a/n i hope everyone’s been well! I don’t know what this is but i hope you like it <3
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
Bucky was freshly out of shower. He was just in a pair of sweatpants as he looked for his blue henley around the bedroom. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, walking to the living room.
“Dollface, have you seen my blue henl-” He was about to finish his question when he saw the answer right in front of him.
You were sitting on the couch with Alpine next to you, watching tv. Your hair was a little messy and you were wearing his blue henley.
Only if you didn’t look so adorable in it.
“You were looking for your henley?” You asked a little shyly as he walked to the couch, sitting next to you.
“Yes but I don’t think I want it anymore.” He said and pulled you to his lap. You snuggled up to his chest, wrapping your arms around his bare torso.
“Since somebody is looking so adorable in it.” He chuckled and leaned in to kiss you. Your hands went to his cheeks as he squeezed your waist a little.
“My little henley thief.” He mumbled to your lips and you giggled. He started peppering kisses all over your face. You giggled again and squeezed your eyes shut.
“You look pretty. My pretty girl,” He smiled and kissed your lips again. You put your head on his shoulder. You two stayed like that for a while, he listened to your breathing while Alpine sat next to you two.
He loved little moments like this. He loved these little, calm moments when he could hear your heartbeat, feel you in his arms.
When he looked at you after a few minutes. Your eyes were closed, he could see you were about to fall asleep.
“Babydoll, let’s go to bed.” He said and lifted you up in bridal style. You buried your head in the crook of his neck and kissed his neck slowly.
He put you on the bed and you got under the covers. He laid down next to you, pulling you to his chest.
“My sleepy thief.” He chuckled and you smiled, leaning forward to kiss his dimple.
“I love you, pretty girl. I love you so much,” He whispered and kissed your forehead. You kissed his chest and closed your eyes.
Can I ask for Bucky x Reader shopping for wedding rings?
You absolutely can!
Words: 320 (For you, I make an exception) / gif @wintersbucky
A Kiss To Build a Dream On
“Sweetheart, what about this one?”
Bucky points to a two-carat solitaire that the salesperson holds out. You wrinkle your nose at the price as you hear him sigh.
“You might have lost count at the number of rings we’ve looked through, but I haven’t,” Bucky quips with a flash of teeth as he smiles. “So, no to oval shapes then.”
“I don’t dislike them,” you protest, the salesperson placing the ring back into the slot. “It was expensive. You know I don’t need anything flashy.”
“I know you don’t,” he answers, placing a quick kiss on your lips. “But let’s find you something special.”
“You’re my something special,” you murmur, trailing over to a glass case as your eyes settle on a ring. At the sight, your breath catches in your throat. It’s understated and beautiful, the yellow gold matching the filagree in his arm.
His arm slides around your waist as he nuzzles you closer.
“Did we find a winner?” His voice is low as you feel the tears prick at your eyes as you nod.
“Good.” It’s a small sigh of relief as the ring is taken out for you to inspect.
Your eyes are wide in awe as Bucky’s hand slips it onto your finger.
“Perfect fit,” he praises, his eyes glassy with emotion as he sees your happy face. “We’ll take it.”
You let out a squeak of realization before the salesperson takes the ring to the front, pulling him toward the other case.
“We didn’t pick one for you,” you protest. “You need one too.”
“I don’t think we’ll find my ring here,” Bucky reminds you, tapping his metal fingers against the glass gently. “Shuri had some ideas for designs but she wants your input.”
“Really?” you ask, already thinking of what you want to design. “What if you hate it?”
“Well, then I have a lifetime with you ahead of me to love it.”
summary: bucky never talked much. he fell in love anyway.
Bucky wasn’t a man of many words.
And you noticed that fairly quickly. In fact, it was one of the first things you noticed about him when you first joined the team. Quiet, reserved, gentle Bucky Barnes wasn’t a man of many words.
But his eyes spoke volumes.
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
His gaze fell, “Not much to say.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
And you pushed him a lot to do so. Always asked him about the 40s and what he was like. You remembered asking if he was just as quiet then as he was now and Steve laughed from across the room saying, “You’re kidding right, Y/N? Buck was a real smooth talker.”
So, you teased him about that often. He didn’t like it, always said something about not being that guy anymore.
You reminded him that he could be any guy he wanted.
So, yeah, Bucky wasn’t a man of many words, but you two got close.
“I know you stole the remote, Buck.”
He circled around the kitchen counter, walking away from you.
“Is it because you don’t want to watch that Disney movie with me? I know you secretly like it and —“
“I don’t have the remote, Y/N.”
“Oh, yeah? Then what’s that hanging out of your pocket?”
You saw that little grin form on his face and you hurried forward and grabbed it before he could say another word.
He chased after you.
Then there were those times where he did thoughtful little things. Where he let his heart show through that thick wall of his and it made you realize just how much he spoke without speaking.
“Did you guys drink all the coffee again? Really? Does no one —“
Bucky handed you a cup.
“Two sugars, right?”
“Yeah and —“
“A dash of cream.”
That was until he added salt into your coffee one morning.
“We ran out of sugar!” he defended.
“So you added salt? Buck, that’s —“ you eyed him. “You did it on purpose, didn’t you?”
He took a sip of his coffee.
“Oh, you’re getting brave. I can —“
You grabbed his coffee and headed straight for your room.
He chased after you again.
So, yeah you two got close.
Bucky wasn’t a man of many words, but you two still got close.
He never let his walls down completely though. Never enough to let you know what he was feeling anyway, if he was hurt. It didn’t bother you so much until you realized he was always hurt, always hurting and that stung a little too much.
“Buck…can you let me in? Please?”
“We can talk tomorrow, Y/N.”
You sighed, standing outside his door.
“I don’t wanna talk tomorrow. I wanna…we don’t have to talk at all, Buck. I just wanna be with you right now.”
No response.
“Please?”
You’ll want to talk anyway, you practically heard and you sighed because it was true.
You knew you’d ask him a bunch of questions and Steve already told you — he already told you that Bucky liked his space. That he got distant sometimes when the world got too much or people got too much for him. Sometimes his mind got too much and Bucky wanted a break. You slid down against his door and sat there for ten minutes hoping for a change of heart.
You weren’t leaving though.
“Hey, Buck, how about this?”
You continued when he didn’t respond. You knew he was listening.
“How about we create a system? One that doesn’t involve you talking or me asking. It can just be...our thing. It can our thing, Buck.”
Nothing.
“And we don’t have to do it all the time. Just when we need to. When I need to know things and you don’t feel like giving. Think you’ve already given too much, don’t ya think?”
Nothing again.
You sighed.
But then you heard the door open and you fell back a little. Bucky looked down at you, what system? his eyes read and you patted the ground in front of you, signaling for him to sit.
He sat.
“Okay so, two taps anywhere like this,” you pressed your fingers against the back of his hand twice. “Means you’re okay. That you’re fine. Three taps, however,” you pressed three times against his skin. “Means you’re not. That you’re not okay.”
He stared at your hands.
“And I don’t have to explain why?”
“Never, Buck. Not unless you want to.”
You tapped him four times.
“What’s that?”
“Four taps means you miss me.”
Bucky got up.
“Aw, c’mon Buck. Humor me a little!”
You didn’t miss the little grin on his face.
Somehow you thought he’d give you two taps just for that comment.
Bucky wasn’t a man of many words, so he liked the system.
He first used it three days after it was created.
He’d woken up and strolled in for his first cup of coffee. Wasn’t the least bit surprised when he found you already there, cup ready in hand with eggs to match because coffee isn’t breakfast, Buck. He’d usually argue about it. Coffee’s the only breakfast, he’d say, but he didn’t have that in him today.
Maybe it was because he hadn’t come out of his room in three days. Or maybe it was because you hadn’t said anything to him yet, but Bucky didn’t argue. He just found himself tapping your hand twice when he reached for the cup.
You grinned.
Bucky liked that.
And you found that was the one he used the most.
Two taps.
Two taps whenever he went off to bed. Two taps when you played that Godforsaken Disney movie for the 5th time that week. Two taps when Thor made some stupid comment about wars during dinner one night.
It was two taps.
Always two taps.
So you were more than a little surprised when your first three taps came.
It was right after a mission. A long one. One that Steve had gotten hurt on because Bucky hadn’t gotten there fast enough. It wasn’t his fault though. Wasn’t anyone’s fault because everyone was too preoccupied with the bad guys at hand to notice the knife coming for Steve’s left side. Bucky took the blame though. Beat himself up about till he got into the jet.
