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#bucky barnes reader insert
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Faking It
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Pairing: College Athlete!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Bucky Barnes was in love with his girl—disgustingly, annoyingly so. Enough to start fights on the ice just to make sure he saw her after a game.
Word count: 3k
Warnings: This is FLUFF!! With HOCKEY MAN
a/n:​​​ This was originally something completely different but then I hated it so now it's all fluff and now I do not hate it. Pleaseeeee let me know what you think and if you enjoy it!! I love you thanks for reading ❤️❤️❤️
Masterlist
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“Jesus Christ, Buck. Again?” 
Bucky grinned, split lip tightening uncomfortably. When he turned to his captain, he had the gall to act oblivious. “What do you mean, captain?” 
Steve gave him a disapproving look. “Give it up, pal. There was no need to pick a fight with that guy and you know it.” 
“He was talking shit about the team!” 
“They’ll always be a player talking shit about the team.” 
“Then why’re you breathing down my neck right now, huh? We won. Be happy, Cap,” Bucky encouraged, slinging an arm over his shoulder. Steve raised a brow back at him but was clearly fighting back a smirk. Bucky could tell by the way his eyes lifted, contrasting his deep—albeit fake—frown. 
In truth, Bucky had been looking for a fight. He’d been looking for a plethora of fights since the start of the season, and was usually quite successful with his venture. It had garnered him quite the reputation, but where the crowd saw it as a short-fuse on a large man, Steve saw it for what it really was. 
An opportunity to see you. 
And while Steve could appreciate the dedication, it made one of his best players ride out unnecessary time in the penalty box. 
“I am happy. Just not with you,” Steve clarified, knocking Bucky’s arm away. 
Bucky let out a sound close to a scoff. “Even with my extra time in the sin bin I still helped carry. It’s just part of the game, Steve. Gotta protect the team’s pride.” 
“Yeah,” Steve drawled sarcastically, stopping in front of the locker room doors. “I’m sure that was your reasoning. What was it last game? Someone said something about your ma?” 
“Hey, he did.” 
“They always do.”
Heavy footsteps created a commotion in the hall, the rest of the team finally catching up with the pair. They funneled their way into the room for showers and a fresh change of clothes, and Steve stood with his crossed arms leaning against the wall, somehow still directing an admonishing look towards Bucky amidst the crowd. Bucky did his best to look baffled by the unspoken accusation, but then Sam Wilson passed by and Bucky’s ploy was disintegrated. 
“Hey man,” Sam greeted, slapping a friendly hand against Bucky’s arm as he passed. “You let someone beat the shit out of you again so you could go see your girl?” 
Bucky’s scoff returned, but this time Steve was having none of it. He kicked off of the wall and went to follow the rest of the team into the locker room. Bucky watched with a grimace, not only caught, but put on display.
“You know,” Steve called over his shoulder, not expecting Bucky to follow. “You’re dating the girl now. You don’t gotta keep up with this whole schtick.” 
“I don’t have a schtick,” he called back. At the responding laugh from Steve, Bucky yelled, “I don’t!” but no one was listening to him. Or believing him. 
But fine. If his schtick involved you, in any capacity, Bucky would admit to having one. 
Some of what Steve said was right. Bucky was dating you now. You were his girl and that would imply total access to you all the time, whenever he wanted. He didn’t need to pick fights or feign injuries anymore (the latter never really worked anyways), because he had a key to your apartment. And you were in his bed more weekends than not. 
But, damn, were you busy right now. 
Bucky had never really considered how much schooling went into becoming a physical therapist until he met you. You were typically swamped with papers and tests and requests from Dr. Cho, but this past month had been exponentially worse thanks to finals. He had seen you about once a week if he was lucky, and that was a generous estimation. Add your crazy schedule to the alarming amount of away games he had over the past few weeks and he was champing at the bit to see you. 
Bucky just prayed it was you in the training room today and not Dr. Cho. His odds were pretty favorable considering the team’s main trainer didn’t usually stick around after games if there were no major injuries, but there was always the off chance she let her interns go home early. But, knowing you, you would be in that room until the rink lights went off. 
God, he loved you. Every overworked, high-strung bit of you. 
He even loved the scolding look you shot him as he pushed open the training room doors, his bruises and cuts on full display. You dropped the pen you were tapping against an overflowing notebook and rocketed out of your rolling stool, and Bucky adored the way you stomped over to him, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the curse you clearly wanted to let free. 
“Hey, baby,” Bucky smiled, this time ignoring the sting in his lip. “Funny seeing you here.” 
You huffed, bringing careful fingers up to his chin. “Not very funny,” you mumbled. “Not when you look like someone hit you with their car.” 
Bucky let you fuss for a moment, following your touch as you turned his head back and forth and examined his split knuckles. This was your job, so obviously he let you do it, but he enjoyed watching you. So he didn’t stop you from lifting his jersey up to inspect his middle, because how else would he catch the cute way you scrunch your nose up in concentration? If he pulled his hands away when you started testing the range of motion in his wrists, when else would he be able to track your lips as you softly counted and mouthed gentle confirmations? 
Never. Because you were so damn busy. 
“Missed you,” Bucky said after sneaking a kiss on your forehead while you were prodding at the bruise on his collarbone. “I’ve been missing you a lot.” 
You let a small smile interrupt the disgruntlement on your face. Bucky grinned at the change, pressing another kiss to your hair while he still could. 
“Did you miss me enough to send a right hook into that guy’s jaw?” 
“Yes.” 
Your smile was gone again. Now you looked aghast. “Bucky.” 
“What?” he exclaimed, sliding his torn hands from your healing ones to wrap you in his embrace. “You want me to lie instead? Okay, fine. No, sweetheart, I didn’t start a fight just to have an excuse to see you. That guy got all these punches in on me because I’m out of practice, is all. I don’t think about you every waking second of my life, and while we’re at it, no I did not use your shampoo this morning because I miss how—”
“Okay, okay,” you laughed, resting your forehead on the divot in his chest. “I get it. Thanks for being truthful.” 
Bucky relished in the feel of you. He had been slightly worried that his state would cause you to be more upset than anything. If you weren’t so tired right now, there was a high chance you’d be yelling at him because of his recklessness instead of resting against his chest. So Bucky jumped at the opportunity, trailing one of his hands up to cup the back of your head. He craned his neck down, burying his face into the juncture of your neck. 
He hadn’t been lying about the shampoo. 
“I miss you too. Even if you act like an idiot sometimes,” you mumbled against his jersey. 
Something in Bucky felt lighter, warm. “Acting like an idiot’s the only way I get to see my girl.” 
You hummed. “Sorry ‘m so busy.” 
You had to be exhausted. Not even a single reprimand had tumbled from your mouth. Bucky had expected at least three. 
“When’s the last time you slept, baby?” Bucky kept his voice low, his thumb making unconscious circles against your hair. 
“I don’t know. In the night.” 
“Okay, thanks smart ass.” Bucky jostled you a bit until your eyes met his. “I meant when did you last take a break? Get a good night’s sleep?” 
You sighed, gaze trailing over his face. “Let me fix you up. Then we can play twenty questions.” 
“Baby—”
“No, Buck, this is the training room, if you haven’t noticed,” you quipped, stepping back and rifling through a few drawers. “Take a seat and I’ll fix you. That’s my job.” 
“Well, what about my job?” he grumbled back. 
“You have failed at your job. Your job is hockey and you instead played human punching bag.” 
“Not that job. My other job. The one where I take care of you.” 
You spun on your heel, a basket of supplies resting on your hip. The sweater that engulfed your frame had the university’s logo stamped across the front, but instead of jeans or slacks—the usual uniform for PT interns—you wore leggings. Your hair was pulled back in the most endearing, pretty mess, and Bucky’s chest hurt as he looked at you. 
“My tired girl,” he hummed, bringing his hand up to your cheek as you pushed him down on the exam chair. He sat if only to appease you, his feet still flat on the floor even with the tall seat.
“I’m only a little tired,” you weakly fought. Bucky chuckled in response, sanitary paper crinkling beneath him. “Now let me clean you up.” 
You snapped gloves onto your hands and Bucky fought back a petulant whine. If he had been any other member of the team, those gloves would have been on the second they walked in the door. He should be grateful, then, that you only put them on when it was time to tend to his wounds, but he wasn’t. He missed you too much to feel latex instead of your skin. 
Bucky’s lip stung as you cleaned it, but he hardly flinched. If he moved, he would miss the pretty way you bit into your lip as you stared at him. 
“Remember when I’d be in here all the time?” he asked when you turned back down to grab antibiotic cream. 
You let out a tired laugh. “How could I forget? You picked a fight every game. If that didn't work you’d come stumbling in here complaining about a torn ACL or whatever. Big liar.” 
“I wouldn’t call it lying.” 
The smile you gave him was replicated on his own face. 
“You were literally lying.” You dabbed the cream on his lip, and then moved to the cut on his cheek. “You would come limping in here and then I’d see you an hour later running out to the parking lot.” 
“You wouldn’t look at me if I wasn’t injured.” 
“It was my job, Bucky!” you laughed, eyes giving away your amusement. “I wasn’t supposed to be fraternizing with the players. I’m pretty sure Cho only lets us be together because you wouldn’t leave her alone otherwise.” 
Bucky moved his hands from his thighs to your waist, tugging you closer as you worked. “Hey, sometimes drastic measures are needed.” 
“You called her multiple times a day… bought her an edible arrangement. Wait, didn’t you offer to drive her kids to school a few times?” 
“It worked, didn’t it,” he posed, nudging his nose against your cheek. You giggled, lightly slapping his arm to get away. 
“The edible arrangement was a good touch,” you relented. 
Bucky released you as you wiggled from his grip, flitting around the training room to put supplies back. He spotted your backpack in the corner of the room, unzipped with the water bottle tipping out. When you sat down at the computer to document his care, which he found a bit ridiculous (you only put a bandaid on his face), Bucky walked over and gathered your things. He did so slowly so you wouldn’t notice; you probably had plans to stay at the rink for another few hours, and that was not okay with him. 
With a final zip and your water bottle now standing upright, Bucky meandered over to your seated position. He hooked his chin over your shoulder as you worked, leaning over and tapping your phone screen for the time. His heart twisted warmly in his chest when he saw a picture of himself smiling under the 8:00 pm displayed on the homescreen. 
After all the pining and work it took to get you, Bucky often felt this wasn’t real. 
God, he loved you. 
“I know what you’re trying to do,” you whispered, clicking away at the computer. “I still have some charting to do. Peter hit his head yesterday and I have to do the follow up work.” 
Still in his uniform, Bucky wrapped you up from behind. Now you would both need a shower and he could get you to leave. He kissed the back of your head, and then your temple, and then your cheek as he craned his neck to watch you work. You smelled like fresh laundry and books and the subtle hint of your perfume.
“Parker’s fine. He was up and playing today. Let’s go home, baby,” Bucky murmured, most of his words spoken against your skin. 
“I know he’s okay. But head injuries are a completely different protocol and I have to—” 
“I miss you,” he reiterated. “And you’re working too hard. All the lights are off in the rink ‘cept for this one. Come back to my place. Let me take care of you.” 
“Why don’t you shower and change first? I’ll leave with you once you finish.” 
Bucky spun your stool around suddenly, one hand on your waist, the other reaching back to steady himself on the desk now at your back. “Oh no, don’t try to pull that on me. I get back in here, you’re gonna tell me you started something new you can only finish on the PT computer and you can’t leave for another hour. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
You let out a quick sigh, caught. “Well, what about—” 
“Nope,” Bucky interrupted. He used his far hand to shut the facility computer and then guided you up. “You’re coming home with me. You’re gonna sit in the car while I drive you to my apartment and then we’re gonna take a shower together and I’m gonna make you feel so good you don’t even remember what a concussion is.” 
“Bucky,” you chastised, hiding your face in his shoulder. 
His laugh shook your head. “Still so damn shy.” He reached down to grab your bag, slinging it over his shoulder and placing a hand on the back of your neck, meeting your averted gaze. “Just me in here, baby.” 
“I know. But you don’t have to be so vulgar.” 
“Vulgar? Sweetheart, if you want vulgar I’ll tell you exactly what I’m gonna do to you the second we—” 
You slapped your hand over his mouth, careful for the delicate skin there. Still, Bucky was sure you could feel his smile against your skin, and he fought back an even bigger one when he saw the embarrassed twist of your brow. 
Slowly, he pried your wrist down, kissing the palm of your hand on the way. “Sorry,” he whispered, not sorry in the slightest.
You pursed your lips, flustered. “You’re such an antagonizer.”
Bucky could do this every day and never grow tired of it. It had been months now and he found himself only wanting you more. 
“Can’t help it. I love you.”
Your faux annoyance morphed into a bashful smile, the kind Bucky remembered from his time faking injuries. It was reminiscent of when you were trying not to laugh at his jokes, or smile at his flirting, or give him any reaction he was looking for. 
But he always got what he wanted in the end. 
And, more than anything, he wanted you. 
“That one do the trick?” Bucky asked. “Am I finally getting my girl to come home with me?” 
When you looked up at him with raised brows and a smile twisted up at the corners, he knew you’d given up. Perfect timing, too, because—in all honesty—Bucky had been punched in the side during his on-ice tussle, and his ribs were starting to hurt. You were going to be pissed when you saw the bruise form tomorrow morning, but you would be pissed in his bed, so it was worth it to Bucky.
“I have to get a little bit of homework done when we get there,” you reasoned, pointing an accusing finger at your boyfriend. 
He threw his hands up in surrender, dropping one down over your shoulders as you both walked out. “Okay, okay. Homework at my place, I got it.” 
“That comes first, Bucky. Before anything else. Shower, then homework, and then… other things.” 
“I know what first means, baby.” 
“Good.” 
But Bucky had other plans, and they did not involve homework. He was pretty sure you were ahead, anyways. Like, weeks ahead, actually. 
“You eat dinner yet?” he asked, fishing his keys from his pocket. 
You looked up at him, incredulous. “What did I just say?” 
“What?” he defended, tugging you closer as the wind in the parking lot whipped at your clothes. “I can’t make sure my girl’s had dinner? What am I allowed to do?”
You only scoffed, tucking yourself further into his side. “Keep me warm.” 
“Always, baby.” 
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slyyywriting · 6 months
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Might Even Be
Pairing: DILF!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: How they met and how things started out. A background to this drabble.
Wordcount: 2.1k 
Warnings: age gap (reader is 28, Bucky is 48), explicit sexy times, Bucky being a hot older gentleman but not really a gentleman coz he is nasty, some feels, breeding kink, daddy kink
18+ ONLY! IF YOU ARE A MINOR, KINDLY EXIT STAGE LEFT! DO NOT INTERACT!
A/N: Kept thinking about getting p*netrated by DILF Bucky so yeah lol Title based on We Might Even Be Falling In Love by the talented Victoria Monet. Not beta'd! Enjoy~
|| MASTERLIST ||
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You must have lost your damn mind.
That would be the only reason why you did the things you did last night. And why you did him. Or he did you. He most definitely did you, really well. You slink yourself out of the sheets tangled beneath your legs and roll to the floor in a soft thud. You wince as you try to move around to search for your missing clothes in the room.
You find your bra on the floor by the door and reach for them, pausing when the man on the bad shifts from lying on his back to lying on his side away from where you just slept. You feel guilty for sneaking out but you can’t face him. Not now, not this morning. Maybe not ever.
Yesterday was terrible. It was a shitty conclusion to months of preparation for a project that caused you too many sleepless nights and so much mental anguish. And then in the last minute someone else swooped in, took all the credit and left you dry. You almost climbed over the conference table and scratched at Heather’s surgically enhanced cheekbones. Good thing Tessa held your arm before you did anything dramatic, like murder the daughter of the chairman of board of your company’s biggest investor.
So, you sat there fuming, shooting daggers from your eyes as Heather smiled and thanked the marketing director for showering her with compliments. She would have gotten them without stealing your project, she was a Barnes after all. Born with a diamond encrusted spoon and now works for one of her daddy’s subsidiaries before she eventually takes her rightful place as a board member. Fuck Heather!
Poison was on your tongue and molten lava was in your veins, a combination that would be deadly to anyone around you at the moment, so you chose to keep away in case you spewed it on your co-workers. You started happy hour at four in the afternoon, parking your butt on one of the stools at Maria’s bistro. It would be two more hours before they opened for the dinner rush which meant you had plenty of time to drown that little angry demon inside you that wanted to commit felonies.
You were almost sober. You think. The steak sandwich that Carol gave you comfortably settled in your stomach, sloshing around the multiple shots of rum and two and a half cocktails. You were peacefully chewing while sitting atop the corner counters in the kitchen, enjoying the heat and the systematic activities that flurried around you.
That was until one of the servers popped into the kitchen and announced an array of orders for a VIP level table. Two words: James. Barnes.
Your eyes widen at the mention of his name. The previous cool reigniting as the incidents of today replay in your mind. You’re reminded of falling asleep on the train and waking up to missing your stop. Of the events that you missed out on because you had to chase suppliers at ridiculous hours. The countless meals you missed because you were too in the zone with work.
You pop off the counter and take cooking wine from one of the chefs, chugging it down in one go. With a deep scowl and determination, you wipe your mouth with your sleeve and march your way into the restaurant, zeroing in on your target.
You march over to the man. It was easy to pin point which one was the James Barnes. He was constantly on Page Six, photographed at events wearing Armani or Prada suits that were worth someone’s mortgage. Your step stutters as you get close enough, breath hitching at the sight of him. Who told him to be this pretty?
Cool eyes look up at you with a slightly confused arch of his left brow.
“Can I help you?”
He asks with a deep timber that makes your hair stand on its ends. You stutter again, gulping at the sudden pool that developed in your throat.
"I- I, uh-"
He tilts his head, eyes boring into you. His companion leaves at a subtle flick of his finger while you remain frozen.
"Would you like to sit down?"
No. You want to say no. But you find yourself nodding your head yes. Your body moves and settles in the seat next to him. You yelp and hold on to his arm when he slides your chair closer to him, the show of strength spreading hot on your skin. Your jaw slack as you try and remember why you were here in the first place. You stutter again when he asks you a question you could not hear. Then you see the glass of vodka on the table. You aim for the glass and down all the contents in one go.
There's a hint of mirth on James Barnes' face, sharp eyes following your every move. His tongue darts out as you moan loudly when the vodka burns at the back of your throat. He hands you a glass of water and you take it with both hands with a muttered thanks.
"Your daughter is a bitch!"
"Excuse me?"
The words escape your mouth as soon as your throat is clear, causing the man beside you to lean forward and chuckle. HIs face was closer now. Clearer. You can see the freckles on his nose and the slight graying of his beard in high definition. So close.
His arm takes position on the back of your chair. Another pull and your thighs are touching. His pants, soft and warm against your exposed skin. Your breath hitches. This was not how you wanted this confrontation to go. You clench your eyes shut and wring your hands.
"You heard me," you exhale and face him. Eyes returning to their previous ire. "She's a bitch. I don't get why she had to steal my fucking project and declare it as her own! She does not need it! She has money, your money, and a multi-million dollar corporation to inherit. I on the other hand, have bills to pay and I don't have a- a daddy like you to bail me out when my rent is due and I have to choose between getting home safe, eating a nice meal, or having a roof over my head!"
Your ears ring as you spit out your frustration. Your chest heaves as you stare at James Barnes, regret and embarrassment crawling in your veins at your little outburst. You didn't even realize your hands were fisting his shirt until he speaks and pries your hands off his clothes and holds them against his own. His palms are warm and his fingers soothing.
"I apologize for Heather's behavior. I did not raise her like that. In fact, I did not raise her at all." The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard and your shoulders relax at the way he was holding you. Your ire has gone down but not completely away. You're enamored as he speaks, eyes tracing his lips as they move. "Tell me all about your project and let me fix this."
He gives you a lopsided smirk, almost boyish even against his features. And that was when you got into the trouble you were in now.
You don't remember how but you find yourself tangled in his arms, pulling him close, and savoring how he tasted on your tongue. You were turned on beyond belief. You've never been this wet, this excited to be in the throes with someone.
He growls in your ear when you pull his hand and place it between your thighs. Patience running thin as he takes his time touching you everywhere except where you needed him to touch you most.
"Please, James-"
He hooks the gusset of your panties to the side and slides two fingers in your slit. He moans against your skin when he feels how soaked you are, pads of his fingers gliding hotly on your lips.
"It's Bucky- call me, Bucky."
"Buck-" your breath leaves you as he pushes in a finger in your soaking cunt. Your back arches and your chin tips towards the ceiling. Your hands wander, looking for something, anything to anchor yourself to.
"Fuck, you're tight." He pants, lips against your cheek as he pushes in and out slowly until he finds his rhythm. You follow it, hips dancing into his fingers for more. For relief. More. More. More. "Yes, more. I'll give you more, angel."
Three. He's three knuckles deep inside you. Your juices run down your thighs as he squeezes pleasure from you. Your blinded by searing lust that his touches manage out of you. You wanted to scream, wanted to run away from his skilled hand. And yet, and yet. Your breath hitches and you throw your head back as you gush into his palm. Undeterred by your cries, Bucky continues to pump you and hit you in that spot that pokes into you like magic. Knees shaking and blood rushing to your ears, he kisses you softly and sweetly.
"You asked for more, yes?" He's teasing you. Taunting you. But you've never been a quitter. Never one to back down. So you nod, and you get naked beneath him. And Bucky takes you, takes your breath away and makes you forget how your night started.
You couldn't even take your time to oggle him because he's pressed against you. You takes you on your back, thighs pushed up against your chest, spread open for him. He tastes you and you give it to him. HIs tongue full of praise that fills you with butterflies. You're exposed under his gaze and the way he whispers.
"Fucking beautiful. Perfect pussy," you moan as he eats you, savors every inch of you. You dare take a peek of him and you come almost immediately when he looks at you while his face is smeared with your essence. He gives you soft kisses and little bites on your shaking thighs.
The night ends with him inside you. He glides in and out, taking his fill of you until hot lightning hits him. You latch your legs behind him, crossing your ankles to keep him inside when he tells you he was going to come.
"Inside- all of it." you plead, something that you've never done before. You're scared for a second. Scared he'll reject you and push you away only to finish off on your skin. But no, Bucky smiles again. A crooked one full of mischief and satisfaction.
"You wanna be full of me, angel? Want my seed inside you, huh?" His rhythm returns into vigor. Skin slapping against skin. You babble your concessions to him as he builds you up again. "Want to make me a daddy, again? You'll make me a daddy, huh?"
You bite on his shoulder as he pushes deep inside you. You feel him, all of him. His heartbeat erratic against your skin when he paints your inside with his seed. You feel satiated, full, warm. You feel him.
There are stars behind your eyelids after you come down from the high. You dream of touches and kisses. You dream of warm blue eyes. You dream of happiness. You dream of Bucky.
Which brings you back to this morning. As heavenly as your dreams were, you could not escape the fact that last night was stupid. Yes, you had the best fucking of your life and you can still feel him throbbing inside you but you could not face him. You had to go.
"You're just gonna leave without these?" You yelp when Bucky startles you as he stands by his bedroom door, twirling your panties in his finger. He was wearing a robe with nothing underneath, morning wood visible and beautiful. You almost drool at the sight since you didn't really get to look at it last night.
"Right. I need those back. I don't like the city breeze to pass through my-" you purse your lips and stand straight.
"Give me a kiss goodbye and I'll return them."
"Just a kiss?"
He shrugs and loops the elastic around his hand before gesturing for you to come closer.
"Maybe some breakfast."
"And then I can go?"
You step closer to him. Like a moth to flame. He smirks because he knows what's going through your head.
"Only if you want,"
Bucky grabs your wrist and pulls you against him. He gives you a kiss that makes your toes tingle. You don't go and you don't get your underwear back. But you do get to memorize every bump, vein and freckle on Bucky's body. And then, when Monday comes back around, your plan to destroy Heather is set into motion.
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The Rain is Always Gonna Come if You're Standing With Me | Bucky Barnes x Reader
Hi, friends. This one took me approximately 100 years to finish because school is eating me alive. This one is based on Peace from folklore, which is an underrated song, in my opinion.
Word count: 12.3k
Warnings: Bucky's negative self image, harassment, slight reader injury, people being assholes
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"But I'm a fire, and I'll keep your brittle heart warm If your cascade ocean wave blues come All these people think love's for show But I would die for you in secret The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?"
“Oh, you don’t have to do that, doll-” Bucky said as you swiped the dirty dishes from the table. He made a grab for them, but his enhanced speed was no match for you. You expertly evaded his capture, slipping away from his grasp with almost no effort. You knew him too well, knew his movement patterns and habits. Anticipating his every move was easy. With a cocky laugh, you turned on your heel and headed for the sink. 
“Sweetheart, really,” he called after you, “I’ll clean up.”
“But you made breakfast.” You set the two bowls that once held yogurt, fruit, and granola in the sink and turned on the water. “It’s only fair that I do the dishes.”
Bucky rolled his eyes and gave a laugh, “that wasn’t breakfast, baby. It was just a… a morning snack.” In only a few long strides, he met you at the sink. His large hands snatched yours and pulled them to his broad chest, halting your efforts to clean.
You cocked your head to the side, “A morning snack, huh?”
“Yeah. I mean, I know we’re going out for breakfast, but I didn’t want you to be hungry.” He added a fraction of extra pressure to your hands, pulling them closer against his body. “I gotta take care of my girl.”
“Well, that’s very thoughtful of you,” you placed a quick peck to his lips. “And because you are so thoughtful and sweet, let me do the dishes.” With a playful tug, you tried to free your hands from his grasp. But Bucky held firm. 
He shook his head, “Nope. Not gonna happen.” Suddenly, he released your hands, spun you around, and landed a light slap to your ass; it happened so fast it left you giggling. “You go get dressed, I’ll take care of it.”
Your giggly “sir, yes, sir” floated down the hall as you marched toward the bedroom. This was to be the perfect day. A trip to your favorite bookstore, followed by what you swore was the best chicken and waffles the city had to offer. After breakfast, the two of you were set to visit the new shark exhibit at the science museum, eat lunch in the park, and grab an ice cream from your favorite spot. 
Bucky planned it all out, ensuring a flawless blueprint. And while you appreciated his attention to detail, you would’ve been happy with a day at home. All you wanted- all you needed- was to spend time with him. 
And time with Bucky was lacking as of late.
He stood at the sink, drying the now clean dishes as emotion overcame him. He couldn’t believe he was here- home- with you. He waited for this day. He hungered and ached for a day without danger, without bloodshed. He waited for a day spent with you. And only you. 
He’d just been so busy lately- too busy. Over the past few months, he’d been dragged around the world more times than he could count. His missions only seemed to grow longer. And each time he got the call from Hill, she sent him farther and farther away. 
He found himself struggling under the weight of severe, mind-numbing exhaustion. Anxiety. His body threatened to give out with each new wound he received, each drop of blood he lost. But he didn’t mind the constant paint or fatigue. What upset him most was spending so much time away from you.
The two of you lived together now. You shared an address, a roof, a bedroom. The universe somehow allowed Bucky to have a home- a safe, comfortable home- with the person he loved most. But he’d spent so little time there lately that he feared it wasn’t his anymore. That he had no claim to the space. He always felt like a mere passerby upon arriving home, like more of a wanderer than a resident. He always had to stop himself from knocking, had to force himself to use his key. 
But who was he to waltz through the front door after being gone for so long? Who was he to act like he owned the place? He thought maybe he didn’t deserve it, this home you shared. And he knew he didn’t deserve you.  
Over the past few months, he spent only a handful of nights at home while you held down the fort. You kept things together. He missed out on so much of your life; what if you didn’t want him to be a part of it anymore?
When Bucky did come home, he always showed up in the middle of the night. Sore. Exhausted. He’d drag his body into the bed you shared and pass out before he even got the chance to pull you close. He’d sleep late, his body too fatigued to wake before the afternoon. When he finally stirred, the two of you did your best to catch up. He wanted to hear every detail of your life, and you his. But without fail, the emotion won. You’d cry together, wrapped in the other’s arms, whispering “I love yous” over and over. 
And without fail, some world ending threat would interrupt. Danger always found a way to force the two of you apart, isolating you from one another. And only twenty-four hours after arriving home, Bucky would leave. Again. 
But over the last few weeks, things started quieting down. It was slow at first. Subtle. But Bucky sensed a shift in the air. He could almost feel the world settling. At first, he thought he’d lost his mind. But Sam, too, felt the earth calming. As did Hill. Whatever sweeping, overwhelming chaos that sent the entire planet into disaster so many months ago seemed to finally lose steam. Fewer calls came in, fewer alerts woke Bucky in the middle of the night. 
And three nights ago, Bucky came home for good. 
The adrenaline that kept him going for so long evaporated as soon as he made it through the front door. The anxiety melted from his body. It was the only thing, he realized, that kept him upright. And with it gone, his body gave out. He crumbled and collapsed to the floor as sweet relief flooded his every cell. He didn’t care that he was hurt, that he was worn out; he was just happy to be home.
But a sharp shriek flooded his system with fear once again. 
You stood frozen in the doorway of your bedroom, just a few feet away, with your hands clasped over your mouth. Tears welled in your eyes. Your chest rose and fell as sharp breaths dragged into your lungs. The sight of his limp body sent you jumping to the worst, most tragic conclusions. 
“No, I’m- I’m okay, baby.”  With great effort, Bucky pulled himself to his feet. 
It was then that you snapped out of your horrified trance. You rushed to Bucky’s side, throwing your arms around his neck, and pressing your body to his. You needed to be as close to him as possible, needed your souls to touch. His arms wound around you and pulled you closer still, desperate for you.
“You’re okay…” you whispered against his neck. It wasn’t a question, but an affirmation.
“I’m okay,” he said. “I’m home.” 
That night, after he took a shower and let you clean his wounds, he planned this perfect day. And though you told him it wasn’t necessary, he wanted to make things up to you. He wanted to apologize for being gone so long. For breaking your heart over and over and over again. For disappearing. 
He knew how his absences affected you. Knew you worried about him constantly when he was gone. He noticed the way you bit your nails down to the quick. How you picked at your cuticles till they bled. Your tired eyes looked bloodshot, and your bottom lip chewed raw. He knew your anxiety gave you stomach pain and headaches. Knew that you could barely eat or sleep when he was away. 
His constant disappearing act put you through hell. And he hated himself for it. All he wanted- all he ever wanted- was to make you happy. To bring you calm and ease and tranquility. And now that he was home, he swore to himself that he’d give you peace. 
