Updated 2/25/2025, since I got a new laptop and am updating a couple of my older fics.
Hereâs 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 elseâs work.
Summary: Reader is a hard working vet science major. I tried to keep the description vague except sheâs a she, tall and not thin. Bucky is a studious engineering major with a mean girl girlfriend, Sharon whose sister is Steveâs 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.Â
 Sharon Carter is Friday's oldest frenemy and Brocks girl.Â
 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 sheâs 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?Â
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.
Summary: You just moved to New York to follow your passion as a photographer, but your day job as a barista becomes increasingly interesting as more and more unusual patrons start frequenting the coffee shop. Especially one newly declared Avenger...
The last week had been the most nerve wracking week of your life. Every day you walked to work looking over your shoulder every few seconds. You couldn't tell if you were being followed, or watched, and worse than that, you didn't know what you would do if you were.
Anne had been incredibly disappointed to hear that the rest of the New Avengers had not made their way into the coffee shop, and that she was doomed to only have two selfies with the heroes. And while there were no more visits from them, you could feel that they were still around.
Sometimes, you thought you saw a flash of red around a corner, or a glint of metal in the sunlight, but it would be gone so fast you convinced yourself it was nothing.
You were totally normal.
So very normal.
The most normal person that had ever lived in New York...
Of course, that normalcy had to come to an end at some point. On a beautiful sunny Tuesday of all days.
You'd found yourself in Bryant Park with your camera trying to get some shots of the fountain. So far, they were turning out wonderfully, the sun glinting off the water like diamonds in the light. The park was crowded, which made you feel a bit safer about being outside. With so many people around, it was unlikely that anyone would try to come and attack you, right?
You focused the lens of your camera on the falling water and pressed the shutter button. The camera clicked and you looked at the screen to see the image. It wasn't quite right.
You refocused it and took one step back. Your back hit something hard and you jumped, turning to see a man behind you, looking the other way.
He was tall and broad, with sunglasses and a hat obscuring most of his face. He turned to look at you and you could see a distinct scar peeking out from beneath his sunglasses on his left cheek.
Your blood froze and you stepped back. "Sorry!" you squeaked.
The man tipped his glasses down and his piercing blue eyes met yours. "Watch where you're going, lady."
"Yes! Sorry, my bad."
He shook his head. "Damn tourists."
Your face heated in embarrassment and you looked around to see if anyone else had seen the exchange. Luckily for you, no one cared.
It must be a New Yorker thing.
Stepping around the fountain to the opposite side, you tried to take a few more shots, but your hands were shaking. You let your camera rest against your chest, the strap hanging around your neck heavily. It irritated you that you couldn't even go to the park without getting scared that someone was going to jump you for simply existing. How were you possibly going to become a photographer if you couldn't calm down enough to take photos?
You shook out your hands and took a deep breath.
You're safe, you told yourself. There's probably an avenger stalking you from behind a tree somewhere keeping tabs on you.
Somehow, that thought did not make you feel any safer.
Shaking your head, you picked up your camera and brought it up to focus your next shot. Just one or two more and you'd call it a day.
When you looked through the viewfinder, you expected to see the fountain. And you did. But you also saw the scarred man watching you from across the water.
A jolt of electricity ran through your bones and you put the camera down. You needed to go. This was what Bucky had warned you about. People wanting you for the information you knew about Bob. What he did. What he could do.
You looked at your camera with shaking hands and pulled out the battery, looking at it like it had done something wrong. You let out an audible tsk and put it back, swinging your camera bag around from behind you and starting to put your camera away.
You prayed that the man wouldn't realize that you had recognized his intentions, and would be too late to react to how fast you were about to run.
Zipping up your camera bag, you slung it back around your shoulders. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone, quickly dialing Anne's number. She was the only one you could think of who might be available at 3pm on a Tuesday.
The phone rang as you started to walk out of the park, not wasting a glance on the man whom you were sure had already started to move behind you. Your heart beat so loudly you could hear it in your ears as you begged her to pick up the phone.
The phone rang... and rang... and rang...
Dammit, Anne, you thought.
"Hey, girl," you said aloud as the answering machine started to beep. "Are you still wanting me to come by to help with that assignment you were working on?"
You were almost at the edge of the park now. You could definitely hear his footsteps behind you, slow, but present.
The fence was just a few steps away now. Ahead of you, the traffic light was still green, and you sped up. So did he.
"Regular milk or low fat?" you continued, forcing your voice not to wobble.
The pedestrian light started flashing red and your heartbeat sped up. No, not now, you had to make it across the street. If you could get across, you might be able to lose him.
"Got it, I should be there in just ten minutes, okay? If I'm not there in ten minutes, call me back!" you said loud enough for the man behind you to hear. You hoped that Anne would listen to the voicemail and realize something was wrong. After all, you had never called her before.
You reached the edge of the sidewalk just as the pedestrian light turned solid red and the traffic light turned yellow. You swore internally as you came to a stop beside a woman and her stroller, your breath coming a bit too quickly.
When the footsteps stopped behind you, you could have sworn your heart stopped along with them. Your breath caught as a voice spoke from right beside your ear.
"You're not very good at this escape thing, are you sweetie?" the man said, his voice low enough that no one around you could hear.
You almost pulled away when you felt something hard press into your ribs. It didn't take you long to feel the prick of the blade and realize what it was.
"You're going to come with me, dearie. No shouting, no fighting, no struggle. Not if you want to keep your organs intact."
You stiffened at his words and risked a slow glance back at him. He was staring forward with a completely neutral face, like he wasn't threatening your life.
"In ten seconds, a car is going to pull up on the curb to your left. You're going to get in that car."
"What are you going to do with me?"
"Oh, I just want to talk."
You scoffed. "Talk. That's it?"
"That's it." He shrugged. "Nothing wild, just a chat."
"And you thought you needed to hold me at knifepoint to have a chat." You shook your head as subtly as you could. "I don't believe you."
The man nodded at a car that had rolled to a stop a few feet away from both of you and pressed the knife into your side just enough to make you squirm. "Doesn't matter if you believe me. Start moving."
You looked from side to side. It would be the perfect time for your babysitters to come out of hiding and save you, but for the first time in a while, none of them showed their faces.
Just your luck. The moment you actually wanted one of them to be lurking, they decided to take the day off.
Taking in a deep breath you started to make your way over to the car. Its dark gleam blinded you in the sunlight and you squinted as you approached. The man kept the knife in your side as he opened the back seat door and held it open for you. "After you," he said, mockingly polite.
You glared at him but ducked into the car. The driver didn't look back at you as the man followed you in, knife in place.
"Drive," the man said, and the driver did.
You quickly glanced at the handle on the door and wondered how long it would take for you to open the door and leap out of the car when a sweet-smelling cloth was pressed into your face. You jumped in surprise and tried to jerk away, but your muscles wouldn't respond.
Nausea rose up in your stomach and you gagged, vision going blurry. You tried to raise your hand to fight off the drugged rag, but all you found was darkness.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The first thing you noticed when you came to was the duct tape securing your hands and feet to the arms and legs of a chair. The second thing you noticed was the complete and utter darkness of your vision. At first, you thought you were in a dark room, but the shifting of fabric on your face as you turned your head to the side told you pretty quickly that you were actually blindfolded.
Blood rushed through your ears as your heart started to pound.
Where were you?
How long had you been here?
Did anyone know you were here? Did they care?
Your breath quickened at the sound of a door opening somewhere behind you. Footsteps approached you and you forced yourself to swallow your panic and stay still.
"Morning, sleeping beauty," a man's voice said from behind you and your shoulders tensed. "Ready for our chat?"
Your lips trembled as you tried to force out a witty reply but came up blank. What were they going to do to you? Would anyone ever find your body?
The man ripped the blindfold off of your face and you blinked as bright light hit your eyes.
A beam of sunlight streamed through a crack between wooden planks that blocked your vision out of the window to your left. The window on the right wall had the same treatment, wood shabbily nailed into place across the glass. The whole room was old, sickly yellow paint peeling off in swaths. The entire place smelled like mold and dust. You wrinkled your nose at the scent.
The man came to your front and you recognized him as the scarred man from the park.
"Who are you?" you croaked, your throat scratching from dehydration, you guessed.
"Unimportant. What I want to know is what you saw that day in the alley," the man said, crouching down in front of you. "One of my men said you were there, that you saw what happened."
"I-if your man was there, why can't he tell you what happened?" You shook your head tiredly. "Why do you need me?"
He chuckled darkly. "That idiot doesn't know what he saw. Keeps trying to string together his story, but can't tell us the details for the life of him. I think whatever you two saw scared him dumb. Did it scare you dumb, dear?"
"I don't know what you want me to say," you whispered. "I didn't see anything."
"I think we both know that's not true," he said, raising his hands up to rest on your knees. You jerked away at the contact, but he gripped them tightly. "Now, you're going to tell me in detail what you know about that boy, that... Bob."
Your blood ran cold as his fingers tapped on your knees. His very touch sent a wave of nausea through you. "Who's Bob," you tried.
"Oh, please--" The man's retort was interrupted by another body slamming the door open.
"Sir!" the new voice said. "We've got trouble."
"What's going on?" he asked, quickly rising back to his feet.
The newcomer rushed forward. "We need to evacuate. Our location's been compromised, and we're under attack."
"Who would dare--"
It happened so fast you didn't have time to react. The flash of silver, the spray of warm blood, the sickening thud as the dagger sunk into the scarred man's throat. He clawed at his neck as blood bubbled out of his wound and he sank to the ground.
You watched him twitch and writhe on the floor as his blood spilled onto the floor, then saw his companion meet the same fate, this blade sinking deep into his chest. You could taste the blood that splattered your face and let out an ear piercing shriek.
Footsteps sounded behind you, but you couldn't turn enough to see who was coming up from behind you. Pulling at your arms and legs, you tried to rip your arms free, but the duct tape held fast. No, no, no, you thought. Not like this!
The figure came beside you and out of the corner of your eye you saw the glint of another blade. A squeak escaped your lips as you flinched.
"Calm down," a deep voice said slowly. "I'm here to help."
He sounded familiar. You lifted your head to see vibrant blue eyes looking back at you.
"Bucky," you breathed as realization sunk in.
He slid the blade across the tape and sliced it with ease, freeing your arms and legs in an instant. You tried to stand up but your legs turned to jelly and you stumbled forwards.
Bucky's arms shot out and caught you before you hit the floor. "Come on," he said, sliding his metal arm around your back, his real arm coming under your legs. "Let's get you out of here."
You nodded. "Yes, please."
As he carried you out of the building, you felt the exhaustion sink in. Turns out, getting kidnapped and threatened is kind of tiring. Your bones felt heavy, and you thought you could close your eyes for just a second. You thought you could relax into Bucky's warm chest just enough to take the edge off.
Summary: Dating Bucky Barnes had been like living a fairy tale, but as he distances himself from you and your relationship, you come to the realization that maybe fairy tales aren't meant to come true.
Warnings: Language to make Steve blush, mentions of alcohol use, implied sex, angst with a happy ending.
Word Count: 3.4k
This is my very first posted fic, and I am very nervous but I hope you like it! If I've missed any warnings, please tell me so I can add them. Much love and thanks to my bestie @jmeelee for indulging my obsession and dropping everything to read this when I sent it to her <3 Please pardon any spelling/grammar errors.
If you ever feel so inclined to support my work, hop on over to buy me a coffee; it's much appreciated! <3
I write for 18+, so minors DNI.
_____________________________________________________________
Once upon a time, being Bucky Barnesâ girl had felt like living in a fairy tale. He was everything your younger self had ever dared to dream of in a Prince Charmingâ attentive, affectionate, kind, and oh, how he made you laugh! You were the envy of all of your friends, the very definition of #couplegoals, and you thanked your lucky stars every night that the two of you had found one another, despite all the odds.
But fairy tales arenât real.Â
You werenât sure exactly when it started, but somewhere in the third year of your relationship, after youâd moved into a handsome brownstone in Brooklyn together, after youâd adopted a fluffy white kitten, Bucky started pulling away from you. The steps that took him from you were small at firstâ he was taking on more and more missions, opting to stay gone for longer periods of time. Days would go by, and theyâd turn into weeks, then a month or two at a time would go by where you wouldnât see him.Â
At first, it hadnât been terribleâ Bucky had always made sure to contact you each and every day. A video call whenever he could, a phone call or text when he couldnât, but slowly, so slowly you barely noticed, the calls stopped coming all together. Sure, heâd answer when you called him⊠when he could, which wasnât always possible on a mission, and you hated acting needy and taking him away from his work, so eventually, you stopped reaching out, too.Â
When he was home, you were like ships passing in the night. You always offered to take time off of work so you could spend some time with him before he was set to head out again, but he never wanted you to jeopardize your career on his account. Your reunions would always be passionate, but short-lived, a few hot and heavy nights before he took off once more to save the world.Â
You tried not to let it bother you. You really, really did. His job was so important. Peopleâs lives relied on him. Where did you get off getting upset over that? So, you kept it to yourself. Until you couldnât. Not any more.
âY/N,â your best friend, Lainy, cornered you at her annual New Yearâs Eve party, âwhereâs Barnes? Heâs been leaving you to go solo for months now. I donât think Iâve seen you with him since Markâs St. Patrickâs Day Party.â
Ouch. âHeâs working, Lainy,â you told her, not wanting to admit that March had been the last time the two of you had gone out together, let alone spent more than three days in a row in each otherâs company.Â
âYeah, he was âworkingâ over the Memorial Day trip, and the 4th of July BBQ, and Jack and Aliceâs wedding, and your auntâs funeral.â You cringed internally as she applied air quotes to âworking.â âAnd he was âworkingâ on your birthday, and Christmas. Babe, heâs been leaving you alone for almost an entire year. Whatâs going on? Are you sure there isnât someone else?â
The worst part was, you knew there wasnât, or at least, no one individual. When heâd first started distancing himself, of course another woman was the first thing that came to your mind, and you werenât proud of yourself, but youâd gone through his phone to search for evidence of an affair⊠multiple times, and repeatedly came up with nothing. And bless Buckyâs heart, but he didnât have the technological know-how to hide an infidelity from you. Granted, that didnât negate the possibility that he was randomly hooking up with people while he was away. Youâd have to be stupid to not consider the possibility.
You could have asked Steve. You didnât think Captain America had it in him to lie to you about something like that, but you didnât want him reporting on your suspicions back to Bucky, nor did you think you could stand to see the look of pity in his eye if he had to tell you that yes, Bucky was cheating on you while you anxiously awaited his return every night. So, you kept the suspicions to yourself.Â
Your conversation with Lainy had left you deflated. Here it was New Yearâs Eve, and you were alone, the man you loved god knew whereâ just not with you. How many more holidays and milestones and everyday nights were you going to spend by yourself, waiting for a man who never seemed to want to be home with you anymore? This wasnât the kind of life you wanted, the kind of life you deserved.Â
You made your way to the kitchen to refill your glass of wine. Youâd probably already had too many, but you needed to drown the despair that was slowly filling you up. As you poured an exceptionally generous glass, a man entered the kitchen. You recognized himâ Harris, a cousin of Lainyâs who had flirted with you relentlessly for years before you had started seeing Bucky.Â
âY/N!â he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up upon seeing you, âitâs been awhile.â He enveloped you in a friendly hug. âHowâve you been?â
You smiled and exchanged pleasantries, catching up on the overall brushstrokes of your life.Â
âIâm sorry about your breakup,â he offered gently, after youâd exhausted the usual small talk.
âMy breakup?â you asked, brow piqued.
âLast few events Iâve seen you at, youâve been alone. I assumed you and BarnesâŠâ he left the thought floating, the implication hanging in the air: Barnes has left you alone, I assumed you broke up.
You huffed out a laugh. God. Was your relationship actually over and you were the only one dumb enough to not see it?Â
âIf you arenât seeing anyone,â Harris continued, âI would really love to take you out. Youâve gotta know Iâve been into you for ages, and I figure if I donât shoot my shot now, who knows when Iâll have another chance.â
You cocked your head and looked at him, taking in his earnest demeanor. Here was a man who genuinely wanted to spend time with you. Why were you waiting on someone who no longer wanted to be around?
âUm, I might have to get back to you on that, Harris,â you told him before excusing yourself. You needed air.Â
You found yourself on Lainyâs balcony, the air deceptively mild for the end of December in Manhattan. Alone with your thoughts, you pulled out your phone and dialed Buckyâs number. It went straight to voicemail.