The words were on the tip of your tongue, are you okay? You wanted to say it. Wanted everyone to say it because how could they not notice?
You didn’t though.
Instead you sat next to him and waited for him to say something, anything. At some point, you felt yourself giving up and drifting off until you felt his hand on your thigh.
He squeezed it three times.
You rested your head on his shoulder.
Then there was that time you left for six days. Fury had you and Natasha assigned to some undercover mission in London for the next six days. It took the whole six days, while the boys jetted off to New Orleans to deal with some asshole causing a ruckus in the city.
They came back in two.
“Buck!” you shouted, waking through the compound and dropping your bag at the front door.
“Buck, I’m back! Where are —“ you grinned, finding him resting at the bar stool in the kitchen. He was reading some file and you dropped your head onto his shoulder from behind.
“Hey, Buck. Miss me?”
He stopped.
“No? Ouch, well, I missed you,” you turned your head, kissing his cheek. “Look, I even brought you back a keychain. Nothing fancy. Just has a cat waving the British flag and when I saw it, I thought of you. The cat looks grumpy.”
Bucky didn’t say anything and you removed your head from his shoulder. He must be really into the file, you thought and you didn’t want to bother him so you left the keychain on the table and turned around to head to your room.
Bucky grabbed you and tapped your waist four times.
You launched yourself at him and covered his face with a series of kisses. Everywhere. Anywhere you could reach and each one was followed by a string of I knew it, I knew it, I knew it’s.
Bucky never wanted to use the four taps again.
Except he did. All the time.
Bucky wasn’t a man of many words, but he thinks he was starting to fall for you.
Because he did four taps whenever you left the room for too long. And when Steve briefed them for too long that one time about some mission, Bucky found himself tapping your leg four times even though you were right there.
Right there. You were right there.
He even recalled nudging his nose against yours four times when you fell asleep on him during that damn Disney movie the previous week.
“Miss you,” he mumbled.
But it was okay because when you woke up the next morning, you nudged your nose against his cheek four times.
Bucky woke up with a bright gleam in his eyes.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“Missed you, obviously.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, Buck.”
And then there came a time where Bucky decided he wanted to create a new one. A new tap.
Bucky wasn’t a man of many words, but he knows he finally found love.
“Sweetheart, damn, can you slow —“
Because you were stuffing popcorn in his mouth. You were laying in front of him, in between him to be more exact, and throwing popcorn behind like it was nothing.
Most of it didn’t even make it into his mouth.
“Shh, this is the best part.”
“You say that everytime. We’ve seen this movie a —“
“Shh, Buck!”
Bucky laughed and pulled you up so you were closer to his chest. It wasn’t anything special that made him realize it. Thinks it was the familiarly and the comfortability that made him put the pieces together, but Bucky leaned down and pressed his lips against your hair three times. Just three and that was enough for you to tear your eyes away from the screen and look up at him.
“Buck?”
He didn’t say anything.
“Did I throw too much popcorn again? You know I get excited when Lucifer gets on screen. He reminds me so much of —“
Bucky tightened his arm around you and tapped his thumb against your stomach once.
You knitted your brows.
“One? Buck, one doesn’t mean anything. We don’t have —“
“One means I love you.”
“What?”
“One tap means I love you. It means I love you, Y/N.”
It took a few seconds for your brain to register but once it did you jumped up in his lap and turned to face him. Bucky's sure the popcorn bowl had spilled all over the floor, but he didn’t care. Not when his girl looked at him like that and leaned in to kiss him like that too. So fiercely and full of love.
“Okay, okay, baby! I said one tap.”
“One tap gets you a million kisses each time.”
“Mhm. I’m okay with that.”
You giggled, I know you are, you mumbled against him and kissed him a little harder. He felt brighter, more happy and he knew he wasn’t one to say much, but his eyes always did and that was enough for you to pull back for a quick second before leaning in to give him one, long, seething kiss.
One kiss.
And at that moment, Bucky knew the kind of guy he wanted to be.
For the 1.5k celebration 🍾✨💕CONGRATS!! how about teaching Bucky how to bake?? Specifically, maybe laminating dough because he has always wondered how croissants get to flaky and buttery. Such a big fan!! 💖💖🥰
bucky barnes x f!reader (fluff)
a/n: hello my dear nonnie!! thank you!! and i LOVE this prompt. i enjoy having a teeeensy bit of specificity to get me started 💕💕
“the most important part,” you say, smacking the rectangular pastry dough with your rolling pin, “is to keep it cold.”
bucky turns the dough by ninety degrees as you keep hitting it. “right, for the layers.”
you smile, satisfied with the information your boyfriend-slash-baking student has retained. “even the heat from your hands can be enough to melt the butter, so we refrigerate between laminations.”
he nods.
you add, with a stifled giggle, “and that’s why it’s so helpful that one of us has a cold, dead, metal arm.”
“hey.”
a sharp pinch to your waist makes you squeak. “it’s true!”
you really should stop poking so much fun at your super soldier, who hoists you onto the counter with ease. the realization that some flour will get on your butt has you groaning into his mouth.
"jamie.”
as he kisses you, his vibranium fingers try sneaking under your shirt. “i’ll show you cold—”
"no!" you yelp.
it takes three whiny shoves at his elbow to prevent his metal hand from sending shivers across your skin. your shared laughter fades gradually.
“was that too mean?”
"nah." he graces you with a smile. “you’re fine, doll.”
you let your nails skid along the ridges of his forearm, emitting a small tinkling noise. “it really is a baker's dream. you don’t even need an oven mitt.”
bucky shakes his head at your joke, but maintains steady eye contact when you cup his cheeks.
“just another reason why i’m so lucky to have you.”
— — —
part of my 1.5k follower celebration!
— — —
masterlist
ok so I walked past road maintenance today and saw the broadest worker I've ever seen, like biceps bigger than my head and sleeve tattoos, like so beefy I choked and went jesus christ on a stick. thank god for masks bc my mouth was open like a fool.
basically here's an award 🏆💕 for your beautiful writing that's trained my brain to immediately think about beefy construction worker!Bucky
Imagine: Beefy construction worker Bucky asking you out.
You hated the noise outside your place. The constant drilling, banging, and the loud, obnoxious chatter from men across the street. Maybe if they shut up for five minutes, they could actually get some work done. At this rate, they’re going to be here all summer.
Until a few days ago, you naively believed that construction men catcalling women was a joke, some stereotype blown out of proportion.
You were very mistaken.
The things they yelled at you as you crossed the street had you almost jogging to your car, your face burning from embarrassment. Hands shaking from anger. You wish you could say something but you're outnumbered.
Each day it happened, you could never get used to it. Dread filled your stomach like lead, and you started walking with your head down, avoiding eye contact.
You were hastily making your way to your car when you bumped into a brick wall. A warm, breathing brick wall. You stumbled back, losing your balance. The wall grasped your arm, keeping you from falling back into the dew covered grass.
“Sorry about that, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“It’s okay.” Your voice trails off when you connect with a pair of stunning blue eyes. His dark, damp hair hanging in clumps over his forehead.
“No, it’s my fault-“ You apologize, losing yourself in his kind eyes. The spell broken when you hear a low whistle and a vulgar insult is lobbed at you from an older balding man across the street. He's one of the worst, the sound of his grating voice makes you feel nauseated.
You turn back man in front of you. Looking past his tan tattooed biceps, you see the familiar set of construction pants. He's one of them. You're upset and mortified, picturing them having a laugh at your expense later.
"Why can't you guys just leave me alone? Yanking your arm out of his loose grip, you flee to your car.
“Wait! Hold up, what’s wrong?” He asks, stopping when he hears the jeers from across the street. He watches your hands tremble as you turn the steering wheel.
The next day, you steel yourself to face another round of insults but when you pass the site, a whole new crew is working.
That’s...interesting.
Mostly new. You spot a large familiar figure leaning against a pile of wood, tossing his hard hat between his hands, stopping every few seconds to look around the street.
He combed his hair back today, you like it. You blink at that thought, mentally shaking it off.
You’re almost in your car when you hear the sounds of boots hitting the pavement. A rush of nerves swoops through you and you almost drop your keys when you hear his deep, smooth voice.
“Good morning.”
“Morning.” You reply curtly, your tone sharper than you intended. If he notices, he doesn’t react.
“I want to apologize for those idiots if I had known, I would have put an end to it weeks ago.” He apologizes, his eyes never leaving your face.
Bucky had lost his shit yesterday when he found out what they had been saying to and about you.
