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fandoms-writings · 1 year

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Make Our Own Traditions

Pairing: Bartender/Neighbor!Bucky x female!reader (there aren’t too many body descriptions though)

Summary: The holidays are a sore spot for you, but Bucky’s willing to do everything he can to change that.

Word Count: 7.3K (oopsie)

Warnings: little bit of angst in the beginning, mentions of anxiety, disappointed parents, mentions of alcohol, fluff.

A/N: this is my submission for @foreverindreamlandd ‘s holiday event, and is also a continuation of a previous work - Forgotten Keys and Warm Tea. Thank you Col, for allowing me to write this for your event, I hope you love it <3 also, i only proofread this once soooo yeah. Also also I know Christmas passed but just pretend it hasn’t yet, this is my gift to all of you <3

Series Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist || Main Masterpost

You couldn't help the roll of your eyes as you saw the bar wrapped in colorful lights, a soft christmas song seeping from the other side of the doors and out into the street as people walked out.

"Oh come ooooon," Ana said as she tugged on your arm with a smirk, "Let's let the hunky man behind the bar make things better, yeah?"

You sighed as you shook your head, taking a breath to steel yourself from the harsh winds whipping around you before following your friend inside.

The holidays were tough for you. Sure, you could video chat with your parents back home, or call any extended family. But, your extended family only ever called you when they needed something, so why should you give them your time when you could do something you actually enjoyed? And your parents weren't exactly supportive of the whole art path for your degree so it was rocky waters whenever you called anyway. And over the years you've been gone, the flimsy relationship you had with them had started to wither.

You didn't mind, not having them constantly check up on you gave you a sense of freedom you'd been dying for since you were a young teenager. But it hit harder around the holidays. Seeing everyone you knew with their family and loved ones while all you had was your roommate and boxed wine. And you loved Ana to bits, you really did, but it wasn't the same. It never was.

Unfortunately, your parents had called early that morning to see if you had any plans to travel home for the holidays and, once you told them you were staying in Brooklyn, you'd received an ear full from them about how you aren't around anymore and how you were making a mistake pursuing art.

So you'd come to Bucky's bar to hopefully nurse away the bout of depression and anxiety they had caused in you when you'd seen the offending decor lining his building. The colorful lights around its edges and a wreath hanging on the front door.

He didn't even have a wreath on his apartment door - at least not that you noticed, and you would have noticed.

You slid onto a barstool next to Ana as she waved over Natalia who gave a wide smile when she saw the two of you. She was wearing a low cut red shirt and a Santa hat on her head with dangling earrings that looked like little snowmen.

"Oh! Always so good to see you two!" She exclaimed on her way over, ignoring the handful of men ogling her and trying to get her attention, "What're you up to tonight?"

"Well little miss 'I hate happiness' is here to drown in her sorrows, but I would love a martini please." Ana smiled victoriously as she ignored your groan of embarrassment. You rested your forehead against the counter, doing your best to ignore its stickiness.

"What? Do you hate Christmas?" Natalia asked as she whipped up Ana's requested drink.

"It's not that I hate Christmas," You muttered as you turned your eyes to her, keeping your head down, "I just don't care for it."

"Why, though?" She asked, setting the finished Martini before Ana and waving her hand in a dismissive manner when your roommate tried to hand over her card. "First one is free," She whispered before returning her attention back to you, waiting for an answer.

You sighed before sitting up and resting your face in your hands. You looked up at her and gave her a meek smile. "My family and I aren't exactly close." You shrugged.

Natalia frowned before leaning her elbows on the counter to be eye level with you. "Well, then it's a good thing you have the sergeant." She winked with a smile before straightening back up and pouring you a whiskey on the rocks. "On the house."

Shooting her a small smile and a whisper of thanks, you took a sip from the glass as Natalia stepped away to help someone else.

"I wonder where your sergeant is," Ana whispered as if it was a secret, "Did you know he was a sergeant?"

You shook your head, "He mentioned it a few times, but doesn't really like talking about it."

She nodded in understanding before turning to look around the bar, "But really, where is he? Isn't this place like his baby?" You giggled at her over dramatic way of looking over people's heads to try and spot him, as if he was someone who easily blended into a crowd. Maybe he was for her, but for you, no chance. You'd be able to spot that head of cropped brown hair and broad shoulders anywhere.

As if he was being summoned, the man in question emerged from the back office looking over his shoulder at a man who was slightly taller than him with blond hair and a neatly groomed beard. You watched as Bucky animatedly continued whatever conversation they were having, waving his hands about with a large smile on his face and a Santa hat covering his hair.

The anxiety and somberness of your day dissolved into the background of your mind as a small smile grew on your lips. You loved seeing him chat with people. He was someone who talked with his hands and you found it so endearing.

He turned to watch where he was going and his eyes landed on you, his large smile softening into a look reserved just for you. The corners of your lips lifted in return and he made his way over.

"Hey," He stopped in front of you, his left hand coming around to pull you into a hug.

"Hey," You smiled as you leaned into his chest, letting the warmth from him seep into your fingertips. He pulled away too soon for your liking but you relented as he kept his hand on your shoulder and turned to his bearded friend.

"This is Steve, an old friend of mine."

You introduced yourself and held out your hand, which Steve gently took in his large one, softly shaking it.

"It's so nice to meet you," He said with a smile, "How do you two know each other?"

"Oh, uh," You looked up to Bucky for an answer. Sure, you two had somewhat of a relationship forming over the past few months, but you'd never really talked about it. You'd never put a label on it so you weren't sure what he'd want to answer with.

"Uh, she's my neighbor," He said, giving you a similar look, as if he wasn't sure how to introduce you any other way. And though you were basically on the same page with him, it still stung deep down. It sounded like you didn't spend almost every weekend together, going to museums and cafes and diners together. Like you didn't come sit with him for a couple hours every other night at the bar. As if you didn't wake up in each other's beds, half dressed after spending the night before drowning in each other's pleasure.

Maybe not having a label to what you were did bother you.

But you also knew that it shouldn't. You knew that your relationship with Bucky, whatever it may be, was stable and that there wasn't anything threatening it. You knew he wasn't out with other people, you were with him enough to know that.

Perhaps it was the fact that Steve didn't already know who you were. Did Bucky not talk about you to his friends? Because you talked about him. If you were to introduce him to your friend back home, she would immediately know the story, she wouldn't have to ask how you knew him.

There was a squeeze on your shoulder and you looked up to see Bucky watching you with worry in his eyes.

"Everything okay?" He muttered to not get the attention of Ana and Steve who were now in a playful debate about whether or not Natalia's Russian accent was hotter than a British one.

At least they're getting along.

"Yeah, um," You gathered yourself and put on your best smile to make it seem like you were indeed just fine, "I, uh, have a lot of work to do for my class." You downed the rest of your whiskey before sliding the glass back to Nat's side of the bar and grabbing your things.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" He asked, more worry starting to drip from his words.

"No, no, I'll be okay," You wrapped your arms around yourself as you looked at Ana, "I'll see you at home, yeah?"

When Ana's eyes met yours, you could see the confusion swimming in them as she watched you. But one thing about Ana was she was incredibly good at reading you, so you knew she was already aware of what was going through your head.

"Yeah, of course."

You gave her a hug and the squeeze she gave you almost broke the dam in your throat. She leaned into your ear and whispered that she won't be long and you nodded. Releasing her, you were going to walk out when Bucky stepped next to you.

"Do I get one?" He asked with his hands in his back pockets. He had a small smile on his face, but you could tell it was only because you weren't telling him what was going on and he was trying to lighten your mood. Your heart panged at the confused worry on his face as if he did something wrong and you sighed.

"Of course," You all but slammed into his chest to wrap your arms around him in a quick tight hug, his arms settling around your back as he held you close.

"Will I maybe see you later tonight?" He asked as you pulled away.

"Oh, uh, maybe. I've got some stuff to work on for my classes."

"Okay, well, you know you can always work on whatever it is over at my place. Or I can just come keep you company, if you want."

You nodded, "I know."

He nodded back, though he seemed hesitant to let you go.

You walked out into the cold, pulling your jacket even closer around you to try and fight the cold.

~~~

Bucky hesitated in the hallway, between your door and his. He wanted to knock, to see if maybe you were still awake, if you wanted to talk.

He couldn't stop thinking about the look in your eyes when you walked out of the bar earlier that night. And he knew you had finished up your semester and were on winter break, so he knew there wasn't much for you to work on right now, so that excuse was just that - an excuse to leave.

He felt like it was his fault - how he'd answered Steve's question on how you met was what upset you. But he didn't know if you wanted people knowing that you were dating him.

He wanted to scream it from the rooftops and show you off as much as he could. He wanted to brag that you were his even if you had never had that conversation before. But he was also a little over a decade older than you and some people could be ruthless in their judgemental words and he didn't want to subject you to that if you didn't want it.

Maybe it was time to have that talk.

He sighed, jingling his keys in his hand as he looked at your door again. Pulling his lip between his teeth, he shoved his keys into his pocket and pulled out his phone. You hadn't texted or called, usually you would before he left the bar, trying to see him even if it was right before you went to bed. So seeing nothing from you put an uncomfortable feeling in his chest.

He typed out a quick message, asking if you were still awake before turning to his door and unlocking it. He only made it one step inside before the sound of your door opening had him turning around.

There you were, in pajamas and your face free of makeup. Your eyes were a little puffy and rimmed red, the sight plunging his heart into the depths of his stomach. The way you were holding on to the door handle with one hand and slightly leaning against the frame with your opposite shoulder made it look like you were scared.

"Hey," He whispered, stepping back into the hall. The right corner of your lips lifted the tiniest bit in return. "You alright?"

You looked down to your feet before shrugging and looking back up, letting the door go and crossing your arms.

"Can I come over?" You asked, your voice was soft but had that edge to it that, if he hadn't seen the evidence of shed tears in your eyes, would've told him you'd cried.

"Of course you can." He held his hand out for you, and you gently took it after pulling your door closed, locking the handle.

After getting in his apartment and closing the door, he tugged you to him, light enough that you could stop if you didn't want to be closer. But you all but fell into his chest, your arms wrapping around his torso in a tight grip and your face buried in his sweater as he supported you.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, resting his chin on the top of your head, and just held you for a moment.

"Sorry I left earlier," you mumbled through his sweater, "It's been a rough day."

He sighed, squeezing you a little tighter as his heart constricted at hearing you having a bad day. He wanted you to only ever have good days, to never have something make you even the slightest bit upset. But the world didn't work like that.

"It's okay, sugar," he muttered into your hair before pressing his lips to the crown of your head and pulling back to look down at you. "Wanna talk about it?"

You nodded before looking back up to him. "Can we have some tea, too?"

He smirked down at you. Tea had become a bit of a routine for the both of you since that first night. You two shared mugs of tea almost every time you came over. He loved it.

"For you? Always."

He reluctantly let you go, stepping to the little bar of the kitchen and pulling out a stool for you before walking around and pulling out everything he needed to make you both tea. A comfortable silence filled the space as he heated the water and you fished out two tea bags, working in tandem with one another until the tea was made. He passed you the honey and leaned back against the counter behind him, holding his mug and letting the warmth seep through his fingers.

He watched you stirred in a spoon of honey, mindlessly watching the spoon go round and round in circles. He let the clinking of the spoon against the mug continue for a moment before speaking up.

"What's on your mind, sugar?"

You blinked, straightening your back when you realized you'd somewhat zoned out and removed the spoon from your mug and set it aside, wrapping your hands around the warm ceramic.

You tried to look at him, to let his calm demeanor maybe reach out to you and sizzle your nerves, but all it did was make your heart beat faster in your chest and your thoughts run wild. Looking back to your mug, you took a breath before just blurting out your question before you chickened out.

"Why did you introduce me as just your neighbor to Steve?" You whispered it, your voice not quite having the courage to join in your decisions.

You heard him take a deep breath before sighing and you prepared yourself for the worst. That he wasn't into you like that, that he didn't want to be in a relationship with you. That these past few months together have meant nothing to him. All those nights spent cuddled in each other's bed, making breakfast together in the morning, walking home together after he closes the bar, painting him - fuck, you've sketched and painted so many portraits of him and he was going to tell you that he doesn't want this - whatever this is.

"I don't, um…"

Oh no. You kept your gaze on your tea, still untouched as you waited for him to say the words that would shatter your heart and for him to leave you to pick up the pieces on your own.

"I just don't want you to be faced with the judgment that might come with dating me." His words were gruff, and you could feel the hesitation and the worry that coated them.

You looked up to see his normal smiling lips tipped down into a somber line. His eyes seemed so sad.

"And I know Steve would never judge or make any sort of comment, I know that," He continued softly, "But I didn't want to make that decision for you."

"What do you mean by judgment?"

"Well," He put his mug in the sink before gripping the edge of the countertop behind him, "I'm over a decade older than you, hun. It's not exactly conventional, or accepted by a lot of people. And I know people can be really harsh with their comments, speaking before thinking - hell, I witness it every night at the bar." He raked his teeth over the edge of his lip before continuing.

"I want to tell the world that you're mine," He muttered, glancing at you with a nervous look in his eyes and your anxieties started to dwindle. "But, we'd never really talked about it so I didn't want to assume that you would be okay with it." His words picked up speed in your silence, a nervous habit of his you'd learned.

"You want me?" You cut him off when he started talking himself in circles and he stopped, looking at you with the softest gaze and a hint of a smile, as if he wasn't sure the situation called for a smile yet.

"I want you," He stated, as if it was the world's truth for him to bear. "I want you and all your quirks, all your paintings," he walked around the bar top to your side, "The little noises you let out when you're stretching in the morning. Your simple but delicious breakfasts. Your kisses. Your stray hairs I find on every single one of my sweaters no matter how many times I wash them." He reached out, laying his hand, palm up on the counter top, waiting for you to take it. "I want all of it, all of you."

You couldn't help the tears that gathered on your lashes threatening to fall as you placed your hand in his, quickly squeezing it. "I want you, too," You whispered.

"I never want to see you upset, and I'm sorry if how I introduced you caused your bad day. I just didn't want to assume that you'd be okay with it." He reached up to cup your cheek and you closed your eyes, relishing in the feeling of his warm hand on your skin before you sighed.

"That's not why I was having a rough day, it was just kind of the cherry on top," You whispered, opening your eyes again. At that, his brows came together again and he swiped his thumb along your cheek, catching the stray tear that fell.

"What's going on then?" He let go of your face to pull out another stool so that he could sit in front of you before grabbing your other hand and holding both of them in front of him, your knees sandwiched between his own.

"It's dumb," you muttered. You didn't want him to worry about the fact that your parents weren't going to visit you for Christmas, that you weren't going home because if you did you would go mad only hearing about how they aren't supportive of your college career path. That wasn't something that you wanted him to bear for you.

"If it's got you this upset," you looked up at him, "It's not dumb."

You gnawed on the edge of your lip for a moment before sighing. He waited for you to gather your words, rubbing his thumbs along the tops of your knuckles and all you could think was how on earth did you get so lucky to find him.

"Do you think I'm making a mistake by pursuing art? Going to college for it?" You whispered, staring at how his fingers had yours completely engulfed.

"Well, is it something you enjoy? Something that you love to do?" He asked in return.

You nodded, keeping your eyes down and he let go of one of your hands, moving to tip your chin up again.

"Then, no. As long as it's something you enjoy, it's not a mistake." Your heart banged in your chest at his words. "Too often do people try to go to school for something that will make them money or make them successful, but they end up hating what it is. As long as doing art makes you happy, you'll be alright."

You sighed through your nose as you nodded and tried to take a deep breath. Sometimes, all people needed to hear was that they'd be alright, and you weren't an exception. His words calmed your thoughts and your tears and a weight lifted from your shoulders.

"Why are you asking though? Do you feel like you're making a mistake?" He asked.

You shook your head, "No, no, it's not - it's not me."

His brows pinched in what you could assume was anger at whoever had planted doubt into your mind. "Then who?"

You took a breath, leaning back in your stool. "My parents. They called earlier this morning, asking if I was coming home for Christmas and when I said no, because I have paintings to work on for my final portfolio, I got an earful about how I'm wasting my time."

He stood from his stool and walked up next to you, wrapping his arms around your neck and pulling you into his chest. He pressed his lips into the top of your hair and whispered there, "I'm so sorry."

You wrapped your arms around his torso, leaning your cheek against his sweater. "That being said," he looked down at you, "Can I spend Christmas with you?" You asked.

His shoulders relaxed as a soft smile grew on his face. "I'd be honored." He pulled back and leaned down, tipping your chin up with his hand and placing a small kiss on your lips. "We'll go all out. I'll get stockings and a tree tomorrow. You can decorate this place from top to bottom if you want to. We'll go ice skating and watch Christmas movies. And I'll make you my mom's homemade eggnog - it's the best in the world."

You couldn't help the giggle that escaped your lips at the excited look in his eyes.

"Okay," You leaned up, kissing his lips again and letting the worry of your parents wash away.

