summary Bucky loves dates with you. Bucky loves spending time. Bucky loves the domesticity that comes with it. Bucky loves you. But when things come to sex?
warnings fluff; wayyy too much fluff; soft!bucky; misunderstanding; comfort; date night; fun; insecurity; resolved problems.
author's note I had to write this. I'm feral for Bucky, yes. But I do think Bucky as a character would experience in his relationshipâif he ever has one. So, here it is.
I'm always open to criticism. love-love.
previous fic; series
>1k
Your laughter echoed through the kitchen, flour-covered hands clutching your stomach as you watched Bucky's face drip with sauce.
You had been trying to make pizza. And Bucky had very confidently snatched the bottle of tomato puree from your hands, shaking it in his metal hand like a professional bartender.
Until the loose lid toppled on the floor with a loud clank, and the liquid fell all over the poor guy's face.
"Will you help me instead of just laughingâ", he groaned and dragged his palm over the mess, the globs of red falling to the wooden floor in a puddle. You shuffled over, your movements careful and steady to avoid dirtying your feet, and reached out with the hem of your apron.
"Aww, my poor boyfriend", you cooed mockingly, burst of giggles still slipping past your lips, no matter how hard you tried. Finally, under his glare, you muffled them all, peering up with amused eyes twinkling mischievously.
You leaned up on the tips of your toes, giving him a quick kiss on the stained stubble. Your beam was admiring and loving, but Bucky was too embarrassed to mirror and romance.
"JustâShut up!", he frowned in that adorable way a big, beefy man like him technically wouldn't. Aggressively scrubbing his face with water, he again returned to the counter.
"Anyways", he grumbled lowly, clearly annoyed, "What does Lucy say next?"
Clearing your throat and forcing away any lingering snickers, you replayed the YouTube tutorial.
"Mix whatever's left of the puree and the sauce we made earlier. And then, apply it to the bread."
"You're not helping at all", you muttered with a pout, head tilted to the side to let Bucky rest his heavy chin on your shoulder. He only hummed, the sound vibrating against your skin.
"I like my girlfriend like this. And we saw what happened when I tried."
You only sighed at that, pretending to not enjoy how clingy he was. You garnished the pizza with some basil and oregano, totally into the act of an actual chef.
"Wanna have the first bite?", you turned your head just enough for your noses to brush. He scrunched up his face at the sudden contact, then slowly melted to boop yours once. His smile was small, soft, and so genuine.
"Nah, let my pretty girl have it."
"I can't decide on which of you two is cheesier", you spoke with a mouth stuffed full of pizza, the sticky, melted cheese smudged under your lip and crumbs lingering all over.
The sight only made the man fall harder for you.
He watched your dramatic expressions and elaborate gestures with patient eyes, his smile widening the more his heart bloomed with warm affection.
Your bodies fell back on the soft mattress of your bed with a quiet thump, the room filled with the sounds of your combined laughs.
"That was so fun", you stared up at the ceiling, your limbs spread wide, fingertips brushing his warm shoulder.
"It always is with you", he replied back with a sincerity that made blood rush to your cheeks. You rolled onto your side with a wide grin, looking up at him with the brightest eyes ever.
A few minutes passed with the silence broken by passing vehicles outside and sheets ruffling with how much you kept 'adjusting' your position. His fingers threaded through your hair, untangling the silky hair you'd deliberately shampooed before he came over.
You stared at each other like the princes and princesses from storybooks finally finding their happy ending. His gaze dropped to your lips and so did yours.
When his lips met yours, it was slow. A little reluctant like he wasn't sure of your reaction, but still so fond. Your lips moved carefully, pouring love like never before.
You were curled under the blanket with Bucky, your cold feet very conveniently nestled between his. Not your fault he signed up to be your personal heater when he decided to date you.
"Will you stop sighing?", you mumbled against his arm, eyes struggling to flutter open from the sleepy haze and glare at him.
"I'm not."
"I've been counting. This was the eleventh."
He was about to sigh at that too, before catching himself and clicking his tongue instead. He wiggled a little, subtly pushing himself farther.
"I don't think I'm ready. I'm sorry."
Your head craned at that, eyes squinted as you tried to spot Bucky in the dark.
"Ready for what?"
"You know...that", he jerked his chin like the answer was standing in your doorway. Now, it was your turn to sigh. Pushing away the urge to just bury yourself under the warm comforter, you sat up on your knees.
"That what? Sex?"
"Yeah", he admitted quietly, shame evident in the way he stared down at his metal palm.
"Buck, babyâ", you slowly climbed onto his lap, his jaw cupped in your hands.
"Why would you ever think we had to?"
He met your gaze with a big question mark on his face, brows creasing at your words.
It was almost like he was incapable of processing what you just said. The primary reason he'd been running away from any relationships was because the idea of sexual intimacy put him off. Not because he wouldn't like it.
Because HYDRA had changed many things for the worse.
And then, here you were. Telling him that his tender kisses were enough. That his lazy cuddles and late date nights were enough.
"Huh?"
"I don't expect it, Bucky. I don't kiss you hoping it'll lead somewhere."
He paused, his muscles no longer tense under you. "âŠReally?"
"Really", you assured with a tight hug, you arms wrapping themselves around him as hard as you could. "You don't owe me anything. Not kisses. And definitely not your body."
"That was poetic for no reason, doll" His vision blurred with tears but he'd never let you know that. For now, jabs were better.
"I love you, Bucky. More than sex."
