[starling-in-the-sky]

Restraint and Recklessness - Masterlist

Bridgerton AU: Bucky x Stark!Reader

Summary: Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes has returned from the front lines, recovered from a career-ending injury. When he arrives home, he finds that his childhood friend is very much not a child anymore, and has been selected the diamond of the season. How can he hope to court you as a broken man, and with the eyes of the entire ton watching your every move?

Content: 18+ (MDNI). Slow burn, fluff, occasional angst, smut

A/N: Bridgerton season 4 is upon us, and what better way to celebrate than with a good, old fashioned yearning Regency fanfic? Reply or message to be added to the taglist! (PS: I went back on some previously posted chapters to fix some anatomical inconsistencies with descriptions of Bucky, if you noticed those errors before... no you didn't)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Epilogue - A Turning Page

[starling-in-the-sky]

That's A Wrap!

A/N: Was bored, started noodling around. Idk man, is this anything?

New Avengers!Bucky x New Avengers!Reader

Summary: What the hell happened to Bucky’s hair?

Word Count: 0.6K

Warnings: idiots in love, good-old fashioned fluff, Bucky is a sensitive guy :3

For a man who could deflect moving cars and rip doors off helicopters, Bucky’s pride was awfully fragile. 

As your relationship developed, this was by far the most entertaining discovery you had made about him. Super soldier serum be damned, his ego bruised like a peach. He managed to hide it most of the time from the rest of the New Avengers, but he couldn’t hide it from you - his beautiful, frustrating, smart-ass girlfriend. You had made it your personal mission to tease him relentlessly, earning you grumbles and scowls in front of the team, and puppy-dog eyes in private.

Best of all, he had an Achilles heel - his hair.

Now that he was in the driver’s seat of his life, the hair was a constant sore spot. He never knew what to do with it, had no idea what looked good. You reassured him over and over that he looked good no matter what, but he still frowned at his reflection every morning as he tried to assemble the strands into something passable. You’d ruffle it playfully, and he’d groan that he’d only just managed to get it to look right. His complaints would only die down when your lips met his in a placating kiss.

One afternoon, after meetings and responsibilities had kept you apart all day, you walked into the common room to find Bucky on the couch, with his head in his hands. 

Your brows immediately drew together in concern, and you approached him quickly. “Bucky, are you okay? Did something-”

When he looked up, his face was full of humiliation, his icy blue eyes weary and troubled. But most notably, his hair fell in beautiful, soft, styled waves around his face.

Your mouth fell open in shock.

“Don’t laugh. My ego can’t handle it,” Bucky begged, self-consciously running a hand through the styled locks.

Something in his expression told you that if you dared tease him about this, it could quite possibly break him. You schooled your face, looking at the ceiling. “I'm not going to laugh. Who's laughing?”

“Christ, you can’t even look at me. This is humiliating.”

Despite your best efforts, a chuckle escaped as you knelt in front of him, touching his hair softly. “Who did this to you?”

“Val sicced hair and makeup on me for a promo,” he explained dejectedly. “They used something called a Dyson.”

You grinned. “I am gonna buy that hair and makeup team lunch. This is incredible. Can I take a picture?” 

Bucky stood up, marched off in the direction of the doorway. “This is stupid, I'm washing it out.”

“Stop!” you protested, grabbing his arm. “It looks-” You suppressed a giggle. “It looks good.”

“You can’t even say it with a straight face!” Bucky groaned. “It’s awful. Walker called me ‘Fabio.’ I don’t even know what he was referencing, but everyone laughed, so it must have been bad.”

“It’s not bad, I promise. It's just kind of giving… 80’s action star.” You ran your hands through his hair, smiling. “Honestly, it’s kind of doing it for me. It's very Kurt Russell."

Bucky looked unamused. “You know I don't know who that is.”

“Well, he was very hot in the 80’s and 90’s,” you informed him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close. “The subject of many of my fantasies as a young girl.”

“Okay, that does make me feel a little better,” he grumbled.

You leaned in, nudging your nose against his. “Kiss me, Lieutenant Cash.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Shh, just let me have this,” you whispered, pulling him in for a kiss.

[starling-in-the-sky]

Wife You Up

A/N: Another reworked fanfiction for your reading pleasure! I drafted this before I went into tech for my show, and then I promptly died. Still exhausted, currently bed-bound with a cold, but it’s time to get this out of my drafts so I can post other interesting shit. Proofread by only me, so you can take up any mistakes with my attorney

Future Congressman!Bucky x Reader

Summary: A lovey-dovey moment with Bucky in the kitchen has him overthinking about taking a big step in your relationship.

Word Count: <1.5K

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, implied smut, domestic Bucky, quiche

The apartment was filled with the smell of baking pastry and sautéed spinach as Bucky worked in the kitchen. Summoned by the lovely smells, you appeared from the bedroom, stretching briefly before leaning against the fridge.

“Good morning. What smells good?” you asked.

Bucky cracked a few eggs in a bowl. “I'm making a quiche.” Alpine stirred from her perch by the window at the sound of the eggs cracking, and she sat at Bucky's feet to beg.

You raised an eyebrow and smiled. “A quiche?”

“What, do you not like quiche?” 

“I like quiche.” Pulling his attention away from the bowl, you wrapped your arms around Bucky’s neck and brushed your nose against his. “C’mere.”

Unable to resist your charms, he leaned down to kiss you. You smiled against his lips, ran your fingers underneath the neck strap of his apron. 

“So domestic,” you purred. “And you look really sexy in this little apron. Makes me wanna wife you up.”

“I don't know what that means,” Bucky muttered, flushing a little at your praise.

You reached down to grab a handful of his ass. “Google it, old man.”

He laughed and gently pushed you away. “Get outta here, before you make me burn this. We can’t have a repeat of the pancake incident.”

Grumbling, you picked up Alpine and sat at the kitchen island. As he worked, you were unapologetically staring, with Alpine purring happily in your arms.

That night, Bucky did google the phrase ‘wife you up.’ He waited until after you were asleep, to avoid the teasing that would ensue if you caught him doing it. He read the Urban Dictionary definition and felt his heart seize up as he laid there in bed.

Bucky thought about marrying you at least once a day. It wasn't something the two of you talked about. You had never really expressed any interest in marriage. You didn’t wax poetic about your dream wedding or talk about your diamond cut preference. The most you’d ever spoken about weddings was to make fun of people who used mason jars and burlap in their wedding decor.

‘Wife you up.’ It had been a joke. But you so rarely said things you didn’t mean. 

He glanced over at you dozing softly beside him, your leg pressed against his under the covers. 

If it was something you wanted, Bucky wanted to give it to you.

————————————————————————

You tossed your ridiculous heels across the apartment floor and sighed in relief.

Bucky collapsed on the couch, loosened his tie. “Thank god that’s over. I knew I would have to do some fundraising, but this is getting to be cruel and unusual punishment.” He ran his eyes over you and your fancy gala dress, then held out a hand towards you. “Come here.”

You walked over and slid into his lap, winding his tie around your hand flirtatiously. “You know, I heard your PR team discussing us. I think some of your voter base might disapprove of a prospective congressman rooming with an unmarried woman. I might have even heard the words ‘living in sin’ getting thrown around.” 

“The voter base and the PR team can take their disapproval and-“ Bucky was interrupted by your mouth on his, and he hummed appreciatively into the kiss.

You pulled away and just looked at him a moment. You had been in awe of him tonight. Bucky struggled with the social aspect of campaigning, which you knew all too well. He endured it simply because he wanted to do good, to serve. You wanted this for him so badly, wanted him to get everything he deserved.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” he murmured, his thumb stroking your jaw.

You gathered your courage and spoke aloud the thought that had been bouncing around in your head for weeks now. “We should get married.”

Bucky’s eyes got about as wide as his head. “Come again?”

You slid off his lap and sat next to him on the couch, looking at him seriously. “Hear me out. You’re under a lot of scrutiny right now, and it’ll be worse when you win.” He started to protest, but you insisted, “When you win. People will be trying to pull the rug out from under you all the time.”

Gently taking his hand and squeezing it firmly, you murmured, "I want this, us, to be one thing you can count on, that you’re sure about. Because I'm sure about it. I'm sure about you.”

Bucky stared at you hard, furrowing his brow. Suddenly. he stood up and calmly walked out of the living room.

You had been expecting any number of reactions, but that was not one of them. Swallowing nervously, you began to start babbling, word-vomit-style. “Or we could wait, if you want. Or never get married at all. I don't need a ring to know how we feel about each other, I just thought-”

Bucky grabbed his leather jacket off of the coatrack, and turned back to you. “Baby, will you please stop talking for five seconds?” he asked gently, his tone reassuring. “I gotta say something.” 

You closed your mouth and watched as he slowly walked back over to the couch.

He spoke carefully, almost nervously. “I started trying to hunt this down a couple months ago. It took a while, but I finally found it.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small manila envelope, then tossed his jacket onto the arm of the couch. His hands were shaking a little as he attempted to open the envelope. “It was in Becca’s effects that her son held onto in storage. Luckily, he didn’t have use for it.”

Bucky finally managed to open the envelope, and he shook out something small and silver into his hand. He looked at you with significance. “This is my mother’s ring.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and your hand flew to your mouth involuntarily. “Oh my god.”

This was what he had been doing when he disappeared on their visits with Bucky’s nephew and his husband, why he had been so tight lipped about the whole thing. You had thought he was just emotional about going through Rebecca’s things. Never in a million years would you have predicted this.

Bucky held the ring in between his thumb and forefinger as he stepped in close to you. “I don't want to marry you as a political move to appease my constituents.” He got to his knees in front of you, his eyes hopeful and fearful and full of love. “I want to marry you because you are my best friend, you are the love of my life, and you are my second chance at happiness.”

All of a sudden, you found it rather difficult to breathe.

“Sweetheart, will you-“

“Yes,” you interrupted, unable to stop yourself, reaching for his face.

He laughed, a nervous, breathy sound, and he took hold of your hands. “Will you let me do it properly, please? I have been trying and failing to get this out for weeks now.” He took a deep breath. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes, oh my God, I love you so much,” you practically sobbed, throwing yourself at him. 

Bucky caught hold of your waist, and you wrapped yourself around him where he knelt on the floor. You took his face in your hands and kissed him fiercely, your teeth bumping against his. A little caught up in the moment, you began to pull at his tie and the top buttons of his shirt.

He mumbled against your mouth, “Wait, wait, you have to let me put it on.”

You broke the kiss and laughed breathlessly. “Sorry.” Bucky was grinning like a fool, with your lipstick all over his mouth. He gently took your left hand and slipped the ring on. It was a beautiful vintage piece, shimmering on your finger when it caught the light. You felt a lump in your throat. “Bucky…”

He looked at you a little nervously. “Is it okay? I didn’t know if-“

You stopped his speech with another kiss. “It’s perfect. You're perfect,” You whispered. 

Bucky breathed a sigh of relief, like he had been holding his breath for weeks, and threaded a hand into your hair as he kissed you. 

In the aftermath, as the two of you lay on the living room floor, not wearing a single stitch on except the blanket from the couch, you stretched out your hand on Bucky's chest and admired the ring.

“What was your plan, if I hadn't said anything?” you asked curiously.

“Oh, I had absolutely no plan,” he deadpanned. “Everything I could think of seemed corny or insincere. I have been shitting myself for weeks over this.”

“And here I thought you were just nervous about the campaign,” you teased.

“You kidding, doll? This is way more important.” 

[starling-in-the-sky]

Lights, Camera, Action!

Moviestar!Bucky x Rising Moviestar!Reader

A/N: While we transition from Wild Geese to Restraint and Recklessness, here’s a break from the multichapter fics – a sweet, fluffy little one shot. Eat up my pretties, and prepare for a real steamy series starting very soon ;)

Summary: Your harmless crush on your famous costar, Bucky Barnes, becomes not so harmless and all too embarrassing when the intimacy choreography begins.

Word Count: 3k

Content: fluff, brief sensuality (as brought to you by intimacy choreography, baby!), excessive blushing

You repeat it in your head over and over like a mantra: I’m a goddamn professional. I can keep it together. I will not look like an idiot in front of Bucky fucking Barnes.

You had known he’d be a problem for you from the chemistry read. He was charming, sweet, incredibly talented, and drop-dead, devastatingly gorgeous. You’d never been in for a chemistry read for anyone remotely as famous as him, but he was such an attentive scene partner that you found yourself totally unintimidated. It was impossible not to like him immediately.

But all the chemistry reads and screen tests and table reads do not prepare you in the slightest for the beast that is intimacy choreography.

The week’s schedule had been switched around last minute, accommodating a conflict for one of your other co-stars. You’d dressed for the original plan of rehearsing the outdoor scenes — lightweight clothes, no makeup, hair thrown up in a messy bun. But then the director, Valentina, sprung it on you that today you would be choreographing the sex scene. It’s supposed to be sensual, emotional, and hot enough to blow the eyebrows off the Academy.

You’re underprepared, to say the least.

You can feel it simmering under the surface of your skin before you even touch each other, and you pray that your face won’t betray you like it always does. Ava, the coordinator, tells you that an important part of the choreography process is to make it so repeatable that it becomes routine — eliminating the embarrassment and messiness of real intimacy. 

You’re skeptical at best about the no-embarrassment part.

Thankfully, you both get through the fences exercise without humiliation. You feel a certain level of trust, and enough control that you don’t feel the need to run out of the room screaming. But then the actual choreography starts. Bucky’s hand gently grips your waist, and to your abject horror, your face flushes immediately.

You curse yourself for not wearing foundation today. At least that would give you some level of camouflage. Your characters haven’t even kissed yet, and you’re turning red as a fire truck.

You have no choice but to act like nothing’s wrong, execute the choreography as instructed, and pray that Bucky somehow doesn’t notice.

Eventually, Ava releases you and Bucky for a break, and before he can engage you in conversation, you oh-so-casually bolt to find a production assistant.

One of the PAs, Bob, comes into your line of sight, scribbling on his clipboard. You scramble over to him, pressing a cold water bottle from craft services to one of your burning cheeks.

“Would it be possible to get the air con turned up?” you beg, not even hiding your desperation.

Bob glances up, sees your predicament immediately, and waggles his eyebrows at you. “Ooh, too hot for tv, I take it?”

“Please don’t,” you groan. Any acknowledgment of your plight is just going to make it worse.

He flashes you a sympathetic look and promises, “I’ll talk to Val.”

At the end of your five minute break, you’ve managed to coax your cheeks from crimson back to a less obvious pink, and you sheepishly return to set.

“You okay?” Bucky asks, sensing your discomfort.

You nod stiffly and lie through your teeth. “Yeah, just… warm. The lights in here, they get me every time.”

His expression turns soft and concerned, and his hand settles respectfully on your shoulder. “You can call ‘button’ if you need a minute.”

You shake your head. You don’t need to stop rehearsal completely because your face is threatening to rebel against you. You're a goddamn professional. You fan yourself with your script, already feeling your cheeks heating up from an innocent shoulder touch, and put on your best Please Hire Me Again smile. 

“I’m fine. Let’s do this.”

Ava announces that it’s time to stop marking the choreo. “This is where the magic happens,” she explains in her soothing accent. “We integrate kisses and breath and sounds. This is where we start to sell it.”

Fantastic.

The two of you run the scene. You almost hold it together, until Bucky leans in to kiss you. The movement is practiced and predictable, every breath and touch following the beats set by Ava. None of that makes any difference whatsoever, because Bucky Barnes is kissing you.

Your cheeks flare up like the sun, so intensely that he must be able to feel the heat underneath his palms.

When he pulls away, his eyes meet yours for a second longer than is scripted. As if in slow motion, you watch the realization dawn on him — that he is the source of this embarrassing biological response. For a split second, you worry that he’s going to break out of character and laugh, because people always laugh when you flush so obviously. 

But he doesn’t. He waits another second, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll call for a button. 

You don’t, despite your wish to disappear through the floor. You proceed with the choreography, more out of a stubborn need to pretend that everything is fine than anything else. Bucky follows your lead without any more hesitation.

Your condition doesn’t improve with the rest of the rehearsal. It only worsens with every kiss, every staged sound of pleasure you’re forced to generate. Half of your brain sincerely regrets agreeing to a kiss with tongue, while the other half turns to tv static when his tongue does slide into your mouth as choreographed. The scene culminates with Bucky's head between your legs, to your complete and utter mortification. Of course, his mouth touches nothing in reality — the camera angle will be solely responsible for maintaining the realism. But you can feel the heat of his breath through your leggings, and you wonder if cardiac arrest is something you should be concerned about.

The rehearsal comes to an end, and Ava comes back with a few final notes. You press your palms to your overheated cheeks and try so, so hard not to look at Bucky. Eventually, you fail, casting a sideways glance at him while Ava reads from her notepad. 

He’s already looking at you, his mouth curled at the edge like he’s trying not to smile, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Your eyes snap forward again, and you don’t even have to look in a mirror to know what your face is doing.

After notes, Ava dismisses the two of you for the day, and you mutter a stilted goodbye to Bucky before making a beeline to your trailer.

The vanity table is cool against your forehead. You take a beat here, trying to forget the look on Bucky's face and attain some level of calm before calling your driver.

After a few minutes, right as you’re almost feeling halfway normal, you hear a knock at your trailer door.

“Come in,” you sigh loudly, not bothering to lift your head from the table.

The door squeaks open, and the very last voice in the world you want to hear fills the room. 

“Hey, pinkie pie,” Bucky teases.

You squeeze your eyes shut and press your forehead firmly against the tabletop. “Please don’t look at me right now.”

He leans in the doorway, giving you an easy smile. “Doll—”

“It has nothing to do with you, okay?” You sit up and try to look somewhat dignified. “So don’t get a big head about it.”

“I wasn’t—”

Your mouth begins to run away with you. “It's always like this. The nervous system can’t tell the difference between real intimacy and staged intimacy, and my nervous system apparently tells my brain to turn me into a tomato.” 

It's not a total lie. Well, the part where you said it had nothing to do with him certainly is. But you’d been battling your embarrassment response for years now, with full-coverage foundations and carefully timed bathroom breaks. And the part about staged intimacy is a direct lift from Ava's interview that she gave the New Yorker. You hope it’s convincing enough to save you.

You wave your hand dismissively. “Makeup will cover it when we film, so—”

“Will you relax?” Bucky interrupts. Your mouth snaps shut in response.

“It’s fine,” he assures you. “I get it. This whole thing is pretty embarrassing, but it’s part of the job. Don't work yourself up over it.”

In spite of everything, his words comfort you just a little. It helps that he’s so effortlessly charming and earnest, even when the cameras are off. 

You tuck a rebellious lock of hair behind your ear. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just go home, get some rest,” he instructs you, turning to head back through the door. But before he leaves, he hesitates, turns back, and says, “Don’t let them cover it.”

You look back at him, confused. “What?”

“When we film, don’t let Makeup cover it up. It'll sell it as more realistic.” His smile turns boyish and life-ruining. “And it’s cute.”

You sit in shock for a moment, feeling the familiar heat creep in once again. Then you reach for a promotional baseball cap that marketing gave you and toss it at his head. “Will you get out of here?”

He dodges your throw, chuckles, and calls over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow, red.”

When the dreaded day arrives, you sit in the makeup chair, fidgeting as Yelena mixes the color for your lips. You refuse to let your nerves overtake you, doing your very best to move from a place of acceptance.

You’ll probably mess up at some point. You're definitely going to blush while shooting. It won't be the end of the world. Bucky's words echo in the back of your mind: don’t work yourself up over it.

As if psychically summoned, Bucky sticks his head in the makeup trailer, wrapped in a robe that matches your own. “Hey, red.”

And it begins.

“Oh no,” you groan quietly, turning your face toward Yelena like it’ll somehow save you.

His broad frame fills the doorway as he steps inside. “Here.” Bucky produces a bottle of water and a can of your preferred flavor of Red Bull, setting them on the makeup counter in front of you. “Long shoot day, you’re gonna need it.”

It's a sweet gesture that helps settle your unease, ever so slightly. You crack open the can and offer him a soft smile. “Thanks.”

Bucky turns to Yelena with a mischievous look and cautions her, “Don’t go too heavy with the foundation.”

Rolling your eyes, you spritz him with the makeup setting spray. “Go away, please.” 

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, removing himself from the line of fire. “See you out there.”

As his back retreats through the doorframe and heads towards the set, Yelena whips her head toward you with wide eyes. 

“Girl.”

“I know,” you whine, dropping your head into your hands.

Various crew bustles around the set, making final touches. You repeat your mantra to yourself on a loop. Yelena murmurs encouragment as she touches up your makeup, the barely-there, natural look requested by the director. It becomes clear to you that there’s no turning back, that this is really happening. As game time approaches rapidly, production assistants come by to collect you and Bucky’s robes, leaving you both to stand under the warm lights in your tasteful undergarments (covering your decidedly unsexy modesty garments that you’ll later strip down to).

Bucky nudges your shoulder with his. “You ready?” he asks.

You swallow back your nerves the best you can. “As I’ll ever be.”

His eyes briefly flick over you, and he leans in to murmur in your ear, “You look great, by the way.”

Immediately, your heart rate accelerates from ‘timid animal’ to ‘imminent risk of passing out’. 

“Bucky,” you quietly protest, palms against your cheeks to try and stave off the inevitable.

He feigns total innocence. “What?”

“You’re gonna get me going before we even start rolling,” you grumble, fanning yourself with your hands to absolutely no avail.

“I thought it didn’t have anything to do with me,” he replies with a raised eyebrow.

Your eyes widen, and you flounder for something, anything to say that will walk this back. “I—”

Val claps her hands together from her director’s chair. “All right, head to your marks, please, actors.”

All of a sudden, you feel a pit in your stomach, your palms starting to bead with nervous sweat. Your mark has you facing Bucky directly, and you already know he can see you struggling. Still, he doesn’t tease you again. 

Instead, he takes one of your hands in his and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Hey. It’s just you and me, okay? Like we practiced.”

You take a deep breath to steady yourself. “Okay.”

“You trust me?”

“I trust you,” you whisper, and you mean it.

Bucky releases your hand and you both ready yourselves to dive in.

The first take is a little stilted. The second is an improvement. By the third, you surprise yourself by actually having fun. Bucky is a fantastic scene partner, always present and endlessly patient. And there’s a reason that you booked this role — you are good at what you do. The two of you have something special when you’re onscreen together. It just works.

In the back of your mind, you’re aware that you’re flushed to high heaven, but you become too focused on the scene to care. Between takes and camera angle adjustments, you hear Val murmuring things from behind the camera like:

“Gorgeous.”

“Yes, that’s it. Stay on her, camera 2.”

“That's gotta make the trailer.”

The two of you do manage to ruin one take by tripping over each other, and you laugh so hard that you snort. Once you both get ahold of yourselves and the giggles subside, you and Bucky begin to find a groove with the scene. You feel like you’re really connecting. It's sexy and electric and painfully earnest at times. Ava encourages you both to really let go for a take, and you trust Bucky implicitly, so you take the leap.

That take certainly gets interesting, even spirited. When Bucky's hand moves between your legs, as choreographed, in reality only touching your thigh, you let out a startlingly realistic moan, a sound that you never once made in rehearsal. Out of the corner of your eye, Bucky’s throb bobs in a way that feels entirely too real for a moment.

Still, the take continues. You feel sexy and capable and in control. When Val finally yells, “Cut!” Bucky laughs breathlessly and gives you a high five.

“You killed that. That was the one.”

Never in your life has someone given you a high-five while you’re completely topless. But his eyes on you don’t feel lewd – they remain fixed on yours, sparkling with excitement.

“Thanks,” you giggle breathlessly.

“I’m serious.” He squeezes your hand, his blue eyes captivating and honest. “You were amazing.”

There’s no harm in the compliment now, because it’s not like you could possibly blush any harder than you already are. “You, too. You… you make it all feel easy,” you manage to reply, a shy smile clinging to your face.

Not long after, Val announces that they have the scene in the can and it’s time to move on. Your robe is surrendered back to you, which you wrap around your shoulders gratefully. You and Bucky trudge back to neighboring trailers, tired and wired from the excitement of it all.