~~~

Bucky held true to his word. The very next day, he took you ice skating, though he wasn't very good at it. He spent most of the time clutching the side rails and watching you twirl around on the ice as if it was second nature. Where you learned how to skate like that, he didn't know, but he'd have to remember to ask you later.

After he had fallen on his ass one too many times for his liking, you helped him off the rink and turned in your skates to the bored teenagers working the desk before he took you to the super market. You pushed the cart behind him as he filled it with various things, some you recognized as ingredients for icing and baked goods, others you were pretty sure he was grabbing just because he was out of them at home. You also definitely let him think that you didn't notice him throwing in two pairs of matching plaid pajama pants into the cart before he quickly buried them in a tree and stockings and lights and ornaments.

Once you got back to his apartment, you helped him put the groceries away and you 'just happened to open the bag with the pants' and his face flushed as he smiled.

"What? Ma used to make me and Becs wear matching pajamas on Christmas Eve, I thought it'd be fun," He defended himself.

"Oh? But Christmas Eve is still a couple days away, were you just hoping I didn't find these until then?" You teased.

"If you don't want to have fun with me, then give them back," He reached for the bag but you yanked it out of his reach.

"Now I never said that!" You giggled as he pulled you into him to try to get to the bag. "I'll wear them! But only if I don't have to wait until Christmas Eve."

He stopped and settled his hands on your shoulders, looking down. "But that ruins the tradition." You couldn't help the giggle that escaped your lips at the pout on his and the serious tone of his voice. You knew it was fake, that he wasn't actually upset, but it still tugged at your heart strings.

"We can wash them and wear them again, it'll be okay grumpy-pants." He huffed at you but couldn't fight the smirk that was growing on his face as you pulled the pants out of the bag and shoved the ones his size into his chest.

Once you were both comfortable in the pants, which were made of some of the softest fleece you'd ever touched, you perched on your barstool and watched him make eggnog from scratch. Much to your surprise, which now seemed silly considering it was in the name, there were actual eggs in eggnog.

He finished the batch, adding a little bit of brandy to it and poured both of you a mug before you cuddled up on the couch together, browsing through Christmas movies.

He turned to look at you, softly gazing at your features as your eyes lit up when you found Die Hard and you pressed play.

"That hardly counts as a Christmas movie," he muttered, taking a sip of his eggnog.

"Excuse me?" You whirled on him, your hair just barely missing his face. "It is! It takes place on Christmas Eve!"

"That doesn't make it a Christmas movie!" He argued with a laugh.

You held your mug close to your chest. "Just shut up and watch Bruce Willis save the day, will you?" He chuckled but stayed silent as the movie started and you tasted the eggnog for the first time since he poured it into your mug - you had to agree with him, it was definitely the world's best eggnog.

~~~

You spent the next day setting up the tree, stringing lights through its branches and hanging ornaments on it. Bucky even let you pick out a star for the top and let you hop on his back so that you could place it on top. When that was done, you got to decorating the rest of the apartment. Placing little deer on the counter top, lighting a peppermint candle, even hanging a wreath on the outside of his door.

When you had decided that his place seemed festive enough, he took you to the store to pick out gingerbread houses. But when you got back to his place, ready to put them together, he got a call from Natalia, saying they needed some help at the bar. Apparently, the girl who was supposed to take over her shift had come down with the flu, and they had no one else they could call.

"I'm sorry, sugar," he said with a kiss to your forehead and throwing on his coat, "Can we put them together tomorrow? We can do it while we wait for Santa Claus."

You let out a snort and shook your head. "I don't know if these gingerbread men can wait that long for their house, it's pretty cold out."

He huffed, "Well, they're gonna have to. Maybe there's a hotel they can stay at for the night." He grabbed his wallet and phone before leaning down for an actual kiss, "But really, the bar will be closing early tomorrow night, so we'll have all the time in the world."

"I know," You met his lips with yours, "Now go before Sam burns your baby down."

He took off with a laugh, leaving you with his spare in case you wanted to go back to yours and Ana's apartment, but after asking if she was busy, you learned she was at Val's, so the night was yours.

So, you decided to take this time to figure out a gift for Bucky. You weren't expecting to spend the holidays with him, so you hadn't had anything prepared, and you were a broke college student, so going shopping wasn't really a viable option.

You looked around online, seeing if there was a store near you that would be cheap enough but still have something meaningful, but you also knew that, with Christmas only two nights away, the crowds were going to be insane.

It was when you started picking at the paint stuck to your cuticles, a nervous tick of yours, that you had the perfect idea. Springing up from his couch, you grabbed the keys and locked his door on your way out, heading to your place across the hall.

If you got started now, you could hopefully finish it before tomorrow night.

~~~

The sound of crinkling woke you up and you glanced at the clock on Bucky's night stand. It read 5:27 in thin green light and you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes before throwing the blankets off your legs. Grabbing your plaid pajama bottoms from the floor, you pulled them on and shuffled out of Bucky's room.

The hall was dark, but at the end, where the kitchen and living room were, the space was softly lit up by the Christmas tree. You took careful steps around to the corner, trying your best not to catch his attention as he came into your view.

He was kneeling by the tree, placing a small box that was messily wrapped under the tree. If you looked around the floor, you could see the evidence of cut paper and pieces of tape and ribbon scattered about.

"Are you supposed to be Santa Claus?" You whispered, watching his bare back tense as he whipped around with wide eyes. When his gaze found you in the shadows, he relaxed with a soft smile and chuckled.

"Don't startle me like that," he groaned before sitting back on his feet, "And so what if I am?"

"Then you aren't very sneaky," You giggled as you walked over to him, his arm lifting to wrap around your legs, his hand resting on your hip. "What are you doing anyways?"

"What does it look like?" He asked, looking up to you, the twinkling lights reflecting in his eyes giving almost an ethereal feel to his gaze. Your brows scrunched as you looked at where he was pointing.

"Is that," you glanced at the box, a small name tag stuck to its corner. You couldn't read it from where you were standing, but it looked similar enough to the word 'sugar.'

"Yes, but you have to wait until morning to open it."

"Bucky," You sighed, looking back at him, "You didn't have to."

"No, no, no, don't do that," he turned his body to face yours, wrapping both arms now around the backs of your legs, "I will get you whatever I want to get you and you can't tell me no. Especially for Christmas."

You sighed at the excitement in his eyes and you raked your fingers through his hair. "Fine, but just so you know, you're also getting something."

"Oh I can't wait," he smirked up at you. "Now, come on," he stood, lacing his fingers through yours and pulling you back to the bedroom, "The sooner we go back to sleep, the sooner you can open your gift."

You followed him back to bed, your previously interrupted sleep quickly taking over you again once you were settled, wrapped under the comforter and in his arms.

When you woke the next day, he was still there with you, and you got the chance to admire him for just a few minutes. The sunlight coming through the window made him look younger, his face relaxed and his lips parted slightly. His hair, which he’d been letting grow a bit, was splayed around his head like a halo and you knew it was going to be sticking up in every direction once he got up. But it didn’t matter.

All that mattered right then and there, was that he was there with you. He was there with you and he was trying to make it great for you. You'd spent the holiday seasons too many times now, on your own, or with Ana and Val - you being the obvious third wheel. Now it was your turn. Your turn to have someone by your side who was doing everything he could to make sure you were happy.

You weren't able to admire him for long before he cracked his eyes open and spotted you staring and tracing little patterns into his chest.

"Well, good morning," He grumbled, his voice thick with sleep and just a little raspy. And oh you loved when his voice did that.

"Hi," You smiled back. The two of you remained like that for a few minutes before nature called and you had to get up to go pee. Once you were finished and walking out of the bathroom, you could hear Bucky rummaging around in the kitchen, talking with someone on the phone. You got his attention, whispering that you'd be right back before running across the hall to your apartment. The lights were still off, telling you that either Ana was asleep or she wasn't even home.

You locked the door behind you, so that he couldn't try to come check on you and ruin the surprise, before you quickly walked over to the painting lying on its drying rack in the middle of the living room floor. Giving the surface a gentle tap tap tap of your finger and seeing your skin come away clean, you sighed in relief.

You'd worked on this while he was at the bar, as quickly as you could so he wouldn't catch on to what you were up to. Luckily, it wasn't a large painting and you were able to throw on a quick drying varnish before you went over to his place to build your gingerbread houses last night.

After triple checking that none of its surface was tacky, you slid it into a box and put a big bow on top. Bucky had all of the wrapping paper, and you weren't about to wrap this in front of him.

Bringing it back across the hall, you opened the door to have the smell of french toast and bacon envelop your senses and you couldn't hide the growl of your stomach, freezing in the doorway when Bucky turned to you.

"What is that?" He asked with a smirk.

"You'll find out," You walked in, placing the box carefully under the tree before taking a seat at the bar. "Who were you talking to when I left?"

"Oh just Steve," he turned back to the stove and pulled off some slices of french toast before going to batter and cook a couple more, "He was wondering if he could come over later, bring his girlfriend with him."

"Oh. Is he coming?" You were fine with it, of course. Steve was Bucky's friend and you weren't about to tell him that he can't have his friend come over on Christmas. You just weren't sure if Bucky had told Steve yet that you two were dating. And though Bucky had told you Steve wouldn't judge, you suddenly felt a little nervous.

"I told him I'd talk to you about it first," He said as he flipped the bread, "I would love for you to really meet him, but this is your Christmas." He looked at you over his shoulder.

You sighed. One of the reasons you fell for him so quickly was the fact that he was always thinking of you and your feelings. Trying everything to take care and help you that he often put his own wants aside.

"Bucky, I would love to properly meet Steve, and his girlfriend." He smiled at you with a nod before asking if you were sure. When you assured him of your decision, he finished cooking and called Steve back, telling him to bring himself and his lady by for dinner.

You took the plates of breakfast to the couch, setting them on the coffee table and all but devouring the delicious food. Once everything was cleaned up and you both had mugs of coffee, you got started on your gifts.

You'd filled his stocking with his favorite chocolates and a pair of silly socks with cocktails on them that you just couldn't pass up - he loved them so much he pulled the tags off immediately and pulled them on his feet. Yours was about the same, filled with your favorite sweets and a card that had a hand made voucher for free drinks for life at his bar.

Then it was time for the actual gifts.

"Me first," You declared, grabbing his gift for him and gently handing it to him before sitting back on the couch. "Open it."

You watched as he opened the box, peaked inside to see what he was grabbing, and gently pulled out the painting.

"Oh wow," he breathed, refusing to take his eyes off of it as he examined the details, "When did you do this?"

"Over the past two days, while you were at work." His head whipped to you.

"Are you serious?" You nodded and he turned back to the painting. The bright colors of the oils staring back at him. It was a simple still life of the first drink he ever made you, your whiskey on the rocks. The glass was sitting on the bartop, and in the background, though you'd made it more unfocused than the glass, you could see his hands leaning against the wood of the counter.

"I'm hanging this in my office," He said as he refused to pull his eyes from it. "I'll pay you to make more like this to hang in the bar." Your brows shot up.

"What?"

"Yeah, I've been meaning to do a little redecorating, I haven't switched out the decor in a few years, needs something new," he looked to you. "And this," he held up the painting, "this is just what it needs."

You couldn't help the shy smile that grew on your face and the heat that flooded to your face. "Okay." He smiled and leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on your lips before putting the painting down on the coffee table as if it was the most fragile thing in the world.

"Now my turn," He stated before going to grab the present he tried to sneak under the tree earlier that morning.

He placed the box in your hands, taking his seat next to you. It was light, and the paper was wrinkled from his attempt at wrapping it in the dark and there on the little label, was written 'Sugar' with a little heart next to it that made your insides melt.

You pulled the paper off, being careful not to rip that little name tag, and couldn't help the gasp that escaped you as you looked at him. He had a nervous look as he gnawed the edge of his lip in anticipation to know if you liked it.

"Are you serious?" You asked, holding up the box of oil paints as if he didn't know what it was. "Are you serious?!"

He let out a laugh at your increasing volume, "I saw you eyeing them when we went to the art store a few weeks ago."

You looked back at the box, full of colors you usually had to mix yourself, from your favorite brand. Your head was already swimming with ideas as you stared at the colors and you couldn't wait to get another painting started.

Holding the box in your lap, you turned back to him, "Thank you, Bucky."

His large smile turned soft as he gazed at you. "Anything for you, sugar."

You basked in the warmth he caused that flowed from your chest to the rest of your body as he watched you and you again wondered how on earth you were so lucky to have him. He glanced at your tapping fingers and chuckled.

"You want to paint now don't you?" He asked with a smirk.

"Maybe," You muttered and he let out a loud laugh.

"Go get your stuff then. I don't want to stop you from doing what you love." You smiled, setting your paints down on the table and running across the hall to get your easel and a canvas and your box of other supplies, dragging them to his place.

You spent the day painting a large canvas that he was going to hang in the bar while he proposed the idea of getting Chinese takeout for dinner and inviting Natalia and Sam to come over too. You loved the idea and even tried to invite Ana and Val, but they had already promised Val's parents they'd eat over there, which was just fine. You were happy they had family to be with.

When it came time to get ready, you cleaned up your paints, setting everything in his bedroom so it'd be out of the way.

Everyone showed up with chilled cheeks and noses, ready to come inside and out of the warmth. You were introduced to Steve again, this time as Bucky's girl, and to Steve's girlfriend, Peggy - who had the British accent that Steve was arguing with Ana about.

It was a small apartment, so you settled with sitting around the coffee table on the floor, feet tucked under yourselves as you bumped shoulders, everyone sharing stories of how they knew each other and from their own childhoods. Even when everyone was stuffed from dinner, no one made a move to get up and remove themselves from the close quarters, continuing to laugh amongst the group.

It was in that moment that you were reminded of what this time of year was about. Friends and loved ones and being grateful for who you've got in your circle. Being surrounded by people who enjoyed your company and actually wanted to hear from you about your hobbies and your passions. You may have just met some of them, but you wouldn't trade them for anything.

And when the night was over, and everyone had gone home, you and Bucky lounged on the couch. You were cuddled up against his chest as he leaned across the cushions, watching A Christmas Story, when you popped your head up into his line of sight.

"Thank you," You whispered. He wrapped his arms around you with a smile.

"Any time," He pulled you in for a short kiss before pulling back, "Maybe. . ."

You raised a brow in curiosity, "Maybe what?"

"Maybe, next year we can do it again? Make our own traditions?" He asked, nothing but hope swimming in his ocean blues and you couldn't help the happy sigh that left your lips as you leaned in to press your lips back to his.

"I'd like that."

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ltbarnes · 2 years

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My Blood Turns Into Alcohol

Summary: Bucky Barnes doesn’t step out behind his trusted bar counter, no matter what goes on out on the floor. Until you, that is—the town newbie who stumbles inside the lanky old bar and won’t stop showing up in your pretty dresses and with that shy smile. Bucky is infuriated. Maybe that’s why he won’t let you pay for even one of your drinks, or why his coworkers won’t stop bothering him about you.

Pairing: bartender!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Word count: 11.4k

Warnings: mild violence, alcohol consumption, allusions to sex, assholes named John (seems to be a reoccurring theme in my stories), Bucky being a grump and also mutual pining

A/N: This honestly took me three months to write. It’s not even funny anymore, I have three dozens of wips and this is the first I’ve been able to finish in months. Enjoy whatever this became I had no idea where it was going at any point of the story

Masterlist

James Buchanan Barnes does not leave the bar counter. Under any circumstances. It does not matter what's going on on the other side of the two and a half feet of polished wood, placed between himself and the crowd lingering until the early hours of the morning.

Reasons for his principles are discussed heavily amongst the patrons of the bar. He's scared. He doesn't like people. He doesn't want sticky beer on his precious metal arm. Some things are partially true and other not at all, but the principle remains the same. Bucky Barnes does not step outside of the bar counter.

