you don’t get to do that to me!” you yelled quickly moving out of this lap, back onto your seat, now that the suv was directly behind yours.

“i was trying to keep you safe!” he blurted out, the words bursting from him like a dam breaking. he took a corner so hard you were sure the car would flip, his driving growing more erratic, more desperate. “from me!”

the confession hung in the air, stunning you into silence. you stared at him, his profile sharp and illuminated by the passing neon lights. he looked tormented, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might break.

“safe?” you repeated, your voice barely a whisper, laced with incredulity. a bitter, humorless laugh escaped your lips. “you were trying to keep me safe? by ignoring me? by acting like i don’t exist? that’s your grand plan for my safety?” you retorted as you took two shots out your window.

“i’m a monster!” he shot back, his voice cracking. “everything i touch, i ruin! my past… it’s not just history, it’s a goddamn curse. and then this mission… your first one… i knew they’d pair us together. i knew i’d have to watch you walk into danger, and i couldn’t… i can’t be the reason you get hurt. i can’t be the weakness that gets you killed.”

the suv was still there, a relentless predator. you raised your gun, your hands shaking now for an entirely different reason. “you think i don’t know what it’s like to have a past?” you yelled, your body half out the window. your voice thick with emotion. “you think my hands are clean? i was a child soldier for a cartel, bucky! i was trained to be a weapon before i could even drive! i have done… things… that will haunt me forever. don’t you dare stand there and tell me you’re protecting me from your darkness. i’ve been living in the dark my whole fucking life!”

you finally got your shot. the suv swerved, exposing its fuel tank. you fired three rounds in quick succession. the car exploded in a ball of fire, the force of it pushing your car forward. bucky slammed on the brakes, as you sunk back into your seat, the tires screaming as the car skidded to a halt in the middle of the empty alley.

silence descended, broken only by the sound of your ragged breaths and the crackle of flames from the wrecked vehicle. the adrenaline was fading, leaving a raw, trembling ache in its place.

he looked at you, really looked at you, and the mask of the winter soldier was gone. all that was left was bucky. broken, beautiful, bucky. his blue eyes were swimming with regret, shining with unshed tears.

“fuck” he whispered, his voice hoarse. running a shaky hand through his hair. “i’m fucking idiot. i was so scared of my past hurting you, i didn’t stop to think about how i was hurting you myself.” his metal hand tightened around the wheel, the car still completely stopped. “i’m so, so sorry, doll. i pushed away the best thing in my life because i was a coward.” he said looking down towards the steady wheel.

the fight drained out of you, leaving you feeling hollowed out and exhausted. “don’t do that again,” you murmured. “don’t ever push me away again. we face our demons together, remember? that was the deal.”

“i remember,” he said softly. his eyes finally looking up to meet yours “i won’t. i promise.”

he leaned in, across the center console and this time, the kiss wasn’t like the others. it wasn’t stolen or secret. it wasn’t born of desperation or comfort. it was a declaration. it was messy and desperate and full of the rain and the smoke and the taste of apology. it was a kiss that said ‘i’m here’ and ‘i’m not leaving’.

when you finally pulled apart, your foreheads resting together, the comms in your ear crackled to life.

“diversion team, what’s your status?” steve’s voice was crisp and professional. “the exchange is secured.”

bucky looked at you, a small, tired smile playing on his lips. he keyed the comms. “sorry, cap. had a little car trouble. we’re en route now. five minutes out.”

the ride back to the quinjet was different. the silence was no longer a void; it was filled with unspoken understanding. his hand found yours, his fingers lacing with yours, a silent, steadfast promise.

the debriefing was a blur of congratulations and back-slapping. tony was already gloating about his car’s performance, sam was making jokes about bucky’s driving, and steve was giving you both a proud nod but you and bucky only had eyes for each other.

as the team dispersed, heading towards the common room for celebratory drinks and the rest of the debriefing, bucky caught your arm. he didn’t say a word, just tilted his head towards the service elevator. you knew exactly what he meant. you slipped away from the group, unnoticed in the post-mission excitement, and stepped into the empty elevator.

the moment the doors closed, he was on you. he pushed you against the wall, his body pressing into yours, his mouth finding yours in a hungry, desperate kiss. all the weeks of pent-up longing, all the fear and regret, poured into it. his hands were everywhere, one tangling in your hair, the other gripping your hip, pulling you closer.

“bucky,” you gasped as his lips moved to your neck, his teeth scraping your sensitive skin. “not here.”

“my room,” he growled against your skin. “now.”

the elevator doors opened on his floor, and you two practically ran down the hall, him fumbling with the keycard to his room. the door clicked open, and you both stumbled inside, kicking it shut behind you. his room was dark and sparse, a mirror of the man himself but right now, it was the only place you wanted to be in.

Once the door clicked shut, the sound echoed in the quiet room. before you could even register the darkness, his hands were on you again, turning you, pressing you back against the cool wood of the door. his mouth claimed yours with a ferocity that stole your breath, a desperate, hungry kiss that was three weeks of silence and longing given form. there was no gentleness here, only a raw, primal need to close the distance he had so cruelly created.

