Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: You've never been one to kiss and tell.
A.N. - This one is for all my The Prophecy Girlies... also known as the most self indulgent thing I've ever written.
AnonymityIsFun Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist
Never Been Kissed (Part 2)
"Come on," Sam coaxes. "Tell us or take a drink."
You swipe up the shot set before you, downing it without so much as a wince. You cross your arms, keeping your chin defiantly raised as you settle further into the couch, "I'm not telling you anything."
“Boo,” Sam playfully heckles, his drink sloshing in his hand. “Come on, it’s not that big a deal. Just tell us.”
“Absolutely not, I already took the damn drink.”
Sam quirks an eyebrow, refusing to back down, “Unless it was someone here?”
“Oh my God.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Sam, I did not hook up with anyone in this room.”
“Yes!” Sam teases. “That explains everything! That’s why you drank!”
“Or maybe I just don’t kiss and tell.”
“You’ve been drinking all night. And there’s only one reason you won’t tell us anything - because it’s someone in this very room!”
“Settle down, Sherlock,” Bucky cajoles.
You swipe the glass from Sam's loose grip, “You’re drunk, Sam.”
Sam boops your nose, swiping the glass back, “I’m not the one that’s been drinking for every question.”
“And yet, I'm still not nearly as drunk as you are," you shoot back, setting your drink on the table. You pat Bucky's shoulder, standing up from the couch, "And now, I’m going to bed. Goodnight, children.”
“Come on,” Sam drunkenly whines. “Don’t be a sore loser!”
“I have a debrief first thing, and I’m the only one of you assholes that won’t need to be carried to my room.”
Sam shouts after you, “Boo!”
Not a moment later, you feel a warm hand tap your shoulder, “Hey, wait up! I’ll walk you up.”
“Oh, sure.”
As you walk together, Bucky leans in conspiratorially, “So… now that it’s just us… Who was it?”
You groan, “Not you too.”
“Come on! It’s me! You can tell me!” Bucky cajoles.
“It’s none of your business.”
"I’m not asking for details. I just wanna know."
"You’re pushy when you’ve been drinking that Asgardian stuff, you know that?"
"Come on. It really can't be that bad. I probably don't even know the guy... unless I do?"
You hold his gaze for a moment, silently pleading with him to just drop it, "Bucky... enough."
"Was it Sam? Steve? Come on, I won't judge you if it was."
"Bucky, stop."
"Come on, just tell me!"
"No! Now drop it!" you snap.
Bucky freezes, his eyes widening, "I'm - I'm sorry, I didn't think it was that big of a deal."
You start to storm off, tossing a sharp retort over your shoulder, "Maybe not to you."
"Hey, hey, I'm sorry." He jogs after you, resting his warm, gentle hand on your forearm to stop you, "Really. You don't have to tell me. I was just being a dick. You’re right, it’s none of my business."
You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the guilt pooling in the pit of your stomach for yelling at Bucky. "I can't tell you."
His brows furrow, "What?"
This was it. This was when everyone found out your deep, dark, embarrassing secret. You take another deep breath, bracing yourself for Bucky’s laughter and ridicule, "I can't tell you... because it hasn't happened yet."
His worry and confusion only compounds. His neck cranes slightly, almost like he believes his super solider hearing failing him is more plausible than your complete and total inexperience, "What?"
You take another massive breath, your cheeks heating, "I've never - it never happened for me."
“Huh?”
“Please don’t make me say it again.”
"Wait, wait, but earlier - earlier Natasha asked you about your first time. You said - you said it happened later than people might think."
You couldn’t believe he really wasn’t getting it. It was something you had come to accept about yourself. There was just something fundamentally wrong with you. Something not quite right. Something unloveable - at least in the romantic sense.
Shame heats your face, and you have to clench your fists in some hopeless attempt to keep it together in front of Bucky.
You try to shrug as casually as you can, "It's not technically a lie. Most people don't think someone can make it this long without your first kiss happening."
“Wait, wait.” If he was struggling to understand before, this may have just broken him. “You haven’t had your first kiss?”
You swallow the knot in your throat, hoping the word doesn’t sound as strangled as it feels, “No.”
Your shoulders sharply rise with a forced intake of breath as you wait for it. You wait for the litany of platitudes. The halfhearted consolations and excuses.
While you’d never told anyone about this missed rite of passage, you had mistakenly confided in a select few. You never said too much. Never said that you hadn’t ever been kissed. You usually offered something offhanded about not really dating much.
They didn’t need to know just how deep your inexperience ran. It didn’t matter anyway. The response was always the same. Some surface level words of comfort or dismissal.
You could practically hear the words falling from Bucky’s lips.
'It'll happen when you least expect it.'
'You just have to stop looking.'
'Put yourself out there.'
'You should lower your standards.'
'You're not missing out on much.'
The words you know all too well never come.
He chews on his bottom lip, his own mental turmoil as clear as day on his face. He didn’t know what to say and that was clear. He opens his mouth and your brace yourself for impact.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
You freeze, a little shocked by his response. “Don’t be.”
“No, no, I was being a dick and pushing you to talk about something you’re not comfortable with. I should understand that better than anyone else here.”
“I just - I don’t really tell people. It’s embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?”
“Yeah, Bucky,” you scoff, a little too defensive. “It’s a little embarrassing. I’m a grown ass woman that’s never been kissed. I’m a grown woman that no one’s ever show the least bit of interest in.”
His hands stop mid air, “I’m sorry, what?”
“What?”
He quirks an incredulous brow, “No one’s shown interest?”
“No…”
His entire head twists with disbelief, “No one? Really?”
“I’ve never even been asked on a date before,” you confess.
“What?”
“Will you quit saying that?”
“Sorry, sorry! It’s just a little hard to believe.”
You can't help but roll your eyes, “Why is that hard to believe?”
“Because it’s you! Look at you! Someone must’ve shown interest at some point.”
You try to shrug it off again, desperately hoping that Bucky doesn’t see how much this actually does hurt, “No. It’s always just been me.”
“Not even like a schoolyard crush or something?”
“Well, I had crushes, sure. That doesn’t mean that anyone had them on me.” Bucky’s face remains frozen in that confused, disbelieving grimace for a beat too long after you’ve finished speaking that you feel desperate to paper over the emotional cracks. It’s fine. That’s what you’ve told yourself your entire life, and that’s exactly what you’ll tell him, “Listen, I’m fine with it now. I’ve come to terms with it. I’m content. Maybe romance just isn’t in-“
“Can I kiss you?”
Now, it was your turn to look confused and taken aback, “What?”
“Can I?” he offers again, his eyes flicker to your lips so quickly you can’t be sure you didn’t just imagine it. “Kiss you?”
You immediately begin to backtrack, taking a half step back to put some distance between the two that seems to shrink with every passing moment, “Bucky, you really don’t have to do that.”
“What if I want to?”
Your eyebrows pull together in disbelief. “Do you?”
“Yes.” His answer is so immediate and reflexive it’s hard not to believe him. “I want to. Please.”
His whispered ‘please’ is your undoing. You nod ever so slightly, your voice nothing but a choked whisper, “I won’t be good at it.”
“I don’t believe that.” At this point, he’s staring at your lips more than anything else. His flesh hand raises to your cheek, softly cupping it. “Just relax.”
Your breathing comes faster as his breath dances across your cheeks, “Bucky…”
“I want you to remember this.” You’re not sure he meant to say that out loud, but the words sent a pleasantly unfamiliar shudder down your spine.
And without another word, his lips gently brush yours. For a long moment, you just stand there, not moving an inch. Until your hand moves of its own accord to rest on his chest. It slowly trails up his shoulder and down to the nape of his neck. Your mouth hesitantly moves against his, slowly becoming more relaxed with each little breathy sound he pulls from you.
It feels like forever and a split second all at once. Especially when he slowly drags his lips away from yours. As he pulls away, he licks his lips like he’s savoring the taste of you while it still lingers on his lips.
He rest his head against yours for a long moment. His lips are puffy and glistening under the low light of the Compound hallway, “There. Now, you’ve been kissed.”