âSomeone asked me out on a date tonight,â you said into the recording, your voice choked with tears you didnât want to shed. âAnd I think I might say yes, because, honestly Buck, what are we even doing anymore? Youâre never here, and Iâm always alone. I tried. I tried so fucking hard to not let it get to me, because your workâs important. I know that. I do, and Iâm not begrudging you for your job. But⊠but I canât keep on like this. I canât even remember the last time we spent more than three days together. Isnât that crazy? Three days. Everyone thinks youâre cheating on me. Did you know that? Youâre away so much that everyone I know is convinced youâre fucking someone else. Maybe you are, or maybe you already left me, but Iâve been too stupid to notice; if thatâs the case, you could have just told me.âÂ
You kept your composure as you left the message. You werenât angry at him; you never could be. You were just tired. So tired, and so lonely.Â
âAll I know is that itâs another night where Iâm all by myself, wishing you were here, wanting to talk to you, to feel you, and youâre just⊠not. Youâre off doing something, or someone, more important than me, and I used to be okay with that, but I canât be anymore. I deserve more than waiting on you, Buck. I deserve to be someoneâs priority. I really wish I could have been yours, the way you were mine.Â
âSo, letâs just call it, okay? Your heartâs obviously not in it anymore, and mine is too tired of being hurt and alone. Weâll have to figure out what to do about the house. Iâm keeping Alpine, though. You havenât been here for her, either, and it wouldnât be fair of you to take her if youâre never going to be around.â
Inside, you could hear the rest of the party as they counted down to midnight. When they reached zero, the night erupted in fireworks, and you could hear cheers and cars honking their horns throughout the city below you.
âHuh,â you said into your phone, âitâs midnight. Happy New Year, Buck. I hope it ends up being a good one for you, and Iâm sorry for whatever I did that made you decide you didnât want to spend this last one with me.â
You hung up the phone and the tears finally fell as you slid down the balcony railing until you were crouched on the floor. You werenât sure how long you sat there crying, but eventually Lainy found you, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders and ushering you into her spare room. She helped you change out of your cocktail dress and into a spare pair of pajamas, and helped you wash your face before tucking you into bed. She left you with a glass of water and a kiss on the forehead, promising that tomorrow would be better, that the next best chapter of your life was about to begin, but as you drifted into a fitful sleep, you couldnât find the will to believe her.
You woke the next morning with a throbbing headache, the alcohol and the tears doing nothing but dehydrating you into agony. You grabbed your phone to check the time, but the battery had died in the night. From the slant of the sun coming in from the guest room window, it looked to be late morning or early afternoon.Â
You changed back into your dress, thanking Lainy for her help and making a small joke about doing the walk of shame in your clothes from the night before. You avoided her questions about what had happened, promising to go over it at length at the weekend after youâd had some time to process. You werenât in the best headspace to get into at the moment.
Fortunately, your best friend knew you well enough not to pry, and you said your goodbyes, plans for brunch on Sunday having been made. You werenât eager to get back home, to be surrounded by reminders of Bucky, when all you wanted was the man, himself. But he was your ex-boyfriend now, you supposed. You were going to have to come to terms with that sooner than later. Besides, Alpine needed to be fed, and you werenât going to abandon her.
Your keys clicked in the lock as you opened your front door. âAl, baby,â you called, kicking off your heels and closing the door behind you, âMommyâs home. You hungry, sweetie?â
You began making your way back toward the kitchen when a loud crash from upstairs got your attention. You rolled your eyes; what had the cat knocked over now?Â
But then there was the roar of a body barreling down the upstairs hall and toward the stairs, leaving you frozen where you stood. You cast a glance to where youâd left your phone in your purse by the door. Too far away to reach in time to call for help as the intruder came pounding down the stairs.Â
A massive figure rounded the corner, nearly knocking you over.
âBucky?â You blinked, sure your eyes were playing tricks on you, but noâ there he stood, and he looked like shit. He looked like he hadnât slept in days, and his eyes were swollen and red-rimmed. Heâd obviously been wearing the same clothing for at least a day, if not more.
âY/N,â he breathed, throwing his arms around you and wrapping you in an almost bone-crushing embrace. âSweetheart, I was so worried.â
âWhat are you doing here, Buck?â you asked him, pulling away from him. God, you wanted to let him hold you, but you just couldnât. Not anymore.
Bucky cupped your face in his hands, blue eyes desperately searching yours. âI got your message. Doll, it fucking broke my heart. I came straight home, but you werenât here, and I was terrified that you were gone; that youâd left me for good.â
You scoffed. âIâm not the one who leaves, Bucky.â
He flinched at your words. âI know, Baby. I know, and âm so sorry. I had no idea. I shoulda known what leavinâ you so much was doinâ to you, âcause it was doinâ it to me, too. When I heard you say that peopleâ that youâ thought I was cheating on you, that I had neglected you so much you thought I found someone else, that I could ever love anyone else, ever want anyone elseâ Iâve never hated myself more, doll. I canât stand that you even had those thoughts in your head for one second, because itâs always been you. Thereâs never been anyone else. Youâre it.â
âThen why have you been gone?â you asked him in a whisper. âIf thereâs no one else, and Iâm it, why donât you ever want to be with me? Why do you keep leaving?âÂ
Bucky ran both his hands along his face. âGod, it feels so stupid now,â he said with a sigh. âBut I was trying to saveââ
âTrying to save the world, yeah, I know,â you interrupted him, annoyed. âTrust me, Iâm well aware that I canât compete with that. But I needed to know you thought we were worth saving, too, and you never did.â
Bucky started laughing then, and you scoffed. âWow, you donât have to rub it in, Bucky.â
âNo, noâ Sweetheart, no!â he shook his head. âThatâs not it, at all. Hold on.â He went to the foyer and grabbed his go-bag; you had missed it when you walked in. Coming back to the kitchen, he put it on the table, opening it up and extracting a folded piece of paper and handing it to you.
It was a real estate listing for a farmhouse Upstate, with acreage on the Hudson. You and Bucky had talked about what kind of house you would buy if the situation had ever presented itself, and it was almost as if youâd dreamed it up.
You looked from the paper back to Bucky. âI donât understand,â you told him.
âIt needs pretty extensive renovations,â he told you. âI wanted to take on enough overtime to have the money for them and make a good dent on the mortgage, but it needed more work than I originally thought. And, I have to come cleanâ I havenât been one hundred percent honest with you about where Iâve been spending all my time.â He looked up at you through his lashes, head bent down in shame.
âBut⊠but, you said there wasnât anyone else,â you stammered, heart ready to beat out of your chest.Â
âOh god! No, and I mean that! There isnât, I swear! God, Iâve fucked this up so bad!â Bucky tugged at his hair in frustration. âIâve been going on extra missions, but sometimes, Sam, Steve, and I go Upstate to do some work on the house, to cut down the costs so I could still make my timeline.â
âYou already bought it?â you asked, your voice flat. You were in shock. âYou want to move out? Away from me?â
Bucky moaned in distress and drew you to him again. âNo! God, Iâm doing this all wrong. I want us to move there, together. To make it the perfect house. The perfect home for me, my wife and our stupid fur baby.â
You stilled at his words. âIâm sorry, your what?â
Bucky smiled at you sheepishly as he reached back into his go-bag. âIâll have you know that I had an entire plan. Was gonna have the house ready by Valentineâs Day. Take you up there as a surprise, ask you properly, but I fucked that up, soâŠâ He brought his hand back out, holding a small burgundy velvet box. He opened it to reveal a vintage engagement ring, a sapphire instead of a diamond. Your favorite stone.
Bucky got down on one knee. âY/N,â he began as his voice choked up a bit with emotion, âI know I fucked up for the last eight months. I would completely understand if you canât forgive me, but I need you to know that I love you. I have only ever loved you, and if you let me, I will spend the rest of my life making up for the fact that, even for a moment, I let you think that you werenât the most important thing in my life, my number one priority. Will you marry me?â
âBuckâŠâ you began, not sure how to phrase what you were about to say. âWhat about your job? I canât keep coming in second to the rest of the world, and I get that itâs selfish of me, butââ
âI quit,â he said simply.
âWhat?â Your eyes were wide with shock at his statement.Â
âThe second I heard your voicemail, where you said you wanted to call it because I was never there, I told Steve I was done, that I needed to start putting you first. It wasnât even a question. Iâm officially retired.â
Your mouth hung open. You had hoped he would cut down on his missions, but for him to have quit completely⊠You gently tugged him to his feet, taking the ring box and running a finger across it.
âItâs lovely,â you told him softly. âAbsolutely perfect; exactly what I would have picked for myself.â Bucky beamed at you, pleased. âBut I canât accept it.â His face fell as you gently placed the ring back in his hands.Â
âOh,â he whispered, eyes growing glassy. âI⊠um, I understand. I fucked up, hurt you. I understand if you donât want to be with me anymore.â
âI still want to be with you, you idiot,â you admonished him. âBut you did hurt me, and weâve been apart for a long time. We need time to find our way back to each other again, okay? Ask me again on Valentineâs Day, just like you originally planned. Donât do it now just because you fucked up.â You leaned up on your tip toes and kissed him. âAnd if it helps make you feel better, Iâm probably going to say âyes,â anyway.â
Bucky grinned at you. âReally?â he asked. When you nodded, he picked you up and spun you in a circle before pressing his lips to yours as if he hadnât touched you in months. âI promise you, Sweetheart, Iâll do anything I can to make this up to you, I swear it.â
âAnything?â you asked with a smile. âI think I know where you can start.â
âOh yeah?â he asked you. âAnd whereâs that?â
âTake me to bed, Bucky Barnes,â you said, kissing him again.
Without a word, Bucky swung you over his shoulder and ran with you up the stairs, your squeals and giggles echoing behind him.
Much, much later, when you lay sated together tangled in limbs and sheets with Alpine snuggled next to your heads, Bucky played with your fingers as you rested your head on his bare chest.
âSo, Doll,â he said, kissing the pads of each of your fingers, âyou gonna tell me who had the nerve to ask my girl out on a date?âÂ
You laughed. âLainyâs cousin, Harris. I suppose Iâll have to text him now and tell him Iâm not interested.â
âHell no, youâre not interested,â Bucky chuffed. âGonna have to remind that punk youâve already got a boyfriend. The position has been filled.â
âThatâs the thing, though,â you said, planting a kiss on his nose. âI donât have a boyfriend anymore, do I?â
Buckyâs face fell. âBut I thought you saidââ
âIâve got myself a fiance.â
Bucky tightened his grip around you, drawing you even closer to his warmth. âYeah, okay. I gotta admit I like the sound of that a lot better.â
Your entire relationship with Bucky Barnes might not have played out like a fairy tale, but in that moment, you were more sure than ever that you two would get your happily ever after.
Summary: You just moved to New York to follow your passion as a photographer, but your day job as a barista becomes increasingly interesting as more and more unusual patrons start frequenting the coffee shop. Especially one newly declared Avenger...
It's been three days since you started your official shifts at the coffee shop, and something was... off.
Very off.
You couldn't tell if it was just nerves from starting over in a new city at a new job, or if it was the literal New Avengers that kept coming by, acting like they were being subtle.
It started the day after you saw Bucky and Bob in the alley. You opened the shop early in the morning, and not ten minutes after opening, the largest man you've ever seen sauntered in, a grin plastered across his bearded face.
He was dressed in a loose-fitting zip-up hoodie and sweatpants, and held his arms up like he was thrilled to see you.
âGood morning!â he boomed in a thick Russian accent. âYou have very nice coffee shop here!â
You blinked and glanced over at your coworker, Anne, who was staring at the man with eyes the size of saucers. She kept looking him up and down like she was trying to figure out a puzzle. Unfortunately, this meant she was not paying attention to you. She clearly wasnât going to be of any help to you right now, so you looked back at the man and gave a small smile. âUm, thanks. What can I get you this morning?â
He strode over and planted his hands firmly on the counter. âI will take finest black coffee you serve.â He leaned in like he was telling you a secret. âExtra black.â
â...okay.â You pursed your lips and leaned back a bit as you tapped the order into the system. âAnything else, sir?â
The man examined your pastry case, but shook his head. âYou donât serve honey cakes here?â
You shook your head.Â
âBah,â he grumbled. âNo one serve good honey cake anymore.â He leveled his eyes with you. âBest pastry, yah? Sweet like sugar and delicate like butterfly, melt on your tongue. You will never have better cake in your whole life!â
A nervous laugh made its way out of your lips as you turned the payment machine over to him. âThatâll be three dollars and twenty-five cents please.â
The man nodded and reached into his sweatpants pocket to pull out a handful of bills and coins. He pawed around at them for a moment before handing over a five dollar bill. âKeep change, ya? Like tip for you!â
You accepted the bill. âThank you. Can I get a name for the order?â
He let out a hearty laugh and put his hands on his hips, standing straight. âYou can put Red Guardian on cup!â
Your hand stilled above the computer and your eyes darted back up to the man, who was now adjusting his pose to look more⊠heroic, you think. He was jutting his chest out even more and sucking in his stomach.
Red Guardian⊠Wasnât thatâ
âI knew it,â Anne whispered next to you, her eyes still glued to the man. âYou are him!â
The Red Guardian broke his pose to hold his arms out to her. âI am me!â
She turned to you and you were shocked to see the biggest smile youâd ever seen breaking out across her face. âCan you take care of the order, I just want to get a picture with him!â
âYes, yes, come take picture with best hero in New York City!â the Red Guardian bellowed, gesturing for her to join him on the other side of the counter.
As you started on his coffee order, Anne scrambled around the counter to join him up front, her phone clutched in her hands. She was practically vibrating with excitement as she approached him. She glanced back at you and held out her phone. âCould youâŠâ
You nodded. âSure.â
You snapped a quick photo of the two of them before handing her back the phone and returning to your job.Â
As soon as heâd said his name, you knew exactly who he was, and maybe even why he was there. Did they send him to keep tabs on you after what youâd seen? A subtle glance at him made you doubt yourself. He wasnât even looking in your direction, he was too busy letting Anne fawn over him, flexing his muscles and laughing boisterously.
âOne extra black coffee,â you called out, holding a take out cup over the edge of the counter.
He took it from you and nodded. âMany thanks! Have the best day, girls!â
And then he was gone.
You wondered if maybe it was just a coincidence that heâd dropped by the coffee shop you work at the day after you saw Bob use his powers, and you let it go. Until the next day, when a woman walked in and Anne lost her mind again.
The woman had short, choppy blonde hair and a blank, unimpressed expression as she ordered a large cappuccino.Â
You told yourself it had to be another coincidence, that maybe the Watchtower was just a lot closer than you thought it was, and this just happened to be a good place to come for coffee.
âDoes this happen often?â you asked Anne when the woman had left.
Anne shook her head, almost in a trance as she looked at her phone which now had another selfie with one of the New Avengers.
The final straw was on the third day, when you watched John Walker saunter through the door like he owned the place. You suddenly wished Anne was on shift again to keep completing her collection of photos and keep this Avenger busy, but unfortunately for you, your other co-worker Kyle had no interest in engaging in fangirly behaviour.
âOne large large latte please, no milk, no sugar.â
You paused and looked up at him through your lashes. â...You mean, like, an espresso?â
âNo, like, a latte but no milk or sugar in it,â he said, doubling down like it was obvious.Â
âSo⊠just the espresso shots?â
âExactly.â
You opened your mouth but decided it wasnât worth it and tapped in the order. âSingle or double shot?â
âDouble.â
âOkay, and what name can I put on the order?âÂ
He leaned on the counter and gave you a half smile. âYou can just put Walker there, doll.â
Your stomach flipped in the most disturbing way, and you leaned back a bit. âGreat⊠Itâll be ready in a moment.â Turning away, you tapped Kyle on the shoulder. âDouble espresso.â
He nodded wordlessly and got started on the order while you went back to organizing the pastries.
Walker hovered around where you were, trying to act coy and natural, but you didnât miss the way his eyes would dart over to you every few seconds. The awkwardness in the air was so strong that you wished you could just go into the back and take your break early, but you just started half an hour ago.