“bucky,” you gasped, your hands fisting in the fabric of his tac suit, pulling him impossibly closer. you needed to feel him, all of him, to erase the memory of the cold emptiness he had left you with.

“god, i missed you,” he groaned against your lips, the words a ragged confession. his metal hand was cool against your heated skin as he slid it under your shirt, his fingers splaying across the small of your back, holding you flush against him. “every second. i was so stupid.”

“yeah, you were,” you breathed, but there was no heat in it, only a desperate relief. you arched into him, a silent invitation he didn’t hesitate to accept.

he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you away from the door. the world became a blur of motion, his mouth never leaving yours, a frantic, messy dance of lips and teeth and tongue. he didn’t bother with the lights. the only illumination came from the city skyline bleeding through his massive window, painting the room in strokes of silver and blue. he laid you down on his bed, the sheets cool against your back, and finally, finally, pulled back just enough to look at you.

his eyes were dark, the blue almost completely swallowed by the black of his pupils. he looked at you like he was starving, and you were the only thing that could satisfy him. “i’m going to make it up to you,” he promised, his voice a low, rough rumble that vibrated through you. “let me show you.”

you just nodded, your throat too tight to speak. he knelt over you, his movements deliberate now, a stark contrast to the frantic energy from moments before. he reached for the zipper of your tac suit, his fingers brushing against your collarbone. the sound of the metal teeth parting was obscenely loud in the quiet room. he peeled the heavy fabric away, his gaze following his hands, feeling every inch of skin he exposed.

he took his time, mapping the landscape of your body with his lips and tongue. he kissed the scars on your arms, the ones you were so self-conscious of, his touch so gentle it made your eyes burn. he traced the line of your ribs, the curve of your hips, his mouth leaving a trail of fire in its wake. he wasn’t just touching you; he was relearning you, committing you to memory all over again.

when his mouth finally closed over your breast, you cried out, your back arching off the bed. your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to you as he lavished attention on you, his tongue swirling around your peaked nipple before he gently bit down. the pleasure was sharp, exquisite, a jolt of electricity that shot straight to your core.

“bucky, please,” you begged, your hips rising to meet his, seeking the friction you so desperately craved.

he lifted his head, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. “patience, doll. i’ve got three weeks to make up for, remember?”

he moved lower, his mouth tracing a path down your stomach, his metal hand holding your hips still when you tried to squirm. he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your pants, pulling them down along with your underwear in one smooth motion. he tossed them aside, his eyes fixed on the part of you that was weeping for him.

“so beautiful,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. and then he lowered his head and his mouth was on you.

you cried out, your hands flying to his head, your fingers tangling in his soft hair as his tongue delved into your folds. he ate you out with a single-minded intensity, his tongue circling your clit before he sucked it into his mouth, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your entire body. he knew exactly how to touch you, exactly how to drive you wild, and he used that knowledge mercilessly. he slid one finger, then two, inside you, his metal digits cool against your slick heat as he curled them, finding that spot inside you that made you see stars.

the pressure built, a tight coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter with every stroke of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers. “bucky, i’m… i’m close,” you panted, your hips rocking against his face.

“come for me,” he commanded, his voice vibrating against you. “let me hear you.”

that was all it took. the coil snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure so intense it stole your breath. you cried out his name, your body convulsing as you rode out the waves of your release, his mouth and fingers working you through every last spasm.

he didn’t give you a chance to recover. he moved over you, his body a hard, heavy weight that you welcomed. he was still fully dressed, the rough fabric of his suit a delicious friction against your sensitive skin. he kissed you, and you could taste yourself on his lips, a heady, intimate flavor that made you moan.

“you with me?” he asked, his voice rough with desire.

“always,” you breathed, your hands moving to the zipper of his own suit. you needed him inside you, needed to feel him, to be joined with him in the most fundamental way. 

you fumbled with the zipper, your hands shaking with need, and he helped you, shrugging out of the top half of the suit before kicking off his pants. he was magnificent, all hard muscle and scars, a testament to the life he’d lived. his cock was hard and heavy, curving up towards his stomach, a bead of moisture glistening at the tip.

he positioned himself at your entrance, his eyes locked on yours. “i love you,” he said, the words a raw, vulnerable truth. “i was an idiot, and i was scared, but i love you. i should have told you that before.”

tears pricked your eyes, but this time they weren’t from anger or hurt. “i love you too, you idiot.” you whispered quietly.

he grinned, a real, genuine, breathtaking grin that made your heart do a stupid little flip and then he pushed into you, sinking into your heat in one slow, deep stroke. you both groaned at the sensation, the perfect, rightness of it. he filled you completely, stretching you in a way that was both overwhelming and utterly perfect. his head falling onto your shoulder.

he started to move, his strokes slow and deep at first, a deliberate rhythm that built the pleasure all over again. he watched you as he moved, his eyes dark and intense, his gaze never leaving yours. it was too much, too intimate, and you had to look away, your head falling back against the pillows

“no,” he grunted, his hand coming up to cup your chin, forcing you to look at him. “eyes on me. i want to see you.”

you met his gaze, and the connection between you was so powerful it was almost painful. he increased his pace, his movements becoming harder, faster, more demanding. the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your breathless moans and his low, guttural grunts. he hooked one of your legs over his arm, changing the angle, and he drove into you deeper, hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars.

