[buckyscaptain]

how good you make me wanna be | college bucky x fem reader

authors notes: hello, so, i've unintentionally been working on this for the last two months, but here it is! it was supposed to be this request, but it kinda changed and warped, but hopefully it still works!

warnings: waffling, so much waffling, like word vomit level. wandanat are girlfriends because i said so x they're just both awkward idiots who don't realise they're in love. reader has some self doubt peppered through this. mild proofreading, kinda, i'm so sorry, we die like tony stark men. please feel free to let me know if i forgot anything!

word count: 5.8k

summary:

you're kinda awkward, he's the popular guy with a bad reputation. the twist? both of you have been crushing on each other, despite the fact you've never spoken to each other for more than five minutes. so what happens when your friends finally throw you together?

masterlist!

"you coming to the party on friday?" sam asked, holding the door open for you before he fell back into step next to you. "it's gonna be like, legendary. nat's sister is in town, there's no way that it's not gonna be historic, come on, you should come!" you'd lost count of how many parties sam had tried to drag you into—both in high-school and now college—but he was nothing if not persistent, you had to give him that one.

you smiled as you shook your head, shoving your hands in your hoodie pockets. "it might be stuff of legends, but you're not gonna change my answer. name one time that i've ever been to one of your parties." it wasn't that you had anything against them, they just didn't fall into the productive category and at this point in the semester, you needed every scrap of productivity that you could muster up. "sorry, buddy, you'll have to catch me up on monday, i gotta work on my paper."

"you skippin' on us again? c'mon, baby. one time, you deserve to have fun." you almost jumped clean out of your skin when he stepped out from behind a column, blocking your path. bucky barnes, in all his stupidly broad shouldered glory—completely out of place in the middle of the psychology halls. he was like a walking embodiment of one of those hot frat boys from every coming of age film ever. business major, football team vice captain—hot, very hot—and not the kind of person who'd ever look twice at someone like you. to someone like him you probably faded into the background.

or so you thought.

you had zero idea that you were the entire reason that he was here, using sam as an excuse to exist in the same space as you for five minutes. he could think of a million better places he could be, but they didn't have you. and that was the problem. he had a million girls who would die for the opportunity to even have his attention, and the one he actually wanted didn't even want it, to his knowledge anyway. it was like the universe was playing some cruel joke on him.

not a single one of those thoughts had ever left his mind outside the confines of the friendship group. it was bad enough with sam's endless jabs and steve's god awful jokes.

despite the fact it felt like a butterfly enclosure in his stomach, he grinned as he watched the blush creep across your cheeks as you dipped your head in an feeble attempt to hide from him. "can't, sorry. i gotta study." it wasn't exactly a lie, not with exam season so close and even if you did want to go? amongst all the other things, you had no idea how to exist in his world. you were on completely different ends of the social spectrum and honestly? you weren't sure you wanted to be in it, not if it was like the rumours.

besides, you'd never even had a conversation with him that lasted longer than five minutes and didn't have steve or sam involved.

the whole thing was ridiculous, and you knew it. you'd been fawning over this guy since the very first time you'd met him, sam had invited you to one of steve's games which meant by extension—and the fact he was the star quarterback—bucky was there too. he'd barely even acknowledged you past a quick hi and asking if you enjoyed the game. but your heart had done a traitorous a little flip and just never stopped. and now he was calling you baby like it was nothing, which it probably was to him.

"awe, c'mon. it'll be fun. you can't go your entire college life without going to a single party. and hey, i'll be there." he offered, like that would magically make you change your mind—in his defence, it would have worked on most of the girls he knew by now. sam snorted, holding a quiet admiration for his persistence. if you knew bucky well enough—which he did, he really did—it was easy enough to pick up on bucky's nervousness. the way he shoved his hands into his pockets, picking at the lining to give him something to do. "that usually works."

sam ducked his head to hide the way the way his lips were twitching, dying to burst into laughter at how awkward he was being about it all. it was glaringly obvious that bucky had no idea what to do with women who weren't throwing themselves at his feet.

and then you smiled at him. the same smile you'd give him after that game, the one that made something warm spread across his chest. the same smile that he didn't know what to do with. he could feel the blush spreading across his cheeks as he let his head dip. "she doesn't wanna go, man, leave her be. c'mon, we got places to be. i'll catch you later." sam gave you a smile before he put a hand on bucky's shoulder and guided him towards the door.

that left you just stood there, blinking at the loss of—well, you weren't quite sure what it was anymore. you let out a shaky breath as you tried to work out how the hell you were gonna tell the girls about this.

"the hell was that for? i was getting somewhere!" bucky hissed as he shrugged sam's hand off, turning to look at him. "that's like, the furthest i've ever got with her, and what? you pull me away!" bucky scoffed as he pushed sam's hand away, falling into step with him. sam just scoffed, shaking his head. "what, trying to hound her into a party that isn't her scene? c'mon, man. you're bucky barnes, you're supposed to be the coolest guy on campus and you think that was progress? oh man, you're losing your touch. you're soft for her, man, and you've spoke to her for less than ten minutes. you were blushing." he genuinely wished he could have videoed the whole thing to keep for blackmail purposes, god knows it would have worked too.

bucky rolled his eyes as he grumbled under his breath, flipping sam off. he was not losing his touch. you were just nice, too nice to look in his direction and he couldn't afford to mess it up. "not losing my touch. 'm just taking it slow. not exactly something i'm used to, in case you forgot."

he was used to the rush and the buzz and anything under a hundred miles an hour felt agonisingly slow—probably the main reason that he'd never had anything real. nothing lasted past one night stands and half assed dates to dorm parties he was going to either way.

and you deserved more than that.

so much more, he didn't need to know you to know that.

"i'm just…refining it. i don't wanna barrel in there and scare her off. it's like a dance, y'know? gotta warm up." it was a weak excuse for the fact he didn't know exactly what he was gonna do about it. "you should start with the library." sam offered, shrugging a shoulder like it was the most obvious solutions in the world. "you know, the big scary place that a business major should definitely spend more time."

bucky rolled his eyes again at how easy he made it all seem. "right, yeah. i'll just show up at the library and be all quiet and meek, pretending that i know the first thing about psych. what could possibly go wrong? that's the worst idea i ever heard, man."

it was sam's turn roll his eyes this time. he wasn't sure what was more ridiculous, how far gone bucky was already or how hard he'd managed to fumble the entire two minutes he'd been in front of you. it was sweet, though, in it's own embarrassing kind of way. "you might think it's a bad idea, but it's better than any that you've got. trust me, i know her. she likes to be listened to, and being as you don't like to do that, just trust me. work it out or don't bother. she's too nice to be messed around. she's my best friend, like ever. period. and i mean it, you mess her around and i'll—"

bucky held his hands up in surrender, cutting him off. "woah, woah. i just talked to her, that's all. i wouldn't—it's not like that. i'm—" the realisation that he couldn't say that he wasn't like that hit him like a freight train. he was exactly like that, and it was his fault entirely. if he ever got the chance, he'd be different with you. if he said it out loud then he'd sound crazy, but he'd try. really try, if his confidence hadn't evaporated into thin air, like it felt like it had.

you'd made a lot of mistakes in life, you'd hold your hands up to that one, but your biggest mistake? actually telling your best friends about the entire two minute interaction that nat was currently analysing like she was gonna write a final paper on it. it seemed like a great idea in your head but now it had been fifteen minutes and they were still dissecting it.

"he smiled?" she repeated, mainly to herself. bar steve, she'd known bucky the longest which apparently made her the fountain of knowledge on every single one of his movements. "he never smiles, he's allergic to smiling. he's gotta like you. it's written in the stars, let's get the marriage license ready, can i be godmother to your firstborn?" wanda snickered as she turned the page, fully used to every ounce of her girlfriends over exaggerations by now.

"he smiled at me…and you think…?" your head tilted like an already confused puppy that had the treat bag shaken at them as you watched her pace across your living room. "i don't get it." you weren't as naive as that made you sound—you just genuinely couldn't get your head around her way of thinking. you were sure he'd smiled at plenty of people in his time, he had to have done. "i think you might be seeing this differently."

"okay, let me try." wanda smiled as she set her book down, obviously having more patience with this one than nat. "i think what natasha is saying is that barnes might be into you more than he lets on. which isn't a bad thing, obviously." not a bad thing, right. because good things were supposed to make you this nervous. "might? might?! oh no. there's no might. mr quarterback is like, head over heels for her. c'mon, wanda! when did you last see him smile?" nat groaned, flinging her arms around like she was trying to solve a diplomatic crisis instead of your sorry excuse of a love life.

"what? i'm easing her into it! not everyone runs into everything head first. you're going to scare her off."

nat huffed as she flung herself back onto her bed, already reaching for her phone and pulling up steve's last message to text him again. if he didn't have the answer then they were all doomed.

nat: okay what's going on with barnes? nat: is he serious? nat: if he's not serious then i'm gonna start breaking bones.

steve: okay, first of all. steve: no breaking bones, the team needs him. steve: second of all, yes. serious from what sam was saying. swing by after practise, we need to plan. steve: bring snacks.

"i just don't get why you think he likes me, that's all." you shrugged. "i'm not exactly part of his target audience. he likes—loud, and wild, and—not me." as much as it was terrifying, you'd be lying if you said there was a tiny piece of yourself that wanted to lean into it, to know what it felt like to not fade into the background for once—which very quickly spiralled into wondering what his lips would feel like against yours. you shocked yourself how quickly the thought came, shaking your head like it would get rid of it. "you both know what he's like."

you side eyed nat as she mumbled something under her breath that sounded like 'we can change that' as she stood up, grabbing her jacket. "as much as this is a riveting conversation, i promised steve that i'd swing by practise, so i gotta bounce. don't do anything stupid until i get back, like, y'know, spontaneously combust. love you!" she called over her shoulder before she disappeared out of the door.

"i know that she's intense, but i think she might have a point." she got up and sat down on your bed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "and hey, i guess that there's worst people on campus to have like you, right? he's not exactly bad looking, probably great sex and—" you shuddered as you pushed her away, shaking your head. "no. nope. we are not going there. nope. too much." you fake gagged as you got up, scrubbing a hand over your face. "i don't even know how i'm supposed to talk to this guy and you're already marrying me off and getting me laid, maybe not in that order, but—"

you needed someone to steady the ship, to tell you to stop spiralling and you were going to be find, not merciless teasing. wanda tilted her head slightly like she could actually read your mind as she reached out, taking your hand in hers. "breathe, sweetie. you're you. you're smart, and pretty, and completely socially awkward unless someone brings up phycology or something else you like. but that's you, that's exactly who you are and if that isn't enough for him, then he doesn't deserve you. you think i wasn't terrified when i realised that i was into natasha?" she smiled as she gave your hand a squeeze, standing up with you. you laughed quietly, returning the squeeze as at least the tiniest part of your anxiety eased. she had a way of doing that before you'd even realised what she was doing.

"you're going to be fine. and it's not worth getting yourself stressed out over something that might turn out to be nothing. you're smart, you'll be okay. trust yourself."

your first real suspicion should have come when nat asked if you wanted to study group with her, wanda, steve, and sam. the steve and sam part wasn't suspicious, but the nat part was. you could count on one hand the amount of times she'd sat in the library for more than an hour before she got restless and started causing chaos. she was more of a grab books and make a dash kinda gal. but you were toast if you didn't get a move on with your paper. so you agreed, albeit reluctantly.

"you cannot get us kicked out." you pleaded with nat as you bagged the table underneath the window, hanging your bag on the back of your chair. "don't worry, i'll keep her under control." steve promised as he dropped into the seat opposite you next to nat. you snorted at that, the idea of the golden retriever captain trying to keep the category five hurricane known as natasha romanoff in line absolutely hilarious to you. "yeah, and i'm the next queen of england. what have you got on this paper?" sam asked as he looked over your shoulder, already mentally calculating which parts he could rewrite and pass off as his own. you rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder before you turned your screen away. "your best friend status is on thin ice, buddy." you warned, pointing a finger at him. "get your own sources."

by the grace of god—and some very clever distraction techniques—the bucky thing hadn't been mentioned again. every time nat tried to bring it up, you not so subtly changed the subject, completely unaware of the plan that had already been cooked up behind you back, courtesy of nat and steve.

"y'know…" sam started, drumming his pencil against the table. "bucky's been talking about you." you almost choked on your own saliva, spluttering as you looked over at him. "i mean it. all i've heard for days is the fact you looked at him when he swung by after our lecture." you shook your head, focusing on your laptop screen with such an intensity that could have burned a hole through it. you didn't dignify him with a response as your typing picked up instead, hammering the keys like they'd personally offended you.

you might have prevented it coming up in conversation until now, it had been on your mind religously. it was ridiculous how he'd managed to worm his way into your brain and take up residence there. "i'm sure bucky talks about a lot of people. especially that blonde fashion major." you murmured under your breath. sharon carter, permenant thorn in your side and the latest in a long list of bucky's conquests. "actually…" wanda looked up from her page, pen stilling mid sentence. "i heard that's not a thing anymore. apparently he blew her off after the last game he had."

"i can second that." steve added. "hasn't seen her for awhile, they were never good for each other anyway. all they did was have sex and argue, it was kinda lame."

you were suddenly very aware of the fact that it felt like everyone was ganging up on you against your will, but you chose to not think too much into it before you drove yourself crazy. it wasn't until you noticed everyone disappearing slowly that you payed attention. wanda said she was going for coffee, sam mumbled something about a misplaced textbook before he disappeared into the aisles—and then it was just you, nat, and steve.

"okay, wanda doesn't even like coffee. sam had his textbook, what exactly is all of this about? it's not—" nat interrupted you by clearing her throat loudly, nodding towards the doors. you almost spontaneously combust when you saw him. bucky barnes, looking completely out of place with two cups of coffee in his hands, looking somewhat out of place.

"gotta go, steve's got important, uh—stuff. stuff to do, let's go." nat smiled before the two of them disappeared quicker than the speed of light. "good luck." nat winked as they walked past bucky, steve clapping a hand on his back.

bucky swallowed thickly, standing there awkwardly as he looked in your direction. see, when steve and sam had talked him into this, they'd both failed to mention the fact that you'd be on your own. "hey, i uh—" he stopped in front of your table, holding the cup out awkwardly. "iced vanilla latte, sam said something about it being your favourite." you just blinked at him, and then at the cup for what felt like an eternity before you reached out and took it. "yeah, no, uh, that's my favourite. you can take a seat, i mean, if you want to." you nodded towards the now vacant seats opposite you before you took a sip of coffee for something to do other than gawp at him.

you could feel the dread setting in simultaneously with the blush creeping up the back of your neck. "nat, uh—"

"sam—" you motioned for him to continue as you silently wished that the ground would open up and swallow you whole. "sam said that i should swing by—he kinda forgot to mention this part." he nodded, picking up your notebook and scouring your notes like he understood a word of it. "well, i kinda started getting a little sus when everyone disappeared on me, so. sorry, i kinda need those." you leaned over and took your notes back, breath hitching as your fingers brushed past his. it felt like you'd grabbed a live wire. he looked devastatingly good like this, the sun filtering through the light making his eyes look more blue than they were—if that was even possible.

the silence that settled between the two of you was awkward, unbearably so. he knew exactly what he wanted to say, he just couldn't form the words into a sentence that didn't ruin his reputation and make him look like an idiot. you could feel the blush creeping up from your neck into the tips of your ears, staring intensely at your notebook. "i don't know how to—i don't usually—" he groaned as he squeezed his eyes shut, as it became his turn to want the ground to swallow him whole. maybe the silence was better than this. "i kinda like you. not—not kinda, i do like you. a lot. and i think it'd be really nice to get to know you. i don't ask people on dates. i take them to parties and i take them back to my place—i don't do all of this." he opened his eyes, lifting his head enough to look at you properly. "but i want to, with you."

the world shifted.

not literally, obviously, but it felt like someone had turned it upside down on you. a date, he wanted to take you on a date, a real one. your brain blue screened and everything that you'd ever remembered turned to mush. "erm. a—yeah. no, okay, why?" you didn't mean for it to sound as blunt as it did, but it happened anyway. "not that i don't—it just, it doesn't really make sense to me, and—" he was running out of straws to grasp at before he had to tell you what he was really thinking, not exactly part of his speciality. he groaned softly, letting his head fall back.

"you're pretty. really pretty. not that—that's not why i wanna take you out, not all of it anyway. i mean—okay, i'm doing a bad job of this." he murmured, running a hand over his face as he tried to get the right words in order. "i wasn't joking when i said i was awful at this, huh? i promise that i'm not just asking you out because i think you're pretty." he assured you, which made you laugh as you shook your head.

"that is not what campus gossip says about you, for the record." his face fell for a second before he realised you were joking with him and then his signature cocky little grin was tugging at the corner of his mouth again. "oh, so you're funny now, huh? i was starting to think you didn't have it in you." you rolled your eyes as you tossed a balled up piece of paper at him that he caught mid air and tossed into the trash can with ease. "seriously, let me take you out, just once and if you completely hate it? we never mention it again and i'll leave you alone."

you pretended to think about it, despite the fact your heart was about to burst out of your chest. it felt like something that had manifested itself right out of your dreams but you didn't want to see too eager. "one date." you nodded as your eyes flickered back down to your notes. "what's the worst that can happen?" mentally you were already preparing for every single thing that could actually go wrong, and the list was growing by the second. it wasn't that you didn't trust him, it was just that he had an history of being, well, a player, and getting your heart broken by the guy you'd had a crush on since forever wasn't ideal.

"but if you stand me up then i'm never talking to you again."

"noted. i'll swing by your place. saturday, seven?"

"it's a date."

he was going to cancel. that was the latest thought that had etched itself in your brain. you pulled at your dress nervously as you stared at yourself in the mirror, trying and failing to convince yourself that it was just your brain. "stop fussing." wanda tutted quietly as swatted at your arm. "you look fine, and this is my lucky dress—trust me, i wore this on my first date with natasha. and then she took me axe throwing." you snorted as you dropped the fabric, rolling your eyes. "hey! i didn't know you were gonna rock up in that. if i knew, i'd have taken you someplace else." nat protested from the bathroom, poking her head out of the door. "and you looked badass throwing those axes. win win situation, it wasn't that bad."

you took a deep breath as you threw your purse over your shoulder, fiddling with the strap—the two of them bickering fading into the background. you were ready way too early, you'd been a fumbling mess for god knows how long. you were about to lovingly ask them to save the argument for later when the knock on the door echoed through the air. your eyes flickered up the clock on the wall, quarter to seven. he was early, if it was him. it probably wasn't him, and maybe it was the self doubt talking—it was—but you wouldn't blame him either. you didn't have time to finish that thought before the next knock came.

"oh, i so got this!" you'd never seen nat move quicker than she did when she launched herself at the door, clearly ready to slip into full interrogation mode if it was him. "please don't. oh god, you—" the words died in the back of your throat as the door swung open.

oh god, it was him—clutching a bunch of carnations like they were both his saving grace and also terrifying at the same time. they were the exact same shade as your dress, a happy little coincidence. "sam told me that you didn't like roses, so, i uh…didn't them…? these were pretty, i figured you'd like them. kinda need you to move, romanoff." he held them out awkwardly around nat, swallowing thickly before wanda tugged her out of the way. sam had warned him about that part, how they could be a little overbearing sometimes but they meant well, and he couldn't blame them.

he held them out properly as you stepped forward and took them from him, holding them up to smell them. "actually, i never get why people do that, i never think they smell of anything. but thank you, they're—they're really pretty." you didn't have many expectations, but in the two minutes he'd been here, he'd blown them out of the water.

"go on, shoo. i'll put these in water. go have fun, you deserve it." wanda plucked the bouquet from your hands and shooing you out of the door. confusion flickered across your face as the door closed behind you. "huh." you hummed, head tilting slightly. "i think i just got kicked out of my own apartment." bucky chuckled quietly as his hand settled on the small of your back, warm and heavy. "yeah, but don't worry. i got a plan." he winked as he led you towards the stairwell. for a minute, the uncharacteristic shyness dropped away and his usual cocky self shined back through. "and i think you're gonna like it just fine."

"i'm just saying, i think it's a noble thing to do. putting up with sam wilson is a full time job, i got my hands full enough with steve." he shrugged as he looked at you out of the corner of his eye. you giggled quietly, eyes dropping to your hands folded in your lap. "aw, c'mon. don't be mean to him! we grew up together, he's my best friend. i'd hate to see how you talk about steve, does he know about that?" you teased as you lifted you lifted your head up, rolling your eyes at him. "you wound me, sweetheart, truly. i have nothing but nice things to say about mr captain america. i give him a glowing review 24/7." he winked as he rolled into a parking lot and nodded out of the window. you raised an eyebrow, turning your head to follow his gaze. it probably wasn't anything special to anyone else, but it was to you.

the old diner was nestled just off the highway, the kind that was still trapped in a bygone era with cracked black and white flooring and booths that creaked when you slid into them. you'd had way too many meltdowns in the one by the window, tears plopping into your chocolate milkshake as you wondered how the hell you'd ended up here. it was almost an extension of yourself, a home away from home. "how did you—"

"i asked sam, he said you come out here sometimes. i didn't even know this place existed, so—" he hopped out and came around to your side, holding the door open for you. "sam could have sent me on a wild goose chase, if he was that kinda guy. figured we could grab a shake and some fries and just, talk. or whatever." he shrugged a shoulder as he offered you his hand, which you blinked at for a second. your brain short circuited for a second before you took it as you slipped out the passenger seat. "thanks, i uh—you—they do really nice shakes. chocolates my favourite, they do it with sprinkles on top and i get extra cherries, and—" you were rambling without even realising, giving him the ins and outs of the menu.

he bit back a smile as you carried on, his hand slipping to the small of your back again. this was all—normal. no bass bouncing off the walls, no one passing around a solo cup with some unidentified liquid in. just flickering neon and a bell above the door that jingled as he pushed it open for you. that was when it hit you that you hadn't stopped talking all the way from the parking lot. "oh, i didn't—i haven't shut up this entire time." you said sheepishly, sliding into your favourite booth by the window. "no, you haven't." he chuckled as he slid in opposite you. "but i like it, you're good at talking, is that why you're going into psychology?" he asked, resting his chin on his hand as he just watched you for a second. "uh…yeah, actually. guess i figured that i could help someone somewhere. why did you pick business?"

"woah, loaded questions already. guess it's just what i'm good at, other than football. my ma said i needed something to fall back on, and that's what jumped out at me. my dad owns a mechanics, i help him out over the summer—i used to, before football. have i told you that you look really pretty tonight?" he flashed you that same smile that mad your heart do a flip, and you felt the blush creeping across your cheeks. you were saved from your awkwardness by a familiar face stopping by your table. "well i never, look at this! this looks like a date, young missy. wow, he's kinda nice looking, too. nice smile, good shoulders, he'd make for good kids some day." jeanie grinned as she pulled the notepad from her apron. she'd probably been here as long as the place had been open, hair long gone grey and wrinkles by her eyes from all the smiling she'd ever done—like everyone who'd ever come through the doors granny.

it was bucky's time to be embarrassed, dropping his head in hope you wouldn't notice the fact he was blushing. "yeah, no—can we just get two chocolate shakes? one with extra sprinkles and cherries on top. and some fries, please. you want anything else? pancakes, or—"

"shakes and fries is good. although the pancakes are really good too." you smiled, drumming your fingers against the table—pretending that you weren't impressed by the fact he'd remembered your order despite the fact you'd only told hin five minutes ago. "oh, sweetie, you're too kind to me. don't you go hurting her, mister. earl back there is alway itchin' to fight someone, don't let it be you." she warned before she headed off to put your order through. bucky raised an eyebrow as he looked back at you, leaning forward as his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "does everyone just feel compelled to protect you, or…"

"yeah, that happens a lot." you whispered back, your eyes flickering between his eyes and his lips—for a second, you wondered what they'd feel like pressed against yours. no. don't go there. not on the first date. you cleared your throat as you leaned back, knee bouncing so hard under the table that the whole thing shook. "sorry."

"don't apologise."

he was so sincere that you almost forgot his reputation.

time blurred together after that. you drank your shake while he smeared whipped cream on your face to make you laugh, you ate your cherries and then stole his—he didn't complain. talk swung between college and his football and his sisters, you learned that he had three. as things went on, this warm fuzzy feeling started to spread deep inside of you, right next to the butterfly enclosure in your stomach. "no, go on." he shook his head as he pushed the last of the fries towards you. "nope." you pushed them back. "oh, so it's like that, huh?" mischief flashed across his face as he picked one up, holding it up to your mouth. "i insist, take the fry." you giggled as you took a bite, unaware of the ketchup smeared on your cheek. "you got a little—"

he gestured towards your cheek before he grabbed a napkin."little sauce, right there. i got it." he reached over and wiped it away, his hand lingering on your cheek for longer than was considered still friendly. his face drifted closer and closer to yours until his lips were on yours, the napkin dropped to the table as his hands cupped either side of your face. a pathetic noise left the back of your throat, a mix between a whine and a groan as your eyes fluttered shut. it was everything you'd hoped it would be—soft, warm, but then the bell above the door rang again and crashed you back down to earth.

"don't" you warned him, pulling back just enough to look at him properly and the stupid shit eating grin on his face. "now what made you think i was gonna anything, huh? well, maybe i was gonna kiss you again, but can you blame me? pretty girl, pretty diner. but if i asked you to come back here again, with me, for a date…?"

you took a deep breath, pretending to consider it, even though you already had the answer. "yeah, i'd like that. but you're on probation, one step out of line—"

"oh, sweetheart. you have no idea how good you make me wanna be."

[danysdaughter]

Girl, so confusing

꒰ pairing ꒱ fratboy!bucky x fem!reader

꒰ wc ꒱ 20k words ꒰ summary꒱ bucky barnes can handle almost anything except the way you make him feel chosen one moment and disposable the next. loving you would be simple, if you weren’t so fucking confusing.

.ᐟ contents | 18+ (MDNI), college au, situationship, bucky pov, avoidant!reader, lovesick!bucky, mutual pining, asshole!bucky miscommunication, commitment issues, yearning!bucky, toxic relationship, reader is emotionally avoidant, alcohol and weed use, unprotected piv sex, drunk sex, oral sex (f receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, rough sex, dirty talk, jealousy, bucky goes through ittt, .ᐟ lizzy’s note | it has been such an honour being apart of this collab. i love it so much. thank you so much to @iamthatonefangirl and @barnesonly for hosting this beautiful cutesy collab, and putting all this effort and thought in, love you bwabies. on another note this fic has also been the bane of my existence. literally created this fic for one scene in mind, only to not add it because i didnt have time, im actually devastated. anyway enjoy my loves <3

BWAT MASTERLIST — MASTERLIST

divider by my bby @barnesonly

The night was going perfectly until you walked in.

Bucky had a sweating bottle of beer hooked between two fingers, the label curling pink under his damp thumb.

Sam was pressed against his side, yelling something loudly idiotic directly into his ear; something about a bet, or a dare, or a girl whose name Bucky would forget by morning. He caught none of it.

The kitchen was chanting his name. The sound bounced off the sticky counters and the sweat-slick walls, a drunk, gleeful roar for a drinking game he didn’t remember starting, let alone winning.

He bared his teeth in a grin, let the noise wash over him like a wave of approval he was too buzzed to question.

Some girl he couldn’t name had dragged her glitter-dusted fingers across his cheekbone an hour ago, leaving a streak of lime-green that caught the strobe light like a neon sign against his skin.

Steve had been pretending not to laugh about it for the last twenty minutes, mouth tight, eyes bright with amusement every time he caught Bucky working the room with a fresh smear of sparkle on his face.

The whole house smelled like it was sweating out its own wild heart; weed smoke curling thick through the pulsing lights, cheap perfume wrestling with spilled beer and tequila, the sour-sweet musk of bodies pressed too close for too long.

It smelled like a night everyone would be pretending not to regret by the time the sun burned through the blinds.

A girl from Tony’s econ class—Eden… or Edith, he couldn’t remember—had her fingers locked around his wrist, tugging him toward the hallway where the bass bled into something slower, heavier.

The lights back there flickered green, pulsing like a heartbeat under the floorboards. She was pulling him toward the dark, and her lips were parted, and she was saying something he didn’t need to hear to understand.

Bucky let himself be pulled.

One step. Part of a grin. His thumb dragging across her knuckles in a promise he had made to a hundred girls before her. He was already opening his mouth, ready to offer something charming and perfectly hollow.

Then the front door opened.

He didn’t hear it. Not over the bass that was rattling the drywall. Not over Sam’s drunken cackle. Not over the sharp crash of glass shattering somewhere behind him, Thor probably, baptising another piece of the house with whatever expensive bottle he’d smuggled in from Norway. The kitchen cheered.

But Bucky’s head turned anyway.

Like gravity had taken the decision out of his hands.

You stepped in behind Natasha, Gamora a quiet shadow at your shoulder, and you were already laughing, hand pressed to Natasha’s forearm, mouth shaped around a sound the party swallowed whole.

You hadn’t seen him yet.

That, he thought, was always the worst part. Those few seconds where he got to want you without having to hide it. Where he could let the grin slide off his face and just look at you.

Let himself want, openly, stupidly, while the party roared on around him and his hand was still wrapped around some other girl’s wrist.

He must have gone still. Must have stopped grinning, because Sam followed the line of his stare like a bloodhound catching scent.

Sam groaned, and slapped a heavy hand against Bucky’s shoulder.

“Oh, here we fucking go.”

He felt like an impatient puppy, and he hated it, hated the way his pulse had picked up, the way his palm had gone clammy around the bottle, the way he couldn’t stop tracking the curve of your ass as you drifted through the crowd.

Eden/Edith was still talking. Her fingers were sliding up his forearm, nails scraping lightly, trying to reclaim the heat she’d had a lock on before the front door opened.

She didn’t know it yet, but she had absolutely no chance.

Bucky let her touch linger for a beat longer than polite, just long enough to make her think she was still in the running, then he let his gaze drift past her face like she’d already become background noise.

She was still talking, something about a quieter room, a better view from the upstairs balcony, but her words were just shapes in the air, meaningless vibrations against the bass.

He waited. Watched you, Natasha and Gamora carve out a corner of the living room, claiming a sagging couch and a half-empty bottle of something pink. You settled into the cushions like you owned them, one leg tucked under you, head tilted toward Gamora as she said something that made you smile.

And then Scott Lang appeared, as if summoned by the scent of a female audience, already gesturing wildly with both hands, launching into a story that was probably 80% fabrication.

The girl from econ was still talking. Bucky shrugged her hand off his arm and walked away mid-sentence.

He crossed the room with the lazy, unhurried confidence of someone who knew exactly where he was going and knew he’d be welcome when he got there. Scott was still going, his voice rising in pitch as he reached the climax of whatever tall tale he was spinning now.

“—and I swear to God, Hope looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘If you can’t fit it through the door, it’s not coming home with us.’ And I said, ‘Watch me.’”

“That did not happen, Lang,” Natasha cut in, shaking her head, but the smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her.

“On Hope’s life it did,” Scott insisted, pressing a hand to his chest. “Would I lie to you girls?”

The three of you exchanged a look. It was skeptical, humoured, a shared hum that was more mocking than affirming. Scott opened his mouth to continue, but Bucky was already moving into the gap.

“Ladies,” he said, drawling the word like it was a gift he was bestowing. He smiled, a little lopsided, the lime-green glitter catching the light as he shouldered his way into the space between you and Gamora on the couch.

“For fuck’s sake, Barnes,” Gamora muttered, but she shifted, grudgingly making room. Bucky’s focus was already locked on you, his body angled toward yours like a compass needle finding north.

He settled in, his thigh pressing against yours, the heat of him bleeding through the thin fabric of your jeans. He slung an arm across the back of the couch, his fingers dangling just behind your shoulder, claiming the space around you like it was his by right.

“Party started at nine,” he said, his voice already slurred with alcohol and the kind of confidence that came from knowing he was the best thing in the room. He was grinning, his pupils blown wide in the dim light. “It’s almost twelve. What’s your excuse?”

You laughed, and the sound of it hit him somewhere low in his chest. “You’ve never heard of fashionably late, Buck?”

He rolled his eyes, the gesture exaggerated and fond. “Whatever, doll.”

The word hung between you, before your hand moved almost on instinct. Your thumb came up to his cheek, pressing gently against the glitter clinging to his skin. The green flecks caught the dim light, and your touch was featherlight, curious, your brow arching as you rubbed at the shimmer.

“And where is this from?” you asked, your voice carrying that edge of playful interrogation he knew too well.

Bucky’s brain short-circuited. The warmth of your palm against his cheek, the way your fingers lingered just a second too long ,it was enough to make him forget his own name, let alone the girl whose hands had been all over him an hour ago. He blinked, swallowed, and the lie came easy.

“Barton.” He said it flatly, like it was obvious. “Got bored. Started throwing glitter at people. You know how he gets.”

He held your gaze, hoping the alcohol flush hid the flicker of guilt. He didn’t want to say some girl blonde chick whose face he’d already forgotten. Didn’t want to see that hint of something—jealousy? disappointment?—cross your features. Even if he wasn’t sure it would.

Before you could press further, his hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist. His fingers were warm, slightly sticky from condensation and beer, and he tugged gently, an insistent pull that was more plea than demand.

“Come with me.”

You didn’t move. Your grin was still in place, but your body stayed rooted, and you tilted your head, giving him your best scolding look, the one that made his stomach twist because it meant you were about to say no.

“I just got here, Buck. Don’t be rude.”

He huffed, the sound escaping him like an impatient child denied a treat. His jaw tightened, and he turned his head, addressing the two women lounging beside you with exaggerated politeness that was almost ridiculous given his disheveled state.

“May I steal your friend for a few moments? Please?” He even tacked on a smile, though it came out a little strained.

Gamora didn’t bother hiding her irritation. She shot him a look that could curdle milk, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like dumbass.

It was Natasha who answered, her eyes flickering between the two of you with an amusement that made Bucky feel like a specimen under a microscope.

“Just bring her back in one piece,” Natasha said, raising her glass in a lazy toast. “Preferably still clothed.”

Bucky’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He didn’t have time to form a response, because you were already opening your mouth to protest, and he wasn’t about to give you the chance.

He tugged. Harder this time. You stumbled forward, a surprised laugh escaping your lips as he pulled you off the couch and into the crowd. His hand stayed wrapped around your wrist, a warm anchor as he weaved through bodies and noise, dragging you behind him like a prize he’d won.

“Where are you taking me, Bucky?” you called over the music, your voice half-laughing, half-breathless.

“You’ll see,” he shouted back, not bothering to turn around. His eyes scanned ahead, spotting the staircase, the path clear for now. He felt your wrist shift against his grip, and without thinking, he slid his hand down, interlacing your fingers with his.

Behind him, across the room, Edith/Eden was still watching. Her glare burned against the back of his neck, but he didn’t feel it. He didn’t feel anything except the warmth of your palm pressed against his, the sound of your laughter cutting through the bass, and the need to get you alone.

By the time the door slammed shut behind them, the bass from downstairs was just a dull throb through the walls, a welcome relief from the chaos of the party.

Bucky’s room was a disaster; clothes spilling out of an open drawer, the sour tang of old beer cans mingling with the familiar musk of his cologne, a single lamp casting a weak amber glow over the wreckage.

He didn’t spare it a second glance, making a beeline for his dresser like a man on a mission.

You lingered by the door, arms crossed, taking in the scene with a slow, deliberate sweep of your eyes. “Jesus Christ, Bucky,” you said, your voice flat and deeply amused. “You’re a pig.”

Bucky snorted, a low, warm sound that vibrated through his chest. He didn’t bother turning around. His fingers dug through the wreckage of his top drawer, pushing aside a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a stray condom wrapper that had seen better days.

“Crash here tonight,” he tossed over his shoulder, the words slurring just a little around the edges, “and you can be my maid of honour. Organise my sock drawer. Judge my questionable life choices.”

His fingers finally closed around the small metal tin hidden at the very back. He pulled it out like a trophy, turning just in time to catch the affronted scoff that escaped your lips.

“You wish, Barnes.”

Your voice was sharp, dismissive, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Bucky held your gaze for a beat too long, something hot and unguarded flickering in his chest. His mouth moved before his brain caught up. “Yeah,” he murmured, turning to his desk to hide the sudden heat creeping up his neck. “Sweetheart, I wish every damn night.”

He busied himself with the familiar ritual of rolling; paper, weed, a careful distribution; refusing to look back, refusing to see if your expression shifted.

A beat of silence. Then your voice came again, softer now, laced with amusement. “You know, you’re cute when your brain-to-mouth filter is busted.”

He snorted, ducking his head to hide the grin spreading across his face. “Shut up.”

He was methodical despite the drink swimming in his veins, surprisingly steady. He sprinkled the weed, spread it even, and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger with a practiced ease that came from plenty of late nights just like this one.

His tongue darted out to wet the edge of the paper, sealing it shut with a final, satisfied press.

When he turned around, holding the blunt up between his fingers like a prize, his grin was crooked. “Look what I got.”

You had perched yourself on the edge of his bed, hands planted behind you, legs crossed. The springs creaked under your weight. That same infuriating, amused smile was painted across your face, like he was a puppet and you were the one pulling the strings.

Like his entire purpose in the universe was to make you laugh, to make you roll your eyes, to make you look at him with that perfect mix of exasperation and warmth.

And God help him, he’d take it. He’d take every scrap of attention you threw his way.

“On a scale of one to ‘I’m about to make a terrible decision’,” you asked, tilting your head, “where exactly are you right now, Bucky?”

He crossed the room in a few long strides, closing the distance until he was standing right in front of you. The blunt hung loose between his fingers.

“Enough that I know exactly how bad of an idea this is, sweetheart.” His hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist, fingers warm and calloused. He pulled you to your feet before you could brace yourself.

You stumbled into him, palms flat against his chest, the blunt pressed gently between your bodies for a fleeting second. “And I’m doing it anyway.”

He didn’t let go. Instead, he slid his hand down, threading his fingers through yours, and tugged you toward the window, the one that led to the fire escape.

“C’mon. Let’s get high.”

Fifteen minutes dissolved into a warm, syrupy haze where time stopped mattering and the only gravity left in the universe was the curve of your body against his.

Bucky was laughing; a low, breathless, almost giddy sound; right against your open mouth. The space between you had surrendered completely, chest to chest, your thighs brushing his, the bitter-sweet taste of the blunt lacing every shared exhale.

He’d stopped passing the joint a while ago. Now it was just a prop, a thin ember burning slowly between his fingers while he held it up to your lips like he was feeding you something sacred. You took a drag without him asking, lips parting automatically, eyes never leaving his.

“That was my last,” you murmured as you pulled back, the smoke curling from your lips in a lazy ribbon.

You didn’t bother aiming it away from him. He wished you’d blow it directly into his mouth so he could taste you.

“No such thing as ‘last’ with me, sweetheart.” His words were slow, syrup-thick, drunk on you more than the alchol in his system. “You started this. Gotta finish what you started.”

He brought the blunt back to your lips before you could argue, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. You took another hit, holding his gaze like a challenge.

“You’re such a bad influence on me, Barnes.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, shaking his head, the dopey grin on his face mirroring yours. “I’m the bad influence?”

He leaned closer, his nose brushing the shell of your ear, voice dropping to a rough, amused murmur. “Baby, I’m just following your lead. You walked into that party looking like a full-course meal. You climbed out my window. You’re the one keeping me out here, freezing my ass off, just to watch you smoke my weed and smile at me like I’m your favourite toy.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, pupils blown wide, lips parted.

“If anyone’s the devil here, sweetheart… it’s definitely you.”

Your dopey smile stretched wider, pushing up your cheeks, eyes crinkling at the corners. He almost groaned at the sight. The way you looked at him; like he was a puzzle you were enjoying taking apart, piece by piece.

“Shut up,” you said, your voice soft, fond, dismissive.

The words were barely a whisper before his came, immediate and rough.

“Make me.”

The air between you snapped taut. Your smile faded into something heavier, something that made his pulse skip and slam double-time. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He just stared you down, waiting, daring you, his arm tightening around your waist like he was ready to hold you there forever if that’s what it took.

Your eyes dropped to his lips.

Yes. Yes. Close the distance. Kiss me. Let me feel those lips against mine.

He watched you watch him. Watched the hesitation flicker behind your hooded eyes. Watched the want and the caution war inside you. He wanted to beg. Wanted to grab your jaw and bridge the gap himself.

But he held still, letting you make the call, letting you feel the weight of the choice hanging between you.

Instead, you broke the spell with a grin, that same infuriating, playful grin, and shoved him square in the chest.

“As fun as this is, watching you turn into a lovesick mess, Nat’s gonna send a search party if I’m gone much longer.”

You didn’t wait for an answer. You twisted out of his grip, the hem of your shirt riding up just enough to flash the smooth skin of your lower back as you climbed back through the window.

Bucky bit back a groan so sharp it almost hurt. He dragged a hand down his face, letting out a frustrated breath that fogged in the cool air. His entire body was humming, wired, aching.

He didn’t give himself time to think. He followed you on your heels, dropping through the window and landing in the mess of his room just as your feet hit the floor. His hand shot out, catching your wrist, spinning you gently but firmly back to face him.

“You’re gonna pay for that, you know.”

Your eyebrows lifted, amused. “Pay for what?”

“Leaving a man hanging.” His voice was lower now, rougher, stripped of the playful buzz. “Making me follow you around like some puppy. Dangling yourself in front of me and then slipping away.”

You tilted your head, that infuriating smile still playing at your lips. “Poor Bucky. Must be so hard, wanting something you can’t just charm your way into.”

His jaw tightened. There was no malice in your voice; just teasing, still wrapped in that same playful edge that had been driving him up the wall all night.

But something in him snagged on it anyway.

Maybe it was the weed, loosening the screws in his head. Maybe it was the beer, sticky and warm in his bloodstream.

Maybe it was the simple, agonising fact that you were standing in his room with your mouth still soft and swollen from smiling at him, your wrist warm and alive under his thumb, acting like he was insane for wanting the very thing you kept placing just out of reach.

Bucky’s thumb pressed into the delicate skin over your pulse. He felt it skip. Felt the flutter of it beneath his touch, like a bird trapped in a cage of bone and breath.

“Maybe I’m not trying to charm my way into it.”

Your smile didn’t fall all at once. That would’ve been merciful.

It faded slowly, like a candle snuffed from across the room, a gradual dimming that left shadows in its wake. Your brows pulled together, the teasing tilt of your head softening into something careful. As if you were reading the fine print of a contract you hadn’t agreed to.

Bucky should’ve stopped there.

He knew he should’ve. He could feel the edge of it under his feet, that familiar precipice where the air changed and you started looking for the nearest exit without ever moving toward the door. Your eyes flickered, just once. Toward escape.

But he was drunk. He was high. And he was so goddamn tired of wanting you like a dog waiting under a dinner table for scraps, hungry and patient, and always left with nothing.

So he kept going.

“Maybe I’m just trying to figure out what the hell you want from me.”

Your eyes searched his face, hunting for the joke, the punchline, the easy way out.

For one second, you looked almost wounded. Like he had reached past the game and touched something raw without asking first. Your lips parted, and something flickered behind your eyes.

Then you blinked, and it was gone. Wiped clean like a slate.

“Bucky.”

He hated the way you said his name then. Soft. Gentle. Like a warning whispered to a child on the verge of a tantrum. Like you were trying to calm something down before it made a mess.

“What?” he asked, though his voice had already lost its bite, gone flat and hollow.

“You’re drunk.”

He laughed once, short and humourless, the sound scraping out of his throat. “Yeah, you said that already.”

“And high.”

“And still not stupid.” His voice cracked on the last word, betraying him.

Your lips pressed together into a thin, unreadable line.

There it was. The wall. Not slammed up, not obvious enough for anyone else to notice, but Bucky felt it like a physical shift in the air. Your wrist went still in his hand, no longer warm, no longer responsive. Your shoulders drew back half an inch, a subtle retreat.

Your gaze flicked past him, toward the door, toward the party, toward anything that was not this room and the thing he had just dragged into the light.

His stomach dropped before you even spoke.

“I should go back downstairs.”

Of course.

Bucky let go of your wrist like it had burned him. His hand fell to his side, fingers curling into a loose fist, the ghost of your pulse still tingling against his palm.

“Right.”

Your expression shifted. Something tight and wounded flickered across your features before you smoothed it over.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That.” You gestured vaguely at his face, at the flatness in his eyes, the bitter set of his jaw. “Act like I did something.”

He stared at you.

You stared back.

Downstairs, someone screamed with laughter, swallowed by the bass that kicked harder for a few seconds, rattling an empty beer can on his desk. The sound skittered across the wood like a nervous heartbeat.

Bucky dragged his tongue across his teeth, tasting smoke and bitterness. He nodded once, like he had just figured something out. Like the pieces had finally clicked into place, and the picture wasn’t pretty.

“You didn’t,” he said, and his voice came out rougher than he intended. “That’s kind of the whole point, isn’t it?”

Something flashed across your face.

Hurt, maybe. Guilt. A flicker of recognition at the truth buried under his words.

Or maybe he was making things up again because he wanted so badly for there to be something underneath all that pretty nothing you kept giving him. Wanted it like a bruise he couldn’t stop pressing.

Your voice was quieter when you said, “I was just joking with you.”

“Yeah,” he said, forcing a smile that felt wrong on his mouth. “You’re good at that.”

The air stalled between you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. You stood there in the weak amber light of his disaster of a room, the glow spilling from the desk lamp casting long shadows across the cluttered floor.

Close enough that he could still smell smoke on your breath, mixed with something sweet, your lip gloss, maybe, or the conditioner you used. Far enough that he knew if he reached for you again, you would probably let him.

That was the worst part.

You would let him.

You would let him touch your waist, pull you into him by the hand. You would sigh against his mouth like you had been waiting for it. You would make him feel like he had finally cracked through every wall you built.

And then tomorrow, in front of everyone, you would smile at him like none of it had happened. Like he was just another face in the crowd.

Bucky swallowed. His throat clicked dryly.

“Go on, then,” he said, nodding toward the door. “Nat’s waiting, right?”

Your eyes lifted to his.

He could tell you didn’t like that. Could tell by the tiny pinch between your brows, the way your mouth parted around a response you didn’t seem to have ready. He had pushed too hard, and now you were scrambling for solid ground.

