college!bucky x fem!reader (camp slasher au) 18+ (NSFW)
the water hit you like a cool slap to the chest—sharp, shocking, and then warm as you pushed to the surface, hair slicked back, skin electric.
you barely had a second to breathe before something strong and fast cut through the water toward you.
bucky.
“hi, baby,” he grinned, teeth flashing as he surfaced just inches from your face.
you didn’t even try to swim away. your arms wrapped around his neck, legs locking around his waist like muscle memory.
“took you long enough,” he added, nose brushing yours.
“had to give the crowd a show first,” you said, as you felt his hands already sliding down your back underwater.
“missed you,” he murmured, voice low, breath ghosting against your cheek.
“you saw me three hours ago.”
“yeah, but you weren’t naked and wet in my arms then.”
he pressed a slow, wet kiss to your jaw, one hand squeezing just below your ass, the other roaming under the surface like he was trying to map out your entire body by touch alone.
around you, the rest of the lake was chaos—sam splashing wanda, who screamed-laughed as she tried to duck under. nat dunked steve and disappeared with a wicked laugh.
but for you? It was just bucky.
his breath against your ear. his mouth dragging down your throat.
his grip firm and possessive, like he needed to keep you pressed against him or he’d lose his fucking mind.
“you’re gonna get me killed,” he muttered, kissing the hollow of your collarbone.
“in the middle of the lake?”
“drowning. boner-related. tell ‘em to write it on my grave.”
you laughed, biting his shoulder softly. his cock, already stiff and pushing up against your thigh under the water, twitched like he agreed.
“you know if I move just a little,” you whispered, hips shifting gently, teasing, “i could probably make you cum in front of all your friends.”
bucky’s grip tightened like a reflex.
“don’t fucking test me.”
“mm. you love being tested.”
his head dropped to your shoulder, laughing softly—that deep, wrecked laugh that only came out when he was too far gone.
“i swear to god, if steve turns around right now—”
“let him,” you whispered, dragging your lips along his ear. “he’s already seen my tits.”
bucky’s mouth found the slope of your shoulder, tongue dragging warm against your skin while his fingers slipped beneath the waterline, teasing the inside of your thigh.
“fuck,” he muttered, voice thick. “you’re gonna make me lose it.”
your legs tightened around his waist, breath catching when his hand drifted higher, thumb grazing against your clit like a secret. the water masked everything—but barely. his cock was pressed insistently against your slick folds, and you could feel the way he was twitching for you, pulse for pulse.
“then do something about it,” you whispered, teeth grazing his earlobe.
a/n | camp hydra has been in the works for a whileeeee, 11k words and I'm not done yet💔. anyway just know bucky and reader are mega freaked out in this fic.
Hello!! My name is Jen, and I'm a writer from several corners of the internet. I've been writing for over ten years and have decided to add "Tumblr Writer" to my resume.
I've written for several different kinds of fandoms including Marvel, Harry Potter, and soon to add a few movie fics as well. I'll probably adapt my works here for you to enjoy, while also finding time to write some drabbles and use some writing prompts for certain characters.
I've recently been wanting to write for Edward Lemuel from A Different Man and Steve from Fresh. Those will be works in progress, but I do have a few fics for Severus Snape and Bucky Barnes. I hope you enjoy! <3
I just woke up and this happened. Is it good? Idk man I just woke up.
Bucky laughs, his smile wide and bright as he reaches for her, cupping her cheek in his hand to draw her in for a kiss. But then, he freezes.
He’s holding her with his left hand - his metal hand.
Surely he’s done this before, right? She cannot count the number of times he’s done just this. It’s his favorite way to kiss her, after all. They both love the feeling of spontaneity and instinct, like holding and kissing each other is only a natural reaction. But now, it feels different.
The touch of the metal is hard and cool, not the warm tender caress she’s so familiar with. His movements are short and halting, not drawn out and worshipful. The metal is a part of him, and has been for decades, but in this moment, it feels foreign.
“Bucky?” She asks gently, seeking to draw his eyes that seem locked on where vibranium touches skin. “What’s wrong?”