“bucky,” you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“fuck” he growled, his rhythm becoming erratic, his thrusts losing their smoothness as he chased his own release. “come with me. one more time, doll.”

he reached between you, his thumb finding your clit, and he rubbed it in tight, circles. that was all it took. your orgasm ripped through you, even more powerful than the last, and you screamed his name, your body clamping down around him as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. he followed you over the edge with a hoarse cry, his body shuddering as he spilled himself inside you, his hips jerking against yours as he emptied himself into you.

he collapsed on top of you, his body a heavy, welcome weight, his face buried in the crook of your neck. you were both breathing heavily, your hearts hammering against your ribs. you lay like that for a long time, just holding each other, your bodies slick with sweat and the remnants of your passion.

after a while, he rolled off you, pulling you into his arms, your head resting on his chest. his heartbeat was a steady, reassuring rhythm against your ear. the city lights twinkled outside the window, a silent witness to your reunion.

“we’re going to be in so much trouble for missing the rest of the debriefing,” you murmured, a contented smile playing on your lips.

he chuckled, the sound a low, rumbling vibration in his chest. “worth it,” he said as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “so worth it.”

you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his in the dim light. “yeah,” you agreed, your heart full. “it really was.”

─˖· masterlist

*thanks to @uzmacchiato for the gorgeous lace banners <3

[aderna01]

guys i’m whipping up two new stories but i yearn for requests (pls send some) thanks! :)

[aderna01]

! MASTERLIST !

hello!! welcome to my official masterlist. please make sure to read the warnings to all the stories! this is an 18+ space with bucky x reader plot lines. i write a bit of everything (including smut, fluff, and angst) so feel free to use the guide to help find the best fics for you <3 ★ requests are open & encouraged :)

symbol guide: ꩜ fluff 𖤐 smut ༄ angst

─˖·navigation

ONE SHOTS

˖· Tuesday Night Secrets [4.6k] ꩜

─ avenger!bucky x avenger!f!reader

you and bucky barnes have always been an odd match, but somehow the two of you fit together better than anyone expects. between shared routines, quiet moments, and the kind of chemistry everyone else notices before you do, one unexpected night pushes your friendship into something softer and far more complicated. a tiny kitten, a secret tradition, and a very chaotic morning in the tower finally bring the truth to the surface.

˖· A Mission Apology [4.9k] 𖤐༄

─ avenger!bucky x avenger!f!reader

you and bucky barnes were never meant to cross paths, yet a smoky kitchen mishap turned silence into friendship and friendship into something neither of you talked about. now, with your past still hidden from the world and your first mission pulling you straight into danger beside the one person you’ve been trying not to miss, the tension between you finally snaps. in the chaos of a high‑speed diversion and everything left unsaid, the truth you’ve both been avoiding refuses to stay buried.

˖· Blind, Deaf, & Mute [2.9k] ꩜

─ avenger!bucky x PRspecialist!f!reader

you are hired as the avengers’ new public relations specialist, a sunshine‑bright force dropped into a tower full of exhausted superheroes and one very grumpy former assassin. bucky barnes wants nothing to do with you, and you seem determined to befriend him anyway. what starts as mutual annoyance slowly shifts into something softer as the two of you stumble through awkward teamwork, unexpected moments, and one disastrously chaotic baking challenge that proves the avengers might actually be a family after all.

˖· Neon Lights and Ferris Wheel Rides [8.2k] ꩜

─  junior!bucky x sophomore!f!reader

you head to a famous carnival with your lifelong best friends, steve and bucky, expecting nothing but rides and sugar, only to find bucky brought another girl along. the night twists through neon lights, sharp comments, unexpected jealousy, and bucky defending you when you least expect it. when steve heads out early, you and bucky end up alone under the glowing sky, stumbling into soft moments, shared thrills, and a spark that feels impossible to ignore.

MUSIC SERIES

˖· We Almost Broke Up Again Last Night [2.9k] ༄𖤐

─  pre-wakanda!bucky x f!reader

your relationship feels like it’s coming apart, held together only by the hope and intimacy you’re still clinging to. bucky keeps pulling away from you, haunted by his past, by the people he hurt, by the fear that the darkness in him might spill onto you. he loves you deeply, but he’s convinced that loving you is dangerous. so he tries to let you go before he believes he’ll ruin you too.

