Summary: You've been friends with Sam for a while and you've trained with him here and there but never really got to the point where you feel you could properly defend yourself and when you ask him to teach you self-defense his new job as Captain America makes him a little less available so he directs you to his friend Bucky.
Author's Note: I always loved the thought of Bucky teaching us to be badass and even though he's lethal he's gentle and patient and wonderful! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰
Warnings: lots of fluff and flirty things and tension and a minor (totally fine) injury, soft Bucky
“Why me?”
“Why not you?” Sam raises a brow, setting his hands on his hips.
Bucky remains quiet with a shake of his head.
“She doesn’t want to take a class. Says it makes her uncomfortable and she would rather train one on one with someone she trusts.”
“Then you do it,” Bucky sighs.
“I can’t.”
Bucky pins Sam with an incredulous glare.
“I’m kinda busy at the moment,” Sam explains with a lopsided smirk. “You know…Captain America and all.”
Bucky’s jaw tightens and he mindlessly stirs the spoon in his coffee.
“How do you know I won’t make her uncomfortable?”
The words are quietly spoken, and Bucky’s eyes stay fixed on the dark liquid in front of him.
“Buck,” Sam says softly. “I told her I was going to ask you to do it and that I trust you completely.”
Bucky looks up to meet Sam’s eyes.
“She was fine with it. She said, ‘if you trust him then I do too.’”
He’s tall, with tousled dark hair and a strong jaw covered with dark stubble. He stands and waits, his arms crossed over his torso in a way that makes the muscles in his chest and forearms shift deliciously. And his eyes…his eyes are a shade of blue that rivals the ocean. They’re gorgeous-like the rest of him.
Taking a deep breath, you remove yourself from the hidden shadows just outside the gym door and grab the handle.
His head snaps in your direction, his gaze turning fully on you and making your heart skip a beat.
He says your name; his voice is low and gravelly, and it skates down your spine with a tingle. You nod and say hello.
“I was wondering how long you were going to stand out there.”
You suck in a breath and your lips remain parted.
“First lesson,” he continues, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly, “always be aware of your surroundings.”
“Right,” you manage to say as you step inside and let the door shut.
An hour later, after stretching and taking the time to talk through any jitters you’re standing in front of Bucky in your best defensive stance.
“That’s really the best you’ve got?” he says, his tone neither mocking or malicious.
“I’m more dangerous than you think,” you bluster.
The corners of his mouth rise into a challenging smirk.
You hate how beautiful he is. It’s a distraction and if you really want to learn you’re going to have to steel yourself against it.
He wiggles his fingers in your direction, and you pause.
“Shouldn’t you be attacking me first?” you ask. “Isn’t that why I need to learn to defend myself…you know self-defense.”
“I just want to see what I’m working with here,” he replies, keeping those perfect lips titled upward.
You let out a long exhale and rush toward him, barely able to register what happens before you’re wrapped in his arms, your back pressed tightly to his chest. You struggle in his grip, moving against him to try and loosen his hold.
He goes still and you swear he stops breathing for a heartbeat before he let’s you go.
You spin and face him again, breathing heavily and not from exertion. This time he moves toward you, and holy shit he’s fast. You try to swipe his feet out from under him in a move that he artfully dodges and captures your arm. The earth spins and you brace for the impact of your back smacking the mat but instead all you feel is the strength of his arms behind you as he holds you up and slowly lets you sink down. He leans down so his face is only inches from yours, “you’re strong,” he whispers, “but you’re gonna need more finesse.”
You huff in response, but he releases you and stands, offering you a hand. “We’re not done yet. We’ve barely gotten started.”
He tugs you to your feet, then twists your arm behind your back and yanks you against his hard chest, pinning your joined hands before you even catch your balance.
“Shit,” you snap, trying to steady your breathing.
He releases your hand and steps back and you whirl, going for a punch to his throat. He knocks your hand aside easily.
“Good,” he says with a smile, deflecting your next blow without even breaking a sweat. “Going for the throat is always a good option as long as it’s exposed.”
You kick out again, mostly from frustration, and he captures your leg, this time, holding it for a second before dropping it to the mat with a frown. “I expect you to learn from your mistakes.”
Your frustration turns to fury, and you glare at him, noting the way he stands there with loose arms, rocking back on his heels.
“You’re not even trying,” you grit out.
His lips curve into a smile and this time you don’t think, you just act, going low and kicking out the backs of his knees. He goes down hard, and you pounce, trying for a headlock. Doesn’t matter how big someone is- they still need to breathe.
