Mr popular [6]
Jock!Bucky x Outcast!Reader
Summary- You hated how everyone loved him. You were polar opposites, bucky was his fraternity president and you an alternative 'outcast'. Opposites definitely don't attract...or do they?
Word count-1.4k
Warnings- fluff, cozy mornings, clingy boyfriend bucky.
An- Sorry this took so long, just a sweet little chapter to finish this series off, thank you for all the support on this series it has been insane. Requests are open <3
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The hallway is still humming with the echo of that kiss. Your lips feel swollen, your breath uneven, your pulse a frantic drum beneath your skin. Bucky stands in front of your like he’s afraid to move too fast, afraid to break whatever fragile electric thing just sparked between you.
His chest rises and falls in sharp, uneven breaths. The smudged eyeliner around his eyes making him looked wrecked and undone. He brushes his thumb along your cheek bone, barely there, just a whisper of a touch.
“We shouldn’t be here anymore” he murmurs, voice low and rough. You nod, because the idea of stepping back into that crowded, noisy room feels impossible. Too many eyes. Too many questions.
He extends his hand, a tremble shooting through his hand, your slid yours into his and the relief that floods his face is almost painful to look at. His shoulders drop, jaw unclenches and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours.
He squeezes your hand one, gentle. “Let’s go.” His words a soft whisper.
The two of your descend the stairs slowly, your hands still linked. The party noise swells around you, laughter and music. But it all fells distant, muffled like your underwater. People notice, heads turn. Sams eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly leave his face. “Uh- where are you two- “
Bucky shoots him a look that could level a building. Sam shuts up instantly, you don’t stop walking and bucky doesn’t let go of your hand.
The door shuts behind you with a soft thud, muffling the music and laughter until it becomes nothing more than a distant thrum. The sudden quiet feels almost unreal after the chaos inside. The cold night air wraps around you instant, sharp and clean, carrying the faint scent of damp pavement and woodsmoke from somewhere down the street.
You draw in a breath, and it feels like the first real one you’ve taken in hours. Bucky steps out after you, the porch light casts a warm glow over his face, catching on the smudged eyeliner and faint sheen of sweat at his temples. His hair is mussed from running his hands though it. His chest still rising and falling too quickly.
-=-=--==-=-=--=-==-=--==--=
You wake before he does.
It takes a moment to realize why everything feels so warm, so safe and then you feel the weight of an arm draped over your waist, the steady rise and fall of a chest pressed against your back, the faint brush of breath against the back of your neck.
Bucky
The room is quiet, the kind of quiet that only exists early in the morning when the world hasn’t quiet remembered to wake up yet. The curtains are half open and a thin beam of sunlight cuts across the bed, warm and golden.
It lands across his face, you shift just enough to see him. Hess on his side, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other wrapped around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away in you sleep. His hair is a mess. Soft dark stands falling over his forehead. The sunlight catches on the faint stubble along his jaw, turning it gold.
His eyelashes are ridiculously long, his lips slightly parted, the expression is peaceful in a way you don’t see when he’s awake.
You lie there, watching him breathe, watching the sunlight move slowly across his cheekbone. It feels like you’re seeing something private, something he doesn’t show anyone else.
He shifts in his sleep, tightening his arm around you, pulling you closer with a soft, unconscious sound, something between a sigh and a hum. His nose brushes your shoulder, and you feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.
You smile without meaning to.
A couple of weeks ago, you were crying behind a locked bathroom door. Now you’re here. In his arms. Wrapped up in him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You reach up and gently brush a strand of hair off his forehead. He doesn’t wake but he leans into the touch, instinctively, like he’s been waiting for it.
The sunlight shifts again, warming the bridge of his nose, the curve of his cheek, the corner of his mouth. He looks softer like this. Younger. Almost boyish.
You whisper, barely audible, “You’re beautiful like this.” He stirs. Not fully awake. just enough that his fingers flex against your waist, his brow furrows slightly, and he murmurs something you can’t quite make out.
Then, in a voice rough with sleep, he breathes your name. Your heart stutters.