─˖·navigation

* lace banners by @uzmacchiato<3

[aderna01]

Tuesday Night Secrets

pairing: avenger!bucky x avenger!f!reader

summary: you and bucky barnes have always been an odd match, but somehow the two of you fit together better than anyone expects. between shared routines, quiet moments, and the kind of chemistry everyone else notices before you do, one unexpected night pushes your friendship into something softer and far more complicated. a tiny kitten, a secret tradition, and a very chaotic morning in the tower finally bring the truth to the surface.

warnings: so much fluff!!! soft & protective bucky, domestic vibes, found family energy, pranks, mischief, mentions of unwanted cats and abandonment. slow-burn friends-to-lovers (as much as that can be in a 4.6k story). college student & avenger reader. celebrity avengers & online dating rumors mentioned. No mentions of y/n.

word count: 4.6k

a/n: hellooooooo. this is actually my first one-shot and i’m gagged at how much i enjoyed reading it back. this plot is lowkey fed by my need to be an academic weapon and because i love NYU and NYC. i hope you enjoy it as much as i did :)

─˖· masterlist

you and bucky are the tower's most unlikely duo.

not because you're a stark and he's the winter soldier, though that's part of it. it's because you're all bright, chaotic energy and he's quiet, steady, calm. you're a supernova and he's the still, deep space that contains it. somehow, it works. perfectly.

you were the one who cracked him open, not with force, but with persistence. you didn't treat him like a fragile artifact or a lethal weapon. you just... treated him like bucky. you'd plop down next to him on the common room couch, steal his fries, and complain about your business law professor with the same breath you'd ask if he wanted to watch a documentary about deep-sea creatures.

he'd grumble, of course. a low "hm" or "don't want to" was his default. but he'd always stay. he'd watch the documentaries. he'd listen to your rants, and slowly, the grumbling turned into quiet hums of agreement, then into actual sentences. now, he'll debate with you about the logistics of deep-sea exploration and offer to help you study for business marketing by quizzing you with flashcards he makes himself.

your friendship is built on a foundation of shared mischief. you're the mastermind, he's the surprisingly willing accomplice. you once replaced all of sam's wingpack gear with glitter-filled replicas. bucky's job was to create a diversion so you could make the switch. his diversion? challenging sam to an arm-wrestling match in the middle of the kitchen. it was glorious. you've superglued clint's arrows to their quiver, put pink dye in steve's shampoo (which, to everyone's disappointment, just made his hair look shinier and blonder), and convinced natasha that a new, highly sensitive alarm system had been installed in the gym, forcing her to move in exaggerated slow motion for an entire afternoon before you both burst out laughing.

bucky's laugh is rare, a deep, rumbling thing that feels like a personal victory every time you coax it out of him.

and then there's the nyu thing. you're tony stark's daughter, but you're not just riding on his name. you're brilliant. top of your class at stern, a whiz with numbers and strategy, a natural-born leader who just happens to be able to recite the entire history of the avengers initiative. you're a dedicated student, and you actually enjoy going to your classes.

which means bucky walks you to class.

it started as a security thing, a tony-mandated precaution that bucky, with his stealth and observation skills, was perfect for. it quickly became your ritual. he'd wait for you by the tower's private entrance, an iced vanilla latte in his hand for you, his own black coffee in the other. the walk through washington square park became your time. you'd talk about everything and nothing. your classes, the latest missions, the terrible music someone was blasting from their apartment, the way the sun hit the leaves.

of course, two famous faces walking through nyc every day doesn't go unnoticed. the tabloids had a field day. "stark heir and winter soldier: nyc's hottest power couple?" read one headline. another featured a blurry photo of him handing you the coffee, captioned "secret lovers' rendezvous?" you and bucky found it hilarious. you'd read the articles out loud to each other, adding your own dramatic commentary.

"oh, bucky, darling, our secret is out!" you'd swoon dramatically against his shoulder.

"guess we'll have to go public," he'd deadpan, a smirk playing on his lips. "friday, start planning the press conference."

you're not dating. you're just... you and bucky. you're oblivious to the way his eyes soften when you laugh, and he's oblivious to the way your heart does a little flip when he remembers exactly how you take your coffee. everyone else sees it, though. natasha gives you these knowing looks. sam makes obnoxious kissing noises whenever you're in the same room. tony just sighs and mutters about "potential property damage" whenever bucky is near his daughter.

tonight is different, though. it's tuesday, which means it's your night. your secret. the one thing you do that's just for you, completely separate from being a stark, avenger, or a public-figure.

you're pulling on a worn-in nyu sweatshirt and some jeans, a yankees cap on your head, and grabbing your tote bag from the hook by your door, when a quiet voice makes you jump.

"where are you going?"

you spin around. bucky is leaning against your doorframe, right outside your cracked open door, arms crossed over his chest. he's wearing a simple black henley and jeans, his hair slightly messy. he looks... soft. domestic.

"jesus, bucky! you're like a cat." you clutch your chest. "i'm just going out."

