Bikinis, Breasts, and Bucky Barnes
Title: Bikinis, Breasts, and Bucky Barnes
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 4350
Rating: T
Warnings: Swearing, Light Misconduct/Abuse, A singular joke that may be offensive to First Nations folks. Talks about breasts and augmentation.
This is my first request and I am so thrilled about it!
Disclaimer: I do not own Bucky Barnes, or anything related to Marvel within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.
I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.
You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.
Summertime has got to be one of the most oppressive parts of the year. Between the sweltering heat and the expectation to be tan, fit, and breathtaking in the smallest bikinis leaves me feeling with nothing but dread. The nausea twists in my stomach, churning and bubbling.
My boyfriend, Brock, sits on the sofa next to me, staring at the side of my face intently, a gift bag held out in his hand expectantly. He has been talking my ear off about the party that the tower is hosting and I have been dodging the invite for weeks- from him and my coworkers. Any sort of mention and an excuse falls from my lips- "Well, it is a work party, and I would like to spend my day off not at work," or "I don't have anything to wear to that sort of thing," and even, "It's good for you to spend time with your friends and I don't want you having to worry about me the whole party" - Nothing worked. His buddies are supposed to be there, and some new recruits. The idea of it makes me queasy.
"Come on Sweets, open it!" I cringe a bit at the nickname, the one he has been refusing to drop for months. He thrusts the bag into my hands and the plastic crinkles under my touch. I take a deep breath in a shallow attempt to center myself before taking out the few pieces of tissue paper he shoved into the bag haphazardly.
The feeling of his eyes on my profile never leaves, not even as the bag hits the floor in front of my feet, a string bikini in my hands. The strings fall loosely between my fingers like limp spaghetti, the small bits of fabric meant to actually cover something seem to be almost non-existent. I hold the fabric up to the light and shapes of the room can be seen through the tan weave of the material. I can't imagine what could be seen through it if it were wet.
I chuckle out a tense sort of laugh and it gets stuck in the back of my throat- I choke on the idea of wearing something so small. "What's this, Brock?" I hold the swimwear out to him in my hands and it sits on my palms like an offering to a long forgotten god. My palms care clammy, threatening to shake as if I were facing this ancient being head on. Maybe my head on a spit would be more comfortable than this moment; my body flayed out on an alter would feel more conservative.
"It's for the party, don't you love it?" His eyes search over my face, my figure, the outfit he plans on parading me in front of his friends in. I might be sick.
"Ha, yeah Brock, that's funny," I throw the pile of strings on the table in front of me. I run my hands over my jeans, hoping to stuff the anxiety from my palms between the stitches of denim. The look he gives me is somewhere between pissed off and disbelief and it is flooding each and every line of his face.
"It's not funny, it's a gift, Sweets. You should be grateful," He informs me as he pushes himself to his feet. He grabs the bikini off the table as he grabs my wrist with a grip that is just a bit to firm. He pulls me to my feet and over to the full length mirror.
"See look," He positions me harshly in front of the glass, my reflection staring back at me. I don't like what I see with him standing so close behind me. I shiver, but that doesn't stop him from tying the top on my body, over my clothes. "You are going to look good in this. Could look better, but there isn't a whole lot we can do about that before Friday rolls around," He shrugs like his words mean nothing, yet they are like razorblades. "These need work, but you refuse to do anything about that," He brings his hands up to grip at both of my breasts, squeezing them tightly, his fingers digging into the tender flesh.
I fight off every instinct to elbow him straight in the gut. Bastard.
"You know better than to bring that up, Brock," I spit at him, trying to wriggle out of his tight grip. He just chuckles at me like we are playing a game- and maybe we are, cat and mouse, and it looks like I'm the mouse.
