FuckBoy!Bucky x Fem!Reader
Summary: For the first time since a messy breakup, you decided to date again and give your love life a second chance. Your co-worker Natasha offers to help, setting you up with a friend of hers: John Walker. Little did she know that after the date turned into a complete disaster, you’d be rescued by none other than Bucky Barnes, the man with the most commitment issues in history.
A/N: English is not my first language, also this is my first Bucky fic. I hope you like it.
Likes, comments, and reblogs are really, really appreciated.
You couldn’t believe you were actually considering agreeing with Natasha on this, but she could be extremely convincing.
“Think about it. He’s only a few years older, he works hard, he’s responsible, and he’s handsome.” She shrugged, swirling her fork lazily through the last bits of salad in her bowl.
Lunch with Natasha was never boring. She had made it her mission to set you up with someone new, especially after what happened with your last relationship. Three years wasted, only to find out he’d been cheating on you. Naturally, your friend wanted to help.
After a year of mourning, you had finally decided it was time to give dating another shot.
“It’s not too soon, right?” you asked, glancing at the redhead across from you.
“In my opinion, you cried more than he ever deserved.” Natasha’s smile was gentle but firm. “It’s good to move on.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What’s his name again?”
“John Walker,” Natasha said, her grin widening like she was already two steps ahead of you.
You gave it a few more seconds of thought before sighing. “Alright… show me a photo.”
She immediately snatched up her phone, scrolling fast, muttering under her breath, then finally shoved it in your direction. “The one on the left.”
It was a group picture. Natasha and Steve in the middle, Sam on the right, another man you didn’t recognize beside him… and on the far left.
Your eyebrows shot up. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“What? Why not?” she asked.
“He’s hot.” You bit your lip. “Dark hair, blue eyes, total trouble. He looks like he eats girls like me for breakfast.”
She peeked at the screen again. “Oh. Oops, not your left, my left.” She turned the phone back to you.
Your eyes flicked to the blond man this time. “Oh. The blonde one. He’s cute.”
“Uh-huh.” Natasha was positively smug now. “That’s John. Safe, sweet, reliable. The other one, that’s Bucky. And trust me, he’s more of a one-night-stand kind of guy.”
Your stomach did a little flip. “Oh.”
“But hey,” she added casually, her grin betraying her, “I’m not saying you couldn’t handle him…”
You groaned, covering your face. “No, no, no. John. John is perfect for me.”
“Sure,” she teased, popping a crouton into her mouth.
When you finally agreed to the date, Natasha went into full mission mode. She booked a table at one of your favorite restaurants, called you before you left the house, and made you swear you’d report back with every detail the moment it was over.
She’d sold John like he was the perfect catch, the best date you would ever have, no contest.
But now, sitting at the table alone, you found yourself glancing at your phone every two minutes, waiting for a message from John, who was already twenty minutes late.
From your table, you spotted a blond man making his way towards you. Relief eased the knot in your chest, though it didn’t quite erase the irritation simmering underneath. Plastering on your most polite smile, you straightened in your seat.
“Sorry, I’m late,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Traffic was…uh, a nightmare.”
“No worries,” you said smoothly, “You made it.”
You had barely settled into your chair when John launched into a story about his latest work project. You tried to interject a question about your own life, but he waved you off with a laugh.
“Really, you’ll find this interesting,” he said, leaning back, “so I just got promoted, finally! And then my boss threw this huge party for me, you should have seen it…”
An hour passed like this: John talking nonstop about himself, his job, his gym routine, his “epic” weekend adventures. You nodded politely, occasionally trying to steer the conversation toward your interests, only to be deftly ignored.
And don’t even get started on the way he ordered for you, ”a salad and a glass of water”, as if you couldn’t make your own choices. Or the twenty minutes he spent talking about his ex and how much he hated “high-maintenance girls.”
By the time the check arrived, you were honestly questioning whether Natasha actually liked you or if you’d done something to make her mad.
“Mind covering this one?” John asked, leaning back in his chair like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll get the drinks at the bar.”
You forced a polite smile. “Uh… sure.”
He promised the bar was one he went to often, swearing he’d made sure all his friends, including Natasha, would be gone so the two of you could have “privacy.”
You hesitated. By the time you reached your car and spotted him waiting in the parking lot, you seriously considered just driving home, locking the door, and maybe even changing your name for good measure. But against all better judgment, you went along with it.
When you arrived, part of you wanted to believe John had kept his promise. But then, out of the corner of your eye, a dark-haired man at the bar caught your attention. You recognized him instantly from the photo.
Natasha had said his name was Bucky.
“Oh, don’t mind him. We don’t really get along,” John said lightly, waving him off like he was nothing.
