𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 @buckys-darling - Tumblr Blog

take me where your heart is

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: Modern AU – You and Bucky are just friends, so why does it feel like so much more?

warnings: sex (18+), fuckboy!Bucky whose arm is tattooed, flirting and teasing, jealousy and insecurity, they lowkey love each other but think the other doesn’t, it’s messy pining to smut, alcohol, swearing

word count: 3.9k

a/n: I have no idea what this is but I’m back from an extended hiatus so hopefully you all like it? Feedback is always appreciated!

You were in over your head.

The reputation of Bucky Barnes was well known throughout your social circles. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if all of Manhattan knew.

He was a tease, a flirt, and a damn good fuck.

He wouldn’t spend longer than a weekend with a girl, and that in itself was a rarity. He’d frequent pubs and clubs, always wearing the same heavy leather jacket that smelled of cedar and smoke. Gentle eyes, an appreciative smile, and a passing compliment that was respectful enough that he didn’t come off as a sleaze while still exuding confidence.

His stupidly handsome face probably helped a bit too.

So why did you think this was a good idea?

Alcohol, probably.

You weren’t going to turn down his offer to do shots. Not when he was smirking from beside you at the bar, tattooed knuckles of his left hand dancing along the skin of your thighs. Though this wasn’t unusual for the two of you. You had been friends for a while now, ever since you walked out of his roommate’s bedroom one morning and he offered to make you coffee, nevermind the girl who was in his own bedroom.

You had sat on his kitchen island and talked. You had told him that you were in grad school, working towards getting your PhD, writing articles for magazines and waitressing to pay the rent. You told him that you had dreamed of living in New York; of experiencing that addictive, overwhelming lifestyle that you had always heard about.

Bucky offered to take you out that night, just before his one-night stand came stumbling into the room, annoyance clear on her features when he handed you his phone to type your number into. You didn’t bother to see his roommate again, and over a year later, Bucky was still taking you out.

Which leads to all the bad decisions from the night that changed everything.

It had started the moment you entered the pub. The loud music overwhelmed you instantly, but his large hand wrapped around yours. It was familiar. Bucky was a touchy man; tactile. He liked to be close. Affectionate, even if it didn’t really mean anything. Because there was a difference between how he touched those girls compared to how he touched you.

He would tease the line of appropriateness, but didn’t dare venture any further. There was an invisible barrier that he had put up the first night he took you out. You went to some small bar and talked. Flirted. He offered you a ride on his motorbike which you gladly accepted, instantly loving the feeling of your arms wrapped around his muscled waist, cheek resting against his cool leather jacket.

You expected something, anything—

Bucky had kissed you on the cheek, wished you good night, and promised to get you some food next time.

This night was different, and you should’ve realised sooner.

He was generally rough around the edges, often acted before thinking, but he spent the night seemingly deep in thought. He was distracted when he ordered the drinks, when he pulled you into a booth in the back of the bar and rested an arm behind you, his other elbow on the table to shift his body to face you.

With anybody else you’d feel uncomfortable; caged-in. But Bucky wasn’t just anyone. You trusted him, and wanted him. Although you’d never admit to that last part.

“How are you and your new guy? Chase, or somethin’?” He’s close enough that he doesn’t need to yell for you to hear him over the music. Close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath on your cheek when he leans a bit closer before reaching for his Jack and Coke.

“It’s Charlie.” You reply, eyeing him sideways when he gulps down half the glass, jaw tensing immediately after.

“How’s good ol’ Charlie?” The sarcasm in his voice bites, and you roll your eyes as his tongue runs over his teeth, lips already pulling up into a smirk.

“We broke up.”

“Since when?”

“Since you kept blowing up my phone whenever we were fucking. He wasn’t happy that I picked up your call.” A sip of your drink keeps you occupied from witnessing the loud laugh that escapes him, head tilting back before he’s shaking it, somehow inching his body closer.

“It was important!”

“You needed me to get a girl out of your apartment, Bucky. I told you that I’m not gonna do that shit anymore.” You mutter, subconsciously shifting so that your bare legs are pressed up against his jean-clad thighs.

Any closer and you may as well be riding him.

He grins brightly, lips spread wide as he ducks his head, nudges his nose against your temple. “What else are friends for, doll?”

There’s a twinge in your chest, a tightening, and you force a smile, fight the urge to run away or spill a drink on him out of spite. It would be an asshole move and you knew it but fuck, if you had to hear about one more girl.

It was all fun and games when you first met. When the thrill, the almost, the maybe, lingered between you. There was potential, but the longer it took for him to make a move, the less likely it seemed that you would be anything more than friends.

And that hurt.

Bucky Barnes had a type and it seemed to be everyone except for you.