"it's almost nine." he pushes off the doorframe, his brow furrowed slightly. "and it's raining. where do you go on tuesday nights?"

you hesitate. you love your secret. the shelter is your sanctuary, a place where you're not ‘tony stark's daughter’ you're just the girl who's ‘really good at socializing the scaredy-cats’ you're just a volunteer.

"it's nothing," you say, a little too quickly. "just an... errand."

he tilts his head, his blue eyes narrowing just a fraction. he knows you're lying. he always knows. "it's raining," he says again, his voice lower. "i don't want you walking around the city alone in the dark. in the rain."

you sigh, knowing you're not going to win this one. and a small, traitorous part of you is actually happy about it. "i can take care of myself, you know."

"i know," he says, stepping closer. "humor me."

so you tell him. you explain about the "paws and reflect" shelter, a small, underfunded place in the east village that takes in the hardest cases. the cats no one else wants. you explain how you started volunteering there a year ago, looking for something normal to do with your hands, something that wasn't studying or saving the world.

he listens intently, his expression unreadable. when you finish, he just nods.

"can i come?" he asks.

your eyes widen. "what? no. it's my thing."

"i know," he says softly. "but it's late, and it's raining, and i don't want you going alone. i won't get in the way. i'll just... sit in the corner. i promise." he looks so earnest, so genuinely concerned, that you feel your resolve crumbling.

"fine," you grumble, grabbing your keys. "but if you scare any of the cats, i'm leaving you out on the streets."

the rain is a light, persistent drizzle, blurring the city lights into watercolor smears as you drive. driving in the city is always a pain, and you’re not very good at it, but you insisted on driving, not trusting bucky's "i learned in the 40s" driving skills in manhattan traffic. he doesn't argue, just slides into the passenger seat of your sensible yet stylish suv, the one tony bought you for your "safety." you never really wanted it, not from ungratefulness, but because you never liked driving. except, after the avengers became public figures, taxis were not much of an option.

the shelter is tucked away on a quiet side street, a small storefront with a hand-painted sign of a cat chasing its tail. the inside smells faintly of antiseptic and... well, cat. but it's a warm, comforting smell. rachel, the night manager, looks up from behind the front desk, her face breaking into a warm smile when she sees you.

"hey! you're a little later than usual." her eyes flick to bucky, who's hovering awkwardly by the door, looking like a 200-pound assassin who's accidentally wandered into a knitting circle. her smile widens. "and you brought a friend."

"rachel, this is bucky," you say, trying to sound casual. "bucky, this is rachel. she keeps this place from falling apart."

"nice to meet you," bucky says, his voice quiet. he offers a small, polite nod.

"you too," rachel says, her eyes twinkling. "any friend of our best volunteer is a friend of ours. she's a miracle worker, you know. got oliver to come out from under the bed last week. he's been there for six months."

you feel a flush of pride. "he just needed to know someone wasn't going to grab at him."

"well, you're the only one he'll let near him," rachel says, shoving a clipboard at you. "usual chores. litter boxes need changing, food and water top-ups. it's pretty quiet tonight, most of the adoptions were done this afternoon."

you loved this shelter because it offered you a profound sense of normalcy. here, you weren't some untouchable figure to be revered; you were just another pair of hands, given tasks and told where to help. it was a complete escape from your reality.

you take the clipboard and turn to bucky. "okay. so, the rule is, move slowly. no sudden movements. let them come to you. don't stare. blink slowly. it's like... cat sign language for 'i'm not a threat'."

he nods, his expression serious, like you're giving him mission briefing. "slow movements. no staring. got it."

you lead him through the facility. it's not fancy, but it's clean and warm. rows of crates and pens line the walls, each containing a cat or two. some are sleeping, curled into tight balls of fur. others watch you with wide, curious eyes. a few hiss from the back of their cages, a low, warning sound.

you hand bucky a scoop and a bag of food. "you're on food and water duty. i'll handle the... less glamorous stuff."

he takes the scoop without complaint, his eyes already scanning the room, assessing it with the same focus he'd use on a recon mission. it's almost funny, seeing the winter soldier treat a bag of dry kibble with such solemn gravity.

you get to work. the rhythmic scrape of the scoop against the bottom of food bowls mixes with the quiet meows and the distant rumble of the city. you're in your element here, moving from cage to cage, speaking in soft, murmuring tones. "hello, jasmine. you look beautiful today. here you go, mittens. dinner is served."

bucky is surprisingly good at this. he's quiet, his movements economical and precise. he doesn't try to pet any of the cats, just fills their bowls and refills their water, his presence a calm, non-threatening constant. you watch him out of the corner of your eye as you finish cleaning the last litter box. he's crouched in front of a cage containing a huge, grumpy-looking orange tabby who is famous for swatting at anyone who comes near.