Instead of going for your arms, he twists, grabbing a hold of the backs of your thighs so you lose your leverage and your bodies careen into a roll. Of course, he lands on top.
His forearm rests against your throat and his hips have you pinned; your legs useless on either side of his as he lies heavily between your thighs. Your body becomes so acutely aware of him that he’s all you can feel. Your breath catches and your body warms.
“Where did you learn that move?” he asks with an approving smile.
Your chin lifts. “Sam taught me a few things here and there.”
“If your opponent is bigger you need to stop going for moves that will expose you,” he explains, keeping you pressed to the mat with his weight. “A rib shot would work just fine.” He gently pulls your hand free and drags your fingertips down his side. Then he guides your hands around his back. “Kidneys are a good fit from this angle too.”
You swallow hard, refusing to let your mind wander to other things that are a good fit in this position.
He leads your hands to his waist and you’re sure you feel the muscles of his abdominals tense under your touch. “There’s weakness here too. Three easy places to strike.”
You stare at him, your fingers still pressed against his shirt and feeling the hardness beneath.
“You hear me doll?”
You nod.
“This looks promising,” Sam says with a mischievous tone.
You’re suddenly reminded of your surroundings and the realization of your current entanglement with Bucky makes your skin heat.
“Sam!” you say as you try and get out from under Bucky.
Bucky presses up from the mat a few inches and then slides your hand away from his side, slowly, inch by inch.
“That’s it?” you ask, surprised at the disappointment you feel.
“I hate to break it up, but I need Bucky,” Sam says.
Bucky pushes up all the way, removing his weight from your body and offering you another hand. You don’t take it this time and rise from the mat with ease. His approving smile makes you feel warm all the way down to your toes.
Sam’s smile is wide and knowing but you ignore it, focusing on Bucky.
“I’ll be right there Wilson,” Bucky says, the short dismissal enough to get Sam to give you two privacy.
“You did well,” Bucky says, filling the space in front of you.
Your head drops and you scoff, kicking at some invisible object on the mat. Warm, strong fingers press gently under your chin and raise your face until your eyes lock with ocean blue.
“You did,” he says again.
“Thanks,” you whisper, mourning the loss of his fingers when he drops his hand.
“I’ll be more organized next time…if you want to do this again.”
“I do,” you answer quickly. “I want to feel safe. And strong.”
Bucky nods. “You will doll.”
The next week you’re back at the gym, feeling more confident and even more comfortable. After your first session you and Bucky exchanged phone numbers, the text messages flowing easily between you the past few days.
This time you open the door without hesitation and find Bucky leaning against the far wall, cutting the pieces off a plum with a knife. His eyes lift and lock with yours just as he opens his mouth to pop a bite in.
Your entire body tingles.
He didn’t lie when he said he’d be more prepared and organized for this session. He works you through some stretches and a warmup and then takes you through several take downs step by step, each one building on the next. You’re moving faster and even getting a few hits in here and there. The confidence fuels you and coupled with some adrenaline you really push yourself, pressing Bucky to work you harder.
He does but when you try something new, something he wasn’t anticipating, you end up ramming your ribs into his metal forearm. It’s completely by accident but knocks the wind out of you nonetheless and you fall to your knees to catch your breath.
“Shit doll,” Bucky says, falling down next to you and grabbing your shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”
You wheeze out an “I’m ok,” and when you look up to reassure him, the lines of worry etched into his features make it even harder to breathe.
“Let me see,” he says, the panic in his eyes softening your own before he looks down at your side.
“I’m fine,” you say.
His focus snaps back to your eyes. “Don’t lie to me.”
“It hurts,” you admit after a stuttered inhale.
“Let me see,” he says again.
“Is that a request or a demand?” you ask, trying to sound teasing.
“You pick as long as I can check to see how bad it is.”
You swallow, then nod, reaching for the hem of your shirt. He stops you with a soft hand and then with surprising gentleness his fingers skim your bare skin as he slowly lifts your shirt. You suppress a shiver, locking your muscles so you don’t melt against him.
“Sorry if my hands are cold,” he says, clearing his throat as more of your skin is exposed.
Your eyes meet and warmth flutters in your stomach. He drops his eyes and inspects your side, gentle fingers stroking your ribs before they prod carefully.
“You’re gonna have one hell of a bruise doll. I really am sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong and thanks for checking.”
He drags your shirt back down, letting his knuckles graze you skin in the process. He waits for you to stand, watching you closely and letting out a relieved exhale when he notices your breathing is more even.
Your eyes widen when he drops to his knees in front of you. “Your shoe is untied.”
“Oh.”