"I'm just saying, you make more than enough money at the little job of yours, you could definitely afford it, and you and I both know you would look so much better with maybe a D, or a double D," He keeps scrutinizing my body in the mirror, his eyes locked on my chest. We work at the same place, but because I am a member of the human resources department he seems to think my job is lesser than his- until there is something wrong with his paycheck.
I have never once question my breast size, at least not until Brock came along. I try not to let his words eat away at me, but with the frequency he brings up the topic I can't help but let my mind drift to it even when I'm alone. The whole thing leaving me tired, uncomfortable and self conscious.
"If I have told you once, I have told you a thousand times, I am not getting breast implants Brock. If you want a girl with big fake tits, that's fine! There is nothing and I mean nothing wrong with implants but they are not becoming a part of my body and that is final," I rip the bikini top off my body as fast as I can before pushing past him and out the door of his apartment. I am done with this conversation, absolutely, positively, done.
By the time the party rolls around, Brock is practically vibrating. He pulls me behind him, his signature too-tight grip on my wrist as he pushes through the other party goers, straight over to his friends.
"Sweets, you know John Walker, Lemar Hoskins, and the rest of the guys," He points at the men all gathered around one of the picnic tables. The party is being held on the upper floors and roof of Avengers Tower; everyone who works in the facility was invited. Tony Stark sure loves to throw a party, and the more the merrier seems to be his philosophy.
I wave awkwardly with the hand Brock dropped as soon as we were in sight of his friends. I shift my strappy top, pulling the neckline up further with the other hand, my bag swinging from the crook of my elbow. "Hi guys." John goes on to explain to me how he and Lemar are being contracted to work with Brock's team, and how great it is to be contracted through the military. He explains this all so carefree, like he is trying to impress me with the information. It takes all my will power not to roll my eyes. He forgets he met with me to sign his damn contact, what a tool.
I try and hum and laugh along with their stories as they continue to shoot the shit and catch up, Brock leaving me standing while he sits with his friends. I tune them out, looking around the party for anyone else that I could escape and talk to. John grabs my wrist, his fingernails digging into my skin, leaving small crescents in my wrist as he pulls me harshly into his lap.
"You're right, Brock, she would definitely do better with some double D's! Say, Sweets, take off that shirt of yours and let us see what you're working with," He tugs the hem of my shirt, causing the deep v of my top to pull down, exposing my swimsuit and sternum beneath it.
"John," Brock starts, looking stern. Maybe this time he will actually stand up for me, "Let's just say if she had an Indian name, it would be "Starving Children"," He bellows, laughing and grabbing at his own chest. When John erupts into laughter with the rest of the group, I stand, breaking free of his embrace.
"You know what Brock, fuck you, fuck your friends, and fuck this whole situation. I am done. Forget about me, lose my number, and go find a set of fake tits to shove your tiny dick between because we are finished," I shout at him, and I know people are watching, but I don't care. Anger is just the part of you that sticks up for yourself, right?
I can feel the hot sting of embarrassment begin to bleed over my skin as I rush for the building and crushed raspberries have nothing on the color that shows on my face. I stumble down the stairs, praying that I can make it to the washroom before I fall into tears. I push past Bucky Barnes and his friends as they climb the stairs. His eyes meet mine and he offers me a small, kind smile, one I can't find anywhere in myself to return. I push past them, trying not to dwell on it, or the curve of his lips.
When I push the door open, I am met with two pairs of familiar eyes and one set I don't recognize. Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff are standing in the washroom, no doubt having some sort of conversation before I burst through the door. The other woman, who can't be older than 19 or 20 stands at the sink, washing her hands diligently. They all eye me carefully and it's at that moment my body, my heart, my emotions betray me and tears begin to pour out of me with ragged sobs.
"Are you okay?" The girl at the sink asks, dragging her wet hands though her curly hair. "I'm sorry, that was a stupid question. My name is MJ, How can we help?" She asks. The other women hum in unison, rushing to my side.