"his name is garfield," you whisper, walking over to stand beside him. "and he lives up to it. don't take it personally if he tries to take your hand off."

bucky doesn't look at you. his focus is entirely on the cat. he slowly extends his hand, not to pet, but just to rest near the bars of the cage, palm up. garfield flattens his ears, lets out a low growl. bucky doesn't flinch. he just stays there, a silent, steady offering. after a long moment, garfield relaxes, just a fraction. he inches forward, sniffing the air near bucky's fingers.

"see?" bucky murmurs, his voice barely audible. "he's just scared."

your heart does that stupid little flip again. he's not just looking at a stray cat; he's seeing a reflection of himself. of something that's been hurt and is lashing out because it doesn't know how to be gentle anymore.

"yeah," you say softly. "he is."

you finish the chores in comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft padding of your feet on the linoleum and the distant purr of a contented cat. the shelter feels different with him here. not invaded, but... shared. like a secret you didn't know you wanted to tell.

"okay, that's the last of it," you say, wiping your hands on your jeans. "we just have to wait for rachel to do her final rounds and then we can go."

you lean against the counter, and bucky leans next to you, his shoulder just a breath away from yours. the space between you feels charged, warm. the rain outside has picked up, tapping a gentle rhythm against the window.

"you're really good with them," you say, breaking the quiet.

"they're simple," he replies, his gaze fixed on the rows of sleeping cats. "they don't want anything from you except a little patience and some food. no ulterior motives."

"unlike people," you say, a wry smile touching your lips.

"unlike most people," he corrects gently, and he glances at you when he says it, and the look in his eyes is so open, so sincere, it makes your breath catch. "not you, though."

you feel your cheeks heat up, and you suddenly find the floor pattern absolutely fascinating. "well, i mean, i do occasionally want to steal your fries."

a low chuckle rumbles in his chest. "that's different. that's... friendly fire." he teases.

you laugh, and the sound feels too loud in the quiet shelter. you both fall silent again, but it's not awkward. it's... nice. it's the kind of quiet you can sink into.

"why this place?" he asks after a moment. "why not a big, fancy shelter? you could get your dad to fund one, name it after you, the whole nine yards." 

you shrug, picking at a loose thread on your sweatshirt. "that's the thing. i didn't want it to be about me. i didn't want to be 'tony stark's daughter, the philanthropist.'” you said exaggerating and nodding. “i just wanted to be... me. scooping litter boxes. i don't know. it feels real. here, i'm not a nepobaby or an avenger. i'm the girl who knows that oliver under the bed prefers pâté to chunks." you said jokingly.

he's watching you again, that intense, focused gaze that makes you feel like you're the only person in the world. "you're not a nepobaby," he says, his voice firm.

"bucky, i literally got into nyu because my dad has a building named after him there."

"you're at the top of your class," he counters. "your dad's name doesn't get you a's on your exams. you do that."

the way he says it, with such absolute conviction, makes something warm and gooey spread through your chest. you're used to people dismissing your accomplishments, assuming they're handed to you. bucky never has. he's the one who stays up with you when you're cramming for finals, quizzing you until you can recite business economic principles in your sleep.

"thanks," you mumble, feeling uncharacteristically shy.

"it's just the truth," he says simply.

you're about to say something else, something equally sappy and out of character, when a tiny sound cuts through the quiet. it's not a meow. it's more of a squeak. a pathetic, little mew.

you both turn toward the sound. it's coming from the last pen in the row, the one usually reserved for new intakes that need to be kept isolated. you walk over, bucky right behind you.

inside, all by herself, is the tiniest kitten you've ever seen. she's pure white, with fur so fluffy she looks like a little cloud. one of her ears is folded over, and she has the biggest, bluest eyes you've ever seen in your life. she's shivering, her whole body trembling, and she lets out another pathetic little mew.

"oh, you poor thing," you coo, automatically unlatching the cage door. "where did you come from?"

bucky crouches down beside you, his expression softening into something you've never seen before. it's pure, unadulterated awe. "she's so small."

you reach in slowly, letting the kitten sniff your fingers. she hesitates, then butts her tiny head against your hand, purring a motorboat rumble that seems way too big for her little body. you gently scoop her up, cradling her against your chest. she immediately burrows into your sweatshirt, her tiny claws kneading the fabric.

"she was probably abandoned," you say, stroking her soft fur. "she can't be more than a few weeks old."

bucky reaches out with his flesh hand, his movements impossibly gentle, and strokes the kitten's head with one finger. the kitten looks up at him, blinks slowly, and then licks his finger. a smile breaks across his face. a real, genuine, breathtaking smile that reaches all the way to his eyes.

"she likes you," you whisper, your own smile matching his.

"yeah," he breathes, his eyes glued to the tiny creature in your arms. "she's... perfect."

you both just stare at her for a long time, completely mesmerized. she's a tiny, fluffy ball of perfection, and in that moment, you both fall completely, irrevocably in love.

"we should name her," bucky says, his voice still hushed.

"alpine," you say immediately, the name popping into your head without thinking.

he looks up at you, his blue eyes wide. "alpine?"