You still continued, seeing past his tough guy act.
"Love ya more", he grunted, lips pressed to the side of your head.
summary Bucky overworks himself till all you see is a grumpy, uptight man. Maybe a date night under the stars will bring your boyfriend back.
warnings soft!bucky; fluff; so much fluff; bucky is a goner; date night; teasing; a little banter; kisses; nicknames (doll, baby); no explicit content
author's note ahem, this is a fluffy drabble for Bucky's relationshipâhighkey for whatever happened in my last fic. hope you like it it.
i'm always open to critcism. love-love.
previous fic: chapter one; prologue.
<700
"Come on, try it my way!", you splayed your arms out wide, moving your limbs like a squiggly star on the grass.
Bucky exhaled heavily through his nose, pretending to be annoyed but the corner of his lips twitched in helpless affection.
He shook his head fondly, tilting his head back to meet the stars above. His arms draped lazily on the knees he'd drawn to his chest, his posture relaxed but not unguarded. Yet.
"The grass is wet, doll. You should be happy I'm even sitting."
You giggled quietly at that, lifting your head just enough to look at him with a stupid, giddy grin, "You already look like you peed your pants. A little more soaked doesn't matter."
He scrunched his face up at the poor comparison, shifting his ass unconsciouslyâvery obviously embarrassed.
"You're annoying."
You gasped dramatically at that, watching him with cartoonish, mock-offended, wide eyes as he lowered himself on the wet greenery. Flipping over, you propped yourself up on your forearms, eyes squinted into narrow slits.
"You dare dislike your own girlfriend, James Barnes."
"Woah, you use my full name again, and I might as well actually pee my pants," he said in a painfully flat tone. He clasped his hands to his chest like he was praying for divine intervention.
You exaggeratedly gagged, wincing at his words like you hadn't used less than a minute ago.
"Ew. Stop being so childish", you gave him a sassy once-over, eyes sweeping over his body like he was disgusting you.
He stared at you in disbelief for a moment, eyebrows raised to his hairline. He blinked once. Then twice.
Two moments of misleading peace, and before you could comprehend, two thick, strong arms were grabbing you by your waist. You gasped at first, a sharp inhale at the suddenness. Rolled over, he was now on top of you, nimble fingers finding the sides of your abdomen.
You burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, legs kicking the air like you were a mosquito being electrocuted. Your nails dug into his jaw, trying to use your acrylics to an unfair advantage.
"Uh-huh, what were you saying again, baby?", the smugness was dripping from his words, prominent in ways other than his smirk.
Your head tipped back, pieces of weed and crushed petals tangling into a mess in your hair. But you couldn't care less. And neither could Bucky.
He thought you looked prettier like this. More than the stars.
"HAahâlet gooo~", you thumped your fists against his chest half-heartedly, all the strength sucked out of your arms. Damn you for being so ticklish.
He lowered his body more, using his ridiculously hot, beefy frame to pin you harder. Before he could trouble you more, a bright, soft light hit your face.
For a moment, he was starstruck. The white light illuminating your beauty. Your pearly teeth shining. Your dimples deepening.
"You missed it."
And you were back on top, a thumb gesturing to the starry sky above.
"No, I didn't."
"Bucky missed a shooting star! He missed a shooting star! Bucky missedâ", your very exasperating loud and high-pitched singing was brought to an abrupt stop when his lips met yours.
Not roughly. Not even firm.
Sweet. Gentle in a way that allowed backtracking if you wanted.
Because even if he wanted to shut you up, he didn't have the heart to do it harshly.
"Geez, keep it in your pants", you rolled your eyes but the blush on your cheeks gave you away when he broke it.
The night continued with his head on your chest, a stubbly cheek smushed against the softness of your breast. He'd promised he was only giving you a 'quick hug'.
But here that grump was. Head lolledâheavyâas he unknowingly dozed off to the sound of your heartbeat. Your fingers played with the hair on his nape, twisting and curling, and deciding you'll wake him ten more minutes later for the third time now.
You just couldn't help it.
It made something warm bloom in your chest when you saw a man like Bucky lower his guards around that one personâyou.
warnings bucky x female!reader; no use of y/n; second person pronouns; slow-burn; so much fluff; bittersweet romance; old school romance; soft!bucky; future misunderstandings; angst; possible graphics; sexual references; eventual smut; mentions of mental struggles
author's note And my beloved series comes to an end. The story may not have proceeded like you imagined, but let me know how the reading experience was. The series is in continuation and cannot be read as a stand-alone.
I'm also always open to criticism. love-love.
~2k
parts: one two three four
[4]
Bucky prided, or at least, had started to pride himself on being observant. He would always notice when you repeated a shirt, mentally filing it away as a favorite. His pocket had a healing cream because you always wore heels to look the gorgeous person you were but complained later. He had switched the saddle of his motorcycle three weeks ago to a more comfortable one because you loved taking frequent rides with him.Â
Sam would always tease him about it. âMushy bearâ, that bastard would wheeze and clutch his stomach like it was the funniest thing in the world. He ended up attacked by pillows every single time, but to him, that made it all more amusing.
And maybe, he wasnât entirely wrong.
âThis is, uh, for youâ, he had grumbled one day, handing you a small bunch of flowers. Daffodils tied together a little too roughly with a thick, half-torn utility rope.Â
And yet you'd completely fallen in love with those cute yellow plants because he had plucked them himself. They sat on your desk for weeks.