With your street clothes on your back, your face freshly scrubbed, and your feet sincerely looking forward to an evening on the couch, you exit your trailer. You stop in your tracks when you see Bucky waiting for you, leaning against the wall outside.

He speaks before you have the chance to say anything. “You hungry?”

“What?”

“Are you hungry?” he asks casually. “Simple question.”

You furrow your brows in confusion. “I… sure, I guess?”

“Wanna grab something to eat?”

You freeze. You and Bucky have spent a lot of time together over the last few weeks, but always on set, on the clock. The idea of a casual off-set hang sets your heart fluttering in a dangerously unprofessional way. 

“I should… probably go home and go over my lines for tomorrow.” You avoid his eyes, the excuse weak and flimsy in your mouth.

“You know your lines. You’ve known them for weeks.” Bucky pushes off the wall to stand directly in front of you. There's no avoiding his gaze anymore. “I hope you have a better reason than that to turn down a date with me.”

“A date?” you squeak.

“Yeah, red, I'm asking you on a date.” His smile is crooked and disarming and makes you a little weak in the knees.

There are so many reasons why you should say no. “Bucky—“

“Before you cry ‘showmance’, it’s not that. This isn’t my first rodeo,” he interrupts you, already anticipating your worries. “I’ve liked you since the chemistry read, if I’m being honest with myself.” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish but still smiling.

Your chest flutters again, and the cool air of the early evening suddenly doesn’t feel cool at all.

Bucky steps in close. “I think you’re interesting, and funny, and real. You're majorly talented. Plus, you’re cute as a button. I'd really, really like the chance to get to know you better.” 

Boldly, he reaches up and softly grazes his thumb over your cheek, which has been rapidly turning scarlet since he started speaking. “And maybe get you to blush like that again.”

How exactly are you supposed to say no to that?

It takes a moment for the words to travel from your brain to your lips, but eventually they do. “...I like Thai food.”

He grins, victorious, and offers you a hand. “Then let’s go get some Thai food.”

[skaye44]

Sugar and Skates

Summary: You're a hockey reporter who is diabetic. You're in the middle of interviewing the assistant captain, James 'Bucky' Barnes, and end up passing out where you are taken to the hospital from your low blood sugar. When you're released, the assistant captain obsesses over your health and breaks their self-imposed 'no dating colleagues in the league' rule because he can't seem to get you out of his head.

Content warning: Reader is diabetic (I am not diabetic myself but a lot of people I know are so this is my observation of the disease), star assistant hockey captain Bucky with a left arm tattoo sleeve who is obsessed over you, little hockey talk/terms, bff Scott, and FLUFF.

"Ready for the interview?" Your cameraman and sound engineer Scott asked. 

"Ready as I'll ever be." 

You adjusted the microphone and the lapels of the blazer you wore while steadying yourself. The head coach of the team, Tony Stark came out of the dressing room to speak with the media. 

He coached your city's hockey team, The Shield and had just won their second game of the playoffs. 

"Mr. Stark." You put your hand up to ask your question. 

Tony glanced at the crowd of reporters and rolled his eyes. It was a well-known fact that he hated doing any kind of interview but was always forced to because of his position. Usually, the assistant coach covered for him, but Phil Coulson was still in the locker room, and everyone in the media room was getting restless. 

"Ms. Y/ln." Tony pointed to you.

"Yes, thank you coach. Congratulations on your win tonight. How do you prepare the team going into tomorrow night's game knowing you're up two games to none and heading into an environment that is hard to play in?" 

"Hydra isn't a team to be taken lightly. They attack the neutral zone strong, their defense is solid, and their fanbase are rabid. We're ready and looking forward to playing there." Tony smirked at you. 

You nodded and let the press conference finish.

Once he left the podium, you waited to see what two players the team was going to send out. You adjusted your microphone and looked at Scott who gave you the thumbs up when you saw two players come out and sit at the table. 

Steve Rogers, Captain, and James Barnes, assistant captain. 

Of course it was them. 

The only player in the entire league that made you more nervous than Steve Rogers was James 'Bucky' Barnes. James was always a relentless flirt whenever you interviewed him, having to keep yourself composed and neutral was the hardest part of your job. None of the other guys on the team and in the league for that matter made you stutter, fumble with your microphone, or blush more than him and it annoyed you. 

You were a professional and having a star athlete make you nervous was a rookie move. 

Seeing them both freshly showered with dripping hair and flushed faces only made your insides contract and face heat while they settled themselves in the chairs. You looked over your questions you wanted to ask and sighed before you raised your hand up.

"Yes?" James winked at you while Steve chuckled. 

"How do you prepare for the next two games knowing you're going to be playing in a hostile environment?" 

Steve shrugged and said, "We're prepared just fine. Their arena and fans don't bother us one bit." 

Steve looked over at James who agreed making the people in the room chuckle. 

Cocky bastards. 

A few more questions were asked by other reporters when you raised your hand up again. 

"Yes?" Steve asked. 

"Question for James. You took a puck to the ankle in the 2nd with that nasty slapshot you blocked. Do you have any concerns with it for the next game?" 

James glared at you for a brief second before he scoffed and said, "It's all good. Nothing to worry about." 

You glanced at one of their trainers who was in the room and he rolled his eyes. You made a note to probe further once the press conference was done.

🏒🍫🍁

"Did you see Y/n sniffing around Parker, asking him about your ankle?" Steve asked Bucky who was putting some things away in his locker. 

"No, I didn't." 

Bucky side-eyed his friend and captain wondering why he was watching you. Of course you were asking about the puck he blocked, or rather his ankle accidentally getting in front of a slap shot from the point. 

His ankle was currently swollen like a balloon and was showing off the colours of the rainbow in which he would need to ice the shit out of it when he got home. Peter and the training staff cautioned him not to mention the injury to anyone. 

James smiled to himself. 

You had been in the back of his thoughts all god damn season with your shiny hair, expressive eyes, and pretty smile, but you're off limits. He doesn't date reporters or anyone close to the hockey world as he likes to keep that separate from his private life, but you were proving to be a challenge for his self-imposed rule. 

"Probably looking at digging up information to expose your weakness to Hydra. Be careful with that one." Steve cautioned making Bucky chuckle. 

"It's not fucking espionage Steve, it's hockey. They know I got dinged in the ankle so they may go after me next game. It's payoff hockey." Bucky shrugged, putting a few things in a bag then locking his cubbie in his locker stall. 

The team was flying out the following afternoon to Jersey, so he had made sure to give the equipment guys what they needed to pack before he left the arena.

🏒🍫🍁

"You're all packed then?" Scott asked while you lingered in the hallway of the arena. 

"Looks like it." 

You were looking over your itinerary for the away games you were going to be covering. You stood with a few other reporters and radio announcers while waiting for your bus to the airport. Reporters, media, and team employees usually travelled with the team and for the playoffs, there seemed to be a few more who were along for the trip. You looked at the time and saw you had about 10 minutes before the bus was scheduled to pull up. 

"I'm just going to check my blood sugar." 

You stepped aside and used your scanner on your arm. The beep of the app sounded, and you looked at the screen and saw it read 5.6. 

"Thank god." You mumbled. You had been having a hard time with your sugar levels lately so seeing a normal readout for the first time in a while was a relief. 

"Bus is here." Scott announced down the hall.

🏒🍫🍁

You boarded the plane and sat in the front where media had their assigned seats. You watched as the players boarded in their suits; some acknowledged you and some walked by. Even though the league has relaxed their dress code rules, the team still travels wearing suits, something they decided to do as a group. 

You had to admit, seeing the players in their suits was the highlight whenever you travelled with them. An even better perk to the job that no one knows about was, once the players boarded the plane, most, if not all, stripped out of their suits and changed into comfy clothes in the middle of the aisle for the flight.

When you first started with the team, you had sat down in your seat, but you forgot your notebook in your carryon, so you got up to get your bag in the overhead bin. You stood and looked to the back of the plane where a few of the guys stood shirtless in the aisle and were changing. 

You almost dropped your bag on Scott seeing their toned bare chests and underwear clad bottoms in the aisle. You immediately sat in your seat clutching your bag to your chest with a red face making Scott chuckle at your reaction. He thought it would be funny not to tell you they did that for your first away game. 

Yeah, really hilarious Scott, but you're used to it now. 

Now, you try not to sneak a peek when the assistant captain shucks off his white dress shirt exposing his tattooed left arm sleeve, then slowly folds it and places it in his bag while making eye contact you the entire time; something he does on every flight. 

Like you told yourself countless times before, cocky bastard.

🏒🍫🍁

You watched the practise at the Hydra arena in Jersey with Tony Stark barking plays and line combinations out to the players while they skated. From your observation the team looks dialed in and ready as they skated their drills. 

"Y/n?" Wanda Maximoff tapped you on the shoulder. 

"Hi Wanda." 

She stood next to you with her tablet and cell phone in hand. For being the teams head of PR and social media, she was remarkably always put together. 

"I've secured you a one-on-one interview tomorrow after the game. We want it to be fun and playful for our socials" 

"Oh? With whom?" 

Inside, you were wishing it was ANYONE but James Barnes. 

"Barnes." 

Crap. 

"Sounds good."

 You usually liked doing one-non-one interviews with the players but anytime you interview James Barnes one-on-one, it was always challenging for you since he flirted relentlessly with you. 

"I'll email you the list of questions later." She tapped on her iPad and then headed down the hall to the dressing room.

🏒🍫🍁

You sat in your hotel room and went over the questions for the one-on-one Wanda had sent. The questions were straight forward, mostly cute personal ones which should be an easy breeze for you to ask. You had a bunch of food in front of you, mainly some juice boxes and chocolate bars seeing as how your blood sugar levels were lower lately. 

You had made reminders in your phone to check your blood sugar levels more often for the following day since it was a game day which usually means lots of on-camera reporting and filing reports before, during, and after the game. 

Add in the new interview Wanda asked you to do, and it was going to be a long day.

🏒🍫🍁

"You got all your snacks in there?" Scott pointed to your tote bag. 

"Think so. I feel good today, so I'm sure I'll be ok. I just want to get my readings back to normal." 

Scott knew you were diabetic and was always looking out for you. You had set yourself up for your pre-game coach's interview.

You saw James Barnes saunter down the hall in his workout shorts, flip flops, and long-sleeved black compression top looking mischievous. 

"Y/n." He nodded at you. 

"Hello." You squeaked out. 

He stopped and leaned into you and said, "I'm looking forward to our one-on-one after the game." He flashed a wink at you before disappearing into the players locker room. 

Scott chuckled at the face you made because it looked like shock mixed with a grimace and maybe a blush. 

"Let's just get this over with." You shook that interaction off, following Scott to the interview room.

🏒🍫🍁

You had jammed a granola bar in your mouth while you went over notes, players, lines, and the pre-interview requests but it wasn't enough. 

"Here." 

Scott handed you half a turkey sandwich he found in the dressing room, so you managed to eat a little of it. 

"Thanks." 

You pushed on and did a few sound checks, reports, repositioned the camera, and did a small interview with the radio team on what to expect for the third game in the series, and by the time you had finished, the game was starting. 

"You good?" Scott looked over at you, and you shrugged, saying, "I feel fine. Your sandwich helped from earlier. I'll get something after the game." 

You hadn't checked your sugar levels, but you felt fine, just as you replied to a few texts from the network and started your game notes.

🏒🍫🍁

"Overtime?" You groaned watching the players from both teams exit the ice surface. 

You had almost filed your game report, but Hydra scored with 2 minutes left in regulation, tying it up. Your phone was dinging with new requests for small updates to the sports shows, so you were busy filming a few of those followed by a live interview. 

"You, ok?" Scott asked when he heard you groan. 

"I think so." 

"Let me get you something to eat..." 

"There you are." Came a booming voice from behind you. 

"Nick." You bravely smiled at the network executive standing in front of you even though you were starting to feel a little funny. Nick Fury owned the network you worked for, so he was technically your boss' boss and anytime he came to a game, he always wanted to meet with the reporters and media. 

"Hello sir." 

"Y/n. How are things going on the road for you?" 

You inwardly cringed at having to stop and chat with him. He was always nice to you, but you never wanted to make him angry; he knew too many people. Scott watched you take a few steps to the side and chat with him while he ordered some food for you.

🏒🍫🍁

"Did I miss anything?" You asked, heading back to your spot after your conversation with Nick Fury. 

"Nah, you're just in time." Scott replied, looking around for the food he ordered. 

You settled in for the puck drop but Scott got called away by the radio crew needing him to fix something, so you were left alone. The more you watched the overtime, the more you're convinced James is injured since he didn't look like himself on the ice. Every stride and push-off he did on his skates seemed to make him wince more. 

Overtime lasted only 9 minutes when Clint Barton ended up knocking in a rebound from Bruce Banner's slapshot, ending the game. The bench cleared while you watched the team celebrate on the ice with boos reigning down from the agitated Hydra crowd. 

"Thank god." You said, stomach grumbling while you made you way to the hallway for the post game interviews.

🏒🍫🍁

The team sent out OT goal scorer Clint Barton and Bruce Banner, for their post game interview so you managed to ask them some questions and got your answers you were looking for. 

You looked at your watch and that's when it hit you. 

"Crap." 

"What?" Scott looked over. 

"I should eat..." 

"Shit, I forgot I ordered food for you, but they must not have dropped it off since I wasn't there..." 

"There you are!" Wanda smiled wide. 

"Shall we?" 

She escorted you to an empty room that had two chairs, a camera, and lighting set up. You had wobbled a little on your feet when you walked with her, telling yourself you were unsteady for it being late.

"I figured we may as well start now." She grasped her iPad tight. 

"Right...I was about to go and get..." 

"Where do you want me, ladies?" James strolled into the room, looking fresh as a daisy from the grueling game he just played. 

Your eyes focused on his ankle, but you didn't see him limping or hobbling. The trainers must be magicians. 

"Right here." Wanda pointed to the chair. 

"And Y/n will be there." She gestured to the other chair, smiling wide. 

"We'll be over there." She waved to the corner of the room where a few more social media people were. 

"Right then." You cleared your voice and fumbled with your notes. 

You were starting to get a little shaky. 

"You, ok?" 

James watched you sit but there was something off about you. 

"I'm fine James." You plastered on a smile. 

"Call me Bucky." He winked at you. 

Your vision started blurring but you quickly blinked and the feeling had passed. 

Everyone was watching you and waiting for the interview that would quickly be edited so it could get out the following day to the team's social media pages. 

You cleared your throat and settled yourself in. From the questions, you figured it would only take you about 30 minutes at the most to get through all of them so you could run and grab something to eat from the restaurant at the hotel lobby before you settled in your room for the night.

🏒🍫🍁

You were listening to James reminisce about some of his playing days on his junior team when you felt your heartbeat start to race and your vision was starting to blur. 

Fuck no, not now, please God. 

Your shakes were getting worse and the anxious feeling mixed with dizziness had come on strong. You gripped the arm rests of the chair you were on intensely while trying to keep it together. 

"So, James...telllll meeeeeeeee..." 

You swayed slightly then slumped over, dropping your notes as you went down with the darkness that surrounded your vision.

"Holy shit!" Bucky blurted out. 

When he walked into the room, he noticed your face was pale and you were quieter than normal. He figured you were tired from working and the slight time change, but he never thought this would happen. When he first discovered you would be the one to interview him, he was excited because it meant he got to spend more time with you. 

Even though he has a self-imposed rule of no dating media or people in the business, he somehow can't seem to get you out of his head. He watched you grimace as you smiled to Wanda before starting the interview and he couldn't help but feel a little defensive thinking you were not excited about interviewing him, but he quickly realised that wasn't the case at all. 

Something was off about you. 

Bucky looked over at you when he was finished and he saw you sway slightly, but then your face paled then you slumped over mid-question, collapsing in the chair you sat in, notes crashing to the floor. He quickly sprang into action, helping you down to the ground, careful not to injure you. 

"What's wrong with her?" 

Scott came running into the room and he froze. 

"Shit!" He yelled, running towards you. 

"Do you know what's wrong?" 

"She's diabetic. Probably low blood sugar, which can be dangerous." 

He looked you over. The team doctor came running in and assessed you with the paramedics following. 

"She's diabetic?" Bucky asked, looking you over. 

He held your hand in his while the doctor checked on you. When the doctor lifted your arm, Bucky saw the small round disc attached to the back of your arm. He'd never noticed it before. He looked at your face and he was worried. 

You were so pale and you weren't responding well to anything since you were so out of it. The paramedics strapped you to the stretcher, and you were whisked away to the hospital. 

"Go with her." Wanda waved to Scott who nodded. 

He followed the stretcher, leaving Bucky in the room. 

"I'm sure she'll be fine." Wanda patted his arm before she left to answer some calls. 

"What hospital is she going to be taken to?" Bucky asked, but no one seemed to know. 

He groaned and ran a hand over his face before he ran back to the locker room, grabbing his wallet. 

"Where are you off to?" Steve asked. 

Bucky replied with, "I'll text you when I get there." Then he was off, typing frantically on his phone for an Uber.

🏒🍫🍁

You smelled the sterile cleaning products and instantly knew you were at the hospital. Your eyes were heavy as you struggled to open them. 

"Mmfph..." 

You moved slightly but it felt like your limbs weighed triple what they did. 

"...Low blood sugar" 

"...Dangerous..."

 "...Take better care..."

 Deep voices and words came in spotty patches while your mind tried to clear itself and wake up. 

You moved a little more and wanted to sit up, but your right hand was blocked. You had a hard time moving it.

 "...waking up..." 

Your eyes fluttered open and the bright sterile room you were in came into view. 

"There she is." You heard Scott's voice from your left side. 

"Scott?" You mumbled. 

Your eyes focused on him while you took in the view. He sat on your left side, his eyes seeming to have dark circles around them. 

"You gave us quite the scare." 

You blinked a few times, clearing your vision but was squinting. 

"Oh, let me turn these lights down a little." 

He got up and headed to the door to where a light switch was and flicked it down. 

"Thanks." 

You smiled at your friend and co-worker. You heard a throat clear on your right, so you looked over and froze, eyes wide. 

"Bucky?" You blurted out. 

"I'll go and get the doctor..." Scott tapped your side then he left the room. 

"Wh-what are..." You tried sitting up but felt weak. 

Why is he here? 

You looked down at your right hand that he held in his, fingers laced together. 

"Shh...here, let me help..." 

He let go of your hand and managed to help you sit up a little in the uncomfortable hospital bed you were laying in. 

"Better?" He asked, making sure your pillow was fluffed. 

"Y-yeah..." 

You were still confused on why the assistant captain for the Shield was next to your hospital bed, holding your hand and watching you. 

"You scared me." He softly said, moving a strand of your hair from your face. 

"H-how...why are you here?" 

"We still have to finish our interview silly..." He smiled wide. 

"Interview?" 

You thought back and that's when it hit you. You passed out when you were in the middle of asking him questions.

 "Our interview? Now?" 

You were confused and Bucky felt bad for teasing you. 

"Just teasing you sweetheart. I wanted to make sure you were ok."

You glanced out the window and found the daylight creeping through the blinds. 

"What time is it?" 

Bucky looked around and shrugged.

 "Around 7:30 am?" 

"How long..." 

"Hey, hey, shh...the doctor's coming back, he can explain everything." 

"You sat at my side?" 

"Had nothing else going on." 

"Really? You guys won in OT, no bars to visit, or parties to go to and celebrate?" 

Bucky shook his head no. 

"Playoffs doll. We only have one thing in mind and that's to win the cup. No parties for us until this is all over. Team pact and everything." He stated proudly. 

You knew Steve Rogers and him commanded the locker room and whatever they said, the team followed which is why they've been so successful this year. 

"Then why are you here? You must be so tired..." 

"Surprisingly, this chair is comfortable." He adjusted his large body in it which groaned under his weight making you chuckle.

Scott walked into the room followed by a nurse and the doctor. 

"Hello." 

"Oh, I should head out. I've got a morning radio session to help with." Scott looked over at you and smiled. 

"Glad you're back with us. I'll see you later." 

He patted your foot through the blanket and left the room, leaving you there with Bucky and the hospital staff. 

"You gave us all quite the scare with that low sugar level." 

The doctor seemed to scold you while he was typing on his laptop. 

"We managed to correct it and adjust some things, but overall, you're going to be fine. I've already sent your chart to your own doctor, and you have an appointment with them when you get back, but other than that, you should be good to leave here this afternoon." 

"Ok." You lamely replied, still confused why Bucky was at your side. 

"Good thing your boyfriend was here with you to keep you company."

 You looked at the door where Scott was, then over at Bucky who gave you a sheepish smile. "Right, boyfriend." 

Bucky reached out and held your hand in his. His very big, calloused hand that felt somehow soft in yours. 

"Don't worry, we won't tell anyone. I'll be by in a few to check on you again." 

The doctor flashed you a wink then tapped his nose before he left the room with the nurse following.

"I didn't know you were diabetic." Bucky quietly said. 

"Yeah, well...surprise." You waved your left hand up and wiggled it like 'jazz hands' making him chuckle. 

"So, boyfriend?" You raised your eyebrows up at him. 

"It was the only way I could stay with you." 

"You could have just left..." 

"Pfft, nope. You passed out in front of me so I felt it wouldn't be right if I left you alone." 

"Oh, well, thanks." 

Your face flushed at his little confession. 

"Everyone's going to he happy you're ok." 

"Everyone?" 

"You gave us all quite the scare back at the arena..." 

"Sorry..." You mumbled. 

"It's all good." He lifted a shoulder and sighed. "Well, I should head to the hotel to catch a little rest. Coach Stark gave me the morning practise off today." 

"Sorry you had to miss that..." 

You felt bad Bucky was with you all night. 

Bucky squeezed your hand and made sure to get you some water on your side table before he left. 

"I'll see you later." He nodded at you then headed towards the door. 

An orderly had walked into the room carrying a food tray then left it on your table.

 "Make sure you eat that." Bucky pointed to the tray before he left the room, leaving you alone.

🏒🍫🍁

"So, he was with me the whole night?" You asked Scott who had picked you up from the hospital. 

"Yup." 

"Huh." 

"He had gone to two other hospitals before he found where you were. When he came into the room, he was frantic, asking the doctors about your condition and why you were still asleep. Seemed really concerned." 

You were shocked. 

"He told the staff he was your boyfriend so he could stay with you all night. I was there, but then I left for a few hours. When I returned shortly before you woke, he was sitting at your bed, watching you." 

Scott pulled into the covered entranceway to the lobby of the hotel and stopped, helping you out. 

"You don't have anything scheduled tonight. Game four is tomorrow and Fury said you don't have to cover it if you aren't feeling it. He can have someone else fill in for you..."

 "I'll be there Scott. I feel fine right now. All I want to do is rest a little more, but I should be good to go for the game tomorrow." 

Scott looked you over but agreed. Your colour was back and you seemed more alert and focused. Your latest sugar levels were fine from the reading you did at the hospital before you were discharged. 

"Ok. Schedule is still the same. The bus will pick us up in the morning. Text me later so I know you're still ok and if you feel funky, let me know and I can get you back to the hospital, so this doesn't happen again." 

"I know, and thanks Scott." 

"We've upped the food and snacks for you tomorrow so you should be ok." 

"I appreciate it." You waved then headed to the bank of elevators to take you to your room. You wanted a shower, to eat something, then you were ready to flop into bed for the rest of the day.

You got into your room and dropped your purse at the door, locking it. You turned and froze, seeing a giant bouquet of red roses sitting on the desk in the room. You walked to it and smiled, smelling one when you took the card and read who it was from. 

"Hope you're feeling better. From Fury and associates." 

You looked at the bouquet then turned and was startled. On the bedside table was a giant gift basket full of food, snacks, fruit, crackers, and drinks. 

"Woah." There was a card taped to the cellophane. 

"This should be enough to get you through for tomorrow. Remember to take care of yourself. Bucky. PS – We still have to finish our interview."