Bucky finished with the dishes and headed into the bedroom, hoping to soak up as much time with you as possible. But just as he made his way into the en suite bathroom, your grumbled, aggravated voice caught his attention.
“Oh, what the fuck?” You let out a deep huff, staring down at your phone with a sharp seriousness.
Bucky popped his head into the bathroom, “Everything okay?” 
A look of surprise splashed across your face; you hadn’t heard him come in. “Oh- hey. Yeah. Everything is-” you gestured to your phone, “everything’s fine. My friend just sent me a stupid gossip article.”
“Anything good?” Bucky shot you a wink, knowing damn well he was clueless about the latest reality tv drama. 
“No.” The word carried a hefty weight and fell to the ground with finality.
Bucky clocked your tone, your expression- both struck him as too serious for a gossip rag. His muscles stiffened ever so slightly at sight of your displeasure. 
“Just dumb shit. People writing whole articles over things they have no idea about.” You rolled your eyes and slipped your phone into your pocket. A deep breath acted as a reset to your system, clearing the fog of frustration from your mind. “And it doesn’t even matter, cause we have a perfect day planned.” 
Bucky, too, took a deep breath. He relaxed into a smile and leaned against the door jam. “We sure do, doll.”
He was too accustomed to disaster. Always prepared for the worst. The slightest change in your demeanor sent him hurdling toward the worst possible conclusion. His body was home, but his mind remained stuck in a never-ending battle. 
“I’m just gonna put my shoes on- I’ll be ready when you are.” Bucky stepped away and did his best to shake it off. ‘Everything’s fine, it’s all good’, he said to himself as he laced up his boots. ‘It was just an article about Vanderpump Rules or whatever.’ His palms dragged up and down his thighs, his chest rose and fell rhythmically. He learned how to self-regulate, to talk himself down, long ago- before he ever met you. It was his only option back then.
The sound of your footsteps bounding down the hall commanded Bucky’s attention. He snapped out his dimly lit world and stepped into your technicolor atmosphere. A comforting sigh of relief spread though his body as he noticed the bright smile on your face. Any evidence of the upset your gossip rag caused was long gone, replaced by an all-encompassing warmth. 
“Alright, Barnes,” you grabbed your purse from the hook by the door and slung it over your shoulder,  “let’s do this.” 
The warm summer air greeted the two of you as stepped out of your apartment building. The busy city pulsed with the possibilities of a perfect Saturday. People passed by with dogs in tow. Cars honked. Birds sang. And finally, things felt right. Everything fell off its axis when Bucky was gone. The world turned in the wrong direction, the sun set on the opposite side. And only his return could set things properly in motion.
“Okay, to the bookstore,” Bucky weaved his fingers with yours and gave you a gentle tug in the right direction, “here we go!” 
Bucky never had an affinity for going out in public. He didn’t particularly enjoy the crowded sidewalks or busy subways. Throngs of strangers surrounding him from every angle only ever served to put him on edge. But he’d improved. He’d worked through his anxiety and his fears- all to be with you. It seemed, though, that his paranoia threatened to creep in again. After so much time away, surrounded by danger, he found himself scanning every face on the street, assessing possible threats. 
He always experienced some level of recognition in public, sure, but today felt different. Every pair of eyes seemed to bore through him, every mouth whispered his name. His muscles tensed, his jaw locked. 
“You okay?” you pulled Bucky to the side, out of the flow of people, “you seem a little on edge.”
“Oh-” Bucky snaked his hand out of yours, realizing all at once the force of his grip. He watched you rub at the sore spots he created and silently cursed himself. “No, I’m good, I’m okay. I think I’m just-” He eyed the area once more, “I think I’m just being paranoid. Is it me or is everyone staring at me?”
Your heart stopped. “Um, no, I don’t think everyone’s staring,” A casual shrug and a shake of your head punctuated your thought. “I think you’ve got some residual adrenaline or something, you know?”
Bucky nodded. “Must be it. I’m sorry about your hand, baby.” He pressed his lips to the indentations his fingers left behind. 
“I’ll survive,” you threw him a wink, “but the kisses help.”
The two of you continued your journey with Bucky’s worries only slightly assuaged. It seemed to him that hundreds of eyes raked over him with each passing second, but he forced his anxiety behind a wall. He wasn’t going to mess up this day with you- he couldn’t. He didn’t know how many chances he had left, and if this was the last one, he couldn’t afford to ruin it.
Block after block passed as you and Bucky got closer to the bookstore. Sure, there was a similar shop only a few minutes from the apartment- but it wasn’t as cute or as special as the one in the village. And Bucky wanted this day perfect. He’d do anything to make you happy. And so, he sucked it up and vowed to make the trek with you, no matter how nervous the public made him. 
But with only a few blocks to go, you pulled him to the side once again.
“Hang on, shoe’s untied,” you attempted to bend down and tie your loose lace, but Bucky refused to let you. He, instead, knelt on the sidewalk and gave your shoe a proper double-knot. 
He stared up at you with adoration in his eyes and a warm smile on his face, “this is almost like a Cinderella moment,” he joked. “Except I-” 
Something caught his eye. 
And before you had the chance to intervene, he was gone. He forced his way past cyclists and families with children, his body seemingly drawn in by a magnet toward whatever grabbed his attention. He stood with his back to you, examining a newspaper box. 
“Come on, Buck, no one reads the paper anymore,” you laughed, attempting to sway his focus. But he didn’t move. 
His gaze remained on the grainy photo of the two of you holding hands outside your building. For the second time that day, you scanned the headline: ‘SERIAL KILLER’S PR RELATIONSHIP: The Winter Soldier’s Attempt to Win Over the American Public’.
“What- what is this?” Bucky looked to you for help, for context. “Why did someone wrote about us?”
A haunting sense of hopelessness filled his eyes, leaving you gutted. And though he wanted to look away, he couldn’t seem to pull his eyes from the page. Each second spent examining the harsh headline caused him more pain, more anguish. 
He truly couldn’t believe what he saw. And he couldn’t believe he’d dragged you into the crossfire. 
“Hey, don’t pay it any mind, okay?” You fought to meet his eyeline, “It’s just stupid gossip-”
A realization flashed across his face, “is this what you were reading this morning?”
A slow nod confirmed his fears. “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you, I just-”
Bucky snatched a paper from the box and began reading at lightning speed. With each sentence, the dread filling his chest grew heavier. “Hydra’s deadliest weapon has a new victim,” Bucky read aloud. “though she hasn’t been bloodied or brutalized…yet. We’ll see just how long Barnes’s new PR ‘girlfriend’ survives.”
The words cut him deep. They wormed their way into his brain and unearthed the fears he’d long tried to put to rest. He knew he was wrong to be with you. He was wrong to indulge in his feelings for you. Dating you meant putting you in danger, and he’d known that all along. But you were never scared of him- and if you were, you didn’t show it. This article, however, cemented his belief: your relationship was a ticking time bomb; being Bucky’s girlfriend meant signing your I love you’s in blood. 
“Wait-” he dragged his eyes upward and met your anxious stare. “What does this mean- what’s a ‘PR relationship’?”
You rolled your eyes at the phrase, just like you had earlier that morning, “’public relations relationship’. It’s a fake relationship that’s been arranged by a PR firm. People usually do it to get publicity or fix their public image after a scandal.”
Bucky knew there was more to your answer, and he had enough questions to last till dinner. But the article was long- too long. He knew it had to be full to the brim with the most brutal, vile rhetoric possible. Reading it would hurt, yes. But he needed to know exactly what the article said about him, about you. 
He buried his face in the paper once more, only surfacing to share a line or two with you. “They think you’re being paid to date me? That we’ve been doing something called-” he double checked the article, “‘pap walks’? What’s a pap walk?”
Even in times of crisis, Bucky’s lack of modern knowledge still managed to pull a smile from you. “It’s where you call the paparazzi so they can take pictures of you, but you pretend it was spontaneous.”
Bucky looked stunned, “Why would anyone do that?”
You shrugged, “you’d be surprised.”
People took pictures of Bucky without his permission constantly- it happened all the time. They snapped photos at the grocery store and on the subway. And no matter how subtle they tried to be, Bucky always clocked it. He could almost feel the lenses on him. But he didn’t notice the person taking this picture on the front page. Maybe if he had, he could’ve stopped it. Maybe he could’ve saved you from being exposed like this.
He shook his head and disappeared once again into the disgusting story written about the two of you. He didn’t care much what they said about him. People hated him- that wasn’t knew information. And though he didn’t love being one of the most reviled men in history, he’d come to terms with it. But now that someone dragged you into the fray, the fire within him reignited.
“His new ‘girlfriend’ functions as a means of improving the public’s opinion of Barnes and humanizing the ex-Winter Soldier. It’s a PR strategy we’ve seen a million times- one that could possibly salvage Barnes’s reputation,” Bucky read aloud. He eyed the people who passed, waiting until they crossed the street to continue. 
“But what if she herself is no angel?” He rolled his eyes at the thought. “Surely, no one in their right mind would risk their life to date a proven serial killer. So, it’s entirely possible that she herself may not be in her right mind. Maybe she, too, is a criminal. Acting as Barnes’s new love interest could possibly knock time off her sentence or hours off her court mandated community service.” 
Bucky stared at you, aghast. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I- I can’t believe they’d say that about you…”
“Buck, it’s okay,” you shrugged. “We both know I’m actually in love with you for real. I don’t have a prison sentence to shorten or community service hours to perform. And the last time I checked, no one is paying me to date you.” You cut a glance to the newspaper box, full of papers with front page coverage about you and Bucky, “I’m not worried about their bullshit.”
Bucky’s grip on the paper tightened, crinkling the edges. “But why’d they have to drag you into it? You haven’t done anything wrong-”
“Neither have you,” your tone was insistent, steadfast.
“We both know that’s not true…” Bucky loved your support, your assertions that he was an innocent man. But he never believed them. He knew he had blood on his hands even if you couldn’t- or refused to- see it.
“We both know you had no choice,” your rebuttal didn’t waver. “But, speaking of things that aren’t true,” you gestured toward the paper, “they also dropped Sam’s name.”
Bucky scanned through the article until he found the paragraph in question. “Why put in the effort to clean the blood from Barnes’s tarnished reputation? Two words: Sam Wilson,” Bucky paused his reading and stared up at you with wide eyes. All you could do was nod. 
“Barnes and Wilson have been seen together on many occasions and have even been photographed on Wilson’s family boat in Louisiana. But Barnes’s association with Sam Wilson, AKA the New Captain America, only hurts the Captain America brand. Even if the two did take down the Flag Smashers as a team, Barnes is a bloodstain on the brilliant red, white, and blue of Wilson’s Cap.” 
Hearing the words aloud twisted the knife. Sure, skimming the article hurt, but listening to Bucky read every last disgusting word hurt you in ways you never imagined. He deserved better. He deserved a world that loved him. A world that welcomed him home and celebrated his life. He deserved a fucking medal of honor for simply surviving what Hydra put him through. But he didn’t get medals or high praise; he, instead, got spit on by people on the subway. 
“But if this new woman improves Barnes’s image in the public eye, his destruction of Wilson’s mantle may be mitigated.” 
Bucky balled up the paper and crushed it into the nearest garbage can. His hands shook with anger, with anxiety. 
“I hadn’t even- I didn’t even think of that…” he leaned against the newspaper box, dejected. “I didn’t realize I was ruining Sam's reputation just by being friends with him.” Despair darkened his expression. He knew getting close to people was selfish- he just never realized how selfish. And in one fell swoop, he ruined the lives of the two people he cared about most.
“You’re not- you’re not ruining anything,” you took Bucky’s face in your hands, cradling his cheeks. “These kinds of stories are all made up, baby. There’s no sources or actual information for them to work from, so they just write whatever will get them the most attention.”
Bucky’s gaze fell downward. “I don’t know, doll…”
“But I do. I know.” Your words came out desperate, pleading. Something inside of you shook with a frantic need to mend Bucky’s broken heart. You’d never seen him this despondent, this torn apart. “And I’m not gonna let you doubt yourself because of some low budget, piece of shit gossip article.” Regardless of the emotion holding you hostage, your voice didn’t waver. You stood firm in your conviction, determined to help Bucky find his way out of the spiral. “I love you. I love being with you. I missed you so much- I hate when you’re gone. And Sam- Sam loves you, too. I mean, not as much as me…” you shot him a wink. “But he is your best friend. He cares about you. And I can guarantee that he’s never- even for a second- thought that you were ruining his reputation.”
Bucky gave a shake of his head.
“Hey, you know Sam doesn’t care about that kind of stuff- he doesn’t give a shit what people think.” Sam knew Bucky as the ruthless assassin, the broken fugitive, and the rehabilitated man seeking amends. He’d seen the darkest, most twisted version of Bucky created by Hydra- even fought against him. But he didn’t see Bucky as a villain anymore. He saw only his friend, the tortured soul who tried his best every day.
Bucky lifted your hands from his face and held them to his chest instead. He gave a deep, heavy sigh that vibrated under your palms. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. Part of him wished to go back into cryo and escape the stares of the world. 
You could see him crumbling, collapsing in on himself like a dying star. He was drowning in his own mind, and you offered him a life preserver. “Hey, I know it must feel fucking awful to see a story like this about yourself. And I know you hate that Sam and I are involved. But it’s not your fault.” You gripped his t-shirt in your fists, desperate to get your point across. “This whole thing is so predatory and evil- it’s killing me to see you hurting like this. But I swear to you that this does not matter to the rest of the world. they won’t even notice.” Bucky’s stare sliced through you. Something in his eyes appeared hopeful- but only for a moment. The brightness died suddenly, replaced by despair.
“Seriously, Buck, people these days don’t even have the attention span to read an article this long.” Bucky didn’t laugh at your attempted levity. You dropped your joking tone and grew serious. “I don’t want you to think that this changes anything- it doesn’t. This will not have any ramifications. It will all blow over. The news cycle moves so fast now- by tomorrow, this same shitty paper will publish something that’s, like, ‘Elton John is secretly an alien.’”
Bucky didn’t answer. He simply rested his shoulders against the cool, brick wall and let his head fall back. He wondered if the fear people held for him would ever subside, if he’d ever be seen as anything other than a monster. His legacy was soaked in blood. It hung over his head every day, dripping crimson onto his skin. No shower could undo the stains- no matter how hard he scrubbed, he’d always be the stuff of nightmares.
“Okay, hey, how about this,” you reeled Bucky back in, saving him from the dark recesses of his mind. “Let’s just go home, alright? We can hole up and hide out. Watch movies, order takeout. We’ll just stay out of the public eye until this bullshit blows over.”
The offer enticed him. Escaping the stares of strangers, their horrified expressions- it sounded idyllic. The thought of just the two of you snuggled together on the couch, marathoning all of What We Do in the Shadows with Chinese takeout in hand was tempting. Bucky could feel the ‘yes’ forming on his lips. But at the last second, he refused with a shake of his head.
Bucky made a promise to you. After being an absentee boyfriend for months, he planned out the perfect day and swore on his life to deliver. He couldn’t break any more promises- not after he was gone for so long. And he had so much to make up for. So many date nights and lazy weekends fell by the wayside while he was away. He racked up a stack of debt in your relationship, and if he didn’t start paying it off soon, he feared you’d cancel his account.
But he knew you- knew you didn’t care about these things. You didn’t consider him accountable for the time he missed or hold a grudge against him. You were gracious- too gracious- of him. And if he rattled off his reasons for refusing your offer, he knew you’d sweep them aside. He knew you’d lead him home without hesitation and stay cooped up inside until the world eased up on him. And you’d miss out on your perfect day. 
Bucky wasn’t going to let that happen.
“I think it’s actually better if…” he eyed the people passing, certain they were shooting the two of you dirty looks. “I think it’s better if I just go about my day. If we go home and hide, I’ll obsess, you know? I’ll get trapped in my own head.” He quickly tacked on an addendum, “but if you’re not okay being out in public right now, I understand. They involved you in this mess, too.”
You shrugged, “it doesn’t bother me. I know our relationship is real. That’s all that matters.” 
And for a split second, Bucky’s worries disappeared. You were so sure of your love for him. So unbothered by what everyone else had to say. You didn’t let the opinions of others get to you; you loved Bucky, end of story. You adapted to every hurdle and challenge brought on by dating the ex- Winter Soldier. And you did so with a smile.
“Okay, good. Then I guess our next stop is the bookstore,” he said with a small smile. You tried to turn and head in that direction, but Bucky caught your hand, stopping you. “And hey- if anyone on the way there gives you trouble, you just say the word, okay?” 
But no one gave you any trouble. The walk to the bookstore was quiet. Unremarkable. No one hollered close-minded comments at Bucky. No one gave either of you venomous glares. The calm shocked Bucky. He’d been so sure that this day would fall apart. That everyone who read that article would converge on the two of you all at once, harassing and degrading you until you retreated home. But no one said a word. The two of you simply strolled hand in hand, soaking in the warm summer sun. And Bucky’s hope for a perfect day renewed.
“I thought it would be in this section…” Bucky scanned the ‘fantasy’ section of the bookstore, searching for a specific novel. He took the high shelves, and you took the low, meeting in the middle after a fruitless search. 
“Yeah, I didn’t see it, babe,” you rose from your squatted position, two mystery novels under your arm. “Maybe you should ask an employee? I can stay here and keep looking, just in case we missed it.”
“Yeah…” Bucky gave the area another cursory glance, to no avail. “That’s a good idea. I’ll be right back.” He dotted a kiss to your forehead and set off in search of a clerk, leaving you behind to double check the shelves. 
The hundreds of books lined up in perfect rows put you at ease. This shop was the coziest place in the city, a peaceful paradise free from the noise. And spending a Saturday morning with Bucky, wandering amongst the many titles, felt like home. Your fingertips brushed over a few of the spines, tracing the ornate lettering in search of Bucky’s book. 
“Excuse me?” An unfamiliar voice brought you back to reality, halting your hunt. 
“Oh, sorry,” you took a few steps out of the stranger’s way and continued your search, only for her to interrupt once again. 
“No, I want to talk to you!” her intense energy was out of place in the small, quiet bookshop. The eagerness in her voice rubbed you the wrong way. “Is it true?”
You stared at her, a blank expression on your face. “Is what true?”
“The whole PR relationship thing!” She pulled out her phone and shoved the article in your face, “I read about you two this morning.”
Your hands tightened into fists. Your jaw tensed. And though you wanted to wring this woman’s neck, you kept your cool; Bucky wouldn’t want you to get into a fight on his behalf. With a deep breath, you quelled the rage building inside you. You set down your books and relaxed your shoulders, forcing your breathing to steady.
This stranger had no right to ask invasive questions about your relationship, and no right to ruin your favorite bookstore. “Our relationship is none of your business,” you said, and turned back toward the bookshelves. This stranger didn’t deserve your eye contact, your attention, or your mental space. “Please, leave me alone.”
“Oh, duh! I bet they made you sign an NDA, didn’t they? I get it,” she threw an all too friendly chuckle in your direction. “Can you at least tell me what they’re paying you?”
With that, you brushed past her and attempted an escape. All you wanted was to find Bucky and put this whole interaction behind you. But she followed, phone in hand, recording the whole thing. 
“Are you a criminal, too? Are you getting time off your sentence or something?” she called after you. 
You let it go.
“How’d they get you to agree to this arrangement?”
You ignored her.
“Aren’t you scared? I could never do what you’re doing,” she said. “No amount of money could ever get me to be near that man- he’s a serial killer. He’s a monster!”
Something inside you snapped. You whipped around, rage burning behind your eyes. She crossed the line. She didn’t know anything about Bucky, only what the papers and tabloids said about him. And she
deserved to pay the price for speaking about him so harshly. But just as you opened your mouth to tear her to shreds, a large hand rested on your shoulder. 
“Hey, doll,” Bucky stared down at you, “What’s-”
Your harasser’s eyes widened. “Oh my god,” pure terror rendered her white as a sheet. “It- it’s him…” Clumsy steps carried her backward as her phone slipped from her hand. She scrambled for it, desperate to run in the opposite direction. Breathless, horrified sounds fell from her lips. Her hands shook. You watched with a smile as she snatched her phone from the floor and tripped over herself as she high tailed it for the door.
Bucky eyed the woman as she knocked over displays and ran into other customers. “What was that about?”
You gave a shake of your head, “nothing. She was just hounding me about the article.” 
Bucky’s shoulders slumped forward ever so slightly. Hit brow grew furrowed. “Oh, baby…” he sighed, “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry? You didn’t follow me around and ask me invasive questions.” You stretched up on your toes, planting a kiss to his cheek. “It’s not a big deal. I just hope I don’t end up on her Tik Tok.”
Bucky’s mouth fell open, “she was filming you?” 
You nodded. Bucky’s face fell. 
A rushed “Don’t worry about it, though” pushed its way past your lips. It had an over-the-top cheery tone and a thick affectation of reassurance. You could practically hear Bucky’s heart splintering and shattering with each passing second, and you had to stop it. “I’m sure she’s gonna watch it back later and delete it when she hears her own panicked panting,” you shot him a wink.
And you waited. Waited for the gears in Bucky’s mind to turn. To grind. The devil and angel on his shoulders fought one another, bare knuckled, to convince him of their arguments. The devil told him to spiral, to jump headfirst into a dark sea. He told Bucky this was all his fault, that you’d been harassed, followed, and filmed all because of him. The angel, however, urged him to listen to you. To take a deep breath. To hold your hand. To understand that the article wasn’t his fault- none of this was his fault. 
And after a long moment, he slipped his hand into yours. The gesture was a bit reluctant, sure, but you didn’t care. He’d resisted the urge to plummet into guilt and shame. And that’s all that mattered. 
You let loose a deep sigh as relief spread through your every cell. “Let’s get outta here, okay? We can head back home and-”
“What about breakfast?”
You eyed Bucky for a moment. “You still wanna go?”
“Yeah, absolutely,” he gave you a small smile. “I know how excited you were about it.”
Of course, all he cared about was you. Your happiness. Your enjoyment. Your love for this diner’s chicken and waffles.
“We can just go another time,” you assured him. “It’s no big deal.”
Bucky sensed the disappointment, no matter how slight in your voice. He couldn’t ruin this day for you. He couldn’t let you down again.
But he thought about the walk to the diner, the hordes of people you’d encounter on the way. And just like that, he felt his manufactured mask of optimism slip.
A sudden rush of what if’s pummeled his psyche. He imagined more harassers filming you, more unhinged strangers following you. He heard them yelling the most despicable things in your direction, hurling insult after insult your way. The voices grew into a loud, almost violent cacophony that rattled inside Bucky’s skull. 
He couldn’t let you be exposed to the cruel world like this. He couldn’t take you to breakfast when an angry mob threatened you at every turn. You didn’t deserve to be yelled at, to be disrespected. And what if they turned violent? What if someone followed the two of you home? He couldn’t risk your safety like that.
But he still had to make up for all his time away. All the lonely nights you spent awake, wondering if he was still alive. All the weekends you spent alone, missing him until it hurt. And he’d made a promise- to himself and to you- that he’d rectify the pain his absence caused. 
Plus, he had to be over-reacting, right? Assuming the worst out of people he didn’t even know- it wasn’t fair. Sure, a stranger followed you around and gave you a hard time. But she didn’t hurt you. She didn’t even try to get violent. It was all in Bucky’s head- he was sure of it. He made a conscious effort to release his shoulders from their tension-locked position and forced a deep breath into his chest. 
“No, doll, really. It’s okay,” he gave your hand a squeeze. “I can tolerate a few dirty looks.”
The second the two of you stepped out of the bookstore and onto the busy sidewalk, you clocked the way hung his head. The way he hid from the eyes of the city. He tried to shrink himself, to protect himself. The confidence, the self-esteem he’d worked so hard to build came crumbling down in an instant. This wasn’t your Bucky, but the Bucky of years before. The Bucky who hated every fiber of his being. The Bucky who took every harsh word spoken about him as gospel. The Bucky who punished his innocent body to make up for his tortured mind. 
The reemergence of this Bucky twisted the knife with which the article stabbed you and rubbed salt in the wound.
The walk to the diner brought out your chatty side. Filling the air with lighthearted anecdotes and silly jokes seemed to you like the only way to keep Bucky afloat. If you could distract him from the pain, from the potentially hateful onlookers, maybe this day could be salvaged. But, much to your surprise, not one person harassed the two of you. No one asked questions or followed you around. Not a single errant camera flash dotted the street. Hope rose in Bucky’s chest. Maybe this perfect day could still go as planned. Maybe he could still keep his promise.
When you arrived at the diner without issue, Bucky found himself almost laughing at his own dramatics. He knew he worried too much, that he always considered the worst possible outcomes. He saw the world through a dark and stormy filter, always casting shadows over reality. But to his delight, he’d been wrong this time.
The bell atop the diner door gave a delicate jingle as the two of you made your way inside. The place had an old-timey feel that brought Bucky a sense of comfort, a sense of home. Large families sat packed like sardines in every booth. Tray after tray of French toast and eggs benedict passed by. The smell of bacon and golden-brown pancakes instantly pulled his lips into a smile. It seemed to Bucky that this joint was the real deal. He couldn’t wait to try the chicken and waffles you raved about. Couldn’t wait for a syrup-sweetened kiss. 
“For two?” the hostess asked when you made your way to the front of the line. You gave her a nod. 
She eyed the section to her left, appraising the area for an opening as a busboy waved in her direction. “Okay, this way,” she grabbed two menus from the host stand and gestured for you to follow. 
But just as you attempted to trail her through the sea of tables, a booming voice caught your attention. 
“Hey!” 
The restaurant quieted. Heads turned in the direction of the outcry.
A large, gray-haired man with a soiled apron stepped into the hostess’s path, blocking her way. A deep crease formed between his furrowed brows. Sweat dotted his bright pink cheeks. This was the face of a man who stood over a hot grill for twenty-five years. He was familiar, but only vaguely so. You could’ve sworn you’d heard that voice before- though with a kinder intonation. And then it hit you.
During your last visit to the diner, he stopped by your table to ask how you liked the food. He was so kind, so even tempered. He thanked you for choosing to spend your Sunday morning at what used to be his father’s restaurant. He was so proud of the old place. So compassionate for its time-worn booths and outdated wallpaper. He told you how he worked in the kitchen for so long that now, even as the new owner and manager, he couldn’t stay away from the griddles. 
But the kind-hearted man you met last time was long gone.
“Not in my restaurant!” He ripped the menus from the hostess and dismissed her with a sharp wave of his hand. He glared at Bucky, his eyes brimming with hate. “We don’t serve murderers here!” 
The lighthearted chatter died out altogether. Forks stopped clinking against plates. Children halted their laughter. Hundreds of eyes locked on Bucky as his cheeks burst into a red flush.
“Get out before I call the police!” The man took a step toward the two of you, “You’re not welcome here, you psycho.”
“You can’t talk to him like that!” you barked back. “He isn’t-” 
“Baby, don’t,” Bucky cupped a hand around your upper arm and tried to gently pull you toward the door. “Let’s just go.”
“No,” you cut your gaze back to the manage, “not until he apologizes.”
Bucky gave your arm another tug, “please.”
The desperation in his voice nearly made you crack. His eyes swept across the room and back again, taking in each and every horrified stare. With each taunt the manager threw his way, the weight of the public eye grew heavier. More suffocating. Their stares pushed Bucky’s shoulders forward and his head down. He was crumbling.
Not one person stood up for Bucky. No one- aside from you- called the manager out. No patron even gave a disapproving shake of their head. It sickened you.
With a small nod, you obliged Bucky’s request, and let him lead you out of the restaurant. The stares followed him the entire way.
Bucky wanted to disintegrate. He wished to, once again, turn to dust and evaporate into the breeze. If he ran, he could put a few miles between himself and this godforsaken diner in minutes. But he found his feet rooted into the ground. He was frozen. Trapped. Running wasn’t an option.
He leaned against the cool glass window of the diner and let himself process. He heard you talking a mile a minute, reassuring him until you ran out of breath. But he couldn’t pick out more than a few words. It wasn’t until a defeated apology fell from your lips that he snapped out of his trance.
“Wait- you’re sorry?” 
You nodded. “I’m so sorry, Buck. You didn’t deserve that.”
“Baby, you don’t have anything to be sorry for.” His gaze fell into a strange middle distance, landing on everything and nothing all at once. “I should apologize. That article… it ruined everything. I feel like I-” His eyes met yours, “your life is never gonna be the same after this.” 
You gave him a shrug, “who says I want it to be?”
His eyes met yours as an exasperated laugh left his chest, “You’re kidding, right? This is going to affect everything for you: jobs, housing, friendships. When people look you up online, all they’re gonna see is that article. They’re gonna see me.”
“Good. I want them to see you,” you said with a wink. “If I’m gonna date the hottest guy in the universe, I want everyone to know about it.” Bucky didn’t laugh. “Babe, I’m not worried about that kind of stuff right now. I’m worried about you.”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his gaze fall to the sidewalk below. “I’ve been through worse.” 
The worn-out, beaten down quality of his voice was enough to make you weep. Bucky didn’t deserve more pain. He didn’t deserve to be treated like a monster. But society cast him out and labelled him a vicious predator. They abandoned him, left him in a corner to rot and wither. All alone. 
And you weren’t going to let them do it again.
“Fuck that article and fuck all these people who wanna disrespect you.” You tilted his chin upward until his eyes met yours, “we’re gonna go home and order take out. We’re gonna watch some movies. And we’re gonna get through this bullshit together.”
Without another word, you slipped your hand into his and started off in the direction of home. But Bucky didn’t move. 
You turned back to him, an expectant look on your face. “You coming?”
“But…” he gave the diner another look, “You didn’t get your chicken and waffles.”
“What?”
“You should go back inside and eat,” Bucky pulled his hand from yours. “I’ll head home and-”
“Buck, I say this with love, but-” you cupped his face, “are you nuts?”
He let out a deep, genuine laugh. 
“I’m not gonna eat here ever again,” you spied the manager through the window, “fuck that guy.”
Bucky just wanted you to enjoy the breakfast you’d been dreaming of. He hated that you were willing to deprive yourself. That he’d ruined your special breakfast spot. But your fierce loyalty filled him with warmth. In that moment, he made a mental note. He planned to scour the internet and find the best chicken and waffles in the city to make up for today’s mess.  
“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Bucky said. “You were ready to fist fight that guy.”
You put up your dukes and landed a few faux punches to Bucky’s chest, “hell yeah I was. No one is allowed to treat you like that.” Your hands fell to your sides. A sudden seriousness eclipsed your joking tone. “Ever.”