AnonymityIsFun Masterlist
Bucky Barnes Masterlist
Part 2
Summary - He loved you. He loved you the way that you were. A person willing to die for the fight. And now, your cold, cold heart was doing all it could to outrun his desertion of you.
Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader
Song Inspiration - Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus
A.N. - Now imagine my return from a long hiatus with a piece of the angstiest, angst I could muster...
His head whips over in your direction, "It's not what it looks like."
You scan the room, your raised gun still sweeping over the four tied up people that sit before Bucky.
"Oh, he's in trouble," Walker chortles, his arms still pinned behind his back.
Without breaking eye contact with you, Bucky barks, "Shut up, John."
"It's not what it looks like?" you repeat, an eyebrow quirked. "Because it looks like you're holding four people hostage."
"They're not hostages. They're witnesses."
"Witnesses?" you hiss. "Jesus, Bucky."
"How did you even find me?"
"I traced your phone."
It's his turn to quirk an eyebrow at you, challenging you, "I thought you didn't do that anymore."
You tuck the gun back in your holster, "Well, right back at you."
"Why are you here? To check up on me?"
"Aww... how cute," Yelena mockingly coos at him.
"I am here because-" You stop yourself, gesturing at your little audience, "Do you really want to do this in front of... whoever the hell they are?"
"We are the Thunderbolts," Alexei booms.
"Just ignore him," Bucky murmurs. You arch a brow at him, silently demanding answers. "Outside."
"Fine."
He turns back to the four sitting there, tied up in various restraints, "You stay."
"Like we have a choice," a muffled voice calls through the tin walls of the abandoned shack in the middle of nowhere.
"Again, what the hell, Bucky?" you demand.
For a long moment, he just takes you in. Your face was fuller, softer. Lips no longer bloodied from anxious chewing. He was sure your hands would be just as soft, probably even softer. Stance and posture more secure. You weren't scared anymore. Not running or fighting. He could see the light in your eyes again. Light and so much love that it killed him. "You don't understand."
"Clearly."
His hands rest on his hips. The leather of the jacket you'd hoped he'd never wear again crinkling beneath his tense arms. "They're witnesses."
"You tied them up."
"Involuntary witnesses," he corrects. "It was a tip I got. I knew they were up to something, I just didn't know what."
You shrug, toeing your boot in the gravel of the road beneath your feet, "I knew the Congress thing wouldn't last."
"That's not fair."
"There's a lot not fair about this." You turn on your heel. Nothing had changed. This confirmed that. "Bye, Bucky."
"You're really good at that, you know?"
Against all your better judgement, you look back at him, "What?"
"Pretending."
You shake your head at him, "You don't get to do that."
"What? Tell the truth?"
"Make it sound like it's my fault." It's a crack in your armor. After all, how could you pretend? For the better part of a decade, you played the lovesick fool. You loved him more than anything. And you knew down to the depth of your bones that he felt the same.
The fate's cruel joke was that love was never the problem. Even now, standing here, you knew he was the love of your life.
If only that were enough.
This wasn't your life anymore. You'd lost too much, fought too hard. You had nothing left.
And like you knew it always would, being a hero cost you the thing you held most dear. It costed you him.
No, you weren't the hero. Not anymore. And whether he could admit it or not, being the hero would always be Bucky's.
His voice softens, shaking his head, "I didn't say that."
"You implied it."
"We both know it's not."
You both knew it wasn't. It wasn't anyone's really. You just wanted, no, needed, different things. And you needed those things marginally more than you needed each other.
"No, it's not," you admit. "It's not anyone's fault. We're just - We're two very different people."
"We didn't used to be."
You suck in a breath, "I know."
All that time ago, when you crashed into each like all wrecks did, you were one in the same. Back when you were too impaired by your youth, too blinded by morning glory, you thought you could see yourself living this life with Bucky.
The realization happened so quickly. From one moment to the next.
One second, you were content, clutching tightly to the dream of living and dying by the sword with him. And then you pictured it. Somewhere in the future, distant or near, dying by a sword that never loved you. Dying by a sword that only knew how to take. A sword that would take any chance of living and growing old with Bucky away.
And that was it. That was the moment you knew. You were done being the hero.
And so you asked him. So selfishly. So suddenly. And the moment you did, was the moment it fell apart.
You could tell the second you asked.
He would continue to live and die by the sword. And you couldn't. And you wouldn't bear witness to him doing it.
So now you needed to outrun his desertion of you. It wasn't enough to float in his orbit. It was't enough to be near him and love him and not be able to have him.
You weren't even really sure why you did it now. It hurt watching him like this. Knowing one day it would cost him everything.
He looked so tired. So guarded. He looked like a hero.
"I've always wondered."
You eyes dart up to meet his. "Don't."
"Don't you? Don't you wonder?"
"Of course I do," you whisper. "Of course. How could I not? But we - we are two very different people."
It kills him to hear you say it a second time. Standing here, it was as clear as day. Love just wasn't enough this time. "We didn't use to be."
He sees it, the glassiness in your eyes. The tightness in your jaw as you speak, "I know... but today - that, in there - made it crystal clear."
He wants to reach out, to touch your familiar hand and hold it tight. "Does it?"
Your fingers twitch like they want him to. "Nothing's changed, Bucky."
He doesn't. Because you're right. You're always right. It changes nothing. And yet he lies to himself anyway, if a lie is what you need to hear than he'll do that, "How can you even say that? Everything has changed! Everything!"
"I am done. I'm out. You know that!"
"Then why are you here?"
"You know why!"
"And so do you! You know how much I need you! I've always needed you!"
"But you'll always need being a hero more." The sentence is so finite that it cuts Bucky deeper than he thinks anything else ever has. Not even your last goodbye felt like this. "And I can't, Bucky. Loving you means never leaving this life and I don't - I don't want that."
"So then what?"
"We part ways. Just like before."
He murmurs in a soft, caressing way that breaks your cold, cold heart, "I love you. Always have. Always will."
"I love you too," you whisper, resting a hand on his chest. It kills you just a little bit more. This time, it really is the end of the line. "Always have. Always will. And just so you know, I'll always wonder."
At least you'll have that. The wonderment of what could have been.
Pairing - Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader
A.N. - Alright, I've been asked to write about Bucky and Sunshine's first time many, many times. And the thing is, like sure, I could write that, but also I want us to take a moment to consider trying to build up to that. There's so many firsts buried in there that I think need to be navigated through before they even get there. This is one of those firsts. Like the first time you see Bucky's shoulder.
Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Grumpy Sunshine Series
"You're just- " You stop speaking, searching for his lips again. Though you're breathless, you can't bring yourself to pull away from him, "You're so pretty."
You shudder as you feel his hand slip under your sweater. The occasional graze of the cool metal on your skin enough to send shivers down your spine.
His lips trail down, nipping at your jaw, "I'm not pretty."
Your hands, winded in the hair at the nape of his neck, glide down his neck, to clutch the fabric of his henley. The moment he feels your fingers toy with the collar of his shirt, his heart hammers against his ribcage. Not in the sort of way that he usually feels in these moments with you. He feels a sense of dread, of panic. It wraps around his spine like a python. It feels like he can't breathe.
"You're so -"
He wrenches away from you, his chest heaving, "Stop, stop, stop."
You freeze, immediately dropping your hands. Panic starts creeping up your throat, coating your words. "Did I - did I do something wrong?"
He gulps, silently shaking his head. It takes him a moment to regain his composure, to regain the ability to speak clearly, "No, no, you're - you're perfect."
Guilt starts to eat at him. He can see you doing your very best to keep your own feelings off your face. He can see the sting of his rejection in the way your lips press together in a tight line. The embarrassment in the pallor of your once flushed cheeks.
You two have worked so hard to overcome your own personal issues and traumas, to build trust in each other, moments like these hadn't come easy. And he so callously pushed you away, it makes him feel worse. And what makes his heart ache even more, he sees nothing but concern for him shining in your eyes. You just look so worried for him.
Your hands rest in your lap. You twist and untwist your fingers. "If you don't want to, we don't - we don't have to do anything. I'm really sorry -"
"No, no, please don't be sorry." He reaches for you, gently squeezing your hand. It soothes him as much as it does you. "I want to. You don't know how much I want to."