You had come to terms with that months ago, but the reminders didn’t go down any easier. It stings all the same when he shares a story about the girl who blew him in the bathroom of the club and the other who exclusively fucks him on top.

Any so-called revenge was short-lived because it was pettiness more than anything. You would throw yourself into relationship after relationship to distract yourself from Bucky, and the only commonality is that he was the apparent reason for each break up.

A more functional person would realise an issue with that. When a guy you’re not dating is so involved in your life that you can’t sustain a relationship, there’s a problem. Bucky was the problem. But you’re weak for him, close enough to love-struck for whatever stupid reason that you would choose him. Over and over again, even if it never seemed like he ever chose you.

“Friends, huh?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop yourself. The shots from earlier buzzing in your veins, clouding your logic enough to give you some semblance of confidence.

You down your drink before he can respond.

“Why d’you say it like that?”

“Is that all we are? Friends? Because I’m pretty sure we’re in a relationship without the sex.”

Bucky’s lips part in surprise, eyebrows instantly furrowing in thought. You’re just as shocked as your brain slowly catches up with the conclusion you’ve jumped to. You can see a range of emotions flash through his blue eyes when they squint in thought, and despite the semi-darkness of the club you would swear they flicker to your lips for a second.

“Am I wrong? The only time we spend apart is when you’re fucking someone else.”

You’ve rendered him speechless, and knowing how he thinks, you’re sure that he’s trying to find some way to sweet-talk his way out of this. Some excuse. Some bullshit reasoning. Anything to get out of the corner you’ve all but shoved him into.

You would be concerned by his prolonged silence, but the adrenaline racing through you from your semi-confession has your legs moving. Shifting away from him, body turning out of the booth, muscles desperate to take off running, heart wanting nothing more than to hide in your bed for the next week.

But he doesn’t let you get far. A warm hand wraps around your wrist, tugs your body back until you’re falling onto his lap, a tattooed arm wrapping around your waist to keep you securely held against his chest.

“Bucky—”

“You don’t get to say something like that and disappear, darlin’.” His voice is firm, eyes seemingly clear and sobered up as he meets your hesitant gaze.

“Look… you can’t seriously tell me that it’s never crossed your mind.” You say quietly as though the near-whisper would reduce the chance of an implosion; of completely destroying your friendship.

“‘Course it has. I think about you all the fucking time, babe. That doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

You feel like you have whiplash, the immediate tightness in your chest leaving you breathless because it hurts more than you expect it to. The rejection was one thing – the disinterest – but knowing that he had considered it, really considered it, and still didn’t want you? Yeah, that fucking hurts.

He sees it in your eyes instantly, notices how your body tries to pull back, move out of his arms and away from him, and he tightens his grip in fear.

“Wait, shit— No. That’s not what I meant. It isn’t a good idea, but it’s not because I don’t want you, because I do. It’s just not a good idea to be with me.”

“Seriously? ‘It’s not you, it’s me’? Just be fucking honest, Bucky.” You hiss, trying and failing once again to escape his hold. But he’s unrelenting, and his large hand moves to cup your face, fingers curling around the base of your neck, forcing you to look at him.

“I am being honest. You know me better than anyone, doll. You know all the stupid shit I do: All my fucked-up relationships and meaningless flings. You deserve better than that, and that’s the truth.” He seems earnest, his eyes wide and regretful. There’s some hope that you’ll believe him, forgive him, and a glimmer of shame as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, swallows a sigh.

“What if I don’t care?” You ask, and confusion flashes over his features. “I’m not trying to change the past, Buck. You’re here now, right? You want this? Want me? Take me.”

His eyes darken in an instant and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“You can’t say shit like that, babydoll.” His words are rough, rumbling through his chest and you’re surprised he manages to restrain himself from pouncing on you. The usual lightness in his blue eyes have turned wild, and his grip on you somehow tightens further as his body tenses.

“I want you, Bucky Barnes. And I’m right here. So what are you gonna do about it?” You’re provoking him, failing miserably at playing coy as your grin shines with excitement. The fluttering of your lashes, the fingers fiddling with the collar of his shirt, your scarlet lip that tucks itself between your pearly whites – you’re a fucking tease, and Bucky’s surprised that he doesn’t blow right there.

“Then what?” He manages to ask. His jaw is clenched, the muscle twitching as he forces himself to breathe. You can feel his growing hardness beneath you and dare to smile wider, duck your face into his neck to press a chaste kiss. It leaves a red stain right by his collar before your teeth are grazing his earlobe gently.

“Then you take me home. Fuck me in all those ways you’ve been thinking about,” a kiss to his cheek, right above his stubble, and his lips are a breath away, his eyelashes already fluttering closed, “Your move, Barnes.”