His hostility towards the openness of the bar never stops him from intervening when needed, of course. Middle aged men who don't know how to control themselves, slurring profanities and stalking the waitress, always get dragged out by the security guard. Bucky makes sure of that, always. So does 19-year old kids who think he won't notice their anxious gazes roaming around to see if someone have noticed their intrusion.

Bucky keeps the place in check, but he rules it all from behind the counter. Have been doing so for years. No matter how rowdy it gets through bar fights and unexpected bursts of college kids. He's been forced to roar out orders and yell at frat guys to not lay another fucking hand on the jukebox, or he will personally see to it that they won't have any fucking dicks left the next day. But then it's most sufficient that way, when he remains quiet and brooding for the most part. Comes as a surprise then—his outbursts.

Mr. Lee, who's been a regular for as long as Bucky has been working at the bar, tells him that he won't ever convince a lady to settle down with him if he continues scowling silently behind his sacred wall of wood. He usually earns a grunt in answer, on occasion a smug smirk, while Bucky throws the towel over his shoulder or wipes down the counter.

The topic of his love life comes up all too often during the long shifts. Wanda, the waitress who never fails to turn down each of her seemingly endless suitors of the bar in the most polite way, loves to discuss it like nothing else. She has indeed reminded him that he is no bad looking man at all, and if he really wanted to he could step outside on the street and be crowded by young ladies. It's all with a glint in her eyes, because thankfully she hasn't tried to set him up with a single woman. Not like Natasha used to do.

Quite frankly, Bucky doesn't care that much about getting a girlfriend or wife or whatever people want him to have. Life is entirely fine on his own. Actually, he prefers it. People are complicated and whiny and attention-seeking brats. Everything is better from a distance.

The bell above the entrance chimes as the door is opened gently. Bucky has had a thought or two of crushing it to pieces during his many shifts at the bar, but the owner insists on having it there. He suspects Tony is so attached to the bell simply because of Bucky's distaste towards it.

He tenses just slightly as you make your way inside. Your knee-length dress sweeps across your legs, light fabric contrasting against the small flowers printed upon it like it's 15 degrees hotter outside and not a rainy night, bordering on stormy. Bucky can't help but think that folks these days, especially you, don't know how to dress properly according to the weather, or time of day, but that's just the old man in him. That's what Steve usually says, like he's not just as bad.

But then you sit down by the counter, hoisting yourself up on the tall chairs while adjusting the cardigan on your shoulders. It unnerves him, the way you always let your eyes wander towards him timidly in wait for service despite having met him one and a half dozens of times already. He lingers by the bearded drunk at the end of the bar a few seconds longer than he should, only to postpone the encounter a bit longer. The past few months since you started showing up has been weird for him.

He wants to roll his eyes for no good reason at all as he forces himself towards your end. It's not intentional, his aversion, acting the way he does around you. Most of the time Bucky is quite closed off, he has plenty of trauma to justify it, but he can't grasp what it is that makes him so unapproachable when you show up in front of him, makes his face become stuck in a constant glare that usually scares away most. Steve always complains that he's too grumpy. Lighten up, jerk. 'S not all bad out in the world.

"Hi, Bucky," you say softly, almost too quietly, and he sees it on you that it came out more quietly than you intended. Your face almost contorts into a wince.

It's a dick move, that he doesn't say hello back. He knows that, and still he plants his hands on the wooden counter and stares you down instead. You gulp, mustering up a half-smile.

"I want a strawberry daiquiri tonight," you tell him, scratching the side of your nose with your nail. “Please.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows, some sort of surprise displaying on his face. "Strawberry daiquiri?" he asks, like your request is some outlandish idea he's never heard the likes of. Sure, he's gotten to know that you prefer colorful drinks over a glass of whiskey, but usually Steve makes them for you.

"Yeah. Strawberry daiquiri. Of course, only if making a drink like that won't taint your masculinity all too much." You look up at him. "Fruity drinks are risky business after all," you whisper to yourself, running your finger over a scratch in the wood.

And maybe, just maybe, Bucky let's the corner of his lip quirk up just slightly. But you don't see that. You're too busy staring down at the tainted countertop, following the path of your fingertip.

"Sure," Bucky mutters, turning around before he gives in to the compulsion of staring at you for too long and calling you sweet pet names that he makes up in his mind for you.

It's not that you're the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, or the most interesting either. Those come into the bar every now and then. But if he's honest, you're not the usual kind of regular the bar has. And he's well aware that it's a popular drink, what you just ordered, it's just that people don't order one very often here.

The rest of the late night patrons seem to share his aversion to your presence, or at least curiosity, even after you've lived here for almost three months. The man who's gulped down a few too many glasses of Jack a few feet away keeps sending long glances your way, letting his eyes wander just a little too much. Bucky had planned to send him away soon anyways. Dum Dum Dugan and his biker gang seem to joke around about you, although it's all friendly. They can get rowdy, but it's never anything malicious.

You're mostly quiet as you sip on your red drink for a good half an hour. Sometimes you interrupt your silence to tell him about something you saw the other day, or a good book you just finished. Bucky serves another two rounds of beer to the bikers, rum and coke to an accountant-looking type, tequila shots to Brunnhilde and Thor in the corner booth. Wanda stays with him behind the counter to talk to you about how her brother and boyfriend get along so well despite their many differences. He checks the stock twice, organizes the bottles, counts the change.

It's nearing closing and you're still in your place, lingering with the same drink in your hand while the only other customer left is the half-passed out drunk. Bucky has no willpower in him to kick the man out. He's quite sure you'll leave whenever he tells you to, but Wanda beats him to it.

"Hey, Y/n, we're closing up in ten," she says with a kind smile, wiping down the counter for the last time. "If you're gonna finish that drink, you better do it soon."

"Oh, okay. Sure will," you reply. "It was good, by the way." Your eyes travel over to Bucky where he stands, leaning against the back with his arms crossed over his chest.

"You sure about that? Been sipping on it for an hour and a half." He nods towards the half-empty glass.

It surprises him when you let out a quiet chuckle, shaking your head to yourself. "I’m just distracted. Little stressed," you confess. "Still trying to settle in."

"Still having troubles with your landlord?" Wanda asks, perking her head up. "I told you to let me know if he gave you anymore problems."

You ignore the way Bucky's stoic face turns into a near scowl along with her words. He always seems to do that when you speak of your many mishaps and small miseries.

"Yeah. It's okay, Wanda. I'll handle it myself," you say. "I'm gonna let you close up." You move off of the chair.

"No worries," Wanda answers with a smile. "Let me know when you've gotten home. And don't be gone for too long until the next visit. I'll have Bucky make you 'nother drink that you'll like more."

You nod, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth for just a mere second, but Bucky can't get the image out of his head. If he were any closer he might have freed it with his thumb. When you reach into the pocket of your cardigan, fishing out a ten dollar bill, he can't control the words tumbling out of his mouth.

"It's on the house," he says, stopping your movements before you have the chance to lay the bill on the bar.

"Oh," you breathe out. "Really? Thank you." The smile on your face is blinding. "Think I'm gonna keep coming here if you give me more free drinks."

"'S not gonna be a regular occurrence," he mutters, face fallen into that brooding frown once more. "Any longer."

You back towards the door, closing your hand around the handle. "I'm not counting on it," you say over your shoulder, before slinking out of the door.

It's not until the bell chimes once more, ringing in aftershocks of the door closing shut, that Bucky feels the intense stare of Wanda on his face.

"What?" he mumbles.

"You know those free drinks you keep giving her are going out of your paycheck, right?"

A grunt is enough of answer for Bucky, who drags himself away from Wanda. She knows he's avoiding talking about the topic. Doesn't mean she'll stop asking.

"She's very nice, you know?" she says after a dozen seconds of silence, sticking her head inside of the storage room.

"Don't even think about it."

You've been here quite a lot lately. More than what your mother would approve of—she'd undoubtedly think you were an alcoholic by now. But you don't drink every time, not even close to it. Instead it's mostly Shirley Temples and sometimes a coffee from the staff room if Wanda's working.

Bucky the brooding bartender isn't here tonight. He's an enigma to you—grumpy and cold and somehow sweet in the moments when he lets his mask slip. But you're not really sure wether or not you like the guy yet. Or you like him, a bit too much, but he's very...interesting in his behavior.

You've noticed how your tab doesn't always include everything you ordered when he's working, and he always listens intently to whatever you have to say, but then he stands there scowling in the corner whenever you talk to Wanda or the other bartenders. Sometimes he tells you a bad joke under his breath, as if he hadn’t intended to, and then he says nothing for an hour. He's balancing on a scale right now, you think. Maybe it's for the best that he's not here. You always say such stupid things around him.

The waitress though, her you certainly like. Actually, you're bordering on loving her for how good of a friend she's been to you since that first night you stumbled in here a few months ago. Honestly, friends have been sparse since you moved to town. It's understandable, considering the small size of it, but it's been lonely besides the sisterly bond you've managed to form with Wanda. You guess that's why you ventured into this bar in the first place, but found yourself too shy to start conversation with anyone.

The fact that it's a Friday night probably gives your loneliness away, though. Perhaps it is so obvious that it's the reason behind why the redheaded waitress joins you in your booth, sliding in opposite of you with a warm smile on her face that forces you to drag your eyes away from the laptop.

"Hi, Wanda," you greet her, taking out the headphones from your ears.

"I like you too much to let you sit here alone on a Friday night. That is just not acceptable, honey," she says, reaching over to close your laptop. The gesture earns an offended gasp that doesn't quite carry the conviction a genuine one would.

"Does it matter if I would have done the same thing at home?" you ask meekly, reaching for the glass of water you've settled with so far. "I'm at least a little more social here..."

"No. That won't do it either," she tells you, already halfway up from her seat. "Put that thing away and join me by the bar counter. I'll have Steve whip you up one of those fruity drinks you like."

A quiet chuckle through a sigh is all the answer Wanda gets before she turns around, heading away from you with her hair swinging from her ponytail.

"No grumpy bartender here tonight?" you ask while sitting down at one of the stools placed by the counter, giving a glance to the tall blonde occupying the space Bucky usually has. "Has he quit of misery after I didn't drink up the Tequila Sunrise he made me the other day?"

Wanda smiles, shaking her head while sharing a knowing glance with the man. "Bucky doesn't get in until ten today, miss. But I'm sure I can occupy your time until then if you wish to see him so desperately."

Heat rushes to your cheeks so quickly that no matter what you say it will most likely come across as a horrible excuse. "No—no. Not like that," you nearly seethe through a whisper, leaning in like your words are somehow a secret. You hear Steve chuckle heartily from a few feet away. "Don't laugh at me, Steve! I just want more free drinks, that's all!"

Your attempts to deflect the attention away from you fails miserably, because there's that eyebrow lift from Wanda and amused shake of head from Steve that tells you they've got it all wrong. You don't actually know why Bucky keeps evading your attempts to pay for your drinks. A groan sounds from your lips while you bury your face in your hands.

"Oh, just give me that drink I was promised. I think I'm gonna need that if I'm gonna spend the next few hours with you two."

Slipping your palms away from your hidden face, you're met with two warm smiles, Steve leaning his hands against the counter and Wanda loading up shots on a tray. And the absolutely infuriating man dares to open his mouth once more, delivering one of those smug lines he always seem to have.

"Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you say."

Four and a half drinks and two hours later, you've relocated to a booth and taken off the sweater previously covering your arms. Wonderfully tipsy, probably drunk but absolutely in denial, and unexpectedly in tears from laughter. Squeezed in between the large and boisterous man who you've come to know is named Dugan and his trusty friend Gabe, you're perfectly content and more happy than you have been since you moved here.

A harmless biker gang consisting of a bunch of old friends in their late-thirties to mid-forties is the last group of people you would've thought you'd end up in conversation with tonight, but god, are they wonderful. Steve sent you here in exile after you started getting too chatty during the third drink, to the point where he had trouble doing his job. Who knew a little bit of alcohol was all you needed to get out of your shell?

Unfortunately, or maybe it is a blessing in disguise, you don't even notice when Bucky turns up behind the bar counter to start his shift for the night. Though he notices you. Oh, it's very first thing he sees—you throwing your head back in laughter, reaching for your glass while Morita gestures wildly through one of his infamous stories. You're drunk. He sees it so clearly, and you're so different.

Bucky almost scowls, because he despises himself for taking note of how you've held yourself, how you talked and grew shy and apprehensive and how you held back during your visits. All of that is gone—now sits a free-spirited woman on the verge of slurring her words, having so much fun that he nearly wants to shake his head.

"What is she doin' there?" he mumbles while making his way to Steve, who's drying his hands on a towel.

"Who?" the blonde asks in return with an amused smile, despite having spotted the way Bucky's eyes drifted to your figure. He only earns a glare in answer. "Sent her away a while ago. Apparently that one is a talker with a few drinks in her blood. Would tell you to keep an eye on her, but seems like you already got that handled."

"Punk."

"Jerk." Steve smiles. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky mutters dismissively, barely even noticing as his friend slips away.

And no matter how much he trusts Dugan and Morita and everyone else around that table, Bucky keeps an extra eye on the group during the next half an hour. They're good men, but it still unnerves him as you sit there laughing and managing to keep their attention through your questionable attempts at storytelling.

And maybe he spends a bit too much time letting his gaze drift down to how your cleavage looks in that cute little blouse of yours, but he spends just as much time watching the way your eyes light up right before a big laugh escapes your lips, and your hands flying wildly around you while engaging in the conversation. It's not often he wishes to be a part of a large, rowdy group, but in this moment he would rather sit there than stand behind this bar.

It's not until you make your way out of the booth, standing up on wobbly legs and a giggle on your lips, that he forces himself to remain professional and do his goddamn job. You stagger up to the bar counter, hoisting yourself up on a stool despite having no plans to stay very long.

"Bucky. Bucky-boy," you say, smiling up at him while your eyes blink slowly. "I want a shot. Vodka."

"Vodka?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that, Y/n?"

"Yes. 100%. It's vodka or nothing."

Bucky turns his head, keeps his smile away from you, before schooling himself and letting the corners of his lips fall once more.

"Think you'd be better off with nothing, huh? You're gonna be sick, Y/n."

"No. I promise I won't, Bucky." You lean your chin in your hands, fluttering your lashes while pleading with your gaze. "Please. Please. Bucky, you know you're my favorite bartender."

"Flattery is not gonna work on me, peach," he says, gulping to rid himself of the nickname he just let slip.

But you barely notice. At least, that's what he reads your wandering gaze that stays anywhere but at him as. And despite his gratefulness for your distant mind he still finds a part of him wishing for you to react.

Against his better judgement, he pours that one last shot for you. It's not that he finds it hard to say no to you. Denying your wishes is something that he does constantly, it seems like, everytime he insists on letting you go without paying. You really have fought back fiercely these last few weeks though.

Bucky is made to regret his decision remarkably a few hours later, just thirty minutes shy of closing and the bar mostly empty. Except for you, Dugan and Morita, that is. He did not expect to find you so mischievous while drunk. How you managed to get a hold of more alcohol without him noticing is a little amusing and slightly disheartening, but mostly concerning.

You're slumped in the corner of the bar, eyes fluttering closed every other second while desperately trying not to throw up. Apologies to the men beside you have been rolling off your tongue repeatedly for the last ten minutes. You do not want them to feel obligated to stay for your sake, but quite frankly you are not fit to be alone either.

The sound of voices speaking softly, probably, buzzes in the background. You let your eyes rest, head leaning against the wall, heavy breaths escaping your nose. Sleep feels like the only sane option in this moment if you are to rid yourself of the horrible feeling coursing through your body.

Hands on your thighs gently shake you awake. The bar is empty. Only the usually grumbling bartender is sitting in front of you, crouched down, brows furrowed into a concerned frown. The image is strange.

"Hey, Y/n," he says, much too indistinguishable for your drunken mind to comprehend. "Y/n, I need you to drink some water. Think you can do that for me?"

All you muster up in answer is a nod. Bucky's quite sure you don't know what you're agreeing to. Despite your less than functioning state you manage to bring the glass to your lips, gulping down the cool liquid with only a few drops spilling down your chin. A calloused thumb wipes away the water from your skin.

"Let's get you home, huh, sweetheart?" Bucky mumbles under his breath, much too quietly for you to hear. He doesn't know if he'll ever have the courage to call you things like that out loud.