He is silent for a long moment.
“I can’t feel you. I mean…” Ever so slightly, he presses his thumb down. He frowns. “I can feel pressure, the give. But I can’t feel how soft your skin is. Or the way your blushing makes your skin warmer. Or,” his ring and little fingers twitch where they rest on her neck. “I can’t feel your heartbeat.”
She is grateful for that, if only for a moment. It means he can’t tell when her heart stutters.
Bucky’s voice breaks as he whispers, “It’s almost like you aren’t real, doll.”
“I’m real,” she assures him. She lifts her own hand to cover his metal one, pressing it further against her cheek. “No matter what you feel, I’m here, and I love you.”
His smile then nearly breaks her heart. But then he pulls her closer and kisses her, softly and tenderly. She knows then that nothing, not even a vibranium fist, could break her heart so long as Bucky is the one to hold it.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x you (engaged in pt1, gn, I think)
Word Count: <500
Summary: You tried each other's schedules. The only thing you agree upon now is naps.
Trigger Warnings: ... napping?
Author’s Note: Cute conclusion. Would love a napping buddy.
Masterlist
Part 1: Morning Person ; Part 2: Night Owl
The terms were clear: one day of you living like Bucky, one day of Bucky living like you. A sleep schedule truce.
You’d shaken hands over the coffee table like diplomats, complete with the threat that breaking the deal meant no back rubs for a week.
Day 1: He’d woken up at sunrise with all the grace of a man dragged from a shallow grave.
Day 2: You’d stayed up past midnight with all the enthusiasm of a houseplant left in the dark.
Now it was Day 3. Or maybe still Day 2. The two of you weren’t sure.
You were on the couch, buried under two blankets, his arm thrown over your waist like he was trying to physically pin you to the realm of the living.
Your eyes were barely open. His weren’t open at all.
“I think,” you rasped, “this truce… failed.”
“Truce is dead,” Bucky said into the pillow. “We are dead. Everyone’s dead.”
You let your head loll toward him. His hair stuck up in nine directions; your shirt was on backwards. This was not a flattering arrangement for either of you.
“Some people are morning people,” you murmured. “Some are night owls.”
“I’m a permanently exhausted pigeon.”
That got a weak snort out of you. “Same.”
The room was quiet for a long stretch, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the suspicious tick of the radiator.
Bucky finally cracked one eye open. “We… should eat.”
You groaned. “Too far. Too hard. Food is for the ambitious.”
He let out a laugh that was more air than sound. “We could just stay here. Waste away.”
“Very romantic,” you deadpanned.
“I try.”
You thought about how he’d looked yesterday, smug, trying to coax you into “just one more” episode, and how you’d looked the day before, grinning at the way he’d stared at his toast like it was alien technology. You both had your rhythms, your little quirks. This experiment had proved one thing: neither of you functioned outside them.
“Maybe we should call it,” you said. “Live and let live.”
“Live and let nap,” he corrected.
That earned him a slow grin. “Naps. Unlimited naps.”
His hand found yours under the blanket, fingers warm around yours. “We’ll pencil them in between my night owl hours and your sunrise cult meetings.”
You rolled your eyes. “It’s called jogging.”
“It’s called a cry for help.”
You laughed, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his jaw. “We’re a mess.”
“We’re our mess.”
The next moment stretched, soft and heavy, and neither of you moved to break it. You just lay there, two permanently exhausted pigeons, united in the knowledge that some compromises weren’t worth it, but naps always were.
bucky would be the type of boyfriend to get off on your whimpers and whines while he fucks you hard. you’d be teary-eyed, not from pain, but from the overwhelming pleasure.
“awh, are you crying, baby?” he’d taunt you, caressing your cheeks just to rut into you deeper.
and you don’t say anything—you can’t. not when his thick cock is fucking into you deep, hitting all the right spots.
so instead, you start babbling incoherently.
“buck—i… i’m…” you whimpered, clinging onto him tighter. “can’t… too… i—”
“oh, baby. you’re so cute when you’re a babbling little mess,” he chuckled cruelly. “your cute little whimpers and whines turn me on so fucking much. god, if you keep whining like that i might have to breed you.”