Before I know it, I am lamenting about the bullshit I have been putting up with due to Brock and his never ending obsession with breast implants. Six hands begin to dry my tears and rub over my back and arms soothingly. I tell them about the barely existent swimsuit he forced me to wear to the party and how I am embarrassed that I even put it on.
"You know what, I am sure between the three of us, we can get you a bikini that you will be proud to be seen in," Natasha tells me as she wipes some smudged mascara from my cheek. She gives me the most gentle smile. I can't help but smile back, and before I know it they are dragging me to Wanda's room to get me outfitted into something new.
By the time they are done, I am clad in a beautiful purple bikini top, one that has hooks and clasps instead of flimsy ties, and a pair of black boy-short bottoms that hug my ass. Wanda pulls my hair back out of my face with a couple of braids while MJ stands next to us telling us all about Peter and how nice he treats her and how any man who doesn't treat me the same way should eat dirt. It's really refreshing to meet a young girl who has such a good head on her shoulders. Natasha slides a beautiful gold and silver necklace over my head, the chain hanging down to mid sternum, highlighting my natural body.
"You look spectacular," Wanda whispers in my ear as we walk back out onto the roof. I have to admit, I don't think I have ever felt more powerful than I do right now, with these three women behind me.
"Hey Barnes, get your ass over here," Natasha shouts. I follow her eyeline to the pool where none other than Bucky Barnes is pulling himself out of the water. The water slides down his figure and I can't help but watch as each drop runs over his defined muscles, dipping and rising over each one of them as gravity pulls the water towards the Earth. Once he is out of the pool, which takes seconds, he saunters over to us, a goofy smile plastered to his face.
"What can I do for you?" He asks her, eyes not leaving mine.
"I need you to show our friend here a good time, the girls and I have some trash to take out," She informs him, tapping him on the shoulder, like she knows something I don't.
"Hi, I'm Y/N" I hold my hand out to him, still shaking a bit from my earlier encounter with Brock and his scumbag friends.
"I know who you are, Doll," Bucky chuckles a bit, but takes my hand in his anyway. The handshake is firm and his eyes never leave mine. "Let's get you a drink, shall we?"
He pulls me along, fingers laces with mine, his touch the complete opposite of Brock's. The idea warms me from the inside out, a sense of comfort finally falling over my soul. Bucky leads me to a table with a couple of his friends, Steve and Sam, who both stand to shake my hand and tell me how good it is to see me again. I can't explain the feeling that thrums through me body when I catch Bucky smiling at me as I shake hands with his friends.
Sam reaches into the cooler and pulls out a bottle of water and a beer for me, handing them across the table. Bucky takes them from him, cracking open the bottle of water before using the table to pop the top off of the beer. He sets them both in front of me with a smile.
"These okay? Or should I get you something else?" He asks, a tinge of worry flashing in his eyes but quickly disappears with my reassurance. The boys talk and laugh, each making sure that I am included in the conversation. Bucky never fails to open a drink for me, or to share his snacks, which earns a huff from Steve, who claims Bucky won't share any of his snacks with anyone.
As the daylight is flushed away with the sunset, people begin to trickle out of the party, and before I know it, Bucky and I have been left alone at the table, each nursing a half full beer. Sam and Steve left to help clean up awhile ago, leaving Bucky and I in our own little world of conversation.
I am listening to Bucky, but my mind seems to drift a bit before a full, hearty chuckle leaves my lips. I slap my hand over my mouth quick, a strawberry kiss of a blush on my cheeks.
"What are you laughing about? I haven't even gotten to the funny part of the story yet!" Bucky laughs, nudging me in the knee with his foot playfully under the table.
"I just had a funny realization, that's all," I try to dismiss the thought with a wave of my hand, bringing my beer back up to my lips. I tip the bottle back and Bucky just watches in bemusement for a moment before continuing.
"Oh, you've gotta tell me now!" He insists, crossing his large arms over the expanse of his chest.