But you still went.

You brushed past him, shoulder grazing his chest, and he hated himself for noticing the contact, the warmth of you through the thin fabric of your top. Hated himself more for wanting to turn his head and follow the line of your back as you moved away.

At the door, your hand closed around the knob. The metal turned with a soft click.

Then you paused.

“Buck?”

He looked at you because he always looked when you said his name like that.

You seemed to regret calling for him the second he did. Your face softened, and for one stupid, awful second, he thought you might come back. He thought you might say sorry. He thought you might say anything real enough for him to hold onto.

Instead, you gave him a small smile.

“Don’t sulk too much.”

Then you slipped out, leaving the door half-open behind you. The hallway light bled across the floor, carrying muffled voices and the thrum of music.

Bucky stood there for a few seconds, heart punching slow and heavy against his ribs, listening to the party swallow you back whole.

Then he laughed under his breath,low and mean and mostly at himself. The sound scraped out of his chest and died in the empty air.

“Yeah,” he muttered to the cluttered room. “Sure.”

Bucky hated spring festivals.

That was a lie.

Usually, he loved this shit. Loved the noise, the way the quad swarmed with bodies in a heat that felt almost reckless for April, the sun bleaching the grass and pavement into something too bright, too clean.

Loved the cheap beer poured into plastic cups and hidden inside soda cans, the shameless excuse to get drunk in broad daylight and call it school spirit.

Usually, he would have walked in like he owned the whole fucking place.

Today, he trailed Sam and Steve through the crowd with his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets and a mood that sat heavy in his chest; sour, curdled, thick enough to spoil the entire afternoon.

Sam was talking. Steve was answering. The two of them had been at it for at least five minutes about something Bucky couldn’t muster the energy to care about.

Something about whether Clint could legally enter the pie-eating contest twice if he changed his shirt between rounds.

“He wore a wig, man,” Sam was saying, his voice threaded with genuine affront. “Like that was supposed to make people forget he’s still Clint fucking Barton.”

Steve exhaled a short, tired laugh. “The volunteer was a freshman. She panicked.”

“She panicked because he called himself Clara Barta.”

Bucky stared past them at a girl in a neon-green cowboy hat trying to scale someone’s shoulders and nearly eating shit in the grass.

He wasn’t hearing any of it properly.

His eyes kept drifting before he could stop them. Over the food trucks. Across the knot of bodies near the makeshift stage. Past the sorority booth selling overpriced lime slushies.

Toward every flash of gold jewelry, every laugh that pitched too close to yours, every figure moving beside a redhead or a girl with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

He was not looking for you.

He wasn’t.

He had told himself that before they even left the house. Had stood in front of the bathroom mirror, dragging his toothbrush across his teeth with too much force, and decided it with a mouthful of mint and stubbornness.

He did not care if you were there. He did not care if you saw him.

He cared, specifically and deeply, about not caring if you didn’t.

If you came up to him, he would be normal. Worse than normal. He would be casual. Cold, even. Polite in a way designed to make you feel stupid for once.

He would not give you that pathetic, eager opening you always seemed to find in him, the one you could press your fingers into until he forgot every reason he had to be angry.

No.

This time, if you wanted his attention, you could fucking work for it.

“You good?” Steve asked.

Bucky blinked.

The question cut through the static in his head like a blade he hadn’t realised was already buried there. Sam and Steve had both stopped walking.

They were looking at him now. Sam with one brow arched high enough to belong on its own zip code, Steve wearing that careful, irritating brand of concern that made Bucky want to throw something soft and harmless directly at his face.

The sun was hot on the back of his neck. The breeze carried the scent of grilled meat and spilled soda, and somewhere a group of girls screamed with laughter over the loudspeaker.

“What?”

Sam’s mouth twisted into a grin that was half amusement, half disbelief. “He lives.”

“I’m good,” Bucky said, the words flat and dismissive.

“You sure?” Steve pressed, his voice quieter now.

“Christ, Rogers, I said I’m good.”

Sam lifted both hands in surrender, palms out. “Nobody said you weren’t. You just looked like you were trying to blow up a lemonade stand with your mind.”

Bucky looked over.

Sure enough, he had been glaring in the vague direction of a table draped in yellow streamers, a handwritten sign propped crooked against a stack of plastic cups reading FRESH LEMONADE $3.

The freshman behind the table, a blonde in a floral sundress, met his stare for half a second before quickly dropping her gaze to the pitcher, her shoulders hitching like she’d been caught stealing.

Great. Perfect.

Now he was terrorising citrus vendors because some girl with pretty eyes and a talent for emotional warfare had ruined his entire fucking week.

“I’m getting a drink,” he muttered.

“From the lemonade stand?” Sam asked.

“Fuck off.”

Steve sighed, a long, tired exhale that Bucky knew too well, but by then he was already walking.

The festival sprawled across the quad in every direction, bright and loud and obnoxiously alive.

Someone had draped green streamers from the trees, their edges curling in the afternoon breeze. The grass was littered with crushed cups and abandoned flyers and bodies lounging in the sun.

A group of guys from the rowing team were shouting around the dunk tank, already shirtless, already sunburnt to a shade of pink that had to hurt. Music pulsed from the stage where some sophomore with a guitar was butchering a song Bucky vaguely recognised.

Normally, it would have been easy.

Smile. Drink. Flirt. Win something stupid from one of the booths while the crowd cheered like it mattered.

Let a girl press herself against his side, her fingers trailing his arm, while Sam heckled him from the sidelines and Steve pretended he wasn’t entertained by the whole spectacle.

That was what pissed him off most.

Everything used to be so fucking easy before you.

Bucky grabbed a red plastic cup from one of the coolers near the fraternity table, the ice water sloshing over his fingers, and took a long drink without bothering to ask what was in it.

Too sweet. Sharp underneath, a chemical bite that tried to singe the back of his throat. Probably spiked by Thor, judging by the way it burned all the way down.

Good.

He drank again, letting the cold settle in his chest like armor.

“Bucky!”

He turned, half out of reflex.

A girl from his psych lecture waved at him from beside the ring toss booth, her hair catching the sun, her smile too eager.

She was wearing a tiny green top that probably would have interested him three months ago, or three weeks ago, or any other version of himself that had not become clinically insane over a girl who called him needy like she knew exactly where to press and exactly how much pressure it would take to make him explode.

Her name was Mia.

Maybe. Maya? No. Mia.

Bucky smiled anyway.

There. Easy. He could do easy. He’d been doing easy his whole damn life.

“Hey,” he said, walking over with the lazy confidence that still fit him when he remembered how to wear it, “You runnin’ this scam?”

She laughed immediately, like he had given her something better than the joke deserved. Her eyes roamed his chest, his arms, the casual way he held his cup. “It’s not a scam. You’re just bad at aiming.”

“That’s hurtful. I’m great at aiming.”

“Prove it, then.”

Bucky leaned one hip against the edge of the booth, letting his grin widen. Behind him, he could practically feel Sam and Steve watching from somewhere near the food trucks, probably exchanging some kind of wordless commentary with their eyebrows.

Mia handed him three plastic rings, her fingers brushing his palm. She let them linger a second longer than necessary, her smile softening into something intentional.

Bucky noticed.

He also noticed that he felt nothing.

Not nothing exactly. He felt the dull satisfaction of being wanted. The little ego-stroke of someone looking at him and deciding he was worth the chase.

He felt the shape of his old self settle over him for a second, familiar as a jacket he had left hanging in his closet, still fitting, still comfortable.

But underneath it, his attention kept pulling elsewhere.

He threw the first ring.

The plastic sailed wide, skimming the neck of a glass bottle before spinning uselessly into the trampled grass.

Mia laughed, bright and sharp. “Great at aiming, huh?”

“Wind interference,” he said, already reaching for the next one.

“There is no wind.” She laughed again, softer this time, her fingers finding the bare skin of his forearm.

“Spiritual wind, then.”

Bucky made himself look at her. Really look. He cataloged the curve of her mouth, the warm spread of her smile, the little glitter sticker pressed beneath one eye.

She was pretty. Genuinely pretty. Warm and open and offering him something he didn’t have to work for.

He should have wanted that.

He wanted to want that. He wanted to feel the familiar heat of being chosen, the lazy satisfaction of a girl deciding he was worth her time.

But the wanting felt hollow. A reflex without the fire behind it. His body was here. His mind was already somewhere else, straining toward a frequency he couldn’t stop chasing.

Then, somewhere behind him, a laugh cut through the noise.

Nat’s laugh, recognisable even in the middle of a crowd.

It wasn’t yours. He knew the difference better than he wanted to. Yours was quieter, wryer, often aimed at him rather than with him. But Natasha was the anchor of your little constellation, and where she was…

Bucky’s whole body went tight.

The casual slouch of his shoulders hardened into something rigid. The easy smile on his mouth faltered at the edges, cracking just barely before he caught it.

He hated himself before he even turned his head. Hated how transparent he was.

Slowly he glanced over his shoulder.

And there you were.

By the slushie booth, standing in the loose triangle you always formed with Natasha and Gamora. Sunlight was threading through your hair, setting the edges of you on fire. A lime-green cup was balanced in your hand, the crushed ice inside melting into a watery gradient against the plastic.

You were listening to something Natasha was saying, your head tilted at that familiar angle, your mouth curved into the shape of a smile that didn’t quite touch your eyes.

You looked beautiful. You looked miles away. You looked exactly the way you always looked when you were present but not entirely there.

Bucky went still. Like a fucking idiot.

After that, Mia became background noise.

Pretty background noise, sure. The kind that came with a sugar-sweet laugh and a glitter sticker catching the late-afternoon sun beneath one eye. Smiling background noise with soft fingers that kept finding excuses to graze his wrist every time she handed him another plastic ring, letting her touch linger a beat longer than necessary.

But background noise all the same.

Bucky tried. He really fucking tried.

He let his weight shift onto one hip, leaning against the edge of the ring-toss booth with practiced ease. He laughed when she laughed, let his eyes drop to her mouth once because that was the sort of thing he used to do without thinking, a reflex he’d honed over years of easy conquests.

He even let her fix the collar of his jacket when she reached for it. Her knuckles grazed the side of his throat, a brief pressure against the warm skin just above his collarbone.

It should have sparked something smug and familiar in him, a pleasant shiver of being wanted.

Nothing.

Worse than nothing.

Because the whole time she was talking all he could think was that her laugh was too bright. Too clean. Too eager to please. It didn’t catch him under the ribs the way yours did, didn’t hook into something raw and leave him breathless.

Her teasing landed too soft. Too safe. Not sharp enough to make him want to chase it, to earn it, to prove himself.

She touched him like she knew he wanted to be touched, generous and open and unquestioning.

And he hated that too, because you never gave him anything that simply.

You made him work for scraps and then looked surprised when he started starving.

Mia said something. He missed it entirely.

“Right,” Bucky said, because it sounded safe enough.

Her brows lifted, “You have no idea what I just said.”

He smiled, charming and empty, a reflex that had never failed him. “I was distracted by your beauty.”

She laughed, pleased despite herself, and shoved lightly at his arm. Easy. So fucking easy.

His gaze still slid over her shoulder.

You were still by the slushie booth, one elbow propped on the counter, the heel of your palm digging into the wood. Your head was tilted toward Natasha, who was gesturing emphatically about something.

Gamora stood half a step behind you with her arms crossed, like campus security hired by hell itself. You had a lime-green straw between your fingers, the plastic bent near the top from where you kept worrying it with your thumb.

You were not looking at him.

Good. Fine.

Bucky turned back to Mia and threw another ring. It sailed in a shallow arc, bounced uselessly off the neck of a bottle, and dropped onto the trampled grass at the base of the booth.

Mia made a sympathetic noise, her lips pursing. “Spiritual wind again?”

“Violent spiritual wind.” He grabbed another ring, testing its weight in his palm.

“You’re terrible at this.” Her hand landed on his bicep when she laughed, staying there a little too long.

Bucky let it.

He let it because maybe you would look over and see it. Maybe you would see her hand on his arm, see her leaning into his space, see him not pulling away. Maybe you would realise he had options. Lots of them.

Girls who laughed easily and touched without hesitation and made him feel like he was winning instead of losing.

He did not need you.

He didn’t.

He had never needed any girl to want him. That was the whole point. Girls liked him. Girls came easy. Girls wanted to be chosen by him, and he had always been good at choosing, at taking what was offered, at moving on before anyone could get too attached.

So maybe you should see that.

Maybe you should watch someone else touch him, watch someone else laugh at his jokes, watch someone else look at him like he was something worth having.

Maybe you should feel even half as stupid as he had felt standing in his room after you left, the silence still ringing in his ears.

Your eyes moved.

Just once.

A quick glance over Natasha’s shoulder, brief enough that anyone else would have missed it. A flicker of movement, a shift in focus. You looked at him and then away again.

Bucky should have felt triumphant.

He should have felt vindicated. Relieved, maybe. Like he had finally managed to press one finger into the soft place beneath all your careful indifference and prove there was something there.

Instead, his stomach twisted into a knot that sat heavy and cold.

Because you did not look angry.

You looked away too fast for him to understand anything at all.

And that was worse.

Mia was still smiling up at him when he turned back, her head tilted just enough to catch the tail end of the afternoon light across her cheekbone.

Her mouth was parted, ready to laugh at whatever he said next.

“You want to try again?”

No.

The word cut through him clean and fast.

He wanted to walk across the quad. He wanted to cross the trampled grass and the careful, deliberate distance you had carved between you like a border he wasn’t allowed to cross.

He wanted to stand in front of you and ask why you had looked at him like that—like he was the one doing something wrong just by existing, just by letting someone else’s hand rest on his arm.

He wanted to grab your stupid green cup out of your hand and press his mouth to the plastic rim, taste whatever sugar-sour thing you had been nursing all afternoon, because, for a reason that made him feel deeply, disgustingly pathetic, he wanted his lips to touch where yours had been.

He wanted to ask why the fuck you got to look wounded when he was the one bleeding out all over the place.

He set the last plastic ring down on the counter.

“You know what?” His voice came out easier than he felt, smooth and practiced. “I’m gonna quit while I still have some dignity.”

Mia laughed, “You had dignity?”

“Once. Briefly.” He dragged a hand through his hair, let his mouth curve into something rueful and self-deprecating. “Freshman year, I think. It was a Tuesday. I peaked early.”

She shifted closer, the toe of her sneaker brushing against his. Her fingers grazed his wrist again. He could feel the opening there, easy, the way girls always were.

All he had to do was lean into it. Let the conversation carry. Let his hand find her waist. Let himself get lost in something simple for once.

Instead, he stepped back.

“See you around, Mia.”

Her face flickered. The smile didn’t drop, but something behind it cooled. A subtle tightening around her eyes, a slight press of her lips.

“Maya,” she corrected.

Fuck.

Bucky blinked.

He smiled anyway, because what else was he supposed to do?

“Right. Maya.” He let the apology bleed into his voice. “Sorry.”

Her smile thinned.

Bucky deserved that too.

He turned and walked away before he could make it worse.

For the next two hours, Bucky made a point of being seen and not approaching.

He let Sam drag him toward the food trucks, let himself be pulled through the thick crowd of students and families and drunk upperclassmen.

He let Steve talk him into watching Clint get disqualified from the pie-eating contest. Thor had stood up from the judges’ table, pointed a finger the size of a hot dog, and loudly accused Clint of being “the same small blond criminal in a wig.”

The crowd erupted. Clint flipped him off with a mouthful of whipped cream. Steve laughed so hard he had to brace himself on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky laughed too. He did. It came out at the right time, in the right pitch, convincing enough.

He stood by the dunk tank while Rhodey heckled Tony into climbing onto the seat. Tony was wearing a linen shirt that probably cost more than Bucky’s entire closet, and he looked profoundly uncomfortable with the idea of getting wet.

He kept his distance. But never so much distance that he could not see you.

That was the pathetic part.

His body moved on its own, tracking you like a compass needle finding north. He always arranged himself somewhere with a clear line of sight. Near the stage when you drifted toward the booths.

By the food trucks when you wandered toward the grass, your silhouette cutting through the golden haze.

Close to Steve when Steve decided to talk to Natasha, because then Bucky had an excuse to stand twenty feet from you and pretend it wasn’t intentional, pretend he was just hanging with his friend while he watched your every move.

But every time your face turned away, his mood soured. Every time you smiled at someone else, he wondered what they had said, what they had done to earn that warmth that he couldn’t seem to coax from you.

He was exhausting.

But he couldn’t stop.

By late afternoon, the sun had started to dip behind the science building, turning the quad warm and gold at the edges. The light slanted long across the grass, casting everything in a honeyed haze.

The air smelled like fried dough, cut grass, spilled beer, and the sharp chemical sweetness of the slushie machine that had been running too hard all day, its motor grinding low and tired.

Bucky had finally lost sight of you.

At first, he told himself it was a relief.

Good.

Great.

Maybe you had left. Maybe you had gone back to your dorm. Maybe the festival could go back to being a festival instead of a slow, public study in how little self-respect James Buchanan Barnes apparently had left.

He lasted thirty seconds.

Then his eyes were moving again, dragging across the quad like a searchlight. Toward the drink stands. Over the line at the food trucks, scanning faces. Past the stage, where the band was packing up their equipment.

Back toward the slushie booth, where Natasha was now talking to Wanda, their heads bent together in quiet conversation.

You were not beside her.

Gamora was there, though, standing with her arms crossed in that way she had. Her eyes cut toward him like she had known exactly where he would be looking.

Bucky looked away immediately.

His pulse hammered in his throat.

Fuck.

He shoved both hands into his jacket pockets and turned in the opposite direction, jaw tight, pulse irritated beneath his skin. He was not looking for you. He was not going to walk around this whole fucking festival like a lost dog because you had vanished for five minutes.

“Hey.”

Bucky turned too fast.

And there you were.

Standing behind him. Sunlight soft around your shoulders, spilling through the gaps in the trees behind you, catching the faint sheen of condensation on the clear plastic cups in your hands. Two iced coffees.

For one stupid second, he forgot to be angry.

The feeling arrived in his chest before he could stop it. A loosening. A warmth. The same stupid, gravitational pull he had been fighting all day, undoing him with a single glance.

Then you smiled at him.

Not the teasing, knowing curl of your mouth that made him want to grab you by the waist and pull you into somewhere quiet. This one was smaller. Softer. Almost shy. The corners of your lips lifted slowly, like you were testing whether it was safe to show him that part of yourself.

He did not trust himself to name it.

“They messed up my order,” you said, lifting one of the cups a little. The ice shifted inside, a soft, crystalline sound against the plastic. “Gave me hazelnut instead of caramel.”

Bucky stared at you. He could smell the coffee now, faintly bitter, cut with something sweet.

You held the cup out toward him.

“I remembered hazelnut’s your favourite.”

That was all.

One sentence.

One stupid fucking coffee.

And Bucky felt every cruel, petty thing he had been rehearsing all day loosen in his hands. They slid through his fingers like water, leaving nothing but the raw, embarrassing truth beneath.

He was supposed to be cold. He had planned it. If you came over he was going to look at you the way you looked at him in dayligh; casual, polite, with nothing owed. He was going to make you work for his attention. Make you feel the distance.

Instead, he took the coffee.

His fingers brushed yours around the damp cup. Your skin was cool and wet from the condensation, and the contact was brief but electric. He felt it in his fingertips, up his wrist, settling somewhere low in his chest.

“Thanks,” he said.

The word came out awful. Pathetic. Barely even mean. It was soft when he had wanted it hard. Grateful when he had wanted indifferent.

Your eyes searched his face, careful and quiet. There was something watchful in the way you looked at him, like you were reading a line of text you had read before but were trying to understand differently this time.

“You haven’t talked to me all day.”

Bucky gave a shrug. The motion was stiff, defensive. He brought the straw to his mouth and wrapped his lips around it, buying himself a second.

“Been busy.”

“I saw.”

The straw stopped against his lips.

There it was. Not an accusation exactly. Not jealousy either. Just two words, soft enough to slide under his skin. They found the tender places, the ones he had been trying to protect, and settled there.

He took a sip to give himself something to do.

Hazelnut. Sweet. A little bitter underneath. Warm on his tongue despite the ice.

Of course you remembered.

He lowered the cup. The plastic was slick in his grip.

“Did you?”

Your mouth tightened slightly. A small, almost imperceptible press of your lips that told him the words had landed where he meant them to.

“Bucky.”

He hated that too. The softness. The warning.

“What?” he asked, and even to his own ears it came out harder than he intended.

“You’re being weird.”

He let out a short laugh. It was hollow, barely more than a breath. “I’m being weird?”

Your eyes dropped to the coffee in your hand. The condensation had started to pool between your fingers, and you shifted your grip, watching the water trail down the plastic.

That should have helped him. That should have given him something solid to stay angry with. He wanted you to roll your eyes. He wanted you to smirk, to toss some sharp little joke at his feet and dare him to pick it up. He wanted you to give him a reason.

But you did not.

You just stood there, looking smaller somehow in the middle of all that noise. The festival kept spinning around you and you were still. Quiet. Waiting.

Then you said, “Are you mad at me?”

He was finished.

He hated that he was finished before he even opened his mouth. Hated that the question undid him so completely, that it found the lock and turned it without effort. Hated that you could stand there with a small, uncertain crack in your voice, and he would fold every single time.

Bucky looked away. He dragged his tongue along the inside of his cheek, tasting coffee and bitterness and something that felt too much like surrender.

He brought the coffee to his lips again. Just to have something to do with his hands. Just to keep from saying something he could not take back.

“Why would I be mad?” he asked, because apparently he had decided to be a dick anyway.

You did not answer immediately.

The silence stretched between you like a thread pulled taut, and Bucky watched the shape of your mouth as it hovered around words you weren’t ready to say.

When he looked back at you, your face had gone still in that careful way he was beginning to recognise. The muscles around your eyes had softened, your lips parted just slightly, and there was a patience in your expression that felt heavier than any accusation.

“I don’t know,” you said, and your voice was thinner now. “I thought maybe the other night…”

You trailed off.

The sentence hung in the air, unfinished, fragile. The kind of opening that could be filled with anything; with hope, with blame, with the truth neither of you had been brave enough to say aloud.

Bucky’s grip tightened around the coffee cup. The other night. So you did remember. You weren’t pretending it hadn’t happened, weren’t going to let it dissolve into the haze of party noise and cheap beer.

“You thought maybe what?”

Your lashes lifted. Your eyes met his, and there was no deflection in them now. No clever sidestep.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel stupid.”

The words went straight through him.

Clean through the ribs, past the armour he had spent the last three days layering over his chest, settling somewhere deep and tender. It was meaner than anything cruel would have been.

Because that was it. That was the thing he had been carrying around and dressing up as anger, because anger looked better on him than humiliation. You had made him feel stupid. Stupid for wanting you.

And now you were standing in front of him with hazelnut coffee and remorse in your eyes, saying the one thing he had not known he needed to hear.

His anger lost its shape.

It did not vanish. He could still feel it, somewhere under his breastbone, hot and sore, a bruise that had not finished healing. But it had nothing to hold onto now.

Bucky swallowed. The motion was dry, his throat tight.

“You didn’t,” he lied.

Your brows pinched. The disbelief was immediate, a small furrow forming between your eyes that told him you had seen right through the denial.

He sighed, hating himself, hating you a little, hating the way his body was already angling toward yours like it had forgiven you without consulting him.

“Fine,” he muttered, the word scraping past his teeth. “Maybe a little.”

Your mouth softened. The corners of your lips turned down in a way that was not quite a frown, more like a quiet admission of guilt.

“I’m sorry.”

There it was again. Another scrap. Barely enough. Two words that should not have been enough to undo the knot in his chest, but somehow they were.

Bucky looked down at the coffee in his hand. The ice had melted more now, the water pooling at the bottom of the clear plastic. Then he looked back at you, and the corner of his mouth lifted despite himself.

“You always apologise with beverages?”

“Only when I’m feeling generous.”

“Dangerous habit.” He tilted his head, letting the smirk settle into something more real. “I’m very bribable.”

Your smile came back slowly. It started in your eyes first, a flicker of warmth that spread to your lips, and God, there he went. There he fucking went.

All that resolve, all that careful, bitter distance, folding inside him like wet paper because you looked at him with warmth again.

“You’re cheap,” you said.

“Not cheap.” He shook his head, the coffee cup swinging in his grip. “Accessible.”

“That’s worse.”

“You say that like you’re not standing here trying to buy my forgiveness with six dollars of iced coffee.”

“Seven fifty,” you corrected, and there was a spark of humour in your voice now. “Campus pricing is criminal.”

He laughed before he could stop himself. The sound came out rough and surprised. But there it was, and it loosened something between you, closed the last of the distance.

Your smile widened at the sound, and something in his chest went soft and stupid and loyal.

Across the quad, Sam caught his eye from beside the food trucks. He was standing with a paper tray of fries halfway to his mouth, staring at Bucky over the top of them with an expression flat with disbelief.

His eyebrows were raised, his head tilted in a slow, accusatory shake.

Bucky ignored him.

He looked back at you, and the festival noise swelled around you again, but it felt distant now. Muffled. He nodded toward the far end of the festival where the temporary rides had been set up near the parking lot.

A cheap spinning thing with hanging seats was creaking in slow circles, its lights flickering green and white even though the sun had not fully gone down yet.

Nearby, a smaller ferris wheel groaned every time it moved, looking only slightly safer than a lawsuit.

“You wanna go on a ride?”

You glanced over, your gaze following his nod. Your brows lifted, a flicker of amusement crossing your face.

“With you?”

“Don’t sound so horrified.”

“I’m not horrified.” You turned back to him, and there was a glint in your eye now. “I’m considering the risk.”

Bucky tilted his head, trying for careless and landing somewhere much softer. The words came out before he could stop them, “C’mon, sweetheart. Let me be a bad influence.”

You looked at him for a second too long.

Then you stepped closer, just enough that your shoulder brushed his arm as you moved past him.

“Fine,” you said, the word carrying a reluctant smile. “But if I die, I’m haunting you.”

Bucky followed immediately, coffee in hand, heart gone embarrassingly light.

“Good,” he said, “Then at least you’d be consistent.”

For the last three years at NYU, Tony Stark had treated the end of spring semester like a religious holiday.

A very expensive, deeply obnoxious holiday that involved a beach house weekend at his parents’ sprawling Malibu mansion, that forced you to acknowledge how much money some people had just by existing in its shadow.

First-class flights for anyone he deemed entertaining enough to invite, which was a broad and chaotic metric.

Enough alcohol to poison a small country, and a guest list he described as “intimate” in the same way someone might call a riot “spirited,” given that it usually hovered somewhere around fifty people.

Closest and dearest friends, Tony called it.

Which, for Tony, meant anyone he had laughed with more than twice, anyone who looked good in bikinis, anyone who owed him money, anyone he owed money, and at least three people he claimed were “essential to the ecosystem” despite no one else being entirely sure who they were.

Bucky had always loved it.

How could he not?

It was a weekend designed for him to love. Sun-warm skin and salt-crusted hair, the sharp iodine scent of the Pacific mixing with expensive cologne. Music vibrating through the glass walls deep into the night, until the floors hummed under his feet.

Top-shelf liquor sloshing into cheap red cups because Tony loved the visual dissonance of it, the clash of refinement and raucous excess. People half-dressed and fully drunk before the sun had even properly set.

Bodies, careless and comfortable, everywhere, draped over pool chairs, melting into leather couches, disappearing into guest rooms with sheets that cost more than his tuition.

And this year was supposed to be the best one.

Senior year.

The final spring before reality politely asked everyone to grow up. Before the forced enthusiasm about internships, leases, and entry-level jobs that paid barely enough to justify the commute.

Before the slow, quiet humiliation of being twenty-two and realizing the world had never promised to stay exactly how it was.

The last Malibu trip had a gravity to it, even if no one wanted to say that out loud. Everyone could feel it pressing down on their shoulders.

Steve said it once on the plane, because of course he did.

Mid-flight, with the Pacific stretching blue and endless beneath them, he said something earnest and quietly devastating about how strange it was that they would probably never have this much time together again.

Sam threw a pretzel at his forehead with surgical precision. ”Stop making the trip sad, Rogers. You’re gonna manifest a bad vibe.”

Bucky had laughed along with everyone else.

He was good at that. Keeping things light. Acting like the future was just some vague concept waiting politely far away from him, instead of a door already clicking shut in slow motion while they weren’t looking.

Besides, he had more pressing things to occupy his head.

Like the fact that you were coming.

Not that he was thinking about that. Not obsessively. He hadn’t checked the group chat four times to see if Natasha had confirmed the flight details. He hadn’t hovered near the baggage claim exit a little too long, pretending to stretch his shoulders out, stomach tightening every time the automatic doors slid open.

He hadn’t carefully packed the black shirt, the one you had touched once, months ago, fingers smoothing the collar, your smile going slow and private in a way that he had replayed more times than he’d ever admit.

He was just excited for the trip.

That was all.

The house came into view just as the car turned up the long private drive, a ridiculous sprawl of glass and white stone sitting above the water like it had been dropped there by God specifically to make poor people feel unwelcome.

The Pacific flashed blue beyond it, bright enough to hurt, the sun catching the surface in a million tiny explosions of light. Palm trees leaned over the road, their fronds swaying lazily in the salt-warm breeze.

The afternoon sun poured itself across everything, turning the windows gold and the pool a hard, glittering turquoise, the kind of color that looked fake in photographs but was somehow real here.

Tony stood out front in linen trousers and sunglasses, arms spread wide like a cult leader welcoming his congregation home.

“My children,” he called as soon as the car doors opened. “You made it.”

Sam stepped out first, stretching his arms over his head, his spine cracking in a way that made Steve wince sympathetically. “You say that like we survived war and not a six-hour flight where you slept through turbulence.”

“I survived being seated beside Barton,” Tony said, pulling his sunglasses down his nose just enough to make eye contact. “Which is worse.”

Clint, emerging from the next car with his hair flattened on one side. “I heard that, Stark.”

“You were meant to.”

Bucky climbed out after Steve, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, the warm Malibu air hitting him all at once. The air was different here. Thicker. Slower. It made you want to breathe deeper.

Somewhere inside the house, music was already playing, a low, thrumming bassline that vibrated through the glass walls. Someone had arrived before them and started early, because of course they had. Tony’s parties never waited for the host.

Bucky looked toward the road before he could stop himself, his gaze dragging along the curve of the driveway.

No other car yet.

He looked away immediately, his jaw tightening.

Sam, because he was a terrible person and a worse friend, noticed.

“Subtle,” he said, the word drawn out.

Bucky frowned. “What?”

“Nothing.” Sam’s grin widened, but he didn’t push further. He knew better than to push Bucky when he was already coiled tight.

Steve had the decency to say nothing, but his mouth did that thing where it pressed flat at the corners, the kind of silent judgment that was almost worse than Sam’s teasing.

Bucky shoved past both of them, his duffel bag thumping against his hip, and grabbed his bag from the trunk before anyone else could offer to help.

“I’m getting a room before all the good ones are gone.”

Tony scoffed. “Please. Your rooms are assigned. I’m not running a hostel.”

Sam paused mid-step, his duffel slung over one shoulder. “You assigned rooms?”

“Obviously.” Tony turned on his heel, leading the way inside. “I’m not having a repeat of the Cabo incident. Some people don’t know how to handle free choice sleeping arrangements.”

Clint, trailing behind, muttered, “That was one time.”

“It was twice,” Tony shot back, not looking back.

The inside of the mansion was already half-chaos. Suitcases abandoned in the entryway, a pair of heels kicked off and left under a marble console table, a half-empty bottle of champagne sweating on the counter of the kitchen island.

A bowl of limes sat on the kitchen island, untouched and decorative for now, though Bucky gave it six hours before Thor tried to bite into one whole.

Bucky followed Tony upstairs with Sam and Steve, his bag slung over one shoulder, his footsteps padding on the wide wooden staircase. He tried very hard not to wonder where you would sleep.

Tried and failed.

Which room would you get? Would you be on the same floor as him? Across the hall? At the other end of the house, where he’d have to walk past a dozen doors just to catch a glimpse of you?

Tony stopped at the end of the hall and pointed at a door like a bored hotel concierge, his hand a lazy gesture. “Rogers, Wilson, Barnes. Try not to destroy anything structural.”

Sam pushed open the door and whistled low, the sound echoing in the high-ceilinged room. “Damn.”

Steve stepped into it after him, his gaze sweeping across the king-sized bed, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the balcony that jutted out over the lawn. “This is excessive.”

“That’s the family motto,” Tony said, already turning away, his phone buzzing in his pocket. “There’s food in the kitchen. Drinks on the terrace. Don’t break the bed, I’ll know.”

Bucky went in last. Ocean-facing, because Tony was an asshole who pretended not to be thoughtful.

The room was huge, the bed draped in white sheets that looked impossibly soft, the glass doors slid open to let the breeze in. The water was visible beyond the slant of the lawn, a deep, endless blue that seemed to go on forever.

He dropped his bag on the floor by the bed and walked to the balcony, his hands gripping the railing.

The ocean stretched out before him, vast and indifferent, and he let himself breathe for a moment, let the salt air fill his lungs and loosen the knot in his chest.

He dropped his bag on the floor by the bed and walked straight to the balcony doors, sliding them open.

The warm Malibu air hit him again, thicker now. The sound of the party drifted up to meet him, carried on the breeze; the low thrum of music from inside the house, the clatter of ice in glass.

Down below, the patio had already started filling.

Someone was carrying crates of alcohol toward the outdoor bar, bottles clinking with every step. Rhodey was arguing with Tony about speaker placement, his hands moving in broad, frustrated arcs while Tony gestured at the pool like he was explaining architecture to a child.

A few girls Bucky vaguely recognised from campus were stretched near the pool on lounge chairs, their sunglasses pushed up into their hair, laughing too loudly at something Thor said while he stood at the edge of the water, gesturing broadly.

Still no you.

He let his gaze sweep the patio once, just once, the way you might check a clock you already knew the answer to.

Fine.

He had time.

He could get settled. He could take a shower, let the hot water loosen the knot wedged between his shoulder blades.

Behind him, Sam appeared in the open doorway of the balcony, his silhouette filling the frame.

“Don’t start,” Bucky said, not turning around.

Sam leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. “I just came to tell you Tony’s making drinks downstairs.”

“Great.”

“And to remind you that this is supposed to be a fun weekend.” Sam’s voice was light, conversational, but the words had edges.

Bucky turned from the balcony then, the ocean falling away behind him. The breeze caught his hair, pushing it across his forehead. “I know how to have fun, Sam.”

“Historically, yes.”

Before Bucky could respond, Steve appeared behind Sam in the doorway, his shoulder brushing the frame as he stepped up.

He looked between them with that resigned expression, the one that said he had walked into the middle of something and would now be forced to participate, like it or not. “What are we talking about?”

“Nothing,” Bucky said.

“His disease,” Sam said at the same time.

Bucky stared at him. “My what?”

Sam held up a hand, ticking off fingers. “Symptoms include staring at doors. Emotional constipation. And abandoning perfectly nice girls mid-conversation when a certain someone walks into a room.”

Steve sighed. “Sam.”

“What? He needs medical attention.”

Bucky grabbed one of the pillows from the bed behind him and threw it at Sam’s head. Sam caught it easily, looking infuriatingly pleased with himself.

“See? Irritability. Another symptom.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but heat crawled up the back of his neck anyway. “I’m not doing this all weekend.”

“Good.” Sam’s voice dropped then, the grin fading around the edges, “Don’t.”

It was said lightly, but not entirely.

Bucky looked at him. For a second, the room shifted into something less like sparring and more like concern.

Sam’s shoulders loosened, the humor bleeding out of his face just enough to show the worry underneath, the part of him that had watched Bucky turn himself inside out over you for months and did not find all of it funny anymore.

Steve stepped forward, his voice gentler now. “Just... don’t spend the whole trip waiting for her to decide your mood.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. The muscle in his temple jumped.

He wanted to tell them they were wrong. He wanted to say you did not decide anything. That he was fine.

But the words sat heavy in his mouth, and he couldn’t force them out.

So he said nothing.

From downstairs, Tony’s voice carried up through the open doors, bouncing off the glass and the stone. “First round is ready, you ungrateful peasants!”

Sam clapped his hands once. “Saved by alcoholism.”

Steve gave Bucky one last look then turned and disappeared toward the hall.

Bucky followed, because staying behind would look pathetic, and he had already met his quota for the day.

Downstairs, the house had grown louder. More people had arrived while he was up there. Bags piled by the stairs, sandals kicked off near the sliding doors, laughter spilling in from the patio in overlapping waves.

Tony was behind the outdoor bar in sunglasses, pouring something violently green into a row of cups while Pepper stood beside him looking like she had already accepted God’s plan for her evening.

Bucky took a cup the second Tony handed him one.

It tasted like lime, expensive vodka, and exactly what he needed. The alcohol burned a clean path down his throat and settled warm in his chest.

Perfect.

He tipped his head back and drank half of it.

By eleven, Bucky was absolutely, spectacularly shitfaced.

The whole mansion seemed to tilt and breathe around him, swaying on its foundations in slow waves of green pool light, salt-scrubbed air, and the sweet, cloying scent of expensive liquor bleeding from every glass.

Someone had thrown all the glass doors to the patio wide open, letting the party spill out of the house and down toward the pool, toward the dark strip of beach below, toward the ocean rolling black and endless under a crescent moon.

Bucky was having the time of his fucking life.

He had spent the last hour ricocheting between Sam’s shoulder and Steve’s long-suffering presence, laughing so hard his ribs ached and his vision blurred.

Tony had climbed onto the kitchen island at some point to deliver a toast no one had asked for, sloshing amber liquid onto the pristine marble. Bruce had lost a sandal. Rhodey had found it in the freezer, holding it up like a trophy.

Thor had challenged half the house to a drinking competition and laid them out, one by one, a trail of empty glasses and ruined egos stretching behind him like a battlefield.

Bucky, because he was an idiot and because the liquor had convinced him he was invincible, had tried to take him on.

Thor drank like he had been weaned on kerosene and raised by wolves. Bucky had made it three rounds before Sam materialised at his elbow and physically removed the cup from his hand.

“Too pretty to die on Tony Stark’s imported marble,” Sam had said.

Bucky had laughed in his face.

Then his heel caught on nothing and he nearly pitched headfirst into a decorative fern the size of a small car, catching himself on the wall at the last second.

And you had seen it.

You had seen him almost eat shit beside a fern, and instead of looking unimpressed, instead of giving him that careful, distant smile he had grown to hate, you had laughed.

Your head tipped back, the long column of your throat exposed, one hand pressed to your mouth as your shoulders shook. Natasha leaned in to whisper something in your ear, and you laughed harder, nodding.

It was the best sound he had heard all night. The best thing he had seen all month.

You weren’t ignoring him tonight. Not even a little. He had been braced for it, waiting for the familiar wall to go up, but it never came. Since the moment you arrived, you had been sweet. Warm. Present in a way that made his chest feel too tight and his hands itch to reach for you.

Honey, he kept thinking, the word a stupid, syrupy refrain in the back of his mind.

You were warm like honey tonight, golden and thick and spilling over everything. He was a fly caught in it, too far gone to care.

And fuck, you looked good.

That was the other problem, the one pressing insistently against the front of his jeans with every glance you threw his way.

You were trying to kill him. There was no other explanation for the top you had chosen. Thin and tight, clinging to the curve of your torso like it had been made specifically to undo him.

The fabric shifted with every breath, catching the light, and the neckline dipped just low enough to make his mouth go dry. Every time you lifted your arms, your boobs shifted and threatened to spill out entirely.

A possessive, animal part of him wanted to cup them in his palms, slide his thumbs over the soft swell, tuck them back in himself and never let them go.

Your shorts were no better. Sitting high on your thighs, hugging the flare of your hips, leaving acres of bare skin on display. He kept wondering how you had managed to squeeze into them and whether he was going to survive watching you walk away in them one more time.

He was not proud of himself. He wanted to pounce on you right there, in front of everyone, sink his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, taste the salt and sugar on your skin.

He wanted to haul you against him and find out if you felt as soft as you looked.

You wandered back to him sometime after Tony’s third terrible toast, barefoot now, your sandals abandoned somewhere by the pool. In your hands, you held two little glass shot glasses, the liquid inside them a violent, fluorescent pink that glowed under the patio lights like a dare.

Bucky looked at the shots, then at you.

“No.”

You blinked at him, a pout already forming on your lips. “No?”

“I challenged Thor,” he said, as if that explained everything. “I’m cut off. Sam declared a moratorium on my alcohol intake for the sake of my liver and the integrity of the marble flooring.”

“That was stupid,” you said, but your eyes were warm, amused.

“Thank you, sweetheart. I’m acutely aware.”

Your smile widened. God, there it was. That specific, dangerous curve of your mouth that made the bottom drop out of his stomach every single time.

You stepped closer, close enough that the cold plastic rim of one shot glass pressed lightly against his chest, just over his heart. “Come on, Buck,” you said, your voice soft and honeyed beneath the thrum of the bass. “One more. Just for me.”

He should have said no. He had every intention of saying no.

Then your fingers curled into the front of his shirt. Just the tips of them, hooking into the fabric, not enough to pull him toward you, just enough to hold him there.

“Fine,” he heard himself say, the word a complete and total surrender. He was weak and you were evil and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The two of you clinked the plastic cups together and threw them back.

The liquid hit his tongue. Sugar first, cloying and thick. Then vodka, sharp and medicinal. And something aggressively sour that made his jaw clench and his eyes water.

You made a face immediately, your nose scrunching up, your eyes squeezed shut, a soft sound of disgust escaping your throat.

Bucky laughed so hard he had to brace one hand against the edge of the counter behind him. “Awful, right?”

“Awful,” you croaked, coughing once into your fist.

“You brought it to me,” he pointed out, still grinning.

“I wanted you to suffer with me,” you murmured, your voice hoarse from the liquor.

“Romantic. You really know how to make a guy feel special.”

“Don’t get excited.”

“Too late.” The words came out rougher than he meant them.

He was already excited. Had been excited since you walked through the door in that top, looking like everything he had ever wanted and had no right to touch.

You leaned your shoulder into his side, just for a second. Maybe for balance. Maybe because you wanted to. The weight of you pressing into him, fitting too perfectly into the curve of his body.

Bucky looked down at you. Your mouth was wet from the shot, shining under the dim glow of the patio lights. Your eyes were heavy-lidded, warm, fixed on his mouth.

He didn’t think about it. His hand found your waist, fingers spreading over the bare skin exposed by the crop of your top. You were soft and warm and solid under his palm, and the contact sent a shiver of heat up his arm.

“You’re drunk,” you murmured, your breath brushing his collarbone.

“So are you,” he countered, his thumb tracing a slow, idle circle on the dip of your hip.

“Mm. Maybe.” You didn’t pull away.

“Definitely.”

“You always this handsy when you’re drunk, Barnes?” The question was velvet over steel, a challenge wrapped in silk. But you leaned into him instead.

Bucky’s thumb shifted against your waist, sliding higher, tracing the edge of your ribcage through the thin fabric of your top.

He felt the soft intake of your breath, the way your stomach tightened under his touch. “No,” he said, the word dropping an octave, sliding under the bass of the music, rougher than before. “Just when you’re dressed like that.”

You sighed against him, warm and tipsy, your cheek brushing his shoulder as if you had every right to be there.

“I think I need to call it a night.”

Bucky’s head snapped down so fast the room tilted with him.

“No.” The word came out instantly, offended and pathetic. Then again, worse. “No, no, no.”

You laughed, and he felt it more than heard it, the soft shake of your body against his side. He had one arm locked around your waist, fingers splayed over the exposed strip of skin where your tank had ridden up.

“It’s only eleven,” he protested, tightening his grip like you might dissolve into the party if he let you breathe too freely. “Party’s gonna go on for another couple of hours.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“Don’t leave me alone.”

Your smile curved against his neck. “There’s like forty other people here, Buck. I’m sure you won’t be that lonely.”

He made a wounded noise into the crown of your head. “None of them are you.”

The words came out before he could dress them up as a joke, before he could hide them behind a grin or a roll of his eyes.

You went quiet for half a second.

Then you tilted your face up to him, eyes glassy-bright from alcohol and the green spill of party lights. “I wanna explore Malibu tomorrow. I’m not wasting the whole day hungover because you need attention.”

“You’re so boring,” he groaned, dropping his forehead briefly to your temple.

“And yet.”

“And yet,” he repeated, the words heavy, loaded, full of everything he couldn’t say.

“I’ll let you take me to my room, then.”

Bucky pretended to consider it. Really sold it too, eyes narrowed, mouth pursed like this was a difficult sacrifice and not the only thing he wanted in the world. “If that’s the only way to keep you with me.”

“It is.”

“Well.” He pulled you closer, his hand sliding more securely around your waist, his fingers pressing into the warm skin of your hip. “Who am I to deny a lady?”

“Oh God.”

You laughed again, the sound soft and breathless, and Bucky started walking before you could change your mind.

Or tried to.

The first few steps were a test of faith. The floor seemed to tilt and roll beneath him like the deck of a ship, and the hallway stretched and contracted in confusing rhythms.

You pressed tighter against his side, your arm sliding around his waist to steady both of you, and every time your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, Bucky had to remind himself that he was escorting you to bed, not dragging you into his mouth.

The mansion blurred around him. He passed a painting of a sailboat. Then another painting of a sailboat. He definitely took a wrong turn past a large, ugly vase.

Behind him, Sam called out something that got swallowed by the bass. Someone else whistled, low and knowing.

Bucky ignored all of it.

All he cared about was the feel of you tucked under his arm, the soft drag of your breath on his neck, the way your hip bumped against his thigh with every stumbling step. The air through the open windows smelled like jasmine and salt and the faint, clean scent of your perfume mixing with the liquor in his veins.

“Is this even the right way?” you asked as he led you past a framed painting of something expensive and ugly.

“Yes.”

“You’re lost.”

“I’m exploring Malibu.”

“That is not what that means.”

He shushed you, then immediately turned down the wrong hallway.

By the time he found the staircase, both of you were laughing too hard to move quietly. You clung to his shirt as he guided you up the stairs, your body shaking against his, and every time your fingers curled against his chest, Bucky’s pulse kicked harder.

He opened the door with the confidence of a man who had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

The room was dark except for the moonlight spilling through the balcony doors, silver and heavy, painting everything in soft shadows.