âSo,â Walker said, finally breaking the silence, leaning against one of the chairs in the seating area. âYou, uh, seen anything strange lately?â
You raised an eyebrow. âDefine strange.â
He shrugged, playing it cool. âYou know, just⊠weird stuff you donât usually see.â
âLike three New Avengers in three days?â
He let out a nervous laugh. âSomething like that. That would be⊠crazy, right?â
A glance at Kyle told you he wasnât paying attention to the conversation. While you were grateful for it in the moment, you wondered if he was always this dissociative.Â
âYeah. Crazy. Almost like theyâre trying to be casual and scope something out. Or someone. Wild, right?â You stared at Walker, your eyes narrowing slightly, and he got the message.Â
âYeah, totally.â Walkerâs smile was tight, and didnât reach his eyes. He searched for something to say but was interrupted by Kyleâs dry voice ringing out at the other end of the cafe with his espresso. âThatâs mine,â he said, looking away.
âSure is.â
âWell, nice to meet youâŠâ He waited until you told him your name. âStay safe out there, yeah?â
That alone made you feel even less safe, and coming from the guy who got fired from being Captain America, you pretty much felt doomed. When you clocked out that afternoon, you found yourself checking down all the streets, all the alleys, and behind you to see if the entire New Avengers team was waiting to ambush you, to make sure you were going to keep your mouth shut.
For a superhero team that was supposed to make the world feel safer, you sure didnât know how to feel about them. Did they have nothing better to do than frequent some random girlâs workplace and pretend like it was totally normal?
The apartment you were renting was just a few blocks away from the coffee shop, thankfully, so you got home pretty fast. But when you rounded the corner of the street, your eyes widened. Two men were standing in front of the walkway to your building, guns poised to attack.
You backtracked, hoping they hadnât seen you and pressed your back against the wall. Their shouts echoed down the street, and you got the impression that they wouldnât be moving on any time soon.Â
Fumbling with your phone, you scrambled to dial 911, but before you could even dial the first digit, a different sound reached your ears. Deep thuds and thwacks replaced the yelling, and when you peeked around the corner, you saw a man in a black suit battering the others down.Â
He grabbed the gun out of one manâs hand and threw it behind him, the gun clattering against the sidewalk and coming to rest right at your feet. He gripped the other gun by the barrel and with his bare hand shattered it. That was when you saw the metal glint of his fist and the realization hit you.
He threw his fist into the jaw of one man, thrusting the other fist into the gut of the other. They almost tried to fight back but he hit them both with another attack and they were on the ground groaning.Â
Bucky reached into his pocket and brought out a tool and started to tie them up, binding their arms to their sides and trapping them back to back. He shut their mouths with a quick application of some sort of mechanical device that covered the entire lower half of their faces.
One of the men struggled to get up and attack Bucky, but a quick hit to the temple and the man was out for the count.Â
Bucky straightened out his sleeve before turning in your direction. You ducked back around the corner and searched for a different place to retreat to. Maybe you could go around the back of the buildiâ
âAre you alright?â
A squeak escaped your lips as Buckyâs form practically materialized next to you. You whirled around to see him standing, arms crossed.Â
âAre you following me?â you couldnât help but ask.
He scoffed. âWhat makes you think that?â
âThree days in a row.â You shook your head and took a step back. âOne of the New Avengers has been to my work for the last three days in a row, and now youâre here just as a situation was happening outside my home. Are you, like, monitoring me?â
âThose idiots,â he muttered under his breath. âWe⊠needed to make sure you were actually clean.â
Your heart felt like it was about to stop. Theyâd been watching you. For days. And youâd had no idea. You knew that New York had some crazy people, youâd been warned over and over again, but you had no clue that their heroes were crazy too.Â
âOkay, well, hopefully by now youâve realized that Iâm literally just a barista, and you donât have to like⊠stalk me anymore.â You took another step back, your phone clutched tightly in hand. âI havenât told anyone, and Iâm not going to.â
Bucky nodded. âAt this point, I believe you. Unfortunately, youâll still see us around.â
âWhy?â you asked, your voice trembling. âI havenât done anything wrong.â
âNo, but there are people out there who would love to know what you know, and if they find out that a civilian has classified intel, they could very well target you for information.â
Everything in your body froze. Your breath stilled, your muscles tensed, your eyes widened.Â
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. âI really wish I could tell you everything would be completely fine, and there was nothing to worry about, but⊠there are people out there who are really trying to figure out who Bob is and what he can do, and they wonât be kind to you if they think you could tell them what they want to know. Itâs our duty as protectors to make sure nothing happens to you.â
A shaky laugh forced its way out of your lungs. âAh. Right. To make sure they donât, like, kidnap and torture me. Got it.â
âUnfortunately.â
âAm⊠Am IâDo they know about me?â
âWe donât know,â he said. âI donât think so, but you never know whoâs watching.â
A tight smile pulled across your face. âRight. Great. Thanks for that.â
You shuffled awkwardly in place as Bucky glanced at the men to make sure they were right where he left them, and took a deep breath. This was not at all what you had in mind when you decided to move here. You thought that youâd relax, work a well-paying job and pursue your passion in photography, visit Central Park, maybe see a few shows on Broadway. Not get the entire New Avengers keeping you under surveillance because they think you could get kidnapped and killed at any time.
Suddenly, you wished youâd stayed home.
Bucky turned back to you. âIâll walk you to the door.â
âThanksâŠâ
He escorted you down the sidewalk, past the two men who glared daggers at him on the way by. One of them lunged at Buckyâs feet, and he just kicked them away, their body falling still again.
You tried not to react to the violence, turning your gaze away from the men. Bucky led you up the stairs to your apartment, and you thanked him quickly before darting into your building, making sure no one was behind you as you got on the elevator. When the doors closed, you leaned against the wall and cursed.
Welcome to New York.
Masterlist
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Summary: You just moved to New York to follow your passion as a photographer, but your day job as a barista becomes increasingly interesting as more and more unusual patrons start frequenting the coffee shop. Especially one newly declared Avenger...
New York City was a lot busier than you expected. You weren't sure exactly what you had been expecting, but downtown at rush hour was an absolute monster that you had NOT been prepared for.
The crowds were thick and unforgiving, especially to someone who was both new and lost. You had never been in a city this big, even though you grew up in a big city. You realized now that none of the cities in Canada even compared to the size of New York.
You jostled through the endless stream of bodies to reach the edge of the sidewalk near an alley. No one made room for you, no one moved to give you a path, but you made it in the end.
A breath escaped your lips as you took a second to catch your breath. Was it always this... chaotic here?
Ever since the incident with the Void had happened, everyone you knew back home had begged you not to move there, but the job that was offering you a living wage AND freedom to follow your passion as a photographer could not be turned down.
Was it glamourous working at a local coffee shop? No.
Was it going to pay your rent? Honestly, probably not, you were still trying to work that out.
Steadying yourself against the wall, you pulled your phone out of your pocket and glanced down at the map directions to the pharmacy one more time.
Three more blocks down and then you turn.
Sighing, you pocket the phone once more. The sidewalk was just as crowded as it had been thirty seconds ago, and you weren't sure you wanted to walk back into the fray.
To your right, you heard the sound of an impact, and you glanced down the alley. You saw two figures a little ways down, one much bulkier than the other. The smaller figure cowered beneath the other, their back against a wall, held there by the other's hand.
The big guy shoved his finger into the little guy's chest forcefully, saying something you couldn't hear from this far away.
Little Guy said something in response that Big Guy didn't like, based on the way he pulled out a knife and held it to Little Guy's stomach.
Your blood ran cold. You glanced at the people on the sidewalk, hoping someone else would look down the alley and see what was happening.
They didn't, in true New Yorker fashion.
You looked back at the guys and saw Little Guy squirming under the pressure of Big Guy, who was practically toying with him. Your breath quickened. What were you supposed to do? Intervene? Would that be safe? What if they turned on you? There was no way you'd be able to hold your own in a literal knife fight.
But then... were you just supposed to let some stranger get gutted like a fish in cold blood?
Then, to your surprise, Little Guy choked out a laugh and smacked the knife out of Big Guy's hand with ease. Something in the air shifted, and you inhaled sharply when you realized.
It had happened so slowly, so subtly that you hadn't even noticed, but Little Guy was... taller than Big Guy now.
No.
He wasn't taller, he was... floating. You could see the space beneath his feet growing as he gently lifted off the ground and your eyes widened.
Your mouth opened to call for someone, anyone to come and help, realizing that it might be you that was in danger, but before a single word made it out of your lips, you saw him.
A large, muscular figure sauntering down the alley from the opposite direction. He was tall, and walked with intense purpose. His face was hidden by a ball cap, but you could see chunks of wavy brown hair peeking out from under the hat. He was dressed simply in dark jeans and a scuffed brown leather jacket. Out of his left sleeve, you could see dark metal glinting in the light and your eyes narrowed.
He looked like any guy off the street, but something about him was distinctly different. His steps were heavy as he approached Big Guy and ripped him off of Little Guy with what seemed like no effort at all.
Big Guy hit the wall on the other side of the alley with a sickening thud, and hit the ground with a grunt. He made no moves to get up.
Did that guy just knock him out with a single hit?
Little Guy turned to Hat man, hands out in an innocent gesture.
"I-I'm sorry," you heard Little Guy say, his voice small and mousey.
"Yelena was supposed to go with you, what are you doing on your own?" Hat said.
Little Guy ran his hand nervously through his curly hair and let out a slight laugh. "Um, yeah, about that-"
"Bob..." Hat said warningly.
"She might think that you... approved a solo outing?"
Hat threw his hand up in the air exasperatedly and you started to wonder how these two knew each other. They didn't look too far apart in age, but Hat acted like Little Guy--Bob's--dad or something.
"You lied to her so you could wander around on your own and get cornered by the first thug?"
Bob let out a breath, "In my, uh, d-defense, I wasn't intending to get mugged. It just kind of happened."
The air was so tense that you felt like you were intruding on a very private moment, but you knew that the second you moved, one or both of the men would realize you'd witnessed the whole thing. Who knew what they'd do to you. What if they were part of the mafia? Would they kill you to hide the evidence of what just happened?
"Look, I'm sorry, Bucky. I just wanted to go for a walk," Bob pleaded, his head hanging low. "It gets so... tight up there."
Your brows furrowed. Bucky. For some reason, that name sounded familiar, but you couldn't figure out where you had heard it before.
Bucky stood with his hands on his hips, looking Bob in the eyes before sighing. "Just... head home, Bob. And apologize to Yelena before she finds out from me."
Bob gave a small nod and turned away from Bucky. His eyes landed on you and he froze.
You locked eyes and ice coursed through your veins.
Neither of you moved, frozen in this limbo of trying to figure out who was going to acknowledge this first.
"Didn't you hear me, Bob? Go ho-" Bucky stopped when he saw you, your small frame shrinking even more under his gaze. "When did she get there?"
Bob shook his head. "I-I don't know."
You felt your legs tremble under their scrutiny, but you couldn't even make an attempt to make an excuse for your presence, no matter how innocent or well-meaning it was. If you'd just witnessed something you weren't supposed to see, whether it be Bob floating or Bucky knocking out Big Guy, it wouldn't matter to them.
In a split second decision, you decided that you'd rather survive regardless, and turned tail to start running down the street.
You didn't make it a single step before you heard footsteps pounding after you.
A rough hand grabbed your arm and wrenched you back, pressing you against the alley wall.
Bucky was now in front of you, his arm blocking the exit to the street. His piercing blue eyes glared into your own. "What did you see?"
"I-I didn't see anything!" you squeaked, retreating farther into the wall as though it would swallow you up. "I swear, I-I won't tell anyone anything."
"How long were you standing there for?" His voice was deep, and under different circumstances, you think it would have been pretty attractive. Unfortunately, right now it just made you feel like you were going to crumple to the floor.
You shook your head. "Not long!"
His face drew closer until it was only inches away, and you felt your chest tighten as you held your breath. "Who. Sent you?"
"Sent me?" Your voice trembled. "No one, I was just trying to figure out where I was going, you know, I'm trying to find the pharmacy, and I stopped in the alley, and then-" You stopped yourself before you could ramble yourself to death. "I didn't see a thing."
Bucky let out a dry laugh. "I don't believe you."
Your heart throbbed like it was going to beat out of your chest. He was so close you could feel his breath brushing across your face in puffs. Your entire body was screaming that red flags were everywhere, that you weren't safe, that you had to get out of there right that second. All you wanted was to get to the pharmacy and stock up your new medicine cabinet, yet here you are, cornered in a dark alley with not one but two men that were clearly capable of annihilating you in an instant.
"Please don't hurt me," you whispered.
Something in his eyes changed and he backed up ever so slightly.
"I-I don't have anything t-to gain, n-no one to tell about a-any of this."
"I'm not going to hurt you. And what is 'this'?" he asked, though slightly more gently than before.
You glanced over at Bob, who was watching you warily. "H-him. He started to... float."
Bucky swiveled to look at Bob, who promptly looked away. "He did what?"
"I promise I won't tell anyone," you tried to reason again, but he wasn't listening to you anymore, his eyes were fully focused on Bob.
"Bob..." His voice was scarily even as he pointed at him with his free arm, and you finally got a clear look at the metal. His entire left arm was made out of shiny black metal, little glints of gold peeking through. "What is she talking about?"
The smaller man looked even smaller as he shrunk into himself, refusing to meet Bucky's eyes. "I didn't mean to," he mumbled. "It just... happened."
Bucky closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting out a slow breath. His lips were tight when he looked back down at you. "I'm sorry about this," he said, letting go of your arm and stepping back. "You weren't supposed to see any of that."
"You-you're letting me go?" Your eyes widened.
He let out a short chuckle, and the corner of his lips tilted ever so slightly up. "You didn't do anything wrong. And if you did, I'll find out about it, so you'll see me soon anyway."
"I didn't," you said quickly.
He nodded. "Then I offer you my sincere apology on both his and my behalf."
You let out a breathy laugh. "T-thanks. I, uh... appreciate it."
There's a brief pause where you weren't entirely sure if you should acknowledge Bob, and the sound of his shuffling feet told you he didn't know either, so you just awkwardly nod in his direction without looking up.
You quickly leave the alley, and grip your phone tightly in your hand as you walked, not even caring to see where you were going if it meant you could put distance between yourself and those two.
Ten minutes later, you successfully find your way to the pharmacy. Letting out a tight breath, you blink to yourself and start shopping for items.
Your arms are full of products when you arrive at the checkout counter. Dumping them out of your arms, you sigh and look around while the cashier starts scanning.
Nothing special at first, then you see it. The tabloid stand beside the cashier, and the magazine that was front and center. The cover of HERO Magazine showcased a team, the New Avengers, posing in various heroic styles.
You blinked and leaned in closer positive that you were going insane.
While you barely recognized the original Avengers, and would certainly have to brush up on all the heroes currently active, these ones caught your eye.
Maybe it was the intense stare of the blonde woman in the middle, or the palpable energy of the muscular man in red...
The longer you looked, the more dread set in as you realized that you recognized the man on the end. The man with wavy dark hair and sharp blue eyes.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader
Authors note: June Jukebox Scribbles event. You asked for it! đ
June 12th - âTainted Love - Soft Cell / âDon't touch me, please, I cannot stand the way you teaseâ
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Warnings: SMUT 18+, it's imaginary but still smut
Word Count: 300
Summary: Bucky has very vivid imagination when it comes to his cute neighbour, but the walls are paper thin and suddenly you're standing on his treshhold and Bucky has an unexpected confession.
PART I // PART II
EVENT MASTERLIST
Bucky lets out something between a groan and a laugh.
"You really don't want to know."
"Oh, I absolutely do," you tilt your head, watching him with entirely too much amusement as you let your fingers teasingly slide under the hem of his henley.Â
The back of the sofa, his brain throws out and goes offline. All he can see is you bent over the backrest of that old, worn sofa, those tiny pyjama shorts ripped down to your ankles, legs spread and your perfect heart-shaped ass bouncing and jiggling with every thrust as he rails you from behind.Â
He can almost hear the wet, filthy sound of his thick cock diving into your dripping pussy as he fists your hair and fucks you deeper, harder.
Your handsome neighbour suddenly goes very still. Wide blue eyes, quick, uneven breaths, shoulders tight, and heâs hard. So hard, itâs impossible not to notice.Â
You smile, pressing your palm over his bulge and giving one slow stroke. Buckyâs head falls back against the wall, a broken moan escaping him but the next moment he jerks like heâs been burned.