"Okay, okay, fine," I take another swig of my drink before setting it down on the table, "I just realized that I'm not nauseous, for the first time in I can't even tell you how long," I chuckle to myself, shaking my head to dismiss any disbelief. Bucky cocks an eyebrow at me, so I continue, "With Brock it seemed like I was always nauseous or ill, and now that I broke up with him, everything has finally settled."
"Oh, that's- that's really good, I'm happy for you," He sounds sincere in his words, a smile pulling over his lips.
"Thanks, Buck," I return with a shy smile.
"Can I ask what happened?" He questions, not quite meeting my eyes. I can feel a stinging flush of color invade my skin at his words but I fight the feeling, rubbing at my skin to ease it.
"Yeah, sure. He has been harassing me for months about getting breast implants. He said that an A cup, which I am, isn't even a handful, which isn't good enough. He wanted me to get absolutely huge, fake tits because that's what he is into. Then John started harassing me about it too, and I guess I just snapped. I broke up with that tool right on the spot," I explain, and Bucky listens, like really truly listens to each and every word. When I finish speaking, he leans back a bit, a gentle huff escaping his lips.
"So that's what Nat meant about taking out the trash, huh?" He chuckles, bringing his bottle to his lips.
"Yeah, I guess so," I laugh with him, and the feeling is truly refreshing.
"I know this might sound horrible, but I am kinda happy that things went the way they did today," He admits, rubbing at the nape of his neck. His hair has long dried now, his bangs flopping in front of his forehead, threating to droop in his eyes.
"Wow, thanks Buck," I roll my eyes at him and he tries to backtrack his words. "I am just fucking with you, Buck, calm down!" I laugh, and he laughs too, after a beat.
"You scared me!" He throws a towel at me, across the table. It catches both of our beers, the bottles tumbling over. The sticky sweet beer rolls off the table and into my lap as a small sound, somewhere between a laugh and a shriek leaves me. "Oh my god! I am so sorry!" Bucky jumps to his feet, rounding the table to look at the sticky mess in my lap that coat my swim bottoms.
"It's okay, Bucky," I laugh, toweling off my thighs, "It will wash off, don't worry about it,"
"Well at least we got your suit wet. It would have been a shame to have come to a pool party just to have stayed dry the whole time," We laugh together at his words. "Wanna get in the pool? Just for a little while? It's a beautiful night, it would be a shame to waste it."
I just nod at Bucky with a smile, holding my hand out for him to lead the way. He takes my hand, pulling me to my feet before leading me over to the pool. He gets in first before guiding me down the stairs, holding my hand for balance. I can't help but swoon a bit at the action, a warmth filling my cheeks.
We walk out to the five foot point, the water deep enough to cover most of my body. With the water covering my chest, the last bit of insecurity is drowned beneath the surface.
"I know I keep pushing the envelope with you tonight, but I am just going to say one more thing, than I am going to shut up and keep my ass quiet for the rest of the night, okay?" Bucky runs a wet hand through is tousled hair, water droplets dripping down his face. His eyes glow under the amber lights of the roof, complimented by a tint of cherry pink that is brushed across his cheeks.
"I think you look absolutely stunning, and I'm not talking about the swimsuit. I think your body is absolutely perfect, just the way it is. When I look at you, I don't see boobs or hips or ass or anything else for that matter, I just see you." With each word he takes a step closer to me.
As the space between us shrinks, the ripples of our movement in the water run together. Finally, mere inches apart, Bucky looks down at me carefully, his whiskey full eyes moving carefully over every inch of my face as if he is taking in the littlest details I even overlook.
"Thank you, Bucky, I can't even tell you how nice that is to hear," I look down towards me feet out of instinct, but he meets me halfway with a gentle finger beneath my chin.
"You don't have to shy away from me, Doll, hell, if it were up to me you would never shy away from anything else in the world," His words drip with honesty. His hand has moved to cradle my face, his thumb sweeping over my cheekbone with soft movements. He holds my hand beneath the water with his other hand, his grip gentle. I squeeze his hand in return.
