Title: (Series) Bucky Barnes As... Your Trainee
Pairing: Bucky x Reader (personal trainer)
Rating: ❗Explicit❗ 18+; minors DNI please
Tags: smut, oral sex, insecurities/body image issues, face-sitting/riding (you can choose to make him the WS or believe his lies whateva!)
Summary: Bucky seeks out a personal trainer, unhappy with his body. You push him to his limits and get rewarded as per above gif. I mean seriously, THIS GIF. I'm dead. Happy 3K followers, @boxofbonesfic. One day, I'll stop writing for your summer challenge, but today is not that day.
[PROFESSOR]
You help lots of different people at the gym as a trainer - people who want to lose weight, people who want to gain muscle, people who need regular exercise to help their joints, and so on. Everyone had their own something, and you could relate, having gone through a long phase where you were unhappy with your body. After lots of motivation and hard work, you realized you wanted to help people love themselves, so you became a personal trainer, and kept your rates low and your schedule flexible.
When one Bucky Barnes asks for a personal trainer, you were not expecting him to look like that. After introducing yourselves, you did your best to stay to your script; the first thing to do is to find out their goals and work from there, after all.
“So, what can I help you with? Tell me about your overall health and changes in your body, and any particular goals you have in mind.” You’re not expecting his reply, which was so earnest, it killed you a little bit.
“My weight’s fluctuated a lot, I, uh, I used to fight but it wasn’t really my choice, so after I… retired, I wanted to leave it all behind. Dropped a bunch of weight. Thought if I looked different, I’d feel different.”
“Did you?” You ask, even though his face said it all. He shook his head with a downcast look.
“No. Yes. I - I just felt… weak. I kind of missed my strength but then I felt guilty about wanting to be that person again. The person that hurt people, the person that people are scared of. They - people still look at me like that. They don’t think I’m any different than I used to be. And I just - I don’t know.” You nodded, encouraging him to express how he felt.
“Often times, it’s not so much about what our body looks like, it’s more how we feel about ourselves. Working through the complicated feelings you have associated with your body will be a top priority for us,” you tell him. “Now let’s get you to a healthy point where you’re happy.”
It takes a week before he opens up about his prosthetic. You’d noticed it, of course, but never said anything, and you were rewarded with him telling you on his own. It takes a lot more coaxing for Bucky to start telling you about the struggles he’s had, the guilt he carries for even having those thoughts. He tells you he knows that he’s lucky and there are people who have it worse.
“Okay, okay, hold up,” you stop him mid-rep. “Bucky, you keep comparing yourself to others, did you notice that?” His breathing is slightly elevated, but he doesn’t say anything and waits for you to continue. “Everyone has hardships, yes, but that doesn’t diminish yours. You’ve been through a lot, I can tell. So focus on that - on you.”
The concept seems strange to him, so you keep him talking.
“Tell me one thing you liked about yourself during your fighting career,” you ask. It makes him stutter and nearly drop the bar on his chest.
“Nothing,” he answers a little sharply. You got that answer a lot, unfortunately. People always seem to be self-loathing when they come to ask for your help - that’s exactly why you chose to do this job.
“No, that can’t be true. Even if it was 99% bad, there has to be something that you can say you liked about yourself. Anything at all.” He lifts the weights, resting the bar, even though you didn’t tell him to stop.
“There’s nothing,” he repeats. “It wasn’t 99%, it was 100%. I didn’t do a lick of good. And even now… I’m not sure there’s anything.” He leaves abruptly, and you don’t chase him. You know that he felt cornered, and you don’t blame him for wanting to escape. It was unfortunately part of your job. Besides, he was physically fit as it was, you could tell that much from the parts of him you could see, so the workout was more for the routine and distraction at this point.
He misses two sessions before he comes back, to your relief.
“Bucky, it’s good to see you again,” you smile warmly at him. He swallows thickly, like he doesn’t know what to say, so you wave him on through to the private section of the gym as usual.
“Listen, I’m really sorry about cornering you last time,” you start. “I totally understand that you may not want to talk about it. It’s my job to encourage you, push you a little, but not to push you away, so you just let me know when it gets to be entering that territory where you’re not comfortable, okay? I want this to be a safe and comfortable place for you.”