You smiled and chuckled, examining the basket of food. Well, between this and the food Scott has ordered, you should be ready to go.

🏒🍫🍁

You worked game four without issue seeing the Shield win and sweep their playoff series with Hydra. Scott had almost over ordered on food and snacks for you and made sure you updated him on your sugar levels which were back to normal thanks to the time you made yourself. You scolded yourself for not taking care of your condition since you have lived with it most of your life. 

You did your post game interviews and filed your reports as normal when you saw Bucky walk up to you in the hallway. 

"Are you doing, ok?" He asked, his blue eyes searching your face. 

"I'm fine, thank you. And thanks for the basket of food. I hope I can get it all packed in my bag to take home with me." You teased making him chuckle. 

"Good, I'm glad." 

He leaned in close when an equipment manager wheeled a large crate behind you. You were able to smell his cologne from his shower. 

"Congrats on the win again." You said before you turned to head to the bus to take you to the terminal. 

"See you on the plane." He called after you making you wave over your shoulder.

🏒🍫🍁

"Why aren't you sitting with me?" You asked Scott who was in the row behind you. 

"Figured you could lie down and relax for the flight back." 

"Scott, I'm fine, really. Maybe a little tired, but I'm feeling good, honestly." 

You threw your carryon in the overhead bin. Just as you sat at the window seat, you saw the players board, excited from their win and to get home to their families. You buckled yourself in and waited until everyone was seated, grateful to Scott for giving you some extra room. 

You had dreams of stretching out and reading your book, but those thoughts ended when you saw a large body standing in the aisle in your row.

 "Bucky?" 

"Hey." He said, placing his carryon on the seat next to you. 

"What are you doing?" 

Players always sit at the back of the plane and only come to the front if they have a question for the medical staff or coaches. 

"Sitting here." He shrugged off his black suit jacket. 

"But...but why?" You watched as he started slowly unbuttoning his dress shirt.

 "Figured, I'd keep you company." 

He shook off his shirt exposing his toned chest you always admired and grabbed a black t-shirt from his bag and slipped it on. Once he was set, he placed his bag in the overhead bin and flopped down next to you. 

You turned and looked over your shoulder at Scott who hid a chuckle. 

"Ok..." 

Bucky settled in the seat and did up the seatbelt, leaning over you to look out the window. His shoulder brushed your arm when he did, making you feel his warm body heat. 

"Should be a smooth flight." He said, then leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. 

"Right." You were still frozen in your seat gawking at Bucky, unsure what to say or do with this large hockey player in your space. 

No one else seemed to care that he was sitting at the front of the plane, so you just went along with it. As the plane taxied down the runway, then got set for takeoff, Bucky reached for your left hand and held it, lacing your fingers together while the plane lifted off. You didn't dare say anything or move your hand seeing as how it was firmly in his for the entire flight. It felt like you were floating as he held your hand; like you were back in middle school with a crush.

Bucky made sure you were feeling fine, asking you every so often if you were ok, it was almost getting annoying, but you understood his concern. You would be worried if you witnessed someone pass out in front of you, then see them being whisked away to the hospital by an ambulance.

The plane landed and Bucky finally let go of your hand when it came to a stop. He got up and grabbed his carryon as everyone deplaned. You got your suitcase and had ordered an Uber when Bucky came up to you. 

"So, you'll be ok then?" 

"Yes, I will, thanks. I've got an Uber on the way, so I'll be fine." 

You stuffed your phone in your pocket. He watched you carefully, almost like he was committing you to memory then he nodded, seeming to be ok with your answer.

🏒🍫🍁

You finally finished your interview with Bucky, the one where you passed out in the middle of it. Shield had made it into the finals playing against the Commandos and you had been busier than ever. 

Your sugar levels were good, and you had no other issues apart from learning how to deal with an over-protective assistant captain who has been constantly checking in on you every chance he gets. 

"Bucky, I'm fine, really." You insisted while going over your game notes. 

The series was tied with game seven at the Shield arena, when you spied Bucky watching you from the doorway to the locker room like he didn't believe you. 

"I'm fine." You assured him with a glare. 

"Ok, sheesh, put the knife down doll." He teased, holding up his hands and slipped into the dressing room to prepare for their warm-ups. 

"He's been obsessed with you lately." Scott teased. 

"Ugh, I know. It's..."

 "Cute? Romantic?" 

"Crazy." You huffed making your hair flutter around your face.

🏒🍫🍁

"You ok over there?" Steve asked his assistant captain. 

"All good."

 "Hmm..." 

"What?" Bucky glared at his friend. 

"You've been obsessing over the reporter lately." 

"Have not." Bucky snorted while Steve gave him a look. 

"Since she was hospitalized."

 "Just making sure she's ok." 

Bucky put his shoulder pads on and did up his elbow ones. 

"You know I have my rule..." 

"Fuck your rule. You're head over heels for her, so why not ask her out?" Steve shook his head at his stubborn friend. 

Bucky finished putting on his shin pads and pulled up his socks, all while thinking Steve may be right. He'd been low-key obsessing over you for a while and the hospital visit seemed to put everything in perspective for him. 

He only had another year or two left to play out his contract and retire as a member of the Shield, so why not go for it? He's fairly certain you like him back, but would you accept a date with him if he asks you?

🏒🍫🍁

"Holy crap, they won the cup!" 

Scott gave you a side hug while the team celebrated on the ice. The fans were going crazy in the stands with the win which only made it louder in the arena for you to concentrate. You watched the team celebrate, hug each other and laugh while the trophy was brought onto the ice. 

You had your press pass out and showed it, allowing you on the ice with Scott following. You had gotten a lot of celebratory shots of everyone and a few on-ice interviews from the excited players, when you had Scott get into position while the trophy was going to be presented. 

"There." You pointed to a spot next to another news crew who were setting up. 

The players were handed their Championship hats while they skated around the ice. Some were holding onto each other, and others were waving to their friends and family in the stands when you felt a body stand behind you. 

Scott had a small hand-held camera he had started, getting you candid shots the network's social media team could use. 

You turned and smiled wide at Bucky who was sweaty and red from celebrating; his hat on slightly crooked. 

You shoved the microphone at him and said, "How do you feel right now?" Which made him smile wide. 

"I feel amazing doll." He winked at you. 

You froze at his term of endearment he had been using on you lately, unsure how to respond. 

"Right, well... We can't use that Scott..." 

You looked over at Scott who gave you an eye roll. 

"Why not?" Bucky asked. 

"Well...I..." You couldn't think of anything to say while he watched you try to find words. 

The team was getting into place as the commissioner was heading to the ice to present the team the trophy. 

You stood with your microphone, unsure of what else to say when Bucky leaned down and planted a kiss on your lips. 

A few catcalls and whoops were heard while his lips devoured yours. You dropped the microphone and grabbed his sweaty jersey, kissing him back. 

You finally separated when you saw Steve Rogers whistle and smile wide at the two of you. He placed his arms around your shoulders and said, "Finally!" Before he let go to head to where the trophy was. 

You snapped out of it and composed yourself, picking your microphone up from the ice. 

"You can edit that out." You said to Scott who shook his head no. 

"Actually, we're live." He mouthed making your face pale. 

Frig. 

"You ok?" 

Bucky was suddenly focused on you, seeing you pale. 

"Did you eat? How are your sugar levels?" 

"I-I'm fine. We're live. That was live. Everyone saw." You mumbled, face turning red. 

"Yeah they did." Bucky smiled wide, leaning over to kiss you again. 

"Bucky!" You blushed. 

"Anything you want to ask me?" 

"Uh..." 

Your mind was soup at what he did, but you quickly composed yourself. 

"What are your plans with the offseason?" 

That was the stupidest question to ask you chastised yourself. There would be no way any of the players would be thinking that at this moment in time. 

He leaned back, a little caught off guard but he smiled. 

"I plan on celebrating the whole night with my team and hopefully you at my side. Then, tomorrow, I plan on taking you out on a date, THEN I plan on volunteering my time with the Diabetes Association in the off-season." 

He faced the camera as he spoke. 

"Someone important to me has diabetes and I want to help in every way I can." 

Your mouth was open in shock before he skated away with a wink and joined Steve where they accepted the trophy. The fans were cheering loud as they watched the team hoist the cup in the air with Scott giving you a thumbs up from behind the camera. 

This was going to be an interesting off season.

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[caeruleusbarnes]

Childhood Crush

pairing: avenger!bucky x avenger!reader

word count: 5k

summary: After having a little too much to drink, your best friend revealed your little secret to your boyfriend, one you didn‘t actually want him to know about just yet.

warnings/tags: drinking, reader has some insecurities, other than that there‘s honestly just fluff, Bucky is down bad just like always

author’s note: I don‘t think there‘s much to say about this one, I just hope you‘ll like it!

dividers by @cursed-carmine

You should've known that taking all those tequila shots with Joaquin had been a bad idea.

He couldn't keep his mouth shut even if his life depended on it when he was drunk. You'd been there when he got truly shitfaced for the first time, after all, which meant you knew exactly what you were talking about.

Back then, you had to watch as he confessed his feelings to his highschool crush Grace in such a heartfelt way it made every romcom look cheap. After he was finished, you were also the one that had to deescelate the situatioon when Grace's boyfriend beat the shit out of him.

So admittedly, you should've known better.

And now you were paying the price.

The party had died down a while ago. Now, only the Avengers were still there, sitting together on the couches surrounding a small table, the air was buzzing in a way it only ever did after a good time and a little too much to drink.

Bucky's arm was comfortably wrapped around you as your head rested against his shoulder, the alcohol in your blood making you sleepy as the energy slowly wore off.

"You alright, sweetheart?"

Your boyfriend's voice wasn't much more than a low rumble, quiet enough that only you could hear him.

You tilted your head just enough to be able to properly look at him and the concern in his stupidly beautiful eyes made you smile. "I'm good, Buck."

Letting your gaze roam over his features now, you relished in taking all the details of his face up close. The stubble on his cheeks was freshly trimmed, the pale skin of the scar tissue right above his left eyebrow barely visible in the low light. You could see his crow feet clearly as a grin spread over his face and you loved how much they had deepened over the last few months of your relationship.

You adored that you were a part of the life he was having right now, the one he was happy in. Happiness looked good on him and it was a sight you were never going to be sick of.

You were absolutely and completely mesmerized by the man sitting next to you, and he noticed. Of course he did.

"Enjoying the view?"

"Mhmm."

The agreement came almost too easy. You never hesitated when it came to telling your boyfriend how you felt about him, loving how flustered he always got because of it. "You're pretty."

Just like expected, you got to watch how heat creeped up his neck, tainting his cheeks in that adorable way you loved so much.

"And you're unbelievable. You can't just say stuff like that."

"Why not?" Now, you really couldn't help yourself. "You're even prettier with that blush on your face, Sarge. It suits you."

Flustring your boyfriend really was your favourite thing in the world. Unfortunately for you, Sam interrupted the moment before you had the chance to watch the cute pink taint turn into a deep crimson red.

"Hey, love birds! We're still here, you know? Stop looking at each other like that, it's unnerving."

A crease quickly formed in between Bucky's eyebrows, just like it always did when someone interrupted the two of you. Sam had once joked that if it was up to Bucky, he'd devote every single second of his life to you and everything that kept him from doing so was just an annoying inconvenience.

You had laughed it off, but Bucky never actually corrected him.

"Am I not allowed to look at my girlfriend?" Bucky sounded offended by the mere idea of it, but Sam only rolled his eyes.

"Man, you can do whatever you want, it's not like I could stop you if I wanted to. The only thing I'm saying is that it's getting a little out of hand. I figured that the sexual tension might wear off as soon as the two of you got your shit together and finally confessed your feelings, but somehow it has only gotten worse. It would be disgusting if it wasn't so cute."

"Actually, it is disgusting," Tony agreed with Sam. "This is supposed to be team bonding quality time. I didn't sign up for all the eye fucking."

"Guys, you don't know what you are talking about." Joaquin joined the conversation now aswell, still holding the beer that he had been sipping on for the last thirty minutes now. His shit eating grin was so big as he looked between you and Bucky, you knew you were fucked before he even opened his mouth again.

"It's not disgusting, the word you're looking for is destiny. Seriously, these two were meant to end up with each other from the beginning."

For quite a few seconds, everyone just stared at Joaquin. Even Thor looked like he was contemplating if this was the sign that the boy needed a glass of water.

You, on the other hand, already knew exactly where this was going.

And you didn't like it one bit.

"Corny as fuck, but he isn't wrong," Natasha pipes up, trying to save whatever Joaquin just said and make it sound a little less… well, like something Joaquin would say. "The chemistry has been there ever since the two of them started working together."

You couldn't even deny that. You and Bucky have both been on the team for quite a while now, but you only started getting closer to each other when you were assigned to be mission partners for the first time. From then on, the bond between the two of you quickly developed into something you could barely call a friendship anymore.

The tension had finally snapped after Bucky'd caught a bullet for you on a mission and neither of you could hide what you were feeling for each other anymore.

That had been five months ago.

You knew damn well that Joaquin was not talking about any of that, though. No, your best friend had something completely different and way more embarassing on his mind.

"Since they've been working together? Ha, that's funny. This is going all the way back to seventh grade, guys, I'm telling you."

"Joaquin, I swear to god, if you don't shut your mouth right fucking now I am going to throw your ass out of the window and you'll know how it feels to fall twenty-one floors without any wings to save you."

It was an empty threat, but it was the best thing you could come up with right now. Your voice was mostly steady, but there was also a slight hint of panic that you couldn't quite hide. This wasn't how you wanted Buckyy to find out about your little secret and you definitely did not want the others to know about it, either, who all looked equally confused right now- which was understandable. To them, Joaquin was speaking in riddles and you were making threats- trying, at least. Joaquin didn't even seem half as intimidated as he was supposed to be.

He only grinned at you, not intimidated at all.

If he didn't mean so much to you, you were onvinced that you would seriously contemplate throwing him out of the window now.

"No you won't. You love me too much for that."

"I'd actually love if you shut your mouth, Torres."

"Alright, that's enough. It's normal that Torres isn't making any sense, but you-" Sam pointed his finger at you. "Make even less sense right now. Do you wanna tell us what this is about?"

"No."

"Oh, totally."

Joaquin and you answered at the same time, but instead of respecting your decision, he seemed almost offended by it. "C'mon, he'll find out at your wedding anyway! I'll just tell him now and than you got it out of the way and can get married in peace."

"Joaquin, there won't be- we've only been together for five months," you hissed, your cheeks turning pink now as you were discussing the future of your relationship with your best friend whilst your boyfriend was still very much sitting right next to you. He hasn't said anything yet, but you were painfully aware of his hand still resting against your waist, his body heat seeping into your side.

"Five months, five years- that's just the fine print. Do you see how he looks at you? He'd marry you on the spot, paper rings and all. You wouldn't even have to ask."

Joaquin didn't even glance up as he scrolled through his phone, looking for the evidence of what you've said sixteen years ago when James Buchanan Barnes hadn't been anything more than a man from a different time… and a poster in your room.

"That's why it's so important that he knows now. He has to know what he is getting himself into. You've been manifsting this since middle school, after all."

"I'll show Sam your fanpage, Joaquin."

To others, the threat might seem ridiculous of you considered that you'd threatened to throw him out of the tower just a few minutes ago, but you knew your best friend. You knew that making edits of The Falcon when he 'd sixteen and still ages away from actually working with Sam was one of his most well kept secrets.

Usually, you wouldn't use it against him and play dirty like this, but he wasn't exactly giving you a choice.

This had to be enough to keep Joaquin from showing Bucky that goddamn video.

At least you hoped so.

"Dude, I honestly think that I'd care about that if I wasn't this far gone right now, but I really don't. Show him the edits, I ate with that shit."

Well, damnit.

Your shoulders slumped in defeat as you watched Joaquin, accepting that there was nothing you could do to stop him anymore.

Bucky was looking at you curiously, wanting to know what this was about, but you couldn't bring yourself to look at him.

No, you were too embarrassed for that.

"There it is!" Joaquin's grin only grew as he finally found what he was looking for.

It wasn't a big deal. At least it shouldn't be, but you still felt a knot tighten in your stomach as you dreaded Bucky's reaction.

You had been a kid. It wasn't more than a fun story you should be able to laugh about, but you weren't.

Not when you were scared that this might be something that could scare Bucky off.

Joaquin turned his phone around, the display now visible for everyone to see.

"What are you doing, Joaquin?" The twelve year old version of you was grinning at the camera and currently sitting at the kitchen table in your old childhood home, a poster and plenty of markers lying in front of you. You were wearing your favourite neon pink shirt and a ponytail so high, only a pre teen could make it look cool.

Or Ariana Grande, but that was besides the point.

"I'm documenting this." Joaquin's voice sounded so young and carefree, a chuckle went through the room. You still remembered how much his voice had changed during puberty and if this were any other situation, you probably would've laughed too.

"I gotta show this to your husband on your wedding day, just so he knows he was never your first choice to even begin with."

Now your younger self was laughing, at least, a high pitched giggle slipping past your lips as you glued a picture of Bucky to your poster. "He will at least have to look like him, that's for sure. Otherwise I don't want him at all."

"You do realise this is kind of weird, right?" The camera moved unsteadily as Joaquin clumsily set it down with a loud thud before he sat down next to you. "He's dead. And even if he wasn't, he'd be way too old for you. He was born in, like, 1900."

"10th March 1917, actually."

"You even know his birthday! I don't even know Grace's birthday and she is, like, the love of my life."

"Maybe he is mine, how would you know?" There was offense in your voice now, the kind that a kid's voice always carried when they were hearing something they didn't like.

"Dude, he is dead. Do you wanna stay single for the rest of your life and find out if he is really the man for you when you're already six feet under the ground?"

"At least I'd be single by choice, Joaquin. You're just bitter because Grace doesn't like you back."

"Okay so first of all, ouch, and second of all, that is not the point. The video is supposed to be about you and your future love life, which isn't looking all too hopeful when your requirements are that he looks and acts exactly like James Barnes. You don't even know the guy! What if he was a total douchebag?"

"His name is Bucky."

"What?"

"His name, Joaquin. It's Bucky," You repeated yourself and pointed at the bold letters on your poster that formed his name."It literally stands right here."

"Oh, so now a stupid nickname is mandatory too, huh? Do you really think you are ever going to find a man like that?"

"I think if my man is still somewhere out there, I'll know. And then, you have my permission to show him this. Now turn the camera off, J. There's barely any storage anymore."

The video ended and for five very long seconds, the room was very, very still. Nobody said anything as they were still staring at Joaquin's phone, who really couldn't look any more pleased with himself, but the only thing you could focus on was how loose Bucky's grip on your waist has gotten.

Now, wasn't that just fantastic?

"Oh my god." Tony was the first to speak, because of course he was. "Would you look at that. The woman's been plotting on her man ever since middle school. Isn't that romantic?"

"What the hell were you making that poster for? Your room?" There was a big, disbelieving grin on Sam's face, like he couldn't really believe what he just witnessed was actually real.

"It was Hero's day at school." The defense was weak, because you knew damn well that you'd put it up in your room afterwards. "Felt fitting at the time."

Wanda seemed to sense your very deep ly felt embarassment, because she joined the conversation now aswell, just in a less mocking way than Tony, Sam or Joaquin.

"I think it's cute. Everyone had a crush at that age right? I did. And Joaquin apparently did, too. Did you and that girl ever end up together?" Her curiosity seemed to be sincere, but you knew that she was trying to nudge the conversation into a different direction, which you appreciated.

"Well, it's kinda complicated-"

"That's his way of saying no," You interrupted him dryly. "He was into her for, like, seven years, but decided to shoot his shot at the one time she had a boyfriend. Didn't go too well for him."

Joaquin only scowled at you whilst the others laughed and Sam shook his head with a snicker. "Man, I gotta say, quite the devotion the two of you got there. Though it seems like it worked better for one than it did for the other." His eyes flickered to Bucky for a second, who still hasn't said a word the whole time, which was slowly but surely freaking you out. And because you couldn't handle the silence anymore on his end anymore, you decided that this was the perfect moment for you to leave- right fucking now.

"You're never going to let this go again, are you?"

"Not a chance, lover girl."

"Whatever." You placed your glass on the table before you got up, again not daring to look at Bucky, even though you could feel his eyes burning into you from where he was still sitting on the couch. "I think this is my sign to go to bed, that was enough embarassment for one night."

You didn't care about the embarassment, at least not really. That you could handle- what you couldn't handle was your boyfriend probably thinking that you were a scary freak who has been obsessing over him ever since she was twelve.

"Joaquin's fan account is called 'SamWilson_FireFalcon', by the way. You're welcome."

That was the last thing you said before you left the room, your heels clacking against the ground as the only thing on your mind was getting as far away from Bucky as possible.

About twenty minutes later, you were sitting cross legged on your bed, hair thrown up in a bun, your face bare of any makeup and dressed in nothing but one of Bucky's old shirts.

You realised quickly that putting it on might've been a mistake, because now you were even more aware of the lack of his presence.

Maybe you shouldn't have left like that.

Maybe bolting like that had been a bad idea and you should've just wait to see how he'd react, but you you'd been scared. Joaquin didn't mean any harm by it, of course he didn't. He was drunk, it was a fun story from when you were kids and from the outside, it did seem like a lighthearted joke.

You weren't sure if it was that for Bucky, though.

Everyone watching it had reacted, at least in some way. Laughter, commentary, something. The only reaction you got from Bucky was his arm going slack around you.

And that wasn't exactly the kind of thing that could reassure you in this situation.

Bucky had said from the beginning that he wanted to take things slow with you, and you respected that.

Unfortunately, him finding out that you've been crushing on him ever since you were a young girl was about as slow as crashing into a wall with a speed of 100 miles an hour.

Before you could start to properly think about what that might mean for your relationship, there was a light knock on the door.

You knew who it was. Hell, you would recognise that sound of metal knuckles against wood anywhere, but you relished in the silence for a moment longer before you told him to come in.

Your heart twisted in your chest as he appeared in the doorway, because you really, really didn't want to be having this conversation right now.

Actually, all you wanted to do was be with your boyfriend, which was kind of ironic, because he was also the last person you wanted to talk to right now, scared of what he might have to say.

The alcohol you still had in your system didn't help one bit with the nerves, either.

Usually, Bucky could calm you down in a situation like this. He was the only person that could. 

Now, your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your ripcage when yoour eyes met his.

"Hi." Your voice came out a tad smaller than you wanted it to and you were almost mad at how much this was getting to you.

"Hey, sweetheart." The familiar softness in his voice should've been enough to calm you down at least a little bit, but right now, it didn't have a reassuring affect at all.

Right now, it just felt like the quiet before the storm.

And that storm could potentially be a breakup.

Maybe you were jumping to conclusions here, but your fear wasn't unjustified. You had experienced way too often that big emotions like that were too much and enough of a reason to make people leave.

So actualy, it was more like a hurricane, tsunami and tornado were all coming in at once.

You watched as he slowly walked over to the edge of the bed, his eyes constantly on yours as he sat down.

For a moment, the two of you just looked at each other. 

You were painfully aware of the distance between you, the crease of his eyebrows that you didn't know how to place yet.

Which was weird, because you usually always knew what was going on in his head.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." The lie came easier than it should, especially around Bucky. "Just… a little embarassed, that's all." You could at least try to act as if everything was fine, but you failed miserably when the laugh that was supposed to reassure him came out thin.

Yeah, definitely wouldn't win an Oscar for that one.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Pretend like everything is okay even though it isn't." His voice wasn't exactly harsh now, but it sounded… stern. Protective, almost. "You don't ever have to pretend with me, sweetheart. Joaquin shouldn't have done that, not against your will and not with all the others being there. You're allowed to be upset about it."

You knew that your boyfriend was one of the most considerate people in the world, but you still hadn't expected this.

Actually, this was the furthest away from the reaction you'd expected.

"You're not mad at me?"

The look on Bucky's face would've been funny if it you weren't so scared of the answer.

"Mad at you? Honey, why on earth would you think that?"

The utter confusion in his voice confused you now, too.

