Summary : Neither you and Bucky were ready for your son’s first day of school.
Pairing : Husband!Bucky Barnes x wife!reader (she/her)
Warnings/tags : Fluff!!!! angst-ish(?) established relationships, Jamie is your and Bucky’s son!!!! Domestic!bucky, food, slightly suggestive if you squint (Please let me know if I miss anything!!!)(Let me know if I missed anything!)
Word count : 5.3k
Note : Thank you for the anon who wanted more Bucky and Jamie for motivating me to write this. enjoy!
It was six in the morning.
The sky outside was still dark, faint blue just barely beginning to creep in. The house sat in suspended silence, but only for a second.
Because Bucky was already awake.
He hadn’t meant to be. Sleep had just… slipped away from him sometime in the night, leaving him staring at the ceiling, listening to your breathing, to your adorable snores, to the distant hum of the outside world. Every once in a while, he would focus his super soldier hearing to Jamie, down the hall, still fast asleep.
His arm was wrapped around you, metal hand resting lightly against your side. He shifted slightly when you stirred, your eyes blinking open slowly, unfocused at first.
“You’re awake,” you murmured, still tired.
“Yeah,” he said in a sigh.
You didn’t ask why, because you knew.
It was Jamie’s first day of school.
Your hand slid up to his chest as you tucked yourself closer. He leaned into it, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your temple, as if he was grounding himself.
Neither of you moved for a while after that.
You stayed there, tangled together under the covers, holding on a little tighter than usual. Bucky’s thumb traced absent patterns along your arm, the rhythm steady but distracted, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.
“You okay?” you asked after a minute, tilting your head back to look at your husband.
He gave a small nod.
“Yeah,” he said. “Just… feels early.”
You huffed, an almost-laugh, glancing at the clock on your nightstand. “It is early.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
Your hand came up to his chin, fingers brushing along the stubble there. He leaned into your touch without thinking, eyes closing briefly. Almost instinctively, his lips found yours, pressing into you like he had all the time in the world.
You tipped your head back slightly, giving him more space without saying a word, and his mouth drifted lower, brushing along your jaw, then down the side of your neck.
“Bucky…” you breathed, not really a protest.
His lips lingered there. “He’s still asleep,” he murmured against your skin.
“Mm. Good.”
Your fingers curled into his stained sleep shirt (Jamie got his hands on some markers), pulling him closer. He went easily, like he’d been waiting for the excuse. His hand slid up your side, thumb tracing slow, absent circles just beneath your ribs.
He kissed your collarbone next, gentler than he had been the night before. There were still faint reminders there. There were soft marks, barely visible in low light. His doing. Your doing. Both of you, really.
Your breath caught slightly as he brushed over one of them.
“Easy, soldier,” you whispered, though there was a smile in it.
He huffed quietly against your skin, something almost like a laugh. “You weren’t saying that last night.”
“Last night,” you said, tugging lightly at his hair to bring him back up, “we had nothing to do and nowhere to be.”
Bucky lifted his head just enough to look at you. “We could just stay in bed,” he said.
You raised a brow. “And ignore our son’s first day of school?”
“…Maybe.”
You smiled, leaning in to kiss him again. He melted into it immediately, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck, deepening it just slightly before easing back.
His forehead rested against yours.
“He’s gonna be okay,” you said gently.
Bucky opened his eyes again, searching your face like he needed to see that you believed it.
“I know,” he repeated. This time, it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
You shifted closer, pressing a kiss to his lips. He responded in kind with one hand sliding up your back, pulling you just a little closer, like if he held on tight enough the morning wouldn’t come so fast.
For a moment, it worked.
It was just you and him. Jamie was still asleep down the hall. No goodbyes yet. No letting go.
“I’m serious.” Bucky rested his forehead against yours. “We could keep him home.”
“James...” you started, almost a scold.
His lips brushed your skin again in an attempt to win you over. “He doesn’t have to go today.”
“Yes, he does,” you smiled sadly, “He has been looking forward to it for a week, my love. His interests barely last five days. Do you know how excited he is?”
Bucky sighed quietly, his nose nudging against yours in a way that was almost reluctant. He knew, because he was the one who watched Jamie pick crayons and colour pencils and his special school bag. He knew, because all week, Bucky had watched him tell everyone— and I mean everyone that will listen— that he was a big boy now because he was going to school, from your parents to neighbours, to cashiers in grocery stores. He knew, because Jamie had asked him to take care of all his stuffed animals when he was gone. “Yeah, I know.”
“I get it,” You traced a line down his arm, over the cool metal of his hand. “You’re allowed to be nervous.”
He let out a deep breath between a laugh and a sigh. To think that he was the one suffering from separation anxiety was almost laughable if it wasn’t so real. “I don’t like it.”
“Yeah,” you huffed. “Me neither.”
That earned you a glance. Even now, you were still full of surprises. “You hide it better.”
“One of us has to be functional,” you said, brushing your thumb along his cheek.
Even if you knew you were going to cry. Even if you knew you were gonna miss your little boy making a mess around the house at 11 AM, when you were trying to meal prep. Even if you were gonna worry if he was gonna make any friends.
Of course he was. He had his dad’s charming attitude, even if it came with his temper sometimes.
Bucky chuckled, some of the tension easing from his shoulders.
Then, all of a sudden, something in his brain clicked into place.
“I’m gonna make him waffles,” he declared.
You blinked. “Right now?”
“It’s his first day,” Bucky said, already starting to get up, like the decision had momentum. “His favorite. I think it might—” he paused, shrugging a little. “Help.”
“Help who? Him?” You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. “Or you?”
He ran a hand through his hair, cupping your cheeks and peppering kisses on your face. "Mmhmm, smartass.”
You giggled, catching his wrist and pushing him back slightly so you could talk. “Okay, fine. But not too much dairy.”
Bucky frowned.
“No extra cream, no piling on stuff,” you continued, sitting up now, fully awake. “He’s probably nervous, Buck. If his stomach flips, he’s gonna feel sick.”
Bucky nodded. “Right.”
“Last thing we need is him throwing up on his first day.”
“Yeah, no, we’re not doing that,” he agreed quickly, already adjusting the plan in his head.
You slid out of bed after him, grabbing his hand as he moved toward the door. “I’m coming with you.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to—”
“I know,” you said, squeezing his fingers. “I want to.”
He looked at you for a second and recognised that look in your eyes— the glassy, darting look. You were anxious, too. Maybe, you needed something to do as much as he did. And no, Bucky was never really good at saying no to his girl. “Okay.”
Together, you slipped out into the quiet hallway, careful not to make too much noise as you passed Jamie’s room.
—
The kitchen light casted the countertops and cabinets in a warm glow.
You leaned back against the counter as Bucky moved around the space, already pulling ingredients out with a focused determination that made you smile.
“You’ve checked the batter three times, dad,” you pointed out, arms loosely folded as you watched him.
“I haven’t,” Bucky insisted, not even looking at you as he adjusted the bowl slightly.
“You have,” you said, pushing off the counter and stepping closer. “And the waffle iron twice.”
He huffed under his breath, reaching for the whisk again. “Just making sure it’s right.”
“It’s waffles, honey. Not rocket science.”
That got you a look.
You sighed, stepping into his space, your hands sliding up his arms, until they rested against his chest, right over his heart.
“…Wow,” you murmured.
Bucky frowned faintly. “What?”
You tilted your head, eyes flicking up to his, a small, knowing smile tugging at your lips. “Your heart’s beating fast.”
“It’s not—”
“It is,” you cut in gently, pressing your palm a little more firmly against him. “Faster than it usually does on missions, actually.”
He paused, listening to his own heartbeat. “That’s not true.”
You raised a brow. “Oh, I think it is.”
Bucky looked down at you, somewhere between defensive and guilty, and you couldn’t help it. You leaned in, kissing his jaw.
“Big, scary super soldier,” you murmured against his skin, teasing. “Terrified of kindergarten.”
His hands settled instinctively at your waist, pulling you closer.
“‘M not scared,” he said, though it lacked conviction.
“Mm,” you hummed, “Sure you’re not.”