"But?"
His eyes squeeze shut. He can't bring himself to meet your eyes. "You haven't seen it before - my arm, my shoulder."
"Oh."
He drops your hand. That feeling takes over him again. It feels like there's not enough air in the room. He slides away from you, closer to the edge of the tiny couch in your apartment. "It's - I am not pretty."
It breaks your heart, watching him pull away from you. You can only imagine how many people have turned away from him before. "James..."
He fervently shakes his head, refusing to open his eyes, "No, no, I know what you're gonna say, but it's bad. A lot worse than you're thinking."
"How do you know what I'm thinking?"
"It's bad," he insists. "I see it every day and I can barely - it's just bad, okay?"
You take his hand, squeezing it tightly. "It's okay if you don't want me to see it. I understand."
He finally opens his eyes again as his eyebrows pull together. He still doesn't meet your eye. "No, no, I want to - I trust you with this, I do. I just - I want you to be prepared."
In that moment, you realize that it's not really about preparing you. Not at all.
He thinks you're going to react badly. He thinks that this will make you turn away from him for the first time ever. He's worried that the love and adoration in your eyes will turn to disgust and repulsion.
It's less about preparing you for the scarred flesh, and more about warning you that he couldn't take a bad reaction. He's not sure he could take it if you turned away from him too.
"I love you," you promise him. "There's nothing that you could show me that would change that. I hope you know that."
There is no response to that. And you know that he won't believe it until he sees it. It takes him a moment. His hand toys with the hem of his shirt. His hand grips the hem, only to let it go.
"I love you," you remind him.
He takes a large gulp of air, pulling off his shirt with one quick movement.
You weren't really sure what you were expecting. You knew the story. You knew how Bucky lost his arm. He even confided the bits and pieces he remembered from getting his vibranium arm.
Your eyes trail over his skin. The shoulder is scarred, scars jut in every direction. Each scar is etched into his skin. It's clear it was a painful, violent experience for him. The metal plate protrudes from the scar tissue in a way that you're sure was painful when first placed. You look on with curiosity, you're not really sure how this, a sign of survival, a badge of resilience, could ever make anyone turn away from him.
He's as breathtaking as you could ever imagine.
Your eyes flicker up at him. He looks at the blank wall of your apartment, scared to watch your facial expressions as you take it in. "Can I?"
He nods, barely able to look you in the eyes. He sucks in a breath when your fingers make contact with the scar tissue surrounding the metal plate.
You immediately pull your fingers back, worried you've accidentally hurt him. "Does it hurt?"
"No," he answers reflexively.
You know he's lying. "I've seen you holding your shoulder before - holding it like it hurts."
"Sometimes," he amends. "The doctor said there's a lot of nerve damage. Things they can't fix."
"Does it hurt now?"
"No."
You run your hand over the plate, over his scars, down to his shoulder blade.
"Still think I'm pretty?" he sarcastically remarks.
You press a gentle kiss to his bare shoulder. "I'll always think you're pretty. Every part of you."
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: You've never been one to kiss and tell.
A.N. - Tell a friend to tell a friend.... She's back... With more self indulgent Bucky Barnes fluff, of course.
AnonymityIsFun Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist
Never Been Kissed (Part 1)
"You've been avoiding me."
You jolt upright, almost falling out of your office chair, "Jesus, Bucky..."
He reaches out steadying you with a touch that only flusters you even more. You look up, cursing yourself for being so caught up in your case file that you didn't hear his notoriously light footsteps.
He smirks, his head tilted at you, "I didn't hear you deny it."
You scramble back out of his grasp, sweeping all your papers back into their folder not even caring how crumpled they get in the process, "I'm not avoiding you, I'm just busy. That's all."
He quirks an eyebrow, "Busy?"
Just as you're about to make your great escape, he leans against the doorframe of the conference room with the most infuriatingly knowing smirk. He knows you too well.
You huff, already plotting your next great escape.
Maybe smashing a window or two wouldn't be the worst idea, but you're probably a few floors too high for that. Though, what's a few broken bones to end this conversation?
"Busy."
It was a lie. As bold faced as a lie could get.
You couldn't help it. You could barely be in the same room as the man, let alone look him in the eye. How the hell could you?
Not after he'd knowingly been your first kiss. Not after you told him that you'd gone twenty plus years without.
And certainly not after you'd parted that night. Not when you felt his lips on yours for days after. Not after you enacted almost every single rom-com cliche possible that night.
You couldn't look him in the eye after you'd traced your lips with your fingertips just to feel that spark of electricity. Not after you'd closed your door and practically melted against it.
It felt like you had him written all over you. Like his lips had left a permanent mark that only you and him could see.
So for the sake of your sanity, staying away from him was for the best. At least for now.
"Listen, I know I was probably a little rusty, but I'm not that bad of a kisser, am I?"
Your cheeks heat as your eyes whirl up to meet his for the first time in weeks. "What?"
"I mean, kissing can't have changed that much in the last couple decades, can it?"
"You haven't - I was - Since the 40's?" you stammer out, not quite finishing not one of your sentences.
He finally straightens up from his lean, and yet, still not giving you enough space to squeeze past him. "If you're asking me if you were my first kiss in more than 60 years than yes. Yes, you were."
Your stomach falls, "I'm sorry, Bucky."
He tucks a hand under your chin, "Hey, why are you sorry?"
You immediately begin to voice every single one of your runaway thoughts, "Because - I - You should've had someone who knew what they were doing - you should've had a good first -"
"What gave you the impression that I didn't like our kiss?"
"It was my first kiss, Bucky, I'm not an idiot, I know-"
"I'm going to kiss you again," he announces, cutting you off entirely. "Unless you say no, of course."
You know you must look stupid, unblinking and in slight disbelief, "Huh?"
He finally removes himself from the doorframe with one large step toward you, "I didn't hear a no."
"Bucky, you don't have to-"
He doesn't give you a chance to finish the thought. His flesh hand slides behind the nape of your neck, forcing your eyes to his once more. "I didn't hear a no, but I would like to hear a yes."
You shakily nod, "Yes."
He softly huffs out a laugh, the tip of his nose grazing yours. "Good."
And just like that you've had your second kiss.
And third.
And fourth.
And then you figure it's probably best to stop counting from here on out. Because he's kissing you. And he doesn't stop. Not until your lips are once again tingly and knees so weak that it feels like he's the only thing keeping you upright.
His hand moves down from the nape of your neck to the small of your back. It feels so much like that night all those weeks ago. "I messed up that night."
"Huh?"
He rests his forehead against yours, just like he did that night, "I used to know how to do this. Get a girl. Keep a girl. I should've made it clearer."
You rest your hand against his chest, "Bucky..."
"For the record, I want to keep kissing you. I want to take you out to dinner. Maybe a movie. I want you."
For possibly the first time in your life, it doesn't scare you. It's not confusing, not when he lays it all on the line like that. He said it, exactly what he wanted. And when you meet those steel blue eyes, you know he means every single word.
You nod, a smile tugging at both sides of your mouth, "I want that too."
"Good." He smiles down at you. "And all it took was cornering you."
You didn't think it was possible, but your face heats up even further, "Okay, maybe I was avoiding you a little bit."
"Oh, I know. I guess I'm just going to have to pencil myself into your 'busy' schedule."
"Guess you will."
"So how's Friday? Seven o'clock?"
"It's a date."
He pulls you in even closer, flush against him, "It's a date."
AnonymityIsFun Masterlist
Bucky Barnes Masterlist
Author's note: Dear reader, I missed you guys too much to not post this cute little follow up. I know it's short, but I hope it you guys enjoyed it!
Pairing: Greaser!Bucky Barnes x Uptown Girl!Reader
Summary: Everyone knows that all any Uptown Girl needs is a Greaser from Brooklyn to make her forget all about her uptown world.
A.N. - Here's a long awaited request from one of my dearest readers @oneofstarkskids, it definitely strayed a little from that initial request but i hope you enjoy! "just reread this and it's still so amazing 😭 do you take requests? if so, would you be inclined to writing a grease themed bucky au one shot?"