The bed was massive, white sheets tangled from where he had thrown his duffel earlier. His shirt hung off the back of a chair. His shoes kicked carelessly near the dresser. The balcony doors were open a crack, letting in the sound of the waves and the cool night air.

You stepped in beside him, looked around for one long second, then burst into laughter.

“This is not my room, Buck.”

Bucky blinked.

Looked at the bed. Looked at his duffel on the floor. Looked at you.

“Oh.”

He turned back to you, trying very hard to arrange his face into something less guilty.

“Oops.”

You laughed harder, your head tipping back, your hand pressing to your stomach like this was the funniest thing that had happened all night. And maybe it was. The sound was bright and unguarded, and Bucky wanted to bottle it.

“I cannot believe you,” you said.

“Honest mistake. Tragic, really. Very confusing architecture in this house.”

“Sure.”

You should have turned around.

You should have made him find the right room. Should have rolled your eyes and dragged him back into the hallway before he could get any more ideas, before Bucky remembered exactly how little space there was between want and stupidity.

Instead, you walked farther in.

Then you collapsed backward onto his bed.

You fell into the mattress with a soft, breathless sound, the white sheets whispering beneath you. Your hair spilled loose across his pillow. The tank top had ridden up from the fall, baring the soft curve of your belly, the delicate jut of your hipbone just above the line of your shorts.

The moonlight sliced silver across your thighs, caught the damp shine of your lips, traced the lines of your body and turned your skin to shadow and glow.

You looked obscene.

You looked perfect.

Like you had been poured into his bed by some cruel, generous god.

Bucky stayed frozen at the foot of the bed. His hand was still on the doorknob, a solid point in his grip, the only thing keeping him upright. His blood was too loud in his ears. He was wrecked.

Thrown off.

Completely, catastrophically fucked.

“You’re in my bed,” he said, the words scraping out of him rough and disbelieving, a rasp that barely carried over the sound of his own pounding heart.

You stretched one arm over your head, a slow motion that arched your spine against the sheets and made the fabric of your top strain across your chest. Your ribs lifted. Your shorts shifted. You looked soft, drunk, a problem he wanted to have forever.

“So I am.”

Bucky swallowed, his throat clicking audibly in the quiet hush of the room.

The alcohol was a warm, syrupy fog settled deep in his skull, blurring his edges and dulling his sense, but some sliver of awareness remained, sharp enough to recognise the disaster unfolding in front of him.

He tried to keep the mood light, to sound like the version of himself that could laugh this off and walk away.

He let out a breathy, unconvincing laugh.

“C’mon, get up. Let me take you to your room.”

“Mhm-mhm,” you hummed, a sound so lazy and content it made his stomach clench.

You closed your eyes and arched your neck, baring the long vulnerable line of your throat to the mercury glow of the moon. Your pulse beat visibly just beneath your skin, a delicate, rhythmic flutter that made his mouth water. 

Fuck, he wanted to sink his teeth into that skin. To taste your heartbeat on his tongue. To mark you. “But I’m so comfortable here, Buck.”

His mouth was sandpaper. He tried to swallow again and failed, the motion scraping against his dry throat.

“You gonna get me in trouble, honey.” The words came out rough, a warning wrapped in something that sounded almost like a plea. Please don’t make me do this. Please don’t let me do this.

You lifted your head from the pillow, your hair spilling across his sheets and gave him a slow smile. It was the smile of someone who knew exactly what she was doing.

“Yeah?” you murmured, your voice turning syrupy. “How?”

You weren’t just looking at him. You were fucking him with your eyes, taking him apart piece by piece without lifting a finger.

“For fuck’s sake,” he heard himself mutter.

He felt the last thread of his self-control snap. The sensible part of his brain went entirely offline, leaving nothing behind but pure, aching, consuming want.

He pounced on you, covering your body with his, the mattress groaning under his sudden weight. You met him halfway, surging up to meet him, your hands fisting in the front of his shirt and yanking him down into your mouth.

The first taste of you was sweet, fucking relief.

Expensive vodka, the lingering sugar of your lip gloss, the faint salt of your skin, and something purely you. It flooded every empty space inside him, drowning out every doubt, every hesitation.

He groaned loudly into your mouth, a raw, animal sound that vibrated through his chest and into yours.

He couldn’t get enough. He forced your mouth open wider with his tongue, sliding inside, tasting. Shit, he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop.

Every rational thought dissolved into static, overwhelmed by the wet heat of your mouth, the soft give of your body beneath him, the way you kissed him back like you wanted to devour him too.

He wrenched his mouth away, just far enough to pant against your lips, his forehead pressing to yours. His breath came in ragged, desperate heaves.

“We’re drunk,” he breathed, the words scraping out of him like a confession he didn’t want to make. “We... we shouldn’t do this.”

And then he felt it.

One of your legs slid up, the smooth, warm skin of your thigh brushing his hip before your calf hooked around his waist, locking him firmly against you. There was no escape now. You had him trapped.

Your hand came up, your palm cupping his jaw, your fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. You pulled his mouth back to yours, your lips brushing his as you spoke.

“But I want to,” you murmured against his lips. “Don’t you?”

Bucky never claimed to have any strength. He had never pretended to have a strong will. Not when it came to you.

He dove back into your mouth like a man starving, like a man drowning who had finally found oxygen. His hands were everywhere now, making up for every moment he had held back.

They roamed down your sides, feeling the heat and softness of your body beneath. Down to your waist, gripping the bare skin where the fabric had ridden up. Lower still, over the flare of your hip, the silky expanse of your thighs.

And then your ass. Fuck. Perfect and full, fitting into his palms like it was made for them. He grabbed handfuls of it, squeezing, kneading, pulling you harder against him as he ground his hips into yours.

The moan you let out was muffled against his mouth, a broken, breathy sound that vibrated through his entire body and went straight to his cock.

His hips rolled forward in a rough, involuntary thrust, grinding his aching hardness against the heat of your cunt, the friction electric even through the thin layers of fabric separating you.

A guttural groan tore from deep in his chest, swallowed by your mouth as he kept moving against you.

Your moans were muffled against his mouth, your fingers twisted in his hair, holding him to you like you were afraid he’d disappear. The world had narrowed to the slide of his tongue against yours, the damp heat of your breath mingling with his.

But he couldn’t get enough. Every taste made him hungrier. Every sound you made drove him further past the edge of reason.

He broke the kiss with a ragged gasp, pushing himself upright, his chest heaving. Your hands followed him immediately, desperate fingers catching at his shirt, trying to pull him back down, trying to keep his mouth on yours.

“Sit tight, honey,” he breathed.

His hands were already moving, clumsy and urgent, fumbling at the button of your denim shorts. The thin metal slipped through his fingers once, twice, before he got it free.

His eyes met yours, dark and serious despite the haze of alcohol.

“Tell me to stop, baby.” The words came out low, a last gasp of something that might have been conscience. “Tell me to fucking stop.”

You shook your head hard, the motion fierce and immediate. Your hips lifted off the mattress as you shoved at the waistband of your shorts, helping him drag them down your legs along with your panties.

“Please don’t stop, Bucky.” Your voice cracked, “Please. I’ll die.”

The raw desperation in your voice hit him like a punch to the sternum. His cock throbbed painfully in his jeans, and he had to bite back a groan, had to clench his jaw to keep from spilling right there like a fucking teenager. Christ.

But first, he needed to see you.

He settled back on his heels, his hands braced on your thighs, and let his gaze travel down the length of your body. His eyes traced the curve of your hips, the soft swell of your belly, and finally, finally, to the place he had been dreaming about for months.

He stared.

It felt like the air left the room. His mouth went dry, then flooded with saliva.

She was beautiful. Perfect. Pretty and glistening, the soft folds glistening with your arousal, the little hooded pearl peeking out like she was waiting for him. He felt like he was going to drool.

A sharp shove hit his shoulder, rocking him back.

“Bucky.” Your voice was a whine, “Stop staring. You’re making me shy.”

He let out a laugh, shaking his head slowly. Shy. After everything, you were shy.

He lowered himself, pressing his mouth to the inside of your thigh. Then higher. Another kiss, closer. His lips dragged along your skin, following the sensitive line of your inner thigh.

“M’sorry, sweetheart.” His voice was a murmur against your flesh, “She’s just so pretty. Been dreaming about her.”

You sighed above him, the sound dreamy and soft. “Really?”

He didn’t answer with words. He pressed his mouth to your clit, a single, gentle kiss. You gasped, your hips twitching.

Then he went for the kill.

He dragged his tongue up in a long, slow stripe, from your entrance to your clit, savouring the taste of you; salty and sweet and everything. And then he closed his lips around that little pearl and sucked. Hard.

Your moan was loud, broken, spilling out of you like you couldn’t hold it back. It hit him straight in the gut, a jolt of electricity that traveled down to his cock, making him grind helplessly against the mattress, seeking any friction he could find.

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He buried his face in your cunt like a man starved, his tongue sliding through your folds, dipping inside you, then back up to circle your clit. He ate you out with messy, desperate strokes, his moans vibrating against your sensitive flesh.

He fucked you with his tongue, pushing inside you, tasting your heat, your want, your need.

Your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him harder against you, and he went willingly, eagerly, lost completely in the taste and the sound and the feel of you falling apart under his mouth.

You moaned at the intrusion, a broken, breathless sound that vibrated around his knuckles as he sank his middle finger deep into your slick heat.

You didn’t need the encouragement, your hips were already rolling, riding his hand with a desperate, frantic rhythm that made the mattress creak beneath you.

He could feel it building in the way your walls fluttered and clamped around him, chasing that peak with a single-minded hunger that made his mouth water.

“Want another one, sweetheart?” His voice was honey and gravel, the pad of his thumb dragging a lazy, torturous circle over your clit.

You glared down at him from above, your frown sharp and impatient. “Stop fucking with me, Bucky.”

He grinned, and pushed a second finger into you without breaking eye contact. The stretch pulled a sharp gasp from your parted lips, and he started thrusting harder, deeper, the wet, obscene sound of it filling the quiet room. “Don’t wanna fuck with you, baby. I wanna fuck you.”

He felt you clench around his fingers immediately, a violent, fluttering grip that sent a tremor up his arm. A loud, broken moan tore out of you as you came, your body shuddering against his hand, your slick coating his palm and dripping down his wrist. 

Fuck. He stared down at the way you pulsed around him, and his brain short-circuited. If this was how you came on his fingers, his cock was going to be absolutely fucking suffocated inside you.

He didn’t give you a second to recover.

He pulled his fingers out and brought them to his mouth, stuffing them past his lips, tasting you. He sucked them clean, groaning around the flavour of you, before he was crawling up your body, dragging his chest over your damp, trembling skin.

He thrust his tongue into your mouth without warning, sharing the taste of yourself with you. You opened for him eagerly, moaning into the kiss, your hands tangling in his hair and pulling him deeper.

Your fingers found his belt, the buckle clicking open under your quick, determined hands. He heard the rough rasp of his zipper, felt your palms push his jeans down over his ass, and you paused just long enough to squeeze, an appreciative grip that made him groan against your lips.

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. He was about to fuck you. Actually, really, truly, about to fuck you.

He had to contain his excitement, had to focus on his breathing, or he was going to spill like a goddamn virgin before he even got close to being inside you.

And then your hands were flat on his shoulders, shoving.

He pulled back, frowning, ready to ask what was wrong, but the look on your face stopped him cold. You were grinning up at him, wicked and beautiful.

“Let me suck your cock.”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond. You shoved him sideways, trying to climb on top of him, trying to get your mouth on him, and the thought of your lips closing around him almost made his vision go white.

“No, no, no, no.” He caught your hips, tried to wrestle you back down onto your back. “No, sweetheart, just—stay—let me—”

You were laughing, light and playful, but he was deadly serious.

“If you even breathe on my cock, I’ll cum on the spot. I promise.” His eyes met yours, desperate and honest. “Please. Not tonight. Just let me have you. I’ve been waiting for this—waiting for you.”

You paused on his lap, considering. The laughter faded from your face, replaced by something softer, something thoughtful that made his chest ache.

He had to close his eyes. He had to focus on his breath.

Because your cunt was right there. Right on top of his dick. The heat of you seeping through his skin, the dampness of you threatening to coat his aching length.

He could feel every inch of your weight pressing down over him, and if he looked, if he moved, if he so much as twitched his hips, he was going to lose his entire fucking mind.

And then you began to slowly rock up and down his dick, the friction of your slick heat dragging against him like a live wire. You looked down at him with that small, knowing smile, the one that made his chest ache and his cock throb.

“You’re really that desperate for me?”

Bucky nodded, his jaw tight, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Painfully. Desperately. A confession without words.

You leaned down, your lips brushing his in a kiss so quick and soft it was almost cruel. “Okay, baby.”

He let out a shuddering sigh of relief, of gratitude… and then his eyes flew wide.

Because you were rising. Rising off his lap. Reaching down between your bodies. Taking hold of his dick in your warm hand, and positioning it exactly where you wanted it.

He was hypnotised. Transfixed. The sight of his own flushed tip nudging against your soaking, glistening entrance made his brain short-circuit.

He felt a drop of saliva escape the corner of his mouth, rolling down his chin, and he couldn’t even muster the shame to wipe it away.

Jesus fucking Christ.

You were so tight. The first inch of him sliding into you felt like being wrapped in molten silk, searing and perfect. His eyes flicked up to your face, and he found yours squeezed shut, your lips parted, your breath catching in broken little gasps as you fed yourself his cock inch by agonising inch.

It felt like an eternity before your hips met his, before he was buried to the hilt inside you, and the sight of his cock disappearing completely into your body made his vision haze.

Your thighs settled flat against his, skin to skin, and he gripped your waist so hard he knew he’d leave bruises.

“Don’t move,” he rasped, his voice ragged. “Stay still for me. Just… keep still.”

You clenched around him involuntarily, a soft, reflexive squeeze that made him groan deep in his chest.

“Don’t do that. Don’t do that.”

You pouted, your bottom lip jutting out, eyes still hazy with pleasure. “I can’t help it, Bucky.”

And then you clenched again. Accidentally. Deliberately. He couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He tried to think of other things. Disgusting things. Anything to keep from spilling inside you like a goddamn teenager.

Cut toenails. Moldy fruit. Steve’s ass. None of it was working. Not when your heat was wrapped around him, not when you were sitting there looking so soft and sweet and patient, waiting for his permission.

He gave a strained nod, his voice barely a whisper. “Okay. Go ahead, baby.”

You smiled and then you rose. Rose until only the tip of him remained inside you. And then you dropped.

Violently. All the way down, slamming into his hips, the force of it knocking the air from his lungs and making him grit his teeth so hard his jaw ached. And then you were bouncing, riding him like he was a fairy pony, your pace frantic and relentless, your walls gripping him with every upward stroke.

All he could do was try to keep up. He dug his fingers into your hips, his hands guiding your rhythm, and began to fuck up into you matching your wild tempo, chasing the heat pooling at the base of his spine.

Bucky was pretty sure if his heart gave out right now; if he dropped dead beneath you, buried to the hilt, watching you fall apart on his cock, he’d die the happiest man alive.

This was heaven. You were heaven. The way you moved on top of him, taking everything he had, stealing his breath, his sanity, every coherent thought he’d ever had.

And then he realised.

You were still wearing that top.

The thin fabric clung to your skin, damp with sweat, hiding the one thing he needed to see more than his next breath.

Concealing the soft bounce of your tits with every roll of your hips. He reached up with both hands, fisting the hem, and you didn’t even notice, too busy fucking yourself on him, too lost in the rhythm to pay attention to anything else.

Until the violent shrrrip of cotton splitting in two cracked through the air like a gunshot.

Your eyes flew open, head jerking back. “Bucky!”

“’M sorry.”

The apology came out wrecked, and completely insincere. There was zero remorse in his voice, none in the greedy way his hands immediately found your bare chest, cupping the soft, heavy weight of your tits, his thumbs dragging over the stiff peaks of your nipples.

The moan that slipped past your lips was immediate.

“Needed to see them,” he rasped, watching the way they filled his palms, the way your back arched into his touch. “Needed to feel them.”

A breathless laugh escaped you, a soft shake of your head as you planted your hands flat on his chest and steadied yourself. And then you were bouncing harder, riding him like he was made for this, like you were trying to wring every last drop of sanity from his bones.

But he needed more.

The angle wasn’t deep enough. He couldn’t get close enough. Couldn’t be buried deep enough inside you.

Gathering every ounce of strength he had left, his hands locked onto your waist.

In one fluid, powerful motion, he used his hips to wrench you off balance and flipped you onto your back, twisting your bodies until he was hovering over you, and never once did he slip out of the slick, perfect heat of your body.

A delighted, breathless cry tore from your throat at the sudden shift in power. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He reached up, one hand curling around the wooden slats of the headboard. The frame groaned under his grip as he pulled back and snapped his hips forward. Harder. Deeper. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room mixing with your ragged breaths and the desperate groans rumbling in his chest.

Bending down, he pressed his mouth to the sweat-slicked curve of your neck, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp, to feel your pulse flutter against his lips. “I need you to cum,” he grunted against your skin. “Please, baby. Need it.”

“Huh?” The word came out dazed, strangled. You hadn’t heard him. Your eyes were half-lidded, your lips parted, completely lost in the relentless rhythm of him pounding into you, too far gone to process anything beyond the next wave of pleasure building in your core.

“Cum now,” he grunted, the words ripped from somewhere deep in his chest. “Shit… now.”

He drove into you harder, each thrust a desperate, punishing demand. The headboard groaned against the wall, the frame shuddering with every brutal snap of his hips.

Your nails raked down his back, sharp, frantic lines of fire that he felt all the way down to his bones. And then he heard it; a choked sob that broke past your lips. Not pain. Release.

There. He’d found it.

“Right there, Bucky—right there—”

The cry was wrecked, broken, a plea that sexed through him like a current. He zeroed in on that spot, that deep, swollen place inside you that made your voice crack and your back arch off the mattress.

He bullied it with his cock, over and over, relentless, until your moans dissolved into something shattered and raw.

Then you broke.

He felt it in the way you clenched around him first; a sudden, violent flutter that turned into a pulsing grip, suffocating his cock, milking him with wave after wave of your release.

Your nails dug into the meat of his shoulders, your thighs locking around his waist, and the sound you made, a broken, keening gasp, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

It was enough to push him over.

Bucky let go.

His balls drew up tight, a hot rush of pressure building at the base of his spine, and then he was coming… violently, uncontrollably, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself into you with a guttural groan that sounded more animal than human.

He stayed buried deep, pumping into you through the aftershocks, his body trembling above yours, every nerve electric and raw.

For a long, suspended moment, there was nothing but the sound of ragged breathing and the slick, wet press of skin against skin.

Then his body went lax.

He collapsed onto his elbows, forehead dropping to your shoulder, his weight pinning you into the mattress as he tried to remember how to breathe. The high was liquid and warm, a blanket of bliss settling over his bones.

And then—

“You’re not gonna be weird about this, are you?”

The words came soft. Disarmingly soft. That was the cruelest part of it.

You pressed them into his skin, your cheek turned against his hair, your voice a low, sleepy murmur. One hand rested loose at the nape of his neck, thumb tracing an idle, almost tender path across the damp skin there.

Like you hadn’t just carved something out of him.

Bucky went still.

He forced his lungs to keep moving. Forced the tension in his shoulders to dissolve before you could feel it. His face was still buried in the curve of your shoulder, his mouth hot and wet against your collarbone, his body a weighted, useless thing draped over yours.

The room smelled of them. Sweat and salt and the crushed-flower sweetness of your perfume, tangled with the raw musk of sex that clung to the sheets.

Below, the house was still alive. The bass was a distant heartbeat through the floor, the drone of voices rising and falling like surf against stone.

Ten seconds ago, he had been floating in it.

Ten seconds ago, he had felt stupidly, dangerously complete.

The whole night had collapsed into this single moment; this bed, this room, the slick, fluttering grip of your body around his, your fingers knotted in his hair, holding him at the center of something that felt, for one perfect, delusional instant, like it mattered.

He had let himself think—

No.

He didn’t get to finish that thought.

Bucky exhaled slowly through his nose. Then he laughed, a short, easy sound that he shaped into exactly the right shape.

“Weird?” He lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes. “Me?”

Your mouth curved, “Yeah. You.”

He gave you the grin. The practiced one. The one that had saved him from worse than this.

“Sweetheart, I’m the most normal guy you know.”

A beat. “That is deeply untrue.”

You laughed then, and the sound hooked into his ribs. He let himself feel it, just for a second. There. It’s fine. Keep it light.

He could do this. He could keep the room warm if he didn’t push. He could lie here, tangled in you, and pretend the words hadn’t hit him like a fist.

Slowly he shifted his weight and pulled out of you. The sound was wet, obscene in the quiet, and it twisted something low in his gut. The heat he had been drowning in vanished the second he was empty.

The chill that replaced it crept up his spine and settled cold in his chest.

Still, he didn’t move away.

His arm stayed heavy across your waist, palm spread flat against the curve of your hip. His thumb began a slow, lazy stroke against your skin, a betrayal of every intention he had to act unaffected.

Bucky swallowed the bitterness climbing his throat and ducked his head, pressing his mouth to the warm skin just under your jaw. Not quite a kiss. Soft enough to deny.

“Relax,” he murmured against you, the words a low vibration. “I’m not gonna propose before breakfast.”

Your fingers paused against his cheek. For one terrible second, he thought he had said the wrong thing.

Then you huffed a laugh, thinner than before. “Good.”

Good.

Bucky smiled anyway, pressing it into your skin.

“Would’ve been a nice proposal, though.” He said it like a joke, because apparently he couldn’t stop picking at the bruise. “Real romantic. Me, you, Tony’s guest room, half the house tanked downstairs.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, lifting his head to look at you properly. “Probably.”

Your smile flickered.

There it was. That tiny break in you, so fast he would have missed it if he hadn’t spent months training himself to read your face. Your eyes searched his, and for a breath, he thought you might take it back.

Thought you might pull him down and kiss him until the hollow ache in his chest stopped screaming.

Instead, your gaze dropped first.

“I just don’t want things to get complicated.”

Bucky stared at you.

Complicated.

You were in his bed. Your body was still warm and pliant beneath his hand. You were still wet with him. The scratches from your nails were still raised and stinging on his back. His heart was beating so hard it felt exposed, shameful.

And you were talking about complicated like it was something waiting outside the door, not something you had already dragged in by the throat.

He nodded once. “Right.”

Your eyes flicked back to him. “Buck—”

“No, I get it.”

He didn’t get it, yet he got it perfectly.

Both were true. It was becoming a theme with you.

He pulled the blanket up over your hip because some stupid, aching part of him noticed you shiver. Then he settled back beside you, close enough for your shoulder to press against his chest, close enough to pretend nothing had shifted if he tried hard enough.

And he did try. God, he tried.

He let his lips graze your temple. Let his hand find yours under the sheet. Let himself feel the way your fingers curled, briefly, around his before loosening again.

Downstairs, someone screamed with laughter, a bright, drunken shriek that cut through the bass like glass.

The music kicked louder, the walls shuddering with it, the whole house groaning under the weight of bodies and noise.

You closed your eyes.

Bucky stayed awake, watching the ceiling blur above him.

Your warmth was pressed all along his side, your thigh hooked loosely over his, the damp glide of your skin against his making it impossible to forget where they had been ten minutes ago.

And your words were still lodged cold beneath his ribs, sharp as swallowed glass.

Not weird. Not complicated. Not a thing.

He turned his head and looked at you anyway, because he was weak, because he was stupid, because he had apparently decided that dignity was optional where you were concerned.

Your face had softened into sleep. Lashes dark against your cheeks, lips parted just enough to let the slow rhythm of your breath slip through.

You looked younger like this. Softer. Less like the girl who could walk into a crowded room and tilt his whole goddamn world sideways without breaking stride.

He hated you a little then.

The thought came sudden and ugly, rising from his chest like bile.

He hated you.

Hated the way you could lie here, still slick with him, your body still marked from his hands, and ask him not to make it mean anything.

Hated the way you took his wanting like it was expected, like it was easy, like he hadn’t spent months carving pieces of himself off and pressing them into your palm while you barely noticed.

Selfish, he thought.

And yet his arm tightened around you anyway.

Selfish fucking brat.

You take and you take and then you get scared it might mean something, so you push it away before it can push back.

The words burned through him. He imagined saying them. Imagined the way your mouth would part, the little furrow between your brows, the wounded look you would try to hide.

Good, some cruel part of him whispered. Let it hurt. Let you feel stupid for once. Let you feel even half of what I feel right now.

He wanted that. For one vicious, starving second, he wanted to hurt you exactly where you had hurt him.

Then you shifted in your sleep. Barely a breath of movement, a sigh, the slow curl of your fingers against his chest, your palm pressing flat over his heartbeat.

And Bucky melted.

He looked down at your hand resting over his heart and felt the anger lose its teeth.

Not disappear,it stayed there, sore and simmering beneath his ribs, but it had nowhere to go when you were tucked against him like this, soft and warm and trusting him with your sleeping body even while you refused to trust him with your heart.

His throat tightened.

“You’re so fucking confusing,” he whispered, the words barely a vibration against your hair.

He turned carefully onto his side, gathering you closer despite every reasonable part of him screaming to pull away.

His arm slid around your waist, his palm spread wide against the dip of your back, and you came easily, your forehead finding the hollow beneath his jaw as if your body knew where to belong.

The party roared on beneath them. Drunk and careless and alive. The whole house shaking with it.

And Bucky lay there, holding you, feeling like someone had cracked his chest open and left it that way.

He should have moved away. Should have rolled onto his back and let the cold settle between them, let it harden into the shape you had asked for.

Should have protected himself before morning came and you slipped back into whatever version of yourself could smile at him over breakfast like he hadn’t been inside you, like you hadn’t held his face in your hands and asked him not to love you.

Instead, he held you tighter.

Because this was still more than he had before.

Because despite everything, you had become the shape of his world.

His want began and ended with you. His mood rose and fell on the sound of your laugh, the lift of your eyes, the careless brush of your fingers against his.

You made him desperate and angry and embarrassingly alive. You made him feel chosen. You made him feel disposable. You made him feel completely insane.

And he would take it. Every scrap. Every confusing, contradictory piece.

He would take it because he didn’t know how to stop.

Bucky closed his eyes, his jaw tight enough to ache, his arms locked around you like holding on hard enough could keep the morning from coming.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured into your hair, almost mean with the tenderness bleeding through it. “I won’t be weird.”

a/n | my initial plan was after the smut reader avoids, and then bucky freaks out and screams at her during another party and lays out all his frustrations that steve and sam have to physically remove him. three months pass without contact until you two see each other again and we finally get a look at what’s going through reader’s mind and ends with hurt/comfort and hopeful ending

oh well…

[sweetheartbrina]

the bucky barnes’ secret wife trope (ex-avenger!reader)

my first time (sort of) writing for bucky ♡ 1957 words

"Doll?" Bucky calls out once he steps into the house. It comes out gruff.

Clearing his throat, he makes a strong attempt at softening his voice. He wants to sound sweeter for you, like you always try to be with him.

He takes his wedding ring from the table — where he left it in the morning — and slips it onto his ring finger. The vibranium of his hand immediately connects with the ring. "Thank you, Shuri," you hum sometimes when you trace the shape of it in bed.

“In here!” you call back from the kitchen. Despite the new situation he’s found himself in, he relaxes at the sound of your voice.

All the tension from the afternoon slowly dissipates from his body when he sees you with your hair up and a bit of flour on your apron.

“What are you doing home so early?” You look up when he rounds the corner, frowning when you spot the dirt covering his clothes. “I thought you were working all day, baby.”

“I was… long story,” he says casually before pointing at your chopping board. “You’re cooking? What are you making?”

His voice is suddenly a little too light, you recognise it immediately. It’s the voice he uses to put you at ease before he tells you some news that won’t make you very happy. You see right through him but you play along anyway.

“Apple pie,” you say, matching his tone as you tilt your head suspiciously.

“Really?” he says before making his way behind you. He dips his finger into the jar of honey in front of you, bringing it to his lips and humming at the taste.

“James, that’s disgusting,” you scold, swatting at his hand. He grins.

You eye him cautiously when he draws nearer. The soft sound of metal whirring fills your ear as he wraps his arms around your from behind. He works at the knot of your apron until it's untied. He pulls it off over your head before smoothening the shirt you're wearing underneath.

He brushes your hair to the side and places a gentle kiss to the side of your neck, then he mumbles against your skin.

"What are you doing-"

“Have I mentioned how much I love you?”

A smile sneaks its way onto your face but you settle your lips into a thin line before he can see. You huff out an incredulous laugh.

“Have I mentioned how bad you are at buttering me up?”

He isn’t surprised that you've figured him out. Perks of being married to an ex-spy, he supposes. Though, it may just be a wife thing.

He simply chuckles, tucking his head into your shoulder.

“I think I’m pretty good at it,” he murmurs low in your ear. To his credit, you do almost melt. Almost.

You frown, putting down the knife and turning to face him.

“Do you remember talking about missing fighting last night?” he says, bringing a hand up to your face.

You grab it and push it away, not letting him distract you.

“No,” you say blandly.

“No? We were in bed and I was using my metal—”

“James,” you warn, he purses his lips.

“Okay, honey, listen—”

“Don’t honey me and spit it out,” you narrow your eyes.

He opens his mouth, about to charm you or soothe your potential anger a little more, before sighing.

“Will you come with me?” He tilts his head to the other room. You nod, letting him guide you.

“If you got another cat without telling me, I’m going to…”

The end of your sentence dwindles off when you spot four battered (and slightly bloody) soldiers sitting on your couch.

One of whom is John Walker.

You tense immediately. Your first instinct is to wring his neck, your hand clenches by your side.

You turn to see your husband standing next to you with a tired — but unsurprised — look on his face.

“James?” you mumble in a daze, keeping your eyes locked on the strangers in your living room. “What is this?”

James? John mouths with a deep frown to a brunette girl next to him, she hits him hard on the arm without even looking at him. You decide at the very least that you like her, for now.

“Meet the — what did you call yourselves again?” Bucky says, closing his eyes and punching the bridge of his nose. Nursing an oncoming migraine, probably.

You take his flesh hand in yours, placing pressure on the Hegu point in an attempt to relieve some of his pain. It doesn’t go unnoticed by the soldiers, an older man’s eyes widen as he nudges a blonde woman not very subtly.

“We’re not, like, a team or anything—” John starts before being cut off by the older man.

“We are the Thunderbolts!” he says proudly when no one else is willing to supply a name. He even pumps his fist in the air to punctuate it, narrowly missing the Blonde woman's head. You suppress a snort. Cute, they're like a soccer team.

“No, Alexei, we are not called—”

“Meet the Thunderbolts,” Bucky says, turning to you, very much resembling a tired dad. Under different, less confusing, circumstances, you’d tease him for it.

“Thunderbolts, meet—"

John cuts him off, your old superhero alias slipping from his lips. It sounds a little too condescending coming from him. He — like most of the world — seems to know who you are. Well, were.

The name makes you feel uneasy. It takes you right back to some darker times. You furrow your brows, body tensing. You hate that your body reacts like this still, like an obedient soldier at everyone’s beck and call.

Bucky catches your change in mood and squeezes your hand. He glares at John.

“Careful,” he warns.

“Yeah, well, we know who she is,” John says then he shuffles to face you. “What are you doing here? Is this some sort of retired Avengers safe house or something?”

“If it was, you wouldn't be welcome,” you say dryly, in no mood for pleasantries with this poor excuse of a man.

John scoffs, seemingly baffled by your clear one-sided hatred towards him.

“This is my house, she's my wife,” Bucky says simply and coldly. You blink at him in shock. So much for secrecy.

“You’re married?” the brunette woman says, eyes wide as a bug. It seems the only thing these four have in common right now is their surprise over the information.

"Since when?" John asks.

You roll your eyes, not answering out of sheer pettiness, at the same time Bucky says, "August 23rd, 2024."

You look over at him in slight surprise, affection and warmth filling you at the pride that seeps through his cold voice. His eyes dart over to yours, softening as well.

“You've been married to her for three years?” John says incredulously, breaking the moment between you and Bucky. You turn back to him in annoyance. He's a little slow, it seems.

He points at you, you're about to bite his finger off. “Where the hell were you during the whole Flag Smashers thing, then?”

You narrow your eyes.

“There were bigger fish to fry. New York’s not the only city constantly under attack,” you snark. “Those other cities don’t have Sam and Bucky to save your ass, you’re lucky they were free to babysit you-”

You feel Bucky’s hand make its way to the small of your back, you sigh and stand down.

Before John can retort, you turn to your husband.

“What the hell is going on?”

“So much for retirement,” you huff, crossing your arms.

He’s just explained everything to you as quickly as possible and, frankly, you’re having trouble wrapping your head around it. All these names and new information circle around your head.

Familiar ones like Valentina and Yelena stay at the forefront. You remember quieter days in the old Avengers Tower where Natasha used to tell you stories about her life before the Red Room and her psuedo family. Your heart aches a little for Yelena at the reminder of the sister you both lost.

New ones like Sentry and Bob (?) fly over your head.

Still, by now, you’re used to having to think quickly. Especially in any business regarding assassins and super soldiers. Especially when said assassins and super soldiers are still in your living room while you hide out in your bedroom with your husband.

“You’re sure you want to risk so much to help them?” you murmur. You don’t just mean his new political career, this could very much derail his mental state and send him reeling again. You sigh inwardly. All this work to keep him out of war just for him to put himself right back on the frontlines.

That's your husband, you suppose. As much as he grumbles about it, he can't help but help people.

Whatever he decides, you have his back one hundred percent and he knows that. You just want to make sure he’s willing to risk this new, safe life the two of you were building, far away from all of this.

“It’s not just about saving them,” he says. “I can’t let Valentina get away with her corrupt bullshit.”

You smile a little, it’s times like these you remember who your husband is. Your smile falters a little when you hear arguing coming from the living room.

“How can you be so sure they’re… good?” you murmur.

He touches your face gently, eyes fixated on yours.

“Because Steve was right about us.”

The crease between your brows relax, your eyes full of knowing.

Maybe it's a terrible idea, one that could jeopardise everything. So much for trying out that "life" Steve and Tony talked about. It seems you’ll never escape what’s so deep in your bones, though.

You nod once and he lets out a breath of relief.

“Did you really have to bring them here?” you say in a hushed voice. He kisses your pouty lips, chaste and apologetic.

“I’m sorry, doll, I didn’t know anywhere else safe,” he replies honestly.

Your eyes soften. He’s right, this is a safe place. Maybe the only one in New York far away from aliens and terrorists. It's your home.

“You’re gonna have to help me reach my suit,” you gesture to the box tucked away at the very top of your wardrobe.

He grins and nods. You bring your hand to the dog tags around his neck.

“I guess we’re doing this again,” you murmur.

“Guess so,” he says, looking down at you.

You bring your hand up to the side of his face, your thumb gently rubbing the deep bags under his eyes.

“After this, we’re taking a real vacation,” you say. “No more Congressman Barnes, just the Bahamas and sleep.”

“Nope, no Bahamas,” he shakes his head. “I hate the beach.”

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean you hate the beach?”

“It’s too sunny and the sand gets everywhere,” he grumbles, you roll your eyes.

“You’re such an old man,” you say.

He turns his head away from you in annoyance and you laugh, tilting his head back to you.

“Fine, after this, we can take a nice, nowhere-near-the-beach, staycation,” you coax, interlocking your hands. One hand of yours touches his flesh and the other touches cold metal.

Your wedding rings clink together. You see it happen, the way he melts — his hands grasp yours, his look turns tender. You tiptoe and kiss the corner of his mouth. “Deal?”

He shifts his head slightly to kiss you properly.

When he pulls away, his eyes flicker between yours. The sound of arguing outside sounds distant with his deep blue eyes on yours.

“Deal.”

sorry if he’s a little out of character… i haven’t written for him in a longgg time (we're talking quarantine times, before this blog — look at me going back to my marvel roots !!)

[4stephanie4]

but even when I'm quiet, i love you ᝰ.ᐟb.barnes

pairing: teenage dirtbag!bucky barnes x reader summary: you're sister can't date unless you do, yet she won't give up. She goes far to even starting a bet just to get bucky to date you, a mean feminist. But what happens when the secret is out? warning: mentions of lingerie, flashing someone, alcohol, punching someone, kissing, bleeding, cursing, hurt no comfort A/N: basically the plot of '10 things I hate about you' but with a mix of my style. hope you enjoy! word count: around 5k masterlist

Beep beep beep be-

You shut the blaring noise of the alarm noise next to you. Note to self: throw it out and buy a new one. Groaning, you dug the palm of your hands into your eyes, trying to remove the sun forcefully shining through the window curtains from your eyes. Everyday is as useless as the other, nothing’s new.

Your routine is simple, take a quick shower, get dressed, and go down for breakfast where you ultimately meet your biggest doom: your sister. Her annoying, high-pitch voice bounces off your eardrum. Scratch that! It makes your eardrums explode.

“Good morning. How did you sleep?” She asks honestly, sitting at the kitchen table with a plate in front of her and a cup of orange juice.

Good morning? Did my own sister just tell me…good morning! Oh, she must be drunk or hungover.

Or worse…possessed.

“Stop whining. What’s got you all mushy in the morning?” You slip into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. You steal your sister’s sandwich, pushing it through into your mouth. To your surprise, she doesn’t fight you back for it. That’s weird. Something’s definitely going on. You’d feel worried if you didn’t care about her emotions. Maybe sometimes you do. You’re not that cold-blooded and in the end, she’s still your baby sister.

Raising your eyebrows, you stand up, hoping to find orange juice in the fridge. You don’t unfortunately. When you turn, you find your sister eerily standing behind you, you almost jump. This is getting extremely creepy.

“Here’s my orange juice cup, best sister in the world!” She exclaims with a toothy grin, her lipstick, that was probably yours, smudged at the corners of her mouth. You accept it with furrowed eyebrows. Did she just offer you her orange juice? Everyone in this family knew not to take her cup of juice due to…past experiences. Long story, you don’t want to hear it.

“Okay, spit it out. What do you want, but I’m not giving you the keys to the car though. That’s never happening again, okay?” You point at her accusingly, downing the orange juice in your throat. She follows you like a lost puppy to the door as you bend over to lace your shoes.

“I need a favour.” She blurts out, words spilling quickly from her mouth that she makes it almost inaudible. Your sister’s favours are not realistic and you know where this is going. “Steve Rogers asked me out, but there’s a problem…”

There’s always a problem in your sister’s life that isn’t even considered a problem.

“Dad won’t let me unless you start to date too! You just need to kiss any guy or something. I don’t know, just please help me out.” She mutters the last part under her breath.

“No.” You reply without missing a beat.

“No?” She repeats, flabbergasted with raised eyebrows.

“No, and don’t ask again.” You tell her, throwing the door open, but your sister follows you anyway, “why do you have to be such an asshole? Just take any guy!” You ignore her, unlocking your car and throwing your bag inside. You’re not having this conversation this early in the morning.

“Please! Please. I’ll do anything. This is a one in a million chance! I really like Steve.” She begs, placing herself between the door and you to prevent you from entering.

“Are you going to join me or would you like to walk? Because I know that shirt would look really disgusting covered in sweat.” You raise an eyebrow, your face is asking her to test you, because she knows you’re not bluffing.

With a loud groan that was just a coverup for the cursewords she was going to throw at you, she sits in the passenger seat with crossed arms.

But she’s got a plan. It’s not pretty, but it will work.

Before the classes started, your sister cornered one of the jocks, someone called Micheal, her pointless lab partner.. She couldn’t care less, but that jock had money to spend, and he always liked to spend it in useless ways, so what’s the harm in wasting some money that he's already going to waste.

She has her victim in mind: Bucky Barnes.

“Hey,” she says in the most flirty tone she could. She had the beauty to bring any man to his knees in a matter of seconds; everyone wanted to get her in pants, not because she was sharp or empathetic, but because they carry it like a trophy.

“Have you heard?” She asks, curling some of her hair around her finger, “Bucky has a stupid crush on my sister, and apparently she doesn’t like him back. I bet you twenty dollars he won’t get her to kiss him. Up for a game?”

Micheal raises his eyebrows, grinning, “you know, princess, that you’re going to lose.” 

Yuck. note to self: never let anyone call you princess.

Something about Micheal is that he never loses, meaning he’ll probably bribe Bucky into kissing you, no matter the cost. 

Later, Micheal pulled Bucky in a corner, offered him money and Bucky didn’t need to think twice. Easy money. Then Micheal’s friends bet too and so did your sister’s. It became the school’s biggest bet.

While he was walking, he was pulled into a corner again, what the hell was going on. Your sister was talking fastly, giving him band names, album names, what food you like, but the most important thing was to quit smoking. You hated smoking.

When you arrived early at school, your sister removed herself from your side almost immediately, like she didn’t want to be seen with you at school which was totally acceptable, not like you wanted to be seen with her too. At school, both of you acted like you didn’t know each other.

The hours passed on sluggishly and at midday you got detention which wasn’t surprising at all. This specific teacher had been throwing the word detention at you like he was gambling. So, here you are, sitting in detention while the teacher at the desk snores loudly. Pretty sure you’re not supposed to sleep on the job.

You weren’t alone in the room though. There was a jock, two girls, and Bucky Barnes. While you don’t personally know Bucky, you’ve heard the rumors about him. People say he does drugs; they also say he went to prison for dealing with drugs. You snort when you remember the rumors, returning you back to reality where you’re sitting bored in detention.

You know what? Screw it. The teacher is sleeping anyway.

Standing up, you pull the bag over your shoulder. Surprisingly, you hear the pad of footsteps behind you. You don’t hear the voice until you’re in the hallways that are covered with posters and don’t bully pictures.

“You know that’s not right, sweetheart.” You smell smoke before you hear him. Barnes. You don’t hate him. You barely know him, but anyone in this school gets on your nerves.

“What happened to you? You smell like a forest fire.” You comment, walking faster, hoping he’d get the memo and stop following you around. He, however, has the social intelligence of a goldfish.

“Pretty sure Mr Johnson would have a field trip when he knows what you just did.” He grins, but you roll your eyes in response.

“I got an idea, I'll take you out on a date. Me and you, yeah? And I won’t tell Mr Johnson what you just did.” He asks.

“Listen,” you stop in your tracks, “I don’t know if stupidity is something natural to you or if you’re doing it on purpose, but would you leave me alone? Unless you want to follow me to the bathroom and see the lingerie I wore just for you, oh, just for you, Mr. Barnes.” You reply with a sarcastic tone, flashing him a fake smile. That makes him stop and pause, but it doesn’t wipe the grin off his face. Oh, he’s going to have fun.

“So? How’d it go? She fall for you immediately.?” Steve asks hopefully during after school football. “She’s a mean feminist. Her sister says she hasn’t dated anyone since ninth…I wonder what happened.” He continues.

“No, but she will. I’m sure she will.” Is his reply, arrogance lacing his words. He’s never one to back down from a challenge.

“You need to take her out to and date her so I can date her sister…you understand buck-” Steve’s sweating like a pig. He likes your sister a lot, and it’d mean a lot if he got to take her to prom too.

“I know. Calm down. I’ve got a plan.”

The next time you meet Bucky is in your local bookstore that you visit frequently alone. His mouth explodes into a full-blown grin when he sees you browsing for books. “What a surprise! Didn’t think you were part of the literate community.” 

“Is that supposed to be your pick up line?” You turn your head to the side, smiling when his grin falters. You push past him, moving to other aisles, he doesn’t follow you and you mutter what a relief under your breath. 

When it’s your turn at the cashier, the clerk shakes his head and says, “the man outside already paid for your stuff, ma’am.” he nods towards Bucky who was leaning on your car. Bucky salutes you when you turn your head to look at him.

But you can’t help the small smile that grows.

Walking outside, you raise your eyebrows playfully, “that doesn’t mean I like you.”

“Doesn’t have to.”

At home, you try your best not to think about Bucky, but it gets harder. You spend the whole night staring at your bedroom ceilings. But you know not to read on that line. Not after what happened last time. He probably doesn’t like you. He just thinks you’d look good on his arm.

The third time you meet Bucky, he’s accidentally at the vinyl shop. It’s a lovely, miniature shop owned by two grandparents that own a cat. You’ve grown acquainted with the grandmother. She almost reminds you of yours, and you remind her of her dead daughter.

What’s wrong with Barnes? Can’t he take the hint?

“So I’m supposed to believe you’re just searching for vinyls? Do you even like music?” You accuse, walking to the other shelf, and unsurprisingly he follows you. “I bet you’re a poser.”

“A poser? Oh, sweetheart, you wound me! Oh, thee hath wounded me badlyth!” He places his hand on his heart, imitating someone who was shot by an arrow in his heart.

“You’re just making up words now, and horrible acting by the way.” You pick up one of the cranberries’ vinyl albums, looking it over to make up your mind on whether to buy it or not.

“Everbody else is doing it, so why can’t we.” He says confidently.

“What?” You acknowledge in confusion.  Does Barnes actually listen to the cranberries? (PLEASE don’t bully me. I know they’re not niche, this is just for the plot)

“You heard me.” He replies, “the cranberries. My sister, Rebecca, forces me to listen to it.”

“She has good taste then.” You smile softly. You’d like to bet money that none of what Barnes just said was true. You put the album in its place before holding another one to Barnes. He raises his eyebrows in response.

“What’s this one? If you guess right, I’ll…let you take me on a date.” You reply. You know he’s never going to get that one correct. All he probably listens to is his own voice-

“Sketches For My Sweetheart The Drunk.” he replies, surprising himself even. When he met with your sister, she told him a few things about you so he’d be able to charm you. One of the things about you is that you adore music. She mentioned some albums and artists he should know. Bucky said that out of pure luck.

“You like…Jeff Buckley?" You question,  eyes widened in shock as your lips part. “How’d you know that?” (I know jeff buckley is not niche, but BEAR with me pls. This is for the plot)

“I love that album.” Bucky lies through his teeth. He doesn’t lie often, but right now, it’s the only thing he can do.

You burst out laughing, cackling like an evil wizard, “that’s not even Jeff Buckley! Try harder next time, sweetheart!” you pat his shoulder while walking away. You still giggle as you walk to your car.

Bucky’s jaw clenches.