Wasn't the answer obvious?

"Well, that was kind of a lot, wasn't it?"

Now that he asked, you couldn't stop yourself anymore. You've never been good at keeping things from Bucky, anyway.

"I just don't want you to think that I am just with you to prove a point. I promise, I had been way over that crush before we ever started dating and this is not, like, me obsessively holding onto a childhood crush. Does it seem obsessive? I swear it isn't, it's just always kind of been a joke between me and Joaquin but now that you know it doesn't feel all that funny anymore and I'm just scared that you'll think less of me now or-"

"Sweetheart, you need to breathe. C'mon, take a deep breath for me."

You didn't even realise that you'd been rambling until Bucky interrupted you, your inhale stuttering a little as you did as you were told. "There you go, just like that."

You kept your focus on him now as you matched your breathing to his, giving yourself time to calm down a little before you started talking again. "I just don't want you to think that we are together only because that's what I wanted all those years ago. I want you, Bucky. Just like this, not the some version I used to read about. And I was going to tell you about it someday, just… not now. You said you wanted to take it slow and that whole thing… it didn't feel slow. Not at all, to be honest.

Bucky held eye contact the whole time you were talking, patiently waiting for you to finish and let the silence sit between you for a moment longer afterwards, just in case you wanted to add something else.

"Doll, there is absolutely nothing you need to be worried about. Sure, maybe the way Joaquin portrayed it was a little weird, but that's because the guy can't handle a drink, not because you did anything wrong." Bucky slowly reached for you, carefully placing his hand against your waist like he wasn't sure how far he was allowed to go right now.

"And I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at myself. Mad that I didn't stop Joaquin right then and there because you were clearly uncomfortable and then didn't even talk to you after watching it. I was being an idiot, and I'm sorry."

Without letting go of your waist, he let himself slip down from the matress knelt down on the floor in front of you, his chest pressed tightly against your knees as his other hand found your body, too.

"I know we aren't just in a relationhsip because of that. We both know that you have been more than patient with me over the last few months, which you wouldn't have been if this wasn't real. I know that, doll. You're doing a damn good job at showing me everyday what I mean to you, whih honestly drives me absolutely crazy." Bucky's eyes were so expressive again, you felt almost ridiculous for the panic you had spiraled into just a few minutes ago, because it suddenly felt completely unjustified.

"I love you so much, sweetheart, it honestly scares me sometimes. I never thought that I'd ever be able to feel something like this, but you keep proving me wrong every day, because my love for you only seems to grow. And even though I hate to agree with him, Joaquin is right. I would marry you right now, in this outfit, with nobody to witness it but us. But you deserve better than that, and my ma would be turning in her grave if she found out that I way rushing things with an amazing dame like you."

"Dame, huh?" You couldn't help but laugh and your change in mood made Bucky grin, too.

"The most amazing one I've ever met. Why do you think I gave you those, huh?" Bucky gently, so gently, raised his hand and tugged on the dogtags that were resting around your neck.

"I'm already yours, sweetheart. I have been ever since that young girl from Miami decided that I was the man for her long before I had any chance to prove that I was worth even a second of your time. I've never believed in soulmates, doll, not even before the war. But you make it very hard not to."

Bucky reached for your left hand now, pressing a kiss against your finger right where a ring would be sitting now if he was down on his knees for a completely different reason. "I don't want you to ever be scared about being too much. You couldn't be, even if you tried. I love you, exactly how you are, way too much for that. As a matter of fact, I will fall in love with you again and again for the rest of my life until my heart is so full of love it won't fit anymore and even then I won't be able to stop. Do you understand that?"

Now, you felt like your heart might be bursting out of your chest at any moment. Holy fuckin shit.

"You can't just say stuff like that, Buck." Your fingers grabbed at the fabric of the shirt that had been driving you crazy for the whole goddamn evening now and you tugged on it, which Bucky seemed to understand immediately because he stood up, giving you the chance to pull him into the bed with you. One of his arms was wrapped tightly around your waist, but the other one was braced against the matress, careful not to crush you beneath him.

You didn't want him to be careful, though. You wanted him to be as close to you as physically possible, so you tugged on him a little more forcefully, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist, which made his chest rumble with one of his stupidly handsome laughs.

Before James Buchanan Barnes, you'd never ever thought that a laugh could sound handsome, but here you were anyway.

"I'm too heavy, sweetheart. Wouldn't wanna crush you."

"Don't care." Your voice was muffled because of how tightly you were pressing your face against his chest, inhaling th scent of clean soap, fabric softener and something so achingly him it made you dizzy.

Every single concern of him breaking up had suddenly vanished into thin air. He'd just proved that there was not a thing you had to worry about, because your man was just as crazy about you as you were about him. "Just want you close, Buck."

That seemed to make him budge a little bit, because he carefully lowerd some more of his weight on top of you. He was still mindful of not hurting you, but now you were enveloped by nothing else but him.

For a very long time, the two of you just stayed like that, breathing in sync as your bodies were tangled together so closely, you could almost feel your hearts beating together, too.

"Can I tell you a secret?" You just hummed against his chest, signaling Bucky to go ahead.

"I think I've been in love with you ever since you first introduced yourself to me back when you'd first joined the team." He let that sit between you for a moment, thinking about how to continue.

"I didn't know that it was love back then, off course. I just knew that I was thinking about you so much it was actually driiving me crazy."

Bucky laughed a little at the memory and flipped you over so you were lying on top of him now, just so he could properly look at you. "We didn't end up on that mission out of coincedence, either. I asked Steve to assign us together."

Now, that did surprise you, because back then you had been completely convincd that Bucky didn't want to have anything to do with you. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," He confirmed. "I had no idea how to approach you, especially because every time you came into a room my brain just turned into mush. Missions were familiar ground though, so I figured that if we'd just get assigned together as often as possible, I'd get to know you without making a fool of myself."

You had to laugh, the sound more disbelieving than it was amused. Everytime you thought your boyfriend couldn't get any more perfect, he did another thing that rattled your entire brain chemistry. "You are completely out of your mind, do you know that?"

"Nah, sweetheart." He grinned up at you, carefully brushing a hair strand out of your face.

"Just in love."

[bodeckerhedron]

SEBASTIAN STAN as BUCKY BARNES

➤• THUNDERBOLTS* (*THE NEW AVENGERS) (2025) - DIR. JAKE SCHREIER

[mickimoo1409]

I licked it, so it's mine.

Pairing - Thunderbolts Bucky x Reader

Summary - After a night of heavy drinking, some truths come to light.

Warnings - Alcohol consumption, Reader is drunk, Pining, Idiots in love, kissing, Fluff. 18+ Only. My warnings are not extensive so enter at your own risk!

Word Count - 1.7k

It had been a hell of a party, celebrating your latest victory at Avengerz HQ with your teammates.

Yelena had convinced you to go against her in a drinking contest and you had no idea why you thought agreeing to go up against a russian was a good idea.

Now you were stumbling through the Avengerz compound with Bucky's arm around your waist as he guided you to your room, insisting you were too drunk and he wanted to make sure you got back safely.

His earthy smell was all around you, making you intoxicated from his proximity as well as the alcohol coursing through your veins and you could feel the heat pulsing beneath his palm on your waist while you drunkenly rambled at him.

"I feel bad for you ya know?" You mumbled.

Bucky glanced over at you, brow raised in confusion at your sudden change of topic. How the conversation went from grumpy cat to him, he'd never know.

"You do?" He replied.

"Uh huh." You shrugged simply, as though the statement was completely obvious, missing the way his face dropped, mind running straight to the most obvious thing.

He hated that you felt that way, that you pitied what had happened to him. He didn't want your pity, he didn't want you to feel bad on his behalf.

"Right. Of course." He mumbled, pressing his lips together.

"No Bucky no!" You moaned as you looked up at his sad little pout, "Don't pull a sad face. Some regular non super human people can't get drunk either."

"That's what you're talking about?" He grunted back.

"Uh huh." You nodded as you continued wobbling forward, "Being drunk is great."

"I'm not sure you'll be saying that tomorrow." He said, the corner of his lips tugging up in amusement.

"Pshhh, live in the now Bucky." You grinned animatedly, "Now is great."

"It sure is." He smiled back, looking over your blushed face longer than a friend should.

"God you're so muscly." You said suddenly, pulling him from his thoughts as you stopped before him and grabbed his bicep.

"You know I'm a super soldier right?" He smirked.

"Mmm..." You nodded, running your palm along the length of his arm with your tongue slowly swiping your lower lip.

"Sweetheart?" Bucky laughed and your face snapped back to his, a deeper crimson flush spreading over your cheeks.

"Oh hey, sorry." You mumbled, "I was just looking."

"Just looking, right." He teased before placing his arm back around your waist and pushing you along the corridor, back on track.

"I wanna lick em." You mumbled to yourself.

"Lick what?" Bucky grinned and you looked back up at him with wide eyes.

"Your muscles." You shrugged, "They look lickable, you're very lickable."

"Okay, sure." He smiled.

"If I lick it, is it mine?" You smiled playfully.

"What?" He mused as you reached your door, quickly pushing it open to get you into to your room.

"You never saw that meme?" You asked as he helped you over the threshold and guided you to sit on the edge of your bed.

"What the hell is a meme?" He grimaced, as though the word alone had personally offended him.

You chuckled loudly as he crossed his arms over his chest with a raised brow, "Sometimes I forget you're old."

"You forget." He repeated.

"Yeah cause you're just so you and handsome and sexy and moody." You giggled, "The old is just extra."

"Moody..." He grumbled before his eyes widened, "Wait, did you say sexy?"

"Mmhmmm very sexy." You nodded, dropping back onto your mattress with a dreamy expression on your face, "Sexy and very lickable."

Bucky looked over you with a smile, unable to contain his emotions at the thought of you finding him attractive. If only he had the courage to act on how he felt, to tell you how he felt about you.

"Right, time for bed." Bucky chuckled.

"But Bucky!" You moaned, sitting back up with a pout, "I don't wanna."

"Well you need to sleep." He replied sternly, though the smile remained on his lips.

"You're mean." You sassed like a toddler, folding your arms over your chest.

"Mean, moody, sexy." He shrugged, crossing the room to your chest of drawers to find you something to change into.

"You forgot annoying." You grunted at him.

"I'll add it to the list." He replied, as he dug through the drawer, fitting into your space like he belonged in it.

"Can I have your shirt?" You grinned suddenly.

"My shirt?" He responded, looking back over his shoulder at you with furrowed brows.

"Yeah I wanna sleep in it." You shrugged like it was the obvious answer.

"Why?" He grumbled.

"Cause it'll smell like you and I can pretend you're in bed with me, holding me." You smiled sweetly.

"Sweetheart..." Bucky breathed, ignoring the way his heart skipped a beat at your statement as he crossed back in front of you, "You're drunk."

"I know that." You pouted, "Doesn't mean I don't want your shirt."

"But you're saying a lot of things you might regret in the morning." He exhaled, running his palm through his hair.

"I've never regretted being in love with you." You said with furrowed brows as Bucky's body froze, "I just wish I could be enough for you too."

"You...you're in love..." He stuttered while you remained completely oblivious to the bombshell you'd just dropped.

"T-shirt!" You whined, extending your arms and flexing your hands to grab at him, "Gimme."

"Fine, fine." He conceded while his heart hammered and his mind raced.

He slipped the T-shirt over his head, passing it over to you and trying to hide his grin when you snatched it from him with a happy squeal.

You raised the fabric to your nose, inhaling deeply with a smile and a sigh, "God you smell so good, like home and sin."

You stumbled onto your feet, attempting to stand and Bucky threw his hand out, catching your elbow to steady you. You suddenly began to slip your own shirt over your body and he spun around so fast he created his own gust of wind.

"I'll just...face...over..yeah..." He swallowed thickly, already cataloguing the small patch of exposed skin he'd seen.

"Wait!" You yelled, stilling your hands.

"What?" Bucky rasped as he turned back to you worriedly, "Are you okay?"

You crossed the small space between you with a mischievous grin and quickly placed your tongue on his exposed chest, trailing it up between the valley of his pecks with a giggle.

"I licked you, so you're mine now." You grinned.

Bucky's mouth was agape, shock painting his features, until it turned into a shy smile, his cheeks and ears tinting red.

"Okay sweetheart." He smiled shyly, before turning back around to let you change.

You slid from your evenings clothes quickly, teetering on your feet like a newborn deer before slipping Bucky's shirt over your head, smiling when it dropped over your ass and you were surrounded in his scent.

You climbed into bed and settled under the duvet with a happy sigh while Bucky turned, assessing you with a nod before heading for the door.

"Bucky?" You called out to him shyly.

"Yeah?" He replied, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

"Will you come see me?" You mumbled, "In the morning? I'll wanna see you but sober me might be too shy to ask."

"Of course." He sighed, "I'll even bring coffee."

"You're the best Bucky." You smiled happily, before sinking further into the mattress, ready for sleep to take you.

"Goodnight sweetheart." Bucky sighed before leaving the room with a smile pulling at his lips.

"Hey you." Bucky grinned as he padded into your room the next morning, extending the to-go cup in his hand, "Coffee."

"Oh god...thank you." You groaned, sitting up on the bed and rubbing your forehead, "My head hurts."

"But being drunk is so fun." Bucky mocked with a smile as he dropped onto the bed next to you, "That's what you said."

"Asshole." You pouted, taking the cup from him and taking a large gulp before raising your brow at him suspiciously, "And why am I in your shirt?"

"You asked for it." Bucky chuckled, "Said you wanted to feel like I was wrapped around you."

"Oh god." You gasped as your face turned a deep marron and your ears went hot, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be." He laughed before reminding himself that it was now or never, "And just so you know, you are good enough."

"Huh?" You breathed with furrowed brows, feeling heated from the way bucky was looking at you.

"For me, I mean." He confirmed softly, "You're more than good enough, I'm not good enough for you."

"I..you...what..." You stuttered, as you tried to follow what he was getting at.

"You told me you were in love with me." He announced and you felt your soul leave your body, eyes widening and mouth snapping shut in horror.

"I did?" You squeaked.

"You licked me." He grinned.

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry." You gasped, burying your face in your hands, "I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't be." He laughed again before his face softened, "Hey, look at me."

He pulled your hands away from your face, gazing at you with such affection that you thought your heart may combust. He reached out and gently tucked your hair behind your ear, before settling his palm along your jaw.

"You licked me, so I'm yours now, right?" He questioned, eyes flicking between your own and your lips.

"I...please...yes..." You breathed.

"Well then." He smiled and he began to close the gap between you, lips closing in on your own while your breath hitched and your heart skipped a beat.

His lips brushed against yours, pressing the softest kiss against them before he placed another on your cheek, when suddenly his tongue darted out, licking a stripe up the side of your face while you squealed and giggled.

"Bucky!" You giggled manically.

"What?" He chuckled, "Just returning the favour, now you're mine."

You smiled widely, eyes shimmering with glee despite the hangover trying to pierce through your skull.

"Now I'm yours." You grinned.

Everything tag - @late-to-the-party-81

@the-wandering-wonder @rnurse-kole @chemtrails-club @marvelgurl

SS Tag - @buckysdecaflove

Bucky - @wickedfun9 @mathcat345

[phulge]

i can’t believe the 14 year old phan iz reel ass kid in me is going to see Phan Iz Reel The Tour like what the fuck

[buckyshargrove]

Eavesdrop

Bucky Barnes x reader

Synopsis: You have a thing for Bucky. Bucky has a thing for you. Only, when he overhears you talking about your little crush, he thinks it’s about someone else…

Tags/warnings: fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, sweet, cheesiness, miscommunication trope, love confession, bucky barnes is down bad and grumpy bc he thinks he can’t get what he wants. i just wanted to write something cute, okay?

WC: 5k

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

To say you had a crush was a bit of an understatement. Every night you fell asleep thinking about him, what it would feel like to pass out in his arms instead of cuddling your pillow.

Every training session, your eyes would linger just that little bit longer on him while he did his weights, muscles bulging with every rep.

Each time Tony called a meeting or there was any sort of communal dinner taking place, you’d find the closest seat next to him, crack jokes and roll your eyes at him whenever someone droned on for too long about the details of their day or mission.

“You are so smitten!” Natasha smirked, teasing you as you flopped back onto your bed.

You cradled your cheeks in your hands, embarrassed at how transparent your feelings were to your best friend.

“Shut up” You replied.

You’d just finished a small recon mission in which you’d been paired with Bucky. Just you and him for six hours and no one else to bug you or interrupt your time together. Your dream.

It had gone well. You’d managed to get the information you needed all while continuing your usual banter you both shared, poking fun at Sam over comms who was trying to tell you information you both already knew.

At one point you’d almost been caught, however, and Bucky had decided to save your cover by wrapping his arm around your shoulder and leaning in close and telling you to laugh. The group of men looked away again, assuming you were just a couple out on a stroll in the park.

The sensation of his touch lasted on you even hours later, your face adorning a stupidly dorky smile as you walked down the hallway back to your room. Natasha was already waiting and knew exactly what had caused the spring in your step before you even said it.

“You need to talk to him” Natasha urged.

“I talk to him” You defended, feigning obliviousness to what she was really referring to.

“About your feelings” She clarified, raising her eyebrows knowingly.

You let out a low sigh, knowing you’d contemplated the idea plenty of times. You’d even got as far as knocking on his door to spill out your thoughts but the minute he flashed his warm smile at you, all the confidence left your body.

Bucky had come out his shell the past year. He no longer wore a scowl on his face permanently while he trailed around the tower, didn’t hide himself in his room whenever he wasn’t needed for missions. He smiled more, especially when you guys cracked jokes. You’d go out your way to tease him just to see it and brighten your day a little.

Of course, you weren’t the only one to notice the change in Bucky. One of the assistants had taken a liking to him as well. She would hand him his morning coffee first, even before Tony, she would offer her help for when he needed to note down his times doing laps. She had even fixed his tie before the last gala even though there was nothing wrong with it at all, she just wanted an excuse to be close to him. You suppose you didn’t blame her. You would do the same.

But, this now filled your head with doubts. The assistant was beautiful; shiny hair that swooshed whenever she walked, outfits that always perfectly hugged her figure. Then there was you with your combat gear that had seen better days and your hair that was in desperate need for some tlc. You couldn’t compare to all the women in the tower and outside it who had more time and care into their appearance.

You weren’t a slob by any means, but you were busy. You were saving lives and stopping the bad guys; important work that you were incredibly proud to be a part of. But, it didn’t stop you frowning at your reflection in the mirror every morning.

“He doesn’t see me that way” You told Natasha, a sentiment you’d repeated to her on many occasions.

Natasha simply raised her eyebrows like she knew better, that you were ridiculous for thinking otherwise.

Down the hall, Bucky had just finished a round of teasing from Sam about his chipper mood since returning from the mission you’d both been on. Bucky had been into you for a while and Sam constantly urged him to go ask you out before someone else did. Normally, Bucky would brush it off as usual and say that you were just good friends and he didn’t want to ruin that.

Except, today was different. Today he wanted to change that. He loved having you as a friend, trusting someone enough to confide in them about all his history and concerns and not be judged. He felt the tension on the mission, how the electricity surged through him when he wrapped his arm around you. He noticed your demeanour change, how you became flustered. For the first time since he’d grown close with you, he felt like he might actually have a chance.

So, here he was. He had marched down the hallway ready to finally man up and ask you out properly. As he approached your door, he heard your voice talking to someone and it stopped him in his tracks. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation, it just sort of happened.

“Ugh” You groaned “Why does he have to be so cute? Makes it so hard to function”

Your admission piqued his interest as he quietly shuffled closer to your door, making sure that you wouldn’t be able to see him lingering and listening in.

“You need to tell him before you like…internally implode or something” Nat joked.

“Oh yeah, sure, i’ll just walk right up and word vomit all my feelings to him”

Bucky’s heart quickened at your words. Were you talking about…him?

“That’s sort of how it works, yeah” Nat smirked.

“Okay, but he’s a super soldier, Nat” You reminded her “He has girls falling at his feet, all of whom are way prettier than me”

Bucky frowned at the last part of your sentence. To him, you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Your smile lit up a room, your energy radiating like the sun and….wait…did you just say he had girls falling at his feet?

Bucky definitely didn’t have that. He remembered specifically when he first arrived at the tower how they would all avoid him, eye him up uneasily from the other side of the room while whispering to their friend. He felt like some kind of monster, the kind you were supposed to hide away in a cellar somewhere out of sight.

“And when we’re out on missions, he’s just so…strong. He makes it all look so effortless” You hummed, mind travelling to all those instances that had your heart racing.

Bucky didn’t feel effortless. If anything, he felt like he forced everything he did to prove he wasn’t bad anymore, that he could do good with his strength; not harm.

Bucky’s face dropped as it finally clicked in his head who you were actually talking about.

Steve.

It had to be. He was a super soldier, well accustomed to women fawning over him and always giving his all to whatever mission or task he had. It was what he always admired about Steve, even before the serum; his sheer determination against all odds.

It didn’t surprise Bucky that you had a thing for Steve. That was his new normal. Women fluttered their eyelashes at Steve and not him, he got to call the shots when they were out the tower, had civilians look at him with awe out on the streets while he wiped out the unlawful.

Normally, Bucky wasn’t resentful of Steve. He understood why he was held in such high regard, and looked at him like he hung the stars as well. But this? You? It crushed him just a little.

You were special to him, you made him feel human again after feeling like a machine for so long. He’d been so excited to come talk to you and finally move past shared looks across the table and late night movie marathons. Now, he felt like his whole mood had come crashing down. Worst of all, he didn’t even blame you. He swallowed down his pride and emotions and walked back in the direction of his own room before you could say anything else to solidify his theory.

Back inside your room, you finally sat up and dragged your hands though your hair. Maybe, Natasha was right. Maybe, you should just go talk to him. She encouraged you one last time before heading out your door, leaving you to ruminate in your thoughts.

————-

The social area was quiet, like it so often was at this time of night. It was your favourite time to come in and unwind without all the usual hustle and bustle of bodies coming in and out. You also knew that it was Bucky’s usual time to saunter through without anyone to bother him.

Awaiting his appearance, you grabbed a tub of ice cream from the freezer and settled down on the couch. Fingers curled round the remote, you flicked through the options of viewing which seemed lacklustre at best. Finally, you found a rerun of a movie you’d seen not that long ago but you knew Bucky would probably find it entertaining so you let it play as you dug into the chocolate flavoured treat in your hands.

As the minutes passed by and the hands on the clock moved around the numbers, you felt your eyebrows furrow knowing it was getting later than usual for Bucky to turn up. You knew he didn’t have any missions that would mean he wasn’t here because you’d been there with him earlier in the day and Tony said there wouldn’t be any more for a few days.

You begun to worry that something was wrong, that maybe he was having one of his nightmares or panic attacks that would still occasionally plague him. Deciding to go make sure he was okay, you carefully out the tub of ice cream back into the freezer and padded your way down to his room, quickly wiping at your mouth to make sure you had no embarrassing leftovers hanging in the corner of your mouth.

As if he could anticipate your turning up, his door opened before you even had a chance to knock. His headphones were already plugged into his ear and he had on his workout clothes. It wasn’t the first time that he would opt for a late night gym session, though he usually opted to spend time with you instead these days.

“Hi” You smiled, capturing his attention.

“Oh, hey” He replied, surprise written on his face as you stood there expectantly.

“You not joining for a movie?” You asked, trying to mask your disappointment.

Bucky closed the door behind him as he awkwardly cleared his throat, eyes averting yours despite him being fine this morning. You tried to think back if you’d done anything on the mission to make him uncomfortable but you came up empty.

“Think i’m gonna pass and fit in some gym time instead” He replied “Got some big missions coming up, you know”

“Oh, okay” You said, sad that you’d miss out on your usual routine.

You felt like he was hiding something from you, that something was playing on his mind but you didn’t get the chance to question him on it as he hastily made his way down to the training rooms, headphones already blasting music that would drown you out.

Deflated, you trailed to your room and tried to rationalise that you’d spent a lot of time together today and sometimes people, especially Bucky, needed their alone time occasionally and it wasn’t personal. Even if it felt like it.