He's glad he walked Wanda to work after she'd stayed at your apartment only the week prior. Taking you home to his place would feel both inappropriate and a violation to your safety. He would never do anything to jeopardize it, but you don't know that. You can't possibly trust him like that yet.

"Do you think you will throw up, Y/n?" he asks you while helping you up the staircase, his arm thrown around your waist and yours around his shoulders.

"No. No. 'S better," you mumble, squinting to see through the poorly lit building.

"Are you sure? Do you need me to stay for a moment?" he adds, even though the question is more a request in reality. Leaving you alone in this state feels so fundamentally wrong in his bones. It nearly aches, the thought of his absence during your hardships.

"You trying to get 'nto my bed, Barnes?" you say, cracking a smile while your eyes flutter closed, head lolling onto his shoulder. Bucky doesn't answer. He can't. Not that you'd remember his reaction tomorrow, or anything that was said during the past hour. He's never seen your bad jokes on a roll like this, despite having been properly used to them by now.

Fishing out the keys from your bag is more complicated than expected. Having someone slumped against your side, barely conscious, will inevitably have that effect even for someone like Bucky. Cold gusts of wind from the open windows meet damp skin once he steps inside the apartment, carefully maneuvering you to the dresser you have standing in your hallway. Kneeling down to untie your shoelaces, he finds himself sporting a stupid grin while hearing your giggles.

"It tickles," you say through a hiccup, the muffled thump of your head meeting the wall behind you sounding through the apartment.

"Just a few seconds more," Bucky answers, fingers clasped around your leg while removing the shoe from your foot.

And he makes the mistake of glancing up at you from where he's kneeling, meeting the intense gaze directed at him he haven't quite seen before. Not like that, like you're looking at him now. But you're still drunk. He notices that so clearly as you fall down on top of your sheets, sinking into the soft duvet with a hum on your lips. The presence of him in the room is barely noticed, he believes, until your voice breaks the silence of the cold room.

"You're so nice to me, Buck," you mumble into your sheets. And he thinks that, no, he isn't very nice to you at all. Not in the ways that matter, in the ways that are obvious or straightforward or particularly noticeable at all. Do you really notice?

"Go to sleep, honey," he says, tracing his fingertip just over your cheek. Your lips part, eyes closed.

"Sweet...Buck."

Your breathing evens out only a few seconds later, without the end of your words meeting his ears. Bucky stands in the doorway, turns your lights off, for a whole minute before he gathers himself enough to leave. It's getting too real, too close, doing this. It's not his right to act this domestic with you when he can barely pay you a simple compliment. Constantly watching from afar, listening to your rambles and once in a while offering a piece of himself that can only count as a crumb. What he has with you can surely only exist in his mind.

He manages to lock the door from the inside. Spending the night guarding your door from the outside would piss Steve off, having him sleep-deprived tomorrow at work. Or today, isn't it?

He sees the soft fabric of your dress, white flowers against dark blue, fluttering around your knees before your face comes into view. Only you, only this goddamn girl who comes into this bar with pretty dresses that drive him fucking crazy. He nearly wishes you would stop showing up like that, in case that would hinder him from fucking his own fist on sleepless nights to the thought of unwrapping you from those dresses. But he would never deprive himself like that—no, seeing you so beautiful and soft gifts him enough life to remain calm in even the nastiest of bar fights and disputes with annoying college kids.

Your name lingers at the back of his throat, syllables rolling on his tongue until it nearly slips out. It does halfway, before he witnesses your hand encased in someone else's, a man just behind you with his hands on your skin. Fingers digging into the curve of your waist, scrunching the fabric, a nervous smile on your lips. The glass in Bucky's hand shatters quietly. No one else notices but him when the shards carve into his skin and draw red drops of blood down his palm.

He looks away. He doesn't want to, god knows he wants to always let his gaze travel over your figure, but he has to. Your eyes flicker over towards the bar counter, worriedly searching for Bucky in some grasp of comfort. But then again, if you actually caught eye contact you might have abandoned the whole thing if only for just a small chance to spend the night with Bucky instead. But the guy asked you out, and he's handsome and charming and probably wonderful, and Wanda insisted you try new things now that you're in a new town.

"Hey, you're bleeding," Sam calls out, frowning while eyeing the red liquid dripping down Bucky's hand.

The latter grunts in response, sending one last glare your way before slipping in the back. He comes back with a bandage wrapped around his palm, a scowl deeper than the one before, and a new costumer waiting for him with a face that begs to take his fist. He hates the guy already.

The man orders a drink for you. It bugs you a little that he didn't ask what you wanted, but you make no move to acknowledge it. Leaning your chin in the palm of your hand, you gaze down at the chipped pink polish on your nails and make no move to pay any attention to what's going on at the counter.

"Busy night, huh?" the man asks, leaning against the weathered wood with an arrogant smirk Bucky would just love to wipe out. He really does goddamn hate talking to people.

With a grunt he answers, ignoring the question in favor of concentrating on making the drinks. The punk ordered a fucking martini for you. Did he even ask you what you wanted? Bucky knows damn well that you would spit it out rather than force one of those down.

He casts an eye your way, seeing you peel off your chipped nail polish the way you do when you're nervous. That dress you're wearing—the punk with you tonight doesn't deserve it. Doesn't deserve seeing the way the fabric flows down your legs, sweeps against your knees when you walk. Not when he couldn't even bother asking you what you wanted. A martini? Seriously?

Glasses clink against wood a little too harshly, sweeping near the edge once he sets down the finished drinks. An old-fashioned and a Paloma stands swirling in front of a scowling bartender, hands grasping the counter harshly while glaring at the costumer.

"This is not what I ordered," the man says, eyeing the grapefruit pink liquid in front of him. Sam sends an amused side-eye towards Bucky that he tries to ignore. The man eyes it with distaste, frowning while bringing it up to his nose to smell it. Bucky hopes he spills the drink on his ridiculously crisp shirt.

"She doesn't like martinis," Bucky mutters under his breath, looking over at where you're sitting once more. You're tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, biting down on your lip.

"How the hell would you know?" the man spits out. A small drop of saliva hits Bucky's cheek. It takes every ounce of composure not to flinch. "This is none of your damn business. Do your job."

"She doesn't like martinis," Bucky repeats again, slower, glaring him right in the eyes with teeth grinding against each other. "Should've asked her before you walked up here and ordered."

He scoffs, averting his gaze with a roll of his eyes before taking a hold of the two glasses and walking away. Bucky sees the guy slide into the booth, right opposite you, and the way your eyebrows lift slightly in surprise as you notice your drink. He hears the guy take credit for the choice of drink, act like he just knew you liked it from the beginning. Bucky's pissed off.

"You're gonna kill the guy with that glare," Sam says through an amused grin, taking a swig of his beer.

"Eat shit."

"And you should be nicer to that girl, you know?" Sam says as soon as he sits down at the bar, sporting that everpresent smirk that tells him he knows much more than he lets on.

"What d'ya mean?" Bucky mumbles, a scowl on his face that always seems to be there when Sam shows up. Thank fucking god he loves the punk.

"You're broody. She's trying to talk to you, but you always act like a dick except when you refuse to let her pay for her drinks."

"I'm like this to everyone," he answers.

"No, you're not. I've seen you been nice, and this is not it. The poor girl have been here for six months, doesn't have a lot of friends besides the people in this bar. She doesn't need an asshole of an admirer right now, does she?"

Bucky refrains from sighing out loud, opting to wipe down the counter in silence instead. He knows very well what Sam is saying is true. Too much, probably, but he can't really help it. You're too soft, too nice, too different than what he is used to. Having a conversation with someone who genuinely listens like that, honestly wants to know what his day has been like or what his favorite thing to cook for himself is or what he watches on a Friday night—it's new.

If there's one thing Bucky Barnes has learnt in the countless of hours with Dr. Raynor, it's that he's allergic to vulnerability and would do pretty much anything to avoid it. Including his problem with going out on the bar floor. And treating you less than what you deserve, despite how much you never let it affect you. You keep coming, keep trying to make conversation even if you don't always get an answer. By this point you've told him pretty much everything about yourself just to fill the silences.

"I'm heading out." Sam interrupts his deep train of thought, setting down the glass with a clink. "Lighten up, will you? Be nice."

With an acknowledging nod he sends his friend off, tending to the refills and newly stumbled in costumers while trying to stop himself from glancing over at you every other second.

He fails miserably.

Bucky could feel his temper run away from him, far from where he has any control of his actions or whatever is said from his mouth. No one could blame him if he socked the guy in his eye right now, could they?

He didn't want to hear the conversation going on right outside of the door. Or to say he isn't intentionally listening would be a blatant lie, but he wishes he hadn't heard the words coming out of your date's mouth. It's bordering on astonishing how you've managed to find the biggest jerk there is on the market.

And it's not a complete lie to say that Bucky wished during the evening that you would realize what a prick the guy was, abandon him and come sit with Bucky by the bar counter instead. But for god's sake—this is not what he wished for.

"It was really nice to meet up with you, John, but I don't think we're a good match," you had said. Politely.

That simple sentence earned a two minute sermon on how John goddamn Walker had only asked you out to be nice, to make you feel better about yourself because you are just so 'fucking sad', aren't you? But of course you would be too self-absorbed to accept an invitation back to his place for a night of what probably would have been disappointing sex. And that's fine, you know, because you aren't very pretty anyways and you're also boring and annoying and a fucking bitch.

John had grabbed your waist, pulled you into him, right as he led you out of the bar. And it felt wrong. You hadn't planned on going anywhere with him from the beginning, but the conviction only grew when he put his hands on you. The polite rejection came tumbling out of your mouth before you even knew you were talking. That he would go on to push you down in every possible way for several minutes was unexpected. Shocking, even. Maybe that's the reason behind your tears as you stand alone on the curb in the middle of the night, hands wrapped around yourself and dreading walking inside again. But you force yourself to.

The bell rings as you close the door gently behind you, gently despite the tears gathering in your eyes, gently despite the heated words being thrown at you just a moment prior. You're too gentle for your own good. Bucky has thought that ever since the first day you stepped inside this lanky old bar.

"Hey," he calls out, setting down the bottle of Bacardi he has in his hand, following your trail to your discarded bag in one of the booths with his eyes.

Your steps are hasty, rushed while you ignore his call for you. He goddamn hates it—the tension in your posture and the way you're trying to hide the tears you're furiously wiping away from your face, back facing him. You won't let him see you.

"Y/n, slow down," Bucky calls out once more, reluctantly, because there's a hesitance somewhere along with the vulnerability you bring out in him. None of his other goddamn regulars make him worry like this.

Your hand reaches into the very depth of your bag, scrambling around for a stressed ten seconds before your fingers clasp around the cream wallet with small flowers on that Bucky can't help but think is adorable.

A few steps, heels clinking against the wooden floor, and a fifty dollar bill is smacked onto the newly cleaned counter, still damp with small droplets of water. Bucky's face falls into a deeper frown, if possible, because you know damn well you're not paying for anything you have in this house. Even if it's covering for the punk who walked out on you.

"No."

The word is a grumble, stone cold and gruff and accompanying the nearly incomprehensible sound of the bill sliding back towards you.

"Just keep it," you say, voice breaking even though you try so hard to keep it strong. Your eyes are not looking at him—he needs you to look at him so badly—but he sees the slight wobble of your lower lip and the trace of mascara starting to dissolve from your lashes.

"You know you're not paying," he answers, adamantly keeping his fingers on the money in case you get the idea of sliding it back towards him. He knows you're goddamn stubborn, he's gotten that by now.

Deep breath. Head cast down, a few blinks. "Please, Bucky. Take it," you say, an ounce more of conviction in your words while you bite down on your lip. Your hands are still shaking, legs desperate to carry you out of there before mortification chips away on more of your pride.

"I said no," he repeats with just a hint of an order, a harshness to his words that he didn't mean to use. Never with you.

"Just take it for god's sake!" you yell, unable to keep the tears from spilling down your cheeks with the strain. "Why do you—why do you always have to make it so goddamn hard?!"

Your hands come up to your face, a groan of frustration escaping your lips while turning away from his burning gaze. He's always looking too closely, too much. Even if there's two dozens of patrons in the bar, it always feels like his eyes are on you and you hate it. Especially now. It makes you fidget and worry too much, about the way you look and what kind of expression you're making or if there's a trace of food on your skin.

Bucky doesn't inch back. He would have, hadn't he had such a grip on the counter beneath him. Not once has he heard you speak with such animosity, nor volume.

"Y/n—"

"No. Have a good night, James," you force out of yourself, grabbing your bag before he has a chance to convince you to stay.

Bucky's legs itch. They itch with the urge to drag you into his arms, the urge to stalk down the jerk who made you cry, the urge to get on his knees and beg for you to 'please, sweetheart, look at me for god's sake'.

The door opens, old familiar bell rings, and the eyes of Bucky are pinpointing you so hard that it might as well have been a laser pointer. In your haste, you fail to remember the doorstep several inches too tall which always needs caution unless you plan to trip in front of a dozen drunk men.

It's the last straw. Everything spills out of your bag, scatters over the floor and catches the attention of the few people remaining. You freeze, a shaky breath escaping you before you finally let go of your desperate attempt to hold back the tears. Knees nearly touch the floor as you crouch down, burying your face in your hands along with the sound of your sobs.

And Bucky sees it, of course he does. His heart fucking shatters where he stands, just a few inches from where the counter ends and opens up to the floor of the bar. But he hesitates. You're crying for god's sake and he has the nerve to hesitate, over wether or not he should leave what he has lived after for years to comfort you.

"Shit, fucking—" Bucky breathes out, eyes flickering over the bar in panic with his palm running over his mouth. The sound of your whimpers fills his ears, scrapes against his eardrums and he thinks he's never heard something as painful as your sadness.

But then he hears your soft whine, face falling into the palms of your hands, and Bucky doesn't give a damn about whatever hesitations that have been keeping him rooted in his place. He rounds the corner of the bar, forcing himself to look at you because he thinks that if he even sends a glance any other way he will back out.

Dugan had already begun picking up your things, gathering them into your handbag while you lean against the wall right by the door. Bucky releases a shaky breath, unfurling his fingers from where they've been tightly formed into a fist, kneeling down right in front of your figure on the floor.

Bucky tethers onto a thin thread of restraint, seeing you so devastated. He can't pull you into his chest, keep your teary eyes away from the world facing you outside. That rule he made for himself has been an invisible fucking thing that had no real power to stop him, and still he never felt like he could break it. But he sits here, right now, searching for anything to say that will make it better. Anything.

This goddamn rule—it didn't help him in the least from getting attached to the girl hovering around his bar in the most unexpected times in her pretty dresses and with that smile and her words that infuriate him to the point where he can't even work because you're there. Right there, in a booth a few feet away or just right by the bar counter. It doesn't matter where you sit, or if you're even at the bar, because Bucky constantly finds himself keeping an eye out for you.

"Y/n, hey. Look at me," Bucky says, laying his hands over your shoulder. "Sweetheart, 's alright. Will you stand up for me, please? Come sit down in the booth."

He can't stop staring at you. Not even as the bell clinks again, alerting him of a new visitor despite the late hour and pouring rain outside. It's not until the offending cable-knitted sweater comes into his sight once more that he dares lifting his attention from your crying figure.

"Forgot my fucking phone," John says with a scowl as Bucky pinpoints him with his glare.

The clench of his jaw is sure to shatter his teeth eventually, but the nerve of your goddamn date to show his face here again after he made you cry is out of this world. That's evident on not only Bucky's hold, but the remaining regulars not caught up in comforting you. If looks could kill, as you say.

Picking up his phone in the booth with arrogance radiating from John’s hold, Bucky nearly lets him go until the jerk sends a distasteful glare your way. He loses it.

All inhibitions fly out of the window as Bucky pushes himself up from his kneel, steps out onto the sticky floor, stalking towards John right as he turns around. A puff of air is forced out of him as he's met with Bucky's scowling face, backing him into the edge of a table a few feet behind him with a death grip on the collar of his sweater.

John glances down at the metal encasing his shirt with sudden alarm, trying to shrug out of Bucky's grip to no avail.

"You think you can come back in here and act like nothing?" Bucky's voice rumbles with the effort to keep it on a low enough volume. Despite being in the middle of the fucking bar floor he really doesn't feel too keen on exposing this conversation to your ears. "Like you didn't just insult her in every fucking way?"

"What the fuck, man? Get off of me!" John seethes, thrashing once more without any luck, earning him another harsh shove against the table. But his cheeks are burning with shame, because there's nothing more embarrassing to a man like him than to be stuck under another man's thumb.