For one suspended second, Bucky’s piercing blue eyes found yours. The air left your lungs, your throat tightened, and something sharp and unfamiliar tugged at your chest. His jawline, the curve of his mouth, and the quiet intensity of his gaze were almost too much. And then, as quickly as it came, the moment was gone. He turned back to the woman beside him, continuing his conversation.
John ordered you one drink because a lady like you couldn’t drink that much, and you needed to drive back home. You smiled faintly, but the rest of the evening unraveled in silence. He kept his eyes fixed on the game flickering across the TV screen, explaining rules you didn’t care to understand, while you sat invisible in plain sight.
When you finally stood and said you should be heading home, he pressed a distracted kiss to your cheek. No warmth, no meaning. He didn’t even glance back as you walked away.
By the time you pushed through the bar’s doors, your vision was already blurring. Not for John, but from the quiet, crushing weight settling inside you. That relentless whisper that maybe you weren’t enough. Not pretty enough. Not interesting enough. Just… not enough.
As you pushed past the exit, fighting to hold back your tears, a thin cloud of smoke drifted through the air. And then those blue eyes found yours again.
“John’s date.” His voice was low, rough around the edges. It suited him.
“John’s friend,” you answered quickly.
He leaned against the wall, cigarette in hand, posture casual, but his gaze sharp.
“We’re not friends,” he corrected, wincing slightly.
“Right,” you murmured. “He did say you don’t get along.”
His mouth curved, just barely. “You’re Natasha’s friend, aren’t you? I’m Bucky.” He extended his hand.
You hesitated, then took it, giving your name.
“Oh, you’re Natasha’s one-night-stand kind of guy friend,” you said before you could stop yourself.
His head tilted, and he smiled like the words genuinely entertained him. “That’s what she’s calling me now?”
His eyes swept over you, not unkind, but enough to make your pulse trip. He noticed the strap of your purse slung over your shoulder.
“Alone?” His brow furrowed.
You gave a small shrug. “Yeah.”
His gaze flicked toward the bar’s door, then to the shadowed parking lot. Concern darkened his features.
“Let me walk you to your car,” he said, dropping the cigarette and crushing it under his boot.
The offer startled you. “Why would you want to do that?”
“Because it’s dark. And no woman should have to walk alone just because her date turned out to be an idiot.” His tone was steady, unyielding.
You glanced back toward the bar. “What about your date?”
“Just a friend,” he said simply.
Then his eyes returned to yours, softer this time. “And it would ease my mind knowing the pretty girl made it to her car safely.” Heat rushed to your cheeks. He smirked faintly. “Besides, Natasha would kill me if something happened to you.”
You let out a nervous laugh, then nodded.
“You didn’t drink much, did you?” he asked as you started walking.
As the two of you walked toward your car, your steps fell into an easy rhythm. His hands slid into his pockets, shoulders relaxed, but his attention never stayed far from you.
When you reached your car, he stopped, leaning lightly against the driver’s side door, as though he had no intention of leaving until you did.
“You made it,” he said, almost casually, though there was something protective in his tone. “See? I’m good luck.”
“Or just good company,” you teased before you could stop yourself.
His smirk deepened, those piercing blue eyes locking on yours again. The world seemed to slow, the noise of the bar fading behind you, until it was just the two of you in the dim glow of the parking lot lights.
He pushed off the car, closing the distance just enough to make the air between you spark. “Maybe both,” he murmured.
Your breath caught, your fingers tightening around your keys. You weren’t sure if you wanted to step back or lean closer.
But before you could decide, he gave you a crooked smile and stepped back again, leaving your pulse racing.
“Get home safe, Doll,” he said softly.
The next morning, Natasha showed up bright and early, her apology the very first thing you heard. She apologized at least twenty times and promised to make it up to you about ten more, even swearing she’d cook dinner herself. You finally agreed.
That evening, you arrived at her apartment right on time. You knew Steve, her boyfriend, would be there, and you even helped him set the table while Natasha finished in the kitchen.
What you didn’t expect was the sound of the doorbell, and judging by the look Steve and Natasha exchanged, neither did they.
Before either of them could reach the handle, the door swung open, and there he was, dark hair, broad shoulders, and blue eyes that found you instantly.
“Hey,” Bucky said casually, stepping inside. “Didn’t know you had company.” His gaze lingered on you, slow and deliberate.
“Well, we didn’t know you were coming,” Natasha countered, one hand on her hip.
“I came to visit my best friends and brought gifts.” He held up a pie in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other with a grin.
“So does that mean we have to invite you to stay?” Natasha asked, teasing but wary.