His grip tightened just slightly, grounding himself in you, keeping one eye on the waffle iron. His forehead dipped to yours for a moment, his eyes closing briefly as he exhaled.
“He’s so… small,” Bucky said.
There it was.
You leaned into his touch without thinking.
“But he’s ready,” you added gently. “Even if we’re not.”
Bucky gave the smallest shake of his head, but before he could say anything else…
Your alarm went off.
You both froze for half a second before you sighed, pulling back just enough to reach for your phone and silence it.
“That’s our cue,” you put your hand in your face.
Bucky nodded, though his hands lingered at your waist like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.
You leaned in one last time, pressing a quick, warm kiss to the corner of his lips.
“I’ll wake him up and get him all set,” you said. “You keep going.”
He nodded again, shifting back toward the counter, but not before brushing his fingers against yours as you moved away.
“Maybe squeeze some fresh oranges too,” you added over your shoulder.
Bucky glanced back at you, already reaching for the fruit bowl. Jamie did really like juice with breakfast. “Yeah.”
He paused, before adding…
“Vitamin C’s always a good idea.”
You smiled to yourself as you headed down the hall.
—
Jamie wasn’t a difficult kid. But, just like any other child, he was a challenge to raise.
It didn’t help that his attention drifted sometimes.
A lot of times.
He was one of those sock on, one sock missing kids. Shirt halfway over his head before he got distracted by something outside the window. You’d ask him to brush his teeth and find him five minutes later sitting on the floor, telling a very serious story to one of his toys.
It was just Jamie.
But today was different.
You barely had to say his name before he was already awake, sitting up in bed with wide, bright eyes like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.
“It’s school day, mommy!” he announced, as if you might’ve forgotten.
“I know,” you smiled, ruffling his brown locks. “Big day, huh?”
“I have to get ready.”
There was no dragging, no bargaining, no wandering off mid-task.
Jamie had laser focus today.
He climbed out of bed and took your hand, where you let him to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Then he went straight to the chair where he’d laid out his clothes the night before. He pulled them on with only minimal help, concentration written all over his face, like this mattered to him.
“Backpack,” he said next, already turning toward it.
“Already packed, honey,” you reminded him.
“I wanna check.”
Of course he did.
You brushed his hair as he crouched down, unzipping it and going through everything one by one. “Lunch goes here,” he said, pointing, even though it was still empty. “And my book. And my drawing.”
You blinked, a small smile tugging at your lips. You kissed his chubby little cheeks.
“Okay, who are you and what have you done with my baby boy?”
Jamie giggled, completely unfazed. “I’m ready.”.
He really was.
For a second, you just stood there, watching him, this small, determined little person that you and Bucky made, who somehow felt much older today than he had yesterday.
Who had somehow learned how to categorise and file away items for his big day.
You’d seen that focus and certainty before, in Bucky.
Maybe it was from all those times Bucky had taken him to the Tower. Let him sit nearby, watching as he checked gear, counted supplies, and ran through everything with determination.
Jamie noticed things.
He learned.
And apparently… he copied.
“Shoes,” Jamie announced, already reaching for them.
“Right,” you said, taking his little hands. “Shoes.”
—
By the time you got downstairs, the smell hit you first.
Jamie lit up immediately. “Dad made waffles!”
You followed him into the kitchen, and that was when you saw the plate.
“…Bucky.”
He glanced up from where he stood by the counter, far too innocent for the crime in front of him.
“What?”
You gestured toward the waffles, especially after you told him not to. There was fruit—okay, good. But also whipped cream. And chocolate syrup. And caramel syrup, and ice cream. And—
“Really, Buck?”
Jamie, meanwhile, had already climbed into his seat, eyes wide like he’d just been handed the greatest gift imaginable, chugging half his orange juice in one go.
Bucky shrugged, completely unrepentant as he set the plate down in front of him. He looked guilty, like he couldn’t help but spoil his son. “I… didn’t know how much is too much.”
“That doesn’t mean you send him into school on a sugar high,” you whispered, though a part of you was endeared. You moved toward the counter to start pulling together lunch. “He’s gonna crash by noon.”
“He’ll be fine.”
“Mmhm.” And now, you hoped some of that super soldier serum would show up in Jamie very soon. He could use the increased metabolism.
You started assembling a sandwich, shaking your head slightly but unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.
Behind you, Bucky took the seat next to Jamie.
“You excited, buddy?” he asked.
Jamie nodded enthusiastically, already cutting into his waffles like this was the best day of his life. “Yeah! I’m gonna colour and draw and… oh! And I bring my book!”
Bucky nodded, though his eyes flicked briefly to you before returning to Jamie. “You packed everything?”
You glanced over your shoulder, catching that look, and your chest tightened.
Jamie went right back to eating, happily unaware of the effect he’d just had.
Meanwhile, Bucky sat there, elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped, watching him like he was trying to memorize every second of his son’s life.
It was almost funny, watching them side by side.
Jamie, who was bright, excited, completely ready to run head first towards a brand new day.
Bucky, who looked like he was sending Jamie into battle.
You slid the lunch into the tupperware, placing a couple of grapes and cookies in a different part of the container, before placing it gently on the table.
“All set,” you said.
Jamie beamed.
Bucky reached for the sandwich the moment you set it down, sliding it carefully into Jamie’s backpack. He checked the zipper twice.
“Alright,” he said, voice steady as he slung the bag over Jamie’s shoulders, adjusting the straps until they sat just right. “C’mon, kid. I’ll drive you to school.”
Jamie lit up instantly, nearly bouncing out of his chair. “Okay!”
Then Bucky added,nudging him gently toward you, “Say goodbye to your mom.”
And that…
That was the moment it hit you.
Not when he woke up early. Not when he got dressed all on his own. Not even when he sat there eating waffles like it was the best morning of his life.
It was this.
The goodbye.
Jamie turned to you without hesitation, already smiling, like this was just another step in his very important plan for the day. “Bye, Mama!”
You crouched down quickly, too quickly, your hands coming up to his face, smoothing his hair, adjusting his shirt even though it didn’t need it.
“Hey, hey… slow down,” you said, your voice softer than you meant it to be.
He giggled.
“I’m gonna go to school,” he told you, like you didn’t already know.
“I know,” you said, smiling, even as your chest tightened. “I know, baby.”
You pulled him into a hug, holding him just a second longer than usual.
He didn’t notice. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t question it.
“I love you,” you whispered into his hair.
“Love you too,” he said easily, already starting to pull back.
And oh, you almost broke.
Tears rose up so suddenly it caught you off guard, your throat tightening before you could stop it.
You were so close. So close to crying.
But you swallowed it down, forcing a steady breath, pressing one last kiss to his cheek before letting him go.
“Have fun, okay?” you said, brushing your thumb under his eye like he was still little enough to need it.
“I will!”
Jamie grabbed his backpack straps, turning back toward Bucky like nothing had shifted at all.
Like this wasn’t the first time he’d ever walked out the door for a big change.
Bucky’s eyes flicked to yours for half a second, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t call it out.
He stepped closer, kissing you gently, wiping off the start of tears discreetly.
“I’ll text you when we get there, sweetheart,” he said, pressing his lips to your cheek.
You nodded, trusting your voice a little less now. “Okay.”
He hesitated for the smallest moment, like he wanted to say something else, but decided against it. Perhaps waiting for a more private moment.
So instead, he reached for Jamie.
“Alright, buddy,” Bucky said, resting a hand lightly on his back. “Let’s move.”
Jamie grinned.
And just like that, they were heading for the door.
You followed them as far as the house would let you, arms folding loosely around yourself, like that might hold everything in place.
He glanced back at you one more time.
You gave him a small nod. Go.
And just like that, the house was quiet again.
You stood there for a moment, staring at the door, your chest still tight, your eyes stinging.
“…He’s fine,” you whispered to yourself.
You breathed out slowly, pressing your hand briefly over your heart, the way you had Bucky’s earlier.
“He’s gonna be okay.”