—————

Over the next few days, Bucky was still the same and you were starting to find it difficult to not take it to heart when you seen him interact with the others just fine. Last night, you hadn’t even bothered to go to the social area, you stayed in your room in the hopes he might notice your absence and come find you, but it never came.

Tonight, your main objective was to distract yourself from your thoughts about Bucky before it drove you crazy. Tony was hosting one of his extravagant parties, champagne flowing and music blaring from speakers as the room was filled with notable figures from all around the city.

“Don’t tell me i’m going to have to babysit you tonight” Natasha smirked with a knowing look as she pulled up beside you to grab herself a drink from the bar.

“What are you talking about?” You asked, shrugging nonchalantly as you finished the contents of your glass, handing it to a bartender while asking for a refill.

Natasha merely gestured between you and the fresh alcohol in your hands with her eyes. She was all too versed in how easily you could get sloppy drink after too many glasses of wine, especially if you were using it as a distraction.

“You’re drinking your feelings instead of talking to him” She said in a lower tone.

Even if she was right, you didn’t want to admit it. It was embarrassing enough that he was actively avoiding you, having to confront him about it would be even more humiliating.

“He’s not even here so….” You trailed, taking another large sip.

You’d looked for him when you’d arrived, naturally. Despite your plan of distracting your mind from him for the evening, old habits die hard and you found your eye scanning the room looking for him in every corner where he usually liked to lurk.

The night continued on, and you moved around the room with newfound confidence thanks to the liquid courage in your hands. You joked with Thor, danced with Yelena, and challenged your own best friend to an arm wrestle. You lost hard, of course, but with how light and free the wine was making you feel, you didn’t even mind.

“You’re having fun” Steve smiled, noting your more outgoing personality for the evening.

“It’s a party, right?” You replied, scooting up on the couch to sit beside him instead of having to shout over the music.

“Right” He replied “Just…usually you and Bucky hide away in a corner and make sarcastic comments”

The smile that had been plastered on your face faltered ever so slightly at the mention of Bucky after so many hours of successfully managing to push him out of your head.

“Usually…yeah” You agreed, taking the last gulp of your wine.

You set the glass back down onto a table and Steve noted the sad look on your face, as if he’d brought up a touchy subject.

“What’s going on with you two?” He asked, voice lower so people around you both didn’t eavesdrop.

“Nothing” You said, all too quickly “Nothing’s going on between us”

Steve had noticed his friend’s change in mood over the week, how he would sit more slumped in the meeting room and kept their conversations minimal in training. Bucky was never a chatterbox by any means, but Steve could tell something was bothering him, and judging by your change of attitude towards partying tonight, he was beginning to consider it was connected.

“He isn’t really talking to me this week” You admitted “I don’t know if I did something wrong”

Steve recognised the deflation on your face. He wore it too when Bucky had first arrived at the tower and he rejected all of Steve’s invitations to socialise with the others.

“Sometimes he just gets in his head” Steve shrugged “I wouldn’t take it personally”

Normally, you’d agree. You knew Bucky like the back of your hand, how his demeanour would change when he got in those moods. He always had time for you, though. No matter what or who had bothered him, he sought your company to distract his mind and make him feel better. So why wasn’t that the solution this time?

“Hard not to” You sighed, holding your chin in your palm.

The party was only growing rowdier as the alcohol started to really kick in. You should be the same, you should still be out dancing and trying to convince yourself you’re having the time of your life and yet, here you are, fixated on why Bucky wasn’t talking to you.

“You like him” Steve noted, eyebrows raised slightly and looking at you as if he was assessing something.

You felt your heart quicken at his words. Were you really that transparent? Was that why Bucky was avoiding you? Maybe he knew about your feelings and he didn’t feel the same and now he was scared to talk to you and break your heart over not reciprocating.

“I-uh…he’s a good friend, yeah” You stuttered, trying desperately to save face.

“You know what I mean” Steve smirked, arching one eyebrow knowingly.

You felt your cheeks heat up, going even more red than from the alcohol you’d made your way through for the past few hours.

“Is it that obvious?” You asked, feeling embarrassed at who else probably knew of your crush.

“Nat might have let something slip” He informed “But, I did have my suspicions”

“I’m going to kill her” You joked, knowing sooner or later your best friend would pull something like this to stop you gushing to her and not do anything.

“After your failed arm wrestle, i’d maybe put that idea on hold” Steve teased.

You rolled your eyes, knowing even in your most soundest mind that you’d never be able to take on Natasha in a fight. Sure, you were good, but she was a whole other level.

“Do you think that maybe he’d like me back?” You asked after a beat, voice quiet as if you were scared to voice the question.

Steve picked up on your nerves. He didn’t blame you, when it came to Bucky, he wasn’t exactly the most open with his feelings.

“I think the best thing is to just talk to him” Steve suggested.

“Easier said than done” You laughed, remembering how much he’d been avoiding you this week.

You talked to Steve for a little while longer before he got roped into a challenge with Thor on if he could get the hammer to move. Calling it a night, you said your goodnights and slipped out of the party and welcomed the more peaceful hallway where you could actually hear yourself think.

The alcohol had mostly worn off by now, though you were sure that the others would remind you of your shenanigans in the morning when you slept it off and forgot all about your dancing.

Just as you reached the end of the hallway where your room was, you felt your breath hitch as you realise who was walking the other way. He had a bottle of water in his hand that he must have grabbed from the kitchen and had planned on sneaking back to his room without anyone noticing.

“Bucky” You said, not wanting him to walk past you and say nothing.

“Leaving the party already?” He asked, his voice hiding an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher in this moment.

That’s when you noticed his outfit. He wasn’t wearing his usual relaxed gym clothes or henley like he’d normally lounge in around the tower. He was dressed up, or as much as Bucky did, anyway. He had on that nice black shirt that made his muscles look extra defined.

“I didn’t see you in there” You hummed, wondering if you’d just missed him hiding away somewhere.

“I didn’t stay for long” He replied “Guess I’m not in the mood tonight”

In reality, Bucky had been quite up for the party. He’d been in his head for days about you and decided today was going to be the day he finally just came clean to you. After all, he was just going off assumption when he eavesdropped by your room earlier in the week, maybe he’d heard wrong.

However, as he entered the party, his eyes locked on you….and on Steve sitting beside you smiling and teasing. All the confidence he’d rebuilt over the week came crashing down again and he was back to square one on being second fiddle to his best friend.

He didn’t blame either of you, it made sense. You looked stunning as ever in a classic sleek black dress that sat on you so perfect it was as if it was custom built instead of off the rack. Steve carried his usual confidence as he sat back on the couch, arms rested out behind him as if he owned the room.

Bucky couldn’t stand to watch any more so he made a 180 turn and headed right back out the door he’d barely even entered from.

“You’re never in the mood” You joked “But we find ways to make it fun”

You usually hated parties too. There was too many people, too much schmoozing. You felt like you were performing, almost. Tonight was an exception, the alcohol had allowed you to have a bit of fun without overthinking every word or action. Still, you missed your usual banter with Bucky in the corner.

“Yeah, well, you seemed a little preoccupied” He shrugged, a small tight lipped smile on his lips.

The muffled sound of the music echoed through the halls, mildly covering the awkward energy in the air that fell between you two.

“You seem off this week” You explained “Did I do something?”

You watched as Bucky’s face winced briefly before letting out a sigh and shaking his head. You could always tell when he was lying, he was never good at it.

“No, you’re good” He replied “I just uh….have a lot on my plate this week”

The sad look on his face made you worried, made you concerned that he was keeping something from you. Recently, his nightmares had mostly disappeared and he’d been doing better, but as you noticed his dark circles, you wondered if they’d started plaguing him again.

“Talk to me about it” You prompted.

“I…can’t” He said, face looking pained “I can’t talk to you about it”

The sound of the party grew louder as a few people trickled out, laughter and drunken stumbles following them. You glanced at Bucky and recognised how his body tensed up, how he was ready to dart away any second. Before he had the chance, you gently grabbed his arm and pulled him into your room before he had the chance to protest.

You closed the door behind you, resting against it so he couldn’t make a quick escape. Bucky seemed uncomfortable, eyes darting around your space like he shouldn’t be here, like he wasn’t allowed to look at anything too long.

“Bucky, please talk to me” You said gently “You’re making me worried”

You knew you shouldn’t force it on him, that it was better to leave Bucky to be alone with his thoughts rather than force them out of him. Steve always told you that he would get like this sometimes and it was better to let it run its course, but you hated seeing him look so sad.

“You don’t need to be worried” He reassured.

“I just want to help” You urged.

“You can’t” He sighed, eyes cast down.

“Let me try” You insisted.

“I told you, you can’t” He said, taking a deep inhale.

“But why? You haven’t even let me try-“

“Because it’s about you!” He blurted, frustration getting the better of him.

Your mouth quickly closed shut, eyebrows furrowed as you looked at him while he did everything to avoid your gaze. You knew that something had been wrong, that it definitely wasn’t in your head that he’d been avoiding you.

“So… I did do something?” You asked after a beat, voice quiet and unsure as you mentally retraced your week.

“No, you didn’t do anything, it’s just-”

“Clearly, I did! You don’t even want to talk to me” You huffed, emotions getting heightened.

Bucky took another deep breath, a curt laugh falling from his mouth as he shook his head and ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

“You’re really going to make me say it, huh?” He sighed.

You didn’t reply, you simply continued to look at him waiting for some sort of answer and why he was being purposely vague.

“I…I like you” He started “And I have for a while, as more than a friend”

Your breath hitched at the confession, chest tight as you considered the possibility you’d misheard from all the alcohol that was now clouding your head.

“I was actually on my way to tell you that, earlier this week after our mission together” He explained “I heard you and Nat talking when I got to your room and….and I know I shouldn’t have, but I eavesdropped a little and I heard what you said about him”

“About who?” You asked, confused.

“About Steve” He answered.

Steve? You questioned. You tried to rack your mind back to that conversation, but you failed to remember any point in which you brought up Steve.

“About how you like him and how he’s so cute it makes it hard to function?” He said, trying to jog your memory “And I seen you both at the party talking away, looking cosy”

Your brain finally clicked as to what was happening and your face relaxed, a small smile crept onto your lips as you realised the misinterpretation of the situation.

“Bucky” You said, trying to pull him out his ramble to explain.

“I don’t need your pity, alright?” He sighed “I can handle rejection, and I understand, okay? Steve’s a great guy and-”

“I don’t like Steve” You interrupted.

Bucky stopped in his tracks, looking up at you finally as he was now the one who was confused.

“I mean, yeah, he’s a great guy and a good friend, but I don’t like him like that” You explained.

Now, Bucky was seriously starting to spiral as he thought about who else you could possibly be talking about. His mind jumped to Walker. Dear god, he prayed it wasn’t Walker.

“I like you” You said with a gentle smile “You’re who I was talking about”

Bucky felt his heart race but he tried no to get too ahead of himself. It still didn’t make sense, the way you described him didn’t fit at all.

“But, you said he-I had girls falling at my feet” He replied “I don’t have that at all, I don’t understand”

You threw him a puzzled look with your head titled to the side. Did he really not see the effect he had on other people? How you’d seen a receptionist just about trip over herself to be the one to hand him a letter that had come in.

“Yes, you do” You laughed “Alice follows you around like a puppy because she’s so into you”

“Alice?” He questioned “The assistant, Alice?”

You nodded your head, baffled at how he hadn’t noticed her constantly trying to spend as much time with him as possible even though she was supposed to be busy with tasks on the other side of the building.

“I never noticed” He admitted, now wondering what else he was totally oblivious to.

Silence fell but this time, it didn’t feel uncomfortable. It felt exciting, like something was about to finally happen and all those feelings you’d both kept hidden were now out in the open.

“So, you like me” Bucky stated, making sense of it “And….I like you”

“Correct” You nodded.

“And i’ve been walking around like there’s gum stuck on my shoe because I thought you liked Steve, and you thought I was interested in other girls” Bucky added.

“Also correct” You replied.

For the first time tonight, you seen a genuine smile stretch across his face as he locked eyes with you. He no longer looked sad or tense, he looked….hopeful.

“I guess we’re both not very good at this then” He joked.

“I guess not” You laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“So, I suppose this is the part where I ask you out properly” He said, feeling a little rusty after all these years and cursing how effortlessly smooth he used to feel talking to girls when he was younger.

“Yeah, or you could kiss me” You shrugged, feeling a little bold “Either works”

You could see this short-circuited him slightly, a flush of red painted on his cheeks as he let out a nervous laugh from being flustered at your forwardness.

“I want to do this proper” He nodded firmly “I was raised a gentleman and I want to take you out first”

“That’s fine with me, Sarge” You teased, feeling your own cheeks blush.

In this moment, you both felt smitten. All the worries and jealousy you’d both wallowed in had completely vanished as you tried to hold back a giant grin from how happy you felt.

“How does dinner tomorrow night sound?” He asked “Seven o’clock?”

“Sounds perfect” You nodded, excitement already kicking in.

“Great” He smiled “Well, it’s late, so i’ll let you get some shut eye”

You could tell he still wasn’t used to this, to being openly interested and flirting, but you thought it was cute.

“Goodnight, Bucky” You replied.

His hand reached for the handle, opening the door but pausing as he looked back at you almost hesitantly before stepping close and softly pressing his lips against your forehead, so light it felt like a feather.

“Those ones are allowed, though” He smirked “Sweet dreams”

[bkchron]

FORTY-SEVEN SECONDS

Pairing Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count 2 k

Note I love when Bucky cares just like, way too much.

The mission had been briefed as clean. Efficient. Low risk. An abandoned industrial building on the edge of the city, supposedly being used as a data relay hub for a splinter cell that thought hiding in plain sight meant hiding inside crumbling brick and rusted steel. The plan was simple: you would infiltrate, extract the encrypted drives from the third-floor server room, and signal for pickup. Five minutes inside, max. Bucky would provide overwatch from a neighboring rooftop, eyes on every visible window, sniper steady, breath even. It was the kind of operation he’d done a hundred times.

He hadn’t liked that you were going in alone.

He hadn’t said that out loud.

You had pointed out, calmly and logically, that one person moved quieter than two. That you were faster solo. That backup would be close if anything went wrong. You’d given him that look — the one that was equal parts reassurance and challenge — and he had swallowed whatever instinct had told him to argue. He wasn’t your handler. You weren’t fragile. You were more than capable.

Still, as he watched you slip through a side entrance and disappear into shadow, something tight coiled low in his chest and refused to loosen. Something wasn't right.

Your voice came through the comms steady and composed. “I’m in. Lobby’s clear.” There was the faint echo of your boots against tile, then the soft hiss of a door opening. Sam’s voice chimed in from the jet overhead, relaying heat signatures and movement patterns. Bucky tracked the windows with mechanical precision, adjusting for angle, for reflection, for any flicker of motion. He could almost map your path in his head as you moved floor to floor. He trusted your instincts. He trusted your skill.

He just didn’t trust the quiet.

You reached the server room without incident. “Download started. You worry too much, Buckbear.” you murmured sweetly, breath barely audible through the mic. In his scope, the building remained dark and still, like a hollowed carcass. He listened to the faint clicking of keys on your end and forced himself to unclench his jaw. Thirty seconds, you’d said. That was all.

At twenty-eight seconds, there was a crackle.

It was small. A whisper of static that might’ve been nothing.

His spine went rigid anyway.

“Say again.” he said immediately, eyes sharpening as if he could see through concrete.

No response.

Another flicker of static, harsher this time, like wind tearing through wires.

He said your name. His voice dropped, lost its casual edge. “Report.”

Silence answered him.

Sam’s tone shifted above. “I’m losing her signal.”

Bucky’s heart gave one hard, violent thud against his ribs. He then screamed your name, desperate.

Nothing.

And then the building exploded.

It wasn’t cinematic. It wasn’t clean. It was wrong. The windows burst outward first in a violent bloom of fire, the shockwave punching through brick and steel before the structure seemed to fold inward on itself. The sound arrived half a second later — a deafening crack that swallowed everything else. The rooftop beneath Bucky’s boots shuddered as heat and debris rushed toward him in a choking wave of smoke and dust.

He didn’t remember deciding to move.

One second he was frozen, staring at the fire consuming the third floor where you had been. The next he was running, vaulting over the ledge, hitting the street hard enough to jar bone, already sprinting toward the collapsing frame of what had been your exit point. Sam was shouting something through the comms — strategy, caution, wait — but it blurred into static in his ears.

He didn’t feel the heat blistering the air. He didn’t register the shards of glass that cut through his sleeve. All he could process was the absence in his headset. No coughing. No swearing. No strained "I’m okay." Just dead air.

“Honey!” he shouted into the smoke as he reached the wreckage, his voice raw in a way that had nothing to do with dust. “Answer me, please!” Voice cracked at the end.

The lobby — or what had been the lobby — was a heap of twisted beams and fractured concrete slabs stacked in violent angles. He climbed over them without hesitation, metal hand already tearing at debris. He lifted chunks of rubble that would have pinned a truck. Threw them aside. Dug deeper. Every second stretched thin, warped and wrong.

“Thermal’s gone,” Sam said quietly over the comms, and that quiet was worse than panic. “Buck…”

“Shut up.” Bucky rasped, not angry, just hollow.

He kept digging.

He had lost people before. He knew the taste of it — metallic and bitter at the back of his throat. He knew the numbness that followed, the way grief sometimes arrived delayed, like a letter postmarked too late. But this wasn’t grief yet. This was refusal. This was the violent, irrational certainty that if he just moved faster, if he just lifted one more slab of concrete, he would find you beneath it, bruised maybe, bleeding maybe, but breathing.

Then he saw a scrap of fabric caught under a bent steel rod.

Your jacket.

He went very still.

The world seemed to narrow to that single torn edge of black fabric, dust-coated and singed. He knelt slowly, movements suddenly careful, reverent in a way he hadn’t been seconds before. He pulled it free, hands that had crushed metal now almost gentle as he turned it over. Burn marks licked the hem. The sleeve was ripped. Underneath it—

Nothing.

No body. No blood. No sign.

The breath left his lungs in a quiet, fractured exhale. He didn’t know if that was relief or the beginning of something worse.

They pulled him back eventually, though he couldn’t recall how. One moment he was knee-deep in rubble, the next he was standing outside the perimeter, dust settling into his hair and shoulders like ash. Sirens wailed in the distance. Someone was talking about secondary explosives. About bait. About how the intel had been compromised from the start.

He didn’t process any of it.

Back at the compound, he sat in the med bay with your torn jacket in his lap and stared at it like it might rearrange itself into an explanation. Forty-seven seconds. That was how long your comms had been silent before the explosion. Forty-seven seconds where he had stood on a rooftop and listened to nothing. He replayed them over and over in his head, searching for something he could have done differently. If he’d moved sooner. If he’d insisted on going in with you. If he hadn’t let you convince him you’d be fine.

The door slid open behind him.

He didn’t look up. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone stepping in with that careful, sympathetic expression. He didn’t want comfort. He didn’t want words.

“Hey.” Your voice was hoarse, soft, unmistakable.

His entire body locked.

The jacket slipped from his fingers and hit the floor without him noticing. Slowly—too slowly—he turned his head. You stood in the doorway, covered in dust, one arm secured in a sling, a shallow cut slicing through your eyebrow. You looked exhausted. Shaken.

Alive.

For a long second he simply stared at you, like his brain couldn’t quite bridge the gap between memory and reality. You gave him a small, uneven smile, like you weren’t sure how he’d react.

“Hi.” you said.

He crossed the room in three strides and cupped your face in both hands, metal and flesh framing your cheeks as he leaned in close, eyes scanning every inch of you like he was verifying structural integrity. His thumbs brushed your skin as if testing whether you were solid. “You’re—”

“I’m okay,” you whispered quickly, your good hand coming up to steady his wrist. “I lost signal in the stairwell. I dropped two floors when the first blast hit. I didn’t have time to—”

“You were gone.” he said, and his voice cracked in a way that made your chest tighten.

He pulled you into him, not violently, not thoughtlessly, but with a kind of restrained desperation that felt like it had been building for years. His face pressed into your hair, his breathing uneven against your temple. For a moment, you felt the faint tremor in his shoulders —not quite a sob, not quite a breakdown, but something dangerously close to both.

“I thought you died,” he admitted against your skin, the words rough and stripped of pride. “I thought you died and I wasn't there right beside you and then I couldn't find you—”

You wrapped your arm around him carefully, mindful of your sling, and held him back just as tightly. “I’m here,” you murmured. “I’m right here.”

Later, when you were alone in his room and the adrenaline had drained enough to leave everything raw and exposed, he sat on the edge of the bed with his hands resting at your hips, eyes lifting to yours like he was still afraid you might flicker out of existence. The silence between you felt heavier now, weighted with everything he hadn’t said before the mission, everything he’d assumed he had time to figure out later.

“I can’t do that again.” he said finally, voice low.

“Do what?” you asked gently.

“Lose you.”

The word hung there, unguarded and vulnerable.

You stepped closer, brushing your fingers through his hair. “You would never, honey,” you said softly. “I’m still here.”

His thumb traced the inside of your wrist, feeling for your pulse like he needed the steady rhythm beneath his skin. “Somewhere along the way,” he continued, jaw tightening as he searched for words that didn’t come easily to him, “you stopped being just my teammate. Probably it was the way you steal my protein bars. Or how annoying you are when training.”

Your breath caught.

“You became… mine,” he said, frustration lacing the confession, like he wasn’t sure he deserved to claim it. “And I don’t even know if I get to say that.”

You leaned down and kissed him before doubt could swallow the moment. It wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t desperate. It was sure. Warm. Alive. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, deepening it slowly, like he was memorizing the exact way you felt against him. When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath mingling.

“I don’t want to waste more time.” he murmured.

“Then don’t.” you replied.

That night, he didn’t let much space exist between you. You lay curled against his side, careful of your injuries, his metal fingers tracing slow, grounding patterns along your spine. Every so often he would shift, just slightly, as if checking that you were still solid and warm beside him. When you murmured sleepily that you weren’t going anywhere, he pressed a kiss into your hair and held you closer, not out of fear this time, but out of something steadier.

In the morning, he didn’t make a grand declaration. He simply walked into the kitchen with his hand resting at the small of your back, fingers firm and certain. When someone looked at you a second too long, his posture shifted almost imperceptibly, placing himself just a little closer. Not possessive in a way that caged you — just present in a way that made it clear you were not alone.

That evening, as you stood together on the balcony watching the city lights flicker on, you leaned into him and said quietly, “You don’t have to wait for buildings to explode to tell me how you feel.”

He huffed a soft breath, eyes still on the skyline. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

You turned to look at him. “You sure?”

He glanced down at you, something steady and resolute in his gaze now instead of frantic. “I’m not good with speeches,” he admitted. “But I’m good at staying.”

You intertwined your fingers with his, feeling the warmth of his flesh hand and the cool strength of the metal one. “That’s enough.” you said.