The fourth time, you find Bucky in detention. An idea pops in your mind, knocking on the door, you enter the room. Bucky’s head raises when he sees you. 

Walking to where the teacher is  leaning against the wooden desk filled with paper, you smile at the teacher. Mr Johnson's head tilts slightly when he sees you. 

“You don’t have detention today. Why are you here?” He asks accusingly, with a finger pointed at you. He must have some secret grudge against you, because why the hell are you the only being treated that way.

“Mr Johnson, may I speak to you about…something important please? It can’t wait at all. Because you know, good ideas evaporate or-” He cuts you off before you can continue, “spit it out.”

Glancing at Bucky for a second, you nod nonchalantly at the window, hand moving to scratch your neck awkwardly to play it cool. It takes a few seconds for him to understand, but he clutches his bag immediately when he does.

“So you know the posters on the wall…I was thinking we could…” Your words fade into the background as Bucky stealthily moves behind the teacher’s back, trying to make it to the window before retreating behind a large foam figure that was positioned near the window.

You grab Mr Johnson’s arms, forcing him to look at you, but he keeps looking back like he knew something was wrong, like he had eyes in the back of his head.

“How would we do that?” He raises his thick, black eyebrows.

Mr Johnson’s head slightly turns to look at the window, but you place your hands roughly on his cheeks, forcing him to look at you.

“Like this!” You exclaim, pulling your shirt over your head for a few seconds, making sure Bucky jumps out of the window to escape before escaping the room yourself, letting the hooting and hollering fade in the background as you giggle.

When you find Bucky, you grab his hand and he lets you, without asking, drag him to a nearby park where you love to visit. Fetching a five dollar from the pocket of your pants, you hand it to the guy who sells pigeon food.

“We’re going to feed the pigeons. Here.” Placing seeds in his hand, you start to throw the pigeon's food. They quickly start to appear in front of you, hungry and picking the seeds into their mouth. While you’re busy, Bucky stares at you, smiling with just one thought in his mind: what a girl.

“So you’re in a band?” You question as one of the birds fly onto your hand, feeding directly from it.

“Kind of. It’s not a band.” He replies, watching the birds.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s more a group of people who come together every weekend to do covers of songs. It’s not original.” He shrugs.

“I’d love to be in a band. My grandmother used to play the piano, so my mother made me play the piano when I was six. I took private lessons. It wasn’t what I wanted, but it was fun while it lasted. I quit three summers ago.” You say, sitting down on the green bench that was offered shade from the towering tree above it.

“I play the guitar. We usually go to Tony’s house to play there.”

Both of you sit in silence, the birds’ chirping above is the only sound. It’s not awkward silence, more like comforting silence. This was just the beginning of something new.

Reading peacefully your favourite book on your bed, the door suddenly opens and hits the wall with a loud slam. In a span of a second, a body falls on top of yours. You let out a oof as your sister moves her body off of yours.

“Go to the party with me, please…” She whines, already pulling out her best puppy eyes to make you agree. Your sister had a knack of pulling puppy eyes at your parents whenever she needed anything, but it never worked on you.

“Don’t whine. I’m going.” You roll your eyes  at her, standing up and beckoning for her to follow you to your closet, “and you’re gonna help me pick out a dress.” She looks at you like you just offered her heaven, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

Your sister squeals and hugs you, “thank you! Thank you! Best sister ever!”

The next hour, you try on multiple dresses. Feeling generous, you let your sister borrow a dress, “but don’t expect it from me everytime.” She nods eagerly before running off to her own room.

When both of you are ready, the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it!” You yell to your father that was sitting in the living room. Standing in front of you was Bucky, you sigh and roll your eyes, slamming the door in his face. However, you hear knocking on the door again. It’s persistent and doesn’t stop until you open it again.

“What?” You tilt your head to the side, motioning at Bucky to talk.

“One chance, sweetheart, come on. Let me take you to the party. Doesn’t have to mean anything, okay?” He says in an earnest way that makes you believe him for a second, but you furrow your eyebrows in response.

“What’s in it for you?”

“Being graced by your presence. Come on, sweetheart, don’t make me leave empty-handed.” You sigh and pinch your nose.

“Fine, Barnes.”

He grins, showing his white teeth. Both of you moved towards a motorcycle that was parked in front of your lawn that was full of wildflowers. Your eyes widened when you spotted the motorcycle.

“No way I’m getting on that.” You shake your head stubbornly, walking away from him, but he tugs on your arm, pulling you back. The space between you was non-exsistent; you could feel the heat radiating from him.

“Why, scared?” He challenges, raising his eyebrows, his eyes glinting with mischief.  This wasn’t going to end well. There’s no way you were going to ride that, yet you can’t admit to Bucky that you’re scared of it. You would never live it down.

“Give me the helmet.” You put your hand out stubbornly. Beaming, he hands you the helmet. Trying, but failing, you put the helmet on your head but unable to fasten the straps. Chuckling, his smooth hands fasten the buckle, his touch tender against your chin. You shut your eyes for half a second. Damn Bucky and his smooth hands. 

For the whole ride, you have your eyes closed, your shaking hands wrapped around his waist as your head lays on his back.

“Didn’t know the princess was afraid of riding motorcycles.” He teases, stopping at a red light and looking back at you.

“I’m not scared and don’t ever call me that.”

You hear the party before you can even see the house. The lights are glistening through the windows, and you wonder how the neighbours aren’t protesting by now.

At the party, you start to regret your decision. Sneering, you look at the sweaty teenagers covered in beer. The air in the house smelled disgusting and you were extremely close to throwing up, but you already came, so what’s the harm in having a little fun?

You pull one of the cans from the stack, bucky following your motions. Taking a large sip, someone bumps into you which makes you spill some of the drink all over your shirt. That was a brand new shirt! “What the hell?” You yell at her, she just turns her head and shrugs. 

After an hour, you and Bucky separate. Not that you wanted, but you couldn’t find him in any of the rooms. Drunk as hell, you find yourself in a crowded room. You need fresh air, everything’s dizzy and you can’t see properly. The music is blaring in your ears to the point where  you can’t even hear your own thoughts. 

Trying to squeeze yourself between the people dancing, one of the guys grabs you forcefully and pushes your lips into his, your voice is muffled; you try to push him off you. No one notices anything. They think both of you are just making out.

His lips push deeper, his tongue circling around yours. You try to weakly push him off again, but it’s no use.

Suddenly, you gasp, able to take your breath. When you look down, you find the same guy who was kissing you on the floor, holding his bleeding nose. Everyone’s stopped moving. They stopped dancing and finally looked at you. Turning your head, you find Bucky next to you, breathing harshly as his eyes narrowed at the guy. His fists were clenched at his side.

Before he could register someone moving at him, someone punches him; he lets out a groan in agony. The rage inside of him bubbles, and the fight has started.

Hyperventilating, you watch as the people around you start kicking and punching each other. You can definitely hear bones being crushed. Tugging him out of the fight, you pull Bucky out of the center of the fight with all the strength you have left. He lets you pull him to the bathroom upstairs.

That's how you find yourself for the first time in your life cleaning a guy’s bruised face in a bathroom while he sits on the counter.

“Thanks…” You mutter under your breath, putting cold water over the tissues you found, dabbing it at his face. He curses under breath. “You didn’t have to do that.” You complete, throwing away the tissues in the trash.

“And miss out on having you clean me up? Never. I would do it over and over again.” He smiles, a hand slowly moving to cup your jaw.

“Cheesy, but wouldn’t work on me.” You reply, not breaking eye contact with him.

“Then what would?” He asks.

“You figure it out, genius.” Your breath hitches when his eyes flicker to your lips.

“Would this?” He says before smashing his lips onto yours. It’s messy and romantic, but it makes you feel nervous, butterflies in your stomach as both of his hands cup his jaw. You're squashed between his thighs, making you feel hot and sweaty. Your eyes shut softly, his lips gentle against your chapped ones. His hands start to roam your body, and your own moves to his thighs before running to wrap around his neck.

Both of you pull away, taking a deep breath before your lips touch once more like miners who have just struck gold. You swear, in that moment, you felt infinite and alive, adrenaline pumping through your veins. While his hands rest on your waist, yours cup his cheeks.

Bucky pulls away, “did that work?”

“Maybe.” You shrug casually, but the smile you wear on your face begs to differ.

The next few days, Bucky and you meet in dark, unlit janitor rooms in school, or skip useless classes together with your hands metaphorically glued together. Both of you visit parks to feed the pigeons, something that has become Bucky’s favourite thing in the world to do. He swears, if someone would’ve asked him, that he’d do this over and over again even without the bet. You’ve become the best thing that has happened to him.

Pride blooms in chest when he sees Steve and your sister holding hands and sitting besides each other on the bleachers in front of the football court. He watches as Steve looks like a nervous wreck beside her.

For prom, Bucky asks you out, not in a grand way, but with a cheesy pick up line and a quote from your favourite book. Giggling, you nod your head, and he wraps his arms around you, lifting you and spinning you right in front of your lawn as your sister watches in content from her bedroom window.

Your sister walks into your bedroom later that day with a knowing smile. Rolling your eyes, you ask, “what?”

“Please, please, please, can you do my hair for prom. Pretty please?” When you say yes, she wraps her arms around you and says, “best sister ever.” In response, you pat her back softly.

You spend the rest of the time arguing, getting ready, and arguing again to the point your mother had to yell at you both to stop, so you spent the next fifteen minutes not talking to each other only to talk again to each other.

Downstairs, the bell rang twice, before it could be rang thrice, you opened the door only to find Steve Rogers in a suit in front of you. He clears his throat and begins talking like he had it memorized from a script.

“Hi, ma’am, I’m here to take-”

You raise your hand, “stop talking. She’ll be down in a minute. Save your breath, dude.” You joke, patting his shoulder, “and get going before you get the talk from dad.”

When your sister appears in front of him, his breath hitches, “you look beautiful.” 

The tip of her ears go hot, “you too.” 

He asks for her hand with a quick motion, taking it in his hand before walking her to his car where in front of it was Bucky’s motorcycle who was beaming at the sight of you.

At the party, you and Bucky share multiple dances, but he excuses himself to go talk with Steve for a few minutes. You dance so hard your knees wobble when you try to walk in a straight line towards the small bar in the ballroom. It’s a magnificent sight, mirrorballs hanging alone with glitter thrown on the walls. Balloons laid in the corners quietly.

Sighing, you wedge yourself between the people dancing, trying to get to the bar. You were extremely thirsty.

You always had sensitive ears, thanks to the years of playing the piano, so you can’t help but eavesdrop on the nearby conversations. Without noticing, you hear Steve’s voice mixed in the loud noises.

“I don’t know how to thank you, pal, for having to date Name just so I could date her sister. This bet was the biggest one yet at school. Can’t believe how you put up with her. She seems so mean.” He whispers.

Bucky shrugs, fucking shrugs, and has the audacity to say, “she’s not that mean.”

What the hell? A bet.

No wonder. 

This was your fault for being so trusting and feeling that someone could love you with anything in return.

You stomp your heels towards him, glaring daggers at his face, “a bet, huh? How much did you get? A hundred? Two hundred? Should’ve known you were an asshole. My bad.” You turn around sharply, walking away from him.

Bucky’s eyes widen, and so do Steve’s. They both panic. 

Bucky follows you, pushing people harshly to catch up with you. Even when you push the doors open and step outside, he’s still following after you, adamant and stubborn as ever.

“Wait, please, sweetheart!” He grabs your wrist, his slender fingers wrapping around it gently to not hurt you. “Please, hear me out.”

“Hear you out? I thought you were different, Bucky. Do you even understand what you did? You broke my trust, even when you knew you were one of the few people I trust. Did you even like me, Barnes?” You furrow your brows, hurt spilling from your eyes instead of tears. No way in hell were you going to cry in front of him.

“The bet didn’t matter to me, I swear.” He pleads, looking in your eyes, trying to search for any leftover trust, but he finds none.

You scoff, “Oh save me the explanation. I was clearly a fool.” You break the grip he had on your wrist.

“I promise, baby, that even when I was quiet, I loved you. Ever since I kissed you in that bathroom.” He says sincerely which makes you doubt yourself for a second. The fire in your eyes calms down, your eyes widening a fraction. But you can’t trust him, not after what he just did, so the only reasonable thing you can do is turn around and walk away.

This time, he doesn’t follow.

[pinkiebieberpie]

i just finished watching ransom canyon so i need hot cowboy!bucky: just think about it, he's a cool and popular son of the richest man in town; lives on a giant ranch, every woman in town wants him; he is in his late 20s and the only one he wants is his high school crush — you. you two never worked out, right person wrong time type of thing; you were always dating other people, but now? now you are both single. you are a bartender in a local tavern and he's there every friday evening just shamelessly flirting with you- — "good evening, ma'am, lookin' as beautiful as ever." — "oh c'mon barnes- this is not working and you know it." — "one day it will, sweetheart." oh and that wink!! you just roll your eyes at him, but the truth is you love it. he wants you and this feeling of being desired is exciting, but you also know he's not good for you. he never was. you are playing this game of cat and mouse for long enough to know it. this is a small town, you know his reputation... but damn, isn't his face gorgeous?

▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• [click for a song]

[pinkiebieberpie]

bed chem ( ᵘ ᵕ ᵘ ⁎)

(firefighter!bucky x teacher!f!reader)

this one is inspired by... the thought i had in my head for a few days and this huge urge to write it as a fic and not only a blurb or a moodboard and the only way for me to write something is to make it a bucky barnes fanfiction... once again i'm not much of a writer but i hope some people will like this sweet, a bit awkward but also spicy story :) it's the longest fic i've ever written. oh and it had to be civil war bucky. i needed a big guy. and i miss my husband. if they k word him in doomsday i will cry. anyway enjoy, reblogs and feedback are appreciated!! and if anyone wants part two of this... let me know i may think about it!! because there is an idea for part 2 of this fic 👀 (divider found on pinterest)

masterlists || ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။• [click for a playlist]

words: 3.7k

warnings: civil war beefy bucky (he is a warning himself); both bucky and reader are in their mid 20s; clueless and blind reader; skipped all the firefighter talk because i have no idea what i'm doing, i'm just here for smut; size kink; yearner bucky; a bit of stalker(ish) behavior; awkward crushes; slow burn(ish) but not really - they fuck on a first date...; cat dad bucky; big biceps; drinking mention; kissing; pussy eating; fingering; petnames (sweetie, good girl, baby, angel); finger sucking and also dick sucking; heavy eye contact; hair pulling; piv sex; unprotected sex; big dick bucky; mention of shower sex; aftercare; implication of ghosting;

it was a very normal day for you. waking up, drinking your usual coffee with oat milk, getting ready for work and just leaving the house. nothing unusual or weird... but one thing — today you had a little trip with your class and that meant a very perfect day: no chaos in classroom, no cleaning, just kids having fun outside. there were also downsides of a trip: trying not to loose a child and go back to their parents in one piece. but what can happen with four adults and a little bit over 30 kids? it is going to be a great day!

kids were definitely more excited than anyone else, because show me a kid whos not obsessed with any sort of big car... your kids were always glued to the windows when there was a garbage truck outside a preschool so they were obviously very excited for a trip to the fire station.

"the last time they were so excited was when we were watching new paw patrol movie." your friend and coworker laughed when you finished helping kids with their shoes.

everyone was ready. you had to take a bus to get there, but that's just another attraction kids adore.

"we could be driving around the city in a bus for a whole day and they will love it." you laughed.

it took you a little bit over 30 minutes to get there. kids were more and more excited with every second. you and three other teachers weren't that excited, you did it for children and your only goal was to just survive another day.

you arrived right on time. there was already a few firefighters waiting for you ready for the tour. they introduced themselves, the one who was doing most of the talking said his name is james, but everyone calls him bucky.

"this is the bestest day ever!" one boy who was holding your hand exclaimed with a huge smile on his face.

everything went great. all the kids had a great time, they were really interested. you weren't paying much attention to what was being said, you were there for the children and if they had a great time so had you. the most exciting part for the kids was a fire truck. they were obsessed. and that's what they were talking about all the way back. you took a lot of pictures for the parents, so they also knew how fun your little trip was. everything was so casual and normal, but on your way back to work that's where things got... interested.

"i may be delusional, but the talking guy was looking at you all the time." was the first thing your best friend said to you when you left the fire station.

"huh? me? noo... what are you talking about?"

"girl, are you blind? the big guy was... i want to say what he was doing with his eyes to you but we are still with a bunch of 5 year olds, so i will tell you that later."

nooo... it cannot be. she's obviously joking, right? you would notice... or maybe not. not like you were paying much attention to the firefighters or what they were saying or what they were looking at. but you had to admit, that talking guy was... attractive. and now he will be the only thing on your mind for the rest of the day. thanks to your very observant best friend.

he seemed pretty focused on his job.

and on talking to kids.

and on kids.

and he seemed to be good with kids too.

and he was big.

like big big.

and hot.

okay he was hot.

fuck.

now you wished your work bestie was telling the truth, but at the same time what can you do now? it's not like you can go back without the kids after work and what? pretend you left your phone? or that a child lost something? like a hat? it's dumb. and it won't work. no way it will work...

"hey! earth to y/n! you okay?"

"huh?" you looked at your friend when your kids were having a nap after your trip. there was still a few hours before their parents have to take them home and they were really tired after all day of activities.

"what are you thinki- wait. are you daydreaming about that hot firefighter? seriously?"

"hey! don't judge me! you've put this into my head... it's your fault."

"i just told you what i saw, y/n."

your day at work was almost over, still with only one thought on your mind. him. and the worst thing? you haven't even said one word to him. your delusion was based on what your best friend told you. at this point you accepted that you will probably think about him for a week and it will be over. with only one hour of work left and only 5 kids in your group you were playing with dolls and animal figurines ready to go home, but that's when things got... interesting. one of your other coworkers came to your classroom and said there is someone asking for you and waiting in the waiting area.

"who? can you stay with the kids for a second?" because you can't just leave them alone. when they agreed you left your classroom and a few moments later you looked like you saw a ghost. just blinking a few times to be sure you are not daydreaming again.

"hi." was all he said at first, nervous. he was clearly nervous. scratching the back of his neck, just looking at you.

"um... hi, is... is there something wrong? we left something? or did the kids break something?" you asked it really quickly, your mouth faster than your brain. okay why are you talking so fast, you are asking normal question. just calm down.

"no, no, no! not that! i was just looking for you and i had to come here." he paused for a second. "okay, that sounded a bit creepy. let me just start again. hi. i'm bucky. i obviously saw you today, you were with the kids and i will be honest i was kind of... it was hard to focus and i was wondering if you maybe want to go out? i wanted to ask you that earlier but... they would probably kill me for doing that at work, so..."

you had to blink a few more times, because what? he did what? oh fuck your friend was so right.

"i- okay, wait. i guess i know how you found me... it's... i was not expecting that. i mean you. here. i was not expecting you here... bucky. yes. yes i do want to."

he smiled. he was grinning like a child who was just told he can put his dream toy into a shopping cart.

"you do! okay... okay! can i get your phone number then? and we will set a date later?"

you nodded and he gave you his phone. you quickly saved your number with your name and gave him back his phone. after that he just looked at his screen and said your name out loud with a huge smile. your legs became weak that second. oh god.

after that you had to come back to work. still over 40 minutes left. but now you had that strange feeling inside of you and nosy coworkers gossiping about you for the rest of... now the day but realistically speaking for the next month.

when your work day ended and all the kids were picked up by their parents you came back home with a big smile on your face. the first thing you did was obviously texting your best friend about it.

the call lasted almost an hour. in the meantime you had dinner, cleaned your place a little bit and picked an outfit for tomorrow. it was late and you had to take a shower. were you waiting for bucky's text? yes. but the only notification on your phone was new sabrina carpenter's post on instagram. nothing else.

when you stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around yourself, you looked at your phone again and you froze. it was finally him.

that's how you ended up with a date. next saturday. so in like 2 days. all of this felt like straight from a book. almost like the airport run for a girl, but you met the guy today and he just found you at work... but you have to start somewhere. all you have to do now is survive all the gossip at work for a few days and pick an outfit.

×××

bucky planned a really sweet date. you went for a long walk and had a really nice dinner. nothing too fancy, but the food was really good and the company was even better. you talked a lot, actually it felt like you knew him for a long time. he was a bit shy at first, but after a few moments conversation became way more comfortable. you two got to know each other pretty well during that first date. you found out you both chose your career paths because you wanted to help people, but with a clearly different approach. you are helping kids learn and you are building their personalities and he's saving people. you learnt about his family, his hobbies and his fluffy white cat (he showed you pictures and it was the sweetest kitten you've ever seen).

"you know, you are really smart, that's very attractive." he said when he was walking you home after your dinner. it was late, but the date went so amazing you wanted it to last forever.

"you are making me nervously giggle when you say things like that, bucky." that was true, he was complimenting you all night. his eyes on you all the time. and it was a look of pure adoration. he was making you both blush like some high school crush and weirdly turned on the whole evening.

when you arrived at your doorstep he looked at you looking like a lost puppy but also like a hungry dog. this huge man needed you. the truth was he needed you from the second he saw you for the first time. but he was too much of a gentleman to do anything before he was sure you wanted something more too.

"i had a really great time, y/n." he said with a big smile, but the truth was he wasn't ready to say goodbye, not yet.

"me too! thanks for... stalking me at work, i guess?" you laughed and also just stared at him. a few moments of not really uncomfortable silence passed. a lot of thoughts passing through your head. mostly about him. about his body. about his big body. about how sweet and kind he was all evening. about his biceps. oh god his biceps. should you or should you not- fuck it.

"do you want to come inside?" you just asked, not even a five seconds later you also added "i have wine."

"yes! i mean- i would love to!" he said it way too fast with so much enthusiasm, it was actually cute. he made you laugh again.

you found your house keys in your bag and opened the door. after your invitation he stepped inside your apartment and looked around. it was small, but cozy. a few little trinkets here and there. it was obvious that a teacher lives here with some puzzles or colouring books on a shelves. also a lot of paper work left on the table in the kitchen.

"sorry, i wasn't expecting guests." you said as you started to gather your papers in a pile.

"you don't have to worry, it's cute. i can tell you actually live here. there is a life in this place, i like it." he gave you a warm smile.

when you cleaned the area a little bit you found your wine glasses and a bottle of wine.

"we can go to the living room or stay he- oh." you turned around to face bucky and there he was. so close to you. your breath stuck in your lungs for a second. "um... hi." you whispered after a deep breath.

"hi." he was looking into your eyes. fixed your hair by putting one loose strand behind your ear. his touch soft. gentle. "i have to be honest with you, can i be honest with you?" when you nodded he continued. "when i saw you for the first time a few days ago i knew i wanted you. it was hard to focus on work... you were so hot and pretty and i had no idea what happened to me but i've never felt anything like it. i had to find you and talk to you. i needed it. i needed to see your pretty face, your gorgeous smile. and i did that. now there are a few more things i still need. i need to touch you. i need to feel your body in my hands. you are so cute and small and i know you are going to feel amazing in my arms... is this okay? for me to need this? to need you like thi-" he had no chance to finish his last words because the next thing he felt were your lips on his. a few seconds later your hands found their way to his hair. his hands on your hips as he kept you closer and closer with every second. your kiss quickly became more passionate, both of you needed each other.

you don't remember when you ended up on a kitchen counter but you did. bucky's lips on your neck as you wrapped your legs around his waist keeping him as close as you could. the kisses on your neck were wet and a little bit chaotic. it was obvious he needed you. really needed you. when he left a little mark on your neck you gasped. a few moments later your dress was rolled up around your waist and bucky was on his knees before you. he gently spread your legs. his eyes on yours the whole time. fuck he was so hot like this. first bucky gently kissed your skin. leaving a lot of little kisses on your legs, then your thighs, slowly coming closer and closer to where you needed him.

soon your panties were gone and that moment when you felt his lips on you, you were thrilled with the fact that he came to find you at work, because this man knew what he was doing. he was slow but his tounge was working magic on you making you only more and more wet. you started to moan and whimper a little bit. your hand grabbed his hair keeping him close. bucky moaned into your pussy and that made you whimper. when you pulled his hair a little that was when he added his finger. only one at first. starting slow, but you had a feeling he won't be like that for a long time and that was the truth. in just a few more minutes this man that you met a few days ago was making you feel like you've never felt before with only his mouth and fingers.

"don't stop or i will kick you out-" you moaned when you were getting really really close. he had no plan to stop. he needed you to cum on his face. he needed to feel it. and it was making him really horny.

"i won't stop, i want you to cum, sweetie." he hummed. "can you do that for me? you are being such a good girl for me, making such a sweet noises..." he just kept going and it was impossible for you to hold it longer. with a loud moan of his name you finished on his tounge, pulling his hair and keeping him close to your already sensitive pussy.

bucky was so turned on by just eating you out. it was insane for him, he knew you for a few days and was already obsessed with you. intoxicated by you. by your noises. by your taste. by the feeling of your skin in his hands. he was addicted. and honestly? you were too.

he gave you a few moments to breath.

"you okay?" he asked and licked his lips as he looked at you. you nodded, still trying to catch your breath. "can i keep going?" another nod from you and the next thing you see are his fingers. so close to your mouth. "open up, baby and suck on them."

and you did just that. your head dizzy. empty. this man had to put a spell on you, there was no other option. you tasted yourself on his fingers. he kept eye contact with you the whole time you were sucking on them. you knew it was making him hard. and you needed to feel it. with bucky's fingers still in your mouth you started to unbuckle his belt. eye contact very strong as the attraction and tension between the two of you was insane. when his fingers left your lips you whispered softly.

"my turn, james." his eyes widened. more because of you using his full name, not because of what you wanted to do. now you needed to taste him. a few seconds later you were the one on your knees in front of him, unzipping his pants, still keeping that eye contact.

bucky was hard. really hard and your mouth watered at even just the thought of him. he groaned when you took him inside your mouth. his hands were in your hair even faster than yours ended up in his just a few moments ago.

"fuck, i had a feeling your mouth would feel amazing, but that's pure heaven, baby."

his words only made you work harder and really do your best. you were getting turned on again and him pulling your hair only added to the feeling. at the same time bucky felt like he was loosing it, he tried not to be too rough with you but you were making him feel so good, it wasn't easy to keep himself from straight up fucking your throat.

"you look so pretty, fuck- i just want to-" he pulled your hair harder, you moaned around him. the thing about bucky - he was big everywhere and when he finally started to be more rough with you - you really felt it.

you were sucking him for a couple more moments, but then he just stopped.

"fuck it, i need you. bend over."

you just blinked, but you obeyed. you stood up and quickly bucky was behind you next to the same kitchen table you were cleaning before. you felt his breath next to your right ear. he gently kissed it, then left a few slow kisses on your neck. you felt it behind you, your pussy getting more wet with every second.

"i can't promise i will be gentle." he whispered and bit your ear. this made you moan and bit your lip right after.

"you don't have to be." you said breathlessly.

"that's my sweet and brave girl." he hummed and you gasped at the sudden feeling of him filling you. at first he was slow, giving you time to get used to him and you needed that. but when it started to feel comfortable he lost all of his restraints. he was big and he was really getting into it. it was rough, it was deep, it was hard. he was holding you by the hips as you were slowly becoming a moaning mess under his touch.

"you are so tiny in my hands, angel." bucky growled as he kept going. you were so wet it was so easy for him to keep hitting all the right spots. you've never felt anything like this and it was a paradise on earth right now with him. soon your body started to shake a little as another orgasm was coming closer and closer. you needed it.

"please-" you whined.

"please what?"

"don't stop."

"awww are you close, sweetie? c'mon give it to me."

and you did. you came with almost a scream and it was enough to send bucky over the edge too. he held you tighter and he finished inside you with a hard bite on your shoulder.

bucky kept holding you as you were a weak puddle in his hands. he smiled when you both caught your breath. now he was next to you, but still holding you close.

"shit... i'm obsessed with you." he giggled and so did you. you looked at him with hazy eyes. "let me give you a glass of water." he said and took the wine glass that you prepared before you kissed him first and filled it with water. bucky gave you the glass and you drank almost all of it. he put you on top of the table again so you were sitting on it.

"you okay?" he simply asked.

you nodded and said a very quiet "more than okay."

the rest of the evening went smoothly. you took a shower, together and yes his fingers ended up inside you again. after that you got dressed and finally had that wine you promised him. he left your house almost in the morning leaving you satisfied and empty headed, but at the same time full of... a very weird feeling inside you. no, you can't have a crush on a guy you met not even a week ago... but fuck, wasn't he hot, funny, charming and good in bed?

×××

in the morning you woke up very late, at least late for you. you checked your phone hoping to maybe see a message from bucky, but there was nothing on your phone. you wanted to text him, but... what if he just wanted that? good sex? and a fun one night stand? you decided to wait, at least a little bit and then text him later... he is going to say something, right? right?

[luckiigirls]

hiii would you like to do a request in which bucky and the reader are dating but he slowly realizes that when he speaks russian around her she gets all quiet and nervous but eventually when he asks her why thinking she just doesn’t like hearing him speak it for some reason she admits it turns her on plz adapt to how you would like!

Winter’s Language

notes: tyyy for the req!! i hope this fulfills all of ur cravings💘. reqs are open but not prioritized currently. i have a bunch of filthy ideas rn.

pairing: avengers!bucky barnes x agent!reader

genre: smut, pre-established relationship, some agnst (insecure bucky??)

summary: You have been trying to convince Bucky to use more russian around you. Unfortunately he doesn’t get the hint. When Bucky goes on a mission with Natasha, you realize how badly you need him.

tw’s: sooo manyyyyy (this ones real filthy), cursing, google translated russian!!!, mentions of the winter soldier, overthinking!bucky, insecure!bucky, mentions of other avengers (clint, thor, sam, tony, bruce, steve, and natasha), winterwidow crumbs?, petnames (doll, sweetheart, honey, baby, pretty girl, jealous girl, wife, brat, my girl), smut, fingering, on a desk, mating press, pnv unprotected (bucky cums inside), jealous!reader, filthy!bucky, breeding kink, slight housewife kink, bratty!reader, praise kink for bucky??, dirty talk, pussy pronouns, slight pussy inspection, bucky’s pussy warped, dark!bucky???, tit play, multiple orgasms, cock warming at the end, no aftercare mentioned

You and Bucky had been together for awhile now. Your relationship was steady with him. Safe, secure, happy. He was perfect.

Until he spoke Russian.

It had all started when Steve preformed Bucky’s rescue mission from Hydra. Of course the entire team had to tag along, including you.

You are the best SHIELD agent Steve has. You manage the comms for them on missions, so naturally they made you tag along. You stayed back in the jet with Bruce and Sam, barking out orders in everyones ear.

“Right, Steve. S’where he’s kept at. Wait for Natasha and Tony before rushing in. Clint, you assume position far. Thor, wait for instruction by the left wing.” You enforced. They all fell in line with a word. Clint hid in the shadows, Steve awaited Natasha and Tony, and Thor braced by the left wing.

“Go! Sam has the electricity disabled. Cameras are off, nows your time.” You instruct flawlessly. Steve, Tony, Natasha, and Thor burst into Bucky’s holding place.

They break him free. He stumbles, his words slurring between broken English and Russian.

“кто ты? (who are you?) Fuck—Steve? Они меня убьют. (they’ll kill me) Why—“ Bucky slurs, his mind rattling within itself as Steve releases him from his chains. He grunts as Natasha begins spewing words at him.

“Идите за нами. Доверьтесь мне. Вы в безопасности.” (Follow us. Trust me. You’re safe.) Natasha grumbles firmly. Bucky nods, his eyes darting as they rush out of the base.

Liquid chills run up your spine at Bucky’s gravelly words. His Russian making you sit up straighter subconsciously. Wrong time, your brain chides to yourself.

“T-take a left and climb through the escape way above you. Coast is clear to the jet.” You continue to all of the avengers, your voice shaking for the first time ever on a mission.

“Who s’that?” Bucky’s brows furrow. He hesitates following them when no one answers. Tony sighs, clearly having no interest in speaking to Bucky.

“Just a comms lady. She’s the reason we aren't dead and you are walking.” Tony clips impatiently. You smile from the jet.

“Just a comms lady? I thought we were more than that, Stark.” You practically grin. Tony’s lips turn upwards for the first time this mission and you feel accomplished by it.

When the team barges into the jet, you can freely turn off your headset. You crack your neck and finally look at Bucky.

Your breath catches despite the moment. His eyes are almost glassy, his hair tangled, and his clothes slightly torn.

Bucky’s eyes lock onto yours immediately.

“Steve. кто это?” (Who is that?) Bucky begins to thrash in Steve’s hold. Steve curses and your eyes widen and your breath quickens at his abrupt movement.

Despite yourself, your thighs tighten and Bucky’s nostrils flare.

“Its okay, Buck. Calm down.” Steve soothes. Bucky pants, his large chest rising and fall as Steve rushes him to the back of the jet.

He’s as tall as Steve. Beefier than him, too. His eyes keep darting between everyone on the jet.

That was your first interaction with Bucky Barnes.

After that, your love simply blossomed. It had to be slow for Bucky. You never held that against him though. It took nightmares, therapy, comfort, and sweet whispers, but Bucky had finally grown comfortable in his own skin. And cocky too.

Bucky’s Russian only came out when it has to. Its abrupt, and you’re never prepared when he uses it.

You and Bucky are taking a walk on a secluded nature trail he loves so much. You hum as the two of you walk, chatting his ear off about anything and everything.

Suddenly, a man taps Bucky on the shoulder. He goes rigid.

“Извините, сэр. В какой стороне старт? Я заблудился.” (Excuse me, sir. Which way is towards the start? I’m lost.) He’s an older man, slightly hunched over as he asks the question. His cheeks are worn in from smiling so much.

Bucky smiles kindly, his shoulders relaxing at the mans simple question.

“Да. Поверните направо, когда увидите большой дуб.” (Yes. Take a right when you see the big oak tree.) Bucky hums thoughtfully, turning on his ‘civilian voice’. Bucky points to the big oak tree, his metal arm gleaming in the light. The man doesn’t seem to care as he mumbles a ‘thank you’.

A moment passes when you and Bucky continues on a trail. His eyebrows furrow as he notices your sudden silence.

“What’s on y’mind, sweetheart?” Bucky hums. You’re absentmindedly chewing on your bottom lip, clearly oblivious to his comment.

Bucky tilts his head towards you.

“Doll?” He states clearly. You blink and look up at him. Bucky’s mind runs a million miles at your sudden change.

“Huh?” You chirp, your voice low. You try to conceal your arousal, knowing his senses will smell or see your change. You go quiet instead.

“You okay?” He repeats, his eyes puzzling into yours. You’ve never gone quiet like that. Especially not with him.

“Mhm.” You murmur back easily, turning back to look at the trail. Bucky hums and follows suit. His metal arm flexes, reminding him of how he knows Russian.

Suddenly, he’s assuming. Maybe you don’t like his russian because he learned it in Hydra. Or maybe you don’t like Russian in general. But Natasha speaks it all the time? And you never mind. So what is it? Is it just him? Is it the Winter Soldier? His mind races.

The rest of the walk is silent. Both of you quiet for different reasons.

After that, Bucky tried his best not to speak russian around you.

He thinks he’s being respectful. Clearly, you’re not a big fan, and he would never want to make you uncomfortable. So he stops altogether.

Thats why, months later, he’s shocked when you suggest a russian restaurant.

The two of you are lounging on the couch together, his head in your lap as you comb through his hair. Your nails brush his scalp and he resists the urge to shudder. You finally hum as you turn off your phone.

“I want food.” You announce to Bucky. He grunts against your thigh, his eyes already heavily lidded from your intoxicating massage.

“Doordine it.” Bucky grumbles back, his voice muffled against you. You giggle at his old-man pronunciation of ‘Doordash’.

“M’cant. Want something local. Maybe Babushka’s?” You suggest, your voice going higher at the name. You only recommended the restaurant because it served russian food. You had grown desperate to hear his thick accent again.

Bucky finally lifts his head to meet your gaze. His eyebrows are furrowed as he gives you a puzzling look.

“Russian food?” He clarifies. You nod, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. Bucky groans, burying his head back into your lap.

You roll your eyes, stubbornly not continuing his scalp massage.

“You’re gonna have to order, James.” You remind. He hums, lifting his head back up as he registers your seriousness.

“‘Right. Give me the damn phone.” He grunts, pressing your phone to his ear as he calls Babushka’s.

“Здравствуйте, это Бабушка — чем мы можем вам помочь? (hi, this is babushka’s what can we do for you?) A woman from the other line chirped professionally in his ear. Bucky’s eyes dart back to yours, scanning your reaction as he hesitates responding.

”Да, можно заказать бефстроганов на двоих?” (yes, can i order a beef stroganoff for two?) Bucky responded. You resisted the temptation to press your thighs together as you watched him order. You could feel Bucky researching your body language, trying to conceal your arousal at a simple dinner order.

“Конечно. Что-нибудь еще?” (Of course. Anything else?) The lady hummed. Bucky gave a simple ‘no’ and the address to your apartment.

After he hung up, he handed your phone back and chuckled as he looked you up and down.

“Why russian food, sweetheart?” He asked. You shrugged your shoulders. He chewed on the inside of his cheek before pulling you into his lap.

You didn’t say anything as you tensed against his chest. Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed again. What is it thats bothering you?

“You’re all quiet again.” He noticed. You simply laughed it off, burying your head in the crook of Bucky’s neck to conceal your blush.

“Just wanted to try the food.” You reasoned, your voice low and monotone. Bucky dropped the subject, cradling you into his chest as his mind played games with him again.

The final straw came months later. Tony proposes an undercover mission against the Bratva.

Obviously, Bucky and Natasha are forced into the ‘married’ role for the mission. Newly wedded, honeymoon phase, husband and wife. Your jaw ticks slightly at the announcement, but you maintain professionalism.

Also, you get to hear Bucky speak russian, so thats a plus.

“Approach the poker table on the far left in the back. Ask to join them. If you play well enough they’ll take you to the higher tier table where Sergei Mikhailov plays. He’s the target.” You state cooly over the comms, watching Natasha and Bucky’s every move.

Bucky is leading Natasha through the casino with poise. His hand rests politely on her lower back, guiding her through the crowd.

“You have eyes. Everyone’s watching your entrance. Act lovey dovey.” You instruct. Bucky leans into Natasha, acting as if he’s whispering something dirty. Natasha gives a fake gasp before giggling.

They finally find their way to the lower-tier poker table.

“Не возражаете, если мы к вам присоединимся?” (Mind if we join you?) Bucky rasps to the table. Many of the mob workers have their own lady draped over them, so naturally, all of the women eagerly nod their heads.

You practically melt in your seat. But you remain focused.

One man grunts, clearly the higher rank out of everyone at the table.

“Без проблем. Мы подключим вас к игре после этого.” (No problem. We’ll deal you in after this.) The man mumbles, clearly skeptical. Bucky simply nods as he takes a seat, pulling Natasha onto his lap.

Her back is to his chest as she sits stiffly on top of him. The women look between each other, sharing a silent conversation.

“Relax, Nat. Melt into him. You’re newly weds, turn it up a notch.” You remind. Natasha takes a deep breath before relaxing against Bucky.

Bucky’s hands bracket Natasha against him as he begins playing poker. Conversation begins flowing amongst the table, and it is now about personality before anything.

“Расскажите нам о вас двоих. Как вы познакомились?” (tell us about you two. how’d you meet) One lady asks Natasha. She’s draped over her husband’s shoulder, standing as to cater to his every need.

Natasha smiles before turning in Bucky’s lap to thread through his well styled hair. He grins up at her as he raises the bet for the table.

“Всё началось на вечеринке у друзей. Мы встретились взглядами через всю комнату, он купил мне выпить, мы потанцевали, а потом он просто не мог оторвать от меня рук!” (It all started at one of our friends parties. We made eye contact across the room, he bought me a drink, we danced, and then he couldn't keep his hands off of me!) Natasha exclaimed excitedly. Bucky nodded, smiling against her cheek as he placed a kiss to her skin.

All of the ladies gawked over them, easily impressed by the display.

“Помню, когда мы с Михаилом были такими же. Совсем молодыми и безрассудными. А теперь он только и делает, что играет в покер.” (I remember when Mikhail and I were like that. So young and foolish. Now all he does is play poker.) One of the women joke, also on her husband’s lap. The whole table laughs heartily at the joke.

As Natasha ‘passes the test’, their attention shifts to Bucky, who has been far too quiet and far too good at poker.

“Черт! Кто этот человек?” (fuck! who is this guy?) One of the men joked, although his frustration was only growing. All the men simply laughed in agreement.

Another round flew by the table. Bucky raised the bet, then revealed his full house. All of the men groaned as he won the pot.

Suddenly, the highest ranked man spoke up.

“Иди туда. Скажи им, что тебя прислал Михаил.” (you go over there. tell them mikhail sent you) He rumbled, ever the sore loser. All of the women pouted as Natasha got up to leave. All of the men thanked Mikhail as they now had a chance at winning.

Bucky guided Natasha to the higher table before stopping.

“Мистер и миссис Соколовы. Нас прислал Михаил.” (Mister and misses Sokolov. Mikhail sent us.) Bucky slurred. The men nodded, motioning for the two to sit. The atmosphere at this table was heavier. Bucky knew he’d have to wiggle his way in.

“They’re not convinced. You two need to turn it up with them.” You gritted through your comms. Bucky grunted, masking it as a bad hand in poker.

The table slowly began to open up for the two of them.

Bucky had won the pot, causing all the men to groan once more.

“Ещё по одной. За мой счёт.” (another round. on me.) Bucky called out to the bartender. The entire table cheered and suddenly he and Natasha were in.

As drinks poured, Bucky played the perfect role as the ‘drunken’ husband. He got worse at poker, and more handsy with Natasha.

She played the tipsy wife well. Playfully swatting at him and giggling at his compliments.

“Возможно, мне придется закончить пораньше. Моя жена ненасытна.” (I might have to end this early. my wife is insatiable.) Bucky teased, causing Natasha to act flustered for the table. The men chuckled at the two of them.

“Это ты взволнована, дорогая.” (you’re the one that’s excited, dear.) Natasha grinned back. She threaded her hands through his hair, placing sloppy kisses along his cheek. Bucky’s hands drifted around to her waist.

“Только не за столом, детка.” (Not at the table, baby.) Bucky winked back. Natasha laughed, burying her face in his neck. The men observed, clearly satisfied with the display.

”Мы поймем, если вам нужно уйти, Соколов.” (we understand if you need to leave, sokolov.) One of the men chirped, flashing Natasha a dark grin. She shivered but simply laughed it off.

“Да, все мы через это проходили.” (Yes, we’ve all been there.) Another man added. The table erupted in more hearty laughter.

“This is your cue. Leave now.” You remarked over the comms. Bucky gave a slight nod.

He folded his cards, mumbling something about the game before excusing him and Natasha. He walked the two of them back to their hotel room in style.

When the two were out of earshot, Bucky grinned, “How’d we do, sweetheart?” He asked, being met with radio silence. He furrowed his eyebrows thoughtfully as he continued walking Natasha to their room.

You were dying. Your hands were shaking, your thighs were slick, and your arousal was through the roof. You breathed deeply, unable to speak to Bucky yet.

Were you jealous? Maybe, a little. You understood it’s a mission. But hearing him speak to Natasha like that had your heart twisting. And you didn’t even know russian!

On the other hand, hearing him speak like that was everything. Temptation and sin wrapped in a pretty package saying ‘open me!’.

“Very convincing.” You breathed. Bucky hummed, and before he could peer further you disconnected the comms. He grunted, peeling off his ear piece and discarding it.

Bucky was isolated from you for two days. He replayed the night over and over again. He focused on your breathing. Deep and heavy over the comms.

No way, right? Maybe you were just jealous. He was probably just going crazy from overthinking.

Bucky has grown irritated with you. You simply disconnect from him? No post-mission debrief? No ‘good job’s? You simple ignored him. And he was not going to let you off early.

When he returned to the compound, he beelined straight for your office. You had your own pristine space where you managed your comms and did your paperwork.

He knew you were still there, working. And he knew you heard he was back. And you didn’t come see him? No worries. He was coming to see you.

He bursts into your office, hastily shutting the door behind him. You hear the lock click and suddenly you’re on your feet.

Curses prepare themselves on your tongue. You turn, extending your finger as you anticipate lashing out at him for being reckless.

The words die in your throat as you see him.

He’s still in his tactical gear. Tight black compression shirt taunting you, highlighting his muscles. His tactical pants are no better. They cling jealously at his thighs before running baggy down his legs. You nearly grow envious before looking at his face.

Eye bags faintly decorate his under eye. His lips are slightly chapped, clearly missing your kisses and lip combo pressed against them. Finally his hair is disheveled, clearly ran through a few times as if he had been stressed.

Your fury has deflated, replaced by only burning passion.

“Why the fuck did you disconnect from me?” He pressed. Your fury suddenly came tumbling back into your mouth as you scoffed. He stepped forward, crowding you between your desk and his solid frame.

“Why does it matter?” You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms against your chest. Bucky took a deep breath through his nostrils.

“Don’t play dumb, honey. It’s only cute when you’re under me.” He rasps, his mouth against your collarbone. You shiver, giving yourself away to his advances as you melt against him. He feels it. Of course he fucking does.

He grins against you, pressing sweet kisses that counter his previous words.

“Theres my girl. Talk to me, pretty. Why y’mad at me?” He mumbles. You attempt to rekindle your previous anger, but its pointless. His large hands wrap around the back of your thighs, lifting you up onto your desk and stepping between your legs.

“M’not mad.” You manage to say. Your breath catches as his hands travel down your body. You resist the urge to whine.

He maps out your body like he’s been gone for years. As if he’s familiar but also a man in the desert who’s found water.

”You jealous of Nat, sweetheart?” He hummed. When he puts it that way, it does sound dumb. You’re not jealous of her. You wanted to be her. In her position. Bucky speaking russian to you, in his lap, feeling you up.

”No.” You snapped quickly. Bucky’s steel blue eyes met yours, reading you like a book. Dots began connecting in his head like wildfire.

“You always act different with me when I speak russian. What is it, doll?” He continued. You chewed on your bottom lip. Your thighs instantly tried to clench, but Bucky was rooted between them.

He looked down, then back up, and then grinned knowingly. His nostrils flared, smelling you. You were caught.