Bucky ignored her, his eyes finding yours again. “I hope it doesn’t bother you if I stick around, doll.”
Your legs threatened to give out under the weight of his stare, the nickname sending warmth to your cheeks. You managed a smile, playing it off. “It doesn’t.” You stepped forward and took the pie from his hands. “Let me help with this.”
You followed Natasha into the kitchen with the pie, leaving Steve and Bucky behind to open the wine.
Steve handed him the corkscrew, smirking. “You did know she was coming, we talked about yesterday.”
Bucky gave him a side-eye. “I didn’t.”
“Mm.” Steve raised a brow. “And showing up uninvited, with pie and wine, that’s just you being a thoughtful friend?”
Bucky poured four glasses. “Exactly.”
Steve crossed his arms, grin widening. “Totally not because Nat’s friend is here.”
Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Shut up, Steve.”
“Hey, I’m just saying,” Steve teased, leaning back against the table. “You don’t even drink wine.”
“That’s because your girlfriend drinks it all,” Bucky shot back, smirking.
Steve chuckled. “Still…” He trailed off, watching as Bucky’s eyes flicked, just for a second, toward the kitchen door.
Steve’s grin widened into something downright smug. “Yep. Definitely a coincidence.”
Bucky dragged his gaze back, unbothered or trying to look that way. He took a slow sip of his wine, making a funny face while drinking, “You done?”
“Not even close,” Steve said, clearly enjoying himself.
Bucky shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Punk.”
The table was set beautifully, between plates of roasted chicken, garlic bread, and Natasha’s attempt at a fancy salad. Bucky sat across from the empty chair, waiting for you. The moment you took your seat, his casual posture straightened, his blue eyes locking on you for just a second too long.
Dinner began with Natasha steering the conversation. “So, how’s work?”
Steve Shrugged. “Fine. Bucky still thinks he’s my boss.”
“That’s because I am your boss,” Bucky shot back.
One of the few things you had to learn while helping Natasha in the kitchen was that both Bucky and Steve owned a mechanical workshop; neither was the boss, they were equals, but they argued daily about it.
The easy rhythm of their banter filled the table, Natasha muttering something about babysitting two overgrown children. But every so often, you caught Bucky’s gaze flicking to you. Not by accident. Not once.
Eventually, Natasha turned the spotlight on you. “So,” she said, grin mischievous, “How’s dating treating you?”
“She’s fishing. Don’t answer,” Steve teased.
But Natasha only leaned closer. “Come on, one bad date doesn’t mean you give up.”
“I’ve been saying for years he’s not worth anyone’s time. Glad you figured it out in one night.” Bucky said with a shrug.
Steve coughed into his glass. “Wow, subtle.”
Natasha shot Bucky a look. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
But he didn’t even pretend otherwise. His smirk softened into something quieter, more intent, as his gaze settled back on you. “What can I say? I hate being right, but in this case, I’ll take it.”
The air between you stretched, charged enough that Natasha kicked Steve under the table to make him stop grinning. Because everyone could feel it, you and Bucky weren’t just trading words. You were circling each other, and the pull was undeniable.
By the time dessert was finished, Steve and Natasha began gathering dishes, leaving you and Bucky across from each other in the warm silence.
“I’ll help,” you offered, starting to rise.
Natasha waved you down. “Nope. You’re the guest. Sit.” She swept plates into her arms with Steve’s help, disappearing into the kitchen, voices fading into hushed laughter.
Bucky leaned back in his chair, swirling the last of his drink. “So…” His voice was low, almost lazy, but his eyes never wavered from yours. “John, huh?”
You exhaled, embarrassed. “Don’t remind me.”
“Can’t help it.” He tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s not every day one of Natasha’s friends ends up on a date with the biggest idiot in our circle.”
You tried not to smile. “Harsh.”
“Honest.” He set down his glass and leaned forward, elbows braced on the table. “The guy didn’t even notice what was right in front of him.”
Your breath caught, his words carrying more weight than casual teasing. “And you would’ve?” you asked softly before you could stop yourself.
Bucky’s smirk softened, his eyes darkening. “In a heartbeat.”
The air thickened, the clatter of dishes in the kitchen fading to nothing in your ears. You could feel the space shrinking between you, the heat of his gaze like a touch.
Before either of you could say another word, Steve’s voice rang from the kitchen: “Hey, Buck, quit flirting at the table and help me with the dishes.”
Natasha’s laughter followed.
Bucky didn’t move, not right away. His eyes stayed locked on yours, his mouth curving in a smile. “We’ll finish this later,” he murmured, pushing back from the table at last.
Your heart thudded as he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you flushed, unsettled, and very aware that you wanted him to keep that promise.