Picture this... he's from the wrong side of the tracks. He's everything every mother in your neighborhood warned you about. His hands perpetually stuffed in his pockets, a cigarette hanging from his lips, scuffed leather jacket snug around his broad shoulders.
You're none of those things, the complete opposite. Pearls strung around your neck. Perfectly done up, lips painted the perfect rouge. You're as educated as a woman could be in your day and age. You're an Uptown girl. Capital O - Old Money.
Your friends are enamored with Bucky Barnes and his friends - though you all know they'll never do anything about. Not as long as their parents had anything to say about it. And none of them are prepared to give up their high class life. It's just fun for them. A way to sow some wild oats before their parents introduce them to their future husbands.
Every chance they get, they pester you to take the long way home. To walk by that mechanic shop where Bucky and his friends hang out.
They never approach those Brooklyn boys. No, they never offer more than a coy smile and a languid, flirty twinkle of their manicured fingers. They just relish in the attention they get from walking past them.
You hate it. You hate their arrogance. You hate the smell of nicotine that hangs around him. You hate everything about them, down to those oddly charming Brooklyn accents.
"Hey," a blonde boy calls as you and your best friend walk past their mechanic shop one day. "Hey!"
"I told you this was a bad idea," you hiss at your friend, locking your arm with hers. "Now, look."
"I think they want to talk to us," she squeals under her breath.
He picks up his stride, doing a half jog until he reaches where your friend holds you hostage on the pavement. "We see you ladies passin' through every once in a while. Thought we could be friends or somethin'."
Your friend is immediately entranced with the blonde boy. Her face flushes as she beams at him, "We would love that!"
"We have enough friends," you simultaneously reply.
"She's kidding," your friend nervously chuckles, elbowing you in your ribs.
The blonde boy laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, "Well, I'm Steve. My friend there is Bucky."
As if on cue, Bucky saunters up beside Steve with an equally arrogant grin. He tips his head at each of you. "Hello, ladies."
Your friend nods at the two of them, an ear to ear grin taking up her entire face. "It's nice to meet you, Steve, Bucky."
The brunette's eyes flash over to you, speaking through that infuriating smirk, "Pleasure's ours."
"Would you ladies like to join us for a Coke?" Steve offers.
"We'd love to!" she immediately replies.
You shoot your friend an intense, incredulous glare. "I'm sorry, could you excuse us for a second?"
"Sure thing." Steve nods, ambling away from you and your friend to give you a moment of privacy.
Bucky doesn't move an inch. He stands before you with that same arrogant smirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, I'm good right here."
"Fine," you scoff, speaking as bluntly as you can. Despite your polite upbringing, you you find don't care about offending him in the slightest. "We are not staying here!"
"Come on," she pleads. "What's the harm?"
"Where's the good in staying?" you shoot back.
"They're just so handsome," she fawns, looking over her shoulder to give a coy wave to the blonde boy. "And there's one for the both of us, it's fate!"
"It's not fate. They're nothing but trouble."
Bucky snorts, rolling his eyes, "You remember that I'm still right here, right?"
You shoot a glare at Bucky. "I know."
He playfully clutches his chest. "You're hurtin' my feelings, Doll."
You can feel the anger raising your blood's temperature. You don't like how quickly he's gotten underneath your skin. "I'm not your Doll."
"Princess?" he suggests with an infuriating wag of his eyebrows.
There's an embarrassingly large part of you that wants to stamp your foot at him and yell at him to stop teasing you. You keep it together just enough to contain that visceral reaction you're having to Bucky Barnes. Mostly. "I'm not your anything!"
He crosses his arms over his chest. "What did I ever do to you, Princess?"
Your eyes narrow in accusation. "I know your type."
"Charming? Irresistibly handsome?"
"Horrendously arrogant," you seethe at him. You turn back to your friend, only to find her missing, "Now, can we please go-"
"Your friend ran off the second you were focused on me."
Your eyes flicker to behind Bucky to your friend, who sure enough is enthralled in a conversation with Steve. "I was not focused on you!"
"Then why didn't you notice your friend runnin' away from you?"
"You're incorrigible."
The corner of Bucky's lips twitch up. "Didn't they teach you in that finishing school that it's not polite to insult people who are tryin' to be your friend?"
"And how would you know that I went to finishing school?"
He quirks an eyebrow at you like the answer is obvious. His eyes rake over you. From the way you hold yourself. To the dresses that oozed quiet luxury. You and Bucky were as different as night and day. "I know an uptown girl when I see one."
"And I know trouble when I see it," you shoot back. "And you Brooklyn boys are nothing but trouble."
It only gets worse from there. After that first interaction, your friend in fully infatuated with Steve Rogers. There is no tearing her away from him.
And that means, as your friend's dutiful alibi, you were dragged down to Brooklyn far more than you ever wanted.
And worst of all, it meant you spent most of your free time in the presence of Bucky Barnes.
"Please, just be nice," your friend begs as you trudge up to their garage. "I'd settle for polite even."
You scoff at her, rolling your eyes, "I'm always polite - just like I'm always nice."
"Not to Bucky, you're not."
"I don't know what you're talking about," you grumble, walking into the garage. Your friend takes off, immediately falling into the arms of Steve Rogers. Leaving you with Bucky Barnes to sit with him on the the couch that's become your most constant companion on days like today. As you walk past Bucky, you snipe, "James."
Bucky quirks a brow, smirking at you, "Oh, so now I'm James?"
"That's your name, isn't it?"
He walks away from the bike he spends most of his time working on, snatching a rag from his tool bench and wiping his hands of motor grease. Your eyes involuntarily wander to his hands, the care he puts into wiping each and every one of his fingers.
You stare for a second too long for Bucky not to notice you staring at his hands. "Remind me to thank Steve for tellin' ya that."
You roll your eyes, finally snapping out of it. "It's far better than the alternative."
He flicks the rag over, resting it on his shoulder. "So you like my name?"
You softly snort as you settle onto the couch. "I didn't say that. I said it was better than the alternative."
That smirk only gets even bigger. "What else do ya like about me?"
You roll your eyes. "Not a thing."
He settles into the couch beside you. Far too close for your liking. You can almost feel the rough denim of his jeans through your skirt. "I just love these conversations of ours."
"I don't."
His entire torso turns towards you, mischief and amusement gleaming in those blue eyes, "I mean, why would I want warmth and affection when I could have blind hatred?"
"It's not blind hatred." In spite of easily Bucky gets under your skin, you can't deny just how unfairly handsome he is. Even now, you find yourself lost in the depths of his ocean blue eyes. "It's perfectly reasonable contempt."
He gently runs a finger down your cheek. "I love when you talk smart to me."
You swat his hand away from your face. "Don't patronize me."
"I'm not!" Bucky insists. "I really love it! I know it's just your way of flirting with me!"
You scoff, making no attempt to hide your offense, "I am not flirting with you!"
He tilts his head at you, that arrogant smirk once again tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Come on, just admit it, Doll. You're a little sweet on me."
"I am not your Doll!" You fly up out of your seat with an indignant huff. "And I most certainly am not sweet on you!"
"Don't think I haven't noticed the way you stare at me when I walk around here without a shirt. Or the way you were staring at my hands just now. What exactly were you picturin' my hands doin'?"
"I was not picturing anything." Your cheeks flame as you continue to bicker back and forth with him. Sure, he was possibly the most gorgeous man you'd ever laid eyes on. And yes, he could be incredibly charming. And sometimes, you found yourself staring at him in an not so innocent way. But you hated him. He infuriated you to no end. "And I was not staring!"
The grin is practically splitting his face. "And you've definitely thought about kissin' me."
"I would rather walk from here to Jersey than kiss you."
He slides up off the couch, taking a long step towards you. "You've got a hell of a temper, you know that?"
You refuse to back down. You press an accusing finger into his chest. You can't help but notice just how firm the muscles underneath that white t-shirt are. "I just think you're real good at pushing my buttons."
"Real good?" Bucky teases. "I think Brooklyn is startin' to rub off on you."
"You know what I think?" Your chest starts to heave with the anger and frustration you feel towards Bucky Barnes. "I think that you're the last person I would ever let rub off on me. I think that you're an arrogant smart ass that likes to spend his day running his mouth."