"Don't..." His voice catches. "Don't touch me, please."
The plea sounds almost pained.
You blink.
"What?"
Bucky squeezes his eyes shut.
"I cannot stand the way you tease."
When he looks at you again, his face is burning. You hadn't thought it was possible for a man built like him to look shy yet somehow he does.
"Don't you want me?"
"I do," he chokes out. "I just... fuck..." he drags a hand through his hair. âI can't."
"You can't?"
Bucky swallows.
For a moment he seems to be searching for a way out of the conversation. There isn't one.
Finally, he looks away.
"I..." his voice drops lower. "I've never done this before."
ê±áŽáŽáŽáŽÊÊ âș being best friends since childhood with rebecca barnes meant a life full of adventure with only one hard rule: donât ever flirt with her brother. but that rule doesnt make room for an anonymous pen pal or a love that happens anyway.
áŽáŽÉȘÊÉȘÉŽÉą âș bucky x female reader
áŽáŽÉŽáŽáŽÉŽáŽ ᎥáŽÊÉŽÉȘÉŽÉąê± âș 18+ MDNI semi forbidden lovers - best friends brother, friends to lovers, alternate universe - college/university, penpal letters, kinda strangers to lovers too?, fluff, shy bucky, light angst, feelings realization/confession, eventual happy ending, mutual pining, summer romance, secret relationship, first love, semi slow burn, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, crying during sex, soft bucky barnes, dirty talking bucky barnes, semi public sex, not beta read we die like men.
ᎥáŽÊᎠáŽáŽáŽÉŽáŽ âș 6.4k
áŽáŽáŽÊáŽÊê± ÉŽáŽáŽáŽ âș this is apart of the amazing event hosted by @elixirfromthestars, thank you for putting it together! it was super cool i ended up just playing with the wheels for fun so many times lol. this was a fun little world i liked diving into, i envision bucky by the lake so clearly hes such a cutieball. i played elixirs hold 'em and these were my results. i hope you enjoy & thank you for reading.
elixirs hold 'em - royal flush
» wheel au: penpal au
» wheel trope: siblings best friend
» dialouge: "Say it again." â "What?" â "That you love me." â "I can't."
» scenario: right in front of you all along
There is no one on earth Rebecca Barnes trusts more than you.
You grew up together, matching scraped knees, shared bedrooms, years of knowing what the other one is thinking before itâs ever said. Youâre not just her best friend; youâre family by choice, by time, by sheer inevitability. When people ask Rebecca how she knows she can trust someone, she shrugs and says, I just do. What she means is you.
Thatâs why there arenât rules between you.
Just guidelines.
Donât take my charger without bringing the box back, after the eighth time she swore she had no idea where the box went while handing you only the cord.
If you use all the shampoo, leave a note on the mirror, after one too many mornings of her standing in the shower, bottle upside down, shaking it like it might magically produce another drop.
And lastly, said once, firmly, never joking:
Donât ever, ever flirt with my brother.
Not because Rebecca doesnât trust you. Because she trusts you more than anyone else.
Bucky Barnes is one thousand percent off-limits. Not hypothetically. Not dramatically. Just⊠absolutely. Youâve watched too many girls orbit Rebecca only to angle closer to him, smiling too brightly, lingering too long, treating her like a means to an end. Youâve been there for every crash-and-burn aftermath, every quiet heartbreak, every moment Rebecca wondered why people never wanted just her.
You would never be that person.
The guideline barely registers as something youâd ever need to worry about anyway. You and Bucky hardly cross paths. Sometimes youâll see him at her houseâstanding in the kitchen when you grab a glass of water, offering a polite nod, disappearing again like smoke. Heâs more absence than presence. A name. A shadow. A ghost story people talk about more than they actually know.
You never understood what all the other girls saw in him. You never cared to find out.
Right before summer starts, youâre bored out of your mind.
Youâre hanging upside down off your bed, hair brushing the carpet, complaining to Rebecca about how three months suddenly feels like an eternity when you donât have a plan. No trips, no job lined up yet just too much time and a buzzing restlessness you donât know what to do with.
âI donât want to waste it,â you groan. âI need something.â
Rebecca leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with an amused smile. âSchoolâs doing a pen-pal thing over the summer.â
You blink. âLike⊠stamps? Letters?â
âYeah. You can even be anonymous,â she adds. âThey match you up with someone from a different class year. Itâs supposed to be about connection or whatever.â
You think about it. About quiet afternoons. About having someone to talk to without expectations.
âFine,â you say. âIâll sign up.â
You do.
A week later, your first letter arrives at the school mail station. No name. Just a neat, careful handwriting and a simple opening line:
Hi. Iâm not really sure how to do this, but Iâm glad there's someone to do it with.
Something about it makes you smile. You write back. And then you donât stop.
You stay anonymous, both of you. No names, no identifying details. Just words passed back and forth like offerings. You talk about music first, songs you play on repeat, albums that feel like home. Then movies. Then books. You tell him what youâre reading, what you love about certain characters, how stories make things feel survivable.
He sends you poems.
Ones he wrote, ones he loves. Dog-eared favorites copied carefully into the margins of his letters. Lines about longing, about time, about wanting to be more than what the world expects of you. You read them over and over.
You tell him about school. About how many extra classes youâre taking, how youâre stacking credits and stress because your dream job feels impossible unless you make yourself undeniable. You admit, quietly, how much pressure you feel, how your dadâs trying but money is always tight. You tell him about your mom, the necklace she left behind. How much you miss her, how some days the ache sneaks up on you when you least expect it and refuses to let go.
His next letter takes longer to arrive. When it does, the handwriting is shakier.
He tells you he doesn't have a job lined up, that he was undeclared until last year. Says heâs not smart enough. That schoolâs always felt like something happening to him instead of for him. That heâs tired of feeling like heâs already fallen behind.
Your chest aches reading it. You write back immediately.
You tell him intelligence isnât one thing. You tell him about different ways of learning and you even offer half-joking, half-serious, to tutor him through letters. You start including lesson plans in the margins, little quizzes at the end. Practice problems handwritten with encouraging notes at the top.
He does them. All of them. And he gets better.
His letters change, more confident, more excited. He tells you about raising his grades, about understanding things that used to feel impossible. He thanks you in a way that feels too big for ink and paper.
Somewhere along the way, you realize you wait for his letters more than anything else. You donât know what he looks like, you donât know his name. But you know him.
It doesn't register as a crush at first.
You tell yourself itâs just anticipation. Just the small thrill of routine, checking the school mailbox earlier than you need to, flipping envelopes over to see if the handwriting looks familiar. You tell yourself everyone likes being understood, that the warmth spreading through your chest when you read his letters is normal.
Except you donât write like you used to anymore.
You write longer. Softer. You start crossing things out, rewriting sentences so they sound right. You tell him about the things you donât say out loud, about how your dad only ever looks relieved when you bring home perfect grades, how failure feels like erasure. How sometimes youâre terrified that if you stop being impressive, youâll stop being lovable.
You expect platitudes. Reassurance that feels generic.
Instead, his reply is careful. Thoughtful. He tells you that you are not a report card. That worth doesnât disappear when numbers dip. That being loved shouldnât be conditional, and that even if it has been in the past, it doesnât mean it always has to be.
You cry a little when you read it.
In his next letter, he admits something too.
He says his parents already seem disappointed, like theyâve decided who heâll be before he ever gets there. That trying feels pointless when failure is expected anyway. That itâs easier to accept the role theyâve written for him than fight it and still lose.
You donât let him.
You tell him that being underestimated doesnât mean being incapable. You tell him about every small victory youâve watched him earn through those stupid little quizzes you mailed him. You tell him youâre proud of him, even if no one else says it out loud.
After that, the letters change.
They still talk about music and books and poems, but now there are confessions folded between the lines. Longing disguised as curiosity. Questions that linger longer than they need to. They start signing off differently, thinking of you, write soon, donât disappear.
By the end of summer, it feels like youâre in love with someone youâve never seen.
The realization doesnât arrive all at once. It settles. And when you finally suggest meeting, heart hammering as you write it, hands shaking, you half-expect him to pull away.
Instead, his response comes fast.
County fair. End of summer as the carousel. Iâll be there.
The day arrives far too soon. The fair is loud and bright and overwhelming, music blaring, kids laughing, the air thick with sugar and heat. You stand near the carousel, scanning faces, trying to imagine him. Taller? Shorter? Nervous like you?
You donât notice him right away.
Bucky does.
Heâs already there, leaning against the railing, pretending heâs just waiting for someone else. When he sees you approach, something in his chest tightensânot fear, just awareness. You look⊠familiar, somehow. Not because he knows you, you feel like a thought heâs had before but never finished.
He steps closer, offering a polite smile. "Hey."
You smile politely, not expecting him to be here but not surprised, you vaguley remember him being in the kitchen when Rebecca mentioned the fair to you. "Hi."
âYou waiting for someone?â
You nod, nerves buzzing under your skin. âYeah. You?â
âYeah,â he says. âGuess weâre both early.â
You make awkward small talk. The weather. The crowd. The carousel lights spinning gold as dusk settles in. Itâs easy. Too easy.
Your hands fidget without you realizing it, fingers brushing the chain around your neck. You twist the golden locket gently, a nervous habit youâve written about once, mentioned how it was your momâs, how you rub it when youâre scared.
Buckyâs breath catches.
âThatâs⊠a nice necklace,â he says carefully.
You smile, instinctive. âThanks. It was my momâs. I do this when Iâm nervousââ You stop short, laughing softly. âSorry. Oversharing.â
He doesnât laugh. He stares. The world seems to narrow, the music dulling, the carousel lights flaring brighter, gilding you in warm gold. His heart starts pounding, too fast, too loud.
Youâve told him this before. In ink. In confidence. In trust.
He sees it all at once. Every time he passed you in the kitchen. Every quiet laugh from Rebeccaâs room. Every moment he never let himself linger on because you were off-limits.
Itâs you. Itâs always been you.
Heâs in love with you.
He doesnât say anything. Not then. Bucky swallows the truth down so hard it almost hurts, and instead he smiles, soft and careful, like heâs handling something fragile.
âWhile weâre waiting,â he says, nodding toward the games lined up in bright rows, âyou wanna try some of those?â
You look to the games and back to the carousel, wondering if it's a good idea to leave or not, if your mystery writer was on his way. Bucky offers a slanted smile as you look back at him and think you might as well do something to pass the time.
So you do. You toss rings and laugh when they bounce wrong while he knocks bottles down like heâs done it a hundred times before. When the attendant hands him a small stuffed turtle, green and lopsided, clearly overstuffed, he looks almost embarrassed by it.
âFor you,â he says, holding it out.
You blink. âYou won that.â
He shrugs. âYeah. Thought you should have it.â
You don't take it but smile when he lets you pet the fuzzy shell.
You win stickers, sparkly ones, silly ones, and youâre way more excited than makes sense. You show him all of them, sticking one to your wrist, another to the turtleâs shell. He laughs, quiet and warm, and something in your chest loosens without you realizing it.
He buys you food while you wait. Insists on it. Fries and lemonade, the kind that tastes like summer and sugar. When the night air cools, he drapes his jacket over your shoulders without asking.
You glance up at him, confused. âYou donât have to do all this.â
âI know,â he says. âI want to.â
You wonder, briefly, why heâs being so nice. Then you decide not to overthink it. Some people are just kind.
Eventually, the carousel empties. The lights dim a little. Time stretches thin. You check the spot again. And again. Your shoulders sink.
âI guess⊠maybe theyâre not coming,â you say quietly, trying to sound casual and failing. âItâs fine. I probably read it wrong.â
Buckyâs chest aches.
âI can walk you home,â he offers quickly. âIf you want.â
You nod, grateful. The walk is easy. Familiar streets. Comfortable silence. When you reach your house, you linger on the porch, fingers twisting together.
He holds out the turtle again. âFor real this time.â
You take it, smiling sadly. âThank you. And⊠Iâm sorry if tonight was boring.â
âWhat?â His brow furrows. âNo. You didnât ruin anything.â
You look up at him, sincere. âYou didnât either. If anything, you made it better.â
The words hit him harder than anything else has all night. He nods once, afraid if he speaks, heâll say too much. âGoodnight.â
âGoodnight, Bucky.â
He walks away with his heart in pieces and doesnât look back until heâs sure youâre inside.
That night, you write a letter. You ask why he didnât show. You try not to sound hurt, but it slips through anyway. You tuck the stickers inside the envelope, a little silly but honest.
I was thinking about you the whole time, you write. I hope youâre okay.
Days pass.
Then weeks.
No reply.
Still, you keep writing. You send him songs you think heâd like, books youâre reading for class, movies you swear heâd love. You tell him school started and you hope you can still write, even if things are busy. Even if itâs just as friends.
You donât know that Bucky keeps every letter in a box under his bed, unopened at first, then opened, reread until the paper softens at the creases. You donât know how many times he starts to respond and stops, terrified that saying anything will shatter everything.
You only know the silence.
So you fill it.
Each letter becomes more honest than the last, written like confessions dropped into the dark. You tell him your secrets because you think heâll never see them anyway. You tell him youâre still scared youâll never be anything outside of school, that once the grades are gone thereâll be nothing left of you. That you donât know how to live a life that isnât measured.
That you donât think youâll ever really fall in love.
In one letter, you admit casually, like it doesnât matter, that you had a crush on him at first. That it went away (It didnât.), that Rebecca told you it was stupid to fall for someone you only know through paper and ink.
But you write that it felt real anyway. That you felt known. At the end of the last letter, your handwriting wavers.
I think Iâm going to stop writing, you say. I donât want to bother you anymore. But Iâm glad I knew you. Even if it was just like this.
You seal it with shaking hands. Across town, Bucky reads it and finally breaks and knows he canât stay silent anymore.
That night, he casually asks Rebecca if youâre coming over. When she says no, he gathers the letters, every single one, and drives to your house.
Youâre in the backyard, curled up with a book, when you hear the gate creak open.
âBucky?â you ask, startled. âWhat are you doing here?â
He doesnât answer. He just pulls out the first letter and starts to read. "I don't know how to do this either, I don't know how to talk about myself without actuallyâ"
Your stomach drops. âWhatâstop. Bucky, what are you doing?â
You snatch it from his hands, heat flooding your face, embarrassment turning sharp. âHow did you get this?â
He finally meets your eyes. âItâs me,â he says quietly. âItâs always been me.â
You stare at him, uncomprehending.
âIâve kept every letter,â he continues. âI listened to every song. Read every book. Watched every movie.â
Your head shakes automatically. âNo. That doesnâtâwhat about the fair? You didnât show. You justâleft me in the silence.â
âI was scared,â he says, voice breaking. âI was standing right in front of you, realizing it was you all along and I was terrified.â
âOf what?â you demand, hurt bleeding through.
âOf hoping,â he admits. âOf letting myself believe I could have something, someone, like you.â
The anger drains out of you, replaced by something softer, heavier. You look at him for a long moment. Then, quietly a thought slips into you head, a memory from one of his early letters he once sent you, the one you memorized without realizing why.
âI trace the shape of âalmost us,â
keep hope tucked safely out of sight.
I crave the warmth, I fear the loss,
so I hold longing through the night.â
His breath catches. He blushes, stunned and faintly nods. You step closer, eyes flicking to the stack of letters clutched to his chest. âYou really kept them all?â
âEvery single one,â he says.
You smile, teasing despite the ache. âThatâs a lot of commitment for someone who didnât think he was smart enough.â
He laughs softly, relief threading through it. âGuess I was wrong.â
The space between you closes naturally, like it always should have. When he kisses you, itâs gentle and sure and everything the letters promised, ink finally turning into something real.
You start seeing each other in stolen spaces. Your house, when your dad works late. The lake, when the sun dips low and the air turns cool enough to raise goosebumps on your skin. Quiet afternoons stretched thin, fingers laced together, Buckyâs shoulder always warm and steady against yours.
It's everything and not enough. Summer is running out, and you feel it in everything.
Rebecca notices first.
âYouâve been⊠distant,â she says one night, sitting cross-legged on your bed while you pretend to read. âDid I do something?â
Guilt hits hard and fast.
âNo,â you say quickly. Too quickly. âIâm justâstudying. Stressed about exams.â
She watches you for a long moment, unconvinced but trusting anyway. That almost hurts worse.
