Updated 2/25/2025, since I got a new laptop and am updating a couple of my older fics.
Here’s my stories, all are Bucky Barnes x Reader/OFC unless otherwise noted. I lurve him.
All of my readers are female, tall and more than a size 2. Stoners one and all.
*I accept requests. Main #1 rule, Bucky can't end up the bad guy, Never ever. Female reader only. Also, no incest, no DDLG. That's all I can think of but I'll update if I come across anything else I'm not comfortable writing.
JUST ASK ME
If you prefer AO3
Miss Velvet- Completed
Y/N is a disabled equestrian and therapeutic riding instructor who helps Tony Stark with his PTSD after returning from Titan. When the Avengers bring everyone back he hires her to work with Avengers and SHIELD hires her as therapist and teaching basic riding skills because you never know when a horse will be the best mode of transportation.<;br />
Bucky Barnes is a manwhore who is enjoying his freedom for the first time in decades and pays no mind to y/n when she meets the team because he learned to ride from Hydra and too is busy pursuing his next conquest.
Post Endgame but everybody survived, because I said so. And Steve helped get Sharon Carter pardoned so they are together.
Notes: this is some sort of Heathers/Mean Girls/The DUFF mash up, in college au. I tried to make it original but will admit to being influenced by other stories I have read. I have not intentionally stolen or copied anyone else’s work.
Summary: Reader is a hard working vet science major. I tried to keep the description vague except she’s a she, tall and not thin. Bucky is a studious engineering major with a mean girl girlfriend, Sharon whose sister is Steve’s ex Peggy another mean girl. Steve & Nat, Sam & Wanda, Brock Rumlow is a dick, brief reader x Jack Rollins, Maria & Carol
Friday is an equestrian who runs a therapeutic stable that works with special needs, at risk kids and veterans.
Bucky Barnes is the boss of SHIELD a mafia family and involved with a business deal that requires Friday's Place and all of the homes around it to be demolished for new buildings.
Brock Rumlow is second in command with Hydra and in charge of the deal Friday is fighting. He's not afraid to fight dirty, in fact he prefers it.
Sharon Carter is Friday's oldest frenemy and Brocks girl.
Friday won't go down without a fight. What happens when her and Bucky clash?
Steve Rogers x Reader, Steve Rogers x Sharon Carter, Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff x Reader(past), Reader x ????
Former Black Widow Reader is engaged to Steve Rogers but what happens when Sharon Carter is pardoned and returns.
Alternative version- Completed
Steve Rogers x Reader, Steve Rogers x Sharon Carter, Bucky x reader (past. Future?) Warnings: swearing, angst, cheating, Steve is a dick, Sharon is a bad person.
Reader is a former Black Widow and engaged to Steve Rogers. What happens when Sharon Carter is pardoned and comes to the Avengers compound?
Notes: This is a rework of one of my older stories because I'm stuck on everything else. When I first wrote this one of my mutuals passed on reading it because she hates Natasha and I have been pondering rewriting a version where she still died on Vormir ever since. Since I'm just tweaking some bits and this is only 9 chapters it should all be done and posted pretty quick.
Reader is low on self esteem. Can Bucky convince her that she's the one he wants?
Note: just a simple love story. Many of the people, situations and quotes were plucked directly from my past experiences. It took my husband a lot of time and angst to help me look past the image that my ex carved into my psyche. Luckily he really did want me and was patient enough to help me carry my baggage.
Names have been changed to protect the not so innocent.
Summary: Y/N is the daughter of a powerful mob boss who only cares about her horses and making it to the Olympics but her father expects her to marry an equally powerful boss to help strengthen his business. Bucky is looking for a wife to help his business but already has a long term girlfriend, Natasha.
Notes: considering another story to try and get past the block I have for my WIP's. LMK what you think. If anyone is interested I'll keep going. I could also use help with a title, I'm not great at them.
I tried to keep my reader as generic as possible but like always she's female and taller than average.
Summary: Reader meets Bucky when the truck hauling her show horses breaks down as she is trying to leave for an event and he works for the mechanic. Passionate, secret love affair ensues. After a confrontation with her father, Bucky decides she deserves better than a poor biker like him and leaves town with his friends Steve and Sam.
Three years later, reader is trapped in an abusive relationship and about to give up hope of things ever improving, when Bucky comes back.
Summary: Reader meets Bucky at a party and the attraction is more than either one of them wants to resist.
Notes: Since most stories are younger readers I felt like having a more mature reader could be a nice change of pace. Especially since I'm creeping up on senior discounts and want to believe Bucky could fall in love with someone like me.
I try to keep my readers description vague but, as always, she's female, tall and this one is obviously 40+
Steve Rogers x Reader, Steve Rogers x Natasha, Reader x ????
Reader is a mutant with the ability to turn sound into light who was 'adopted' aka stolen as a child by Baron Von Strucker to use for experimentation. She was given a form of the Super soldier serum so in addition to her mutant abilities she also has super strength, enhanced senses and healing. When he starts experimenting on his volunteers, the Maximoff twins, she tries to convince them to escape with her but they tell the Baron that she's planning to escape so he doubles her cell security. Steve and reader met when the team recovered Loki's scepter from Strucker.
She falls in love with Steve and becomes good friends with Nat but they aren't the friends she thinks they are.
This story is canon adjacent except that Thanos never happened.
Bucky Barnes x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Sharon Carter
Summary: Reader and Bucky are best friends until a drunken hook up. Bucky wants a friends with benefits situation because he doesn't feel ready for a relationship but reader knows that will lead to a broken heart.
Then Sharon Carter comes to work with them.
Notes: Steve and Tony are around but retired, everything else is mostly canon
Summary: After a mission almost gone wrong, Tony brings back Bucky's former assistant, who is also Bucky's ex. Can they work together without hurting each other? Will the whole truth about their break up finally come out?
Summary: Reader works as an administrator for the Thunderbolts* and quickly falls for the White Wolf. The team is hesitant to trust her and drama ensues.
Note: As usual I'm stuck in a story and starting yet another one. This has been rolling around in my head since we went to see Thunderbolts* so hopefully getting this out will help knock some inspiration for The Situation Room and No Benefits.
I've tried to keep the reader neutral but she is a she and as always taller than average. I haven't seen a story like this one but haven't been able to keep up with all the new works so if it seems similar please know that's not my intention.
Anyhow, I hope y'all like it. Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated.
LMK if I should keep going.
Warnings: angst with a happy ending, swearing, cannabis use
Summary: Reader is devastated when she finds out she can't have kids, then her husband leaves her for another woman. She goes to visit her aunts ranch and meets a cowboy, tall dark and handsome. Will he help repair her heart or fracture it even more?
NOTE: this is inspired by the first Danielle Steele novel I ever read. I was 12 and my mom handed it to me "This has horses, you'll like it". I eventually grew out of Danielle Steele but still have that book my mom gave me.
The characters have all been replaced by MCU characters. Reader and Bucky are 30ish but Steve and Peggy are in their 60's. Like all of my Readers she's a she, above average height and uses cannabis.
Summary: Reader is stressed and enjoys diving into her favorite fandoms as her happy escape. What happens when she is some how transported into her favorite fandoms
A/N: this is my first time doing a story collaboration with the amazing mutuals I've encountered on tumblr, all thought up and coordinated by @supraveng many thanks for including me.
This series will have multiple chapters and each written by someone else.
Reader and Bucky have been dating for awhile but when he is gone on a long mission the stress causes her psoriasis to flare and she's scared he will be disgusted.
Poor Choices
Request*****Like Steve cheated on his wife and when she found out about them he gave her the divorce papers and left her with their kids, and after few years the woman he cheated with cheated on him and he tries to get back to the reader and now she’s married to Bucky .******
Traded Up
Nick Fowler x Reader, Ransom Drysdale x Reader(past)
Request***** I have a request for your milestone celebration......can you write a Ransom Drysdale or Nick Fowler story? any scenario you like, just keeping his asshole persona except he's totally soft for the reader?
The Wrong One
Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader
Reader meets Steve while he's on the run and sticks with him thru thick and thin. Until he sees Peggy Carter again.
tags : bucky barnes x avenger! reader , reader is with a really bad boyfriend , reader gets cheated on , SFW , bucky comfort <33
word count : 2400+ (i got carried away)
a/n : i know technically bucky wouldnt be in the avengers tower just shhhh ok
10:06 AM, Today.
You were too blind to see the mistakes.
It was your 1 month anniversary. 1 month since you had matched on a godforsaken dating app your friend “recommended”.
Yeah, couples usually celebrate 1 year, but the little milestones mattered to you too.
You had texted him about it the night prior.
8:34 PM, Yesterday.
: It’s our 1 month anniversary tomorrow 😗
juliann💕: Really?
: Yes!
juliann💕: That's nice.
: Can I come over? It’ll be fun 🙏
juliann💕: Ok
Eh. He was probably tired.
10:19 AM, Today.
He was busy with some work. That's normal. Just an hour.
You were supposed to be bringing over a cake for a celebration. Instead you were tapping your feet on the floors, anxiously staring at the slice of cake while Bucky struck a punching bag like it had personally hurt him.
“I mean he’s busy, surely. He said he’d be done in an hour. I really hope he likes the cake. I mean I know he will. I hope so. It’s just that last time I bought him something he didn’t really like and I could tell he didn’t like it, and I just don’t want to disappoint him this time too.” You ramble loudly to Bucky, sighing.
Bucky grit his teeth, clenching his jaw.
It wasn’t you. He could never be mad at you. Or your pretty face as you rambled. But your boyfriend; “Julian” or whatever the fuck, was driving him crazy. I mean a girl as pretty, as talented, as strong as you? He wasn’t on par. Not even close.
I bet he doesn’t even know her favourite movie. Or show. Or food. Bucky thought.
He grunted as he mindlessly punched the bag repeatedly. His knuckles burning from the roughness of each strike. Red graze wounds and pink bruises formed, scattering all over his fingers. A drop of red dripped down the punching bag onto the floor.
“Bucky!” You shook his vibranium shoulder.
His head snaps towards you, waking up from his trance.
He notices his bleeding knuckles.
“Oh.”
You scoff.
You hold his knuckle in your hands, examining the damage. Your eyebrows knit together, a small frown forming on your lips as you analyze the small red scratches and blooming bruises. His hand relaxes slightly in your grasp, both of your hands resting palm to palm.
“I told you to wear gloves.” You say. Cleaning his wound on a nearby bench with a soft cloth and some alcohol. He winces, the solution stinging the surface of his skin.
Even in the harsh stinging of his knuckles, all he noticed was you. How focused you were on caring for him even in your stress of the anniversary you wanted so desperately to go perfect. How your eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a flat line in concentration and in concern. His own eyes widen a bit. You were beautiful like this. He checks the time on a nearby clock, in his concern for your.. Event.
11:28 AM.
He taps your shoulder, breaking your concentration.
You tilt your head to look up at him.
“Hey.. uh, it's almost 11:30.” He calmly said.
“What?!” You hollered. your eyes widen in panic.
You turn around and notice the clock. Reading the hands you realize it’s been almost an hour and a half. Half an hour you could have been spending with your boyfriend gone. To someone as punctual as you, this was a massive issue.
You turn back around to Bucky. You start bandaging his knuckle. Swiftly, but efficiently.
His vibranium hand slowly closes in. “I can do it myself, you have a thing to get to-”
You swat away his hand in full concentration. Your eyebrows knit closely, your lips are sealed tight. Hands moving quickly to wrap the white gauze around his wound. Priorities are priorities. You couldn’t let someone injured bandage themselves! That was like leaving a grandma out in the streets to figure out traffic signals! (Which your pure heart could never bear to do.)
11:30 AM.
You finish bandaging Bucky. In a blink of an eye, you grab the cake, and make a run for Julian's house, waving goodbye to Bucky.
On the way over in a taxi, you realize Julian hadn’t even texted you about whether it was okay to come or not. The last thing you wanted to do was bother his work hours today.
: Hey baby! Is it okay to come over now? :)
juliann💕: yeah ig
: Im omw! Can we get dinner?
juliann💕: sure you pay though
: okk!
Trying your very best to hold it steady while you carefully transported it over to his house, Your cheeks lifted and the corners of your eyes crinkled as you thought of his reaction, toying with the blue candles lodged into the pastry.
You thanked the driver and handed him a bill, carefully stepping out of the vehicle, you faced Julian’s small townhouse. It was a cozy, brick architecture with small stone steps leading up to a
Blurred glass door. You adjusted your outfit before ringing the doorbell.
Your boyfriend opens the doorway.
His hair is messy and untamed. He’s wearing a white shirt with a little tear in the hemming. His eyes are hazy, and his cheeks are a flushed red.
You clear your throat and raise the big cake. It’s beautiful, with a gold ribbon tied on the box, beautiful decorations with fondant and sprinkles, and a big blue candle with a “1” on it. Cursive writing filled the front of the cake reading, “Happy 1 Month! :)” Heck, even for an Avenger, the cake was incredibly expensive.
Julian examined the cake. He came closer to you, his flip flops touching the stone stairs.
You were expecting a hug, maybe even a little kiss?
He roughly grabbed the cake box from your hands, almost causing you to stumble forwards and rushed back into his entryway. He examined it a little more, bringing the clear box to his face. At this point, the harshness of his grab had made the cake swing to the side of the box, smearing the frosting and carefully written letters.
You clenched your jaw a little.
Your breathing heaved before returning back to normal.
No big deal. Right? The cake still tastes the same.
You composed yourself, ready to share the cake with him and have a great rest of the day. All you wanted to do was talk and eat, share some laughs.
You smiled a bit at the prospect.
You look back at him and he stares back at you.
You pace yourself across another stone step, before he mumbles “Thanks” and slams the door in your face.
Your face and body truly respond to that. Your annoyance was starting to seep through. Your eyes narrowing, lips pursing.
You walk back to Avengers tower. Even though it’s a little bit of a long walk, you need the time to cool down. It was fine. You told yourself. You could come over for dinner! You and him, driving to a nice restaurant. Or maybe even stay at his place, cook him a nice meal, and talk for hours.
Riding up the elevator, the strong lights burned your eyes.
Ding!
The elevator chimed and the doors slid open to reveal the common area. You find Natasha, Bruce, Thor, Tony and Pepper piled on the massive couch, talking about, you presume to be something dumb, like “Hypothetically, how many cupcakes could you eat before you throw up?”
Oh what you’d give to feel that carefree right now.
Their heads turn to you as you hang your jacket onto the communal hanger.
“Where’s the rest of them?” You ask, sitting down beside Nat.
“They are being quiescent in their respective chambers.” Tony replies, enunciating every word.
“What?”
“They're in their rooms.” He clarifies.
“Oh.”
“How's your day?” Nat swings an arm across your shoulder, lightly tapping you with the back of her hand. You smile a bit at the question, pursing your lips to try to stop.
“I’m gonna go have dinner with Julian soon.” You announce.
Everyone secretly rolls their eyes at that. They all hate your boyfriend. He came over to the tower once, showing up in dirty clothes and unkempt hair, he held out a selfie stick and recorded everyone the entire time. Casually swinging an arm across Bruce like he knew him. Natasha had to come to the rescue. He even almost broke one of Tony’s suits, which he deemed, “irreparable,” not for the actual damage, but because “he can never erase the finger print that stains the suit forever.” You have seriously never seen him wear the suit since.
They also knew how he treated you.
He wasn’t abusive by any means, but the way he shuts you out and doesn’t know anything about you or your interests, it might as well be psychological warfare.
So of course they hate him. Bucky talks about him the most to the others. But he can't bring himself to talk all of that with you in the room.
“Do all mortals have these low standards?” Thor replies.
“Hey, he's not all bad. He’s really funny, and I like him so, is it really your guy’s business?” You retaliate.
This time, everyone audibly groans in sync.
6:47 PM.
You arrive at his house, to find the door slightly open, unlocked.
It's happened before, he’s a forgetful person. As were you.
You welcome yourself into his home.
The lights are dim, The moonlight is the only thing guiding you through the hallway.
The door of his room is slightly ajar, but almost completely dark. You hear.. Sounds? Coming from his room. They sound… weird? Almost wet, like two people-
No.
No way!
You almost chuckle at your own imagination.
You open the entryway some more, standing in the open. You still can't see, or make out where anything is.
You smooth your hand across the wall nearby, feeling a lightswitch.
You flip it on.
Some blonde chick is on top of your boyfriend.
They're covered by a thick comforter, but the blanket doesn’t leave much to imagination.
Your entire body immediately responds.
Tears start trickling down your face as you stand in the doorway. You can’t look at this anymore. You run down the hallway, towards the exit.
The second Julian realizes, he pushes the girl off of him and gets dressed in that same disgusting pair of clothes he always wears.
He catches you running off and hollers at you.
You turn around, tears glossing your cheeks.
“Stop- I can explain..! I swear!”
You laugh at him.
A beat passes before that seems to break something in him.
“You're ugly anyway! I was only dating you because you're an Avenger! A-and to get closer to Black Widow!” He shouts and throws his hands in a mocking motion.
As you walk away, he throws a barrage of insults at you. “You’re not pretty, you're the weakest one, dumbest one, not worth it.”
And when he realizes you're not listening and are still walking away from him, he resorts to physically stopping you. He dashes towards you and grabs your wrist tightly, bunching your skin together, harsh enough to leave an irritated mark.
“Don’t fucking turn away from me!” He hollers.
You harshly tear him off of you. His grip immediately loosens, fingers slipping away. His frame slams and collapses onto the freezing concrete sidewalk. You pull up your hood, the tears still dripping down your face. You sniffle, looking around for people filming. You spot no one. Good. You can cry your guts out in peace.
12:37 AM
It’s midnight. You’ve been sulking and crying in a small cafe before the owner tapped you on the shoulder and told you the cafe is closing. You nodded in compliance and left the establishment, the door chimes ringing as you closed the door. The moonlight was dim. Only a few cars drove by now, you open google maps and start guiding yourself to the tower. Home.
2:00 AM
The elevator chimes and the doors open. You step inside, Tears still coming fresh. All you can hear are the putrid insults spewed by Julian. leading yourself towards your room, the hallway seems darker and longer than before. You notice everyone's light is off, reasonably. Except for Bucky’s room. You assume he’s reading or something.
Your room was the next one over. You twist the doorknob and flop onto your mattress. You don’t bother doing anything other than taking off your shoes. You can’t. Your energy is depleted, gone. You don’t wanna face the morning.
Tears soak your mattress, your face glossy and red. You sniffle and sob into your hands, attempting to muffle the noise to not wake anyone.
Knock.
You sit up at the sound.
“Who is it?”
“Me.”
It’s Bucky. Gosh, you were that loud?
A beat of silence passes. You don’t want him to see you like this, a sobbing mess, mascara leaking down your eyes, hair a mess.
But you need someone right now, and you trusted Bucky.
“Come in.”
Bucky gently creeps into your room. The main light is turned off, but a warm lamp casts a glow over the small room. Your shoes are scattered messily from when you took them off with haste earlier.
He sits on the edge of your bed, facing you.
You know what he's going to ask. You beat him to it, sniffling.
“I found him.. Cheating on me.” You murmur.
Upon hearing that, Bucky’s jaw clenches hard. His knuckles curl into tight fists.
He loosens once he sees you. The girl he loves crying over a guy that was below average. He really didn’t get it. But it didn’t matter. He couldn’t bear the sight of it. You being sad was the top priority and he needed to fix it now.
He thinks.
Hugs would help, right?
But that's a very un-Bucky thing to do.
You cry harder, flopping sideways onto your bed.
Your sniffles break him. He shifts closer towards you on the bed, bringing your crying face into his chest. While wrapping a soft blanket around the two of you.
Your tears were soaking his shirt. He carefully rubbed a hand over the smooth of your back in soothing circles. This was unfamiliar territory, but he needed to try. For you. Anything for you. You nuzzle your head deeper into his collarbone, crying slowly subsiding into hiccups and small gasps for air. His other arm pulls you closer, an attempt to truly calm you down. Your own arms wrap around his neck, his hair draping over your hands.
Summary: Working as an Avenger is hard, and what's worse is living in the tower, surrounded by the constant hustle of work. You have a favorite escape for when it all becomes too much, but what happens when you find specific super soldier in your spot?
Tags: Fluff, Confessions, Substance Use (Marijuana), Living at the Avengers Tower, AU where everyone lives in the tower, Mentions of Past trauma
Word Count: 2.9k
AN: Started this when I was both stoned and fuzzy from the pain meds because of a fever. But now it's here and it's my first work on this account!
Also up on A03!
Living at the tower often got stressful, with the buzz of work continuing around you even as you clocked out for the day. You could constantly hear the sounds of footsteps and voices outside your little apartment in the upper floors, and occasionally your quiet time was interrupted by FRIDAY, reporting with a message from Tony or Cap, sometimes Natasha.
You really tried your best to separate work and home, but some days it just got to you. And on days like that you would open the cabinet in the kitchen area and take out three things: a bong, a lighter, and a full buster of weed. This was one of those days- or rather, nights…
You had gotten back to your small Avengers tower apartment and dropped your bag on the floor, feeling the weight of the reports and evidence files on your shoulders as you made your way to the kitchen area. You opened the cabinet, already relaxing as your saving grace came into view. The tall pink bong, marked with black lettering declaring the company name, a black Bic lighter, and a multi-tiered weed buster.
You grabbed all three and made note of your phone and a set of wired ear buds in your back pocket before setting off, out the door and quietly down the hallway. It's not that you were hiding this little habit, but you didn't care to make a big deal out of it.
When you finally reached the roof, the cool night air hit you and you breathed in, a small smile on your face as you made your way across the roof.
Your steps slowed as you caught sight of someone in your spot, squinting as your eyes focused in the dark. Staring out at New York City with his legs dangling over the building's edge, a figure with broad shoulders, dark hair, and the metal of his arm glinting in the moonlight. Your heart did a little jump.
“Bucky?” He jumped a little bit, twisting to look at you.
“Oh, hey,” His voice was soft when he said your name, so soft, softer than you'd ever heard it. “What’re you doing up here?”
“I come out here all the time. It’s a nice place to clear my mind and relax.” Shrugging, you sat alongside him, careful not to be uncomfortably close.
Bucky eyed the bong in your hands, “I take it that relaxation is helped along by that.” He nodded to it.
You held it out to admire, “Pretty, isn't she? I call her Eleanor.”
He chuckled, “Eleanor? You named it?”
“Of course I did! I've named all of my bongs, it feels like the right thing to do.” You grinned as you fished the buster from your hoodie, packing a nice amount of the dried plant in the bowl. “I got this one when I moved to the tower, with the new chapter of my life it felt right to get a new bong too.”
He hummed and nodded, eyes flicking back out to the city for a moment. “I've been coming out here a bit lately, tryin' to gather my thoughts. Being free from the brainwashing didn't fix the anxiety or PTSD.” His metal fingers tapped a pattern into the roof.
Biting your lip, you thought for a moment, unsure what to say. “So.. has it been helping? Sitting up here?”
Bucky shrugged, “I dunno. It gives me time to think but sometimes I'm not sure sitting with my thoughts is the best idea.”
Nodding, you touched his shoulder, just above the line of metal. The touch was gentle, restrained. Your crush on Bucky was obvious to the other Avengers, but you weren't sure if Bucky himself was aware. He'd never said anything. Even so, you didn't want to make it seem like you were doing anything more than comforting him right now.
“I'm sorry. That's awful… Look, I don't know what you're going through, but I do know what I find helps get my mind in a better place.” You held the bong up, tapping one finger on the cool glass. “Totally relaxes me, distracts my bad thoughts, makes me feel good. I put on some music and enjoy my alone time.”
Buckys eyebrows shot up, “You're asking me to do drugs?”
“No, I'm offering you some weed. Marijuana. It's nothing like drugs, it's a plant. Dried and ground up.” Correcting him, you offered the bong to him.
“Can- can I watch you do it first?” He scratched the back of his neck, “We didn't have those in the forties. Or I've never seen one. Never had the chance to try it.”
“Sure! It's easy.” You pantomime the actions as you explain them, “So put your flame to the bowl, slowly sucking in, the slower you go the harder it hits by the way. Then when the weed is all burnt and you suck harder and faster, the ashes drop into the bong, pull out the bowl and make sure you suck all the smoke into your lungs.”
You didn't miss how his lips twitch at your wording, but ignored it in favor of actually hitting your bong. You made eye contact with Bucky for a second while you held it in, before exhaling away from him. He continued watching as you hacked out a few short coughs.
“Didn't look too difficult.” He murmured.
“It's not. Wanna try, or no?” You said it casually, not wanting him to feel pressured. You were by no means forcing it on him.
“Sure. Keep my super soldier tolerance in mind though.” You nodded and hummed as you filled the bowl, handing it and the lighter over. It looked foreign in his hands, the metal hand awkwardly finding its position on the neck of the glass, while his right hand fidgeted with the lighter.
As he got comfortable, you hit play on your music, the tail end of a Fleetwood Mac song picking up where you left off earlier. Bucky executed the bong hit clumsily, and it felt weird seeing the ever-flawless Bucky Barnes do something without absolute finesse and perfection. As he exhaled the smoke and coughs took over his chest, you took the bong back, setting it aside as you watched him.
“Please don't fall off the roof.” You muttered, patting his back.
Eventually he looked at you, having caught his breath, “Fuck, that hurt.” He rubbed his chest, frowning at you accusatorily “You hardly coughed.”
You smirked and shrugged, “I've got a lot more experience than you. And it was a huge hit, you told me to consider your tolerance issues.”
“And how does it help you exactly? I don't feel anything.”
Rolling your eyes, you laughed, “You only just smoked it, give it a second! It's gradual.”
Bucky grunted, returning his gaze to the city lights around you. With a small smile, you did the same, observing the fast moving headlights below, the rainbow array of signs and advertisements, the white and yellow illuminating from the windows of those still awake in their apartments.
You thought about your life before, how your family was dysfunctional and tiring. How your life was utter chaos while you worked as a spy for a strange rich man. How you had gone against him which nearly resulted in your death. Being found by and joining the Avengers, ultimately saving your life in a number of ways.
“You ever think about what life would’ve been like if you didn't come here?” Buckys voice cut through the silence after an uncounted number of minutes, causing you to look over and meet his eyes.
You bit back a smile at his red eyes and relaxed expression. “I do. I am right now actually.”
“Where would you be?” He asked.
You paused, glancing to the streets of New York below. “Assuming I wasn't killed for that little stunt I pulled? On the run. Always looking over my shoulder and wondering when someone was going to find me.”
He nodded after a moment. “What about if you were never a spy? What would you be doin?”
“You know what I always wanted to be?” Buckys head tilted curiously, “A baker. The kind with their own shop and cute little aprons and an outdoor seating area.”
A smile spread across his face, not the usual tense and polite half-smile he gave to everyone, but a new smile. One that was warm and relaxed and genuinely happy.
“That's so cute.” He laughed, rubbing his flesh hand down his face.
You scoffed, “I was a little girl.”
“I can see you in a bakery. Wearing some pink apron and bows in your hair.” He laughed again, “Frosting on your face.”
Rolling your eyes, you packed another bowl, “What about you? What did little James wanna be when he grew up?”
“Little James wanted to be a conductor on a train.” Bucky said, leaning over to bump your shoulder with his. He was fidgety now, as though there was a buildup of energy in his usually stiff body.
“Aw, really?” You smiled.
“Yes, really. I had a really nice wooden train set from my mother when I was a kid, loved that thing. Played with it all the time.”
“Now that's cute!” You giggled, bumping his shoulder back.
“Sure, sure.” He shook his head.
“I liked to play with bugs in the backyard.” You eventually admitted, a blush tinting your cheeks as you avoided eye contact.
“Well that explains a lot.” Bucky snorted, leaning back.
Gasping dramatically, your hand clutched to your heart, “Ouch!”
“Oh come on, you have to know that you’re a little bit weird.”
Rolling your eyes, you packed another hit, “Oh trust me, I’m aware.” A beat of silence passed, and you looked over to see Bucky studying you with an unreadable expression. His eyes felt like they were boring into your soul, forcing a heavier blush onto your cheeks.