"And I think you're a repressed priss that couldn't take what she wanted 'less it's handed to her on a silver platter."
"You wouldn't know a damn thing about what I want."
"You wanna know what I think..." He leans closer, lowering himself to your eye level. "I think that you're pissed off because you know deep down those punk ass rich boys will never make ya happy, I think you're pissed off 'cause you're bored, and I think you're pissed off 'cause you want me - even if you'll never admit it."
You don't have a response to that. There's not a single word that comes to mind. You don't think you've ever been this mad before.
And because you can't think of a single word to assuage your heaving chest and boiling blood, you do something that a polite, good girl like you would never even dreaming of doing. Before you can think, you find your hand opening and winding back.
Before you can even make contact with his cheek, he catches your hand, gripping your wrist between his warm, calloused hand. He hauls you forward until you stumble into his chest.
For a moment, you can almost hear a pin drop. The tension is so thick the only air in the room Bucky's breath dancing across your lips. "I think I'm gonna kiss you."
A soft breath stutters from your lips. "And I think I'm gonna let you."
You weren't sure what it was, but after that first kiss, you couldn't get enough of your Brooklyn boy. Even after your friend and Steve had mostly fizzled out, you couldn't get enough of him.
You waited for the moment that they all talked about, the moment when you had your fill of the boy from the wrong side of tracks, when your wild oats were sufficiently sowed, but it never came.
Every time you laid eyes on him, the seal on your fate only solidified more and more. The more you saw him, the more you wanted him. And the more sure you were that you would never be able to let him go.
You weren't a stranger to the boredom and monotony of your upper echelon life, but this was different. This wasn't boredom, he wasn't a distraction. From the moment you met Bucky, you lost all interest in the upper echelon of it all.
Suddenly, you don't care what your friends think, what your parents would think. Suddenly, you were throughly repulsed by the thought of marrying one of those repressed, trust fund babies that littered your street.
And even your friends, the same ones that lived off their fleeting attention, didn't understand.
Your friend rolls her eyes again, a sigh of irritation leaving her lips as you ready to go meet Bucky, "Are you really going back up there?"
"You're the reason I met him in the first place!"
"I know. I know," she groans, clearly disappointed that you hadn't lost interest in Bucky like she had with Steve. "And I'm happy for you! I am! I just I want to make sure..."
Her tone finally gets your full attention. You put your bag down on the table, your eyebrow pulled together, "Make sure what?"
"You're just sowing wild oats, right?"
Your entire face puckers with distaste, "What?"
"That sounded bad," she backtracks, a guilty look painting her face. She takes a deep breath, resting a condescending hand on your shoulder. "You just - you know your future isn't with Bucky, right?"
You shake her hand off your shoulder. "What does that mean?"
"He's from a different world than we are. You know that."
"I can't believe what I'm hearing," you scoff. "I thought you, of all people, would understand."
"Come on, he's not exactly the sort of guy you can bring home to your parents."
You snort, turning away from her, "I have to go."
"You know I'm right!" she calls after you.
You didn't know that. In fact, the more time you spent with him, the more you saw why he was exactly the right person to bring home to your parents. He was everything you could ever bring yourself to hope for and more. Sure, he was different than you and your family, but he was a good man. He was perfect for you.
Surely, your parents could see that. Surely, they could see how good he was for you.
So that's exactly what you were going to do.
Bucky sighs against your lips, "I missed ya."
You don't know when that happened, but you've come to find a comfort in the scent of the faded leather of his jacket, in the feeling of his calloused fingertips trailing dangerously high on your upper thigh.
In the backseat of his beloved car, you curl closer into his side, resting your head on his chest, "Me too."
He kisses the top of your head, watching as you stare off into the distance, "What's goin' on in that pretty head of yours?"
You pull back slightly, lifting your head off his chest. With a furrowed brow, you ask him, "How serious are you about me?"
"Dead serious," he replies in an instant.
You lightly swat his chest. "Quit playing."
"'M not playin'," he swears. He does an 'x' over his heart, "Cross my heart."
His answer gives you all the reassurance you need. All there was to do was ask him. Still, there was a hesitancy. You worry that this will just make him realize that you two might just be insurmountably, irreconcilably different. You decide that the best way to ask is just ask. "Then what would you say about meeting my parents?"
"I'd love to," Bucky coolly answers.
You can't help the way your face lights up with hope. "Really?"
"Of course. Anything for my girl."
You really like the way that sounds. His girl. You could get used to being his girl.
The look on your face is worth it all to Bucky. He only hopes you don't see the anxiety in his expression.
He wasn't oblivious to how different your worlds were. He knew there was a good chance that this wouldn't last forever. It didn't really matter what he wanted or how much he was willing to fight for you, he knew the reality of it all.
He couldn't offer you half of what someone in your neighborhood could. Your worlds couldn't be more different.
And he's never been more aware of it than on the eve of meeting your parents.
Steve smirks at Bucky as he fiddles with his tie again. "You're really seein' this through, aren't you?"
Bucky smacks Steve upside his head. "Don't be a jerk."
"I'm just sayin'," Steve shrugs, settled into the couch of Bucky's family home. "I'm happy for ya, Buck. You really like this girl."
"I wouldn't be dressed like this for anyone else. Are you sure this is right?" Bucky tugs at his tie again. Maybe it was that the suit hadn't seen the light of day in a few years and was a little more snug than he remembered. Or maybe it was just that he'd only dressed like this for funerals and weddings, but everything about his getup today made him feel like a fraud. He was sure if your parents saw him like this, they'd see right through him. "I feel like I'm goin' to a school dance."
"Where does she live again?"
Bucky tries his best to hide his wince. He'd never been to your side of town, but he'd heard stories. Sure, most of them were made up, but there had to be some truth buried in the tall tales. "Upper West Side."
Steve pats his shoulder. "Stick with the tie, Buck."
He listens to Steve's advice and sticks with the tie. As he walks through your neighborhood, seeing houses bigger than entire apartment buildings on his block that line your street, he's pretty confident in trusting Steve up until the moment he sees you.
Your smile stutters as you see him waiting outside the gate of your home. It was just his luck that your house was one of the biggest on the block. Your eyes trail up and down Bucky's uncharacteristic attire. "What are you wearing?"
His heart sinks. He looks down, patting his blazer and tie. "Am I - Am I not this thing right? I knew it - I told Steve -"
"No, no," you quickly interject. "You look great! I've just never seen you... like this."
"What's wrong with this?" Bucky hedges.
Your soft smile up at him is the only thing soothing his knotted stomach. "Nothing, I - I just wanted them to meet you, to meet the Bucky that I know and - and I want them to know you. Not whoever this is."
"I - I didn't think they would like that Bucky very much," Bucky confesses.
It doesn't escape you that he's nervous, especially as he fiddles with this tie over and over again. You're well aware of how intimidating this all is. Even as someone who grew up in this social circle, in the thick of the upper echelon, you still found yourself scared of doing and saying the wrong thing.
You knew he was only trying to fit in as best as he could. Still, you missed the smell of his leather jacket, the waft of motor oil that often clung to his skin. "Well, I like you the way you are. Greaser and all."
"Thanks." It's comforting to him. Still, as his eyes rove over your house, he can't help but be glad he listened to both Steve and his mother. He holds out the bouquet of flowers in his hand. "My Ma told me to bring these for your Ma."
An endeared smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. He was really trying to win over your parents. He really was serious about this - about you. "My mother will love this."
"Your mother," Bucky corrects himself, doing his best to tame his Brooklyn twang.
"Just be yourself," you assure him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as you make your way up the long driveway. "No one else, just you."
"Any other tips?"
"If you run out of things to talk about ask my father about his cars. He collects them."
It takes everything in Bucky not to gape like a fish out of water. "He collects... cars?"
You ignore his question, continuing to fill Bucky in on your parents, "And my mother, well, she's a terrible gossip. If you can get her talking about her friends, you've won her over."
"Okay. Anything else?"
"Just relax. They'll love you."