The evening wound down with more laughter, and Natasha’s relentless attempts to keep the conversation light, though you caught the way she and Steve kept sneaking looks at you and Bucky.
By the time you slipped your coat on, Natasha hugged you tight at the door. “Text me when you’re home safe,” she whispered.
You promised, stepping into the cool night air.
“Hey.” His voice followed you, deep and low.
You turned to find Bucky leaning casually against the doorframe, jacket thrown over his shoulder. He pushed off it, walking with you down the hall.
“I’ll walk you out,” he said simply, like it wasn’t a question.
“You really don’t have to.”
His lips quirked, eyes sliding to yours. “Just making sure your streak of bad dates ends at one.”
That earned him a laugh, but it faded quickly as you both slowed near your car. The quiet wrapped around you, broken only by the muffled hum of the city outside.
Bucky stopped, turning toward you. “For the record,” His gaze held yours steady, unflinching. “If I’d been the one sitting across from you that night, I wouldn’t have wasted a second talking about myself.”
Your breath caught. “No?”
He shook his head, stepping a little closer, close enough that the warmth of him cut through the chill air. “I’d want to know everything about you. Every damn detail.” His voice dipped, softer now. “Because anyone who can make a room feel lighter just by being there deserves better than John Walker.”
Your pulse skipped, cheeks warming under the weight of his words.
He noticed, of course, he noticed. His mouth curved into the faintest smile, and for a second, you swore he might close the space between you. But instead, he stepped back, pulling the door open for you.
“Go on, doll,” he said, voice still low, still rough around the edges. “Text Natasha when you’re home. And… maybe text me too.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “I don’t have your number.”
Bucky’s grin deepened, that dangerous mix of teasing and promise. “You will.”
And as you promised, you texted Natasha as soon as you reached your door, but your phone buzzed again almost immediately, with a text from an unknown number.
Unknown: Hope you made it home safe, doll.
A smile pulling at your lips before you could stop it. Fingers flying, you sent a quick reply, yet the grin lingered on your face.
The texting and teasing between you and Bucky had gone on for weeks… maybe even months. He seemed to appear every time you and Natasha hung out, offering flirty comments, lingering glances, and walking you to your car every single time.
Now Natasha was starting to get a little tired of watching you go in circles, so she decided it was time for a plan of her own, with a little help from Steve.
And she was about to start it.
She leaned closer, lowering her voice while you worked. “By the way… tonight, Steve and I are having game night at our place. And you’re invited.”
“That sounds fun,” you said, curiosity piqued. “Who’s coming?”
“Everyone,” she replied, mischief dancing in her eyes.
Her grin deepened. “Maybe Wanda, Bucky, Sam… and John.”
Your stomach twisted. “John?”
“Oh, he wants to apologize. Maybe round two will be better,” Natasha said with a shrug, letting her eyes linger just a moment too long.
You hesitated, unsure whether to laugh or groan. “I’ll think about it.”
The workshop door groaned open just after nine. Steve glanced at the clock, then at his best friend strolling in like he hadn’t just broken a lifetime streak of punctuality.
“Well, well,” Steve drawled, wiping his hands on a rag. “Bucky Barnes is late.”
“Relax,” Bucky muttered, tossing his jacket onto a chair. “Traffic.”
Steve raised a brow. “Traffic?” He smirked, leaning against the workbench. “Or maybe you were too busy staring at your phone to notice the clock.”
Bucky shot him a look, grabbing a wrench. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting,” Steve said, a grin spreading. “I’m just observing. You’ve been late, I’ve seen you smile at a screen, and you’ve pretended you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
Bucky turned the wrench a little too hard, jaw tight. “We’re just friends.”
Steve let out a low laugh. “Uh-huh. Friends who text all night? Friends who make you forget what time it is? Friends who put that look on your face?”
“Oh, there’s a look,” Steve shot back, pointing the rag at him. “That’s your ‘I’m in trouble but I like it’ look. Haven’t seen that one since high school.”
Bucky glared. “You’re imagining things.”
Steve chuckled, shaking his head as he turned back to the engine. “Sure, I am, so you won’t mind that Nat invited her to game night to help John have a second chance.”
Now Steve and Natasha were running their own little game behind everyone’s back, and maybe, just maybe, putting John, Bucky, and you in the same room tonight would make Bucky realize how very different you were from all his usual one-night stands.
The wrench slipped in Bucky’s hand, clattering against the engine. He caught it, scowling. “A second chance? After the stunt he pulled on their first date? Please.”
Steve folded his arms, amused. “What stunt?”
Bucky barked out a laugh with no humor in it. “You mean besides showing up late, then ignoring her at the bar? Yeah, real gentleman. Exactly the kinda guy you want your best friend setting people up with.”