“Why are you so nice to me?” You notice that his brows are furrowed slightly, his eyes calculating and taking all of you in, as if you were any threat to him. But, you calmly tell him your story, the body image issues, the depression, how much better you felt after talking about it. You tell that even to this day, you still get flashes of that horrendous feeling, and he looks confused by it all.
“But you look…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, and looks away, reigning in the endless compliments swimming around in his brain.
“Remember when I said it’s more about how you feel rather than what you look like? Besides, when you walked in here, I didn’t think there was anything I could do for you, you were already in peak condition.”
“Peak condition, huh?” He chuckles, and just like that, the tension is gone. If flattering him was the way to handle it, no problem.
“Now, let’s get down to business, handsome,” you gesture to the weights.
Things are steady after that, he doesn’t miss a single session, and by the end of a month, he talks to you more easily now. You still haven’t quite breached all his insecurities, but it’s a start. The more worrying part was that you’d grown to really like talking to him, and got to see more of that dry humour once he stopped the self-deprecating jokes. Worst of all, you couldn’t stop staring at him - and not in the way your job required. From the moment you saw him, you’d noticed how attractive he was, but since working with him, it just became more and more obvious. His hair grew out a bit, which made him look younger, and after the conversation about his prosthetic, he’d started wearing short sleeves or going sleeveless.
Today, he’d worn a grey t-shirt that let you see every tremor of his arms as he pushed himself.
“Almost there!” You exclaim as you watch his arms threaten to give out. You’re standing close by, of course, though the weights he was lifting were beyond your limits. You’d been steadily increasing the weight, the count, here and there, to push him as far as he wanted you to. He’s lying on the floor with his weights resting beside him, sweat lining his forehead.
“Bucky, I’m so proud of you! What a wild ride we’ve been on, but look how far you’ve come!” You gush, a swelling feeling of joy in your chest as he actually smiles. His eyes get a glassy look, but you don’t read too much into it.
He still has ten more to do, after a quick break, but he looks eager, happy. He was finally accepting his body as it was, finally seeing the sculpted figure as something to be proud of instead of feeling shame and anger.
“Okay, last ten, are you ready?” You clap, taking your place by his head to spot him. He nods and readjusts his grip on the dumbbells. You count him down, voice full of enthusiasm as you watch with rapt attention. He’s flushed and sweaty, and you don’t think you’d seen a more beautiful sight. His shirt had ridden up and you could see just the slightest bit of his sharp pelvic bones before they disappeared into his shorts. And you bite your lip because you’re very aware of the outline of his dick and try your best not to stare. You feel your body getting excited just looking at it. His last push has him scrunching his face in concentration, and upon victory, he sticks his tongue out and you feel a wave of lust overcome you, thinking about what that tongue could do.
You’re brought back when Bucky drops the dumbbells down and you realize that your counting had faltered while your mind drifted and filled with inappropriate thoughts.
“Distracted, sugar?” He asks, his voice deeper than it normally is and you take a step back jerkily.
“Uh - sorry, no, I -” There’s no excuse, really. You don’t know what to say, and from the smirk on his face, you know that he caught you staring.
“I don’t mind,” he shrugs from his place on the floor, looking up at you with mischievous eyes. Now he wasn’t the only one that looked flushed. You lick your lips subconsciously. His eyes trial down your body -
“Fuck,” he breathes as he zeroes in on the damp patch of your thin leggings.
“Bucky, I -” You’re not what you could possibly say except for apologizing profusely for your unprofessionalism. “I’m sorry, please - don’t - I”
He reaches for your ankle, his grip firm with his thumb stroking you gently.
“I won’t say nothin’,” he promises in a husky voice, tugging you closer. “If you let me have a taste.”
Your brain melts at his implications and you let yourself be manhandled until your legs are untangled from your clothing, revealing your damp panties to him as he makes you sit on his chest. You rise and fall with his breaths as his eyes are fixed on the wet spot against the lace. He hauls you forward, and you worry that you’re crushing him beneath you but he lets out a happy moan against the cloth, sending vibrations right through you. The little strength you had left in holding yourself up is gone and he licks up the lace.
“You like this, baby? You want more?” He teases, his arm wrapping around the back of your leg so he can work his fingers against your clit too. The lace feels rough against your sensitive nub as you keen above him.