—
The car ride was fun. Jamie was in the back seat, legs swinging, backpack still on like he didn’t trust taking it off, talking a mile a minute about everything all at once. From his book, to the very fun swings he’s heard about, to the idea of “making at least two friends,” which he said very seriously.
Bucky glanced at him in the rearview mirror, metal hand steady on the wheel. “Two?” he asked.
Jamie nodded solemnly. “Maybe three.”
Bucky nodded with a chuckle. “Ambitious.”
Jamie beamed, taking that as approval.
See, Jamie was fine. He was practically vibrating with excitement, completely locked in on the day ahead of him.
“You remember what to do?” Bucky asked.
Jamie nodded immediately. “I go in, find my teacher, hang my bag, and then sit down.”
“Good,” Bucky said. “And if you need anything?”
“I ask.”
“Right.”
Jamie leaned forward slightly, peeking between the seats. “Are we there yet?”
Bucky’s grip on the wheel tightened just a fraction. “Just a couple minutes now, buddy.”
Jamie settled back, satisfied with that answer, already moving on to the next thought.
Bucky… wasn’t.
—
The school came up too quickly.
One minute they were driving, Jamie talking non-stop, and the next Bucky was pulling into a parking spot, the engine going quiet as everything suddenly slowed down.
He turned slightly in his seat, looking back.
Jamie was already unbuckling. “Okay!” he said, like this was the easiest thing in the world.
Bucky let a small smile slip, stepping out of the car and moving around to open the back door. Jamie reached for his hand immediately, like it was instinct.
They walked up together, Jamie’s small hand wrapped tightly around his human one, the school growing louder with every step. The noise of kids, parents, voices blending into one overwhelming hum.
Bucky crouched once they reached the front, bringing himself level with him.
“I guess…” he started, his voice catching just slightly before he steadied it. “I guess I’ll see you later, okay?”
Jamie blinked. It’s almost as if he was confused. Or processing. Bucky didn’t really know what was happening or what was going wrong. Did he forget something? Did he miss his mom?
Then, his face changed immediately, from excitement to… dread.
“Wait—” his grip tightened suddenly, panic in his eyes. “Daddy, you’re not coming with me?”
Oh.
Oh no.
Bucky’s chest dropped.
You and Bucky had been so caught up with making sure he was excited, making sure he didn’t miss a thing, that you didn’t even think of telling him that… he would have to be on his own.
How could you both forget? Did you both just naively assume he knew?
“Hey, hey,” he said quickly, his hands coming up to steady him, one on each of Jamie’s shoulders. “It’s okay, pal…”
Jamie’s eyes were already shining with a layer of tears, his breath going uneven. “But-but… what if I don’t know where to go?”
“You do,” Bucky said gently, grounding him, just like he would on any mission, but this was different. This was more important. This was his son. “You just told me, remember? Find your teacher, hang your bag.”
Bucky pulled him closer, not too tight, just enough. “Hey. Look at me.”
Jamie did, only barely. It didn’t help that he had your beautiful eyes. The eyes he found very difficult to say no to.
“You’re strong,” Bucky encouraged, steady and sure. “You know that?”
Jamie sniffed, uncertain.
“You’re my kid,” Bucky continued, brushing his thumb under Jamie’s eye as the tears fell. “You’re brave. You can do this.”
Jamie’s lip trembled.
Bucky’s forehead touched his, as if he could transfer all the courage he had left to him.
“And your mom and I will be right here when you’re done,” he added. “We’ll pick you up, okay? And then you can tell us all about the friends you made.”
Jamie searched his face, needing it to be true. “Promise, Daddy?”
Bucky didn’t hesitate. “I promise.”
He pressed a firm kiss to Jamie’s forehead, then pulled him into a hug that truthfully, he didn’t wanna let go of.
For a second, Jamie held on just as tight.
Then, slowly… reluctantly… Jamie, the brave boy he was, was the first one to let go.
Oh.
Bucky helped him straighten his backpack one last time, his hands lingering just a second longer than necessary.
“Go on,” he said, a smile on his face.
Jamie nodded and took one step. He hesitated, just for a heartbeat, then kept going.
Bucky stayed where he was, watching, waiting.
Jamie reached the entrance waving goodbye to him.
Bucky waved back.
Jamie looked away, hesitantly looking around. That’s when he saw a smaller kid standing nearby, looking just as unsure as Jamie had a second ago.
Jamie paused.
Then, like a switch flipped, like he had enough courage for the both of them, he walked over.
Bucky blinked. What was he doing?
Jamie said something to the smaller boy. Bucky couldn’t hear it from where he stood from all the noise, but the other kid nodded, and just like that…
They walked inside together.
Neither of them were looking back.
And they were gone.
Bucky breathed out slowly, the tightness in his chest loosening and tightening all at once.
“Okay,” he muttered to no one but himself.
He stayed there another minute, just in case.
Maybe another ten minutes.
When he was sure Jamie wasn’t going to run out, he turned, heading back to the car, each step feeling quieter than the last.
Inside, the silence hit him harder. He missed his excited voice. He missed the small presence in the back seat.
Bucky sat there for a second, hands resting on the wheel, staring straight ahead.
Then he reached for his phone.
He’s inside, he typed. He did good.
He stared at the screen for a moment.
He didn’t even look back, hun.
He hit send.
And then, Bucky let his head fall back against the seat.
His hand came up, dragging over his face as his chest hitched once.
“Oh my god,” he breathed, almost disbelieving.
His eyes stung. He blinked hard, but it didn’t quite stop it.
His little boy is growing up.
Bucky swallowed as he stared up at the ceiling of the car.
“He’s gonna be okay,” he said.
But this time, he didn’t know if he was talking about Jamie or himself.
—
Bucky hadn’t expected the house to feel this… empty.
It was not really quiet. He’d lived in silence for years. But this was different. This was the kind of quiet that reminded him something was missing.
He shut the door behind him, keys barely making a sound as he set them down. For a second, he just stood there, listening out of habit, half expecting to hear small feet running down the hall, or that constant stream of chatter that filled every room.
Nothing.
“Sweetheart?” he called, already moving further inside.
He got no answer.
He tilted his head, confused. You’d been fine when he left. Emotional, yeah, but holding it together.
“Sweets, you there?” he tried again, stepping to the hallway.
Still… nothing.
And then, as he climbed up the stairs, he heard soft, uneven sobs.
Bucky quickly followed it to Jamie’s room to see… you, sitting on the floor, surrounded by Jamie’s things.
Tiny shirts he’d outgrown, one of his little sweaters clutched in your hands like you didn’t quite know what to do with it. His toys scattered around you, a book open in your lap.
Your shoulders shook, head bowed as your fingers traced over the thick cardboard. It was the alphabet one, with all the ice cream flavour. A is for apple pie ice cream… B is for bubblegum ice cream … C is for cherry ice cream… all the way down to Z is for zesty lemon ice cream, each page filled with ridiculous, overly cheerful drawings of scoops he used to point at with a serious look on his face.
“Remember this?” you whispered, voice breaking. “He used to make me read this every night… every night, Buck…”
Bucky’s chest tightened. He stepped in slowly. “Sweetheart.”
You didn’t look up right away.
Your hand flipped the pages, worn at the edges. “Remember when he was just learning? He couldn’t even say half the letters right, he’d just—” your breath hitched, a broken laugh slipping through “—he’d just make up sounds and get so proud of himself…”
Bucky crouched down in front of you now, close enough to reach, but not interrupting yet.
“He’s growing up so fast,” you said, finally looking at him, eyes glassy, tears spilling over. “Like… when did that happen? When did he get so big?”
Your voice cracked harder than as you lifted your head slightly. “Is he okay? Did he cry? Did he…”
“Sweets.” His hands came up to your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks and kissing the tears away.
“He’s okay,” he said, grounding, certain. “He’s okay.”
You searched his face like you needed proof.
And he gave it to you.
“He was scared for a second,” Bucky admitted. “He… didn’t know he’d be on his own.”
“What?!” You wiped at your cheek quickly, but it didn’t help “—is he… did he cry? What if he got scared? What if he wants to come home? What if… what if my baby—”
Bucky decided to stop your spiral by pulling you in, metal arm wrapping around your back, the human coming up to cradle your head against his chest as you broke properly into him.
