I’m slowly realising that I’m so not getting a boyfriend because my expectations are way too high for today’s society and I’d never give up my morals for a guy to like me better and I also don’t eat up everything they say and actually stand up for myself or put them in their place
WORD COUNT. 4.7K
WARNINGS. Implied age gap, smut, MDNI, 18+, grumpy!bucky, sunshine!reader, insecure reader, innocent reader, inexperienced reader, implied to be a virgin, ugly duckling reader (that a thing?), reader is implied to be plus sized a couple of times, body worship, tit worship, reader has a bush, bucky likes it when reader doesn’t shave, unprotected pnv, oral (f receiving), dom!bucky, big dick!bucky, crying during sex (good kind), praise kink, size kink, no use of y/n.
NOTES. gif credits @myhandsrtied thank you Stevie! Idek if you call them headcanons atp, I went straight off rails more than enough number of times, apologies in advance. Inspired by @lunexiax’s soldier boy hcs.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who you first meet when your sink decides to fuck shit up at 9 PM on a Tuesday. Water's everywhere, the plumber you called three hours ago is a no-show, and you're this close to just accepting your fate as someone who lives in a swamp now.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who answers his door looking like he just got back from something important. His suit jacket's half-off, tie loosened, hair a little messy. There's this beat where he just stares at you, an awareness creeps in, that you're in pajama shorts and a tank top with the world's messiest bun, along with the fact that you closely resemble a wet rat than a human right now. "My sink exploded," you blurt out, softening his expression.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who doesn't even hesitate. He's in your apartment within minutes, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You try very hard not to stare at his forearms while he’s elbow-deep under your sink, only to fail. Your gaze slips, you might possibly drool if you don’t get it together. "Pipe's cracked," he mutters, more to himself than you. "You got a wrench?" You don't. He disappears back to his place and returns with a whole toolbox. He is efficient, making it seem like it's effortless, like he's done this a thousand times. You don't know he's broken many things, only this time he's fixing something. When you try to thank him, he just grunts and says something about how the building super is useless anyway.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who you learn is a congressman, which explains the suits and the late nights. "You're a congressman and you're fixing my sink," you say, a little awed, delighted. He glances up at you, a tiniest quirk in his mouth, "well, the sink don’t care about that."
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who you start running into more after that. In the hallway, in the lobby, at the mailboxes. You're all sunshine and bright greetings, asking how his day was, if that bill he mentioned passed, did he see that the bodega down the street had started carrying those good empanadas? And he's... grumpy. Tired. Answers in grunts and short sentences. But he always answers. Always looks at you.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who you bake cookies for the next week, chocolate chip with sea salt, still warm when you knock on his door. He opens it looking suspicious, like it might be someone selling him something. Only for his face to visibly soften when he learns it's just you holding out this little plate covered in foil and saying, "thank you for saving me from my sink last Tuesday." He takes them. Stares at them, and then at you like you've just done something completely insane. "You didn't have to do this," he says. With a smile in your lips, you're backing away already, telling him to enjoy. What you miss is the way he stands there in his doorway holding those cookies like they're precious, a redness creeping up to his neck and a smile curving his lips.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who mentions the cookies the next time he sees you. You're both getting mail and you're rambling about your day, about your coworker. When he says, "the cookies were good," you light up so bright he has to look away. "Yeah? I wasn't sure if you'd like them, I know some people think the sea salt is weird, but I think it really brings out the —" Mid-sentence, you stop flustered, recognizing your rambling. Bucky's almost smiling. "They were good," he repeats. If you were smiling the rest of the day, well, he doesn't know that.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who you end up staying with when your power goes out during a storm. The whole building's dark except for his place. Backup generator, he explains when you knock, shivering a little in the hallway. "Sorry, I just — my phone's dead and I have this work thing tomorrow morning. I really need to set an alarm, so if I could maybe just..." He's stepping aside, before you even finish the sentence.