“What?” You asked, looking away before you could lose yourself in his gaze.
“Nothin’.”
“Yeah, right,” You raised the bong to your mouth, ignoring whatever he said in response in favor of smoking your hit. This time, you did cough, having overestimated how much you could do in one go. “Shit-” You wheezed as the coughs took over your body. You hardly noticed when the bong and lighter disappeared from your hands, too busy clutching the safety rail as a tear slipped down your cheek. Recovery took a minute, breath returning to your lungs as you felt a hand patting your back, the cold metal could be felt even through your thick sweater.
“You good, doll?” Bucky asked while you wiped your eyes.
“Fine, yeah, I’m good-” Clearing your throat before looking at him.
His face was a mix of concern and amusement, the cold metal of his hand not leaving your back. “So much for being experienced, eh?” He smirked.
“Oh, shut up Barnes.” You huffed with light amusement.
“Do I get to go again?” He raised the bong that he still held in his flesh hand.
“Oh, sure!” You took care in packing him another one, and he scoffed at the amount. With raised brows you looked up at him. “Now what’s wrong?”
“Why’re you bein’ so careful with me now? Think I can’t handle it?”
The taunt in his voice and the building high feeling in your head triggered your competitive side, and without any ounce of caution, you filled the bowl. “If you say so, Sergeant.”
Bucky took the bong, and a deep breath, before bravely pulling the whole bowl. You watched him as he held it for a second, before exhaling up into the sky.
Your breathing stopped when you realized just how good he looked doing that. His neck exposed as he looked up, jaw sharp and eyes closed, moonlight brightening his sharpest features. Forcing your gaze away, you cleared your throat, which was suddenly very dry. Buckys coughs echoed next to you, and it took you a second to turn your head and look at him, your movements feeling sluggish. Next to you, Buckys face was red as he struggled to catch his breath, shakily placing the bong between the two of you.
It was clear now that you were both high enough. His eyes were squinting more than yours, but you had given up on sitting up, choosing to instead fall to your back and stare up at the nearly starless night sky. Bucky had twisted and was leaning on the safety rail so he could look at you.
You were sure he was saying something, but you found yourself instead hearing Piano Man begin playing on your phone. You reached to adjust the volume instinctively, catching Buckys attention.
“Doin?” He frowned.
“Don’t you love this song?” Your hands came up in front of you to sway as though you were conducting the song.
“Dunno that I ever heard it.” He shrugged.
This prompted you to turn it up more and reach for his hand, which he didn’t hesitate to give you. There was no resistance as you pulled him down with you, his metal arm coming to rest against your right arm. “Just listen then.” You told him, shutting your eyes to enjoy the music.
He seemed to oblige, though you couldn’t see him. Memories associated with the song floated through your brain, a faint smile on your face for the three or so minutes it took for Billy Joel to sing. By the time it was over, your eyes had opened, fixed on the dark sky. Buckys eyes on your face were nearly a physical force, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.
“It’s a pretty good song.” He broke the silence after a while.
“Isn’t it?” You grinned, relaxed and feeling hazy.
He hummed, “Whatcha lookin’ at?”
“The stars. Or, what I can see of them.” You sighed, eyes flicking between the few visible stars, “Most stars aren’t visible here ‘cause of the light pollution. It’s a little depressing, honestly. Stargazing was once my favorite hobby, I can’t really do it here.”
“I’ll take you to stargaze some day.” Bucky said. Your eyes flicked to his face quicker than you wanted them to, only to find Bucky blushing in the faint moonlight.
“That’s… You don’t have to do that for me.” You whispered, though your heart began to beat faster, eyes threatening to well up.
“I will though. We can make a day of it if you want. Just you, me, my bike and the sky. We’ll go as far as we can to get out of these city lights and just spend a night lookin’ at the stars.” His eyes met yours, full of sincerity and promise.
“Thank you.” Your voice cracked, and you looked away.
“Hey, look at me.” Bucky murmured, your body obeying before your mind caught up. “I gotta tell ya somethin’.”
“Okay, sure.” You nodded, hands fidgeting.
“First of all, thanks for this. I haven’t felt this relaxed in… Well, decades. It’s a nice feeling.”
“Of course. I’d do it again in a heartbeat, anytime you want to, you know where I am.”
Bucky smiled at you, a genuine and happy smile, the kind you haven’t seen him do in the months you’ve known him. Your heart did a little flip. You willed it to relax.
“But also, I guess I gotta confess something.” He took a shaky breath, “And I’m pretty sure the confidence to do this is comin’ from the weed, so bare with me... You. You are an amazing person. And for a while I thought it was just that you’re really nice to everyone. But after a while I realized that I felt something for you that I haven’t felt in a very long time.”
A short pause had you holding your breath, willing him to continue with wide eyes. He cleared his throat, “So I wanna make it clear that when I ask you to go stargazing with me, it’s a date. I like you too much to pass up this opportunity, and if I was sober I’d never be able to say it, doll.”
Thirty seconds of silence passed as you forced your breathing to restart, Buckys face contorting into worry that you needed to wipe right back off. “I would like that very much.” You found it in you to whisper.
A heavy sigh of relief left his lips, and you realized that he may have been holding his breath as well. “Oh thank god.”
You giggled, reaching to rest a hand on his shoulder, “I couldn’t say no, not after all this time liking you, too. I’m pretty sure Nat’s on the verge of locking me in a room with you until I confess.”
His pretty blue eyes widened as much as they could, “Really?”
“Well, I don’t know if she’d actually do that-”
“No, no. I mean… You really like me like that?”
“Oh! Yeah. Yes, definitely. For far too long, I was driving myself and half the tower insane with it.” You shook your head, thinking back to Sam glaring daggers at you after you’d avoided telling Bucky once again this week.
“Shit. I didn’t even notice.” He ran his flesh hand down his face.
“Well… Now you know.” You smiled, “And now I know, too.”
Bucky nodded, “True. And now that we both know, I’m determined to take you out for a good time, and clear night skies.” His hand traveled from his face to hold the one you’d left resting on his shoulder.
“I’m counting on it.” You murmured with a smile, rolling to rest your head and body along the side of his. The metal arm beside you slid to your lower back, pulling you closer. His face tilted to look you in the eyes and in the moment you felt a calmness you hadn’t felt in years.
MDNI! Warnings/Tags: some blood, explicit smut, degrading terms, enemies to lovers.
This is my first ever fanfiction, please be kind! :D
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You were a new recruit for the Avengers. You started out as a secretary under Tony, working for Stark Industries, hoping to help the world become a safer place some day. He had thought you were just another gorgeous woman with a decent brain; innocent and sweet. Until one day, he realized you had a special talent for getting out of sticky situations. After another Stark Industries employee had gotten a little handsy with you, you showed that disgusting little man that you weren’t just some young woman to be taken advantage of. Tony had heard the news and his interest was piqued.
You had the brains, there was no doubt about that. You knew your way around technology and the science behind it all. You had a background of martial arts training, however you did need to be trained more physically before you could be thrown into combat situations without becoming a liability. So for now, you were the brains behind the operations. Computer work, being the “guy in the chair” giving instructions to the Avengers team, all while training on your off days to eventually go out into the field.
Everyone took to you quite well. You and Natasha were the closest. Sam found you absolutely adorable and hilarious. Thor, Steve, and Clint trained with you at the Avengers Tower high tech gym when they could. (Mostly Steve, Nat, and Clint, as it was hard to learn much from a God)
Bruce enjoyed wracking your brain about the newest ideas he and Tony were bouncing around. Then there was Bucky…
Bucky took one look at you, with your sweet smile, contagious laugh, and bizarre fashion choices; and he couldn’t quite place how he felt. You were too innocent. Too soft. It made him angry. How could Tony possibly think this woman would be good on a battlefield?
When you first met Bucky, you were instantly drawn to him. He was handsome, in that mysterious brooding way. You knew the story of The Winter Soldier. And you felt that he could use someone that was kind to him. Someone that wouldn’t flinch at him. So you walked right up to him, stuck out your hand, and introduced yourself with a big smile.
Bucky took one look at your funky colored jumpsuit, your wide eyes, heavy eye make-up, and felt the urge to slink away. He reluctantly took your hand as if scared to catch something from your grip, grunted, and walked away without a single word.
“Boy Howdy! Ain’t you just warm and friendly!” You called after him in an overexaggerated 1940’s accent. He rolled his eyes at your sarcastic comment. ‘Oh great, and she has an attitude.’ He thought to himself.
After a few more weeks of trying to break that wall, all of those good thoughts you had about him had mostly vanished. You weren't about to let him make a fool of you. And for the past year now, it has been nothing but bickering.
“You seriously didn’t see them coming?!” Bucky grumbled. You, Bucky, Steve, and Nat were walking through the underground garage area in Avengers tower. You had all come back from a mission to recover top secret Hydra tech that was being coveted by some local “vigilantes” as they called themselves. You stayed behind in the security van, being the watchful eye as the three Avengers attempted to extract the machinery.
“Buck, give her a break. You don’t understand, sometimes people go unnoticed by the radar sensors.” Steve explained calmly.
“Yes, thank you Steve! I was watching the radar system the entire time, no blips were showing in that location. It was odd.” You explained, not bothering to keep a level tone. Bucky rolled his eyes and responded. “We could’ve all been killed. I hope your actual training is done shortly, that way Bruce or Tony can go back to being on watch.”
You were seething. Bucky really knew how to make you feel worthless. Couldn’t he see how hard you were trying? “Fuck you.” You grumbled under your breath. Steve and Nat made eye contact and exchanged small smiles. Bucky whipped his head to the side to show he heard you. You both stopped mid quick stride back to the common area. Narrowing your eyes at each other, Bucky smirked.
Even with his cocky demeanor and piss poor attitude, you couldn’t help but notice just how incredibly sexy he was after a mission. Scratches, bruises, burns. His long hair tousled messily, pieces sticking to his forehead. Yet despite that, you really had to fight the urge to show him just what you were made of. He had the most punchable face at the moment. He was staring at your face, and you figured he must be thinking the same thing.
“You know what I think?” Natasha spoke loudly after clearing her throat. “I think you should start training her, James. You clearly are the most skilled of us all. Well second best compared to me.” She added with a wink to you.
“Fuck no!” You both spoke in unison.
“I don’t have the time or the energy to train her. I’ve got my own shit to worry about.” Bucky explained.
“Nat’s right, Buck. If you want her out on the field sooner, you should be the one to help.” Steve added, trying his hardest to keep a straight face.
You two had begun your weekly training shortly after that night. After the first few awkward sessions, you started to get more comfortable with giving it your all. You were clearly no match for Bucky. And he didn’t hold back. During those early mornings you learned different fighting techniques from him. He would get frustrated if you didn’t learn them quickly enough, and you were growing tired of his negativity. Things started growing more intense. You were both becoming a little rougher. Grabbing onto each other more. Finding any excuse to hurt the other just slightly. But there was something else you noticed too. Bucky’s stare was lingering much longer than it used to. And in different places.
He would watch your chest heave after an hour of intense workout and sparring. He’d glance down at your thighs in your tight shorts. His eyes would dance to your lips when you were trying to concentrate. And you weren’t innocent in it either. As your anger grew, it seemed your attraction to him did too. The muscles in his arms would ripple as he would twist and turn to block your punches and kicks. You had to stop yourself from biting your lip when you’d watch beads of sweat drip down his bare stomach, traveling under the elastic of his shorts. At one point you had to shake your head to remove the thought of licking it off of him. He would wrap his gorgeously large hands around you, in an attempt to grapple you to the ground. Your mind drifted to the veiny tops of his hands, and huge fingers wrapping gently around your neck…Then Bucky would say something rude to snap you back to reality.
And then, one night, something finally snapped in you. All self control had left your system.
You were attempting to block kicks Bucky was throwing your way, but at the last second, he landed one right into your ribs. You gasped for air for a split second.
“You’ve got to do better than that, Doll. Especially if you want to be good enough for the team. You’re a bit patheti-”
Bucky’s vision clouded with pain for a brief moment. For half a second he was perplexed.
You had landed a fist to the left side of his cheek, close enough to his mouth to cause a split.
He tasted metal, felt the warm blood running down his chin. He spit onto the gym floor.
You were shaking. Partially from anger and slight fear at what you had done, but also for a reason you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Your nostrils flared, fists still closed and frozen in front of you.
Bucky growled in a low sort of whisper, baring his teeth ever slightly. But you could’ve swore his lip curled into the tiniest of smiles as his hand latched around your wrist. It was bone crushing. He yanked you closer to him, wrapping his metal hand around your throat after letting go of your wrist with the opposite hand. Not hard enough to harm you, but strong enough to show a possessive pressure. His eyes drifted to your trembling lips, and then he acted upon the strange urge in his mind.
Bucky bit hard into your bottom lip with his front teeth, you gasped in pain, and yet you couldn’t control the pulsing sensation between your thighs. You could taste the blood you had caused him to spill. It was quite possibly the most intoxicating taste you had experienced. Hand squeezing your neck even tighter, Bucky sucked on the bruising skin on your lip. His tongue reached out to touch yours. Your lips now crashing together with a mix of aggression and passion. His hand that was not preoccupied with keeping you still had drifted down to your ass. He squeezed with all of his might, causing a breathy moan to come from your mouth.
Being so close to the cement gym wall, Bucky lifted you by your waist, as if you were light as a feather, and slammed you into it. Your legs voluntarily spread, allowing him to settle between them. You stayed like this, breathing hard into each other's mouths, barely an inch apart. His eyes were low, from both anger and desire. He grabbed your cheeks roughly with his right hand, squeezing while he scrunched his nose up at you. He slipped his thumb into your mouth, and you gladly took it, sucking as he pushed down on the back of your tongue, causing you to gag. Bucky laughed low and harshly at you. You bit down hard on the side of his thumb at this. You weren't going to let him think he won whatever this was. He grew harder against your thigh.
Pulling away his thumb, he looked down at your cleavage popping from your damp camisole.
“Fuck.” He moaned. Your hand found his hair and wrapped around a large portion near the back of his head. You yanked and bit down on his collar bone peaking out of his black tank top. He shoved your head back up against the wall, wrapped the cool metal hand around your hip, and pressed his other hand hard against the front of your thin shorts. Rubbing your aching pussy through the fabric, you roll your eyes back. “Bucky…” You let out a loud moan, unable to contain how intense this all felt.
Footsteps could be heard approaching in the distance. Bucky lets you fall at once, and you collapse clumsily against the wall, regaining your footing. He walked over to where his water bottle had sat on a nearby bench, and strolled out of the gym door, glancing back at you briefly, with a look that read that he wasn’t done with you yet. Perhaps you had gone too far. You regret landing the punch, it was unprofessional. Yet you couldn’t help the mischievous grin that started to appear on your face. Perhaps all of that anger and sarcasm between you was just something else under the surface. Something that wasn’t as easy to express as anger.
Nothing was acknowledged about your encounter at the gym over the weekend. You were off duty for those days, and therefore didn’t need to train. You couldn’t stop thinking about him. All this time, you thought Bucky couldn’t stand you. Let alone want to push you against the wall and do all of THAT. The confusion just made your anger at him that much more strong.
You made your way into the kitchen Sunday morning, leaning against the counter to make a pot of coffee. You heard someone walk in behind you, turned, and there was Bucky, bed head, no shirt, and lounge shorts. Your eyes drifted down immediately. When you made eye contact again, he rolled his eyes at you.
“Instead of staring at me, can you hurry up and pour your coffee please? Some of us need caffeine to function properly.”
Your blood boiled. Was he really going to continue to be a total dick after what had happened? You noticed his lip was still healing. You scoffed at him.
“Don’t flatter yourself, James.” You said his first name in a mocking tone.
You turned around to fill your mug, taking your sweet time. Then you felt Bucky’s chest against your back. Both of his hands locked you against the counter.
“Don’t call me that, Doll.”
“And why shouldn’t I?” You barely breathed out.
“Because I don’t like how it sounds coming out of your mouth."
Your skin was burning hot. Your pussy was soaking the front of your underwear at the closeness of him. All you wanted was his cock shoved so far inside you and to claw his back until he was bleeding.
“Speaking of my mouth, is that why you’re in need of coffee so badly? Did you stay up late thinking about what happened in the gym the other day?”
Bucky nuzzled his nose into your hair, moving it out of the way as he chuckled in your ear and pushed away from you. You immediately wanted to feel him again, but couldn’t bear to act on it. You turned around to face him. He stared at you cockily and then said,
“See you for training tomorrow. You clearly still need practice.”
He left you in the room alone with nothing but a beating heart and swimming thoughts.
Monday morning had rolled around quickly. You had barely slept a wink since this new found situation you’d found yourself in with James Buchanan Barnes. You couldn’t quite wrap your head around it all. You both pushed each other's buttons constantly. From the day you met, you had assumed he hated you, or at least just was mildly annoyed and indifferent towards you. You’d never met someone so miserable and frustrating. Just to keep things interesting, you slid on your smallest pair of athletic shorts, and a tight white tank top that left little to the imagination. Your hair fell in slight curls after going to sleep with it wet after your shower the previous night. Feeling as though you looked decent enough, you made your way down to the gym. Heart racing with intrigue and slight anxiety.
When you had arrived through the large metal doors, your eyes fell on a gorgeous sight. Bucky was punching a boxing dummy. His long hair was slicked back slightly from running his fingers through it. He breathed loudly in between punches. Your mind traveled to dirty thoughts of him making those noises from above you.
“Good Morning, Bucky.” Your voice echoed in the large room, as you and Bucky were the only ones to be seen so early.
He turned around slowly, piercing blue eyes making contact with yours. He nodded simply. Oh you wish you could wipe the nonchalant look off of his stupid handsome face.
You jabbed at Bucky’s body, his hands up in a blocking form. You finally landed a quick fist to his chin. He started kicking towards you, but you blocked each one. You were so proud at how far you had come, but of course, he didn’t give you a single hint of being impressed. You grappled Bucky around his waist, you managed to catch your foot under his and slam him to the ground with the momentum from your body weight; just like he taught you.
“Ha!” You smiled. He looked up at you with a bored face. Then he sat forward quickly, grabbing your knees, and slammed you into the mat on the floor.
“Don’t get so cocky.” Bucky smirked.
You sat up, as he turned his back on you and walked away. You started turning red. Kicking the back of his knee, he collapsed to the ground.
“What the fuck?! You attack a man when his back is turned?!” He shouted, rubbing the back of his head. You came around to the front of him.
“Why are you such a prick all of the time? I’m doing pretty good for someone with no fuckin’ super powers or super soldier serum!”
Bucky stood up, coming closer and towering over you. He aimed a punch for your face, you blocked it with ease. You kicked at his stomach, he grabbed your calf, twisted it, and slammed you hard into the ground again. He put his thighs on either side of your hips, grabbed your wrists as you tried to push him away, and held them locked above your head with one hand. He looked down at your chest, nipples hard and protruding through the flimsy white fabric.
You lifted your head slightly to notice that Bucky was rock hard. Clearly he enjoyed this back and forth. He took his metal hand and slowly dragged his finger tips over your tits, taking his sweet time when they finally found your nipples. You whined, hips grinding up into his. Making contact with the cock outline in his pants. The cold metal contrasted with your burning skin felt just as good as you had imagined. You hated how he made you melt like this. You managed to free one of your hands while he was distracted and slapped him across the face. His eyes widened, and he stared at you dangerously. The corners of your mouth turned up into a smirk. You were done for, and you liked it.
Bucky stood up, yanked you off the ground with little to no care, and dragged you over to the nearest weight bench so that you fell onto his lap. You wasted no time in moving your legs up to straddle his hips. He grabbed your face with both hands, nowhere near gently, and kissed you hard. Your lips were in a tangled mess; all tongues, teeth, and moans. You chased your high by grinding down on his lap pathetically. Bucky laced his fingers in the back of your hair and yanked your head back hard. Tears came to your eyes but you were soaked; the dark spot on the front of your shorts gave you away. He bit down hard on your neck, leaving a mark you knew would be visible later. Bucky yanked your tank top down to let your tits fall out of the front. He stared at you in awe. He bent down and flattened his tongue against your nipples. Sucking each one until you were letting out breathy moans.
“Bucky, yes, please don’t stop. Feels so fucking good!” The pressure from grinding your clothed pussy on his lap, mixed with his licks at your sensitive tits was starting to send you over the edge. “Oh my Go - I’m gonna cum”
Bucky looked up at you, slowly flicking his tongue over each nipple while you humped the growing bulge in his pants. He started to lick faster, your bounces became sloppier, and then you felt yourself come undone. You could not believe he made you cum from just his tongue on your tits.
Pupils blown out, Bucky looked at you in awe. He stared at the mess you had made on your shorts and on his lap, and knew he had to feel you. He stuck his hand between the two of you and slipped it past the elastic of your shorts. Running two fingers along your slit. He stopped at your clit and rubbed slowly over the sensitive bud. “Fuck Bucky, feel how wet I am for you.” He lifted his glistening fingers from your shorts, and slowly put them in your mouth. Then he leaned forward and tongue kissed you, tasting both your cum, and your mouth at the same time. You had never been more turned on in your life.
Bucky wasted no time yanking down your shorts. You kicked them away with your feet quickly as he pulled down his own pants, letting his cock bounce free. You wanted to pleasure him but it seemed he had been kept waiting too long. He pulled you on top of his erection, teasing your hole with the tip. Then he pulled you down roughly on top of his cock so you gasped with pain at how big he was. He gave you no time to get used to how thick he was. He fucked up into your pussy, grunting loudly. The noises were obscene, you were absolutely drenched. You looked down to notice the creamy fluid starting to build up on his mound of hair at the base, the sight made you moan out loud.
“What happened to the attitude, huh? Awfully needy for such a fucking brat.” He fucked up into you with each word he spoke.
You slapped him in the face. He laughed mercilessly. You started to grin. This only made him start to fuck you harder.
“Is this what you were hoping for? That I’d be rough with this tight fucking pussy? You’re such a good little slut for me.”
You should be upset with him for saying that, but it changed something in you. You wanted him to call you that forever. His bouncing started to slow down, and you couldn’t have that. You needed to take charge. Using his shoulders to brace yourself, you got up with your feet on the bench, knees bent and started bouncing on his cock using your feet as support. The new angle felt like fucking heaven.
“Bucky, I need you to choke me…now.”
He used his metal arm to wrap his hand around your neck and squeeze the sides, causing the most delicious feeling. Your clit was throbbing with every bounce you made.
“Choke me harder, James.”
He squeezed harder and growled.
“Fuck, say my name again you little slut. Tell me where you want my cum.”
You dropped back down, slowly grinding on him, kissing him roughly, scratching your nails down his spine.
“James…fuck…I want your cum dripping out of me. Please!”
Bucky sat up quickly, and started fucking you in the air, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your tits bounced in his face and he bit one of your nipples as hard as he could. Then he slammed you down on the bench again, but this time with your ass up into the air. He slapped your ass so hard you started yelping. He was showing you no mercy. He sent a slap to your pussy and you moaned so loud Bucky had to reach around and cover your mouth. You were clenching around nothing.
“James please… I need to feel you. Spank my pussy again…come on, please fuck me Bucky. Need your big fucking cock…”
Bucky aimed another slap on your pussy, leaving it bright red. Then he grabbed your hips and licked a long stripe up your folds, letting his thumb slowly settle into your puckered hole. He flicked his tongue over your clit.
“Fuck Bucky, yes, Keep your thumb right there, I feel so full. You’re so fucking sexy, so fucking filthy!”
His licks got faster and faster until you came all over his tongue, repeating “Bucky” over and over again until he was whining into your pussy. As soon as your orgasm started to slow, you felt Bucky slam his cock into your cunt again. He gripped your hips so tight you knew there would be bruises tomorrow.
“Such a brat. You knew just what you were doing all along, didn’t you, Doll? Knew I’d show you what happens to little sluts that need their pussies filled, huh?”
His balls started slapping against your clit. Between that, and his dirty mouth, you knew you were going to cum for a third time.
“Bucky cum in me, fuck! I’m going to cum. Slap my ass again, please, I’ll be a good girl from now on.”
He laughed almost evilly again. Pushing his thumb into your tight ass for a second time. The sight of it made his cock twitch. You reached under and started rubbing his balls and squeezing them.
“Oh, no you won’t. You’re always going to push my buttons in the hopes I make your pussy feel good again, aren’t you? Fuck, you drive me insane.”
Bucky started picking up the pace, which you didn’t know was even possible. He landed the harshest smack to your ass yet. Then, with one final thrust into you, Bucky came, moaned your name and it echoed in the room. He pulled you up so that your back could fall into his chest, and he kissed the side of your face, and bit hard into your cheek.
“Oh I like that, fuck.” You babbled. The pain making the end of your orgasm even better. You’re not sure if it was from the super soldier serum but so much cum was starting to leak out of you. Bucky turned you around slowly, and set you down onto the bench. He stood above you, and slowly pushed his fingers inside your soaked and beaten pussy.
He started breathing heavily as he watched himself fuck his cum back up deep inside of you.
Something about it felt so intimate. You were in awe looking up at him through your lashes. You felt so filthy in the best way. Bucky took out his two fingers and said “tongue, now.” You held out your tongue for him as he dragged his cum soaked fingers over your taste buds. “Mmm” you moaned, and he let a quiet laugh out.
“Fuck me. That’s been built up for a long time now.” He stated. It helped ease the slight awkwardness starting to creep in now that tensions were no longer high.
“Yeah I’d say so.” You giggled. “And here I thought you hated me.”
“Oh I do.” Said Bucky seriously. You looked up at him slightly offended. He couldn’t help but smile.
“I’m kidding, Dear.”
Silence fell as you both walked to the showers to clean up a bit with some hot water and towels.
“For the record, I never hated you.” Bucky muttered awkwardly. “I just - I’m not - good… with stuff like this.”
“Stuff like what?!” You asked half laughing.
“You know… this. Figuring out how I’m feeling about a pretty girl.”
“So you think I’m pretty!?” You mocked, throwing your messy hair over your shoulder.
Bucky scoffed at you with a big smile on his face.
“I take it back!” You swatted him on his chest.
He looked up at you with a soft grin.
“I’m not used to someone like you. Someone happy, full of life. It’s hard for me to let it all in. It’s just easier to pretend to be cold.” Bucky admitted to the ground. You couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for him. “I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve it.”
You beamed at him. “It’s okay, James. I forgive you. I’m sorry for hitting you. Three times...” You grimaced with a slightly guilty grin.
“Oh no, it’s okay. I liked it.” Bucky winked at you.
“You’re not going to go all soft on me now are you? Because…that… you know…was fucking incredible.” You admitted, biting your lip.
Bucky let out a groan thinking about what you two just did, and watching you bite your lip like that.
“Don’t worry, Doll. I fully intend to treat you like that again. But maybe only in the bedroom from now on.”
“Oh thank God. Because I fully intend to keep pushing your buttons if it leads to that.” You smirked.
The Great Bucky Bake Off | Bucky Barnes x Reader | One shot - 3.5k words
An Avengers retreat takes a turn for the better when Bucky decides to eat your pot brownies… all of the pot brownies.
Warnings: 18+ sexual content. Drinking, casual drug use, Avengers wearing onesies for reasons, very flirty Bucky, p in v & oral sex. Rated R for ridiculous.
A/N: Happy birthday, Bucky Barnes!
Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @reveriesources
Masterlist | Bucky Barnes
“Okay, ‘fess up, who ate all my brownies?” You turned to stare down the rest of the team, admittedly a little slow on your feet already.
The scene in the living room could only be described as chaotic. When Tony suggested he fly the team out to his remote cabin for “rest, recuperation and team building”, you had been fully on board. You were even more on board when he had you buy everyone fluffy animal onesies and you’d signed yourself up to a lifetime of being obsessed with your job the day you received an email to source as much weed, alcohol and Asgardian liquor as possible. Being the Avengers PA certainly had its perks.