“Hey, hey…” he murmured, grounding, steady. “C’mon. You know him. He’s okay.”
You clutched at his shirt, shaking your head against him. “But he didn’t know! What if—”
“He’s okay,” Bucky repeated for the umpteenth time, pressing his cheek to your hair. “I saw it.”
Your grip tightened.
“He handled it,” he continued gently. “I talked him through it.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, searching.
“And then?” you asked, voice small.
Bucky huffed, maybe even a little annoyed at how easily his son had found courage, but no less proud. “Then he walked in there like he had a mission.”
Finally, a faint smile tugged at your lips.
“He even found another kid,” Bucky added. “Looked just as lost as he did.”
Your brows knit slightly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “He went right up to him. Said something…” he gestured lightly toward the door “then they walked in together.”
Your eyes filled again, but this time it was different. It was good. “Oh my god…”
“Yeah,” Bucky said, bumping his nose with yours. “That’s our kid, alright.”
You let out a breath that was half sob, half laugh, leaning back into him.
“He’s okay,” you whispered, more to yourself now.
“He is,” Bucky said.
For a second, you both just sat there in the middle of the room, surrounded by the little pieces of Jamie’s life that suddenly felt smaller.
Then Bucky tilted his head slightly, looking down at you.
“…Look at you,” he chuckled.
You blinked. “What?”
“In the morning, I was the one losing it,” he pointed out, one brow lifting just a little. “Could barely keep it together.”
A tiny huff of a laugh escaped you.
“And now,” he continued, nudging your chin up gently, “here you are.”
You sniffed, wiping at your face. “These are happy tears,” you insisted, though your voice wobbled.
Bucky smiled knowing. “Yeah. Sure, sweets.”
You leaned into him again, quieter this time.
“He gets it from you, you know,” you said after a moment.
Bucky frowned slightly. “Get what?”
“That,” you said, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “That… focus. That way he just decides and goes for it.”
Bucky let out a breath, glancing down for a second before looking back at you. “Hmm, I think he gets it from you,” he countered, nudging your knee lightly. “That heart? The way he went back for that other kid?” he shook his head a little. “That’s all you.”
You sighed.
“Maybe,” you admitted, almost begrudgingly. “or maybe… he gets that from us both.”
Bucky huffed. “I’ll take that.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder, your fingers absently tracing the words.
After a good five minutes of silence, you looked up at your husband. “Bucky?”
“Yeah?”
You sniffed, glancing down at the little book still resting in your lap, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the page. “Can we take him for ice cream when we pick him up?”
Bucky blinked, a small smile pulling at his lips as he leaned in to press a kiss to your temple. “Even after all the loading I did with the waffles?”
You nodded against him. “I just… I want him to know he did a good job today.”
He let out a huff, shaking his head like there was never really a question.
Of course you were gonna pick him up together. Of course he was gonna get ice cream. Of course you both would do everything you could to make sure he knew that you both were so, so damn proud of him.
i’m telling you, bucky just having domestic dominance over you, like you don’t even realize he’s still dominating you outside of the bedroom, but you’re just so easy to control 😫
scrumptious
--------
Bucky’s dominance at home isn’t loud.
It isn’t barked orders or a deep growl in your ear or the sharp edge of his palm against your hip—those are reserved for the bedroom, where he ruins you honestly and thoroughly. But at home? When the sun is out and the world is quiet?
That’s where he gets you the easiest.
Because you don’t even notice it.
Like this morning—when you’re standing on your tiptoes in the kitchen, reaching for the bowl on the top shelf despite the fact that you cannot reach it.
You’re muttering to yourself, stretching dangerously, fingers grazing ceramic.
Then his chest presses against your back, slow and warm and purposeful. His hand comes up beside your head, easily plucking the bowl from the cabinet like it weighed nothing at all.
You don’t even jump. You just exhale and melt.
“Ask me next time,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over the shell of your ear. “Don’t need you hurtin’ yourself tryin’ to be tall.”
You roll your eyes—but your body sinks back into him anyway.
And he knows it.
He sets the bowl on the counter, his palm staying on your waist a second too long. His fingers squeeze—light and possessive.
You don’t question it.
You never do.
Later, you’re fussing around the apartment, trying to carry a pile of laundry bigger than your torso down the hall. You’re struggling, wobbling under the weight, vision blocked by the stack.
“Doll,” Bucky sighs, appearing out of nowhere like he always does when you’re about to do something ridiculous. “Give it.”
“I got it,” you argue, leaning back as he tugs the clothes from your hands.
He holds the laundry in one arm and uses the other to guide you by the jaw—thumb under your chin, fingers spread along the side of your face. Barely any pressure, just enough to turn your head toward him.
You go with it so naturally it's embarrassing.
He kisses you once—slow, warm—before stepping around you, taking the entire load as if it weighs nothing.
“Go sit,” he says, like he’s telling a puppy where to go. “I’ll handle this.”
You should protest.
You don’t.
You wander to the couch like he rewired your brain. You curl up with a blanket, blinking at yourself, wondering when exactly you obeyed without thinking.
But it keeps happening.
Like when you’re getting ready to run errands and you reach for those uncomfortable boots that always give you blisters. He doesn’t say anything—just gently redirects your hand toward the sneakers instead.
“Wear those.”
And you do.
Or when you’re cooking dinner and he walks behind you, nudges your hip with his, and takes over chopping like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You step aside automatically, letting him in, letting him guide.
Or when you’re out in public and someone bumps into you a little too hard, and Bucky’s arm wraps around your waist firmly—pulling you into his side before you can even process the impact.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
“Yeah, I—”
“Good.” His hand rubs slow circles on your hip. “Stay close.”
And you do.
Without thinking.
Without questioning.
Because that’s the thing: he doesn’t need the growl, the roughness, the sharp commands he uses in the bedroom. He doesn’t need to tell you to be good or open wider or take what he gives you.
You’re already doing that.
All day, every day.
You finally realize it one night when you’re sitting on the counter, legs open so he can stand between them while he fixes the cabinet hinge you broke last week. You aren’t even doing anything—just sitting there obediently, letting him position you wherever he wants you.
His metal hand rests on your thigh to keep you steady. His other hand works the screwdriver.
You’re quiet.
So is he.
Then, without looking up, he says, “Y’know you listen to me better at home than you do in bed.”
Your cheeks warm instantly. “What? No I don’t.”
“Oh yes you do.” He smirks, shifting your legs wider so he can grab a different angle on the hinge. “I tell you to sit— you sit. Tell you to wait— you wait. Tell you to come here— you practically run.”
You scowl. “I do not run.”
He raises a brow.
You look away. “…Maybe a little.”
His hand slides up your thigh, slow and deliberate. “You don’t even notice, do you?”
“Notice what?”
“How easy you are to handle.” He leans in until his forehead rests against yours. “How natural it is for you to listen when I tell you what to do.”
Your heartbeat stutters.
Your breath comes shallow.
Because now that he’s saying it out loud—
Now that you’re thinking about it—
Now that you’re aware—
“Oh my god,” you whisper. “I’m so embarrassing.”
He laughs softly, kissing your cheek. “Not embarrassing, sweetheart.” His fingers squeeze your hips, pulling you to the edge of the counter. “Perfect.”
“Bucky—”
“Means you trust me.” His voice drops, warm, deep. “Means you feel safe with me running things.”
You swallow hard. “Do you… like it?”
He smiles against your jaw, slow and wicked. “Doll.”
His breath ghosts over your neck.
“You have no idea how much.”
His hand curls around your waist, dragging you closer. Your legs wrap around him without hesitation—without thought.
Proof.
Living proof.
He kisses you like he owns the air in your lungs, and when he pulls back just enough to speak, his voice is velvet-wrapped steel.
“Good girl.” His thumb strokes your cheek. “Knew you’d come to me the second you realized it.”
Your pulse trips.
Your breath trembles.
You’re done for.
Absolutely done for.
And Bucky?
He just smirks, brushing his nose against yours.