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who makes you tea while you sit on his couch, wrapped in the throw blanket he'd tossed at you without a word. His apartment is nice. Lived-in but neat, books on the shelves, a few photos you can't quite make out from here. "Sugar?" he asks. Cocooned in the warmth, you nod. When he hands you the mug, his fingers brush yours and linger there for just a second, heat spreading up your arm. You fall asleep halfway through some documentary he put on to fill the silence, head lolling against the armrest. Bucky drapes the blanket over you and spends the rest of the night pretending he isn’t watching the way your face softens in sleep.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who helps you with grocery bags one afternoon when he catches you struggling with six bags at once. His phone is pressed between his ear as he takes all six bags from you, the metal arm making it look easy. He follows you to your door, while still remaining on the call, giving you this look like he can't decide if he's mildly annoyed or happy to help. The person on the phone is talking about polling numbers, when you mouth thank you, starting to leave, to get out of his hair, but he catches your wrist. Metal fingers wrap around, cool against your skin, a proper smile on his face.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who watches you sometimes through your window without meaning to. It's not intentional, not at first anyway. His window faces yours across the courtyard and you never close your blinds. He just happens to glance over one evening, nursing a whiskey, contemplating how badly his day went. You're just existing. Dancing a little to music he can't hear, oversized t-shirt hitting mid-thigh. You're so unselfconscious it makes his chest tight. His mind blanks for one whole second, seeing you bend over to pick something up, thinking you're not wearing anything underneath. The blood in his body heads south so fast he feels almost lightheaded. Then, he realises you're indeed wearing panties, just that they're the same colour as your skin.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who gets irrationally angry about it. If he can see you like this, anyone can. What if someone else is watching? What if someone sees you like this, sees what's his — He has to stop that thought right in its tracks, the possessiveness of it, the wanting. You're not his. You're his neighbor who smiles too much, brings him cookies and doesn't seem to notice that he's fucking obsessed with you. Your sunshine warmth seeps under his skin, makes the grumpy exterior thaw, until he feels what is … softness. He hates it. He craves it.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who shows up at your door three minutes later, knocking maybe a little too hard. You answer looking confused and adorable, still in that t-shirt, so pure he has to actively force his eyes to stay on your face. "You need to close your blinds," he says, voice rough, desperation slipping past. You blink at him in confusion. "Your blinds. You need to close them," he clarifies. You look even more confused, glancing back at your window and then at him. Now Bucky is scrambling. He's never scrambled for words in his fucking life, but right now his brain isn't working and all he can think about is the curve of your thighs and — "Too much sunlight," he blurts out. "It's bad for your furniture. The sun damage. And your eyes. Light pollution. It's a problem in the city, you should really —" He's rambling. Bucky never rambles.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who watches you watch him, this little furrow between your brows like you're trying to figure him out. Soon, a smile breaks into your face, metal fingers flexing against his side. Were you always this pretty? Where were you all his life? "You're worried about my furniture?" You sound delighted, charmed even, at your neighbour apparently worrying about your coffee table and couch. You reach out to pat his bicep like he's an overgrown puppy with muscles, this affectionate little gesture that makes him stop breathing completely. "That's really sweet, Bucky." Your hand is so small on his arm, the heat of it, he feels through his sleeve. "I'll close them, okay?" You're laughing a little. Bucky needs to leave before he does something absolutely dumb like kiss you or push you back into your apartment and show you exactly why those blinds need to stay closed.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who lies in bed that night, a bed he'd made, staring at your window, dark now. Blinds closed, like you promised. He can't see you now because of his stupid jealousy. He lies there like an idiot thinking about the glimpse he got of your legs, the soft skin of your inner thighs, wondering if you're as soft everywhere else, what sounds you'd make if he — He groans and throws an arm over his eyes.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who decides to just drop by the next day. No reason whatsoever, he's just being neighborly. All of it dissolves when you open the door in one of those oversized hoodies that swallows you whole, legs bare again, inviting his gaze like a touch. He's definitely staring. "Bucky, hi!" You seem happy to see him, stepping aside to let him in. "Just wanted to check on you," he mutters, a lie. He wanted to see you, but he can't exactly say that, can he? Your voice is chirpy as you move towards the kitchen, insisting him to drink something. He should say no. He should leave. "Coffee's good."