"yeah," you say, a little embarrassed. "it's just... she's white, like snow. and it feels... peaceful. you know?"

a slow smile spreads across his face. "yeah," he says softly. "i do know."

you're both still staring at the kitten, who has now fallen asleep in your arms, when the reality of the situation starts to dawn on you. this tiny, perfect creature is here, in this shelter, and she needs a home. your home.

"bucky," you say slowly, your eyes meeting his. "what are we going to do?"

he knows exactly what you mean. the smile fades from his face, replaced by a look of pure panic. "the tower," he says, his voice a horrified whisper. "your dad."

"and steve," you add, your own voice rising in panic. "he'll probably have an allergic reaction just from looking at her." i guess the super-serum doesn’t take away all weaknesses

"and natasha will try to train her to be an assassin," bucky says, his eyes wide with terror. "sam will try to put her in a tiny flight suit."

"and my dad will build her a $50 million robotic litter box that will probably try to take over the world," you laugh, the full, horrifying weight of your decision crashing down on you.

you look at each other, the same manic, determined gleam in your eyes. it's the same look you get right before you execute a really good prank.

"we're doing it, aren't we?" you ask, a grin already spreading across your face.

he looks down at the sleeping kitten, then back at you, and a slow, dangerous grin spreads across his face. it's the grin he gets right before he agrees to one of your terrible, wonderful ideas.

"yeah," he says, his voice filled with a terrifying resolve. "we're doing it."

the next twenty minutes are a blur of covert operations. you sign the adoption papers with a speed that would make a cheetah jealous, scribbling your name on the dotted line while rachel gives you a knowing look and a small cardboard carrier.

"be good to her," she says, her voice warm.

"we will," you and bucky say in unison, which makes you both pause and exchange a look. it's too synchronized. too domestic.

the drive back to the tower is the most nerve-wracking experience of your life, and that's saying a lot considering you once watched your dad fly a nuke into a wormhole. you finally let bucky drive. alpine is awake now, mewing pitifully from her carrier on your lap.

"shhh, shhh, it's okay," you whisper, peeking through the little air holes. "we're almost home."

Bucky keeps glancing in the mirrors, tapping a nervous rhythm on the dashboard. "Alright, so what's our cover story if we get stopped?" he asks with a grin. "I give it thirty seconds before Friday's assembling a strike team. Or should we just go with the truth and hope your dad doesn't kill us?"

"He won't kill us," you say, rolling your eyes playfully. "It's just a... a project. For my, uh, biology class. Very hands-on. he’ll appreciate the educational aspect” you add, nodding and shrugging.

"a project with fur and claws that sheds," bucky corrects grimly.

you use your private entrance, the one that leads directly to the residential elevators, bypassing the common areas and the main lobby. it's late, past midnight, so you're praying everyone is either asleep or on a mission. the elevator ride up to your floor is silent and tense. you hold the carrier, and bucky stands so close to you that you can feel the warmth radiating from him.

"okay," you whisper as the doors slide open. "phase one: get her to my room undetected."

"phase two: survive the morning," bucky adds, his eyes scanning the empty hallway as if this was a co-op mission.

you creep down the hall, a ridiculous, covert operation involving two highly trained individuals and a two-pound kitten. you reach your door, and you fumble with your keycard, a stupid stark security quirk, your hands shaking slightly. the lock clicks open with a sound that seems to echo through the entire tower.

you slip inside, bucky behind you, kicking the door shut with a soft sigh of relief. you place the carrier on the floor of your spacious bedroom and open the little door. alpine tentatively steps out, her little pink nose twitching as she takes in her new surroundings.

your room is your sanctuary. it's a mix of stark-tech minimalism and cozy chaos. a huge window overlooks the glittering manhattan skyline, but the floor is covered with soft rugs and piles of pillows. bookshelves overflow with textbooks, novels, and vogue magazines, and your desk is a controlled mess of laptops and notes.

alpine seems to approve. she takes a few small steps, then pounces on a stray pen, batting it under the bed. she looks up at you, lets out a triumphant mew!, and then proceeds to explore every nook and cranny of your room with the confidence of an mice inspecting a hole in the wall.

bucky is watching her, a look of pure, unadulterated fondness on his face. "she's so brave," he says softly.

"she's a stark," you joke, nudging his arm with your elbow, though there's a strange lump in your throat. "of course she's brave."

you find a small, fluffy blanket and lay it on the floor. alpine immediately abandons her exploration and curls up on it, falling asleep in seconds.

you and bucky stand there, watching her sleep, the silence in the room broken only by her tiny purrs.

"we're her parents now," you whisper, the words feeling both insane and completely right.

"co-parents," he corrects gently, his eyes still on the kitten.

"right," you say, your heart doing a weird little flutter. "co-parents."

you look at him, really look at him. the soft light from the city illuminates his profile, catching the sharp line of his jaw and the gentle curve of his mouth. he looks... happy. truly, deeply happy. and it's because of this tiny, fluffy creature you just impulsively decided to bring into your lives.