Bucky pulled you in for a hug, holding you close to his chest. He never thought he’d have someone like you in his life. Someone who loved him. Cared for him. Supported him. But, without fail, you had his back every time. You were his safe harbor, his soft place to land. 
Sometimes, he thought that maybe you were with him by accident. Maybe he was never meant to experience your gentle kind of love. Maybe he interrupted you on your path to someone else. Maybe he somehow got tangled in fate’s thread. But he didn’t care. 
You took Bucky’s hand once again, prepared to lead him in the direction of home, “Ready?” 
Bucky gave you a cheery nod, “let’s-”
“Fuck you, murderer!” a passerby shouted. He disappeared in a flash, bold enough to insult Bucky but cowardly enough not to hang around for the consequences. 
Bucky thought the man might’ve said something else as he bolted from the scene, but he didn’t quite catch it. He was too distracted by the vague sounds of discomfort grumbling out of your chest. 
“Doll? You alright?” 
Slowly, carefully, you turned to him. A look of shock yanked his features upward as he came face to face with the massive coffee stain covering your body. It splashed over the entirety of your chest, streaking down the front of your shirt. Steam still wafted from the drips running down your neck. Rogue droplets dotted your arms.  
“Oh my god…” Bucky didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to help you. 
The boiling tidal wave seared through your skin, setting each nerve alight. You could’ve sworn it hit bone. The sudden rush of pain forced a trembling into your hands, an unsteadiness into your voice. A stinging rush of tears brimmed against your lash line, but you wouldn’t dare let them fall. Not when you could practically see Bucky choking on his guilt.
“Wow, I wish that asshole was more of a cold brew guy,” you joked. “And he ruined my favorite shirt with his shitty aim.”
Bucky’s chest seemed to fold in on itself. It shuddered and shrank, collapsing against his thundering heart. Each inhale was shallower, greedier than the last. Oxygen leeched from his lungs as the crushing panic set it. An ever-darkening shadow clouded the edges of his vision- but he couldn’t succumb. Not when you needed him. 
Before he knew what was happening, he used his body to form a protective shell around you. He ushered you toward the diner door, scanning the area for oncoming threats. No one else was going to get to you- not today, not ever. 
A deep sigh of relief left Bucky’s chest as he ushered you inside. Sure, it was only coffee. And you weren’t even the target. But every passing second brought a new, horrifying ‘what if’ to the forefront of Bucky’s mind. 
What if you’d been thrown to the ground? 
What if you’d been shot? 
What if vengeful people wanted to spill your blood as payment for Bucky’s crimes?
He thought he might throw up. 
But the second he made it to the hostess stand, his nausea dissipated. The fog clouding his mind cleared. You were his priority- everything else could wait. 
“Someone just threw hot coffee on her,” Bucky said to the hostess. His words came out quick, firm. “She needs ice now.”
The hostess’s features sunk with a heavy guilt. “Oh, shit. I-” She glanced across the room at the manager and watched him with narrowed eyes as he schmoozed with the regulars. “I’ll go grab some right now, give me one second.”
The seconds dragged. Anxiety coursed through Bucky, prickling at his every cell. He clenched and unclenched his fists. Bit down on the inside of his cheek. Anything to calm the worry. But he couldn’t help it; you were attacked- because of him. And he needed to remedy it as quickly as possible. 
“You doing okay?” He stared down at you, worry creasing his features.
You nodded, “yeah. Doesn’t hurt that bad anymore. I think all of my nerves have gone numb, ya know?” You attempt at humor sunk like lead. 
“Baby, I’m so-”
“What the fuck did I say?!” the manager stomped over to Bucky, his wrath on full display. “I’m calling the cops! I already kicked you out once-”
Bucky held up a hand in surrender, “We just need some ice- the hostess went to get it. As soon as she gets back, I’ll go.”
The manager rolled his eyes, “No- you don’t get anything from us. Leave! I’m calling the police!”
It was then that the hostess appeared with a large plastic bag full of ice. She looked at you with kind eyes, apologizing silently for her manager’s behavior. “Here you go. Is this enough? I can get more-”
“It’s plenty, really,” you hastily grabbed for the bag and pressed it to your scorched skin. The cool sensation flooded your senses, doing away with any remaining discomfort. “Thank you.”
“Great, you got your ice,” the manager spat, “now get out.”
Bucky thanked the hostess a hundred times over as guilt settled in his stomach. He knew she’d get in trouble for helping him. He knew the manager would scream at her- most likely in front of everyone. But she’d shown the two of you kindness. She did her best to help you in a moment of need, regardless of what others said. And it renewed Bucky’s faith in strangers- if only for a moment.
“How does that feel? Is it okay?” Bucky eyed the dripping bag of ice, the shivering in your fingers. “I can ask her for-”
“Hey! Do you speak English, or just Russian?” The manager yelled, “GET. THE FUCK. OUT. You understand?”
Part of Bucky wanted to disappear into a cave for a while. Wanted to hide from the ridicule. But he couldn’t check out. He couldn’t evaporate and leave you to fend for yourself. No, he’d made a promise to himself the day he met you; he swore he’d always protect you. And though he couldn’t stop the public from treating you with malice, he could at least get you home safely.
“Woah, hey- where are you going?” Bucky put a hand over yours, halting your attempt to open the diner door.
“Well, I don’t know if you heard the lovely manager of this fine establishment,” you said, “but he wants us to, and I quote, ‘get the fuck out’. So that’s what I’m doing.”
Bucky gave a fervent shake of his head, “No. You wait in here. I’m gonna get us a cab, and-”
“It’s okay, I’ll come with you.” You gave the door a tug, but Bucky kept it from budging.
“Don’t,” a dark seriousness clung to Bucky’s words. “I don’t want anything else happening to you.”
Bucky’s protective nature was always sweet. Always made you feel special. You couldn’t help the tiny grin that pulled at your features. “Babe, it was just coffee-” 
“This time,” a grave look ghosted over his face. “It was just coffee this time.”
Bucky let his eyes drift to the busy sidewalk outside. Every stranger, every passing face posed a threat to your safety. Anyone could have a knife. A gun. And while Bucky was certain that the hot coffee had been meant for him- that you were simply collateral damage, an unintended target- he feared how the city might treat you. You’d already been followed, harassed, filmed, attacked. People saw you as fair game, as a token of retribution. An eye for an eye that made the city blind with hate.
“Can you just-” He dragged his gaze back to you, “will you please wait inside?”
Bucky couldn’t remember ever being this scared. Not on the train, not at Hydra. This was different; this was your life at stake. Your vulnerabilities exposed to the world. It was as if a magnifying glass sat posed above you, giving anyone and everyone a detailed look into your life. Bucky knew there wasn’t much time before the rays of the sun burned you alive.
“Okay, yeah,” you released the door handle, “I’ll stay in here.” It was the least you could do. 
He was deathly pale, his hand shaking with anxiety. He worried about you so intensely that you sometimes feared he’d get sick. And though no part of you wanted to send Bucky out there alone, you agreed. 
His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly; the whisper of a smile crossed his face. “Thank you,” he dropped a kiss to your forehead and headed outside to the world that hated him.
And hate him they did. You watched from the diner window, the scene that played out filling you with anguish. Not a single cab even slowed down for him. Vacant taxis turned off their lights as they approached- only to turn them back on once they’d passed. Bucky’s shoulders grew more slumped with each unsuccessful attempt at hailing a cab. His head drooped; his expression grew pained. This wasn’t fair. After his pardon, he’d worked so hard to earn the public’s trust, to reenter their good graces. He made his amends, went to therapy, even did a few interviews at Sam’s suggestion. 
One poorly written article in a shit-rag paper, however, was enough to send him back to square one.
All Bucky wanted was to get you home safely, and he couldn’t. He couldn’t even provide something that basic, that simple. He cursed himself relentlessly as taxi after taxi flew by. He was supposed to protect you, to take care of you. And yet, he was the reason for your pain. Your peril. It made him nauseous.
After countless failed attempts at securing a ride, Bucky turned to face you. He stared at you through the dirty glass, shame and disappointment dragging his features downward. For a long moment, he just stood there. Completely still. Passersby bumped into him every now and again. People muttered under their breath about him being in the way. But he didn’t move. He just looked at you, the person he loved most. You, the person he cared for above all else. You, the person he couldn’t protect. Couldn’t provide for. 
Part of him thought it best to just walk away. His absence would make your life easier, less chaotic. Safer. If he left you alone, maybe you’d find someone else. Someone normal. Someone better. Someone who could take you out to breakfast without putting you in harm’s way. Someone whose mere existence didn’t prompt strangers to scream at you in public. 
But he couldn’t leave you- ever. He was bound to you from day one. 
One last fruitless attempt at catching a cab sent his heart sinking down, down, down to the soles of his feet. And as he approached the diner with his tail between his legs, he felt himself stepping on it with each pace. He was so embarrassed, so ashamed. With a quick wave of his hand, he beckoned you to the door and popped his head inside. 
“Baby, could you…” he was almost too downtrodden to speak. “Could you get us a cab? No one will-” he cleared his throat, “No one will stop for me.”
The look on his face hurt worse than your scorched skin.
“Of course, Buck. Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”
It wasn’t lost on Bucky how quickly a cab stopped for you. It took less than a minute, maybe less thirty seconds. He stood on the sidelines, as far away from you as he could possibly get without leaving you defenseless. You looked good out there on your own, free from his burden. 
The cab ride home was quiet. Uncomfortable. The driver eyed Bucky in the rearview as though appraising a threat. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles lost all color. You swore you heard the gas pedal hit the floorboards more than once. The car sliced through traffic and screeched to a halt outside your building, throwing you forward in your seat. The seatbelt tightened against your scalded skin, pulling a groan from your throat.
“Thanks. Um,” Bucky handed the driver a wad of cash, “keep the change.” He kept his focus trained on you but couldn’t pretend he didn’t notice the way the driver flinched. The way his muscles yanked his body in the opposite direction. The way his hands shook as he took the money. Bucky wished to evaporate.
But he couldn’t, not yet. Not when you needed him. And so, he walked you upstairs and ushered you into the small apartment you shared. He double and triple checked the deadbolt, even pulled on the door to ensure your safety. He couldn’t let anything else happen to you- he’d rather die. 
“Alright, well, I’m gonna go take a shower,” you broke the tense silence. “I reek of cinnamon soy latte.” The laugh that punctuated your sentence did nothing to brighten Bucky’s stormy expression. 
“Sounds good, doll,” he nodded. “You can just drop your clothes in the hall, I’ll throw them in the laundry for you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” you frowned down at your coffee-stained shirt, appraising the damage done. “I don’t think this thing can be saved.”
Bucky shrugged, “It couldn’t hurt. I’ll give it a try.” He dropped a kiss to the top of your head, “it’s the least I could do.” And with a light tap to your ass, he sent you off to shower. The gesture wasn’t as lighthearted as it was just a few hours earlier, but he was trying. Trying to appear less dejected. Less broken.
But you saw through the façade.
When you emerged, free from the smell of coffee, you found Bucky in the kitchen standing over the kettle. He stared down at it, his hands resting on either side of the stove top, his shoulders nearly reaching his ears. You knew that look- he was lost inside his own head. 
“You know, I don’t think you’re supposed to watch that thing…” you said, snapping him out of his train of thought. “Otherwise, it’ll never boil.” 
His head snapped up. The darkness clouding his eyes parted. He smiled at your lame joke, letting your lighthearted tone lift his spirits. “I was just gonna make you a tea, I know you haven’t had the easiest day.” He just wanted to right the ship, to steer the two of you out of the dark, choppy waters in which you found yourselves. Maybe, this small, kind gesture could make up for your ruined Saturday. Maybe, it would keep you from leaving. 
“How was your shower?”
Just thinking about it made you wince. “It was fine, I guess. I had to use the coldest water possible- any warmth at all made my skin hurt.” 
Bucky’s eyes flicked from your face to the kettle and back. Worry creased his brow. “Should I not…” He sighed, “Are hot beverages out of the question?” He couldn’t believe how absentminded he’d been. 
“No! Definitely not,” you pressed a kiss to his cheek, “you know I’ll always take a tea. Thanks, babe.”
A small, proud smile spread across Bucky’s face. For once, he didn’t disappoint you. For once, he didn’t ruin the moment. After such a nightmarish day, he finally breathed easy, knowing that he’d done one thing right.
“I was thinking I could run out and grab us something to eat,” Bucky said when he got you settled on the couch with your tea and a fresh ice pack. “I know you’re probably starving. And I could-”
“Baby, no,” you shook your head. “I don’t want you out there- I don’t want you getting harassed or attacked. We’re in hermit mode for a few days until this whole thing blows over. Okay?”
Bucky barely mustered a nod. 
“Let’s just order some take out. What sounds good?” You dropped your ice pack to the side, grimacing at the loss of the cool sensation. But comfort could wait. You opened your laptop and sat up, poised to take Bucky’s order. But he didn’t answer. 
He remained silent for a long while, eyeing the floor with a blank stare. His nails dug into the palm of his hand; his jaw tensed. Something deep within him fought tooth and nail to claw its way out. It scratched at his insides, screaming for release. Bucky didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to even chance upsetting you. But the words slipped out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them.
“Do you ever regret this?”
You cocked your head to the side, “Regret what?”
“This-” Bucky gestured to himself, and then you. “Us.”
The words hurt worse than your scorched chest. “No. Why would you even say that?”
Bucky shrugged, “Because you’re covered in second degree burns and it’s my fault.” Never before had he ever sounded this broken, this hopeless. Not even after Steve left. 
“Buck, it’s not your fault,” you shut your computer and inched closer to him. “You’re not the one who threw hot coffee on me-”
“But the person who did was aiming for me, and you got caught in the crossfire,” he choked out. “That’s my fault.”
“It’s not-”
He stood suddenly, his anxiety forcing him to move. “Can you deal with this for the rest of your life? All the staring and the harassment? And the hiding at home because everyone hates me? Is that the kind of life you want?” He paced with a fervent drive, fearing that if he didn’t burn through the nervous energy, he’d suffocate under it.
But, even in the face of his frantic movements, you remained seated, remained calm. Talking to Bucky in this state was like coaxing an injured animal into your home. One wrong move, and he’d bolt. Every move, ever word, had to be slow, measured. With an even tone and soft words, you refuted his sentiments. “I want whatever kind of life lets me be with you-”
“You want people throwing coffee on you forever? You want-” He paused, only to place your icepack on your chest once again. “You want to be kicked out of restaurants and denied cabs? Just to be with me?”
One small nod. “Yes.”
Bucky stopped in his tracks. He turned to you, his expression blank. “People used to vandalize my apartment, you know…”
“What?”
He nodded. “After I finally came back to New York and tried to settle in…” The memories of those uncomfortable, disjointed days filled Bucky with dread. He’d never been so lonely, so lost. He pulled away from you, fearing he’d complicated your life. He forced himself into isolation. And to make matters worse, his community turned their back on him. They didn’t welcome him home or celebrate his survival. They made him wish he’d never made it back. “They broke my windows, filled my mailbox with pictures of my victims, used animal blood to write ‘KILLER’ across my front door-” He let out a heavy sigh, one that came from deep within his bones. “That’s why I moved so often. My landlords- no matter how sketchy they were, no matter how much illegal shit they did to their tenants- kept kicking me out. I was too much of a liability, even for those shithole places.”
It left you reeling. Images of Bucky coming home to find his place completely trashed hurt you in a way you didn’t know was possible. You could see him, covered in blood, scrubbing his front door in the middle of the night. Wiping tears from his eyes as he looked through piles of photos of the people he hurt. Taping pieces of cardboard over his broken windows in the hopes of keeping out the severe, violent winters. He didn’t deserve any of it.
With a deep breath, you forced yourself back to the present. “Buck, I don’t care about things like that. They can vandalize our place if they want. They can throw coffee at me.” Slowly, carefully, you rose from the couch. “As long as nothing happens to you, I’m happy.”
A rough scoff launched out of Bucky’s throat, “Come on-”
“No, you come on,” Your words came out too intense, too hard. But you couldn’t maintain your even keel anymore. Not when Bucky was moments from unraveling. “I have been in this with you since the day we met. I knew- almost immediately- that you were the person I wanted to be with. Even when you didn’t know where- or who- you were. Even when you went back into cryo. Even when you turned to dust and disappeared for five years.” Dredging up the past hurt. It sliced you open and tore your heart into pieces. But you didn’t dare fall apart- not yet. “Even when you pushed me away,” your voice wavered, “I have been with you- and I always will be. Because I know who you are. I know you’re a good person.” A few tears dripped down your cheeks, “I don’t want anyone else. I want you.“
“Why?” Bucky shook his head, “I don’t- I can’t understand that.”
“Because you’re just- you’re you, baby,” you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Bucky’s existence. “You’re kind. And you’re thoughtful. And you’re compassionate. You care about everything. Everyone. I’ve never met anyone with a heart like yours…” You shrugged, “I love you. So much.”
“I know you do. And I love you, but…” His eyes dropped to the floor, “I feel like being with me is a waste of your time. A waste of your love. You know? You should be with someone good. Someone with less baggage, whose hands aren’t stained with the blood of innocent people.” He dragged his gaze up to meet yours, desperation in his eyes. “I want to give you everything- I want to give you the world. But I can’t. I can’t give you what other people can. I can’t give you what you deserve.”
“I don’t want any of that- I don’t want the world,” you shrugged. “I want you.” To you, it was simple. Completely uncomplicated. But Bucky didn’t see it that way.
“Is that- am I enough, though? I mean, the quality of life I’ve given you so far has been…” He thought back on all the terrors and trials you’d face together. All the disasters to which he subjected you. He shuddered. “Everything I put you through is so fucking messed up. And scary. And painful. And-” 
He shook his head. Since the day he fell for you, he knew one simple truth. And for years, he did his best to deny it. Hide it. Run from it. But it came spilling forward all at once.
“There’s always gonna be something with me. Some problem, some mess. I’m either gone for weeks, fighting god knows who, completely unable to talk to you until I show up at home covered in blood,” he said. “Or I’m here with you while strangers to accost you on the street because they hate me.” He shook his head, disappointed in himself. Why did he allow you into his dumpster fire of a life? Why would he subject you to the heartache and the misery he knew lurked around every corner?
He fought the tears gathering in his eyes, the emotion that attempted to block his airway. “The waters are never going to be smooth. Not with me. And I don’t want you to have to deal with the fucking tidal wave of bullshit that is my life. You deserve better- you deserve better than me.”
“Buck-”
“I want your life to be safe. Peaceful. Comfortable. Not-” he gestured to the icepack on your chest, “whatever it is now.”
Without a word, you took him by the hand and led him to the couch. And for a long moment, he refused to sit with you. He didn’t want to give in, to lower his defenses and allow himself to get comfortable. But your red-rimmed eyes, glassy with tears, forced him to take a seat.
And when he finally rested beside you, you ditched your icepack and took his face in your hands. “Everything you said that you want for me? I already have it. I have all of that.”
He shook his head, “Doll-” 
“You make me feel safer and more comfortable than I ever have. Being with you is like being wrapped in a warm blanket made of bullet proof bubble wrap.”
Bucky couldn’t stop himself from letting out a quiet laugh. 
“I’m serious. You can talk about how the life I lead with you isn’t enough and how you’re not enough, but this,” you gestured to yourself and then him, “is everything I’ve ever wanted. Being here with you in our home is… it’s the most peace I’ve ever known. Even when we’re just sitting in silence, it’s- it’s warm. It’s comforting.” You inched closer to him and rested your head on his shoulder, “It’s like we’re the only two people on the planet. And we can just exist in the other’s atmosphere without pressure or fear. We understand each other. And it’s perfect.”
A rush of pink colored Bucky’s cheeks. Sometimes, even after all the years he’d spent with you, he didn’t know how to handle such loving sentiments. But there was no pressure to perfectly articulate his thoughts or express himself without flaws. A simple “I love you” did the trick. He leaned into you, allowing your warmth to soothe his aching soul.
“All that shit that happened today didn’t even bother me much,” you told him. “The lady in the bookstore, and the staring, and the coffee thing- I can deal with that kind of stuff. I can take that every day as long as I get to be with you.”
He pressed a kiss to your hair and caught a vague whiff off coffee but didn’t bring it up. 
“The only part that really upset me,” you continued, “was seeing people be so mean to you. And watching you get so down on yourself.” Reliving Bucky’s heartbroken expression at the diner almost made you tear up. “I can handle a rogue Starbucks, but I’ll never accept anyone treating you like that. You're everything to me- you always will be.”
Bucky handed you your icepack, begging you to put it back on your scalded skin where it belonged. “Well, I appreciate your support," he smiled to himself, "and your fierce loyalty.”
A mischievous laugh rumbled out of your chest. “Good. Just remember than when I call you from the county jail after I get arrested for burning that fucking newspaper to the ground.”
---------------
Taglist: @beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl  @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @evangeliamerryll @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @barnesselo
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tuiccim · 3 months
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Pickup Game
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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader
Word Count: 3509
Warnings: Flirt, Fluff, Smut, Oral (f rec)
Summary: An after party game of pickup lines leads to a confession and an even more fun night in bed.
A/N: Special thanks to my hype princess & beta reader @whisperlullaby.
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The after party of just Avengers and close friends was in full swing. Drinks and laughter flowed as you enjoyed each other's company.
“Okay, okay. Your best pick up line! Let’s have ‘em!” Clint yells over the most recent spate of laughter. “Tony, whatcha got?”
Tony smirks before opening his arms wide and declaring, “I am Iron Man.” He grins as everyone heckles him, “What can I say? Works every time!”
“Really?” Pepper raises an eyebrow.
“Used to! Used to work,” Tony backpedals. “Rhodey, save me here, buddy!”
“Okay, okay,” Rhodey laughs as he glances at Natasha who is standing by him and tugs at his sleeve, “Feel my shirt. Know what it’s made of? Boyfriend material.”
"Nice," Natasha scoffs.
"Let's hear yours then!" Rhodey huffs.
"Ever had a White Russian?" Natasha asks, holding up her glass.
"No," Rhodey looks at her suspiciously.
"Want to?" She says seductively. 
Rhodey chuckles, "Smooth. Okay, Clint, what've you got?"
Clint bats his eyes at Sam, standing next to him and says, "Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes, big boy?"
Sam laughs while rolling his eyes, "So, what you guys are telling me is that you have no game?"
"Give us your best then, Rocket Man!"
"You know, dating is a numbers game. So, can I have yours?" Sam grins.
"Boooring!" Tony heckles. "Steve, what's your favorite?"
"I've never been good with pickup lines. That was more Bucky's territory," Steve tilts his head towards the dark-haired super soldier. 
"Thanks," Bucky says sarcastically,  "I'm a little out of practice with pickup lines."
"Aw, come on, Buck, give it a shot," you pipe in and then try to hide your embarrassment at having drawn attention to yourself. Even though you hoped he'd test out the line on you. Your attraction to the man was undeniable and you'd harbored a crush since you'd met him. You leaned back against the wall with your hands behind your back and raised your eyebrow in challenge to him. 
Bucky's face betrayed a moment of discomfiture before he straightened his shoulders and stepped over to you. He placed a hand on the wall above you, leaning in with a small smirk, "If I told you you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"
You could hear some chuckling and comments in the background but it faded as you stared up at Bucky. God, he was fine as hell and you were doing your best to control your erratic heartbeat.
"Sorry, doll, that wasn't very good, huh?"
You don't know where the gall came from but, before you realized what you were doing the words slipped out of your mouth. "Don't worry, Buck, I'm not big on being picked up. I prefer to be pinned down." Your eyebrow raised as you said the words and you smirked, bringing your glass to your lips for a sip. 
Bucky's jaw drops as the room erupts in laughter and cheers. Tony crows, "She wins!" 
Clint laughs heartily as he agrees, "Hands down!"
After a few moments, you reach up and close Bucky's mouth, “And to answer your questions, yes, I would,” you whisper with a wink as you walk away. 
A little while later, the party was winding down and you decided it was time to slip out. Your nerves were getting the better of you. Thoughts ran amuck as to what Bucky thought of you and whether the attraction you felt was reciprocated. He’d been in a conversation with some of the guys since the game ended and you hoped to catch a glimpse, some sign of mutual interest but now you were walking away with your tail between your legs. God, what must he think of you and that brazen comment. 
Hitting the button for the elevator, you berate yourself for thinking you ever stood a chance. Your head snapped up when a deep voice whispered, “You know, you have a beautiful body.”
Grinning, you turn and press yourself against Bucky, “Is that so?”
“Yeah,” Bucky smirks at you. Without warning, he stoops and picks you up as if you weigh nothing. 
“Bucky!” You squeal as the elevator doors open. 
He carries you in, hitting the button for his floor with his elbow, “Don’t worry, doll. I know you aren’t big on being picked up but I’ll have you pinned down soon enough.”
You raise your eyebrow at him, “It was just a line, Buck.”
His confidence falters for a second, “Oh, uh-”
“Don’t worry, baby. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it,” you smirk.
“Oh, you’re naughty,” Bucky laughs.
“I prefer ‘playful’.”
“I like playful,” Bucky adjusts you in his arms so that your back is pressed to the elevator wall and your faces are at the same level. 
You use the opportunity to wrap your legs around him and look at him expectantly. 
“Can I kiss you?” He asks. 
You’re surprised by the request after the way he’d handled you. It warmed your heart that he would seek your consent and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face, “Please.”
The kiss is intense. He presses into you as his lips move over yours. His tongue slips out seeking entry and you oblige him immediately. You separate only when the elevator dings your arrival. He lowers your legs gently and takes your hand. Leading you down the hallway, Bucky says awkwardly, “I, uh, was kind of surprised when you, um, said that tonight.” 
“What? The pickup line?” You tilt your head as you look at him. 
“No, the… thing you whispered afterwards.”
“Really, why?” You thought your feelings for him were fairly obvious. 
“I mean, I’m a mess and you’re so put together. I just,” he shrugs, “kinda thought you were out of my league, ya know.”
“No,” you laugh, “no, I don’t know. I have never thought of myself as put together.  Thanks for that but I’m kind of a mess, too. I think we all are in our own ways.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Bucky smiles as he opens his door and guides you in. 
You suddenly feel awkward as you walk inside the room. The passion displayed in the elevator had mellowed as you walked and talked together into a camaraderie. You were unsure how to get back to it. 
“Would you like a drink?” Bucky asks as he comes up behind you, his lips brushing your neck and his hands caress your hips. You jump a little at the unexpected contact. 
“I think I had enough earlier,” you breathe, heat pooling between your legs. 
“I haven’t had enough, I haven’t had nearly enough. I need another taste,” Bucky says as he turns you around to capture your mouth. You oblige him willingly, snaking your arms around his neck as you arch into him. 
Abandoning any reserve you would normally have, you reach for the buttons on his shirt. He reaches for the zipper of your dress but his hands still. You pull back to look at him curiously. 
“You’re sure?” He asks. 
You smile and pull the tails of his shirt from his pants while saying, “Barnes, if you don’t get me naked and pin me down, I will never forgive you.”
He pulls you against him forcefully, grinning as he pulls down your zipper, “We can’t have that.”
Clothes are discarded quickly as he backs you to the bed. Bucky slides his hands into your panties to grab your ass and you gasp when he picks you up. Laying you on the bed he pulls your panties off. You expect him to follow you down but instead his eyes take a slow path up your body. Propping yourself on your elbows, you resist the urge to cover yourself but tremble as he studies you. He smiles, grabs a discarded t-shirt, and rips the bottom half from it. Your eyebrow raises at the display. 
“And what do you plan to do with that, Sgt. Barnes?”
His smirk as he advances has butterflies dancing in your stomach. He grabs your arms, twists the shirt around your wrists, and hauls them above your head as he pins you to the bed. 
“Happy now?” Bucky rumbles as he kisses your neck. 
“Almost. I’d like these off,” you use your legs to pull at the underwear he still has on, “and an orgasm or two would be nice.” 
Holy shit, you don’t know where this confidence had come from. Maybe because Bucky wanted you. Maybe because of whatever drink that was that Natasha had handed you. Whatever it was, you were enjoying the results. 
“Only one or two?” Bucky teases as he nibbles along your clavicle. “I bet I can do better.”
“Is that so?” You gasp as his tongue plays over your nipple. 
“Mm-hm,” he murmurs before plucking at your other nipple with his lips. He lets go of your hands that are still bound above your head as he slides his tongue down your stomach. Your breathing picks up when he reaches your navel and proceeds to kiss his way down to your mound. Your eyes screw shut to take in every sensation. When he spreads your legs further apart, you feel the contrast of warm skin and cool metal on your thighs. Anticipation builds, making you lick your lips and you can’t help the whimper that slips out when you feel a gentle finger trace your slit. 
“Fuck,” Bucky whispers reverently before his tongue follows the same path as his fingers. His metal arm curls around your leg and he rests his hand on your abdomen, effectively holding you in place as he explores your folds. It was almost unbearable, the way his tongue slid around to touch everywhere but where you needed him most. 
“Bucky, please,” you whimper desperately. 
His chuckle rumbles against your core. His fingers replace his tongue, taking the same lazy path. “Poor baby, am I not giving you what you want?” His finger tip barely grazes your clit and you whine. “Are you feeling needy?” His finger circles your entrance and his tongue gives the softest lick to your clit. Your hips flex, desperate for more friction, making Bucky press his metal hand more firmly against you. “I like seeing you like this.” Another small lick to your clit. “Wet, under me, and so desperate.”
“Bucky, pleeeaase,” you can’t keep the whine out of your voice. You don’t think you’ve ever been quite so turned on and the teasing was making you a writhing mess. 
“Say please again and maybe I’ll give you what you want.”
“Please!” the word rushes out of you. His fingers and tongue driving you mad. 
His tongue moves slowly, lapping back and forth over your clit while his finger still teases. It’s maddeningly delicious but not enough at the same time. He holds your hips hostage, not allowing you to move. You mewl with each motion of his tongue over you, your body on fire and screaming for just a little more until your mouth opens to plead, “More! Oh, god, I need more!”
Bucky lifts his head, a devilish smirk across his mouth, “Oh, precious, you didn’t say please. We’ll have to start all over again now.” His finger goes back to tracing the slow path over your cunt. 
“What?” You gape at him as he plays with you. 
“You didn’t say please, doll,” Bucky repeats, allowing his lips to brush over your thigh, far too far from where you wanted his lips. 
You felt like crying. You felt like screaming. You felt like ripping off your bindings, flipping him over, and riding his face until you came all over it. Unfortunately, you knew you’d never overpower him and, if you were really honest with yourself, this little game he was playing was hot as fuck. You’d never been treated like this and he had made you a gushing mess. 