“Yes, oh my god, Bucky,” you encourage, desperate for him to strip away the last piece of fabric separating you. He makes sure you’re seated on his face, propped up by nothing but his strength as you lean back, propped up on your elbows with your forearms bracing against Bucky’s abs. Your head looks to the mirror along the wall and it looks like something out of a dream, with Bucky totally surrendering underneath you, your thighs blocking the lewd things he was doing to you.
He hooks one finger around the front of your thong and pulls it to one side and you watch his eyes zero in on you, bare and open for him. You can feel every breath he takes, from the flex of his body underneath you to the hot breath fanning against your skin.
“Please,” you beg, unable to stand his stillness. “Bucky, please, you’re so good to me, don’t stop now.” He savours every bit of you, the stubble of his beard scratching the inside of your thighs and rubbing against your folds. You were in absolute heaven, until he pulls away, letting his head rest on the floor. You’re whimpering above him, you orgasm dancing just out of your reach.
Before you could even ask him what he was doing, he grabbed your asscheeks in each hand and planted you right on his face, the momentum pitching you forward and causing you to brace your hands on the ground above Bucky’s head.
“Ride me, doll,” he rasps. “I wanna feel you use me, and then I wanna taste every bit of you.” Holy fuck if that wasn’t the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to you. With a roll of your hips, you hiss in pure pleasure. Bucky makes sure you don’t hold back, with his arms hooked around the back of your thighs and latched on your hips. He forces your body back onto his tongue every time you move. Your thrusts become more frantic, spurred on by your own faltering breath and Bucky’s delicious groans. His tongue dives into your pussy, curling deep, and you try to back away from the onslaught but Bucky holds you in place.
“So - hng - close, Bu - Bucky,” you pant.
“That’s it, doll. Say my fuckin’ name. Scream it.”
It’s too much - it’s too -
“Bucky!” You cry out, as your orgasm slams into you like a brick wall. Your arms give out, and you collapse onto your forearms, head braced against the back of your hands. His tongue flickers still inside you, and he seals his lips against you, sucking as you still try to wriggle away. “Ah, fuck, fuck,” you practically sob, so sensitive that every move he makes has you shaking against him.
“You taste like heaven, doll,” he murmurs against you, causing your thighs to clench again. You definitely don’t have the strength to stand, so you meekly roll off of him and catch your breath, as if you had been the one to work out today. When you blink your eyes open, Bucky's laying on his side, head propped up on one arm. He licks his lips obscenely, not even getting half of the glistening juices off his face. You groan at the sight and force yourself to look away - he already made you come undone, you can’t possibly handle more.
“Wild ride, huh?” He asks cheekily, looking far too pleased with himself.
“Oh, I’ll show you a wild ride,” you retort, not that you could be taken very seriously with your thong soaked through and your leggings in a bunch on the floor.
Summary: Bucky Barnes was a menace. NYU’s top baseball player, he was used to girls falling at his feet and could smooth talk his way out of just about anything. You hated him. He couldn’t figure out why. So when the novelty of weekend parties and quick hookups finally wore off—and his feelings for you began to grow—he made it his mission to fix it.
Word count: 3.6k
Warnings: Mentions of alcohol/drinking, Mild language
a/n: Here is part one!! :)
Series Materlist // Main Maserlist
The cool wind of Autumn brushed past your face as you swung open the library doors. It had only been a month since the start of the semester, but the librarian greeted you with a warm smile and a familiar wave. Being on the pre-med track would do that to a person.
You made your way to the reserved study rooms, fixing the strap of your bag as it dug into your shoulder. It almost seemed silly to have reserved a room at this time—the library was desolate this late on a Friday—but Nat had been very adamant about you being out of the dorm for the evening, and you weren’t about to take any chances with your chem exam coming up.
You mouthed the numbers of the small rooms as you passed them, some filled with groups of students, others completely barren. When you reached room nine, you paused and double checked the reservation sheet, pushing open the door as you read.
When you glanced up, the flimsy plastic clipboard went crashing to the floor, disrupting the careful silence of the library. “What the hell?”
There, in all his glory and occupying your reserved study room, was James Buchanan Barnes. He was wrapped around some girl you had never seen before, pressing her up against the wall with his baseball uniform bunching up at the sides. He tore away from her at the sound of your voice, a sly smile forming at your incredulous expression.
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