“Not me!” Steve admitted, far too quickly. “I didn’t eat them.” He shook his head, sending the dog ears on top of his onesie flopping about.
You narrowed your eyes, “Well, you sure know something.” He looked the picture of innocence until he pulled Sam into the conversation.
“Tell 'er Sam, we dunno nothin’ 'bout brownies."
"Nuthin’” Sam shook his head too, his beer sloshing dramatically in its glass and wetting his hand. “My wings!” He steadied the bottle and brushed the stray liquid from the soft Eagle wings that made up the arms of his outfit.
“Have you spoken to James?” Natasha asked, leaning next to you and swiping crumbs from the plate, the last of the joint you’d shared placed delicately between her fingers. Somehow she managed to make the black onesie look very stylish, the arms rolled up to the silvery spiderwebs embroidered on the elbows and shoulders.
“James? Bucky?"
Organising and taking part in retreats was your second favourite part of your job. Bucky took the top spot, miles ahead of everything else with his handsome, stubbled face and gruff but gentlemanly manner. Despite being part of the team for a while, he still kept to the background, staying out of the way and keeping quiet. He was always especially polite to you, holding the door and making sure you were included all the time, even if he never really stayed that long at Stark’s parties or Steve’s team building exercises.
Deep down you hoped it was because he saw you the same way you saw him, in your dreams, surrounded by little hearts.
But life just wasn’t that kind, and you took his friendship gladly if that was all he could give.
"Why would Bucky eat them, can he even get high?” You slid forwards, leaning on the counter and clutching the empty tray.
“Bambi!” The four of you whipped around, surprised. Bucky bounced into the room with an enthusiasm that Steve hadn’t seen for decades. He also had chocolate on his cheeks and crumbs all down his front making him instantly guilty. You looked down at your onesie, light brown and speckled like a deer with tiny antlers on the hood.
“Ha, yeah, like Bambi.” You giggled.
“And I’m Thumper!” He laughed back pulling the hood of his own pyjamas up and letting the long, grey, ears drop in front of his face.
“Because you punch people?” You were momentarily confused, your brain refusing to work and instead focusing on the too tight fabric around Bucky’s arms.
Behind you Sam coughed to cover his laughter and Natasha turned away, eyes full of mirth.
“No! Thumper in Bambi!"
"The girl rabbit?” Tony dropped down onto the huge sectional couch, surprisingly sober. Although you were sure that had more to do with promising Pepper to keep the cabin safe, rather than any personal choice.
“Thumper is a boy.” Bucky insisted, eyes never leaving yours, his smile boyish and relaxed.
“How would you know?” Sam scoffed, leaning over the back of the couch, positively gleeful when Steve whispered that Bambi was also a boy and they fell back laughing together.
“Because, Sam, I’ve seen Bambi."
"What?” Tony’s snort of derision didn’t go unnoticed, but you shot him a glare. This was possibly the most relaxed you’d ever seen Bucky, you wouldn’t be letting anyone, including your boss, spoil it.
“I saw Bambi, in 1942, when it first came out,” he said proudly.
“That’s right, I remember!” Steve jumped up, the Asgardian liquor cocktail that Natasha had rustled up earlier starting to take effect. “We went with your sisters, Rebecca cried when Bambi’s mom got shot and he was all alone."
"Don’t spoil it, Stevie.” Bucky chastised, turning back to you as quickly as possible, “Have you seen it? Do you want to see it? We could see it?”
You nodded but he ignored you, continuing to talk as he got closer and closer, backing you into the kitchen island where the empty brownie tray dropped with a clang.
"We can go, I’ll take you, Saturday, you can have as much popcorn and soda as you like.” His right hand swayed by his side, nudging closer to yours until your fingers touched. “What d'ya say?"
Every fibre of your being screamed yes, just as you’d internally jumped for joy whenever he came by your office or handed you a coffee. But those times you were sober, calm, collected. Now you were four drinks and half a joint deep, floating off into the clouds. Professional judgement be damned.
So you screamed "Yes!” outloud for once.
He beamed, throwing his arms around you and squeezing just a little too tight until you squeaked. “Good, gonna be my best girl, my Bambi and I’ll be Thumper, buy you lots of popcorn and - oh - you’re really soft.” His hands found the back of your hood, pulling it up to sit on top of your head, letting it fall into your eyes.
“Yeah it’s nice, right?”
“S’fluffy.” Bucky’s thumbs brushed over your lips and down your neck, just inside the hood for a moment, before finding your shoulders and arms, rubbing the fuzzy material until you felt static build on your skin. “You’re really cute, y’know,” he whispered. “My own little Bambi.”
“I know.” You giggled back, picking up the joint again so you’d had something to do with your hands other than grip the front of your own outfit.
“We didn’t smoke weed back in the day,” he said, conversationally, as if he didn’t have his hands in your pockets, pulling out your lighter and a lip balm.
“No?” You took a drag, blowing the smoke to the side politely.
“Did a lot of cocaine though, keep us awake on missions.”
“Jesus. That’s…intense.”
He nodded, watching your fingers against your lips, the little pout when you exhaled.
“Can I?”
“You ate a whole tray of brownies, Bucky, I don’t know if you should have anymore.” You extended your arm away from his grabby hands, hoping Natasha would come and take it away again, but to no avail. Instead, he lifted you onto the counter, pinned your leg down and followed the line of your arm to your outstretched hand. His lips brushed the backs of your fingers when he took the twist of paper into his lips. You waved him over and he held his breath as he returned to you, leaning in close and only exhaling when you pulled your hoods together, his nose against yours.
Instinctively you inhaled, the rush of smoke and the smell of Bucky was overwhelming. You giggled again, trapping him against you with an arm around his neck and your legs around his waist.
“Haven’t shotgunned since college.” You smiled, everything was so floaty and soft, fuzzy round the edges and so fucking warm. When did it get so warm?
“You know with your floppy ears you could be-” your laughter bubbled up, cutting you off, “you could- sorry - oh my god - you could be Bucks Bunny!"
Bucky did not seem to like that nickname as much as Thumper and told you so, pouting until you let him take another long drag.
Time seemed to slow down between Bucky’s words, his hands, the way your glass of wine felt in your hand and the texture of his onesie. They were a good idea, so soft, good for petting, and Bucky was petting you too. His right hand was burning hot, even through the thick material, the pads of his fingers were calloused and rough, but the palm was soft. His left hand was so rigid, making a whirring noise. When you put your cheek to the artificial bicep it ticked pleasantly and you smiled, sighing and closing your eyes so you could concentrate on the joined sounds of Bucky’s heart and his prosthesis. In turn, Bucky held you gently, his metal fingers gentle on your back where he kept you snuggled in tight beside him.
You were faintly aware of the ongoing chatter across the room, but it had faded away into background static. Your soul focus was on the way two of Bucky’s eyebrow hairs stuck out from the others, the little patch of grey forming in his stubble, the dark fleck of colour in his iris, the way his mouth looked saying your name. Oh shit, he’s saying your name, say something back!
“Uh huh, yeah, uhm - maybe?”
He tipped his head to the side, bunny ears flopping over too, and came closer again. His hands on your cheeks. “I’ll help you.” He leant forwards to rest his forehead against yours.
“What’ya doing?” You tried to look at your forehead too but your eyes seemed to stop when they got to your eyelashes. Annoying.
“Telling you what I’m thinking without saying it.”
“Oh, is it working?”
“You have to tell me that, silly!”
“I don’t think it’s working,” you whispered, loudly, and Natasha groaned from the sofa closest to the kitchen.
“These two are out, done, nothing more for them,” she declared, waving her glass of red wine.
A chorus of yes and agreed sounded from the remaining Avengers. Clint had already fallen asleep across one of the arm chairs, his beer dribbling onto his shirt from the neck of the bottle. Steve and Sam were deep in debate about the merits of Japanese whiskey over original scotch whisky and Tony was watching you both intently, his own glass of Glengoyne warming in his hand. The way the condensation formed under his fingers was fascinating, and you told Bucky as much, pulling him close to your cheek so you could get the same view.
“I concur, what did you do to my PA, Barnes?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re a bad influence.”
“She’s not you PA, she’s our PA. So she’s ours to influence,” he returned, proudly.
Tony just continued to stare, pointedly, sipping his drink.
“What you gonna influence me to do, Buck?” You kicked your legs against the kitchen counter, a picture of innocence, and Tony laughed into his drink.
But Bucky looked at you very seriously, bent to whisper in your ear, his breath tickling the back of your neck, his leg between yours, muscular and firm despite the fluffy clothes.
“I’m gonna influence you to steal all of Stark’s M&Ms.” He tried to keep quiet but ended up choking out the end of his sentence around his own uncontrollable giggles.
“Oh my god, you know he has me take the red ones out, says they’re smug. I have so many red M&Ms in my flat.”
“Hey, that’s supposed to be a secret!”
“Wanna eat all the red ones I brought with me?”
Bucky helped you down from the counter and then across to the pantry where you’d stashed the huge bags of snacks and sweets when you first arrived. Despite Steve’s shouts of leaving some for everyone, you closed the door and sat down, ready to tuck in, wrappers and chocolate littering the floor while you dug about for your favourites. Bucky sat on the floor, encouraging you to sit between his legs, keeping his hands moving over the downy material of your onesie.
“Okay, Bambi, what’ve you got for me?”
Before you could even attempt to feed him anything, Steve wrenched the door open, hands on his hips. “I think you need to sleep this one off, not eat more chocolate,” he insisted, waving at you both to get back up.
“Nuh-uh, Steve, not leaving.” Bucky tightened his arms around your waist and nuzzled into the back of your neck. “You smell like cake,” he exclaimed, happily, ignoring Steve.
“Sam! Can you help me shift Bucky?!”
“What about me?” You pouted, holding Bucky’s hands around your waist.
“You need to go to bed as well.” Natasha extended her hand to yours in an effort to pull you off the floor, but Bucky’s grip was too strong.
Eventually, it took everyone to wrestle you away from Bucky and bundle you into your room. In the corridor, Bucky howled his anger, breaking out of his room to easily find you in yours.
“Bambi! There you are! Those awful hunters took you!” he cooed, squishing your cheeks again and kissing your pouty lips. Deep down your brain registered that this was your first kiss with him, that the man who had been consuming your thoughts for months was actually kissing you, willingly, and had broken a door so he could get close enough to do so.
“Buh-kee, it was just Nat and Tony,” you drawled, your lips moving gently against his, reluctant to pull away.
“I know, but I didn’t like it, wanna stay here with you.”
Natasha, who was still trying to wrestle you into bed, gave up. “If you two stay in here together, and stay out of trouble, I won’t say anything.” She pointed at you both, eyebrows slightly raised.
“Promise I’ll be good, Natty.” You fluttered your eyelashes at her dramatically, hoping to seem more trustworthy, but she just rolled her eyes. “Fine, stay here.”
And then you were alone.
You hesitated for a moment, watching the slow movement of Bucky’s face, fascinated by the way the muscles tightened minutely when he smiled.
“I’m going to kiss you again now,” he stated, so formal that you broke out into another fit of laughter which made you hiccup and grab for his chest to steady yourself.
He ignored you, bending his head and catching your lips with his, messy and rushed.
“You taste real nice, you know?” Bucky licked across your lips again, swallowing your giggles.
“You taste nice too, ate all my damn brownies.” With a long lick up his chocolate smeared cheek, you kissed him back, tangling your hands in his hair, trying to push the too hot, stuffy, fluffy, onesie off his shoulders.
Bucky shrugged, and sat back to push the material down to his hips. Your eyes followed the movements of his hands, the way each inch of muscle revealed itself and, suddenly, you were hungry again, lunging forwards to bury your face between his pecs. Starting at his sternum, you kissed further and further down, shoving him backwards so you could climb on top of him, nipping and kissing bruises in a slow trail towards the end of the zipper. With a twist of his wrist, his cock sprang free from its confines and you bent down to lick the pearlescent precum leaking from his tip.
“Fuck, Bambi.” He dropped his head back, one hand gripping the pillows and the other cupping the back of your head while you licked the head like an ice cream. “I’m not gonna last if you keep doing that.”
You sat back on your heels, letting your fingers dance up and down his cock. “Feels soft,” you observed, thoughtfully, “Hard and soft at the same time, isn’t that funny?”
Bucky couldn’t reply, he just laid back, watching the woman he’d pined after for months finally touch him the way he’d dreamed. It seemed surreal to be here, in your bed, with your hands all over his body like you owned it. Well, he thought, you did own it, you just didn’t really understand that yet.
“I wanna touch you, too,” he insisted, “Can I?” His hands hovered over your clothes, so close to the zipper his fingertips brushed it when you breathed. You nodded and he lowered the metal slowly.
Everything seemed slow now, even his voice, mumbling against your skin when he kissed down your breasts and took your nipple into his mouth. When he bit down a little, you giggled, his fingers tickling your sides, until you were both laughing again, half in and half out of your onesies, brains full of cotton wool and lust and nerves.
“Hey, hey.” You tugged on his hair until he looked up, resting his cheek on your belly. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Yes, I’m so good with secrets!” He crawled back over your body, lowering his face close to yours. “You can whisper it or you can do it telepathically.”
“I’m not telepathic, Bucky.”
“Sure, like this.” He dropped his forehead to yours. “I know all your secrets now.”
“No, you don’t!” You shoved him, but he didn’t move.
“I do!”
“Tell me then.”
His eyes roamed over your face, from your eyes to your lips as if he couldn’t help it. “You like me.”
“Everyone likes you, Buck, you just think they don’t.”
“No you like me, you want to step out with me, be my best girl.” He looked overjoyed to have revealed your secret before you could. “Am I right?”
“Don’t be mean to me, Barnes.”
“I’m not being mean, I read your mind.”
“You know what? Fuck off.” You shoved a second time, but he still didn’t move.
“Wanna read my mind? I’ll help.” His forehead met yours again, sweat beading along your hairline from the stress of being so clearly seen by the man you’d been fantasising about for months. Before you could protest that only he could read minds while high, he was kissing you again. Slow and steady, his tongue nudging your lips gently until you opened for him, throwing your arms around his neck and letting the feeling of petal soft kisses take over you.
He moved away only enough to take off his now too warm onesie, as well as your own, leaving you both naked and tangled together on the bed. He couldn’t get enough of touching you, he felt buoyant, happy in a way that he hadn’t for months, years, and he never wanted it to end. His fingers tingled when they touched you, though it was becoming harder and harder to stay in control.
“Bucky, I want you,” you managed to squeak out between kisses, fumbling awkwardly between you both, hoping he understood.
"I want you too.” He nodded, bumping your heads together.
You wriggled beneath him, guiding him between your legs until he was buried inside of you.
“Damn it, Bambi, you feel soft everywhere.” His wide eyed expression made you smile.
“You’re kinda soft too, Bucky.” This side of him was one you’d been dying to see, unguarded and playful.
He nuzzled your cheek and began to move, tentative at first and then faster. In your dreamy state, it was hard to know where you started and ended or how long you’d been locked together.
You moved as one, slow and steady, enjoying the feel of each other’s warm skin and chocolate sweet kisses, breaking every now and again to stare at each other in awe.
Bucky seemed to sense your approaching release before you did, speeding up when you fluttered around him, the erratic movement of his hips driving you closer and closer to the edge of the bed until you both tumbled out. The pillows and sheets followed soon after, dropping on you in an avalanche of goose down and brushed cotton.
You both paused in shock, your giggles broken by your fall, but then he was pulling you back down on top of him and holding your hips steady.
“Bucky, I wanna - I gotta -” Your hand drifted between you again to touch your sensitive clit, just a little more pressure and you could feel your orgasm building. The tightness of your pleasure started between your legs and radiated out to your toes, making them curl against the sheepskin rug beneath you.
Bucky followed after you, unable to control himself from the onslaught of sensation your clenching heat provided.
You woke the next day in a tangle of limbs and bedding, your back sore from sleeping on the floor all night and your brain fuzzy. Beside you, still with a smear of chocolate on his cheek, Bucky continued to sleep.
Back To Work | Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader | Drabble - 800 words
Retirement, a new house, a romantic evening planned, Bucky just knew that life was all going too well . Especially when he starts being hounded to return to his superhero life.
Warnings: language, fluff, a little angsty at the end. Featuring domestic thunderbolts Bucky.
Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @reveriesources
Masterlist | Bucky Barnes
“Bucky, are you ready to go baby?” Your voice carried through from the living room as he clicked his arm back into place, shrugging his shoulder to get the fit right.
You'd been excited all day, buzzing around the new house and opening boxes, trying to unpack at the same time as finding the perfect outfit. Bucky was only half regretting making plans so soon after moving, sure it was stressful trying to dig out his nice shoes from the piles of boxes and bags, but seeing you so happy was completely worth it and knowing you’d be coming home to your house, together, was just the icing on the cake.
Now the sun was setting and you had turned on the downlighters in the kitchen, void of your usual clutter it looked lonely.
“Just checking my phone, Doll.” He called back picking the offending item up from the counter - so many missed messages, he sighed.
He'd been better recently, replying to Sam and catching up with him every week or so. He'd even managed to facetime Steve in his retirement home. He quite enjoyed the easy freedom of digital communication. But today, of all days, it had been pinging non-stop all driving him crazy during the drive and ruining the relaxing and, he hoped, romantic atmosphere he was trying to create.
“Come on, baby, I don't want to be late.” You strolled into the kitchen and he dropped the phone again to focus his attention on you instead, taking in your dress and heels, your lipstick perfectly done. How could he worry about a stupid phone when you were together.
“C’mere,” he pulled you close, tucking you under his chin and planting a kiss to the top of your head.
He smelt lovely, fresh from the shower but with the hint of cut wood from building furniture. His vest revealed the hint of his dog tags, outlined under the fabric, as well as his tanned skin from a summer well spent outside, your traced your fingers over the chain and up his neck. Tangling your fingers in his long hair you tugged him down for a kiss.
“Love you, Buck.” You whispered against his lips, heat surging through you just at his presence.
“Love you too.” His lips tickled your cheek, behind your ear, and then he was swinging you up onto the counter.
“Don't make us late!”
“If you don't like it, stop giggling.” His fingers tickled up your bare legs, eyes twinkling with desire.
Ping
“That fucking phone,” Bucky growled, grabbing it again. More messages, more missed calls.
“You should see what they want,” wrapping your arms and legs around him as you tugged Bucky closer, every line and curve fitting against him perfectly. He was sun warmed and cuddly, still ridiculously strong, but the hard lines and plains had softened since his retirement and you couldn’t get enough.
“Fine, for you, then we're going to go and have a nice dinner and I'm leaving this stupid thing here.” He grumbled, chin on top of your head.
You giggled again, leaving kisses on his chest. Bucky was so attached to that thing you didn't believe it for a second. Until his breathing went funny, heartbeat speeding up beneath your cheek.
“What is it?”
His eyes had lost their sparkle, looking sad and serious.
“I might have to rearrange dinner.”
“What? Why?” You couldn’t see the phone, but his eyes raced across whatever he’d been sent.
“Where did we pack the gear?”
“The what? Oh - uh,it's in the trunk, in the garage but -”
Bucky slid away, eyes glazed, focussed, intent and you were suddenly so cold without his presence.Your heart sank listening to the movement in the garage on the other side of the wall.
He emerged ten minutes later, his smart trousers and vest discarded in favour of leather, the dirty t-shirt he'd been wearing while you were unpacking was back and he’d at least grabbed his soft leather jacket for protection.
You threw yourself into his arms, tears springing to your eyes. “Are you needed?”
“I think so,” his voice was low, sinking into the headspace required to take on whatever danger was lurking.
“Come back to me in one piece, okay?” Your voice cracked, arms squeezing him impossibly tight.
“Of course, doll.” He looked at you then, tears welling in his own eyes, his lips so soft against your own.
“You're my hero, you know that? You don't have to do anything else?”
He nodded, letting you slide back to the floor, heels clicking on the tile in a sad reminder of your ruined evening.
“I love you, Bucky.”
“I love you, lock the door behind me, okay? Don’t let anyone, anyone, in.”
It was your turn to nod, you knew the protocols, the rules that reassured him.
His bike roared to life, then he was gone, and you were alone in the echo of your home.
You had it all. The man you were going to marry, the beautiful home you planned to move into, the bookstore days away from grand opening. Life with Steve Rogers was perfect. Until it all came crashing down. So what happens when your soon-to-be husband passes away unexpectedly and you’re left to pick up the pieces alongside his best friends, one of whom you can’t stand… right? Oh and one more thing, he was hiding a devastating secret that changes everything in an instant.
Loosely based on the movie Catch and Release. Somewhat slow burn, enemies to friends to eventual lovers, angst, smut.
This is my first time ever publishing a writing so please please feel free to give feedback. I know this is definitely not crazy good so sorry in advance. Let me know if this is worth continuing or if I should do something else with my time!
TW: mentions of PTSD, depression, anxiety, death, and grief
Numb. Everything felt numb. Today was the day I was supposed to wear white and walk down the aisle. The happiest day of my life, so I’ve been told. Instead, this might possibly be the worst one. I traded my beautiful white gown for a modest black one. Swapped my glowy cheeks for puffy eyes. Exchanged my huge smile for a sorrowful frown. Standing in the midst of my fiancée Steve’s funeral wasn’t something I thought I would have to do so soon in life, let alone on the day I was supposed to be calling him my husband. Everything around me feels like a blur. I can tell everyone is looking at me like I’m the saddest case in the world, tiptoeing around me.
I hate that you left me alone with all of these people, Steve. I know you didn’t plan to but you know I can’t stand to be the center of attention. It’s why we opted for an intimate wedding, only our closest friends and family. Instead, we’re celebrating the extraordinary man you were, tears in our eyes, reminiscing on moments that now feel like a lifetime ago.
“Don’t you agree Y/N?” Steve’s great-aunt says with a sad look in her eyes. Shit, what did she say?
“Oh I-” I began to form some string of words that could possibly comfort her.
“Of course, Aunt Lin. Steve would have loved the hydrangeas that were selected for the service.” Sam, one of Steve’s best friends, replies and gives me a light pat on my back. I’ll have to thank him for the save later.
Aunt Lin seems satisfied with this reassurance and turns to find her husband.
“You ok?” Sam asks, concern on his face. I nod.
“Yea- Yeah I think I need some fresh air.” I respond, nodding to the back door. Sam gives me a look, not convinced. He doesn’t push and goes to check on Steve’s mom who seems to be weeping in the kitchen.
I head out to the back, walking towards the place under the dock I typically go to for an escape. Steve, Sam, and Tony all lived together in a house along Lake Celine. Steve and I had planned to move into our dream home later this month after the honeymoon. We had barely started the lease process before everything happened. I can’t afford to rent such a dreamy place on my own. We had talked about all of our firsts happening there. Our first night living together just us two, sitting on the floor with takeaway. A dog, whose name we had gone back and forth on until we settled on Honey. Saving for a home where we’d start our family. I shake these thoughts away and look out onto the water. Fuck Steve, I miss you. I know I can’t stay in my safe space forever; people will start to talk.
As I walk towards the door to go back into the dreaded crowd I spot two figures on the side of the house. I see a woman with striking features and a man who I couldn’t quite make out.
“Wow, I’m so sorry about your best friend, handsome,” a blonde woman wearing a catering outfit sighs as she twists her hair between her fingers.
“Let’s not talk about it. In fact, let’s not talk at all babe,” the figure says.
I groan after realizing it was Steve’s lifelong friend James Barnes. That asshole is really trying to get it in at a funeral?! The funeral of the only man who could stand to put up with his arrogant ass. The one man that stood by him after he returned from the army with extreme PTSD, depression, and anxiety. The audacity of that fuc-
Suddenly I hear the blonde giggle and see Barnes’ drop to his knees, looking like he’s ready to devour the woman above him. Nope, I’m out! I rush to walk up the stairs and slam the door.
I never did like James Barnes much. He wasn’t very present in Steve and I’s lives after we officially began dating. We lived states away and Barnes had a tendency to disappear for months at a time, hardly traveling to visit from Los Angeles. Steve would visit him quite often, staying for weeks at a time when work needed him there. To my fiancée, James could do no wrong. They were truly brothers and I never faulted Steve for excusing away some of his best friend’s behaviors.
Barnes has always been a ladies man, and his flings typically lasted long enough for the woman to expect more and him to disappoint them with an unwillingness to commit. James could charm pretty much anyone he wanted and he knew it. We bumped heads when he tried to put the moves on one of my best friends Wanda. Steve thought it was a great idea, suggesting a double date. I knew it would end in disaster. Ultimately, Wanda saw through the James charm and met her now-husband Victor.
That was just one instance of many where Steve and I couldn’t see eye to eye about his friend. It caused some tension that usually lasted until Barnes went back to his cave or wherever he sulked off to. I loved when we would get radio silence. It meant Steve could focus on other aspects of his life and didn’t need to take care of James. Those months were usually filled with my most treasured memories. Late nights at the movies, barbecues with friends, cooking together, and slow dancing next to the glow of a fire. But then Steve would be pulled back to L.A. and the cycle would start again.
The boys’ house began to grow quiet as the last of the guests trickled out, giving me one last look of sympathy and a promise to check in that felt more polite than genuine. I hadn’t seen Sam or Tony in a while and the silence that started to creep in was causing a crushing weight to enter my chest. I can’t be alone with this, not right now. Just as my breathing began to quicken a loud stomping pulled me from the dread.
“Y/N!” I look up and find Tony in huff. “We’ve been looking all over for you girl, whereeewere youuu?” He says, words slurring.
“Tone, are you drunk?” I ask, shaking my head, a small smile spreading across my face.
“Pshh nooo” he says, booping my nose. “Mmkmaybe a little or a LOTTT” Tony says swaying back and forth.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Steve always knew how to handle drunk Tony. He has a notorious track record in this state. Typically, Tony gets shitfaced and starts rambling about one thing or another, becoming a deadweight to whoever he’s near. I had been the victim of his antics quite a few times but I never minded. It was only when he seemed to lose all concept of his legs and I had to try to hold him up so he wouldn’t lose a tooth or two, that I needed some help. Steve would grab Tony, saving me from the man’s delirious state.
“Y/N/N, I think we should dance, it’s what he would want” Tony demands avoiding saying Steve’s name out loud. “I know he wouldn’t be happy with us moping around. We should be celebrating the life he led for fucks sake!”
“I- I don’t know Tone, it’s been a long day. I think we should get some sleep” I say gently to not upset the man in his drunken state.
Tony frowned at my statement. I can tell he was on the brink of collapse and I don’t think I have the energy to appease him. He begins to protest when I feel a presence behind me.
“Alright Tony that’s enough man” a gruff voice says from behind me.
“Ohhhh fuck off Bucky. Don’t you have a stick to put up somewhere?” Tony laughs.
“It’s fine Barnes. I can handle him.” I say.
“Can you? Last I checked Steve took care of almost everything for you.” Barnes says, irritation dripping from his words.
“Seriously, we’re going to do this NOW?” I say, my voice beginning to raise.
Sam rounds the corner with a concerned look on his face. “Woah woah woah what the hell is going on in here?”
“Sammy! Is bout time you joined us! Now we can all take a shot for Rogers and dance the night away.” Tony says, clapping his hands and walking to the liquor cabinet.
Tony was probably handling this worse than all of us. He wasn’t good with grief and he experienced so much of it. The only way he knew how to cope was to throw a huge party, get shit faced, wake up with a debilitating hangover, and repeat. Only, this time the huge party was a celebration of life for one of his dearest friends. Not much of a party at all.
Sam turns to me and mouths “sorry” as he gestures for me to sneak out while Tony was distracted. I silently thank him for saving me again and slip out of the kitchen. Sam was definitely the glue to this dysfunctional household, and I didn’t know what I would do without him. I hear Tony and Sam going back and forth on whether they were going to drink the night away or have a peaceful end to this sorrowful day. I knew who was advocating for which outcome.
As I make my way down the hall to Steve’s room, it suddenly dawns on me that I’d have to sleep in there alone. I turn the knob and hear someone clear their throat behind me. Of course, the person I least want to see in front of me appears, same scowl on his face as usual.