"we're going to be in so much trouble tomorrow," you say, but you're smiling.

"worth it," he says, and he turns to look at you, and the look in his eyes makes your breath catch. it's the same look he had when he was talking about the scared cats, the same look he had when he was defending your academic achievements. it's a look that says he sees you. all of you.

the space between you shrinks. you don't know who moves first, maybe you both do. his hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. his metal hand is cool against your waist. you lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed.

"i've wanted to do this for a while," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through you.

"me too," you breathe.

and then he kisses you. it's not a frantic, desperate kiss. it's slow, and gentle, and sure. it tastes like coffee and the rain and the promise of something new. it's a kiss that says "finally." it's a kiss that feels like coming home.

when you pull apart, you're both breathing heavily. you rest your forehead against his, a smile playing on your lips.

"so," you whisper. "this changes things."

"yeah," he says, a smile in his voice. "it does."

you spend the rest of the night on your bed, talking in whispers so you don't wake the kitten. you talk about everything. about your fears, your hopes, the moment you each knew your friendship was something more. you fall asleep curled up together, with alpine a tiny, warm weight on the bed between your bodies.

the morning comes, as it always does, with the blare of the towers wake-up alarm and the distant sounds of the tower coming to life. you groan, burying your face in bucky's chest.

"it's judgment day," you mumble.

he kisses the top of your head. "start prepping the defense" he jokes.

you get dressed, steeling yourselves for the inevitable confrontation. you decide the best offense is a good defense. you'll just... walk out. with the cat. act like it's the most normal thing in the world.

bucky holds alpine, who is now purring contentedly in his arms, looking like the world's most intimidating and adorable cat dad. you take a deep breath, open your door, and step into the hallway, walking down to the kitchen for breakfast.

its full. almost every avenger is around the counter conversing.

tony is standing there, a cup of coffee in his hand, wearing a black led zeppelin t-shirt and a look of grim determination as he spoke with the others. steve is there, looking concerned in his captain america pajamas. natasha is leaning against the wall, a knowing smirk on her face. and sam is just... grinning. the traitor.

"well, well," tony says turning his head towards us walking in. his eyes zeroing in on the fluffy white creature in bucky's arms. "what have we here?"

you open your mouth, ready to launch into a defense, but bucky beats you to it. he just stands there, holding alpine, his expression completely calm.

"her name is alpine," he says, his voice steady. "and we're co-parenting."

the word hangs in the air. "we're." as in, the two of you. a unit.

tony's eyes flick from the cat to bucky to you, and then back to the cat. a slow, calculating grin spreads across his face. "co-parenting," he repeats. "so that's what the kids are calling it these days."

steve looks confused. "you got a cat? bucky, are you allergic? do you need an epi-pen?"

natasha just winks at you.

sam, however, is practically vibrating with excitement. "a cat! can i hold her? does she have a little avengers uniform? i can design one! with little wings!"

before anyone can say anything else, alpine, seemingly sensing she's the center of attention, does the most perfect thing she could possibly do. she wriggles out of bucky's arms, him quickly moving down closer to the floor before she fell. She immediately leaps gracefully to the floor, trots directly over to tony stark, and rubs her fluffy little body against his leg, purring like a motorboat.

tony stares down at her, his mouth slightly agape. he slowly bends down, his arc reactor glinting through his shirt in the morning light, and scratches alpine behind her folded ear. she responds by flopping over and exposing her belly.

"oh," tony says, his voice soft. "well. alright then."

and just like that, the war is over. you didn't even have to fire a single shot.

that evening, you and bucky are curled up on the common room couch. alpine is asleep on bucky's chest, rising and falling with each breath he takes. sam is on the floor, trying to teach alpine how to "fist bump" with her tiny paw. natasha is watching you both with an insufferably smug look. tony is on his tablet, and you're pretty sure he's designing a state-of-the-art, climate-controlled, self-cleaning cat tree.

─˖· masterlist

*also thanks @uzmacchiato for the gorgeous banners <3

[metal-armed-muse]

LESSONS IN LOVE — the masterlist

BROTHER’S BEST FRIEND BUCKY X F!READER

SUMMARY. Being Steve Rogers’ sister meant years of boys looking at you like a warning sign. Now that you’re in college, your lack of experience becomes a major problem. So you ask your brother’s best friend to teach you everything. What starts as lessons becomes something neither of you have a name for yet.

WORD COUNT. 38.2K

WARNINGS. college au, brother’s best friend trope, MDNI, fluff, slowish burn, angst, inexperienced reader, smut, virginity loss, oral (f and m receiving), vaginal fingering, nipple play, protected pnv, more to be added.

PARTS. Chapter 1 — teach me Chapter 2 — please me Chapter 3 — love me

NOTES. Steve is going to haunt the narrative like the wife who dies at the start of a film. You can imagine reader as Steve’s adopted sister, there will be no physical descriptions.

STATUS. COMPLETED

my masterlist!

coming to you every thursday… comment to be added to the taglist!