You hate lying to her. Hate the knot in your chest every time Bucky brushes his thumb over your hand in public and you have to pretend it means nothing. You start worrying less about getting caught and more about what this secrecy is doing to the most important friendship in your life.
Bucky wants to tell her.
âWe canât keep sneaking around,â he says one afternoon by the lake, voice low. âShe deserves to know.â
âI canât,â you whisper. âIf this goes wrong, I lose everything. I lose you. I lose her.â
He cups your face gently, thumbs brushing away the worry he hates seeing there. âYouâre allowed to want things too.â
You almost get caught a few days later.
Youâre coming up the steps of Buckyâs house, laughter still clinging to you from the walk home. He kisses you softly, unguarded, right as the front door opens behind him.
âBucky?â
Rebeccaâs voice. You spring apart so fast your heart nearly stops. You duck your head, pretending to retie your shoe while Bucky clears his throat.
âJustâwalking her home,â he says.
Rebecca squints but doesnât push. The door shuts. You donât breathe again until youâre halfway down the sidewalk. That night, you ask Bucky to meet you at the lake.
The decision tastes like grief.
âWe canât keep doing this,â you say, voice breaking. âWeâre going to hurt her.â
He steps closer. âYouâre hurting yourself trying to protect everyone else.â
Tears spill before you can stop them. âIâm sorry. I love youâbut I canât.â
He stills. âSay it again.â
âWhat?â
âThat you love me.â
âI canât,â you whisper, even as your hands clutch his shirt like they already know the truth.
He kisses you anyway, slow, aching, full of everything youâre afraid to lose. You cry into it, happiness and sadness tangling together in salt until you canât tell which is which.
âIâll tell her,â you say against his lips. âTomorrow. Justâplease. One more day.â
He nods. Always nods. Always chooses you. You go to the lake to swim that evening, laughing and splashing like kids again. The water glows orange under thes setting sun. Bucky lifts you out easily, sets you on the grass, his hands warm and worshipful, like heâs memorizing you.
The kiss that follows is deeper, unhurried, filled with promises neither of you says out loud. Bucky moves on top of you, holding his weight above you on one forearm as he moves his lips down your jaw and neck. Goosebumps prickle across your skin and a soft gasp slips past your lips when you feel his knee gently nudge your thighs apart, he pulls back to look at you and the sun hits his eyes, reflecting a blue so clear your heart nearly stops in your chest.
"Is this okay?"
You nod because words don't feel like enough, like they can't convey the ever churning tidal wave of love crashing over you again and again. He kisses you again and you let your hands wander, his skin still damp from the lake, letting your fingers glide over his chest and down to his abs with ease.
He rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed, as if the moment itself might be too bright to look at directly. This feeling that passes between you doesnât need language. It lives in the way his shoulders finally drop, in the way you whisper his name like a secret kept safely.
You tilt into him, drawn by gravity neither of you fight anymore. His hand settles at your waist, firm now, certain, anchoring himself as much as you. Like if he lets go, he might lose the proof that this is real, that heâs here, and wanted, and allowed to want back.
"Bucky," you breathe out, hips twisting and arching up into him. "Please."
His fingers drift from your waist to your thighs, tracing the damp string of your bathing suit bottoms. A shuddering breath leaving his lips when you push into his touch. He stops for a moment, pulling back to look at you one more time.
Your face is still flushed from the lake, the tears and the heat blooming in your chest.
"Please," you say, reaching up to pull his lips down to yours.
You kiss again and he melts into you like ice cream under the sun, sweetness spilling onto your lips as heat and want rush through your veins, it feels like a sugar high times a thousand. While you want to ride its bliss out until then end, your heart cracks at the thought that there is an end to this.
"What's wrong baby?" Bucky murmurs against your cheek, feeling your body tighten under his. "Listen we don't have toâ"
"No," you interuppt, shaking your head. "No it's not that I just⊠what if Rebecca doesn't want us to be together? What ifâŠ"
Bucky kisses you quiet, muttering your name across your lips. "Don't think like that, no matter what happens I'll always be yours, you'll always be my best girl."
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your voice a hoarse whisper. "But whatâ"
"Relax." He kisses the tear streaks off your face. "You're mine." Another kiss. "I'm yours. It's going to be okay."
Your mouth curves to argue but he kisses it shut again. "Relax, baby."
Your heart, mind and body are on three seperate tracks. Heart breaking for the fear that this is it, mind racing with a thousand possible outcomes for tomorrow, all while your body aches and pushes into his touch.
"Bucky," you whisper.
"Shh, just relax pretty girl, my pretty girl." Bucky kisses you like you're the only air his lungs need, his hands drifting back down your body, finding your drawstrings and pulling one side undone.
Your mouth falls open with a whisper of his name, legs trembling as he pushes his hand between them. He pulls the rest of your bathing suit bottoms aside, just enough to expose the heat that's been aching between your thighs.
His thumb brushes the seam of your cunt so gently its a wonder why you jump at the touch. His lips move down your neck and chest and kiss his mark into the skin. His broad fingers slowly stroking you, coaxing a new whimper and whine from your lips with each touch.
"That's it baby," he cooes, kissing down the valley of your breasts before moving to mark his teeth in the soft flesh of each one. "There she is."
With his thumb pressing tight little circles onto your clit you squirm and open for him all at once, hands digging into the towel shielded grass under you. A breathy and strangled whimper slips past your lips, body ignited into flames and quickly burning bright.
"Bucky-"
"I know, pretty girl." He drawls, kissing the pebbled skin of your nipple before dropping his middle finger down your slit, so slick with arousal he hardly meets any resistance as he slides it in. "My pretty baby, it's okay, let go for me."
"Oh god, Buckây," your hands shoot from the grass and dig into his shoulders, nails leaving behind crescent marks in his skin as white bleeds across your vision. Your thighs close and clench around his hand, hips rolling and bucking into him as you ride up and over the high of your orgasm.
When you finally catch your breath and blink the tears away, Bucky is looking at you like you've donned a halo, eyes glittering with something undescribable as he looks down at you.
"Just when I thought you couldn't get any prettier." He mutters under his breath, leaning down to kiss you before you can even think of a rebuttal.
Desire and need now course through your veins, quieting any figment of doubt in your mind as you kiss him back with fervent want. Your hands pull him flush against you, not bothering with the space needed to pull the rest of your swimsuits off, just rutting into him as he pulls himself from his shorts, the thick length poking into your thigh.
You shudder and his cock hasn't even come close to you, the weight of it brushing your skin making you whimper shamelessly.
"You keep relaxing for me baby," he hums, releasing himself from your needy hold to sit back on his haunches and take off the rest off your suits. "Gonna take real good care of my girl."
Bucky unties the other side of your suit and lets the fabric give way to you cunt, all the lake water has since dried on your skin save for the aching wet mess between your thighs. Your own cum coated across your lips and onto your inner thighs, shining in the growing moonlight. He teases you, sliding his cock between your dripping cunt, the tip bumping and rubbing your clit making you thrash and beg for more.
"Please Bucky, please god stop teasing me-" you whine, hips uselessly jutting up as he holds you down, watching your pussy flutter and clench on nothing.
"Breathe," he mutters, leaning over you until your noses brush, his forehead resting against yours like a promise. You folloe his words, taking in a breath unitl every sense is overrun with Bucky. The smell of his colonge not quite washed out by the lake, the sound of his stuttering breath, the stretch of him pushing deep inside, the look of his eyes locking with yoursâlooking at you like he's in heaven.
He's everywhere, tears sting at your eyes as you bask in it. In everything, in him, in the perfect summer you had, the love that now holds your heart for him.
Slow, deep thrusts roll into faster and deeper ones, sweat beading on your skin where lake water once sat, heat thrumming through your veins as pleasure rather than fear. Bucky's hands cover every inch of you, brushing your hair back, squeezing your thighs and holding them open under him.
"Feels so good pretty girl," he grunts, his lips at your neck. "So wet 'n tight for me, taking me so good."
Your body hangs on the edge of nirvana, each snap of his hips into yours accompained by a messy open mouthed kiss, teeth and spit smearing its way across your skin. He groans your name, feeling your thighs quiver and shake like before.
It sneaks up on your faster than before, a coil quickly winding itself low and deep within you only to be undone by his increasingly erractic thrusts, the only coherent words you can manage being the one thing that undoes Bucky himself.
"James,"
The wanton whipser of his name brushing his ears sends him over the edge right behind you, grunting a feral, mangled noise of your name, fucking you through both your highs until he loses control of his hips and comes to a low and slow stop.
For a while, you two are suspended in air, floating through the nigh without a course in mind. A soft exhale against your neck sends a shiver through you that has nothing to do with growing cold and brings you back down to earth. Being this close makes the rest of the world feel distant and unimportant.
You feel his lips brush your temple, soft and unrushed. Time seems to stretch, every second soft and silver under the moonlight. Bucky cleans you up the best he can, even tying your swimsuit back together before pulling you back into his arms.
When you finally lie together on the grass, foreheads touching, hearts still racing in sync, it feels like crossing a thresholdâlike something precious has finally been allowed to exist.
You tell Rebecca together.
You sit on the couch with your hands twisted in your lap, Bucky beside you, close enough that his knee presses into yours like an anchor. Rebecca stands at first, pacing, arms folded tight across her chest like sheâs bracing for impact.
You tell her everything.
About the pen-pal program. About the letters. About not knowing it was each other at firstâand how it didnât matter once feelings crept in anyway. About the fair. About the lake. About how hard you tried to do the right thing and how badly you failed at it.
Your voice shakes. You donât cry. Youâre too scared of what crying might do.
Rebecca is quiet for a long time. When she finally speaks, her voice is tight. âSo you just⊠lied to me.â
Before you can answer, Bucky moves.
âDonât,â he says gently but firmly. âDonât be mad at her.â
Rebecca snaps her head toward him. âYou donât get toââ
âI do,â he interrupts, not raising his voice, but grounding it. âBecause this was on me.â
You turn to him, startled. âBuckyââ
âI knew first,â he admits. âI put it together before she ever did. The locket. The letters. Her handwriting.â He swallows. âAnd I didnât say anything.â
Rebeccaâs anger falters, confusion cutting through it. âWhy?â
âBecause I knew,â he says quietly, âthat if you knew, sheâd choose you. Every time. No hesitation.â
Your breath catches.
âI was selfish,â he continues. âI wanted her to myself. Even if it was just for a little while. She wasââ His voice softens, eyes flicking to you. âShe is the best girl. My best girl. And I wasnât ready to give that up.â
The room goes still. Rebecca looks between you, really looks this time. The way Buckyâs shoulders curve slightly toward you. The way your hand has found his without you realizing it. The way neither of you looks guilty so much as terrified of losing her.
Her shoulders sag.
âThis isnât like before,â she says slowly. âYou know that, right?â
You nod immediately. âI know. I never wantedââ
âI know,â Rebecca cuts in, rubbing her face. âThose girls wanted him. You just⊠found each other.â
She exhales, long and tired. âIâm still upset. I wonât pretend Iâm not. You hurt me. Both of you did.â
Your chest tightens, but you donât look away.
âBut,â she adds, quieter now, âI can see it. I can see that you love each other, that this isnât a phase or a secret little thrill.â
Bucky nods once. âI love her. I wonât mess this up.â
Rebecca studies him, then you. Finally, she shakes her head with a small, reluctant huff. âGod. I canât believe this is how my life turned out.â
Then, pointing a finger between the two of you, she adds, âItâs okay. I mean it. But if I catch you sucking each otherâs face off in my kitchen, I will reconsider.â
You let out a shaky laugh, relief crashing over you so hard it almost knocks you sideways.
Bucky grins, unabashed. âFair.â
Rebecca rolls her eyes, but thereâs a ghost of a smile there too. âYouâre both idiots,â she mutters. âBut⊠youâre my idiots.â
And for the first time since summer began, nothing feels like itâs about to fall apart.
Fall comes in quietly. Not all at once, not with some dramatic announcement, just cooler mornings and leaves turning the color of old gold, the air sharpening around the edges. Summer slips away without a fight, and for the first time, you donât feel like youâre being left behind by it.
You and Bucky donât hide anymore.
He walks you home with his hand openly wrapped around yours. He waits for you after class, leaning against his car like he belongs there. At Rebeccaâs house, he kisses your temple without checking the doorway first, and when she groans dramatically from the kitchen, you both just laugh.
âTake it to literally anywhere else,â she calls. âIâm eating.â
Bucky grins and steals you away anyway.
School starts in earnest, and with it comes the familiar weight on your shoulders, but itâs lighter now, shared. You help Bucky with his classes in the evenings, notebooks spread across your bed or the kitchen table, your handwriting filling the margins with explanations and encouragement.
âOkay,â you say one night, tapping the paper. âRead the question out loud.â
He does, slow and deliberate.
âYou already know this,â you add gently. âYou just donât trust yourself.â
He looks up at you, searching your face. âYou really think that?â
âI know it.â
And he starts to believe you.
His grades improve again steadily, honestly. Not perfect, but real. When he brings home a test with a mark higher than he ever thought possible, he hands it to you like it might disappear if he holds it too long.
âYou did that,â he says.
You shake your head. âYou did.â
He presses a kiss to your forehead, reverent. âCouldnât have without you.â
Some evenings, when the work is done and the world feels too loud, you escape to the lake. Fall paints everything softer there. The water reflects the trees like a secret itâs keeping. You sit with your feet in the grass, leaning into Buckyâs side as he pulls a folded page from his jacket pocket.
âI wrote something,â he says, suddenly shy.
âYou always do,â you tease softly.
He reads anyway.
His voice is low and steady, words shaped by longing and growth and quiet hope. Poems about choosing to stay. About learning to believe in good things. About a girl who taught him that being seen doesnât have to hurt.
You listen like itâs a gift, because it is.
"So he stayed when instinct said run,
stayed when his hands began to shake.
He learned that hope is not a weaknessâ
itâs a risk you bravely take.
Now he believes in the quiet good things:
morning laughter, a hand held tight.
He believes that staying can be gentle,
that being known can feel like light.
Because a girl once taught his heart
a truth it never knew how to sayâ
that sometimes the bravest thing of all
is choosing, every day, to stay."
When he finishes, you donât clap or joke. You just rest your head on his shoulder and say, âThatâs my favorite one.â
He smiles, small and real.
As fall deepens, the pressure you once felt, that if you werenât excelling, you were nothing, starts to loosen its grip. You still work hard. You still care. But now, when you stumble, thereâs someone there to catch you before the fear takes hold.
One night, wrapped in blankets on the porch, Bucky murmurs, âYou know⊠I donât think Iâd have made it through this without you.â
You turn to him, serious. âYou wouldâve. You just didnât know it yet.â
He studies you, eyes warm in the glow of the porch light. âIâm really glad I found you anyway.â
You kiss him, slow and sure, leaves skittering across the ground around you.
The ending doesnât come all at once. It arrives gently, the way good things do.
Rebecca gets the job on a Tuesday.
She bursts into the apartment breathless, cheeks flushed, eyes bright in a way you havenât seen in a while. âI got it,â she says, like she doesnât quite trust the words yet. âIn the city. Full time. Benefits. Everything.â
You scream. Actually scream.
Youâre on her before she can brace, arms around her neck, jumping in place. Bucky laughs from the doorway, shaking his head as he steps in to join the chaos.
âI knew theyâd be stupid not to hire you,â he says.
She rolls her eyes, but sheâs smiling too hard to hide it. âYouâre both biased.â
Moving happens fast after that.
Boxes stack up. Clothes get sorted. Your childhood slowly folds itself into cardboard and tape. Rebecca packs her life into neat, labeled squares, ready for something bigger. You help where you can, sitting on the floor beside her, handing her things you forgot existed.
On her last night, the three of you sit cross-legged in the empty living room, takeout spread between you, walls echoing a little too much.
âYouâre really doing this,â you say softly.
âSo are you,â she replies, nudging your knee. âTiny apartment. Domestic bliss.â
Bucky pretends to wince. âHey. Itâs a nice tiny apartment.â
You laugh, then grow serious, turning to Rebecca. âPromise me something.â
She tilts her head. âWhat?â
âWrite to me,â you say. âLikeâreally write. Letters. Not just texts.â
Her eyes soften. âYouâre joking, right?â
âIâm not. Letters are important.â
She exhales a laugh, shaking her head. âOf course I will. You started a whole relationship with pen pals. Iâd be stupid not to.â
Bucky smirks. âSheâs not wrong.â
Rebecca stands, brushing imaginary dust off her jeans, and pulls you into a hugâtight, familiar, grounding. âWeâre not losing each other,â she murmurs. âWeâre just⊠expanding.â
You hold her a little longer than necessary.