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x you (engaged in pt1, gn, I think)
Word Count: <500
Summary: Bucky is a night owl. He keeps you up watching movies.
Trigger Warnings: falling asleep on Bucky's chest.
Author’s Note: Die Hard is a Christmas movie. Fight me.
Masterlist
Part 1: Morning Person
“You’re gonna fall asleep,” Bucky said, holding the remote like a man preparing for battle. “I can see it in your face.”
You rolled your eyes and tossed a blanket over your legs. “I can totally stay up for one more movie.”
He gave you a look. “That’s what you said two movies ago.”
“And yet, here I am. Still awake.”
“You said that last time with your eyes closed.”
“I was blinking dramatically.”
Bucky chuckled, settling next to you on the couch. He passed you the popcorn bowl like a peace offering. “You sure you’re not gonna conk out halfway through Die Hard?”
You scoffed. “First of all, it’s a Christmas classic. Second, I only fell asleep once—and I was tired!”
He gave you a smug little smirk. “And the time before that?”
“I was emotionally exhausted from work.”
“And the time before that?”
“I had low blood sugar!”
“Uh-huh.”
You narrowed your eyes and dramatically stuffed a handful of popcorn into your mouth. “I hate you.”
He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer as the opening credits rolled. “You love me,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head.
You melted into him like you always did, partly because he was warm, and partly because you knew deep down you weren’t going to make it through this movie either.
Fifteen minutes in, your head had found its way to Bucky’s chest.
Twenty minutes in, your breathing had evened out.
By thirty minutes in, you were completely asleep, mouth slightly open, one arm lazily draped across his torso like a human seatbelt.
Bucky didn’t move when the action scenes got loud. He didn’t move when the popcorn bowl tipped and spilled kernels onto the floor. He didn’t even move when his arm started going numb under your weight.
He just looked down at you and smiled, eyes soft, like he couldn’t believe he got to have this. Got to have you.
“You didn’t even make it to the first explosion,” he whispered, more amused than annoyed.
He shifted slightly, just enough to wrap the blanket more snugly around you, then turned down the volume. His vibranium fingers idly traced small circles against your back as the movie played on.
He watched the rest of the film, not really paying attention, too busy watching your eyelashes flutter in your sleep, your nose scrunch every time you dreamed something, your fingers twitch gently where they rested against his hoodie.
When the movie ended, he didn’t wake you.
He just stayed right there, arm still around you, your soft little sleep noises filling the room like the coziest soundtrack he’d ever heard.
“I knew you’d fall asleep,” he whispered with a smirk.
Summary: A quiet night with Bucky turns into a vulnerable conversation when you ask if he’s truly happy.
Trigger Warnings: some low self-confidence (honestly, from both of you)
Author’s Note: Felt down. Wrote a fic. Felt better.
Masterlist
Bucky’s arm rested heavy and warm around your shoulders, the faint creak of the leather couch filling the quiet as the two of you sat together. The TV hummed in the background, but neither of you were really watching. You’d been quiet all night, quieter than usual, and Bucky noticed.
“Alright, doll,” he murmured, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Something’s on your mind. What is it?”
You shook your head, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing, Buck.”
His brow furrowed. “Doesn’t feel like nothing.” He tilted his head to catch your eyes. “Talk to me.”
You looked down at your hands, twisting your fingers together. The words pressed at the back of your throat, but saying them felt like stepping off a ledge.
Bucky shifted, turning his whole body toward you now. “Hey… whatever it is, you don’t have to keep it locked up.” His voice dropped to that low, steady tone he used when he wanted you to know he wasn’t going anywhere.
Still, you stayed silent.
“Sweetheart,” he tried again, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “you’re starting to scare me here.”
Your throat tightened. “It’s—” you faltered, chewing the inside of your cheek.
Bucky’s hand found yours, metal and flesh both wrapping around your fingers. “Is it something I did? Something I didn’t do?”
You finally met his gaze. His eyes were searching yours, gentle, but unyielding. And somehow, that made it harder.