Can you help me find this fic pla pls pls.. I read it halfway and then I lost it .. it was 2 parts.. Harry had a gf but he was cheating with her with y/n ..where y/n was Rob's niece..harry was a musician in this but it was all talks and not really main part of it.. it was a complete smut bt with plot.. Harry's gf name I am sorry idr bt y/n went on a date with this Ian guy.. the story went about 1 month later or 2 month later forwards.. harry is p**sy whipped for y/n but still is with his gf and whenever they have s*x they are like it's the last time..bt ofcourse it's not..bt then harry his gf y/n Ian all get together for someone's aunt's bday and harry stood her up then they don't talk and y/n also realises she shouldn't cheat and that harry should focus on his relation...
I just lost it and can't find it...if u could help me find it pls plss it would be a big help...pls plss...thanaak you ssmmm🥺🥺🥺🥺
Second time this has happened to me—there’s a scam making the rounds on Tumblr, apparently hopping over from Discord and Steam.
The setup looks “official” but basically you’ll get an email or a message saying your account was reported for fraud/phishing or something similar. Sometimes it tells you to message a “Tumblr staff member” on Discord or email them back, and now there’s a new version that gives you a fake email instead.
That’s not the real Tumblr staff email. The only real one is [email protected].
Please, be extremely suspicious of anyone claiming to represent a website or company —especially if they’re saying your account is in danger and you “need to act fast.” That kind of panic is exactly how scammers trick people.
One last thing, if you ask a question and they ignore it or keep pushing you to “just do what they say,” that’s a bot or scammer.
If you do get one of these:
⟡ Don’t click anything
⟡ Don’t reply
⟡ Don’t message them on discord (doubt they even have a discord)
Also, many scam posts come not from the actual account owner, but from hacked accounts. Attackers take over profiles (often by tricking the owner into clicking a phishing link, by exploiting reused passwords, or by bypassing the 2-factor auth) and then use those accounts to send these scam links, fake support messages, “giveaway” threads, or impersonate trusted friends. Your mutuals/friends may be victimized into this.
Because the account still looks legitimate (old posts, many followers), it’s very convincing. The real owner is most likely a victim too.
Always check that a profile’s recent activity looks normal.
I’ve dealt with this before with @normystical (hope you don’t mind the tag). They were hacked and their account was used to scam.
@nameless-ken @metal-armed-muse @superbassbuck @bubbarnes @chateaubarnes @quantumbarnes @heldbybarnes @iamthatonefangirl @cherryblossom-barnes @barnes-babydoll @buckyfmd @sheriff-bodecker @wherewinterblooms @slutdier @colettebarnes @herejustforbuckybarnes @buckywouldbeproud @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes and any other bucky fan accounts, this user is not the actual person. They’ve been hacked and I do not want you or anybody here get manipulated by this.
warnings: NO SMUT, just cutesy fluff, maybe just a tiny bit of angst but not really, nothing really to warn about. might be some typos and shit but at this point y'all should be expecting this from my dyslexic ass.
summary: After being friends with Bucky for years, you finally get the confession you've been dreaming of.
Being Bucky's friend isn't really as great as Steve made it seem. Sure, Bucky is caring and funny and fiercely protective of the things and people that he loves. Yes, he's funny and charming and everything good in the world, but he is also arrogant and cocky and so emotionally repressed that you're not even sure he knows what feelings are anymore.
Being Bucky's friend means that you're also the Winter Soldier's best friend and that is a horrible feeling. Not because of the fact that he is the Winter Soldier but more so because the Winter Soldier has a fucking martyr complex. Despite the fact that Bucky is an amazing person who you think encompasses every good aspect of the world, he's an incredible dumbass. Not just a regular dumbass, the kind of fucking idiot that thinks everyone else, everything else is more important than him. The kind of idiotic person that thinks everyone but him is worth saving, the kind who runs head first into danger because he genuinely doesn't care if he lives or dies as long as he saves someone. Bucky is the type of imbecile that would run into a building, knowing it was rigged with explosives just to save a cat.
Bucky may be one of the best people you've ever met, but being his friend is horrible.
It's caring so intensely for someone who doesn't even care about himself. It's not being able to see or even speak to him for weeks or months because he's off on some insanely stupid mission to save the fucking world or something stupid like that. It's him constantly thinking he's some kind of invincible god and you having to remind him over and over and over that he's not. No matter how much he might look like one. It's trying to convince someone that hates his entire fucking existence that he deserves every soft, sappy thing in the world no matter how much he thinks he doesn't.
But worst of all it's being in love with a complete fucking idiot who doesn't even think he's worthy of love. You'd take all the anxiety, the panic, the dread, the crying and worry a million times over if you could just not be in love with that complete fucking dumbass. Or if you could maybe convince him that he deserves all the love in the fucking world.
—
You can't sleep, never can when he's gone. Some stupid romance movie you've seen about a hundred times plays on your tv—a feeble attempt to keep your mind off Bucky. To keep your mind from imagining what he's doing on his mission and all the ways it could go horribly wrong.
It doesn't really work.
It's almost impossible to keep him out of your mind. When you're not worrying about all the ways he could be killed, you're pining after him in the worst fucking way.
Just staring mindlessly at the screen daydreaming about him and the way his clothes always fit just right, just enough to give you a good view of his muscles without being too tight. And the way he looks in his stupidly attractive one armed outfits he wears on missions—which shouldn't be so fucking hot, but it is, it really fucking is. And his lips, just everything about them, their shape, their pretty pink color, the way they look so fucking soft all the god damned time. And that boyish, way too endearing, smirk of his that makes your heart feel like it's about to burst out of your chest. And his hands and the way they feel against your skin, rough calloused fingers with a touch so soft it sends chills down your spine. And—and, God you're so fucking fucked about him.
He's your best friend, really one of your only friends, and yet you can't stop thinking about him doing filthy things—that he would probably never do—to you. It's horrible and dirty and disrespectful but you just can't stop, thinking about Bucky's mouth and if it's really as soft as it looks.
You smell him before you even hear him, woody smoke, and honey, mixed with sweat. You smile softly to yourself as he drops his bag to the ground with a little grunt. Your mind moves slowly, struggling through your lack of sleep to put pieces together. You're clumsily climbing over the back of the couch the second you realize he's really there.
"Bucky," You start to say, stumbling a little at the ungraceful way you dismount from the back of the couch. "What the fuck?" You ask, waving your hands up and down in his general direction.
He's not sure if you're questioning his appearance or his presence...maybe both. You're not really sure either.
"I just got back," He mutters, words dripping with exhaustion as his arms slip lazily around your waist, making you trip over your own feet as he pulls you into his chest.
"You didn't text," You whisper, matching the soft tone of his voice as you slide your arms around his neck, resting your chin on his shoulder.
He doesn't respond right away, he pulls you closer instead, grabbing onto your shirt to keep you there as if you had any plans on letting go. He makes a soft, barely audible noise, as he hides his face in the crook of your neck. His arms are tight around your waist, holding you to him like he's scared you're just gonna disappear and the thought makes your chest ache. You tilt your head, squeezing your eyes shut as your nose presses into the top of his shoulder, your lips just barely touching the leather on his jacket. Your nose floods with his scent, and you find yourself wishing you could capture it and keep it forever. He smells like camping in the summer, like searching for bugs and plants and pretty rocks in the woods, like staring up at the sky and pointing out the prettiest ones.
He smells likehome, warm and cozy and safe.
Slowly it feels like every ounce of worry and dread is leached out of your body. He's home, he's safe, he's here in your arms and nothing else fucking matters. This is the good part, this right here, all the worrying and sleepless nights are worth it just for this feeling. This happy sort of peaceful relief you get every time he comes back safe.
"M'sorry," He mutters after a few seconds, his words muffled in the crook of your neck. "Jus' wanted to get home."
Your stomach twists at that, a giddy sort of feeling floating around in your stomach at his words. He came straight from his mission to you. Didn't stop at his place, didn't go to the compound, he came straight to you. Straight home to you.
"Took ya long enough." You whisper against his shoulder, voice light and teasing as his grip on your shirt tightens.