"Don't ever come in here again. Send another glance her way and I'll fucking end you."

"This is—this is illegal!"

His shouts catch your attention, drawing you away from the shoulder of Dugan to worryingly stick your head out to see what's going on. You saw him come in again, of course you did, but somehow you managed to escape the notice of whatever confrontation is going on. Most of all the sight of Bucky anywhere else than behind his trusted counter sets your heart pounding a little faster in your rib cage. He went out onto the floor.

"I don't care. Get out of my bar before I make you get on your knees and beg her for forgiveness," Bucky grits out through his teeth, shoving the blonde away from the wall. He stumbles, only catching his balance once a few feet away from the door.

With a shake of his head, Bucky turns around, letting the hardened clench of his jaw turn into a concerned frown once more without a second glance to any of the shocked gazes on his back. The hand on his shoulder catches him off guard. Really, if he believed John had any guts left in him he would have foreseen it, but the fist against his cheek hits him real hard.

Stumbling a few steps back with his hand flying to his now bleeding face, he doesn't even have to stave off any other attack before Dugan and his men come to his aid.

"Fucking asshole!" John shouts as he's dragged out of the bar, in lack of any other more creative insults.

Bucky wipes away the blood from his cheek, lifts his eyebrows in slight amusement, while eyeing the man getting kicked out onto the curb. A few choice words are delivered by Dugan and Morita, muffled but still heard through the glass windows, as John gets up from the ground with spit flying out of his mouth.

Turning around to the bar once more, he leans his hands against the counter while wincing through the newfound throbbing in his face. He remains that way, even when the sound of soft footsteps and heels clinking against the wooden floor fills his ears.

"Bucky?" you nearly whisper, nearing him with caution. He can almost imagine your furrowed brows, your concerned face, perfectly.

Bucky turns his head to the side, only enough for you to make out the profile of his face. A bruise is already developing, drawing a wince from your lips.

"Are you okay?" you ask, reaching your hand out but withdrawing it the second his eyes flicker down towards it. He wishes you wouldn't have.

He finally turns around. Seeing the remnants of tears dampening your skin steals the attention away from the hit he took to his face, if even for just a second. Nearly makes him run out and get a hit in himself, before he remembers the question so softly spoken from your lips.

"Yeah. Yeah, 'm fine." He nods, averts his eyes for just a moment. "Are you alright?" he asks, looking down at you through his lashes like that, like he always does, but with a new kind of softness to his gaze that makes heat travel to your face.

You nod in answer as well, wiping underneath your nose with the back of your hand. "You're bleeding, Bucky," you observe, trailing your eyes over the blooming purple patch of skin, stained with the red liquid dripping from his wound. "I should clean it up."

His eyebrows lift just slightly at the suggestion. Having you touching him like that—he's not sure he can take it. Not when it's him that should be comforting you.

"Can I?" you ask, looking at his bleeding wound so intently that he fears you will combust if he doesn't let you. It's not right denying you like that, he tells himself right before opening his mouth to answer.

"Yeah, yeah. Okay." He nods. "Let me just..." Bucky points behind him towards the counter where a first aid kit is stashed somewhere.

"No. You sit down," you say with conviction, pointing to the padded booths behind you in return. "I'll get it."

Bucky can't do anything else than give you another nod, because that's all the communication he can apparently muster right now, knowing that he'd probably do anything you tell him to. Except taking your money.

He looks over his shoulder as he walks towards the seats, seeing you slip out of your heels in the middle of the floor. The corners of his lips quirk up just slightly, sitting down with a silent puff of air escaping his lips. It's about damn time for you to take off those uncomfortable-looking heels. The thought of you squeezing your poor feet into something for that jerk's sake makes him pissed off.

You disappear behind the counter as if you do it everyday. But then again, you're here often, wether it's to talk to Wanda or work at something on your computer or only to sit with a drink and observe the people of the bar. Unlike you, who always chip away at your nail polish while nervous, Bucky keeps his gaze on your figure as you crouch down away from his sight, waiting for your face to return.

The sound of scrambling through the shelves comes from behind the bar. A cheery 'Oh! Found it!' erupts from your lungs that dissolves the silent tension you held before, puts a goddamn smile on the brooding Bucky Barnes's face, until it disappears just as quickly when you bump your head on the polished wood on your way up.

"Ow!" You wince, rubbing the back of your head as you rise to your full height once more, a first aid kit in hand.

Bucky raises himself from his seat with alarm, a step forward with a frown, but is stopped by your lifted hand.

"It's fine, 's fine. I'm okay," you say, unfurling the furrow of your brows as quickly as it appeared.

It's obvious that you intend to walk past him, access the seat next to where he sat just a few seconds ago, but it's hard to do so when a 220-pound man blocks your way. Somehow he manages to be determined yet hesitant in his movements when he lays his hands on your head, tilts it forward to see where you hit it. His fingers run over the slightly red mark that will be gone in a few hours.

"I'm okay. Happens all the time," you assure him in a near whisper. You're almost sure an amused breath escapes him, but it feels out of character for him to do so. Especially now.

And once again you attempt to move past him, but the sudden presence of his hands on your waist is enough to throw your entire sanity out of your head. You squeal when he lifts you, setting you down on the table in front of him with an ease you can't help but be in awe over.

"Oh," you breathe out, watching him intently while he sets himself down in the booth right next to you.

The front of your shins are pressed against his knees. A seemingly innocent contact, but it doesn't stop your nerves from wreaking havoc and sending shivers all over your limbs. It doesn't help, it really doesn't, that Bucky is looking up at you again with that intense stare that forces you to avert your gaze. It's not that you don't want to look at him—he has the most beautiful and blue eyes you've probably ever seen—but it's too much. You can't do that and also succeed in hiding whatever you're feeling for the man.

Instead you carefully search through the first aid kit, closing your fingers that are just trembling slightly around some disinfectant. Of course you spill some on your dress, but you barely even notice. Bucky does.

"Come here," you whisper, motioning his face closer with your fingers. He listens to you without hesitation, despite knowing that having your faces so close will make it hard for him to keep himself from devouring your lips.

And then your fingers slip under his chin, tilts it upwards, and he nearly groans. Having your hands on him, despite how little contact there actually is between you, is a godsend Bucky has longed for since you first stepped into this bar a few months ago. And then you—god he can barely formulate a thought in that dumb brain of his—you trap your bottom lip between your teeth as you clean away the blood from his cheek. He can't stop himself.

A silent gasp escapes your lips as Bucky's thumb frees the prison your lip was held in, stopping your movements only for the sake of watching him. You can see that it wasn't even nearly intentional on the way his eyes widen just slightly, lips parting in some form of shock. But still his thumb lingers, runs over your lip for a second more before he retracts it.

"Sorry," he mumbles, clenching his fist tightly underneath the table. His lack of self control is laughable.

"It's okay," you tell him, gently grasping his face once more. Returning to your service without commenting on it further. He's thankful for that. You're a little disappointed. The thought of it leading to something more nags at you, tugs at your heartstrings that make your pulse go haywire. He hears it.

The pad of your finger brushes over the small bandaids you place over his wound, smoothing it over his skin while a frown grows on your face. Most likely you would have cried if you got a punch like that. Not only because of the pain, but because it's humiliating letting someone hurt you like that. It's humiliating that you let your date insult you like he did, humiliating that you stood there listening to his words to the point of tears.

"I'm sorry," you say, retracting your touch from his skin and Bucky nearly growls.

"For what?" he asks you. Your gaze is still stuck on his wound.

"What he did to you. If I didn't...I shouldn't have—"

"No." Bucky shakes his head, cutting you off before you even have a chance to finish that goddamn sentence. He won't even hear it.

With a sigh, Bucky gathers the courage to lay his palm over your thigh. Holding you still, keeping you here with him.

"It's not your damn place to apologize for what that fucking jerk did. He ain't got no right to come here and ignore what you want and call you those...things when you're not what he expected. I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I can't let that slide. Not when it comes to you."

Not when it comes to you. With a gulp, you force yourself to take in the other words that came out of his mouth and not just the whole of the last sentence.

"But he hurt you." Your hand comes to cup his cheek, thumb running over the blooming bruise once more. "Because of me."

A gasp escapes you as the cold metal of Bucky's left hand comes to rest against the crook of your waist, right hand around your wrist as he holds your hand to his face. Securing it there, afraid you will slip away. He needs your touch.

"Listen to me, honey," he tells you. "I'm a military vet. My best friend got me into three dozens of fights as a kid. I lost my goddamn arm working in this very bar. A punch is nothing."

You raise an eyebrow. This punch—it's not nothing. Doesn't matter how little it is in comparison to everything else he's been through. Bruises and blood don't belong on his skin.

"I don't care about that, Bucky," you say. "I don't want you to get hurt."

He shakes his head, averting his gaze to the door still unopened since Dugan's men dragged your date out. Squeezing your thigh once more, he catches himself having his hands on you without even thinking about it. He didn't even notice.

"Is this alright?" he asks, nodding down to where his palms lay over your figure. Better late than never.

You nod furiously, more eagerly than what you intended, but it's true nonetheless. It's so goddamn alright that you wish he'd never not have his hands on you. With a deep breath and burst of confidence, your hand slips down from his face to his left arm, running it down gently until you reach his hand.

It's unfamiliar, that kind of soft contact with the limb, Bucky realizes as soon as your fingertips trail over the intricate pattern running along the black.

"You lost it in this bar?" you ask, brows furrowing into a frown that he wants to smooth out.

Bucky nods. "Lost it when I was the new kid around here. We had these jerks come here few times a week—Hydra, they called themselves. The leader, Rumlow, he was a real shitty person. Came in with his gang one night already drunk out of their minds, high too probably, looking to pick a fight."

It's your turn now to squeeze his hand. Fingers trail over his palm, tracing a soft pattern that calms him better than the glass of whiskey he has beside him.

"They started picking on this young kid—Peter, who worked extra shifts on the weekends. Pulled out a knife eventually. I had to step in, safety guards weren't really a thing here back then," Bucky says. You notice the clench of his jaw, the tension he holds, and still he doesn't let any of it bleed out on his hold on you.

"Got ugly real fast. Brock and many of his friends had been serving too, overseas. They knew what they were doing, you know? At the end of the day, there were four of them against one. Had no chance, really."

"I'm sorry that happened to you, Bucky," you whisper. "Is this...you never step out past the bar counter. Wanda told me. Is this why?"

He nods in answer, knowing that he just did so after seven years of keeping this goddamn rule. His nod is answer enough for you, it seems like, because you move on to the next question before you even react.

"Where is Rumlow now?" you ask reluctantly, tightening your hold on his hand. He sees the way your gaze travels to the window for just a second, as if he would appear out of the blue to come for Bucky once more.

It's so goddamn endearing that he can't help himself. His hands travel to your waist, lifting you down from the table, placing you in his lap. The soft pads of your feet cling onto the sides of his thighs, heat rushing to your cheeks so quickly that Bucky can almost feel the temperature radiating from you. But you don't protest in the least. Instead you give him a shy smile, hands ghosting over his skin until they find their place at the nape of his neck.

"He's serving time, sweetheart. Can't get to me or anyone else in a long time," Bucky assures you, running his hand down the small of your back while gazing up at you. His head has fallen back onto the top of the sofa, resting. "You know I wouldn't even let you in this bar if there was a chance he and Hydra could come in?"

"No?" you ask, stopping the slow movements of your hands.

"Absolutely not. If someone laid a hand on you..." Bucky trails his fingers up to your cheek, tucking strands of hair behind your ear. "Don't think I would be able to handle that very well."

A shaky breath escapes your lips, hits the top of his nose with the proximity. He knows he just revealed too much, too much about what he feels for you, but it doesn't really matter anymore. He already has you in his lap, stroking your hair with a softness he's never displayed before. You have to know by now.

"Why did you go out today, Bucky? Why did you do that for me?" you ask him in a near whisper.

He looks down at where you’re pressed against him with a deprecating smile. "Steve told me it was obvious from the second night when I kept giving you free drinks even though I said I wouldn't, that punk," he answers you.

And despite his words, his conviction in your knowledge of how absolutely gone he is for you, your eyes still widen along with your fingers digging into his shoulders tightly enough to bruise. It almost makes him angry, the way you're so used to having real affection kept away from you that you haven't seen his infatuation. But then again, he hasn't been exactly perfect in handling his feelings. Sam gave him a good reminder of that earlier.

"Hell, I don't blame you for missin' it," he speaks up again when your silence remains. "Been a real jerk sometimes. Couldn't even talk to you for real the first few weeks."

And to his surprise, you let a small chuckle slip out between your lips. It's not really the reaction Bucky expected.

"You know, I've been telling myself that Wanda was the reason I came here so often?" you say, tracing the outline of his face with your fingertip. "Thought I could trick myself into liking you less if only my reasoning was something else than staring at you working all night. But I don't think that's possible—not looking at you, I mean."

"Hm?" Bucky smirks up at you, drawing a blinding grin from your lips.

"When something...someone lovely exists in front of you, just like that, you would think it a great disservice to whoever created that thing if you do not look at it. And my god, are you beautiful, Bucky."

"Beautiful?" His eyes flicker down to his arm for just a thousandth of a second—you catch it, the way his smile falters just as quickly as it returns.

"Yeah. Surely you must have noticed. You do own a mirror, do you?" you say, melting under his touch as it draws you closer to him. Chest to chest.

"I do," he answers. But he's not looking at you anymore. Or he is, he is looking at you, but not at your eyes. No, his gaze have flickered down to the swell of your lips. "I don't look at it very much."

"No?"

"No. Been spendin' all my time keeping an eye on the pretty girl hanging around the bar. Listening to her talkin' for hours, watching her get pissed drunk, working even though it's a Friday night. I could watch you breathe for hours and not tear my eyes away."

And that’s just what you do—breathe, shallow breaths that feel warm against Bucky’s skin. By now your gaze isn’t focused on his eyes anymore either. It sits so comfortably on the swell of his pink lips, begging for a touch with your own. Soon that silent plead turns real when his mouth forms after the words coming out through his lips.

“I have to kiss you, Y/n. Please let me,” he breathes out, panting, hands splayed out over your cheeks. Both warm and calloused, cold and hard. Perfectly Bucky.

“You don’t gotta ask,” you whisper, an inch away from him, noses touching.

A minute passes. 30 seconds. An hour. Two weeks? You don’t know and don’t care. Spending half a month having Bucky Barnes’s lips on yours would be a perfectly reasonable amount time, if not much too little. But oh, he lets out small whines when you distance yourself and you can’t help but giggle each time.

The next second he pulls you in again, demands the presence of your lips against his, orders your submission with his tongue. He groans, bucking up against your hips. God, the way he touches you, acts, make you desperate. You think you might be addicted to the sweet bourbon taste of Bucky Barnes.

“I knew it!” a shrill shriek erupts the enclosed space you shared with the man underneath you, tears you away from his lips with a soundless whine.

Wanda stands there, all smiling and giddy with a pouting Steve beside her, just behind the bar. He fishes out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans, plucking out a twenty dollar bill with a scowl. But despite it all, as he makes eye contact with Bucky, there’s a raise of his eyebrow and a small questioning smile on his lips.

You hurry to scramble off of Bucky’s lap, sitting down on your knees right beside him, a grounding metal hand on your waist. The embarrassment must be visible from miles away.

“Thought you’d never have the guts to ask her out,” Steve mutters under his breath. “You just made me lose twenty bucks, you punk.” He holds up the wrinkled bill before Wanda snatches it out of his hands.

The man beside you growls quietly, mumbles a ‘jerk’ under his breath, but you catch the small smirk on his lips anyways.

“Oh, c’mon. It was obvious that these two were gonna combust if they didn’t kiss by the end of the week,” Wanda says.

“Yeah, yeah. You know, Sam was about to ask her out. Said that if Buck didn’t make a move soon he would instead.”

Bucky’s grip on you tightens so much you have to gently loosen it with your fingers. It nearly makes you giggle, the way he’s glaring daggers at his friend sporting a knowing smirk. Steve knows exactly what kind of reaction that would summon out of him.

“That damn pu—“

“Hey,” you call out softly, hands engulfing his face until he’s facing you. “I’m yours, Bucky.”

His scowl softens, blue eyes running over your face for any sign of insincerity that he has never found the trace of in your expressions.