“James.” I say flatly.
“Y/N” he says. “Look I don’t want to end today this way. I’m sorry for the comment I made, it was unfair and uncalled for.”
I chuckle. “It was, but I wouldn’t expect much else from you.”
“Jesus Y/N, what the hell is your problem? I’m trying to make amends. I-” he sighs “-I know Steve would want us to be there for each other. All of us.”
“It’s fine Barnes. Let’s just forget it okay? In fact, let’s not talk at all. How about that?” I say, slightly raising my voice, hoping I make it clear that I know what he got up to with the catering waitress.
“What are you-” James stops in his tracks. “Shit Y/N, you didn’t-”
“I did,” I huff, cutting him off. “And honestly I don’t give a shit what you do in your free time. But at his funeral James?! You really couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough for us to give him a proper goodbye?”
James runs his hand through his hair, searching for anything he can say to excuse away what I witnessed.
“You know what, forget it Barnes. I don’t know why I’d even expect more from you,” I spit, knowing the words cut through him as a guilty expression runs across his face.
I don’t wait to hear what else he has to say as I pull open the door to the bedroom and slam it behind me.
As I get ready for bed, I try to erase the anger I’m feeling towards James, but it’s easier said than done. After a few hours of tossing, turning, and crying, I finally fall asleep, wishing this was all some horrible nightmare.
If you made it this far thank you so much for reading!! This is the first time I had the courage to post and I hope it was enjoyable for a first chapter. Please please let me know if I should continue updating this. This is 100% my own writing and if there is anything similar to another fic it was not done intentionally.
summary: After a victory party, you end up drinking a bit too much while trying to keep up with superhumans.
wc: 1,126
warnings: reader being visibly drunk, mentions of y/n, petnames (bear/sweetheart)
The Avengers’ victory party had been a success by all standars. Tony had raided his top-shelf liquor cabinet, Clint had somehow lost his shoes on the roof, and the team had successfully saved the city without blowing up too many city blocks.
Unfortunately for you, and for Bucky, you had attempted to keep pace with a room full of superhumans and gods. Of course you failed.
Now, two hours past midnight, Bucky had his vibranium arm wrapped securely around your waist, steering your frame down the quiet dimly lit hallway of the Compound towards your bedroom. Every third step involved you leaning heavily into his side, giggling at absolutely nothing.
"Careful" Bucky murmured, his deep voice fond and amused as he maneuvered you around the hallway "Left foot, right foot. You're doing soo great"
"Bucky" you slurred softly, stopping dead in your tracks
He paused, effortlessly taking on your full weight without missing a beat "Yeah? What is it? You feeling nauseous?"
Slowly and dramatically you tilted your head back, your eyes wide with awe as you gestured loosely toward the hallway roof.
"Oh, look at the stars! Ursa Major... so beautiful!" you whispered in reverent wonder, mouth lightly opened
Bucky glanced up at the modern drywall above where a grid of small, warm toned LED bulbs glowed softly. He blinked, looking back down at your dreamy, upturned face, his classic smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"We're inside. Those are just ceiling lights, y/n"
"No, Bucky, you don't understand" you insisted, swaying slightly and tapping his chest with a pointed finger "The universe... it's speaking to us. The Great Bear is blessing our voyage"
"The Great Bear is going to give you a massive headache tomorrow if we don't get you some water and a bed" he chuckled shaking his head. He effortlessly scooped you up into his arms bridal style, bringing a dramatic gasp from you
"My hero" you sighed, swooning against his neck "Rescued from the cosmos"
When Bucky finally got you into your room, he carefully set you down on the edge of your mattress. He knelt down in front of you, untying the straps of your shoes with practiced, steady hands.
It's not the first time he had to take care of you after a party. He took your heels off and placed them next to your nightstand, so that you don't fall over them when getting up. Bucky quickly went to the kitchen to bring you a huge glass of water and some painkillers for the morning. He tucked you safely under the duvet before you could attempt to chart any more constellations.
"You're very pretty when you're making up astronomy" Bucky murmured, gently pushing a strand of hair back from your forehead as you sank into the pillows
"I didn't make it up" you mumbled, eyes already half closed "Ursa Major is real, and... you're a big bear"
"Is that right?" He chuckled softly, brushing his thumb across your cheek
"Mmhmm. A soft, scary bear. But I'm not scared of you" You reached up blindly grabbing his hand and pulling his knuckles to your cheek "Stay?"
Bucky’s gaze softened, the lingering shadows in his blue eyes lifting entirely. He kicked off his boots, climbed onto the bed next to you above the covers, and pulled you against his chest.
"I'm right here, y/n" he whispered into your hair, resting his chin on your head as your breathing began to even out "Hope you have sweet dreams"
By three in the morning the starry canopy of ceiling lights had given way to total, pitchblack darkness.
And right on schedule, the alcohol's fun phase had officially retired, leaving behind a dry throat, a spinning room and a sudden desire to consume an entire box of dry cereal.
You shifted groaning softly as you tried to disentangle your legs from the duvet. Beside you, Bucky moved instantly. Even asleep, he was wired like a tripwire and within half a second his eyes were open, clear and sharp in the dim room.
"Hey" he rasped, his voice thick with sleep. His flesh hand immediately reached across the mattress finding your waist "You alright? You nauseous?"
"Water" you croaked, sounding like you’d swallowed a handful of sand "And... my brain feels like it’s vibrating, I don't like it"
Bucky let out a low breathless laugh, a soft rumble against the mattress, and reached over to grab the glass he’d set on the nightstand earlier that night. He sat up, propping his back against the headboard, and pulled you up into his lap so you wouldn't have to hold your own head up.
"Here, take small sips, okay? Don't chug it"
You took the glass, his vibranium hand cupping yours to keep it steady while you drank. The cool water was like a liquid life. When you pulled away leaning back against his broad chest with a heavy sigh, you stared straight ahead at the opposite wall.
"Bucky?"
"Yeah?"
"Why is the dresser looking at me like that?"
Bucky paused, his chin resting on your shoulder as he squinted across the dark bedroom at your plain wooden IKEA dresser "It's a piece of furniture, sweetheart. It doesn't have eyes"
"It has two knobs" you pointed out, gesturing vaguely with your hand "They're staring. Judgmatically"
"Judgmatically" Bucky repeated, the corner of his mouth twitching "Pretty sure that's not a word"
"It's a very real word" you insisted, leaning back harder into his chest and tilting your head up to look at him upside down "It's judging me for mistaking the hall lights for Ursa Major"
"Well" Bucky murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the center of your forehead "the dresser can mind its own damn business. You were very majestic about the hall lights"
"I was, wasn't I?"
"Extremely" he agreed, setting the empty water glass back on the table. He wrapped both arms around you, one warm skin, one cool vibranium, and pulled you back down into the blankets, tucking the comforter tightly around your shoulders "Now go back to sleep before you start getting into an argument with the nightstand"
"The nightstand is nice" you mumbled, burying your face directly into the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar, grounding scent of his perfume and soap "The nightstand brought me water"
"I brought you the water" Bucky chuckled, his chest vibrating against yours as his fingers softly combed through your hair, repeating the rhythmic motion until your breathing finally slowed back down
"Same thing" you whispered, already drifting back off "Goodnight, bear"
"Goodnight, sweetheart" he whispered back, resting his cheek against your hair with a faint smile staying on his lips long after you fell asleep
Warnings: Mafia AU, obsessive behavior, stalking themes, possessiveness, two people who probably should not like each other as much as they do.
Author's Note: I haven't written for mafia!bucky in so long and im so scared to disappoint so i apologize for this shorter piece! This honestly started as a random “what if” idea and somehow will turn into two equally unhinged people playing the longest game of cat and mouse imaginable. Also all the love to @pinkiebieberpie for this wonderful mood board, had to use it for this first installment to the chaos that will ensueeee 🫶
You really thought by now he'd have stopped surrounding himself with people who didn't appreciate him. It was becoming a rather disappointing pattern.
Did she even know his name? Or did she only know the title whispered behind closed doors? Did she know he disliked people touching his tailored suits? That he'd always adjusted his left cufflink before the right? That he took his whiskey neat, but only after particularly tedious meetings?
No.
Of course she didn't.
Why would she?
Because if she had, she would've known better than to drape herself all over him like she belonged there.
You sighed, swirling the wine in your glass as your gaze remained fixed on the darkened balcony across the street.
Even from here, you could make out unfamiliar fingers lingering against the front of his suit.
The glow of your phone reflected across the rim of your glass.
He always did have a habit of making things harder than they needed to be.
And unfortunately for him, you had always been very good at correcting bad habits.
Unknown Number: I don’t like people touching things that are MINE. Remove her hands before I remove them myself.
James: Then come remove them yourself.
Unknown Number: You’ll find that I really hate repeating myself, James.
REMOVE. THEM. NOW.
I assure you your little friend won’t like what will follow because YOU failed to listen.
James: And you’ll find I’m getting quite bored of your little games.
Where’s your originality?
It’s disappointing, really.
Read.
He stared at his phone a moment longer, willing the tiny word beneath his message to dissolve into three familiar dots.
It never did.
He hated that he noticed, hated even more that he cared.
He had genuinely thought tonight might be the night you finally showed yourself, another piece of you, another glimpse behind the curtain.
Disappointing.
What was even more disappointing were the hands still tracing the front of his tailored suit, fingers skimming over his chest as soft promises for the rest of the evening drifted past his ears.
He heard every word.
He simply didn't care.
His attention remained fixed on the silent screen in his hand.
Where were you?
As the minutes ticked by, the screen remained dark, and somehow, that bothered him more than it should have.
With a quiet sigh, Bucky finally pulled away.
The woman beside him looked up, confusion crossing her features as he gently removed her hands from his suit.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Not tonight. You've got to go.”
Her expression shifted immediately. “What?” she scoffed. “But you invited me here.”
Bucky glanced toward the phone now resting on the table, “and now I’m uninviting you.”
She stared at him, clearly offended, but Bucky had already turned away.
His mind was somewhere else.
It had been somewhere else all night.
It was late into the night when your response finally came through, the notification cutting through the silence of the room.
Unknown Number: You look better alone.
Attached was a photo; grainy, dark, taken from an angle that should've been impossible. Him, alone in his bed, the soft glow of his screen illuminating his features.
James: You should come join me.
Unknown Number: I like the view instead.
James: Coward.
The three dots appeared, disappeared, and appeared again.
Unknown Number: Be careful what you wish for James
Author's Note: My apologies for the delay in this second chapter. Things are a bit hectic as we draw closer to the Christmas Holiday. This story will be more frequently updated over the Christmas break! And honestly? I'm getting more excited for what's to come. I don't want to spoil much, but it will feature smut, fluff, and angst (lots of it, be prepared!!!). Finally, some chapters may contain dark and graphic elements, so I will make sure to add warnings!
Summary: After a night of passion, the couple spends a few quiet moments, trying to relish in their love. But business doesn't take care of itself...
Word Count: 600 words (Short! I know!)
Warnings for this Chapter: None, just a whole lot of fluff!
The next morning found the two entangled together, Bucky’s arm draped over her lithe body as if it was shielding her from the world. Both were blissfully asleep, and it was like nothing could disturb their little bubble. However, the alarm had different plans. Its angry blare was more than enough to awaken the mobster who smashed it onto the wall with a frustrated groan. He was nice and cozy in bed with the one he adored and he wanted no interruptions. Oh well. So much for a peaceful sleep. At least he would get to admire the sleeping beauty that was snuggling up at him. After a while though, he decided it was time for a shower, so he pecked her cheek softly before slipping out of bed.
His wife let out a yawn, stretching out her limbs, trying to feel for her husband but she was only met with an empty bed. At the beginning, she thought he was already tending to business, but then she heard the water running from their bathroom. Without making noise she tiptoed inside, arms snaking around his waist, kissing his back, causing a smile to creep on the mobster’s face before he turned to face her.
“Mmm… Good morning sweetheart. “ Came his hushed voice before he captured her lips once again grabbing the sponge so he could spoil her a little. “I missed you in bed earlier..” She mused humming in contentment as she wrapped her nimble hands around his neck, pulling him closer. “Can’t blame me for giving you some time to sleep in... You looked so peaceful…” He replied resting his forehead against hers. This man never ceased to amaze her. He could go from stone-cold, deadly, and fearsome Mobster to the most loving husband in a matter of mere seconds. Of course, he was a man of honor as he promised her that all the orphaned children of this city would be safe from any harm that came with being the leader of the Mafia. From the moment they met each other, he told her of his line of work but that wasn’t enough to keep her away from him. She loved him either way.
Bucky noticed how she was zoning out. Apparently, she was lost in her thoughts and it made him curious as to what she was thinking about. “… Penny for your thoughts, beautiful?” He asked poking her side playfully, eliciting a melodic giggle from her. “ I was just thinking how lucky I am to have you by my side. That’s all.” She trailed off kissing him briefly when she felt a towel being wrapped around her body.
Unfortunately, they couldn’t stay like this for the rest of the day. He would have to oversee various operations and meetings. As for her, she would spend the day working from home. Pretty mundane things. But she would also have to head out into the city in order to meet with representatives of various charity organizations that she was cooperating with. Bucky insisted that she took a bodyguard along with her, but she kept refusing; every time she would have to persuade him that she would be just fine. And every time, he trusted her. Why wouldn’t he? She was strong, and she was definitely not one of those damsels in distress that always needed saving. That was another reason that he adored her.
But in a few hours, everything would change… Neither of them knew it though. They just went through their routines blissfully unaware of the hell that was about to break loose…
@world-of-aus And here... we... go! I hope you like it <3
All he wanted when he was a kid was becoming the mightiest knight in all the kingdom. He wanted to protect the king and everyone in need.
He wanted to have a wife, loving, compassionate and understanding. And with all the kindness he got in his whole body, he still didn't found her.
He loved to read in his free time, novels, poetry, mythology and everything he could read. Even the most ridiculous writings.
He would spend a ridiculously big amount of time in the library, and the reason why is that you were there, the cute librarian who side eye everyone that talk too loud.
Being the mightiest knight gave him advantages like the respect of royalty, nobles, the common people, and even the poor and peasants. His heart was as a big as him, he was the most sweet and kind out there, trying to find ways to help the less fortunate to have better living conditions.
He didn't do all of that to reap accolades, but simply because he is generous.
So why don't you return his smiles ? Why don't you give him the time of the day ?
To be honest, you fancied him a little bit, you were infatuated with him dare I say, but you wanted to see if he was going to yearn or if it was just because he could have everything he wants.
He began to let little presents for you on your desk at the library, like pastries, flowers and even jewels. It was his way to show you he was courting you, that he was serious about you.
Everytime you found a present, a little note was there to praise you. You thought it was a joke because why would the mightiest knight would try to court you ?
You gave him a chance once, and he did everything to show you how much you meant for him, how much he was in love with you, not a just infatuation. And it worked ! When he asked for your hand, it was the most romantic day of all your life. Your wedding was wonderful too, full of love.
Everytime he had to go far from you for his knight's duties, you were the only thing on his mind, always yearning for his librarian.
bucky x fem! reader — college au
summary. Bucky Barnes is your senior. That’s how simple it should’ve been. But when feelings come into the mix, nothing is ever simple right?
in which,
a simple favour somehow turns into a complicated affair.
word count. 19.3k
warnings. college au — med school, slowish burn, smut, mdni, 18+, tit play, oral (f receiving), protected pnv, insecure reader, angst, hurt/comfort, impulsive reader who self sabotages, college girl acting like a college girl, bucky is described as a fuckboy, takes reader to watch a surgery. no use of y/n.
notes. extremely self-indulgent, i miss med school man. but can easily be read as a college au, i just gave them med subjects. this is basically stuff that kinda happened to me and stuff i wish happened to me lol. in my college — like in many colleges in my country — there’s this unspoken rule, where a junior must obey their senior no matter what. so she can’t just say no when he asks her a favour. i’ve probably used bike and motorcycle interchangeably, please ignore that. Supposed to be posted like a month ago. Since I might be inactive in the following week, this is here now.
READ ON AO3
You had promised yourself you would not spiral today. That promise sits thin as you step out of the library, the familiar pressure of deadlines stacking one on top of the other until breathing feels like a chore instead of a reflex that keeps you alive.
There is a quiet pride in having stayed back this late, in choosing tables and notes over distractions, in being the kind of second year who does not get noticed for the wrong reasons.
You’re someone who slides through corridors without anyone remembering her name but still remembers every page she read, every line she underlined, every small victory that does not need witnesses.
It should have been a clean exit. Library to hostel. Bed. Maybe a shower if energy allows. A voice cuts through that careful plan.
“Hey. Hey, wait.”
Your name follows, said with the kind of casual certainty that makes your stomach drop because you do not remember giving it to a him. You slow before you mean to, hate yourself for it immediately, then stop fully because pretending not to hear it is useless now.
He is leaning against wall near the steps, fourth year scrubs on, bag slung carelessly over one shoulder like rules never applied to him in the first place.
Bucky Barnes.
The name exists in your head long before this moment, passed around in whispers and rolled eyes. The kind of senior everyone knows without knowing, the kind who never seems stressed, the kind who smiles like he expects the world to bend for him because it usually does.
He looks at you like this is normal. Like calling you over has not just rearranged your internal organs.
“Yeah… You. From second year, right?”
The nod comes before you can stop it. Your mouth opens, and closes. Something about air refusing to cooperate. He does not seem to notice, or maybe he does and just enjoys it, because his smile tips slightly.
“Good. I was hoping it was you.”
Hoping implies intention. Intention implies choice. Your brain scrambles to keep up.
He reaches into his bag and pulls out a record book, thick and familiar and immediately ominous. Oh no. He holds it out like a peace offering.
It’s not.
“I need this filled. Clinical entries. You know how it goes.”
Of course you know. Seniors handing down record books like curses, juniors swallowing irritation because no one ever says no. It is tradition dressed up as mentorship, exploitation wrapped in smiles. You have watched others do it, complained quietly about it, sworn you would find a way out if it ever landed on you.
It has landed on you.
“Uh,” your voice finally shows up. “I… I have my own, uhmm records. To finish.”
He hums, just acknowledging a fact that does not change anything. The book does not move. His hand stays steady between you, patient in a way that feels practiced.
“I know. Everyone does. You’re good at it though. Got neat handwriting. I’ve seen your stuff.”
Being seen has never felt like a gift. It feels like exposure, like someone has pulled back a curtain you forgot was there. You wonder who told him. You wonder when he looked. You wonder why it matters.
You take the book because not taking it feels impossible. Your fingers brush the edge of his fingers for half a second too long, heat flaring where there should be none. You hate that too.
“Thanks,” he says, like you have done him a favour already. “I’ll need it by Monday. You can just slip it under my door. Room 318.”
Monday. Your mind does the math without permission, counts hours you do not have, pages you do not want to fill, resentment blooming immediately.
Your mouth wants to say no now, wants to choke the word out before it becomes habit. Instead, what comes out is a quiet okay that feels like a betrayal.
Fuck.
“You’re a lifesaver,” his grin widens, the phrase just sticks under your skin because you know he does not mean it. It is just something he says. Something that works.
He pushes off the wall then, stretching like this conversation has taken nothing out of him, like he has not just fucked up your entire evening, possibly your entire week. “See you around, yeah?”
You nod again, nodding seems to be all you can do around him. He walks away without looking back, already pulling his phone out, already elsewhere.
The space he had left behind feels too empty and too crowded at the same time.
You stand there, blaming fate, blaming everything. Irritation simmers, edged with something that feels uncomfortably like embarrassment.
Not because he asked. Because you said yes. Why couldn’t you have said no?
The walk back to your room passes in a blur of footpaths and familiar turns, replaying the way he said your name, the way he smiled like nothing in the world could touch him.
The unfairness of it all presses heavy. Fourth years like him float through med school like it is a game. People like you count pages and hours and caffeine intake and still feel behind.
When the door clicks shut behind you, you drop your bag on the chair harder than necessary, the record book landing on your desk with a dull thud that feels deeply satisfying.
“Oh my God,” you mutter, then louder, “Oh my God.”
Your friend looks up from her bed. She has known you long enough to recognize the particular tension in your shoulders, the way your hands shake when you are trying not to scream.
“What happened?”
You hold up the book like evidence. “Bucky Barnes happened.”
Her face shifts instantly, recognition blooming into something between amusement and sympathy. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Yes,” your voice rises despite yourself. “He just handed it to me. Like I’m his personal assistant. Like I don’t have my own shit to do.”
“Did you say no?”
The silence answers for you.
A dramatic groan leaves her mouth. “You cannot do this. Seniors will see you coming from a mile away.”
“I didn’t mean to,” you snap, then immediately soften because she is not wrong and that makes it worse. “He just… called me. And he smiled. And then suddenly I had the book in my hands and it was done.”
You pace now, words spilling out faster, frustration finally finding a mouth. “Monday. He wants it by Monday. Do you know how much I have to finish by Monday? I barely sleep as it is.”
Her expression becomes gentler now. “Why you though? He has friends. Groupies. People who would do it without complaining.”
“Apparently my handwriting is neat,” the bitterness in your tone is obvious. “Apparently he’s seen my stuff. Which is creepy, by the way.”
“That man has no boundaries. Also he’s hot, so no one calls him on it.”
You stop pacing to glare at her. “Do not.”
“I’m just stating facts,” she puts her hands up. “He’s a menace.”
“He’s a fuckboy,” you correct, the word slipping out with venom, satisfying in its accuracy. “And I do not have time for this.”
The innocent book still sits on your desk, infuriating you. Pages waiting to be filled with cases you did not attend, observations you did not make. Your jaw tightens.
“I should just give it back,” you say, more to yourself than to her. “Tell him I can’t. Tell him I have my own work.”
She watches you for a moment, then smiles in a way that is all understanding and zero judgment. “And will you?”
The answer tastes bitter before it even forms. You sink onto your chair, stare at the book like it has personally wronged you.
“No. Because I’m weak and stupid and I said okay.”
“You’re just too nice.”
A humourless laugh echoes. “That’s not a compliment in med school.”
She gets up then to cross the room, and peers over your shoulder at the offending book. “Look. We’ll bitch about him while you write.”
That helps. The bitching.
“He smiled at me,” the confession slips out before you can stop it. “Like I was already going to say yes.”
“Because he knows people do.”
“I hate that it worked.”
She bumps your shoulder lightly. “Welcome to being human.”
You pick up the pen, flip the book open, anger and resolve tangling together in your chest. If you are going to do this, you will do it right. Not for him. For yourself. Because that is what you do. Because walking away has never come easily.
Still, as the first page fills under your hand, one thought forms inside your head.
Bucky Barnes is going to owe you for this.
Finishing this stupid record book on time might actually be the most irritating miracle you have ever pulled off.
Two nights of cramped handwriting and squinting at borrowed case sheets, all for a senior who probably has not worried about a deadline since orientation week.
There is a strange mix of pride and annoyance together in your chest. Pride because the pages look perfect, neat lines and careful diagrams, everything organized the way your brain likes it. Annoyance because none of it is even yours.
Your roommate watches from her bed while you pack the book into your bag.
“You actually finished it,” her voice is impressed and a little horrified.
“I had no choice,” you zip the bag with more force than necessary. “If I didn’t, he would find me in some corridor and smile at me again and I would say yes to something worse.”
She laughs like she understands exactly what you mean. “Go give it to him and be free.”
Free is a strong word, but you take it anyway.
The walk across campus feels lighter without the weight of guilt hanging over you. You rehearse what you are going to say in your head, something polite and quick and efficient. Here is your record book, thank you, goodbye. Nothing more. Definitely no unnecessary conversation.
You spot him near the canteen. Of course he is surrounded by people. Bucky always seems to exist in the middle of laughter, like he attracts it without trying. A couple of fourth years, one or two juniors, faces you vaguely recognize. He looks relaxed leaning back on the bench.
Your steps slow on their own. It would be so easy to turn around, to come back later, to avoid this tiny social nightmare entirely. But the book is in your bag and Monday is too close and courage, apparently, is a muscle you are forcing yourself to use.
He notices you before you can talk yourself out of it.
“Hey,” he calls out, like you are an old friend and absolutely not a nervous junior.
Every pair of eyes turns in your direction at once. Wonderful. Exactly what you wanted.
Trying to ignore the sudden heat crawling up your neck, you walk closer. “Um, I finished it.”
You hold the book out to him the way a student offers homework to a teacher. Careful, a little formal, maybe even a little scared. His eyebrows lift when he flips through a few pages.
“Damn,” he does not bother to hide the surprise. “This is perfect.”
Praise should not matter this much from someone like him, but apparently your brain did not get that memo.
One of his friends leans forward, curiosity written all over his face. You remember his name after a second. Sam.
“So, this is the famous second year with the magic handwriting,” Sam says, looking at you like you are a rare species. “Hey, listen, any chance you want to do mine next? I will pay you in coffee and eternal gratitude.”
Your mouth opens, ready to spit out a polite refusal you have been practicing since last week, but Bucky moves before you can speak. His arm slides around your shoulders, pulling you a fraction closer to his side.
“Nah,” he says easily, “she’s mine.”
The words echo in your ears long after he says them.
She’s mine. You know it’s not serious. It’s just a joke tossed out between friends. Still, your entire body reacts like it is not a joke at all.
Your heart jumps. Your face heats. You suddenly understand why half the campus melts over him.
Sam raises both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, territorial much. I see how it is.”
“Find your own hardworking junior,” Bucky grins, finally letting his arm drop from your shoulders. Though the ghost of the touch stays behind though.
You stand there feeling ridiculous, trying to remember how to breathe normally, trying to figure out how to actually survive.
“Thanks for doing this,” Bucky’s voice is softer now, like the rest of them are not even there. “Seriously, you saved me.”
“It’s fine,” you manage, which is not true but sounds polite enough. “Just… don’t give me another one.”
“Cross my heart,” he promises, two fingers over his chest in mock solemnity.
The group drifts back into their conversation and you prepare to make a quick escape, mission accomplished, when Bucky stands up and grabs his bag.
“I’ll drop you off,” he says, like it is the most natural sentence in the world.
Did you hear it right? Your brain stutters. “What, no, it’s okay, I can walk.”
“I know you can walk,” he sounds amused. “But I’ve got my bike and you’ve done me a huge favor and I’m not letting you disappear like that.”
People are watching again. You hate that people are watching. Refusing in front of everyone feels impossible, so you nod before you can overthink it.
The bike is parked near the gate. It’s black, shiny and slightly intimidating. Okay, very intimidating.
You have never actually sat on one before. He hands you the spare helmet without making it a big deal, and somehow that small kindness settles your nerves more than anything else.
“Just hold on to me, yeah,” he says while you climb on behind him.
Holding on to him sounds like a terrible idea for your already fragile composure, but the engine roars to life and instinct wins over dignity. Your hands settle lightly on his sides, trying to keep a respectful distance that disappears the second the bike moves.
It feels strange and a little unreal, like you have stepped into someone else’s life for a moment. Bucky drives smoothly, confidently, like he does literally everything else.
You tell yourself not to enjoy it. You enjoy it anyway.
When the familiar outline of your dorm comes into view, you’re surprised of the disappointment that blooms. The ride had ended too quickly.
Sudden quiet wraps around the both of you as he cuts the engine. You climb off carefully, handing the helmet back, already rehearsing another quick thank you and goodbye.
Bucky does not move to leave. He stays seated, one foot on the ground, looking at you with that same unreadable half smile.
“So,” he stretches the word out, “what do you want?”
“What do I want… for what?”
“For writing my record,” he clarifies. “Don’t say nothing because I know how much time that took.”
The question catches you off guard. You had not even considered the possibility of getting anything in return. In your head, this whole thing was just an annoying duty, a favor extracted through seniority and social pressure.
“I really don’t need anything… it’s fine.”
He studies you for a moment, like he is trying to figure out if you are serious. Apparently the idea of someone not wanting something from him is a new concept.
“Okay… but I’m not accepting that answer.”