âWait, lemmeââ, youâd said once, leaning up on your toes to brush his hair the other way. It always got so messy in summers. Beaming with satisfaction, you had stared up at that partition for a whole minute.
No one questioned when he started to comb his hair in that direction everyday.
Buckyâs idea of romance was gentle. He believed in a love that built and didnât justâŠhappen. He believed in a love that bloomed when eyes met and smiles exchanged. He believed in a love that strengthened when soup was made and blankets were wrapped. He believed in a love that showed fragility didnât mean weakness.Â
Three months earlier, heâd been in a different bedroom but with the same personâyou.Â
âYou need to breatheâ, you held his hand tighter to your chest, eyes wide with concern and that unwavering calm that was slowly grounding him. Your lips were curled up in the kindest, most patient smile, waiting for him to find quiet at his own pace. His hands were shaking so badly that when you offered him the glass of water, it rattled against his fingers.Â
A panic attack. Something you werenât supposed to deal with.Â
But here you were, brushing away his hair, tightening your grip on his hands to let him know that you were here. For him. Repeating your "It's okay"s because he couldn't stop apologizing even after the seventh time.
His chest was heaving, wet patches of sweat making his shirt cling to him. It felt suffocating.Â
Your fingers found his hairâmessy from the restless movementsâand tucked them farther from his eyes. âYou have such rowdy hairâ, you whispered softly, still crouched next to him, but smiling like you knew heâd mirror it.Â
âRowdyâ, he scoffed, the corner of his mouth turning. âHeyââ
âShhâ, you shifted closer to him, freeing your hair from the messy ponytail youâd made just a few minutes prior. Instead, you gathered the unruly locks and secured them with the pink scrunchie.
James Buchanan Barnes. With a fountain ponytail.Â
âYouâre lucky I like you.â
âYouâre lucky you have meâ, you poked your tongue out, your bright beam lightening the mood instantly.Â
"People cheated me. Everyone else did", he cradled your jaw with one warm palm, the colder one finding your hand.
"Thought I'd never know what being human feels. Thank you, doll."
He could never tell you how grateful he was for you. For someone who stayed. And he knew for sure, he would always be there for you too.Â
"I'll punch you if you say that again. We don't do that formality anymore", you weakly retorted because damn Bucky for giving you those sincere eyes and firm words.
He noticed you. And he thought heâŠknew you.
Until today, here on your bed, reading your diary.
·âąââÙ â€Ù âââąÂ·
â31st, Saturday
Sam and I pulled a prank on James. He didnât notice the rope weâd tied. A little absentâminded, I assume. But he looked a total snack in those soaked clothes.
Anyway, the bigger news is I made him a cup of tea. He drank it even when he realized it was too bitter for him. Heâs a sweetheart. Too bad I brought the cup back.Â
Will go and ask Dr. Addams when Iâll be getting the results.â
·âąââÙ â€Ù âââąÂ·
He kept flipping. Turning every page so aggressively, they were starting to crumble.
âI almost felt bad today.â
Almost.
âI lied to him about the broken car.â
Lied.
He had rushed to your yard the moment youâd texted him that morning. It had taken him hours of standing under the blazing sun to try to fix the car that apparently had nothing wrong with it. Heâd felt useless when he had to come back to your door later and tell you he couldnât figure out the issue. You had offered him lemonade and assured it didn't matter.
His chest was tightening.Â
And then, he found that one damn entry.
·âąââÙ â€Ù âââąÂ·
â5th, Thursday
Iâve invited him over for dinner tonight. Well, had to make an early entry. He looked so excited, I could practically see the tail wagging.
Heâs a sweet guy. But I guess work is work. I mean, heâs beginning to trust me. Itâs made him so easy now.
Hate to admit that heâs starting to matter just now.â
·âąââÙ â€Ù âââąÂ·
His thumb froze against the paper. He frowned. Not because he understood. Because he didn't.
He read the sentence again. âItâs made him so easy now.â
His body was trembling now. Eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to comprehend what he was reading. He wished it wasnât about him. He wished he could prove all this wrong.Â
But even at the twelfth read of the same sentence, the words didnât change. They didnât magically disappear. No hand reached out to shake him awake.Â
He felt distant. Suddenly hyperaware of the mattress underneathâwhere youâd hugged him and touched him and let him take you. The clock ticking in a way that seemed loud and painful.
âBuckyââ
He startled.
You stood in the doorway paused from whatever taunt you were coming up with, for him taking so much time. Your face fell like you were the victim, those ridiculous wide eyes still seeming pretty as they watered, making him more nauseous than he already was starting to feel. You opened your mouth to say somethingâanything to explain what heâd just readâbecause that hurt in his eyes told you just how far heâd read into your dark, little world.
âJustâJust donât.â
He stood up abruptly, the leather of the diary cover creaking as his grip tensed. He didnât look at you. Instead, he stared down at the bundle of pages in his hold, bile starting to creep up into his mouth.
âBuck.â
âNo, donât call me that. YâYouââ, he swallowed hard, âThâThat teacup, theâ the knifeââ
âYou need to breatheââ
âDonât tell me to breathe, goddamit!â, his hands found your shoulders, pushing you roughly against the wall. The diary you thought you had hidden well, lay on the wooden floorboards now. The fall was dull. The sound rang like a shameful reminder.Â
His fingers were shaking with the urge of tightening his hold and shaking some sense into you. But God, your beautiful eyes kept reminding him of how deep he had fallen into the pithole called love.Â
Your frame rattled by the harshness of his act, so in contrast with the man whoâd cradled your face yesterday with gentler hands. You forced yourself to not move, to not let him see your heart breaking too.Â
âMy hairbrush. This is what you took it for, didnât you?â, Bucky didnât yell. But his voice dropped an octave in a way not so hot anymore. Scarier. Angrier. Colder.