Bucky wipes his forehead off with his arm, you notice the black and white trees inked into bicep. An army tattoo across his forearm.
He’s panting from the jog across the street, dog tags visible under his thin white cotton shirt sticking to his chest.
“I was thinking that maybe I could take you out sometime?”
His hopeful blue eyes are warm and inviting. Still. You’re wary and he could be playing you. . And you refuse to get hurt again.
“I don’t go out with strangers.” You retort, ignoring the pang in your heart when his face drops.
“Oh, okay.” Disappointment clear in his softening tone, the corner of his lip lifting briefly.
You drive away, watching him walk back to his crew, his steps slower, his head bowed.
The next morning, he greets you from across the street. “Do you go out with people you do know?”
“I- Maybe.”
“My name is James Buchanan Barnes, everyone calls me Bucky. You can call me whatever you like-.”
Slamming your door shut, you see him clutch his hand to his chest. “I’ll try again tomorrow.” He shouts before you turn the corner.
Each morning, he tells you a new fact about himself. Occasionally one or two of his crew chimes in with embarrassing stories that have Bucky grumbling under his breath with a quaint blush on his cheeks.
You’re really trying to not fall for this man.
But he’s not playing fair.
A few days later.
“I read a lot, I’m not great with computers, and I can play-” You pretend that you’re looking for something in your glove box but crack your window to hear him talk about the rest of his interests.
He calls out, “I know you can hear me, what else do you want to know? Oh c’mon-” You pulled out, tires screeching. He waves at you as you turn the corner.
The next morning.
“I have a cat named Alpine.” Bucky holds up his phone, showing off dozens of pictures of his cat. Most of them of the fluffy white fur ball sleeping. Your resolve almost breaks then and there.
One cloudy afternoon.
“I can cook.” He turned at the scoffing behind him. Hissing shut up before veering back to you. “I can cook two things but I do it so good you’ll never want to eat anything else.”
Two days later.
“One date.” You turned him down so quickly, his friends laughed, the one Steve you think he’s called almost choked on his turkey club.
“Half a date.” He never explained what half a date was, you were close to asking, but you held back.
A week later.
“A coffee, you like coffee?” You shrugged, and he pumped his fist, muttering progess.
“How about I put a cup of coffee on your car, I sit all the way over here and we talk?” You didn’t respond, pulling your seatbelt over your chest. “Is that a maybe?”
The next day.
A cup of coffee with a poorly drawn heart sits on the roof of your car, wisps of steam floating from the top. You wipe your hand down your face in a bid to hide your smile.
The street is eerily quiet, the men all staring at you. It’s unnerving and you duck your head.
Heading to your car, you stop wheen you see it.
You pivot on your heel, arms folded across your chest. Bucky’s standing on the corner with a matching cup in his hand.
“Look, one chance and if you really don’t like me, I’ll leave you alone.”
“One date.” You break into giggles when the men cheer, shouting finally and about damn time in between clapping Bucky on the back.
Buckys face glows, his smile making your heart flutter. "You won't regret this. I swear."
Series summary: Tied up in the criminal world your godfather has built, you have no reason to leave, until you find one in the man they call Southpaw.
Pairing: boxer!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word count: 4,765
Warnings: Angst with a happy ending. Descriptions of fighting and bodily harm. Mentions of a gun and death. Swearing.
A/N: The epic conclusion!! I hope this ending is satisfactory enough, and brings everyone some peace! I’m sorry it’s so long, but there was a lot I wanted to include. 😬 Thank you for all the support, feedback is always appreciated! Divider by @firefly-graphics. Happy reading! 💜
Bucky has made a lot of decisions in his life. A lot of important and life-altering decisions, but none compare when he decided he would leave you behind. After you walked out on him, Bucky knew he had no other choice, because as things were now, it was slowly killing him.
So, as he walks up to the ring at the Grandmaster’s gym, he doesn’t even bother to look for you, his mind already made up. He spent the last few weeks gearing up for tonight’s fight, throwing himself into his training with Sam in an attempt to distract from the unrelenting thoughts of you that plagued his mind.
“You got this,” Sam says confidently, firmly gripping Bucky’s shoulders and looking directly into the Southpaw’s eyes.
Bucky remains silent. He nods in agreement, but it’s just to appease the trainer.
— summary: sam had a theory for a while now, but it was torres’s comment which made bucky stop and rethink things for a second.
“dude, i heard her.” joaquin laughed. “she was talking to shuri and said it with every letter, ‘that man doesn’t know what he does to me’.”
the comment validated sam’s theory. bucky knew that because sam was staring at him pointedly and with eyes like that, there was no need for an 'i told you so’.
“i think you forgot how annoyingly handsome you are, sarge.” sam offers offhandedly.
— a/n: slight angst (bucky’s insecurities) but i back it up with enough fluff; there’s a good plot in here and maybe space for part two and three if you guys enjoy this piece. let me know! reblogs, comments and feedback are highly encouraged and much appreciated! (if there any mistakes in here, feel free to let me know).
— word count: 1k
◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦
sam had a theory for a while now, but it was torres’s comment which made bucky stop and rethink things for a second.
“dude, i heard her.” joaquin laughed. “she was talking to shuri and said it with every letter, 'that man doesn’t know what he does to me’.”
the comment validated sam’s theory. bucky knew that because sam was staring at him pointedly and with eyes like that, there was no need for an 'i told you so’.
“i think you forgot how annoyingly handsome you are, sarge.” sam offers offhandedly.
Series summary: Tied up in the criminal world your godfather has built, you have no reason to leave, until you find one in the man they call Southpaw.
Pairing: boxer!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word count: 2,410
Warnings: ANGST. Mild swearing?
A/N: The angst train has reached the station, ladies and gentlemen. Please don’t hate me too much. 😇 Thank you for all the support, feedback is always appreciated! Divider by @firefly-graphics Happy reading! 💜
The bright morning sun stirs you from your sleep the next morning. Phantom kisses and touches tingle your skin and paint a satisfied smile across your lips. With your eyes still closed, a purring hum resonates in the back of your throat from the heat of the man behind you. Blindly, you begin to graze gentle fingers over the arm that’s wrapped around you, holding you close. After several still moments of allowing yourself to bask in the rapture of having your Southpaw beside you, you eventually open your eyes and turn to face him.
The soft smile that graced your lips quickly falls at the sight of his blemished face; the cuts and bruises now gleaming in the morning rays. Tears well in your eyes, blurring your vision, but you still reach a hand out to him. Tender, featherlight touches brush over the large gash on his cheek, your thumb sweeping over the purpled skin under his eye, and your heart shatters all over again. It breaks for you and the man before you, and for the blooming love between you that barely had a chance to grow, because you know this can’t go on any longer.
The feel of your touch on his face rouses Bucky and his eyes flutter open to look at you; bluer than the ocean and brighter than the sun.
“Morning,” he says with a faint smile, voice deep and thick from sleep.
Blinking away the tears, you refocus your attention and return his smile. “Morning,” you softly reply.
As he scans over your features, Bucky can sense something is wrong. With a slight crease to his brow, he places a gentle hand on your cheek and asks, “Is everything okay?”
The question takes you a little off guard, but you should’ve known better. Even in the short amount of time the two of you have been seeing each other, Bucky has always been able to read you like a book, despite the effort you put into shielding your emotions.
You shake your head yes, but your eyes tell him no. Silently, he surveys you; face partly tucked into the soft pillow beneath your head, it does nothing to hide the sadness marring your features, or the regret behind your eyes.
“Well, if there’s something wrong, you know you can tell me, right, sweetheart?”
Again, you only nod, unable to speak just yet.The question does you more harm than good, and paired with the gentle stroke of his thumb along the apple of your cheek, you have to pinch your lips together to hold back the cry that’s bubbling up.
Bucky isn’t stupid. He knows you’re lying, but he doesn’t want to push you into talking about something if you aren’t ready yet. Instead, he pulls you close, leaning in to catch your lips for a chaste kiss before he’s pressing another one to your forehead, because as much as he doesn’t want to push you, he’s also too scared to find out why.
Laying together in the quiet of your bedroom, the silence thickens and grows in tension with every passing minute. Occasionally, you feel a gentle squeeze from Bucky’s arm that’s around you, and it only causes your chest to tighten that much more. Time passes too quickly as you try to enjoy the last moments of heavenly bliss with your Southpaw; your final goodbye an impending doom.
Eventually, Bucky reluctantly withdraws, telling you he has to meet with Sam. After dressing in silence, you walk him to your front door where he pauses.