Steve raised a brow. “Funny, I didn’t know you’d gotten a full play-by-play.”
Bucky’s jaw ticked, caught. “Nat talks. You know how she is.”
Lies, one of the late nights you and Bucky texted, you talked about it.
“Sure,” Steve said slowly, still watching him.
“Guy’s an idiot. Doesn’t know how to treat a woman right. Can’t imagine why she’d waste another minute on him when there are… better options out there.”
Steve’s smirk deepened. “Better options like…?”
Bucky shot him a glare. “Don’t.”
Steve chuckled. “I’m just saying, for a man who claims he’s not jealous, you sure put a lot of effort into cataloguing John’s flaws.”
Bucky grunted, tossing the rag onto the bench. “I don’t have to be jealous to see the guy’s trash. And if she doesn’t see it yet, she will.”
But the way his voice roughened on that last line gave him away, and Steve heard it loud and clear.
Once he was out of the garage and away from Steve’s prying eyes, Bucky pulled out his phone..
Bucky: Hey, doll. Are you coming to game night?
You: Maybe. It might be… uncomfortable.
Bucky: What if I pick you up… and don’t leave your side all night? Keep you close, make sure you don’t get stuck with him.
You stared at the screen, your lips twitching.
Bucky: He hates me. Watching me walk in with you? It’ll eat him alive.
You: You’d love that, wouldn’t you?
Bucky: What can I say, doll? It’s a win-win. Besides… I look good on your arm, don’t I?
Bucky: Confident. Big difference, doll.
You: We’ll see about that. Fine. Pick me up at 8.
Bucky’s grin lingered long after he slipped the phone back in his pocket.
Pretty much everyone was caught off guard when you and Bucky walked in together. A few curious glances were exchanged, but Natasha’s smirk said she’d expected this outcome all along.
John’s face, however, told a different story. He forced a smile, polite enough, but his jaw was tight, and his eyes trailed after you like he couldn’t quite help himself.
The door had barely closed behind you when John appeared from across the room, beer already in hand, that too-bright smile plastered on his face.
“Hey,” he said, stepping closer like nothing awkward had ever happened. “Glad you made it, Ready for round two?.
Your stomach twisted. For a second, you thought about pretending not to hear him, but his eyes were already locked on yours, expectant.
“John…” You kept your tone even, polite. “This isn’t a second date. It’s just game night. With friends.”
His smile faltered, but only slightly. “Friends, huh?” He chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. “Well, friends can always turn into something more, right?”
You shook your head gently, firm but kind. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I think it’s better if we just stay friends.”
For the first time, John’s confidence cracked. He gave a stiff nod, his jaw tightening even as he forced another smile. “Sure. Friends. Got it.”
You started to move past him, but his gaze lingered, sharp with something unsaid.
And that’s when Bucky’s voice cut in, casual but edged. “Everything good here?”
John’s head snapped up, his smile gone completely now.
“Perfect,” you said quickly, brushing past to join the others.
The night unfolded with laughter, dice clattering against the board, and just enough competition to keep everyone riled up. But you noticed quickly, and so did everyone else, that Bucky hardly left your side.
When you excused yourself to grab more snacks from the kitchen, he followed seconds later.
“Running away from the competition?” His voice was low, teasing, as he leaned against the counter.
You arched a brow. “Competition? Pretty sure I’m losing.”
“No,” he said, stepping closer, “you’re winning. John hasn’t taken his eyes off you all night.”
Your stomach flipped. “You’re terrible.”
“Maybe. But I like keeping him on edge.”
Before you could reply, Wanda’s voice carried from the dining room. “Hey, are we playing or what?”
Bucky smirked, plucked the chips from your hand, and motioned for you to walk ahead.
When the dice rolled across the table toward John, Bucky stretched across the table to stop you, his hand brushing yours before dropping them in your palm, effectively blocking any chance of your fingers grazing John’s.
“That’s sweet,” John said suddenly, his tone sharp under the thin smile. “Didn’t think of you for the chivalrous type, Barnes.”
The table went quiet for a beat, the tension so thick you could hear the ice clink in Sam’s glass.
Bucky’s lips curved, not at all bothered. “Guess you don’t know me as well as you think.” His hand brushed lightly against your arm as he leaned back. “Maybe you should try it sometime.”
Sam choked on his drink, pretending to cough to cover his laugh. Natasha’s eyes flicked between the two men, all too entertained.
John’s smile faltered, but he raised his beer in mock agreement. “If you say so.”
From across the table, Wanda exchanged a look with Natasha.