“you don’t have to do anything,” you insist, as you feel awkward all over again. “I just did it because you asked.”
“Exactly. Which is why I’m doing something because you helped me.”
You shift your weight from one foot to the other, suddenly very aware of how close he is, how easily he holds your attention without even trying.
“Look… let me at least buy you dinner. As a thank you.”
Dinner. Your brain immediately supplies a hundred reasons why that is a bad idea.
He is a senior. He is Bucky Barnes. People talk. You do not do dinners with boys on bikes who call you theirs in front of their friends. You definitely don’t do dinners with Bucky Barnes.
“You really don’t have to,” your voice is weaker this time.
“I want to.”
He says it like it’s simple, like it doesn’t carry any hidden traps. You try to find a polite way out and come up empty.
“It’s just dinner,” he adds, reading your hesitation with annoying accuracy. “No weirdness, I promise.”
The easy confidence, the genuine gratitude and the tiny hopeful tilt to his expression, makes your resolve wobble.
“Okay,” you hear yourself say, surprising both of you. “But only dinner.”
His grin widens. “Only dinner. Scout’s honor.”
You have no idea if he was ever even a scout, but the image makes you smile despite yourself.
“Same time tomorrow,” he starts the bike again. “Be ready.”
Before you can overthink or change your mind or list all the reasons this is probably a terrible decision, he gives you a small wave and rides off.
You stand there for long after he is gone, heart doing strange unpredictable things, trying to understand how a simple favor turned into this.
Deep inside your chest, excitement and nervousness argue back and forth.
Dinner with Bucky Barnes. Tomorrow.
Maybe this is a bad idea. Tiredness is sitting heavy in your shoulders, the kind that feels stitched into your bones after a long day of lectures and wards and pretending to understand things you only half understand. The sensible version of you knows exactly what tonight should look like.
Pajamas. Leftover notes. An early night. Peace.
Instead you are standing in front of your tiny mirror with a dress spread across the bed behind you, trying to decide if it looks normal enough to pass for casual and nice enough to pass for dinner.
This is ridiculous. Completely ridiculous.
You keep telling yourself that while you brush your hair, while you check your phone for the tenth time even though you know there is nothing new there, while you dig through your drawer looking for the one pair of earrings that make you feel a little less invisible.
Getting ready for dinner with Bucky Barnes feels like preparing for an exam you never signed up for.
Your roommate is out, probably somewhere with her own life that does not involve spiralling over a senior who asked for a favour and then offered dinner in return.
He probably didn’t even mean it like that.
That thought pops up while you smooth the front of the dress over your stomach, trying to ignore how nervous your hands feel. He said it casually, like he says everything, like inviting someone to eat is the most normal thing in the world.
He did not ask for your number. He did not give his number. People who plan real dinners usually do those things, right? They exchange details and make proper plans and act like adults instead of just throwing out a time and disappearing on a bike like you see on movies.
What if he forgot?
What if he only said it because he needed to look cool and effortless like he always does? What if he says things like that to everyone and never follows through because he is Bucky Barnes and the world follows him around instead of the other way?
The more you think about it, the more stupid you feel for taking it seriously.
You imagine him right now somewhere across campus, laughing too loud with people who are not you, maybe already at a party, maybe already making other plans that have nothing to do with a shy second year who writes neat record books.
A small ache starts low in your chest and you hate it instantly.
Why did you even get ready?
You stand in front of the mirror, turning slightly from side to side, trying to see yourself the way he might see you if he ever actually showed up. The dress is simple and soft and maybe a little nicer than what you normally wear to class, and suddenly it looks silly. Like you tried too hard for something that might not even happen.
Oh God, the thought of sitting here all dressed up for no reason, waiting for a message that never comes.
This is embarrassing.
You start to take the earrings off, fingers fumbling more than they should. It feels safer to assume nothing is happening. It feels safer to crawl back into your comfortable routine and pretend none of this ever existed. You reach behind you and tug at the zipper, already planning how quickly you can change and wash your face and bury yourself under a blanket.
He did not even ask for your number. That sentence loops in your head like a stubborn song you cannot turn off. If he really wanted to take you out, he would have made sure he could contact you. That is basic logic. That is common sense.
You pull the dress down over your shoulders, halfway committed to the idea of forgetting the whole thing.
But then your phone lights up on the desk.
The sound is small but it freezes you completely.
For a second you just stare at it, heart suddenly beating in a way that feels unfair. Notifications come from lots of people. Groups and apps and random spam messages. It does not have to be him. There is no reason to assume it is him.
Still, you walk over to the desk like you are being pulled by an invisible string.
One new message.
Unknown number : I’m here. Come down.
That is all it says. Your face heats so fast it almost hurts.
It’s him. He remembered. He actually remembered.
The room suddenly feels too warm and too small making your earlier embarrassment shift shape into something lighter and terrifying in a completely different way.
He is downstairs. Right now. Waiting for you. And you are standing here with your dress half off like an idiot.
You scramble back into it with clumsy fingers, tugging the zipper up again, checking your reflection in a rush of nervous energy. The girl in the mirror looks flustered and a little wide eyed, and there is no time to fix that.
Of course he remembered. Why would he not remember. He literally told you to be ready at this time and you convinced yourself he was lying because apparently your brain enjoys drama.
Maybe this is not such a bad idea after all.
You do not want to read too much into it. You really do not. But the feeling is there anyway, impossible for you to ignore.
It is only dinner. Just a thank you dinner between a senior and a junior. Nothing dramatic. Absolutely nothing life changing.
Still, you catch yourself smiling at your phone like it personally delivered good news.
This is how it starts, isn’t it? Tiny things that mean nothing on their own slowly adding up into something heavier. A hand on your shoulder in front of his friends. A ride on his bike with the wind in your face. A message saying he is here when you were sure he would never come.
Do not get carried away. Do not turn this into a story in your head. You barely know the guy. He barely knows you. Getting attached to the idea of someone is a dangerous hobby and you have exams and responsibilities and a life that already feels full without adding complicated feelings into the mix.
What if this is all in your head? What if he is just being polite and you are turning it into something bigger because you are not used to attention from boys like him? What if tonight is normal and friendly and you walk back to your room later feeling silly for letting yourself hope for anything more?
You don’t remember getting down. When you push open the hostel door and step outside, the evening air hits your face gently. For a second all you can hear is your own heartbeat being louder than it has any right to be.
But that’s when you see him.
Bucky is leaning against his bike exactly the way you imagined he would be, like he belongs there, like waiting for people outside dorms is just another ordinary part of his day.
He looks up the moment you appear, and the second his eyes land on you, something in his expression changes.
A playful whistle slips out before you can even take three steps toward him. “Okay, wow… yeah, hi. You look… really pretty.”
Nobody ever just says things like that to you so casually. Nobody ever looks at you like that either, like you are something worth pausing for. You have no idea what to do with it.
“I… um… thank you,” you manage, this is as flustered as you can get and it’s not even two minutes in.
He smiles at the reaction instead of pretending not to notice it. “No, seriously. I’m glad you didn’t bail on me.”
“I almost did,” you admit before you can stop yourself. “I mean… not because of you… God, no. Just because I thought maybe you forgot.”
His eyebrows lift slightly. “Forgot?”
“Yeah,” you are suddenly aware of how silly it sounds out loud. “You didn’t ask for my number and I didn’t have yours and I just… I don’t know, I figured maybe you say things like that to people all the time.”
He studies you for a moment.
“Hey… no. I don’t do that. If I say I’ll show up, I show up.”
He says it like he actually means it, and you hate how much relief that gives you.
“Good to know,” you mumble, suddenly very interested in the ground.
He reaches for the helmet hanging on the handlebar. “C’mere.”
Before you can process what is happening, you’re stepping closer, his hands are gently lifting the helmet over your head. He adjusts it carefully, fingers brushing your hair back so it sits properly, tugging the strap under your chin with an ease that makes your stomach flip.
“Hold still for a second,” he murmurs.
“I am holding still,” you answer, trying very hard not to focus on how close he is.
“Yeah but you’re holding still like you’re nervous.”
“I am nervous.”
He chuckles softly. “That’s kind of cute, you know.”
The buckle clicks into place and he gives the top of the helmet a small affectionate tap. “There. Perfect.”
You genuinely have to remind yourself to breathe.
Climbing onto the bike feels a little easier this time, but not by much. Your hands settle on his sides again and you wonder if he can feel how tense you are through the thin fabric of his shirt.
“You good back there?”
“Uh-huh, yeah,” even though your heart is doing ridiculous things.
The ride to the restaurant passes in a blur of lights. It feels different tonight, less awkward and more intimate, like you are sharing a small secret with him that the rest of the world does not get to see.
When he finally pulls up in front of the place, he turns back slightly. “Hope you like Italian. If not, pretend you do for my ego.”
“I like Italian,” you answer quickly. “I mean… pasta is good. Pizza is good. Food in general is good.”
“That might be the most honest review I’ve ever heard,” he laughs.
Everything inside feels new and a little intimidating in the way unfamiliar restaurants always do. Bucky opens the door for you without making it feel like a grand gesture, just a simple natural thing, and you slip inside with a quiet thank you.
He pulls out the chair for you at the table.
Nobody has ever done that for you before.
“You don’t have to do all this,” you say, sitting down carefully.
“I like doing it.”
The menu becomes a safe distraction for a few minutes, something to focus on so you do not have to keep wondering what to do with your hands or your face or your nerves.
“Order whatever you want,” he tells you. “Don’t do that thing where you pick the cheapest thing to be polite.”
“I was not going to do that,” you lie.
“You absolutely were.”
“Okay maybe a little,” you admit, smiling despite yourself.
The waiter arrives and Bucky waits for you to speak first, like your choice matters more than his. You stumble through your order with a little too much hesitation, suddenly hyper aware of how ordinary your preferences sound out loud.
“That’s a solid choice,” he says once the waiter leaves.
“I don’t do adventurous very well,” you confess. “I like safe food.”
“Nothing wrong with safe. Safe is good sometimes.”
Conversation should feel awkward. It usually does for you. Sitting with new people always involves long pauses and overthinking and trying to figure out when to talk and when to stay quiet. But with him, words seem to find their way out more easily than expected.
“So,” he leans back in his chair, “tell me something about you that isn’t related to med school.”
Your brain blanks immediately. What’s there not related to notes, day-old scrubs and stethoscopes?
“That’s… a hard question.”
“Come on, there has to be something. Hobbies, embarrassing talents, secret dreams.”
“I can touch my nose with my tongue,” you blurt out, then immediately want to sink into the floor.
Bucky stares at you for a second and then bursts out laughing, real and completely unfiltered. “That is not what I expected.”
“You said embarrassing,” you defend yourself, your voice is small like that of a child, cheeks burning a little too much.
“No, that’s perfect. I’m genuinely impressed.”
The way he laughs makes it easier to relax. It makes you feel less like a nervous junior and more like an actual person sitting across from another actual person.
He tells you stories while you wait for the food, small funny things about his friends and the chaos of fourth year. You learn that he drinks too much coffee and hates morning rounds and once fell asleep standing up during a lecture.
None of it sounds like the larger than life version of him people whisper about. It just sounds human.
“So you really did all that work just because I asked?” he asks at one point.
“Yeah… I complain a lot but I’m bad at saying no.”
“I’m sorry about that, by the way.”
“About what?”
“Putting it on you like that. I should have asked properly instead of… whatever that was.”
The apology catches you off guard. You had not expected that from him at all.
“It’s okay. I survived.”
“Still… thank you. Really.”
Food arrives and fills the table with warm comforting smells, and for a while the conversation slows into easy quiet. He asks if you like it and you nod with your mouth full, making him grin.
He pays attention in a way that surprises you. Notices when your glass is empty. Notices when you hesitate over the dessert menu. Notices little things you are not used to anyone noticing.
“You don’t talk much,” he says suddenly.
“I know.”
“Is it because you’re shy or because you think everyone else is dumb?”
A small laugh escapes you. “Definitely the first one.”
“That’s a shame. I think you probably have smart things to say.”
Your fork pauses halfway to your mouth. “You don’t even know me that well.”
“I know enough… and id like to know more.”
Somewhere between the main course and dessert, the nervous knot inside you loosens. You start answering more without overthinking every word. You ask him questions too, and he answers without making you feel like a kid for asking.
This feels entirely new but safe. Things that usually don’t belong together for you.
By the time the plates are empty and the bill arrives, you realize with a tiny jolt that you do not actually want the evening to end yet.
“Ready?” he asks.
You’re not. “Yeah.”
“So,” he says as you reach the bike, “dinner was okay.”
“Dinner was really nice,” you correct.
“Thank God. Because I was low key worried you’d hate my choice and never talk to me again.”
“I would have at least finished the food before ignoring you.”
“You definitely know how to humble a guy,” he laughs.
You stand there just looking at him, helmet in your hands, trying to hold on to the feeling of the evening before it slips away into ordinary life again.
He looks at you with that same easy smile he had when you first came downstairs, but now it feels different.
“Thanks for coming out with me.”
“Thanks for actually showing up,” you reply before you can stop yourself.
His grin widens. “Told you I would.”
As you hand him the helmet so he can help you put it on again, a small undeniable truth settles into your chest.
Maybe you are not as immune to Bucky Barnes as you thought you were.
That night he drops you off like nothing extraordinary has happened.
Until you reach the dorm steps, he stands there and makes sure you get inside safely the way he said he would. Just a small wave and a lazy smile.
“Sleep well, okay?” There’s nothing cinematic about it, but it feels like a movie anyway.
You were on your bed for a long time afterward, staring at the ceiling fan and replaying the whole evening in your head from beginning to end, trying to understand how something so normal could feel so important.
You tell yourself not to overthink it. You tell yourself it was only dinner. You tell yourself a lot of sensible things that did absolutely nothing to stop the tiny hopeful flutter still moving around inside your chest.
The first text came later that night.
Bucky: Hey. Did you make it in without tripping over anything?
You laugh out loud because it’s such a ridiculous thing to ask. It felt like he texted because he just had to text.
You: Yes, thank you very much. No accidents reported.
Bucky: Thank god. I was prepared to feel personally responsible.
That’s how it started. Small messages here and there that slowly turned into longer ones without either of you noticing.
Bucky: How was class today?
You: Boring. You?
Bucky: Don't even ask. Surgery rounds are trying to kill me.
He started to slip into your routine in little almost invisible ways. A text in the morning asking if you were awake. Another one in the evening asking if you ate. Sometimes just a random picture of something stupid he saw on campus with a line of commentary that made you smile harder than it should have.
One morning, when you mention that you had skipped breakfast, he shows up outside your lecture hall holding a small paper bag and a cup of coffee.
“You said you didn’t eat,” he hands it over before you could even react.
“I didn’t mean for you to… you know… bring me food.”
“Yeah but I just didn’t want you to starve yourself, so here we are.”
Inside the bag is a sandwich cut neatly in half and a chocolate bar tucked beside it. You do not know what to do except mumble a shy thank you while trying not to look too affected.
You’re not used to people paying attention to small things like that. You’re not used to someone remembering. But here he is, with food, like you’d actually starve if you don’t eat.
Days begin to feel a little brighter with him in them. He waits for you near the library sometimes, pretends it’s a coincidence. You pretend to believe him. He walks you back to your hostel after late study sessions even when it’s slightly out of his way.
“It’s dark, okay. Just let me be dramatic and protective.”
“That is the most ridiculous you’ve ever said.”
“I prefer heroic but sure, we can go with ridiculous.”
He always teases you easily, gently, never in a way that makes you feel small. It always feels like he was trying to pull you out of your shell inch by inch, like he enjoys watching you relax around him.
One afternoon though, he did something that made your entire week.
You had been whining to him about how second years never get to see anything interesting in the operating rooms, how you were always stuck observing minor procedures while the exciting cases went to seniors.
The next day he texted you out of nowhere.
Bucky: Wear clean scrubs and meet me near the main OT at two.
You spent the entire morning confused and curious and a little nervous, and when you show up at the time he asked, he’s already there waiting.
“I pulled some strings... c’mon.”
“Pulled strings for what?”
“For you to watch something actually cool for once.”
He gets you inside an operating room you have no business being in.
You stand against the cool tiled wall with your hands folded awkwardly in front of you, trying very hard to look like you belong.
Bucky leans slightly toward you, voice soft enough that only you can hear. “this is a suspected small bowel perforation.”
Throughout the surgery, he explains before you could even ask anything.
“First perforation ever?” Bucky glances at you with a small smile.
“First case ever.”
He doesn’t seem to miss the awe in your voice. “Not bad, huh?”
Not bad at all.
Afterward you could not stop thanking him.
“You really didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.”
That sentence becomes a pattern between the two of you. Small thoughtful things wrapped in the same simple logic. I wanted to. I want to.
He learns your coffee order without asking. You learn that he hated pineapple on pizza with an unreasonable passion. You start looking for his face first whenever you enter a room.
Slowly, without any formal decision, you become part of each other’s days.
Evenings often find the two of you sitting on the library steps pretending to study while mostly talking about everything else instead. You told him about your family and how nervous you were on your first day of med school. He told you about his ridiculous group of friends and how he still sometimes felt like he was faking his way through life.
“Everyone is faking it a little.”
“Even you?”
“Have you seen me?”
“Nah,” he chuckles. “You actually know what you’re doing.”
The faith he seems to have in you feels strange but warm and a little dangerous.
Sometimes you catch yourself thinking about him at odd hours, wondering what he might be doing, wondering if he is thinking about you too. The thought would embarrass you immediately afterward, but it never stops coming back.
You try to stay sensible about it. Really.
But he is Bucky Barnes. Charming and confident and surrounded by people all the time.
You are just you, always a little out of place in big social circles. There is no logical reason for him to keep choosing your company, yet he keeps doing it anyway.
One evening he calls instead of texting.
The sound of his voice in your ear makes you realize you had missed it more than you expected.
“Hey… are you busy right now?”
“Not really. Just pretending to study.”
“Perfect. Come downstairs for a bit.”
“Right now?”
In your two years of college life, there wasn’t a day where you’ve not dreamed of a moment like this. But there’s never been a day like this so far.
“Yeah right now. I’m outside.”
You go down in your pajamas and messy hair and he still looks at you like you were worth showing up for.
“I was out with friends, saw this juice you like,” he hands you a juice pouch like it’s no big deal.
He just got you something just because you liked it. You don’t remember the last time someone did that for you.
This shouldn’t make you feel special. But it does anyway.
These little moments pile up quietly. Late night conversations about nothing important. Shared snacks in the canteen. Him saving you from your seniors — who are his juniors by the way — during clinical postings. You helping him organize his notes even though he pretends to not need help.
One day he asks you to help him study for an upcoming exam. Pediatrics. You end up sitting together in an empty classroom for hours, your notebook spread between you while you explain topics he claimed to be terrible at.
“You’re really good at teaching,” he tells you. It’s a simple compliment. But when has there ever been anything simple about him?
“I’m just repeating what the book says.”
“No you’re not. You make it make sense.”
He looks at you with such easy admiration that you have to glance away to hide how much it affect you.
There are days when you wonder how this even happened. How a simple record book favor had turned into shared lunches and inside jokes and a growing comfort that feel suspiciously like happiness.
Your friends start noticing too.
“So are you two like… a thing?” your roommate asks one night while you were smiling at your phone again.
“No. We’re just friends.”
“Friends who text constantly and see each other every day.”
“That is literally what friends do.”
She gives you a look that says she absolutely does not believe you.
The truth is you don’t know what you are to him. He never defined it. Never said anything that crossed an obvious line. He was just there, steady, present and kind in ways that kept sneaking past your defenses.
You find yourself getting used to it. To him.
That scares you a little.
Because somewhere along the way you stopped thinking of him as just a nice distraction and started thinking of him as part of your life. You started noticing how your mood shifted depending on whether you had seen him that day. You started caring a little too much about how you looked when you knew he would be around.
You are not supposed to get attached. You know that. But knowing something and feeling something are two very different battles.
You spend a lot of time pretending that the little things don’t matter. That you are normal about him. That the way his name lights up on your phone does not rearrange something fragile inside your chest every single time.
It’s been easy mostly. Easier than it should be. You tell yourself it is just convenience, just proximity, just two people whose schedules keep overlapping like stubborn lines on a calendar. You are busy, he is busy, and somewhere in the middle of all that busyness you keep finding each other.
But tonight feels different in a way you can’t explain without sounding ridiculous even to yourself.
Maybe it is because he texted you at three in the afternoon asking if you wanted to grab something after your class, and you typed back a yes before you could think about it too hard. Maybe it is because you are sitting beside him now on the couch in his apartment with the television in the background like a polite third person trying not to interrupt.
Whatever it is, this is different.
You have been here before. Not like this, but close. Close enough that you know he keeps his spare blanket folded over the arm of the couch, close enough that you know he taps his fingers against his knee when he is trying to decide what to say next.
He is doing that now.
Tap tap tap.
“You look tired,” he’s always observant in that annoyingly careful way he has.
“I am tired.”
“Long day?”
“Long week. Long month. Long life, honestly.”
He laughs at that, pulling a smile out of you too.
“You wanna head home?”
The question catches you off guard because it is gentle and easy and leaves room for you to say yes without pressure. And for some reason that makes you want to say no.
“Not really.”
“Okay.”
Just okay. He stretches one arm across the back of the couch behind you. You think it might touch your shoulder. But it doesn’t, at least not yet.
The silence makes you aware of the small things, like like the way his knee is angled toward yours, like the way your foot is almost brushing his on the rug.
You start talking to fill it because you always do.
About a patient who made you laugh today. About the vending machine that ate your last twenty. About how you might actually be developing a caffeine dependency that deserves medical attention.
He listens to you like he always does, mouth twitching at the corners when you get animated.
Somewhere in the middle of your story you realize he is watching you a little too closely. The realization makes the words wobble in your throat.
“What?” you ask finally, because you’re self conscious and him watching you isn’t helping at all.
“Nothing.”
“No, you are doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you look at me like you know something I don't.”
His mouth curves. “I do know something you don’t.”
“And what’s that?” At this point, you’re wondering if you have clown makeup on because that’s how intense his look is.
“I know that we’re alone because Sam is out with his girlfriend.”
“That is incredibly unhelpful right now. And for the record, I know it too.” You roll your eyes, but you are smiling.
The movie he put on earlier plays forgotten in front of you. Some action thing you stopped following twenty minutes ago. You can hear it more than you can see it, explosions and dramatic music bleeding into the background of the room.
He shifts beside you, turning a little more toward you on the couch. The movement is small but it changes everything. Suddenly his leg is closer. Suddenly his shoulder is closer. Suddenly everything is closer.
He lifts his arm in an invitation, like this is the most normal thing in the world. Absolutely no words and yet you understand.
It shouldn’t feel like such a big decision to lean over a few inches. It shouldn’t make your heart start thudding. But it does.
You tell yourself not to be weird about it. You tell yourself this is nothing.
When you shift closer, his arm settles around your shoulders without ceremony. “Much better.”
You huff out a laugh and let your head rest back against the couch, trying very hard not to think about the way his thumb is brushing idly against your upper arm through your sleeve.
Minutes pass like that. Or maybe it is seconds. Time feels like a traitor you cannot trust.
You can feel the rise and fall of his chest beside you. You can smell the faint clean scent of him. You can hear the movie and the city outside.
All of it feels louder than usual.
“You cold?” he asks after a while.
“A little.”
He reaches for the spare blanket without letting go of you, drapes it over your legs with unnecessary care, tucking it around your knees. The gesture is so domestic it makes your throat tighten for reasons you refuse to unpack.
“Better?”
“Better.” Your voice comes out softer than you mean it to.
His hand doesn’t leave your arm. If anything, it drifts lower, resting just above your elbow, fingers tracing lazy patterns that make it hard to breathe normally.
You should probably say something. Make a joke. Lighten the moment. But every sentence you think of feels like a landmine you’d be stepping on.
You just sit there and let it happen.
“You know,” he says eventually, “you are very easy to be around.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah.”
“Most people would disagree.”
“Most people are wrong.”
Your chest does that stupid flutter again. “You just… say that to everyone?”
He turns his head to look at you properly then, and the teasing drops out of his face.
“No.” Just one word.
You become aware, all at once, of how close your faces are. Of how if you turned your head a few inches your nose would brush his. Of how his mouth is right fucking there.
Your brain scrambles for something normal to say.
“It is getting late.”
“Yeah.” Neither of you move to do anything about it.
His eyes drop to your lips and then back up again so quickly you almost convince yourself you imagined it. Almost.
“I should probably go,” you say, even though your body makes no attempt to follow through.
“You could.”
“You are not making a very strong argument for it.”
“I am not trying to.”
Your pulse kicks up, so loud you doubt if he could hear it too, but then you remember it’s inside your body and he will be unaware of it unless his hand makes contact with that point of you.
“Bucky.”
“Yeah?”
“What are we doing?”
He takes a breath slowly, like he is choosing his words carefully.
“Right now? Sitting on my couch.”
“You know what I mean.”
A small smile tugs at his mouth. “I think we are figuring it out.”
It’s a fucking line. He’s probably bluffing. He probably says that to all his flings. That answer should annoy you. Somehow it doesn’t.
His hand slides a fraction lower, resting at your forearm now, thumb warm against your skin. You can feel the calluses on his fingers.
The distance between you feels thinner with every breath. You can see the faint flecks of color in his eyes, the tiny scar near his eyebrow, the way his lashes cast shadows against his cheeks.
He tilts his head a little, searching your face like he is waiting for permission he does not want to assume. “Tell me to stop.”
Your heart trips over itself. “Stop what?” your voice is barely a whisper.
“Whatever this is about to be.”
You should say it. You know you should. This is complicated and messy and you promised yourself you would be sensible.
But sensible feels very far away right now.
“I don’t… I don't want you to stop.”
The words come out like a breath, almost worrying you that you imagined saying them.
He hears you though. You can tell by the way his shoulders relax, by the way his hand finally moves from your arm to your jaw, cupping it gently like something precious.
Your body moves towards him before your brain can catch up.
It’s hard to think.
The first brush of his lips against yours is careful. Like he is still expecting you to change your mind. It is soft and warm and nothing like the dramatic movie kisses you have built up in your head.
It feels real.
You lean in without thinking, closing the tiny space between you, and he makes a sound that you feel more than hear.
The kiss deepens slowly, two people learning the shape of each other in real time. His fingers slide into your hair, and you find yourself gripping the front of his shirt like you need something to anchor you.
It is unplanned and honestly a little clumsy in the best way.
“Is this okay?” he asks against your mouth.
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“Bucky, please stop asking before I lose my nerve.”
A quiet laugh escapes him. He is kissing you again, a little more confident this time, a little less restrained.
Your brain goes pleasantly fuzzy. Every worry you walked in with dissolves into the simple fact of him and you and the warmth building between you.
His hand slips to your waist, drawing you closer, and you let yourself melt into him because pretending you do not want to feels impossible now.
You are very aware that this is a line. A big one. A bold neon line you are stepping over with both feet.
But right now you cannot find it in yourself to care.
The world narrows to the feeling of his mouth on yours, to the way he says your name like it means something important, to the way your heart pounds with a mixture of excitement and fear and something dangerously close to hope.
The kiss lingers like a question neither of you wants to answer just yet, his mouth moving against yours in a rhythm that feels both new and inevitable, pulling you deeper into a haze where everything else fades out.
You can taste the faint bitterness of coffee on his tongue, which he drank before you got here, and it mixes with the sweetness of the gum you'd chewed nervously on the way over, creating this odd, intimate flavor that's just yours and his right now.
His hand stays tangled in your hair, your fingers clutch at his shirt tighter, feeling the fabric bunch under your palms, the heat of his chest seeping through, and suddenly it's not enough.
You need more. You need to feel skin instead of cotton, need to know if his heart is racing as much as yours is.
Without breaking the kiss, you tug at the hem, pulling it up inch by inch, your knuckles grazing the smooth plane of his stomach. He gets the hint immediately, leaning back just enough to help you yank it over his head in one fluid motion that leaves his hair a little messy, falling over his forehead in a way that makes him look less put-together than the confident senior everyone sees.