Your hands twitch at your sides, his long, soft strands of hair at the perfect level for you to run your fingers through.
“Thank you.”
He gives you a real smile, not a cocky smirk or a teasing tilt to his lips. A real, honest, heart-stopping smile that you’re anything but immune to.
“It’s the least I could do after…that.”
“Not your fault Bucky,” you assure him again. “It happened by complete accident.”
Bucky texts you at least forty-seven times over the next week, constantly checking in and asking about your ribs. But you’re still surprised when the day before you’re next session he calls, asking if you want to meet for breakfast beforehand.
“This place has the best coffee. And muffins. And scones,” he says as he holds the door open for you.
You laugh and walk through, instantly soothed by the smell of coffee beans and baked goods. “And you know this because you’ve tried them all of course.”
“Of course,” he says while rubbing his stomach.
Your eyes track the movement and you’re positive you can see ridges of muscles beneath his shirt. It takes all your concentration to tear your gaze away and focus on the menu. After ordering your drinks and two of everything baked you head for your seats.
You try it all and let Bucky eat the rest, marveling at how he packs it away and doesn’t even seem fazed.
“I wish I could eat like that and look like you.”
The comment comes out before you can stop it, and your eyes widen slightly when they meet his narrowed ones.
“You look perfect,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Eat whatever you want. You’re gonna need the energy today.”
He gives you one of his signature teasing smirks and you stand. “Bring it on Barnes!”
The walk to the gym is short but the weather is warm, and you can feel a light sheen of sweat coating the back of your neck. The hot coffee you’re drinking doesn’t help either but it’s too good to not finish.
He holds the door open for you and then walks in, sipping his coffee as he goes. You bend over to retrieve something from your bag, and he takes a misstep, his focus on your ass instead of where he’s going.
With a tumble forward his coffee follows suit, his momentum forcing the liquid out of the cup and onto his shirt. He catches himself before he looks like a complete fool, but the damage is done. His shirt is soaked through on the front with the last of his coffee.
“AH shit,” he sighs, pulling the wet material from his stomach.
“What happened?” you ask, your brows furrowed as you turn toward him. “Did you trip?”
“Um…yeah, something like that,” he says. “I have to change.”
He reaches behind his back and starts to lift his shirt, slowly revealing tanned skin that’s all sharp lines and barely restrained power. You’ve seen shirtless men before. Many times. But never Bucky Barnes. You’d start counting his ab muscles if the rest of him wasn’t just as good to look at. Your mouth waters when he turns around and you see the muscled expanse of his back. Even the gold and gray metal plates of his arm move beautifully as he searches for a new shirt.
“Sam usually keeps some stuff stashed in here,” Bucky says.
You think you heard what he said but you’re shamelessly wondering how his skin would feel under your fingertips, how your body would react to having every ounce of him on top of you, over you…in…”
The slam of the small storage door draws your attention downward, and you shake your head to snap out of it.
“Ready?” he asks, a new shirt securely in place.
You walk to the mat and wait.
“Are you sure you’re not still in any pain…?”
“Bucky,” you sigh. “I’m really ok. I have been for days. I appreciate your concern but I’m pretty sure I’m going to need to be able to work through pain sometimes. I don’t think anyone who attacks me will care if I’m injured…”
“You’re right,” he says, pride shining in his eyes. “Let’s go…but first…”
You watch with rapt admiration as he pulls several hidden knives free, his smile growing when he takes the last one out from his boot.
“I want you to learn how to use a weapon. You can carry it with you…just in case.”
He hands you the blade and you hold it in your open palm, noticing the weight of it and how the handle seems just right.
“Wow,” is all you can think to say.
“I had it made for you,” he explains. “Most blades are made for men…you know, big hands, long fingers.”
As if to drive his point home he splays his hand in front of you, showing off just how big and long they can be.
“Right,” you whisper. “I don’t know what to say…thank you Bucky.”
He smiles again. “Now let me teach you how to use it.”
Before you can prepare or react he has you on your back, his weight settled between your thighs. It takes all your willpower not to reach up and brush the stray lock of hair from his forehead.
“You didn’t even give me a heads up,” you whisper, leaning up slightly and letting your lips brush the shell of his ear.
He jerks up, and the heat in his gaze makes you all too aware of everywhere your bodies are touching.
“You know…” he says, his eyes glittering, “distraction is a great way to do some damage.”
His eyes drop to your mouth.
“Are you distracted?” you murmur.
Before he can answer you use a move he taught you and roll him on to his back.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” you sing song.
