breaking the first rule of fight club
winterspider; fighter!bucky x softfem!peter
so I read a fic a while ago where Bucky was a fighter/boxer and I can’t remember for the life of me who wrote it.
The little breaks in italics are text convos between the two.
Even though he grew up in Queens, Peter’s never been much of a fighter. He’s never even liked fights. Whenever a fight would break out in his high school, he would look the other way in fear, much to the amusement of Flash.
So he doesn’t really know how he ended up here.
Here being some totally illegal underground fighting ring, perched prettily on the bleachers next to his best friend MJ.
Earlier, MJ had pleaded Peter to come with her to watch her new girlfriend fight. (She must be pretty smitten with the girl if she wants to go all the way to Brooklyn to watch her beat another girl up in a sports bra.) Peter thought MJ knew him well enough, but that seems unlikely because Peter would never willingly sit in on a fight.
But because he’s the number one friend in the entire world, he agreed. Chances are that MJ and this girl (he can’t even remember her name, but it was something stupid, like Cilantro) will be done by the end of the week.
So, he decided to suck it up and watch this girl fight, squished between MJ and some burly guy who smells like Beef Jerky.
“Isn’t this so cool, Pete?” MJ whispers in his ear, barely heard over the shouts of the crowd.
“Yeah. So cool.” He says, studying his manicured nails in boredom.
“You’re no fun.” MJ huffs, turning her attention back to the fight.
Turns out MJ’s girlfriend wins, albeit with a split lip and bloody nose.
MJ tells him she’s going to congratulate the girl, Peter wiggles his eyebrows, and she punches him in the shoulder.
Peter definitely doesn’t feel safe without MJ. He can barely open heavy doors, let alone fight off anyone who feels like picking a fight. But, this thought is promptly taken off his mind when he sees who’s fighting next.
The next fighter is the most handsome man Peter’s ever seen before.
His hair is a chocolate color that’s pulled up into a bun, loose strands framing his sharp features. His dusty blue-gray eyes sparkle with adrenaline, thick eyebrows furrowed above them. He’s got a scruffy beard and Peter maybe wondering how it would feel on his thighs. And don’t even get him started on his body. Let’s just say Peter may be drooling over his six pack for the next couple of days, and the way his dog tags fall over his chest.
One of the craziest things, though, is the metal arm that takes place of a real, fleshy left arm.
“He’s one of the best, by the way. Never loses a fight.” The man next to him says, showing the money he’s betting on the guy.
“Really?” Peter responds, preferring to look at the fighter than talk about him.
“Yeah. Seems like your new, so always put your money on Bucky.”
The name suits him, rugged and unique like him.
“By the way, the name’s Kenny.”
“Peter. Nice to meet you.”
Bucky adjusts his mouthguard, slipping on his black boxing gloves as the person who seems to be his coach massages his shoulders.
Peter could care less about the other fighter, as Bucky is obviously the star of the show.
The crowd grows about 10 times louder for Bucky.
The referee sets the two up, shouting the rules over the crowd.
“No biting, no kicking, and no shots below the belt. Got it?”
Both men nod, bumping their gloves together.
Peter’s never been this entertained by a fight before.
Honestly, when a hot guy is throwing the punches, fights become a lot more interesting.
It still makes him a little woozy seeing blood spewing out of someone’s nose, but whatever.
The ref holds up Bucky’s arm after 2 rounds, the other guy knocked out cold and being dragged off the mat by his coach.
“Where do I have to go to talk to him?” Peter asks Benny.
He lets out a loud laugh.
“Bucky doesn’t talk to fans, kid.”
Peter pouts and crosses his arms. Kenny sighs.
“You can find him at the bar.”
Peter flashes his smile that should be award winning and hops down the bleachers. He pushes through the crowd, finding his way to the makeshift bar that probably carries 10 different diseases on it’s countertop.
He spots Bucky leaning against the bar talking with his coach, so Peter makes the great decision to stand behind the coach and order his drink.
“Could I get a water?” He asks the bartender, the burly, dark skinned man nodding and turning away.
Peter makes sure to lean against the counter, sticking out his ass just so.
This seems to do the job somewhat.
“Didn’t expect someone like you to be here.”
Peter cocks his head so he’s looking at the coach. Up close, he’s definitely handsome. He’d even go as far to say pretty. His facial features are sharp, yet soft in a young way. He has clean cut blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He’s ripped under the navy button up he has on, which is weird attire for the ring.
“You sayin’ something?” Peter quips, nodding his thanks to the bartender who sits his water in front of him.
The coach raises his hands in mock defense.
Peter giggles and bites his lip.
“Steve. Rogers.” The man, Steve, holds out his hand and Peter gives it a weak shake.
Bucky smiles at him, pressed against the bar and leaning on his good arm.
“H-Hey.” Peter attempts to say smoothly, pushing a stray piece of hair back.
“I’m going to watch the next fight. You two get along.” Steve tries to joke, turning to push through the crowd.
“Saw you out there. I’ve got to admit, I never thought I’d find a fight so hot.” Peter flirts, adjusting the bottom of his baby pink crop top.
Peter’s brow furrows in confusion.
Bucky smirks and stands up.
“You’re from Queens. I can tell.”
“And what does that have to do with anything, Brooklyn?”
“It just so happens I have a thing for guys from Queens.”
Peter ends up bent over the table in Bucky’s warm up room after the last fight.
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