"You sure about this?" he murmurs against your lips, you can feel that he's holding back but needs to check anyway, his breath warm on your cheek as his eyes search yours in the dim light.
There's no pressure in it, just genuine care mixed with that quiet intensity he always carries, the kind that makes you feel seen without feeling exposed.
And god, you are sure… surer than you've been about anything in weeks, even though your mind is a whirlwind of half-formed questions tumbling over each other: what if this changes everything, what if it's too fast, what if you mess it up somehow.
But none of that stops the yes from spilling out, because the way he's looking at you right now, like you're the only thing in his world, drowns out the doubts.
A small smile tugs at his mouth before he kisses you again, deeper this time, his hands sliding under your shirt to trace the curve of your back, fingers splaying wide against your skin, sending sparks everywhere they touch.
The contact makes your breath hitch, you arch into him. He takes that as his cue, lifting the fabric slowly, giving you every chance to pull away if you want.
You don't. Lifting your arms instead, you let him peel it off, the cool air of the room hitting your bare shoulders and making you shiver, though it is definitely not from the cold.
It's from the way his gaze drops, taking you in with awe that feels almost unfair, like he's memorizing every inch.
Left in your bra and the simple jeans you'd thrown on earlier, you feel heat creep up your neck, but he doesn't give you time to overthink it.
His mouth finds the spot just below your ear, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw that make your eyes flutter shut.
"God, you're beautiful," he whispers, and it's not said like a line. It's mumbled, almost to himself, like he couldn't help it, that makes your hands reach for him again, tracing the lines of his shoulders.
He's solid and warm, the kind of presence that fills the space without overwhelming it, and you wonder briefly how many times he's done this, how easy it seems for him, but the thought evaporates when his lips find yours once more, pulling you back into the moment.
Your fingers fumble with his belt, nerves making them clumsy, warranting his help, as he undoes it with a quiet chuckle that breaks the tension just enough to make you smile against his mouth.
"No rush," he says, his voice steady even as his hands work at the button of your jeans, popping it open with a gentleness that contrasts the heat building between you. "We got time."
Maybe. Yes.
Sam's out, there’s no one here except you two. But the muffled sounds of neighbors through the thin dorm walls remind you that this is real life, not some polished fantasy, making this somehow urgent.
As he slides your jeans down your hips, he helps you kick them off without any awkward tangles.
The cotton of your bra and panties feel suddenly too thin under his gaze. You would’ve have worn something sexier if you knew this would happen.
Sitting back on his heels to look at you properly, he pauses. His eyes have gone dark but soft, his hands resting lightly on your thighs.
"Still good?" His thumb rubs small circles on your skin, the simple touch sending a jolt straight through you, making it hard to think straight.
You want more, but you’re also scared of wanting more, excited and overwhelmed all at once. But your body knows, nodding before you can form words, "Yeah, don't stop.” Stopping now would feel like cutting off a breath you didn't know you needed.
With that, he scoops you up effortlessly, one arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you bridal style. You let out a surprised gasp that turns into a laugh, your arms looping around his neck as he carries you the short distance to his bedroom.
The door's half-open already, and he nudges it wider with his foot, the room spilling into view: unmade bed with sheets twisted from whatever sleep he got last night, a desk piled with notes and a near empty water bottle, posters on the wall from bands you vaguely recognize.
It's lived-in, personal.
He lowers you onto the mattress, the springs creaking softly under your weight.
He follows you down, bracing himself above you on one elbow, his free hand trailing up your side as he kisses you again, slower now, like he's savoring it.
The bed dips under him, the pillow sinking a bit as your head rests back. You can feel the warmth of his body hovering just over yours, close enough to tease but not quite pressing down.
His fingers dance along your ribs, light, exploratory, absolutely maddening.
You need more, you need him to touch you properly. There’s the ache building low in your belly making you shift restlessly beneath him.
Without thinking, you reach for his hand, guiding it up to your chest, pressing it against your bra.
Surprised, he pulls back, a slight smirk playing on his lips as he looks down at you. "That eager, huh?" he teases, his voice laced with amusement.
"Tell me what you want.”
It’s absolutely impossible to word it, word what you want, as his thumb circles your nipple over the fabric. It's so close to what you need but not quite, making you whine softly in frustration.
"Just... touch me," you finally manage, the words coming out breathier than you intended,
He's already moving, his fingers deftly reaching behind you to unhook your bra with a single flick that speaks volumes about how many times he's done this before.
How many girls has he brought here, made feel like this? A spike of insecurity flickers, but it vanishes the second his mouth descends, warmth closing over one nipple while his hand cups the other, thumb circling in a way that makes your back arch off the bed.
Pleasure shoots through you, pulling a moan from your throat that surprises even you. It’s loud in the quiet room, echoing off the walls.
You're not usually like this, not vocal, always holding back out of some ingrained habit of keeping things contained, but here it spills out unfiltered.
He seems to notice it because frankly, it’s hard to miss. "That's it, lemme hear you… don't hold back if it feels good." His encouragement is gentle, making the next moan come easier, louder, as his tongue flicks and sucks, alternating sides until you're squirming beneath him, hands threading through his hair to hold him there.
Bucky takes his time, drawing it out, lips and teeth grazing just enough to tease the line between pleasure and ache, his free hand sliding down to grip your hip, fingers digging in slightly as if to steady you, or maybe himself. You’re not sure.
The sane part of your brain slips away with every pass of his mouth.
With spit shine and swollen lips, he eventually pulls back, his eyes meeting yours with a heat that mirrors the fire building in you.
"You're so responsive.” He's marveling at it, at you, his hand trailing down from your breast to hook into the waistband of your panties, tugging gently.
"Lift up for me, baby," the word baby slips out casually and affectionate, like he's said it a hundred times, making you obey without hesitation.
The fabric is peeled down your legs, and tossed over onto the floor, forgotten.
Now fully exposed, the vulnerability hits you for a split second. You feel the cool air on bare skin, but more than that, you feel his gaze.
When you break eye contact, he shifts down the bed with a purposeful grace, settling between your thighs. His hands part them gently, thumbs stroking the sensitive inner skin.
Anticipation tightens your core, making it impossible not to squirm under his touch. "Relax," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the inside of one thigh, then the other, his breath hot against you, making you tremble. "I got you."
The gasp you let out is stifled by your bitten lips, as his own brushes over your core gently.
"No, let it out— wanna hear how good it feels." The encouragement works, pulling another moan from you as his tongue finally presses flat, licking a slow stripe that makes your hips buck involuntarily.
He holds them down with firm hands, keeping you in place as he works, alternating between long, languid strokes and focused circles around that spot that has your vision blurring.
The room narrows to just the wet sounds of his mouth, the way his hair tickles your thighs, and the occasional groan from him like he's enjoying it as much as you are.
The sheets are rumpled from your fists, now they reach for him again, fingers tangling in his hair as the pressure builds, coiling tighter with every flick and suck.
Moans spill freer and louder now, spurred by his murmured approvals like "that's perfect" and "just like that" between breaths.
He's thorough, attentive, reading every reaction and adjusting, drawing it out until you're teetering on the edge, body taut and trembling under his touch.
His tongue keeps that relentless rhythm, dipping and swirling in ways that make your toes curl against the sheets.
The pressure coils tighter and tighter in your belly, a hot insistent build that has you gasping his name in broken syllables, "B-Bucky, oh God.”
Your hips grind up toward his mouth without any real control, chasing that peak.
A sudden and overwhelming wave crashes over you, your whole body tensing and shuddering as pleasure ripples out in waves that leave you trembling. Your muscles quiver in the aftermath, breaths coming in short ragged bursts that echo in the quiet space.
He eases you through it with softer licks that draw out the aftershocks, making your legs twitch and your hands clutch at his hair a little harder before you finally go limp.
You sink back into the pillows with a sigh that feels like it's been pulled from deep in your chest. Pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, then your hip, your stomach, he works his way up until his mouth finds yours again, tasting faintly of you in a way that's intimate and a bit dizzying.
"Hey," he murmurs against your lips, and you can feel the smile in it even with your eyes half-closed.
The trembling hasn't stopped entirely, little shivers running through you like echoes of the orgasm. Bucky notices that right away, brow furrowing, like he can't help but worry a little.
"hold on, let me get you some water," you hear him say, watching him through heavy lids as he twists the cap off of the bottle, sitting up a bit to hand it to you, his other hand steadying your back. "Drink this.”
The water hits your throat, the coolness of it washing something in you. He stays close while you drink, and when you hand the bottle back, he sets it aside before stretching out beside you on the bed.
His lips find your jaw first, trail up to your temple, brushing over your hairline in a way that feels almost too tender for what just happened, his breath warm against your skin as he presses another kiss there, then into your hair, like he's content to just lie here and hold you while your body settles.
The closeness wraps around you, his arm draped over your waist, fingers tracing idle patterns on your back that send lazy sparks along your spine.
As the trembling fades, you glance up at him, catching the way his eyes are half-lidded, watching you with that satisfied curve to his mouth.
There’s a confusion in you now. He's still half-dressed, jeans hugging his hips, and the unfairness of it hits you all at once, making you prop yourself up on one elbow, your hand trailing down his chest tentatively, fingers brushing the trail of hair leading lower.
"Wait, what about you?" because this feels lopsided, like he's given everything and taken nothing, and the thought lingers.
He shakes his head as his hand catches yours, bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss on your knuckles. "We don't have to rush the rest… there's always tomorrow, or the day after, whenever you're ready.”
That doesn't sit right, the idea of stopping here, of letting him walk away from this without feeling the same unraveling you just did.
Before you can second-guess it, your mouth forms a pout, lips pressing together in that way you know looks a bit childish but can't help. "But... I need you," you say, the words slipping out bolder than expected, shocking yourself even more, "I need your cock."
Whoa, where did that come from? It's not like you, this blunt courage bubbling up uninvited, heat flushing your face immediately after.
His eyes darken, a slow smile spreading across his face like you've just said something he didn't expect but absolutely likes.
"Say that again?" He slides his hand up your arm to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip as if to coax the words out.
A mix of embarrassment and frustration blooms, and you playfully swat at his chest with the flat of your hand, before your fingers drift lower again, fumbling with his belt buckle.
Avoiding his gaze, you tug at it clumsily. "You heard me."
His larger hand covers yours to undo the buckle with a quiet click, zipper rasping down as he lifts his hips to shove them off along with his boxers in one go, kicking them to the floor where they land in a heap.
He's hard and obviously so, cock springing free and curving up against his stomach, thick and flushed at the tip, veins standing out in a way that makes your mouth go a little dry.
He reaches over to the nightstand drawer, rummaging for a second before pulling out a condom packet, tearing it open with his teeth in that casual, practiced move that speaks to experience without flaunting it.
But before he can roll it on, your hand reaches out, "Wait—I've never, um, put one on before. Can I try?"
A surprised laugh bubbles up from his chest as he hands it over, eyebrows raised in amusement. "You wanna practice on me right now? Like I'm your training dummy or something?"
Lips jutting out again, "Teach me, Bucky… please?" drawing out the please.
He relents with a grin, guiding your hand to him, showing you without turning it into a lecture, "Pinch the tip here, yeah, like that."
His voice hitches when your fingers wrap around him, rolling the latex down slowly, carefully, the warmth of him pulsing under your touch making your breath catch.
Once it's on, he positions himself between your legs again, the weight of him settling over you comfortably, close enough that you feel enveloped, his forearms bracketing your head as he leans down to kiss you.
“You ready?" he murmurs against your mouth. You whisper a yes that's more breath than sound, your hands sliding up his back to pull him closer.
Inch by inch, he pushes in, stretching you in a way that's full and a little overwhelming at first, making you gasp into his shoulder, nails digging into his skin as your body adjusts.
The sensation builds from pressure to pleasure as he bottoms out, holding still for a moment to let you breathe.
"Fuck, you feel good.” The words are muffled against your neck.
The first thrust is steady and unhurried, making you wrap your legs around his waist, heels pressing into the flesh of his ass to urge him deeper.
The headboard taps the wall with each rock of his hips, he finds that angle that makes stars burst behind your eyelids, drawing moans from you that he swallows with kisses.
His own breaths come faster, mirroring yours. "That's it… fuck. Tell me — tell me if it’s too much—"
But it's not. It's perfect, the friction coiling that tension again until you're clinging to him, whispering "harder, please" in his ear.
Immediately he obliges, pace quickening until the room fills with the sounds of skin on skin, your shared gasps.
It builds faster this time, him inside you amplifying everything. You cum with his name on your lips, body clenching around him in waves that pull a deep groan from his throat.
His thrusts stutter as he follows right after, burying his face in your hair while he rides it out, hips pressing flush against yours one last time before he stills.
Somewhere between sleep and waking, you register the sensation of lips moving over your skin, the brush of his mouth along your shoulder, down the curve of your neck. That’s how you know it’s morning.
You stay still and let yourself exist in it.
His lips are softer now than they were in the dark. Curious in a way that feels less like hunger and more like quiet appreciation.
You are aware of your body before you are fully aware of the room. Aware of bare skin against bare skin. Aware of the way the sheets have slipped somewhere near your hips. Aware that you are not wearing anything at all.
There is a quiet exhale against your chest that makes you stir, eyelids fluttering open to a blur of morning light and dark hair bent over you.
“Morning,” he murmurs, sleep still clinging to his voice.
Your brain takes a second to catch up to the situation. To the fact that you are in his bed. That you fell asleep with your legs tangled with his.
You are naked.
He is naked.
You are in his bed.
Oh, also, this is Bucky Barnes.
There is no distance left to pretend this is casual.
“Hey.” His lips trail lower, until they take one nipple into its warmth, until it pebbles.
You open your eyes.
The ceiling above you looks different in daylight. More real. The warmth that had felt so comforting seconds ago now feels dangerously close to exposing something fragile inside you.
This is not something you do.
Not like this.
Not with a senior. Not with someone who walks into rooms and owns them without even trying. Not with someone like Bucky Barnes, who has a reputation that precedes him and a smile that has probably undone half the city.
And definitely not without talking about it first.
He lifts his head slightly when he feels the shift in you, eyes heavy but focused, mouth curving in a lazy smile that looks devastating this close.
“What’s that face for? Did I do something wrong already? Because that would be impressive.”
“No… no, it’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
You do not have an answer that feels safe enough to say out loud. Instead, you trace a line across his shoulder with your fingers just to have something to do, to anchor yourself in something physical.
Last night was not reckless.
It was soft. It was slow. It felt like something building rather than something exploding. There were moments where he had looked at you like you were the only thing in the room, and the memory of it makes your throat ache in a way you do not know how to handle.
But that was night.
Night is easy. Morning is not.
“I’ve just never…” you start, then stop because the sentence feels childish before you even finish it.
“Never what?” he asks gently.
You let out a breath and force yourself to look at him properly. “Never done this with someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
“Yeah. You know. Someone… above me. Senior. Someone who has a whole… history.” The last word slips out before you can soften it.
There is a pause. Long enough for you to realize what you have implied.
He studies you for a second, expression unreadable in a way that makes your stomach drop. “A history,” he repeats.
“I didn’t mean it like—”
“It’s fine.” His voice stays even, but something in it shifts just a fraction. “I know what people say.”
You want to take it back immediately. Not because it is untrue, but because it feels unfair in this moment. Because the man in front of you is not the whispered stories or rumors. He is human and still half wrapped around you like he belongs there.
“I just mean,” you try again, “I don’t usually wake up like this. I don’t usually… not talk about things first.”
He searches your face like he is trying to see the shape of what you are really asking. “Are you asking what this is?”
There it is. The question you have been circling since you opened your eyes.
“I don’t know,” you admit. “I don’t want to assume.”
His thumb traces a slow line along your hip. “I didn’t think last night felt like an assumption.”
“It didn’t.”
“Did it feel like a mistake?”
The word mistake is a mistake. Because last night felt like the opposite of a mistake. “No,” you say immediately. “No. It didn’t.”
It really didn’t. It felt intentional. It felt chosen. It felt like something that had been building and finally tipped over.
So why does your chest feel tight?
Why does your brain keep whispering that this is exactly how one-night stands begin? Intense, unexpected, and sweet in the morning until reality sets in.
Before you can say anything else, a sharp vibration cuts through the quiet.
His phone.
The sound is coming from somewhere on the floor, probably from his jeans. He groans softly and leans over to grab it, the movement pulling away the warmth that had been pressed against you.
You lie there watching the shift in him as his eyes scan the screen. “Shit, I have to take this,” he says. “Give me two seconds.”
The faint voice from the other side asks him numerous questions about where the hell he is and tells him he will lose his attendance if he isn’t there in ten minutes.
“Fuck — I’m late.” The words are simple. Practical. Normal. But they land like something heavier.
“Late?” you echo, absolutely dreading that you’re stalling him.
“Yeah. I was supposed to be in half an hour ago.” He runs a hand through his hair, already mentally moving into the day ahead. “I didn’t set an alarm.”
Last night definitely didn’t feel like a time where alarms existed.
But mornings come, and they wait for no one.
As he swings his legs off the bed, the sudden absence of him beside you feels enormous. You pull the sheet up instinctively, even though he has already seen every inch of you.
He is moving quickly now, scanning the room for clothes, checking his phone again. “I can drop you off on the way,” he says, distracted but not unkind. “I don’t want you getting a cab this early.”
“It’s fine, I can manage.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He pulls on his jeans, glances back at you. “I’m not just leaving you.”
The reassurance should help. Instead, it tangles with the fear already building in your chest.
As you sit up, the sheet slips down to your waist. The room feels colder without the cocoon of the night around it. You watch him move around the room with practiced ease, like mornings here are routine.
It probably is routine for him.
You hope to God that only covers the ‘waking late’ part and not the ‘because of a one-night stand’ part.
You hate that your brain goes there, but it does. It does because there was no conversation.
It was just skin and warmth and whispered names in the dark.
“Hey,” he says, softer now, noticing the way you have gone quiet. “You okay?”
You nod because that is easier than explaining the way your stomach feels like it is sinking through the mattress.
“Yeah. Just waking up.”
He walks back over, bends slightly so you are eye level. There is something searching in his expression again, something that almost looks like he wants to say more.
“Last night…” he starts, then gives up as his phone buzzes again in his hand.
You take that as a cue to get ready and get the hell out of here.
You tell yourself that is normal. That adults have jobs and responsibilities. That this is not some dramatic movie where the world pauses because two people slept together.
But the fear creeps in anyway. What if it meant more to you than it did to him? What if the softness was just part of who he is?
What if you have stepped into something you cannot handle?
You slide out of bed, gathering your clothes from where they lie scattered. Each piece feels like evidence of something fragile and undefined.
He is already by the door by the time you finish dressing.
You search his face for something. A sign. A clue. A hint that he is about to say, stay. Or this is not nothing. Or we need to talk.
He does not.
He just checks the time again and sighs. “We should go.”
And just like that, you are left with more questions than answers.
It is ridiculous how much power one casual text can have over your entire nervous system.
The pharmacology class becomes ten times harder to sit in when you know it’s Bucky that’s texting you. You wait a full thirty seconds before checking because you refuse to look eager, even if no one can see you.
When you finally glance down, it is exactly what you expected.
Bucky: survived the morning. you alive over there?
That is it. No mention of last night. No shift in tone that would confirm or deny anything that happened between the sheets and the soft early light.
You stare at the screen, rereading the words as if they might rearrange themselves into something more revealing if you look hard enough.
Survived the morning could mean anything. It could mean he is thinking about you. It could mean he is not. It could mean the night was a pleasant distraction before reality resumed its normal rhythm.
Honestly, it was stupid of you to expect that he’d say something over text. At least he doesn’t ghost.
At least he texted.
You tell yourself that if it had meant nothing to him, he would not have bothered. He would have let the day swallow it. He would have gone back to being Bucky Barnes, charming and untouchable, moving from one thing to the next without looking back.
But he texted.
Your thumbs hover over the keyboard. Every possible reply feels wrong.
Too warm and you look clingy. Too cool and you risk sounding detached. Too flirty and you might seem like you are assuming something. Too flat and you might seem like you regret it.
Why is this so hard?
Finally, you decide on something light.
You: barely. Caffeine is the reason I’m alive.
You stare at it. Delete it. Type it again with a different emoji. Delete the emoji because that feels like too much. Send it before you can edit it a third time.
The three dots appear almost immediately.
Bucky: that’s concerning. eat something.
Your chest tightens at the simplicity of it. It’s the same tone he uses when he shows up with food because you mentioned skipping breakfast.
You want to read more into it than is there.
You force yourself not to.
You: yes dad.
You cringe as soon as you send it. Now why did you say that? Why are you like this?
His reply comes a few seconds later.
Bucky: don’t start.
You can almost hear the amused warning in his voice. Heat creeps up your neck even though NSAIDs are being discussed right now.
The conversation fades into small exchanges after that. Nothing deep. Nothing that addresses the thing sitting heavily between you like an unspoken question. He tells you medicine rounds ran long. You tell him a patient tried to bribe you with chocolate. He tells you to accept the chocolate next time. You tell him that is unethical. He tells you you are no fun.
It feels almost normal.
Almost.
But beneath every word is a current you cannot ignore.
By the time your class ends and the sky outside has turned that deep dusky blue that makes everything feel a little more fragile, you have replayed every message at least ten times in your head. You have analyzed the speed of his replies, the punctuation, the absence of certain words.
He did not call you baby.
He did not say he missed you.
He did not bring it up.
You tell yourself that maybe he is giving you space. That maybe he is trying not to rush you. That maybe this is what maturity looks like.
But another voice whispers that maybe it did not mean the same thing to him.
That maybe you were one of many mornings.
You hate that thought immediately. It feels unfair. He was soft. He was careful. He had asked you if you were sure. He had not treated you like something disposable.
And yet.
You have heard stories. You have seen the way girls look at him. The way they orbit him like he carries his own gravity.
What if you had stepped into something that was always going to feel bigger to you than it did to him?
By the time you reach the campus courtyard that evening, your chest feels tight with thoughts you cannot shut off.
You had not planned on seeing him, but you know he usually lingers here. A part of you hopes he will not be there so you do not have to figure out how to act. Another part of you hopes he is because not seeing him would feel worse.
He is there.
Of course.
He stands in the middle of a loose circle of friends, laughter carrying easily across the space. Sam is beside him, animated as always, gesturing wildly as he talks about something you cannot hear. A couple of others hover nearby, one of them leaning against Bucky’s shoulder in a way that looks effortless and familiar.
The sight of it makes something twist low in your stomach.
He looks the same as he always does. Relaxed. Confident. At home in his own skin. There is no visible shift that marks him as someone who woke up with you wrapped around him this morning.
Why would there be…
You slow your steps without meaning to. You consider turning around. Disappearing before he notices you. Pretending you are busy.
But then his eyes lift and land on you.
The change is subtle but unmistakable. His body angles slightly in your direction even before he excuses himself. He says something to Sam that makes Sam glance over at you with a knowing grin that immediately makes your face heat.
Bucky makes his way toward you. “Hey.”
You force yourself to meet his eyes without letting the storm inside you show. “Hey.”
“How was your day?”
The question is simple. Ordinary. You search his face for anything that hints at last night, but there is nothing but genuine curiosity.
“It was fine,” you reply, and then immediately hate how flat that sounds. You clear your throat and try again. “Busy. But fine. Yours?”
“Rounds were brutal,” he admits with a small shake of his head. “Chief decided I haven’t stood for 24 hours today.”
His comment makes you laugh despite yourself. “That seems illegal.”
“I’m considering filing a complaint.”
His gaze lingers on you for a second longer than necessary. There is a softness there that makes your pulse stumble, but it is fleeting. You cannot tell if you imagined it.
“You look tired.” He tilts his head slightly like he’s trying to figure something out. “Did you eat?”
The familiarity of the question makes your chest ache. “Yes,” you lie, because admitting you forgot feels too intimate somehow.
His eyes narrow just a fraction like he does not entirely believe you, but he lets it go.
There is a pause, not awkward but not entirely comfortable either. You are hyperaware of the group behind him, of the way laughter erupts suddenly, of the fact that this is his world and you are standing on the edge of it.
“I’ve got a game tonight,” he says after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s gonna run late.”
“Oh,” you say, and hope it does not sound like disappointment. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” He studies your face again, like he is trying to read something you are not saying. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
The question is casual on the surface, but something about the way he says it makes your heart trip.
“Yeah… tomorrow.”
“Okay.” He smiles, that familiar crooked thing that used to make your stomach flip in a lighter way. Now it makes it drop.
He hesitates for half a second, like he might say more. Like he might bridge the gap you are too afraid to cross. Instead, he steps back slightly, already half turning toward his friends.
“Don’t stay up too late,” he adds, almost teasing.
You want to laugh. Instead, you nod.
“Go win your game.”
“Always do.”
He walks back to the group, slipping seamlessly into the rhythm of their conversation. Someone claps him on the back. Someone else throws an arm around his shoulders. He laughs at something Steve says, head tipping back slightly, unbothered.
You stand there like a statue.
Nothing about that interaction confirms your worst fears.
Nothing about it reassures them either.
He did not avoid you. He did not treat you like a stranger. He asked about your day. He said he would see you tomorrow.
And yet the space where a conversation should have been feels cavernous.
You tell yourself you are overthinking. That this is what normal looks like. That not every connection needs a dramatic declaration to validate it.
But as you turn away and start walking, the questions follow you anyway.
Did you move too fast?
Did you blur something that was supposed to stay light?
Are you already more attached than you meant to be?
The next time you see Bucky, he’s waiting for you outside your class. He is just there, eyes scanning the crowd until they land on you, and the way his face shifts when he spots you makes something hopeful spark before you can smother it.
For a split second, everything inside you softens.
He waited. He is physically here.
“Hey.”
You try to keep your expression neutral, like you did not spend half the lecture imagining this exact moment. “Hey. How long have you been standing here?”
“Long enough to hear the professor inside mispronounce drugs. I was tempted to go correct him.”
A quiet laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It feels good. Too good.
“That would’ve gone well.”
“I know. I’m very charming.”
You tilt your head slightly. “Debatable.”
“Ouch.”
You feel easy talking to him like this. Like nothing else is on your mind. But your heart does tighten occasionally, ruining everything.
“Walk with me?” he asks, nodding toward the parking lot.
You hesitate for a fraction of a second, not enough for him to notice, but long enough for you to feel the weight of the decision. You nod anyway.
When your shoulder brushes his, you are hyperaware of it. He does not comment. He just matches your pace.
“You okay?” he asks after a moment, glancing sideways at you. “You’ve been… somewhere else all day.”
“I’ve been in class.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
You force a small shrug. “I’m fine.”
He studies you like he does not entirely believe that, but he does not push further.
When you reach his place, he unlocks the door and steps aside to let you in first. That tiny gesture, that small courtesy, feels more intimate than it should.
The apartment looks the same but also not the same. The familiarity of it hits you harder today. You have been here before, but today it feels different because you woke up in his bed yesterday and left with no answers.
He closes the door behind you and tosses his keys onto the counter.
“Sam’s out,” he says casually, shrugging out of his jacket. “Date night again. I think he’s trying to set a record.”
You nod, even though your stomach flips at the information.
Sam is out. Which means you are alone.
The implication settles between you almost instantly.
“Oh,” you aim for neutral and land somewhere uncertain.
He steps closer without making it dramatic. He always does that, moves into your space like it is the most natural thing in the world. His hand finds your waist, fingers warm through the thin fabric of your shirt.
“I missed you.” The words send a rush of heat through you that you hate for how quickly it responds.
“It’s been one day.”
“Still.”
Before you can think about it, he leans.
The kiss is familiar already, like your mouths have memorized each other. His hand slides up your back, pulling you closer, and your body reacts on instinct, melting into him before your brain catches up.
You let yourself sink into it. Into the warmth and the steady pressure of him. Into the way his hand trails lower to your hip. Into the sound he makes when you kiss him back harder.
But then your brain wakes up again.