It echoed in the quiet room, strangely enough to make even him flinch.
A lump was forming in your throat, drying the muscles of any saliva. Your tongue felt heavier, and forming words seemed impossible. Every noise felt amplified. The sound of the moving fan. The leaky faucet in the bathroom. A car passing by outside.
Everything ordinary.Â
Everything normal.Â
Everything wrong.
âYou didnât keep it asâas a personal item to cherish. YouâYouââ
Bucky Barnes was stuttering. A man who he knew leading and guiding, reduced to a frozen, broken mess. Again.Â
Crawling around in his mind for words that would explain your behavior. Because a part of him still wanted to defend you, even now.Â
âHair sampleâ, your voice was no longer a guilty whisper. And even if it held any underlying emotions, Bucky didnât want to read into them. He only watched what was presented to himâan expressionless face, unapologetic eyes.Â
He thought he saw your lip tremble against all odds, but he didnât wish to fool himself by seeing what he wanted to. He sucked in a frantic breath, then carefully moved his hands to cradle your cheeks.Â
Because maybeâjust maybeâthere was an explanation that would protect the bubble of love he had created around you both in his mind.
He nodded once, slowly.
âWhy? Is that all I am? A subject?â, his voice cracked, throat bobbingâso desperate to try not to break down right there and then.
You had no reason. Or maybe you didâyou just didnât say it.Â
âI donât love you.â
He couldnât breathe anymore. It felt as if someone was reaching to his lungs through his ribs, completely crushing the pair in their palms. His eyes stung, the pain almost unbearable.Â
He said your name in a broken hush, shaky hands flexing against your soft skin. As if touching you would wake him up from whatever nightmare he was living.Â
âWhy?â, his voice barely carried. He wasn't trying to scare you. He was just desperate to know.Â
âI never did, Buckyâ, you iterated the fact like it was disgusting to even think about. Like you were mocking him for believing it for even a single moment.Â
Your voice was low, your facade barely concealing your own uneven breaths. You couldn't let him see you. Not this time.
Your nails curled into your palms, displacing whatever you felt into the innocent skin as you stared down at the man youâ
He closed the distance before you realized he was moving.
One hand caught your upper arm, drawing you toward him until there wasn't space left for anger to hide. His breath came hard against your face. His teeth ground together, the muscle in his jaw jumping beneath his skin as though he were holding back a hundred things he wanted to scream.Â
He was convincing himself this was just properly controlled, quiet anger. Because admitting that he could never get mad at you seemed vulnerable and idiotic and naive.
"You cheated me. Like everyone else did", the words barely managed to tremble their way out.
Your tear-filled gaze met his.Â
âLike everyone else did.â
You wanted to puke. The accusation. The truth in it.Â
Your lower eyelashesâwet and clumpedâbrushed your cheekbones once and he was already letting you go.
He couldnât pretend to hate you. He couldnât force himself to hurt you. He was already hating himself for touching you.Â
He was hating himself for loving you.Â
His shoulders sagged. You saw that. That tiny shift. Hope leaving.
He swallowed, his jaw tightening hard enough for his teeth to grind painfully. Instead of you, he fixed his eyes on the worn floorboardsâsomething easier to face.
The silence stretched. He couldnât bring himself to even look at you. Then he turned. It wasn't dramatic. No slammed door. No final remark thrown your way.
Just... a turn. The movement was so small; on any other day, you wouldnât care. But today⊠His footsteps came quickly, each one carrying him farther from you.
He wasn't walking away because he expected you to wrap yourself around him and make him stay.
He was walking away because he knew he wouldnât dare expect you to. He was abandoning you.Â
He wouldnât stop.Â
âI wanted to know what they did to her.â
Stop he did.Â
end notes: I would appreciate any type of feedback, or thoughts on the fic. thank you sm <3
warnings bucky x female!reader; no use of y/n; second person pronouns; slow-burn; so much fluff; bittersweet romance; old school romance; soft!bucky; future misunderstandings; hurt/comfort; possible graphics; sexual references; eventual smut; mentions of mental struggles
author's note just one more chapter to go (which I'm done writing)! I didn't know how to write explicit smut, but I tried my best. Also, I'm so unapologetic for the cliff-hanger. Can't wait to show you the things Bucky read about himself.
The series is in continuation and cannot be read as a stand-alone. I'm always open to criticism. love-love.
~1.5k
parts: one two three four
[3]
The night was eventful to say the least.
When you see a man like James Buchanan Barnes, jumping him is the one natural reaction you barely control. You'd thought given his bigger stature and enhanced body functions, he'd have a hunger unsatiable. A voice commanding and taking. And would that even be a bad thing? Because that voiceâ
No, that voice was guiding. That voice whispered small praises and sweet assurances when you whined at the girth stretching you. Your knees pushed to your chest, his fingers leaving red marks where they gripped your flesh tight. You never knew you were flexible enough for that.
"It's okay, baby. Just a little more."
"There you go. My sweet girl."
"Fuck, look at you. So pretty."