The apartment you and Bucky move into is small. One bedroom. A couch thatâs seen better days. A kitchen where you bump into each other constantly.
Itâs perfect.
You unpack slowly, music playing, windows open to let the city noise in. You hang his poems on the fridge. He lines your books along the windowsill. At night, you fall asleep tangled together, listening to a life youâre building hum quietly around you.
On the first evening, boxes still half-open, you sit on the floor eating pizza straight from the box.
âHey,â Bucky says, watching you with that soft look that still surprises you. âYou happy?â
You look around. At the mess. At the future. At him.
âYeah,â you say, sure. âI really am.â
Somewhere in the city, Rebecca is unpacking too. And soon enough, a letter will come. But for now, this is enough.
Hi Kennedy! Kinda feeling a little angsty today and i had an idea for a blurb!
The classic tale of reader being Buckyâs best friend, Bucky starts dating an agent who is secretly mean to the reader whenever theyâre alone so no one is there to believe her if she ever tries to tell anyone. Reader starts pulling away slightly and of course Bucky notices but thinks maybe itâs just stress around the next mission or whatever.
On the next mission, reader, Buckyâs gf, Bucky, Sam, Nat, and Steve are all there and get split up into teams, leaving reader with Buckyâs gf and maybe Sam or Steve sees Buckyâs gf intentionally leave reader to fight alone knowing she would be outnumbered and before they can go to help, reader gets beat up pretty bad. So they get reader back to the compound and of course Bucky is flipping a fucking lid and then Steve or Sam tell him what happened and itâs a scene and when reader wakes up itâs apologies and love confessions and happy ending lol sorry this is so long Iâm just feeling the cliche angst vibes today
-đ
You almost convince yourself youâre imagining it.
Marnie Cross smiles at you in front of everyoneâpolished, sharp, all easy charm and knowing glances that make her look like she belongs beside Bucky. She laughs at Samâs jokes, trades strategy notes with Natasha, even asks you for your opinion like it matters.
But the moment youâre alone, something shifts.
The first time it happens, itâs so subtle you barely register it. A comment slipped under her breath while youâre grabbing gear.
âFunny,â she murmurs, eyes flicking over you, âhow he never shuts up about you. Youâd think heâd want something a little less⊠predictable.â
You blink, caught off guard. âWhat?â
She just smiles, sweet as anything, like she didnât say a word.
After that, it becomes a pattern.
Little things. Sharp things. Things no one else hears.
âYou know he only keeps you around because youâre familiar, right?â
âYou should see the way he looks at me when youâre not there.â
âYouâre not exactly hard to replace.â
Each one lands softer than a punch but sinks deeper.
And the worst part?
No one would believe you.
Because Marnie is perfect on paper. Efficient. Respected. The kind of agent people trust without question. And you⊠youâre just the best friend whoâs been around too long, maybe a little too close for comfort.
So you donât say anything.
You just start stepping back.
Itâs small at first. Sitting a little farther away during briefings. Letting conversations drift without jumping in. Skipping movie nights because youâre âtired.â Avoiding the way Buckyâs arm naturally drapes over the back of your chair like it always has.
He notices.
Buckyâs always been tuned into you in a way that borders on instinct, and it doesnât take long before his brows start to knit together every time you slip out of a room too early or dodge his questions.
âYou good?â he asks one night, catching you in the hallway.
âYeah,â you say quickly, offering a smile that doesnât quite stick. âJust tired.â
His eyes narrow slightly, not buying it. âYouâve been âtiredâ for like a week.â
You shrug, already stepping back. âMission coming up. Just in my head, I guess.â
He doesnât like that answer, you can tell. But Marnie calls his name from the common room, and the moment breaks.
You pretend not to notice how easily he lets himself be pulled away.
---
The mission is supposed to be straightforward.
Infiltrate. Extract intel. Get out.
You, Bucky, Sam, Steve, Natasha, and Marnie.
It goes sideways almost immediately.
Alarms blare. Footsteps thunder down corridors. The team splits on instinct, falling into smaller units to cover more ground.
You end up with Marnie.
For a second, you think maybe this is a chance to prove somethingâto smooth over whatever tension has been building, even if itâs mostly one-sided.
You move together down a dim hallway, backs to the wall, weapons raised.
âTwo guards ahead,â you whisper.
âI see them,â she replies.
You take one. She takes the other.
Clean. Efficient.
For a moment, it feels normal.
Then more footsteps echoâtoo many.
Your grip tightens on your weapon. âWe need to regroup.â
Marnie glances around the corner, assessing. âYou hold them here. Iâll circle around and flank.â
Your stomach twists. âThatâs notââ
âIâve got it,â she cuts you off smoothly, already stepping back. âTry to keep up.â
And then sheâs gone.
Youâre left standing there as fiveâno, sixâarmed men round the corner.
For a split second, you just stare after her, disbelief cracking through you.
She knew. She knew exactly how many there were, and she left anyway.
Thereâs no time to dwell on it.
You move.
You fight.
Youâve been in worse situations, you tell yourself. You can handle it.
But six on one is never a fair fight.
The first hit lands hard against your ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs. You recover, swing, drop one, but another comes from behind, slamming you into the wall. Pain sparks across your vision. You taste blood.
You keep going. You have to. But itâs too much.
A boot catches your knee. You go down. A fist cracks against your jaw. Your head snaps to the side, vision blurring.
Somewhere down the hall, thereâs shouting then gunfire.
Precise. Controlled.
The pressure around you disappears almost as quickly as it came.
You donât even see who takes the last shot.
Everything fades to black.
---
When you come to, itâs quiet.
The sterile hum of the med bay wraps around you, steady and unforgiving. Your body aches in places you canât even fully register yet, heavy and distant.
Thereâs a hand in yours.
Warm. Familiar. Bucky.
His head is bowed, shoulders hunched like heâs carrying something too heavy to hold. His grip tightens the second you shift.
âHeyâhey,â he breathes, voice rough, snapping upright. âYouâre awake. Doll, hey, look at me.â
Your eyes struggle to focus, but you find him eventually.
He looks⊠wrecked.
âYouâre okay,â he keeps saying, like heâs trying to convince himself. âYouâre okay.â
Your throat feels like sandpaper. âBuckâŠâ
He swallows hard, squeezing your hand. âIâm here.â
Thereâs movement behind himâSteve, Sam, Natashaâbut Bucky doesnât take his eyes off you.
And then Steve speaks, quiet but firm.
âSam saw what happened.â
The words hang in the air.
Bucky stills.
âWhat?â he asks slowly.
Sam steps forward, jaw tight. âMarie left her. On purpose. There were six guys and sheâshe just walked away, man.â
The room shifts.
You see it happen in real time, the moment the pieces click into place in Buckyâs mind. Every unanswered question. Every time you pulled away. Every âIâm fineâ that clearly wasnât.
His grip on your hand trembles.
âWhy didnât you tell me?â he asks, voice breaking in a way youâve never heard before.
You blink up at him, exhaustion pulling at you. âDidnât think youâd believe me.â
The hurt that flashes across his face is immediate and devastating.
âI always believe you,â he says, like itâs the simplest truth in the world. âItâs you. Itâs always been you.â
Your chest tightens.
âIâm sorry,â he adds quickly, shaking his head. âI shouldâve seen it. I shouldâveâGod, I left you alone with herââ
âBuck,â you interrupt weakly. âNot your fault.â
âIt is,â he insists, voice rising. âI was too busyââ He cuts himself off, jaw clenching. âSheâs gone. Nat dealt with it.â
Thereâs something final in that.
You donât ask.
You donât need to.
Silence settles again, softer this time.
Bucky leans closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours, his voice dropping to something fragile.
âI thought you were pulling away because you didnât need me anymore,â he admits. âI didnât think it was because I was letting someone hurt you.â
Your heart stutters.
âI could never not need you,â you whisper.
His eyes search yours, desperate, like heâs been waiting to hear that.
âYeah?â he asks, almost afraid.
You nod as much as you can. âYeah.â
Something in him finally breaks open.
âI love you,â he says, the words tumbling out like theyâve been trapped for too long. âI think I always have. I justâI didnât want to mess up what we had, and then sheââ He shakes his head. âDoesnât matter. You matter.â
Your breath catches.
Even through the pain, even through the haze, warmth spreads through your chest.
âTook you long enough,â you murmur, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at your lips.
He lets out a shaky laugh, relief flooding his features. âYeah. I know.â
His thumb brushes gently over your knuckles, grounding, careful.
âIâm not going anywhere,â he promises. âNot ever again. You donât have to fight alone. Not while Iâm here.â
You tighten your grip on his hand, holding on just as firmly.
âGood,â you whisper.
And this time, when your eyes drift closed again, itâs not from pain.
$ log - bucky barnes has a lot of feelings with no idea how to say them. you have a lot of anxiety and absolutely no idea what he means!
$ warn --sfw --gn!reader --soft!bucky --fluff
$ wc -w 1.7k
$ cd masterlist
$ echo "manager said it's wfh day tm!!!1!111!11" > authors-note.txt
$ vi dont-shoot-your-shot.txt (v1) dont-shoot-your-shot-v2.txt
Steve is gone before you finish turning around. You don't see him leave. One moment he's there and the next there is just an empty gym and the distant sound of someone who has decided this is not his problem anymore.
You turn back around. Bucky is standing next to the punching bag.
He'd been glaring â you'd clocked that much in your peripheral vision, the familiar weight of it, incident number thirty-something.
But the moment your eyes land on him something happens to his face that you don't have a category for yet. It goes through several things very quickly: the glare, then something that isn't the glare, then nothing. Then a very deliberate attempt at a neutral expression that doesn't quite land because he's already reaching out to punch the bag next to him with the energy of a man doing a completely normal thing he'd planned to do all along.
The punch is too light. He knows it's too light. He does another one, also too light.
You watch this for a moment.
Okay. You work with the Avengers. You have stood in rooms with people who could level buildings. You have completed extractions in active combat zones. You have done things that required considerably more nerve than walking across a gym floor and asking one man what your problem is. You can do this. You are doing this. You're going.
You go.
Across the gym, Bucky is having a separate but related crisis.
Say it, he thinks. Sam said say it. Sam said just say it, James, stop making it weird, it cannot possibly get weirder than it already is, so just âÂ
He watches you stand up straighter, watches you set your jaw the way you do when you've made a decision. He watches you start walking toward him, and every single prepared sentence he's spent four days constructing evaporates completely.
He straightens up, putting his shoulders back. He breathes out once through his nose.
Say it.
You stop in front of him. He's looking at you. You're looking somewhere around his collarbone because his face has always been the problem, the weight of it, and you can't look at it directly right now.
"I've been meaning to ask you something," you start.
"I need to tell you something," he says at the same time.
You both stop. He gestures, slightly, with one hand. You first. You shake your head. You first. He nods once, like accepting a mission parameter. Then there is a brief silence in which he appears to be locating something inside himself that doesn't come easily.
"I think about you," he says. "A lot. More than â " he pauses, seems to decide that more than is a road he doesn't know how to finish, and reroutes. "You're the first thing I think about in the morning. Most mornings."
You stare at him. Your brain does a fast, wrong translation.
"I'm sorry," you say.
Something moves across his face. "What."
"I'm sorry," you repeat, to his collarbone, "for whatever I did. I've been going over it and I can't figure out what, but clearly something â "
"That's not â " he stops, and tries again. "I wasn't saying that as a bad thing."
"Right," you say, in the tone of someone who absolutely does not believe that.
He looks at the ceiling for a moment and then looks back at you. Bucky plants his feet straight.
"When you're in a room," he says, slowly, carefully, like he's translating from a language he's still learning, "it's quieter. In my head. It's been loud for a long time and when you're around it â stops. That's not something that happens to me."
You are quiet for a moment.
"Is it the mug?" you say.
Bucky blinks. "What."
"I used your mug. The grey one. I washed it but maybe I put it back wrong or â "
"This isn't about a mug," he says, with great patience.
"The obstacle course?"
"No."
"I beat your time."
"I know."
"By four seconds, I know that probably â "
"I don't care about the obstacle course," he says. "I've never thought about the obstacle course. Please." He exhales, trying to find the thread again, somewhere. He does, and pulls on it. "I gave you my rifle," he says.
You go very still.
"I've never given anyone my rifle," he continues. "I want you to know that. I need you to know that, actually, because I think â " he stops, rebuilds. "I gave it to you because I wanted to. Because I trust you with things that matter to me."
The silence stretches long enough to be uncomfortable.
"Did I scratch it?" you say quietly.
"What â " he closes his eyes for just a second, before opening them. "No. You didn't scratch it. It's fine. You were â your shots were incredible, that's the â " he stops again.
Bucky's three sentences away from where he wants to be and he can't seem to close the distance. He looks at you. You're looking at the floor, tracing the edge of a panel with your eyes, and he's looking at the ceiling again, at the flickering light in the far corner that no one has fixed.
There are approximately four feet between you that feel considerably larger than that. He tries one more time.
"I like you," he says. Just that, flat and direct and stripped of all the scaffolding because the scaffolding isn't working. "I like you and I don't â I'm not good at this. I know I'm not good at this. But I needed you to know that the way I've been â it was never â it was always â " he stops and looks at you. "It was never a bad thing, what I feel. It's not a bad thing."
Something small and white walks into the gym. You both look down.
Alpine surveys the situation with the expression of a creature who has found two people being unnecessarily complicated about something very simple.
Swalks in a slow deliberate figure of eight between your legs, purring at a volume that seems unreasonable for her size. Something in your face does the thing it does when you're not performing anything.
"Oh," you say softly. "Hi. Hello, who are you?"
Alpine headbutts your hand with considerable force. You make a small sound. You are now entirely focused on the cat, which means you are no longer focused on your own hands, your own shoes, the specific floor panel you've been staring at.
So, youâre certainly not focused on Bucky, which is the only reason you miss what happens to his face when he watches you with her.
He crouches down.
"Hey, baby," he says, to Alpine, in a voice about forty percent softer than anything you've heard from him, and Alpine abandons you immediately to climb onto his knee. He lets her. He runs his hand down her back and she presses into it.
He exhales, quietly, and then â because he's down here, because it's a different angle, because he's spent weeks looking at you from across rooms and corridors and ridgelines but not like this, not close and low and quiet â he glances up.
The thought arrives before he can stop it. He'd looked at you from many angles. Across briefing tables, through scope lenses, from the other end of long corridors. But this one â you close, and soft, and unguarded, not knowing he's looking â this one was different. This one he thinks he'll carry for a while.
You reach down to pet Alpine. He catches your wrist.
Not hard â barely anything, just his fingers closing gently around it. You go still, and he turns your hand over slowly, pressing his lips to your palm. Quiet and certain. The way he does everything when he's actually sure of it.
You look at him.
He's already looking at you. That same look, the one that's been there for weeks in the corners of rooms and the edges of missions. Except now there's nothing between you and it. And thereâs no misconception or misunderstanding. Itâs just his face, open in a way you've never seen it, and the understanding of what you've been seeing this whole time settling into place all at once.
"I like you too, Buck," you murmur. Your eyes move over his face like you're still learning it, this version of it, the one he's been keeping underneath everything else. "I was scared I'd disappointed you. That's â that's why I couldn't look at you. I thought you were angry and I couldn't figure out what I'd done and I just kept â " you stop, almost laughing a little. "I kept waiting for it to get worse."
Something in his expression shifts â not pain exactly, but close to it, the specific kind that comes from understanding something too late.
"No," he says, quietly. "Never that."
Alpine climbs off his knee and sits between you both with the air of someone who has successfully managed a very difficult negotiation and would like to be acknowledged for it.
In the doorway, Sam stops walking, with Steve, two steps behind him, stopping also.
They stand there for a moment, looking at the scene across the gym â Bucky on one knee, your hand in his, Alpine between you, the particular quality of the quiet from this distance â
"Is he â " Steve starts.
"No," Sam says immediately.