Wanda leaned toward Natasha, voice low. “Bucky is not drinking, is he?”
Natasha’s lips curved knowingly. “Nope.”
“Because he’s driving her home.” Natasha gave a little shrug, though her eyes sparkled with amusement.
Wanda’s brows lifted. “That’s a new one.”
Natasha smirked, gaze flicking back to the table where John was shifting uncomfortably while Bucky’s hand lingered at the back of your chair. “Oh, it’s very new.”
Later that night, when everyone stopped playing to grab some snacks, you reached for the dice.
“Now I can see why you're losing,” Bucky said behind you.
“Excuse me?” You were about to make a funny reply, but Bucky leaned in behind you, his arm brushing yours as he guided your hand.
“You’re holding ’em wrong,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.
You froze, pulse stuttering. “It’s dice, Bucky. Pretty sure it’s luck.”
“Maybe. But I like my odds better.” His fingers lingered over yours just a moment too long before he pulled back, smirking at the faint color on your cheeks.
Across the table, John’s jaw tightened.
By the end of the night, when you reached for your jacket, Bucky was faster. He held it open, sliding it gently over your shoulders. His hand brushed your arm as he settled it in place, lingering just a second longer than necessary.
“Told you I wouldn’t leave you alone tonight,” he said quietly, the playful edge gone, replaced by something heavier.
When Bucky pulled up in front of your place, the hum of the engine was the only sound between you. You hesitated, then leaned in, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek.
“Thank you for tonight,” you whispered with a smile, fingers curling around the door handle.
But before you could step out, his hand wrapped gently around your arm. Not tight, but just enough to keep you there. Something in his touch told you he didn’t really want to let go.
“Wait.” His voice was low, rougher than usual.
You turned, surprised at the look on his face. He seemed almost… conflicted, like words were pressing against his throat, fighting their way out.
“Yeah?” you asked softly.
He held your gaze for a long moment, blue eyes flicking between your face and the window, like he was searching for the right words.
“All of that,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, “it wasn’t just because of John.”
Your breath caught. “No?”
Bucky shook his head once, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. His hand lingered on your arm, thumb brushing the fabric of your sleeve almost unconsciously.
“No,” he said, firmer this time. “Not even close.”
The words hung heavy in the small space of the car, louder than either of you expected. Your breath hitched
You froze, not because you didn’t want it, but because you wanted it too much. Your hand tightened on the door handle, the other twitching as if to reach for him but not daring.
“Bucky…” you whispered, not sure if it was a warning or a plea.
His gaze burned into yours, and for a second it felt inevitable like the world had narrowed to this single moment. His nose brushed lightly against yours, a ghost of a touch that made your whole body tense in anticipation.
And then, as if remembering something, Bucky pulled back just enough to break the spell. His hand slipped from your arm, leaving a strange emptiness in its wake.
“Goodnight, doll,” he said softly, almost regretful.
You sat frozen, lips parted, heart hammering, as you finally pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool night air. But before you could close it, his voice followed you, low and rough.
You shut the door, your legs carrying you to your front step on autopilot, but your mind was still in the car with him, with that almost kiss that lingered like a promise.
“Wow, someone’s in a mood,” Steve smirked when the garage door slammed shut behind Bucky. “You okay there, pal?”
Bucky just grunted, tossing his jacket onto a workbench. “Just busy.”
Steve frowned. “You literally just got here.”
“Not now, Steve.” Bucky ran both hands through his hair, pacing like a man ready to combust.
Steve crossed his arms, unbothered. “Yeah, now. I’m your best friend. If something’s eating you alive, you tell me.”
Bucky stopped pacing. His jaw tightened, and for a second, Steve saw something flicker, desperation, anger, something deeper.
“You know how many times I’ve been late since I met her?”
Steve’s brows lifted. He didn’t need to ask who ‘her’ was. “I’ve noticed, yeah.”
“Almost every damn day.” Bucky started pacing again. “You know why?”
“Because I can’t sleep. Because I need to text her just to know how she’s doing. Because every time I close my eyes, I see her face. Her eyes. Her smile.” He laughed bitterly, running a hand over his face. “Hell, her lips.”
Steve blinked. “Her lips?”
“Yeah.” Bucky huffed out a laugh. “I almost kissed her the other night, man. And I didn’t. And I’ve regretted it ever since. I can’t stop thinking about it, about what it would’ve felt like, what she’d taste like.”
He sank onto the floor, shoulders slumping as he let out a rough breath.
“All I wanted that game night was to be close to her. Hold her hand. Make her laugh. All that corny crap you see in movies.” He looked up at Steve, eyes tired. “She’s driving me insane, Stevie. Is this witchcraft or something?”