“I’m sorry, Bucky. Please, please, I need more,” you whimper at him with doe eyes, hoping for a reprieve. 
“You need more, precious?” Bucky’s finger grazes lightly over your clit. 
“Oh, please!” Your hips try to buck against his hold but he merely chuckles as he holds you in place easily. His finger circles your clit slowly as his tongue takes a meandering path up your thigh.
“Please, baby, please!” You whine as he makes his way back to your apex and are rewarded when his tongue takes the place of his finger. His motions are still slow and deliberate while his finger brushes over your entrance again causing you to clench around nothing. Desperate for more, you start to say the one word you know will earn you some relief, “Plea- OOH!!!-” In the middle of your plea, his finger had entered you and he sucked on your clit suddenly. “Yes, fuck, please, please, please…,” the word became your only mantra as he fucked you with fingers and tongue. Your legs began to shake and then he curled his fingers into that perfect spot, making bright white flash before your eyes and a scream rend from your throat. You came hard, your muscles clenching. Your legs try to close but Bucky’s broad shoulders between them keep you open to him. He laps at you through the aftershocks.  
“Fuck, I could stay here for days,” Bucky groaned. His fingers curled slowly as his tongue made gentle licks.
You gasped and moaned, words and thoughts hard to come by in the haze. “Bucky,” you finally manage to whisper his name as if it was the sweetest endearment. 
“I know. I know, doll. Don’t worry, I’m not done yet,” his mouth nuzzled you as he said the words. Flicks of his tongue came closer together, “I need another one from you, precious. Gotta hear you make those sweet sounds again.” 
“Bucky, oh, fuck. Please, it’s so good,” you gasp the words out, nearly overstimulated and yet still desperate for his touch. 
“You know how hard I am hearing you say that?” Bucky groans against your clit, vibrations coursing through you. His tongue begins moving faster, making swift circles. 
“I… I- fuck. Please,” you stutter, unable to form sentences anymore. Bucky’s fingers curl more firmly into that spongy spot inside and your back tries to arch despite his arm holding you firmly in place. He was moving his tongue as if his sole purpose in life was to make you fly into a million pieces. You were a whimpering mess, unable to form words and so close to the edge again. When he growled against you again, your eyes flew open and you looked down your body at him. His cobalt eyes met yours and the intensity in his gaze was a hit straight to your core. Your muscles began to spasm as you watched him, so focused on your pleasure and aroused by your responses. Your scream is stifled by the overwhelming intensity of the orgasm that rips through you. Your hands flex around the bonds that hold them in place. 
As Bucky kisses his way back up your body, you manage to come back to yourself… mostly. You wanted to touch him, to hold him against you, to run your hands over his body. You attempt to untwist your hands from the scrap of t-shirt but the deceptively loose looking knot doesn’t budge. 
“Bucky, baby, please can you untie me?” You whisper. 
Bucky had paused at your breasts to show them some attention. They were deserving of the most reverent of worship in his mind. His tongue traced your nipple before he spoke, “Why? I’ve got you tied up, pinned down, and perfectly on display for me.”
“I want to touch you, please,” you gasp as he takes your nipple into his mouth to gently suckle. 
“Hmm,” he muses as he makes his way to your other breast, giving it the same loving attention. “If you’ll answer a question for me.”
“Anything,” you sigh, enjoying each motion of his mouth over you. You feel the rumble of his chuckle at your quick response.
“How long?” He asks. 
You slide your leg to brush against his cock, still covered by his boxer briefs before saying cheekily, “I didn’t bring a measuring tape with me but I’d say more than adequate.”
Bucky lets out a small moan at the contact and then chuckles, “Not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean, baby?”
“How long did I waste not having you in my bed?” Bucky asks as he brings his face level to yours. 
“You mean, how long have I wanted you or are you asking how long I’ve liked you?”
“Both,” Bucky narrows his eyes but gives you a small smile. 
“If I’m really honest, I’ve always wanted you. You’re kinda hot, ya know?” You smile and bite your lip. 
“And the other?” Bucky asks, flexing his hips into you so that his hard cock nestles between your legs. 
You gasp and arch into him, “About five minutes after meeting you.”
“Seriously, when?” Bucky scoffs gently. 
“You were so sweet and a little self-conscious and I just adored you,” you nudged his nose with yours, encouraging his lips to find yours. He kissed you, long and lovingly, while he released your hands. You both seemed to settle into each other as your hands explored, finally free. The heat began to return, hips flexing into each other, craving the friction, but before things got too carried away, you cradled Bucky’s face in your hands and forced him to look at you. “How long?” You repeat his question. 
“Always,” he whispers passionately before taking your mouth again. 
It was all you needed. You reached for the band of his underwear, wanting nothing left to separate you. You managed to get the offending garment off of him and circle his cock with your hand. He takes a sharp intake of breath and then groans. Definitely more than adequate, you think to yourself. 
“Doll,” Bucky presses his forehead to yours, “I need to be inside you.”
“Oh, precious, you didn’t say please,” you tease him, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick. Your core aches to be filled but you can’t resist the chance to tease him just a bit as he’d done to you earlier. 
Bucky chuckles, “Knew I should have kept you tied up.”
You rub the head of his cock over your clit and whimper loudly in his ear, “I still haven’t heard it.” You pump him in your hand but still won’t let him slip into you despite his attempts to maneuver his hips. 
“Fuuuuck, please!” Buchy growls, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. 
You waste no time lining him up with your entrance. He presses in a few agonizingly slow inches before grabbing your hands and hauling them above your head. He stares into you as he growls out, “I should pin you down,” he sinks in a little more, “and tease you mercilessly.” His hips slide slowly forward until he’s fully seated inside of you. “But I don’t think either of us would survive it right now.” He slides out a couple of inches before snapping his hips forward, taking your breath away. He sets a slow but driving pace, staring into your eyes as he fucks you. His hands slide down to hold your face and he kisses you fiercely, his thrusts coming a little faster as he does. You wrap your arms around his chest, pulling him to you, sliding one down to grab onto his ass. You encourage every movement, the drag of his cock tipping you closer to the precipice. 
He buries his face in your neck, whispering praises and encouragement, “Shit, you’re squeezing me so tight, doll.”
“Bucky, fuck, I’m gonna-,” your breath catches as you fall over the edge. Your body sings as you come, trembling and moaning with each wave. 
“You’re so fucking pretty, doll. So fucking pretty,” Bucky grits out as you clench around him. It only takes a few more sloppy thrusts for him to lose himself inside you. His hips flex with each aftershock that hits him. 
Rolling to his side, Bucky pulls you against him. You nuzzle his chest as you both catch your breath. Despite the lethargy settling over both of you, Bucky's hands wander continuously over your skin and you bask in the attention. 
“You'll stay, won't you?” Bucky whispers.
“I don't know,” you say sleepily, “Do you hog the covers?”
Bucky chuckles, “I'm pretty good at sharing.”
“Mmm, then I'll stay,” you yawn and a little giggle escapes you.
“What?” Bucky smiles at your mirth-filled eyes. 
“That's the first time a cheesy pick up line ever worked on me,” you giggle again.
“I'll have to come up with some others. See if I get lucky again,” Bucky laughs as he kisses the top of your head.
“I'd say your chances are pretty good,” you smirk at him, “But maybe next time, I should be the one to pin you down.”
“Only if you say please, doll.”
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1K notes · View notes
t-lostinworlds · 11 months
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Be(tter) In Reality With Me | Bucky Barnes
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》 PAIRING: bucky barnes x pregnant!female!reader
》 TROPE/GENRE: established relationship (marriage), angst, hurt/comfort, fluff
》 SUMMARY: Bucky needed to remind you how he would never ever betray you, especially when the him in your dreams was showing you otherwise.
》 WARNINGS: bad dreams/nightmares, pregnancy & baby stuff, mentions of: infidelity, miscarriage, anxiety, toxic past relationships; implied smut at the start (nothing graphic), pet names (doll, my love, sweetheart), overprotective!husband!bucky (he’s a hoverer), some hurt, so much comfort, very fluffy moments a.k.a. happy ending obvs.
》 WORD COUNT: 6.5k+
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A/N: this is another unplanned one, like i really just started writing this a few days ago. well, i’ve been toying with the idea for a while but i just never got around to writing/thinking of the perfect premise for it. i coud’ve gone the crack route but you get angst instead. but anyway, this is barely proofread, idk how this turned out. and i know ‘husband fever’ isn't a thing but i honestly got it while writing this soooo hope you enjoy it too!
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📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ B. BARNES MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩
⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *。・゚.★. *。・゚✫*.
The disappointment was sharp in your chest as you trudged towards the front door of your home, fingers curled around an unopened envelope that felt heavier than any normal piece of paper should.
Your husband was supposed to be there with you.
Bucky was supposed to meet you at the clinic so you could find out your baby's gender together. But he hadn't been answering any of your messages or calls since this morning. Better yet, he'd been avoiding you all week. There had been more voicemails than there were replies. It was worrying because you two had been fine, things were normal the week before and now it felt as though he was avoiding you at all cost.
Yet the disappointment was quickly replaced by dread when you opened the front door.
The heels were what you saw first, a pair that you were sure wasn't yours. Even if there was a slightest chance that they were, they had no business being down here and not in your closet. Being pregnant, you hadn't worn heels in months.
Next were the scattered clothes, both familiar and not, a feminine scent lingering in the air that had your stomach turning in knots. They were the most horrid pieces of bread crumbs, one that you knew was leading you towards something vile and agonizing.
Your heartbeat was ringing in your ears as you ascended the stairs, each thump growing harsher to marry with your step. Your fingers trembled on your baby bump, the fluttering inside growing restless like a blaring alarm. When you reached the landing, that was when you heard it.
An enthusiastic creaking of the bed, salacious moans and grunts sinisterly harmonizing, unashamedly loud as if they weren't doing something so evil. It was deafening that you couldn't even hear your own heart shatter into pieces.
You wanted to turn around and leave, telling yourself that seeing the treacherous act would do more harm than good. But you didn't have control of your own body. You were pulling at your own hand, wanting to drag yourself away but to no avail as you kept walking.
The door was wide open when you reached it, shameless and uncaring of getting caught.
And you stood there, frozen, shattering into pieces as you watched your husband mold his naked body into another woman, his metal fingers tangled in her blonde hair, his hips driving back and forth recklessly, their faces contorted in pleasure while a picture of you and him on your wedding day stood on the nightstand.
It felt like a bullet to the heart when he lifted his head and met your eyes.
Gone were the soothing blues you'd called home, gone was the man you'd given your all, who you'd grown to love, to trust.
There were only dark gray hues laced with no guilt, no remorse, a face resembling the love of your life but was truly the Devil incarnate.
Hot tears rolled down your cheeks in quick succession, bile and air stuck in your throat, your heart stopping as something warmer, thicker with a metallic scent trickled down your leg.
He grinned.
You gasped.
•••
Bucky noticed how you'd been short with him lately.
Your kisses were less enthusiastic, his touches or any form of affection were being brushed off, your conversations turning brief, other times barely happening at all.
He tried to reason that you simply needed space, that maybe he was overbearing, overstimulating your senses by hovering around you too much. But, really, who could blame him for taking care of you and making sure his pregnant wife was healthy and safe?
But it was at night that his concern turned to suspicion, when you were facing away from him when you slept, muttering and mumbling, restless. It was when you'd flinch in surprise when he'd wake you up, eyes dazed with something else other than drowsiness. He'd ask you what was wrong, and each time you'd shake your head wordlessly and attempt to go back to sleep.
He remained patient though. It was the least he could do, especially in your state.
Still, that didn't mean he wasn't downright worried, especially when he found something uncanny about your behavior.
Bucky expected your irritability and annoyance. You snapping at him for something so mundane was a common thing he'd been facing lately and had certainly no qualms over. Your mind, emotions, and body were going through a lot and in waves, it was the bare minimum for him to understand. So he never took your harsh glares and clipped tones to heart.
But what was uncanny was the look of doubt, followed by a flicker of fear and then the heartbreak that would cross your face. It was in split seconds, when you see him on the phone, when he was out longer than he'd promised after getting you one of your weird cravings, when he came back late at night after a spontaneous outing with the guys when Wanda and Nat all but kicked him out since it was their turn to pamper you.
Bucky had a feeling that something was wrong. He simply couldn't put a finger as to what.
The nagging voice in the back of his head only grew when Sam and Sarah were in town. It was a surprise visit, so they didn't catch you in time.
You were already out with your mother, a rocky relationship that you hoped would start to mend over baby clothes and strollers.
"Bucky! Come on!" Sarah groaned playfully when he refused to tell them the gender of the baby.
He wanted you to disclose it, and he certainly wasn't going to do it without you by his side. You found out together, it was only fair you tell people the news together, too.
The harsh slam of the front door silenced everyone.
Bucky knew it was you right away, rushing to meet you in the hallway when he heard the intensity of your heartbeat and the sharpness of your breaths, footsteps hurried as if you'd been running.
"Hey," he said softly, cupping your face in his hands, his heart clenching at the sight of your stricken features. "What's wrong?"
It took you a minute to respond, eyes flickering between his face and over his shoulder, like you were looking for something. Bucky watched your body slowly relax when Sam and Sarah followed closely behind him.
It only confused him more.
"You feeling okay?" he asked, thumb stroking your warm cheek as he gently placed the other on your stomach.
"Y-Yeah, I thought—" You shook your head, finally meeting his eyes with a sad smile. "Mom canceled last minute."
"Oh I'm sorry, sweetheart," he sighed, pulling you into his arms, kissing the top of your head when you let out a shaky breath, cheek pressed on his chest as you wrapped your arms around his waist.
Bucky knew how you were truly looking forward to this day. You'd been carefully dividing your lists into two so you could buy things with your mother and then with him, too.
"We'll just get those on our shopping trip, okay?" he murmured against your crown, hands rubbing soothing patterns on your back. Glancing behind him, he added with a lighter tone, "Or you can give Sam the list and he'll just gift us everything."
"Oh I would gladly do it," The self—not really—proclaimed uncle agreed. "If Buckaroo here will finally tell us whether we're having a niece or a nephew."
Bucky scoffed, "You know you can choose gender-neutral colors, right?"
"Oh no, I'm not talking about colors," Sam said, grinning. "I'm talking about quantity."
"Are you saying the niece gets more?" you asked with a soft laugh as you pulled away. The sound brushed away Bucky's worry, if only briefly, as he felt the tension leave your body. Still, his arm remained on your waist as you turned to your guests, his thumb rubbing soft circles as a means of comfort.
"Obviously," Sam confirmed, rolling his eyes playfully. "Gotta treat her like a princess."
"Can't argue with that." Bucky turned to you with an encouraging nod. "You want to put them out of their misery?"
"Well, you're having…" you trailed off, smile widening, eyes twinkling as a joyful glow kissed your face. The exact reason why Bucky loved letting you tell the news and being there when you did so. "A nephew."
The contrast between the siblings' reactions was amusing. Sarah erupted into a cheer resembling happiness and victory, while Sam all but threw his head back with a groan. Bucky still saw his friend try his best to hide a smile, though.
"I told you!" Sarah playfully smacked his brother on the arm. "A mother's intuition is never wrong."
"Yeah, yeah," Sam rolled his eyes, before turning to you with a proud grin, arms wide open. "Come here you."
You chuckled as you walked into his embrace, mumbling a soft "Thank you" at his congratulations. Sarah hugged you next, all teary yet happy smiles and sweet words as you both wandered to sit in the living room, the mother of two boys already gushing to you about endless advice.
"I'm happy for you man," Sam said as he pulled Bucky into a hug, patting his back before pulling away with narrowed eyes. "You better be taking care of her."
"Of course I am," Bucky scoffed, turning to watch you with a fond smile as you chatted animatedly, excitement evident in your well-being. "Hell, she might even be getting annoyed with my overbearing ass."
"Well, it's better to be overbearing than absent," Sam stated.
Bucky couldn't agree more.
Because fine, maybe he was being too much by always keeping an eye out for you even though you were safe and sound, lounging on the couch as Sam started pestering you about naming the baby after him. But if he wasn't, then he would've missed the way your smile slipped from time to time, shoulders slumping with exhaustion before you'd catch yourself and sit straight up and pretend your energy was still high.
He was thankful that Sam was perceptive enough to catch it too, along with the hints Bucky was throwing his way. So they cut their visit short, understanding that you needed to get some rest even if you hadn't explicitly said so.
Bucky was right on his call when the second the front door shut closed, your body visibility deflated, the day finally catching up with you.
He was probably hovering like a goddamn helicopter, trailing behind you when you did as much as walk from the living room to the bathroom, and then waiting for you outside the door. But if he hadn't, he would've missed your soft sniffles on the other side and the far-away look in your eyes once he'd checked on you twice after taking way too long inside than how you normally took.
If Bucky hadn't been overbearing, he would've missed the signs that something was bothering you, like something was eating away at your conscience.
"Hey, come here," he called for you later that night, sitting on the edge of the bed and beckoning you closer with his hands outstretched. Tangling your fingers together, he pulled you to stand in front of his opened legs, kissing your bump before resting his cheek on it, looking up at you with nothing but concern. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
"Yeah," you breathed out, attempting to smile but it didn't quite reach your eyes. "Just tired."
That only made his worry grow more.
It was something he'd noticed lately, too, how you'd been having trouble sleeping, much less, staying asleep. Most of the time, once you were comfortable in bed, it only took you a minute or two before you were out like a light.
At first, Bucky thought it was because you were nearing the end of your second trimester. It was to be expected, according to the countless pregnancy books he'd buried his face in and the weekly pregnancy calendar he found on the internet—which showed how big the baby was, what symptoms you were likely to feel and ways to aid you through it, how many weeks there were left, exercises to keep you comfortable and healthy and so on—he used as a guide.
But he didn't think nightmares were supposed to be part of it.
Bucky knew they weren't merely innocent dreams because you were always so shaken when he'd wake you up. There was always a sting settling in his chest when you'd pull away from his touch for a good few moments, eyes avoiding his as you tried to catch your breath. You'd only crawl back into his arms once your heart had settled into a calm rhythm, the haze in your irises never truly gone but faded.
You never told him what your dreams consisted of and Bucky never pushed.
He couldn't. Not with the risk of upsetting you even more. All he could do was remain patient. He knew you would tell him eventually. 
Bucky just wished it didn't have to take your breaking point for that to happen.
•••
The mumbling was what stirred him awake.
Bucky quickly sat up to check on you, his frown growing deeper once he saw your features littered with distress.
Yet before he had the chance to gently take you away from your troubled slumber, you suddenly shot up with a distressed shout,
"No!"
Your sobs immediately hit his ears, your frantic hands pulling the sheets away as if they were suffocating you. Your body trembled, chest heaving as you hastily checked your bump before you trailed your fingers down your inner thighs, bringing them up to your line of sight as if you were expecting to see something horrible coating your skin.
Dread clutched at Bucky's heart when the inkling as to what you expected to see evaded his mind.
"Hey, hey, hey," he rushed, kneeling in front of you and grabbing your face in his hands in an attempt to snap you out of your panic. Tear-filled eyes met his and his heart broke at the utter fear and agony that covered your face.
He pressed his forehead against yours, never looking away as he kept one cold hand on your burning and wet cheek and took yours with the other. He pressed your palm above his heart, hoping that it would help ground you.
"Breathe, sweetheart," he coaxed, inhaling deeply, encouraging you to follow, exhaling once you did. He took your other hand and pressed it against his jaw, letting his warm breath flow over your palm to help aid you in steadying your breathing. "That's it, my love, breathe with me."
Bucky repeated the action as many times he could, marrying it with encouraging words, only stopping when he could hear your heart slow to a steady beat.
"Y-You—" You choked back a whimper, burying your face into his neck as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, gripping him tightly. "I-I'm okay."
It sounded more like a question than it was a statement to Bucky.
"You're okay," he reassured firmly, kissing your forehead and steadying your shaking hands over your stomach. "You both are."
Silence covered the room aside from your deep breaths, the soft rustling of the sheets following suit as Bucky shifted to sit behind you, guiding you between his legs until your back was pressed against his chest. You rested all your weight on him, his hands covering your own as he coaxed them to move in slow circles over your stomach. He littered your shoulder with soft kisses, trailing up the side of your neck then your cheek, moving back down as he whispered sweet reassurances.
"You wouldn't do that to me, w-would you?" you asked after a moment.
"Do what, my love?"
Your voice came out as a broken whisper, as if you were scared to say it any louder, as if it would come true if you did.
"Cheat on me."
Bucky's answer was immediate.
"No." He gently turned you around in his arms, your legs thrown over his thigh as you sat sideways. Taking your face in his hand, he nudged the tip of your nose with his to get you to look at him, to let you see the truth in his eyes, emotions bared and unhidden. "I would never."
You nodded meekly before dropping your head, his lips touching your crown.
"Sweetheart, hey," he whispered, fingers finding your chin to prevent you from hiding again. His frown deepened when you met his gaze, the pain and conflict coating your dulled irises doing nothing to ease his worries. "Where is this coming from?"
But with one look at your trembling form and troubled eyes, Bucky's heart sank at the realization.
"Doll…" He took a deep breath, thumb stroking your cheek tenderly. "Is this what you've been dreaming of lately?"
Bucky never expected for such a small nod to break his heart so much.
"I-I watched you and—"
"No, no, no," he interrupted, shaking his head vehemently, kissing the tip of your nose, and then each of your eyelids. "You don't have to tell me right now. I don't want you to dwell on it for too long."
"I have to get out," you whispered yet your tone was adamant, fingers starting to nervously fiddle with his vibranium ones.
Bucky hesitated for a moment. He didn't want to stress you out more than you already were. But when you squeezed his hand reassuringly, he sighed, offering you a small yet supportive smile. "Okay. But don't force it, please, sweetheart. I don't want you getting upset even more."
You nodded.
Bucky listened.
He listened with bated breath as you recounted your dreams, his heart tearing itself apart, piece by piece with each gruesome detail you managed to stutter out. Heels. Clothes. Stairs. Sounds. Bedroom. Bodies. Picture Frame.
Bucky made sure to remind you to take your time and take deep breaths, it's just a bad dream, wiping away your tears as he held you close in his arms, you're my everything, littering whichever part of you he could reach with soft kisses to remind you were here, present in reality with him, and that you're okay.
Bucky never thought he'd feel inhumane anger over a version of himself that wasn't and would never be part of reality. He'd honestly die first. Yet, even then, he still couldn't picture subjecting you to such awful betrayal and hurt.
If he could jump into your dreams and excruciatingly make that asshole pay, no matter if it was some version of him, he would do it over and over and over again. No questions asked.
"And t-then there was b-blood," you took a sharp breath, a knife into Bucky's chest as fresh tears escaped your eyes, your grip around his hand tightening. "I-I lost our—"
"That's enough," Bucky interrupted, voice soft yet hoarse as a lump lodged itself in his throat, blinking away his unshed tears. With one hand on the back of your head, he pressed his lips against your brow. "It's just a nightmare, sweetheart."
"It f-felt so real," you choked back a sob, shaking your head as if you were hoping it would rid the images away. 
"This is real," Bucky said, placing your palm on his cheek, the other on your baby bump with his own hands covering yours. "You're okay. Our baby boy is okay. We are going to be okay."
You nodded, taking deep, shaky breaths as you brought his palm to your lips. You kissed it a few times, three more before you wrapped his arms around your form, leaning forward to bury your face into his neck.
"I would never do that to you," he murmured against the side of your head, rubbing gentle circles on your back. "You trust me, right?"
"I do!" you said, eyes frantically looking into his with all the reassurance you could muster despite your tiredness, lips trembling as you repeated, "I trust you with everything that I have. I trust you with my life, Buck—"
He nodded. He knew you did. He didn't feel any ounce of uncertainty in your voice, didn't see any assumption that he was capable of being unloyal in your eyes. Maybe that was where your conflict came from, your heart battling with the lies your subconscious was feeding you.
This wasn't about the strength of your trust in him. This was something else entirely.
"Who put this in your head, hmm?"
Bucky knew you well enough, how you sometimes got too into your overthinking mind. Your past relationships definitely contributed to that fact. Toxicity to downright emotional abuse and various infidelities from previous boyfriends, it was no surprise that you came out of those relationships scarred.
You went to therapy when you finally had the resources to, and Bucky was always there to support you, told you it was nothing to be ashamed of. Hell, he was going to individual sessions himself, much less frequently compared to his earlier years, but the path to healing was never linear. He even suggested couples counseling—once a month at best, twice on the bad ones. Not because something was broken with your relationship, but only as a tool to be able to understand each other more, to keep things healthy between you both.
It helped tremendously.
You'd grown to shine brighter each day, letting yourself be free of the doubtful voices and instead accept and own that you were deserving to be loved, strongly, loyally, and unconditionally.
Now, after being together for eight years—three in a relationship and five years of marriage—you and Bucky were stronger, healthier, happier. And with a baby boy on the way, he knew it would only strengthen your bond, adding more joy and love to your little family.
But recently, your pregnancy hadn't been easy on your mental state. With your body preparing itself to welcome new life into this world, to your hormones fluctuating, it only heightened your emotions, and that included the bad ones.
So it wasn't far-fetched for your anxious thoughts to grow like weeds in your head, unrelenting and parasitic with no means of stopping unless you pluck it out from the root. But for the first sprout to emerge, someone had to have planted that seed first.
"Remember when I went on that 'girl's night in' get-together?"
Bucky sighed. That was two weeks ago. He should've known that your quietness when you got home was something to be worried about. Even more when it was roughly the same time you started having trouble sleeping. To think that you had to deal with your dreams alone for that long—
He pulled you closer, rubbing your arms with a kiss on your forehead. "Yeah, I remember."
"Do you remember Karla?"
Bucky remembered her too. He only met her once when you brought him as your plus one to her engagement party. Now, he wasn't the type of person who was quick to pass judgment on people, especially at the first meeting. But first impressions? She hadn't exactly been the best, too forward and sometimes, rude for Bucky's liking. But she was your friend, so he let it slide.
"She arrived late. She was already very drunk and distraught," you continued once Bucky confirmed with a nod. "We immediately tried to console her, get her to calm down, but she just wouldn't let go of the bottle of whisky, started grabbing the wine the girls were having and chugging it down too. Turns out, she walked in on her fiancé with her best friend in their living room."
Bucky pressed his lips against your crown with a sigh, rubbing circles on your back as he let you pick at the metal plates of his arm. It was a nervous habit. Yet you also said it was comforting, grounding, getting to feel the coldness of the prosthetic.
"Then she looked at me and saw my bump—God that dress didn't really hide much, huh?" you chuckled, voice void of humor.
Bucky loved that dress on you, and he showed you just how much before driving you to that get-together. It was a shame that the memory was now tainted.
"B-But, I don't know, it was probably because I was the only married one in our group, o-or she was just that drunk but she started targeting me," you paused with a deep breath, eyes meeting his with a shake of your head as fresh tears gathered on your waterline.
"She started yelling at me and telling me that I was rubbing it in her face, what she could've had. And then she started screaming how you would do the same any day now, if you weren't already doing it because it was obvious you won't like it that my body is changing and getting bigger a-and that you'd find some slimmer model and she told me to leave you before it's too late and I just—"
Bucky felt hot white rage grip him.
He couldn’t care less what other people's opinions of him were. With what his past life was, he learned not to let it get to him. He should feel insulted, to hear the disrespect against his morals to downright questioning his loyalty to his wife, especially from someone he couldn't give a shit about.
But he wasn't mad about that. Oh no.
He was furious about what you had to endure.
The audacity of someone to make you upset and stressed, especially in your current condition, had him outraged. No one, absolutely no one had the right to raise their voice, much less, fucking yell at you. He didn't care if it was the president of some country, a powerful alien or a close family friend—
Nobody disrespects his wife.
"You know none of that is true," he said as calmly as he could despite wanting to give that 'friend' of yours a piece of his mind. Cupping your face with both hands, he brushed his thumbs against the corner of your lips. "Hell, I showed you how much I love your changing body earlier that day in the kitchen, didn't I?"
That managed to coax a giggle from you, faint and teary but he still took it as a win.
"Look, what happened to your friend was awful. I wouldn't ever wish that on anyone," he said, jaw clenching. "But for her to bring you down with her while you're pregnant? That's just cruel."
"I'm sorry," you whispered sadly, pressing his palm on your lips. "I shouldn’t have let her words get to me."
"Sweetheart, no, you did nothing wrong," Bucky insisted. "Your emotions are all over the place as is, your hormones even more. And I know how impressionable you get when your anxiety is high and, fuck, you must've been so stressed when she basically berated you in front of everyone I just—" He took a deep breath, pressing his forehead against yours. "I wish you could've told me sooner."
"I was worried you'd take it the wrong way," you admitted shakily. "Because I do trust you, but things got loud in my head and I just—"
"I know," he hummed, smiling reassuringly. "I know, doll. You don't have to explain it to me."
You sighed, nodding, your body slowly relaxing with a hint of a grateful smile touching your lips. And with the weight slowly falling off your shoulders, your drowsiness followed suit—the fluttering of your eyelids, the calmness of your breaths as you all but rested on him.
Bucky fluffed your pregnancy pillow before gently guiding you to a comfortable position, kissing your forehead, the tip of your nose before pressing his lips gently onto yours. He hummed at your satisfied sigh, hands caressing your body, pouring as much of his love into every simple touch as he could muster.
"You're my whole world, my everything," he whispered to you and you only, the person who matters to him the most. "I would never put myself in a position where I'd even risk losing the best thing that's ever happened to me."
Bucky's brows furrowed when he felt a flutter against his palm where he'd rested it on your bump.
"I think someone's a little jealous," you teased softly, fingers pushing his hair away from his forehead.
"Now, we can't have that," he chuckled, shifting his body until he was face-to-face with your belly. He pulled at your shirt, revealing your skin before littering each part and stretch marks with loving kisses. Smiling, he corrected himself, "One of the best things that's ever happened to me."
His grin grew wider as you started carding your fingers through his hair. He could honestly fall asleep like this, resting on your bump with your loving touches.
"Say, you're going to kick my ass if I hurt Mama, wouldn't you, squirt?" he murmured against your tummy, his heart lurching when he felt a faint kick. Bucky gaped at you, chuckling at your giggles before pressing his lips back on your skin. "Gonna be a mama's boy I can already tell."
"I love you," you said, eyes glistening but with the smile that graced your face, Bucky knew they were happy tears this time.
"And I love you," he hummed, resting his cheek on your bump to meet your gaze, his fingers tracing hearts on your skin. "Both of you."
•••
"Doll, you don't have to do this."
"They're going to be here in an hour."