There’s a part of both of you that is wanting to ignore all consequences. You can see it in his eyes as his pupils dilate, tongue wetting his lower lip in anticipation. You can see the slightest of tremors in his fingers, all his self-control holding back from spreading you out on the table in front of who knows how many people and taking you then and there.

You’re almost surprised that he doesn’t. His hold on you tightens for a moment before a deep breath is leaving him and he’s releasing his grip.

“Get your bag and coat while I pay the tab. We’re going back to my place.”

Bucky’s words leave no room for argument, stated calmly and so matter-of-fact that it sends a thrill through you. The unwavering, certain nature of his statement. There was no question how the night would be ending.

So you follow his instructions. Allow him to wrap an arm around your waist as he leads you out of the bar, hails a taxi, and opens the door for you. His warm hand is immovable, finding its designated place on your thigh the moment he slides in beside you, giving the address to his apartment to the driver who keeps his eyes fixed on the road in front of him.

It’s a smart move, because the way Bucky’s fingers dig into your inner thigh, the accidental bumps in the road force them to creep higher and closer to your core. Heat is rising up your chest and a part of you dares to feel ashamed that you’re already dripping from his touch.

The other part is wanton and desperate for more.

It surprises you that you already feel intoxicated. You hadn’t even kissed and yet your body was already on edge. His cologne invades your senses, his warmth ensures that you stay grounded, and every nerve in your body is alert and focused on his body beside you.

There’s a low hum from the radio but you can barely hear it, your ears already ringing in suspense, brain fogging over everything except Bucky. The plain fact that you had been thinking about this moment since that morning you met him, and hoping that he wanted it as much as you did. The flirting at the club was one thing, but this… This was real.

You hoped to hell it was real.

And by the time the taxi is rolling to a stop, Bucky handing over cash and leading you out, into his building, up two flights of stairs to his apartment – you’re already breathless from anticipation.

He fiddles with his key before he’s holding his door open for you. And you step in, slowly. Draw in a deep breath when you hear the silence, see the darkness of the room beyond the bright light from the moon. And your knees feel like they’re shaking, your body wound up – waiting.

On any other night you would have left your shoes by the front door and thrown your jacket across the back of the dining room chair before sinking into your spot on his plush couch. He would open up whatever bags of takeout he had ordered and pour a couple of glasses of wine before sitting down next to you.

But it’s different now.

Bucky flips the switch to the lamp in his living room, a soft light illuminating your surroundings. It was dim, and kept you surrounded in his soft bubble. The excitement doesn’t falter when he pours out two tumblers of whisky, a gentle smile on his lips when he hands one to you. A soft tap of the glasses before he’s sipping slowly, his cobalt eyes remaining on you.

You follow in suit, a small sip and you hope to God your fingers aren’t trembling. Your determination to get him out of your system was the only thing keeping you upright. The closure – finally. Throwing yourself into him to let him go, once and for all. You could finally go back to being friends, no more teetering the edge of whatever you could be. No more blurred lines and false hope. Confusion, more than anything else.

Because you knew Bucky.

You knew him enough to know there was a very low probability of this ending well, but you both loved to play the odds.

“Are you going to kiss me?” The question leaves your lips less confident than you intended. A slight tremor in your tone and you’re about ready to go running out the door.

All the confidence dissipates once his fingers brush your shoulder, past your clavicle, and his palm comes to a rest around the back of your neck.

His eyes are piercing, relentless as they trace your features, lock onto your lips. Then he’s leaning forward and his mouth is capturing yours.

He tastes like mint and whiskey, and your body sinks against him. Feel his grip on you tighten, teeth grazing your bottom lip before his tongue is slipping in. It’s messy and warm and everything you had been desperate for. You manage to place your drink on the nearest surface so you can find his biceps, follow them up until you meet his messy locks of hair – tangle your fingers, and tug.

A moan escapes Bucky’s lips and he pulls away with the widest grin. It’s cheeky, borderline feral, when your eyes meet.

“Are you leading this or am I?” He’s cocky as anything, knows he’s the one in control. Knows he has you in the palm of his goddamn hand.

You take a step back, hand finding its way to his and you’re pulling him to the bedroom. There’s no resistance. Eagerness, when you feel his hand leave yours, and a firm grip lands on either side of your waist. You’re off the ground and being thrown onto the bed before you can blink.

You land amongst his sheets, flat on your back and he pulls his shirt off before he engulfs you, legs between yours and warm palms cupping your face.

He kisses you, earnestly. And if you were tipsier you would believe he was waiting for this moment as much as you. He’s not savouring it – no. He’s desperate. Hungry. And you’re willing to give him everything, for as long as he demands it. The heat rushes through you, down to the tips of your fingers and toes as you lock your legs around his waist. Use all your strength to roll him over – and he lets you.