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who sits in your kitchen while you make his coffee, unable to stop looking at your legs. You're padding around barefoot, humming under your breath. Every time you reach for something, your hoodie rides up a little more, testing him. When you sit down across from him on the couch, your legs stretch out, thighs spreading against the cushions. Bucky has to take a long drink of his too-hot coffee just to have something to do with his hands. He tries not to think about the way your thighs spread, thicker at the top, skin he wants to sink his teeth into.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who you catch staring after a while. You glance down at yourself before bringing your eyes back to him, "is there something on my thighs?" You sound so genuinely confused, a little concerned, trying to look for whatever he's seeing. It's so frustrating, he wants to put his head in his hands. He wants you to be at least doing this on purpose, to know exactly what you're doing to him, for you to be some kind of temptress in disguise. At least then this would make sense. But you're not. You're just you, perfectly maddeningly sincere and innocent, asking if you've got something on your legs. "No," he forces the word out. You're still looking at him, waiting. He sighs, "there's nothing on your thighs." He needs to get out of here before he confesses that he'd indeed like there to be something on your thighs — specifically, his hands, his mouth, his cum. He finishes the coffee in one scalding gulp and stands up, thanking you. Already resigned to the fact that he'll be jerking off to the mental image of your thighs later. Again.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who gets invited to quiz night at some bar. He knows he should say no, he has early meetings, a PR team that would have a stroke if he just showed up somewhere unvetted. But you're looking at him with those bright, hopeful eyes, saying it would be good for his campaign, he could mingle with constituents, show them he's approachable and present. "They'd love you," you say, like it's that simple. He wants to tell you it doesn't work like that. He wants to tell you no. "What time?" he asks instead, your smile worth every headache this is going to cause.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who shows up, and immediately regrets showing up, not because of the people there. They're fine, he can do this in his sleep. But you're there with your stupidly cheerful friends, smiling bright and unapologetic. There's some bartender who keeps finding excuses to talk to you, giving you free drinks, leaning across the bar when he hands them over, smiling too much, getting on his nerves. You come back to the table with armfuls of cocktails, setting them down and tell your friends, "the bartender's so nice, he gave us all of these for free." You've got this soft, awed expression like you can't quite believe in human kindness.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who has to watch one of your friends lean over and say, "babe, he was hitting on you." You just laugh, shaking your head, "no, he was just being nice." "He was definitely trying to score," your other friend says. You're still shaking your head, taking a sip of your drink. "Why would he hit on me? I'm just... " you trail off. Bucky's gripping his beer so hard he's surprised the glass doesn't shatter. Nothing about you is just. You're the most magnificent creature he's ever seenc, charming without trying, perfectly sweet, this sunshine thing that makes him want to be better. And you don't even know it.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who can't be in love with you. It wouldn't be fair. You're too innocent for someone like him, someone who's been through what he's been through, done what he's done. You deserve better. You deserve someone who doesn't have his history, doesn't have this much blood on his hands, and someone who isn't already thinking about all the ways he wants to ruin you.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who you cook for one evening, insisting he needs a real meal, something other than the takeout containers you've seen in his trash. He sits at your kitchen and watches you move around your space. You're telling him about someone who apparently hit on you at work. "But I don't think he was, you know? I think everyone's just seeing things that aren't there." You glance back at him, laughing a little, real confusion over your face, "like, why would someone hit on me?" He's heard girls do this before, back in the forties. Batting their lashes, playing coy, fishing for compliments. But you're not playing. You’re perplexed, brow furrowed, like the idea of someone wanting you is genuinely baffling.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who stands up, comes around the counter to pull you toward the couch. You make a little surprised sound but follow him. When he sits you down and faces you, there's an intensity in his eyes he's not had in years, never having cared enough. "What's so unbelievable about a guy hitting on you?" You blink at him, still confused, "have you seen me?" "Yes, that's why you gotta explain it to me," he says immediately, leaning closer. You're flustered, from his words or the proximity or his mere presence, he doesn't know. Words tumble out of you, about high school, about always being the friend, the ugly duckling, guys talking to your prettier friends instead. "I was just sorta there, you know. So I just… can’t believe someone would want to talk to me willingly."
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who feels something crack in his chest. "I talk to you plenty," he says. You smile at that, soft and a little sad, "yeah, but you're Bucky." He's always wanted to be Bucky. Having lived many lives, having taken more, he's wanted nothing to be called just Bucky. But, his heart clenches at the way you say it, like he's somehow different, separate, not a real option. "I'm also a guy," he says, the words slipping past him. You go still, "well, yeah. I guess you are. You have... male stuff." He can't help it, can't help the way a laugh tears out of him. With you joining, the tension breaks for just a second. Bucky reaches out, finger hooking under your chin, tilting your face up to his, "do you know how much I like you?"