And when he pulled you into his side and pressed his lips to your temple, it wasn’t because he thought you might disappear. It was because, for the first time in a long time, he believed you wouldn’t.

masterlist ֶָ֢

[elliestwoleftfingerss]

``you belong with me`` -> bucky barnes

dmdr event masterlist! ۶ৎ

author's note: HAPPPYYYY VALENTINESSS!! this was so, so fun and i really enjoyed it. my submission for the dmdr exchange is for the lovely @singulartoast - i hope you enjoy this as much as i did <3 a tag for @salty-tang thank you for setting this up, it was so much fun!! and a final tag for @buckysdecaflove, the third of the taylor swiftie trio :D thank you for my fics!! most definitely gonna join one of these again :3

synopsis: bucky is afraid to tell you about his true feelings, scared to ruin what you have going on between you. a mishap makes him realise what he could be for you. (prompt: writing love notes on fogged-up windows and pretending it's just doodling)

pairing: bucky barnes x neighbour!reader (use of y/n)

proofread: none, intentional lowercase

warnings: mild language, reader getting stood up, both parties are a lil' oblivious at the beginning, whole bunch of taylor swift references, little use of petnames (dork, doll), just bucket loads of fluff and cutesy romance at the end

word count: 4.4k

a clothes bomb had exploded in your bedroom.

you could hardly see the floor, scuffing your feet across the carpet to manoeuvre through your rubbish tip of a room. you were usually quite the organised person; your desk was always neatly arranged, and your bookshelf was full of novels and collectibles that you’d acquired over the years, all put into a tidy order so you knew where everything was. everything had its designated place, just like your clothes that littered the floor - they should’ve been tucked methodically in your wardrobe, but were strewn around the place as if they’d done something to personally offend you. something like that.

you couldn’t say you had expected to be going out on a friday night. your usual escapades consisted of curling up on your couch, consuming a pint of ice-cream and enjoying the newest episode of whatever crappy reality show that’d be playing on the television. you had those exact plans in your head as you’d been packing up your paperwork, before your colleague, greg, approached you. he was a man whose confident aura could be distinguishable in any room he entered - he had this sureness about him, as if he knew he could get what he wanted with just the flash of that million-dollar smile. 

really, you couldn’t really understand why he’d come to you; you were simply an assistant in the firm you worked for, filing paperwork and aiding with whatever was asked of you. you couldn’t be any more opposite.

he proposed if he could take you out to a popular restaurant in brooklyn, and who were you to say no? he was a respectable man and he seemed interested in you. maybe it’d be a nice change, is what you’d told yourself, so you told him you’d go. he told you to meet him at a restaurant in central brooklyn at seven. it was a date.

which brought you back to the present, where you desperately sought out something to wear. you looked around for your favourite pair of jeans - your lucky blue-denim jeans - but of course, the universe had doomed you from the very start. you couldn’t tell if the trousers had been swallowed up by the mess of your scattered wardrobe, which you hoped they hadn’t because the whole reason the chaos reared its head was because you couldn’t find the pants to begin with. perhaps they were in the wash? or were they under the bed? you’d definitely worn them recently, so they’d be around here somewhere.

the digital clock on your bedside table read 18:12, which gave you about half an hour to find something to wear and get ready. fuck it. to hell with the jeans, you’d just have to find something else.

you scooped up a large pile of clothes and threw them into the bottom of your wardrobe, willing to sacrifice your organisation for now - you’d get back to that later. you closed the wooden doors and sighed softly. thank god, you could finally see the floorboards.

across the way, bucky sat at his desk in his own room. he scribbled furiously in one of his dozen notebooks, another of many he’d likely end up forgetting about or losing and would wound up buying another. they were a useful tool for him to write down anything he was thinking or feeling; something doctor christina raynor had advised him to do so he could bring them with him to his therapy sessions. he had a fear of forgetting things, so having an outlet in the form of a pen and notepad gave him some peace of mind.

decades of brainwashing had the tendency to do that to a person. having them scraped clean of everything they knew, wiping them over, turning them into a blank canvas for a new destiny to be carved into the slate of the mind. a story, able to be erased and rewritten with something as simple as the snapping of fingers. he had the right to be worried.

his mind was conjuring up images he needlessly wanted to get rid of, so he gave himself a mental break, tapping the tip of his beiro against the lined paper as he took a look around. as his eyes wandered, he caught sight of you in your window directly opposite him. you’d been next door neighbours for a few years - good friends for even longer. it was just easy between you; natural. he found himself at ease when he talked to you, and you loved learning new things about him. things between you were simple, and bucky didn’t want to complicate that.

didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to admire you, though.

a small smile danced across his features as you moved around your bedroom, figure in a flurry as you appeared to be looking for something. you’d already messaged him days before hand to ask if he’d be able to drop you off at the restaurant, and he immediately said yes. doing things with you and seeing you happy was one of his favourite past times, even if it was just driving to take you somewhere. he was a simple guy - he was happy if you were happy. he’d always worked like that.

your constant moving came to a stop as you spotted him watching, sat at his desk like he usually was. you stepped 

carefully as you approached your own window, trying not to trip over anything that was still discarded on the floor. kneeling on your windowsill, you breathed against the glass to fog it up before writing with your finger, are you watching me?

bucky was a bit surprised to see you start writing on the window, but he leaned over his table to reciprocate. just wondering what you’re doing.

getting ready, you scrawled underneath your previous line. we still okay for tonight?

of course, he wrote. see you in ten.

as promised, bucky was outside your door in agreed time, rasping his knuckles against the front door before stepping down off the porch steps to wait for you to show yourself. as he lingered outside in the veiling night, he took a look around at the beginning of your garden. you’d started tending to it more as the months got warmer, digging up holes in the earth in preparation to plant your flowers for the spring season. it was one of your constants; it was therapeutic, and let you take your mind off things as you got yourself elbow-deep in your gardening. whenever you had a bad day, you could retreat to your little garden and will away all of the negatives of the day. it was a good arrangement for you, and bucky had to admit he liked watching you kneel in the soil in your dungarees and sun-hat. that was your happy place.

the sound of the front door opening caught his attention, and he tore his gaze away from the nature outside. the edges of his mouth pulled up in a smile when he spotted you, back to him as you locked up your house. you were dressed in a navy dress, the skirt twirling just around your knees as you spun to face him.

“hey,” you grinned, slipping your keys into your purse slung over your shoulder. “thank you for this.”

“no need to thank me,” he said gently, the hands in his pockets fidgeting marginally. “you ready to go?”

you nodded, pulling your cardigan further around your shoulders as you followed him to his black pick-up. the sky had already started to darken, but thankfully it wasn’t too cold. you weren’t really sure what you should wear, considering you’d never been to this restaurant before, but you thought what you picked out looked okay.

bucky unlocked the vehicle and opened the passenger side door for you, offering his hand to help you up into the raised truck.

you laughed softly and nodded your head in thanks, taking his hand to balance yourself as you slid into your seat. once you were both safely buckled into the automobile, bucky stuck the key into the ignition and the pick-up roared to life beneath you. it was a spritely thing, only a few years old when bucky bought it. it was a little older now, but still went as well as it would’ve when it was brand new.

bucky pulled off your street and cranked up the radio for some background music, the familiar melody of taylor swift’s you belong with me playing softly in the background. you found yourself humming quietly along with the tune as it played through the speakers, leaning your head against your seatbelt as you looked out the window. there were a few short moments of gentle sing-song, before bucky spoke up.

“tell me about this guy,” he said, momentarily looking over at you. you stopped humming and sat up a little, your head swivelling in his direction.

“well, he’s one of the higher-ups in the company, y’know, business and all that,” you made a bit of a gruff noise to emphasise what you meant. “he’s nice. well assured.”

“good,” bucky hummed. he didn’t elaborate on his answer, but it was obvious by his tone of voice that he was glad that this guy sounded half-decent. that was the least you deserved.

within about 20 minutes of driving, bucky slowed the truck to a halt outside the restaurant you’d told him about. it looked to be a nice place; large floor-to-ceiling windows that broadcast the warm light inside, the area packed with white-clothed tables and leather upholstered chairs. it seemed to be relatively busy, and was a good choice to have dinner with someone. it was upkept well outside too, with shrubbery lining the exterior and plant pots standing around the entrance.

“do you want me to wait with you until he comes?” bucky asked, taking his hand off the gear stick. he let it drop into his lap.

“i don’t want to keep you, i can wait. he shouldn’t be too long,” you replied, gathering your bag and reaching for the door handle.

“you sure? i really don’t mind,” he offered.

“i’m sure. thank you for dropping me off,” you smiled and jumped down from the truck.

“let me know if you need picking up,” he said, and before you shut the door added, “have a good time!” 

you stood on the pavement, waving to him as he honked his horn and drove off. you wouldn’t mind standing around for a few minutes, because it seemed rude to go into the restaurant before greg arrived. you folded your arms around yourself, feeling the breeze brushing past you as you waited for your date to arrive.

you felt so humiliated. it'd been nearly 40 minutes since bucky had dropped you off outside the restaurant, and there was no sign of greg anywhere. a small spark of hope came whenever a car pulled up, but it always turned out to be someone else and you felt your heart drop further into your stomach with every new face that appeared. you'd sent him a couple of messages, trying not to sound too pushy in case he just happened to be late. but as the time ticked by and the night grew darker, you knew he wasn't coming.

you pulled out your phone for what felt like the billionth time, but instead of checking the time this time, you pulled bucky's contact up on your screen. your thumb hovered over the ring button, before you finally clicked it and held the device to your ear. the dialling tone came a few times before bucky picked up.

“hey,” bucky said down the phone, the sound of shuffling coming from somewhere in the background. “everything alright?”

“sorry to be a pain,” you said, and he could hear the shift in your voice compared to earlier. “would you be able to come and get me?”

“of course,” his voice dropped an octave and his tone was gentler. “i’ll be there soon.”

true to his word, as always, bucky's dark pick-up mounted the curb around 15 minutes later, the man leaning over the centre console so he could open the door from the inside. you pulled the door open and climbed into the vehicle, slipping into your seat and dropping your belongings on the ground. bucky didn’t make any attempt to drive off just yet, the fingertips of his vibranium arm tapping a silent rhythm on the steering wheel. he watched you beneath knitted eyebrows, eyes following your movements as you buckled yourself in.

“are you okay?” he asked. stupid question, buck. of course you weren’t okay; you’d been standing around for nearly an hour, waiting for someone who apparently didn’t care enough to warn you about their absence. that was guaranteed to sting for a while.

“just tired of drama,” you blew out a sigh, undoing the buckles on the straps of your heels and slipping them off. you pulled your tight-clad legs onto the seat, wrapping your arms around your calves as you slid your knees closer to your chest.

“i’m sorry,” he replied, finally moving to put the truck back into gear. “you didn’t deserve that.”

“i can’t believe i was stupid enough to wait,” you murmured, pressing your forehead into the palm of your hand as you leaned on the passenger side door. “he didn’t even text me. i should’ve known better.”

“you couldn’t have known,” he said. “he made a commitment to you, and he broke that. that’s not your fault, okay?” bucky looked over at you momentarily, his hand squeezing tighter around the steering wheel. seeing you looking so discouraged made him angry. he didn’t like seeing anyone like that, especially someone as usually upbeat and positive as you - it wasn’t right.

“i guess so…” you pressed your nose against the glass gently, your breath fogging up the window beside you. you used your free hand to draw a small heart in the misty condensation, before sliding your palm across it haphazardly to rub it off. “i just feel so embarrassed. what did i do wrong?”

“nothing, you did nothing wrong,” he reassured you, keeping his eyes on the road as he pulled off so he didn’t have to look at your defeated expression. “he just wasn’t willing to give you a chance.” he was silently seething, feeling an overwhelming wave of disbelief that someone had made you feel like this. it was worse that you were the one who was invited; the guy who proposed to go out didn't even bother turning up. “that’s his loss. he won’t find another like you.”

“thanks, buck, but let’s just forget about it. i don’t want to talk about it anymore,” you said, crossing your ankles. 

“y’know, i know this great diner down at coney island pier,” bucky suggested, hoping to take your mind off your troubles. “whaddya say we ditch this shitshow?”

“is that even a question?”

coney island wasn't too far from the heart of brooklyn, so it didn't take that long for you both to arrive at bucky's suggested place. as he parked the vehicle on the road near the pier, you could already see a building near the edge, it's neon signs visible from miles away. white light bled through the windows and onto the road outside, indicating that the building was still open to visitors.

“there it is,” bucky said satisfactorily, reaching for his door handle. “c’mon.”

you both jumped out of the truck and fell into step beside it each other, striding toward the small building. a woman was moving around outside the building, folding up metal chairs and carrying them inside. bucky's hand hovered behind you, grabbing the glass door with the other to allow you to enter. the warmth inside was an immediate reprieve from the cool night air, and a juke box sat near the elongated bar counter as it played mellowed tunes in the background. the diner was relatively empty, so you both took a seat at the main counter.

an older woman came over a short while later, dressed in a sky blue uniform with a coffee-stained apron tied around her waist. her greying hair had been pulled back from her face, and a small matching blue hat was perched on her head. she braced her hands on the counter, greeting the pair of you with a warm smile.

“james, it’s lovely to see you again,” she said, flashing a wide grin. “and i see you’ve brought a friend. it’s nice to meet you dear, my name’s johanna.”

“it’s nice to meet you too,” you mirrored her expression. “y/n.”

“so, what brings you both in at this time of night?” the older lady asked, sliding a laminated menu across the marble countertop.

“just looking to enjoy the pleasure of your company,” bucky simpered. “and i’ve just gotta say, i’ve really been craving some of your famous rum and raisin ice-cream.”

“great choice,” she winked playfully. “and for you, sweetie?”

“uhm…” you murmured, looking over at the piece of paper she’d slid across the table. “can i have one of your banana and walnut milkshakes, please?”

“of course, coming right up,” johanna clapped her palms on the metal top before walking off to make your desserts.

“is that how you charm all the women you meet?” you snickered in his direction. 

“i’m a loyal customer,” he said, furrowing his brows in a look of mock-offence. “and this place makes the best rum and raisin ice-cream, i’ll have you know.”

“do you come here a lot?” you asked curiously.

“oh, yeah. all the time, ever since i was a kid,” he plucked a napkin off the plastic holder perched on the counter. “my ma used to bring me here. later, i’d come here with steve. we’d always get ice-cream and sit on the pier, watch the sun go down.”

“sounds nice,” you hummed thoughtfully. “i used to go on the fairground rides here. hurled into a trashcan after riding the cyclone.” you snorted a laugh.

“you sound like steve. used to have to stick rolled up bills under his heels to make him look taller. i swear he turned green after coming off the waltzer,” bucky replayed the memory in his head of a young steve begging bucky to scrunch some dollar bills into his shoes so he’d be that much taller to be able to get on the bigger rides. you giggled.

“did he learn his lesson?”

“thankfully,” bucky offered johanna a nod of thanks as she slid their orders in front of them. “he stuck to the ferris wheel after that, but the height didn't make him feel any better.”

“i can’t think of anything worse,” you laughed, plunging your spoon into your glass and stirring the contents until everything clouded together in a yellowy-brown mess of deliciousness. “actually, no, i can - whose first choice in ice-cream flavour is rum and raisin?” you teased, concealing your smile behind your hand as you continued to mix your milkshake. the discovery had surprised you at first, but a smaller part of you wasn’t at all shocked - bucky was an old soul at heart. he loved to read aged novels, go swing-dancing, and had a shelf of old frank sinatra vinyls which he threw into his gramophone whenever he needed a pick-me-up. at this point, being an enjoyer of rum and raisin ice cream was a given for him.

“says the girl drinking a banana and walnut milkshake,” he narrowed his eyes at you playfully. “rum and raisin is a classic!”

“so’s this!” you exclaimed, taking a sip. “it’s like banana bread in drinkable form,” you murmured through your straw.

“i was practically raised on this stuff,” he said, scraping his plastic spoon around the inside of the bowl to finish off the remnants of the ice cream. “my mom used to make it, too. it always looked more like soft serve, though,” he laughed fondly. “but still good.”

“wish i could’ve met her,” you mulled thoughtfully, biting the end of your straw. “she sounds lovely.”

“she was,” bucky said with a small smile. he didn’t really get upset thinking about his mother anymore - he reminded himself of all the good times he had with her - he just wished they had more. “she would’ve adored you.”

“i’m glad,” you bumped his knee with your own under the counter.

it was silent for a moment before bucky said, “right. i think it's time to get us both home.” he took out some bills from his pocket and slapped them on the countertop. “thanks jo!”

valentine’s day fell a couple of days later, which’d given you enough time to mull over and eventually forget about the horrible date - or half-date - you went on, before bucky swooped in and saved the day. you had no productive plans whatsoever, willing to sacrifice the day by spending the holiday watching patrick swayze’s filmography, starting with your favourite, dirty dancing. with that thought, you dropped bucky a message asking if he wanted to join you.

his profile picture jumped up a few seconds later, the three grey dots dancing on the screen indicating that he was typing a text.

on my way over.

you sent a thumbs up and tossed your phone down on the couch beside you, and the sound of the doorbell reverberated through your home not even 10 minutes later. grabbing the dvd's you'd chosen off the coffee table and jumping up, you headed for the door. you were mid sentence as you opened your front door to reveal bucky on the other side.

“i thought we could watch dirty dancing, but then roadhouse sounded more like your thing, unless you want to watch both-” you said, holding two dvd’s in your hand. you’d been so busy talking that when you looked up and saw bucky standing behind your second screen door with a bouquet of flowers in his hand, the end of your sentence died in your throat.

he was quiet for a moment, taking in a deep breath as he prepared himself for what he wanted to say. 

“i didn’t expect this, and you probably didn’t either, but i’m sick of beating around the bush, y/n. i care about you, i really do - you mean a lot to me. but i’m dancing around my feelings and to hell with it, i’m not gonna let anyone else treat you like that again. i don’t want to ever see you feel that way again, and i guess what i’m trying to say is that i want to be there for you - more than a friend. i want you to be able to rely on me, i want you to tell me all the things about you, no matter how weird you think they are, and i want to take you on more stupid dates at the diner so you can make fun of my choice in ice-cream. i want to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

you watched him take a breath after he finished, before you replied softly, “it wasn’t stupid to me,” you murmured. “i care about you, too.”

he was still stood behind the screen door, and lifted a hand to start writing something with his finger. he breathed on the glass to mist it up, before he swiped away at the condensation.

i love you. be my valentine?

“did you just ask me to be your valentine by writing on my front door?” the revelation brought a laugh out of you, and you covered your mouth as you watched him coming closer. he pushed open the first door and stepped onto the foyer.

“no, i wrote it for shits and giggles,” he said with a sarcastic snicker. “yes, y/n, i want you to be my valentine. for now and forever.”

“are you sure about forever? you might get bored of me, forever is a looooong ti-”

“just shut up, you dork,” he said, before drawing you to his chest and kissing you. you melted into him almost immediately, the dvd's in your hand dropping onto the hardwood floor with a clatter. your hands, now free, found their way to his chest, pressing your palms flat against him before he pulled away.

“now am i mistaken or do you have roadhouse on dvd?”

“i do, but i still think dirty dancing suits the occasion better.”

“whatever you say goes, doll.”

your firm had an office do a few weeks later, and you’d invited bucky along as your plus one and newly promoted boyfriend. you'd already arrived earlier to help move some things around to accommodate the goers, and the place had already started filling up.

when you were looking around for him, you felt a double tap on your shoulder which had you spinning around, expecting bucky.

wrong. the familiar face of greg was now in front of you - the person you wished you wouldn't have to see again. the sheer size of his ego was already enough to suffocate a room as he stepped closer to you.

“y/n, i'm sorry about the other night - i got busy, and i completely forgot.”

“it was your idea!” you jabbed back. “you could've at least let me know.”

“i'm sorry, it won't happen again,” he replied, but he almost sounded bored, as if he didn't even really realise the gravity of his actions. “how about this weekend, you let me take you out? let me redeem myself.”

before you could reply, another voice interjected. “no can do, bucko,” both you and greg spun around at hearing bucky's voice. “we've got plans. you mind if i steal her away for a second?”

bucky produced a small, red rose from his breast pocket and held it out to you like an invitation. greg watched, the crease in his forehead becoming more prominent as bucky took your hand and led you away.

“care for a dance, miss y/l/n?” bucky asked, twirling you around to face him and bowing his head slightly.

“of course, mr barnes,” you smiled softly, putting both of your hands on his shoulders as he guided his own around your waist.

as you gently swayed with him, everything else felt like background noise. it’d all finally clicked into place. the one who was there for you had been there since the beginning; the universe just needed to give you both a gentle push in the right direction, straight to each other, throwing you into combined orbit.

bucky pressed his lips to your temple and hummed a familiar song into your hairline.

been here all along, so why can’t you see?

you belong with me.

author's note: my annoyingly indecisive brain may have rewrote this twice because there were SOOO many plot holes; if you saw something previously, NO YOU DID NOT trust 👁👁 thanks for reading!

taglist: @vittoriaxcx

[heldbybarnes]

obsessed and in love

pairing: beefy!bucky barnes x reader | 5.6k words

warnings: explicit sexual content 18+, oral (f receiving), pussy worship, overstimulation, possessive/jealous bucky, public-ish kink (everyone can hear you), dirty talk, soft confession,, fwb/undefined relationship, tiniest bit of exhibitionism

summary: a year on the run turns you and bucky into undefined, can’t-keep-your-hands-off-each-other lovers—until a new recruit flirts with you back at the tower, and bucky proves exactly who you belong to by fucking you loud enough for everyone to hear… then admits he’s obsessed and in love with you.

authors note: my contribution to the dear darling reader valentines event hosted by @salty-tang. this fic is also dedicated to my near and dear love @buckybsdoll. blue, i was giggling and kicking my feet like a 7 year old when i saw i had you. i hope you enjoy this fic bc i had the time of my life writing it. beefy bucky has our soul and our pussy event masterpost

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You learn a lot about a man when you’re on the run with him.

You learn how he moves when he’s tired, how his shoulders tense when he hears a sound that doesn’t belong, how he grips a gun and your hand with the same deadly protectiveness.

And you learn exactly how he sounds when he’s buried between your thighs, growling your name into your skin like a prayer.

Right now, the last one is the only thing you can think about.

The shitty safe house mattress creaked beneath you, springs protesting with every little shift of your hips. The only light in the room came from the crack under the door and the neon sign outside the grimy window, painting everything in dull red.

Bucky was on his knees at the edge of the bed, shoulders and arms looking even bigger in the thin slats of light, dark hair mussed, stubble rough against the inside of your thighs. His hands were wrapped around your hips, dragging you back to his mouth every time you tried to wriggle away, muscles in his forearms flexing under your grip.

“Bucky—” you gasped, voice already ragged, “I– I can’t—”

“You can,” he rasped, lips slick, breath hot where it fanned over your swollen clit. “You always do, doll. Give me one more.”

You’d already come twice on his tongue, thighs trembling, knees nearly giving out despite the fact that you were lying down. He’d pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you like he was born to do it, unrelenting, hungry.

He always got like this after a mission. After a narrow escape, after adrenaline still burned in his veins and he needed something—someone—to ground him.

You.

His girl.

Even if neither of you ever said it out loud.

He flattened his tongue and dragged it from your entrance up to your clit, slow and obscene, like he had all the time in the damn world and no one was hunting you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard when he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked.

“F–fuck, Bucky,” you cried, back arching, your heels digging into his broad back. “Oh my god.”

He groaned against you, like the sound of you coming apart was his favorite thing he’d ever heard, like tasting you was better than breathing. He slid his metal hand up, cool fingers pressing on your lower belly.

“Feel that?” he murmured, eyes flickering up to meet yours, pupils blown wide and wild. “Feel how deep I was inside you earlier? You’re still so full of me, doll. So fuckin’ perfect.”

Heat coiled again in your gut, sharp and sudden. “You’re insane.”

He smirked, all cocky edges and soft eyes. “For you? Yeah. Open for me.”

He didn’t wait for more than the slightest parting of your thighs, dipping two fingers into you, the slide easy from how wet you were. You whimpered at the stretch, at the way he curled them just right, brushing that spot inside that made your vision go white.

“Bucky,” you choked, “please, I—”

He shushed you gently, like you weren’t shaking, like he wasn’t fucking you on his fingers with his mouth still latched around your clit.

“Let go, sweetheart. Give it to me,” he muttered, voice rough. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. I’m not lettin’ anything touch you but me.”

His words hit something deep and tender, something that had nothing to do with the way his tongue flicked against you and everything to do with the way he’d thrown himself between you and bullets earlier like your life meant more than his.

You broke, again, with a strangled cry, his name ripped from your throat. Your body seized, inner walls clamping down around his fingers, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming. He groaned low, like he could feel every flutter, like your orgasm flooded his own veins.

“Good girl,” he breathed against you as you rode it out, hips jerking helplessly. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

He didn’t stop until you were whimpering, the overstimulation making your legs twitch. Only then did he press a soft, almost reverent kiss to your clit and pull back, resting his forehead against your thigh, chest heaving.