“If you’ll have me,” you add a few seconds later, an abrupt response to the realization that what Bucky is looking for might not be something more than a make-out session.

But then that frown turns into a devious smirk, eyes once more flickering down to your lips while his palms find their way to your hips.

“I’ll have you, darling. On every damn surface in my place, in every damn way I can have you.”

“We can still hear you!” Wanda shouts.

But that mischievous smirk doesn’t falter. No, instead a soft kiss is pressed to your lips, drawing an even bigger smile out of you.

“Good.”

#marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #steve rogers #bucky barnes angst #sam wilson #bartender!au #bartender!bucky Barnes

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navybrat817 · 1 year

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Bartender Bucky or Stalker Bucky. Which one is more into missionary position?

Okay, nonnie. I know I use "both" a lot for my answers, but I'm going to say it again. 😂 They both love it. And why?

Intimate with prolonged eye contact.

The stimulation. He wants you to feel good.

Pinned beneath him or tied up, you're completely surrounded by him while he dominates you.

Perfect position for kissing or whispering sweet nothings.

Can go fast or slow. Feral or tender.

And we know you like sleeping with your bartender. Haven't had the chance with your stalker yet. 😏

Love and thanks! ❤️

#navybrat answers #character ask #bucky barnes #bartender!bucky barnes #soft!dark bucky barnes #soft!dark bartender!bucky barnes #stalker!bucky barnes #yes please #sweet nonnie #sending love ❤️#asks are always appreciated

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duuhrayliegh · 5 months

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Oh my giddy aunt!!! YES PLEASE, MORE! I adore the storyline and your writing is on point!!

never fear y’all!!!!!!! i stg part two of consequences is on the way i just have yet to find a good stopping place (which is good for y’all in the end bc it means you get more of bucky & peanut)

in the meantime, here’s a little something something i wrote in bartender!bucky’s pov

#bucky x reader #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bartender!bucky x peanut!reader #bartender!bucky x reader #bartender!bucky barnes

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nickfowlerrr · 10 months

Note

Bellllaaaaa hiiii:)

I’m hooked on biker/bartender bucky(even tattoo artist bucky) with fucking Tats right now and I’d totally love if you could maybe write him and chubby/plus sized reader having a flirty relationship, maybe they’re like a fling or something. She works at his bar/tattoo shop, whichever au you pick, and they’re just fucking flirty and so naughty together lol

Smut is always welcomed!!

Thank u bby in advance<3 mwahhh🥺💋

about how it started..

pairing: bartender!bucky barnes x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. pining. flirting. smut. a little tiny hint of voyeurism/exhibitionism. if i’m missing something pls lmk!

words: 3.1k

notes: thank you, mickey, for sending this and sorry it took so long! i kind of wanted to incorporate more mention of his tattoos but i felt like i kept screwing it up so i kept it very vague - i’m sorry. but i hope you like this! i really love the idea and i’d love to do more with them in the future, too (including more of his tattoos too 🥴), so thank you, thank you, thank you!! 🥰

also this gif isn’t necessarily the bucky i was picturing but the visible tattoo feels right so whatever 😌

i hope you guys enjoy this! thank you in advance for reading and reblogging. as always, feedback and comments are always welcome and so appreciated! 🖤

You know you should be checking tables right now. You know. But goddamn if you can’t take your eyes off of the brawny, blue eyed, six foot something beauty that is Bucky Barnes.

You’re leaning against the far end of the bar, eyes fixed on him with no plans of trailing anywhere else.

He’s making another Sex on the Beach for the less than subtle, leggy, bleach blonde who’s been fawning over him since she got here. When she and the other college girls showed up, seeming to have already been pregaming, you knew tonight wouldn’t be uneventful.

You could obsess over the fact that the twenty one year old, who looked like she stepped right off a runway, was currently pushing her chest out and twirling her perfectly styled hair as she continued rambling on and on to Bucky, but his disinterest was clear to you as he kept a polite smile and entertained her as he finished the drink.

That, and because you had no right or reason to obsess over who was flirting with him and when.

Right?

You pushed the thoughts away as you admired Bucky’s profile. The way some of his hair had fallen out of his bun and hung around his perfectly sculpted face. How his brilliantly blue eyes shone still through the dark strands. And god did you envy his perfectly shaped nose. Your eyes fell to his lips as he smiled at something the girl said, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to care, you were so caught up in the beauty of it. He gave her the drink before he tucked the loose hair behind his ears.

You watched as the girl held out a twenty with a sultry smile and a wink before Bucky took it with a small laugh as she sauntered off back to her friends.

He put it in the cash box and then pushed up his sleeves as he took the time to count out how much the bar had made so far tonight.

You swear your mouth went dry as his tattoos were on display now. The dark ink that told story after story lining his forearm, and though you couldn’t see them right now, led all the way up his strong arm only added to the endless list of things that made him attractive. The artwork was mesmerizing. Just like him.

“You just gonna stare at me your whole shift, sweetheart?” he says to you without looking over, a smirk playing on his lips.

You take in a breath before pushing off the bar and walk over to meet him where he stands.

“Who says I was staring at you?” you question and lean over just slightly to glance at Torres who was pouring shots at the other end of the bar.

Bucky turns to follow your gaze and gives a laugh when he sees who you’re referring to.

“You and Torres, huh?” he plays along, smirk never faltering. He finishes his count and tucks the box back under the bar before he turns fully to you, blocking your view of the younger man completely, not that you cared.

Bucky walks into you, backing you up until you’re forced into the dead corner of the bar. You nearly stop breathing when he leans into you, his cologne invading your senses, his warmth surrounding you as he keeps you trapped between him and the bar, his thick arms on either side of you. Your lips part on an inaudible gasp when his lips brush against your ear.

“He know I was guts deep inside you last night? How you were screaming my name, begging me not to pull out? So fuckin’ desperate to be full‘a me,” he reminds you as his hands find your waist and he squeezes your softness before pulling you flush against him and letting his hands slide down to your ass. “How many times did you come again? I think I lost count,” he taunts as he leans over you and gropes you shamelessly.

You can see out past his shoulder as he nearly nuzzles into your neck, your eyes growing heavy with desire as your lips stay parted in heated awe.

Your eyes meet the blonde Bucky had just served as she looks on in a bit of a stupor before blinking and turning away with a hint of a blush warming her cheeks.

“Watch it, Barnes. You’re gonna lose out on tips if you’re not careful,” you warn playfully, if not a bit breathily.

When he starts kissing your neck, your knees become unsteady as a warmth starts to grow in your tummy.. and lower. Your hands latch onto the front of his shirt in an effort to stay steady.

You’ve noticed he’s been getting more brazen every day, more teasing and touching when he knows full well people can see, and the fact that he really doesn’t seem to care sparks a bit of hope that maybe this could grow into something more than what it started as.

But as Bucky nips and then gently kisses your pulse point, all thoughts fly right out the window as your main focus is solely on not melting into a puddle right then and there.

“Don’t care,” he says against your delicate skin, placing another kiss to your neck before you push him back just slightly. “What?” he asks as a half smile adorns his face when he stands up straight again, looking down at you.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish right now,” you say as you hold his smoldering gaze.

“You think I won’t fuck you right now?” he challenges, his seriousness sending a thrill up your spine.

You let out a nervous, disbelieving laugh as you push him to turn around. “I think you have some patrons waiting for your attention,” you say, ignoring the desire burning deep within at his words.

He sucks his teeth as he walks back over to the lively area of the bar, but not before eyeing you with a look that promises he isn’t done with you tonight.

You watch him back before spinning around and coming out from behind the bar to start checking tables.

—

You’re leaning over a newly emptied table close to the bar when you feel his heavy gaze on you.

The low cut scoop neck of your top already offered a generous view of your cleavage, but as you’re leaning over to wipe the table down, you’re sure he can see right down your shirt. You hide your smirk as you walk around the table and make a show of leaning over once more, your tight black skirt that hugs your tummy riding up your thick thighs as you do. You’d forgone underwear under your opaque black tights and wonder for a second how much he can see as you bend further over the table.

You don’t have much time to wonder as suddenly Bucky is right up behind you. You stand up against him, your ass brushing against his crotch. His hands are on your skirt as he adjusts it back down for you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks, voice low and husky.

“Cleaning a table,” you answer innocently as you stay where you are, enjoying the feeling of his large hands on your wide hips and his solid chest at your back.

“Yeah? Cuz from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re purposely being a little tease.”

“Me?” you say in faux offense, turning to face him. “I’d never. Just doing my job, boss.”

He pushes you back against the table just slightly, “So, you’re telling me you haven’t been thinking about how hot it’d be if I came up behind you, ripped your tights open and fucked you stupid right here on this table?”

You swallow hard as you feel yourself growing wet at the scene that plays out in your mind. The bar is near empty as you’re both getting ready to close up but the idea of Bucky taking you right here and now, onlookers be damned, has heat creeping up your skin.

“Say I have. What are you gonna do about it?” you whisper wantonly, eyes swimming with lust.

A sinful growl escapes him as he presses himself closer to you. You can feel his growing bulge against you and it takes everything in you to not let out the whimper that threatens to slip past your lips.

Joaquin left twenty minutes ago after him and Bucky served last call, so it’s just you two and the lingerers who are slowly making their way out.

“What am I gonna do about it?” he repeats as his hand comes up to hold your chin. He leans down, face to face with you as he continues headily, never taking his eyes off yours, “I’m gonna fuck you stupid. Right here. On this table,” he breathes each sentence before he finally takes your lips in his. It’s gentler than you expect as your eyes flutter shut and the sound of the entrance door closing behind the last patron signals that you’re alone now.

You sigh into his mouth before you pull him closer, the kiss growing more heated with each moment that passes.

You let Bucky ruck up your skirt as your hands fumble with his belt before you start working on his button and zipper. You stop him for just a second, grabbing his hand, “You rip ‘em, you buy ‘em,” you tell him, earning a grin from him.

“Deal,” he says before easily tearing your tights and turning you around, forcing you down against the table.

“No underwear, huh?” he taunts as he rips your tights even more, his thick fingers wasting no time in playing with your wetness on full display for him.

Your legs are spread as you moan at the delightful feeling of his fingers pushing into your sex, opening you up for him as he scissors his fingers inside your tight heat before curling them the way he knows you like.

“Fuck, Bucky, please,” you whine as you clutch onto the table, pushing your hips backs and trying to fuck yourself on his hand.

“Jesus, fuck, you’re perfect,” he swears before landing a stinging slap to your ass and pulling his fingers out. He quickly tugs down his jeans and frees himself from his boxers, his erection hot, heavy, and throbbing.

“Make me so fuckin’ hard, you know that?”

You only mewl in response as he runs the head of his cock through your folds, teasing you. He doesn’t have as much patience as he normally does, though. He’s been thinking of you nonstop since you left his apartment this morning. Been wanting you close again from the second you left his bed.

He knows this was just supposed to be a fun fling, but from the first time he kissed you, he knew he was done for. He knew he’d only want more.

And he was right.

He wanted all of it with you, not just sex. He wanted to spend his days cuddling you in his bed, watching movies, talking about nothing; hell, he even had to stop himself from texting you the other day to see if you were busy when he had to go get groceries because he wanted your company.

He was hooked on you completely.

But this “fling” was your idea and he didn’t want to run you off with the idea of commitment so soon. So for now, this would have to do. And who was he to complain about the nights he got to spend flirting with you, teasing you, taking you apart only to put you back together in his arms come morning.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as the head of his cock catches along your slick entrance, a hiss emanating from him as you gasp at the feeling.

He slowly lets himself push in, deeper and deeper until his hips are flush against your ass and he’s filling you completely.

Your soft moans urge him on as he begins to fuck you, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass filling the quiet of the empty bar. As he starts to thrust harder, the squelching noises of your fucking grow louder and louder as you moan without care, your hips hitting the edge of the table over and over with his every thrust.

His hands frame your waist as he holds you tight, rutting ever deeper inside of you, his cock hitting your g-spot repeatedly as you whine and gasp in pure pleasure, the coil in your belly tightening with each glide of his cock along your walls and every nudge against your g-spot. Bucky slips a hand down and finds your puffy clit, circling it as he feels you getting closer, your walls squeezing him tighter and tighter.

Your toes are curling in your shoes as your feet arch and slip against the floor when the muscles in your legs and core tighten and strain as your walls clench down on his thick cock and your orgasm hits you hard.

In the same instance, Bucky growls as the swinging of the entrance door sounds. You don’t even bother to look up as you’re lost in the euphoria of your high.

“We’re closed,” Bucky barks, his hips never faltering as he continues to fuck you while your eyes screw shut in overwhelming pleasure.

You vaguely hear a fumbling apology and the door closing once more as Bucky buries himself inside of you, leaning over your bent body and rutting into you as his groans and moans tumble heavily from his lips. With one more thrust, you sigh breathily as you feel him spill inside of you.

The weight of his body on top of yours is a comfort you can’t help but revel in as he holds you still and gets all of his release out, your velvety walls milking his cock as he fills you with his hot come.

He’s breathing heavily as he comes down from his orgasm and gently pulls his cock out of you. You instinctively press your legs together, your thick thighs making it easy. You push yourself up off the table after a moment and turn around, fixing your skirt as you do.

“Fuck,” you breathe under your breath happily. “Maybe lock the door next time?” you suggest playfully, “Or, at least turn the ‘OPEN’ light off.”

“Next time?” Bucky says with a raised brow and a smirk as he fixes his pants. “You like getting fucked in the bar that much?”

“Well, you did say something about fucking me stupid.. And not that that was bad at all, but, I’m not feeling very stupid right now.”

He licks his lips as he takes you in, taking your hands in his and tugging you close. “Why don’t you come home with me and I’ll get you there,” he says smoothly.

“That’d make it three nights in a row,” you say, a little unsure. “You sure you wanna risk it? I might not wanna leave.”

“I might not want you to,” he says, surprising you by how soft and sincere his voice is.

You meet his eye and swear you could drown in the glimmering blues as he smiles that schoolboy smile. You let out a shaky, nervous laugh.

“You fallin’ for me, Barnes?” you tease playfully - just a hint of hope laced in your tone.

He surprises you again as he takes hold of your chin, peering deep into your eyes, before he brushes his nose against your, his lips inches away from your own as you breath each other in for a second.

And then he kisses you.

Soft, yet firm and as you lose yourself in it, a deep yearning for Bucky that you’ve kept down from day one rears her head once more.

You part for a second to breathe before you crash your lips into his again, pulling him closer to you by the front of his shirt.

Your tongues glide against one another as he slips his in expertly before kissing you deeply.

He lets his forehead fall to yours as he parts from you.

You're breathless as he wears a nervous smile you’ve never seen on him before.

“Say I have. What are you gonna do about it?” he repeats your earlier taunt, trying to hide his anxiousness as he waits for you to respond.

You suck your lip as you consider him, biting back the smile threatening to take over your face.

“I’d tell you that, maybe, I’ve fallen for you, too,” you admit shyly, looking up to see his cocksure smile back in full force, just the way it always is.

“Then I’d tell you to take me back to your apartment,” you say, leaning into him for another sultry kiss. “So you can fuck me stupid,” you breathe against his lips, “as many times as you want.”

You nearly squeal as you're taken off your feet in the next second, Bucky’s strong arms holding you securely as you wrap your own around him.

“That I will happily comply with,” he says, kissing you hotly as you smile into it. You pull away just slightly to speak.

“We didn’t finish closing,” you laugh.

“Don't care,” he says, kissing you again as he easily walks to the bar, holding you with surprising ease that you aren’t sure you’ll ever get used to before he sets you down. “We can do it tomorrow,” he excuses, grabbing his keys from behind the bar and flicking the lights out. You grab your jacket and bag from the shelf you kept them on and follow behind Bucky as he locks the doors, escorting you out and to his car.

Before you get there, he turns on you, both of you stopping in your spots.

“We really doing this?” he asks, wanting to make sure this is really what you want, too.

You smile and nod.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

He lets himself smile in return.

“So I can call you mine, now?” he asks, grabbing your hand, pulling you to him.

“I’d be good with that.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“You sure? Cuz once we make this official, I’m gonna let everyone know. I might never shut up about it.”

You can’t help but laugh at how excited and proud he sounds. “I think I’m okay with that,” you smile up at him, meeting his lips in another kiss before he leads you to the car and opens the door for you to get in.

You know you’re okay with that. It’s what you’d been hoping for from the first time you’d kissed, for this to lead to something real, something more. Now here you were.