His hands had held you wherever he could reach, like he couldn't fathom the thought of letting you go when night ended and the sun peeked. He was careful of your hair, brushing it away when you arched your back off. You could taste the smugness in the way he kissed you, but your brain was long gone to retort.
His pace was firm, but not punishing. And although the self that had fantasized about him for months craved a rough claim, your current self seemed content with the tender eye contact and attentive touches.
"Bucky, ohâ"
"Mm, I know, doll. Taking it so well, ain't ya?"
And when your nails dug into his muscle, leaving red crescents he was definitely going to stare at later, he smirked and tilted his head to give your knuckles a little kiss.Â
âI love youâ, youâd mindlessly but oh so genuinely slipped.Â
âLove you moreâ, heâd oh so tenderly replied.Â
He'd made sure you slumped off with definite releases pulled out of you. Once with his mouth on you, an experienced tongue lapping up juices from your sex and wet thighs like it was ambrosia. Then, with a monster called his dick, thumbs simultaneously pressing into your stomach because it made you whimper.
When your head had lolled back, a tiny smile adorning that glowy face of yours, he'd only pulled you to his chest. A quiet, quick kiss pressed to your head before he dozed off with you.
He didn't snore that night.
Morning came quicker than you wished it did. You woke up to a Bucky who slept with his mouth open and eyebrows furrowed. His flesh forearm rested on his eyes, the other sprawled over the mattress.
It had taken you ten minutes of moving ever so silently and tiptoeing just to not stir the man awake.
Despite your wobbly legs and acknowledged soreness, you managed to complete your morning ritual of brushing your teeth and making yourself a little more prettier than an unkempt raccoon in the shower.
You walked out the bathroom a human.
The t-shirt you wore still stuck to your damp skin, making you scrunch your nose in annoyance. But that was manageable. Cooking breakfast?
Yeah, you failed three times. Not because you couldn't make scrambled eggs. But because they had to be perfect for Bucky. What would he say if you didn't serve him perfectly cooked eggs that looked just the right shade of golden-brown?
...Actually, he wouldn't say anything, but that's not the point!
Minutes later, you were drawing a stupid ketchup smiley on his plate, tongue poking out in concentration and stance changing every second like this was the Squid Game.
When you were finally satisfied with your artwork, you made your way to the bedroom again. It was time to wakey-wakey the handsome man in your bed. You pushed the door as slowly as you could, trying to not startle him awake with any sudden noises.
Except you froze in the doorway, lips parted like a gaping fish about to die. Because there he was, brushing his messy hair back with a hairbrush he'd never tell you he carried yesterday night to look perfect for the dinner. His teeth had sunken into his bottom lip, expression giving away how determined he was to not look like a disgruntled bear.
Your little giggle was what made him spin around, a pink flush growing on his cheeks.
"Doll?"
"You lookâ"
Yeah, you couldn't complete your sentence. Instead, you burst out laughing as you walked to the embarrassed man sending mock-angry glares your direction. With a careful hand, you grabbed his hairbrush, wordlessly insisting you did it for him.
Honestly, as a foodie, you would've never thought food would be getting forgotten by you as often as it was happening now. Because once again, the eggs were turning cold outside while you and Bucky stared at each other like he was a war soldier leaving again.
His hands gently held onto your waist, fingers caressing your love handles while you combed through his hair. And when he was about to reach up to get the wooden object back? You simply pocketed it.
He didn't say much at that. Stared. Smiled. Nodded to himself like that was an achievement.
"Let me reheat your breakfast. Someone decided to be a toddler today", you snickered, already jogging to the kitchen because you didn't want another lecture on how he had fought a war and was old and mature and not a toddler.
âHeyâ!â
He was almost successful in chasing you, if not for the book his foot bumped into. Mustâve fallen down when you both had walked yourselves to the bed last night without a care of where you stepped. He sighed as he watched the empty hallway, then leaned down with a gruntâlike a grandpa with back painâand picked it up.Â
It looked like a diary. Oh.Â
He turned the blue notebook once in hands, then twice, like he was studying it.Â
âRespect her privacyâ, the sensible part of his brain chirped.
âCuriosity is what makes humans different from any other animal!"
âCuriosity kills the cat.â
âWeâre not a cat.â
The nonsensical argument of not being a cat won. He ended up on the edge of your bed, eyes continuously flicking up to the door like youâd bolt in right away, catching him redâhanded and throwing him out the window.Â
His fingers hesitantly flipped the first page.Â
·âąââÙ â€Ù âââąÂ·
â20th, Monday.
I met James today. He is just like everyone describes. Quiet and Grumpy. I said hi to him first but he only shook my hand. I thought it was rude but Sam said he is always like that with new people. Heâd only be my friend when we get comfortable around each other.Â
Getting to know him is going to be a pain in the ass. But good thing I have Sam with me.â
·âąââÙ â€Ù âââąÂ·
He tilted his head at the small entry. Apparently, you werenât all for descriptions.
·âąââÙ â€Ù âââąÂ·
â21, Tuesday.
He was in the yard today. Was fixing a mower in that unfairly tight white shirt. His grip looked firm, and he was focused like his life depended on that tool. He tripped only once over a small stone. Donât really think he has glasses.
P.s. he looked so handsome; better than the pictures I got honestly. So, I had to replace them. He didnât catch me, though.â
·âąââÙ â€Ù âââąÂ·
He blinked at the collage on the page after. It wasâŠunconventional. But again, there were so many dating norms in this century he didn't understand. Maybe, clicking pictures was one of them?