Sam is out. You are alone.
He waited for you after class.
Is this because he wanted you, or because he wanted this?
The grip on his shirt loosens slightly, but he picks up on it somehow.
“Hey,” he murmurs against your mouth, not pulling away entirely. “Where’d you just go?”
Nowhere safe.
You step back just enough to create space. “I’m just… tired.” You hate how weak of a lie it is.
You can clearly see him battling confusion. “Tired?”
“Yeah. I didn’t sleep much.”
That part is true. You did not sleep much because your brain just would not shut up.
His hands remain on your waist, not letting go. Almost not wanting to.
“We don’t have to do anything,” he says, searching your face. “I’m not dragging you in here for that.”
The defensiveness in you flares up immediately even though he has not accused you of anything.
“I didn’t say you were.”
“I know. I just—” he exhales slowly. “You feel different right now.”
Because you are spiraling.
Because you cannot tell if you are standing at the beginning of something real or in the middle of something casual that you are already too invested in.
Because you keep imagining him bringing other girls here with the same ease.
“I’m fine,” you repeat, which sounds less convincing each time.
He studies you in that steady way that makes it hard to hide. “Talk to me.”
The words are gentle. That almost makes it worse.
What are you supposed to say?
That you are scared you moved too fast. That you are scared he does not see this the way you do. That you are already picturing him getting bored in a week and drifting away like this was just another phase.
You cannot say any of that without sounding dramatic or fucking stupid.
The only sane option feels like distance.
You shift away from him just enough to create it, even though every part of you wants to stay where you are. “I think I’m coming down with something,” you say, reaching for the first excuse that sounds remotely believable. “I’ve felt weird all day.”
The concern on his face is immediate. It wipes away the warmth from a second ago and replaces it with something sharper, focused. “What kind of weird?”
You shrug like it’s nothing. “Just… off. Headache. Maybe.” The lie comes very easily.
He closes the small gap you tried to make, instinct overriding whatever confusion he’s feeling. His hand lifts toward your forehead before you can think of a reason to stop him. His palm settles there, clinical in a way that almost makes you flinch.
“You don’t feel warm,” he says.
Of course you don’t. You’d know if you were febrile. You both would.
“I don’t know.” You pull back a fraction. “I just—” The rest tangles in your throat. “I think I should go.”
He studies you like you’re a case that isn’t lining up with the symptoms. Brows pulling together, jaw tightening slightly as he runs through possibilities that don’t fit.
“You just got here.”
You can feel him trying to reconcile it. Sudden onset vague malaise. Absolutely no convincing clinical picture.
You know he knows.
“I didn’t want to say anything earlier,” you add quickly, filling the silence before he can dissect it. “Didn’t want to make it a thing.”
His gaze doesn’t soften. But there’s less confusion now. More searching.
“You were fine five minutes ago.”
You hate how true that sounds.
“I wasn’t… I just didn’t think about it.”
That part isn’t even a lie. You hadn’t been thinking. Not about consequences. Not about tomorrow. Not about anything but him.
“Don’t be like that,” he says. “If something’s wrong, tell me.”
Something is wrong. It is inside your own head and you do not know how to untangle it without making a mess.
“Nothing’s wrong,” you insist, even though your chest feels tight. “I just need to rest.”
There is a flicker of something in his eyes now. Hurt. Frustration. Maybe both.
“Did I do something?” You hate that you made him think that.
“No,” you answer quickly. “No, you didn’t.”
But you cannot elaborate because the truth is messy and unformed and terrifying.
Reaching for your bag, “I’m gonna go,” you say, keeping your tone as steady as you can manage.
He stands there for a second like he is debating whether to argue. Then he exhales and grabs his keys from the counter.
“I’ll drop you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know. I want to.”
I want to.
The firmness in his voice makes it clear he is not letting you leave alone, and a small part of you is grateful for that even as the rest of you feels like you are sabotaging something you cannot define.
You walk toward the door with him a step behind, the tension between you thick and unspoken.
This is not how you imagined today going.
He had waited for you after class. He had kissed you like he meant it. He had said he missed you.
Yet you are the one walking away.
As he opens the door and gestures for you to step out first, the weight of it settles deeper in your chest.
You are building a wall in real time, brick by careful brick, and you are not even sure what you are protecting yourself from.
Behind you, he locks the door and follows, close enough that you can feel his presence but not touching.
The silence is heavier than any argument that could have happened.
Your phone buzzes halfway through the afternoon. You consider ignoring it just to prove to yourself that you can. That you are not waiting around for him, that your entire mood does not hinge on whatever words appear on your screen next.
You still look immediately.
Bucky: heyy
Bucky: i wanna see you. if you’re feeling up for it. will be near your block after your last class. maybe wait by the entrance? no pressure.
He did not say come over. He did not ask if you are free. He said he wants to see you.
Your brain — traitor that it is — immediately begins its spiral. Maybe he just feels bad about yesterday. Maybe he thinks you were actually sick. Maybe he is trying to smooth something over. Maybe he is bored.
Fuck.
Maybe he just wants you.
You force yourself to be normal.
You: yeah. i’ll be there.
He reacts with a simple thumbs up.
By the time your last class ends, your nerves feel stretched thin. You tell yourself this is stupid. You are not walking into a confession. You are not walking into a breakup. You are walking outside your own building to meet someone who asked to see you.
Still, your palms feel slightly damp.
The doors swing open and voices spill across the courtyard in overlapping bursts of laughter and conversation. You scan automatically for him, heart already climbing into your throat.
It takes less than five seconds to find him.
Not alone.
A small group surrounds him, the kind of cluster that forms around someone people gravitate toward without even meaning to.
Steve stands on his left, animated as always, gesturing with both hands while he talks. Sam leans back against the wall with that amused, observant look he wears when he is about to make a comment no one asked for.
And then there is a flash of red.
She is standing close to him. Close enough that her shoulder nearly brushes his chest.
Natasha.
You have seen her before, of course. It would be impossible not to. Red hair that catches light like it knows it is being watched, sharp eyes that miss nothing, posture that suggests she does not need to raise her voice to command attention.
Right now, her fingers are at his collar. Adjusting.
She smooths the fabric down, straightens it slightly, then taps his chest like she is approving her own work.
There is familiarity in it that feels intimate even from a distance.
Your stomach drops so fast it almost feels physical.
That is not a friendly distance. That is not casual. That is close enough to touch without thinking about it.
Your brain does not wait for logic. It does not ask questions. It fills in blanks you never agreed to.
She fixes his clothes because she has done it before.
She stands that close because she is allowed to.
You are just another girl who showed up for a week.
You take an unconscious step back, already calculating the fastest way to turn around without being obvious. You could say you forgot something. You could pretend you never saw his text, even though you’ve replied to it. You could avoid the humiliation of walking over there like you belong.
Before you can pivot fully, his head lifts and eyes find you immediately.
There is no hesitation in the recognition. The moment he sees you, his expression shifts in a way that feels unmistakable. Something bright flickers there. Relief, maybe. Something softer than the grin he wears with the rest of them.
“There you are.”
Your body freezes mid-retreat.
He steps away from the group without thinking twice, closing the space between you in a few long strides. You have no choice but to stay where you are unless you want to make it obvious you were about to flee.
“Thought you were gonna ditch me.”
“I was literally just walking out.”
“Sure.” There’s just that faint teasing curve of his mouth.
Over his shoulder, you can feel the group’s attention shift.
“Come here.” He reaches for your hand. There’s no time for you to overthink or even think for that matter.
The contact is warm and familiar and it sends a rush of conflicting emotions through you. You let him guide you toward them even though every insecure thought in your head is screaming that you do not belong in this circle.
He says your name easily. Naturally. Not as an afterthought.
Shit, he’s introducing you to them.
But it’s just your name. There’s no label that follows.
Of course there is nothing to add. What would he even say?
This is the girl I slept with.
This is the girl I’m seeing.
This is the girl I don’t know what to call yet.
You force a polite smile as he gestures around.
“You know Sam,” he continues. “That’s Steve. And this menace is Nat.”
Nat’s gaze shifts to you fully now. “Hi.”
“Hi,” you reply, hoping your voice does not betray the way your stomach is still tangled.
Sam offers you an easy grin. “So this is who he ditched us for the other night.”
Heat floods your face instantly.
Bucky shoots him a look. “Shut up.”
“What? I’m just saying.” Sam shrugs.
Steve, ever diplomatic, steps in smoothly. “Nice to finally meet you.”
Finally.
The word echoes in your head.
Finally suggests there has been discussion. Anticipation. Awareness.
You glance at Bucky instinctively, searching his expression for any hint that he is uncomfortable, embarrassed, anything.
He does not look embarrassed.
If anything, he looks almost… pleased.
His hand rests lightly at your lower back now. The gesture is subtle but grounding, and it only confuses you further.
If Nat meant something more, would he touch you like this in front of her?
If you meant something more, would he have said it out loud?
Conversation resumes around you, overlapping. You answer when spoken to. You nod. You laugh at the right moments. But your thoughts keep circling back to the image of Nat’s fingers at his collar, smoothing, straightening, touching.
He does not pull away from you once. If anything, he shifts closer as the minutes pass, angling his body slightly so you are not on the edge of the circle but tucked nearer to him.
Sometime later, he leans down slightly toward your ear. “You good?”
“Yeah.”
His eyes linger on your face for half a second, like he is trying to read what you are not saying.
“Walk with me?”
You nod before you can second guess it.
His hand slides more firmly around your waist this time as he guides you away from the group.
You can feel Nat’s gaze on your back as you leave, or maybe that is just your imagination refusing to calm down.
The motorcycle waits a few steps away, gleaming faintly in the lowering light. He stops beside it but does not let go of you immediately.
“What’s going on in that head?” His voice is softer now that you are alone.
“Nothing.” Nothing feels like the only safe answer.
He huffs out a quiet breath. “You’re terrible at lying.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Okay.” You can tell he’s still not convinced.
The closeness of him is distracting. His hand is still at your waist, resting just above your pelvis. You can feel the warmth of it through the fabric and it makes your thoughts even more tangled.
“Where are we going?” You want to change the subject.
“It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is when they involve you.”
A flicker of amusement crosses his face. “Wow. I feel attacked.”
“Just tell me.”
He hesitates for dramatic effect, then leans in slightly, voice dropping. “Where else?”
Your breath catches before you can stop it.
“Bucky.”
“My place,” he finishes, like it is obvious.
Of course it is.
The words hit differently now, layered with everything your mind has been chewing on for the past twenty-four hours.
My place.
Is that all this is?
Your heart thuds against your ribs, too loud, too fast. You tell yourself you are being unfair. You tell yourself he invited you to meet his friends. He introduced you. He did not hide you. He did not flinch.
And yet the image of Nat’s fingers at his collar refuses to fade.
“Okay.” You hope he cannot hear the storm building behind the single word.
His hand squeezes your waist lightly before he finally lets go to grab his helmet, and the absence of his touch feels colder than it should.
Bucky’s place feels too quiet for the amount of noise in your head. He drops his keys into the bowl by the counter and turns toward you. There is no visible tension in him, no sign that he feels the way you’ve been feeling.
“You’ve been kinda weird lately… you mad?”
The softness in his voice makes it worse. It would be easier if he were careless.
He reaches for you when you don’t answer, hands sliding to your waist with an easy familiarity. Sitting back onto the couch, he pulls you with him, guiding you until you are straddling his lap, knees pressing into the cushions on either side of his thighs.
It happens naturally, like your bodies already know the choreography.
His mouth finds yours before you can think too hard about it. The kiss is warm. You can feel your breathing get uneven as his fingers resume their path on your body.
His lips trail from yours to your jaw, then lower, pressing unhurried kisses along your neck. Heat spreads beneath your skin where he lingers.
Your hands rest on his shoulders, and for a moment you almost let yourself fall into it.
Almost.
Because the image of Nat leaning in, adjusting his collar with that quiet confidence, flashes again. At the worst possible moment. Because you do not know what you are to him.
“Bucky…”
He hums against your skin. “Mhmm?”
“What is this?”
His mouth stills. “What is what?”
“This,” you repeat, gesturing helplessly between your bodies while still sitting in his lap. “Us coming here. Sam conveniently being out. You kissing me like nothing’s complicated.”
His confusion deepens, and he looks genuinely lost. “I’m kissing you because I want to.”
“That doesn’t answer anything.”
“It kind of does.”
A sharp exhale leaves you in frustration. “No, it doesn’t, Bucky.”
With his hands steady at your waist now, he shifts in his place. “Okay. Then tell me what you’re asking.”
“Am I just… part of something casual to you?” The words finally come, absolutely rushed. “Because that’s what it feels like sometimes.”
His expression changes in a way you cannot immediately name. You know it’s not anger. Probably something closer to disbelief.
“Casual?” he repeats carefully.
“I saw her,” you blurt it out. “Nat. Fixing your collar like she’s done it a hundred times. And Steve said finally, like I’m the last to know something. And you didn’t say anything when you introduced me, you just said my name. Like that’s all there is.”
“There is more.”
“Then what is it? Because from where I’m sitting it feels like I’m the only one trying to figure it out.”
The irony isn’t lost on you, and you don’t give him space or time to respond.
“I don’t do this… I don’t sleep with someone and then just pretend it’s fine without knowing what it means. I don’t wake up next to someone and spend the whole day wondering if I just made myself convenient.”
His hands tighten slightly at your hips at the mention of convenience.
“And before you say I’m overthinking… I know your thing. Everyone knows. You don’t exactly have a reputation for… consistency.”
“That’s a polite way to put it.” He exhales, trying to look as unbothered as possible.
“I’m serious,” you insist. “I don’t wanna be another girl you had fun with until something better came along. I don’t want to be someone in your rotation. I don’t want to feel stupid for catching feelings when you’re just—” you stop at that because the next words just wouldn’t come.
“Just what?”
“Just being you.”
He doesn’t respond. You hate that he doesn’t respond. That’s when you realise you’re still straddling him, still close enough to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, still close enough to feel the unmistakable press of his length against you. Even in the middle of this.
How can someone be turned on in such a situation, you genuinely do not know.
“And don’t laugh,” you add, because his mouth twitches. “If you laugh I will actually leave.”
“I’m not laughing at you… I’m just trying to figure out how you managed to build an entire alternate reality without asking me a single question.”
“I’m asking now.”
“Yeah. After deciding all the answers.”
“Because you never said anything.”
Bucky studies your face, eyes searching in a way that makes your pulse pound. “You want me to say it?”
“Say what?”
“That I haven’t always been great at this.” He nods slowly, almost to himself. “Fine. I haven’t. I’ve dated around. I’ve kept things light. I liked that it was easy. There weren’t any expectations. People knew the deal.”
The honesty stings more than you expect.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
“But that’s not what this is.”
The firmness in his voice makes you want to hide yourself, but still you look at him. “Then what is it?”
He looks back at you like he’s choosing his words carefully. Or you think that’s what he’s doing. “Do you remember the first time we talked?”
“Of course I do.”
“I was an ass. I handed you my record book like it was nothing.”
“You were,” you mutter.
A faint smile touches his mouth. “Yeah. I was used to people just… going along with whatever I asked. And then you looked at me like I had personally offended your entire bloodline.”
Despite everything, a reluctant breath of laughter leaves you.
“I — I noticed you before that… I’d heard your answers in rounds. Seen your handwriting in the logbooks. You don’t try to stand out, but you do anyway. I kept waiting for a reason to talk to you that didn’t sound stupid.”
Your heartbeat stutters.
“The record book was the only excuse I had,” he admits. “And then you said yes even though you clearly didn’t want to, and I felt like a jerk the entire walk back to my room.”
That catches you off guard. “You did not.”
“I did.” His gaze does not waver. “Because I knew you weren’t like the others. You weren’t trying to impress me. You weren’t flirting. You were annoyed. And I still kept thinking about you… I’ve liked you since then. Not in a casual way. Definitely not in a ‘let’s see what happens’ way.”
“I kissed you because I wanted you. I slept with you because I thought we both wanted it. And it was never convenient. It was anything but convenient… because every time you look at me like you’re trying to decide whether I’m worth the trouble, it drives me insane.”
Heat rises to your face.
“Nat fixing my collar means nothing,” he adds as an afterthought. “She’s been doing that since first year. Also she’s dating some girl. And Steve said ‘finally’ because he’s tired of listening to me talk about you and not doing anything about it.”
“You talk about me?” The question feels fragile, but absolutely unnecessary and useless from what you’ve been hearing so far.
“Constantly,” he says without hesitation. “To the point where Sam told me to either ask you out properly or shut up… apparently it’s hard being my roommate.”
Your mind struggles to reconcile that with the version of him you built in self defense.
“I have been a guy who keeps things surface level,” he goes on, not flinching from it. “I liked not having to care too much. But with you it hasn’t been surface level. At all. I just… didn’t know how to shift gears without scaring you… so no,” he says, more quietly now. “You’re not part of a rotation. There isn’t one. Not anymore.”
The words make you feel absolutely stupid and make you smile at the same time.
“And if you think I brought you around my friends because you’re temporary… then you really don’t know me as well as I hoped you did.”
Now guilt seeps in because you just built this whole picture in your head that couldn’t be the farthest from reality.
You start to slide off his lap, embarrassment flooding in, but his hands hold you there gently.
“Don’t go,” he murmurs.
“I just— I made a fool of myself.”
The corner of his mouth tilts in a smile. “Yeah… a little.”
“Bucky!”
“I’m not making fun of you.” His grip on your waist tightens, reassuring you. “I like that you cared enough about this to spiral a little.”
Your eyes sting again, but for a different reason.
He shifts subtly beneath you, and the movement reminds you once more of the hard length pressing against you.
“Also,” he adds, voice dropping, “for someone who thinks this is casual, you’ve been sitting on my lap for ten minutes while I’m very obviously not neutral about you.”
Your mouth opens in a soft ‘O’ at the attention he just called to himself.
His grin spreads slowly now. “You get so worked up… and it’s distracting.”
“Distracting how?”
His thumbs trace idle patterns at your waist. “You’re so hot when you’re mad. I’ve been trying to focus on what you’re saying and all I can think about is how badly I want to kiss you again.”
The sincerity in his voice cuts through the last of your doubt.
“I like you,” there’s a finality in his voice. “I just didn’t know how to say it without sounding like every other guy who says it and doesn’t mean it. So I just… didn’t say it… But I’m saying it now. Clearly. I want no room for interpretation. I want this. With you. Not because it’s convenient. Because it’s you.”
The story you built in your head never included this version of him at all, but that’s okay, you get to have first hand experience.
my masterlist !
extras. that was wayyyy longer than i intended. If this flops, I’ll never set foot on tumblr again 😭 been waiting like a month to post this shit lol
It was supposed to be a simple game of Truth or Dare. Everyone was gathered around the low glass coffee table in the lounge, low-ball glasses and cocktail umbrellas in hand. Natasha had kicked things off, and the game had been moving along at a easy, steady pace—right up until it was Sharon’s turn to ask a question.
Sharon’s gaze locked onto yours just as you were taking a slow sip of your drink. "[Y/N], truth or dare?"
"Dare," you replied smoothly, leaning forward over the table.
Sharon took a delicate sip of her martini, a sharp, calculating smile touching her lips. "I dare you to kiss the person in this room you find the most attractive... who isn't Steve."
Tony cleared his throat loudly, straightening his collar and looking over at you with an expectant smirk. "Well, let's get it over with, kid."
"She doesn't have to do the dare—she can just finish her drink or switch to truth," Pepper interjected sharply, throwing a warning glance around the room.
Beside her, Steve was glaring at you with daggers, his jaw clenched tight. But the subtle smile tugging at the corner of your lips said it all: you weren't backing down.
"Oh no, there’s no backing out now," you said, leaning back into the cushions as your gaze casually swept the room. "Once you pick, you’re locked in. Those are the rules."
Your eyes finally landed on your true target.
He was leaning casually against the far wall behind the couch where Steve, Sam, and Sharon sat. He was watching you intently, sipping his bourbon. Bucky knew the truth. He was quietly furious that someone could ever betray someone as good as you, and while he was selfishly grateful for Steve's terrible choices—the very choices that had driven you straight into his arms—it still burned him up that Steve had hurt you like that.
Slowly, you stood up, taking a moment to smooth the fabric of your dress. You kept your eyes fixed on Sharon as you began your slow walk across the room. You passed Tony, who exaggerated a deeply offended sigh when you walked right past him. You brushed past Clint, Bruce, and Rhodey, all while Steve watched your every movement, his face darkening with every step you took.
Just as you reached the far wall, right in front of Bucky, Steve’s voice cut through the silence. "Sharon, call off the dare. Tell her it was a joke."
"Sorry, Steve," Sharon replied smoothly, leaning back. "Rules are rules."
Without missing a beat, you reached out, catching hold of the leather jacket collar you knew better than your own. You pulled Bucky down into you, and the second your lips met his, a warm shockwave rippled through his nervous system. Purely out of habit, Bucky deepened the kiss, his broad hands sliding instinctively down to your waist and pulling you flush against his chest.
It was intoxicating, deeply familiar, and—for the rest of the room—distinctly shocking. But for Sharon, it was the exact distraction she had been waiting for.
When you finally pulled away, breathless, you didn't look at Bucky. You turned your head slightly, your eyes locking onto Steve.
"Steve. Truth or truth?"
"Honey..." His voice was barely a choked whisper.
You stared him down, your voice cold and steady. "Truth or truth, Steve."
Steve grumbled, knowing there was no way out of this corner. Sharon reached out, placing a comforting hand on his knee, but Steve instantly shoved it off.
"Truth," Steve growled, staring at the floor.
"How long have you and Sharon been sleeping together?"
"We're—"
"The truth, Steve," Bucky rumbled, his voice low and dangerous as his hand remained firmly planted on your hip.
Steve let out a heavy, defeated sigh, the guilt finally written plainly across his face. "Two years, ten months, and three days."
Tony’s head snapped toward Steve, his eyes widening with pure rage. "Are you kidding me? Steve, you’ve been dating [Y/N] for—"
"Three years," you finished softly. A massive, invisible weight lifted off your chest, the suffocating secret finally out in the open.
In an instant, the room erupted. Shouted accusations, furious cross-talk, and overlapping arguments echoed off the walls as the rest of the team laid into Steve and Sharon.
You didn't hear a word of it.
Before the chaos could pull you in, Bucky’s strong grip guided you backward, dragging you quietly out of the lounge and into the dim, quiet hallway. He gently pressed you up against the wall, placing his hands on either side of your face and leaning down until his forehead rested against yours. His breathing was heavy, his thumb gently stroking your cheekbone.
"Finally," he growled softly, a dark, breathless sound. "You're all mine."
You let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, the residual tension melting out of your shoulders as you smiled up at him.
Author's Note: Well, here it is. Must be the longest actual smut I've written on this blog. Hopefully, my scenes are not too cringey. My very first attempt at Mafia!Bucky and I hope you all enjoy it.
Summary: Bucky Barnes has got eyes only for his queen. But what happens when she takes it too far in front of his men?
(Word Count: 1935 words)
Warnings: Mature Themes, Minors DO NOT INTERACT, dom!Bucky, edging, no use of y/n, lots of teasing, dirty talk
She knew better than to question him. When he wanted to treat her nice… He went all out, whatever that entailed, from quiet nights to extravagant dinner dates at the restaurant overlooking New York which ended up with the two rolling around in bed, where he made sure to have her shaking with desire. Sometimes, the fearsome mob boss would be the one who surrendered to her seduction; he was only willing to submit to her. But sometimes he wasn’t feeling that merciful. Take tonight for example. He was in the middle of an important meeting, and she was acting like a brat. While he actually liked it when she was like that, right now he found it irritating. The rest of the mafia bosses were exchanging looks of amusement, thinking that the girl was actually cute, acting like that. But for Barnes, it was distracting. And she did nothing to help. Yes, she was being quiet, so she wouldn’t make it more awkward for him, but the way her nimble hands found their way onto his shoulders caused him to feel a certain way, suddenly eager to conclude the meeting and drag her to their bedroom. And that’s how she knew she had accomplished her mission, which was to get his mind completely distracted.
“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen... I will have to overlook dinner for a while, but it was nice seeing you all..” She mused, leaning down, brushing her lips against Bucky’s stubble, in that tantalizing way she knew made him yearn for more.
Oh, she was in for it, Bucky thought. Once the meeting was concluded, he made his way into their bedroom, where he found her, laying on the king-sized bed, clad in only a dark red set of lingerie, eyeing him with sheer anticipation and it made his brain short circuit. She was indeed a vision; yet, he couldn’t let go of the little stunt she pulled in his office in front of everyone. “I asked one simple thing… No interruptions baby girl…” He growled, fumbling with his tie. To this, she only giggled teasingly. “Not my fault I am married to the hottest mob boss in New York... I was bored without you…” She then pouted, motioning for him to join her in bed. The next thing she knew, was that she was being pinned down, hands above her head, and Bucky towering over her smaller frame, drinking her in. “I was going to be generous tonight but after what you did… I think you need to be punished…” Came his response, and she blinked innocently. Punishment? That was new for her. But it made the game all the more exciting. Before she was able to get a word out, his lips found her own for a few fleeting moments. “So much for punishing me… All words from the big bad mafia boss..” She teased, wanting to get to the main event faster. Mouthing off was the way to go when she was in the mood. And quite frankly, he loved it too. “Don’t be a smart mouth.” He snapped, deciding to bind her hands over the bedpost. “You’ve been a brat all day and I’m tired of your games..” He smirked nudging her knees apart. “So here is what’s going to happen. I am going to spank you five times, and if you’re a good girl, maybe I will allow you to come…” He announced, his blue eyes darkening as he watched her squirming slightly. She obviously had no idea what he was about to do…
Her heart was thundering against her chest, like a deer that had been caught in the wolf’s den. Bucky was eyeing her like a predator, ready to pounce on her, and it only served to grow the excitement within her. This man had a unique talent of igniting her whole body on fire with just one word, or a mere look. This is what they both enjoyed the most. The teasing remarks, the intimate touches, the kisses shared; Bucky may be rough time and time again, but every time he made sure she was comfortable. If anything, he likes to ensure that she will enjoy this as much as he will. “Hmmm… Are you going to punish me? Or do I have to take matters into my own hands… daddy?” She smirked suddenly turning the tables on him.
So much for her innocent act, Bucky thought, clearly taken aback by how fast she flipped positions.
“Keep calling me that, and I’ll make sure you won’t be able to walk for a week…” He growled, drawing a giggle out of her. “You think you’re in the positions to make threats? Darlin’, you’ve been nothing but words so far..” She taunted, slowly reaching behind her back to unclasp the straps, giving him a little show. Bucky decided to lean up to brush his lips against hers but she stopped him abruptly, pushing him back into the mattress, a devious glint flashing in her eyes, nails scratching along his muscled chest. “Who says I’m afraid of the big bad Mafia boss?” Again, she couldn’t help the bratty attitude. She wanted to coax some kind of reaction out of him. And judging by how he was trying to keep his cool around her, she could see that her actions were getting to him. “See? I knew it. All words, baby..” She finally purred, gently suckling at his earlobe.
Oh, he wouldn’t let that slide. He loved the allure she exhibited, but she needed to be reminded of her place. And there was the wild side she loved so much. “I think someone needs to be reminded of their place..” Bucky growled flipping positions once again, her back exposed to his hungry stare. “Now. As I promised.” He grinned innocently, swatting at her rear, eliciting one of those delicious moans that spurred him on. “Count.” He snapped swatting at her backside. “Mm.. I’ve been a bad girl…” She whispered, grinding against his crotch, wishing to create some friction between them. “Oh, you’ve been a bad girl now, have you?” He taunted, caressing her buttocks before delivering another spank, drawing a breathless giggle out of her. All this foreplay was killing her though. “I said… count!” he snapped spanking her once again, the sound bouncing off the walls of the spacious master bedroom. “Bucky pl—Three!” she whined, grinding against him more urgently. But her desperate pleas fell on deaf ears as he continued punishing her. “That’s what you get for pulling stunts like that baby girl…” He stated, squeezing her cheeks before delivering more spanks, rendering the supple flesh red. “Oh please, you liked it—FUCK!” Damn. Her smart mouth was turning him on even more, and he felt he would combust at any point.