He wanted to officially call you his, and Bucky was finally, truly yours.

#bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky barnes x plus size!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x curvy!reader #bucky x plus size!reader #bucky x reader #bartender!bucky #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes x you

2K notes · View notes

buckrecs · 1 year

Note

Okay here I am!! Hehe

Bartender bucky?? If you’re still willing to that is<33:)

Bartender!Bucky

masterlist | req masterlist

My Blood Turns Into Alcohol by @ltbarnes

Bucky Barnes doesn’t step out behind his trusted bar counter, no matter what goes on out on the floor. Until you, that is—the town newbie who stumbles inside the lanky old bar and won’t stop showing up in your pretty dresses and with that shy smile. Bucky is infuriated. Maybe that’s why he won’t let you pay for even one of your drinks, or why his coworkers won’t stop bothering him about you.

Double Blind by @wkemeup

Set up on what might be the worst blind date you’d ever been on, you find yourself captivated by the mysterious bartender instead.

the bar rules by @buckyhoney

pretty by @buckycuddlebuddy

“filthiest i’ve ever made,” he whispered, face very close to yours. “if you can handle it, i might take you up on that ‘convincing’ thing.”

Send Me An Angel by @navybrat817

Bucky thinks you're an angel.

Date With Ducky by @pepperonijem

"You started to water down my drink throughout the night and I drunkenly demand to know why.”

Two Years by @metalbuckaroo

Seeing you flirt with someone else, Bucky gets jealous and acts on something he’s been thinking of for two years.

Rum and Coke by @babyboibucky

You decide to pay your rival club a visit to see what the hype is all about.

Champagne Problems by @dollslayer

When your ex-boyfriend makes a surprise appearance at your sister's wedding you find help from an unexpected source.

side bar by @agentofkrypton

"I hate your voice, but god I love hearing you beg."

Don’t cross the bar by @bucky-at-bedtime

Bucky has one rule, until one day, someone forces him to change it.

Cheers! by @moonbeambucky

A charming bartender comes to your rescue after a night out leads to a broken heart.

#bucky barnes fic rec #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes series #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bartender!bucky #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bartender!bucky x reader #bucky barnes modern au #dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes x reader

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bigtreefest · 1 month

Text

Outta Nowhere AU

Main Masterlist

Decks vs. Honeybee reader distinctions

You Catch More Bees With Honey

(Mob! Bucky x Farmer! Reader)

Handiwork

(Mechanic! Farmhand! Curtis x Bartender! Reader)

The Rainmaker

(Mob! Steve x Forensic Scientist! Reader)

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thesugarclubs-blog · 2 years

Text

The Bartender - AU Bucky Barnes x OC

warnings: smut, minors DNI

word count: 2.1k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1230547860-the-bartender-eva

Masterlist

If Eva pictured her life ten years ago, she didn't think she'd be sitting alone at a dingy bar after getting ghosted on a blind date. The bartender swirled a rag through an empty glass, watching her sigh every few minutes. Eva caught his eye as she emptied her third glass of vodka cranberry, holding it out to him for another.

"Rough night?" He asks, his voice velvety and smooth as he takes the glass from her.

"Something like that" Eva says, with a forced smile as she got flashbacks from last night's event.

She can still smell the rusty scent of blood clear as day like it's been ingrained into her nostrils. She looked over at the ruggedly handsome man as he poured her yet another shot; a shot she knew she hadn't ordered.

As she graciously accepted the shot, Eva wondered if the man behind the bar could be the answer to all her problems.

"I don't think I've seen you around here before," the bartender remarks as he continues making drinks for the other patrons

"I usually stay away from those kinds of bars." She took a sip from her vodka cranberry the handsome bartender handed her.

"And why would that be?" He leaned over the wooden bar with a smirk. His eyes were illuminated by the overhanging lights just enough for her to see the intense blue of his iris'

"Cause you boys are all trouble." Eva smirked slyly back at him, extending her shot glass to him "Another one, please."

Rolling his eyes, he took it and handed her a full glass of old-fashioned. She eyed the amber liquid before looking back at him questioningly.

"Figured you needed something a lil' stronger, sweetheart." He answered her silent question before turning to serve another patron. Eva shrugged and started drinking, the drink going down her throat with a satisfying burn.

Shaking her head slightly, she caught his eye for a second, feeling the tightness in her stomach when he licked his lower lip slowly. She was going to need another stiff drink if she planned to sit in this bar with the God-like man a few feet away. How did she always end up in these types of situations? Flinching when another image from the night before flashed through her mind. "Are you okay Doll?"

Doll? Sweetheart? Was this guy for real?

Feeling the effects of the booze hitting her system, she wondered. Her gaze traveled to this man's tanned hands. They were a good size. He wore a couple of rings on his right hand, the silver metal glistening in the moody lighting of this bar. "I wonder what they would look like around my throat..." She murmured to herself.

"I'm sorry I didn't catch that, doll? You want what around your throat ?" He asked.

Fuck. Had she really just said that out loud?

Eva began to stammer and the bartender smirked as he leaned over, resting his chin on his hand as he drummed the fingers of the other hand on the bar top and whispered, "Did you mean you wanted these around your throat?"

Eva felt herself flush as she felt a rush of heat and wetness flow through her, biting her lip to stifle a moan, but she nodded anyway, stuck in his gaze, gasping, "Yes Daddy."

She watched as the blue in his eyes turned black with lust, his tongue flicking over that perfectly plump bottom lip into a smirk that could kill. "We'll work up to that, doll. Just Bucky for now."

As he turned back to grab some bottles from the counter, her eyes slowly drifted up his legs to his ass as she pictured how he would feel on top of her.

He turned back to her again, her eyes met his before he leaned down to brush his lips against her ear, whispering sultry, " I think it's time for you to tell daddy what you really want tonight, sweetie."

Eva felt her face go hot. His husky voice made her whole body feel like it was on fire, and she'd be lying if she said she didn't want that fire, and Bucky, to consume her entirely.

"I want..." She felt her breath quicken as she closed her eyes for just a second. "I need you ..." Eva turned her head, making their foreheads rest together, "make me forget everything".

"Do I get to know the name of the pretty little thing I'm helping to forget?" Bucky whispered as he backed up a little and cradled Eva's face in his hands.

His thumb brushed against her bottom lip and Eva's mouth became a desert as she stared at him with desperation in her eyes as she whispered, "Does it really matter so long as I moan yours?"

Bucky's lips curl into a sexy smile, chuckling at her words, "No, I guess it doesn't." And he leaves her breathless against the bar top to close up behind the last customer, only the two of them are left now. Eva's heart begins to race as he stalks back towards her, caging her against the bar and his warm, solid body.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, her eyes dropped to his lips, hoping she would come to find out how they feel against the inside of her thighs.

Bucky gripped his hands around her hips and with ease lifted her to the bar top. His hands skated across her hips delicately, tickling her skin before digging into the soft inners of her thighs, pushing her legs open to make room for him.

Eva moaned as Bucky's mouth crashed against hers in a searing kiss, and she heard him grunt, "This is what you wanted, isn't it, sweets? To forget everything?"

She crushed herself to him, pulling him so that his hips were flush against hers, saying, "It's a good start."

He hummed, his lips tracing along her jawline before sliding down to the soft sweet spot on her neck causing goosebumps to rise along her skin.

He traced a finger along her chest, down to under her skirt to teasingly circle a finger around her entrance, making her whimper beneath his touch. " So needy, aren't you sweet thing? "

She bit back a moan as she felt herself already dripping, clenching around air eager to feel him inside of her, claiming her.

Her breath begins to quicken, but keeping her voice as calm as she can, Eva leans over to him, nips at his ear, and says, " yes...oh, Bucky, please...I need...I need you. " while hastily grabbing at his belt buckle, undoing it clumsily.

Bucky let out what sounded like a mix between a growl and a laugh, and grabbed Eva's wrists, gently placing them on the bar behind her. "You don't move those until I tell you. I'm supposed to be helping you forget... So just sit back and let daddy make everything feel better"

"Yes...Daddy..." she breathed without thinking. "Fuck..." feeling his forefinger rub her clit over her panties.

Bucky hummed against her mouth and slid his fingers beneath her panties, and Eva felt herself moan as his name like a song as he pushed two fingers inside of her and groaned, "Barely touched you and you're dripping for me, aren't you, kitten?"

Eva shuddered, head falling forwards on his shoulder as she curled inwards, hands still firmly planted on the bar, moaning "All for you Daddy."

Bucky began pumping at a pace that matched the breathless moans falling from her lips while his own attached to her earlobe, sucking gently before curling his fingers within her.

His fingers pumped deep inside her, hitting her g spot which made her cry out loud, his lips attached to hers to swallow her cries. " You like my fingers? I bet your sweet little pussy would like me to fuck you dumb with my tongue, huh? "

At his words, she clenched around his fingers. "I asked you a question kitten." He growled- his free hand sliding to the back of her neck.

Eva could barely think, much less form a sentence as Bucky fucked her with his fingers - deep and slow - and then she heard his deep rumbling baritone that forced a ragged groan from her throat as he whispered, "I'll take that as a yes."

Bucky gently pushed Eva up til she was sitting, pulling his fingers out as he slid down her panties, leaning down and inhaling deeply, groaning, "Fuck can't wait to taste you, sweetheart."

"Jesus Christ..."She whimpered watching as he dropped to his knees, large hands grasping her thighs, spreading them apart and revealing her aching core to him, another low satisfied growl falling from his lips.

With her panties thrown to the floor, he devoured her sweet little pussy in one go, lapping and swirling his warm tongue on her clit, before fucking her with it. Large hands gripped her waist as she felt herself falling backward from the overstimulation. " Oh...fuck daddy...I-I'm close! "

Bucky hummed into her pussy and slid his fingers inside of her, curling them one more time to send her right over the edge - along with a sharp jolt of electricity shooting down her spine.

"Daddy!" she cried, gushing into his waiting mouth, his fingers stroking her spot, prolonging her orgasm till she was shaking, tears in her eyes from the overstimulation.

Eva collapsed against the cool bartop, a welcome feeling from her burning skin, her chest heaving, "That'll make a girl forget," she breathes, words struggling against the small aftershocks of her orgasm.

Bucky chuckled, grabbing her wrists to sit her up again before giving a kiss to her temple, whispering softly while stroking her waist, " You were so good for me, sweet little doll. "

"Bucky ?" She asked him while he was drawing lazy circles on her arm. "Yes, doll ?" I want your cock. I want you to fuck me. Hard." She whispered, her hand delving into the waistband of his pants to emphasize her request.

Bucky smiled and leaned over as Eva stroked him, whispering, "Well, that's good to hear, because I never said I was finished with you, angel."

Bucky undid his jeans, freeing his hard cock, lining up at her entrance, and slowly filling her, pressing deep enough that she felt him in her throat.

The sounds of skin slapping and moans filled the silence of the empty bar, her hands grasping onto the edges of the bar top to keep herself steady as he begins his relentless thrusts. "Wanna feel you come all over me, darlin', like the good girl I know you are."

" Yes...I am...for you! " From her words, Bucky pulled his cock out to take her down from the bar, turning her around before grabbing her neck to push her face down onto the countertop. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, " Now, I'm going to make you squirt so hard you won't even be able to remember your name, kitten. "

He proceeded to ram into her so hard that her upper body slid over the counter, her nipples hard against the cool glass top of the bar. That earned him a delicious scream from her open mouth. "Shhh, kitten. There are people living above the bar," he said while he stilled in her, reaching over the counter to grab a fresh rag. "Here, bite down on this." He gently placed the rag into her mouth. "Such a good girl. Daddy is pleased."

Eva moaned into the rag and then felt Bucky's hand smack her ass while he fucked her hard and fast, the tip of his cock gliding against her g-spot as decadent and dark moans spilled from his lips.

"Fuckin' tight as sin doll," Bucky groaned, thrusts growing in force as her whimpers grew more frequent, torn from her with each pump of his hips.

Eva could feel a pressure building within her, one she had never felt before, and with every thrust her legs began to feel like jelly, her teeth digging into the terrycloth of the towel that was currently soaking up every sound she involuntarily made.

With a loud and shaky moan, Eva felt that searched tingling feeling from her clit, spreading through her whole body as she released on Bucky's thick cock, "fuuuck, such a fucking good girl, I'm so close..."

He thrust forward, his cock glistening from her juice as he tensed, his balls tightening as he came. His muscles contracted visibly. Trying so hard to not groan so loud the neighbors would hear them, he bit down on the soft flesh of her shoulder, sending another wave of release into her body. "Fuck." he whispered

"This might be kind of awkward now, but would you wanna have dinner with me?" Bucky asked, panting into her ear. Eva turned her head and grinned, staring into his bright blue eyes. "Dinner would be great."

#bucky barnes #bartender au #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one shot #marvel imagine #marvel oneshot #marvelous #one shot #marvel one shot #smut #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes au #imagine

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ww2boyfriends · 1 year

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#stevebucky #stucky #bucky barnes #steve rogers #incorrect stucky quotes #incorrect marvel quotes #mod steve #marvel ask blog #stucky ask blog #fic ideas to heal the soul #im a bartender so like--frist hand experience

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livingbreathingdreams · 2 years

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Stuff I wrote

• CAPTAIN SYVERSON • BUCKY BARNES • STEVE ROGERS •

🌸 Slow burn [because I’m a sucker for endless buildup] ⎮ ⚪️ Friends to lovers ⎮ 🧡 Personal favorite

CAPTAIN SYVERSON

One Shots

❤︎ Lemon Over Ice + Oh, honey - Bartender!Sy just wants to adore you

❤︎ Power Tool - You think your neighbour is a tool but maybe he can be a useful one.

Drabbles

❤︎ at the corner store - a meet-weird

BUCKY BARNES

Multi Chapters

❤︎ Sun Salutations 🌸

Yoga Teacher!Single Dad!Bucky x Veterinarian!Reader

This is a story about Bucky, who is a yoga teacher and single dad, and Y/N, who just started working as a veterinarian and is a complete and utter mess.

STEVE ROGERS

Drabbles

❤︎ like a slime monster - overheard at the craft store x Single Dad!Steve

⎮☽ Navigation ☾⎮

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bonky-bornes · 2 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Captain America (Movies) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Angie Martinelli Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Angie Martinelli Additional Tags: divorced bucky barnes, Bartender Steve, single dad bucky barnes, Past Bucky/Angie, Natasha is the best sister, Fluff, Light Angst, soft, steve is a flirt, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, First Kiss, First Meeting, Alpine is a matchmaker Summary:

“You look like you could use this.” Bucky looked up from the stained wood of the bar in time to see the blond bartender slide a new beer in front of him. “Do I look that bad?” The man shrugged. “I’ve seen worse.” He chuckled. “But I’ve also seen better.”

Or, Bucky goes to the bar and meets Steve Rogers, and obviously, they fall in love

#my writing #stucky #first meeting #first kiss #divorced bucky barnes #single parent bucky barnes #bartender steve rongers

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marvelouslizzie · 6 months

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Pretty Little Thing - co-written with @notafunkiller

Summary: Your long-time crush, Bucky Barnes, is a regular at the bar where you work, and tonight, it's impossible to avoid serving him for the first time.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: +18, alcohol, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 3.8K

A/N: @notafunkiller and I merged our separate ideas into one and this is the outcome. It was so much fun to write. We hope it'll me the same while reading too.

All work is ours, please do not repost or translate without our permission.

Every like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message us. Unless it’s hate. That’s never welcome.

You thought this night would be calm and easy, that nothing significant would happen. All that changed when Bucky Barnes set foot in the bar. It’s not his first time here by any means, but until now you successfully managed to avoid him by asking the other bartender to serve his side. This time, unfortunately, you are working alone. It’s a slow night, so there’s no way you can really avoid him.

You watch him find an empty place and sit down, and you really don’t know what to do. You can feel yourself sweating already. You are so nervous. Not because you are afraid of him or anything. He doesn’t look scary. Not to you. You are afraid to embarrass yourself in front of him, but you should be able to ask for his order and serve it without messing it up. That’s not so hard.

Just keep it simple, you tell yourself.

“Hey, what can I get you?”

Bucky looks up from his phone straight into your eyes, and you freeze a little.

“Hello, do you... a draft beer, please.”

His answer confuses you. That’s not his usual order.

“You sure you don’t want something stronger? We have that bourbon.” You curse yourself internally for paying attention and not being able to hold your tongue.