"You know, lately I have been getting through the day by telling myself by body is good enough because it holds all of my organs in the right way and it carries my brain from place to place, so it doesn't matter what it looks like, but, if I'm being honest, Buck, today with you has been one of the most comforting days I have had the pleasure of experiencing in a long, long time," I can feel my breath bouncing off of his skin due to our close proximity. "So, I guess I am trying to say thank you. Thank you, Bucky,"
He barely gets the beginning of a word out before I am on my tiptoes, pressing my lips to his in a soft kiss- one that feels like it has been years in the making, all the time folded over and compressed into an afternoon spent poolside.
His hands snake around my figure, chests pressed together as the water moves gently around us. He kisses me like I am holy, like I am the most beautiful thing he has ever had the pleasure to touch and I melt.
For once I am not the one on my knees at the alter, sacrificing parts of myself to a man who can barely keep a flame alit to keep us warm. Blood no longer drips down my hands, there is no bone clutched in my palms. I am no longer loosing a fighting battle against myself for a man who would never carry a shield for me- Brock was the artillery being fired my way and the only thing that ended up in the crossfire was the image of myself. But now, now, it's as if Bucky is honoring me with every brush of his calloused hands against my fingers. With every run of his tongue over my bottom lip I am finding the strength to worship myself again- just the way it should be.
So I press my chest to his a bit harder, my heartbeat rattling my ribcage. The way he runs his hands over my body is like breathing air, fresh and crisp after years of smog. I let my fingers tangle in his hair where I can, my nails brushing over his scalp and he stifles back a moan.
I pull back, peering up at him through my eyelashes. "Bucky, you are an incredible man. I hope you know that," I whisper, a small smile spread over my kiss sodden lips, "But that's not going to stop me from doing this!" I sweep a foot under his while pushing him backwards towards the water. Maybe it catches him off guard, maybe it doesn't, but he falls beneath the surface, pulling me along with him. We share an underwater kiss, but that just earns me bubbles to the face. I come up sputtering water and laughing full belly laughs that feel at home outside of my body.
He grabs me again, pulling me into a tight hug. His arms are wound around my shoulders, head perched atop my own. I wrap his midsection in my arms loosely, taking in the night sky just beyond the building.
"I wish we could see the stars," I whisper, water droplets running from my eyelashes down to my lips.
"I can't imagine they would outshine you," Bucky mutters, a hint of flirtation in his voice.
"That's because you grew up in the city, Barnes," I laugh, and his body rumbles with laughter too. He runs a hand up and down my back, his fingertips barely brushing over my skin, but they leave warm tingles in their wake.
"I've been other places!" He attempts to defend himself but he doesn't go any further than that.
"Speaking of other places, I should probably get going," I tell him, pulling out of the embrace. "Thank you for tonight, Buck, truly," I move across the pool and ascend the stairs, heading to collect my bag. "Would you tell Nat and Wanda that I'll bring there stuff by on Monday?" I ask him, while I run a towel over my body.
"Of course I will," Bucky smiles at me. God I could get used to that smile, and those blue eyes of his. I smile to myself as I stuff the now wet towel into my bag. "Speaking of Monday, you and I are getting lunch- or if you are stuck in the office, I will be bringing lunch by for us. I want to see you again." By the time he finishes speaking, he is out of the pool and standing in front of me, a look of excitement scribbled across his features. That big goofy smile of his is going to live rent free in my head for the weekend, maybe longer. Definitely longer.
"It's a date," I tell him, holding out my hand to shake on it. He takes it and pulls me into his wet body.
"It's a date, Doll," He whispers against my lips before sharing a kiss with me that is too full of smiles and giggles to be done properly; and for the first time I find myself thankful for bikinis, breasts, and Bucky Barnes.