His eyes meet yours under the fluorescent lights of the gym before dropping to your lips. His metal arm slides up your back, but not in a way to remove you, it’s slow and purposeful for a completely different reason. You can feel the warmth of his touch through your clothing, your skin unbearably hot.
When you shudder in his arms his smile is like a caress and his free hand moves to your cheek, brushing across your skin.
“You have incredibly soft skin,” he murmurs. “I’ve been aching to feel it again since I checked your ribs.”
The admission makes you suck in a breath, and he studies you with an intensity that makes you sway closer. His thumbs stroke along your cheekbones and his heated gaze moves to your mouth. Hands flexing, he draws you forward a few inches before he stops.
“I…” he starts, groaning when your tongue traces your lower lip.
“Bucky.” His name comes out like a whispered plea and it’s all he needs to close the distance. He was just out of reach and now his mouth is on yours, hot and insistent. He cradles the back of your head, trapping you against him as he lays on the mat and you feel every hard line of his body. You clutch the material of his shirt at his chest, parting your lips when he angles your head for a deeper kiss.
“Fuck baby,” he moans, and the sound makes you ravenous. Your hands lift to his hair and it’s just as soft as imagined, your nails scraping lightly over his scalp.
His hips tilt upward, and you gasp at the friction but it’s not enough and in a move that rivals all the others you’ve seen him do he flips you onto your back, the impact so soft you gasp into his mouth. You surrender completely, going pliant beneath him as he claims every line and curve of your mouth with a reckless edge that makes your body sing. He breaks the kiss, sliding his mouth across your jaw, your neck, whispering words of praise as he explores every inch of your skin his lips can find.
The sound of the gym door startles you enough to pull away, but your eyes never leave Bucky’s and when you hear Sam’s voice you let out a giggle.
“You look like you’re…defending yourself well,” Sam says from above you.
“Your timing sucks,” Bucky sighs. “And she could have totally handed me my ass right now if she wanted to.” He smiles down at you with a wink.
Sam pulls Bucky away once again but before he leaves he presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth then one to your lips, lingering until Sam starts shouting from the doorway. Later that night you get a text from Bucky-‘I can’t stop thinking about kissing you again.’
You read the words over and over again as your body continuously reminds you exactly what it feels like to have his mouth on yours. Your stomach flutters and you actually press a flattened palm against it, hoping to calm the eruption of butterflies.
After washing up and throwing on some pjs you’re just about to spend the rest of your night watching something streaming on Netflix when you hear a knock at your apartment door. You check the time. It’s late and you’re not expecting anyone…maybe it’s your neighbor?
Standing on your tippy toes you check the peep hole and barely stifle your gasp of surprise.
“I’m glad you checked to see who it was first,” Bucky says when you swing the door open. “That’s part of smart self-defense.”
You stare at his face, then the flowers in his hand, then back at his face.
“Is it too late? Were you asleep?”
His eyes fill with worry but before you let him fret too long you grab his free hand and drag him into your apartment, slamming the door shut and pushing him against it. Without a word you kiss him, softly at first, just a brush of your lips, but he instantly takes over, resting the flowers on the small table by the door and taking you in his arms, spinning you and caging you with your back to the door.
“You always get the upper hand,” you smile against his lips.
“Better get used to it,” he teases, resting his metal hand next to your head as he leans back in, letting his eyes do a warm sweep of your body from head to toe.
“You look magnificent,” he murmurs.
“I’m in my pajamas.” Your reply comes out breathless.
His fingers drops to your shoulder, tracing the soft curve before ghosting down your arm and sliding to where the hem of your tank sits just above your shorts.
“Magnificent,” he repeats, slipping one finger under the material to touch your skin. “And So. Fucking. Soft.”
“Bucky,” you whisper.
“I know doll,” he says, “but I need to take my time…I want to get my hands and mouth on every inch of you.”
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Imagine you work at some fucking roadside diner in buttfuck nowhere and you have to wait a table with three dudes who aren't from around here and the guy with the long hair immediately pulls out his laptop with what looks like cult shit in the web browser and asks for your worst salad option, and the guy in the trenchcoat sniffs the pepper shaker and declares the molecules to be very sharp and the guy with the greenest eyes you've ever seen calls you sweetheart and then proceeds to engage with intimate eye contact with trenchcoat to a degree that is downright indecent and then orders the heart attack special on your menu and every time you walk past their table they're talking about that gruesome murder that happened in town and the pretty guy is feeding the trenchcoat guy fries while the hair guy talks about desecrating corpses
if you like enough weather posts on twitter you can finally get the good stuff like this on your timeline instead of just angry conservatives who do nothing but yell about how politics dont belong in weather discussions
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