He doesn't say anything, but you can tell this one must've been rough on him. It's obvious from the way he's clutching your shirt like a lifeline. Holding you to his chest like he thought he'd never see you again, like he's scared to let go. You don't ask him about it, he'll talk when he's ready, but you do hold him just as tight as he holds you. Rub your hands along his back, over his shoulder, up the back of his neck, lingering the softest touches everywhere you can reach because you know it calms him down.
"S'good you came home, you were gone so long I was about to come lookin' for you." You tell him, smiling softly against his neck at the little snort he lets out.
He's quiet for a bit longer, just standing there with his arms around your waist, his hands clutching at your shirt like he's terrifiedyou're going to vanish. After a while he relinquishes your shirt and before you can even think about pulling away, not that you would, his hands are running down to the backs of your thighs.
"M'sorry," He murmurs into your neck, lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist like you weigh absolutely nothing. "Came as quick as I could, darlin', didn't even get to shower or anything."
"Did you eat?" You ask softly, holding onto him a little tighter as he hooks his arms back around your waist.
He shakes his head and you start to offer to cook him something while he showers but he's walking in the direction of your bedroom before you can get a single word out. He nudges your bedroom door open with the toe of his boot without saying a word and it makes you frown because Bucky is never silent around you. Talks so damn much you started to think he just liked the sound of his own voice (really he just loved the sound of yours but he's not about to admit something that sappy).
"Do you want to eat?" You ask, voice all soft and sweet in a way that makes his head spin.
He shakes his head again and without even letting go of you, he falls forward onto your bed, sandwiching you between him and your mattress. He's heavy, dense, thick muscle directly on top of you, but you don't complain. You wouldn't dare tell him that he's crushing your fucking chest because then he'd let go and you don't want that.
He settles with his head on your chest, his ear pressed up against the center of it. Listening closely to the sound of your heart like he didn't believe it was real. His hand slips a little under the hem of your shirt but stays resting on your hip as if all he wanted was just to feel your skin.
He's silent for a while, laying so still that you almost think he's fallen asleep. You don't say anything either because what could you possibly say? You could tell him about work or something but you're almost certain he doesn't want to hear that.
"Thought you were dead..." He whispers as he nuzzles his face against the center of your chest. His hands squeeze at your hips and you can't shake the feeling that he's trying to make sure you're real.
You don't really know what to say to that either. You stroke your fingers through his hair and you swear you feel your heart break a little at the pain in his voice.
"God, I thought you were fucking dead..." His voice cracks a little this time and his arms wrap around your waist tight, too tight but you don't say a thing. You're happy to just let him squeeze the life out of you if it makes him feel even a little bit better. "They...they got in my head, made me see things...and all I could think about was that I never got the chance to tell you."
"Tell me what?" You ask and you think your voice comes out a bit strained because he immediately loosens his grip.
"That I'm fucking in love with you," He forces out, voice rough with emotion as he shifts a little so that he's looking down at you.
Your heart fucking stops at his words and all you can do is just stare up at him like a complete fool. Cheeks flushing bright red and eyes wide as you stammer and choke on 16 different failed attempts at speech.
He loves you. No. He's in love with you.
"I thought you were dead and all I could think about was that you didn't know I loved you." He tells you, voice softening some as his eyes scan over your face. "All I wanted to fucking do was hold you and kiss you and just fucking touch you again and I know that's so fucking selfish of me but...fuck."
"You...love me?" Your voice comes out all meek and unsure as you look up at him. You're not even sure if your heart has started beating again because it feels like you could, very well, drop dead at any fucking second.
"Of course I do you fucking idiot." Bucky laughs and the sound is utterly heart wrenching to you. He tries to smile but it just looks so fucking sad that you want to cry.
And maybe he's right and you are a fucking idiot because you can't think of anything to say. You want to tell him you love him too but the words won't come up, they stick in the back of your throat and make you choke. All you can manage is to reach out, grab his face, and pull it down to yours in a pathetic excuse for a kiss.
He kisses you back instantly, taking control of the kiss, somehow calmer than you. His lips are soft and sweet against yours and nowhere near as clunky and uncoordinated as you but he doesn't seem to mind in the slightest. He smiles a little against your near frantic lips, one hand coming up to cradle the side of your face.
It's not your first kiss, not even close, but you're so clumsy with it that it damn near feels like it. He hums against your lips like it's the best damn kiss he's ever had, strokes his thumb over your cheek and laughs when your teeth hit his.
You think he'll pull away, you would if you were him, but he doesn't. If anything he kisses you a bit harder, trying to take control of the kiss and guide your lips to work with his and it works wonders, you practically melt into it. He makes a soft, pleased sound in the back of his throat when you finally relax and then his tongue slides over your bottom lip and you melt all over again.
You've never been the biggest fan of tongue kissing, it's always just so wet and slimy and forceful. But there's something about the way Bucky's tongue slides so so softly across your bottom lip that has you parting your lips without a second thought. And you don't fucking regret it at all.
It doesn't feel all slimy and gross like you're used to. His tongue is soft and wet and there's a faint hint of sweet mint as he kisses you. One of his hands squeezes at your waist under your shirt and he fucking groans like kissing you is the best thing he's ever experienced.
He kisses you until you're both breathless, until your lips are raw and swollen and slick with spit.
His forehead presses against yours and his voice comes out all hoarse and raspy as he says, "Fuck, I could kiss you for fucking ever,"
You laugh at that and the noise is so soft and sweet that it makes his breath hitch. You flutter your eyes open, thumbs stroking at the side of his neck as you look up at his flushed face.
"I love you too," You whisper and God, the way he smiles sends a jolt of warm heat through your body. "I didn't say it earlier, but I do. I really fucking do."
Pairing ✯ Mechanic!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
Word Count ✯ 3.2k
Warnings ✯ Swearing, pet names, fluff, extreme spicy tension, there are special additions and appearances
Author's Note ✯ I couldn't leave him alone, and he's such a smug bastard.
Beta'd by ✯ @smutconnoisseur
His Girls Masterlist
Time was irrelevant when it came to Bucky – he was gravity, and you were helplessly pulled to him like a moth to a flame. When it finally came time to collect your car from his garage, you walked away with much more than just your keys.
It was funny how fate worked. Yesterday, you were cursing to the high heavens that your bucket-of-bolts car wouldn’t survive the drive home. This morning, you were counting your blessings for the fact that your car chose that moment to come to a stop outside of Barnes Classics Restoration.
All night – you had stayed up almost all damn night on the phone with the broody, muscled, tattooed mechanic that had stolen your breath away. It started with texts – innocent enough, but then Bucky drove home and called you. You hesitated briefly before you recklessly swiped to answer his call, then… Well, it was all downhill from there.
For hours you got to know him, and he got to know you – his attention was addictive, not to mention the way his voice lowered every time he’d congratulate you on an achievement or how happy Bucky sounded when he talked about his career and fame in the collector’s industry.
“I best be gettin’ some shut eye, doll–need to be up bright and early to finish up your car before I come ‘n get you,” Bucky said, voice raspy from hours of talking, and it was two in the morning. “You sleep well, sweetheart. I’ll see you-” A pause; you suspected he was checking the time, “Well, I’ll see you in a few hours.” The breathy chuckle that left his lips and echoed in the speaker made your heart flutter.
You would do anything to hear it again.
“Sleep well, handsome,” you whispered, stifling a yawn. “I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”
“Night, doll.”
The line clicked, and you sighed heavily, willing the pounding of your heart to calm. No good would come of falling too quickly, you knew this, but dammit all; you couldn’t help but feel attached to Bucky’s charm and swagger.
All too soon, the sun rose, and you with it. Excitement made you feel like you were vibrating out of your skin, the single good morning text from ‘Handsome’ saying a simple: “I’m on my way, sweetheart,” set the butterflies in your stomach aflame. You dressed nicely, casually – but nice, a flattering outfit and one of your favourites.
With your house tidied after breakfast, you moved to the couch, your knee bouncing in anticipation to hear the rumbling engine of Bucky’s car down the street – when you heard something. It wasn’t the Mustang you had fawned over yesterday, but it was similar. It cut out before you could ponder it further, and you heard footsteps up the path to your front door, then two solid knocks against the wood.