His large hands swallow your cheeks, cupping your face as he intently gazes into your eyes. “I’ll see you later?”
Although he asks the question with confidence, you can hear the waver in his voice, the uncertainty at the end of it. The boyish sparkle you’ve grown to adore is no where to be found in his eyes; the cerulean dull despite glistening with unshed tears.
Swallowing around the lump in your throat, you nod and lie straight through your teeth when force a smile and say, “Of course.”
Bucky’s chest deflates, from relief or disappointment, he isn’t sure, but he closes his eyes, and brings you in for one final kiss.
As his tongue slips out to meet yours, there is no rush or urgency. The kiss is slow, sensual, both taking as much as you can from it. It’s everything you’ve ever promised to each other, and everything you can never form into words. It’s the kind of kiss that steals all the air from your lungs just to put it all back and reinvigorate you.
Fresh tears burn behind your eyes, and you have to pull away. Bucky looks to you with a small crinkle of concern to his brow, his hands gently smoothing over your hair, and you have a brief moment of panic. Just the mere idea of ending things sends you into a tailspin, and you almost think to pull him back to bed with you, lock the door and hide under the covers forever, but you hold strong.
With one last chaste kiss to his soft pink lips, you open the door and send him away, locking him out for good.
__________
One week.
It’s been one week since Bucky last saw you, held you, kissed you. He left your apartment knowing there was something wrong, knowing there was a possible finality behind your kiss, but he didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t bring himself to accept that you were pushing him away and ending everything.
He tried to find you, to talk with you and figure out why. If you loved him as much as you claimed to, then surely you wouldn’t push him away all because you were too afraid of your godfather? He’s told you time and time again he would do anything, anything, to keep you. But then, Bucky had to stop and ask himself, how could he be any better for you? His world just as dark and tangled as the one you desperately longed to escape from.
It made him angry.
Angry at you for ending things; angry at himself for letting himself fall for you; and angry at the world for the shitty hand of cards he’d been dealt.
But he couldn’t let go.
The feel of your lips lingered on his, the touch of your skin under his fingers, the sound of your laugh rang in his ears; memories of you taunted him day and night. It was a painful comfort, like broken glass all over his skin, and it nearly drove him into madness.
He gave you your space, but when he looked for you at his last match and didn’t find you, he couldn’t take it anymore.
He couldn’t let you go.
Slipping into the almost empty gym, you try to make yourself as invisible as possible. You’ve managed to stay away for nearly a week, but the next fiscal period is approaching and your godfather left some bank statements you need in his office. As soon as you enter the main gym, your eyes instantly scan the space for the Southpaw.
Over the last few days, he’s tried to contact you through text and phone calls, but all went unanswered. Then there was a night you saw him sitting outside your apartment building, waiting, and you quickly slid into the shadows before he noticed you. You turned around and spent the night at a friend’s place.
There hasn’t been a single moment since you said goodbye that you haven’t felt the deep gash of regret slicing through your heart, or the burn of guilt blistering over your skin. You’ve cried yourself to sleep nearly every night since you closed the door on your Southpaw, but you knew it was for the best.
Slowly, you open one of the double doors that leads to the basement and creep down the stairs, attempting to make as little noise as possible. The hallway is empty when you step over the threshold, and you let out a sigh of relief when you manage to slip into your godfather’s office unnoticed.
It only takes you a few minutes to gather what you need—a small stack of tax documents and some cash from the safe—and then you’re opening the door to leave. But just as you shut it behind you, a strong hand grabs your upper arm and pulls you into the dark medical room across the hall.
You instantly know who it is before they even turn on the light. Even in the dark, you know that touch; it’s been branded onto your skin since the first moment you felt it.
The light flickers on, and standing before you is the one man you’ve been avoiding and hiding away from. Even with the three feet of space between you, it feels like he’s right beside you; the sudden closeness after days of being apart is all consuming.
He’s silent; only staring at you as he seems to try and decipher if this is real or not. The rise and fall of his chest under his black t-shirt catches your attention, and so do the heavy bags that sit under his eyes. It crushes you to know that you did that to him, but you remind yourself you had to.
You wait anxiously for him to say something; your heart thundering away in your chest. You don’t dare to speak first, and even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t know what to say. The lump in your throat and the dry, sandpaper texture of your mouth and tongue wouldn’t allow it, anyways.
As he quietly figures out where to begin, Bucky can’t help but spend a moment taking you in. There’s a few more worry lines across your face, however, it does nothing to steal away from your unending beauty. But what stands out most is the hidden sadness that has returned to your eyes; the same sadness he saw the first time he met you. It’s a devastating fact, an indication that you’ve actually given up.
Finally, Bucky’s gravelly voice breaks the silence. “Why?”
If you weren’t already on the verge of tears by just seeing him, the sound of his voice alone, as broken and sad as it is, would be enough to have you sobbing. But you try to remain strong. You try to hold onto your resolve to prove what you did was right. So, you play dumb.
“Why what?”
He scoffs, unsurprisingly and as sarcastically as you imagined he would.
Bucky knows what you’re doing. He knows you’re deflecting and trying to downplay what you did, but he won’t let you get out of it that easy.
“You kiss me goodbye almost a week ago and I haven’t heard from you since,” he states, his tone remaining firm as he fights for answers. “Why?”
A deep breath, long and slow, is pushed from your lungs, steeling yourself for the inevitable confrontation. “Because,” you begin, swallowing thickly before continuing, “because I knew you wouldn’t walk away from this, so I had to. My godfather—“
“I told you I don’t care about that!” He exclaims, taking a step forward.
It’s the loudest he’s ever gotten with you out of anger, and it has your pulse racing and vision turning red around the edge.
“Well I do!” You shout back, chest heaving as you attempt to keep your breathing even. “Because this time it was a brass knuckle beating, God only knows what it’ll be next time, James!”
Bucky remains silent, his jaw relentlessly clenching as he tries to keep his emotions in check.
“So, that’s why, okay?” You snap. “That’s why I pushed you away, because I can’t watch my godfather hurt you again.”
Tired blue eyes take in your agitated, heartbroken figure, and Bucky collects himself before responding, “Your godfather may hurt me, but you’re the one killing me, sweetheart.”
Crestfallen, your brow sinks low and the tears that hovered over your lower lash line finally spill out and over your hot cheeks. You hate it. You hate what you’re godfather has done, you hate what you’ve done, but mostly you hate hearing what it’s done to Bucky.
Unable to move, you stay motionless against the wall behind you as Bucky’s large frame draws closer with every slow step he takes.
Bucky’s heart beats wildly inside his chest as he finally finds himself so close to you again; so close that all he’d have to do is reach his hand out and he’d be able to touch you. So, he does.
With slightly trembling hands, he takes a gentle hold of your face, thumbs brushing away the warm tears that slip down your cheeks, and he touches you like you’re still his. Like you’ll always be his.
“I’ve done a lot of dangerous and crazy shit in my life,” he begins, voice low and even, assured, “but falling for you, well that’s at the top of the goddamn list, sweetheart.”
He holds his heart out for you, bleeding and dying in his hands.
“I love you, Y/n.”
But still, you deny it.
“Please don’t do this, James,” you say, no louder than a whisper, your throat tight and sore from the pain. His face is a beautiful blur through the tears in your eyes as you gaze back at him. “Just let me go.”
Eyes closing, his forehead falls against yours as he lets out a devastated sigh, because he knows he’s lost you.
The feel of his hands burns your skin, the closeness of his body is suffocating, and you have to get away, because if you don’t, you know you’ll cave. You’ll fall into his arms knowing Bucky will catch you and it’s where you want to spend eternity, but you can’t.
“I have to go.”
Prying his hands off of you, you sidestep out of Bucky’s grasp and head for the door. Without another look in his direction, your fingers weakly curl around the brass knob and pull the door open.
You pause, turning your head to the side, eyes downcast to the floor as you quietly say, “Goodbye, James.”
Slipping through his fingers, again, Bucky helplessly watches as you leave. And as the door shuts, it’s the final nail in the coffin, the last crack in his heart that has it shattering to the floor, and Bucky finally knows what he has to do.
When you’re suddenly forced into the partying scene at your college campus by your roommate, you meet some of your school’s most notorious fraternity brothers. Unfortunately, one of them seems to have taken a liking towards you. His name? Bucky Barnes. Charming, bright blue eyes and dark brown hair that makes you want to run your fingers through it. And although you might not know it when you first meet him, he has a few secrets hidden up his sleeves. Will you be able to move past these secrets, or will you have to let whatever you had with him go?