"I know but you shouldn't be on your feet too much."
"Exercise is good for pregnant women," you said, tilting your head at your husband with a knowing grin. "You told me that, according to the books you've read."
"I know what I said," Bucky groaned, hands finding your hips as he tried to gently steer you to sit on the chair, again. "But in moderation, you've been standing for—"
"Five minutes since you last made me sit down," you giggled, continuing to set up the dinner table with the snacks and appetizers you had set up. The main meal was kept warm in the oven.
It was your turn to host the get-together your friend group had once a month. And being in your third trimester, you were unable to stay up too late. So you opted on having a small brunch instead of the usual nightly gathering.
"Then, let me take care of the rest, please?" he begged, wrapping his arms around your form to stop your movements, lips pressed on the thin strap of your sundress. And if he wasn't overly cautious about your well-being, he probably would've already carried you to bed to let you rest. "Just sit and order me around."
Now, who could deny that offer?
Bucky was a great husband.
You knew this and he had done nothing but actively prove that to you time and time again.
You knew you shouldn't have let yourself get to a point of spiraling deep into your anxious thoughts that they started to affect your dreams somehow. But it honestly got overwhelming so quickly that you didn't get the chance to snap out of it. Worse yet, it made you dig the hole deeper and deeper by keeping it to yourself.
It was a lapse in judgment and, as Bucky had said, your emotions were all over the place. Not to mention, the situation wasn't at all pleasing, getting yelled at in front of an audience was awful already, a recipe for anxious disaster. What more if your hormones were making everything ten times worse?
Your friend simply caught you at the wrong moment.
The same friend that was going to be coming over in a few minutes.
You didn't tell Bucky yet because you knew he would never let her into the house. But you were willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. She was drunk and hurting that night, emotions probably driving her rash decisions. Granted you hadn't spoken to her since, but she probably didn't mean what she had said.
Or so you thought.
After shooting you an admonishing look when he recognized who walked into the door last, Bucky was back in Pilot Mode.
It's what you named his hovering because he did go into certain modes when taking care of you, even if he argued otherwise. And despite having agreed that he was going to give you and the girls space—and he had been sulking in his office as he watched whatever game there was on—it rapidly changed when the party moved to your backyard.
The sun was at its peak in the clear blue sky, warmth evident in the air despite sitting under the shade of the large patio umbrella Bucky installed himself.
First, it was pulling you aside for some sunscreen, lathering your skin up as he lectured you about taking sips of water every now and then to stay hydrated and to go back inside if it got too hot. Then, it was standing in the kitchen, right by the open window where he had a clear view of you, discreetly observing even though his large stature was making him so obvious. Your friends had giggled about it since most did find it endearing. That last one was him bursting out of the backdoor with a cold glass of water and a clean towel in hand, wiping away any sweat that littered your skin and urging you to drink, parting away with a chaste yet loving kiss.
It was what made Karla snap.
"God, I can't believe you still fall for that shit," she scoffed once your husband had gone back inside. "Like, seriously, have you ever heard of love bombing?"
Everyone went silent at that.
"He's overprotective," you countered, though you could already start to feel your heart rate start to increase.
"More like he's overcompensating for something," she grumbled, rolling her eyes. "He was a trained assassin back in the day, wasn't he? Surely he'd learned a thing or two about hiding secrets."
"Karla, drop it," Grace, a friend truly close to you, hissed with a sharp glare.
"I'm trying to save her from yet another heartbreak," she argued, before turning to you. "Like we all know how gullible and naïve you can get, a few romantic gestures and you're already blinded. I mean, considering your track record of cheaters, you should already know the signs. I know I see them with how your husband's been doting on you. It's the same thing the asshole did to me."
Your hands shook as you held the glass of water tighter, tears threatening to spill as you gritted, "Bucky is not the same—"
"Jesus, you need to open your eyes!" Karla interrupted. "I never expected you to still be this stupid—"
"That's enough."
Bucky's voice boomed through the air, his looming presence immediately behind you with a protective arm around your waist. Emotions at a high, you didn't even realize you stood up from your seat. You tried catching his gaze, but he was glaring at Karla who had now quieted down, shrinking in her place.
"I don't care about your assumptions about my morals and character because your opinion doesn't matter to me. So say whatever you want to say about me. But the second you disrespect my wife—" Bucky screwed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, reeling back his anger when he felt your hand on his arm.
Opening his eyes, he turned to look at you. You shook your head, not wanting to make this any bigger. He sighed, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles and then your ring before turning to Karla.
"I love making my wife happy, and she'd been looking forward to this get-together to catch up with friends. But she isn't supposed to be around any kind of stressors during her pregnancy," he said, glare dead set on your so-called friend, voice dropping as he gritted, "So get out of my fucking house."
"Buck—"
"Doctor's orders, my love. I can call her right now if you want." He gave you a sweet, knowing smile. You nodded because you knew there was no point arguing with him. Bucky turned to your friend when she refused to move. "Well? Do you want me to drag you out?"
Karla gaped at everyone, waiting for someone to protest, huffing and puffing when she found no support. It didn't take long for her to gather her things and for the front door to slam shut.
The silence hung in the air for a good minute.
"Good fucking riddance," Grace scoffed, the tension breaking as a chorus of agreement came out from everyone. "I honestly don't get why you still invited her."
"Too kind for her own good," Bucky said, raising his brow at you. You shook your head at him with a soft laugh, squeezing his hand gratefully.
"You're in your guard dog mode again," you teased.
Bucky rolled his eyes, but didn't bother denying it. That only made you grin wider.
"Well, this is supposed to be a girls' thing so I'll leave you ladies to your own devices." He nodded at everyone, giving you a sweet peck on the lips before making his way back into the house, even though you knew he was only going back to his station in the kitchen.
As soon as he was gone, everyone started gushing at you.
"You're so lucky but God you deserve it!"
"Girl, you need to set me up with a friend of his, like surely they're going to be roughly the same, right?"
"Honestly, I'm glad you're getting your happy ever after."
"Does he use that deep voice on you in bed?"
"Oh my god!" you squeaked at the last one, covering your warm face with your palms. When you peeked between your fingers, the girls were all looking at you with expectant grins, brows wriggling. You sighed, "Maybe."
They all erupted into delighted laughs at that, the conversation turning into a slightly salacious turn as they started trading in stories—both good and horrendous—and asking you for some advice on how to keep a guy satisfied or even just to spill the beans on what you and your husband get up to in bed.
Obviously, you didn't kiss and tell—well, not in too much detail. You still couldn't help but sing Bucky's praises. Of course you had to give credit where credit is due.
It was a few moments in when you caught Bucky's gaze in the open window. His wink and that handsome yet smug—his ego inflated that's for sure—smile was enough to tell you that he was listening in like the goddamn nosy super soldier that he was.
You rolled your eyes, yet your joyous smile wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.
Because to be in reality with James Buchanan Barnes, your husband, the love of your life, was way better than any dream you could ever have.
✫*。・゚.★. *。・゚♛ *.
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Text
Mr. Barnes, Teacher Aide of the Year (Bucky Barnes x Reader)
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Teacher!Reader
Summary: Your brooding Avenger boyfriend becomes a regular visitor in your classroom.
Warnings: flufffffff
Word count: 1k
A/N: absolute self-indulgence - can you tell I miss being a teacher lmao? also Bucky with kids also grumpy bf/playful gf dynamic ugh my heart
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When your first graders ask if you're bringing anything to the show-and-tell party, a lightbulb goes off
"I would be the coolest teacher ever if an Avenger came to visit!" "I dunno, doll..." "Come on, you're so good with Cass and AJ!" "That's different. They're family."
You try to convince him by telling him Steve has done a lot for schools. Bucky looks confused so you show him the Captain America Fitness Challenge and all of Steve's PSAs. This derails the conversation for at least 24 hours as Bucky descends into a record-breaking laughing fit. He laughs in bed with you, he laughs at the dinner table, he visits Steve's memorial to laugh with him there
Eventually, he agrees. You wake up to him ironing a henley and chinos. You tut at him and he shoots you a disbelieving look
"Ah, come on, love, cheer up," you tell him as you grab your work bag. He's waiting for you by the door, grumpy as ever in the black leather jacket and steel toe boots he wears on missions. You tighten the buckle across his chest as he scowls at you. "It's for the kids!"
You spend the car ride convincing Bucky that the kids will love him. He carries your bags into the building, but you stop him short at the entrance. He raises his eyebrow at you as you grip the leather sleeve on his left arm and pull. "Oh, come oooonnnn, doll!" he groans as you wave him into the building, detachable sleeve in tow. "Give the people what they want, babe!" you say.
You prepare your classroom for the day before the kids come in. Your room is suddenly the most popular in the building as staff filter in and out, hearing rumors that an Avenger would be in the building. Your principal insists that Bucky speak to the whole school next time. Your work best friend gives him a friendly hug- you all just had dinner the other night, after all. The entire third grade team comes and gets pictures, each of them marveling at a different muscle group on your boyfriend
Your students LOVE him. You eventually have to ask him to spend some time in the teacher's lounge so your class can focus on your lessons
After that, he becomes a monthly visitor. You create a makeshift "Mr. Barnes Day" on the class calendar. The kids count down the days till they see him again
You have to collect black and yellow crayons from the other classrooms. Your supply runs out too quickly because your kids can't stop drawing themselves with a metal arm
One of your students is having a particularly challenging day. Bucky thinks quickly and takes the rest of your kids outside for an impromptu recess. You help your student calm down, and then you both watch Bucky and the class through the window. The kids are absolutely piling on top of him. Your kids proudly declare that they defeated an Avenger when they go home to their families
It's clear one of your students favors Bucky over you, and only accepts help from Bucky when he visits. She asks Bucky for help with a math worksheet, and his eyes widen when he watches her try to solve it. "This is not how we learned it in the '20s," he whispers to you
Bucky comes home one day, proudly declaring that he has the perfect book to read aloud to the class. The cover is a cartoon drawing of an all-American man with a vibranium shield. He is so excited to read "The Hero from Brooklyn" to your students. The final pages even have drawings of him and Sam, "the best friends a hero could have." "Mr. Barnes, is that youuuu?!" your kids wonder.
You turn Bucky's age into the word problem of the day. "If Mr. Barnes is 25 + 83 years old, how old is he?" Your kids frantically calculate on their papers. "108?!?!" your kids yell. Lukas says that's older than his grandma. Nevaeh says that's older than her great-grandma. Raja gently begins to describe color to him, and you both realize she thinks Bucky sees in black and white
Your students beg Bucky to come in during spirit week. They've missed him dearly, as he has been gone for two months on assignment with Sam. Tuesday is Career Day, and he compliments all the little doctors and teachers as they step off the school bus. He is shocked to see a little kid in all black with their arm wrapped in foil. But more and more Buckies filter in, until he is surrounded by a sea of mini-mes. "We're gonna be superheroes when we grow up!!!" they yell, arms adorned in refashioned black tights, foil, and gold body paint. Bucky sheepishly asks if you can take a picture. Bucky usually hates taking pictures, and his request makes your whole year
You told your class that Bucky was just your friend, but your students are way too smart to believe that, especially after Bucky accidentally calls you "sweetheart" in front of them. Graham misses a day for his aunt's wedding; he comes back and asks if you two would invite the class to your wedding. The class loses their marbles over this, yelling, "Mrs. Barrnnessss!" at you. Bucky turns red. During snack, some of the kids draw pictures of what your ring should look like. You proudly hang it up on your fridge at home
At the end of the year, you invite your students' families to a class celebration. You do this every year, but this year has the best turnout (gee, you wonder why). You have a silly awards ceremony, with certificates celebrating "Most Dinosaur Facts Memorized" and "Best at Catching Their Teacher's Mistakes". Bucky is a puddle of pride and love in the corner until the kids demand he comes up. He's confused until they shove a certificate in his hand: "Mr. Barnes, Best Teacher Helper Ever"
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vilentia · 7 months
Text
Screen Lesson
Bucky Barnes x reader
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Summary: In a world of touchscreens and endless apps, Bucky Barnes finds himself grappling with the complexities of modern technology.
****
As Bucky Barnes sat in his small apartment, he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the barrage of modern technology that surrounded him. The world had changed so much during his time in cryostasis, and now he was faced with the daunting task of adapting to this new era.
You noticed his furrowed brow and took a seat beside him on the couch. You had been patient with him, guiding him through the intricacies of the 21st century ever since he'd woken up.
"Bucky," you began, your voice soft and reassuring, "I know it's a lot to take in, but you'll get the hang of it. Let's start with something simple, like your smartphone."
Bucky looked down at the sleek device in his hand, feeling utterly perplexed by its touch screen and endless array of apps. "I still don't understand why people carry these things around everywhere."
You chuckled, your eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's because they're incredibly handy, babe. They're not just phones; they're like mini-computers. You can do so much with them."
Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Alright, show me."
With a patient smile, you began to explain. "So, this is your home screen. You can customize it with apps you use the most. Just tap one to open it."
Bucky tapped on an app at random, and suddenly, he was faced with a world of possibilities. "What's this one?"
"That's your messages app," you replied. "You use it to send and receive texts and pictures. Just tap here to start a new message, and you can type your message here."
Bucky frowned as he tried to type on the virtual keyboard, his metal fingers not quite cooperating. You gently took his hand and showed him how to use it, your fingers brushing against his.
As you continued your tutorial, Bucky couldn't help but feel grateful for your patience and warmth. You made the intimidating world of technology seem a little less daunting, a little more manageable.
By the end of your session, Bucky had sent his first text message, a simple "I love you" to you. He looked at you with a proud smile, his blue eyes filled with affection.
"See, Bucky?" you said, your voice soft and filled with love. "You're getting the hang of it. And I promise, I'll be here to help you every step of the way."
Bucky leaned in and kissed you, grateful for your unwavering support and love. In this new world of technology and change, he had found his anchor in you, and he knew that together, you could face anything that came your way.
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dameronology · 1 year
Text
liar (bucky barnes)
based on the paramore song of the same name lol a.k.a the one where bucky barnes is scared of his own feelings a.k.a jazz is back in her bucky era
warnings; language
enjoy!!
-jazz
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Bucky Barnes had never considered himself a liar.
If anything, he had a hard time not telling the truth. It escaped from his mouth before he even had the chance to think about; no, Steve, I think your new hair cut sucks and sorry Sam, she wasn’t actually checking you out, she was waving at the guy behind you. Call it a product of his years as an assassin - because he couldn’t recall being this truthful back in the war - but it was part of who he was now. Sometimes he thought it meant he should come with a warning; something to say don’t pull the pin on this grenade, because he won’t lie to your mum about liking her food. Would that have been the worst Tinder bio ever? Yeah, no doubt.
Bucky had a hard time even lying to himself. That had become clear as soon as you whirl-whinded into his life. That day was still as crystal clear in his head six months later. It had been an early morning at the SHIELD HQ - the F-train had been delayed an hour and he’d come sprinting into a national security meeting, Starbucks in one hand (he was already late, he figured five minutes more for a frappuccino wouldn’t hurt) and a jumbled apology ready to offer. Then, not two seconds later, you’d come sprinting through the door, smacking into the back of him and launching the iced coffee from his hand, into the air, and straight into the lap of the British prime minister. 
Bucky was late, but you’d been even later. He liked that about you.
You were a whirl-wind in his life; his best friend from that day forward and the reason he could let go of the breath he’d been holding for so many years. Meetings were never boring with you, nor was the paperwork after long missions or the early starts. Every time he was late, he knew you’d take even longer because maybe his commute from Brooklyn was long but you lived three blocks away from work and managed to sleep through every goddamn alarm you’d set. 
It was clear about exactly three seconds after you met that you and Bucky were not destined to just be friends. You knew it and he knew it but neither of you wanted to talk about it. Avoiding the truth wasn’t necessarily lying - Bucky was thankful for that, because he knew that if you asked, everything would come out. He wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready for love. 
So, you both left it to rest (and maybe to rot). 
“I hate meetings,” you grumbled. It was eight o’clock on a Monday morning and thanks to a national security threat, you once again found yourself in the SHIELD meeting room earlier than you felt to be natural. “Can’t they just put this in an email?”
“Probably,” Bucky replied. “Hi guys, there’s a terrorist threat. If you see something, say something. Lots of love, the security council.” 
You snorted. “Did you know I have all of their emails sent straight to my spam?”
“I would do the same but I can’t work out how the Facebook app works,” he muttered. “Why are there so many buttons? What are cookies?”
“Buck, why would you have the security council on Facebook?”
“Isn’t that…” he paused, scratching the back of his head. “Isn’t that where emails go?”
You dropped your head in your hands and let out a groan. “I only just got you used to Twitter. I’ll leave it a few weeks before I overwhelm you with any more social media apps.”
“What about TikTok?”
“I am never letting you download TikTok,” you said. 
“Sam said that I should make thirst traps-”
“- please no!” you cut him off. “Never take life advice from Sam.”
Sam was sat across the table from you, a scowl on his face. He was a morning person - hell, the man had already been for a run that morning - but the combination of you and Bucky at any point in the day was enough to drive him up the wall. He glanced between you both, brown eyes calculating for a second, before a grin spread across his face. 
“Don’t worry, he doesn’t,” Sam chirped. “Remember last week when I told you to do that thing, Buck?”
Bucky’s eyes widened. “Shut up, Sam.”
“What thing?” you frowned.
“It’s not mine to share,” Sam shrugged. “But based on the last five minutes’ worth of interactions alone? I think it would be best to listen to me-”
“- I swear to god if you don’t stop talking!” Bucky cut him off; then he glanced at you, blue eyes wavering for a second. “Don’t listen to him.”
Sam knew that he was doing; playing devil’s advocate because a) it meant he could piss off Bucky and b) hopefully get two of his best friends to finally get together after months of pining. It had gotten to the point where him and Steve had literal bets on it. Not necessarily on if you would get together, but more on when. 
“I’m not, but you’re acting weird,” you said. “Want to share with the class?”
“No,” Bucky firmly said.
“Buck,” you warned; it was clear by your voice that you weren’t fucking around. “I don’t know what immature high school bullshit is going on right now but I don’t appreciate it.” 
“I’ll talk to you about it later, okay?” he said. 
“You’re an ass,” you replied.
Picking up your bag and coffee, you shuffled over to the other side of the meeting table where Steve was sat. He hadn’t said a word in any of this; you quite often cursed the lack of boundaries amongst the four of you, but you couldn’t fault Steve that morning. He’d kept to himself, simply watching in awe at the chaos that had just unfolded. 
You stopped in the seat beside him, glancing over at him. “If you say a word, I’ll hit you.”
“I’m not saying anything,” he held up his hands in defense.
The meeting was quick, thankfully. Even worse, it definitely could have been put in an email. You also couldn’t help but notice the British diplomats watching your coffee carefully every time you moved - that was a joke you could have made to Bucky, had he not managed to get himself into your bad books.
You’d barely been out the board room five minutes before you were practically wrestling him by the ear into a quiet corner. The meeting had been quick, thankfully. It hadn’t felt that way for Bucky, who’d been sat opposite you the entire time, barely avoiding your dagger-y gaze. If looks could kill, his vibranium arm would have had a fair few dents in it. 
“So?” you asked. “What was that all about?”
“It’s nothing,” Bucky quickly replied. “I promise-”
“- bullshit!” you cut him off. “Why are you keeping things from me, Buck?”
“I’m not.”
“You are!” you exclaimed. “Look, I don’t even want to know what you and Sam were talking about but at least have the common decency not to keep me out of a conversation that’s about me!”
“Why aren’t you mad at Sam too?!”
“Believe me, I have it out for Sam too but it’s worse when this stuff comes from you!”
Bucky thinned his eyes at you. “Why?”
“You know why.”
He sighed, shifting from one foot to another. Eyes to the ceiling for a second, he took a deep breath. 
“Sam told me last week that I should ask you out,” he said. “Said something about how everyone around us can see what we don’t, and that we’re kidding ourselves, and…”
You sniffed, trying to stay composed. It had been a long time coming, there was no denying that. Bucky had been avoiding the conversation because he wasn’t ready but you’d been avoiding it because you were terrified of the answer. Rejection from literally anyone else in the world would have been fine, but from him? There was no metaphor for that pain, or that fear. 
“And what?” you asked. “What do you think of that?”
He shrugged. “I think it’s…”
You both waited for a second, the tension in the air almost suffocating.
“...dumb.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “Dumb?!”
“Yeah?” Bucky sounded unsure. “We’re best friends, and-”
“- that’s bullshit!” you snapped. “Buck, I know you can be confusing but…if there’s one thing I am certain of, it’s that we are not just best friends and you know it!”
“Do I?”
You took a step back, sniffing. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s dumb. Forget I said anything.”
“Wait, don’t be like that-”
“- it’s fine, James,” you sniffed. “I’ll see you around.”
“Are we good?”
“Yeah, we’re good.”
(You weren’t good.)
“Okay, I’m glad. Call me later, yeah?”
“Yeah, of course,” you forced a smile.
(You weren’t going to call him.)
Five days.
That’s the longest Bucky had gone without talking to you since he’d met you and also the exact amount of time you’d been ignoring him for. He’d given in calling you after three days, and considered coming around your apartment after four, but then he got a last minute call onto a mission where your name was at the top of the call sheet. Fab. 
Bucky liked to consider himself a good flier, but it certainly would have been easier to co-pilot a jet with someone who was actually willing to talk to him. It was quite amazing, actually, to see the lengths that you were willing to go to all in pursuit of icing him out. 
“This is Barnes to air traffic control on QJ564. We’ll be approaching our destination in about five minutes, currently at 10,000 feet, over.”
“This is ATC to QJ564, you’re cleared for landing in Munich, runway four. Over.”
“This is Barnes to ATC on QJ564. Runway four confirmed, thank you. Could you also tell my co-pilot that I’m sorry and that I miss them? Over.”
“Uh…this is ATC to QJ564. Barnes says he’s sorry and that he misses you. Over.”
“This is Barnes’ co-pilot on QJ564, tell him that I think he’s a cun-”
“- this is Captain Rogers monitoring the channels for suspicious activity from the headquarters. May I remind the pilots aboard QJ564 of the appropriate workplace manners over professional channels? Over.”
After Steve’s voice, the lines went silent. Bucky glanced over at you, eyebrows raised. 
“That was rude.”
You continued to ignore him, attention turned to landing the jet safety. It wasn’t hard - Tony Stark had built a jet that practically landed itself, but it was still a good enough excuse to blank out your best friend for the next five minutes. Still, none of that conversation was worth the absolute castigating you were about to receive from Captain America as soon as you were back in New York. He was no fun sometimes. 
With the jet safely on the runway, you parked up at the airport and made your way down to the tarmac where the agents were waiting. All you had to do now was await instructions from headquarters on what to do next. That gave you more empty time with Bucky, who was stood next to you. So, you moved away and leant against the wheels of the plane, pulling out your phone to play Doodle Jump.
The call came through eventually, but it was to Bucky’s radio instead of yours. 
“Right, agents,” he began, though it was more a sigh than anything. “Coulson is currently ten minutes out on another quinjet to lead the mission. Agent (Name) and I have been removed from this operation for the foreseeable future so that we can sit in the jet, man the communications systems and re-take the online seminar about appropriate workplace language.”
“What?!” you exclaimed. “Nice one, Barnes!”
Bucky forced a smile, trying not to crack up in front of the fifteen junior agents stood in front of you. “Why we have to retake it is a mystery to me.”
“Good luck out there, guys,” you huffed. With that, you spun around and stormed back on board the jet. 
Bucky was hot on your heels, closing up the door behind him as he went. He didn’t really know what to say - somehow he’d made you angrier, now - but apolgoising profusely felt like a pretty good place to start. 
“So you’re talking to me now?” he asked, following you through the fuselage. 
“No!”
“You just did!”
“Fuck off, Bucky!”
“And again!”
“Leave me alone!”
He grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks. “I’m sorry, okay?”
“Sorry doesn’t even begin to cut it,” you huffed.
Taking a seat, you curled your legs up in front of you. You didn’t try and swat (or hit) Bucky when he leant down in front of you, which he took as a good sign. It was time to pull out the big guns. 
“Can I talk for just…maybe five seconds, possibly ten, without you interrupting?”
You nodded.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never want to hurt you because you’re the last person in the world I’d ever want to upset but I was put on the spot by what Sam said, and then by what you said, and it freaked me out a little,” he began. “You and I both know that he’s right - but never tell him I said that - and honestly, the silence you’ve given me over the last five days made me realise that more than ever.”
You smiled. “What are you saying, Buck?”
“I love you,” he said. It was plain and simple, completely without hesitation and entirely with conviction. “I’ve known that for a while but I just didn’t want to admit it to myself, but like I said…five days without you made me realise I don’t even want to go five seconds without you.”
“That’s how you apologise,” you gave him a watery grin, poking him in the chest. 
“So?”
“So what?”
“Anything you want to say to that?”
“Oh, yeah!” you exclaimed. “I love you too.”
Bucky pulled you into a kiss; he held you flush against him, one hand holding the back of your neck, metal one gripping the back of your tac-vest. Despite everything, he was warm and you were certain then that you were never going to let him - if not a little ecstatic that you’d found a new way to shut him up. 
You both jumped back when you heard the doors to the jet go, only to turn around and see Phil Coulson on the phone, a glare on his face.
“What is it with you two and inappropriate work place behaviour?”
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deanscherrypie69 · 5 months
Text
Taxi Cab B.B 🚕🗽
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Pairings: TaxiDriver!Bucky Barnes X Female Reader
Warnings: Smut 18+ O N LY Sex as payment. Language. Cream pie. Not very many warnings. But if I’m missing any pls lmk!
Please do not repost my work anywhere else!!!! Expect for here or wattpad, you have been warned…
Authors Note: this may suck a little bit. This is my first fic in over like a year….? Or longer I’m not really sure!!! But please reblog and comment!!! I like seeing feedback!!! If you have any requests please don’t be afraid to send them in!! SEMI EDITED! Don’t come at me for any spelling mistakes😭💀
🚕🗽🌂🌧️
It had been a cold rainy night in New York tonight. You thought it would've been a good idea to go out to a bar to get a few drinks for yourself, well maybe it was because your boyfriend had just broken up with you just an hour before.
You shiver in the ran as you try to get a taxi to go home, you had drank a little too much, but you didn't care. You used your jacket as an umbrella so your hair didn't get in the way.
"Taxi!" You scream once more. You groan when you watch the yellow car drive past you. "Fuck." You groan, reaching into your pants pocket you pull out your phone, tapping on the screen it doesn't light up.
Dead, just what you needed.
Shoving the phone back into your pocket you glance up and notice a taxi waiting in front of you on the street.
The passenger side window rolls down, revealing a man with dark black hair almost down to his shoulders.
"You need a ride?" He questions from the window.
You smile, "Yes thank you!" Holding onto the jacket that rested on top of your head, you rush to the taxi, opening the door you slide inside.
Shutting the door, you remove your jacket from your head and you put it on the seat next to you.
The man meets your eyes in the mirror. "Where to?" He questions.
You let out a long sigh, "Second street." You smile.
The man nods, and starts the engine.
You could fall asleep, the sound of the rain tapping against the car, and the wipers of the car silently hitting the car window.
But you were pulled out you thought when the man brakes the silence, "Why out so late?" He hums.
You shift in your spot, and glance at the clock it read 2am.
You must've lost track of time
"I didn't realize that it was that late." You say swallowing back a yawn. The man chuckles, he notices you looking out the window, and he had noticed the tight shirt you had on. It made your boobs look nice. He grunts and adjusts in his seat.
"Got anyone waiting for you at home?" He questions meeting your e/c in the mirror."
"No, my boyfriend recently broke up with me." You say looking down at your nails.
What kind of guy breaks up with a girl who looks like that. He thinks.
Looking up at the man you notice his eyes were focused on the road, "What's your name?" You hum.
"Bucky." He says meeting your eyes once more.
"Yours?" Bucky asks.
"Y/N."
"Nice to meet you Y/n." He hums.
The car comes to an abrupt stop, "Here we are." He says turning his body in his seat.
You smiling reaching into your coat pocket, "Shit." You mumble. You didn't have anything to pay him.
"I don't have any money." You softly say.
Bucky laughs, It's okay doll it's not the money i wan anyway." He hums looking you up and down, his eyes linger on your breasts. A cold chill runs down you spine once he looks away.
He turns on the car and begins to drive way from you apartment building.
"That was my stop." You quitly say.
"I'm going to get my payment." His growls.
Bucky pulls into a dark alley way. He shuts off the car. Opening the car door you watch him walk over to the backseat door.
He opens the door, he slides in. Closing the door the behind him. You noticed how it echoed off the alley you were in.
"So, about that payment." Bucky licks his lips eyeing you up and down, it was like he wanted to eat you.
"I- I don't have any money Bucky." You swallow hard, watching the mans eyes grow darker.
"I don't want your money." He says reaching over to touch your exposed shoulder. "I need you to be quite." He whispers he leans in closer. You could feel him breathing on your neck.
"Bucky-" You warn trying to get away, but you couldn't. You turn your body and you begin to tug on the handle do the door.
"It's locked." Bucky says.
"Please just let me go. I have money back at my place." You plead.
'No can do doll." He says grabbing your wrist. Pulling you close to him. 'now we can either do this the easy way or the hard way. You choice."
You swallow hard. You didn't say anything back. You watch as Bucky tugs on your jeans, "Take em off." He grunts, you notice him sliding down the zipper of his jeans, he reaches into his pants and pulls out his cock.
You shimmy out of your jeans.
Bucky begins to stoke his cock, fast. The air was thick and hot his hair was sticking to his face, Once he notices you were out of your jeans he grabs your waits.
Making you sit on top of him, Your head was touching the top of the car.
Bucky reaches under you pulling your panties to the side, he drags to of his fingers down your folds. Causing a silent moan to fall from your lips
"Someone's wet." He growls He drags his cock through your lips, he lines it up with your hole. He grabs your hips to lower you down onto his cock.
A loud moan rips through your body. Causing you to lean forward, as Bucky begins to work his hips. You moan loudly. You drop your head into his neck.
Your eyes wander to the window right in front of you.
Watching as cars pass by the alley way. You wondered if anyone that passed by knew you were fucking your cab driver cause you didn't have any money.
You were sure that the car was rocking back in forth, but you didn't care his cock was filling you up. Almost sending you over the edge.
"You feel so fuckin good." He moans slapping your ass.
"Fuck." You moan biting you lip. You felt your orgasm approaching as he begins to thrust faster, "You gonna cum for me doll?" He questions grabbing you ass.