He nuzzles closer, his forehead pressing gently against your shoulder. “You’re staring,” he mumbles, still half asleep. You freeze. “You’re awake?”
“Mm… barely.” His voice is gravelly, warm, thick with sleep. “But I can feel you looking at me.” You roll your eyes even though he can’t see it. “Maybe I was.”
He smiles, a slow, sleepy, lopsided smile that makes your chest ache. “Good. I like when you look at me.”
He finally opens his eyes, and the sunlight hits them, turning the blue soft and warm. “Morning sweetheart,” he whispers.
You swallow. “Morning.”
He pulls you closer, tucking his face into your neck like he’s trying to hide from the world. “Stay a little longer.”
You don’t even think about it. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His arms tighten around you, and you feel him smile against your skin. “Good,” he murmurs. “Didn’t want to wake up without you.”
Then he settles back against you, arms tightening around your waist. “Five more minutes,” he murmurs.
“You said that yesterday.”
“And the day before,” he adds, smiling into your skin.
You roll your eyes, but you melt into him anyway, because the truth is… you don’t want to move either.
The sunlight has fully claimed the room now, warm and golden, stretching across the sheets and spilling over the floorboards. You finally manage to slip out of Bucky’s arms
He groans the second you move. A low, gravelly, half‑asleep sound that vibrates against your spine.
You freeze. He tightens his arm around your waist, pulling you back into him like a magnet. “No,” he mumbles into your shoulder. “Don’t go.”
You laugh softly. “I’m just getting up.”
“Don’t care,” he mutters. “Stay.”
“You’re impossible.” He nuzzles into your neck, lips brushing your skin. “And you’re warm.” You try again and this time he lets you go, but only because he rolls onto his back dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes like you’ve personally wounded him.
You slip out of bed, feet hitting the cool floorboards, and stretch. The sunlight warms your skin instantly. You run your fingers through your hair, trying to tame the sleep‑tangled mess.
You don’t hear him move.
But you feel it. That prickling awareness along your spine — the sense of being watched.
You turn.
Bucky is propped up on one elbow, hair a complete disaster, sheets pooled low around his waist. His eyes are half‑lidded, still heavy with sleep, but unmistakably focused on you.
He’s staring. You blink. “What?” He doesn’t even pretend he wasn’t caught. He just smiles “Nothing,” he says, voice rough. “Just… you.”
You feel your face heat. “Me?” He nods, eyes tracing the line of your shoulder, the curve of your neck, the way the sunlight hits your hair. “You look good in the morning.”
You snort. “I look like I fought a raccoon.” He shakes his head, still staring. “You look like mine.”
Your breath catches.
He doesn’t seem to realize he said it out loud or maybe he does, because he sits up, swings his legs over the side of the bed, and pads toward you with that slow, sleepy confidence that should not be legal.
He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. His metal hand stays gentle, cool against your hip, his human hand warm and soft.
“You always look good,” he murmurs. “But mornings… they’re my favourite.”
You lean back into him without thinking. “Why?”
He presses a kiss to your shoulder, soft, lingering. “Because you’re relaxed. Real. Not trying to be anything. Just you.”
You swallow, heart fluttering.
“And,” he adds, voice dropping lower, “because I get to hold you before the world does.”
You turn in his arms, sliding your hands up his chest. “You’re clingy today.” He grins, eyes crinkling. “I’m clingy every day.”
You laugh. “True.”
He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth — slow, lazy, morning kisses that feel like sunlight. “Get used to it,” he murmurs. “I’m not stopping.”
And he doesn’t. He’s always there, a hand on your back, fingers brushing yours, a kiss to your temple, a soft stare from across the room.
It’s not possessive. It’s not needy. It’s just love
And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.
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This series tag list- @dpr-teag @mfstargirlsworld @avatarofthetimelords @vicmc624 @anndiesworld @chonkybonky @kileyking @namless-ken @haleygettys @mathcat345 @sizzlingstarlightsky
Bucky tag list- @sebastians-love @galactict3a @my-drvidess