[ fratboy!bucky barnes x fem!reader ]
chapter one: you flower, you feast
chapter two: keep it cool like iced tea
chapter three: losin’ grip on my doin’
chapter four: i’m yellow, he was blue
chapter five: once you go without it
chapter six: nothing else will do
chapter seven: crisp trepidation
chapter eight: stay forever?
♛ = smut (18+ !!!)
updates will be posted every week on tuesdays at 11 PM EST!
— summary: when bucky finaly returns from his mission, he finds you sleeping in his sofa and the apartment much different than when he left. much prettier, with a touch of home. apparently, while he was away you took his advice to “do what you want with the place, doll” seriously - or as a distraction - and now he got to come home to this.
bucky’s heart takes a leap and he stands there for a second, frozen in his spot.
— word count: 1.4k
— warnings: mentions of violence;
— a/n: i needed a scenario where bucky had a place of his own to call home, so here it is. your feedback is always encouraged and appreciated!
bucky’s mission lasts fourteen days and ten hours more than it was supposed to.
you both were very aware of that extra time.
you were aware as you worked, as you floated through his house without him and made yourself at home in the spaces that still smelled like him, as you worried for his safety and for sam’s as well—you knew the threat was bigger this time, you were here, after all.
bucky was aware in every sound of gunshot. his heart skipped a beat and his palms felt clammy, as if they tried to sweat, even though they couldn’t. he was aware of your absence with every open wound that ached—a physical reminder that your hands weren’t there to suture him, to caress his hair and whisper sweet nothings against his temple.
the ghost of your apple lips touching the crinkle on his eyes as you said anything was what kept him safe at night.
he smiled whenever he thought about your goodbyes.
they might not be butterflies, but there was certainly something alive and fluttering inside his ribs at the thought of you.
Series summary: Tied up in the criminal world your godfather has built, you have no reason to leave, until you find one in the man they call Southpaw.
Pairing: boxer!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word count: 2,538
Warnings: Angst. Description of fighting/boxing. Mention of blood and injury. Pierce and Rumlow are d*cks. Mild swearing. Sam just wants to do his job. 😔
A/N: I’m sorry, but we knew the angst was coming. 😪 Thank you for all the support, feedback is always appreciated! Divider by @firefly-graphics Happy reading! 💜
A loud banging on your office door startles you. The pen you hold clatters to your desk as your other hand clutches at your pounding heart. Two more hard knocks and then Sam Wilson is bursting through your door, face as hard as stone.
“Come on,” he mumbles, nodding his head towards the door. His gaze falls to the floor, seemingly unable to look you in the eye.
“What’s going on?” You ask as you slowly stand from your desk.
“Your godfather wants you upstairs, now.”
“What for?”
“Barnes,” Sam replies. “Your godfather has been asking questions and he didn’t like the answers he was given,” he states glumly, finally meeting your gaze and you pick up on a hint of guilt darkening the brown of his eyes.
A small wave of panic surges through you, heartbeat quickening at the uncertainty, and mind reeling at the implications. Your vision blurs as tears begin to fill your eyes and you’re stumbling around your desk.
“What’s he going to do, Sam?”
The muscles of Sam’s jaw twitch under his skin as he regards you, a deep furrow forming in his brow.
“C’mon,” he says again, ignoring your question. He takes you by the hand with a firm grasp and leads you to the gym floor.
When you enter the gym, nausea swirls in your stomach and your grip on Sam’s hand tightens at the sight. A small group of men stand around watching Rumlow bounce back and forth on his feet in the middle of the boxing ring. His gloved fists punch together several times, amping himself up for the pending fight. Frantically, you search the space for Bucky, but he’s no where in sight…yet.
Sam brings you to the side of the ring, you’re hold on his hand unrelenting as you seemingly use it as a life line. Rumlow glances to you from above, giving you a villainous smirk and a repulsive wink.
“Hey there, sweetheart,” he says, voice deep and raspy, and just as vile as always.
There’s an undertone of wicked amusement in his tone you pick up on, and it has bile rising to the back of your throat. You attempt to rid it with a burning swallow.
The tension in the room is palpable, and you’re struggling to calm yourself. The bright lights and intense stares are suffocating, your chest tightening under the pressure and each inhale is like trying to breathe underwater. Then the bang of the front door opening slices through the thickened air, all eyes turning to the source.
Pierce enters first, quickly followed by Jack Rollins, another long-time fighter for your godfather. But when you get sight of who's beside him, the little air you managed to take in is instantly drained from your lungs.
Bucky walks with as much confidence as he can, despite feeling like a man on death row taking his final steps to his sentencing. He received a call this morning from Sam that Pierce was requesting to meet with Bucky at his office. In the moment, Bucky thought nothing of it, until he remembered his conversation with Sam the other day. Although Bucky kept his word and didn’t miss anymore sessions, Sam still had to look out for himself.
When Bucky arrived at Pierce’s office, it felt nothing like the first time he was there.
“It seems,” Pierce begins, icy grey eyes fixed on Bucky across the desk, “we have a problem.”
Bucky has worked with enough crooked and egotistical men to know when to keep his mouth shut, and this would be one of those times. Instead, he sits and waits, biding his time for the perfect opportunity to strike—much like when he’s in the boxing ring.
“You see, my dear niece has been working for me for quite some time,” Pierce continues, leaning back in his black leather chair. “And it would seem, she has taken quite a liking to my new Southpaw.”
The words creates a flutter in Bucky’s chest, both at the knowledge it’s him Pierce is referring to, but also at the implied consequences both of your actions could be having at the moment.
Bucky clears his throat as he methodically chooses his words. “Y/n is an amazing woman. You’re lucky to have her.”
A gravelly scoff pulls Bucky’s attention to the side of the room, where he meets Rumlow’s dark stare. Fighting the urge to jump out of his seat and punch Rumlow across the face, Bucky tightens his jaw and pushes a deep breath through his nose. Then, at the sound of Pierce’s voice, he’s looking back to the vexed older man.
“I know I am,” Pierce remarks, to which Bucky attempts to suppress an eye roll. “Which in lies our problem. I can’t have my bookkeeper and my Southpaw running around together and jeopardizing my money.”
“Sir, with all due respect, I’m still winning fights so I don’t see—“
“Wilson told us about the missed training sessions,” Rumlow’s sandpaper voice cuts off. “You’re paid to fight and train, not fight and fuck around with the whore.”
At Rumlow’s remark, Bucky is on his feet and in Rumlow’s face in an instant. The Southpaw has the senior fighter pushed against the wall with a forearm to Rumlow’s neck, the pressure cutting off his air supply.
“Don’t you ever fucking call her that again, do you hear me?” Bucky scolds. “Keep your fucking mouth shut.”
“Gentlemen,” Pierce warns. “Enough.”
Bucky releases his hold on Rumlow, who sputters and coughs a few times, then he’s taking several steps back to look towards Pierce.
The pasty skin over Pierce’s jaw twitches as he bites on his back teeth, silently contemplating. “I want you at the gym tonight, 5 o’clock sharp,” he says firmly. “We’ll have one of our own training sessions lest you forget, Barnes, I own you.”
When Bucky sees Rumlow standing in the ring, waiting for him with a menacing glint in his eye and snarl on his lips, he feels pleased. He’s been wanting a chance to pummel the asshole since he started fighting here. From the moment Bucky met Rumlow that first day in Pierce’s office, and every day since then, he has rubbed Bucky the wrong way. From his constant cynicism towards Bucky to his obnoxiously arrogant personality, but what really gets Bucky’s blood boiling when it comes to Brock Rumlow, is the way he looks at you and the way he doesn’t seem to take a fucking hint. Not to mention, his blatant disrespect to your character he demonstrated earlier with the name calling.
But then Bucky catches sight of you, standing beside Sam with unshed tears in your eyes and concern etching across every corner of your face, and he’s calmed, if only for a moment. His heartbeat quickens at your distressed state and his hand shakes as he so desperately wishes he could reach out for you. Instead, Bucky flexes his hand into a fist, attempting to keep an even face as he gives you a curt nod—a subtle sign to assure you everything is going to be okay, but you don’t seem convinced.
“Ah, dear niece!” Pierce calls, a sickening pleasant smile on his face. “So glad you could join us.”
He looks to Rollins and gestures with his head to the ring. Rollins nudges Bucky’s shoulder, pushing him towards the small flight of stairs. Once inside the ring, Rollins reaches for a pair of black boxing gloves and forces them on Bucky’s hands.