After a long pause, your voice came out small. “…Are you happy?”
His expression softened instantly. “With what?”
“With… me. With us. With your life.” Your gaze dropped again. “Just… in general.”
Bucky leaned back slightly, like the question had caught him off guard, not because he didn’t know the answer, but because he couldn’t believe you were asking. “Yeah. I’m happy, doll. Happier than I thought I’d ever get to be. This—” he gestured between you “—this is more than I ever expected for myself.”
You gave a faint nod, with a small smile, but your chest still felt tight. He noticed.
“What’s really going on?” he asked softly. “Because I feel like that wasn’t the whole question.”
You hesitated, biting the inside of your cheek until the taste of iron bloomed. “Sometimes…” Your voice faltered again. You had to force the rest out. “…Sometimes I wonder if I’m enough for you.”
Bucky’s brows knit together. “What? Doll—”
“I mean it,” you said quickly, eyes fixed on your intertwined hands. “You’re… you. You’re so good to me. You’re a gentleman. You’re kind and strong—hell, you’re a supersoldier. You’re incredible in every way. And I’m just… me. Ordinary. I don’t know what you even see in me sometimes.”
He was silent for a long beat, and it made your heart stutter. But then his grip on your hands tightened, not enough to hurt, but just the right amount to hold you together.
“Doll,” he said, voice low but steady, “you’re not ‘just’ anything. You’re my person. You make me want to be better. You’re the one who sees past all the crap in my head, all the things I’ve done, and still chooses me every damn day. That’s not ordinary. That’s… everything. You’re everything. To me.”
Your breath wavered.
“And I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it,” he added, leaning closer until his forehead rested against yours. “You’re more than enough. You’re the best part of my life. Don’t ever think otherwise.”
The knot in your chest loosened, just a little, under the certainty in his voice. You wanted to believe him, God, you wanted to, and as he pulled you into his arms, you thought maybe you could.
Summary: Over coffee and Tinder banter, one slip of honesty shifts the conversation, and Bucky makes it clear he’s already found what he’s looking for.
Trigger Warnings: Coffee. Sweet Bucky. Idk.
Author’s Note: I have never used Tinder, but I'd swipe so fast on him.
Masterlist
The coffee shop was quiet, the low hum of indie music threading between the clinks of mugs and murmured conversation. Bucky sat across from you, sleeves pushed up, his metal arm catching the late-morning light. You were two coffees deep into a teasing debate about dating apps.
“I’m just saying,” you leaned forward, grinning, “you’re the exact kind of mysterious that makes people swipe right without blinking.”
Bucky gave you a skeptical look over the rim of his cup. “Mysterious or dangerous?”
“Depends on the photo,” you teased. “Okay, but if I made you a Tinder profile, would you want your arm blurred out like a secret weapon, or front and center, shirtless, holding a cat?”
He blinked. “A cat?”
“Statistically, men holding cats get more matches,” you said, mock-serious. “It’s science.”
“Yeah?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “This hypothetical profile is starting to sound like a prank.”
You shrugged playfully. “I’d never do that to you. I’d make it classy. Brooding vigilante with a soft spot for animals.”
He laughed, low and rough around the edges, like he wasn’t used to doing it often but always meant it when he did. Then the smile softened. “You think someone would actually swipe on that?”
“I would.”
It slipped out before you could stop it. Your eyes met his across the table. The easy banter fizzled into a quiet stillness, like the moment after a dropped pin lands, barely noticeable but impossible to ignore.
His expression shifted, hopeful now. “You know… I don’t really need a profile.”
You tilted your head, curiosity catching your breath. “No?”
He looked down for a second, then back at you, gaze steady. “I may have already found someone.”
There was a beat of silence between you. Everything else faded out and the only thing you each knew was the other.
He reached across the table, his hand brushing yours, warm flesh against yours first, then the cool of his metal hand as well. His voice was barely above a whisper.
“May I…?”
You nodded before he could finish. And he leaned in, slowly, like he didn’t want to startle you, like he wanted this to mean everything. When his lips met yours, it was soft, tentative at first. But there was an honesty behind it that he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time.