"Sam, he's on one knee â "
"He's petting the cat, Steve â "
"He was petting the cat, now he's holding her hand â "
"That's not a proposal, that's a â "
"You told him to go talk to them and now he's on one knee holding their hand, Sam â "
"I told him to confess," Sam says, with great emphasis, "I did not tell him to propose, those are two entirely separate conversations that I very clearly delineated â "
Steve turns to look at him with an expression of profound betrayal. "You said you had it handled."
"I did have it handled. Look at them, Steve. It's handled."
Steve looks. The gym is very quiet from here. Bucky is saying something low that they can't hear, and you're laughing â actually laughing, the real one, not the polite one â and Alpine is sitting between you both like she planned the entire thing.
Something in Steve's face settles.
"...okay," he says, after a moment.
"Thank you."
"You're still an idiot."
"Absolutely," Sam agrees, and neither of them moves toward the exit yet, standing there a little longer in the doorway, not wanting to be the thing that breaks it.
$ tag @twentytomidnight @froggibus
$ vi dont-shoot-your-shot.txt (v1) dont-shoot-your-shot-v2.txt
$ log - a giddy, crushing bucky barnes spots you speaking with steve. he may or may not be jealous and gruelling from the sidelines!
$ warn --sfw --fluff --jealous-glaring!bucky --steve-is-trying-to-be-a-good-friend --you-just-wanted-answers
$ wc -w 1k
$ cd masterlist
$ vi dont-shoot-your-shot.txt (v1)
You find Steve in the gym, which in retrospect was a tactical error on your part. It just meant that you're both stuck there for the duration of this conversation and he's too polite to leave.
"I need to ask you something," you say, "and I need you to be honest with me."
Steve sets down his weights with careful energy; he already knows this is going to be a problem. "Okay," he says.
You tell him everything. The staring â eleven incidents, you specify, you have a document â the way it started at the coffee machine and then just never stopped, the elevator, the hallway, the stairs you've been taking specifically to avoid the elevator. Steve listens with his arms crossed and his face extremely neutral.
Itâs either the face of someone who has no idea what you're talking about or the face of someone who has every idea and is managing it carefully. You can't tell which, so you keep going.
Then you get to the rifle.
Steve's expression doesn't change, exactly, but something behind his eyes does a very quick calculation. "He gave you his rifle," he says.
"Five minutes before a mission. Grip first. No explanation."
"And you took it."
"What was I supposed to do, Steve?"
"No, no â " he waves a hand, "that was the right call." He says decisively, as he is absolutely not going to elaborate on why. You let it go. You get to the shooting range.
"He asked me to go," you say, "and I went, and it was â actually fine, it was genuinely fine, I had a good time." You pause. "But he kept smiling."
"Smiling," Steve repeats.
"Every time he hit a target, which was every time. Just â " you make a vague gesture, " â this small, private smile, like he was really pleased with himself, and I couldn't tell if he was showing off or warning me or â " you stop. "Is this a competition thing? Did I accidentally start a competition?"
Steve opens his mouth, glances briefly over your shoulder, and closes it again. When he looks back at you his expression has been carefully reset to something warm and unhurried. It wouldâve been more convincing if you hadn't just watched him do it in real time.
"It's not a competition thing," he says.
"Then what is the smile?"
Across the gym, Bucky has not moved in four minutes.
He'd come in for a workout, that had been the plan. The plan had been going fine until he'd seen you cross the floor toward Steve with the specific purposeful energy. Looks like you had something serious to say. So, now the plan is on hold indefinitely because you are talking to Steve, whoâs listening with his head tilted and his full attention.
All the while, Buckyâs standing next to the punching bag he has not touched once with his arms crossed and an expression that Sam would later describe, generously, as a little intense.
He canât exactly hear much from here, so he's not eavesdropping or anything. He just hasn't left yet. That's all.
He's simply still here, in this spot, not doing anything, watching Steve say something that makes you frown slightly and tilt your head. Heâs feeling something in his chest that he doesn't have a clean name for but sits somewhere between that should be me you're talking to and Steve, you better not be saying anything.
Steve glances over at him, pensive. Bucky does not alter his expression. Steve looks away.
"Honestly," Steve says, with the measured tone of a man picking his words like he's crossing a frozen lake, "that's justâ that's just how he looks sometimes. When he' â " another flicker over your shoulder, barely a second, just his eyes, and then back to you, and he looks for a moment like a man sending a very urgent telegram with his face, "â when he's comfortable. That's a comfortable expression for him."
"He looked like he was winning something."
"Heâ " Steve stops, exhales largely. "He was probably just having a good time."
"Steve."
"I genuinely believe that to be true," he says, and he does, technically, believe that to be true, which is why he's able to maintain eye contact while saying it.
He glances over your shoulder again, just for a fraction of a second, and whatever he sees there makes something in his jaw tighten. He looks back at you immediately. Smiles. It's a very good smile. He's been doing this a long time, youâre getting worried for Steve here.
"So the staring," you say. "Eleven incidents. That's justâ comfort?"
"Bucky's had aâ " Steve pauses, seems to reconsider the entire sentence, and rebuilds it from scratch. "He's still working on how he is around people. Around certain people especially." He nods slightly, just once, like he's making a point. You're not sure what the point is. "Sometimes that looks different than you'd expect."
"It looks like surveillance."
"It's not surveillance."
"How would you know?"
"Because I know him," Steve says, with a patience that is very slightly strained at the edges now, "and I'm telling you it's not surveillance." He glances over your shoulder for the third time and this time doesn't quite manage to get his expression back in order before he turns to you again. There it is â just for a second â something that looks almost like a man trying not to visibly panic.
You know that look. You've seen it on people right before they tell you something is directly behind you.
The gym feels very quiet all of a sudden.
"Steve," you say slowly.
"Mm," says Steve.
"He's right behind me, isn't he?"
Steve says nothing. His expression says everything. You do not turn around.
# fic inspo:
$ tag @twentytomidnight @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger
Summary: the aftermath of a breakup (inspired by âhappierâ by olivia rodrigo)
Warnings: angst, poly relationship, NSFW, semi-smut, mentions of sex, oral sex (f receiving), breath play, cheating? (maybe), steve being a big softie, MINORS DNI
Word Count: 3.2k
A/N: here is part three to this fic, Iâm really excited about where the story is going Hope you enjoy! -savaÂ
Summary: the aftermath of a breakup (inspired by âhappierâ by olivia rodrigo)
Warnings: angst, poly relationship, major sadness, slight smut
Word Count: 1.9k
A/N: Iâve been really into stucky x reader fics lately and Iâve noticed that there arenât a lot of angsty fics that donât involve one of the members of the relationship being injured or stubborn on a mission, SO, here is something different when talking about stucky x reader angst fics, but nothing new when talking about my angsty fics. Enjoy!- sava
Authors note: June Jukebox Scribbles event. You asked for it! đ
June 11th - Little Bitty Pretty One - Thurston Harris / âLittle bitty pretty one, Come on and talk-a to meâ
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Warnings: suggestive, nothing explicit
Word Count: 300
Summary: Bucky has very vivid imagination when it comes to his cute neighbour, but the walls are paper thin and suddenly you're standing on his treshhold...
PART I
EVENT MASTERLIST
Heat floods Buckyâs face. He opens his mouth, searching for something that might salvage the situation.
âWhat? Fuck!â is all he manages, as he drags a palm over his face. His stomach drops somewhere near his boots and every useful thought promptly packs its bags and leaves.Â
And if your smile is any indication, his suffering must be remarkably entertaining.Â
Before he can gather what's left of his dignity, you take a step closer.Â
Bucky yields the space automatically and steps back, then again and again. By the time it occurs to him what he's doing, he's somehow surrendered the entire doorway and retreated halfway into his apartment without putting up so much as a token resistance.Â
You reach him and place a hand against his chest. The touch is light, barely there, it still feels for him like being struck by lightning.
You push him aside and walk past him into the apartment as though you've been invited.
The door clicks shut behind you.
"Youâre such a little bitty pretty one," you murmur, as though you aren't nearly a foot shorter than him.
A strangled sound escapes your handsome neighbour, and his face somehow manages to turn an even deeper shade of red.
You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.
God, he's so adorable.
You trail a finger down the front of his faded red henley.Â
Bucky's breathing stutters. He can feel it and thereâs nothing he can do about it. His cock thickens and hardens in his pants, straining blatantly against the fabric and there is no chance of hiding it.Â
"Come on and talk to me," you tease softly. âTell me what you are thinking about?â
Buckyâs throat bobs. Table, his mind supplies frantically, no, the back of the sofa⊠fuckâŠ
All my stories are R18. IÂ write smut, and I may touch sensitive topics or topics that are not intended to be read by minors.
YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN CONTENT CONSUMPTIONS.
Masterlist
Pairing: Mob! Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
Warning/Tags: MOB AU, Fluff, Light Angst, Emotional Cheating, Reader is in a shitty relationship.
Word count: ~4.1k
Summary: After a night with Bucky, you realize you can't keep lying to yourself and the way you feel about him.
Author's Note: Here she is! I'm having the worst day of my month, so you can have this as a reward for me. lol. Enjoy this part 2, and again... we all can say this can have even more parts hehe.
thank you as always to my babiesss @kileyking @herejustforbuckybarnes @w1nter-fairy for betareading and proofreading <3
âSummersâ Cottage.â
The pretentious name on the threshold made you shiver.
Scottâs family always invited you to the cottage in the Hamptons every six months, but this was the first time you werenât sure if you felt comfortable going. Between Banner asking you to stay at home to avoid problems, Barnesâ silence, and now your conflicting feelings towards him.
You were walking from his truck to the main entrance, where his parents waited for you.
His mother called your name as she hugged you. âWeâre so happy youâre here!â
You smiled and hugged her back, âScott told me you have a lot of plans ahead.â
âYou have no idea, this weekâs gonna be amazing!â
âMr. Summers.â You looked at his father, and he hugged you immediately.
âWhen are you gonna stop calling me that? Itâs been years.â
You shrugged your shoulders, âI donât think I can stop.â
Some kind of tension in the air could be felt. They were explaining the plans for the week while you looked around, only thinking about what Bucky could possibly be doing.
In the middle of the dinner, your phone rang. You peeked and noticed his name lighting up your screen.
âWhoâs it?â Scott furrowed, and you shrugged.
âOh⊠Uh⊠Work.â You lied, standing up, âIâll be back in a minute.â
You walked upstairs and hid yourself in your room.
âHi, sunshine.â His voice came weary through the phone.
âOh, James. You got me all worried.â You hurried to answer.
âWhere are you?â You could hear a hurt tone in his voice.
âHow do you know Iâm not at home?â
âDo you really think I didnât ask Banner to take care of you?â
âFair point. Iâm in the HamptonsâŠâ
âStill with Scott, huh?â
âYeah⊠this was planned.â
âHoney, you donât have to excuse yourself with me. I donât care if youâre with him or notâŠâ
You didnât want to take it to heart, but his tone came harshly, and you felt guilty. You were trying to find words to answer, but you remained silent.
âNo⊠Fuck⊠Iâm sorry, sweetheart. I didnât want to make it sound like that.â
âItâs fine⊠James⊠Can we talk later? I was in the middle of the dinner.â
He growled.
âIâll see you when I get back to the city.â
âSee you, James.â
You got back to the table, and they were back to talking about business.
âEverything alright, babe?â Scott placed his hand on your leg as you sat.
âAll fine. The new girl is still adapting.â You smiled wryly.
âThey should be ready for your leaving.â His mother spoke, âItâs gonna be soon. They need to be prepared.â
âHuh?â You tilted your head. âIâm not planning on changing jobs soon.â
Scott coughed, trying to ease the tension.
When the night ended, the words of your mother-in-law were now imprinted on your mind. You have never told anyone you were even thinking about leaving your job. Yes, you hated it with a special heat, but that didnât mean you wanted to leave.
Scott had blacked out in bed, and you stood up to take a walk in the cottageâs garden. When you crossed his fatherâs studio, you could hear his voice coming from there. He was talking with his wife.
âWell! I didnât know she was planning to keep that shitty job after the weddingâŠâ She mumbled through her teeth.
âMaybe she doesnât know he wants to propose⊠Maybe heâs not even planning on proposing soon⊠Maybe we misunderstood.â
Your world fell to your feet immediately.
You were about to break up with him⊠and he was planning on proposing?
You decided to stop eavesdropping and walked towards the door. The air outside was thick and humid, and your skin felt sticky.
Then, his name showed up again on your screen.
âHi, James.â You answered immediately.
âSomeoneâs waiting for you at the back entrance. You got ten minutes before he goes and knocks on the door.â
âWhat?â
âTen minutes. The clock is ticking.â
He hung up, and you decided not to waste any minute. You knew him. You knew he was not lying. Now, your short and revealing pajama set felt completely inappropriate as you ran to the back door of the villa, your bare feet hurt from the feeling of the ground and the garden.
When you arrived, a black car waited for you. There, Clint, with a fed-up expression, opened the back door for you to get in.
The gate creaked as you opened it, but it was too far to be heard by anyone in the main house.
âGood night, Clint.â
âNight.â He answered, not even looking at you.
It was partly out of respect, partly out of being mad for having to do this.
âWhere are we going?â
He didnât answer.
âIs he mad?â He growled, âClintâŠâ
âNot with you if thatâs your question.â
âOhâŠâ
âIs he fine?â You were now worried.
âHe will be.â
The drive was short. The cottage was big, not as big as you could think a property of a made man should be.
Clint parked out of the main entrance and walked you through the house to an office in the back of the place.
âHeâs there⊠Just⊠Be readyâŠâ He opened the door and stepped aside.
âThank you, Clint.â
You walked in, and your barefoot steps echoed through the room. He was sitting on a chair with his back to the door.
âJames?â You mumbled.
He turned around, and you finally noticed his face. His cheekbones were completely shattered, his lips were busted, and some dry blood stained his face.
âWhat the hell happened to you?â
He drank from a glass, âOccupational hazardsâŠâ
âNo, those are notâŠâ You grunted and went back to the doors, âClint?â
He opened the door immediately and looked at you, âYes?â
âYou have something to clean up his wounds?â
He chuckled and nodded.
You were facing the door, waiting for him as he came back with a first aid kit.
âThank you, Clint.â
You walked towards him, and he had remained silent since you turned your back on him. You sat on the desk in front of him and leaned in to start cleaning his wounds.
He was grunting, gripping the mahogany desk you were sitting at.
âYou donât have to do this,â he mumbled, âSweetheart, I was an asshole earlier.â
You shook your head and took more alcohol, dampening the cotton.
âThisâ gonna hurt, James.â
He chuckled, âProbably not as much as it hurt when it happened.â
âWanna tell me what happened?â
âNot really.â
âFair.â
You were looking at his eyes, those blue eyes kept you completely out of your right mind. What were you doing in a mobâs vacation home when you were supposed to be sleeping next to your⊠apparently future husband?
âFuck it,â He took you by your waist and made you sit on his lapâyou were sitting on just one leg, but something inside made you move your legs to straddle him. His hands gripped your waist, and you turned around to dampen the cotton again.
âLook at this. Tell me the man who did this isn't still alive?â You furrowed when you were finally able to clean a blood stain on his cheek.
âHe wishes he were notâŠâ
âOk⊠Ok⊠Stop⊠I donât know why I asked thatâŠâ He chuckled.
Furrowing and whining, he gripped your waist while you finished cleaning him up.
âAnd now, look at you. As beautiful as always.â
âJamesâŠâ The tone in your voice was pathetic.
âLet me do the talk first.â He begged, âI was an asshole, and Iâm tired of pretending that I donât care that youâre still with Scott, and knowing youâre there with him⊠itâs killing meâŠâ
âThatâs why you came all your way here?â
He nodded.
âJamesâŠâ You sighed, âI think Iâm getting married.â
He choked on his own saliva, âThe fuck you mean?â
âHis parents were talking about me quitting my job, and then I eavesdropped, and they were talking about him proposing or something like thatâŠâ
âAnd do you want that, sunshine?â
You shook your head, âBut I think thatâs next⊠Isnât it?â
âNot necessarilyâŠâ His hand found a strand of hair and tucked it behind your ear. âWell, then... If I know you well... This could be one of the last times we see each other, right?â
âWhy would you think that?â
âBecause Iâm about to do thisâŠâ His hands cupped your face, and he kissed you like he was starving, like your lips were the last meal he was ever going to have. Your fingers grasped his suit, without realizing that you pulled him incredibly closer, you were panting as his tongue found yours and made you wish this could last forever.