“Now, I did warn you about the consequences of your actions,” Pierce begins, his voice carrying heavily around the open space. “And it seems neither of you listened.” He pauses, looking to you then to Bucky up above in the ring. “I’ve still got a lot of money riding on you, Southpaw, and I’m not going to let anyone fuck that up.” His haunting stare finds you once again. “Not even family.”
You take a hard swallow, feeling your legs growing weaker by the moment, and you reach to grasp onto Sam’s arm with your other hand for more support.
Pierce clenches his jaw several times, his infamous scowl etching deeper into the wrinkles on his face. Sharply turning on his heel, he faces the ring. He glances to Bucky then Rumlow, before firmly stating, “Begin.”
A chorus of sneers and chuckles fill the space, and you think you might be on the verge of passing out. You’ve seen Bucky fight before, and you know he’s capable of beating Rumlow, but you don’t trust your godfather. He would do anything to prove a point, and he would do even more to secure his potential for winning any amount of money.
Slowly, Bucky takes several side steps around the ring, sizing Rumlow up. He’s seen him train a few times, and he’s aware of where his weaknesses are. And to Bucky’s delight, he knows those weaknesses are his inability to consistently protect his left side.
After several stalling moments, Rumlow grumbles a fuck this and takes two giant steps towards Bucky, right fist raised. He swings and misses when Bucky ducks, giving Bucky a clear shot to Rumlow’s left ribcage. The lack of feeling Bucky has in his left arm allows him to deliver harder than normal hits, no worries for the lingering aftershocks of pain. Rumlow lets out a loud groan, and Bucky cackles at his agony.
It’s a dance Bucky is all too familiar with, one he enjoys immensely, and he leads Rumlow around the ring, inflicting blow after blow. Sweat builds over his body, the adrenaline coursing through his veins giving him the power he needs to prove his own point to Pierce and Rumlow.
On and on they fight, Rumlow seemingly exhausting a lot quicker than Bucky, and you’re relieved if only for a moment. After Bucky lands another thunderous hit to Rumlow’s left cheek, Pierce’s voice cracks through the grunts and groans of the two fighters.
“Alright, alright!”
Rumlow shoves Bucky away, both men standing upright as they catch their breath, bare torsos glistening in the bright lights. Pierce steps around the ring, like a predator stalking its prey, as he gauges the situation. His jaw ticks back and forth, the gears clicking and turning in his head.
“I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson quite yet, Southpaw, so let’s raise the stakes,” he states, stopping to place his hands on his hips. “Gloves off!”
A breath catches in your throat, and Bucky briefly meets your eye, an unreadable expression on his face, before he turns to remove his gloves. You gently bite your lip as you wait, the uncertainty of what your godfather is playing at gnawing at your insides. Once Bucky is de-gloved, he flexes his hands several times, preparing them for the raw pain that comes with bare-knuckle fighting.
You watch as Bucky twists his neck side to side, bouncing up and down on the balls of feet as he shakes his arms to rid them of exhaustion. Then your gaze shifts to Rumlow. His back is turned away from you, assuming he’s still removing his gloves, but when he faces Bucky, a glint of metal catches your eye and you suck in a breath.
“Sam,” you whisper, a surge of adrenaline shooting through your system at the sight of the brass knuckles along Rumlow’s fingers.
“Don’t,” he firmly states in a low voice. “You’ll just make it worse.”
Knowing he’s right, the only thing you can do is stand by helplessly and watch Bucky take on a losing battle. You’re sure the grip you have on Sam’s arm is uncomfortable, but he doesn’t tell you to let go.
Pierce orders the two men to begin fighting again, and you feel the first wave of tears brim at your lower lash line when Rumlow throws a punch that connects directly with Bucky’s right cheek. The skin slices open and a trail of red forms, blood trickling from the fresh cut. A throbbing pain radiates across Bucky’s face at the hit, and he instantly realizes the cause isn’t from just a bare hand.
“What the fuck,” he grunts, a muted ringing sounding in his ear.
The unexpected intensity of the hit causes Bucky to stumble back as he touches gentle fingers to the source of pain, and Rumlow uses Bucky’s disorientation to his advantage by throwing another punch. Bucky only has a minute amount of time to react, just managing to block Rumlow’s fist, before a second hit lands directly against Bucky’s cheek again, a bone crushing crunch reverberating against the brick walls.
The ache in Bucky’s jaw and cheek builds, but he perseveres enough to give Rumlow a few hits of his own. However, they begin to fall short as Bucky’s body works overtime to soothe the pain and conserve energy.
A quiet sob escapes you as you squeeze your eyes shut and turn away, burying your face in Sam’s shoulder. His grip on your hand tightens, a silent promise it’ll be over soon. You hear a loud thump, which draws your attention back to the ring in hopes to see Rumlow flat on his back. But when you see that it’s Bucky who has completely lost the upper hand, you feel every savage hit Rumlow delivers as he straddles Bucky in the middle of the ring.
Blood pours from Bucky’s nose and out of the small cuts littering his face. His right eye is already beginning to swell and turn purple. Pained grunts sting your ear drums, and you’ve stopped trying to hold back your cries.
Laying on his back with Rumlow on top of him, Bucky can do nothing more than to block hit after hit. He’s taken a beating like this before; once in the earlier days of his underground boxing career when he won a fight he wasn’t supposed to. And just like he is now, he took the beating like it was nothing; the physical pain only a temporary consequence. After a while, the punches don’t hurt as much; however, unlike before, Bucky is in a whole new world of pain as he listens to your stifled cries from the side of the thing.
After what feels like an eternity, Pierce finally calls for the two men to stop.
“Alright, Brock, that’s enough,” he says, placing his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. “I still need him to fight Rogers next weekend.”
Rumlow obeys, standing from the ground as he spits on the mat beside Bucky’s head. He lets out a sinister laugh when he sees Bucky roll onto his side, coughing and spluttering. The red covering the mat and Bucky’s face makes the growing urge to vomit increase tenfold.
Unable to move, you make no attempt to flee from your godfather when he walks up to you. Your watery gaze is still set on Bucky in the middle of the ring, chin trembling as you desperately wish you could go to him and help.
Pierce leans in, speaking directly into your ear, “This is the last warning I will give you.”
Then he’s summoning Rumlow and the rest of his men, leaving only you, Sam, and Bucky.
#so he comes home with a leather jacket full of cats
those tags on that photoset with the cats. now i'm just picturing bucky always coming home with some abandoned animals he found and trying to hide them in his leather jacket. and it's like "really? again? but no ones really mad about it because how could anyone be mad at something so freaking sweet.
⟶ leather jacket full of cats ; bucky barnes
SUMMARY || in which bucky brings home kittens.
PAIRING || tfaws!bucky x reader
WARNINGS || fluff, mention of being alone & sad — MY BLOG IS 18+ WHICH MEANS ALL OF MY CONTENT IS 18+ // MINORS DNI
WORD COUNT || 633 words
NOTES || this is my new favourite universe <3
Bucky remembers when he had nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Not even a bed in the apartment he rented. Let alone furniture, decor, photos — he had nothing.
Then a sweet, only slightly sinister, ball of fur came into his life.
He named him Alpine, seeing how it fit his snowy coloured fur.
Alpine quickly became the most important thing in Bucky’s life. His life revolved around him and Bucky found himself taking care of himself so he could take care of Alpine.
And then a strange thing happened.
Bucky fell in love.
Bucky fell in love with himself. He fell in love with the way early summer mornings smelled like his childhood and how late nights reminded him of the peace he desired.
Bucky fell in love with you.
He never thought he’d fall in love with someone who loved him back. He thought for sure he was broken beyond repair — that no one would want to keep him for themselves.
You defied all of that.
And he often found himself fighting for your attention because a certain cat also stole your heart.
“Sometimes I think you love him more than me,” he chuckles as you shrug your shoulders, “and who’s to say you’re wrong?”
You’re teasing, of course. Nothing but a joke because you loved Bucky more than anything and anyone in the world.
Bucky remembered the day he asked you to move in. How shaky his hands were and damn it he’s a retired super soldier, he doesn’t get nervous.
And yet, he fumbled the key, dropping it and having to bend down to grab it. Only to bump his head on the way up as his cheeks flared red.
He had never been more embarrassed.
But you yet again defied all odds, laughing and shaking your head before pulling him into a kiss.
Soon, Bucky’s apartment began feeling like home.
Little reminders of you littered the house; sweaters, hair elastics, mugs of half drank tea, your hair.