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who watches your breath catch, your pupils dilate, "...no." Your voice is so quiet. "Do you wanna know?" He asks. Pulse flutters in your neck, the soft skin hiding nothing to his eyes, you nod. "Can I show you?" His fingers are still on your skin, holding your gaze. "Yes," you breathe.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who kisses you like he's been thinking about it for months, hungry, possessive and a little — no, a lot — desperate. Your hands come up to his chest, fisting in his shirt, making this sweet little sound against his mouth that he swallows and pulls you closer. Into his lap, legs on either side of his hips. The second you're straddling him, he can feel how hot you are through the thin fabric of your leggings.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who keeps kissing you the next day, and the day after that. It takes nearly a week before things go further. Both of you on his couch, making out like teenagers, his hands roaming you everywhere, your waist, your hips, sliding under your shirt to feel your skin. When he lays you back and settles between your legs, you're already breathing hard, already wanting. He kisses down your throat, across your collarbone, down to your breasts. When he gets your shirt off and sees you in your simple cotton bra, he's never wanted anything more in his life.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who takes his time with you. Kissing every inch of skin he reveals, sucking marks into your shoulders and the tops of your breasts, licking across your nipples until you're whimpering. Your hands are in his hair, tugging. When he bites down gently on the underside of your breast, you gasp so pretty he has to do it again. Harder. He mouths at your tits, tongue swirling around one nipple while his fingers pinch the other, gentle then firmer when you arch and moan his name. You let him, shy but trusting, fingers threading through his hair. He doesn't slow his ministrations until you're squirming beneath him.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who works his way down your stomach, kissing and biting, leaving a trail of marks that he wants to see later, wants to see blooming on your skin as proof that you're his. When he gets to the waistband of your shorts, he looks up at you. Sweat beading at your temples, you're panting and so fucking beautiful.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who is about to hook his fingers in your shorts when you sit up a little, catching his wrist. "Wait, let's not... not that." His smile drops, searching your face, as he asks "are you scared?" "No, of course not. I just — I haven't shaved," you sound so embarrassed, won't quite meet his eyes. Bucky's trying to figure out what the problem is, because he doesn't see one. "I don't care about that, sweetheart." "No, Bucky — I mean, I've never shaved. Like, ever. So it's probably —" He kisses you, cutting off whatever you were about to say. Kisses you until you're breathless and melting back into the couch. "That's even better," he murmurs against your mouth, sliding your shorts down, enthralled by the soft damp spot covering your panties.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who parts your thighs to look at your bare cunt, slick, swollen, soft hair covering your mound, glistening in your arousal. Bucky feels like he's going to lose his fucking mind, heart trying to beat out of his ribs. He leans down to press his nose against you. You smell like want, sleep and something uniquely you. When his lips brush against the soft curls, you make a choked sound above him. He parts your folds with his thumbs, tongue tracing the seam before exposing them more to his eyes.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who licks through your cunt slowly, tasting you for the first time and groaning at how sweet you are, how wet. Your hands fly to his hair, gripping hard, thighs trying to close around his head but he holds them open with his hands, spreading you wider. A needy, desperate sound parts from you when his mouth finds your clit, hood pulled back with his thumb, as he sucks it in. The sound goes straight to his cock, so he does it again. And again.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who eats you out like he's starving for it. Tongue fucking into you, lapping at your entrance, circling your clit and then flattening his tongue against it, while you writhe and sob, all the while his nose is buried in your curls so he can smell and taste everything. You're so responsive, so sensitive, already so close. When he slides one thick, calloused finger inside you, you clench around him so tight he has to close his eyes and breathe through it.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who works you through your first orgasm with his mouth and fingers, feeling you pulse, gush, actual tears streaming down your face while you sob his name. He keeps licking you through it, gentler now, until you're shaking and pushing at his head, overwhelmed. Only then does he pull back, kissing your inner thighs, the soft mound with curls of hair now impossibly wet, resting his head there while you come down.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who doesn't push for more that night. He holds you while you catch your breath, curl into his chest, hide your face in the crook of his neck. He wordlessly presses a kiss to your temple, understanding that whatever happened here was above needing words.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who is fucking obsessed with your body now that he's tasted you, seen you bare. The soft curves, the way your thighs shake when you cum, the dark hair between your legs that he wants to bury his face in every single day for the rest of his life. He makes you promise not to shave, ever, tells you he loves you like this — natural, soft, real. "Please don't change a thing," he murmurs against your stomach, kissing the slight swell there. "You're perfect. Every inch of you is fucking perfect." He maps your body with his hands, learning what makes you gasp, what makes you moan. The weight of your breasts in his palms, the give of your hips when he grips them, the way you taste when he licks the sweat from your collarbone. He's never been this obsessed with someone, never wanted to memorize every detail, every sound, every reaction.