"Yes." You choke out a moan when you feel your orgasm wash over you.
Bucky's cock twitches inside of you coating your walls with his cum.
"I love you." You mumble into his neck.
Bucky laughs, "You broke character." He groans pulling out of you. Causing a silent moan to fall from your mouth. "I know." You huff.
You slide off his waist and into the seat next to him. "Ex boyfriend huh?" Bucky looks down at your fucked out state, "Shut up." You playfully hit his arm.
"It's called 'acting' for a reason, smart ass." You grab your jeans off the floor of the car and begin to slide them on.
Bucky tucks himself back into his pants. "How'd you get this cab anyway?"
Bucky raises his eyebrow. "You don't wanna know, but I'll i'm gonna say is that the actual driver is knocked out in the trunk." He laughs.
"Bucky!" You squeal.
"You asked doll," Bucky exits the car, "You comin or not."
You laugh and follow suit.
- - - Bucky sets the cab driver in the front seat, he reaches over him to grab something out of the passenger seat, "Here." He closes the door to the taxi.
Bucky hands you an umbrella, "Thank you." Smirking Bucky grabs your hand, "We should totally do this again.."
You and Bucky begin to walk out of the alley way hand in hand, "Yea, but it's my turn, to pick.. and I want you to wear a ghostface mask."
"You gotta deal doll."
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Text
Are You Bored Yet?
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Pairing: College!Bucky x Tutor!Reader
Summary: God, you hated Bucky. Bucky probably hated you, too. Maybe. It was hard to tell when he was drunk and calling you pretty at a party you shouldn't have gone to.
Word count: 8k
Warnings: Alcohol, annoyance to lovers, a bit of angst, a scary man in a parking lot, frat!bucky c:
a/n:​​​ I am so excited to finally post something!! It only took me four months 😅 If you enjoy it please please let me know ❤️❤️
Masterlist
~~
12:59 pm.
The birchwood table nestled in the back of the library was long but otherwise empty, the only thing occupying it being your laptop and quite a few books. He wasn’t late. Yet. You weren’t going to hold onto that hope, however.
Tutoring Bucky Barnes was not what you had in mind when you volunteered for the peer assistance program at your university. It was true you were only using the club to boost your resume, but you had assumed the only people reaching out for help would be those that actually wanted it. Unfortunately, that was not the case. 
Sure, Bucky wanted help. Just not with anything that actually warranted the word. He wanted help sweet talking the cops so they wouldn't shut down his parties. He wanted help recruiting girls to show up to his parties. And—the one thing you could actually do—he wanted help passing his classes with the minimum GPA required to not get kicked out of his frat. So he could continue to throw parties. 
Everything in his life revolved around his fraternity, which made you very important to him. When he wanted you to be. 
With your apparently astounding knowledge of biology (you took notes during lectures), you became the star in Bucky’s life every Monday and Wednesday from 1:00 pm (give or take ten minutes) to 2:00 pm. He was also very attentive during the thirty minute phone calls he initiated prior to tests, and always looked happy to see you when he passed you devouring a bagel at the crack of dawn in the dining hall. 
Every situation in which you had come in contact with Bucky was isolated and purposeful (minus the bagel). You didn’t hang out or invite each other places, and you were almost positive that if you were to see him in his natural habitat, you would want to tutor him even less than you did now, and that was saying something. So you were important to Bucky during the times you were supposed to be important, and he was important to you in the sense that he was a job. 
But as your laptop blinked the numbers 1:22 pm back at your unimpressed expression, Bucky became much less important today. You took in a long, tortured breath before sending your gaze up to the ceiling, giving it another three minutes before you truly gave up on him for the day. 
One minute. 
Two minutes. 
The library really needed new ceiling tiles. 
1:25 pm and you snapped your laptop shut. Your fingers itched to send yet another complaint about this whole ordeal Natasha’s way, but you stopped yourself. She had already heard plenty about Barnes at this point, plus she always gave you a weird look every time you came stomping into the apartment, grumbling about something else he had done. 
You hated her weird looks, all raised eyebrows and stiff lips.
With your backpack heaved onto the table and your things slowly funneling in, you figured a nap was the best reward for sitting in the library for an unnecessary twenty-five minutes. Your last prickle of irritation was stifled at the prospect of a warm bed as you stood, only to find that irritation had returned to you tenfold. In the form of Bucky Barnes. 
“You going somewhere?” he seemed to taunt, his bag slung casually over one shoulder. 
Your jaw ticked. “Home.” 
His mouth turned up at one side, an expression you had learned meant he found you amusing. He never seemed to outright laugh at your annoyance, but apparently, it was hard to tamp down all of the joy he got out of it. Bucky took two long strides to meet the table you were attempting to abandon. 
“But I still got about—” he checked his watch “—thirty-three minutes? And an arsenal of questions about amino acids. Help a guy out.” 
“And I still got—” you checked the nonexistent watch on your wrist “—no patience for this today. You’re over twenty minutes late, Barnes. Use that watch to set an alarm on Wednesday and I’ll tell you everything you’ll inevitably forget about amino acids then.” 
He groaned, rounding the table to set firm hands on your shoulders as he hovered behind you. “Sit. I’ll buy you a coffee and I promise I won’t be late on Wednesday, okay? I was dealing with something before this and lost track of time.” 
“Were you dealing with another sorority girl in your bed? Who was it last week? Amber? No, Michelle?” 
“It’s a Monday, y/n. Cut me some slack.” 
“You came to me on a Wednesday with a hangover,” you deadpanned.
Bucky grimaced, the expression visible to you as he managed to guide you back into your chair. “Oat milk, right? A double?” 
You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest as he tossed his bag by your feet and jogged over to the coffee cart just outside the library. He fumbled with his wallet when he went to pay, and you watched him point to the carton of oat milk the barista had yet to reach for. His greek letters were printed on the gray hoodie he had haphazardly thrown over his shoulders, and you held the reprimand on your tongue when you saw the matching sweatpants he donned. 
The last time he had shown up in his pajamas—late—you’d had some choice words for him. Bucky turned around with your coffee then, poking the straw through the lid and sending you a sheepish smile through the window. 
He was lucky you accepted bribes. 
~~
“Please,” the boy across from you continued to beg, a pen held loosely between pliant fingers. “Just ask her, that’s all I want. You can even come too.” 
“Oh, wow, the great frat president letting me come to his stupid toga party? How could I ever thank you enough?” 
It was Wednesday now, and Bucky was surprisingly on time to the tutoring session. You’d gotten through about half of the last bio lecture before he started asking you ridiculous questions that had nothing to do with the content. Today, he was dead set on getting your lab partner from chemistry to go to his party this weekend. 
“Okay, yeah, you could come to whatever party you want, you know? I put you on the list—but this one will be even better if you’d just do this one thing for me.” 
You finally tore your eyes from your laptop, glancing lazily at him. “And what would make this one so—wait, what list?” 
He waved you off. “The one at the door. Did it like… the second week we started this? Anyways, Wanda?” 
You let this new information settle and tried to ignore whatever implications came with being on some frat list thanks to Bucky. He had never explicitly invited you to any of his parties over the past few months and you had never asked to come. Apparently, you could have shown up whenever you wanted to and had a grand old time. 
Not that that sounded the least bit grand. 
Bucky was looking at you still, all pleading features and a soft, infuriating smile on his lips. When he wasn’t talking to random girls in the library or taking annoying phone calls in the middle of your sessions, he was sort of endearing. In a terrible, awful sense. 
You groaned, throwing yourself back against your chair in begrudging defeat. “I don’t even talk to her outside of chem. Don’t you think it’d be a little weird to invite her to a party that I’m not even going to?” 
“So come,” he answered simply, as if that was in the realm of possibilities. 
“Yeah,” you scoffed. “Sure, I’ll come to your party, Barnes.” 
“Great,” he grinned. “Vision’s gonna be so hyped.” 
You watched as he pulled his phone from his pocket and kept your lie to yourself. He wouldn’t notice that you didn’t show up on Friday, and likely wouldn’t even bring it up the following Monday. He always had such vibrant, headache-inducing stories that you were sure your absence would be nothing more than a fleeting footnote. 
“You have a toga, right?” he mumbled, face still screwed up in concentration as he continued his text. 
“Isn’t it just a sheet all twisted up?” you asked, shutting your computer. Tutoring was obviously over. 
Bucky pocketed his phone again, brows raised in amusement. “Depends on your motives for the night.” 
“And my motives wouldn’t be to… wear a toga?” 
He chuckled and huffed out your name, resting an arm along the back of the chair to his right—your chair. “Other motives. Like if you’re trying to get someone’s attention.” 
You blinked at the warmth along your back. “Oh, of course. Then I would twist up a pillowcase instead, right?”
“Something like that.” 
He smelled like coconut. Like a day at the beach but afterwards, when the sunscreen still lingered in the air but fresh clothes covered skin that had been warmed by the sun. You could usually ignore whatever expensive combination he had on his skin, but when he got close like this it was almost impossible. 
Part of you always wanted to chuck his arm away when he leaned over you, but another part of you liked that he kept it there. It was a strange part of you, the same one that relished the looks you got from sorority girls in the library and harbored a sense of pride each time he made a blatant attempt to touch you. 
You had spent fleeting moments analyzing these emotions and chalked them up to some internalized desire for validation. Nothing else. Bucky was a hot guy and everyone knew that, so having his attention—in any capacity—felt nice. Sometimes. Meaning right now it was nice that he was looking at you with his arm practically glued to your back, but next week when he showed up late with a hangover and tried to steal the jacket off your body it would be not so nice. 
The duality of man. 
It helped your partial insanity that Bucky would never actually be interested in you. You weren’t in a sorority or interested to his parent’s money, and, worst of all, you didn’t know how to maneuver a sheet into a toga. When he put his arm around you or moved your hair from your eyes as you leaned over a book, it was probably out of habit. It felt nice, but you knew reality. This was a passing phase, and by the summer you wouldn’t even speak to him anymore.
“I’ll text you more info about everything,” Bucky called, pulling you from your thoughts. “You can come early and I’ll help you with that pillowcase.” 
You froze, the book you were shoving into your bag pausing in your hands. “Uh, maybe.” 
“No, seriously, it’d be better if you came early. I was kidding about the pillowcase but if you come on time it’ll be too crazy for me to show you around.” 
“You don’t have to show me around, Bucky. I’ve been to a house party before.” 
“Y/n, are you not coming to this thing?” Bucky accused, swiping the book from your hands and softly tossing it on the table. It still made a loud thud that had a few bitter looks thrown your way. 
“Dude!” you whispered, meeting each mean gaze with your apologetic one. “Why does it matter if I come? You just wanted Wanda anyway.” 
He knocked your hand away when you went to reach for the book again, encircling your wrist with his fingers. “You just lied to me. Straight to my face. You said you’d come and now you gotta.” 
You gave his fingers an experimental tug, but he was unrelenting in his soft grip. You glared at him through your lashes, meeting his uncharacteristically stern gaze that contrasted the humor on his lips. 
“You ever hear of sarcasm?” you whispered with a half-hearted bite. 
“Unfortunately, that’s about all I hear outta you,” he smirked back. 
You rolled your eyes, finally yanking hard enough to free yourself from him. “Then you should have known I wasn’t going to come. No matter what ‘list’ you put me on.” 
“What else could you possibly have going on on a Friday night?” 
Ouch. You felt your brows furrow even though you didn’t will them to, and even worse, you felt a rash defensiveness lodge itself in your throat. You hated the heat that now prickled along the skin of your neck, and you hated even more how it extinguished all of the good warmth you had felt from him earlier. 
This was humiliation, surely—the kind that only came from feeling small. 
“You don’t have to be a dick,” you seethed, snapping up the remainder of your belongings. “Just because I don’t want to go to your stupid frat doesn't mean I have nothing to do. I don’t spend all of my time hoping to get invited to ridiculous parties.” 
Bucky shifted up in his seat, eyes blown just a fraction wider. “Whoa, I didn’t mean—hey, stop a sec, I didn’t mean it like that.” 
“Whatever, Bucky,” you droned, as a new temperature seeped into the skin of your palms and made them clammy. Any semblance of delusion you’d fallen into earlier was long gone now, but you knew to expect that. He wasn’t interested in you and you weren’t interested in him. But embarrassment wasn’t a good feeling, regardless of a multitude of reality checks. 
Bucky got up when you did, his clothes looking creased and lived in. “We still have time in our session,” he defended, arm jutting out to the table. “C’mon, I didn’t mean you don’t have friends.” 
Your glare sharpened. “Great, another insinuation.” 
Bucky sputtered out incoherent words as you continued your trek outside, resorting to grabbing your wrist again, this time with more urgency. You felt the heat in you simmer down to a dull throb as he made contact, mostly out of respect for your future self. If you made this a huge deal it would only embarrass you more. 
“Look, it doesn’t even matter, okay?” you huffed, but he just tugged you forward. It was then that you realized you were in the doorway of the library, effectively blocking it off from anyone trying to leave. Bucky pulled you close enough to his chest that you weren’t in the way anymore. His cologne was back with a vengeance, your nose just inches from his collar.  
You took a steadying breath, blinking away the remnants of shame. “It doesn’t matter, I overreacted.” 
He clicked his tongue. “I’m still apologizing. I didn’t mean any of that stuff you were talking about.” 
Of course he did. You were sure he thought it all the time. He just didn’t mean to say it out loud. 
“It’s fine,” you rushed. “I have to go, anyway. Office hours.” 
“Okay,” he nodded, soft and low, like he just remembered he was in a library. “You’ll still come this weekend, right? Even if Wanda can’t?” 
“You have some kind of girl quota you need to meet?” you pressed.
Bucky smiled, still so close to you that you could feel the small breath that accompanied the expression. “And she’s back.” 
You left without promising anything, and Bucky left feeling like you had. 
~~
Sometime between Wednesday and Friday, your detestment for frat parties had snowballed into determination. You were going to go and you were going to look like you were having so much fun it was ridiculous. Then, on Monday, when Bucky would usually poke and prod about what you’d gotten up to over the past few days, you were going to pretend that it was nothing for you. That you did that every weekend. 
Of course, you didn’t. Your weekends typically consisted of calm nights with friends or dinners near campus. You’d been to a party before, sure, but you didn’t exactly frequent those kinds of scenes. 
Bucky had continued to make it clear that you were invited. He had texted you a few times, prompting you to come and thanking you for getting Wanda to agree. The messages looked strange under the plethora of biology related questions, but that just spurred you further into action. You weren’t just a tutor with no social life, and Bucky was going to see that tonight. You couldn’t remember doing something out of pure spite before, but you figured having fun to prove a point wasn’t the worst thing. 
Wanda pulled you out of your thoughts as the Uber rounded the last dark corner and revealed an overcrowded house with too many lights on. She rambled on about some guy she couldn’t wait to see and confirmed that she would likely be spending the night. You expected as much; it hadn’t taken much convincing to get her to come. If this night resulted in anything good it was apparently the blossoming relationship between your new friend and a man you’d never met. 
Wanda continued to chat as she yanked you out of the car and past the yard littered with sparse grass. The music was loud already—the type of loud that you needed to be at least a little drunk to enjoy. And that was the plan. 
“Okay, if I start dancing on a table you pull me down. And if you start dancing on a table I support you, right?” Wanda giggled, her voice now raised as you walked past the threshold of the house. 
“Exactly,” you yelled back. A guy nodded to you as he leaned against the front door, his eyes glancing up from his phone and then returning. It seemed Bucky’s ‘list’ was a page on some guy’s notes app. How luxurious. “Let’s drink.” 
The next hour was a blur. You tried your hardest to get as drunk as possible and Wanda tried her hardest to find the British man she was enamored with. You hadn’t seen Bucky, but you figured he wasn’t looking for you too hard since you hadn’t responded to any of his texts. Not out of anger, but because you didn’t know what to say. Somehow, with alcohol warming your blood and music vibrating your skin, none of that mattered anymore. 
You: Your house is soooo dirty
Your phone jostled in your grip, people bumping into you from every side. When he didn’t answer in the thirty seconds you spent staring at the screen, you locked it and continued on with your mission. 
After a few too many shots of hard liquor, you switched to beer. Gross, but decidedly less likely to make you pass out on the staircase of this house. Because you weren’t lying in your text—it was slightly disgusting. You figured you should clarify that with Bucky. You reached for your phone once again, knocking your head against the wall in the process and giggling to yourself. You had no idea where Wanda went. 
The device was snatched from your hands just as quickly as the screen had lit up your face. 
“You ever answer this thing?” an accusing voice called out. “Or do you just insult people and put it on do not disturb?” 
The look on Bucky’s face would have made you roll your eyes in any other circumstance. Right now, however, it had a startled laugh bursting past your lips. You clutched at your stomach as the laugh grew and you found yourself tipping forward until your forehead met his chest. You felt delirious, almost silly. A hand came around to rest on the back of your neck.
“Alright, alright.” Bucky’s words rumbled against your face. “I get it, this is hilarious.” 
“Your… your face,” you breathed out, catching your breath enough to part from him. “It was all—” you mimicked the straight line of his eyebrows, voice raising in a mocking tone. “—You don’t ever answer your phone. You’re so boring, y/n, answer your phone.” 
“I didn’t call you boring. Hey—hey,” Bucky stressed, reaching for you as you leaned too far to the side, a smile still lingering on your face. “Jesus, y/n, how much did you have to drink?” 
You went to mock him again, but his fingers on your jaw stopped you. He tilted your head up and to the left, and although he was much more composed than you were, you could still smell the alcohol on his breath. You scrunched up your nose as he continued his inspection. 
“Why’re you being so uptight?” you slurred, trying and failing to push away from him. “I thought you were all like, ‘I’m Bucky and I party and get drunk and have sex with girls.’”
Bucky pulled you forward as you laughed at your impression of him, his shaking head making you blink away a bout of dizziness. You toppled over a set of stairs as he threaded his fingers through yours, and then you stumbled through a doorway and onto carpeted floors. Being pressed into an uncomfortable chair was the most jarring action, the world still spinning as you sat. 
“You’re even more mean when you're drunk,” you heard Bucky mumble. You couldn’t quite catch him as he moved around whatever room you were in. “And I don’t talk like that.” 
You let out a careless sigh and leaned back. “You soooo talk like that.” 
Something cold pressed to your hand, followed by another touch to the back of your neck. You gazed down at the water bottle being guided up to your lips and couldn’t find it in you to fight against it, despite the small spark of defiance on the tip of your tongue. After about four large swallows, Bucky was satisfied. 
He asked again how much you’d had to drink. 
You answered that you didn’t know—that it didn’t matter because he wasn’t your dad and you were having fun like you always did. He bit the inside of his cheek and didn’t say anything for the next few moments. 
And then, “Thought you weren’t gonna come tonight.” 
You hummed, rolling your head against the chair to look up at his standing form. “Of course I was going to come. I love parties. Love drinking alcohol.” 
His expression twisted into something you couldn’t recognize. “God, you’re so drunk.” 
“M’not even that drunk!” 
“You’re willingly in my room right now. You’re plastered.” 
“Maybe I want to be in your room.” 
“We both know that’s not true.” 
You chuckled breathily, closing your eyes so you wouldn’t have to see the pretty flush of Bucky’s face. “You think you know everything, don’t you? Don’t know much about me though. Or biology.” 
Bucky kneeled down to the height of the chair. “And what do I not know about you?” 
“So much.” 
“How much?” 
You bit into your lip and cracked an eye open, catching the amusement that had slipped past the strange mask of his emotions. With blissful ignorance, you heaved yourself forward on the chair, your nose a few inches from Bucky’s. His eyes didn’t waver from yours as you swayed. 
“You don’t know that I’m the most interesting person on Earth,” you boasted, fingers gripping the upholstery of your seat. 
“That right?” Bucky probed, his voice a melodic hum. 
“Yup, I’m always really busy and even though you think I’m some boring biology tutor I’m actually super cool and, like, go to raves and stuff.” 
His brow twitched but his mouth stayed soft. “I’ve never said you were boring. And I don’t think you’ve ever been to a rave.” 
You groaned loudly and flopped against the backrest of the chair. “See! I’m telling you I do all this cool stuff and I’m so drunk my fingers are buzzing and you still don’t believe me.” 
You crossed your arms with a huff, a small pout forming on your lips. In any other context, this behavior would probably embarrass you to no end. In the dim light of Bucky’s room where you felt the feeling leave your fingers and the care leave your mind, you were just disgruntled, not embarrassed. If you remembered this tomorrow the latter would surely catch up to you.
Bucky stared at you from his spot on the ground, his gaze a bit foggy and unfocused. He was clearly intoxicated, as you deduced earlier, and it made him look more wild. Mused hair and pink cheeks, he looked like he’d been having plenty of fun before he found you. It was distracting. He was distracting you from proving that you were having a blast.
“What?” you snapped, the tone a testament to the drunken fit you were throwing. 
“You’re so fucking pretty.” 
He must be really, really drunk. Despite your clouded mind, you knew that, but the words affected you just the same. Your lips parted as a new lightness both lit up and compressed your chest, and Bucky watched the movement. 
“Yeah,” you scoffed, but it was hardly a scoff. “Sure, Bucky. How much did you have to drink—” 
“I’m not lying. I’ve thought about you in my room for weeks and now you’re here and you’re so pretty. Even when you’re yelling at me.” 
“You’ve… thought about me in your room?” 
Bucky shuffled forward and you subconsciously parted your legs to allow the space for him. “I think about you everywhere.” 
This was crazy. It was certifiably insane. A voice in the back of your head—Natasha’s voice, it sounded like—was screaming at you to stop and think about the situation at hand. He was drunk, you were even more drunk, and he was far too close to you. He had ushered you in here with good intentions and had sobered you up a fraction, but things had taken a turn and this was a sensitive situation. The kind of sensitive that altered your reality and his and probably a bunch of other people’s you’d never met. 
Or it could be nothing and you were over exaggerating. 
But then Bucky’s hand was warming your thigh. You’d felt the press of it on your back and your shoulder and your head before, but it had never been on your thigh. It felt heavy there, hot. His other hand moved to touch your face and he propped himself up on one knee. His thumb brushed your cheek. Words tumbled from your mouth before you registered that you were speaking. 
“Are you going to kiss me?” 
Why would you ask that? Who asks Bucky Barnes if he’s going to kiss them? 
“Would you let me?” he responds. 
“Yes.” 
He didn’t waste any time, his mouth hot against yours. He tasted like mint and vodka and his lips moved so slowly it ached. You had expected a fervor behind his lips, but instead you got a build up, an orchestra reaching its crescendo. He was kissing you like you were important, like this wasn’t some random hookup in his bedroom at 1 o’clock in the morning, and you had to catch your breath when he parted from you. 
But he moved back in so quickly after your brief respite, and you were eager to give him more. This was crazy, insane. This was the best kiss you’d ever have and also the worst. This was months of staring at his stupid lips when he tried explaining concepts back to you, but this was also weeks of feeling small in his presence. Bucky slid his hand back to press against your hair and you didn’t feel small anymore. 
A loud thud from the hallway interrupted the silence you’d created, and Bucky pulled back, keeping his hands on you as he craned his neck around to stare at the door. He waited a beat, and then two, and then he turned back to you. The moment was gone, but he was still touching you. You weren’t sure what you wanted—if you wanted him to kiss you again or run out the door—but when he slid his hands from your body and rubbed them down his jeans, it became clear that was not what you wanted. 
A knot formed in your stomach when he met your gaze again, and you tried blinking the feeling away. It didn’t work. 
“Um,” Bucky began, his voice sounding more clear, his tone not holding the weight it had.
Your plan had backfired. Severely. This was a mess and you needed to save yourself before you ended this night even more humiliated.
You were still drunk. Pretend you were still plastered. 
You giggled airily, the sound burning your throat. “That was loud.” 
Bucky blinked at you in what you assumed was disbelief. “Probably just someone trying to find the bathroom,” he clarified.
You shrugged, nudging him back with your knee as you stood from the chair. “I’m bored now.” You took fast steps to the door, your words foreign to you. “Thanks for the water,” you all but gritted out. 
You expected him to get up. Not to run after you or proclaim his love or even say anything. But you expected him to get up. 
He didn’t, and you couldn’t understand how the knot in your stomach had moved to your throat. Or how it made tears spring to your eyes when your feet hit the sidewalk outside. Your Uber came and you couldn’t understand how you felt hot and cold at the same time. How it was freezing outside but you were sweating. 
You couldn’t understand why you were crying over a boy that so often infuriated you, or why he kissed you in his bedroom. The reasonable side of you sent gentle reminders that he was in a frat and kissing people is just what he did. All the time. But the unreasonable side of you won out tonight, and it was telling you that this felt different.
That you should be different, somehow.
~~
Bucky: You’re here???
Bucky: Where are you?
Bucky: Y/n answer your damn phone
Bucky: This place is fucking packed tonight I thought you weren’t coming 
You stared at the text messages you hadn’t read last night, the bright light of your phone burning into your retinas. You had a brutal hangover, and the memory of the disaster in Bucky’s room felt like an even bigger one. 
You’d gone through a myriad of emotions the night before, tossing around excuses and speeches in your head until you were so exhausted you let the alcohol in your system lull you to sleep. With all of that delirious thinking, you’d landed on blacking out. You were going to tell Bucky you blacked out last night and couldn’t remember a thing. He obviously wouldn’t care and would probably appreciate it. 
Saturday was slow-moving. Reruns of television shows and bags of popcorn and overthinking. Natasha was at her parent’s house in the city, so you had no one to bounce your racing thoughts off of. You certainly weren’t going to text her about it. 
When the evening finally rolled around and your attempts at distracting yourself with mind-numbing movies failed, you checked your email. You always tried not to on the weekends, but doing anything else sounded much less appealing. 
Unfortunately, you didn’t get past the first one. 
From: University Peer Assistance Program 
Dear Y/n Y/l/n, 
This is an automated message from the campus peer assistance program. We thank you for your continued devotion to the betterment of students at this school. At this time, your tutoring placement with James Barnes has ended. We will search for a new placement to fill your current hours. 
Thank you, 
University Peer Assistance 
You blinked at the email, then blinked again. The breath left your chest and the muscles on your face twitched, but you were otherwise frozen.
This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? To be free from the haughty frat boy that didn’t even listen to you when you tried to help him raise his grades. You wanted someone nice, someone that had the same goals as you and appreciated the color-coded notes you took for them. Bucky only tried to get a rise out of you. He sat too close and made fun of you and put you on lists you didn’t ask to be on. 
But he had kissed you. He had kissed you and then tutor-dumped you. 
You knew you weren’t his type, but were you really that bad? Was the kiss so terrible? 
Every inferiority complex you had developed exploded. You over-analyzed things that had already happened, things you had said. Not just at the party, but in the library, the coffee shops, the lecture halls. 
Was he really willing to risk his position in the frat just to avoid you? 
The strangle tickle of tears itched to be released from your eyes again, but you pressed it down. No, this wasn’t on you. He had kissed you. He had dragged you into his room and stumbled on pretty words. If he didn’t want you to tutor him anymore because of his stupid mistake, fine. 
His mistake. 
That word felt wrong. 
You tossed your phone on the couch with vigor. The clock above the television read out 10 pm, but that meant little to you as you slid on your shoes at the front door. You were wearing sweatpants and a jacket that was far too big on you, sadness and frustration and raw confusion propelling you down your apartment stairs. 
Ice cream would fix this. 
The only place open at this time was the gas station at the edge of campus. It wasn’t university affiliated and was usually overrun with belligerent greek life trying to buy alcohol, but the decision-making part of your brain was currently shut off. 
Ice cream, anger, probably watching tiktoks until your eyes were too heavy to keep open—those were the only things rattling in your head. 
You yanked open the gas station door after your short walk, the glass smudged and fogged from the cold night. The fluorescent lights aggravated the headache you’d been sporting all day and the floor made sticking noises with each step you took. To add insult to injury, there were only three cartons of ice cream left, and they weren’t even the good flavors. Grabbing the least offensive one, you made your way to the small line of people by the register. 
“Nice outfit.” 
Too enthralled by the disappointing ingredient list on the side of your ice cream, you had missed the tall man now looming at your shoulder. You whipped your head around with a start, taking a step back, smelling menthol and asphalt and nothing good. 
“Thanks,” you quietly replied. 
He waited until you turned back around to continue. “You go to school over here?” 
You kept your gaze forward. “Um, yeah.” 
“Nice. I graduated a few years back. Marketing.” 
“Cool,” you replied. What had compelled you to leave your phone on the couch? This night sucked. 
You found reprieve in the line moving, the employee calling you over to check out. As soon as you paid—a few dollar bills funneled out of your pocket with shaky hands—you booked it. Your ice cream burned in your palm but you didn’t care, feet carrying you out the door and into the dimly lit parking lot. You fisted your keys in your fingers; pointless, you knew, but a small comfort. 
The man’s voice returned with the chime of the bell over the gas station door. “Wait! Wait, I’m Beck. I own a business nearby.” 
You should have kept walking, but one of your fatal flaws was, apparently, people pleasing. You turned to him. He smiled at you but it made your stomach twist. 
“Oh, nice,” you responded, rocking back on your heels. 
“We should connect. Maybe go for coffee or something?” He took a step forward. You fought the urge to take one back. His beard was unkempt and he held a six pack in his white-knuckled grip. 
“Um, I don’t know. I’m pretty busy with finals coming up. Plus, I’m not really in the business field.” 
“Not for business then,” he smiled again, teeth dull in the streetlight. 
Just agree. If you agreed you could block him soon after and everything would be fine. 
You took too long to answer. He took the final step forward to arrive in your space and wrapped his fingers around your bicep. “C’mon, I’m not asking you to marry me or anything.” 
Frozen by fear, you let out a weak laugh. The pint in your hand was sticking to your skin now in a way that would be painful when you tried to let go of it later. Your breath rattled in your chest when you laughed again. 
“Sure, okay.” But he didn’t let go of your arm, instead sliding it down to the bone of your wrist. 
“What about now?” he posed. “You don’t look too busy. I can make you something at my place.” 
He was at least ten years older than you. You attempted to pull yourself from his grasp to no avail. Maybe reasoning would work. 
“My roommate's waiting for me,” you lied. “Could you let go? I sprained my wrist at the gym last week,” you lied again. 
He refused with a shake of his head. You took a panicked glance inside the gas station to your right. No one was looking. 
“Please let go of me.” 
The call of your name from the other side of the parking lot initially sent more unbearable fear down your spine. But then the owner of that voice registered in your brain, and although it had been the cause of your recent internal strife, you couldn't be more grateful to hear it. 