“Тебе это нравится, детка. Хочешь, чтобы я так с тобой разговаривал?” (you like it, doll. you want me to talk to you like this?) Bucky grunts. His accent is thick and heavy. You practically whimper at his voice.

You try your best not to fold. To stand your ground. But it’s pointless. Bucky has you figured out.

His thumb lazily traces your pussy through your pants, making you whine as your hands cling to his shirt.

“Моя красавица. Вся такая хорошенькая и готовая для меня.” (my pretty girl. all nice and ready for me) He mumbles, almost to himself. His eyes study your reactions to his words. Your face is stubborn, trying to fight the pleasure he’s giving you after so long of craving it.

“Позволь мне доставить тебе удовольствие. Позволь мне взять своё.” (let me make you feel good. let me have it) He persuades. You huff, allowing him to pull off your clothes. You lift your hips for him.

Naked as he’s fully clothed. Your pussy practically drips onto your expensive desk. Bucky grins at the sight. He pulls you to the edge, resuming his position back between your legs as his fingers play with your pussy.

“Так мокро. Мы могли бы заняться этим раньше, упрямая девчонка.” (so wet. we could have been doing this sooner, stubborn girl) Bucky hums. Your fingers wrap around his neck, burying you face into his shirt.

“Please, James.” You fold. Your hips absentmindedly chase his teasing fingers. He has yet to properly insert a digit, and of course your growing impatient.

“Tell me you like my russian, doll. Tell me how badly it turns you on.” He prompts, his thumb rubbing your clit faintly, tempting your surrender.

You shudder, but shake your head against his chest. He practically pouts in your ear, speaking english to ensure you understand.

“You’re bein’ mean to her, honey. I was gonna be so sweet, but you’re bein’ a brat.” He tsks thoughtfully, referring to your pussy. You whine. You know that tone. That means you’ll be here for hours of condensation.

“Wait—m’sorry. I want you to make me feel good, Bucky.” You finally admit. Bucky grins, rewarding you with a digit. He grants you a few curls, hitting that spot you like before pausing.

“Paint a picture f’me.” He reiterated. You huff, knowing he wants you to admit your filthy thoughts regarding his russian.

You pant for a second, collecting your thoughts as Bucky litters your skin with opened mouth kisses.

“I-It started when we first met. On the jet. You had broken english and your eyes locked onto me as you spewed russian to Steve.” You explained, he hums against your throat, adding another flesh finger and swirling the two.

“I knew it was wrong, but after that i couldn't help myself. Made up countless little excuses jus’ to hear you speak. Would touch myself to your goddamn food order.” You laughed, breath exasperated. Bucky chuckled against you. You grunted, moaning as he hit your spot again.

“Would fantasize about you. You dirty talkin’ me while you put me in different positions for you.” You explained. Bucky groaned, and you knew it wouldn't be much longer till he made you cum.

“M’got jealous when you dirty talked Nat in your russian. Wanted it for s’long. Wanted you to be mean, or nice, or whatever to me like that.” You rambled on, your hips bucking against his fingers as you chased your high rapidly. Bucky grunted, meeting your mini-thrust.

”Надо её вознаградить. Сделай так, чтобы ей было по-настоящему хорошо — раз уж ты решил проявить доброту.” (gonna reward her. gonna be real good to her since you wanna be nice) Bucky approved. His thumb found your clit with intention. He brought you right to the edge.

He continued his ministrations just as he knew you liked. His fingers disappeared in and out of you tauntingly. You gasped, your eyes squeezing shut as your stomach twisted.

“Дай мне это, детка. (give it to me, doll) C’mon pretty girl.” He slurred between the two. You moaned, chasing your release. Finally, the coil in your stomach snapped as you came. You convulsed around him, holding him tight.

You panted as you rode out your high. Your mouth hung open with no noises escaping it. As Bucky worked you through your orgasm, you slowly came. down, practically shaking against him.

You breathed against his shirt, nuzzling her face against him as you caught your breath. Bucky fingers remained buried inside of you.

You whined as he slowly pulled them pit, bringing them up to his mouth. His eyes locked onto yours as he cleaned his fingers of your cum. Your breath hitched as he groaned whorishly.

”Она такая милая, детка. Если бы у меня не стоял так жестко, я бы уже был глубоко внутри нее.” (she’s so sweet, baby. if i wasnt so hard my face would be buried in her by now.) Bucky hummed pleasantly. You whimpered, already feeling yourself get wetter as Bucky’s filthy mouth found your ear.

“Мне нужно, чтобы ты сдавливала мне горло, милая. Хочу, чтобы ты вцепилась в меня мертвой хваткой прямо на своем столе.” (Need her choking me, sweetheart. Want you gripping me like a vice on your desk.) Bucky purred. You nodded deliriously, your hands clung to his shirt. You began to pull impatiently.

“Buck.” You whined. He chuckled, peeling away from you to peel off his shirts. You hummed thoughtfully. Your hands scaled him, pulling him back between you eagerly.

You mapped out familiar territory once more. You looked up to see Bucky’s dark eyes following your every move. You leaned against his muscles, kissing his exposed skin and marking him.

“Talk to me, James.” You pleaded. Bucky chuckled, his cock growing agonizingly hard as you used him to get you wet. He wasn’t complaining.

“Моя ревнивая девочка. Забирай своё. Оставь на мне свои следы, милая.” (my jealous girl. claim whats yours. mark me up, honey.) He encouraged. You hummed at his words, your hips absentmindedly twitching, craving him. However you were determined to take this slow, to drag out every filthy sentence he was withholding.

“Mhm.” You sighed contently. Your lips found his skin again, your teeth grazed him. His words stuttered as you placed kisses to the scar on his shoulder which concealed his metal arm.

“Ты всегда так добра ко мне. Хочу сделать тебя своей женой, детка. Чтобы ты всегда была сытой и счастливой.” (always so good to me. wanna make you my wife, doll. keep you stuffed full and happy all the time.) He slurred to you. You nodded against him, mindlessly agreeing to whatever he was saying. He grinned, his hands playfully squeezing your ass and pulling you forward against his bulge.

“You ready f’me?” He asked patiently. You nodded against him, opening your legs wider, teasing him with your pretty pussy.

He groaned, his fingers—metal and flesh—coming down to open your pussy lips. You gasp helplessly. As if you didn’t want this. He spit cruelly onto your hole, metal thumb rubbing it up and down your slick.

“Pretty lil’ princess. She drives me crazy, sweetheart. Makes me all fuzzy in the head.” He huffed. His eyes transfixed on your cunt, teasing him as you clench helplessly.

“Bucky. Need you. Hurry.” You begged. He hummed, as if he was considering you.

“Never been so compliant before, doll. Y’like it this much?” He grinned. You nodded desperately. When you realized Bucky was in no rush, your hand traveled to his clothed dick.

You began to rub him through his tactical pants. He groaned, head tilting back. His hips jutted helplessly into your hand and you smiled coyly.

“I said I need you.” You punctured each word carefully. Bucky huffed, a smile cracking despite your bratty attitude. He knows he wont punish you. At least not tonight.

“M’coming, honey.” He agreed. You smiled, giggling as you felt him twitch in his pants eagerly. He pulled back from you, tugging off his tactical gear, letting it clunk against your polished floors.

He let you take off his boxers. Your fingers dug into his skin, tugging them down tentatively. He sprung out, thick, hard, and heaving.

“Стоило бы перегнуть тебя через этот стол и заставить умолять меня. Но я не могу. Ты мне так нужна, милая.” (Should bend you over this desk and make you beg for me. But I can't. Need you so badly, sweetheart.) He groaned. He ran his tip up and down your slick, coating himself with you. His hand rested on your stomach. He eased you backwards til your back hit your desk.

Slowly, he pushed inside. His tip kissed your cervix and you whined desperately.

“Чувствуешь меня глубоко, красавица?” (feel me deep, pretty?) Bucky rasps. You whimper as he remains buried deeply within you. Your legs wrapped around his hips, heels digging into him and urging him forward.

“Move, Buck. Please. You’re drivin’ me craz—“ The wind was knocked out of your lungs when Bucky gave you a deep hard thrust. He set a punishing pace, your desk shaking beneath you as he gave you what you wanted.

“Чертова дрянь. Вечно получает то, что хочет.” (fucking brat. always getting what she wants) He grunted. His hips connected to yours with loud smacking that filled up the room.

You were a boneless mess beneath him, moans and noises spilling from you like a broken record as Bucky pulled your pleasure from you.

”Она такая узкая, детка. (she’s so tight, baby.) Jesus.” He moaned, his hips stuttering inside of you. Your own hand traveled upward, palming your breasts achingly.

Bucky grunted, instantly peeling your hand away to replace it with his mouth. Your hands flew to his hair, tugging at the locks as his tongue swirled around your nipple.

Bucky groaned against you, not breaking his rhythm as he switched breasts, leaving none to be neglected.

“Yeah. Bucky. Mhm. Making me feel s’good.” You praised. Bucky twitched inside of you. You grinned, fingers threading through his hair.

“My big bad soldiers gettin’ worked up, yeah? M’gonna cum because of you, Buck. Because of how good you’re fuckin’ me.” You continued. Bucky stuttered again, hitting that spongey spot deep within you. You gasped, instantly clamping down.

Bucky huffed, pulling back from your chest and using his metal thumb to rub your clit. The temperature difference was jarring, bringing you closer to the edge.

”Хочу этого, детка. Хочу, чтобы ты меня пропитала.” (want it, doll. want you to soak me.) He murmured. His voice was almost pleading, begging you to cum for him as he nodded repeatedly. Poor thing already pussy warped.

You moaned his name as you fell apart, clenching down on his disappearing length with ease. Bucky fucked you through your orgasm. His head fell, strong arms bracketing you on either side of your desk.

You rode out your orgasm in waves. Vision slightly white around the edges as you panted. Bucky was still moving. Slowly, sensually, deep guttural rolls of his hips until you were ready again.

“T-take it, Bucky. Take what y’need.” You breathed. Bucky’s eyes shot up to yours. Need painted his face like a waving flag. You nodded, confirming for him again.

His eyes found your pussy, watching him disappear in and out of you. He groaned and resumed his earlier pace.

Words began tumbling out of his mouth like prayer.

“G-gonna ruin this pussy. S’what you want? Want me to be mean and use her?” He panted, hips driving into yours with deliberate smacks. You moaned incoherently, making him chuckle.

“Ей нужно глубже, милая.” (she needs it deeper, sweetheart) Bucky decides. Suddenly two arms cradle the back of your knees, pushing them upwards until you’re in a mating press.

Your eyes shoot open, locked onto his face. He’s not looking at you, his eyes are molded to your pussy, watching the two of you. You meet his gaze and you groan. You let her head fall back again as your feet brush the back of his neck.

He breaks his staring contest with your cunt to kiss your ankle, eyes now finding yours.

”Сделаю тебя мамой. Вытащу тебя из этой грёбаной жизни.” (gonna make you a mommy. get you away from this fucking life.) Bucky curses, you whimper. He begins talking nonsense, babbling.

“Ты всегда такая сильная. Позволь мне позаботиться о моей красавице.” (you’re always so strong. let me take care of my pretty girl) Bucky rasps. You let out of a symphony of moans as his cock kisses your G spot, bullying your cervix over and over again.

”Я сделаю тебя своей женой. А потом ты у меня будешь вечно ходить босиком и беременной. И я буду обеспечивать тебе полное удовлетворение, когда буду возвращаться домой.” (I'm gonna make you my wife. After that, I'll have you barefoot and pregnant all the time. Keep you nice and satisfied when I come home.) Bucky rambles. You nod, agreeing to whatever filth he was conjuring in his mind. He chuckled at your blind faith.

”Я позабочусь о том, чтобы тебе больше не пришлось и пальцем пошевелить, милая. Буду доводить тебя до оргазма снова и снова, пока ты не начнешь умолять меня наполнить тебя.” (I'll make sure you never lift a finger again, honey. Just make you cum over and over again till you beg me to fill you up.) Bucky groans, his hips stuttering. You can tell by the crease in his brow he’s close. You’re helpless to get him off, forced to just lay there and take it as he fucks you deep.

“F-fuck… Gonna cum, женушка (little wife). Gonna fill you up, yeah? You want it, baby?” He asked your permission to cum. You could feel yourself getting wound up as well by his words.

“Yeah, gonna cum too. Now, please, inside.” You murmur, your sentences fracturing together with effort.

Bucky nods. He gives you one more deep thrust before you’re both coming. Your eyes squeeze shut as you give out yet another overstimulated whine.

Bucky spurts thick ropes inside of you, emptying himself as he nearly feels never ending. He pants as he finally stills. You stay there together for minutes before you’re getting hoisted upwards.

He hums as he sits down in your officer seat, sitting you on his lap. You’re still conjoined at the hip. You melt into him like a koala does a tree as you bury your face in his neck and cling to his body.

“Did so good, sweetheart. Made such a mess.” He praised, nearly condescending. You simply sighed against him, too overstimulated to care for his words. His large hand runs up and down your back, lulling you to sleep.

“Позабочусь о том, чтобы всё получилось. Скоро ты забеременеешь и будешь во мне нуждаться.” (gonna make sure it sticks. get you pregnant and needy soon enough.) Bucky smiles, placing a kiss to your forehead as you doze off contently.

——————————————————————

thank you for reading!! leave constructive criticism or praise below💘.

[maplesyrizzup]

Lovesick

Summary: Bucky has the biggest crush on you but he can never bring himself to ask you out and he's so done with the teasing everyone else does about it Warnings: it's very fluffy but also angsty because Bucky thinks very lowly of himself. mutual pining. bucky who yearns. bit of jealously, but does it count if it's because his cat? Everyone say thank you Sam. Bucky who is scared of rejection and who thinks you deserve better than him. patient reader, like omg she's so patient. Word Count: 2.8k Present for @buckysdecaflove! Hope you enjoy lovely!

Bucky doesn’t mean for it to happen. It’s just something that sprung up on him the first time he met you. When Steve brought you to Wakanda and introduced you two with this stupid smug grin on his face like he knew exactly what was about to happen. 

You put your hand out and looked at him like he was just Bucky. You smiled at him and told him your name. And Bucky’s brain short circuited for a solid ten seconds. 

He hates that that was your first impression of him. How he immediately felt hot and struggled to say his own name back. And then he did and he knew that was stupid because Steve had told you about him. You already knew his name.

But it isn’t until years later. Years that hadn’t been years to him because they passed in a blink of an eye for him. When quiet had settled within the Avengers Compound and slow days rolled in.

It wasn’t until the afternoons where you’d had a second cup of coffee at the kitchen island with him while he had his first because he didn’t wake until 11 unless he had to be up. Words barely spoken. The days where you’d casually mention a book you’d read and Bucky would find himself writing it down so he could see what you like. The nights where you’d both be in the gym together and he’d keep an eye on you while you lifted something heavy. 

It wasn’t until then did he realize just how fucked he was.

You were the best part of his day without even trying to be and that made it so much worse.

It’s stupid--not you. Him and the way he acts. He’s a grown ass man, not a school boy, his brain shouldn’t just stop working because you smiled or hell even looked at him.

You also deserve better. You don’t deserve rough and bloodied hands. You don’t deserve someone who can barely sleep peacefully through the night. You don’t deserve someone as haunted as him.

What you deserve is the world and he wishes he could give it to you.

~

The smell of coffee brewed earlier this morning lingered in the kitchen and mixed with the faint scent of burnt toast from the bottom of the toaster that no one had gotten around to cleaning out.

Sunlight comes in through just the right - or wrong - angle through the wide windows that make it bounce off the polished floor and shine far too brightly then it has any right to.

There’s stillness in the space, the kind that comes from the quiet, the kind that settles a pounding heart--a kind that makes Nat’s and Yelena’s chatter from the other end of the room nothing more than a buzz that Bucky tunes out easily. 

It’s far too early--earlier than Bucky likes to be up, but Sam had other ideas. He walked into his room like he belonged there and dragged Bucky out of bed. Literally. Sam ignored Bucky’s threats and just yanked his blanket, taking Bucky with it with a harsh thud onto the floor and then into the hall. 

THANK GOD you didn’t see. He had been in just his boxers after all.

But now Bucky was up and his mind had no intention of falling back asleep after training anytime soon so he settled on breakfast and coffee. Strong coffee that kept Bucky from sneering at Sam.

Who wakes up at seven for sparring!? 

Bucky should, at least, be able to push Sam down the stairs.

“Oh, mornin’ Bucky! You’re up early!”

He nearly choked on his cereal at the sound of your angelic voice and nearly got whiplash as his head cranked in your direction, still struggling to get his food down correctly. With his face turning red—it’s just the food, no one can make him admit otherwise.

There’s a smile on your face, it’s sweet and soft, and makes every wall he built crumble immediately. It makes his stomach twist and his heart pound wildly in his ears like a hammer. 

Maybe mornings aren’t so bad after all. Not if he gets to see you.

Bucky swallows, thickly, attempting to force down the logs that suddenly formed in his throat, but the action is in vain. His mouth moves but words struggle to roll off his tongue as his gaze follows you while you move towards the fridge.

“Hey.. Mornin’...” He finally manages to say and instantly curses at himself internally.

You pull out the cake Torres made yesterday that somehow survived to today. “You and Sam heading out?” You ask, helping yourself to the last slice. 

Bucky looked down at himself, then remembered why you were asking; because of the time. “No. He dragged me outta bed to spar.”

You hummed in response and licked a piece of frosting that got on your finger and Bucky’s brain malfunctioned entirely.

“That sounds like him. Y’know he tried to get me to join too, but I already promised Wanda we’d head to the farmer’s market this morning. We brought back a lot, but I got some plum jar for you, it’s in the pantry. I tasted some myself. Had to make sure it was good before I bought it,” you rambled, rambling that Bucky could listen to for hours.

Instead, he blinked. “You got me jam?” he asked slowly.

You nodded like it was no big deal. “You like plums,” you said so simply, voice muffled from the bite you took, and finally turned, leaning against the counter.

Fuck, you were beautiful. Eyes that marveled the heavens. A smile that made his knees weak. And a touch that was ungodly gentle compared to how you treat your enemies.

He realized you had said something else and were looking at him with a furrowed brow. “Buck? You good?”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Just--. Just tired.”

Your face crinkled in the sweetest way, not pity, but still care. You pushed off the counter, plate in one hand, and moved towards him. “I’ll tell Sam he’s gotta let you get enough sleep.” Your hand fell on his shoulder and even through the fabric of his henley it felt like his skin was on fire. You can’t keep looking at him like that. It’s not fair. Not when he could never be more than just this to you. “And then he can mess with you. After the eight hours.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off yours. “I’m afraid that’s easier said than done,” he murmured.

You snorted. A noise so close to your laugh that he adored. “True,” you mused. “We are Avengers. See you later.” and squeezed his shoulder.

He nodded. “See you later,” he mumbled as he watched you walk away, longing shimmering in his steel blue gaze. 

The space is quiet for a solid five seconds after you leave, your footsteps growing dimmer down the hall, and Bucky realized who was still in the room as he turned and saw them.

Nat and Yelena were grinning, eyes swimming with mischief, and it made Bucky’s stomach sink because he knew what was coming.

“Coward,” Natasha muttered in Russian.

And so it had begun.

Bucky sighed, heavily and slumped forward in his seat.

They did this every time.

“Are you going to wipe off your drool from the floor?” Yelena asked.

“Y’know normal people ask out their crushes, not whatever the hell you’re doing,” Nat mused and sipped from her coffee while searching for Bucky’s gaze--something he refused to give either of them.

Bucky wanted to sink into the floor. “Do you have to do this?” he grumbled.

“Talking to a woman isn’t as hard as she makes you.”

Death would be too good of a punishment for Yelena.

The stool squeaked from under Bucky as he prominently stood up, taking his bowl with him.

But Yelena kept going. “It’s literally so easy. It’s ten words. ‘Would you like to go on a date with me?’ Then you eat her out. Every woman wants that. Hey! You always have to let a woman finish before you leave!”

~

It’s game night when someone finds the chance to tease him about you again and it’s Sam this time.

It’s stupid. He shouldn’t even be staring--there shouldn’t be jealous churning in his gut, but there is.

You're sitting on the floor, back brushing against Wanda’s leg, and in your lap is Alpine. You’ve got her face in your hands and you’re giving her soft little pecks as you consistently mutter how Alpine is such a good girl. How Alpine is such a princess.

And Alpine is eating it up. She’s no doubt purring as she just lets it happen. As she just leans into your touch. It’s like Alpine knows Bucky is watching.

He wants that to be his face you’re holding. His face that you’re kissing. But it’s his damn cat.

You’re completely ignoring the chaos around the coffee table. So is he. He isn’t even aware of whose turn it is. He’s just watching you pet Alpine.

It’s strange that Alpine is letting you do this. She hates everyone. She hates Steve for fucks sake. The first time Bucky introduced them after he brought the feline home she tore up Steve’s arm and they had to get the blood stains outta the couch. But for some reason she liked you, basically as much as she liked Bucky.

Bucky never questioned why she liked you. Of course, Alpine has great taste in people. But that still didn’t mean it wasn’t odd to see at first.

“Are you glaring at your own cat?” Sam whispered into his ear as he leaned over.

Bucky’s jaw ticked and he looked away from you. That lasted about five seconds.

“You can’t seriously be jealous.”

He was and it was so stupid.

Alpine was getting to do something Bucky has wanted to do for months. How was that fair?

“You could just go over and talk to her.”

No. Bucky already knows what happens when he tries to do that. He’d much rather become one with the ground than make a foul of himself. Again. 

Sam sighed. “Happiness is not this hard. Dude, you walked into a wall because you were too busy staring at her last week and she noticed. You genuinely can not be anymore obvious.”

No. You had seen the aftermath. If you had noticed the fact that he had been staring at you then he would’ve probably jumped out the window.

“Maybe I should give Joaquin 50 bucks to ask her out,” Sam mused.

Bucky’s chin snapped in Sam’s direction.

Sam snorted. “You’re hopeless,” he said bluntly.

Sam wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. First off, giving someone money to ask someone out. That was an insult to the recipient. Sam wouldn’t do that to you. Not even to get Bucky to finally man up. Right?

~

Bucky didn’t get a wink of sleep last night.

He stared at the ceiling, unable to get the things that played in his mind to go away.

Joaquin showing up to your room with flowers. Joaquin flashing that flirty grin your way. Joaquin taking you out like Bucky wanted to do. 

You saying yes.

You wouldn’t say yes, would you? You didn’t like Joaquin like that. But you were single. Bucky knew that. And Joaquin was right there. Joaquin was sweet and… not broken. He wasn’t someone who got woken up in the middle of the night by nightmares that left his skin damp with sweat. He wasn’t someone who looked down and saw blood dripping from his hands.

You deserved the world, not someone who was haunted by his past.

“She wouldn’t, right?” He murmured to the furball curled up against his leg.

Alpine’s eyes opened at the sound of his voice.

“It wouldn’t happen,” he insisted.

But…

“She deserves to be happy.” 

His jaw ticked.

“I could make her happy,” he blurted.

He made her smile. He made her laugh. Sometimes so hard she would snort and clutch her stomach. When has Joaquín done that?

But there was so much blood on his hands. So much pain he caused.

“You think I could make her happy?”

Alpine merely only blinked at him before her chin returned to her paws and her tail flicked on top of her pink nose. 

Bucky let out a frustrated breath. “I’m not overthinking this. I’m thinking about this the correct amount.”

Alpine didn’t even grace him with a sigh.

“You rub it in just because you can and I know you do.”

This wouldn’t be the first time he’s talked to Alpine about you and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“If she says no then we’re moving to a different country, you know that right? I don’t think I could show my face ever again.”

There was a soft thump as he lay back down. “I just need to get over this crush. That’s all.”

~

By eight he’s outside your bedroom, pacing like a madman.

He shouldn’t be out here and he knows he shouldn’t but he is anyway, and every time he turns around to walk away he stops in his tracks and returns to the line he’s been walking back and forth for the past 40 minutes.

Coward.

The word rings in his ears.

He used to be able to do this with ease. He used to crack that smile that always had dames swooning. He used to know what the right thing to say was.

But that was so long ago and you weren’t just anyone. You were his friend. You were someone he trusted. You were someone too good to lose. 

He needed to leave. He needed to return to his room before you showed your face and saw him out here.

But the way you looked at him. The way you always relaxed when he was in the room. The way you always fell asleep on missions so quickly when he was there.

He raised his knuckles but drew it back immediately.

Would you like to go on a date with me? Please?

No. No. That sounded desperate.

He was desperate.

Could I take you out on a date?

I think I’m in love with you.

No. Absolutely not.

He can’t do this.

You’re going to reject him. You’re going to rip out his heart and throw it onto the floor.

He’s going to have to move. Maybe running from those bounty hunters in Madripoor would be a better fate than hearing your rejection. 

The door opened and Bucky froze like a deer in headlights. Heat instantly flooded across his skin and his clothes felt way too tight.

You startled, not expecting anyone to be standing there, and he cursed internally at himself for making you react like that.

Your hair is a mess and your sleep wear wrinkled. 

And the softness that comes with the traces of sleep that lingers erases at the sight of him.

Shit.

You put a hand over your chest. “Oh—Jeez. Don’t—. Hey, Bucky.”

Fuckin’ idiot. 

A sheepish look passes over his heated face. “Hey. Hi.”

Hi???

Her brows furrow and she glances over his shoulder for a moment. “Whatcha doing outside my door?” You asked, lightly.

“Nothing. Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Fuuuuucccckk

“… it’s not nothing,” he admitted quietly.

And you waited. You always waited. You never rushed him, not with anything that wasn’t life or death. 

“I had a question.”

Still that patience you always held for him stuck to your face.

He swallowed thickly

“… would you… wouldyougoonadatewithme?” He finally blurted and immediately wanted to become one with the floor.

He didn’t wait for your response, he just looked down.

Something soft swam across your face, it came with the way your heart clenched and stomach twisted in knots. 

Your lips ticked up, not amused, just fond. “Could you repeat that?” You asked even though you had heard him.

He took a deep breath as he squeezed his eyes shut and leaned against the doorframe. “Would you go on a date with me?” He asked, forcing the words to roll out slower.

He peered up and realized how flushed you were. How you were looking at him like that. So fondly. 

You smiled. “I was waiting for you to ask.”

He blinked. “You knew?”

You nodded. “I suspected and you aren’t exactly the most subtle man about it,” you admitted. 

Then that softness melted into something shy and your eyes flickered down. “But I just wanted to make sure you wanted this.” You gestured between them. “That you took the time you needed. I didn’t want to rush you,” you said gently.

He searched for your gaze. “I want this,” he blurted firmly. “I want you.”

You gazed up and tried to fight the smile that threatened to come to your lips. “Tonight?”

He nodded eagerly. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“See you then, Bucky.”

His skin buzzed. His heart hammered. And his stomach twisted in a million different ways. “See you then,” he murmured and quickly turned on his heels, hoping you wouldn’t see the smug smile on his lips and hoping you didn’t see the way he punched the air when he thought he was far enough away.

You did.

[apollossunglasses]

I speak for everyone when I say we NEED a part 2 for go home your drunk.

Xx

"walk of shame"

Harry 'Wroetoshaw' Lewis x fem!reader A/N: part two to go home you're drunk! y/n is still anxious and awkward and slightly avoidant and oblivious (i love her). swearing and drinking referenced. more kissing, undressing, groping and suggestiveness. reader wears a bra and has hair? grey's anatomy reference. fuck idk if this makes sense WORD COUNT: 2990

Tomorrow comes when you wake up at 8AM and already feel the pit beginning to settle in the bottom of your stomach. You have a headache beginning to form, and you don’t even want to check your phone because you know there’ll be about 47 new emails and messages and new tasks to do and-

You cannot be arsed. Especially not when Harry is (presumably) still snoring away in your guest room, and you know that there is a conversation that must be had, especially if you want your life to go back to normal.

Although you’re not really sure if that is what you want.

You try and stay positive- maybe Harry’s forgotten what happened last night. Maybe (if you’re being very, very optimistic), he’s already gone. That would be wonderful. A sick voice inside of you whispers ‘maybe he was serious last night’, and you shake your head to rid yourself of it. It would be cruel of you to get your own hopes up. 

You lay on your front, sighing and burying your head back in your pillow. Yes, you enjoyed kissing Harry. Yes, you would definitely date him. Yes, his confession that if it weren’t for your ex, you two would’ve talked more- maybe even would’ve been friends. But it would complicate everything. You smiled after everything. You promised him a talk, but now, in the morning light…

It just doesn’t feel right.

Harry was so drunk. And yes, whilst you’d only been around Harry when drunk a few times, he was always like this. He was emotional, with his volume and honesty being basically four times their usual level. It wouldn’t surprise you if he’d done practically the same thing with Josh.

You know you have feelings for Harry. You’d gone to bed with a smile on your face and butterflies in your stomach, you’d even acknowledged it to him that you did in fact enjoy it, and that you wanted to talk about it. It’s just… everything will change. You’d already gone through several major life changes in the past year, and weren’t sure if another one was what you needed. Last night you were so sleep deprived and borderline delirious, that now, in the proper morning, it really felt unreal.

You push yourself up and out of bed, deciding it’s better to prepare yourself to face the day instead of ruminating on it. Whatever happens is fine. And, if all else fails, you can just get a new job. 

You quickly brush your teeth, and wash your face, before throwing on a pair of comfortable leggings. You’ve thrown a random bra on, and are looking for a shirt when you hear the BEEP of the smoke alarm in your kitchen. 

You run downstairs, shirt now forgotten about. You nearly trip over Harry’s shoes that you had abandoned by the stairs (technically earlier that morning), and go flying through the living room into the kitchen. You get in there and see- 

Harry?

He’s jumping up and down, fanning at the smoke alarm with one of the dish clothes kept by the sink, and doesn’t seem to realise that you’ve entered. He’s wearing the same clothes as he was last night, but his shirt is inside out… and you think his trousers might be back to front.

You lean against the archway, a fond smile subconsciously making its way across your face. 

Harry swears very loudly, but it’s hard to hear him over how loud the beeping is. He spins around, trying to seemingly fan the smoke (that you now realise is coming out of the oven) into a tornado of smoke. You aren’t sure what his end goal is- he hasn’t even opened the glass door to the small rear garden or the window above the sink. Harry spins around again, and his eyes land on you. 

He freezes, arms extended above his head. Harry plasters a fake smile on his face. You look around the room. On the small kitchen table, he’s laid out two plates, with two glasses and- champagne and orange juice. Was he trying to make mimosas? Harry must see the look of confusion upon your face, the smile having fallen as you took in the scene more. “I was- erm. As a thank you.” He gestures around the kitchen.

“As a thank you… you’re burning down my kitchen?” You ask incredulously. You both feel like you are walking on egg shells. Whilst your conversations before were never easy and (especially after Patrick’s interference) rare, there was an easy banter the two of you could always slip into- and now, it felt quite far away.

“Not on purpose! Look-” He quickly goes to open the oven further, pulling out the cremated food in a hurry. It looks like- you can’t even tell what it looks like. “I was warming up some croissants in the oven. And I put the temperature too high. AndIalsofellasleeponyoursofaandforgot.” 

Your jaw drops. You’re trying to formulate a response that doesn’t involve you insulting him, wordlessly opening the door to the outside and window, as the smoke alarm stops beeping. Harry guiltily wrings the dish cloth in his hands. It’s nearly 2 minutes of silence before you speak.

“Well- I mean. At least you woke up in time.” Harry breathes out a sigh of relief when you turn to look at him. You’re not exactly smiling, but it’s better than nothing! 

Harry nods eagerly. “Yeah. Yeah! Wouldn’t’ve liked to burn down your house and shit when we still need to talk about last night.” You visibly tense up when he says that, and Harry wants to bash his head against the wall. Of course you don’t want to talk about it. You were placating him when he was drunk, and that was all it was. “You know- Nevermind. I am sorry y/n. I have completely destroyed your kitchen-”

“I mean, it’s not completely destroyed.” You reply. You walk around him to the kitchen table, pouring yourself a glass of orange juice. It was far too early for champagne in your mind. “Like, I can still use it and stuff.” You shiver at the slight breeze from the outside and that’s when you remember that you don’t have a shirt on - thank God for your bra. You wrap one arm around yourself, using the other to help you finish your glass in basically one gulp. You turn back around to face Harry, who is gawking at you. 

He whacks a hand over his eyes, covering them fully, “WHY DON’T YOU HAVE A TOP ON-”

You squint at him, interrupting. “Because I thought my house was burning down?” Harry’s face is practically bright red beneath his hand. You sigh, grabbing one of the thin zip-up hoodies from the back of the chair at the table. “I’m all covered up, Harry. Don’t worry.”

He peeks out from behind his fingers (if you’re being honest, you thought you saw a glimmer of disappointment flash across his face), before trying and failing to shove his hands in his pockets. It’s then he realises that his joggers are the wrong way around, and Harry honestly feels like screaming. His face grows warm again, and he immediately tries to divert attention.

“So. y/n. Now that we are both-” Harry subtly tries to throw away the burnt food. You watch him with raised eyebrows. “Shall we- Should we both take a pew?” Harry is talking like he’s never talked to anybody before, and he wants to bash his head against the wall again. You look like you want to bolt, and a wave of sadness or something close to it washes over Harry. “y/n. I really do want to talk about this.”

“I know. I know!” You sigh, messing with your hair. “I want to talk about it. I just-”

He gently guides you to a chair at the table, pushing you down into it. Harry takes the champagne off the table, putting it back where he found it. If there’s one thing he wants to do without the temptation of drinking, it’s this. He stands with his back to you for a moment, taking a deep breath. 

“Your shirt’s inside out.” You say monotone whilst he isn’t looking at you. Harry turns, giving you a nasty stink-eye. For a second, it feels like nothing at all happened last night. This was what the two of you did in the office when you spoke. Was it the nicest? No. Was it easier for the pair of you to communicate like that instead of adults? Yes. But of course, this is a time when you two need to actually communicate.

“Says the woman who doesn’t even have one on.” Harry retorts. He considers getting the champagne back out, but decides against it, instead pulling the chair out across from you, scraping it against the floor.

You shrug as you mutter, “I didn’t see you complaining.” Harry’s jaw drops, and he forgets the entire speech he had planned. You aren’t wrong. He certainly wasn’t complaining. In fact, he’d like to see the view more often (without the bra, next time, even!).

“You do not get to say stuff like that when we’re talking- talking about serious things, y/n! We’re talking about MY FEELINGS- OUR feelings!” Harry does his Harry thing, overdramatising what he’s saying so that he can play it off as a joke in case it goes down poorly. His heart skips a beat when your eyes meet.

Harry’s always found it difficult to read you. If he was going to admit it, when you first began to work with the Sidemen… Harry did not like you. You were too good at your job. Too good at communicating with other brands and venues. Too good at being friendly with the other employees but not with him. Too perfect. He often struggled to concentrate in meetings or when they were filming if you were there, and it was not only noticed by the fans, but also by other people who knew the Sidemen personally.

When he was drunk, Harry found it easier to function around you, and thus, when you and Patrick attended the Sidemen party (Harry had nearly cried when he found out you were engaged. Vikk and Josh had to talk him into showing up), Patrick had noticed Harry’s dedicated stare aimed in your direction, the rolling of his eyes whenever Patrick spoke or held your hand or even stood near you. 

Patrick had successfully scared Harry off after that night, and it had taken weeks for Harry to realise the reason he was so pissed at not being able to talk to you (even though you hadn’t done so much anyway) was because he was in love with you.

Gross. 

When Harry had confided in his friends, they all treated him like he was stupid. Of course he had a crush on the engaged producer. They’d seen him act in similar ways around girls he liked in the past- being too awkward to function until he had a drink in him, when suddenly he thought he was God’s gift to women and had more confidence in his right pinky than most people do in general. Only it was different with you, because you were engaged. 

But then the engagement ended. And suddenly, you were back on the market… and Harry still couldn’t talk to you properly. He was a bit snippy when he did, but you would always return the energy, so he didn’t think you liked him much in any direction, especially not romantically- so when you kissed him back last night-

Harry had never wanted to freeze a moment and keep it forever as he had then. As he looks at you in the morning light, hair moving slightly from the breeze coming through the open door and window, the only thing Harry wants to do is kiss you again.

You clear your throat, eyeing Harry slightly awkwardly. “So. Our talk.”

“Yes! Yes. Yes. Our talk.” Harry nods. “I- okay.”

“Okay?”

“y/n- I- You’re so fucking beautiful and you make me so nervous.” Your heart skips a beat and does a swan dive to your stomach as it begins. “I genuinely like. I can’t talk around you. I can barely breathe around you. It’s a miracle I’m able to fucking talk right now, because usually I need some fucking- fucking liquid courage to do it. I’ve known you for like- three years? Four years? And you make me so uncomfortable. I’ve never needed anyone as bad as I need you. I made a dick of myself last night, I know I did. But when you kissed me- Fuck. I genuinely really really like you. And I want to know every little thing about you. I want to know if you- if you talk in your sleep. I want to know if you prefer your eggs scrambled or fucking- fucking poached! I want to know your favourite flowers, and I want to see your smile every day.” You sit there silently as he rambles. “y/n, I’m telling the truth when I say this. I don’t think there’s anyone else more deserving of love than you, and I want to be the person who can give it to you.”

You’re gobsmacked, looking at Harry as though you’ve just watched him shed his skin like a snake. Harry takes your silence as a rejection, and begins to get up. “I’m so sorry. I’ve fucked it all up, I know I have. If- I’ll leave, y/n. I’m so sorry, we never have to talk again-” He’s basically walked out of your kitchen when you turn him around by the shoulder, grabbing the collar of his inside-out shirt, and meeting his mouth with your own.

It takes him by surprise, and he makes a sound of surprise, which quickly melts into a sound of pleasure. You remove your hands from his collar, instead wrapping them around his neck to bring him as close as physically possible to you. His tongue sweeps inside your mouth, seemingly battling yours. Harry recovers from his shock quickly, walking you backwards into the kitchen, backing you up against the counter.

His hands rove over your body, grabbing everywhere he can as though he’s worried you’ll disappear if he lets go. His hands fumble with the zip of your hoodie, throwing it off to the side once he manages to manipulate your arms out of it. His hot hands caress the clasps of your bra, but you gently push him off of you before it gets to that point. His hands instead travel down to your waist, squeezing as he waits for you to say something.

“Is that like- good enough confirmation that I feel the same way?” He nods wildly as you speak. “I’m- I’m not good at speaking, Harry. Like about my feelings. I had my heart broken and the last thing I want is for that to happen again. I- I can’t go through that again. I want this, and I want you.” You feel like you’re climbing Mount Everest as you confess this. “I want something serious with you-”

“I'm serious about this, y/n. I want to be with you. I want to show you off. I want to take you out.” His eyes are large and earnest and scarily blue. His hand is slightly calloused as it moves to brush some of your hair away from your face, both of your chests heaving slightly.

You blink at him, the butterflies in your stomach clouding your mind, as you blurt out “Like- take me out as in kill me-”

“NO?!” Harry looks flabbergasted. You put your hands up defensively. 

“It was just a question! And like, you did try to burn my house down so-” You feel your face grow warm and cut yourself off. “So… If I were to say yes- to being taken out by you… When would you want to do that?”

Harry’s face lights up, as he pulls away slightly, holding your forearms, spinning you around. “YIPPEE!” He yells, louder than necessary. You cringe, but smile in spite of yourself. “Okay. Okay.” He tries to calm himself down. “So this was- this was fucked. Me making breakfast. A stupid idea. Let’s- Are you free like right now?” Harry stutters over his words. 

You look at him, “If I wasn’t free, don’t you think I would’ve kicked you out by now?”

Harry chooses to ignore your dry question, instead choosing to plot mentally. “Sooo… if I suggested like. Like. A brunch?”

“It’s still breakfast. It’s only like 9:15.” Your stomach growls as if to punctuate your point.

Harry waves you off. You can’t stop this man when he’s on a mission. “Or… we can make it brunch?” He raises his eyebrows in a way that you think is meant to be flirtatious. 

“Or…” You trail your hand down his chest, he shivers with excitement. “We can go get breakfast. We can come back here… And I can teach you how to properly warm croissants in the oven.”

Harry laughs, baring his teeth into a smile as he grabs your ass. “Or… after breakfast, you can be my brunch.” You wrap your arms around his neck once again, kissing him deeply. You teasingly bite at his lip as you pull away, Harry chasing your mouth with his. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do, y/n.” He murmurs against your lips. “We can- we can stay in,” He says between increasingly desperate kisses, “We can go out- As long as- As long as I’m with you… It doesn’t matter.” 

You laugh. “You’re also my boss and-”

“I’m your sister, I’m your mother.” He nips at your neck as he tilts your chin up. “We can sort those details out later. It’s just us, y/n. Just us.”

[superbassbuck]

honor him | bucky barnes (18+)

⤷ gladiator!bucky x servant!reader

⭐︎ warnings: smut, rough sex, reader talks him through it, bucky doesn't dirty talk, he snarls instead, size difference, dumbification (bucky talks like a caveman? idk), talks about consent, period typical misogyny, creampie, praise, breeding kink, spitting in mouth, mating press, overstimulation, bucky loves eye contact

⭐︎ word count: 6k

⭐︎ a/n: what started out as a 'hahahehe' food for thought turned into a smutty porn without plot fic. ty to @epiphanyrogers for giving me the motivation to write this by feeding me with her own gladiator steve !! reader literally teaches what consent is to bucky, but ultimately the sex is consensual. either way, please tread carefully.

synopsis: Bucky becomes the reigning champion and naturally, he seeks a prize—a pretty maiden to bed. You fall victim to his rough hands—to a brute who doesn't even know the meaning of the word "no." Yet to your surprise, despite being a man who takes whatever he wants, he is willing to let you teach him what consent really means.

← previous fic | main masterlist

The Colosseum is a home for bloodbaths.

There is a symphony of cheers and screams that rings throughout the entire dome. Swords clash against swords, sweat and blood dance together, dirt kicks into the air, and alcohol and spit shoot out of patrons’ mouths.

It is meaningless—all of it just a cruel form of entertainment for the emperor and his family.

You are thankful that you hadn’t been born a male to be pushed into these silly games, but instead, you are a woman—and that might be worse. But for now, despite all the screaming happening outdoors, you find solitude and a somewhat sense of peace near the barracks, sweeping debris and scrubbing the blood and grime off the floors from the defeated champions who walked away, already on the verge of death.

“Look at them,” you breathe. You pause your sweeping, wiping a strand of sweaty hair out of your face as your eyes peer through the wide holes of the wooden gates. “Animals. The whole lot of them.”

Livia does not need to look up to know what them you are referring to. There is only one kind of ruthless animal in the world—and that is men.

“Do not stare,” she warns you quietly. “If they catch you looking, they’ll punish you.”

“Please,” you scoff. “Their heads are too far up their own egos to notice us.”

“Big egos, yes.” Livia’s golden eyes glance over her shoulder from where she kneels on the floor, scrubbing grime. “And bodies. They are also quite handsome.”

Your eyes snap to her in revulsion. “Handsome? How can you say such a thing!” You glance back at the two men battling in the center of the dome. “Look at them. They are monsters.”

In the center is a man that you recognize—Bucky Barnes, the reigning champion for years. The White Wolf, is what the Emperor likes to call him. He is fighting another man, not much bigger than him, and certainly a man you do not recognize, meaning a man who will soon be falling to his doom beneath Bucky’s swords.

You have to admit, however, the man was giving The White Wolf a run for his money.

Finally, the man kneels before Bucky in defeat. Bucky raises his sword and delivers the final blow that sends the man to his grave.

Cheers erupt inside the dome. People jump out of their seats to shout and stomp. More debris and dust fall from above, landing on your and Livia’s faces—making you both cough.

The gates of the dome rattle as the herald’s voice shouts over the roaring crowd.

“Victory belongs to the undefeated! Behold your champion—The White Wolf!”

Thousands of voices chant his name as the dome thumps in a cadence that shakes the stone foundations around you. Through the wooden slats of the gate, you watch Bucky raise his blood-slicked sword to the sky. Unlike the other victors, he doesn’t smile. He never smiles.

Livia wipes the dust off her brow. “Another one to his name. He truly is unstoppable.”

You pull your gaze away. “He is a butcher,” you mutter.

Livia pushes herself off the floor with a light groan. She lifts the empty wooden basin to her chest. “I am going to refill this,” she says. “We’re going to need a lot of water to wash the victor up. I will be back.”

The wooden gate in front of you begins to groan as it slowly lifts. You grip your broom tight, moving to the side to make space for the blood-soaked victor to return back inside.

When Bucky steps in, the cool shade of the barracks is pure bliss against his hot body. Behind him steps the herald, adjusting his fine robes and wiping a pristine handkerchief over his sweaty brow, while the champion in front of him bleeds everywhere.

Bucky drops onto a wooden bench, and it creaks beneath his large body. His chest heaves as he catches his breath. With eyes still fueled by the adrenaline of battle, he watches as you approach him with a damp cloth and drop to your knees, wiping the splattered blood from his shins and boots.

“A magnificent display, White Wolf,” the herald boasts, pacing the floor and waving a hand dismissively in your direction as if you were just another piece of furniture. “The Emperor was thoroughly pleased. The coin will be transferred to your keeper, of course, but the Emperor insists on a personal reward for his favorite fighter tonight. A token of appreciation. Wine? A feast? Or perhaps a woman from the upper courts?”

Bucky does not answer the herald.

You try to keep your eyes down, working on scrubbing the crimson off his leather armor, but you can feel his cold stare watching your every movement, tracing the line of your shoulders and the curve of your vulnerable and exposed neck.

“We have the finest women prepared,” the herald continues, oblivious. “You have earned the right to take whatever, or whomever, you please.”

A massive and calloused hand suddenly shoots out. His fingers lock around your fragile wrist, making you wince and drop the rag.

“This one.”

You meet the champion’s eyes, and the spirit behind them terrifies you.

Bucky looks at you, not the way he stares at his opponents, but with something far more lethal. He looks at you as if you are roasted meat served on a silver platter by the Emperor himself. It sends shivers down your spine, and you avert your gaze.

The herald stands confused beside him.