You stared down at him, flushed and wrecked, hair sticking to your damp forehead.

“You’re a menace,” you panted.

He grinned up at you, stupidly handsome even with your slick on his chin. “And you love me for it.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavier than gunfire.

You swallowed, heart thudding, fingers still tangled in his hair. “We should sleep. We move at sunrise.”

He watched you for a long moment, like he wanted to call the words back, or say them again, louder. Instead, he climbed up the bed, hauling you into his chest, wrapping himself around you like a shield.

“Yeah,” he muttered into your hair. “Sunrise.”

He didn’t say anything else, didn’t push. You didn’t ask.

That was how it always was.

On the run, you were everything to each other. In the quiet, afterward, you were…whatever this was. Undefined. Tension and tenderness and sex that could bring you to your knees.

You fell asleep to the heavy beat of his heart under your ear and the steady rise and fall of his chest, pretending you didn’t know exactly what you wanted it to be.

Getting pardoned, getting cleared, getting brought in from the cold—it all happened faster than you’d expected.

One week, you and Bucky were sharing shitty safe houses and stolen showers; the next, you were back at the compound, official, legal, with actual beds and an actual roof that wasn’t leaking over your heads.

You’d thought maybe the shift back to normalcy would change things.

It didn’t.

Not really.

You still found yourself in his bed more nights than not, his big body caging you in, his lips tracing your spine while he drifted off. You still had quick, breathless hookups in empty training rooms, your back pressed to the cool mirrors while he bit down on your shoulder to muffle his groans.

But in the daylight, in front of the team, nothing was ever said.

You were “The Package Deal” in mission briefings, “Conveniently Together” in the kitchen when you both reached for the same mug. Nat would raise an eyebrow at the hickey peeking out from your collar; Sam would smirk when Bucky unconsciously reached for you in crowded hallways. Steve had given Bucky a look once—soft, knowing, like he could see straight through both of you.

No one said anything.

Neither did you.

If you didn’t say it out loud, it couldn’t be taken away. That was the unspoken truce you and Bucky seemed to cling to.

Which was why, when the new recruit started hitting on you, it caught you completely off guard.

You’d only met him a couple days ago. Fresh out of SHIELD training, all bright eyes and too-big ego, eager to impress. He was cute, in that boyish, cocky way—brown hair, quick smile, shoulders broad enough to fill out his tac vest. Nothing compared to the walking wall of muscle that was Bucky Barnes, but still.

You were in the common room, curled up on one of the couches with a tablet, scrolling through mission reports. Bucky was on the opposite couch, long legs stretched out, socked feet on the coffee table, flipping through channels with half his attention, the other half—if the way his gaze kept flickering over to you was any indication—firmly on you.

You felt him watching and ignored it, biting back a smile.

“Hey.”

You looked up at the voice.

The recruit—Alec, you remembered—was standing a few feet away, fidgeting with a protein shaker bottle. He flashed you a charming smile, the kind that probably worked on a lot of people.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the empty spot beside you.

You glanced at Bucky quickly, something tight flickering in your chest when you saw his jaw clench. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look directly at you, but the remote in his hand suddenly looked dangerously close to snapping in half.

You swallowed a laugh. “Sure,” you said, shifting your legs to give Alec room. “Go ahead.”

He plopped down, a little closer than strictly necessary, his thigh brushing yours. You shifted slightly, not really wanting to send the wrong message, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“I’ve been meaning to thank you,” he said, leaning in a bit, lowering his voice like he was letting you in on a secret. “For the training last week. You didn’t have to go that hard on the mats to make a point, you know.”

You smirked. “You kept dropping your guard. I thought you liked getting your ass handed to you.”

He laughed, cheeks faintly pink. “Not usually. But I’ll make an exception for you.”

Across the room, the TV flicked through three channels in rapid succession before landing on some nature documentary. Bucky still hadn’t turned fully toward you, but you could feel the icy weight of his attention now, focused and sharp.

“You’re, uh, you’re really good,” Alec went on. “In the field too. I saw your file. You were on the run with Barnes for almost a year, right? That’s pretty badass.”

You shrugged. “We got lucky. A lot.”

“Still,” he said, eyes trailing over your face, lingering on your mouth. “Luck or not, you’re impressive.”

You snorted lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Compliments weren’t exactly new. Bucky could talk you into blushing with a single sentence when he wanted to. But something about this felt…off. Not dangerous, exactly. Just unfamiliar.

“Thanks,” you said, polite, trying to angle your body subtly away. “You’re not bad yourself. For a rookie.”

He grinned, clearly taking that as flirting. “Maybe you could… show me a few more moves? Outside of the gym.” His voice dropped suggestively. “I learn better one-on-one.”

The remote in Bucky’s hand hit the table with a loud thunk.

Alec jolted slightly, glancing over. You followed his gaze.

Bucky was already on his feet, movements unhurried but radiating intensity. He crossed the space between the couches with that lethal, predatory grace, broad shoulders filling your vision as he stopped in front of you.

“Up,” he said, voice low and roughened at the edges, like he’d been grinding his teeth.

Your brows rose. “Excuse me?”

“Up,” he repeated, blue eyes locked on yours, something wild simmering under the surface. “We’re done here.”

“Uh—” Alec started, confused. “Sergeant Barnes, we were just—”

Bucky’s gaze slid to him, and you watched the poor guy shrink a little in his seat. “I know exactly what you were just,” Bucky said coolly. “And unless you’ve suddenly developed a death wish, you’re going to stop.”

Heat flared under your skin, irritation warring with arousal. “Bucky, what the hell?”

He looked back at you, jaw tight. “We are not doin’ this dance with some punk kid who doesn’t know when to keep his eyes to himself. Get up, sweetheart.”

The pet name, the gravel in his voice, the possessive edge—it all hit you at once. Your pulse kicked up, a fresh wave of heat rolling through you that had nothing to do with embarrassment.

Still, your pride bristled. “You don’t get to order me around just because someone talked to me,” you said, chin lifting. “You haven’t exactly—”

He leaned down, bringing his mouth close to your ear. “If you keep arguing with me, I’m gonna fuck you right here,” he murmured, voice barely audible, “and then everyone is gonna see what’s mine, not just hear it.”

Your breath stuttered, a sharp rush of arousal clenching low in your belly.

You shot Alec an apologetic half-smile as you stood. “We’ll, uh, talk later.”

He nodded, eyes wide, clearly not sure what the hell just happened.

Bucky’s metal hand settled at the small of your back, firm and unyielding as he steered you toward the hallway. His touch burned through your shirt, all that contained force and fury directed solely at getting you alone.

“This is insane,” you muttered as he practically marched you into the elevator.

“Says the woman who let me fuck her behind a collapsing barn while a Hydra team was five minutes out,” he shot back, hitting the button for your floor. “Now you’re worried about insane?”

You glared up at him, though it was weaker than you’d like. “You can’t just drag me off every time someone looks at me.”

He crowded you against the elevator wall, one hand braced above your head, the other curving around your hip, fingers digging in possessively. He was so close you could feel the heat of him, the solid wall of his chest against yours.

“He wasn’t just looking at you,” Bucky bit out. “He was fuckin’ undressing you with his eyes and asking you for one-on-one ‘lessons’ like he stood a chance.”

“You don’t know that’s what he meant,” you argued, even though, yeah, that was exactly what Alec had meant.

He raised a brow. “You believe that or you just feel like arguing because you like it when I get like this?”

The smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth told you he already knew the answer.

Your cheeks heated. “You’re an ass.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, eyes raking over your face. “But I’m your ass.”

The elevator dinged, doors sliding open.

You didn’t get another word in before he scooped you up, throwing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. You squealed, smacking his back.

“Bucky!”

“Anyone looks,” he said, striding down the hall with infuriating confidence, “they’ll see you belong with me.”

Your heart tripped over itself at that word—belong—but before you could unpack it, he was shouldering into your room, kicking the door shut behind him with a solid thud.

He deposited you on the bed, and you bounced, breathless, hair mussed. You glared half-heartedly as he loomed over you.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you said, even as your thighs pressed together.

He stared down at you, chest heaving, hands flexing at his sides. “You think I don’t see the way people look at you?” he demanded. “Like they’re trying to figure out how fast they can get in your pants?”

“Like how you looked at me?” you shot back. “When we were on the run?”

His jaw clenched. “I never hid how much I wanted you.”

“No,” you said quietly. “You just never called it anything.”

That made him falter. Just for a second. Just long enough for you to see the flicker of guilt and fear beneath the anger.

He swallowed, throat working. “You wanna call it something?” he asked roughly. “Because I can fuckin’ do that.”

Your breath caught. “Bucky—”

“You’re mine,” he said, voice dropping, blue eyes blazing. “You’ve been mine since the first night you let me touch you, since the first time you let me put my tongue between your thighs and make you scream. I’ve been obsessed with you since long before that idiot recruit knew your name.”

Heat flooded you, sharp and dizzying. “You can’t just say that because you’re jealous,” you whispered, though your body was already arching toward him.

“This isn’t about jealousy,” he growled. “This is about the fact that I nearly lost you a hundred times and I’m not riskin’ someone else thinking they get a shot with you because I was too chickenshit to open my mouth.”

He reached for you suddenly, dragging you down the bed until your ass was at the edge, your legs dangling over the side. You gasped as he roughly tugged your leggings and panties down in one smooth motion, the cool air of the room hitting your already damp skin.

“Bucky—”

“Shut up,” he muttered, dropping to his knees.

Your protest died on your tongue when he shoved your thighs apart, his broad shoulders wedging them open. He stared at you like a starving man presented with a feast, chest rising and falling quickly.

“Christ,” he breathed. “Look at this. Look at what that kid thought he had a chance at.”

You squirmed. “He wasn’t—”

“You’re drenched,” Bucky cut in, running two fingers through your slick, spreading it, watching the way you clenched around nothing. “Been like this since before I grabbed you off that couch?”

You glared weakly. “Maybe.”

He huffed a dark laugh. “Knew it.” He dragged his fingers up, circling your clit once, teasing, then pulling his hand back, making you whine. “I want you loud,” he said. “You hear me?”

Your heart stuttered. “What?”

“I want this whole compound to know exactly what I do to you,” he said, voice low and intent. “You’re gonna scream my name so fuckin’ loud there won’t be a single person here left wondering who you belong to.”

Your pussy clenched hard at that, arousal flooding you so fast you felt lightheaded. “Bucky—”

He didn’t give you a chance to argue.

He leaned in and devoured you.

There was nothing gentle about it. No slow build, no testing the waters. He latched onto your clit and sucked, hard, tongue flicking rapid and ruthless against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You shouted, the sound punching out of you before you could catch it, echoing off the walls.

“That’s it,” he groaned against you, the vibrations making you jolt. “That’s my girl.”

His hands gripped your hips, dragging you closer, practically bending you in half so your knees were thrown over his broad shoulders. Your fingers flew to his hair, tugging tight, trying to anchor yourself to something as lava-hot pleasure shot through you.

“Fuck, Bucky, oh my—” you gasped, back bowing off the bed.

He hummed, switching tactics, laving broad, slow strokes up and down your slit before circling your clit again, teasing, relentless. Then he slid two fingers into you without warning, the stretch making you gasp, the fullness immediate and overwhelming as he set a bruising pace.

“So tight,” he muttered, pulling back just enough for you to see his slick, swollen mouth. “Always so fuckin’ tight for me.”

You couldn’t think. Could barely breathe. His fingers curled, finding that spot inside you effortlessly, stroking it again and again while his mouth worked your clit. Sparks danced behind your eyes.

“Bucky, please,” you choked out. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Good,” he growled. “Give it to me, sweetheart. Let them all hear how good I take care of you.”

It hit you like a freight train. Your orgasm crashed over you, intense and all-consuming, ripping a hoarse scream from your throat. Your thighs trembled violently around his head, your entire body tensing, then shuddering as pleasure tore through you.

Bucky groaned, fingers and tongue unrelenting, milking every last aftershock from you. The sound you made then was almost a sob, half-pleasure, half-overwhelmed.

“Too much,” you whimpered, hips jerking away.

“Uh-uh,” he said, pulling his fingers out only to replace them with his tongue, thrusting into you, his nose bumping your overstimulated clit. “You can do another one for me.”

You almost sobbed. “Bucky—”

He pulled back just enough to look up at you, chin and lips shining, eyes dark and wild. “You safe?”

You nodded, breath hitching. “Y-yeah.”

“Color?” he pressed, thumb stroking soothing circles into the inside of your thigh even as his gaze burned into you.

“Green,” you whispered, shivering. “So fucking green.”

His lips curved in a wicked smile. “That’s my brave girl.”

Then he was on you again, mouth greedy, tongue working you with single-minded determination. He slid his metal hand up, palm pressing against your lower belly, adding a delicious pressure from the inside and out as he fucked you with his mouth.

You didn’t stand a chance.

You came again in seconds, clenching around his tongue, a loud, broken sound spilling from you. This time, you heard it echo, heard how it carried in the quiet of the hallway outside your room.

Bucky groaned like the sound alone could get him off, like your pleasure was his oxygen. He didn’t even pause, licking you through it, letting you ride his face, his nose nudging your clit just enough to send little aftershocks zipping up your spine.

“I c-can’t,” you babbled, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the intensity. “Bucky, I can’t—”

“You’re okay,” he murmured, voice rough, pulling back slightly to kiss the inside of your thigh. “You’re doin’ so good for me. One more with my cock inside you, yeah? Then I’ll let you rest.”

Your walls clenched hard at the promise, another hot wave of arousal chasing away the edge of overstimulation. You nodded shakily. “Yeah. Okay.”

He stood, towering over you, hastily stripping off his shirt, his joggers, everything, until he was gloriously, completely naked.

You swallowed. No matter how many times you saw him, the sight of him still punched the breath out of your lungs. Broad chest, scars scattered over tan skin, metal arm gleaming, thighs thick and powerful.

And his cock—hard, flushed, thick, the head already leaking, veiny shaft heavy against his stomach.

You licked your lips unconsciously. His eyes darkened.

“Open your mouth,” he said roughly.

Your thighs were still trembling, your pussy throbbing and sensitive, but you obeyed, lips parting, tongue poking out slightly.

He stroked himself once, twice, then guided the head to your tongue, smearing pre-cum across it. You moaned at the taste, at the weight of him.

“Fuck,” he rasped, head tipping back for a second. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

He pulled back and then lined himself up at your entrance, one hand on your hip, the other braced by your head. He paused, eyes locking on yours.

“You tell me to stop, I stop,” he said firmly. “You tell me to slow down, I slow down. You hear me?”

Warmth spread through your chest, cutting through the dizzy haze of lust. “I hear you.”

“You still green?” he asked, gaze searching.

You nodded, reaching up to cradle his cheek. “Green, Bucky. Want you.”

Something in his expression crumpled, softened, like you’d just given him something precious. He swallowed hard, then pushed forward, sinking into you in one long, slow thrust.

You both groaned.

You stretched around him, the burn sweet and intense, your body remembering him, welcoming him. He was big, always a bit of a stretch, and tonight you could feel every inch even more acutely with how sensitive you already were.

“Shit,” he gritted out, jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut for a moment as he bottomed out. “You’re—fuck, you’re so tight. Always so fuckin’ tight.”

He stayed there, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust, his thumb brushing soothingly over your hip. Your hands slid up his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart under your palm.

“Move,” you breathed, bucking your hips slightly. “Please, Bucky. I need—”

Whatever restraint he had left snapped.

He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, the force of it making the bed frame creak loudly against the wall. You cried out, the sound high and desperate, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“That’s it,” he groaned, setting a brutal rhythm, hips snapping against yours with punishing force. “Let ‘em hear you, baby. Let ‘em hear who’s makin’ you feel this good.”

The headboard thumped repeatedly against the wall, a steady, obscene beat. Your moans mixed with the wet slap of skin on skin, the symphony of it all loud enough that there was no way anyone in the hall—maybe even nearby rooms—could miss it.

You should’ve been mortified.

Instead, you felt your orgasm building again, fast and sharp.

“Bucky, oh my god,” you gasped, nails scratching down his back. “You’re—fuck—you’re so deep, I—”

“You were gonna let that kid touch you with his soft little hands,” Bucky snarled, angling his hips just right so every thrust slammed into that sweet spot inside you. “When this is what you get? When this is how I fuck you?”

You shook your head frantically, words tumbling out broken and breathless. “N-no, never, Bucky, I wouldn’t, I—ah—only want you, only you—”

He groaned like your words physically hit him, pace stuttering for a second before he slammed into you harder. “Say it again.”

“I only want you,” you cried, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes from sheer sensation. “Only you, Bucky. Only you can make me feel like this.”

He dropped his head to your neck, biting down gently, then soothing the sting with his tongue. “You’re mine,” he panted against your skin. “You know that, right? My girl. My sweet fuckin’ girl.”

The possessiveness, the filthy praise, the way his big body caged you in—it all braided together, tipping you right over the edge. Your orgasm hit like lightning, splitting you open, your whole body going taut as a strangled scream ripped out of you.

He groaned, voice wrecked. “That’s it, baby. That’s it. Scream for me. Let ‘em all know who’s got you fallin’ apart.”

You clamped down around him so hard he swore, thrusts growing erratic. He shoved his flesh hand under your lower back, lifting your hips, driving into you deeper, impossibly deeper, chasing his own release while prolonging yours, sending aftershocks tearing through you until you were sobbing, mind blank.

You vaguely registered the sound of voices in the hallway, muted exclamations, someone laughing in disbelief. It only made the heat in your veins burn hotter.

“Bucky,” you whimpered, overstimulated, your body twitching with every thrust. “It’s too much, I—”

He slowed, just slightly, forehead pressing to yours, sweat dripping from his temples. “Almost there,” he rasped. “You can take it. You always take me so good.”

His thumb found your clit, circling it in tight, relentless little strokes that made you see stars, your body torn between pleasure and overload. A hysterical sound bubbled out of you.

“You’re a menace,” you choked, repeating your words from the safe house without meaning to.

He laughed, low and breathless, thumb never faltering. “And you fuckin’ love me for it.”

Maybe it was the words. Maybe it was the way he said them—love me—like it was a fact, like it had always been a fact.

Either way, they pushed you into yet another orgasm, this one more of a messy, shuddering collapse than an explosion. You shook under him, crying out weakly, your nails digging crescents into his skin.

“Jesus,” he groaned, voice strangled. “You’re gonna milk me fuckin’ dry, doll.”

He buried himself deep one last time, hips grinding against yours as he finally let go, a guttural moan ripping out of him as he spilled inside you. You felt it—hot and thick, filling you, his cock twitching as he rode out his release, his body trembling.

He stayed there, breathing hard, caging you beneath him, his weight heavy but comforting.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breaths and the fading echo of your combined noises in the quiet room.

Then, faintly, through the door, you heard Sam’s voice, muffled but unmistakable.

“Yo, is someone getting murdered or having the time of their life?”

You slapped a hand over your face, mortified, your entire body flushing hot. “I hate you,” you muttered into your palm.

Bucky barked out a laugh, chest shaking against yours. He carefully rolled to the side, keeping himself inside you for the moment, not ready to pull away from the warmth of your body.

“No, you don’t,” he said, voice softening, hand coming up to brush sweaty hair from your forehead. “You love me.”

Your heart stumbled.

You stared up at him, searching his face. There was no teasing in his eyes now, no smugness. Just raw, unguarded honesty.

“You don’t get to say that after you almost broke my bed frame,” you tried weakly, but even to your own ears, it sounded thin.

He smiled, small and earnest, thumb tracing your cheekbone. “I’m sayin’ it because it’s true. I love you,” he said simply. “I’ve been in love with you for a long fuckin’ time, doll. I can’t pretend like I’m just your angry, overprotective hookup anymore.”

Your throat went tight. “You can’t just say that because some recruit—”

“This has nothin’ to do with him,” Bucky cut in, shaking his head. “This is about me bein’ done hidin’ how I feel. I almost lost you too many damned times out there. I’m not wastin’ another second pretendin’ like you’re anything less than the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Tears stung your eyes for a whole different reason now. “Bucky…”

He swallowed, nerves flickering across his features. “You don’t have to say it back,” he added quickly. “I know I sprung this on you and I’m not exactly smooth, but—”

“I love you too, you idiot,” you blurted, laughing a little through the tears. “Of course I love you. Did you really think I was on the run with you for a year, letting you nearly break my spine in every shitty motel across three continents, and I didn’t love you?”

His face crumpled, relief crashing over him so hard it was almost visible. “You do?”

You nodded, cupping his face. “Yeah. I do.”

He kissed you then, slow and deep and sweet, nothing like the frantic, possessive heat from earlier. It was soft, reverent, his lips moving against yours like he was memorizing the shape of this moment.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in.

“So,” you murmured, a shaky smile curling your lips. “You gonna introduce yourself as my boyfriend now? Or just keep dragging me off every time someone looks at me?”

“Oh, I’m definitely still dragging you off,” he said, smirking. “But yeah. Boyfriend works. Your boyfriend, who is absolutely not letting that recruit within ten feet of you ever again.”

You snorted. “He’s probably traumatized for life already.”

“Good,” Bucky said, pressing a kiss to your nose. “Saves me the trouble.”

You both showered—together, because apparently Bucky had decided that any excuse to put his hands on you was valid—and eventually, after a lot of lazy kisses and halfhearted protests about being “too wrecked to move,” you let him coax you back into some semblance of clothing.

Your legs were still a little shaky as you made your way back toward the common room, Bucky’s arm slung securely around your shoulders, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your upper arm. You leaned into him, too content to pretend you didn’t want to be right there.

As soon as you stepped into the common area, conversation dipped, then surged, a wave of poorly concealed amusement and curiosity hitting you from all sides.

Sam was sprawled on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in his lap, Nat perched on the armrest beside him. Wanda was at the table with Vision, a mug of tea halfway to her lips, lips twitching. Steve stood by the counter, arms crossed, trying—and failing—not to smile.

Alec was there too, leaning against the far wall, face nearly as red as his training shirt.

You resisted the urge to turn around and walk right back out.

Sam whistled low. “Well, well, well. Look who survived.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning. “Oh my god.”

“Gotta ask,” Sam said, eyes dancing with mischief. “Everything okay? Because from out here it sounded like a bear was mauling you.”

Wanda snorted into her tea. Nat bit her lip, clearly fighting a smile. Alec choked on air.

Your mouth opened, ready to come up with some mortified, half-baked excuse, but Bucky beat you to it.

“I couldn’t stand everyone not knowing how obsessed and in love with her I am,” he said easily, like he was commenting on the weather.

Silence.

Then chaos.

Sam choked on a kernel of popcorn. “What?”

Nat’s eyes widened, then narrowed in delighted satisfaction. “Knew it.”

Wanda beamed, looking genuinely pleased. “Finally.”

Steve just shook his head, smiling softly. “Took you long enough, pal.”

Alec made a strangled sound, his face going from red to downright crimson. He looked anywhere but at you, suddenly fascinated by a spot on the ceiling.

You glanced up at Bucky, heart hammering, a grin tugging at your lips despite your embarrassment.

He looked smug as hell, not even trying to hide it. He tightened his arm around you, tugging you closer, pressing a kiss to the side of your head like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Any other questions?” he asked the room at large.

Sam stared at you both for a long moment, then threw his hands up. “Nope. I’m good. Just… maybe soundproof the walls next time, Barnes. Some of us would like to sleep without hearing a live-action porno.”

Nat chuckled. “Speak for yourself.”

You groaned, burying your face in Bucky’s chest. “I’m never leaving my room again.”

He laughed, low and warm, his hand stroking your back. “Yeah, you are,” he murmured into your hair. “Can’t show off my girl if she hides.”

Your heart melted into a puddle at your feet.

You tipped your head back to look up at him, catching the softness in his eyes, the way he looked at you like you’d hung the damn moon.

“Your girl?” you repeated, unable to keep the smile out of your voice.

“Yeah,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, not a single hint of hesitation. “My girl.”