At this point she was a blubbering mess, moaning, bucking hips against his member, as he eased up momentarily on her punishment, to reward her with a surprisingly gentle kiss, a stark contrast from his dominating persona. “You’re right… I did like it… But it took everything in me not to bend you over and take you right there and then while everyone watching.” His admission made her wetter if that was even possible. “God… I need you… please…!” She begged once more bucking against his shaft. And who was he to say no when she looked so beautiful begging?
“Hmm. Since you’re begging like this… Who am I to refuse you?”
And with that, he slipped inside her wet heat, an appreciative growl leaving his throat, as he set a steady pace, driving himself in and out of her, stopping occasionally to whisper all the ways he would make her come undone. “Make me scream and I will make sure to repay the favor…” She mused, letting out the most obscene sound. Man, she was temptation personified. Her words held so many promises and it made him tense up in anticipation. But he wouldn’t give it to her so easy. Just as she was about to come, he stopped his ministrations abruptly, making her look up at him in disbelief. Was he serious right now? She was so close and he decided to slip out of her now?!
“Barnes… I swear if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to scream…” She snapped, desperate, her core clenching around nothing. Oh, there was the bratty attitude again…
“Who said you can demand things? Mm?” He growled pinning her hands over her head, lips dangerously close to her own but he didn’t actually kiss her. But who was he kidding? He was dying for a taste… So without further delay, he began leaving dark bruises all the way down to her abdomen, marking her, as he inched close to the spot she needed him the most. “This is all for me sweetheart?” He asked, a taunting lilt lacing his voice before he dove in, sucking and biting gently at her folds, smirking at the pornographic moan that left her lips. “Don’t you dare cum just yet.. You hear me?” He ordered. He couldn’t help it though. He had a tendency of being a little shit while in bed generally…
However, after what felt like hours of endless teasing, he decided to be merciful and give her what she desperately needed. “I think you learned your lesson doll, didn’t you?” He teased, placing a featherlight kiss to her mouth as he placed her on top of him. “Go on.. Make a mess all over me…” He urged her, as she began bouncing on him slowly at the beginning but then she picked up her pace, until they both hit that euphoric state. “Shit! I’m going to come…” She keened, almost sure that the staff in the mansion would be able to hear them with how loud they were… “Fuck… Let go baby! I’m right there with you...” James’s voice came out quite strained, due to the onslaught of pleasure that crashed over their exhausted bodies. At the end of this debauchery, they both felt sated. “I think I’ll act like a brat more often if it makes you treat me like this…” She joked settling down beside him, a goofy grin playing on her face. “Just don’t make it a habit in front of my men…” He teased in response, not missing the pout on her face. “Then don’t neglect me next time..” Came her witty remark, making him laugh out loud. “Oh, that’s how it is?” He trailed off between chuckles as they shared yet another slow, fervent kiss, watching the sunrise from their window. “I love you.” She mumbled cupping his stubbled cheeks. Sweet gestures like that always made the tough mobster melt in her embrace. Everyone in New York knew of his ruthless side, but she was the only one that got to see a softer side. “I love you too doll… To the moon and back.” He whispered, watching as her warm brown eyes drifted shut. She was exhausted after all… And since he had no urgent matters that needed attention, he chose to take it slow and rest.
Well, rest was a matter of perspective. In this line of work, there was no taking it easy. But right now, he didn’t want any dark thoughts to ruin this perfect morning, so he decided to finally surrender to a sleep filled with pleasant dreams.
Meanwhile, the head of the rival Mob, Brock Rumlow was devising a strategy to overthrow Barnes. And he knew exactly what to do. Or rather who to hunt.
@world-of-aus Hope you like it. And yes. I finished with a cliffhanger. Do I regret it? Absolutely not. Mwahahaha
through it all, how could you cry for me? - bucky barnes x female!reader
So shut your eyes
Kiss me goodbye
And sleep
- sleep by my chemical romance
Plot: After all the things he's done, Bucky doesn't feel like he deserves reader's love or kindness. So, he prepares to say goodbye.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader
Warnings: This fic is like full angst. It includes: Bucky hating himself and wishing he died in the fall, his trauma, his nightmares, his past as the Winter Soldier, a small mention of blood, and a panic attack - it's not explicitly named as one, but it definitely is. The song 'Sleep' also includes Gerard talking about night terrors he had, so if that could be a trigger, please be aware! As always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know.
Notes: Can you tell I saw Long Live the Black Parade (twice btw!!!) not too long ago? Seriously though, it was absolutely incredible, and my head has been full of MCR inspired fics since.
“Bucky, you look exhausted.” Bucky chuckles softly, raising a brow at his girlfriend, who’s snuggled under a ton of blankets and pillows and is clearly fighting a losing battle to keep her eyes open.
“I think you’re the exhausted one here, sweetheart. Why don’t you go to bed?” he prompts, turning off the movie they were watching and walking over to her.
Or…the movie that Bucky was barely paying attention to, too consumed by his own thoughts. He’s been like that a lot these past few weeks. Drowning in his guilt and hatred, caused by his time as the Winter Soldier. He kneels down, gently and tenderly cupping Y/N’s face in his hand. Y/N smiles, snuggling into his palm and gazing up at him with so much love and affection that it shatters Bucky’s heart all over again. She loves him so much, and has done so much good for him. He’s lost count of the number of times she’s stayed up all night, holding him as he sobbed, comforting him after yet another nightmare, or just sat with him in the quiet, there if he needed anything. He loves her so much and doesn’t know what he ever did to deserve her. But lately, Bucky has been feeling like he doesn’t deserve her. Or any of it. No kindness, no softness, no love. Perhaps someone as broken as him can never be repaired.
After all, with all the blood on his hands, why does he get to live happily with the love of his life after all the hurt and pain he caused?
“Promise me,” she pleads, placing her hand over his and giving it a squeeze. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.” There she goes again, caring more about him than herself. That makes Bucky feel even worse.
Why didn’t he just die in that damn fall? That would’ve made things so much easier. He wouldn’t have all this trauma, and Y/N wouldn’t have to deal with him and all his issues. But then, he feels even worse. He’s had some wonderful times with her, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky has finally felt at peace. She's undeniably the best person who has ever come into his life.
But his peace was short-lived, and soon his ugly thoughts reared their heads again. And soon, the whispers of doubt took root in his mind, making him believe their words. Telling him that if she truly knew what he was capable of, and of all the ugly things he’s done, she’d never want to see him again, or think of him so highly.
He’s not a hero. He’s a monster.
And so, he's saying goodbye. Not for too long. He simply needs some quiet time to himself so he can sort through his problems. He’ll text her early in the morning, saying he got called away on an urgent solo mission with little time to prepare. It’s not entirely unbelievable - it’s happened before. And she’ll believe him. She always does. After all, what reason would he have to lie to her? She would never have imagined Bucky was capable of the harm he was about to inflict. But Bucky doesn’t even feel surprised he can inflict that pain.
Because that’s all he does. Cause pain.
Y/N stands up, her fingers still intertwined with his. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” She moans. “You need to sleep. They're working you too hard.” She shakes her head as they walk up the stairs, his arm holding her close for the last time in god knows how long. Bucky chuckles softly, shaking his head.
“I’ll be sure to tell them that.”
In their bedroom, she snuggles under the covers, her tired eyes focused on Bucky. He lingers by the door, looking at all the pictures of them both covering the walls. A knot of unease tightens in his stomach.
Does he really want to abandon all this? He’s not so sure anymore. There’s a picture of him and Steve too, with the other Howling Commandos, smiling and laughing. Y/N insisted they put it up, so that Bucky has a connection to his past, to who he really was - a soldier and a hero, rather than just a weapon. However, by the time those pictures were taken, Bucky was already well on his way to becoming the villain, his descent into darkness far deeper than anyone suspected.
“Aren’t you coming to bed?” she asks, her voice tinged with disappointment.
“In a minute.” He can’t even think straight, his heart pounding against his ribs. Perhaps this was a mistake. Maybe he should stay; just tell her or the others the truth about how he’s feeling, instead of running. Oh god, he can’t do this. His legs feel like lead, his throat tightens, and his lungs burn with each breath.
“Bucky?” She sits up, concerned now. “Are you okay?”
He swallows hard, nodding. “Y-Yeah.” he stammers. “Of course.” He lays on the bed beside her, kissing her forehead and pouring every ounce of love that he could into it. “Just... thinking.” Luckily, she seems to believe him for now, laying back down with him.
"You know I worry about you," she says, her voice full of concern.
“I do,” he replies, a slight smile gracing his lips. “But you don’t have to do that.” She smiles over at him, squeezing his hand.
“I do. Because I love you.” She whispers.
“I love you too. So, so much.” Bucky whispers back, pulling her closer and holding her as tightly as he can. His heart aches and he doesn’t want to let her go, but deep down, he knows he has to.
“Goodnight, Bucky.” she says, her lips brushing against his in a soft peck, not knowing that it would be the last kiss she’d ever give him for a while.
“Night, Y/N.”
“You’ll be here when I wake up?” she asks, a hopeful note in her tone.
“…Yeah.”
“Bucky.” She gives a weary shake of her head, almost asleep by this point. “Promise me. Please.”
I can’t. He thinks. So, he simply nods, and whispers: "Just go to sleep, darlin'." That seems to be enough for Y/N, and Bucky soon feels her go still against him, fast asleep. He kisses the top of her head again, sniffling.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Even if I'm gone for a while, I will always come back to you. I promise.”
~ * ~
Please follow @onceuponastory-library and turn on notifications to be notified when I next post!
You were in the training room, your hands gripping the towel around your neck, as you started towards the locker rooms, however the voice of your best friend stopped you, “Hey Killer.”
“Listen, I get that you don’t get tired, but I do, and I am tired from beating you 17 times in a row this morning.” You groaned turning towards his blue eyes.
“It wasn’t 17.” Steve smiled, as you rolled your eyes, “It was 20. Besides that’s not what I needed to talk to you about.”
“Oh, well what’s up?” You asked, as he nervously looked at the floor.
“Ummmm do you want to maybe go to dinner with me?” He nervously asked, which was weird cause he never got nervous
“Like how we normally go to dinner?” You asked, raising an eyebrow before he whispered, “No, like a real date.”
“Oh.” You replied before back tracking, “Sorry didn’t mean to sound so surprised, ummmm yeah, it sounds fun. Just going on a date with my best friend. Not awkward at all.”
“It’s totally awkward.” You said to Tony after running to the lab and telling him everything that happened, “I mean, the man is like what 5 times my age?”
“Now wait… that is not very progressive thinking of you.” He joked as you rolled your eyes and stated, “and why’s that Tony?”
“Simple, your generation is all for age gaps.”
“ Maybe like 30 years, but 75…. Might be a stretch.”
“[Y/N], Steve is like your best friend, would it really be that strange if you started dating… and if tonight doesn’t work out, then you can at least say you dated a super soldier.”
“Of If I wanted to date a super soldier, I would have dated Steve ages ago.”
“Well what stopped you?”
“He is all hung up on Peggy. Morning, Noon, and Night all he talks about is her.. and now he wants to date me?”
“Maybe he is finally accepting that he needs to stop living in the past.” Tony sunk into his chair, as you jumped to sit on the examination table, legs crossed as you looked at him, eyebrow raised
“So you think he just woke up out of the blue and magically decided to not crave his Kodak 35, or the USO dance, or the bombshell girl who he still carries a picture of?”
“Well, it looks that way.”
You sat in your room, as you both were now sleeping in separate beds, your nose glued in a book you weren’t even paying attention to, as you waited for your phone to vibrate. However you were met instead with a knock, your eyes slowly lifting as you softly replied, “Come in.”
He opened the door, a sorry look on his face as he leaned against the frame, arms crossed, a look you were all to used to now.
“Tony is having a party tonight.”
“I know.”
“What time did you plan on going, that way we can arrive together.” He asked, “Sharon also needs to know so she can arrive before us:”
“Steve. Can I ask you a question?” You now moved the book to your bed, eyes burning into his, “How long are we going to keep this up?”
“Keep what up?”
“How long are you going to act like you are dating me, and not Sharon? Cause honestly it is a bit tiredsome.”
“I love you.”
“No you don’t, If you really loved me, she would have never happened.”
The first time Steve Rogers said he loved you, was at one of Tony’s extravagant parties. The music was louder than it should have been, the lights were dimmed, and alcohol and food were in a constant rotation. Steve had somehow convinced you to leave a fascinating retelling of a mission with Natasha, and Clint and go onto the crowded dance floor with him, the slow music causing guests to sway off rhythm as you smiled, “Do you think he will ever play something more lively?”
“Never, not with all these important people here tonight. I hear tomorrow’s party however will be a different atmosphere.”
“Oh gosh, we have to do this again tomorrow.”
“Afraid so.”
A comfortable silence took you both over, and soon you were lost in the moment. However you were quickly pulled from it when he spoke, “I love you.”
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t tell me you love me if you don’t mean it, I mean we have only been dating 2 months, and I feel like that is hardly enough time to determine whether or not you love a woman.”
“We have known each other for years.”
“And all those years you told me you were in love with the ghost of the woman you remembered, and that you wanted nothing more than for her to be here with you to have that dance. So I apologize if your confession of love feels a bit premature.”
“However I can’t have Peggy, as she is…”
“So I am a placeholder, since you can’t have what you really want?”
“I never said…”
“Babe, I was joking…. Just promise me something?”
“Anything my love.”
“If you ever stop loving me, don’t break my heart.”
You were standing across the room from Bucky, who had struck up a game of pool with Sam, Natasha, and Sharon. You could see from the couch you watched from that Bucky was not amused being on the same team as Sam, it was written all over his face and his body language alone gave it away, but somehow Sam was hiding his distaste, something you only knew of due to the fact that Sam regularly told you and Steve he was unsure how you both maintained a friendship with an arrogant asshole like James. The thought of his most recent rant about the man came to mind as you took a sip of your drink, for Sam showed up to your flat that day to complain about how loudly Bucky was chewing his lucky charm’s marshmallows, and then threw the actual cereal away. After the conversation you went out and bought him the only marshmallow kind, and put a box in the kitchen for him once a week. Your view of the game however was blocked by a rather large frame, a hand extended to you as you looked up, “May I have this dance?”
“Let me guess another appearance for the masses.” You flatly stated as you finished the remainder of the drink, which was almost 3/4th of the glass.
“I mean it may look odd if we don’t dance at least to 5 songs, and just remain on our owns for the duration of the party.” He said, as you looked into his blue eyes, and remembered why you had fallen in love with him; a moment you regret intensely.
It was a mission, Steve was about to go with Natasha to prevent a hostage situation getting much worse than it already was. Your eyes fixed to the man in the American suit, watching as he buckled his shield to his back, he turned and gave you a smile. You returned the smile, and as soon as they opened the doors for the jump, he came to you and kissed you, the wind whipping your hair as he pulled away slightly, “I love you.”
“I love you too Sharon.” He whispered, only you heard it because of the wind… but her name was clear as day.
He leapt from the plane moments later, your eyes wide as you watched him, a moment that didn’t go unnoticed by the other man in the plane, who was going with Steve to defuse the situation.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked over the wind before jumping
“Yeah.”you responded, too stunned to say much else, all the recent interactions you three had shared suddenly made so much sense…. And that’s when you realized, the day her attitude towards you shifted from friendly, to bitchy, was the day after your first date with Steve.
“So how long have you known?” He whispered as he slowly spun you around the dance floor, his eyes glued to you as you raised an eyebrow, “about Sharon and I?”
“Really Steve, this is the place you want to ask that, aren’t you scared someone will hear of your infidelities?” 
“I just want to know.”
“Since the moment I said I love you. Your response gave it away.”
He looked at you confused and then he remembered, his eyes growing, causing you to add, “my question is though, why stay? I know you claim it’s because of the whole Peggy situation, but we both know that is bullshit.”
“Because I never want to be the one who breaks your heart.”
“Too late.” You responded
“Why do you stay then, since you have known for so long.”
“Simple Steve, cause I want everyone to see you for the cheating bastard that you are.” You got to his ear to whisper this, his eyes growing wide as you pulled away. Seeing the panic in his eyes made you smile, and as the song ended you slowly pulled away, “Now if you don’t mind, I need another drink before our next scheduled dance.”
As you walked away, and towards Tony, you couldn’t help but smile. His eyebrow raising as he hollered to you, “Well that’s a smile I haven’t seen in a while.”
“Well how else do you react when you realize you are getting everything you ever wanted.”
“You are just now realizing you are living out your childhood dream?”
“Yeah Tony, we’ll go with that.” You stated before ordering, not before turned your head towards the pool table, to see Steve whispering something to Sharon as Bucky shot, ending the game as Natasha groaned, and Sharon looked towards you pissed.
As the pair looked, you turned and waved, knowing you were exactly where you wanted to be.
You pulled the hooded rain jacket tighter around your frame as your other hand reached for the door hand of the measly hotel, your clammy palm meeting the cold, wet metal as millions of questions rolled over in your head, bouncing off the walls of your brain like a game of ping pong.
What if they recognize me?
What if someone snaps a photo?
What is Tony asks him about the charge?
What is Steve asks him why he smells like my perfume?
What is Nat notices the way he smiled at me this morning at training?
What am I going to tell Tony when Pepper questions our bank statements?
What am I going to do without him…?
“Can I help you?” The desk clerk asked, as you looked up from the pike stained carpet, and saw a teenager who would rather be anywhere but here.
“I’m checked in, my fiance told me to come here and ask for the spare key to room 338, the name is Jeffrey Solomon Mace.”
“Ah yes, we were expecting you.” He turned and handed you the key, along with a condom, “Can never be too careful.”
“Thanks.” You whispered, thankful for the hood that hid your face, as you wandered to the elevator and stood in the metal prison, the space filling with the worst sounding instrumental music, as you chucked the condom on the hallway floor as the doors closed. The ride up to the third floor was uninterrupted and filled with more thoughts, these sadly were not as lustful as one would hope, but as the doors opened, you were just glad to be away from the dying speaker, and into the hallway that oddly smelled of Bologna and Toothpaste. The door numbers slowly ascending until you reached the peeling red door of room 338. As you admired the cracks spreading along the wood, and the missing flakes of paint you couldn’t help but remember how you got here…
It was March 15th, and for some reason Tony had decided that he wanted to throw a party. None of you knew why you were celebrating, but then again, Tony Stark never really needed a reason to. Your reflection was staring back at you, a knee length red polka dot dress looked back at you, your tiny earrings sparkled under your freshly curled hair, and your lips glazed with the red wax that he loved so much.
“Do we really have to go?” You asked, smoothing the fabric down of your skirt as he exited the bathroom and stopped in his tracks, for a moment, you almost thought he was going to compliment you.
“Now, what is it going to look like if we don’t go? Tony will send Natasha and Clint to find us and then what will we say, sorry guys, she didn’t want to come to the party because she is emotionally drained from starting a fight with me over my involvement with Agent Carter… again.”
“Except I didn’t start the fight.” You replied, your tone short as you looked at him in the mirror, “You started the fight because you didn’t like the modern dress I was wearing, so you had me change into a dress from a decade you didn’t even see because you were a block of ice.”
“Here we go again.” He sighed, before grabbing his jacket.
“Well darling if you are going to paint yourself as the victim, at least get the details right.” You smiled, before turning to follow him, Jarvis speaking before you even closed the door all the way, “I will tell Tony of your arrival.”
“Please tell him to have my cocktail ready as well… I’m going to need it.”
Your hand slowly turned the handle, and revealed the dark room, your eyes adjusting quickly as you saw the traces of rain beating against the window panes. Suddenly you sensed movement, and quickly ducked as the knife went whizzing through the space your head once was, and collided with the wall behind you.
“Well that’s one way to greet me.” You stated, before bouncing back up into the standing position and turning to get the knife.
“No, leave it, I want to see what wild tales they will create when they see it.”
“They will probably state that we definitely did not need the condom the minor slipped me at the counter.” You smiled, before shutting the door, “Also, why do you always pick the motels that smell weird and look like they belong in a slasher film?”
“Because I love you, and I think we could survive a slasher together.”
“I would hope so, I am a level 8, and you are a super soldier killing machine.” You joked, taking the wet coat off finally to reveal the see through, white shirt beneath, your lack of a bra showing through the see through fabric as your shorts hugged your thighs lovingly. Your shoes slipping off with ease as he said, “We are definitely showering after this though, I don’t want you spreading any diseases from here.”
“But yet we are about to…” your sentence cut off as his lips crashed into yours, the longing you both had felt seeping into the kiss as his hands cradled your face tenderly. As he pulled away he whispered, “Sorry… I have wanted to do that since last night when I walked you to your room.”
“Do it again.” You whispered, before he had you up in the air, your legs wrapped around his hips, as your arms dangled around his shoulders, his fingers firmly planted into the skin of your now exposed ass.
“So it hasn’t gotten better?” Natasha whispered to you at the bar, as you downed your 4th cocktail of the hour.
“Is it supposed to?” You asked dryly
“Why don’t you just leave then? You are one of the most badass woman I know, you don’t need a guy like…”
“Because if I leave… it will just make me look like the fool, cause we all know the moment I call it, Sharon will be in my place. And then everyone will take pity on him, because I left Steve Rogers, America’s Dreamboat savior. I will be labeled the betrayer of America, and will die alone, with my five cats.”
“Or… just a thought, people will see through his very shitty story, and will slowly piece together that he has been screwing her for your entire relationship.”
“And then he will be praised for having and maintaining two relationships at once, because he is a man, and I am just a retired woman.” And down went cocktail number five, the tender already pouring number 6 as Wanda called out, “everyone gather round, we are about to play Spin the bottle.”
“Can couples sit out?” Steve asked, before going, “Not that I want to ruin the mood, I just don’t want to play if I have to kiss anyone else but my girlfriend.”
“You don’t have to play then.” She answered, assuming that meant neither of you were, as she placed the empty vodka bottle on the floor, who wants to go first?”
“I will.” Sam volunteered, his hand going to the bottle as he gave it a good spin, and watched it land on Natasha.
From there Natasha kissed Bruce
Bruce kissed Tony’s check
Tony kissed Pepper, who passed her turn to Wanda
Wanda kissed Clint, with tongue
Clint kissed Natasha’s forehead
Natasha kissed Bruce again
And then Bruce puked on her heels, pausing the game as they did a clean up of the floor. Once evidence of the alcohol soaked vomit was cleared, Wanda whispered, “Whose next?”
“I’ll go.” Bucky answered, his feet carrying him to the bottle, “honestly, I haven’t played this since before the war, it was me and ten girls behind the school.”
“You dirty dog.” Thor beamed, proud to use the phrase he heard in the movie today, as Bucky chuckled, “I am a changed man though.”
And then he spun, the neck of the bottle spinning round and round until it slowed to a stop, and when it did, it felt like you were looking down the barrel of a gun. And as Bucky went to respond, while muttering about how he was sorry, and he didn’t mean to make it awkward, you caught Steve’s glaze, and noticed whose hand he was holding, before stating, “Don’t be sorry James, rules are rules.”
And with all your liquid courage, you walked over the freshly cleaned tile, and met lips with James Buchanan Barnes. The kiss lasted seconds, but to the two of you, the fireworks lasted forever. By the time you pulled apart, Steve and Sharon had stormed away, your guess was to the flat you shared, so that she could stroke his ego, and paint you as the villain.
But you didn’t care, as you both stared at one another like it was the first time…. Before Wanda slowly went, “Well okay then, how about we call it a night?” An awkward giggle followed as slowly the other fled, as though they didn’t see anything.
You both laid tangled in the sheets, your fingers tracing up and down his viburnum arm, as his fingers ran up and down your arm. Your head never leaving his chest as you slowly exhaled, “Are we terrible people?”
“No.” He answered, your chin now resting on your head, “at least I don’t think we are.”
“Well you might not be, but I definitely am.” You responded as he chuckled, “Doll, my kill count is 24.”
“Okay, and I have been cheating on my boyfriend for three months with his best friend.”
“And he has been cheating on you with his ex lover’s granddaughter for two years.” He answered, “Meaning your actions are forgiven.”
“Two wrongs don’t make a right James.” You pushed up, and stared into his eyes before adding, “But I must admit, it’s fun being wrong.”
“See forgiven… besides it’s your fault we are here anyway.”
“Technically it is yours… you picked this place.” You smiled before he shrugged and went, “oh bine.” [oh well]
“You are right though… out of the two of us… I am the monster in this story.”
“No Doll.” Bucky whispered, “He is.”
His eyes shot open and the knocking on the door, he looked to the window to see the city lights, and rain drops blanketing the city, as the knocking came again, his youthful body raising from the wooden floor that was heated as his feet carried him to the door, “This better be good Sam.”
He swung open the door, fully expecting Sam to be there, but instead he just saw you, your face stained with tears as you pulled your blanket tighter around your shoulders, eyes were from looking at his face to your black slipper the second he opened the door, his fingers finding your chin though and raising it slowly to look at your glassy eyes.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I can just go back to our..”
“What’s wrong Doll?” He asked, before you leaned forward and rested your head against his chest, and whispered, “He was just… so angry.”
“What did he do to you?”
“Just argued.” You whispered, “The moment I walked in the door, he came out of the bedroom and said I made him look like a fool, kissing his best friend like that. I told him he made himself look like a fool hanging all over Sharon the whole night. And then it just went on and on until finally I told him I wanted to go to bed. I pushed past him not even thinking, and when I opened the door… she was there.”
“Who?”
“Sharon.” You whispered
“Oh I am gonna punch him.” Bucky went to push past him, but your voice stopped him, “No need to, he has been with her the entirety of our relationship.”
“I’m sorry, what?” His eyes met yours, as your voice came out, barely a whisper, “He has been cheating on me with Sharon since the second month we were together, he claims it will look bad on him if they start dating, since he is in love with Peggy, and that he never really loved her, and he only has eyes for me, and I am a bitch for thinking he would ever cheat on me with Peggy’s great niece. But I always knew…. But he always said I would look like a fool for leaving, and that he is the best I can do… and that he is loyal. But tonight…. Tonight was all the proof I needed.”
“So leave him.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because he is right… if I dump him, all the secrets came out, and America’s golden boy isn’t so golden… so to save his image, and not make myself look like a fool, I stay.”
And then Bucky did the unthinkable, he cradled your chin in his hand, and looked you in the eye, “one year… give me one year and I will prove to you that you deserve so much better than him.”
“What?”
“I want you, I want to show you that you and Steve are wrong about you. So starting tonight I want to start dating you, behind their backs just like they did to you. And I will show you just how you should be treated. “
“And when the year is up?”
“If I haven’t proven to you just how special you are…. I will leave you be, and never bother you again.”
“Deal.” You said without even thinking about his offer, and with that you pushed him into the apartment and began to kiss him. Soon your clothes littered his living room floor as your bare skin was thrusted into the leather of his couch, each moan louder than the next as his cock pulsated inside you, his lips attached to your neck as your whole world changed.
You left the hotel hand in hand, your jacket zipped up, and hood pulled as his collar covered his face, and his sunglasses shielded his eyes.
“Thank you for staying, hope you used those condoms I gave you. Trust me, you don’t want your spawn finding out he was conceived here.”
“Sounds like you are speaking from experience.” Bucky replied in a Romanian Accent, as the kid got all red, and lied, “Definitely not.”
“Good day sir.” He answered before dragging you out the door and into the gloomy rain, his hand still gripping yours as he hailed you a cab. Once the yellow vehicle stopped he looked to you before you got into it, “I love you.”
“What?” You asked, knowing this was not the plan for departure.
“I love you, you don’t have to say it back, but I just needed you to know that someone does actually love you, even if Steve doesn’t.”
“I have to go.” You answered, before getting into the cab, and telling him the address of the apartment complex around the corner from the tower, your eyes watering as you regretted not saying it back.