He watches you with darkened eyes, tongue darting out across bright pink lips as you slide to your knees, fingers already tugging at his belt.

“Do we need a—”

“I wrap my shit, babe. Do whatever you want to me.” His words sound submissive, but you both know it’s a facade.

Bucky was dominant, in all aspects of his life. But this semblance of control dangling in front of you. You’d take it with both hands.

And you do.

A gentle kiss to the tip of his cock before you’re sliding your lips over it. There’s a rumble in his chest, louder still, slips out of his lips and it sounds like heaven. You’re sloppy, taking all of him and yet desperate for more. His nails brush your scalp, fingers digging in as his hips jerk up with a whisper of your name.

More. You want more.

“Kiss me.”

Who are you to say no?

You trace a path up his hair scattered up his abdomen. A dart of your tongue across his chest, and then he’s rolling you over and pulling at the material between you. He wastes no time once you’re bare – dives in with an iron grip holding your thighs apart.

The scratch of his stubble, the warmth of his lips and relentless, fucking, tongue. He devours you, and it’s electric. Tremors down your spine and your heart is pounding, wetness dripping all over him. He traces every curve of you – and you surrender. Feel the snap of the coil when you let go.

Back arching as your head digs into the mattress beneath you, fingers tangling in the soft locks of his hair as you hold him close, closer still.

Bucky doesn’t pull away until he hears his name cease from your lips.

“You good, baby?” His voice is a murmur, muffled by his lips brushing your thigh, planting delicate kisses that were a stark contrast to the feelings running through you.

A heart-pounding, head-spinning, breathless confirmation finds its way from you.

And he has the nerve to chuckle – those deep baritone vibrations that tremble through to your core, making your hips twitch.

“I thought you moved faster than this.” You quip, finally finding your voice again.

“I’m taking my time with you, sweetheart.”

“Don’t.”

He finds his way back to your lips, shifts your body with ease so you’re nestled among the pillows and he can slip between your thighs.

You moan at the stretch, the feel of him throbbing, hearing his breathing shudder as he finally sinks in.

“Fuck… Can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for this.” His forehead presses to yours with the whisper, and you feel like your heart is about to burst. He’s thrusting against you before you can begin to process the gravity of that statement.

His hands are warm, grabbing at every curve, as his lips trace your neck, clavicle, and teeth playfully nip at your shoulder. He caresses your body, and holds you tight.

You don’t want to be anywhere else.

He moves slow, drives himself deep with an intention. To feel every part of you, and for you to feel every inch of him. Your hands grip his shoulders, back, whichever part of dewy skin you can find – nails digging in, scratching. If it hurts he doesn’t seem to care.

Your name is like a prayer from his lips, followed by baby, sweetheart, darling.

Bucky’s hips are relentless, and the heat builds steadily within you. Hips jerking closer to him, chests pressed as close as you can – it doesn’t feel close enough. Everything you’ve been waiting for when he thrusts deep.

It’s close enough to romantic, the feeling of being tangled in one another, as if there’s nobody but the two of you. The brush of his lips, scratch of his beard, squeeze of his hands. And he’s gentle, loving when his fingers graze down your temple, your cheekbone, tuck under your chin before his thumb is tracing your lips.

The muscled arms wrapped around you, a kiss on your neck and teeth nipping at your earlobe. Soft kisses and thrusts picking up speed. Your tongue darts out across the pad of his finger so he can slip it between your thighs. A soft pressure on your clit as he circles it.

You’re teetering on the cliffside, falling into the haze of him.

Your body is trying to inch closer – so he can engulf you. Hopelessly captivate and encapsulate every part of you. It’s the fiery flicker of a spark down your spine, down your arms to the tips of your fingers. They tremble against his skin.

“Bucky, please.” It’s a sigh leaving your lips.

“I know, doll. I’ve got you.”

There’s no hesitance, only certainty in his voice. You believe him, with every meaning of the word. Everything you had wanted, leading you both to this very moment. Hearts beating fast, breathing shallow and desperate.

You’re close, the feeling deep in core, twisting and tugging, pulling you to the very edge. You can see the desperation in his eyes – he’s exactly where he wants to be. You hold him as tight as you can, and his thrusts never cease, eager to get you there – send you diving straight down.

He doesn’t let you go.

Feel the rumbling of his chest, the pulsing of his cock between your thighs, the warm moans that spill into your ear, he buries himself in you with the fear he may never get the chance to again.

It feels like a fever dream; he looks like a mirage. And you’re terrified that he’ll slip through your fingers, disappear forever.

You have no idea that he feels the exact same way.