Steve chuckled and dropped down beside him. “No witchcraft. You’re just gone, pal. Completely gone.”
Bucky groaned, dragging his hands over his face.
“Did you ever talk about that almost kiss?” Steve asked.
“No?” Steve’s brows shot up. “She didn’t bring it up?”
“She texted. I didn’t reply.”
Steve stared at him. “You ignored her?”
Bucky sighed, guilty. “I panicked. I’m a dick, Steve. I know I don’t deserve her.”
Steve smacked the back of his head lightly. “Yeah, you’re an idiot, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve her.”
“I know how to screw things up, not how to be good for someone like her.”
Steve shook his head. “You really think she deserves someone else?”
“No,” Steve said firmly. “You’re a good man, Buck. Messed up, sure, but a good man. You just have to stop running from what you want.”
Bucky leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. “She’s… amazing, Steve. I don’t know how else to say it.”
Steve smiled softly. “And so are you. Give your heart a damn chance.”
Bucky didn’t answer. His throat was too tight.
“Look,” Steve added, standing up and dusting off his jeans, “Nat invited her to her birthday thing this Friday. You’re going. You’ll talk to her. No more hiding, understood?”
Bucky exhaled slowly, then nodded. “Yeah. No more hiding.”
Steve grinned. “That’s my guy.” He clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “You’re enough, Buck. Always have been. And for the record,” he gave him a playful shove, “I love you, ya punk.”
Bucky let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Love you too, jerk.”
The bar was crowded, music loud enough to hide most conversations but not the sharp tone in John’s voice.
Bucky had been keeping to himself, nursing a beer at the counter while the others played pool, when John slid up beside him.
“You know,” John started, leaning casually against the bar, “you don’t fool anyone.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Not in the mood, Walker.”
John smirked. “You think I don’t see what you’re doing? showing up to every hangout she’s at. You only started caring once I took her out.”
Bucky’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t look up from his beer. “That’s not what this is.”
“Sure it is.” John took a sip of his drink, his tone dripping with smugness. “You couldn’t stand that someone else got to her first. You don’t want her, you just want to win.”
That made Bucky look up. His stare was cold enough to cut. “You don’t know a damn thing about what I want.”
John leaned in, voice dropping low. “I know your type, Barnes. You get bored easily. You play the nice guy until you get what you want and then you disappear. You really think she’s different to you?”
Bucky’s hand tightened around his glass. “Watch it.”
John didn’t stop. “You don’t care about her. You just want to sleep with her. It’s what you do. Everyone knows that.”
The sound of glass shattering echoed over the bar when Bucky slammed his drink down. Heads turned. His knuckles were white, jaw tight enough to ache.
“You should shut your mouth before I make you,” Bucky said, low and dangerous.
John straightened, but his smirk stayed. “Touched a nerve?”
Bucky took a step closer, close enough that John’s smugness flickered into something uncertain. “You think you know me, Walker? You don’t know shit.”
“You’re just trying to screw her because I couldn’t.” John snapped.
That was the last straw. Bucky grabbed him by the collar and shoved him hard against the bar, voice rough. “You don’t get to talk about her like that.”
“Bucky!” Sam’s voice cut through the noise as he and Steve rushed over, pulling him back. John straightened, adjusting his shirt with a self-satisfied smirk.
“Guess I hit a little too close to home,” John muttered.
Bucky glared at him, breathing hard. “Say one more word about her, and I swear—”
“Alright, that’s enough!” Steve barked, stepping between them. “Both of you, outside. Now.”
Bucky shoved away from the bar, shaking his head as he stormed out into the cold night air. His chest heaved, his pulse pounding. He hadn’t even noticed you in the corner, eyes wide, frozen halfway between the tables.
You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until your chest started to ache.
The words replayed in your head like a cruel echo.
You’re just trying to screw her because I couldn’t.
You blinked hard, fighting the sting in your eyes. Before anyone could notice, you grabbed your bag and pushed through the crowded bar, slipping out the door into the cold night air.
The sound of your heels on the pavement was drowned by your own heartbeat, each step faster than the last. You weren’t sure where you were going, just away. Away from the noise, from the eyes, from him.
Bucky’s voice. Closer than you expected.
You turned, and there he was, half out of breath, face flushed from the argument, eyes desperate.
“Don’t,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “Please don’t, Bucky.”
He stopped a few feet away, hands raised like he didn’t want to spook you. “You heard that, didn’t you?”
You let out a sharp breath. “Kind of hard not to, considering you nearly threw him across the bar.”
Your voice cracked. You swallowed hard. “You didn’t even deny it.”