“Hey, doll, it’s me!” Bucky called, muffled by the barrier. Your stomach swooped, and you rushed to the door, pausing briefly to adjust your shirt. Deep breath, you intoned, filling your tightening lungs and exhaling.
The door flew open, and low and behold, Bucky stood on your doorstep – hair loose and falling to his shoulders, a black Henley with rolled up sleeves to show off the artistry gracing his forearms and hands, and the kind of jeans that made you praise the heavens for thighs like his. “Hey,” you managed, not in a squeak if you did say so yourself.
“Hey back,” Bucky smirked, allowing a glance up and down your figure. “You look beautiful.”
“This?” You glanced down at your casual fit, the compliment making the disconnect between your brain and mouth all the more obvious. “Um, t-thanks.”
“C’mon,” Bucky said, offering his elbow and tilting his head. “Your chariot awaits.”
Careful to lock the door behind you, you made your way arm in arm with Bucky down the steps and down the footpath when you finally tore your eyes from him to look at the Mustang in all her glory – only, it wasn’t the Mustang.
“What the-”
Bucky chuckled and gestured to the black as night Dodge Challenger parked at the curb. “This is my other baby,” he said, grinning like a fool. “I decided it was time you met her, and since you had such an adorable reaction to my Mustang–” You stood there, gaping like a fish out of water at the power before you, and like with the Mustang, you came to a halt and planted your feet, glancing between him and the Challenger. “Oh my god, you’re so fuckin’ cute, doll,” he purred.
“Cute?” You squeaked, what you wouldn’t give for the ground to swallow you whole – both your being and the cacophony of butterflies in your stomach at being called cute.
“Yeah, y’are, sweetheart.” Slowly, you took a few steps closer to him, and he threw an arm over your shoulder, pulling you close and taking the opportunity to say against the crown of your head, “So fuckin’ adorable, baby.”
“Oh, my god,” you muttered. You knew there was a pull to him the moment he smiled at you the day before, but hearing all this from his lips now? It took all of your restraint to not fall to the floor in a swoon – that would only inflate his ego, you thought.
A chirp sounded from the Challenger, and Bucky opened the door, urging you inside. “M’lady.”
“Such a charmer,” you said before the door closed, and you watched as Bucky laughed and strode to the driver’s side, slipping inside in one fluid moment.
Once Bucky was settled in his seat and had the shifter in hand, he turned to you with a brow raised, a quirk in his lips that widened to be predatory. “I live to please.” The air in the car was sucked out with the statement, and you floundered, scrambling for a retort, but Bucky beat you. “Now, hold on.” The car rumbled to life with a roar, and you gripped the door handle and glovebox like a lifeline.
While not entirely unexpected, the drive to Bucky’s garage was filled with a lot of tire smoke and Bucky laughing at your iron grip on whatever you could scramble to grab hold of.
“That was too much, Bucky!” You gasped, swinging open the door and heaving for breath. “Too much, holy shit.”
“Nah, you can take it, doll,” Bucky replied, materialising out of nowhere next to you and offering his hand to help you out of the car – such a gentleman, even after scaring me half to death, you shrewdly thought. “C’mon, come inside, and you can meet the gang of idiots I have workin’ for me.”
Solid ground under your feet steadied the wave of adrenaline from Bucky’s antics. You followed close behind him as he walked – strutted into his garage office, only there was a red-headed woman with a wicked smile and watchful eyes perched in his chair.
She surveyed you, a critical gaze that morphed into a smirk of mischief before she glanced at Bucky. “What’s got you in so early, Barnes?” The chair creaked as she sat up, raising a brow. “And no coffee?”
“Get your own, Nat,” Bucky scoffed. He paused and looked between you and Nat. She looked expectant, with a quirk to her lips that only grew. “Doll, this is Nat–she’s the one that pulls these fools into line when I’m not here.”
You offered your name shyly, and she grinned at you, rising from the chair to reveal grease stained jeans and combat boots. “Nice to meet you. It’s not often Buck here is in at this hour–maybe you’re changing him for the better, huh?”
“I don’t-”
“Fuck off, Nat,” Bucky cut in, rolling his eyes. You glanced at him, but he refused to meet your gaze, and you swore he was fighting the urge to hide behind his curtain of hair. “Get back to work.”
Nat just winked and walked into the garage, her flaming hair bright amongst the colours of parked cars.
“So,” Bucky said, clearing his throat. “That’s Nat.” The quiet chuckle left your lips before you could stop it, and Bucky moved towards the desk to place his keys down. “D’you wanna meet the other idiots?”
“Why not,” you replied, grinning. “I like Nat; she’s feisty.”
“Not you, too,” Bucky groaned, staring at you with an exasperated frown. “I get enough shit from her as it is, do not join her side–you’re meant to be on my side.”
“Oh, there are sides?” Bucky only narrowed his eyes, suspicion plain as day on his rugged features. “Alright, I yield,” you rushed placatingly. “I’m on your side, Handsome, okay?”
Bucky stepped closer, and you suppressed the urge to shudder or move out of his shadow and away from that piercing gaze. “That’s my girl, now c’mon.”
The garage was bustling with activity as Bucky led you through the door. Quiet indistinct conversations could be heard over the lull of music from the overhead speakers, as well as the whirring of power tools and the sounds of metal on metal. It was strangely comforting, a hive of activity where things were working like a well oiled machine – which, you supposed, was natural.
“Steve,” Bucky called, and you watched a mess of blond hair peer around a popped bonnet – immediately, you recognised him as the blond you first saw yesterday. “Come meet our new client.”
“Ah, the sweetheart that had you showing off yesterday,” Steve replied, wiping his hands on a rag and walking over. “Good to meet you, honey.” His smile was soft, and his eyes flashed with the same mischief as Nat’s. “You can call me Stevie, and Buck here has had me slaving away over your car-”
“Rogers,” Bucky snapped, shoving at his shoulder, and Steve laughed. “Shut the fuck up.”
“I thought you were working on my car?” You piped up, raising a brow at Bucky, who in turn frowned at Steve.
“I asked this punk for one damn minute of help, and he suddenly thinks he’s God’s gift to me.” You stared between the two men squaring their shoulders, an unspoken threat to whoop one another’s asses, playfully, you hoped.
Steve started to walk backwards towards the front of the car he was working on, a smirk on his lips as he pulled the rag from his belt. “But I thought I was.”
“Smug bastard,” Bucky muttered, loud enough so only you would hear, and you laughed. “Alright, enough of that.” You followed Bucky as he walked to another area of the garage, another bay where another classic car was parked, the bonnet up, and a pair of boots visible from the undercarriage. “Carter, get your ass up.”
“Gimme a minute, Buck,” Carter called, his voice muffled by the car. “Just gotta, damn-” A clink of metal on concrete made Bucky sigh. “Shuddup,” Carter said.
You were distracted by Bucky crossing his arms over his chest, the tattoos on his arms bright under the downlights hanging from the ceiling, and the muscles of his biceps flexed as he fidgeted. There were smaller tattoos amidst the bigger designs – scripture and patterns that entranced you, and you tampered down the urge to trace them with a finger, only just. “See somethin’ you like, sweetheart?”
Startled, you looked up from his arms to his face. A smug smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, and he raised a brow.
“Sorry,” you blurted, hastily looking down at your feet, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole. “I-”
“I don’t mind,” Bucky said, pulling your attention to his face again, that smirk forming into a grin, and he winked. “Just don’t let those thoughts get to your head, doll. I wouldn’t want to have to bring you back down to earth again–at least,” Bucky had moved closer, close enough to whisper against your ear under the guise of looking at the tools scattered on the tray next to you. “Not here.”
“Oh,” you breathed before you thought better of it, and you clamped your mouth shut with a loud click.
Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. The boots that belonged to Carter finally moved, and a man, uncannily similar to Bucky, appeared on a wheelie board before he rose to his feet with a groan. “Almost finished with this one,” he said, looking at Bucky, who nodded before Carter turned to look at you. He was handsome, with a charming smile and bright eyes. “Now, who’s this pretty darlin’?”