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who invites you over the next evening, cooking for you, feeding you. You know where this is heading. So does he. When he kisses you this time, it's softer. Sweeter. He takes his time stripping you down, kissing every new piece of skin he reveals, whispering things against your body about how beautiful you are, and how good you are for him. He stresses how long he's wanted this, since the day you knocked on his door. "I was a wet rat that day," you say. "The prettiest wet rat," he replies.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who lays you out on your bed, admiring your naked form, wanting and looking at him with so much trust, he forgets what he was doing for a second. "You sure?" Collecting himself, he asks you, even though he's so hard it hurts, even when he wants you more than he's ever wanted anything. "I'm sure," you whisper, reaching for him.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who fucks you — no, makes love to you — for the first time like you're precious. Slow and deep, watching your face the whole time, reading every micro-expression. You're so tight around him, wincing when he first pushes inside, walls clamping, soft tears bordering your eyelashes. He freezes, your tears stopping him, voice pained he asks, "you okay?" "Yeah, just — you’re a little big," you try to laugh, though a sniffle follows. He kisses you, stays still until you relax around him, until you're the one rocking your hips and asking for more.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who starts pumping into you that has you clutching at his shoulders, his back, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks. He wants them, your marks. He wants to wear your claim on him. When you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him deeper, he groans your name, "fuck, you feel so good. So perfect. My perfect girl."
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who watches you fall apart underneath him, face contorting with pleasure, tears gathering in your eyes again. He wants to memorize this. Committing to memory, exactly how you looked when you came on his cock for the first time. He glances down where you're joined, sees his cock disappearing into your cunt, the way your soft curls touch his everytime you join, glistening with your combined arousal. The sight makes him groan, thrust harder. "Look how pretty you are, takin' me so well." When he feels your pussy fluttering around him, squeezing him so tight he can barely move, he buries his face in your neck and groans. Three more deep thrusts and he's cumming too, spilling inside you with a low growl.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who stays inside you after, both of you panting and clinging to each other. Pulling back when he thinks you've come down from the high, he brushes the hair sticking to your forehead, and says, "I love you." Simple, truthful. You just... stop. Stop breathing, stop blinking. He can see you buffering, trying to process what he just said, and he huffs a quiet laugh, running his hands up and down your sides, touch both cold and warm on your skin. "Breathe, sweetheart."
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who watches you come back online slowly, and you're smiling. This huge, incandescent smile that covers your whole face, making him fall even harder. "You know, I have a huge crush on you," you blurt out. A soft smirk plays up his face, "yeah?" "Yeah. I think — I think I'm in love with you too." His smirk becomes a real smile, soft and genuine, as he kisses you again.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who turns into someone completely different after that. His staff notices too. He's less grumpy now, less short-tempered. He smiles more. He takes lunch breaks at home, which he never did before, and comes back looking suspiciously relaxed. When someone finally gets brave enough to ask if he's seeing someone, he just grunts and changes the subject. But there's a lightness to him now that wasn't there before.
NEIGHBOUR!BUCKY who is completely domesticated by the end of the first month. He cooks you breakfast, fixes everything in your apartment without being asked, carries your groceries, rubs your feet when you've had a long day. You walk into his place like it's belongs to you too, steal his hoodies, leave your things scattered around his apartment. He loves the evidence of you in his space. So much that he sometimes find it absurd, the need for two separate apartments, why he should be your neighbour still.
BOYFRIEND!BUCKY who you catch staring at you constantly, while you're reading, while you're cooking, while you're just being you. "What?" you ask, laughing. He shakes his head, mirroring your laugh, "nothing. Just lookin' at my girl." You smile every single time, the soft one that says you're flustered, happy, even though he says it almost daily now. He loves that he can still make you react like that, how it gets to you even now. He especially loves that you're still a little shy with him sometimes, even though he knows your body as well as you do now, maybe more.
BOYFRIEND!BUCKY who goes from grumpy congressman to soft, devoted partner, and everyone who knows him is baffled by the transformation. But he doesn't care what they think. He's got you, curled up on your shared couch in one of his shirts, smiling at him like he hung the moon. And for the first time in longer than he can remember, he's not anything else. He's just... happy.
MY MASTERLIST!
EXTRAS. Are these hcs? Are these porn with plot? Are these kie’s yet another dumb way of saying she loves Bucky? Who knows…