He said your name again, closer now and questioning. Bucky jogged up to the pair of you, saw your wrist and the man holding it hostage, and looked back up at you with confused, wild eyes. 
“You know this guy?” he asked, jutting his thumb out at Beck.
“No,” you whispered. The word was short but the syllable still trembled. 
Bucky didn’t look confused anymore. He looked pissed. “Wanna take your fucking hands off her?”
Beck was tall, but Bucky was taller. And angry. Beck released your wrist and raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Whoa, man, no need for the theatrics. I’m guessing you’re here to stock up for a party? I used to be in Sigma Nu.” 
When Bucky’s silent glare failed to dampen, Beck continued with, “We were just planning a night at my place, right?” 
His nod in your direction made your breath catch. Bucky took his piercing gaze off of Beck and softened it as it fell on you. You wanted to respond, but words were gone. They were impossible. Your ice cream was melting. 
“Yeah, I think we’re done here,” Bucky scoffed, placing his arm around your shoulder. He guided you past the wall of a man, making sure to drive his shoulder into his chest as he went. Beck went to say more, to protest or whine, but Bucky shot him such a scathing look it almost made you wither. 
The smell of coconut and spices and a hint of whisky met your nose, and it was familiar. It was safe. You fumbled with the keys in your hands as your feet guided you wherever Bucky was going, and then you fumbled even more, soft jingling disrupting the softness of footfall. God, why wouldn’t you stop shaking? 
A hand fell atop yours, crunching the keys to a halt. You stared down at them, unsteady breath hitting the tanned fingers that served as your current anchor. 
“Look at me, y/n.” 
You couldn’t. You couldn’t do anything. 
“Sweetheart, eyes up. All you gotta do.” Bucky’s voice was as soft as it was last night. That was the only reason you were able to follow his request. “There she is,” he hummed. 
He removed his arm from your shoulders and shifted in front of you, placing his hand on your cheek. You ignored that it felt the same as it had last night. You ignored that you wanted it to feel the same for him, too. 
“You okay?” he asked, tilting his neck down to better see your face. His thumb brushed under your eye. “He hurt you?” 
You shook your head, whispering no, whispering that you were fine. 
Bucky nodded to himself, eyes tracking down to your toes and then back up again. He must have mistaken your shaking for coldness because the next thing he did was guide you into the car behind him. You didn’t know it was his.
He blasted the heat the second he got in. He had shuffled you into your seat with his hands before that, smoothed your hair down and closed the door after you were settled and not shaking as hard. The heat dried out your eyes. It distracted you enough to let words form. 
“Thank you,” you said. “He wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t bring my phone with me. I should’ve.” 
“Of course.” 
There was a beat of silence. The relief you had felt earlier had been muddled down to an awkward pit in your stomach, and you weren’t sure if Bucky felt it too or if he was still riding a testosterone-fueled adrenaline high. 
You wanted to go home now; this was uncomfortable and you had felt Bucky’s lips on yours less than twenty-four hours ago with no closure. He obviously didn’t want to be around you. This was probably a responsibility thing for him. 
“I can… I can walk home now. The guy left. I’m just a quarter mile away and you probably have to stock up or whatever.” 
He looked at you with a pinched expression. “I’m not letting you walk home after that. You kiddin’ me?” 
“I’ll be fine, really. I walk over here all the time.” 
“You get harassed all the time too?” 
“No…” 
“Exactly. So you’re not walking home.” 
“Bucky—” 
“Look I’m not gonna kiss you again, alright? So you don’t have to turn down a ride because of that.” 
Your ice cream was soup at this point. You let it roll into your lap as you clamped your mouth shut just to open it again. Bucky ran a rough hand through his hair before dropping it on the steering wheel, clutching at it with no place to go. 
“I’m not following,” you finally relented. 
A loud sigh released from his nose. “You don’t have to worry about me kissing you again. I just want to make sure you get home safe and then I’ll leave you alone.” 
“Worry about—you’re the one trying to avoid me,” you snapped, frozen fingers pointing to your chest. “You tutor-dumped me.”
“Tutor-dumped? How do you…” he trailed off. 
“I get an email when you make a change request, Bucky.” 
He stared at you for a moment, lips parted and unmoving. He clenched his jaw a moment later, a red tint adorning his cheeks. 
“Well, you—you—look, I know you don’t like me, y/n. You’ve made that clear,” he stuttered, words getting louder as he moved his hands around with each one. “But I like you. I like when you get mad at me and when you yell at me for not listening and when you get all embarrassed when I play with your hair. And I’ve been trying to get you to come to one of my parties since we started this whole thing, but every time I talk about them you seem to like me even less. 
“If I had known insulting you would get your attention, I woulda done that week one,” he exasperated. You sat up in your seat but he continued. “I didn’t mean any of that shit you thought I did. You’re not boring. And I didn’t mean to kiss you, but you looked—well, I already told you.” 
“So you don’t want me to be your tutor anymore because you like me?” You spoke slowly, each word careful. 
“No,” he sighed, frustrated. “I can’t be around you because I kissed you and you didn’t care. Because I’ll want to kiss you all the time and you didn’t even wanna kiss me once. I know we were drunk, I get that, but I’ve wanted that for a long time and I need to move on. It’s nothing against your… tutoring skills. If that’s what you’re worried about” 
“But you talk about hooking up with other girls all the time, Bucky. To me.” 
“You ever hear of lying?”
“Why would you—” 
“You really gonna make me live out all of my failures with you?” 
You’d read so many things wrong. Taken so many things the wrong way. You figured the email earlier was the final nail in the coffin, but this was something else entirely. This was Bucky, sitting next to you in his car looking distressed and frazzled with his hair six different directions, telling you that he’s been trying to get your attention since he met you. That you weren’t small or insignificant or boring. 
It was probably a terrible idea to follow through with your next thought. You’d probably get hurt in the long run. But you did it anyway. 
“I wanted you to kiss me.” Bucky’s head whipped towards you. You bit the inside of your cheek and said, “I want you to kiss me all the time.” 
He whispered your name. It sounded like the air had left every corner of his body. But he didn’t move, and you needed to rectify that. 
“You’re infuriating,” you began. Bucky cringed, but you needed to explain as he had. “You’re like the antithesis of everything I want out of college. You don’t care about classes. You’re always late. You talk too loud in the library.” 
You took a deep breath, fiddling with the loose thread of your pants. You couldn’t make eye contact with anything but the ground. 
“But then you know my coffee order when I’ve never told it to you. You save me from losers in parking lots and make sure I’m not drunk out of my mind at your obscene party. You make me feel… you make me feel stupid sometimes. And I thought it was because you’re everything I’m not, but I really think it’s because you’re everything I told myself I should stay away from. But I don’t want to.
“I wanted you to kiss me at that party and I want you to kiss me now.” 
“Then get over here. I’m not kissing you over some bullshit center console.” 
You twisted to follow his directions, gasping as his hands clasped around your waist to tug you into his lap. It wasn’t seamless—there was laughing and your head briefly connected with the roof of the car—but Bucky’s touch was everywhere, soothing the uncertainty and fear and slight headache. 
His forehead connected with yours when you felt secure in his arms. His fingers slid down from your waist over the material of your sweatpants and when he spoke next you felt the words on your own lips.
“You’re wearing sweatpants. You get so mad when I wear sweatpants.” 
You laughed. “I get mad because it usually means you just rolled out of bed, and you’re usually. late.” 
“I got a secret,” he whispered, nudging his nose against yours. “I’m never late. And I only wear those sweatpants around you. You get cute when you’re pissed at me.” 
“Well, I’m about to be really cute—”
He kissed you. You’d have plenty of time to argue later.
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slyyywriting · 1 year
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Your Hands On Me
Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: Your arranged marriage had simple rules: in sickness and in health, til death do you part and... uh, don't come home late?
Wordcount: 3k
Warnings: depictions of mob related violence, Bucky being a simp, husband!Bucky (pls it’s the hottest thing ever), explicit sexy times, sexy asphyxiation, marital bickering lol
18+ ONLY! IF YOU ARE A MINOR, KINDLY EXIT STAGE LEFT! DO NOT INTERACT!
A/N: This is a follow up to our mob arranged marriage au, When Your Kisses Climb and Put My Mind At Ease, aka the chaotic life and times of Mr. & Mrs. Barnes lol I love these two idiots so much. Thanks for tuning in! As always feedback is appreciated. Not beta'd but enjoy~
|| MASTERLIST ||
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You tap your phone again to check the time.
The tip of your ears tingle as you stare at the numbers. Two hours. Bucky is two hours late.
The worse part were the unread text messages. His last reply was an of course, my love after you asked him to stop by the sommelier for the wine you wanted re-stocked. And then you asked him ten minutes before seven o’clock if he was near the house so you could start setting up the table for dinner. No response. Not even a confirmation that he read the text.
That bastard.
You dial his number again as you blow out the candles you lined up on various shelves and some that were placed on the floor of your bedroom. You had painstakingly arranged red, pink, and white candles to set some mood lighting for the night. Not that you ever needed to curate an atmosphere of sensuality, you and your husband of convenience never had a problem getting into the mood. Bucky was perpetually hard with just the thought of you and you instantaneously get turned on just by his touch. The candles were there because you saw it in an old movie where a maiden was abducted by an evil lord of a manor; it was cosplay, really.
You growl at your phone when it tells you his number was unavailable and prompting you to leave a voicemail. “James Buchanan Botezatû Gheorghescu Barnes! You better have one hell of a good reason why your phone is off and cannot be reached for the last two hours or I swear to your beloved Mercedes-Benz 300SL that—urgh! You better be home by midnight or you can forget coming back!”
You hang up and toss the phone on your shared bed, crossing your arms as you fume. This kind of behavior was new from him and your eye twitches at all the possible scenarios that could be. If he was out there somewhere with a floosy on his lap, or on his dick? He would be able to experience your freshly sharpened kitchen knives.
“He should’ve just married that stupid car and left me at peace. Save us both the headache!”
---
Bucky was going to die.
Bucky never thought much about dying. When he was younger death seemed like such a foreign concept even when he saw it constantly but only viewed it as something that happened to the dumb and weak ones within his father’s organization. Through his years of observing the business and the men who were part of it, Bucky had concluded that death claims people who, one, over consume drugs and/or alcohol; two, act and react using their ego; and three, the deadliest of them all, getting involved with women.
Women had been the bane of his father’s existence and that was why he had three younger half-sisters from three different women. Bucky’s own mother shot George Barnes while he slept in the same bed as hers after she found out that his nanny, his tutor, and the family’s real estate agent all birthed George’s daughters.
All the bastards in the whole world could try and kill him but when Bucky decided to marry you he knew that he would only die by your hand. Now he posits it would be a possibility tonight as he checks his watch for the time.
He thinks as his gun clicks empty. He hisses as he runs out of bullets, gun fire still raging around him. He was too old to be in a gun fight so he didn’t think that having more than one extra cartridge on his person was necessary. But as Bucky hears John Walker’s continuous tantrum after the latter’s father sold to him their shipping business instead of passing it down to his son, Bucky tries to rationalize that this whole situation was an anomaly and not a regular thing that he could foresee to prepare for.
Bucky had to end this so he could go home to you.
---
--
-
You scream when your bedroom door slams against the wall. You kick off the covers and jump down to the floor beside your bed, reaching for the hidden gun under your nightstand, cocking and aiming it to the direction of your intruder. You pull the trigger—almost.
“I made it home! I made it back with one minute to spare!” the silhouette checks for their wristwatch and pumps their fist triumphantly. You tilt your head while keeping your aim steady, squinting at the figure before you.
“Bucky?” your voice is groggy with sleep but laced with confusion.
“Don’t shoot me, doll! It’s 11:59 and I’m here. Just like I promised!”
You toss the gun on the floor and run to your stupid husband, jumping into his arms. Bucky catches you with a small huff, his left leg stepping backward to keep his balance. You attack him with your lips, peppering his face before finally slotting them against his. You nip at Bucky, tongue playing against his, teeth clashing against each other before you pull back and kiss down his jaw towards his neck.
You sniff at him. He smelled like himself; spearmint, sandalwood and jasmine. Hints of rain was on his skin, smoke and something coppery—blood, maybe. You reach out to his hair and pull his head back making him groan. All in pleasure evidence by the way his hands grab and squeeze at your ass, filling his hand with your weight and flesh.
“Where the fuck have you been! You missed dinner!” you slap his shoulder and he lifts you higher against him. He closes the bedroom door with his foot and moves the both of you towards your bed.
“Car trouble. Took a detour.” He deposits you on your silky sheets, pulling at your pajamas, your old university sweatshirt and his boxers. He groans at the sight of you in his underwear before using both of his hands to tug them off of you. “Got shot at. Walked on some backroads. Hitchhiked. All to get home to my lovely wife.”
You hiss out a cuss when Bucky grabs your knees and spreads you open. Your cunt greets the cool air of your room and clenches at the sight of Bucky licking his lips hungrily. Your wetness seeps out when he moves to unbuckle his belt and pull the zipper down his pants. Fuck! You need him inside of you.
You kneel on the bed, grabbing his jacket and pushing them off his shoulders. It lands on the floor with a dull thud while you pull on his tie, leading him to the bed and pushing him to sit down. You straddle him before he could take the tie off and you do it yourself. You wrap the tie around your right hand and kiss him hard on the mouth.
You grind against Bucky, your naked core rubbing on his cock still confined in his briefs. The friction is delicious against your skin, the fabric of his pants warm against your naked thighs. You moan into his mouth as Bucky’s hands wander all over you. He settles both on your hips, pushing you harder against him, his own hips lifting up from the bed to push back against you.
“Fuck, that’s it Princess. Ride daddy.” Your husband urges you on as you moan louder against his lips, chasing the euphoria that the magic between his legs give you.
You push bucky down the bed so he was lying flat. You kneel on the bed and pull his cock out from their confines, pumping it slowly and spreading his precum around the head.
“I-inside—” you babble as you steady yourself, hovering on top of him while you swipe his mushroom head against your slit, lubricating him more with your slick.
“Yeah, princess. Daddy goes inside. Let me in—inside, fuck!” Bucky clenches his eyes and squeezes you in his hold as you manage to sheath yourself with him. You’re both breathless as you adjust to his girth, wiggling a little to test if you could take him—
You pull yourself up and slam back down against him. You curse in unison as your pace quickens. You ride him desperately until your knees shake and your thighs burn. Bucky holds you with one hand as the other reaches for your clit. He gazes up on you, chin raised to the ceiling eyes tightly shut and mouth open. You looked heavenly right now and he can’t help but worship at the sight of you.
“Was—was so worried,” you blurt out as you switch rhythm, sliding back and forth against him now instead. You set your legs farther apart and bend your body, lying flat on top of him. Bucky hugs your middle and presses you down tighter against him. He pushes his feet against the floor until he moves you both on the middle of the bed. “Thought something bad happened to you.”
Something bad did happen to him, Bucky thinks. Good thing he was worse and that alone helped him get out alive.
“I’m here now, princess. I’m here,” he assures you sweetly. His little heart beating erratic with your tiny confession. You worrying about him means you felt for him and this whole thing, this marriage of yours, was not a complete sham.
Bucky plants both his feet on the bed and uses it as leverage to hammer into you. His pace takes your breath away, a long lasting moan escapes from you as pleasure doubles. You were close, Bucky can feel it with the way you tightened around him. You shout as your orgasm hits you suddenly, a gush flowing out of you and drenching both you and Bucky.
You plant your hands on his chest as he continues to pound into you, sensitive from your pleasure. Your toes tingle as Bucky is relentless. You squirm against him, pushing off to escape him but his hold keeps you from running.
“Buck—I can’t. Fuck, please!” But he doesn’t listen. He grabs a handful of your ass and changes his pace instead. Slow and deep. In… Out… In… Out again. His balls slapping against your thighs as he enjoys the way your eyes seem to roll to the back of your head.
“Sure you can. One more! Give me one more.” His urging doesn’t help as your thighs shake again. Your hands go further north from his chest until they land on his neck. You whimper and wrap your lithe fingers around his throat and return to matching his thrusts.
You meet him with every push, moving your knee higher up until they plant just below his armpits. You squeeze his neck and grind against him, making sure to press his balls when you pull down. You see Bucky lick his lips, eyes glossy as your fingers press harder. His cheeks start to flush, ears turning red as his air gets cut short.
“That’s it. Fuck—” Bucky grabs your wrists but makes no move to remove them. You smile and kiss the tip of his nose and clench around his cock. He swears again and looks up the ceiling, his native tongue spilling from his lips until he loses it and let’s go.
Bucky spills inside you, warm and filling. His thrusts are inconsistent, following a rhythm of a tune only his cock knows. He continues to do so until he gets his fill, until he is satiated. And then you let your fingers loose. You follow the marks of them on his neck and place sloppy kisses on them until Bucky relaxes beneath you. You giggle and wipe his sweaty forehead before lying still on top of him.
You lay in silence for a while basking in each other, not even moving to detach from one another. You’re pretty sure you were dripping onto the sheets but that’s a problem for the morning.
“My love,” Bucky whispers as he draws circles on your back. You hum in response, eyes closed and depleted of energy. You hope he volunteers to wipe you down and get you a glass of water because you won’t be moving anytime soon. “I forgot to get the wine.”
You laugh at his confession before you drift into blissful sleep.
---
--
-
Bucky had been up for about an hour now and he still hasn’t seen you around. He woke up earlier hard and still inside you and fucked you slow while showering you with morning kisses. He remembers you telling him you loved him before he fell right back to sleep and you went and took a shower.
Up until now he had been on the phone trying to get an update on what went down last night and if Walker was alive. Then he saw you outside his office window talking to some people dressed in button ups and tied sweaters around their shoulders while you gesture to the direction of the garage. He hurriedly puts a shirt on and runs through to the house barefoot to get to the garage.
Once he gets there he eyes some of his men were all standing behind his wife, hands firmly behind their backs. He approaches you and you beam at him.
“Good morning, everyone. What’s going on, my love?” Bucky slides next to you, a territorial arm around your waist and peck to your cheek.
“Everyone, this is my husband, James.” You introduce him to the small crowd of strangers in his garage before you look at him sickeningly sweet. That little flicker in his eye tells you he’s still on cloud nine from last night and early this morning. Good. “Nothing, just a little tour. Breakfast will be served by the pool. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Bucky hums. You’re brushing him off. Trying to get rid of him. His little minx of a wife was up to something. Your smile was suspicious.
“Well, she definitely is a beauty. Shame for you to let her go but it’ll be my pleasure to take her off your hands.” One of the sweater tying pricks speaks out loud and Bucky can’t help but give him a murderous glare.
“The fuck did you just say?”
“Uhh, the SL? She’s beautiful, a classic. I’m happy your selling it in such pristine condition.”
You prevent Bucky from marching to the guy by holding him back. “My baby is not for sale—”
“It is! And she’ll be sold after Mr. Tyler proves he’s a worthy car dad.” You grin at Bucky, an evil twitch present at the corner of your mouth. He searches for something on your face before he inhales in realization.
“I got home on time and you’re still selling the car?!” He raises his voice in exasperation. He couldn’t believe it. He ran for five miles last night in dress shoes before he found a ride just so he could come home before midnight.
You scoff and raise your hands. “I checked the surveillance footage this morning, Barnes. Your foot stepped inside the house at 12: 58! You were fifty fucking eight minutes too fucking late! So kiss your baby goodbye because she is getting sold because daddy doesn’t know how to keep his promises of being home before the day is over!”
Tyler steps forward sheepishly and speaks.
“If I could just—”
“No!”
“No!”
Bucky points at your visitor to stop him where he stood without breaking eye contact with you. You did the same. You weren’t backing down, he lied last night. The liar!
“Princess, I know how to fucking read my watch and it said one minute to midnight when I got into our bedroom, before you rode the life out of me. Remember? You were creaming on my dick because you think it’s hot as fuck when I come home running to you before fucking midnight.”
“See?” Bucky raises his arm and presents you his watch. A gift you gave him after the first time he went home at two in the morning. A reminder that you would not tolerate waiting on him past the midnight hour if he wished to continue with your marriage. You peek at his watch, doing a double take before you guffaw. Followed by a loud laugh that had you doubling over.
“Tyler, I’ll draw the documents for the ownership transfer inside. Come with me.”
“Do not! Take another step, Tyler. In fact, turn around, get your ass in your car and get off my property.” Tyler and his compatriots of frat boys and finance bros stutter as they look between Bucky and you. When they remain frozen in place, Bucky pulls his gun from his back and aims it at them. He hits the light above Tyler and the bulb explodes over the boys. “Go! Now!”
Your visitors scatter and you hit Bucky’s shoulder.
“You’re not selling my SL to some sweater wearing dimwit.”
“You were late! That was the deal!”
“I was not late—”
You pull your phone from your pocket and show him the time. See? You tell him but Bucky just looks at you and huffs, not getting it. You groan and grab his wrist, turning the watch into his view side by side with your phone. Your time says 10:28am while his watch shows 9:28. He looks between the two and still doesn’t get it.
“Oh my rolex, Bucky! Your watch is behind. It’s telling the wrong time! You’re an hour late. I told you to get it adjusted but you refuse to remove it from your wrist.” You push him out of your way and go back inside the house.
Bucky stutters and groans. How the fuck was he supposed to know that.
“Daylight savings started a couple days ago, boss.” One of his men supply helpfully.
Bucky waves his gun dismissingly before tucking it back to his waist. He takes off the watch for the first time in a while and adjusts it an hour ahead. He’d have to think of a workaround for this one. He’s not letting that car go and although his time reading was wrong, his intentions were definitely right. He wonders how he could convince you as he looks for you back in the house.
----------,----------
P.S. this is Bucky's baby lol she's rare and worth 6.8 million usd
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How’s Your Head? | Bucky Barnes x Reader
This has been in my WIP forever and I finally finished it. Once again, I am looking for a soft, kind, Bucky Barnes to take care of me and flirt with me. Is that so much to ask?🥲
This is slightly longer than my usual stuff, just FYI. The WC is 7280. And yes the title is a Drag Race reference. 😂
Warnings: reader injury (not severe), creepy men (jail), blood, vomit, flirting, fluff🫶
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Bucky didn’t like the staring. The eyes that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. The old woman just a few seats down from him leered at him almost aggressively, like she hoped looks could kill. And though this was a common occurrence, it still rubbed him the wrong way.
“Another adoring fan…” Bucky thought. 
He shifted side to side along with the rocking of the subway car and did his best to ignore her gaze- but couldn’t stand it any longer. He gave her a nod and a small, forced smile before heading for the adjoining subway car. Hopefully, he’d find an empty seat free from gawkers and onlookers.
But when he opened the door to the next car, he didn’t find the peace and quiet he’d hoped for.
“I’m not interested…” you said to the creepy guy sitting next to you.
“Oh, come on,” the man insisted. “Don’t be so uptight, sugar.” He rested a hand on your thigh and gave your leg a squeeze, his fingers digging into your flesh.
“Fuck off, dude. Seriously?” You banished his hand and stood from your seat, “eat glass, asshole.”
But as you tried to make your getaway, the man grabbed you by the wrist. He pulled you close as you struggled in his grip, his face only inches from yours. “Maybe you should learn some fuckin’ manners,” he threw you to the ground, your head striking the floor.
Bucky flew into a blind rage. He made quick work of your assailant, nearly removing the man’s head from his body. And with the entitled dickhead desperately escaping to another subway car, Bucky made his way to your side. 
“Hey, are you alright?” 
You sat on the floor, slightly dazed. A thick fog settled into every corner of your mind and your ears stung with a sharp ringing. “Yeah, I’m good. Didn’t hurt that bad,” you lied. Yet another interaction with an unknown man. Yes, he’d shooed away your creeper, but you wanted to be left alone. No more strange men, no more men pretending to be “one of the good guys” before showing their true self. 
If you could convince this random guy that you were okay, maybe he wouldn’t bother you. Maybe you’d be able to make it home without being touched by another strange hand. “Thanks for asking, but I’m-”
“Oh- you’re bleeding”. Only then did you notice the rush of warmth running down the back of your neck. Bucky yanked the jacket from his body and reached for your bloodied skull before quickly recoiling. “Erm, can I?” 
You nodded- the motion made you wince.
With cautious hands, he used his jacket to hold pressure to your wound. He stared down at you with genuine concern, his brow furrowed with worry. 
After a few moments, most of the fog cleared and brought you screeching back to reality. The reality in which a man you’d never met held his jacket to your bleeding scalp as you sat on the floor of a subway car. Pain pulsed beneath his touch and shot through your head. Warm blood dripped down your neck. But you didn’t care- all you wanted was to move.
Bucky watched as you struggled to get up and instantly tried to stop you. “Hey, careful. I don’t think-”
“I don’t wanna be on this floor any longer than I have to,” you did your best to stand, but the dizziness sabotaged your efforts. “People do weird shit on the train. I’d probably sitting in someone’s pee.” 
Bucky gave it a thought and instantly reconsidered his cautioning. “Ew. Yeah. You’re right,” the disgusted look on his face nearly made you laugh out loud. He thought back on all the questionable and downright nasty things he’d seen on the subway- he didn’t want you on that floor. “May I?” He offered you his free hand and got you safely into a seat. 
“Which stop is yours?” He asked, settling into the chair next to you. And though he seemed like a perfect gentleman, you gave him a suspicious glance. 
“Oh- I didn’t mean that in a ‘where do you live, I’m gonna follow you home’ type of way. More like, ‘how many stops do you have left before you can go get some rest?’ type of way”
You let out a laugh that sent pain pulsing behind your eyes. Maybe this stranger wasn’t so bad. “Um, I still have like five to go. I think. I’m coming all the way from Coney Island.” 
“Coney Island, huh?” A rush of memories hit Bucky like a train. Riding the cyclone with Steve and watching him puke. Spending all his money to win a stuffed animal for some redhead he had a crush on. 
“Yeah, I got to hang out with a girl I know from college. Haven’t seen her in a while and she’s never been out there. It was actually a pretty great day until that asshole cracked my head open…”
Bucky grimaced. He pulled his jacket from your scalp to give the wound another look, only to be greeted by a continuous flow of blood. “I think you should probably go to the ER. You might need stitches. And there’s a good chance you have a concussion.” 
You shot him only a nonchalant shrug, “I’m not worried about it. Plus, I don’t feel like going into debt so they can give me two Tylenol and an ice pack”.
Bucky liked your sense of humor, your wit. How you could be cheeky and sarcastic after being accosted surprised him. But he clocked the tension in your shoulders, the worry in your eyes. You were uneasy. Your glance darted from one end of the subway car to the other every few seconds; he knew you had to be searching for your assailant. Or the next man who wanted to touch you without permission.
“Hey, would you rather take a cab home?” Bucky said, pulling you from your anxious spiral. “I don’t blame you if you don’t want to ride the train after what happened.”
“Oh, um…”
“I’m not inviting myself home with you-” Bucky shook his head. He was cute when he got flustered. “I just mean, I’ll pay for you to take a cab if you’re uncomfortable.”
How you seemed to meet both the bottom of the barrel and the crème de le crème of men back-to-back nearly gave you whiplash. But this handsome stranger had done enough; you couldn’t let him pay for your ride home. “That’s- wow, that’s really sweet. But you don’t have to. It’s okay.”
“What if I want to? You seem uneasy… like you’re waiting for him to come back.”
You nodded.
“Then let’s get you a cab, alright? Next stop, we’re outta here.” He shot you a wink before once again reassuring you that he was not going to follow you home. “Is there someone who can keep an eye on you, though? Like I said, you probably have a concussion. And if your roommate or, um, significant other can sit with you for the rest of the night, that would be a good idea. Head injuries are no joke.”
“Well, I don’t have a significant other,” you almost laughed. “And my roommate’s out of town. She was supposed to get back around sevenish, but her flight got crazy delayed because of weather- now she’s not getting home for a few hours.”
Bucky’s brow furrowed. He checked his watch and saw that it was only 8:04pm. He needed someone to sit with you for the rest of the night. Just in case something happened, you’d need a friend or loved one by your side. And if you didn’t have someone there with you, Bucky knew he’d spend the remainder of his evening worrying about the cute stranger he met on the train. 
Just then, the subway stopped. Bucky offered you his arm and guided you onto the platform and up the stairs- all while keeping his jacket in place against your wound. Getting away from the train eliminated your unease. No longer were you trapped in the tiny space, your blood staining the floor. You had an escort in the form of a good samaritan, and a ride that would get you home without any further abuse.
 But when Bucky hailed you a cab, your anxiety resurfaced.
“Hey, um…” you eyed the car as it approached, “Would you- do you mind riding with me?”
Bucky cocked his head to the side. 
“I don’t know- I’m just a little nervous and I don’t really wanna be in a cab alone with another random man,” you said. “I know it’s probably inconvenient for you- I’ll pay for your ride home from my place.” The taxi neared the curb and stopped in front of you, sending your unease into overdrive. “Do you mind?”
Bucky clocked your wide eyes and shaking hands. Sure, you made jokes and sarcastic quips about what happened. But deep down, you were shaken. And he wanted to help in any way he could. “Not at all- I get it,” he gave you a reassuring look, “and you don’t have to pay for my ride. Let’s just get you home, alright?”
He held the door open for you and helped you into the cab before sliding in behind you- his hand still attached to your bloody skull. The ride was quiet, save for the honking of horns and cursing drivers. But having Bucky with you for the duration eased your discomfort. 
“So, is there anyone you can call to come look after you?” Bucky asked after a while, “A friend, a neighbor, a family member?”
“I don’t really have any friends,” you said. “But not in a ‘I’m a loser and can’t make friends’ kind of way, I promise.” Bucky laughed. You liked his laugh. “I’m just still kinda new here. And all my family lives in across the country. Plus, I only know two of my neighbors. One of them is an old man who always tell me my skin looks ‘so soft’-”
Bucky’s nose wrinkled, “Ew…"
“Yeah. And the other is this girl who told me to shut the fuck up because she thinks my footsteps are too loud? So yeah, I don’t have many connections here yet.”
He sensed a little embarrassment staining your words and aimed to make you feel better, “Well I’ve lived here for quite some time, and I don’t have any friends, either.” 
That didn’t seem possible to you. He was so likable. Quiet, yet endearing. And certainly, a gentleman. He made you feel safe. You wondered how his girlfriend would react when she found out he took another woman home. 
Bucky found himself wondering how you didn’t have swaths of friends. Even after your harrowing experience on the train, you were so charming. Funny. Sweet. It was even harder for him to believe you didn’t have a love interest to go home to. But after what he’d witnessed tonight, he didn’t blame you for keeping to yourself. 