Bucky’s face fell, the anger in his eyes replaced with something softer, something like fear. “But that’s not true, doll. None of it.” He said carefully, stepping closer.
You crossed your arms, more to steady yourself than to push him away. “Then what is true?”
He hesitated, his voice low. “That I’ve been an idiot.”
“No, listen to me.” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing for a second before meeting your eyes again. “I know what people think about me. Hell, half of it used to be true. But this,” He gestured between you two. “You’re different. I don’t just want one night. I don’t even want just a kiss. I want to show up for you. I want to earn it.”
Your chest tightened. “Then why did you disappear? After that night?”
His jaw clenched, regret flickering across his face. “Because I freaked out. Because for the first time, I wanted something real and I didn’t think I deserved it.”
“Bucky, do you think I’m some fragile little thing that you’ll ruin if you get too close?”
“It’s not that,” he said, stepping forward. “It’s just—”
“Then what?!” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “Because every time you pull away. You look at me like you want something more, and then you act like I’m something you have to protect yourself from.”
Bucky’s jaw tightened. “You don’t get it.”
“Then make me,” you said quietly. “Help me get it, because right now, it just feels like you’re using the idea that you’re not good enough as an excuse to keep me at arm’s length.”
That hit him. You could see it in the way he froze.
“I’m not—” he started, but his voice faltered. “You think I don’t want you? I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re in my head all the damn time.” He laughed under his breath, bitter and low. “You’ve got me feeling things I haven’t felt in years, and it scares the hell out of me.”
You stared at him, chest tight. “So you push me away?”
“I push you away,” he said softly, “because you deserve someone better than me. Someone who doesn’t have to unlearn every mistake he’s ever made before he figures out how to love you right.”
Your anger cracked at the edges, replaced by something fragile and aching. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve.”
He stepped forward, but you didn’t back away.
“It’s not about deciding,” he said quietly. “It’s about knowing. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, hurt people who didn’t deserve it. And you, you’re good. You’re steady. You’d wake up one morning and realize I’m nothing but trouble.”
Your chest ached at how much he believed it.
“God, you really think you’re poison, don’t you?” you said softly.
His eyes flickered to yours, uncertain.
“You’re not,” you said, voice steady now. “You’re human. Messy and complicated, just like the rest of us. And for the record…” You took a breath, stepping closer until you could see the twitch of his jaw, the storm behind his calm. “You’re worth it, Bucky.”
He froze, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard right.
“Yes, you are.” You reached up, fingers brushing his arm, grounding him. “You’re worth the risk, worth the mess, worth whatever it takes. Don’t you dare think otherwise.”
His throat worked as he swallowed hard. The space between you shrank to almost nothing.
“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he murmured, voice low and rough.
“Why not?” you whispered back.
“Because I won’t be able to stop.”
Your heart stuttered. “Then don’t.”
Your heart stuttered when his hand brushed your jaw. You stared at him, the mix of frustration and emotion pulling at your voice. “And now?”
“Now I’m done running.” His tone dropped, raw and rough.
The air between you felt pulsing, charged . His breath came out uneven, a mix of nerves and desire, and you could feel it fan across your cheek.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered again, voice low and frayed at the edges.
You couldn’t. You didn’t want to.
Instead, you tilted your chin up just slightly, the smallest invitation, but it was enough.
His eyes flicked from your lips to your eyes and back again, as if asking one last silent question before he gave in.
Then, finally, his mouth found yours.
It started slow, almost hesitant, like he was scared he’d break the moment if he pushed too hard. His lips were warm and soft against yours, tasting faintly of whiskey and something that felt like home.
Your breath caught, a quiet sound escaping you before you could stop it.
Bucky deepened the kiss with a low groan, his hand sliding up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing just beneath your ear. The touch made your knees weaken, and before you realized it, you’d grabbed his shirt, clutching it like you needed him to stay right there.
He pressed closer, his chest brushing yours, every breath syncing with yours. The world outside fell away: the noise of the city, the sting of John’s words, the ache in your chest, all gone. There was only him.
Bucky pulled back for half a second, his forehead resting against yours, breaths mingling. His voice was rough, almost pleading.
“I shouldn’t want you like this,” he murmured, “but I can’t help it.”
You swallowed hard, heart racing. “Then don’t stop.”
That was all it took. He kissed you again, deeper, firmer this time, the kind of kiss that leaves no space for doubt. His hand found the back of your neck, the other settling at your waist, pulling you against him.
When he finally broke the kiss, both of you were breathless. His nose brushed yours, voice husky and unsteady.
“Still think you don’t deserve me?” you whispered.
He gave a shaky laugh, thumb brushing your cheek. “I think I’m gonna spend the rest of my life trying to.”