Your entries were consistent, he had to admit. Not long paragraphs of you gushing over him, but small compliments seemingly written in a short time. You were just as observant as he was, earning some brownie points. Did he also mention the butterflies he felt when you called him âhotâ in an entry?
His lips were curled up as he flipped through and through, feeling fuzzy at the feeling of being liked by someone. He was found attractive by many girls. Obvi.
But thisâa real crush and the cute secret?âmade his hold tighter on the spine of the diary.Â
He was biting his lip, reading every single word with laser focus while you took your sweet time outsideâcanât really blame yourself for forgetting to cook your own breakfast when your mind was only on Bucky.
With a heart singing, he moved onto the next page.
The grin that had plastered itself on his mouth slowly disappeared.
warnings bucky x female!reader; no use of y/n; second person pronouns; slow-burn; so much fluff; bittersweet romance; old school romance; soft!bucky; future misunderstandings; hurt/comfort; possible graphics; sexual references; eventual smut; mentions of mental struggles
author's note I've tried to lengthen this chapter. Jumping to smut isn't really my style, I'm sorry :( maybe in the next chapter. They do kiss tho!! It's so cute. The series is in continuation and cannot be read as a stand-alone.
I'm also always open to criticism. love-love.
~2k
parts: one two three four
[2]
Bucky was like a device. 100% in the morning, with eventual decreasing battery. By evening, he was a literal snoring bear.
You hadn't talked to the boys in a week nowâbusy schedules. But when the night before you had put on your earplugs, stuff your head under two pillows and shut all your windows tight, you knew Bucky was home alone and exhausted after doing everything himself.Â
Household was not his strongest suits. War did teach him how to do it. But that didn't guarantee him the success rate he'd hoped. Cooking took him hours, until he finally decided he'd rather eat takeout everyday than take up Sam's part of the chores.
Worse was when he'd spilled honey on the floor and irritated himself to the point of restless anger. And then you'd shown him a tutorial on how to clean it right and Bucky just felt stupider.
Well, naturally, you called him over for dinner this time. Just something to help him and ease a few responsibilities offâand maybe also buy yourself an excuse to have him over.
In your defense, him surviving on outside food just wasn't nice. He had a bigger appetite now. Which deliciously showed when he wore that Henley that stretched over his chest and showed off the slight pouch of his stomach before disappearing in his pants. Someone had to feed his thick armsâarm?âtoo.
You had tried your best to make it look platonic and not 'too much'âthough you would never mind if Bucky did end up taking it the other way.Â
The long Hard Maple was covered in the most beautifulâand unusedâdining cover you could find in that dusty, small attic of yours. Lace embroidered the ends, red against white, giving it a flawless pretty look. On top were ceramic bowls and platesâglass was overratedâfilled with the appetizers and cuisines youâd spent hours learning on Youtube (thank you Martha for that lemon tip). You could only hope the steak was cooked right, and the baked potatoes werenât mushy enough for Bucky to roleplay a child. That would be, uh, a disaster.
Nonetheless, you tugged your dress down for the nth time that hour, chewing at your cuticles because there was no way youâd ruin the acrylic nails youâd gotten done with a whole month of savings. You wouldn't say you looked bad. If anything, you'd bought the dress only because that neckline sat below your shoulders and highlighted the collarbones you'd worked your ass off for, only to appear. It even had a twirly skirt that fluttered around your thighs. You felt...cute.
Your hair was pinned back with simple bobby bins, just to make sure you didnât embarrass yourself by Bucky finding a hair strand in his food and awkwardly smiling. Ew, ew, ew.
It's not like you could get away by throwing him under the bus either. He'd cut his hair and now you could no longer argue that maybe one of his strands grew longer than the others.
When the doorbell rang, you bolted to the door. Then, just to gaslight yourself into thinking you werenât that desperate, you waited for a few more moments before opening the door.Â
Your hair bellowed, a bright light hit your faceâlike it was illuminated by a luminous celestial bodyâand a bunch of roses levitated.
Okay, no, that did not happen. But so close! Bucky stood in a tux he was clearly feeling self-conscious in, adjusting his cufflinks and smoothing down the obviously ironed blazer. His hair was combed, and his lips were definitely shiningâVaseline?
âDoll? May I?â
Always so polite. Always so gentle. Was he like this inâ
Ah yes. You had to let him in.Â
âOh come on, sweetheart. Where are the forks?â
He was rummagingâopening drawers, then cabinets, then randomly peeking in closed shelves. You swiftly spun around to tell him to stop shuffling so much, that he was a guest and was supposed to be seated while you worked. No one could prepare you for the close-up view of his stubbled, unfairly sharp jaw.Â
Worse, for the little blood youâd managed to draw when your knife grazed his collarbone. No freaky-freaky. You had actually hurt him.
âBuck! Iâ Iââ
Fumble. Thatâs all you could do. You hastily grabbed a ready handkerchief from the countertop, pressing it firmly to his tanned skin that you surely didnât stare at first. And if his ears flushed crimson because your floral, fragrant handkerchief was being used for his assistance, he didnât show it on his carefully masked face.
His voice was uncharacteristically gruff when he spoke again, âWho even uses a real knife to cut steak?â
He let you wipe the blood away, the cut clotting quicker than you apprehended, saving you the hyperventilation. He didnât jerk away. He didnât try to do it himself. Because this touch was comfortable.