âAnd a sweetheart like you would never engage in something like this while being married.â
A tear left your eye.
âNo⊠No⊠Donât⊠Fuck⊠Donât cry, sweetheart. Donât do this to me. Youâre gonna kill meâŠâ
âI donât want to get married, JamesâŠâ You whined.
He stroked your hair and placed you in the crook of his neck, âYou know you donât have to, right?â
A knock on the door startled you both.
âItâs time,â Clint claimed from the other side of the door. You looked at him, tilting your head.
âI knew we werenât going to be able to decide to bring you back home on time, so I asked Clint to do it for us.â
You pursed your lips and nodded. Carefully, he took you off his lap and walked you to the door.
âWhen are you coming back?â You turned to face him.
âIâll be there when you get back if you still wanna see me when you get back.â He ticked his jaw.
You stood on your feet and kissed him on the cheek. âDonât get in too much trouble.â
He scoffed, âSame to you.â
The way back home was silent. When he parked in the same spot where he had picked you up from, you looked at the big house.
âThey havenât woken up. Someone has been checking up.â You nodded.
âClint, can I ask you something?â You looked at him through the rearview mirror.
âGo ahead.â
âWhat is this with Bucky and I?â He turned around, looking at you.
âIf you are asking me if heâs interested in you, I think you know the answer.â
A note of his perfume still lingered on your clothes, and the earlier kiss still burned your lips.
âAnd is it real?â
He shrugged. Men in this field didnât have the privilege of finding a woman like you, who was not interested at all in their money and power, but at the same time, he knew well Bucky at this point, and he knew he was capable of doing anything for you⊠For the best and the worst.
âItâs time for you to go, they havenât woken up, and youâre still on time to sleep at least a few hours.â
âGood night, Clint.â
âNight.â He waited for you to walk into the house.
The morning had been hurriedâyou noticed how Scott kept avoiding you, and the more he did it, the more nervous you got. You didnât want to get to the point where he was going to ask you to marry him, and now you had on your shoulders the kiss you and Bucky had shared earlier.
You were sitting in front of the mirror while you put your makeup on when Scott arrived and sat on the couch next to you. You noticed he was nervous; he was not even looking you in the eyes as he always had before. His hands kept toying with his fingers.
âItâs everything alright, Scott?â He shook his head.
âPromise me you wonât get mad.â
âHuh?â You put down the brush, âWhy would I get mad?â
âI know this is not⊠the best moment to do it⊠but⊠I think this isn't going anywhere anymore.â He hurried to say.
You were trying to wrap your mind around the word that had just come out of his mouth.
âCome again?â
He sighed and stroked his hair. âI know it's a bit impractical to do it this way, but you love these trips, and you were so excited about seeing my parents, and they love youâŠâ
You were seeing red. Your mouth was sealed in a line.
âWhy would you invite me to a whole fucking weekend at your parentsâ cottage just to break up with me halfway through?!â You shouted.
âI know⊠But I just realized I donât feel the same about you anymore⊠This feels wrong but⊠I want you to have a good last weekend here⊠and we could keep it a secret till we go back home!â
You stood up.
âAre you being serious?â
âYeah⊠I mean⊠We can skip the touching⊠Unless you want itâŠâ
There were not enough words in your dictionary to respond to the nonsense he was saying.
âYou know you're a piece of shit, right?â
You grumbled and stood up, starting to pack up your things.
âWhat⊠What are you doing?â
âPacking up, don't you see?â You motioned, âI'm not staying to help you keep up your image.â
He chuckled. Cynically. That mocking laugh that always made you mad.
âAnd how do you think you're leaving?â
âOh, you don't have to worry about meâŠâ
âMy parents are not taking you back home.â
âIâm not saying that.â
Once he noticed he was not receiving any responses he left your shared room. You kept packing up until you had everything in your suitcase. When you finally found your suitcases all done, you took your phone out.
His number was the last in your call log.
Not even a second ring had sounded when he answered.
âIâll be there in an hour. Time enough for you to pack up?â
âIâve already packed up.â
âBack entrance?â
He joked.
âWhat about a main entrance meeting?â
A small chuckle could be heard on the other side of the line.
âTwenty minutes, Iâll be there for you.â
âSee you in a minute, James.â
No one was to be seen, and you took your suitcases to the main entrance. You logged in the PIN to open the gate, and then, a black Audi arrivedâostentatious, pretentious.
Buckyâhimselfâgot out of the car; black suit, face healing, woodsy scent filled up your lungs even from a distance. He stood still and stoic in front of you.
âMorning?â You smiled shyly.
âIs that all?â He tilted his head when he saw the three suitcases.
âIt was a full week trip!â You whined. He shook his head and started to load his trunk while you remained silent.
And then, you finally came to a realization.
âJames⊠How did you know where to find me?â You crossed your arms on your chest.
âAre you really asking me that?â He was organizing the suitcases in the truck. You nodded. âWell, one call and I found the address.â
âAnd why did you come today, and didnât send Clint again?â
âI thought you needed me more than Clint.â
âGood call.â You smiled.
âWhere the fuck do you think you are going?!â Scott's voice came loud from the entrance. Bucky smiled mischievously.
âJames. Donât.â You stopped him by his chest, âLet me take care of it.â
He sighed and kept going with your belongings.
âWhere the fuck do you think youâre going, and who the hell is this idiot?â
Bucky didnât even bat an eye at him.
âHeâs a friend. Heâs taking me home.â Bucky chuckled and shut the trunk.
He walked like a gazelle to your side. He didnât touch you; he just remained by your side, letting you handle the situation.
âYouâre not fucking leaving⊠I told you you were going to wait till the end of the week.â He tried to yank you by the waist, but Bucky was faster and gripped Scottâs waist to push him.
You knew Scott was not an aggressive man, but you also knew he depended on his parentsâ money, and he had been on a tight line for months, and he was about to lose everything as soon as they knew you were leaving.
âScott, itâs for the best.â You pulled Bucky back and put yourself in the middle of them both. âJames, go to the car.â
There was no living man who had ordered Bucky to do anything. And there you were, asking him to restrain himself from defending you.
âI prefer to stay.â His gravelly voice made Scott take a step back, âBut Iâm gonna stay aside.â
âNow, Scott. Your parents are a second away from coming. Do you really want them to know why I left? âCause Iâm completely ready to tell them whatâs going on.â
âAre you cheating on me with him?â The cynicism in his tone was completely unbelievable.
âHeâs just a friend.â You used the exact tone he had used with you every time you confronted him.
Bucky scoffed a laugh. âSunshine, we need to leave. I have some things to do.â
You nodded and patted Scottâs chest. âIf you need to blame me to try to keep your parents happy, just tell them I cheated⊠Or whatever makes you feel happy. Iâm removing my name from the lease, and Iâll be leaving as soon as possible. You wonât see me at the apartment when you come back.â
âOh, you are gonna leave?â He chuckled, âAnd how are you gonna do that?â
âWell, as you said, every time your parents removed their help from you, I always find my way to solve problems⊠So, Iâll find my way again.â
The open door was waiting for you, and Bucky offered his hands to help you get in. Then, he walked directly to his door. âNice to meet you, Scott. Iâm the way.â
Heat crawled to your cheeks when you saw Scottâs jaw drop to the floor.
âJames!â You scolded him, and he just laughed.
He was talking on the phone while you typed on yours, trying to contact your landlord. You wanted to solve everything as soon as possibleâeven more when you thought about going back to him just to keep the peace.
âYes. That address.â Bucky talked to his phone. âUh⊠at least four men, I need that to get done today.â
"Do you have pets?â He talked to you.
âNo?â You answered doubtfully.
âNo pets. Yeah. Iâll send you the list of things.â
He hung up and handed you his phone.
âSend a text to that last dialed number with the things you need to take.â
âI⊠donât⊠We donât own too much. Most of the furniture was bought by his parents⊠Maybe just my clothes? I donât care for the furnitureâŠâ
You started texting them a list of your things. When you finally finished typing everything, you gave him back his phone.
âNow⊠Do you wanna tell me what happened?â He was driving, but his hand found your leg, his thumb traced circles in your thigh; it was delicate, more like a tender gesture.
âApparently⊠Scott was not going to proposeâŠâ
Buckyâs jaw clenched.
âAnd then?â
âHe broke up with me⊠and he expected me to stay the whole week to keep pretending we were a couple in front of his parents.â
âWhy?â
âHis parents have been threatening for years to stop the support because he canât hold a job⊠I was the most stable thing he hadâŠâ
âLook at him. Losing the only good thing he had.â
A twitching smile showed on his lips.
âNow⊠Where are we going?â
âWell⊠Your favorite person is waiting for you at my place. Iâll go and handle some things, and then Iâll bring your things to your new place.â
âJames⊠Iâm not living with you.âYou hurried to interrupt, and he chuckled.
âAs much as I wished that was real, Iâm gonna find you a nice place, and you will be living there.â He looked at you, âBesides⊠Who do you think I am? Iâm gonna let you take your time, and when youâre ready, Iâm gonna take you on the most beautiful dates and give you flowers⊠Iâm gonna show you what a real man can do.â
âYouâve already done that for the last few months⊠Whatâs gonna be the difference?â
âI was respecting that you were a taken lady⊠Now youâre completely free to fall in love with me.â
âOh, you were respecting that?â You mockingly asked, raising your eyebrow.
âOh, sheâs got jokes now.â
You chuckled and finally held his hand. For the first time in months, it didnât feel wrong to touch him; it felt like it was meant to be, and you loved the fact that he never crossed any boundary you had set previously. He was a powerful man; he couldâve had everything he wanted, but even he knew he had to fight for you. He had to fight to have a real place in your life, and he was willing to take every step to fit in your life.
âJamesâŠâ
You interrupted his thoughts.
âMhm?â
âYou need to promise me youâre not gonna do anything against Scott.â
He furrowed. âWhy not?â
ââCause itâs over. We donât need to do anything else.â
âIf he starts bothering you, Iâm gonna do something about it.â
âDeal.â He smiled.âSo⊠My Natâs waiting for me at home?â
âHomeâŠâ He thought. He loved the way you called his house âhomeâ. Even if you had been there just once, he knew you knew that it was completely yours to possess.
âYour Nat?â A fake tint of jealousy could be heard.
âMy Nat. Thatâs my Nat.â You claimed proudly. And he knew you were only teasing.
âDonât make me question if I still want her on my side, because now Iâm not gonna feel safe leaving you alone with her.â
âOh⊠you werenât joking?âYour voice changed immediately; he noticed you were disappointed.
âWhat do you mean?â
âAre you really gonna leave?â
âWell... I was... But that voice makes me want to leave everything a mess and just hug you to my chest as soon as we get home.â
âThat would be nice.â You admitted.
âCan you accept that I leave you with Nat for a little bit while I take some calls⊠and then Iâll be all yours.â
âI thought you were already all mine?â
He grunted. âDonât make me question my decision of forgetting Iâm respecting your time to heal.â
You lifted your hands in fake surrender.
When you finally got to his place. He made you wait and opened your door for you. At the main entrance, Natasha was already waiting for you. When you were about to run at her, he stopped you by the wrist.
âHave a great evening, and Iâll see you tonight.â
You nodded and smiled, âPromise you wonât arrive as beaten as I found you last night?â
âIâll try my best.â You nodded and tiptoed, cupping his face with your hands.
Your fingers traced shapes in his cheeks. When you gathered enough courage, you kissed him fearlessly. His hands found your waist and embraced you, just to cup the back of your neck, his tongue found yours like he was starving.
And he felt like he was.
He had been waiting for this moment since the first time you kissed his cheek in farewell.
And now that he had you in that exact place, he was enjoying how soft your velvety lips felt, how your breath hitched with every grip of his hands.
âJamesâŠâ You mumbled between kisses. âPlease tell me youâre coming back.â
âWhat are you even talking about? Iâm finally able to touch heaven with the tip of my fingers by kissing youâŠâ He pecked your lips, âIâll be back, my sunshine.â
âWhenâs my turn?â Natasha teased, getting closer to you.
âFuck you, Natasha.â Bucky flipped her off.
You giggled and looked at her. Bucky was still holding you by your wrist, and now your hands rested on his arms.
âBe glad that I know you would never betray me.â
You shook your head, âWe will be fine, James.â
He didnât waste any chance he got and kissed you again. âI need to get going, I think itâs the third time we've tried to say goodbye.â
You created a distance and decided to walk to Natasha, who greeted you with a hug and a tight grip to keep you by her side. You waved bye at him, and finally, he left to run some errands.
Prompt: "Jump (For My Love)" - Pointer Sisters// "I know you like what you see"
Pairing(s): Reader/Bucky
w/c: 430 (oops)
Warnings: obsession, voyeurism(not in the way you'd expect), teasing, civilian!reader, avenger!bucky.
a/n: ahhh i love this prompt! and thank you @societysoelsscribbles for hosting this challenge!
You are beyond interested, you're obsessed.
Bucky Barnes, the only Howling Commando to give his life for his country... and then come back to life 70 years later looking the exact same?
Yeah, the math isn't exactly clicking for you, but you care less about the how or why, when you can focus on the who.
You have an apartment, in Upstate New York, and it just so happens that your window gives you an unobstructed view... right into one James Buchanan Barnes' window, which he leaves open even while he changes.
So, maybe you have a bit of a problem, but god, you just can't help yourself.
He's right there, he has no idea that you exist, and you get to see this man in all his glory every day.
Speaking of, you just woke up. It's 06:15, which means Bucky has been up for an hour.
Crud.
You really hope you didn't miss it, as perverse the thought is.
You, not so stealthily, creep to your window and use your phone camera to zoom in(because while you have an unobstructed view, the view is still a good dozen acres away). You bite your lip, feeling a mix of guilt and pure longing as Bucky steps perfectly into view, his muscular back to you, and his long hair covering his pretty face.
Turn around, you think, heart pounding. You don't even know I'm here.
Now of course, Bucky knew someone had been watching him.
He isn't a super soldier for nothing.
But what he didn't expect, was to like the attention.
As dirty as it is, as sinful as it is...
he just wants to feel wanted.
He wants to be admired.
He wants to be touched with a gentle hand instead of being treated like a weapon.
He's a man too, under all that tough soldier.
He's a man, and he knows a woman is watching him, and for some inexplicable reason, he revels in that knowledge.
So, turning slowly, he lets his button-up shirt fall open and reveal the deep contours of his torso, littered in fading scars and birthmarks.
He looks out through the window, a devastatingly slow smile spreading across his face as he catches the glint of a phone camera, and he waves.
"I know you like what you see."
The other window shuts their curtains quickly, and Bucky chuckles softly as he turns back around and finishes changing his clothes.
This isn't the last I'll see of her, Bucky thinks to himself before opening his door and starting his day.
âȘ Prompt | Somebody That I Used To Know - Gotye | âWhen you said we would still be friendsâ
âȘ Warnings + Tags | Fluff, misunderstanding, reader is dramatic af
âȘ Phoenix Chirps | I don't even know you guys. Just laugh along with me, please
âȘ Word Count | 297
âź Prev | Masterlist ⯠Event Masterlist | Next â
You [9:32 pm]
i know you're on stage rn
don't care tho
You [9:33 pm]
you promised
looked me in my eyes and said that we would still be friends
Another hit of anger mixed with frustration smacked against your ribs as memories of promises that were not kept swam into your vision.
You [9:34 pm]
lying dickhead
With that, you tossed your phone onto the small coffee table littered with snacks, empty beer bottles, and a few ash trays.
You heard it buzz once, knocking against a glass bottle, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. A headache was settling deep behind your eyes from being so misled by someone you thought cared for you.
"Baby," you heard the muffled voice from somewhere above the pillow you had placed over your eyes against the harsh florescent lights.
You grunted in response, waving a blind hand in the direction of the voice.
The pillow was yanked from your head in the next second, your sound of protest now filling the small green room.
"Lying dickhead?" your boyfriend, Bucky Barnes, and drummer of the band that just played a sold out show in Madison Square Garden whispered dangerously. His phone with the text messages you sent in anger held within an inch of your nose.
You drew your lips in, determined not to laugh at your own dramatics. "You ate the last of the peanut butter cups." As if that was a good enough excuse to text him a string of messages while he played the show of his life.
A long suffering sigh left his chest as he looked to the heavens for help.
"Baby," he said again, slower this time, and slotting himself between your thighs. "Let me make it up to you."