As he walks into your home, greeted by a man wearing a nicer suit than he is who offered to take his coat from him, Bucky's not quite sure he believes you.
Your heels click against the sleek marble flooring as you guide him through your home. He holds on tight to your hand, half afraid that you'll let go and he'll get lost in the labyrinth of pristine beige hallways.
Your father is the first to greet Bucky in your living room. He extends a hand out to Bucky. "You must be the boy we've heard so much about."
"It's nice to meet you both," Bucky returns the firm handshake before turning to your mother with the warmest smile he can muster through his anxiety. "You have a lovely home, ma'am. I brought these for you."
She takes the bouquet from Bucky's hand. "Oh, that's very kind of you..."
"Oh, it's Bucky," he supplies.
"Bucky?" your mother dubiously repeats. "How unique..."
"It's James, actually," Bucky corrects himself, already feeling himself getting flustered. "James Buchanan Barnes. 's where Bucky comes from."
Your mother nods, offering a tight smile, "How lovely."
As your mother hands off the flowers to one of the wait staff, he can't help but already feel like he's already made that dreaded bad first impression.
As though you can see the despair forming in the pit of his stomach and dampening the glimmer in his blue eyes, you give his hand a squeeze along with a smile.
"Dinner is ready," your mother announces. "Why don't we make our way to the dining room?"
"That sounds wonderful," you beam, leading Bucky into the next room. You stutter to a stop just before the dining table. You look at the table as you take your seat, your eyebrows furrowed at something that Bucky hasn't quite caught on to. "Mother? I thought we agreed on a more simple menu tonight."
As you speak you reach under the table, giving Bucky's hand an apologetic squeeze. Just from your inflection, Bucky can tell what awaits him will not be pleasant.
"Nonsense." She dismissively waves you off. "We have a guest."
"We talked about this," you admonish. "You promised."
"Bucky?" your mother calls. "Do you mind having a more formal dinner? I know it might be a tad unusual for you."
"Mother," you sharply warn.
"Um, no, ma'am," Bucky awkwardly lilts. "That sounds lovely."
A self satisfied smirk settles on your mother's face. "See? It's fine."
"Why are there so many forks?" Bucky whispers under his breath.
"Just work your way in," you reply as quietly as you can.
"Do you change forks every bite or somethin'?" It's half an attempt at a joke, half an honest question.
"In between courses."
"Courses?"
Before you can answer Bucky's question, your mother is already beginning her interrogation. "So, James, tell us about yourself."
"There's not much to tell," Bucky replies. "I was born and raised down in Brooklyn."
Your father snorts, "Really?"
You're not quite sure if Bucky catches the sarcastic lilt to your father's question or if he really does just try to rise above it. It's hard to tell with how he rolls with the punches. "Yes, sir."
"Any siblings?" your mother asks.
"I'm the oldest of four, ma'am."
"Any plans for your life?" your father finally pipes in.
"Dad," you hiss.
Your father shrugs, "It's an honest question."
Once again, it rolls off of Bucky's back. "Well, I'm workin' at a garage right now. Me and my friend, Steve, we're hopin' to buy it out. We've just about saved enough between the two of us to buy it from the ol' man when he's ready to retire."
"A man with a plan. I like that."
"Thank you, sir." You're sure that you hear Bucky's sigh of relief as he finds his footing. You can practically see his signature smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Your daughter tells me that you have an impressive collection yourself."
You weren't entirely sure how he pulled it off, but by the end of the night, Bucky is talking to your parents like they're old friends.
You're not even sure why you're that surprised, you hated him up until the moment you succumbed to his charm.
As the evening comes to a close, he stands in the doorway, shaking your father's hand again, offering your mother that charming grin once more, "Thank you for dinner. Everything was delicious."
"You're welcome back anytime, James."
"Thank you." You're almost shocked at your mother's open invitation. He presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. "I'll see ya later."
The three of you stand in the foyer of your house as Bucky walks down the steps and down the driveway with his hands shoved in his pockets. You look up to your father, face filled with hope. "So?"
"He's a nice boy."
You're not sure your grin can get any bigger. "I really like him."
"You'll grow out of it."
Your heart sinks the moment the words leave your father's mouth. "What?"
"It can't come soon enough," your mother groans. "You're far too good for him."
"You don't know him."
"We know his type, dear," your mother condescendingly sighs. "And good girls like you don't belong with boys like that, but I do think it was sweet of you to invite your little infatuation to dinner."
You feel like all the air has been knocked out of you. For a moment tonight, you really thought they were coming around. You truly thought it would all work out for the best. "Infatuation?"
"That's what this is, right?" your father asks, concern painting his expression when he sees the furiously determined look in your face. "You're just... rebelling?"
You look up at your father, shaking your head. "No, no, I'm not just rebelling."
You fought with them the whole night before you went to find him the very next day. They threatened you with everything they could think of. When that didn't work, they bribed you with everything they could think of. You didn't care for any of it.
The moment you see him, you know he knows. You're not sure if he realized it the moment he walked out of your door or if it took him a quick recollection of the night to realize it, but he knows all the same. It looks like he hasn't slept a wink. A deep frown replaces his usual grin. He looks entirely and totally distraught.
He notices you the moment you walk up to his garage just like you did all those times before.
This time, it's obvious is different. There aren't barbed words or verbal jabs. You don't bound into his arms. Even Steve offers you a sad twitch of his lips.
Bucky watches you for a long moment before you break the silence. He reaches into his pocket, lighting a cigarette in between his fingers. "Hi."
"They hated me, right?" He doesn't waste words. Your lips press together in a tight line. He takes a large drag from his cigarette. You can't remember the last time you saw him smoking. He shakes his head, hissing under his breath, "Damn it..."
"Bucky?"
He takes another large pull from his cigarette. Even from feet away, you can smell the nicotine in the air. "Just do it. I understand."
"What?"
"That's why you're here, right? Just get it over with."
Your eyebrows furrow. "I don't understand."
"I'm not an idiot, alright?" he spits. "I know I didn't pass their little test, so just call it already."
"Is that really what you thought last night was?"
"What else would you call last night? 'Cause I think I was the butt of the joke from beginnin' to end."
"You were not the butt of the joke, Bucky."
"Oh, please, I fell face first into their punchline."
You suck in a shaky breath, both your own hurt and the cloud of smoke around Bucky burning at your throat, "Is that what you think of me? That I was tryin' to set you up?"
"Yes! No- No! I just - I - Don't you see it?"
"See what?" you demand.
"That I'm not good enough for you!" he desperately exclaims, tossing his cigarette on the pavement. "And everyone else already knows it! Last night proved that!"
"My parents are assholes, Bucky. I came here to apologize for them, to tell you that I don't care what they think."
His voice quiets, the anger melts off his words until all that's left is a heartbreaking sincerity, "You should. You deserve so much more than what I can give you."
"They don't know you, but I do." You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. "And I think you've got everything I want. I'm yours, Bucky. All yours."
"Do you mean that?"
"Every word."
"What did I do to deserve you? My perfect girl." He kisses the back of the hand he hods, using it to tug you closer to him. He quirks a brow at you when you pull away from him. "What?"
You wrinkle your nose at him. "I hate the smell of smoke."
"I'll quit," he immediately replies.
"You'll quit smoking? Just like that?"
"That surprise you?"
"It's just - Maybe you Brooklyn boys aren't as tough as you think you are," you tease.
He smirks. "Maybe we're not. Maybe I'm not - but I think it's because I'm in love with an Uptown girl."
Bucky Barnes Masterlist
AnonymityIsFun Masterlist
As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛
Pairing: Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader
Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Grumpy Sunshine Series
You knew something was off with Bucky the moment he came home. He kept rubbing his left shoulder, a deep grimace on his face.
You asked him what was wrong and he brushed it off saying it was just a tough mission. You didn't want to push him, so you let it go. You curled into his side on the couch, reading a book as he played with your hair.
And then he winced. Once. Twice. You've just about had it when he winces again. For the third time.
You snap your book shut. "Alright, that's it!"
"What?"
"Take off your shirt," you order.
Bucky quirks an eyebrow, a smirk slightly tugging at the corner of his mouth, "Really?"