ItâŠalways was. Your proximity didnât make his stupidly broad shoulders tense. Your careful hands didnât make him suck a breath in and mentally curse you for trying to be in his personal space. You were very openly welcome in it.Â
He had never thought anyone was capable of that after Steve, until that one night youâd trusted Bucky enough to call him to pick you up from the library. The rain had created puddles even your polyester boots couldnât protect you from, and you really could use a ride.Â
âYou donât have to do thisâ, heâd muttered when you pressed your chest to his back, one arm wrapped tight around his waist, fingers curled around the leather jacket he always wore. You never found out if it was only to look cool on his motorcycle, or Sam had actually succeeded in knocking some fashion into that old, stubborn brain of his. Your other hand had held up an umbrella, wide enough to cover your heads.
âYes, I do. You shampooed your hair literally yesterday.â
How youâd known that? He forgot to suspect.Â
He was pulled out of whatever thought, his eyes snapping up when you said his name. You always said it so nice. Not pouring honey. But sweet in a way that was familiar and warm.
âYes. Letâs get back to eatingâ, he gave you an effortless grin, moving back to the chair. You had to use another ten minutes to find the forks and the butter knife, but he was as patient as ever.Â
The dinner went smoothly. Even when you spilled juice down your chin which he wiped with a napkin with the kindest smile ever. Even when he choked on a bite, glaring at you because youâd rather watch him cough over food that was barely spicy than help him with a glass of water.Â
Heâd been so nice to you all evening, saying thank youâs despite you insisting it was okay. And now, he was screwing his whole impression by annoying to death.
âI said, let. Me. Wash.â
âYou are a guest, Bucky.â
âOuch?!â, a hand trying to reach around you and snatch the soapy plate from your grasp. You writhed like a tortured cockroach, elbows hitting his midriff in futile attempts. With a groan, you swatted your hand behind.Â
He wheezed.
Now, normally you would have laughed.
But this timeânah, kidding. You did snicker like always.
Soap on his nose, suds in his nostrils, face scrunched. You giggled, shoulders shaking with how hard you were trying not to outright laugh.Â
He kept aggressively wiping at the cartilage, grunting like a troubled bearâokay, you had to stop with the bear association. Instead, you leaned up and rubbed it away with your sleeve, smiling to yourself.Â
Which didnât take time to falter when you dared glance up and he was impossibly close. His eyes were like pools of blue andâŠwere those flicks of green? Why was he staring back so intensely? Was he looking at that one part of your face youâd forgotten to shave?
No, he wasnât.
He was staring at your pretty eyes too, lips curling just slightly because he could never hide how much he admired your features.
It was too silent for some time. Were you leaning up? Was he leaning down?
Doesnât matter. Your heart was content with the increasing closeness. You forgot to breathe, eyelashes batting like you didnât know what to do next. When his lips brushed yours ever so lightly, testing, you melted like butter.
His fingers found the underside of your jaw, tilting it up softly. He gave you time to pull away. To tell him you were better off as friends. But when you didnât, oh boy. He crowded you against the counter, marble digging in your back. Did you care? Nopeee.
Youâd rather focus on how tenderly he was kissing you, like this was highschool all over again and you were his first crush. His thumb kept swiping against the moisturized skin of your cheek, trying to memorize how you felt. The metal he used to consider only a weapon and nothing more, cradling you like he could never ask for anything better.
When your cold, covered-in-dish-soap hands found his chest, he pulled apart with a hiss. Your noses grazed, foreheads bumping hard.Â
Bucky let out a giggleâa giggleâand looked down at his soiled button-down. You looked up at him, smiling at his adorable eye crinkles.
It felt natural. A kiss not forced. Intimacy that wasn't selfish.
You both stayed like that for a while, forgetting about the ice-cream waiting on the table, focusing on how beautiful everything seemed right now.
And if his arms did end up going around your waist, if his lips did manage to find yours again, if you did wipe your hands on a rag hastily just to grab his face closer, if he did ask for permission in the gentlest way possible, if you did impatiently pull him to your bedroomâŠ
warnings bucky x female!reader; no use of y/n; second person pronouns; slow-burn; bittersweet romance; old school romance; soft!bucky; future misunderstandings; hurt/comfort; possible graphics; sexual references; eventual smut; mentions of mental struggles
author's note this is my first fiction. Please don't mind the mistakes. This chapter doesn't include detailed scenes; we're saving that for part 2. The series is in continuation and cannot be read as a stand-alone.
I'm always open to criticism. love-love.
parts: one two three four
>1k
[1]
"Geez, have some decency, young man!", Sam squeaked in a stupidly mimicked voice of an old lady. Followed by was your barely concealed giggle as you watched Bucky glare daggers into his friend.
It was another Thursday morning. You'd told Sam how the library you worked at was closed because dear, loving rain had flooded its entrance. Now, by all means, you weren't a damsel who wore red cardigans and pink Mary Janes and couldn't look at a man because you were too shy.
Hey, not that you were stereotyping.Â
The library was just a part-time job till you actually found a company you'd actually be interested in doing accounts for.
Bucky had been very silently judging of your work, not in a prejudiced way but a rather confused one.
"You willingly chose this?", he'd said the first time, genuinely clueless as you showed him the library when your car had passed by it.
But it didn't seem to matter anymore because that effortlessly charming man was standing soaked to the core, trying to hide his chest with a towel like a Victorian.
"The bucket prank was Sam's idea!", you raised your hands in surrender like that could save you Bucky's old lecture about boundaries and childishness.