You didn’t miss the way Bucky stiffened next to you, his smile becoming forced, and neither did Carter – his eyes drifted to Bucky, and he raised a brow and his hands in teasing placation. “This is our new client, Hal,” Bucky said, his tone only slightly clipped as he said your name. “She’s here to pick up her car.”
“Ah, so you’re the-”
“Yeah, she’s the one I was showing off for,” Bucky cut in, and Hal chuckled. “I already heard that from Stevie. Now,” Bucky paused, narrowing his eyes at the engine bay. “Get that pigsty cleaned up.”
“Buck- C’mon, I was playin’!” Hal huffed, deflating under Bucky’s stare. “Alright, alright, easy, tiger.” Hal looked at you and smiled, his eyes softening. “Good to meet you, sugar. I’m sure we’ll see each other more if Buck is this damn protective-”
Bucky uncrossed his arms and advanced, but Hal danced out of his reach with a cackle, his southern twang making it sound like a whoop.
“What is it with these idiots,” Bucky said as he rested a hand on your lower back to guide you away from a laughing Hal. “I swear-”
“They’re amazing,” you interrupted, laughing at Bucky’s incredulous stare. “They’re making me realise that you’re not all that ‘big tough guy’, and that you’re just a big softie!”
“I am not-” Bucky huffed. His lip suddenly curled in another predatory smirk, and you gulped as Bucky slowed his pace and leant down, his breath hot on your ear. “I can be big and hard, y’know, just for you, sweetheart.”
“Bucky!”
His laughter rang around the garage, and his shoulders shook as you stared at him, shock and astonishment switching your brain into betraying you by helping you picture exactly what he inferred. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered,” Bucky chuckled, throwing an arm around your shoulder.
You followed numbly as he directed you toward a group of men, all of who were hovering at a rack of tools as they talked.
“Fellas,” Bucky called, and all three of them looked over, eyes moving from Bucky to you. You smiled as Bucky introduced you to them, offering your name while your mind still reeled from that damned comment that left your stomach in your throat. “This is Chris,” Bucky said, pointing at a man dressed in a denim jacket, his hair buzzed short and a goatee. “He’s broodier than me, and that’s sayin’ something.” Chris glared at Bucky but softened his gaze as he looked at you.
“Nice to meet you, sweetheart,” Chris said, backing away and turning with a salute.
“Don’t mind him,” Bucky continued. “And this is Ari,” he said, gesturing to a giant of a man with blond hair – just like Steve’s and a kind smile.
“Hey there, honey,” Ari winked. “Buck here hasn’t shut up about you.”
“Goddammit,” Bucky groaned. “What is with you guys? I have one girl I show off to, and here the lot of you are-”
“Easy, boss,” Ari laughed. “Just telling her what you’re too afraid to admit, bein’ big and tough, an’ all.” He flipped a wrench in his hand and sauntered off, grinning like the cat that caught the mouse.
“Don’t listen to them, boss,” the final man said. He looked young – bright and bouncing on the balls of his feet with energy. “I’m Peter,” he offered, smiling widely. “I’m the apprentice.”
“Yeah, and the only one that has the sense not to be a shithead,” Bucky cut in, rubbing his face. “I still have the sway to intimidate you into behaving around finer company.”
“Good to meet you, Peter,” you smiled, shaking his hand. He didn’t hang around long before he rushed off after Ari. The moment of peace was a blessing, and you took the opportunity to look Bucky over – his cheeks were tinged pink, and he kept fidgeting, his hands unable to be still. “You okay, Handsome?”
Bucky looked at you and sighed, nodding. “I knew they were bastards, the lot of them, but damn them.”
You laughed and took his arm. “Take me to me hunk-a-junk, Buck,” you said, shaking it a little. “Then I can get out of your hair, and you can beat some sense into those rascals.”
“Bastards, you mean, doll,” Bucky sighed, grabbing your hand. “Alright, let’s see about your bucket o’ bolts.”
The office was empty when the two of you walked in, and Bucky gestured to a comfortable looking chair. “Sit down for me. I’ll get the paperwork and shit ready,” he said, smiling as you took it. “Good girl.”
“Why are you like this?” You whined, hiding your face in your hands.
“Like what, sweetheart?” Bucky hummed, rooting around in a filing cabinet before pulling out a sheet of paper with a flourish. He turned to look at you and leant against the desk, his body far too close to yours as he handed you the paperwork detailing the work done on your car. “Jus’ tryin’ to be sweet on you.”
Groaning with embarrassment, you glanced down the list, only to find no price written – not for parts, nor labour. “Buck, you missed-”
“I didn’t miss a thing, doll,” he mused, smiling softly down at you – the fondness in his eyes made your stomach flip.
“But I can’t accept this,” you rushed, pointing at the paperwork. “I can’t-”
Bucky shook his head once. “You’ll accept it because you’ll do as you’re told,” he said abruptly, and your mouth fell slack. He chuckled quietly and shook his head again. “Forgive me, sweetheart, I dunno about you, but I enjoy your company–probably more than I should. And- No, let me finish,” Bucky held up a hand to stop you from speaking. Disbelief was flooding you, drowning you the more he spoke. “I wanna explore whatever this is between us.”
“Bucky, oh my god,” you breathed. “Are you-” You gulped and cleared your throat. Dreaming – you had to be dreaming. “Are you asking me out?”
He just nodded, his gaze intense, unwavering. You fell back in your chair, staring at him with the sensibilities of a fish out of water. Silence echoed in the room, and you struggled to find words and articulate just how badly you wanted this.
Before you could speak, however, Bucky shifted, his mouth opening to speak, "I thought drinks woulda been a date, sweetheart, but…" He hummed, narrowing his eyes before they widened like a light bulb had gone off in his mind. "I know–be ready for me to take you out Friday night, 8 o'clock sharp."
"Bucky, I-"
"Nope," Bucky sang, the honeyed pull of his words too alluring to ignore. "Be ready at 8 o'clock sharp, sweetheart. Let a fella show a dame a good time."
After lingering for another few unplanned hours, you put the garage in your rear-view mirror when you realised what had just happened. Bucky had asked you out on a date, an actual date, and he was going to pick you up that Friday night, 8 o’clock sharp, with an order to dress comfortably.
There was no fathoming just what he had in store for you, and you found you didn’t mind that one bit – what was wrong with taking a leap of faith?
Please support content creators and reblog our works! ❤
summary: Set up on what might be the worst blind date you’d ever been on, you find yourself captivated by the mysterious bartender instead
pairing: bucky x reader, bartender!au
warnings: a handsy asshole named Brock Rumlow
a/n: this was written for @notyetneedcoffee‘s 2k writing challenge! My prompt was “Touch her again and lose that hand.“ Congrats on 2k!!
The night hadn’t even started and you already missed your couch. With every step along the sidewalk and the click of a heel, you craved to dive into the soft cushioning of your old, worn down sofa, rid yourself of the makeup on your face, and watch movies all night with your best friend. Though, considering she was the culprit behind your current predicament, you might have to reconsider your friendship status for a while.
Natasha was always on your back about how often you kept yourself holed up in the apartment. You weren’t one for nights at the bar in tight dresses baring more skin than you were comfortable with or mingling with strangers in overcrowded spaces with music so loud you could hardly hear yourself think. You were always content with a bowl of popcorn on your lap and hair thrown haphazardly away from your face watching a fourth episode of the same series in a binge, and perhaps that made you a little lame, but you didn’t much mind.
You were happy in your ways, but Natasha had other plans.
It was how you ended up wearing a dress from her closet, black and short enough for your hands to be gripping and tugging the fabric down every few paces, and on your way to a bar downtown to meet a guy you didn’t even know. Some friend she was.
PLEASE HELP ME I cannot find this bucky fic I want to re read embarrassingly bad lol it’s about how he would only ever let the reader play with his dog tags and then reader is sad bc he saw that nat was touching them? idk I can’t remember much except I loved it and I can’t find it hahaha so if you know please sent it my way lol
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