He raises his eyebrow surprised. “How do you know that? There is no way you served me any drinks cause I would remember you.”

He frowns as soon as he finishes speaking. Maybe you helped your colleague or maybe you were informed about what he drinks just in case he showed up. He’s still the Winter Soldier after all.

“I never served you before.” You say with a shy smile. You hope this is enough of an answer for him.

“Do I look like a bourbon man?” He asks playfully before giving you a smile that transforms his face a little, softening his features.

“You look like you enjoy quality stuff, and between you and me, our draft beer is shitty.”

That comment makes him chuckle. You’re so distracted by his face that you don’t notice how his eyes fall straight to your breasts.

“Thanks for the tip. Normal beer then?”

“If you insist.” You smile and open the small fridge under the bar where you keep some of the beers. You quickly open it and put it right in front of him, not realizing that gesture shows off your bartender skills a little bit.

He doesn’t look away from you as he takes a big sip before placing the bottle on the table quickly.

“For how long have you been working here?”

“For the past year.” You avoid making eye contact while drying some of the freshly washed glasses.

“Oh.” He sounds kind of taken aback. “I’m surprised you never served me. I’ve been coming here for what? Seven months?”

“Eight.” You bite your bottom lip as soon as the word slips out, trying to shut yourself up so you won’t mess up even more. What were you thinking? Well, you weren't…

His eyes immediately glow, and you wonder if you fucked up for good.

“So you’ve been keeping an eye on me?” He brings the bottle to his mouth and before you can say anything, you watch him finishing it in one go.

“I just noticed you.” Of course, you kept an eye on him, but you played it down a little.

“Well, I didn’t notice you,” he says regretfully. “And I wonder how. I am pretty aware of my surroundings... especially if they are full of beautiful people like you.”

You can’t help but blush, yet you try to sound unaffected. You don’t know if you succeed or not, though.

“This place is usually so crowded and full of… people. So it’s normal.”

“Neah,” he denies immediately. “Have you been hiding or something?”

“I was just on the other side of the bar.” And you were trying to hide from him, saving yourself from this embarrassment because you knew if you talked to him you would fuck up. You were right.

“So I was on the wrong side this whole time.” He shakes his head. “Another beer, please, doll.”

“The same?” You ask while trying not to dwell on the pet name he uses.

“Yes, please. And one drink for you. Whatever you want, if you are allowed to drink, of course.”

The way he offers to buy you a drink surprises you. You feel quite nervous, but you try to maintain your calm. He’s probably just being nice, right?

“I am allowed to drink, but that’s not necessary.”

He pouts. “I didn’t mean you need to talk to me for it, doll. There are no conditions for this drink.”

“Oh.” You didn’t even think he would take it this way. “That’s not why I said it’s not necessary. I wasn’t worried about that.”

“Okay. Whatever you want... I won’t insist.”

“It’s just… I am allowed to drink whatever I want. You don’t need to pay for it.” You try to explain so he won’t take it the wrong way.

“Alright,” he says, a little distant, as you open up another bottle of beer and put it in front of him.

“I just didn’t want you to pay extra when I can get it for free.” You don’t know why you are explaining yourself like this. It’s normal not to accept drinks from customers.

“It’s fine, I totally understand. Thank you!” He reaches for the bottle immediately.

You take a fancy glass out of the rack and pour yourself one of the ready-to-serve cocktails that your colleague prepared, right in front of him. He doesn’t say anything as he keeps staring at your hands.

“Thanks for the drink.” You say while putting the bottle away.

“Me?” He asks surprised. “Thought this is on the bar.”

“Well, you gave me the idea, and if you really insist on spending your money so unnecessarily, who am I to stop you?”

“That’s a good attitude.” He smiles again before bringing his bottle close to your glass. “Cheers to a good Thursday in a lovely company.”

You clink your glass with a smile on your face. It seems like he finally understood your intention, so you feel relieved.

“How does that taste?”

“Don’t let the color fool you, it tastes really strong but delicious.” You look at him for a second and notice that got his interest. “Wanna taste it?” You offer your own drink to him, and he contemplates for a few seconds before leaning in.

“Yes, I am curious.”

You hand the glass to him. Your fingers touch for a second, and you get so excited that you worry about dropping the glass. It’s like your heart is in your throat.

“Your hands are cold,” he comments casually before taking a sip right from the spot covered by your lipstick. You gasp. You have no idea if he did it on purpose, but the way he’s drinking it… your body is responding to that so much. You clear your throat, trying to calm yourself down.

“Delicious.” He smiles, handing back your glass, and you notice a bit of lipstick in the corner of his mouth.

It creates this internal dilemma. Should you just let him know about it or act like nothing happened and let him walk around like this? The second one could cause him a lot of embarrassment, and you don’t wanna be the reason for that. That’s why you suddenly find yourself leaning closer to him, just to wipe the lipstick off. He doesn’t move an inch, not jumping like you would expect, letting you touch him. When you realize what you are doing, you suddenly feel super self-conscious.

“You…” You gulp down. “You have… lipstick on… just here.”

You keep rubbing your finger against the corner of his mouth. You feel his stubble and how soft his lips are, but you try not to think about it. He chuckles, covering your hand with his. It surprises you so much that you freeze for a second. Then you look into his eyes, struggling to see if you made him feel uncomfortable or not.

“So considerate of you. Thank you.”

You move your hand away from his mouth but not away from his touch. Somehow you can’t find the strength to do that.

What he does next, though, makes you completely breathless. He brings your hand to his mouth again, but this time he presses his lips gently against your skin, smiling right after. Your eyes open with surprise, feeling completely speechless, yet you don’t move away. You don’t even realize you are smiling slightly.

“Your hands are still so cold.”

“Yeah…” You try to speak, but it feels like your words are stuck in your throat. “They are always cold.”

“We need to change that.” He places another kiss on your hand.

He’s surprisingly nervous as he leads you to the living room. Based on his confidence back in the bar, you didn’t expect him to become so shy all of a sudden.

“Do you want some coffee?”

“No.” You answer quickly. The only thing you want is to feel his lips again but you keep that thought to yourself.

“What do you want then?”

It’s obvious in his tone and the way he looks at you he doesn’t ask you about drinks.

“You.” You can’t believe you said this out loud, but it’s the truth.

He doesn’t need another push as he comes closer, grabbing you by the chin. Your lips crash together with an almost desperate hunger. He takes the opportunity immediately, getting his tongue inside your mouth in a fervent exploration. The sensation is electrifying.

You let him explore your mouth while you focus on his taste. It’s so unique and tasty, you just can’t get enough of it. Your hands slowly move toward the back of his head, pulling him closer.

“Fuck,” he groans when he feels your touch, breaking the kiss just to move his lips to your neck.

“Mhmm… James.” His lips feel so good against your neck. It just sends a jolt of arousal through your body.

But then he freezes, with his mouth glued to your neck. You open your eyes confused wanting to ask him what happened, and that’s when you realize what you’ve just said.

“You know who I am?” His voice is a warm whisper against your skin.

“Of course, I know who you are.” You make it sound so natural as if there’s no way you wouldn’t know who he is. “You think I go to the houses of men I don’t know?” You say playfully.

“I didn’t mean that...” He raises his head from the crook of your neck just to look you in the eye. “I didn’t mean it offensively, I just wasn’t sure. I’m just stupid, I didn’t expect it.”

“I know who you are, James Bucky Barnes.”

“Fuck,” he groans, bringing his thumb to your bottom lip. “Say it again.”

“James Bucky Barnes or just James?”

He kisses you more desperately than before, his hands finding your hips as he gently grabs them, pulling you so close that you can feel his erection. You gasp so softly, but he hears it anyway, and you settle on his hard cock so it’s right against where you want it to be.

He moans. “Let’s go to the bedroom, doll.”

“Why?” You ask innocently as if you don’t know what he means. “Isn’t your couch comfortable enough?”

For him? Sure. But for you?

“The bed is better.”

“Okay.” You sound so obedient suddenly as you wrap your legs around his torso.

He immediately lifts you up without effort, and you smile, letting him carry you toward his room. He’s a super soldier after all. He closes the door with his foot as soon as you’re inside, then he gently puts you on the bed, like he’s afraid you might break. The way he’s acting is so endearing, but you want him to let go really badly. Even the manner he starts to take off your pants is too gentle.

You let him undress you the way he wants, though. Then you move closer to him, taking his clothes off, your movements not as gentle as his. You are impatient and needy. You see him holding his breath when you reach to touch his chest, close to where his metal arm begins, so you lean in to leave a kiss right there. You don’t know if you are crossing a line, but you have to. He should know that this is not something that would bother you, on the contrary, it turns you on even more. When he doesn’t move away from you, you keep kissing around his scars and his chest. Your hand is on his shoulder, gently caressing.

“That feels so good, doll,” he says with a sigh before he grabs your waist. “but it's time for me to eat.”

You find yourself on your back so suddenly that you don’t even have time to react. He quickly settles between your legs and you understand exactly what he meant. He lifts them enough so you can rest them on his shoulders as he gets more comfortable on his tummy. You feel a hole in your stomach immediately. You can’t believe Bucky is between your thighs, about to eat you out.

He’s taking his sweet time at first, kissing down your thighs and even smelling you before he finally brings his tongue to your entrance.

“Come on, James. Don’t tease me.” You look down just to see him smiling.

“Why not? You seem to enjoy it.”

“I would enjoy it more if you stopped teasing and started eating.”

Surprisingly, Bucky doesn’t waste more time and properly starts to fuck you with his tongue. He’s not too quick, nor too slow with his moves, and you’re shocked when he brings his fingers to your mouth.

“Need you to make them wet for me, please.” Even while saying that, he sounded a little too polite.

“On one condition,” you say, looking directly into his eyes. “Stop acting like I am made of glass.”

“But you kinda are.”

“I am not. Believe me.”

He says nothing, making sure to lick your slit before getting his tongue inside you again, his fingers, glued to your lips. You take it as a silent agreement and you open your mouth, suck his fingers, and let him wet them. When he thinks it’s enough, he gently takes them out and brings them right to your clit. He doesn’t touch it directly at first, teasing around it until you move your hips a little, needing to feel your clit stimulated.

“Please.” The way he’s taking his sweet time is so frustrating.

He lets his hand drop and instead of feeling his fingers on your clit, you feel his tongue at the same time he gets a finger inside you. You moan loudly, finally getting what you wanted from the start.

His other hand reaches for yours when he hears you grabbing the sheet, and you immediately hold it, enjoying how his cold metal feels. When you feel the second finger and he scissors both of them inside you, you’re shocked by how close you suddenly are. You can’t help but arch your back and move your hips, needing it faster.

He reads the signals pretty quickly and lets you use his mouth while he keeps pumping his fingers. It doesn’t take long for you to gasp, moan, and start to shake because of the pleasure he’s giving you.

“James! Shit. I’m- gonna… ahh… come.”

You moan louder than you expected, dropping your head against his sheets, possessed by a great wave of pleasure. You want to tell him not to stop anything, but you can’t. And you don’t need to as he keeps licking and fingering you while you ride your orgasm out, prolonging it as much as possible.

When it’s done, you are feeling so good yet you are hungry for more. You raise your head a little and see Bucky still between your legs, but this time his beard is covered with your slick. He looks so handsome. His blue eyes are shining and his hair is all messy. It makes you wanna kiss him and that’s exactly what you do. You reach down to him, and he meets you in the middle, kissing you the way he was just eating you out: with passion and hunger.

He’s less gentle than before as you feel his hands grabbing your breasts, but it’s still not enough. You cover his hands with yours and push him to grab them harder than before. You let out a muffled moan while kissing him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You find yourself blushing like you two aren’t having sex. To mask your reaction, you reach out to his hard cock, gently grabbing it.

“Oh god,” he groans as he instinctively squeeze your breasts harder.

“Mhmm, yes.” You lean into his touch. “Just like that.”

Bucky looks at you as if you said something shocking. Is he not used to communicating during sex?

“What? Did I do something wrong?”

“You’re surprising me for someone so delicate.”

“I told you, I am not.”

He smiles. “Do you wanna help me put on a condom then?”

“I would love to, but…” You smile. “What if I told you I am clean and on the pill?”

“Fuck, I need you.” He kisses you suddenly. “Now.”

“I am right here.” It sounds so calming. “You can take me however you want.”

You’re not only on your back in the next second, but you also have his cock lined up at your entrance.

“Jesus, doll! For a pretty little thing, you’re quite nasty.”

“I just know what I want.” And this is it.

He nods, wrapping your legs around his ass at the same time he pushes inside you. In a second, your head is thrown back while you moan loudly. The way he fills you is so delicious. It makes you feel so full but not uncomfortable.

“You’re taking me so well already.”

“Please…” You raise your hips to create more friction. “Please, move.”

He brings his mouth to your breast a little before he starts thrusting, making sure to leave a small hickey right on top of it. It hurts so good, and you moan without holding back. It is music to Bucky’s ears. He just wants to hear it again, so he does it again.

“You want it rough, don’t you?” He thrusts harder than before. “You’re so needy.”

“Yeah.” Your voice is so shaky already. “I told you already.”

“Told me what?” He teases. “I don’t remember.”

“That I am not made of glass.”

“No, you are made for me.” He brings his hand to your face to move the hair strands that cover your eyes. “For my cock.”

“In that case…” You don’t know where the sudden rush of confidence comes from. “You are made for me. To fill me up.” You move your hips again, trying to fuck yourself on him.

“Oh, god. You’re so fucking wet,” he moans. “I am, I’m gonna fill you up so much.” He kisses you suddenly, your teeth almost crashing together because of the thrusts, but you don’t care.

“Can’t wait.” You tease him. “Don’t hold back, okay?”

He says nothing, letting his head drop a little so he can suck on your neck properly. He’s definitely fucking you harder. He pulls until he’s almost completely out of you before thrusting inside you again. And again. And again. It takes your breath away. The way it makes you feel is indescribable. You lose the little remaining control you had and just turn into a moaning mess.

“Say my name, baby. C-come on.”

“James?” You sound hesitant even if you don’t mean to because you don’t know which name he wants to hear.

“Again,” he begs, his metal arm on your leg pushing it right against his ass.

“James!” This one comes out so naturally. No questions, no hesitation. You just breathe out his name with a moan.

“God, you look so beautiful. So pretty with my cock inside you.” His thrusts get faster, and you have no idea how he can speak so well while you’re a mess.

“I’m so close,” you can barely say without taking a breath in the middle of the sentence.

“What do you want?”

“Just… harder.”

“Like this?” He asks, suddenly thrusting a little harder than before. “Or like this?”

“This! Yes! Just like this!”

“You just want it hard.” He whispers against your ear. “What a dirty girl.”

You hear him, but you can’t respond. You are too busy coming all over his cock, and it feels like you are in heaven. He continues to fuck you as the pleasure fades away, murmuring how pretty you are and how good you make him feel before he comes, too, grabbing the bedpost behind you with his metal arm. It makes a clicking sound, but you don’t care, opening your still foggy eyes just to watch him.

There’s so much come. You can already feel it dripping out of you as he keeps fucking you. You expect it to end soon, but it doesn’t. It goes on and on. The way he loses control as he comes just triggers another orgasm out of you. You would be surprised how quickly you could come again if it didn’t feel overwhelmingly good. You can’t think about anything other than him and the way he makes you feel.

His come is getting all over your thighs and ass, and the bed, as he moans. “Kakaya khoroshaya devochka.” What a good girl.

You can’t help but laugh despite not understanding a word of what he says. “Is that Russian?”

He opens his eyes, and the blue you love is almost completely grey. “Yes.” He sounds confused, too.

“What does it mean?” Your afterglow can’t overshadow your curiosity. “If you don’t tell me, this isn’t happening again.” You try to make it obvious you aren’t serious with your playful tone. Especially not after those orgasms.

“Look at you, little and feisty, blackmailing me.” He chuckles before leaving a kiss on your lips. “I told you what a good girl you are. I didn’t realize I spoke in Russian.”

You laugh a little. “Say it again.” You give him the cutest look. “Please?”

“Ty moya khoroshaya devochka.” He repeats softly. You’re my good girl.

You don’t even realize how content you look as you keep smiling.

“Now, I can get used to that.”

“Say my name again, please.”

You love the neediness in his voice. “James?” You tilt your head a little. “Or would you prefer Bucky?”

“Fuck, it doesn’t matter.” His thumb is suddenly on your lips. “I can get used to that, too.”

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