The brunet only hummed passively and pulled down the rope that kept the bucket of water dangling from the ceiling. What had happened to his observation?
He had been pressing all kinds of buttons on his phone with his index, cursing for the umpteenth time because that game advertisement kept leading him to the app store. Where was the close option?
And then before he knew it, he was tripping over. Rope yanked, bucket tumbling. The purpose? Uh, Sam's tiktok feed.
The glorious sight was just a...by-product.
Sighing, he walked past Sam and to the small hallway of the house. But not before subtly kicking the man in the shin. Bastard.
âThat was unnecessary, Barnes!â
"Hey?"
"Hey."
You shifted your weight from one foot to another, holding a cup of tea in your hand like an offering, because frankly? Coffee tasted bitter.
"I brought you tea? I'm sorry about the prank."
He only gave you a perplexed look, his eyebrows furrowing in the way you'd learnt to recognize as 'the fuck?'
"I'm not as uptight as that birdbrain preaches", he grunted softly, his lips twitching just enough to make you mirror it too. He took the cup from your hand with an acknowledging nod, bringing to his mouth without complaint. There was an ease in his movements now, no longer hesitating to take things from you like he used to. Your eyes almost shone with an emotion he peered at from above the rim. Were you having a moment? Oh, you were having a momentâ
Until, he unceremoniously choked on the tea. Ugh, not a fan of ginger.
You blinked rapidly, the eyelashesâthat you definitely had not thickened with your favorite mascaraâbrushing the high of your cheeks.Â
âItâs nothing. JustâŠstrongâ, he flashed his teeth like it was indeed nothing, pushing away the urge to scrunch his nose and hiss. His tongue darted out to lick the drops sliding down the edge, because no matter how unpleasant it tasted right now, he could never have the heart to say that.Â
But you werenât fooled. With a sheepish smile, you retrieved the ceramic back.Â
"I'll uhâget you a new one."
Bucky was already stepping forward at that, fingers brushing your sleeve briefly. He had that look in his eyes which would be pathetic if it wasn't so cute and over-gentlemanly.
"Doll, you don't needâ"
Poor Bucky. Words ignored again as you turned to hurry to the kitchen, leaving him behind to not stare at your ridiculously set, out-of-a-Panteen-commercial, pretty hair and go back to drying himself instead. He would never admit his stomach fluttered just a moment ago. All blames on the eggs he burnt today. Because apparently the possibility of diarrhoea seemed less disconcerting.
Meanwhile, you stirred the tea once. Then twice. Then until your fingers hurt and the clink of the spoon started to annoy you. Efforts werenât wasted. Bucky said the drink was 'refreshing'.Â
You replayed that word until your brain told you to get your shit together.Â
And if anyone asked why the teacup was on your study desk later and not the sinkâwhich no one did, because no one the fuck cared enoughâyou'd tell them you were working on your Still Life sketching.
Had anyone told you a few months ago that James Barnes would ever reach a point where heâd comfortably let his thigh brush yours and chew on his pasta, youâd just gape. Now? No gaping. And definitely no red flushes down your neck.
There was a realization that Bucky wasnât the rough type. No matter what psychology textbooks said about trauma patients seeking control, Bucky sought trust. Trust was his own little version of command. You trusted him enough to hang out. He trusted you enough to not be wary.Â
That evening went quiet. His poor jokes with references that only a dying 78 year old would laugh at. His awkward smile when you said something that made him feel fuzzyâbecause God Forbid he got to live one nice moment in his life.Â
"âand then he goes, 'To the moon, Alice!'. Hah-"
No one laughed at that. Bucky had to scramble to explain the reference and embarrass himself further.
"Okay, anyways. Who wants extra cheese?", Sam gave a tight-lipped smile.Â
It wasn't a surprise Bucky didn't talk much later that night, only huffing when Sam cracked a pun because 'they weren't any better'. The only crack in his armor when you hid your beams behind that sweater of yoursâfondly or not, grinning at his pique.
Youâd be surprised by how the night didnât end with you kissingâor maybe, you wouldnât. Bucky Barnes was out of everyoneâs league. Especially with his blue sharp eyes that the Supreme power had made impossibly beautiful. But it did end when you gave him a goodnight hug before leaving, and he didnât pat your back like a middle aged dad. He rested his weirdly warm palm on the small of your back, the colder one on your shoulder like he was making sure you were grounded.Â
No one would know how many times you kicked your feet under your sheets later.
Prologue: James Buchanan Barnes. A historical figure. An ex-assassin. A new hero. Countless names, a single man.
He prided, or at least, had started to pride himself on being observant. He knew that no matter how many cups of coffee he chugged, or nightmares he fought off, he would always be able to tell when Jonathan from second floor ironed his uniform, and Ms. Chucker changed her hairstyle for her stupid crush on Addams.
If therapy had taught him something, it had to be that perspective matters. Why call Sam invasive when he could stop being so paranoid and called the man concerned instead? The guy was a good friend.
So when, he met you, he forced himself to not overthink things. So what if you smiled too bright and cared too much? So what if you baked Sam cookies immediately the day after he met you? So what if you offered dinner treats the moment any of them mentioned a tough day?
Not everyone had to be unsatisfied with life and dislike itâ Actually, they did. But maybe your coping mechanism was smiling prettily instead of having a staring problem.
And he admired that. You didn't judge. You were friendly but respectful enough to keep your distance. You laughed at his jokes meant only to fill awkward silence, as if they were actually amusing.