Bucky loved it.
But that’s the thing about Bucky, he’s a gentle soul, which means he falls in love about 14 times a day.
Today was no different.
You were at home, waiting for Bucky to come home from his daily walk — his little escape.
The door creaked open and the floorboard creaked before the door shut and it was quiet.
Too quiet.
“Hey, plum?” Bucky’s voice called out as you poked your head out of the kitchen and oh my God.
“What the fu—“
“You promised not to get mad at me!”
“And you promised no more cats!”
One, two, three!! Heads popped out of his lumpy leather jacket.
You laughed, shaking your head as you walked up to him and squeezed his cheeks between your hands.
“What am I gonna do with you?” You asked rhetorically, chuckling as you looked down at the kittens.
“Love me unconditionally,” Bucky replied with a huge smile before you kissed him because that’s exactly what you would do.
“They were cryin’ in an alley, I couldn’t leave them,” he explained and you were glad that your one armed boyfriend was such a softie.
“Well it’s a good thing that Alpine’s such a good big brother,” you looked over at the matured cat already at your legs interested in the new additions.
“Because he’s got three new siblings.”
Bucky let them down, Alpine immediately sniffing them before you began prepping some food and water.
Bucky never thought he’d ever be as nervous as he was the day he asked you to move in with him, but here he was, about to pass out because of the engagement ring that was burning a hole in his pocket.
He wants to spend the rest of his life with you because you’ve given a new meaning to his.
Series summary: Tied up in the criminal world your godfather has built, you have no reason to leave, until you find one in the man they call Southpaw.
Pairing: boxer!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word count: 3,328
Warnings: Moderate angst, bit of fluff. Description of fighting/boxing. Pierce is a d*ck. Swearing?
A/N: So, this is the part of the rollercoaster where we’ve reached the top right before the big drop. 😬 Thank you for all the support, feedback is always appreciated! Divider by @firefly-graphics Happy reading! 💜
Time seems to pass differently now that the Southpaw has come into your life. Before, days, weeks, even months, blurred together and dragged on at a numbing pace with no purpose other than to keep your godfather’s books clean. It was as if you were living in a fog, no end or beginning, your whole world painted grey.
But now, every second is cherished from the moment you wake up with your Southpaw by your side to the moment you fall asleep in his arms. Now, you live in a world of vibrant color painted by playful glances, lingering touches, and sweet kisses.
For too long you were a bird trapped in a cage, just waiting to be set free. Every day that passed, you lost a bit more hope that you would ever get the chance to fly. But then, your wings were restored in the form of James Barnes. He came into your life unexpectedly, unlocking that little piece of yourself you had long forgotten about, giving you a whole new purpose and bringing you back to life again.
And the same could be said for Bucky. His sole purpose in life was to fight and win. He thought it was all he needed, however, it was a short high that often left him feeling a bit emptier inside when the thrill of winning was over. But now, with you, he’s had a taste of something so much better, something he can’t even put into words how happy it makes him, and that feeling is everlasting.
Which is why, more often than not, Bucky chooses you over everything, including his training sessions. He knows he promised you he would be careful, but he’ll be damned if he loses any amount of time with you.
“I’m telling you, man,” Sam firmly begins, standing over Bucky who sits on one of the benches in the locker room, “if you miss one more I’m gonna have to tell him.” The trainer levels the Southpaw with an unimpressed look, arms crossed and dark eyes set in warning.
Bucky rolls his eyes, shrugging off Sam’s threat as his attention remains on the process of wrapping his hands. “I don’t understand what the big deal is,” he responds nonchalantly. “I’m still winning fights, who cares if I miss a few training sessions.”
“I care,” Sam remarks. “I care, and it doesn’t matter if you’re still winning, Pierce pays me to train you, and he pays you to fight and train.”
A thick silence then settles over the two men. Sam lets out a frustrated deep breath, and Bucky senses a shift in the trainer’s demeanor, which pulls his focus from his hands. He looks up to Sam, waiting.
“Look,” Sam sighs, dropping his arms to place his hands on his hips, “I’ve known Y/n for a long time. She’s been caught up in this shit with Pierce for too long, and I’ve always worried what it’s doing to her.” He takes a moment, gaze momentarily drifting over Bucky’s head as he reflects on his own time spent with you.
“But,” he begins again, refocusing on the Southpaw and sighing heavily before he voices his reluctant understanding, “I’ve seen how she’s changed since you’ve arrived at the gym. Before you came along, I can’t even tell you the last time I saw that girl fucking smile. But now, she’s like a whole new person, and I see how happy you make her, how happy you make each other,” he pauses, allowing his words to sink in before he continues, “But I have my own neck to look out for with Pierce. So, I’m warning you, don’t fuck up again.”
Bucky sits with a clenched jaw and a teary gaze as he tries to manage his emotions, Sam’s words hitting him harder than the trainer probably intended. Nodding, Bucky clears his throat before responding, “I won’t.”
Later that night, you’re slipping into the crowded gym, the excitement to watch your Southpaw take on another fight tingling your nerves. It’s become one of your favorite things to do; seeing Bucky in the ring, doing what he loves. However, your presence at the matches hasn’t gone unnoticed. Try as you might to blend in with the crowd, your godfather is more attentive than you give him credit for.
Bucky dances around the ring, putting into action some of the moves he and Sam practiced just a few days ago. He could easily take down his opposer—a slightly shorter man with less muscle mass—but Bucky likes to use these smaller matches as practice. A chance to test his limits and moves for the big fight that’s swiftly approaching—the whole reason Pierce hired him in the first place.
The bell dings, signaling the end of the fifth round, and Bucky immediately breaks for his corner, desperate for another chance to see you. He found you shortly after the first round, standing towards the back of the crowd, a gentle bite to your bottom lip as you held back a smile when he nodded at you. Fighting has always been exhilarating for Bucky, but to now have someone he cares for, dare he say loves, amongst the sea of onlookers cheering him on, it gives him a whole new motivation to win.
Hiding in the shadows, Bucky finds you still in the same spot. He gives you a smile, swiping his arm across his damp forehead, the little hairs that always fall from his bun now sticking to the skin above his eyes in random designs.
“I say the guy has one, maybe two more rounds in him,” Sam states, intently focusing on prepping Bucky for the next round as he massages the Southpaw’s forearms and biceps. “He’s definitely weaker on his left side, make sure you…”
But the rest of Sam’s voice is drained out, Bucky’s full attention only on you. As he continues to watch you from the ring, however, a twinge of jealousy stings at him when he sees Brock Rumlow come up to you and place an unwelcoming hand to the small of your back. He can’t help the sneer that curls his upper lip as you seemingly try to brush Rumlow off and he doesn’t take the hint. Bucky has half a mind to not jump out of the ring and punch him square in the nose for thinking he had the right to lay even a finger on you. But before he can let his emotions get carried away, the bell rings and he’s summoned back to the fight.
“Come with me, sweetheart,” Rumlow speaks directly into your ear.
The pet name is like a curse coming from him, sending prickles of irritation all over your skin. Rumlow guides you through the crowd, his hand still touching you despite your physical and verbal objections. He takes you to the metal staircase along the back wall that leads to the overlook where your godfather prefers to watch his fighters. As you begin to climb the steps, it nearly feels like a death march.
Once you reach the top, Rumlow pushes you forward until you are almost standing directly beside your godfather, who doesn’t spare you a glance upon your arrival. A surly grey-eyed stare is set on the ring below, his infamous scowl pulled tight across his face as he clenches his jaw in obvious vexation. Two wrinkling hands rest on the black railing before him.
“What do you think you’re doing, Y/n?” He asks in an eerily calm voice. “You don’t belong here.”
He continues to watch the fight, his dismissive attitude towards you inducing a flare of bitter indignation to rise up.
“Guess you should’ve thought about that before you asked me to come work for you,” you snap.
The statement finally draws his attention to you. The hardness in his eyes as cold as ice, and it has you taking a half-step away from him as he leans in to deliver his next line of antagonism.
“I won’t have anything or anyone threaten my winnings,” he states in a seething venomous tone. His chilling stare remains on you for a moment longer, ensuring you’ve heard him loud and clear, until he’s turning back to the fight. In a calmer, yet still menacing voice, he adds, “Stay away from Barnes, or I’ll have to teach you both a lesson.”
Sure your godfather is only speaking in empty threats, you ask, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
But when he turns to face you once more, the malice in his voice and on his face tells you these threats are not hollow. “You know what it means.”