You threaded your fingers through his, squeezing.

“My boy,” you murmured back, so only he could hear, “is a menace.”

He grinned, leaning down to brush his lips against yours in a quick, sweet kiss that still made your toes curl.

“And you,” he said, eyes sparkling, “love me for it.”

You did.

God help you, you really, really did.

tags: @firingstars @iamthatonefangirl @its-in-the-woods @houseofhyde @superbassbuck @chateaubarnes @earthsmightiestbenders @barnesonly @54nboo @winterdecember18 @unificsation @wildflowersandvibranium @juniebjonesin @blowingbarnes @grumpysunnybarnes @missvelvetsstuff @daisynotquake @colettebarnes @lokirogersgirl @sapphire882 @buckyfmd @justadaydreamingfangirl @quantumbarnes @overwintering-soldier @buckyboudoir @domitaylorsversion @multiversefanfics @avgdestitute @meowrz1a @barnes-babydoll @globetrotter28 @mariamorales1998 @okaytrashpanda @icantfindanamenottakenn @happygooberpastel @pinksplace @cautiouscas17 @infinitewithenvy @herejustforbuckybarnes @yexbarnes @sassandscribbles @ozwriterchick @spdrveil @r1ssa + add yourself here

[deliciousangelfestival]

Crossing The Line (Finally) | B. Barnes

Summary: You and Bucky have been playing this romantic facade for far too long. He finally decides he’s done pretending.

Words Count: 408

Character: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Main Masterlist || 2nd Masterlist

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's candy hearts challenge. Today's prompt: Flirty With Each Other

Bucky has been flirting with you for so long that neither of you remembers how it started. It slipped in quietly, somewhere between shared takeout, late-night missions, and the unspoken rule that neither of you dates anyone seriously.

What began as jokes turned into looks that lingered too long, comments that landed just a little too close to the heart, and touches that stayed when they no longer needed to.

Tonight feels no different at first.

You are sprawled on the couch, feet tucked under his thigh, a romance movie playing that neither of you is actually watching. Bucky pretends to be focused on the screen, but he keeps glancing at you whenever you laugh, like he is checking something off a list he refuses to admit exists.

“You know,” he says casually, “the main guy in this movie is doing it wrong.”

You hum. “Let me guess. Too dramatic. Not enough brooding.”

“He keeps confessing like it’s a surprise,” Bucky replies. “Real flirting is about patience.”

You glance at him. “Oh? You sound experienced.”

He smirks. “I am. Been practicing for years.”

That gets your attention. You sit up slightly, close enough that your shoulder brushes his chest. “Practicing on who?”

Bucky looks down at you, smile slow and deliberate. “If I told you, it would ruin the game.”

“The game,” you repeat. “So this is a game now?”

“It always has been,” he says, unbothered. “You just refuse to admit you enjoy it.”

You scoff, but your fingers are already tracing lazy patterns on his sleeve. “Friends flirt all the time.”

Bucky’s smile softens into something more honest. “Friends don’t act like us.”

You pause, heart thudding just enough to be noticeable. “Define us.”

He gestures vaguely at the couch, at the blanket over your legs, at the way you are half curled into him like it is the most natural thing in the world. “Friends aren’t supposed to cuddle for hours while watching romance movies. Friends don’t memorize how the other takes their coffee. Friends don’t flirt like they’re waiting for permission to fall.”

Silence settles between you, warm and dangerous.

You swallow. “Then why haven’t you said anything before?”

Bucky exhales, the sound almost a laugh. “Because every time I thought about crossing that line, you’d look at me like this was safe. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“You mean ruin the pretending,” you say softly.

His eyes meet yours, steady and open. “Yeah. That.”

You shift closer, close enough that there is no pretending left. “We’ve been playing this flirting game for too long.”

His hand slides to your waist, careful but sure. “So what do we do now?”

You smile, breath shallow, heart loud. “There are only two answers, right?”

Bucky’s grin turns boyish, like he already knows how this ends. “Yeah. Yes and yes.”

The movie keeps playing in the background, completely forgotten, while something real finally begins.

[bkchron]

GIGGLING INSIDE

Pairing Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count 1.8 k

Note I love giggling like a teenage girl. And even more when Bucky is involved.

Everyone in the compound is absolutely convinced Bucky Barnes hates you.

And honestly? He’s done a stellar job selling it.

The clipped answers.

The way he never sits next to you in meetings.

The long-suffering sigh when Fury says, “You’re paired with Barnes.”

The visible jaw clench when you tease him in front of the others.

Natasha once bet Sam fifty bucks that if you ever touched his arm without warning, he’d snap.

Steve, bless him, just thinks Bucky’s “not ready to work with everyone yet.”

Meanwhile, inside Bucky Barnes’ head?

A screaming mess.

A disaster.

A teenage girl at her first crush levels of unwell.

Because the truth is: he’s been in love with you for months.

Hopelessly. Pathetically. Painfully.

He noticed it the first time you sparred—how you smiled like the fight was a game, how you thanked him afterward like he hadn’t just pinned you to the mat. He noticed how you always said his name softly, like you were careful with it. He noticed everything.

So when Fury drops the bomb—

“Barnes. You’re going undercover with her. Deep cover. You two hate each other too much but on the field? The best pair I have.”

Bucky nearly chokes.

On air.

On his own heartbeat.

On the sheer, cosmic cruelty of the universe.

You glance at him, eyebrow raised. “Oh wow. Fury, are you sure? He looks thrilled.”

He snorts automatically—defensive, annoyed, perfectly in character. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Inside?

OH MY GOD I’M GOING TO DIE.

Because undercover doesn’t just mean “mission buddies.”

It means shared hotel rooms.

Close proximity.

Pretending intimacy.

Pretending.

As if he hasn’t already imagined your hands on him a hundred times.

The quinjet ride is hell.

You sit across from him, legs crossed, pretending to scroll through mission intel. He pretends to clean his gun for the third time. Neither of you makes eye contact.

Except every time you shift, he notices.

Every time you bite your lip while reading, he notices.

Every time the engine dips and your knee bumps his, he notices and nearly short-circuits.

He clears his throat. “So. We should, uh… decide what our cover is.”

You look up, eyes bright. “Right. What are we?”

“Married” he blurts.

Too fast. Too firm.

You blink. “Oh.”

Oh. Oh no.

Bucky’s brain is on fire.

“I mean,” he rushes, “it makes sense. Long-term. Less questions.”

You study him for a second, then grin. “Okay, husband. What’s my name?”

He freezes.

Because he’s already thought about that too.

“… Karina” he says carefully. “You look like a Karina.”

You laugh, real and warm, and something in his chest melts. “Alright, James.” The way you say his real name almost kills him on the spot. “Or should I call you David?” You joke and he feels his insides burning… in the good way.

The hotel room has one bed.

Of course it does.

You walk in first, take it in stride. “Guess we’re really committing to the bit, huh?”

He shrugs, playing gruff. “I’ll take the floor.”

“No” you say immediately. “Don’t be stupid. We’ll just… build a pillow wall or something.”

He nods, way too quickly. “Yeah. Sure. Wall. Good.”

Inside, he’s already rehearsing how not to stare at you when you change.

He fails. Miserably.

You’re facing away, pulling off your jacket, and he has to physically turn his body toward the window because the urge to grin like an idiot is overwhelming. Too many thoughts running around his head.

I’m sharing a room with her.

She smells like heaven.

She’s five feet away.

Act normal. Act normal. ACT NORMAL.

Later, during the mission itself, things get worse.

Because pretending to hate you in public is easy.

Pretending to be in love with you?

That’s where he starts slipping.

He’s supposed to keep his hand on your lower back—casual, possessive. He’s supposed to lean in close and murmur things that sound intimate but meaningless.

Except his thumb brushes your hip and his brain goes static.

He whispers, “You’re doing great” without meaning to.

You glance up at him, surprised, then smile softly. “You too.”

And that’s it. He’s gone.

He has to excuse himself to the bathroom just to breathe, gripping the sink, staring at his reflection like—

Get it together, Barnes.

You’re not sixteen.

You’re a trained assassin.

Why are you giggling inside like an idiot.

Later that night, back in the room, you’re sitting on the bed, kicking off your boots.

“You know” you say casually, “everyone thinks you can’t stand me.”

He stiffens. “Yeah?”

You shrug. “I always thought it was kind of funny.”

“…Why?”

You tilt your head, studying him in a way that makes his pulse spike. “Because sometimes it feels like you’re just pretending.”

His heart stops.

He laughs, short, disbelieving. “You think I’m that good an actor?”

You smile again. “I think you’re bad at hiding things that matter.”

Silence stretches between you.

Bucky’s hands curl into fists at his sides. He wants to tell you. God, he wants to tell you everything—how he watches for you in every room, how he pretends annoyance because wanting you feels too dangerous, too hopeful.

Instead, he mutters, “Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

You don’t push.

But as you lie down on opposite sides of the bed, backs turned, the pillow wall between you—

Bucky Barnes is awake.

Smiling into the dark.

Heart racing.

Absolutely doomed.

Because for the first time, he thinks—

Maybe she doesn’t hate the idea of me either.

And that thought alone is enough to make the world feel soft around the edges.

The mission ends clean. Too clean. Almost suspiciously so.

You and Bucky walk back into the compound side by side, not touching—but close enough that it’s obvious something’s shifted. Not in a “new couple” way. In a gravity changed way.

Bucky looks… different.

Looser.

Warmer.

Less like he’s carrying the weight of a hundred ghosts on his shoulders and more like he’s carrying a secret he doesn’t know what to do with.

Natasha notices before either of you even speak.

She’s leaning against the railing near the elevator, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Her gaze flicks from you—calm, glowing, faintly smug—to Bucky—and she freezes.

Because Bucky Barnes is smiling.

Not the tight, controlled half-smirk he uses in combat. Not the polite nothing-smile he gives Steve.

A real one. Soft. Stupid.

The kind that says I’m absolutely wrecked.

The elevator doors close behind you. Silence.

Natasha tilts her head. Slowly. Dangerously.

“…Huh.”

You blink. “What?”

She doesn’t answer you. She’s staring at Bucky like he’s a fascinating new species. “Nothing. Just—Barnes?”

He stiffens. “What?” He asks in a tone so differ from the one he uses with you.

She pushes off the railing and circles him once, eyes narrowed. “You always walk like you’re bracing for impact. Shoulders up. Jaw tight.”

She stops in front of him. Too close. Smirks.

“Why do you look like you just got laid.”

Bucky chokes.

You whip your head toward him. “Natasha!”

“What?” She holds up her hands innocently. “I said look. Observation skills. Part of the job.”

Bucky’s ears go red. All the way to the tips.

“I did not—” He stops. Closes his mouth. Tries again. “That’s not—”

Natasha’s grin widens. “Oh my god.”

You feel it then—that electric, oh-shit awareness crawling up your spine.

She knows.

She looks between the two of you, eyes bright with delight. “You,” she points at you, “are suspiciously relaxed for someone who just spent two weeks pretending to be married to the most emotionally constipated man alive.”

Then she points at Bucky. “And you look like a man who discovered something dangerous and is now pretending he didn’t.”

Bucky mutters “Can we not do this?”

“Oh, we’re absolutely doing this.”

She steps closer to him, voice dropping just enough that it’s private. “How long?”

He swallows. “Nat.”

“How. Long?”

A beat. His shoulders drop a fraction. “Way before the mission.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, that is so much worse.”

You cross your arms, trying to keep your voice steady. “Care to include me in this interrogation?”

Natasha turns to you, eyes softening just a touch. “Honey, did you know he practiced your fake wedding ring story?”

You blink. “He—what?”

Bucky groans. “I did not practice.”

“You absolutely did.” she says cheerfully. “Three different versions. One where you met at a coffee shop. One where you met overseas. One where you argued about curtains.”

Your lips part. You stare at him.

“…Curtains?”

He looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole. “It was tactical.”

“Mmmhh yes, whatever.” Natasha hums. “Very tactical. Especially the part where you memorized how she takes her coffee.”

You feel heat bloom low in your stomach.

“That was for cover.” Bucky insists, but his voice is rough now, eyes flicking to you, then away.

Natasha watches the exchange like she’s just been handed front-row seats to a show. “You didn’t hate her,” she says, satisfied. “You were scared of wanting her.”

Silence.

She sighs dramatically. “God, you’re predictable.”

Then—grinning—she claps her hands. “Alright. I’m done. For now.”

She leans in close to Bucky’s ear, stage-whispering. “But if you hurt her, I will emotionally destroy you. Even worse than the physical damage you'll get.”

She straightens, gives you a wink. “Welcome back.”

And just like that, she’s gone.

Later that night, the compound is quiet.

Too quiet.

You’re standing in the hallway outside your room when Bucky approaches, hands shoved into his pockets, posture awkward as hell.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey.”

A pause. Thick. Charged.

“I didn’t mean for her to—” He exhales. “She’s not wrong. About me.”

You study him in the low light. The tension. The vulnerability he never lets anyone see.

“About what, exactly?” you ask gently.

His jaw tightens. Then—

“I fell for you.” he says, voice low, honest, unguarded. “Hard. And I didn’t want to. Because wanting things… doesn’t usually end well for me.”

Your heart thuds.

He steps closer. Not touching. Respecting the space even though it’s killing him. “The mission just… made it impossible to pretend I didn’t.”

Your voice comes out softer than you intend. “You know we don’t have to pretend anymore, right?”

His breath stutters.

“…Yeah?”

You close the distance. Slowly. Deliberately.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t kiss you. Not yet.

Instead, his forehead rests against yours, eyes closed, like he’s grounding himself in the moment. His hands hover at your waist—waiting. Asking.

When you nod, barely, they settle there.

Warm. Steady. Real.

And when his lips finally brush yours, it’s not rushed or desperate.

It’s deep. Controlled. Full of everything he’s been holding back.

When you pull away, his voice is rough. “I’m not good at casual.”

You smile. “Good. Neither am I.”

Somewhere down the hall, a door clicks shut.

And Natasha Romanoff smiles to herself, already planning how she’s going to tease him about this for the rest of his life.

masterlist ֶָ֢

[bkchron]

RISK

Pairing Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count 983

Note I just want Bucky to be happy. And in love. And everything else.

Bucky Barnes didn’t plan on noticing his pretty neighbor.

It just… happened.

At first it was stupid things. The way her laugh carried through the thin apartment walls when she was on the phone. The soft thud of her door closing a second after his in the mornings, like they were always almost in sync. The fact that she hummed while unlocking her door, like the world wasn’t constantly on the brink of ending.

She had nothing to do with the Avengers.

No clearance badge. No weapons. No tactical awareness.

Just a canvas tote bag, a coffee cup she always forgot to put a lid on, and eyes that warmed when she smiled at him like he was just… a man.

That was the problem.

Because to her, he was just Bucky.

Tall guy. Quiet neighbor. Polite. A little awkward. Very handsome, no that he knows that last adjective.

To the rest of the world, he was a liability.

Some nights, he stood at his kitchen window, watching the glow from her apartment across the courtyard. He told himself it was coincidence. That he was just checking the perimeter. Old habits.

But then he’d see her shadow move across the wall—stretching, dancing to music he couldn’t hear—and something tight would curl in his chest.

God, she was so alive.

“You don’t get to want this” he muttered once, to the empty room.

Wanting her was dangerous.

Wanting her meant imagining her hurt. Targeted. Used.

Hydra had taught him very clearly: people close to him didn’t survive unscathed.

She was the one who broke the stalemate.

It was raining. Hard. The kind that soaked through everything and turned the sidewalk into a mirror.

She was juggling her keys, umbrella flipped inside out, clearly losing a battle with gravity, when Bucky stepped in without thinking. His metal hand caught the umbrella before it snapped completely.

“Uh—wow” she laughed, breathless. “You just saved my umbrella’s life.”

He froze.

Too close. Way too close.

He could smell her shampoo. Feel the warmth radiating off her. Hear the slight hitch in her breath when she noticed how tall he was up close.

“Sorry” he said quickly, handing it back like it might burn him. “Didn’t mean to—”

“No, thank you” she cut in, smiling softly. Not scared. Not suspicious. Just… grateful. “You’re Bucky, right? From 26-B?”

He nodded. Once.

She told him her name, and it lodged itself somewhere deep, somewhere permanent.

They stood there longer than necessary, rain pounding around them, neither moving.

“You okay?” she asked gently. “You look like you’re somewhere else.”

If she only knew.

“Yeah” he lied. “Just tired.”

She hesitated, then tilted her head, studying him in that way that made him feel seen instead of analyzed.

“Well… if you ever want coffee, I make a mean cup. Least I can do for umbrella heroics.”

Bucky’s heart stuttered.

Coffee.

Normal.

Safe.

Or it should’ve been.

“Yeah” he said before he could stop himself. Then quieter, like he was afraid the world might overhear. “I’d like that.”

After that, it got worse.

Coffee turned into short hallway conversations. Conversations turned into walks that just happened to go the same direction. She talked about work, about mundane annoyances, about the neighbor downstairs who played music too loud.

She never asked about his past.

And that somehow hurt more.

Because every time she smiled at him, every time she bumped her shoulder into his without fear, he felt like a thief stealing moments he didn’t deserve.

Some nights, after missions, bruised and bleeding, he’d sit on his bed and think about how easily she could be pulled into this world if someone wanted leverage.

He imagined her name in a Hydra file.

And it made him sick.

The breaking point came when he heard footsteps behind him one evening and turned, already calculating threats—only to find her, holding two grocery bags and frowning at him.

“You’ve been avoiding me” she said softly.

He stiffened. “I’ve been busy.”

“Bucky” she sighed, stepping closer. “I’m not asking for explanations. I just… did I do something?”

God.

“No” he said too fast. Then he dragged a hand through his hair, jaw tight. “You didn’t.”

“Then what is it?”

Everything in him screamed don’t.

But he was so tired of carrying this alone.

“I’m not safe” he said quietly.

She blinked. “What?”

“I mean… people around me get hurt,” he continued, voice rough. “And you—you don’t deserve that. You deserve someone normal. Someone who doesn’t look over his shoulder every five seconds.”

She searched his face, really looked at him this time.

“And what if,” she said slowly, “I don’t need you to be normal?”

He swallowed.

“What if I just want you?”

That did it.

He stepped back like he’d been struck, hands clenched at his sides, metal fingers whining softly.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he whispered. “If anyone found out—”

“Then we’d deal with it.” she said. Not naive. Not dramatic. Just steady. “You don’t get to decide what risks I can take, James.”

He laughed once, broken. “I’ve spent my whole life being the risk.”

She reached for his hand.

He let her.

That was the most dangerous thing of all.

“I don’t want to put you in danger,” he admitted, voice barely holding together. “But God help me, I want you. I want to walk you home. I want to wake up knowing you’re okay. I want—” He stopped, breath shaky. “I want things I don’t think I’m allowed to have.”

Her thumb brushed over his knuckles, warm and real.

“Maybe,” she said softly. “you’re allowed to want happiness. Even if it scares you.”

He looked at her like she was something holy.

And in that moment, Bucky Barnes realized the cruelest truth of all:

Loving her wasn’t the danger.

Losing her—never even trying—was.

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[bkchron]

NOT ENOUGH RIGHT NOW

Pairing Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count 973

Note Bucky Barnes just deserves some love. All the love.

Five months in, and Bucky Barnes still treats his love like something fragile he’s afraid to bruise.

Not because she is fragile—God, no. She’s strong, sharp, laughs loud, steals his hoodies and his fries and his breath without even trying. It’s the feeling that scares him. The wanting. The way it sits in his chest, heavy and restless, like if he lets it loose he might drown her in it.

So he holds back.

He keeps his hands to himself when every instinct screams to reach. Keeps his voice even when he wants to murmur every thought he’s never learned how to say. Keeps the yearning folded neat and tight behind his ribs, because he’s convinced affection should be rationed. Controlled. Careful.

Because what if he’s too much?

He’s always been too much before.

When they’re together on the couch, he sits close—but not touching. Thighs almost brushing. Knees angled toward her like magnets stopped an inch apart. His metal fingers flex against his own jeans while his flesh hand stays politely curled on his knee.

Meanwhile his brain is a disaster.

He wants to pull her into his side and keep her there. Wants to tuck her under his arm, feel her weight settle like it belongs. Wants to press kisses into her hair just because it’s there and she smells like home. Wants to be clingy in that quiet, constant way—hand at her waist while she cooks, fingers hooked into her belt loop when they walk, palm warm on her thigh when they watch TV.

Instead, he asks, “You comfortable?” like that’s the most intimate question he’s allowed himself.

She smiles at him—soft, fond, completely unaware of the war he’s fighting—and says, “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah” he lies, because wanting her like this feels almost painful.

At night is worse.

They sleep in the same bed now, but he keeps to his side like there’s an invisible line he shouldn’t cross. He faces her, though. Always. Memorizes the way her breathing evens out, the way her lips part slightly when she’s asleep, the way she sometimes inches closer without realizing it.

Every time she does, his heart stutters.

Sometimes her hand drifts across the mattress and rests near his chest. Not even touching. Just there. And he lies awake staring at the ceiling, teeth clenched, every nerve buzzing because all he wants is to lace their fingers together and never let go.

He doesn’t. He never does.

Because what if she wakes up and realizes how much he needs this?

The thing is—she’s been noticing.

The way he watches her like she might disappear. The way his shoulders relax instantly when she’s near. The way his touch is reverent when he does allow it—like each brush of skin is something sacred.

So one evening, after five months of restraint and quiet longing, she finally calls him on it.

They’re in the kitchen, standing too close again. She’s talking about something trivial, hands moving as she speaks, and Bucky is barely hearing her because he’s focused on the small of her back, bare where her shirt has ridden up. His fingers twitch. He stops them.

She pauses mid-sentence. Turns to him.

“Why don’t you touch me?”

It hits him like a bullet.

“I—” He freezes. “I do.”

“No” she says gently. “You almost do.”

His throat tightens. His eyes drop to the floor like he’s been caught doing something wrong. “I don’t wanna crowd you” he admits quietly. “Don’t wanna… overwhelm you.”

Her expression softens so much it almost breaks him.

“Bucky” she murmurs, stepping closer. Close enough now that there’s no space left to respect. “I’m dating you. Not a version of you with the volume turned down.”

He looks at her then, really looks, searching for any hint of fear. There’s none. Only warmth. Want. Invitation.

“I won’t be too much?” he asks, voice rough. Vulnerable in a way he rarely allows.

She smiles. Tilts her head. “I think you’re not enough right now.”

Something in him snaps—not violently, not recklessly—but like a door finally opening.

His hand lifts, hesitant for half a second… then settles at her waist.

The relief is immediate. Physical. Like his body finally exhales.

She sighs softly at the contact, leaning into him without hesitation, and that—that—undoes him completely.

His other hand follows, warm and sure now, drawing her closer until she fits against him perfectly. His forehead rests against hers, breath shaky, like he’s been holding this in for months.

“I’ve wanted to do this” he confesses, barely above a whisper. “All the time. Didn’t wanna scare you off.”

She laughs quietly, arms sliding around his middle. “You’re allowed to want me. To want this. To have whatever you want, baby.”

That’s all it takes.

He’s not aggressive. He’s not rushed. He’s hungry in the most devastating way—kissing her like he’s been practicing in his head for five months straight. Slow, deep, unguarded. His thumb strokes her side absentmindedly, like it’s muscle memory he’s finally allowed to use.

And yeah—it gets heated. His grip tightens. Her hands fist in his shirt. His breath stutters when she presses closer, when the tension finally has somewhere to go.

But what overwhelms him most isn’t the desire.

It’s the way she melts into his clinginess like it’s exactly what she’s been waiting for.

Later—much later—she’s half-draped over him on the couch, his arm wrapped around her, fingers tracing lazy patterns on her skin. He’s impossibly content. Relaxed. Anchored.

“This okay?” he asks quietly, still careful out of habit.

She hums against his chest. “More than okay.”

His grip tightens just a little, like he’s afraid she might slip away if he loosens it.

And for the first time, he lets himself believe he doesn’t have to hold back to be loved.

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