"What? No!" You playfully swat his chest. "You're obviously in pain!"
“Aw…” Bucky dismissively waves his hand at you. "It's not that bad."
"It's been bugging you since you got back."
"I just overdid it a little. I'm fine." Even as the words leave his mouth, you can tell he's fighting back another wince.
"It's hard to see you like this."
"It's fine."
"It's not fine!" you insist. "I know you don't like other people seeing your arm, and I know you've said no to trying physical therapy, so if you're not going to go ask for help then just let me try to help you. Please?"
He deeply sighs, but considering that even the small rise and fall of his shoulders is sending pain radiating all through his shoulder, he's pretty sure he does need your help. "Fine..."
Your fingers trail over the metal plate holding his arm in place. As you flip the release trigger, he grits his teeth, a huff of relief leaving his lips as the vibranium arm detaches from the joint.
"Baby..." Your voice wavers slightly. It makes you want to cry for him. "It's really swollen. This had to have been bothering you."
"I'm used to it," he grumbles.
Your heart clenches for him. That was the problem. He was used to it. Far too used to pain. Far too used to dealing with it on his own. "I'm gonna go grab you some ice."
You return with an ice pack in hand moments later. He hisses as the coolness presses against his scarred flesh.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," he nods. "Thank you."
"All I did was grab an ice pack."
He grabs your unoccupied hand, kissing your palm, "No, thank you for caring. Sometimes, I forget that I'm not alone anymore."
"You'll never be alone. Not as long as I'm here." You press a gentle, feather light kiss to his shoulder, "From now on, promise you'll tell me when your arm's bothering you?"
He hums as your hand gently kneads his shoulder blade, soothing away the radiating ache and pain, "I promise."
Pairing - Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader
Summary - It was perfect. Lovelorn and nobody knows. Love thorns all over this rose. You almost forgot just how hard the fall back to reality is. But if they call you a slut, it might be worth it for once.
Steve Rogers Masterlist | Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist
"She goes through guys like a train-"
You immediately change the channel. The next one isn't better. You don't know why you thought it would be.
"The Stark last name and the long list of ex-lovers, that's her claim to fame. I mean, let's be honest here, she's a slu-" The tabloid reporter is abruptly cut off as the screen before you goes dark.
You look up to find Steve with the remote in his hand. He glares at the screen like the reporter was still talking, "You shouldn't be watching that."
"I'm used to it."
"You shouldn't be. It's despicable. They were - the things they're calling you-"
"A slut," you finish for him.
His eyes dart to you, that furrow between his eyebrows getting deeper and deeper with every word spoken, "It's not true. This isn't journalism, it's slander."
You weren't sure how this happened. Sure, it was only a matter of time before they found you out. This wasn't the first time. Not the second or the third either. If the press was to be believed, you were love sick. Love struck with a new man every week.
It wasn't the first time someone called you a slut. It certainly wouldn't be the last.
You stopped living your life in fear of what people would say a long time ago. Being this young was an art. And up until now, you thought you mastered it.
It was simple. You even had your rules. You followed them and no one got hurt - or at the very least, it minimized the damage.
They were going to stare at you. Strangers. Press. The flashing cameras. It came with being a Stark. If they're going to look, you gave them something to look at. You didn't so much as step out on the street with a single hair out of place. You were flawless. Always.
You were nineteen, and on the heels of a breakup with your second ever boyfriend, the first time someone spit that word at you - "slut!" It hurt, but it didn't hurt as much as you thought it would. It almost made you laugh. You realized that they didn't really care about your love life or about the trail of broken hearts you were supposedly leaving behind. They wanted a spectacle. They wanted a show. If you're going to be drunk, might as well be drunk in love.
It was easier after that. You knew the truth. The people around you knew the truth. You let everyone else believe what they wanted. You did what you wanted. You lived your life without worrying about being called a slut. They were going to call you one anyway. And if they call you a slut, you might as well make it worth it.
You gave just enough to keep them satisfied. Never anything too real. Never too much. Just enough that they wouldn't dare peak behind closed doors. Just enough to be able to live your life.
There were was a cost, of course. No one took you seriously. You dealt with the vague humiliation of the rumors constantly swirling about your hips and thighs and whispered sighs.
And though you inherited the Stark genius, no one cared about what you thought, what you had to say.
In that, the reporter was right, your love life was far more interesting than your thoughts on quantum mechanics or the military industrial complex. That was what you were known for.
For the most part, you were okay with it. You were willing to pay it all.
That was until you fell in love with Steve Rogers. Suddenly, you weren't willing to give them crumbs. You weren't willing to expose a love that felt this delicate.
You sit on the couch, huddled in your sweatpants, pensively staring at the blank screen.
This time, it was different. This wasn't a show, not a spectacle. It was real, an exposed nerve that the world decided was fair game. You were fair game and it was open season.
Steve settles beside you, draping an arm around your midsection. He kisses your temple, "Tony thinks it's probably best that you lay low for a while."
"Yes, well, my brother is the expert on PR damage control."
It wasn't the same though. You both knew it. Tony had done far worse with far more women. Yet, he would never pay the price you were paying in this very moment.
Steve's arms tighten around you like he's shielding you from the storm, "It's not right. It's not fair that you're being forced to sequester yourself. You're being punished but what exactly was your crime?"
"I fell in love with Steve Rogers, that was my crime." You fell for the man everyone wanted, the man who was in the wrong place at the right time.
"I'm sorry," he whispers against the crown of your head.
"For what?"
"You warned me this would happen."
It was true. You told him exactly what would happen, but even you didn't anticipate exactly how bad things would get.
You'd been with Steve for just under a year. And up until a week ago, only a select few knew. You both agreed to keep it a secret from the public. You felt protective over the love you shared, it was more real than anything else you'd ever had. You wanted to keep it to yourself, out of the hands of people that would tear you both to shreds without a second thought.
Steve felt the same. Though he was more worried about the enemies he made over the years.
It made sense to protect the relationship, to protect yourselves until you were both ready. You wanted to protect him from what you knew was lurking around the corner. Steve was still so new to the 21st century. Dating in the public eye wasn't easy. Dating a Stark wasn't easy. For almost an entire year, you used every publicity trick in the book - and it worked.
But then, you heard it, the whispers, rumors bubbled about your newest future ex-lover.
You only agreed to going public because everyone told you it was time, because they promised that the timing couldn't have worked out better than this. It was better to do this on your own terms than have it leaked.
No one knew how bad it would get.
"Are you sure? There's no going back after this," you whisper, standing in the hallway of your apartment. You could practically hear the cameras flashing outside your apartment. You'd never been this nervous to leave your apartment before. You'd been through the plan a million times. You'd be exposed to the cameras for a matter of seconds. Happy was already waiting with the door to your SUV open, ready for you to jump in. You'd walk outside holding Steve's hand - a sort of silent announcement to the world. "It won't be easy."
"I don't care," Steve promises, kissing the palm of your hand. "I'm tired of hiding. I'm proud to call you mine."
You tenderly stroke his cheek, "And if it blows up in your pretty face?"
He smiles down at you, "You're worth it."
"We'll pay the price, I guess." But deep down, you know. You'll pay the price, he won't.
The cameras had never been that loud before. Even though your announcement went off without a hitch, even though your publicist couldn't have been more pleased, not even they could have predicted how bad things would get.
It seemed like the whole world was calling you that four letter word.
At first, it was mostly online. People were mean, you knew that. You were prepared for nasty comments. Steve's most staunch supporters thought he could do better. People rejoiced in the spectacle your love life turned into. You were a laughing stock all over again. All that you were prepared for. Then some rabid fans leaked your phone number.
You decided that it would be a good time to disconnect anyway.
But it didn't end there. Not even close.
The day after you were expected to make an appearance for a charity you founded. It was just a quick 2 minute speech. And though the event had been throughly vetted, you'd never forget the way your blood ran cold when mid-sentence someone screamed that four letter word over and over again until security dragged them out. You continued until your speech was done, but there was no hiding the way your hands trembled.
From what you heard, the video was still making its rounds online.