“Her?” the herald sputters, looking down at you in disbelief. “White Wolf, she is a mere servant. A floor scrubber. The Emperor offered you a lady of the court. Someone fit for a powerful champion, such as yourself!”

The way the herald utters the word lady sounds like an insult to you—as if insinuating you’re not woman enough for a man like Barnes.

Bucky’s grip on your wrist tightens again as he gives your arm a rough shake, forcing your attention back to him with a gasp.

“Want her,” Bucky grunts, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The herald blinks, his eyes flickering down to you where you kneel before the champion. He clears his throat uncomfortably. “You must be mistaken, champion. She is nothing but a dirty servant—”

Bucky’s leather gloves creak as he tightens his hand on the hilt of his sword, and the herald falls silent, taking that slight movement from the gladiator as a threat to shut up.

“Fine, fine,” the herald mutters with a defeated sigh. “If that is what pleases you, then she is at your disposal.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. You hadn’t expected the herald to give you up so easily. You had hoped he would insist Bucky find a better woman—someone of higher value, and nowhere near your station.

“Wait, sir—you can’t possibly—!”

“I will let the Emperor know of your decision.” The herald turns on his heel, continuing to talk as if you aren’t even present. “He will be very amused. Though… it does make my job easier, finding another prize… I shall consider this a win for the both of us!”

The herald scratches his beard and shrugs as he continues to walk away. You feel like your life is already flashing before your eyes. There are horror stories of men like Bucky—men who just take and take without remorse. You are no exception. You don’t even want to imagine the kind of things he would do to a woman like you once the herald leaves you two alone. Ignoring Bucky entirely, you try to pry your weak arm away from the fighter’s grip and get to your feet.

“Sir, wait! Don’t leave me here with him!”

But Bucky’s grip remains tight. He hauls you against his broad, bare chest as he stands up. You collide into him with a yelp as he pins you still.

“Mine now,” he rumbles deeply.

You try to pull back, your heels digging into the grime stained floor, but it’s like trying to move a stone pillar. “Let me go! I have to finish cleaning, I have to—”

Without a word, he crouches before you and wraps both strong arms over your legs, hauling you like nothing and propping you over his shoulder like a prize he rightfully deserves.

“Come,” Bucky barks without a single opportunity for defiance. “Take you home.”

Your voice is dry from all the shouting and begging for him to release you. Your fists are weak from pounding his back in an attempt to make him let you go. Now, as you sit at the edge of his worn bed in his small home—which feels like it’s being held up by nothing but sticks and tapestry—you realize all of it was futile.

Tears streak your dirty cheeks as you wipe at them pathetically. You couldn’t even say goodbye to your dear friend, Livia. She must be worrying herself sick about you.

Bucky stands large and imposing in the center of the already tiny home. He wastes no time as he strips himself of his clothes, eyes locked onto your trembling frame. This man in front of you has no sense of shame as he leaves himself completely bare, his cock already hard and springing to his muscular lower belly.

You glance up, your breath catching in your throat at his size.

He is huge, his tip already gorging into an angry red while pre-cum dribbles out from the slit. Your eyes follow the veins that decorate his shaft up until you reach the base of his cock, where dark curls sit unruly and trail thinner up to his belly button.

“Good,” he grunts in approval. “Look at me. Only me.”

Bucky’s strong legs stalk forward to meet you at the edge of the bed. All you can do is stare at him with wide eyes. The campfire flickering behind him casts a warm light, highlighting his muscles and the sharpness of his features.

As he gets closer, you scramble backward. His knees dip and creak the bed as he crawls after you. To him, this is a game of cat and mouse—and he doesn’t mind one bit. You’re terrified, but he sees this as foreplay. The two of you continue this until your back hits the stone wall, leaving you nowhere else to run.

“Please,” you whimper. “Don’t do this.”

Then, without warning, his hand shoots out to grab the neckline of your dress. With a simple tug, his mere strength tears right through it.

“No!” you shriek, your hands coming up to cover your breasts before he even catches a glimpse. “Stop!”

Bucky furrows his brows. Your cries and actions only confuse him. His hands grab your arms, trying to pry them away from your chest. He is so much stronger than you; he could easily break you if he wanted to.

“No! Stop! I’m not ready!” you cry again, shaking your head as you gather all your strength to fight back. “I said, I’m not ready—!”

With your hand acting on a mind of its own, it reaches out and delivers a hard slap across the gladiator’s face.

Bucky’s head whips to the side, his dark, matted hair covering the features of his face—you can’t make out his expression at all.

Your eyes go wide, and your hand weakly retreats back to your chest. If you hadn’t thought Bucky was going to kill you before, you are certain he is going to skip the sexual act and kill you right now instead.

But, being as stubborn as you are, you hold onto the shovel that digs your very grave.

“I told you to stop,” your voice is shaky, but you try to find your footing. “I said no. Countless times. I did not give you my consent. Don’t you know what that word means?”

This is foolish, you think to yourself. Talking to a gladiator like Bucky is like talking to a brick wall. Your words will just go in one ear and out the other.

Bucky slowly turns his head back to you, his gaze locking onto yours with eyes so sharp you could swallow the blade. This is it. You’re certain this is where you die.

He makes an expression—not a pained one, but confused. His jaw is tight where your hand just struck him. He doesn’t move to strike back like you think he will, and he doesn’t wrap his hands around your throat to kill you.

He tilts his head, his face scrunched now in a way that makes him look almost like a kicked puppy.

“No?” he repeats, treating it like a question.

The syllable sounds clunky, foreign, and deeply awkward rolling off his tongue.

He looks down at your hands, still clamped tightly over your torn dress, and then back up to your glassy eyes.

“Consent?” he tries the next word, his brows furrowing from how unusual it sounds.

You nod, holding your breath. “Yes. Consent. I did not give it to you.”

Bucky blinks as the cogs work—or try to—in his head.

The reigning champion of the Colosseum, the brute of a man who knows exactly how to sever someone’s limb or take a prize by force, looks completely lost. For his entire life, the rules were simple: fight, win, take. No one had ever told him ‘no.’ No one had ever given him a choice, and he had never given anyone else one either.

“Consent,” he tastes the word again, as if trying to see if he likes it or not. Then, he shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

Now, you are just as confused as he is.

You stare at the gladiator who kneels before you on the bed. He is probably the most feared man in the empire, yet he sits there naked and baffled by such a basic concept.

“You don’t know?” you whisper. “You don’t know what the word consent means?”

Bucky shakes his head, his broad shoulders slumping a fraction. He looks down at his own massive hands, then back at you, looking almost defeated and unsure of what to do from here.

You let out a trembling breath, slowly adjusting your grip on your torn dress to keep yourself covered as you try to find the words to explain it to a man raised only for slaughter.

“It means... permission,” you explain softly. “It means that my body belongs to me, just like yours belongs to you. To take a woman to bed, she has to want it too. She has to say yes.” You gesture weakly between the two of you. “If I say no, or if I say stop, you have to stop. Otherwise, you are just hurting me. You are just forcing me.”

Bucky listens intently, his dark eyes watching your lips as you speak.

“Don’t want to hurt you,” he answers, his voice rough and strained.

That catches you by surprise. You didn’t expect that kind of softness out of him. Then, he meets your eyes again and continues. “Not yet, at least.”

You pull the torn dress tighter against your chest with a slight frown, and Bucky notices. He shifts awkwardly on the back of his heels—his cock still hard but his mind just as confused.

“How do I get you to want it?” He rests his hand on your bare ankle, tugging you gently. “Like how I want you?”

You swallow hard as you stare at his large hand wrapped around your ankle. He could grab you and break you—mold you and bend you so easily to his will—but he doesn’t.

“You have to… court me,” you try to explain. “You have to make me feel safe, and you have to make me want it.”

Bucky tilts his head. Everything you have just said—even the word safe—feels alien to him.

Your teeth worry your bottom lip as you continue. “It means you don’t just take what you want. You touch softly. You talk to me, and you kiss me.” You point a trembling finger to your mouth, then to his. “With your lips. To show me that you care about how I feel, not just what you want.”

“Touch softly,” Bucky repeats, drilling the instruction into his mind.

You shudder as his hand, once wrapped around your ankle, turns into a gentle caress with his fingertips.

Up and down, his calloused fingertips trace your foot up to your bare calf. He leans over your body, forcing you to lie down beneath him as he hikes up the hem of your skirt. He flattens his palm so it rests heavy against your bare thigh.

“Kiss,” he murmurs, his blue eyes tracing the curve of your lip. “Make you safe.”

He lowers his head, his dark, unruly hair brushing against your cheeks as he brings his face inches from yours.

He hesitates for a second, his nostrils flaring like an animal as he breathes you in. Then, with an awkward, slow movement that he isn’t at all used to, Bucky presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is clumsy and far too hard at first, but as much as he wants to, he doesn’t force his way inside. He doesn’t push his tongue into your mouth, demanding dominance. He keeps his mouth pressed against yours, his lips slightly parted, mimicking the action as best as his instincts allow. It is gentle, surprisingly soft, and very wet—he might’ve even been drooling, aching to kiss you.

He pulls away just a fraction and searches your face for any sign of fear.

“Like this?” he murmurs, his breath hot against your mouth. “Safe?”

Your heart flutters wildly in your chest, except this time it has nothing to do with fear. You stare up at the man before you with wide eyes and wet lips. Bucky studies your face, trying to make out if what he did was right or wrong.

“Y—yes,” you breathe out. “That was good.”

Satisfied with your answer, he leans back down and kisses you again. One hand rises up—slowly, to avoid startling you—and cups your cheek gently. His thumb grazes over the curve of your cheek while his lips explore yours.

A soft, needy sound leaves your lips before you can stop it, and Bucky answers with a deep groan. While one hand cradles your cheek, his other hand slowly rises beneath your dress to grip your smooth hip.

You find yourself unexpectedly leaning into the kiss, matching him until his tongue pokes past your lips and swirls around yours. The two of you breathe heavily, moaning softly against each other as Bucky positions himself between your legs. His cock grows even harder, poking against your warm inner thigh.

He can’t take it anymore. Each moan that leaves your lips sounds like yes, yes, yes to his ears. His desperate hands find the waistband of your panties, threatening to tear them.

You suddenly pull away from the kiss with a gasp, catching your breath. Your hand presses against his bare chest, stopping him.

“No,” you pant as you stare up at him. “Stop. Not yet. You have to be patient.”

At the word stop, Bucky freezes. A snarl rips from the back of his throat, and his face twists in frustration. His jaw clenches so hard, his muscles twitch. You wince back into the pillows in fear, thinking you are in over your head and have pushed him too far.

You brace yourself, closing your eyes tightly.

“I’m trying,” he growls, the words tearing past his teeth. “What do I have to do? Tell me.”

You open your eyes and see him hovering over you. His large body acts as a blanket of warmth while one strong arm props him up, the muscles straining under his own weight and restraint.

“You have to touch me,” you explain gently, pulling his hand away from your underwear and bringing it up to your chest. “Like this.”

Bucky’s eyes follow your movement. Your smaller hand rests over his as you guide him to squeeze your breasts. His breathing grows heavier as his fingers tug and start to play with your budded nipple, relishing the way you moan and arch your back into his touch.

“Like that,” you moan softly. “Good—good boy.”

He groans loudly at your praise. His dark, unruly hair brushes your skin before his mouth closes over your budded nipple. He begins to lick and suck hungrily, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak while his teeth graze the edge.

“Mm…” Your eyes flutter shut at the pleasure, your head tossing back against the pillow while he makes love to your tits.

Encouraged by your sounds, he grinds his thick hard cock firmly against the smooth skin of your bare thigh, seeking any kind of friction to relieve the ache between his legs.

One hand leaves your breast to grip your hip, digging his fingers into your skin to hold you still while he ruts against you like an animal. He whimpers against your chest, drunk on your scent and the high of your soft moans.

“Please,” he begs, his stubble tickling your bare chest. “Say yes. Let me have you. Now.”

The way he pleads sends a warm rush through your lower belly, a feeling that leaves you craving him just as badly. The man who is used to taking whatever he wants without remorse is reduced to being entirely at your mercy between your legs. A sensation settles inside you that you never thought you would harbor.

Control.

Just one word—one breathless little “yes”—would send Bucky over the edge. His pleasure and his craving are both held in your hands.

“Okay,” you say, giving him a small nod, satisfied with how well he has done. “You can have me.”

A growl rips from his chest. Driven by instinct, his large hands grip the waistband of your panties once more, his knuckles pulling taut as he prepares to shred the flimsy fabric to pieces.

“No,” you interject quickly, slapping his hands away. “Don’t rip them! That’s rude!”

He scowls as he draws his hand back, a whine of frustration catching in his throat like a disappointed hound. It’s clear he is unhappy about facing another rule when he is so close to the edge, yet he listens.

“Pull them down slowly,” you instruct.

Using every ounce of restraint in his veins, he resists the urge to tear the cloth. He hooks his thick fingers into the sides and slowly pulls the fabric down past your hips and thighs until you are completely bare beneath him.

“There you go,” you sigh softly, pleased with his gentle movements. “Good boy.”

Bucky’s eyes drop to the slick heat waiting for him. He hovers over your body, his heavy breathing filling the space between you as he positions the thick head of his cock right at your entrance. He rubs himself up and down against you, soaking his length in your arousal and sucking in a breath at the heat of your touch.

He is too big—impossibly so—and you aren’t sure if he will fit.

“Need to fuck you,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Hard.”

Holding himself at the base, he works at your entrance. His tip slowly slides in, stretching the opening and pushing deep enough to make you arch your back off the bed with a painful hiss.

He pauses at the sound.

“No,” you whimper, blinking tears away as you peer down at him. “If you’re going to have sex with me, you have to be gentle.”

His face twists into a strained expression, but he reluctantly abides.

One hand steadies your hip while the other holds his heavy cock, sliding into your warm, tight walls. Your body is so tight, not used to accommodating such a size, but he relents and continues pushing in.

You cry out, eyes squeezing shut as your arms rest on his shoulders for support.

“Look at me,” Bucky commands in a rough, deep voice. When you don’t listen, he tilts his head down so he is in your line of sight and tries again. “I said look at me.”

You finally do, and his eyes search yours intently. The ring of blue demands that you look at him, and him only.

“Keep them open,” he instructs. “Look at me. It will feel better.”

So, you do.

You both stare into each other’s eyes while he slides himself even deeper. As his cock stretches you wide, his brows furrow and his face twists into a snarl, baring his teeth at the tightness of your body until he finally sheathes himself fully inside with a groan.

“Gentle,” he rasps brokenly. “Gentle. Gotta be gentle.” He repeats the words as if he’s trying to remind himself.

Your legs shake around him, your body trying to get used to his size.

He hasn’t moved yet, but you already feel impossibly full. Your walls embrace him, and you feel your body slowly opening up to let him in. As his cock settles deep inside you, pleasure slowly overwhelms your senses.

For Bucky, it feels like pure torture. Your body is snug and warm—like a wet, tight fist wrapped around his cock, so much better than what he’s used to with his own calloused hands.

“Need to move,” he curses. “Need to fuck. Say yes.”

His voice comes out rough and crude, but he refuses to move without your consent.

“Hold on,” you whimper, still adjusting to his size. You shift your hips slightly, trying to get comfortable, but the movement only makes him groan in pleasure.

“Fine,” he grunts, squeezing your hip.

After what feels like forever, you finally nod your head.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’m ready.”

And just like that, you open the pearly white gates to heaven for him.

With a hungry growl, he draws his hips back until only half of him remains, and then he slides himself back in. Your lips part in a gasp as he fills you again—his cock sinking even deeper, kissing your cervix.

“Tight,” Bucky clicks his tongue, growing frustrated. “Too tight.”

He pulls out halfway before slamming into you again, and again, and again. Each thrust grows harder and more unrelenting, forcing your body to yield to his cock.

“A—ah! It’s… s’too much—”

“Want me to stop?” he groans out painfully and reluctantly, like he doesn’t want you to answer with a ‘yes’.

“No,” you manage to breathe out. “Don’t stop.”

Moans and gasps spill from your lips every time he fills you. His girth splits you open with every savage thrust, his strong thighs forcing your legs wider for him.

His eyes never tear away from yours. Every time you try to squeeze your eyes shut from the force of his thrusts, he grabs your chin roughly and shakes you, forcing you to look back at him.

“Eyes. On. Me,” he hisses angrily.

Squeezing your cheeks to force your lips apart, he drags his thumb down your lower lip to pry them wider. He leans down, his hot breath tickling your skin while his damp strands of dark hair dance over your face.

He spits into your mouth, the traces of it dripping from his lips down to his chin, slicking your open mouth. It’s wild and savage, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. Without giving you the opportunity to pull away, his lips cover yours as he forces his saliva to swallow down your throat.

His tongue dances around yours again while he fucks you deeply, each move threatening to break both you and the bed.

Your eyes roll back so far in your skull while your legs dangle helplessly around his hips. Every thrust feels like a punishment for making him wait. Your nerves are crying out for release—and eventually, you give in. Your cunt spasms violently around Bucky’s length as bliss overwhelms every single sense.

“Oh my god,” you cry. “I’m gonna cum—!”

Your cries fill the small house as your back arches off the damp bed. Bucky insists on making eye contact with you, holding your jaw and forcing you to look at him while he fucks you through your climax.

You clench him tightly, your pussy pulsing in loving beats and squeezing him for every last drop.

“Fuck. Yes. Good, feels so good,” he rasps angrily, his thrusts becoming harder and more desperate.

His balls slap vulgarly against your wet pussy, traces of your slick clinging to him every time he bottoms out. His balls churn with pent-up seed, aching to fill you deep. Your cries grow louder, your hips shifting around to accommodate the overstimulation—but it’s no use.

Bucky’s close, so close. While his eyes bore into yours, his pupils dilate with desire. He just needs to get deeper, to fuck you at an impossible angle to pump you full…

“Wait,” you dig your nails deep into his back, making him gasp in pain. “Slow down—it’s too much…”

He snarls angrily, his hips slowing down just a fraction, but not entirely.

The sound that leaves your lips is a cocktail of pain and bliss. It’s a sultry sound that encourages him to continue, to take what he wants, but the words leaving your mouth say otherwise.

“No,” you shake your head. “Stop, please. It’s too much for me. You’re going to break me—”

His hands release your cheeks roughly as his head drops to press his sweaty forehead against yours. Another animalistic sound tears through him as he forces his hips to come to a stop. His cock stills inside you—pulsing for any form of friction. Just a few more thrusts, and he’ll cum. He’ll cum hard. But he stops, because you asked him to.

“Need to cum,” he pants against your face, taking in the way your eyes have gone teary. “So close.”

“I know,” you say with a soft sigh, your eyes fluttering shut for just a moment. “I know. I just… just need a minute.”

You let your fingers trail up and down his back, and he shudders at the feeling.

The two of you lie there, tangled in each other’s limbs while you catch your breath. Bucky waits impatiently—his heart beating so fast in his chest as he uses every ounce of restraint in his blood to refrain from fucking you right through the bed.

Your pussy is already swollen and puffy from his size, and the longer he remains stuffed inside you, the tighter your body squeezes around him.

With his forehead pressed against yours, he shifts his knees and hips slightly to get comfortable, but even those tiny, forced movements are agonizing. Breathy moans and grunts escape both your lips, shared in the tight space between you. It’s sex without the vulgar movements, and it feels far too intimate for a ruthless man like Bucky.

Finally, you grant him permission.

Staring into his eyes, you give him a small nod to let him continue. And the moment you do, the last thread holding Bucky’s control snaps.

He grabs your legs and shoves them high over your shoulders, splitting you wide and pinning you down into a deep mating press. “Need to go deeper. Hold still.”

You had just gotten used to his size, and the sudden change in position makes your eyes fly open. Your mouth falls open in a gasp as he draws his hips back before bottoming out completely inside you.

His heavy, sweaty body crushes down on yours as he begins to fuck you hard and fast. Every draw of his hips fills you impossibly deep, your stretched cunt molding helplessly around his thick length. He works his hips in a wild, frantic rhythm, chasing his release at full speed before you can say another word to stop him.

“Mine,” he rasps through gritted teeth, his chest heaving as his sweat drips onto your skin. “Say it. Tell me you’re mine—”

The force of his hips slamming against yours knocks the breath right out of you, your moans coming out as breathless gasps while he pounds into you. His eyes bore into yours, waiting for you to finally give in.

“Tell me you’re mine. Say it.”

You blink through tears of bliss. “I—I’m yours—” you manage to stammer out.

His face twists in pleasure, baring his teeth as he pins your legs against your chest while the tip of his cock works deep against your cervix. “Good. A perfect sleeve for my cock. Look at me while I cum inside you.”

The sight of your face scrunched in pleasure and vulnerability sends a wave of heat coursing from his lower gut to the very tips of his toes. His cock pulses and throbs inside, slicking your walls with his pre-cum—a warning before giving you the real thing.

“Pump my cum,” his large palm settles over your lower belly. “All in here.”

The thought of you walking around the house barefoot and round with his children—growing up to be champions just like their father—makes his head spin and his balls grow heavy.

“Close. So close,” he curses and groans over and over, speaking more than he ever has. “Hold still. Take it all for me, wife.”

Bucky buries himself as deep as his length will go, pinning you down as his entire body locks tight. His cock pulses, pumping wave after thick wave of his hot seed deep inside your womb.

His head drops into the crook of your neck, his large, sweaty chest heaving against yours as he rides out his pleasure.

He releases your legs for a moment until both your rapid hearts finally slow to a steady beat. Slowly, agonizingly so, he draws his thick length back, pulling out of your slick, overstimulated cunt with a wet suction sound.

You let out a soft, breathless gasp at the sudden empty feeling. A ring of creamy white circles the base of his cock, and his seed dribbles between your folds—physical proof of what he just did to you.

Without a word, he grips both your ankles with one large hand, pinning your thighs together and pressing your legs straight up into the air to hold them suspended above you.

You blink at him—dazed, exhausted, and thoroughly used. His cock rests half-limp between his strong legs, so he clearly isn’t going for another round.

“What are you doing…?” you whisper softly, confused.

He holds your legs firmly in place as his dark eyes scan your bare, trembling body.

“Make sure it takes,” he grunts out, his voice rough from satisfaction. He uses his free hand to trace a warm, possessive line down to your lower belly, pressing down gently right over your womb. “Keep your belly round with my sons.”

You stare up at him in disbelief while your legs are held helplessly aloft by his massive hand. You’re too exhausted to argue, your brain still foggy from your orgasm. Still, you manage an incredulous laugh.

Does he seriously think propping your legs up like a pair of stilts is going to magically guarantee a pregnancy?

He looks so proud of himself that you don’t even have the heart to argue. He squeezes your ankles slightly, letting out a satisfied hum from his chest once he’s convinced his little trick did the job. The smile on his face is almost boyish in a way that does not belong to a rough man like him.

“Good wife,” he praises you. “Birth me healthy champions.”

You let out a soft sigh, fluttering your eyelids shut as fatigue finally crawls its way into your bones.

As you drift into slumber, you make a mental note to teach this brute a lesson on how gravity works. And right after that, you’ll teach him what aftercare is—especially if he plans on keeping you forever and making you his wife.

if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them!

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[aquaticmercy]

Please write for Bucky in the Doomsday Trailer🙏

The Morning of the Incursion

WC 800-ish

TW/tags Bucky Barnes x reader, established relationship, drowning mention, mentioned death of a family member and best friend, blood and bruising, nosebleed, reader has an inherited curse 

You woke up tasting ash and dust in your mouth.

Sometimes, you tasted metal when sleeping with your mouth open, the faint aftertaste of the New Avengers’ tower recycled air. This was different. This coated your tongue, bitter and scorched, gathering between your teeth as if you had spent the night breathing through smoke.

You swallowed and felt grit scrape down your throat.

Behind you, Bucky shifted beneath the sheets.

He was still half asleep when he pressed his mouth to your back, kissing the bare skin between your shoulder blades. His stubble dragged pleasantly over you, his lips unhurried as they travelled along your spine. His metal hand rested heavily on your hip, thumb moving in an absent circle.

Usually, you would have smiled. You would have pushed backwards into him until he tightened his arm around your waist and complained that you were trying to crush him, despite both of you knowing perfectly well that you couldn’t, even if you tried.

This morning, you couldn’t move.

The curse of premonition had been in your family for centuries, bestowed by a witch who had wanted your ancestors to suffer long after their own deaths. You would feel every tragedy creeping towards you and still remain powerless to name the hour, the place, or whose blood would be spilled.

Your grandmother had tasted saltwater for three days before her brother drowned. Your mother had heard bells ringing inside her skull before the hospital called about her father.

Before your childhood best friend died a brutal death, bruises appeared on your skin and you woke up with blood running from your nose.

Bucky kissed the back of your neck, then stopped when you flinched. 

His hand became still on your hip. “You’re awake.”

You nodded, although he couldn’t see it.

Bucky pushed himself up behind you. The mattress dipped as he leaned over, brushing your hair away from your face. You could feel him watching you before he gently rolled you towards him.

His hair was tangled from the pillows, and there was a crease across one cheek from your pillow and warmth lingering in his eyes that disappeared when he saw your face.

“What is it?”

You opened your mouth, but the taste of smoke became stronger. You tried to speak and had to swallow dust first, drowned in a coughing fit. When Bucky offered water, you refused and forced the taste down. 

Oh. 

Bucky caught your face between both hands, because he knew that look too well by now.

“What did you feel?”

“Ash.” Your voice came out raw. “I… I can smell smoke.”

Bucky inhaled through his nose, as though he might be able to smell it too.

There was nothing for him, just the warmth of your shared bedroom in the tower and lemony clean sheets. 

You reached for him, twisting your fingers into his shirt and pulling yourself against his chest.

Bucky wrapped himself around you immediately, metal arm across your back while his flesh hand cradled the base of your head. 

“I think something bad is going to happen,” you managed.

Bucky pressed his mouth to your temple. “How bad?”

“I don’t know.”

You never knew.

Bucky pulled back just enough to look at you. “I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

Bucky had survived so many things, from himself, to armies, alien invasions and the end of the world. He had spent his entire life teetering too close to the edge, but had never let you do the same.

You held him tighter and whispered, “I’m not worried about me.”

Bucky went still. His breathing stumbled, and the arm around your back tightened until you could feel every plate in his hand. “Oh,” he looked down. “Is it…”

“I—” You cut him off, before biting the inside of your cheeks so hard it almost bled. “I don’t know that it’s you.”

“But you think it is.”

You couldn’t answer.

Ash gathered beneath your tongue again, and you squeezed your eyes shut and buried your face against his bare chest before he could see what you were still feeling.

Bucky kissed your hair. “Whatever it is, you know we’ll handle it,” His hand moved along your back, trying to soothe you while his heartbeat raced beneath your ear. “I promise everything’s gonna be okay.”

Outside the bedroom, the New Avengers Tower began to wake up, an elevator door chiming below. Alexei laughed in the corridor, followed by the muffled slam of a door.

These were all ordinary morning sounds you had grown fond of over the last six months.

And to think it could be taken away, just like that….

Bucky pulled the blankets higher around both of you and held you, pretending nothing in the world could reach you there.

You knew better.

You knew promises had never stopped the curse before.

But Bucky sounded so certain, and he loved you so much, and there was no harm in letting him believe it for a little longer.

Right?

—

[caeruleusbarnes]

Came for the heart

pairing: congressman!bucky x exfwb!reader

summary: After years of no contact, your concern and worry for the man you used to be so close to become too much for you to stay anymore. And after seeing you again, Bucky only realizes what he could have when he is close to losing it again

word count: 4.7k

warnings/tags: 18+, brief mentions of smut but nothing graphic, swearing, bucky is the biggest yearner ever, mentions of bucky’s mental health issues, reader is down bad for bucky, alpine is there too, a little bit of angst

author’s note: This was inspired by a TikTok I’ve seen about how Bucky lost his spark again after tftws and I really enjoyed writing this story, but I wasn’t as convinced by it anymore after I edited it. I honestly don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about this one, but I hope you’ll like it anyway!

Even though Bucky hadn't been on a mission in what felt like forever, he didn't think that the instincts fighting had taught him were something he was ever going to lose.

It was already way past midnight when he unlocked the door to his apartment, the soft click a gentle reminder that the day was over now, that he had a few hours before he had to get back to Capitol Hill, a few hours of peace and quiet he got to spend with Alpine before he would go back to spending his whole day with the kind of people whose rules he'd neither cared about or played by when he had still spend his time on missions instead of long meetings with terrible coffee and even worse opinions.

When he'd first become a Congressman and was so busy navigating this unknown territory, he welcomed all the distractions like an old friend he was more than desperate to see again- a coping mechanism Dr.Raynor wouldn't approve of, but the only one that ever really managed to pull him away from the emotions that threatened to swallow him whole.

At the beginning, it had worked so well Bucky had dared to think that maybe, just maybe, this was his chance at finally having something good.

At finally having a life that brought him the peace he so desperately wanted.

He probably should've known that something that good wasn't something a man like him would ever deserve to have, but rationality had never been something that worked when it came to Bucky's feelings.

So now that he was trapped in the same tiring cicle he had tried to escape from when he decided to leave his life on active duty behind, the life that had included you, he was grateful for the exhaustion weighing his bones down now, because it usually meant that sleep would come to him more easily than it usually did, something you learn to cherish when being asleep is the only time your mind lets you have a break.

When he opened the door, ready to mindlessly kick of his shoes and greet his little girl, a shiver so cold and dreading rolled down his back, he reached for a gun he didn't even carry anymore.

It was quiet. Not the kind of quiet he'd grown so used to, though, not the one that cruelly reminded him the only company he ever got to have was the sound of late night traffic seeping though the window and soft paws padding against the polished floor. 

This felt different. The air was still, charged with something Bucky couldn't exactly place yet but definitely implicated that he had company- not the kind anyone ever wanted to have. 

He was painfully aware of it when he closed the door behind him, moving through the apartment with a kind of stealthiness you only carried after spending decades of your life as the most feared assasin in the world.

Honestly, with as many enemies he had, Bucky wouldn't be surprised if somebody came here for revenge, wanting to take from him what he took from them, wanting justice for something something as cruel as what Hydra had done to them, paying no mind to the fact that Bucky was as much a victim to Hydra's violence as they were.

Most people didn't understand that, though. He was the one stained by the blood Hydra had shed, the weapon they had used to get everyone and everything out of the way that didn't fit into their system of control.

And actions led by the need for revenge were barely ever ones that cared about logic, about whether or not he had any choice in what his body had been forced to do.

Bucky understood that better than he maybe should. And he was prepared for anything, because there were endless scenarios for what might happen if there was really someone in his apartment, just waiting for the right moment of distraction that made him vulnerable enough for them to charge at him. 

That moment wasn't going to come, though. Vulnerability wasn't something Bucky did anymore, which left him prepared for whatever was to happen now.

At least, that was what he thought until he saw you sitting at his kitchen table like you owned the place, Alpine blinking at him like this was a completely normal situation and you didn't just break into his apartment after two years of no contact.

Maybe it would've been normal if the two of you hadn't seperated back then, both of your lives too much of a mess for this thing simmering between you to have any future. Maybe, if you had pushed through all issues and carried the weight both of you had to deal with together, this would be your shared home now, a place that offered the kind of security and comfort neither of you ever had much of.

But this probably was't the right time to think about that.

Some of the tension seeped out of his body, shoulders relaxing when his mind registered that the intruder wasn't one of his old handlers or someone who wanted him dead, but the longer he looked at you, the more he realised that a scenario like that might've been easier to handle than this.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

The lazy grin that spread across your face didn't do much to calm his still very much racing heart, his pulse stumbling in a way it hadn't in such a long time, he hadn't thought he would ever feel it again.

You truly were as beautiful as he remembered.

Still, you also were as infuriating as ever as you stretched in your seat, taking your sweet time to answer him like you weren't pulling feelings back up that he thought were long buried under layers of denial and him repeatedly telling himself that you were better off without him anyway, that him missing you was better than dragging you into his life, a place someone as good as you had no business being in.

And here you were anyway, completely unaware of his inner turmoil and as unbothered as ever.

"It's good to see you too, Barnes. Honestly, I expected a little more enthusiasm, but I guess this works as well."

Bucky could only scoff, because of course you would be the one making jokes in a situation like this.

It wasn't funny, though. Not at all.

Watching you here, your features illuminated by the warm light the street lamp provided, that was all Bucky had wished for and still the one thing he'd dreaded the most.

You looked the same, mostly, but there were a few changes he couldn't help but notice, especially not with how well he had every little detail about you comitted to memory.

There was a roughness to you there hadn't been before, the hard lines of your face catching him off guard a little, because even on the toughest missions and in the most dangerous situations, you'd never failed to lighten the mood with the wit and fire he adored so much.

Now, the light in your eyes seemed dimmed, almost like the last years had been as hard on you as they had been on him. 

It was unnerving, seeing you look so similar and yet so different, but what really worried him was that you were here, for what reason Bucky didn't know yet, but it couldn't be good if you sought him out, even after such a long time of the two of you not talking to each other at all.

And whatever it was, Bucky was in trouble, that much he was sure of.

Because if you needed his help, he was more than willing to give it to you, no matter what it might mean for the political career he had worked so hard for. And knowing that, knowing just how much power you still had over him, even now?

That was dangerous.

If it was up to him, Bucky would ask you about it immediately, more than ready to go get the duffle bag he kept packed just in case, ready to follow you wherever you needed him to be.

But you didn't work like that. You were terrible at needing help and even worse at accepting it. Calling you out on it would do more damage than good, so Bucky did his best to just focus on the next best thing and let you navigate this, at your pace.

"Already made yourself comfortable, I see." He gestured towards the half eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich sitting in front of you, something you used to eat all the time back when the two of you had still worked together.

Bucky didn't even like the combination all too much, but he kept it stocked anyway. Mostly because it helped lighten the heavy feeling in his chest, the one that usually got particulary bad when he was lying in bed at night, exhausted but unable to shut his mind off and painfully aware of how empty the king sized bed felt without you in it.

It was pathetic, eating the food you liked just to beat the lonliness for a while, but you'd always been good at making him feel the kind of things he never thought a man like him would ever get to feel again.

"Honestly, I thought with the amount of money you're making now you'd have all different kinds of fancy stuff stocked in your fridge, but you really don't have anything. What are you living off, coffee and thin air? That's just sad, Barnes."

"I eat out a lot." There wasn't even a reason for him to explain himself, but Bucky couldn't help it. Some part of him wanted you to believe that he was doing okay, that he wasn't as miserable as his apartment suggested he was, but who was he even kidding?

You'd always been able too see past his lies and performances, and with the way you were looking at him right now, it was safe to say that you knew exactly what was going on in his head.

You'd always been perceptive like that, understanding him in a way nobody else ever managed to.

And as infuriating as it was, he'd missed that.

"Sure you do, Congressman. I'm sure that these days, you're too busy for cooking anyway."

You didn't mean it in a mocking way, surely, but it irked him anyway, the way you called him Congressman. Like this version of him, the Bucky that was so lost in politics and running from his own life didn't have time for the things he used to love, that all the meals he used to cook after missions didn't have a space in this life anymore.

And maybe they didn't, now that he didn't have someone to care about and cook for anymore.

"Yeah well, some of us have more important stuff to do than that."

It was a stupid thing to say, unfair as much as it was wrong. What you did was important, even more so than the work he did, but Bucky was too stubborn to admit that the lack of quality his life really had didn't have anything to do with his job but everything with the lack if your presence in his life.

There wasn't any offense on your face, though- the exact opposite, actually. The smirk on your face only widened, an understanding look on your face which told him that you knew exactly what he was doing but didn't call him out on it anyway. Instead, you let your eyes fall onto Alpine and the small bowl sitting next to her, changing the topic for Bucky's sake more than it was for yours.

"I fed your kitty, by the way. The little thing wouldn't stop screaming at me." A chuckle slipped past your lips. "Guess you never lost the habit to surround yourself with stubborn women, huh?"

"I guess not, no."

The implication was more than clear and Bucky shouldn't engage with it, he shouldn't, but-

"There's just her now, though."

He didn't owe you anything, but it was important to him anyway that you knew there wasn't anyone in his life right now.

Not that there could be. Bucky was certain that there wouldn't ever be anyone else but you for him.

Your cocky expression turned into somethingg softer, something he hadn't seen in such a long time seeing it now felt as painful as it was refreshing. "Well, I'm sure she keepy you busy well enough."

"She sure does," Bucky agreed, also looking at Alpine now because that was easier to handle than looking at you. "You here for anything else than just the snack?"

You just shrugged, but the motion was jerky, too tense to actually count as casual. "I was in the neighborhood, figured I might as well say hi. I have to say, your security system wasn't as bad as I expected it to be but also really not as good as it should be, considering the amount of people who have a problem with you. Mediocre at best, if I had to rate it. You aren't getting sloppy, are you, Congressman?"

Hearing you call him that again was another poke at his already bruised heart, but Bucky forced himself to laugh anyway. "Well, mediocre for you is impossible to get passed for anyone else, so I think I'm good."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, but I'll take the compliment anyway," you shrugged, not letting him distract you with the praise and instead keeping your eyes trained on him, almost like you were… studying him. And that usually never meant anything good, especially not with how exposed he felt under your gaze. He was stripped raw, his emotions written in a language only you could understand, like it was the easiest thing in the world and you could read him like any other book.

It was impressive, really, but right now, he really didn't want you to be able do that.

"Talking about compliments, though- the suit looks really good on you, Barnes. Seriously, I don't think I've ever seen you in a suit before-"

"You did." The memory of that mission came crashing down on him immediately, the night that had followed something Bucky still thought about more often than he wanted to admit. 

Dreamed about it, too, which usually ended with him waking up hard as a brick, the sight of your naked body almost glowing in the moonlight burned into his mind and usually leading to him taking a much needed cold shower immediately afterwards.

He couldn't tell you that, though, so he just watched as the confusion on your face was replaced by realisation as you understood what he was hinting at.

"The black suit you wore on that mission in Portugal, right?" You smiled at the memory of it, a mischievous look in your eyes. "Didn't really stay on for long thouh, did it?"

Apparently, you were thinking about the exact same thing he was.

"Not really, no." It was weird, discussing suck an intimate part of your relationship so intimately even though nothing about it had ever been casual.

But that was so typical for you, Bucky couldn't bring himself to be surprised about it. You'd always been terrible at expressing your emotions , quick to cover them up with a snarky remark or a witty joke so nobody would ever really pay attention to the mess going on inside of you.

But Bucky knew you better like that, he always had. 

"Look, I really don't want to sound like I'm not glad to see you again, but-"

"That kinda sounds like the kind of thing you would say before telling me to leave."

Honestly, Bucky could've phrased that a little better because he could already see the first signs of you backtracking again. It was subtle, how you were trying to seem relaxed whilst tension coiled tightly in your shoulders, but so painfully obvious how prepared you were to bolt again, depending on what he would say now.

Again, it was really fitting for the woman he got to love all those years ago. Always ready to leave at the slightest chance of getting hurt, all the times you've been hurt before sitting in the back of your mind like a reminder you could never really seem to get rid off.

"I wasn't gonna say that. You know you're almost welcome here- you know that." Bucky wasn't sure if you really did know that, but he hoped that you did. All he ever tried to do was make sure you knew that no matter the situation, no matter what had happened or what you'd done, he would always have your back. "I don't mind you being here, I really don't- I just have a hard time understanding why exactly you would break into my place two years after we last talked to each other with your only reason being that you were in the neighborhood. I don't get that. Did something happen? Do you need my help?"

Bucky really didn't know how this could be funny in any way because he was being serious, but you chuckled anyway. 

"Trust me Barnes, if I was desperate enough to seek you out for help, I wouldn't be this calm about it," you joked, but the humor seeped out of your feautures a moment later, your expression turning more serious than it had been ever since he'd first walked in on you.

When you got up from the chair, Bucky had to physically stop himself from backtracking. Not because he didn't want to be close to you-thatt wasn't it at all- but because he didn't know if he could stop himself from doing something stupid when you stood so close to him like that.

Now, with only a few inches of space between you, Bucky could see details he had missed before when you'd still been so far away, and for a moment, the two of you just… looked at each other,almost like you needed to see how much the person you used to know so well really had changed in the ast couple of years.

"I'm happy for you, you know that right?" It wasn't much more than a whisper, like saying those words too loudly was going to break something that was way too fragile to even begin with. "I really am. And I have to say, it's quite the impressive life you built yourself here. A steady job, a cat, a fancy apartment-"

"You know I never cared about that kind of stuff." 

Maybe you didn't understand it, but Bucky coudn't just let you say those things, couldn't just listen to you counting off all those things that were supposed to show just how much of an amazing life he had right now, because it wasn't like that at all. Sure, he cared about Alpine, but not about the rest of it.

A good life meant absolutely fucking nothing if the loneliness ate at you so much, happiness didn't even have a chance to form with how rotten you felt most of the time.

"Well, maybe you should care. Maybe this is the kind of life you can finally enjoy, with the work you do now. Must be a lot more enjoyable than what we used to do, isn't it, Congressman?"

Again, hearing that term come out of your mouth like that was all he was to you now, a Congressman who switched his life of being an agent for this becauese he was searching for something better, for something more than what you used to have- it hurt more than he cared to admit.

"Quit calling me that." Maybe it shouldn't bother him as much as it did, because technically, that was his title now, but it just wrong to hear it come outt of your mouth.

He didn't care about the opinions other people had about him, he just cared about you.

He might be a weapon to some and a monster to others, but as long as you knew who he really was, whatever anyone else said didn't really matter to him anyway.

"What am I supposed to call you, then? You are a Congressman now, aren't you?"

God, you were such an infuriating, stubborn woman.

And Bucky couldn't be any more in love with you, not even all these years later.

"I was always just Bucky to you, wasn't I? You've never cared about that kind of titles before, so what is this about all of the sudden?"

It bothered him, how much of a distanc you were trying to put between the two of you with your words alone, but Bucky couldn't help but think that it was for a reason a little more complicated than just you trying to rile him up.

"I don't know, Barnes. Honestly, I don't even know what the fuck I am actually doing here, I just-" You ran a hand through your hair, a nervous habit he recognised immediately. "I'm glad that you got out of the bullshit Sam and I are still so stuck in, alright? I'm happy that your life doesn't consist of just fights and missions and waiting for the next job anymore, because you deserve this. Hell, you deserve it more than anyone else I know, there is no questioning that. And I know that this might not be my place anymore, but I know you, Bucky. And with all the stuff Sam has been telling me about how much you've been ignoring him again lately, it really doesn't seem like you're doing okay."

With every word that was coming outt of your mouth, the tightness in Bucky's chest only got worse, the concern on your face so visible now it was almost too much to handle for him.

With all the things you could've said and everything he might've wanted you to say, this really wasn't something he would've expected.

"I guess with all the things that have changed, that's a pattern that stuck, isn't it? You pulling away from the people you love when you're struggling?"

Again, Bucky had to stop himsef from taking a step back, from putting some distance between you as a desperate try to keeo you from seeing through him without him being able to do anything about it.

Damn you for seeing through all his pretense of wanting to seem okay in a time like this, when he was so fucking alone and miserable he didn't have the strength to pull himself out of the hole he felt so trapped in, because he didn't actually have anyone in his life to try to be okay for in his life, and doing it for himself?

Yeah, that really wasn't worth the effort.

The only constant people Bucky used to have in his life were you and Sam, but with how long he hadn't talked to you and how much of his time Sam spent in New York or Louisiana, it had been easy enough for Bucky to avoid him without seeming too suspicious.

Well, at least that was wht he had thought, but it wasn't like any tricks he tried to pull on others ever worked on you, anyway.

"Look, Buck, maybe we aren't as close to each other as we used to anymore, but I think it is safe to say that I know you. And whilst this is technically a very good life, with a routine you can rely on and nice company." Your eyes found Alpine for a moment, a small smile tugging on your lips. "You don't seem to be happy, Bucky. And that's all we ever wanted you to be- that's all I ever wanted for you. You've had enough years of your life taken from you, please don't spend even more trying to proof yourself to people who don't even care enough to stick around for the real you."

Your hand reached up, slow enough to let him pull away if he wanted to, but he didn't. He just watched as your fingers reached his cheek, so gently brushing against his skin, his knees almost buckled with how nice it was to feel it again.

"You're right, Bucky. I don't care about titles or whatever you might be to others- I care about you. And even though you might not believe it yourself, you are the best person I ever got to meet in my life, and you deserve to be happy, Buck. You really do."

Your touch was gone as quick as it came and Bucky knew that this was probably the time where he should say something, anything at all, but he couldn't bring himself to.

There just wasn't anything to say. 

And before his brain could properly catch up, you already stepped away from him again, back to the window you've probably entered through, slipping through his fingers once again.

He could try to convince you to stay, just for a night so the to of you could maybe figure this out together, but Bucky knew that it wouldn't actually lead to anything.

Unfortunately, you'd never been good at staying when things got just a bit too real,and Bucky didn't have the strength to fight for someone he didn't believe he deserved anyway.

"Look, I'll be off your back now, you should probably get some rest," you said, pulling him out of his trance again, your hand already resting on the window frame.

"Just… take care of yourself, alright? That's all I'm asking for, James. And if you can't do it for yourself, then do it for me."

And with the echo of a name long forgotten echoing off the walls, the only thing Buchy could focus on was the space you'd been standing in mere seconds ago, before you vanished into thin air and left him in the state he'd been in ever since he'd brought you to that airport two years ago.

Confused, alone, and so utterly in love with you he was sure it was going to kill him one day.

Time passed again like it always did, after that night. Bucky got up the next morning, fed Alpine and made his way back to work, almost convinced that he was actually going insane now, that he'd just imagined you, his sleep deprivation and heartache so bad that his brain came up with the only thing that ever managed to bring him some comfort.

He knew that couldn't be what had happened, though, not with how much your scent ws still lingering in the air even though almost a month had passed already since you'd payed him that visit.

Your words had been playing on a loop in his head ever since, but he couldn't bring himself to act on them yet.

Not really, at least, but he also didn't decline his best friend's call when Sam's name popped up on his screen one evening, which Bucky would defintely count as progress.

"Buck?" Sam's voice sounded almost disbelieving, like he couldn't quite grasp that his best friend had actually picked up, but there was also something more urgent underneath it, something that made his heart beat faster immediately.