Shock has your mouth falling slightly open and eyes growing wide at his warning. You’re certain you’ve both been careful at keeping the relationship secret, not drawing too much unwanted attention around the gym. Hell, you haven’t even let Bucky take you out on any proper dates since that first night at the bar, too afraid one of your godfather’s fighters will see you and report back to him. But when you chance a glance to Rumlow, a pleased smile tinted darkly in malice stretches across his face, and the urge to throw up suddenly consumes you.
Random moments of you and Bucky at the gym begin to flood your mind, and you try to figure out when he would’ve possibly seen you. Then, a certain night floats to the top and the urge to vomit only intensifies. It was a night the two of you were alone in your office after hours, and you remember hearing the slam of the locker room door ring out in the quiet basement while you and Bucky were in the middle of a heated make out session. You were sure no one had seen you, but as details from that night become more vivid, you recall the blinds to your office window were left open, giving anyone who walked by a clear view of the two of you together.
Rumlow’s intentions to tell your godfather are not lost on you. Being your godfather’s right hand man, it’s not surprising he’d run off and tell him without a second thought. But you also know his motives stem from his resentment towards you for turning him down. A flame of jealousy burning inside him ever since then, fueling his desire to see you hurt and wronged.
Gently, you bite your bottom lip, shame washing over you and slumping your shoulders. Your body feels like lead as you glance down to the fight. A pair of deep brown eyes meet yours instantly, a stern look of concern sitting heavy on Sam’s face. Tears begin to well in your eyes as you stare back at him, the reality of the situation uncomfortably settling in. The crowd erupts into a deafening cheer as Bucky lands a knockout punch to his opponent. Flinching, your gaze is snatched away from Sam to Bucky in the middle of the ring.
Heaving for air, the lights bounce of the sweaty skin of his back as Bucky stands triumphantly over the limp body for only a moment, and then he’s turning to you. A deep line of worry creases his brow when he registers your distressed state, and you give him the slightest nod of reassurance. However, he doesn’t seem convinced and completely ignores his surroundings, even as the referee raises his arm to declare him the official winner.
Pierce lets out a wicked laugh as he claps in delight for the Southpaw. After several minutes, he turns to leave, but stops short of the staircase to face you one last time.
“Remember what I said, dear niece.”
Then he disappears down the stairs, leaving you to stand alone on the metal platform with a sick feeling festering in your stomach.
You didn’t wait for Bucky to come to your office before you left, unable to stay there any longer as the walls felt as though they were caving in, suffocating you once more. The words your godfather said lodged deep into your gut, twisting themselves until you were on the verge of vomiting several times on your car ride home.
Even in the comfort of your own apartment, you still feel on edge, worried your godfather has someone spying on you every moment. A series of three knocks on your front door startles you, ceasing your incessant pacing around your living room. Motionless, you stare at the wooden slab with your thumbnail between your teeth, waiting. When three more knocks echo around the room, a gasp falls from your lips and you’re anxiously scurrying over to the door to peer through the peephole.
On the other side, a freshly showered Bucky stands.
“Open up, sweetheart,” he calls, his voiced muffled through the oak. “It’s me.”
There’s a sigh of relief at the sight of him, but it quickly fades and is replaced by the looming fear that’s stuck to you since leaving the gym almost an hour ago.
Swiftly, you open the door, grabbing a chunk of his leather jacket and drag him inside.
“What are yo—“
“Get in here,” you cut him off, quickly shutting the door and locking it. You take another quick glance through the peephole, for what reason, you aren’t sure because the hallway was empty.
“Why didn’t you wait for me at the gym?”
Ignoring him, you dash over to the windows across the room, pulling the blinds closed before you peep to the street below.
From behind, you can hear Bucky laughing at your antics. “What’s gotten into you? What are you looking for?”
“Someone could be watching?”
“Who could be watching?” Bucky chuckles, taking a few steps towards you, but when you turn around to face him, the curious smile on his face falls and his brow is crinkling in concern. “Sweetheart, who could be watching? What are you talking about?”
Tears begin to well in your eyes, reflecting the fear that fills them and it has Bucky moving towards you in an instant.
Gently, he cups your face in his large hands, swiping away any rogue tears that fall when you blink. “Talk to me. What happened?”
“My godfather,” you whisper, bottom lip trembling as you try to hold back the onslaught of tears that threaten to fall. “My godfather, he knows.”
“He knows what?”
“About us. He knows about us.”
A quiet sob breaks through as the admission tumbles out, the weight of the words and severity of the situation crashing down on you like a ton of bricks.
“What did he say to you?” Bucky asks. The grasp on your cheek tightens just the slightest as he recalls the look on your face from where you stood beside your godfather.
“He said…” Another soft cry catches in your throat, the words lodging themselves there because to say them out loud would make everything that much more real. “He said if I didn’t stay away from you, he’d teach us a lesson.”
The clench of Bucky’s jaw is obvious under the taut skin of his cheek, considering the threat and the options. Knowing he’s far too valuable for Pierce to get rid of, Bucky brushes it off. He leans in, bringing his lips to yours in a slow, chaste kiss, and it temporarily eases the festering worry inside you.
When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours. “Everything is going to be okay.”
“How do you know that, though? You don’t know my godfather like I do. I’m scared of what he’ll do, James. I don’t think we should see each other anymore. It’s not a good ide—“
His lips catch yours in another kiss, cutting off your ramblings because Bucky does not want to hear you say those things. He won’t even entertain the idea of letting you go.
“I promise,” he says once he pulls away. He levels you with an intense stare, a seriousness deepening the blue of his eyes, deeper than you’ve ever seen. “Everything will be okay.”
The words are spoken with such conviction you have no choice but to believe him. Unable to speak, your throat still tight from emotion, you can only nod. Bucky places one last kiss to your lips, then to both cheeks before he pulls away to look at you. As he slides a hand into yours, the boyish smirk that stole your heart all those months ago begins to tug at his lips.
“C’mon,” he says, pulling you towards the front door.
At the playful look in his eyes, all the remaining anxiety and fear from before seems to dissipate from your body; dissolving into complete nothingness.
“What, what are you doing?” A small laugh finds its way out, your tear stained cheeks drying.
“Well,” Bucky begins, grabbing your jacket and helping you into it, “since you won’t let me take you on a proper date, and I’m tired of being cooped up, I thought we could go somewhere special.”
He opens the door with one hand, the other is held out to you, but you remain unmoving. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Dropping his head, Bucky lets out a small sigh of momentary defeat before looking back to you with the biggest pair of puppy dog eyes. “Trust me?”
Trusting James Barnes has become one of the easiest things for you to do; so, with a hand in his, you follow your heart.
He doesn’t tell you where he’s taking you, regardless of how many times you ask and despite the countless hollow threats you make. He only rolls his eyes, chuckling at your childish ultimatums of I won’t kiss you unless you tell me where we’re going. The only place you do recognize is the Thai restaurant several blocks from your apartment he stops at to pick up some take out before continuing on with the drive. It’s almost an hour later by the time he parks his black vintage car in a stony parking lot, and you’ve nearly forgotten all about your godfather and his warnings.
Silently, Bucky exits the car and retrieves a blanket and food from the backseat. Then, he comes to the passenger side to open your door, his free hand stretched out for you to take. He leads you to a small patch of grass beside a large oak tree, a spot that overlooks a smaller part of the city. It’s a secluded area, peaceful in its surroundings as the soundtrack of city life is a distant melody and the tunes of Mother Nature play out around you. Bucky sets up the blanket and food, pulling you down to sit beside him.
“Do I get to kiss you yet?” Bucky finally asks after the last of your dinner has been eaten. He leans agains the tree with you tucked under his arm, the two of you enjoying the manmade scenic view of skyscrapers and city lights.
A giggle bubbles up, and you look up to him with a smile. He gazes back at you with an arched brow, the beginnings of a smirk on his own lips, as his face reads I’m waiting…
You remove yourself from his side and crawl onto his lap. Instantly, your fingers weave their way into the strands of hair by his neck while Bucky’s hands wrap around your waist to hold you close.
“What am I gonna do with you, James Barnes?”
A wide grin stretches across Bucky’s face at your teasing, and he inches his mouth closer to yours, whispering, “Let me love you.”
Brushing your lips against his, you softly reply, “You have me.”
In the next heartbeat, the two of you are swept up in a searing kiss; lips together, tongues entwining, and bodies pressed into one. Your godfather may stay true to his earlier threat, but right now, in this moment with your Southpaw, nothing else matters except for you and him.
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