You were expected to make an appearance two days after that. An event honoring your father. An event you poured your blood, sweat, and tears into to make sure it was impeccable, an event worthy of honoring your father. The same event you were practically uninvited from.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it's just me. I come in peace," Tony jokes.
"I'm glad," you sigh. "I was worried I was going to have to get another number."
Tony sighs into the phone, "How are you holding up?"
"I've been better."
"I'm afraid I don't come bearing good news."
"What now, Tony?"
"That event you had Friday night, the one for dad?"
You pinch the bridge of your nose. You already knew were this was going. "What about it?"
"They want me to take over for you."
You bitterly scoff, "This week just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"
"You say the word and I'll tell them to fuck off."
"No, don't do that. It's for dad."
"You planned this whole thing single-handedly. You deserve to be the one up there." You don't say a word. He's right, you both know it. It doesn't change the situation you've been put in. "You are still going, right? Come on, you have to go."
"They broke into my house, Tony."
"What? Are you okay?"
"Happy just told me," you explain, sparing Tony the most gory details. "The one in L.A. Apparently, it is now covered in spray paint. You wanna guess what they wrote?"
"Where was your security?" Tony demands.
"Here. Trying to keep people off my sidewalk."
"I'm so sorry."
"I just - I don't think it's a good idea. At least until I get more security."
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm glad you've got Steve there. At least I know he'll keep you safe."
You almost smile. Tony was never his biggest fan, but you mostly credit that to him being an overprotective big brother. And the situation you'd found yourself in did nothing to win Tony's over good graces, "It's not his fault, Tony."
"It kinda is, but I digress. Listen, we'll figure this out, alright? I'll go streak in front of the Tower if that'll take some heat off of you."
And though you effectively doubled your security in the last two days, nothing would change anyone's mind about you. You were the villain tainting their hero.
You broke down after that call, violently sobbing against Steve's shoulder. He just pulled you in even tighter.
It reminds you of why you're doing all this. So you can be together, out in the open. That in a world of boys, he's a gentleman.
You squeeze his hand, "You're worth it."
"I'm not worth having your reputation torn to shreds."
And maybe they're right about you. Maybe you do get love struck. Maybe his eyes are like the world's strongest liquor, and it went straight to your head. Maybe you do get love sick. Sure, your life has momentarily fallen apart. It's magic, madness, heaven, and sin, all rolled into one. But if they're going to call you a slut, it might be worth it for once. "But what if all I need is you?"
Steve Rogers Masterlist
AnonymityIsFun Masterlist
Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist
As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: Of all the things your heart used to know, things it yearns to remember, Bucky Barnes is at the top of that list.
A.N. - I feel like you guys just haven't been made aware, but one thing about me, I love a good musical.
Bucky softly swallows the air that seems to get more sparse as he thinks, truly thinks, about his latest conclusion. "I just - I think it's time."
His hands fold together, he hunches over, barely able to tear his eyes off the ground.
"I can't tell you what to do here, Buck."
"I know."
"Do what you think is best."
"Best?" He bitterly chuckles. "There is no best. I just - I'm hurtin' the both of us by holding on. And I don't want to hurt her anymore."
"You don't have to explain yourself to me."
"I feel so guilty every time I look at her." Bucky lightly gasps for air. "And God, I - Sometimes, I think that maybe that's the reason I'm the only one she doesn't remember."
Steve grips Bucky's shoulder, "Buck... it wasn't your fault."
"How do I let her go?" Bucky brokenly whispers. "How do I mourn the love of my life when I know she's right there, she's alive?"
Steve finds himself at a loss for words. There was no answer. Nothing he could say. It was a truly impossible situation. "I'm so sorry."
He shakes his head, clearing his throat, "I should go talk to her."
"I think she was in your - in her room."
Bucky winces at the correction. It wasn't their room anymore. Now, it was your room. He'd given you the space to try to regain that void in your memory.
And yet, it's all so painfully familiar. It's muscle memory. Walking to your room. Knocking on your door. The only difference is now, it doesn't feel like coming home, it feels more like the procession to his own funeral.
"James..." Your tone is flat, unsure as you open the door. He hates the guilt glistening in your eyes. He sees it every time you look at him. He hates that he's the one that made you feel that way.
When it first happened, when he first realized that he was nothing but a blurry figure dancing through your memory, he tried telling you.
He tried filling every detail of your epic love story in your mind. He tried forcing himself back into your memories. Nothing brought back the look of love and adoration in your eyes.
He offers a heavy smile, "Hi. Can I come in?"
You nod, stepping away from the door to allow him into his former home. The place looks the same, with the notable exception of the traces of him.
You settle on the couch. He sits on the small loveseat, perpendicular to you. "How are you?"
He licks his lips, offering a small shrug, "I start therapy in a few days again."
"Oh."
"What about you?"
Your voice is far more curt than you intend, "I didn't remember anything if that's what you're asking."
His heart stammers, "No. That's not what I meant."
"Sorry, I didn't sleep very well. Not that it's an excuse."
"Nightmares?"
"Just the same one." You're not sure how much detail he cares to hear, but the way he waits for you to continue is almost a comfort. Your eyes squeeze shut as the memory plays on a loop. "I - I don't remember the mission. Just bits and pieces. I was alone. On the rooftop. And then I see the HYDRA agent's face. When they push me. That's where the nightmare starts... I fall. It's dark. I can hear someone screaming my name. And it's over."
"You weren't alone on the roof."
"What?"
"I was on the roof with you. We were scoping out the area. They came out of nowhere."
Your eyes widen. It clicks. The sound of the voice screaming after you. It almost perfectly matches the timbre of his voice. Only now, his voice sounded strained, tried. "You were screaming my name."
Bucky nods, "I jumped after you. I didn't make it in time. I found you laying in your own blood."
"I'm sorry, James."
He hates the sound of his name so formal leaving your mouth. He can't help himself as he speaks, "You never used to call me that."
"Oh?"
A sad smile tugs at the corner of Bucky's mouth, "You only called me James when you were upset. Or when I was annoying you."
A light chuckle leaves your lips, "What did I call you when you weren't annoying me?"
"Bucky. Buck." He shrugs. He swallows the knot forming in his throat, his voice wavering, "A lot of pet names. I pretended to hate it, but I didn't."
You look up to see tears shining in his eyes. His voice breaks as he continues on, "You called me Sarge when you were joking or being flirty."
You reach forward, squeezing his hand. A tight knot forms in your throat, "I'm sorry I can't be the girl you remember."
He looks down at the warmth of your hand resting on his. He's acutely aware that this is the first time you've initiated contact with him since you forgot him.
He swallows back his tears, "You didn't take off your ring."
"It didn't feel right to." You start sliding the ring off, "I should probably give it back."
He immediately stops you, "Keep the ring."
"Steve said it was your mother's. I couldn't."
He shakes his head, his heart clenching with pain, "I won't need it."
You rest your hand on your chest. Your heart yearns to remember him, to remember his place in your life. It was right there. Like a word on the tip of your tongue. You could feel the memory of him glowing in the recesses of your memory, glowing as dim as an ember.
You were so close, and yet, it wasn't enough. "I want to remember. I so badly do."
He stroke a stray hair out of your face. Sitting this close to you, he takes a long moment to memorize every detail. The slope of your nose. Your eyes. Your lips. He knows he'll never be this close to you again.
He had to stop hurting you. He had to stop hurting himself.
"I know."
You rest your forehead against him. It feels both so foreign and so familiar all at once.
"Can I - Can I kiss you?" he asks. "Just one last time."
You nod, your heart shattering at the sound of the hurt in his wavering voice.
His flesh hand rests against your cheek. Your breath shudders, dancing across his lips. His nose brushes against yours. Once. Twice. You find yourself leaning forward, closing the distance. His lips brush against yours hesitantly at first. You can't help but notice the way they mold against yours perfectly.
The song that vaguely echoed in the back of your mind gets louder and louder, echoing with thoughts of him. The memory of him rattles against your skull, begging you to remember.
Your hand moves from its place on the cushion to his shoulder. Slowly, it creeps down to rest just above his racing heart. You hum against his lips, pulling yourself away from him.
You look up at him, your eyes shining up at him like they once used to. "Bucky?"