"Holy shit man, I thought you weren't going to asnwer-"

"Sam, what's going on?" Maybe interrupting him like that was rude, especially with how avoidant Bucky had been for months now, but he really, really didn't like how upset Sam sounded.

"Look, just- how fast can you be in New York, Bucky?"

Not at all would've been the correct answer with all the workload he was facing right now because of the upcoming vote, but even though Bucky could be a really shitty friend sometimes, he knew that Sam wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.

And he would be damned if he ever let his friends hanging like that.

"Two hours, if I push it. Sam, you're really scaring me- what the hell is going on?"

The silence that followed was enough for Bucky's heart to nearly beat out of his chest, but what followed truly made his blood run cold, filling him with so much dread and panic he felt like he was going to throw up.

"She's at the hospital, Buck. A mission went wrong and- it's bad."

[skaye44]

Swim Little Fishy

Summary: Bucky teaches you how to swim in his backyard pool after seeing you freak out at his pool party. 

Content Warning: Language, fear of swimming from reader, patient/hot as hell/life-saving co-worker Bucky who has a pool, Bucky wears slutty little swim shorts to make you feel at ease when you're in the water, he falls first vibes, innuendos to 'adult time' but no smut, FLUFF.

Type of Bucky: Flirty co-worker Bucky

"Hey." 

"Hi Nat." 

You held your phone and flopped down on your couch in a thin pair of shorts and a tank top. Even at night, the temperature was still humid and hot. The weather lately feels like you have been living in the SUN and there seems to be no end in sight. You had almost stripped down to nothing and parked yourself in front of your little window a/c unit but thought not. If anything were to happen to you, you'd hate for anyone like a paramedic or firefighter to have to see that. 

"Bucky's having a pool party tomorrow." 

"Oh?" 

Your stomach flopped. You have a giant school-girl crush on your co-worker Bucky. He's funny, charming, and of course handsome and he usually flirts with you at least once a day. The fact that it's a pool party makes you feel more unease and anxious. You weren't nervous at wearing a bathing suit or having to socialize, but the fact that you don't swim and being around water was the problem. 

You don't swim, plain and simple as that and if you have been around water, you usually stand up to your calves or sit along the side with your feet in. The few times you have been in a pool, you've sat on the steps going in and out or you've stood in the shallow end hanging onto the edge for dear life. 

Pools, lakes, streams, and oceans are not your thing. You only have a few bathing suits in your wardrobe out of obligation since you use them for tanning and when you wash your car in your driveway.

"There will be lots of people there..." Nat assured you. 

She was the only one who knew about your issue. 

"I'm sure you can sit on the edge of the pool and dip your legs in if you are uncomfortable." She added. 

"Yeah...I guess...Oh, I just got a text from Bucky." 

You read the message and blushed. 

Bucky – Hey, pool party at my place tomorrow. Hoping you'll come and cool down with me." 

"What does it say?" 

"It's from Bucky...about the party." 

"Ooohhh." Nat made kissy noises. 

"Pfft, whatever." 

You read the message to her making her chuckle. 

"All my text said was 'pool party tomorrow. Come by if you want,' and that was that." 

"Whatever Nat. He's just playing around, you know how he is." 

"Mm mm, you keep telling yourself that. Now, what are you going to wear and what are we going to bring?"

👙☀️💦

Bucky looked around his backyard and went over his check list in his head before everyone arrived. 

"Food table, check. Charged speakers, check. Pool games and toys, check. Bar set up? Double check." He smiled, pleased with himself. 

Bucky had been transferred to a different office for work in the early spring. He was initially annoyed at the restructuring the company did, but when he met his new co-workers, he was excited, especially meeting you. 

He felt a connection to you when you introduced yourself and he's been working up the courage to ask you out for a while. He figures, with a few casual pool parties and BBQs for the summer, it would be a good way to get to know you outside of work before he asks you out.

When he found his house, he was excited it had an inground pool in the backyard. He spent some time fixing up the outdoor space in the spring and can now host parties and get togethers in the summer for his friends, and it's a fun place to keep cool. 

He's grown up loving to swim since his parents have a lake house, so he is used to being on the water in the summer. He's hoping you'll like his backyard just as much as he does, as he finishes blowing up some beach balls and tossing them into the pool.

👙☀️💦

Nat picked you up to take you to Bucky's house. You were nervous and bounced your leg up and down in her car. She had to tell you to relax a few times before you arrived. 

You don't swim, plain and simple. 

You're scared of water and have always had a fear of it. Nothing has ever happened to you, but the thought of being around a lake, pool, stream, or ocean gives you mad anxiety. 

Not being able to see the bottom, plus, there's usually fish and other things in the water like turtles and frogs, currents are strong, as are waves that can suck you away run through your mind whenever you are by bodies of water. Your parents never enrolled you in swimming lessons, and the thought of you taking them now was laughable, seeing as how the classes in your area cater to children and not adults. 

"You're going to be fine." 

You exhaled and relaxed slightly knowing your friend has your back, but still. The thought of you voluntarily getting into the water without looking like you were going to pass out is going to be hard for you to pull off.

👙☀️💦

"Here we are." Nat pulled up to Bucky's house and parked. 

You got out and held your big bowl of pasta salad tight to yourself. 

"Come on." Nat waved, bringing a few bags of chips and her dip with her. 

You slung your bag over your shoulder and followed Nat up the walkway and pressed the doorbell. The door flew open and so did your mouth as a shirtless Bucky opened it. Holy shit. He stood before you in blue swim shorts with colourful balloons on them that showed off his impressive thighs, with his tapered muscled waist, well-defined abs, and thick arms. You had no idea this was hiding under his suits and sweater combos but wowee wow wow. 

"Hey." Nat said, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

"You made it!" he smiled wide at you, then at Nat.

"We brought snacks." You mentally cringed since you thought it was the equivalent of saying 'I carried a watermelon'. 

You followed Nat inside. 

"Let me take that from you." Bucky said, taking your bowl. 

"Thanks." 

"This way." He called over his shoulder. 

He gave you a small tour of the main floor of his house, showing you where the bathroom was and where you could change. You were already wearing a bathing suit under your shorts and top, so you were fine but placed your change of clothes in a bedroom for later. 

"Everyone, Y/n and Nat are here!" A large group of people cheered and waved while you wandered outside.

👙☀️💦

Bucky's backyard was lovely. There were chairs, umbrellas for shade, flowerpots filled with beautiful arrangements, solar string lights, and a BBQ area that surrounded the bright blue pool. You started getting nervous walking by the water but made it to a lounger that was under an umbrella. 

A few people were sitting around the side of the pool and Steve from the marketing team was sitting in a flamingo floatie. 

"Come on in, the water's great!" He playfully splashed Nat's legs making you flinch slightly. 

"In a minute." She called, placing her bag down next to you. 

You were busy willing your heart rate to calm down. Nat handed you a bottle of water, so you took it and sucked half of it back. 

"It'll be fine. I'm going to head in." Nat assured you. 

You watched her as she confidently made her way to the shallow end, feeling envious of her ease around the water. You saw a few more people arrive and someone cranked up the music as the party started.

👙☀️💦

"Are you having fun?" Bucky's voice cut through your thoughts. 

"Yes, it's nice here." 

You were trying to look nonchalant as you sweated through your top. 

"I'm going in soon to cool down. Are you coming?" 

Your heart rate increased but you nodded, not wanting to look like you were a stick in the mud.

  I can do this. All I have to do is stand by the stairs and hang on. I don't have to do anything else. I can see the bottom of the pool. 

Your thoughts were sailing through your mind. You saw Bucky take his flip flops off and then he headed to the deep end, diving into the water. He made it look so easy as he surfaced and shook his wet hair off his face.

👙☀️💦

Everyone had made their way to the pool and were swimming and splashing around. You stood near the edge of the water and looked at it. 

"Come in Y/n!" Sam from security called. 

"Right, yeah." 

You headed to the steps and slowly waded in, gingerly stepping down one at a time willing your sweat mustache to go away. You finally were submerged and stood in the shallow end of the pool, gripping the edge with an arm. You waved your hand on the surface of the water, moving the currant around, feeling a little relaxed but still nervous. 

Holding onto the edge of the pool helped to centre you.

You were finally cooled down since the water felt refreshing on your skin when you saw Bucky swim over to you from the deep end. Something about him when he broke the surface of the water, droplets falling down his tanned chest while he shook his wet hair from his head did some things to you. It was like he was moving in slow-motion and you couldn't look away. 

You sent a silent thanks for the invention of sunglasses so no one could see you staring at his body.

"Cool enough for you?" Bucky asked as he casually leaned against the side of the pool. 

His hair was wet and those water droplets were running down his chest causing you to swallow hard. 

"Yup." You lamely replied. 

He shifted closer causing you to grip the side of the pool hard. 

"Are you having fun?" 

A few people jumped in causing some unexpected waves to lap against you, so you held on tight. You managed a smile even though you wanted to hurl. 

"Yup." You squeaked out wishing you could grab onto something better since you got jostled from the waves.

 Although tempting, grabbing onto Bucky was not an option you reminded yourself. Even though you totally wanted to, it would be weird and people would talk. Nat had ended up in the deep end laughing and splashing around with Steve and the constant waves were making you feel uneasy.

You had enough of being in the water since the people that were swimming were starting to splash and jump around, making you nervous. It started to feel like the water was going to suck you under. 

👙☀️💦

"Are you ok?" Bucky asked. 

There was something about the way you stood and how you were acting. It didn't seem right to Bucky, so he had to ask you. 

"Y-yeah."

 You inched slightly towards the steps, feeling a panic attack coming on. Your foot slipped on the bottom of the pool making you almost fall back but were caught by solid arms. 

"There now." Bucky said, easing you upright. His hands were gently wrapped around your waist.

You had carefully moved close to the stairs so you could easily get out as Bucky still held onto you, moving with you. You were shaking and it felt like the water was going to swallow you whole. This was too much. You pushed yourself too hard. 

"I-I...need to get out..." You broke out of Bucky's arms and headed up the stairs, exiting the pool in record time. 

You got your towel and dried off, still feeling like your life flashed before your eyes with almost slipping and falling under the water when you felt someone behind you. 

"You ok?" Nat stood and was drying off with her towel. 

"Y-yeah." 

You felt silly for how you reacted and were praying no one caught your little episode when you took your towel and hurried into the house to change.

"I'm leaving." You whispered to Nat. 

She was chatting to Steve and offered to drive you, but you told her you would Uber it home, so she didn't have to leave. The BBQ was started and Bucky was in the process of putting some burgers on, but you didn't want to stay, you had enough of the water and sun for the day. 

"I'll see you at work tomorrow." 

"Are you sure you're, ok?" Nat asked. 

"I'm good Nat. Just want to rest." 

"I'm proud of you." She whispered making you snort. 

"Have a nice night." Then you left and headed to the driveway to catch your ride.

👙☀️💦

"Where did Y/n go?" Bucky asked Nat. 

Ever since he helped you in the pool, your whole demeanor changed. He had to get out and start the BBQ, so he hasn't seen you since. 

"She left." Nat said. 

"What?" 

Bucky looked all over the yard for you. 

"Uh, she...wasn't feeling well. Said she wanted to go home and rest for the night." 

"Huh." Bucky felt like that was a lie, but he didn't want to push it. Something happened with you in the water, and he was determined to find out what.

👙☀️💦

"Here's your bowl." 

Bucky came into your office and plunked the empty and clean bowl on your desk. 

"Your pasta salad was a hit, thanks for bringing it by the way even though you didn't get to eat anything." 

"Oh, right, thanks."

"So, everything ok? Are you feeling better?" He asked, believing the lie Nat told him. 

"Yup, all good." 

"Good." 

He lingered in your office looking like something was wrong. 

"Yes?"

He shuffled his feet a little. 

"I just was thinking...I don't think you were sick. I think something happened in the pool with you, but I can't figure out what." 

Your eyes widened and you sat back in your chair. You fidgeted with your fingers and cleared your throat. 

"Well, I...umm..." 

Bucky sat himself in one of your chairs and placed his elbows on his thighs, leaning forward and looking concerned. 

"I can't swim."

His eyes widened in shock, but he quickly relaxed. 

"But you got into the pool..." 

"Yeah?" 

"Why?" 

You shrugged a shoulder and said, "I needed to cool down." 

Bucky didn't say anything, he sat back in the chair and watched you. 

"I never learned how to swim." 

He couldn't wrap his mind around that seeing as how he's always had access to water. Swimming and lifesaving lessons were something he learned growing up, so fearing water was hard for him to comprehend. 

"Well, you looked ok...up until you left. What happened?" 

"My foot slipped and I panicked." 

It made sense to Bucky now. A few people jumped in and were causing the water to ripple and wave, which more than likely caused you to be unsteady, so you slipped a little. 

"I've always wanted to take lessons, but as I got older, I never found the time. That, and the fact that the recreation centres focus their lessons for children, I don't feel comfortable enrolling and being the only adult with a bunch of kids..." 

"I'll teach you." Bucky blurted out. 

You looked at him funny. 

"I'm serious. Let me teach you. In my pool. I've been swimming for years. I can help you, show you some basic moves, get more comfortable...It'll be private, no one will see if you're concerned..." 

You thought about his offer but shook your head no. 

"No, I couldn't...you don't want to spend your free time teaching me how to swim..." 

"I don't mind, honestly. At the very least it may help you feel more comfortable around water, but I think I can teach you some things." He winked at you making your face flush. 

He's talking about the lessons, right?

You bit your bottom lip in thought. Could you spend time in Bucky's pool while he taught you how to swim? 

"Maybe an evening here or there and a weekend, depending on the weather." He added making you seriously consider his offer. 

"Can I think about it?" 

"Sure, let me know at the end of the day. If you do this, no one will know, it'll be between us, I promise." 

He wanted to lock in his nights and days with you and he's certain you'll say yes seeing as how he knows you were checking him out at the party just as much as he was checking out you. 

"Ok...I'll be by at the end of the day with my answer." You gave him a half smile while he got up and left, leaving you to your thoughts. 

You wanted to learn how to swim and get over that fear, so why not take advantage of that? 

Plus, why not spend it in the water with a hot as hell man? You have no idea what this is going to lead to with Bucky, but you're determined to have a little fun along the way.

👙☀️💦

"I'm in." You said, walking into Bucky's office. 

The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up, revealing his tanned forearms. He smiled wide and said, "Good. First lesson starts tonight." 

Your eyes widened but you nodded. 

"Come by at 7. That'll give us both time to get home, eat, and digest."

"Ok. I'll see you later."

 Bucky smiled and watched you leave his office. He couldn't contain his smile as he finished replying to some of his emails. He then went in and marked a calendar for the next month and put in the dates he would like to teach you, sending it to you for approval. 

He was all in on you and teaching you how to swim, he's hoping you are into him too.

👙☀️💦

Your heart was racing as you knocked on Bucky's door. You gripped the handles of your tote bag when the door opened. This time, Bucky had a shirt on when he greeted you and red bathing shorts with wiener dogs on them and his feet were bare. 

"Hey!" 

He smiled wide while you walked in. 

"Come on out back."

 You followed him through the patio doors and saw he had set up the pool area with a few floaties by the steps. A few strands of solar lights were already on ready to cast a glow around the area when it got darker out. You placed your bag down and stepped out of your flip flops, placing them aside when you peeked over at Bucky. 

"I'm glad we're doing this." He said, taking his white t-shirt off in one move and tossing it aside. 

Why was that so hot? 

You got your top off and was un-buttoning your shorts when you looked over and saw Bucky was watching you. He cleared his throat and looked away, kicking at a pool noodle that was on the edge of the pool. 

"Right, are you ready?" He asked, looking at you expectantly. 

"Yup." You squeaked out. 

"Come, take my hand and we can get in the water, get used to it a little." He reached his hand out, so you walked to him, guiding you to the pool. 

Your insides felt like they were going to jump out of you. He stepped in first, then turned and was watching you close. 

"No one else is here, it's just us." He reminded you, carefully guiding you down the stairs.

You both stood in the shallow end, getting used to the water. The water was the perfect temperature; not too cool and not too warm. 

"Are you ok?" He asked, watching you close. 

"I'm good." Which was the truth, you were fine standing in the water, with no waves or people around you. 

"Good. You know, I'm proud of you for what you did at the party. Getting in water when you're terrified of it took some guts." 

You snorted at him, but he was serious. 

"I'm serious." He nudged you slightly causing a slight panic to wash over you. 

"Oops, sorry..." He said, seeing your eyes widen at the waves while he steadied you. 

"Now, we can stand here all night or, I can get you to stand and not hang onto the wall. Get a bit more confident if you like." 

You looked around and inhaled before you let out your breath.

 "Ok." 

He gently took your hand and held it while you stepped away from the side. 

"I'm not letting go." 

"Ok Rose." You teased. Bucky looked at you funny and you rambled on about Titanic and the amount of room on the door making him chuckle.

👙☀️💦

You felt good at Bucky's side, more confident as he carefully moved you throughout the shallow end, getting used to walking around in the water. 

"There now." His voice was relaxing as he let go of your hand. 

You didn't immediately put it on the ledge to hang onto. 

"So, I was thinking for your lessons...if you want, we can go slow at first. Getting in and out of water, being able to feel it, dip your head under, that sort of thing. Then, I can show you some strokes, how to move around, get from one point to another...then my ultimate goal is to get you confident enough to jump in..." 

Your eyes widened making him chuckle. 

"...Wishful thinking I know. We won't do anything that makes you uncomfortable, but at the very least I was hoping you would be more confident and assured. What better way to celebrate your new lessons than to jump in and free yourself from your fear?" 

"Wow, you've planned all that in a short timeframe. I was just hoping to see you in your slutty little swim shorts and to get a few feels in to be honest." You blurted out, immediately slapping a hand over your mouth making Bucky laugh.

 "I-I...I said that out loud, didn't I?" You cringed while Bucky nodded. 

"Yup." 

His eyes seemed to sparkle under the solar lights. 

"But I don't mind. I'll wear all the slutty little bathing shorts you want if it gets you more comfortable in the water." Bucky joked making you snort. 

You turned and faced him, then held your hand out for him to shake. 

"It's a deal." He took it and you chuckled, heading towards the stairs to leave.

👙☀️💦

Over the next few weeks, you had gone over to Bucky's house and have gotten used to the water. You are more comfortable getting in and out of it, and the last few times, he showed you how to dip your face in and blow bubbles. 

Tonight though, he was going to get you to float on your back. Once you were more confident, he'll show you some strokes and eventually how to tread water. 

"Look at you go." He teased you while watching you climb into the water with ease. 

"You no longer look like you're going to hurl when you get in, so that's good." He winked at you making you roll your eyes.

 You stood next to him and was prepared for this night's lesson of getting on your back and letting the water support you. 

"Ok, so, are you wet?" He asked, immediately cringing at his own words. 

"Mr. Barnes..." You shook your head and chuckled, dunking yourself under the water to wet your upper half. 

"Yeah, sorry, that was weird. I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable with the temperature." 

"Right..." You side-eyed him but smirked, turning to face him. 

"Ok, show me what to do." 

You watched him move so he faced the sky and floated on his back like a starfish, bobbing in the water. 

"Like this..." He said, relaxing and looking up into the sky. 

He stood and brushed a few droplets of water from his face and waited for you to copy his moves. He was patient as you went through the movements in your head and worked out the fear as you slowly moved your legs, so they were in front of you, letting the water float you so you were spread out.

Bucky brought his hands under your back and neck for support but didn't touch you. He wanted you to figure things out before he assisted you. 

"There you go." He encouraged you to lie back a little more. 

"I've got my hands under you in case you need me." You fought through the anxiety and breathed out, then in as you laid back, letting the water surround you as you floated. You felt a gentle brush under your lower back of Bucky's hand, supporting you. 

"I'm doing it!" You yelled making Bucky chuckle. 

"You are." 

He was close to your face as he had sunk into the water to help you.

 "May I?" He asked, tapping your back with his fingers. 

"Ok..." 

You trusted he wouldn't scare you as he moved his hands under you and gently moved you around the shallow end. You had no idea the water would feel this good on your body as Bucky rocked you back and forth. Having his hands on you made your skin heat, even under the cool water, you were grateful the sun was starting to set so your blush could hide. 

His voice was soothing as he told you stories of him and his family at their lake house.

👙☀️💦

"Are you sleeping?" 

Your eyes whipped open. 

Yes. "No." You scoffed and started to right yourself. 

You felt a little embarrassed you fell asleep in Bucky's pool, but you were just so relaxed. You had closed your eyes to enjoy the floating sensation but must have zoned out. Combine that with Bucky's soothing voice telling you stories, it felt like you were drifting aimlessly around the clouds. His hands dug into you as you got yourself standing upright in the water. 

He stood close to you, making sure you were ok. 

"Are you good?" 

"Yup." 

He wore swim shorts with pink flamingos on them making you giggle. 

"I like your shorts tonight." You pointed to them. 

"Yeah? Thought you might like them. Are they slutty enough for you?" 

"Absolutely." You smiled wide making him chuckle. 

"Ok, a few more times of floating, then we can look at the strokes." 

You gave him a funny look. 

"Get your mind out of the gutter Y/n. Swim strokes...s-w-i-m..." Bucky spelled out for you.

 "But I kind of like the other strokes better..." You teased, heading for the stairs making him snort.

👙☀️💦

For your next lesson he planned, you arrived at Bucky's house determined to swim from one side of the shallow end to the other. Last time you were at his house, Bucky had shown you a few strokes (with a lot of snickering by you), but you think you are ready to try them out. 

"Hey!" 

Bucky was waiting at the door for you wearing swim shorts with dancing palm trees on them. 

"Where do you keep getting those?" You pointed to his shorts. 

"I have my sources. Why, do you want to take a closer look?" he wiggled himself a little making you snort. 

Yes, yes, I do. 

 "Are you ready to swim?" He asked, eyes lighting up. 

"I am." You smiled, heading out onto the patio. 

You plunked your bag down and eagerly took off your sundress, then headed into the water. Getting in and out of the pool without being terrified was something you were proud of getting over. Bucky joined you and waded in behind you. 

"Ok, are you ready?" 

He swam over to the side of the pool, and you stood at the other. 

"You can do this. I'm right here if you run into trouble." You were determined to make it to the other side to meet him. You got down into the water and pushed off with your feet, moving your arms to glide towards Bucky.

You wobbled and bobbled your way over but managed to straighten yourself before you made it over to Bucky. 

"I did it!" You cheered, as Bucky helped you stand. 

"Did you see me? I swam from there to here!" You smiled wide as Bucky reached out and embraced you. 

You melted into his warm chest as he patted your back. 

"I'm proud of you." He whispered into your ear making you flush.

"Thanks." You were standing in the shallow end with Bucky's arms around you. 

The night was clear as the solar string lights swayed in the light breeze. You leaned back slightly and looked into Bucky's eyes that were searching yours, then they moved to look at your lips. 

You reluctantly separated, clearing your throat.

 "So, I should...uh...try that again, you know. Practise and what not..." 

"Right." Bucky cleared his throat and shuffled over to the other side. 

You swam over to him a few more times, getting used to the water as you moved around. 

"You're doing so well." He encouraged you to do a few more strokes like a back stroke and doggie paddle, so you were comfortable moving.

"I think next time, you're ready for the deep end." Bucky said, drying off. 

He wrapped his pool towel around his waist. 

You stood frozen, staring at him. 

"What?" he chuckled at your reaction. 

"You think?" You eyed the pool, then Bucky. 

"You're ready, trust me." He stepped close so he was facing you. 

"If you say so." You were nervous but knew he was right.

 "Let me help you." He reached out and helped dry you off. 

"There." 

Every time he had his hands on you, or they brushed your skin, it sent tingles all over you. The man had magic hands and add in his slutty little bathing suit bottoms, it was becoming hard to focus. 

"Oh, you have some hair here..." 

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. He didn't remove his hand as it lingered close to your cheek. The moon was out and the lights lit up the yard with the pool casting reflections around the yard. 

"Thanks." You sounded a little breathless. 

He stepped so he stood right in front of you. 

"I'm going to kiss you now." He said, leaning down so his face was in front of yours. 

He smelled like a mixture of chlorine and his cologne he wore at work which was quickly becoming your favourite scent. You nodded and he closed the remaining distance, placing his lips on yours. 

His lips moved with yours as he held you close. Both of your towels dropped when you wrapped your arms around him, deepening the kiss. You finally pulled away from each other, breathing heavily as you smiled up at Bucky. 

👙☀️💦

"So, I think you're ready for the deep end." 

Your eyes widened at his comment making him chuckle. 

"This Saturday night." 

You glanced at the glowing pool and thought about it. 

"Ok." Bucky smiled wide before he leaned in and kissed you again making you giggle since his scruffy face tickled you.

"I was thinking of having another pool party."

"Oh?" 

You had just changed out of your wet bathing suit and stood at Bucky's front door. 

"Next weekend." 

You gripped your tote bag and shuffled your feet around. 

"I think it would be a fun time." You added, smiling up at him. 

"Yeah?"

 "Yup." 

"Good. So, are you going to come to it?" He asked, looking a little unsure of himself. 

"Of course." He smiled wide. 

"Good." 

"Good." You repeated.

 "Let me walk you out." 

Bucky walked you to your car and stood by the driver's side. You placed your bag in the backseat and faced him. 

"I just wanted to say thank you again for helping me. I've learned a lot and well...I appreciate all you have done, so thanks." 

You looked up into his eyes. He puffed his chest out lightly and smiled wide. 

"Anytime." He reached out and played with the elastic band you had on your wrist. 

"Well, goodnight, Bucky." You said, inching towards the doorhandle. 

He leaned in and kissed you once again sending tingles all over you. You separated and hid your red face before you got into your car. You rolled down the window and smiled. 

"See you at work." 

"Goodnight, Y/n."

 You drove back to your apartment in a daze from being kissed to learning how to swim, this was proving to be one of the best summers you have ever had.

👙☀️💦

"Ok, are you ready?" Bucky bobbed in the deep end of the pool while you stood in the shallow end. 

"Uhh..." 

Suddenly, you felt overwhelmed at the task. It had been almost a month of non-stop lessons with Bucky, three nights during the week and once on Saturdays where you've learned to get more comfortable in the water, the different strokes, and how to maneuver yourself so you can confidently be in water. 

"You can do it. Just like we practised in the shallow end. I'll be here to help you if you run into any issues." Bucky reminded you. 

You noted a few waves he was making while he treaded water, but those didn't bother you anymore. 

"Ok." You inhaled, then exhaled, relaxing your breath. 

"Here I go." You announced, pushing off the shallow end wall to the deep end where Bucky waited for you. 

You breathed in your nose, exhaling as you took your strokes, kicking the water which was propelling you forward. Holy shit, I'm doing it. You were halfway when you almost gave up, feeling a few tears prickle your eyes. 

Not that you couldn't do it, but the fact that you WERE swimming. 

You were really swimming. You were determined to get to where Bucky was waiting for you as you pushed through the water. 

"That's it, Y/n!" You heard Bucky shout. 

A few more pushes, and you made it to the end where Bucky was. 

"Holy crap!" You yelled, hanging off the side of the pool. 

"You did it!" Bucky pushed off, wrapping you up in his arms. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck while you both floated in the deep end. You had never been in water without touching the bottom and that thought no longer terrified you. 

"You're so brave!" Bucky whispered, slowly bringing you to the shallow end so you could stand. 

"I am." 

You hugged him tight as you made it, standing up. You high-fived him and he took the opportunity to hold your hand and pull you close to him, hugging you. He kissed you deep, which you eagerly returned. You plunged back into the water, wrapping your legs around his hips while you kissed him back. You finally separated your mouths but still clung onto Bucky as he held you in the water. 

"Aren't you glad you're now more confident in the water? That means we can do more of this..." Bucky leaned down and kissed your neck making you giggle. 

"Yeah, yeah." You said smiling wide. 

"I'm glad you're feeling better about the water." 

"Me too. Honestly, I never thought you would get me to where I actually look forward to spending time in a pool now and no longer feel dread." 

"Good." He squeezed you tight. 

"Which brings me to my next point..." 

"Oh?" 

You could tell he had something important to say.

"This?" He waved a hand between you and him. 

"This...with us?" He squeezed you tight to him. 

"This is something I've been wanting since I walked into your office for the first time after the holiday break." 

Your mouth fell open in shock. 

Sure, you flirted with each other, but you never thought that it was anything serious. 

"So, consider all of my lessons date nights." 

Your eyebrows rose, but his face was serious. 

"So, what, we're together?" You teased. 

"Yes." He smirked and squeezed your hips. 

"Oh." 

"You're mine Y/n." His voice deepened. 

"Just like that?"

 "Yes. Just like that. Now, do you think you have enough confidence to jump into the deep end?" 

Your head was still fuddled, but you snapped out of it. 

"Jump in? To the deep end?" 

Bucky nodded. He held you close. 

"You can do it, you're ready." He whispered. 

You looked at the deep end and then the ledge of the pool a little wary. 

"Think about it but I know you're ready. We'll have one more lesson before the party and I'm confident you'll be able to jump in without issue." 

"If you say so." You sighed, hooking your arms around his neck. 

He smirked and then leaned in to kiss you. Something about being wrapped around Bucky in the water felt right as you eagerly kissed him until your hands were well and shrivelled.

👙☀️💦

"Ok, so just step off the ledge. Hold your nose if you want. I'll be right here to catch you if you get overwhelmed." Bucky assured you at your final lesson before the party. 

He swam in the deep end while you stood on the edge of the pool looking at it. You had swam back and forth alongside Bucky all evening and this was the last thing you were going to do before the pool party. 

You fiddled with your fingers while watching the water.

 "Sit on the edge and plunk yourself in if you want." 

You took his advice and sat at the edge while he was in front of you. 

"Just plunk in, I've got you." 

His arms were out and he was watching you close You inhaled then exhaled, edging yourself closer. 

"Ok. Here I go." You gently plopped into the water and bobbed back up with Bucky's arms around you. 

"You did it." He smiled, helping you to the side.

You had an arm on the side of the pool as Bucky surrounded you. 

"That was easy." You scoffed making him chuckle. 

"Ok then, go for it. Jump in then." He gestured towards the steps. 

"Fine." 

You got yourself out and stepped to the edge. Bucky was in front of where you were going to land. 

"On three. Ready?" You nodded and straightned your shoulders. 

"!...2...3!" He said and on three, you jumped, holding your nose. 

The water surrounded you but you pushed up, reaching and pulling the water with your arms while you kicked. You broke the surface and sputtered a little, but you were floating. Bucky was in front of you, but he wasn't holding you, you were swimming. 

"Holy crap!" You yelled, smiling wide. 

"I didn't even swallow any pool water or anything." 

You were elated you jumped in. It was scary as hell but exhilarating as you were able to swim back to the surface. You swam to the shallow end and stood, wiping water from your eyes. 

"You did it!" Bucky smiled wide. 

A few tears escaped your eyes as you wiped them away, feeling slightly silly for crying. Bucky saw and immediately hugged you tight, whispering calming words in your ear as you went through your emotions. 

"Are you ok?" He asked, leaning down to check on you.

 "Yeah, just a little emotional, ya know?" 

"Are you sure you're ok?" 

"All good."

 You breathed heavy, smiling at him. 

"Good." He kissed you silly as you melted into his arms.

 "Now, do it again." He said, separating from you. 

You chuckled but knew he wouldn't let you get out without trying it a few more times. Each time you did, you got more confident in yourself, and Bucky was encouraging you every time. He really was the best as you ended up sitting on a lounger, drying off. 

"Ok, party is tomorrow. You got this." Bucky said, flopping down next to you. 

He was wearing the palm tree shorts again tonight. 

"Thought you would have a new pair for me to ogle?" You pointed to his shorts. 

He snorted and said, "Tomorrow doll." And shot you a wink before he helped you up.

👙☀️💦

"Are you nervous?" Nat asked while she drove you to Bucky's. 

You carried a Caesar salad with you and saw her corn salad in the backseat. 

"A little." You shrugged, hiding your smirk. 

You told no one Bucky had been teaching you how to swim and were eager to show her. You pulled up to his house and got out, reminding yourself to calm down while you walked up to Bucky's front door.

 He opened it when you got to the door making Nat snort at what he was wearing. 

His bathing suit bottoms were bright blue with dancing hot dogs on them making you chuckle. 

"Hiya!" 

Bucky almost leaned in and kissed you, but he corrected and grabbed your salad instead. You hadn't told anyone you were seeing each other. 

"Right this way ladies." He said and walked you to the pool. 

A bunch of people were already there, chatting and sitting around the edge of it. You placed your tote bag by a lounger and sat down, waving to a few people.

👙☀️💦

Bucky was in the water already and had looked over at you, nudging his head at you so you would get into the water. 

"Are you good to get in?" Nat whispered. 

You smiled and shrugged a shoulder. 

"I think so." 

"Ok, I'll see you there." 

She took off her cover up and stepped into the pool while you got up from your lounger and took off your shorts. You started walking to the shallow end and then stopped, deciding to head to the deep end where Bucky was. 

You made sure he was watching you in case there were any issues. 

Jumping into the pool when there were people in it was a different feeling than when it was just Bucky. You stood at the deep end and looked around. You saw Nat was watching you, seeming confused before you gave her a wink and jumped into the deep end. You surfaced and Bucky was right by your side, but you didn't need him. 

You swam to the shallow end and Nat was halfway to you when you stood and wiped the water from your face. 

"What the hell?" She whispered at you. 

"Surprise?!" You shrugged. 

"But...how? When?" 

For once, your friend was speechless as she watched you dunk yourself in the water. 

"I guess I should have told you I took some lessons." You said smiling at her. 

"No shit." 

She was relieved she didn't have to rescue you, but her eyes narrowed as she saw Bucky swim up to you and grab you around your waist before he let go, swimming over to Steve. 

"You're definitely going to have to tell me about THAT later." She grumbled making you snort.

👙☀️💦

The party was a success in Bucky's eyes. People had fun, ate, and drank, and more importantly, Bucky knew you felt confident and sure of yourself because you never left the water. 

He had to call you out of the water to eat something since you were having such a good time. He had a hard time refraining from any sort of physical contact from you but he's certain that will change soon when you decide to tell people about your relationship.

👙☀️💦

Nat had changed and was ready to head back when you told her you were staying behind. You had brought another bathing suit with you (and a change of clothes but she didn't need to know that) and told her you would Uber it home. She was driving Steve back anyways and you're certain there was something going on with them too. She told you she would be calling you Sunday evening to get all the details on your lessons and Bucky.

Once everyone had left, you stayed behind and headed to the pool, sitting along the edge with your feet in. You heard Bucky approach and saw him climb the stairs into the pool, relaxing as he swam towards you. 

"I think everyone had fun today." He said, standing in front of you. 

"I think so too." 

"I can't tell you the amount of times Steve pulled me aside and asked me if there as anything going on with us..." he chuckled.

 "Yeah, Nat said she's going to call me tomorrow night."

Bucky lowered himself in the water and was right in front of you. The night had turned dark as the solar lights flickered on, lighting up the yard making it look like it was glowing. You leaned back and looked up into the sky, seeing a clear night above you, when you were suddenly grabbed and yanked into the water. 

"Bucky!" You yelled, laughing as he held you close. You wrapped your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck, holding onto him like a koala bear. He nuzzled your neck making you squeal as his scruff tickled you. 

"Thanks again for teaching me. I know I've said it lots, but I really mean it." You squeezed him tight. 

"You're welcome." He whispered. 

You could feel every hard ridge of Bucky while he walked you around the shallow end. 

"It's getting darker out." You said, looking around the backyard. 

"I know..." Bucky stopped and placed your back against the wall of the pool, caging you in before he let go of you and floated away on his back. 

You watched him float around as he made his way to the side of the pool. You could see him squirm a little as he stood and smirked at you. You saw he was holding a wet lump of something and your eyes widened, seeing him hold his swim shorts up. You watched as he plopped them on the side of the pool, then he flashed you a wolfish grin before he took off towards you making you giggle. 

"What are you doing?!" You said, swimming away from him.

 "Just a little late night skinny dip doll." He said, chasing after you. 

You didn't put up too much of a fight when he finally caught you. You laughed and gave in as he held you in his arms.

 "Now, all we need to do is get you out of this..." he tugged on your bathing suit sending tingles throughout your body. 

"Oh, we do now?" Bucky nodded, leaning in to kiss your neck. 

"Yup. Not only was it my goal to teach you to swim so you would be more confident...I wanted to teach you how to swim so I could have naked nighttime swims with you." 

Your eyebrows shot up at his words. "Pool rules and all." He shrugged, then nibbled your ear. 

"Pool rules?" 

"Yup." 

"Since when?" 

"Since you stepped foot in here for your first lesson." He squeezed your hips and kissed you, making you see stars. 

👙☀️💦👙☀️💦👙☀️💦👙☀️💦👙☀️💦

[buckysdolllokisdarling]

Hey, , i wanted to ask if you could write a story with sunshine!bucky x grumpy!reader dynamic. Like, often in fanfics he is the grumpy one, understandably because of his past, but i think a story where Y/N is the grumpy one (doesn't show much emotion, cold demeanor) and bucky is just head over heels for her and tries everything to get her attention, but he can't concentrate around her so he just embarrasses himself. After a while she thinks its pathetically cute and maybe she plays (manipulates) a bit with him but yes, they end up together and he still acts the same way and she shows affection in her own way. I would love to read this (even more if its a longer one), but no pressure, just if you feel like it. Or with Loki would be just as perfect. Sorry for bad english. Thank you, bye bye

Warnings: Fluff, slight angst, a bit of manipulation, slight suggestiveness, second-hand embarrassment, one-sided enemies to double-sided lovers.

Word count: 4.1k

A/n: Thank you for the wonderful request, it's a really unique one, and I love that! Hope you guys like it :)) We would like to dedicate this section to the absolute legend, icon, and undisputed GOAT who edited this project. While most people spend their days relaxing, this editor willingly sacrificed over 8 hours of their life every single day just to help us transform this project from a collection of questionable grammar, chaotic formatting, and enough spelling mistakes to make a dictionary cry into something that actually resembles quality work. Somehow, they managed to fix around 800 mistakes every single day, and they did it with the patience of a saint and the determination of someone on a mission. At this point, we're convinced they don't just edit; they perform miracles. 

Their attention to detail is genuinely unreal. They caught mistakes we didn't even know existed, rewrote sentences that somehow made sense only in our heads, and somehow managed to decipher our thought process, which is honestly an achievement worthy of its own award. If editing were an Olympic event, they would not only win the gold medal but probably rewrite the rulebook while they were at it. Their work ethic, dedication, and commitment deserve recognition on a global scale.

Without this editor, this project would probably still be sitting in a folder somewhere, held together by hope, autocorrect, and blind optimism. Instead, thanks to their incredible effort, it became something we're actually proud of. They truly carried this project further than anyone thought possible, and no words could fully express how grateful we are. Future generations should study their editing skills, universities should offer courses based on their methods, and historians should document the heroic effort that went into fixing our countless mistakes. To our editor: thank you for your endless patience, your unbelievable dedication, and for somehow surviving the experience. You are, without question, the greatest editor of all time. 

Author is back, thank you editor :)) 

Editor credits to [email protected]

Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/35qgpxvYhgjp1WRFMQ9F95?pi=Rfth35_xT72CR

“So you would need to use your com link to inform the team that you landed…”

God, those lips of theirs looked so soft… “Mr Barnes?” Those cold eyes only drew him in more- oh, they were glaring right at him now; it would be so easy to get lost in those icy pools-” Mr Barnes. Are you listening?” You set the mission folder down with a strong thud, now standing in front of a very much dazed Bucky with a lovesick look on his face. “U-Uhm.” he clears his throat in an attempt to save the awkward silence that now stretched on “Yes, of course…um… something about com-links and landing.” He flashed a charming smile in your direction, although the uncaring look in your eyes and slight frown of disappointment on your face made it slip a little. You held your gaze for a while as he took this chance to admire those mesmerising eyes of yours.

“Fury will be expecting a full mission report by the end of the mission day.” You said monotonously, sliding the heavy mission folder towards him, “I believe you need this more than I do, Mr Barnes.” “Bucky is fine.” He smiled warmly. “ As I was saying, you’ll need it more than I do, Mr Barnes.” Your heels clicked as you walked away without another word. “Oh, you wound me so, doll,” Bucky whispered to himself as he flipped through the mission folder, trying and failing to suppress the incoming grin at the thought of sharing another mission with you. He didn’t know what drew him in so intensely; was it the cold eyes? The stern and assertive demeanour? Or was it the way you glared at him that tugged, no, absolutely ripped at his heartstrings? Bucky wasn’t dumb; he knew you weren’t fond of him, or anyone, for that matter, especially Stark, who got on your nerves so much he almost rivalled Bucky, almost. But something just wouldn’t let him let you go; he was ready to launch himself at any and every chance for even just a millisecond of your attention. Even if the only reactions he got from his smiles or jokes were a glare or a “Mr Barnes”, he’d take it. 

It was smothering, all that attention Mr Barnes was throwing at you. You started noticing the first time you had locked eyes with him on a mission, his warm demeanour towards you bordering on a human space heater, absolutely suffocating. His icy blue eyes gaze at you as if you had hung the stars and shown him what love truly was; you’re pretty sure he’d get on his knees if you even just thought about it. You didn’t understand the appeal to him; you tried to keep it professional, just like you did with everyone else, “Mr Barnes,” and minimised unnecessary interactions. He proved to make that extremely challenging, though, every morning, your favourite drink was made exactly how you liked it. How did he know the exact way you liked it? Please don’t ask; he’s definitely not been watching you this whole time, expectantly waiting for your reaction like an excited puppy. During missions, he always managed to have your back even though you didn’t need him to. Sometimes, you would turn around and almost run into him. “Just sticking close” was always his excuse. 

It was 3 a.m., and Bucky couldn’t shake the image of your cold gaze glaring right into his own, even if he wanted to. The gym seemed to be his only solution for his restlessness; training was the only thing that could temporarily take his mind off you. His heavy boots echoed through the halls as a sigh escaped him. The light was on in the training room, not a rare sight in the tower; people were usually up at odd hours for whatever reason. Mostly Stevie in the gym at this time, though, Bucky smiled, pushing the door open “Hey, Stevie-” He stopped in his tracks, being met by your alert gaze snapping to the sudden intrusion.  “Mr Barnes.” You said, simply acknowledging his presence before going back to the punching bag. He felt a slow heat creeping up the back of his neck. Oh God, he had just called you Stevie… Your gaze didn’t linger on him as you didn’t give the punching bag any mercy. The sight stirred something in Bucky, the ripple of your forearms, and beads of sweat starting to form above your brow. He tried not to stare, he really did, but it was hard when you were in the same room as him, looking as perfect as usual. It was mesmerising, really. Your form was perfect, your senses sharper than the edge of a knife, eyes locked onto the target like a hawk. “Spar with me?” Bucky asked before he could stop himself, a light flush dusting his cheeks as your gaze lifted to meet his almost nervous eyes. He was expecting a “No, Mr Barnes,” or maybe even only a shake of your head.

“Sure.” You said with a soft pant from your training, “I won’t go easy on you, just so you know, Mr Barnes.” You wiped the sweat off your brow, holding his gaze. Speaking of his gaze, it held the most passion anyone has given you in forever. You held the gaze with your usual coldness. “Don’t worry, doll. Never need to go easy on me; I can handle it.” Bucky sighed, the nickname escaping his lips. “We’ll see about that, Mr Barnes.” You replied coolly, raising an eyebrow at the nickname but not questioning. Bucky's eyes flicker with realisation, a blush creeping up,  and he looks away to pull himself back together. 

He pulled his punches- well, he always did when it came to you; it’s not like he couldn’t take the hits, and as much as it embarrassed him to admit it, he didn’t mind it much when you were holding the practice mock knife over his throat while pinning him down. Your eyes darted to him. You had seen that look before; it was the gaze of someone who wholeheartedly believed the sun rose and set on you, like you were the heart of the universe, his universe. You smirked internally to yourself; as stoic as you were, the urge to just tease him still lingered. Wouldn’t it hurt, right? Just a little something to keep him on his toes, you told yourself as you leaned down slowly “Too slow, Mr Barnes, I hope this isn’t going to be your performance on the mission.” You said tauntingly. Bucky’s ears turned red in disbelief at your words: “I-of course not!” He chuckled, “Just hard to actually bring myself to hit you.” He muttered the last part, " You climbed off of him, reaching for your water as you felt his eyes almost burning into your form. 

The mission day came quickly. After suiting up and getting into your tactical gear, you headed down to the kitchen for a quick lunch. That was until you collided with something that felt close, adjacent to a brick wall- Bucky’s chest. “Whoa! Sorry about that, agent. Didn’t see you coming.” He helped you up with a grin on his face “Must be destiny, you know I was just going to go find you.” He held out a zip-lock plastic bag with a sandwich in it. “Thought I’d might as well since I was in the kitchen.” “ You didn’t have to.” “But I wanted to.” “You really didn’t need to. I can pack my own lunches.” “You were already so busy with the mission prep.” Bucky finished, insistent on stuffing the sandwich into your hands. The trip to the mission site was silent except for the low hum of the jet engine. It was only you and Bucky on this mission. Steve said it was for efficiency, but you suspected he was attempting to give his best friend a hand. Bucky’s stares were painfully obvious even if he tried to hide them; they seemed to always trail back to your form, that stray strand of hair that escaped, your gaze that flicked out to the window occasionally, the tapping of your foot when the turbulence made you slightly uneasy. He wanted to reach out and take your hand in his so badly, to tell you that the turbulence would be fine, among other things. As the jet opened its

 Rear hatch, Bucky handed you a parachute before you could even think about getting one, offering you a warm smile that greatly contrasted the freezing temperatures harshly blowing into the jet. You muttered a thanks as you strapped it on, checking your gear one last time before jumping out of the jet, Bucky following closely behind you. The objective was simple: land in the snowy plains, find the abandoned Hydra base, infiltrate, extract information, and destroy what was left of it. You landed successfully in the soft cushioning of the snowy plains, Bucky, a few feet away from you. The thick snow made it hard to navigate, and you reluctantly took Bucky’s hand as he helped you up. Thankfully, the Hydra base wasn’t too far away, the thick and rusted padlock suggesting that it was an older branch and had been untouched for quite a while, only being visited by the merciless weather and harsh grasp of the years that had passed. To your dismay, it wasn’t any less cold in the base than outside, although the steel doors did block out most of the freezing winds. Bucky took the lead, as he usually did when you had missions together, taking it upon himself to try and protect you. It was a primitive Hydra lab at best, left abandoned before anything was packed up. You let out a strong sigh when seeing those old computers and bins of file folders. “I’ll deal with the computers; you can sort through the folders, Mr Barnes.” You said monotonously. “Don't touch anything,” you warned Bucky lowly. Bucky lifted both hands in surrender, the corners of his mouth tugging upward despite your warning. “Wouldn't dream of it”. The promise lasted all of twelve seconds. The moment you crouched beside one of the dusty terminals, a loud metallic clang echoed through the room. Your eyes closed for a brief second before you slowly turned your head. Bucky stood perfectly still beside a fall pipe, looking almost offended that Gravity had betrayed him. “...it rolled”, you said at last, your voice carrying that familiar disappointed edge. “I gave you one instruction.” A sheepish grin spread across his face. “Technically, I didn’t touch it on purpose.” Your expression didn't change. Somehow, that made his grin widen.

You exhaled through your nose, already turning back towards the computer terminal. “If we survive this mission, it’ll be despite your best efforts.” Bucky places a hand over his chest. “That almost sounded like concern”. “It wasn't.” “Could have fooled me” Before you could deliver another dry remark, the old monitor flickered to life beneath your fingertips. Folders of faded Hydra files were scattered across the cracked screen, accompanied by the low whir of an ancient hard drive struggling to wake after years of neglect and frost. The playful atmosphere disappeared almost instantly. Your shoulders squared, every trace of the bickering gone as you focused on decrypting and downloading the files. Bucky noticed the shift immediately. Without another word, he moved to the doorway, his posture switched to something far more familiar, a soldier standing guard. His eyes swept the dark corridors while his metal fingers rested tightly against the rifle slung across his chest. Even in silence, he found himself glancing back every few moments, just to make sure you were still there.

Your fingers danced across the worn keyboard, the glow of the monitor reflecting faintly in your eyes as files slowly began to decrypt. “Almost there,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Bucky. Behind you, the silence stretched just long enough for him to relax- until the faint crunch of boots and the strong aroma of gunpowder lingered somewhere deeper in the facility. His expression hardened in an instant. “We've got company,” He said quietly. You didn't look away from the screen. “How many?” Bucky leaned just enough to glance into the corridor. “At least four, maybe more.” A beat of silence passed before you answered with the same calm tone you always used. “Buy me two minutes.” Bucky couldn't help the small smile that slipped onto his face despite the situation, no hesitation, no panic,  just complete confidence that he could handle it. “Anything for you,” he muttered under his breath before stepping into the hallway, his footsteps disappearing into the darkness as the first alarm finally roared to life throughout the abandoned base. He moved with that cold precision you had only seen on missions, the muscle memory of the Winter Soldier coming to life and flowing through his veins. One, two, three and the last shot echoed throughout the frigid base; muffled thuds hit the ground without any sort of struggle. Bucky marched back into the room, “All taken care of.” He smiled warmly, contrasting the acts that had just commenced a few seconds ago. A rare and faint smile graced your lips, catching Bucky off guard “Thanks, Barnes.” It slipped out absentmindedly from your mouth, surprising even you as you cocked an eyebrow at your own words. Bucky was in a very good mood for the rest of the mission, bounding along beside you as you two rendezvoused with the Quinjet.  

The silence inside the aircraft was heavy, not with the tension of the mission, but with the sudden jarring shift in Bucky's demeanour. He moved with a lightness that seemed entirely out of place for a man who, only moments ago, had been a terrifying force of nature. As the ramp hissed shut, sealing out the harsh winds of the extraction zone, he leaned against the bulkhead, his metal arm casting the dim interior light with a dull, rhythmic light. He didn't look away from you, his gaze lingering with a curiosity that felt almost heavy. “You don't say that often”, he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, gravely register that echoed in the small space. “The Barnes part, usually, it's Mr Barnes or just nothing at all” You busied yourself with your gear, unbuckling your harness with fingers that felt less steady than they had during the mission. The adrenaline was receding, leaving behind a strange annoyance. You looked up, meeting his eyes, and found that warmth had not faded; it had deepened into something more intense, more personal. “Don’t take it personally,” you countered. He stepped closer, his presence suddenly dominating the small cabin, and for a fleeting second, the mission felt like a lifetime ago. He reached out to steady a piece of loose equipment near your shoulder, his fingers brushing your tactical vest, “Then I suppose I'm guilty." Your eyes narrowed at him as you grabbed his wrist and shoved it away from your equipment, “Personal space, Mr Barnes,” you said clearly, getting annoyed.

“Yes, agent,” he said and moved back to sit down, still watching you with those eyes filled with hope. The same hope you always felt like to crush between your thighs, him right between your legs. “Get it together. What am I thinking?!” you think to yourself and look away from Bucky, refusing to mentally acknowledge whatever that was.

A while later, you were in your quarters, a mission successful, the debrief finished. But fuck, all you could think about was bucky. James fucking Barnes. God, that name irritated you badly, but fuck, you could not get it out of your mind. Why was he always just following you around, like a mutt? You scoff to yourself, a sound that almost sounds like a laugh. Something about the way he looks at you with hope and that lovesick smile makes something sinister stir in you. You just want to wipe it off and break that hope in his eyes. The thought of that sends shivers down to your core. You lie back on your mattress, the cool sheets doing nothing to soothe the heat blossoming under your skin. You rolled onto your side, propping your head up with one hand as a slow, wicked smirk pulled at your lips. The urge to test his limits, to see exactly how much control you held over his fragile mind, was entirely too tempting to resist it. It wouldn't hurt to toy with him a little; after all, he practically begged for it. You reach for your phone on the nightstand, typing out a brief message: My quarters. Now.

It took less than three minutes; a soft, hesitant knock brushed against your door. You didn't stand up. Instead, you draped yourself across the pillows in a posture of deliberate, relaxed authority.  “Come in”, you called out, keeping your voice low, almost bored. The door slid open, and Bucky stepped inside. He has already showered, dressed in a soft, faded grey henley that clings to his broad shoulders, his vibranium arm gleaming under the dim overhead lights of your room. The moment his eyes landed on you, that familiar, hopeful expression softened his features. It was a look of pure, unadulterated devotion- the lovesick smile of a man who believed he finally found a safe haven. It made your stomach twist with a dark, delicious thrill. You wanted to ruin it. “You called, doll?” Bucky murmured, stepping further into the room, though he kept a respectful distance. His metal fingers twitch slightly at his side. "Close the door, James," you commanded softly, using his first name, something you never do, just to watch the subtle shiver it sent through his frame. He obeyed instantly, the door clicking shut behind him. The room suddenly felt much smaller, thick with an unspoken tension. “Sit,” you said, gesturing to the floor right beside the edge of your bed. Bucky blinked, a flash of confusion crossing his eyes, but the hesitation was gone in a heartbeat. He sank to his knees, his large frame folding easily onto the cold floor. He looked up at you, his chin resting near your mattress, completely vulnerable. You reached out, your fingers slowly tangling into his dark, damp hair. Bucky let out a soft, shaky sigh, leaning his head into your palm like a dog craving a touch. “You did well on the mission today,” you murmured, your thumb outlining the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the rough scratch of his stubble. Your eyes glance at his lips deliberately, suggestively. He involuntarily leans closer. Your thumb traces his lips sensually, as you lean down closer, your breath hitting his face. His lips tremble at the slight contact; they part slightly as his breath hitches, his pupils dilating at the mere breath. Something swirled within you; your thumb slipped into his mouth involuntarily. A soft sound escapes Bucky's mouth, his tongue twirling against your thumb slightly before you pull away slowly, putting your thumb in your mouth, as you pull away and mutter “You taste sweet”. A pink tint covers Bucky's cheeks. “Y/N… he barely whispers” “Yes, Bucky?” you whisper, your voice sweet. As you look into his eyes. Bucky stays motionless, words jumbled, heart racing. He leans close, on the verge of kissing you, but you pull away in time and pat his cheek and say. “I want those mission reports on my desk before tomorrow; you're dismissed, Mr Barnes”. You say. The softness in your voice is replaced with the same monotone. You stand up and leave your room, going to the mess to grab dinner to end the night with, leaving a stunned Bucky. You don’t glance back.

Bucky returned to his quarters. He was hot and bothered, his tongue twisted, not knowing what even happened, but god you looked attractive, more attractive than you ever have been. It stirred Bucky more. He wanted to press his soft lips against yours, he wanted you to dominate him, He wouldn't even mind if you treated him like a puppy, at least he would be your puppy. His shirt felt tight, and so did his pants. The room felt smaller, and his breathing was deep and heavy. His eyes carried a certain lustful haze to them as his hands snaked down his body sinfully. 

The next few weeks, he's noticed how something has changed between you, if it was any more possible, you grew distant. It ached his heart; he missed you, even your glares and your cold remarks. That night was surreal. He still remembers it like it was yesterday. He noticed how you avoided eye contact. That wasn't something you did.You had always been the one to hold his gaze without wavering, forcing him to look away first. It had always been him, not you. Now, your eyes drifted past him as though he were another stranger in the hallway. He didn't understand. You didn't mutter sarcastic comments under your breath anymore. You didn't throw playful taunts his way. You didn't glare at him over morning coffee. You simply…stopped. And somehow, your silence hurt far more than any argument ever could. Bucky tried talking to you. A quiet "Morning." A hesitant "You okay?" Nothing. You walked past him as if he hadn't spoken at all. Every unanswered word chipped away at him until hurt curdled into frustration.

By the time lunch ended, he'd had enough. He caught up to you as you headed back toward your quarters. His hand closed around your wrist, firm but not painful, pulling you into an empty corridor tucked away from wandering eyes. The door closed shut behind you. You looked up."...Y/N."His voice cracked despite himself. "What is it with you ignoring me?" he asked, searching your face. "Why are you ignoring me? Just...talk to me. "Your expression remained unreadable. Mr Barnes," you replied coldly, tugging your wrist free, "I have work to do. Not fix your pathetic excuse for feelings." The words landed like a punch. Something inside him snapped ."Feelings aren't pathetic," he shot back, his voice echoing off the metal walls. "The fact that you won't let yourself feel anything is pathetic." Your eyes narrowed; he'd hit a nerve. A dangerous one. "So that's what you think?" you murmured. Bucky didn't back down. "I think you're pushing everyone away before they get the chance to leave first. "Your jaw clenched."I think you're terrified of caring." Another step closer. "I think you've convinced yourself that being alone is easier than admitting someone matters to you."Enough.""I think you're lying to yourself every time you pretend you don't-"Before he could finish, you grabbed the front of his shirt. In one swift movement, you spun him around, slamming him against the wall with enough force to rattle the metal panels. His breath caught. Your forearm pinned against his chest, your face inches from his. "You think you know me?" you hissed, every word dripping with restrained fury. "You think you've got me figured out because you can read a few expressions?" Bucky didn't struggle. He simply stared at you. Really stared. Your breathing was uneven. Your hands trembled despite how tightly they held him. Your eyes...They weren't angry. They were exhausted. Hurt. "You don't know what it's like," you whispered, your voice finally cracking. "To let someone in...only for them to become another thing you lose." The confession hung between you. Your grip loosened. "I'd rather people hate me," you admitted quietly, "than give them the chance to matter." Bucky's expression softened instantly. The anger drained from his face, replaced with something infinitely gentler."...Is that what this was?" he asked softly. "You were trying to push me away?" You looked down, unable to answer. A bitter laugh escaped you. "You should've just left me alone." “No." His response was immediate. Firm. He slowly lifted a hand, giving you every chance to pull away. Instead, his fingers gently rested against yours where they still clutched his shirt. "I'm not leaving because you decided to build another wall. "Your throat tightened." You make me so damn angry," you muttered. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I know.” "I hate how you always see through me." "I know." "I hate that I wanted you to chase me." "I know."

The words barely left your mouth before he closed the distance between you. Not out of impulse. Not out of desperation, slowly. Giving you every opportunity to stop him. Instead, your grip shifted from his shirt to the back of his neck. Your forehead rested against his for a fleeting second. Then you kissed him. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't graceful. It was months of fear, frustration, longing, and relief colliding all at once. When you finally pulled away, your forehead remained against his."...You are unbelievably irritating," you mumbled. Bucky chuckled softly.  

A/n: This was so fun to write :)) Requests are open so feel free to ask away!

[blowingbarnes]

Should've Kissed You Anyway

⤷ masterlist

➴ PAIRING: Brother's Best Friend!Bucky x Reader ➴ WC: 6k ➴ WARNINGS: friends to lovers, reader is 18, bucky is 20, college!bucky, romanogers, SMUT (p in v, protected sex for once, fingering, dry humping, car sex, virginity/virginity loss, BCB (big cock bucky), pussyjob if you squint really hard) yearning, j*hn w*lker is a dick, miscommunication, YEARNING, slow burn but not but super slow burn?, excessive use of eye rolls, he's down bad, tooth rotting fluff, open ending. ➴ SUMMARY: Your prom date ditches you, and Bucky, ever the gentlemen, offers to take you. He gives you the full senior prom experience even though he's your brother's best friend and your crush for the past decade. +fran: I wrote this with greasy hair, after work, before a shower. apparently I reach a flow state when I'm feral. this is my baby and I love this fic so much please for the love of all that is holy, tell me what you think. can be read alone, it will have sequels tho. ⤷ songs/playlist for this: there she goes - the la's, always everywhere - charli xcx, ruin the friendship - taylor swift, back to friends - sombr more

The Rogers' backyard was, for all intents and purposes, the hottest wedding venue in town. 

At least if anyone asked nine-year-old you and 11-year-old Bucky, as much was true. 

The cracked sidewalk leading to the clothesline was the aisle, peony and dandelion flower beds were the decorations. The old apple tree was the altar at which Steve stood taller on an upside down wooden crate, one of your father's old dress shirts over his shoulders to pretend he was a preist, or a pope, or some sort of higher entiry able to witness this whole thing. 

Bucky had one of your dad's suit jackets on, the navy fabric completely swallowing his frame, overlapping at the front and masking the Yankees jersey he had on, and all the dirt and grass stains on it. 

You had a pillowcase that definitely needed to be in the hamper for laundry day pinned to your hair with your favorite hair clips, of a little crystal blue butterfly. 

"Everybody be quiet," Steve announced, nose high up in the air like he was presenting a case to the Supreme Court. "This is serious business."

"It is serious business," you agreed immediately, failing to bite back a grin, missing your top right canine tooth.

One that Bucky held your hand the whole time so you'd let Steve run away with the string and pull it out. 

"We are gathered here today because Bucky and my sister wanted to play wedding instead of baseball."

"You said you'd play too!" you accused. 

Steve ignored and just kept going. "Now, Bucky Barnes." He cleared his throat, trying to make his voice lower. "Do you promise to be nice to her forever, always save her a seat to watch fireworks on my birthday, and never eat the last s'more?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, his dimple coming out as he smiled wth the side of his mouth. "Yeah," he said simply. "I promise."

You raised your brow, mock-scolding him. "You're supposed to say I do."

"Okay, yes," Your heart did an odd flip. "I do."

Steve then turned to you next. "And do you promise to be nice to Bucky forever, not tell Mrs. Barnes when he sneaks cookies before dinner, and always let him have the red Popsicle if there's only one left?"

"But they're the best ones!" You whined. 

Steve sighed, ever the dramatic, looking at Bucky with fake sorrow. "Okay, then I guess you don't love him as much as—"

That set panic in your little heart. "I do! I do!" His face changed immediately, and bucky smiled at you. 

The kind of smile that always made you feel like maybe the sun shined a little brighter on your side of the street than everybody else's.

Steve smiled, as if everything was back on track. "Now, for the rings."

Bucky dug into his pocket and produced two dandelions he'd twisted into little circles. Your eyes widened. "You made those?"

He nodded, brown hair bouncing up and down his head with the gesture. "Took me forever, but they're your favorites."

He held one carefully between his fingers before sliding it onto yours with all the concentration in the world.

"You made me a flower ring." Your grin stretched so wide your cheeks hurt.

Bucky shrugged. "Yeah."

Steve interrupted your thoughts, "Okay, okay. By the power in this vest… or in me, whatever they say in movies, you are now married." He pointed at Bucky. "No cooties." Then at you. "And don't make him play tea party every day."

Your stomach did that weird fluttery thing it always did around Bucky Barnes. It did the same thing when you rode rollercoasters, felt like it was gonna fly away and take you with it. 

"You may now high-five the bride." Steve announced, stepping down from the crate. 

Bucky extended his pinky towards you, "We'll be best friends forever."

"No take-backs." You smiled, wrapping your pinky around his.

TEN YEARS LATER

As time passed, you grew up. You got new interests, all of you got new friends, and the found family you had just seemed to get bigger. Of course, you weren't as close with Bucky anymore, no college sophomore wants to hang out constantly with his best friend's kid sister.

It's kind of uncool.

The house was loud in that familiar, comfortable way—the kind of loud that doesn’t feel chaotic so much as lived-in. Every sound has a place. Every voice belongs. Bucky, as much as he isn't family by blood, grew up running up and down these stairs the same you and Steve did, as Steve did in his house. 

Both of your moms were best friends since diapers, and it was only fate that Bucky and Steve were too. 

The kitchen doorway had his height and age and name scratched on it just the same as it did yours, he knew that house in the dark just as much as Steve, trying to sneak around to get snacks during late nights playing video games. 

Controller clicks. Steve muttering under his breath. Bucky’s low laugh every time he wins—because of course he’s winning.

“Dude, you’re cheating,” Steve groans, tossing his controller down for a second.

“I’m just better than you,” Bucky shoots back easily, stretched out on the couch like he owns the place, long legs kicked up, completely at home.

He always is.

Him and Steve drove back home from their Sophomore college parties for your graduation weekend, still half-running on energy drinks and bad decisions from the night before, which just happened to fall in the same one as your prom, only separated by three days. 

They could hear your speaker booming in your bathroom while you got ready with your two best friends, Yelena and Kate, and Natasha, Steve's girlfriend, helped you with your makeup. 

It was a mix of Megan Thee Stallion playing and giggles coming from the three of you, your two best friends gushing over their dates.

Makeup scattered across the counter. Curling iron plugged in and dangerously close to knocking something over. Dresses half-hanging, half-draped over the shower rod.

And Natasha’s laugh, warmer, older, threaded through all of it as she tried to keep things somewhat under control.

Kate is perched on the edge of the tub, kicking her heels against the porcelain. Yelena is leaning into the mirror, fixing her lip gloss with unnecessary intensity.

And you—

You’re standing between them, half-finished, dress still unzipped, hair clipped up, trying to decide if you feel as good as you’re supposed to.

“Okay, no—seriously,” Kate says, pointing at you like she’s making a case in court. “John is going to lose his mind.”

Yelena hums in agreement. “He already looks at you like he has no thoughts.”

You laugh, a little breathy. “That’s not even true.”

“It is completely true,” Kate insists.

“You’re just saying that.”

“We are not just saying that,” Yelena shoots back.

Natasha, standing behind you, gently brushes powder along your cheek, more focused than the rest of them—but she’s listening. And she notices there's a sparkle in your eye that's missing when John's the subject. 

He's nice, he's good looking, he's captain of your football team, maybe he has some anger issues with other guys, but all in all he's a solid boyfriend. He's just not—

“Alright,” Natasha says finally, pulling you from your thoughts, lightening her tone again. “Turn around. Let me see the full thing.”

You do as she asks, and she takes in her work of art, your hopeful eyes, and the soft blownout curls of your hair framing your face. 

"Perfect!"

Careful with your steps as she reaches for the zipper, pulling it up your back slowly, sealing you into the dress, into the night, into everything that’s supposed to happen.

A knock sounds on the bathroom door. "You girls alive in there?" Steve calls. "Or did the hairspray fumes get you?"

"We're decent!" Natasha calls back.

Steve pokes his head in for a second. "Oh."

You raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"

His expression shifts immediately into something resembling offense. "What happened to my little sister?"

"Oh my God." You snorted. 

Steve's broad frame now came into full view in the tiny bathroom as he stood on the dorway. "Who is this grown woman and where did she put the gremlin that used to steal my fries?"

You rolled you eyes. "I'll still steal your fries."

He shakes his head. "You look beautiful, Bug."

Your expression softens. "Thanks, Stevie."

As Pietro and Bob scrolled their phones impatiently at the bottom of the stairs, making small talk with Steve and Bucky, you were almost wearing a path into the carpeted floor of your bedroom.

Seconds after he was supposed to arrive with the other two, he texted you some shitty excuse as to why he was taking Olivia, his ex, to prom instead. 

“I was gonna explain,” John says finally, like that makes it better.

You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Explain what? That you’re ditching me the night of prom?”

“I’m not ditching you,” he says quickly, defensive already. “It’s just—Olivia asked me to go with her and it’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” you repeat, your grip tightening around your phone. “John, it’s prom. We’ve had this planned for weeks.”

“I know, I know,” he says, exhaling like you’re the one making this difficult. “But she’s going through stuff right now and I don’t wanna make things worse.”

Your chest tightens. “So you thought canceling on me last minute wouldn’t make things worse?”

“That’s not what I said.”

You huffed. “That’s exactly what you’re doing.”

He goes quiet again for a second, and you can practically hear him thinking—calculating—trying to figure out how to spin it in a way that makes him look less like the bad guy.

“Look,” he says finally, voice shifting into something more controlled, “you’re gonna have fun no matter what. You’ve got your friends, it’s not like you’ll be alone.”

The words hit harder than anything else he’s said.

Because they’re so easy for him. So dismissive.

“So that’s it?” you ask, quieter now, but it wavers anyway. “You just—drop me and go with her, and I’m supposed to be fine with that?”

“I’m not dropping you,” he insists again, frustration creeping in. “It’s one night.”

“It’s prom,” you snap, the word catching in your throat. “It’s not just some random thing, John.”

“Why are you making this such a big deal?” he shoots back.

That’s what does it.

Your eyes sting, tears blurring your vision as you shake your head even though he can’t see it. “I’m making it a big deal?” you echo. “You’re the one who decided, what, an hour before we’re supposed to leave, that I don’t matter as much as your ex?”

“It’s not like that,” he says, sharper now. “You’re twisting it.”

“I’m not twisting anything,” you say, your voice breaking despite your best effort to keep it steady. “You just told me exactly where I stand.”

He exhales, long and annoyed, like he’s already over the conversation. “You’re being dramatic. The words land like a slap. And for a second, you can’t even respond.

“Okay,” you say finally, and your voice is quieter now, but steadier in a way that feels final. “Okay. Go with her.”

“—See? That’s all I’m saying, it’s not that—”

“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head again, even though he still can’t see you. “I get it now.”

There’s a shift on his end, like he didn’t expect that. “Wait—”

“Have fun at prom, John.”

And before he can say anything else, you hang up.

The silence that follows is immediate and heavy, pressing in around you as you stare at your reflection, your chest rising and falling too fast, your phone still clutched in your hand.

For a second, you just stand there. And then your face crumples, and the tears come before you can stop them. 

Great. You think. An hour of Natasha's hard work gone in two seconds. 

You ripped a couple squares of toiled paper off of the roll, trying to dab away the tears when a knock interrupted you. You didn't even have time to tell whoever it was to leave you alone, the door opened anyway. 

And of course it was Bucky. 

"Hey, Walker finally—" Then he saw your face. The red rimmed eyes, the puffy nose and lips, he'd recognize your crying face if he was in a dark room blindfolded and you were three states away. "What happened?"

His voice wasn't panicked our loud, just immediate. 

"Apparently my boyfriend had a better offer." You said with a humorless laugh, fiddling with the corner of the tissue. 

His expression then changed to confusion, then disbelief, then anger. "He did what?"

Your eyes stayed on the paper, humiliated. "He took his ex to prom instead." It sounds ridiculous out loud. Embarrassing. "I know it's stupid—"

He shook his head. "It's not stupid."

You shrugged one shoulder anyway. "It kind of is."

"It kind of isn't." Bucky insisted. 

Your laugh broke apart into another shaky breath. "He said I was being dramatic." Your voice was small, like a small part of you almost believed John. 

"No the fuck he didn't." Bucky's voice, on the contrary, sounded like he was about to make sure John was in three zipcodes at the same time.

You wiped at your face furiously. "Can we not do the whole protective older brother routine thing right now? Steve's probably already planning a felony downstairs."

Bucky nodded, as if agreeing that yes, Steve should be planning felonies. "Good."

Despite yourself, a tiny laugh escapes you. "Bucky."

"I'm serious." He took the couple steps needed to lean back against the sink, back to the mirror, while you faced it. The familiar weight of him beside you settled something in your chest. "You know what I think?" he asks.

You sniffled. "What?"

"I think he's an idiot."

You snort. "Very eloquent."

"You spent weeks excited about tonight." You shrug. "You talked about your dress for months." A smaller shrug, your head shaking like you agreed with him three weeks was a little excessive. "And some guy decides at the last second that he doesn't feel like showing up?"

His eyes looked for yours, and he continued once you met his gaze. "That's his loss." 

Downstairs someone was shouting something about finding the car keys. "I just feel stupid."

His brows furrowed immediatelly. "Why?"

"Because I was excited." The words came out smaller than you meant them to. "I really thought tonight was gonna be special."

Bucky's expression softens. "It still can be."

You laughed weakly. "My date literally dumped me an hour before prom."

"Okay." He says, like the solutions is obvious. Like a dragon staring you in the face. 

You were confused. "Okay?"

"Okay." He stands up straight. "Counterpoint." You raise an eyebrow. "I've seen enough terrible teen movies to know where this goes." Despite yourself, curiosity wins.

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah." He nodded, and started counting on his fingers. "Option one: you go with your friends and have an incredible time."

"Mm." An amused smile played on your lips. 

He continued. "Option two: Steve commits a crime."

You smiled widened. "Likely."

"Or a secret, better option three—"

You quirked a brow. "There are three options?"

Bucky rolled his eyes playfully. "There are always three options." You gestured for him to continue and he grinned. "Option three: some devastatingly handsome college sophomore heroically steps in and saves prom."

You stared at him in disbelief. "Bucky Barnes."

"What?" 

"You are not asking me to prom."

"Why not?"

"Because that's ridiculous." You stammered. "You're a college guy and it's gonna be a bunch of drunk high school seniors and—"

"Seems pretty straightforward to me."

You crossed your arms over your chest, the action making your breasts stand out more, and Bucky had to hold back from looking briefly. "You drove eight hours home from college."

"Correct."

"You haven't slept." Another excuse.

"Also correct."

Truth is… You didn't trust yourself not to ruin your friendship, and Steve's, with Bucky as your date. Yes it was a childhood crush, yes it was stupid, yes he only saw you as a little sister, but for some reason every time you smelled sandalwood and listened to divorced dad rock, your stomach did the same fucking thing it always did.

It flipped. 

"I'm serious." The grin on his face faded into something gentler. "You shouldn't miss your prom because some idiot couldn't see what was standing right in front of him."

Your throat tightens. "I don't want a pity Bucky Barnes date."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Bucky shook his head. "I want to go to a high school prom sleep deprived, listen to bad music, and drink shitty punch."

You pretended to think about it. "I want milkshake and fries from Juniper's after."

Bucky got down on his knees dramatically, clutching his hands together, play-begging. "Please, let me spend my hard earned student loans on a malted brownie shake for you, m'lady."

You signed, as if you weren't blushing seven shades of red at the moment, all hidden by Natasha's foundation. "I suppose."

After Nat talked Steve down from whatever Law Abiding Citizen crap he was gonna pull, Bucky borrowed one of your dad's suits while you touched up your makeup, and off into his jeep you went. 

Bucky lingered back as he watched you walk to the old car excitedly, Natasha stopping right beside him as your friends walked to their cars, watching you get twirled by Kate. 

Bucky noticed Natasha staring at him and raised a brow in question. "What?"

She gave a noncommittal noise. "Nothing."

"Romanoff." Bucky scoffed.

She put her hands up in surrender. "I didn't say anything."

"You've got the face."

Now it was her turn to raise a brow, trying to bite back a grin. "What face?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "The face where you've figured something out before everyone else."

Nat shrugged her shoulders. "I always figure something out before everyone, Bucky." Tapping him on the shoulder and turning arounfd to go inside. 

The prom commitee worked very hard to make sure the night looked exactly like every movie promised it would.

String lights draped from the ceiling of the gymnasium like stars somebody had caught and hung overhead. Balloons clustered in the corners. A photo booth occupied one wall. The basketball hoops had been disguised beneath enough tulle and fairy lights to fool almost everyone.

Turns out, getting ditched by John Walker was the best thing that ever happened to your prom night. You didn't even notice when Olivia was cryingin the bathroom because she caught him making out with someone else. 

No. 

You were too busy slow dancing with Bucky Barnes.

When the first chorus of the song came on, he held out his hand. "May I have this dance?"

You rolled your eyes. "You're such a dork."

"Tick tock, Rogers." He wiggled his fingers impatiently.

You took his hand as if it didn't make your fingers go numb with excitement, and Bucky quickly nestled a hand on your low back, your forehead to the side of his jaw. 

"You know," Bucky said after a minute, "this is definitely better than my prom when I was your age."

"Okay, grandpa." You laughed softly. "What happened at your senior prom?"

"My date spent forty-five minutes crying in the bathroom because her friend wore the same shoes she did."

You clicked your tongue. "That's tragic."

"It was devastating." Bucky agreed, nodding his head, laughing softly. 

You nudged his jaw. "I'll try to hold it together."

"I appreciate that."

A moment passed, then another, and you spoke up. "Thank you for doing this for me."

"Anytime." He let out a soft breath, leaning back the slightest bit so he could look at you. "You do look beautiful, I mean it."

Thank fuck for Natasha's foundation, powder, and concealer for hiding your flush. "Thank you, Bucky." Oh how you wished you hadn't looked into his pretty eyes, reflecting the lights off of the mirrorball back onto the dancefloor. 

The ten seconds seemed to stretch an entire decade. Somehow Bucky's face getting closer and closer to yours, eyes switching from your lips back to your eyes and to your lips again. 

Oh my God, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, he's gonna—

"Hey." The word cut through the moment like broken glass. Fucking John Walker. King of never in the history of the world reading anything. Specialy the fucking room. "Can we talk?"

Bucky's hand tightened around your waist, "What do you want, John? Olivia is probably looking for you."

"C'mon, baby, you're not gonna throw our relationship away over one bad call, are you?" He was seriously trying to play this off. "I made a mistake." His hand reached for you but you stepped away. 

"I'm not your baby."

He scoffed. "Aw, c'mon." And tried again. 

This time, Bucky got between you two. "She's done, Walker. Walk away."

Now John got… Defensive. "This isn't any of your business."

Bucky clicked his tongue. "She kind of is." The words slipped out before he could stop them.

The air stood still for a minute before the football bros came to get John, leaving you and Bucky with the weight of unsaid words and unspoken looks. 

Juniper's was closed by the time you finally left prom.

Not closed enough to stop Bucky from leaning halfway out of the driver's side window and convincing one of the employees locking up to sell him two milkshakes and an order of fries out of pure pity.

It wasn't until you were stargazing in his jeep with soft music from his Spotify mixing with the crickets hiding in the grass that your heart settled again. 

You were in the passenger seat, your burger already eaten, just finishing your delicious fries and your milkshake with Bucky in the same predicament in the driver's seat. 

Now the two of you sat on the hood of his Jeep in the empty parking lot overlooking the river, the New York spring air cool enough that your bare shoulders prickled every time the wind picked up.

Without a word, Bucky shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders. You blushed. "Thanks."

He shrugged. "'M not using it."

"You literally had it on 30 seconds ago." You rolled your eyes. Bucky just muttered details between a mouthful of fries. 

"You know," you said eventually, "this wasn't exactly how I pictured prom going."

Bucky laughed quietly. "No?"

"I don't know. There was significantly less public humiliation in the original draft." You laughed softly. "But I like this version better."

Bucky nodded. "I had fun."

You looked over. "Yeah?" Hopeful little edge in your voice giving you away to anyone that knew you remotely well. 

"Yeah." His expression softened. "Got to dance with a pretty girl."

Heat climbed into your cheeks immediately. "You flirt with everybody." You rolled your eyes. 

Bucky made an offended expression, clutching his chest. "I absolutely do not."

"You absolutely do." You lolled you head to the side, raising a brow to make your point. He laughed.

God, you loved his laugh. Always had. The thought came and went so quickly you almost didn't notice it.

Your eyes drifted back toward the sky. "You know what this reminds me of?"

"Hm?" He lifted his eyes from the milkshake cup he was trying to get every last bit out of. 

"The meteor shower."

Bucky smiled immediately. "Oh man."

You grinned. "You remember?"

"Remember?" Bucky chuckled. "I had baseball tryouts the next day and I was up all night to make sure you didn't miss it."

It stopped you dead in your tracks. He did what? "No, you didn't. Your mom came and woke us up."

Bucky nodded. "Yeah, because I woke her up. I was outside waiting for it while you and Steve snoozed it off. Played like shit the next morning." He continued. "You had the date circled on the calendar."

Your brow furrowed. "I did?"

He nodded. "You drew stars around it."

"Oh my God."

Bucky chuckled, his own head lolling to the side on the head rest to look at you. "You made Steve and I promise we wouldn't stay up late the night before because we had to be rested."

You buried your face in your hands. "That sounds insufferable."

"It was kinda cute." He smiled at you like he always did, and your heart promptly forgot how to function. Bucky, meanwhile, was blissfully unaware of the devastation he'd just caused.

Trying so desperately to change the subject to something that wouldn't make you tear up or your heart jump, you fiddled with your milkshake, taking a sip and making a face. "You know, I think this thing is eighty percent whipped cream."

Bucky grinned. "I can see that, it's all over your face." His left thumb came up to wipe down the leftover shake on the corner of your mouth, and it lingered just a second too long. 

For a second, or three years, the world felt like it stilled. A moment frozen in a snow globe to be forever replayed. 

Neither of you moved, not entirely sure how to. Suddenly Bucky was very close, close enough to see the tiny scar in his eyebrow from falling off his bike when he was fourteen, to count the freckles dusting across his nose, enough that you could feel your heartbeat somewhere in your throat.

His eyes flicked down to your mouth, then back up, and your heart and lungs stumbled over themselves. 

His hand lowered slowly, resting on your thigh. The night around you seemed quieter somehow. Smaller, as if the entire world had narrowed down to the space between you.

"Buck..." His name came out softer than you intended.

His expression shifted into something you'd never seen directed at you before. "If you don't want—"

And then your body moved forward on instinct, your brain a mess of fuzzy TV static, and when you came back to your body, your lips were on his.

Not because you were brave or even confident, just mostly because if you let him finish that sentence you thought your heart might actually explode.

For one terrifying second you were convinced you'd made the biggest mistake of your life. Then you felt the warmth of his hand on your cheek, pulling you closer and deepening the kiss as his tongue slipped past your lips.

The kind of kiss that felt less like fireworks and more like coming home after a very long trip.

One of your hands quickly found the nape of his neck, gently scratching your manicured nails against his scalp. He whined against your lips, hand drifting to your waist, and just as much as he pulled you onto his lap, you climbed over the console to him, food wrappers forgotten on the floor. 

You shrugged the suit jacket off, accidentally honking the horn with your butt in the process, and Bucky's hands rubbed up and down your thighs as you rocked your hips against him, feeling the heat of him against the suit pants. 

Your hands dropped from his shoulders down to his arms, then forearms, directing him to paw at the zipper on the back of your dress.

That made him pull away, looking for your eyes. "Are you—"

You could not have nodded more feverishly if you were a damn bobblehead. Bucky needed no further incentive, he made quick work of the zipper, excitement bubbling in your stomach like freshly popped champagne while he peppered kisses along your jawline and neck. 

The now bothersome fabric of the dress fell to your waist as you worked on the buttons of his shirt, hands moving to his belt and pants after. He kissed you again, deeper as his hand snuck under the hem of your dress to find the wet spot on your panties. 

You moaned against his mouth, your own hand finding its way inside of his boxers. You broke the kiss, gasping for air. "Is this— I mean— okay?" It was hushed and murured against his lips as you stroked his length. "I've never— oh!"

You got rudely interrupted by Bucky's index and middle fingers rubbing your sensitive clit over the blue cotton of your panties. He nodded against you, "Y-yeah, you're— fuck— you're doing so good." His hips bucked up against you, and the second he slipped out of his pants with your movements his hand left your core and now were both squeezing your ass.

Bucky brought you flush against him, the angry red tip of him begging for friction found it when you started to dry hump him through your underwear, gasping into his mouth every time it nudged your clit.

"Bucky, please…" He couldn't not give you what you wanted, right? "I can't take it." Not when you begged this pretty.

He nodded against you, "I know, baby." And his right hand went under your dress, behind you, and pulled your panties to the side. "I know."

The second his bare cock made contact with your wet slit, he hissed, and a lightbulb went off in his head.

Condom.

He did not trust himself to pull out. Not of you. "Condom." His voice was almost distant to you, like it hadn't crossed your mind to use protection. Not with Bucky, anyway. He'd never hurt you, he was your—

"I—" You were dazed, lost and drunk in the scent and thought and feel of him. "My purse." His hands let you go and you leaned over the seat to grab your purse from the backseat, your ass right beside Bucky's head. 

Of course he took advantage of that fully pull your panties down, now that you had the leg space. 

You sat back down on top of him with a little huff, trembling hands fumbling with the wrapper.

Bucky hissed as you rolled it down on him, and one of his hands lined himself up with your entrance.

As you sank down on him, you thought maybe you should've thought twice about it. I mean, you knew he was packing, you walked in on him changing one time a couple years ago, there was no way you could—

"Hey," Bucky's voice brought you back from your spiral. "Look at me." Beautiful cerulean eyes stared up at you like the moonlight was made to bounce off them specifically. "Breathe."

His other hand brushed your hair away from your face, just as the hand that was holding his shaft traveled up, thumb finding your clit rubbing soothing circles on it. "Just take it slow." Your eyes fluttered closed. 

"How do you not get knocked over hauling this thing around?" That brought a chuckle out of him, landing straight onto the skin of your neck. "Oh, God..."

You rocked yourself back and forth, until he was fully inside of you, your lips touching the light hair at the base. 

Bucky kissed all over your face, his thumb never stopping its work. "You're doing so good, baby."

"Feels full." He laughed softly. squeezing your waist and helping guide you into a rhythm. "Feels good."

"Yeah?" Hushed and right by your ear, you felt like drowning and the happiest person alive at the same time. "You're so tight," He continued. "So warm."

You whined against his lips, the vibration going all the way down to his core.

He moved you up and down his cock, listening to the obscene wet squelch each time you sat up and sank back down on him, and each time it dawned on him what was actually happening, he got louder.

Bolder.

He bounced you on his length, hissing each time, you squeezed around him. "Feel good, Buck. Hah!"

It surprisingly didn't take long for Bucky to have you right at the edge, not as long as people online led you to believe losing your virginity would feel like. "Can feel you fluttering." His thumb worked faster.

"Wanna come, Bucky." You whined, kissing him, and pulling away with his bottom lip between your teeth, "Can I?"

He hissed, the question making it hard for him to not blow his load right then and there. "F'course you can, pretty girl, c'mon."

Your release felt like a million meteors hitting you at once. Like Earth came apart and got put together all in the same breath. 

It felt entirely different, better, than when you tried to do it on your own. And your orgasm triggered Bucky's, waves of pleasure milking rope after rope of cum from him into the unworthy latex of the condom. 

For what it felt like forever for the milionth time that night, neither of you spoke. Your breaths and the crickets were the only sounds. 

It was quiet after. 

Just… quiet.

The kind that only existed when two people had known each other so long that silence wasn't something to fill. Starts lit up the sky that was now your ceiling, and Bucky had taken the condom off and tied it, throwing it inside of the trash with the fry bag and the milkshake cups.

For once in his life, James Buchanan Barnes appeared to be completely out of words.

Which was concerning.

You smiled a little, back in the passenger seat with the suit jacket around your chilly shoulders. "What?"

He glanced over. "Hm?"

"You're thinking too loud." That got a laugh out of him. A quiet one, but still a laugh. "Sorry."

A beat of silence, then another. "I don't want this to ruin anything."

Your smile faltered slightly.

Of course, you thought. Of course he doesn't feel that way about you, why would he—

"Oh, Buck." You faked a smile as his eyes met yours. "We'll be okay."

A sheepish, hopeful look hit his face. "Yeah?"

"Of course." You nodded and reached over and laced your pinky with his. "We're us."

His expression softened when he looked down at your joined fingers. "We're us," he echoed.

You smiled. "We survived Steve's bowl cut phase." You listed off. "The great Thanksgiving mashed potato incident."

"Traumatic." He chuckled.

"The time I accidentally backed your Jeep into Mrs. Russo's mailbox." You continued. 

He scolded you playfully. "You still owe me for emotional damages."

You laughed softly. "We'll be best friends forever."

The words came so naturally, so easily. The same words you'd said years before ona hot day beneath a tree. A pinky promise.

Forever.

Beside you, Bucky went quiet. Of course she wouldn't want anything to do with you, you're her brother's best friend. That shit only works in mov— "Right." His eyes dropped for a moment. "Friends."

Your stomach twisted at the word for the first time in your life. Because why did that sound disappointing?

Why did it sound like something had slipped through your fingers without you realizing you were holding it?

a little bit of fran in your life: okay did we like it??????? it was meant to read like a first chapter but also a standalone in case you wanted to just be done with it. yippieeeeeeee

💌 permanent freaks taglist: @chateaubarnes @houseofhyde @heldbybarnes @iamthatonefangirl @superbassbuck @its-in-the-woods @wildflowersandvibranium @unificsation @flockoff-featherface @54nboo @earthsmightiestbenders @winterdecember18 @juniebjonesin @barnesonly @bckyslover @buckyfmd @starfire-irl @tw1sters @pinksplace @artficlly @daddysbitchybaby @globetrotter28 @epiphanyrogers @famoushoshi @avgdestitute @blobfishlol @buckysdecaflove @buckybsdoll @allthingswickedpodcast

fic taglist: @starspangledspanks @mwahforbucky @allofffmypeaches @ryk-mt @bees-library3 @chocolatemilkshakex @squishyfruitloop

[caeruleusbarnes]

college!bucky who… (TW! drug abuse, alcoholism, addiction)

college!bucky who has known you ever since you’ve been kids.

college!bucky who is well aware that the two of you don’t have much in common except the fact that you live on the same street.

college!bucky who lives alone with his alcoholic dad because his mom left them when he was seven.

college!bucky whose dad spends all his money on liquor.

college!bucky who has been dealing with drugs ever since he was in ninth grade because they couldn’t afford their house otherwise.

college!bucky who is actually desperate to move out but doesn’t have the budget for it and doesn’t like the thought of being away from you.

college!bucky hates your local community college but doesn’t have the money to study anywhere else.

college!bucky who only still goes there because you are in the same college as him.

college!bucky who, if it wasn’t for you, would be a full time dealer by now because then he wouldn’t have a reason to become a mechanic.

college!bucky who is convinced that you would hate him if you ever found out about his side hustle, so he desperately tries to hide it from you.

college!bucky who knows that he will never be worthy of you, but still tries to be a better man because he doesn’t want you to think badly of him.

college!bucky who relapses after being clean for three years after you tell him that you’ve gotten the transfer scholarship and are going to go to ucla after the end of the semester.

college!bucky who really tries to be happy for you because he knows how hard you’ve worked for this, but knows that he is about to lose the only thing that has made his life make sense.

college!bucky who only laughs when you beg him to apply for a scholarship as well so you can go to university together and tells you that you’ve always been the one with the brains in this friendship.

college!bucky who knows he isn’t stupid, but has stopped believing himself such a long time ago he doesn’t even know what it feels like anymore.

college!bucky who spends as much time as possible with you before you have to leave to study on the other side of the country because he knows that you are the last good thing he is ever going to have in his life.

college!bucky who knows that he is going to drop out of college the second you are on the plane to L.A, because what would be the point anymore?

college!bucky who can’t bear bringing you to the airport because this already hurts too much as it is.

college!bucky who never wanted to be like his dad, but consumes on a daily basis again because he can’t function properly otherwise now that you aren’t in town anymore.

college!bucky who thinks that the drug business is the only future he is ever going to get and doesn’t deserve anything else than that.

college!bucky who is unaware that his professor has applied him to a transfer scholarship as well because she sees his potential but knows that this town is slowly but surely dragging him under, especially now that you aren’t here anymore.

college!bucky who enters college the day after your flight, fully ready to tell his professor that he’s quitting only for her to tell him that he’s been accepted to ucla.

college!bucky who laughs at her face because he thinks she’s joking, only for her to tell him that she is being completely serious.

college!bucky who knows that this is his one in a lifetime chance to get out of this town, but isn’t sure if he is capable of leaving this version of himself behind.

A/N: This was inspired by a book I’ve just finished but I came up with half of the concept whilst writing this, I hope you liked it!

[fckmebarnes]

AND SPEAKING OF BUCKY, ANOTHER THING

You’ve lost track of how mant distant relatives have had crises because he can’t seem to let you get to work on time. But when he’s all soft and sleepy in the morning what are you supposed to do? Not to mention when he’s the opposite in the morning - like when you glance at him in the mirror while getting ready and it’s soooo obvious what his hand is doing under that sheet while he watches you.

the last line had me thinking long and hard (like his dick)

cause can you imagine doing your makeup or something and you can see him in the reflection of the big bathroom mirror and you see his hand moving with his eyes locked on you

“you okay?” you mouth softly in the mirror and he grunts softly, nodding

“can’t help myself…” he mumbles, and you hear it. even if it was soft. you knew what he meant — you would do anything to stay in bed and not leave , keep your hands and mouth on him all day but you had a job to do

“don’t get too tired to where we can’t fuck when i get home…” you turn around and you fix your hair one last time for a second and you exit the bathroom, eyes focused on his hand moving under the sheets

you look at the time seeing you can spare an extra ten and flip the sheet back for a second, replacing his hand with yours

“baby, you’re gonna be late — fuck…” he lets out a hiss as you start to pump him, bringing his hand to cup your chest and squeezes

he groans and it takes him less than five to make a mess all over your hand that you greedily clean up