“What part of town do you live in?” You did your best to conceal the optimism in your voice, the hoped that he lived close by. It was embarrassing how smitten you were with this man.
“Brooklyn,” Bucky said. “I’ve lived there for a while- save for some years I spent, um, away.”
Brooklyn. Nothing a quick train ride couldn’t solve. Though you weren’t too keen on the subway after the night’s events. “Well, tell your girlfriend that I apologize for keeping you so long.”
“I don’t have one,” Bucky said. Things inside the cab fell quiet.
“Oh. Well, do you-” you second guessed yourself, but decided to push through. “Do you want to stay with me until my roommate gets home? You know, since you’re so worried about me and my possible concussion and my lack of friends.”
Bucky stopped breathing. “Oh, um. Sure. Yeah. If that’s- if that’s alright. You sure you’re okay inviting a stranger into your house?”
“Well, you’re not really a stranger, Sergeant Barnes”. You shot him a wink.
An immediate ringing filled Bucky’s ears. He didn’t know what to say, how to react.
The rest of the ride was quiet. Bucky’s mind echoed with the sound of your voice referring to him by name. He liked the way it sounded coming from you. But he hated that you knew who- and what- he was. And when the cab turned onto your street and stopped in front of your apartment, he nearly panicked. He reconsidered his agreement to stay with you. But you didn’t seem to mind having the ex-Winter Soldier so close. And he didn’t want you to be alone with a head injury.
Against his better judgement, he followed you to the front door of your building. 
“My great aunt actually lived here back in the fifties,” you told Bucky as you fumbled for your keys. Bucky wondered how you could tell casual stories while dealing with a head injury and an ex-assassin. But as you continued to speak, he realized that he didn’t quite hear what you’d said. He was still reeling from your mention of his name. 
And then he noticed you struggling. You were dizzy after cracking your head open, and a slight shaking rendered your hands almost useless. No matter how many times you tried, you couldn’t seem to finagle the key into the lock. 
“Um, do you want some help?” He gestured to your keys and allowed you to drop them into his free hand. He pushed the old door open with a loud creak and escorted you inside the lobby- his hand still resting on the back of your head. It was quiet while the two of you waited for the ancient elevator to roar to life. And when the doors finally opened, he guided you inside and watched you press the ‘5’ button.
“So… how’d you know it was me?” He asked as the elevator slowly climbed to your floor.
“Well, when I first saw you, I thought you looked kinda familiar. But I couldn’t place you”. You laughed a quiet, bashful laugh, “Then you knelt down next to me, and I thought I was gonna pass out- but not from the head trauma. You just you have like, the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.” The head injury had you a bit loopy, a little too honest. Too confident. “I knew I’d seen those eyes before… and then it clicked. You were so chivalrous, you know? So old fashioned. I mean, who uses their own jacket to stop a stranger’s head wound from bleeding?” 
Bucky shrugged. His cheeks flushed pink.
“I read a book a few years ago about Captain America and his efforts during World War II. And there was a huge portion about Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes… And that’s where I’d seen those eyes.” You flashed him a dramatic wink, “Truth be told, it was my favorite part of the book.”
A shy laugh made its way out of Bucky’s mouth, “Is that so?”
The elevator lurched to a stop and nearly sent you tumbling to the floor. You’d gotten used to the clunky machine since moving into the building, but your sabotaged equilibrium didn’t stand a chance against it. Bucky caught you in a careful, protective grasp before you could tip over. He gently righted you and searched your face for any indicators of discomfort. 
“You alright?”
“All good, Sergeant Barnes.” You gave him a salute.
He rolled his eyes and escorted you into the hall, “you can just call me Bucky, if you like.”
“Okay, Bucky-” you said with a smile, “follow me.” You lead him in the direction of your apartment- with his jacket still plastered to your scalp. The man was determined to help you. You’d give him that.
You once again needed his assistance when it came to unlocking your front door. But when Bucky got the door open, he just stood there. He didn’t go inside. He held the door for you and insisted you go ahead, finally peeling the jacket from your wound. He knew he didn’t belong here.
You noticed how tentative he was about entering your home and beckoned him inside. “You can come in…” you said. “Are super soldiers like vampires? Do y’all need an invitation?”
Bucky laughed, “No. I just… I don’t do this kind of thing very often.”
“Oh, you don’t accompany injured women home from the subway on a weekly basis? I’m shocked.”
You flipped on the light and let the warm glow reveal your apartment. Bucky admired the art covering your walls, the books lining your shelves, the smell of some kind of baked goods lingering in the air. This place was cozy, welcoming. Nothing like his apartment.
While he was distracted drinking in the details of your home, you gave his jacket a once over. Blood coated the leather and smeared the lining. It was enough to make you nauseous.  “Sorry about this mess… here, let me clean it up for-”
“It’s leather- I’m not worried about it,” Bucky shrugged. “I’ll just wipe it off later.”
“Ew, I think that’s considered a biohazard, Sarge.”
Bucky’s laugh echoed through your home- you liked the sound of his voice bouncing around your space. “Well, lucky for me, I’m not susceptible to biohazards. So, really, it’s not a big deal.” He shot you a wink and hung his bloody jacket on the back of a chair. “Let me take a look at your head.”
He gently moved your hair out of the way enough to expose your wound. He was as careful as he possible not to hurt you or make things worse. And using the dish towel you offered him, he wiped away enough blood to get a good look. 
“It’s big, but not deep enough to warrant stitches. And it looks like the bleeding has finally come to a stop.” 
“Perfect. I’m gonna go take a shower” you said. “Make yourself at home. You’re welcome to anything in the fridge, except the kombucha. My roommate will murder you if you drink her kombucha.”
Bucky didn’t even know what kombucha was. “Are- are you sure you wanna go shower?”
“Um, yeah. Gotta get the subway-floor germs off me,” you gave a dramatic shudder. “Some of us are, indeed, susceptible to biohazards.”
“That’s fair,” he laughed, “I’m just a little worried about your balance… I think it’s probably seen better days.”
He wasn’t wrong. The floor did indeed seem to dip and shift under you unsuspecting feet. The room spun on occasion. The walls wiggled. But you needed to get cleaned up. “I’ll be extra careful. Promise.” You offered him your pinky and made him link his with yours. “But I have more blood in my hair than anyone should- I need a shower.” You left Bucky alone in your living room with a promise to be back soon.
It was strange for him, being in a stranger’s home like this. He didn’t get invited places or have friends to hang out with. He had Sam- and that was it. And while Sam was great, he never felt quite like this at Sam’s apartment. Something about your place warmed him, made him feel a little lighter. Or maybe it was you. Who was he kidding? Of course, it was you.
But Bucky knew this feeling couldn’t last. In a few hours, your roommate would return and send him home. And that would be the end of it. Of course, he’d be thrilled to see you again under better circumstances. But assuming he’d get that chance would only lead to disappointment. And so, as he waited for you to finish your shower, he did his best to remember this feeling just in case it was the last time.
“I said make yourself at home and you didn’t even sit down!” you said when you emerged from the bathroom. You found Bucky in the living room with his hands in his pockets, admiring your things as though he were in a museum. Looking, never touching. “Relax a little, sarge. The couch is really comfy, I promise.”
Bucky liked the way you looked with your skin still slightly damp form the shower, your hair wet and a little messy. “Oh, yeah- I just got distracted looking at all your…” he gestured to your bookcase, “your books and your tchotchkes. You have good taste- I like that you have two copies of Fellowship of the Ring.”
“Well, my sister dropped one of them in the lake at summer camp when we were kids…” you pointed to the faded cover and worn spine of the book in question. “She took a hairdryer to it and it’s mostly fine, but my mom made her get me a replacement. I just can’t seem to part with this one, though.” You plucked your water-damaged copy of Fellowship of the Ring from the shelf and flipped through the pages, “too much sentimental value. You know?
Bucky felt a small smile creeping upward- you didn’t mind damaged goods. Maybe you’d want to see him again after all. 
“Can I get you a drink or something? I have water, tea, La Croix, wine…” you looked at him expectantly. 
“Oh, no I’m okay-”
“Well, I’m going to the fridge for some water anyway, so you’re not saving me a trip…” you shot him a wink and began your trek to the kitchen. He followed in your footsteps, too much of a gentleman to let you fetch him a drink. And though he didn’t know what La Croix was, he took the one you offered him with a smile.
He followed you yet again, but to the couch this time. He sat a respectful distance away- as respectful as your small couch would allow- and taste tested the blackberry drink in his hand. It didn’t taste like blackberries. But he thanked you, anyway.
He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to check in on you after your shower- he was too entranced by the sight of you in your pajamas. “Hey, how’s your head?”
“Haven’t had any complaints.”
Maybe it was too forward of a joke. Maybe someone from his time wouldn’t appreciate crass humor. Bucky’s cheeks flushed red- and he burst into laughter. You joined him, ignoring the throbbing pain in your skull. 
“It feels fine. I mean, it hurts, but it’s nothing I haven’t experienced before” you said. “Are you just gonna make sure I stay up all night?” 
Bucky cocked his head to the side, “uh, I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Oh…” you grew a little embarrassed. “I thought you couldn’t go to sleep if you have a concussion.”
“You can go to sleep- it’s just good to have someone check in on you now and then,” he said. “And, hey, you don’t have to stay in here with me- don’t feel like you have to entertain me, or anything. If you wanna go to bed, I’ll be fine out here.”
“Well, I don’t know about entertaining, cause I think the concussion kinda fucked up my ability to tap dance,” you laughed. “But I wanna hang out here with you- if you don’t mind the company.”
He gave you a shy smile, “I don’t mind at all.”
Bucky wasn’t anything like the tabloids said. He wasn’t cold or scary or threatening. He sat on your couch, sipping a La Croix and admiring your throw blanket. He was the farthest thing from intimidating. He had a quiet calm about him that brought you peace. Never did you think you’d invite a man you met on the subway to accompany you home. But Bucky made you feel safe. He was sweet, he clearly cared for your well-being. He was, by all definitions, perfect.
“So, what do superheroes do in their downtime?” you asked. “Like when you’re not saving the world, what do you do for fun?”
Bucky shrugged. He didn’t do anything for fun. “Um, I have court mandated therapy appointments,” he gave an awkward laugh. “I read. I hang out with Sam when he’s not in Louisiana visiting his sister. And I have lunch with a neighbor of mine every Wednesday- this old man named Yori.”
“I’m sure he could say the same about you- that he has lunch with some old man named Bucky.”
Bucky’s head fell back in a laugh, “yeah, you’re right. He’s- he’s about twenty years younger than me.” Bucky didn’t bring up the fact that Yori didn’t know his real age or anything about his past. About how the Winter Soldier killed his son. “Um, what about you?” He quickly changed the subject, “what do you do for fun?”
You thought it over for a moment. You hadn’t expected him to ask; most guys never asked what you liked to do for fun. They didn’t ask you anything at all, really. “Well, I also go to therapy,” you said. “My therapist’s name is Angela and I love her. And when I’m not ‘hanging out’ with Angela, I like to read. I like to go on walks. Oh, and I do a lot of baking- there’s a Tupperware of chocolate chip cookies on the island if you want some.”
Bucky’s eyes grew wide. He was off the couch quicker than you could comprehend and returned with the entire Tupperware in hand. But before he could dive in, he offered one to you. He was a gentleman, after all. 
“Oh, shit, these are so good”. Bucky wiped a stray crumb from his lip, “seriously, maybe the best I’ve ever had.”
His praise made your cheeks hot. Bucky Barnes called you ‘the best he ever had’- it was enough to make you sweat. “Oh, I’m flattered. The recipe’s been in my family for generations, though, so I can’t take full credit, but I-”
“I’m giving you full credit”, he said as he finished his second cookie. “These things are incredible.” 
You smiled so hard it hurt. “Well, I make at least one batch a week, so…” This was it, your excuse to see Bucky again. You could simply say that you wanted to bake him some cookies as a way of saying thank you, and then you’d ask him out. It was a perfect plan, really. A flawless, surefire way to guarantee that you’d see him at least once more. But as you tried to suggest baking him a ‘thank you’ batch, your mouth flooded with saliva.
Bucky clocked the way you grew suddenly quiet. He dropped his third cookie and inched closer, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey, you okay? Do you need something?”
You did your best to push past the wave of nausea. Breathing in your nose and out through your mouth, you willed your body to cooperate. You made a valiant effort, but it was no match for the clear and present threat of vomit. This was happening- now. You scrambled to your feet and made a beeline for the bathroom, swearing to yourself you wouldn’t puke in front of the James Buchanan Barnes. 
Bucky rushed after you and found you kneeling in front of the toilet, emptying the contents of your stomach. “Oh, shit- here, let me,” he carefully moved your hair out of your face, holding it behind you in an imitation ponytail. His touch was gentle, cautious. He didn’t want to pull too hard and hurt you- you didn’t need any extra pain. 
He watched your body lurch as you wretched over and over, voiding your system completely. It was harsh, almost violent. And when you finally sat back on your heels, black and white spots danced through your field of vision. You were empty. Spent. Exhausted. 
“Hey, do me a favor and sit against this wall, okay?” Bucky guided you backward until you rested comfortably like he asked. “I’m gonna go get you some water, and I don’t want you tipping over while I’m gone.” Even in your despondent, miserable state, he still made you smile. And when he was certain that you wouldn’t injure yourself in his absence, he rushed to the kitchen for a glass of water.
He returned moments later with ice cold water in hand. “Thanks,” you croaked, your throat raw. Small sips of the cool water eased the burning. And a few more swigs rid your mouth of the unpleasant aftertaste. “I’m sure you weren’t planning on watching a stranger puke tonight,” you laughed. It made your head pound. “But I appreciate the water. And you holding my hair.”
Bucky plopped down next to you with a “sure thing” and a “don’t worry about it.” But you’d heard those phrases before. You’d heard them from people who were never a sure thing, people who made you worry about everything they did for you. They’d throw their rare acts of kindness in your face and use them as ammo in an attempt to disprove the pain they caused. It was condescending. Manipulative. Hurtful.  But Bucky meant what he said. All he wanted to do was help. You could tell.
He watched you catch your breath. Watched you drink your water in small sips. But he kept an eye out for another wave of nausea. He wanted to be ready in case he needed to hold your hair again. And he found himself thanking the universe that you’d invited him in; imagining you going through this by yourself broke his heart. 
“How do you feel?” he asked after a while.
“Not the best... but I’ll probably survive.”
Bucky’s laugh filled the room, “well, that’s very good news.”
The two of you sat in a comfortable silence. Bucky’s hand rested near yours. Your thigh bumped against his a few times. You swore electric currents passed between the two of you each time you touched. 
“Hey, if you don’t mind, could you grab me some Tylenol?” 
Bucky was up in an instant, ready to fetch you what you needed. But he found himself lost with no idea where he was going. He was so intent on helping, on making you feel better, that he was ready to run off without a map.
“In the cabinet to the left of the fridge,” you laughed. 
He shot you a wink and sped off. And while he rummaged through your cabinet, you made an embarrassing effort to stand. You rose on wobbly legs, determined to brush your teeth. There was no way you were going to have vomit breath around Bucky- absolutely not. He was the handsome stranger of your dreams. And you couldn’t screw this up; not that you thought he’d kiss a random concussed woman he met on the subway. But you wanted to leave the very best impression possible.
Bucky came screeching own the hall, bottle of Tylenol in hand. “I didn’t know how many you wanted, so I brought the whole thing”, he shrugged. You shot him a smile in the mirror and gave him a muffled “thanks”.
He stood patiently in the doorway, waiting for you finish brushing your teeth. And when you banished the rank taste of bile, you accepted the Tylenol. You tossed back four pills, and before you could reach for your water, Bucky retrieved it for you. He was one step ahead of what you needed. 
With the pills washed down your throat, you gave Bucky an expectant look. “Back to the couch?”
“Yeah, I mean, only if you’re feeling up to it,” he checked his watch. Noticed the yawn you tried to keep concealed. “If you wanna get some rest, please, don’t mind me. You can go to bed- I’ll be fine on my own.”
“No, I’m good. I’m fine,” you took him by the hand and led him back to the living room. “I’m having a good time.” Bucky didn’t say a word; he just let you guide him. He hadn’t held hands with someone in- he didn’t know how long. And holding hands with you- a stranger he’d grown rather smitten with- was enough to stop his heart.
The two of you sunk back into the couch- closer this time- and kept the conversation going. Your thigh rested against Bucky’s; his arm curved around the back of the couch. You could’ve sworn he was playing with a piece of your hair as he talked. But you didn’t want to ask and ruin the moment.
As the night continued, Bucky was shocked. He couldn’t believe you’d only heard of a few of his favorite movies. And he’d never heard of any of yours. “Make me a list,” you said, handing him a pen and a scrap of paper. “And I’ll make one for you. A person’s favorite movies say a lot about them.” 
“Yeah?” he cocked an eyebrow at you. “And what do mine say about me? The ones you know of, that is.”
A sly smile pulled at your lips, “they say that you’re a hopeless romantic.” It almost sounded like an accusation, and Bucky couldn’t help but laugh. 
“Is that so?”
“That is so!” you told him. “But I’m gonna tell you a secret…”  You lowered your voice, beckoned him closer, scanned the room as though in search of any eavesdroppers. “I’m the same way.” 
Just as you finished your list of movies for Bucky, you considered writing down your number. It would be so smooth, so perfectly timed- but what if he thought it was too forward? What if he didn’t want your phone number at all? You scratched out your area code and handed him the list with a smile.
The two of you continued teasing and joking and learning about each other. You found out that Bucky loved peach cobbler. He learned about your passion for animals. And eventually you asked the question you’d been curious about all night.
“So, where were you headed?” 
“What?”
“Well, you were on the subway. I’m assuming you were going somewhere.” You thought he was probably going to some fellow hero’s house for Super Movie Night. Or maybe a meeting with Captain America and Company. He had something much cooler to do than anything you planned for the night, that was for sure.
“Oh, right…” he cringed. “Um, I wasn’t actually heading anywhere. I was just riding the train to, well, ride the train.” It was embarrassing. More embarrassing than anything he’d ever done or said in his hundred years of life.
You cocked your head to the side, “Hmm. Interesting. So, is that like a hobby of yours?” 
He wished he could take his answer back. He wished he would’ve said he was going to dinner. Or Target. Or literally anywhere. But no, he just had to be honest. “No, it isn’t a hobby. It’s more like… exposure therapy.”
“Shit. Sorry,” you threw him an apologetic look. “You don’t have to talk about it.”
“It’s okay, no big deal. I just- I don’t really like confined spaces. Or spaces with a lot of people. It’s a- it’s a long story.”
You nodded. 
“So, my therapist told me two combine the two and force myself to take the train- which isn’t great for my fear of trains,” he let out an awkward laugh. “Anyway, I was just trying it out. Seeing how it made me feel.”
Your heart broke for him. He had so many problems, so much trauma to deal with. And while you weren’t a psychiatrist, you didn’t think combining three of his fears into one nightmare was very sound medical advice. “And how did it make you feel?” 
“It wasn’t great- this lady was staring daggers at me for ten solid minutes. But I did get to teach that creepy guy a lesson, so at least there’s a silver lining.”
You laughed. He loved the sound- wanted to hear it all the time. 
“Thank you again, by the way, Sarge. You really rocked that guy’s shit.”
“I don’t like hurting people-” he shrugged, “It’s just something I’m good at. I try not to engage in violence unless absolutely necessary, you know? But that guy deserved it. Probably deserved a little more, but…” He gestured to you, “priorities.”
A warm rush flooded your cheeks. James Buchanan Barnes referred to you as a priority. 
The evening continued as the two of you swapped stories. You couldn’t believe how funny he was, how many ridiculous things he did back when he was young. In the comfortable safety of your living room, he came alive. You asked for more tales of young James Barnes and his antics with Steve Rogers. 
But as time passed, Bucky clocked the way you sank deeper into the couch. You nodded along with his stories and made comments here and there, but there was no mistaking your exhaustion. You leaned against his body more and more until your head rested on his shoulder. 
And then, you were asleep. Completely out. 
But Bucky didn’t mind. He sat still and quiet. He silenced his phone and yours. After the night you had, you needed the rest. And he was more than happy to help you get some sleep. He held in his laughter as you muttered nonsense under your breath- something about crepes and trench coats. It was perfect. Not the night Bucky expected, but the night he needed. And he’d stay in that exact position for hours if he had to. 
But after only forty minutes, a loud crash scared you awake.
Two large pieces of luggage fell to the floor inside your front door. “Fuck Delta airlines and FUCK LAX!” your roommate, Emma, yelled. “I swear to god, there’s a curse on that fucking airport and Delta is the devil’s airline.”
She eyed the room for a moment, taking in the unexpected scene. “Ew, why is there a bloody jacket in the kitchen? And who the fuck are you?”
You stood, begrudgingly leaving your spot next to Bucky. “This is Bucky, that’s his jacket. Some asshole attacked me on the train. I split my head open. He brought me home and kept an eye on me till you got back.”
Maybe she was just in a shit mood because of the travel nightmare. Or maybe she recognized Bucky. But either way, Emma wasn’t having it. “Okay, well, thanks for bringing her home. But I’m back, so you can go. Now. And don’t forget your nasty jacket.”
Bucky gave an awkward laugh. He mumbled a “nice to meet you” and stood from the couch. The two of you locked eyes for a moment, and you wished telepathy came with the serum. If he could only read your mind, he’d know how sorry you were. How horrified you were by Emma’s behavior. You couldn’t believe how rude she was being, how utterly unkind. 
But your mind and body weren’t quite working together. You were still groggy, lost in the haze of sleep. And your head injury only made things more difficult. You did your best to formulate a response to Emma and an apology to Bucky. But before you could say anything, Emma was at it again. 
“Seriously, dude. It’s time for you to go, get out of my house.”
Bucky was so flustered, so uncomfortable that he left without saying goodbye. Without getting your number. He shut down. He simply snagged his jacket from the kitchen and bailed. He heard you arguing with Emma as he walked down the hall. Heard you near-tears. 
He wanted to turn around and say goodnight. To protect you from Emma’s wrath. Comfort you. More than anything, he wanted to get your number. Maybe ask you out. But he was too thrown off by the whole thing. He didn’t expect such a response- he didn’t even get to tell Emma that you needed looking after. He just ran. And it made him feel like a coward. 
He pressed the button for the ancient elevator once. Twice. Five times. And when it finally arrived, he got in and slammed the button for the first floor. Ruining his chances of ever seeing you again. Sure, he knew where you lived. But he couldn’t just show up. You’d already dealt with enough creepy shit from weird men- he wasn’t going to stalk you. 
Bucky spent the entire elevator ride heartbroken. He knew he’d have to go home to his empty apartment; knew he’d think about you for way too long. You’d probably forget about him after a day- maybe two at the most. And he’d spend months trying to get over the stranger from the subway.
But when he stepped out of the elevator, he found you waiting for him.
“Hi, um… what?” He was more than a little confused. “How did you- how’d you get down here so fast?”
“Stairs,” you breathed. “Faster.”
Bucky couldn’t believe you. It was romantic; it was something out of one of his favorite movies. But it was stupid. “That was… that was a terrible idea- you could’ve gotten hurt. You almost fell over earlier when you were just standing still. Why’d you run down the stairs?”
“Cause I didn’t get to say goodbye…” your voice was soft, heartbroken. “And I didn’t get to give you my number.”
Wordlessly, Bucky handed you his phone. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to chance ruining such a perfect opportunity. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him, of all people. That you actually wanted to see him again.
When you finished, you extended Bucky’s phone in his direction- but recoiled as he tried to reach for it. “Promise me you’ll call?”
“On my life,” he said. The answer brought a warm smile to your face- a smile he wanted to see again. As soon as possible. And when you gave his phone back, he took a moment to stare down at your number. This had to be a dream. 
“Do me a favor and go get some rest, okay?” He extended his pinky and linked it with yours, “Drink a lot of water. And even though she seems like she’s in a bad mood, ask your roommate to check in on you every now and then.”
“Yeah, like she’s gonna go for that-”
“Tell her that if she doesn’t, I’m coming back to look after you myself. And I’ll drink her, her um…” 
“Kombucha,” you whispered. 
“Right, I’ll drink her Kombucha!” He laughed and shot you a wink, “That’ll do the trick.”
You pressed a kiss to his cheek, wiggled your pinky with his, and stepped into the still-open elevator doors. “Thank you for everything. I’m really happy I met you.” 
Bucky blushed. “So am I. Not under the best circumstances, but-”
“Worth it,” you shot him a wink. Just as the doors began to close, the two of you exchanged waves. And just before Bucky vanished from view, you threw a quick “call me” his way. And then he was gone.
You made it back to your apartment, nearly tripping over Emma’s luggage. She apologized as you grabbed a glass of water and nearly cried when you told her the story of your evening. And though you wanted to hear about her airport nightmare, you needed to sleep. 
You got settled in bed and realized- you missed Bucky already. 
And just as you decided to go to sleep for the night, your phone buzzed:
“Wanted to call but figured it might be too soon- seeing as it’s only been about four minutes. I’ll call you in the morning. And just so you know: even without the tap dancing, I found you very entertaining. I’m really glad I met you.
If you need anything at all, let me know. Feel better.
-JBB”
—————————————
Taglist: @beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality  @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl l  @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @purpleshallot  @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie  @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine  @evangeliamerryll l @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi i @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @barnesselo
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tuiccim · 4 days
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Lost in the Dark
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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader
Word Count: 485
Warnings: Dark content! Somnophilia, Non/DubCon, and other dark elements. This fic contains dark themes and may include potentially triggering topics. You are solely responsible for your media consumption.
Summary: Bucky comes home after a mission and can't wait to be with you.
A/N: Special thanks to my beta readers @whisperlullaby and @fandomsaremylifeline.
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The house was dark as Bucky bound up the stairs late in the night. He had been gone for two days and you weren’t expecting him back until tomorrow night. He smiled as he entered your bedroom to find you sound asleep. Naked and laid out on your stomach, you had your arms wrapped under your pillow and your ass was on display making Bucky lick his lips. 
Bucky steps into the adjoining bathroom and strips. He smirks in the mirror at the wicked idea that had crossed his mind. Heading back to the bed, you hadn’t moved an inch and he chuckles lightly at the deep sleep you were in. He had rarely seen you like this and he enjoyed watching you so comfortable in his bed. 
Climbing onto the bed, he straddles your legs and positions himself. He had applied a generous amount of lube to his cock and slid inside of you with little resistance. 
“Fuuuuck, I’ve missed you, Doll,” he whispers as he feels your muscles clench around him. He moves slowly at first but the little whine you let out has his cock throbbing. It had been too long for his tastes and feeling you wrapped around him was intoxicating. His hips began pistoning, driving deeper, and he knew you were fully awake when your hands wrapped around the metal headboard. 
His hand slides under your body to find your clit and make swift circles, “Couldn’t wait till morning, doll. Had to feel this tight cunt squeezing me. Two days is too long to be away from you.”
He knows your body and plays it as a skilled master. Your body tightens and breath hitches as the waves of your orgasm break over you. Unbidden, a high pitched moan escapes you and you feel Bucky tighten above you. 
“Fuck, that’s what I needed,” he whispers in your ear as he thrusts sloppily, meeting his own end. He lays on top of you for a moment, catching his breath, and occasionally thrusting inside you with the aftershocks. Flipping you over, he looks deeply into your eyes with a sweet smile before bringing his lips to yours. He kisses you thoroughly, reminding himself of your sweet nature and softness. “Couldn't wait to get back to you, doll,” he smiles as he slips out of bed. “I’m gonna start the shower. You know I have to have you at least one more time before I can sleep.” 
You watch his naked form as he walks to the dim light coming from the bathroom. When he goes through, you wipe a tear from your eye and your hand trails to feel the collar around your neck. A delicate chain attached it to the bed frame. All made from vibranium. You had been sleeping soundly for the first time in months knowing that he was away on a mission but, now, your captor is home. 
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Updates and taglist: Due to the unreliable nature of tags, I no longer keep a taglist. Updates for series will be made on Sundays Central Time Zone. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!
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t-lostinworlds · 1 year
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Too Hot, An Arm Cold | Bucky Barnes
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》 PAIRING: bucky barnes x female!reader
》 TROPE/GENRE: established relationship, fluff
》 SUMMARY: Cuddles from Bucky Barnes was probably one of the greatest things ever. But it was difficult to prove that point true in the middle of a heatwave while the apartment air conditioner was broken. Good thing he has a cold metal arm.
》 WARNINGS: accidental throwdown (???), implied nightmares, sweat and hot and boiling (not in a fun sexy way), physical touch as a love language, pet names (doll, sweetheart), bucky being a little shit but also the best, sweetest boyfriend <3 (this fics pretty tame ngl)
》 WORD COUNT: 2.9k+ (wrote sumn short for once)
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A/N: suprise....?? lol who would’ve thought i’d actually cave. kinda first bucky fic? but not really? also, wrote this on a whim ngl. it’s just a fun lil fic to get the juices flowin’ ya know. but anyways! i hope you guys still enjoy it!
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📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ BUCKY BARNES MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩
⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *。・゚.★. *。・゚✫*.
Physical touch didn't come easy to Bucky Barnes ever since you'd known him.
You'd learned that the hard way when he flipped you over his back and pinned you on the floor when you grabbed his shoulders from behind in hopes of using him as a shield from Natasha's handful of flour.
He wasn't ruthless enough to bestow lethal injuries, but he surely knocked the breath out of you—okay, and maybe gave you a couple of bruises and a bump in the back of your head, too.
You'd put extra effort into making your presence very known around him ever since.
In his defense, you'd only known each other for a few months then. He was still acclimating in the compound, slowly but surely getting used to the fact that he lived with other people. So it wasn't exactly the brightest idea on your part to grab him quite enthusiastically and without warning.
Yet, funnily enough, the incident actually became the catalyst that made your acquaintanceship turn into friendship which then blossomed into something more.
Because after he'd apologize over and over again as he scrambled to help you off the floor and guided you to the sofa, checking if you'd been concussed before scolding a snickering Natasha to "Go get some goddamn ice, Romanoff!" Bucky suddenly grew protective of you.
Sure, he did it in his special way by maintaining his distance, never hovering to the point of breathing down your neck. But despite keeping you at arm's length, he was there. And, as stealthily as a former assassin could be, he probably thought you wouldn't notice.
But you did.
You always notice Bucky.
First, it was the little things. Cereals and bowls would already be waiting for you on the counter so you didn't have to reach up the high shelves. It also came with your favorite mug, ingredients all lined up for you to make your morning coffee—along with a freshly brewed pot, of course.
Bucky would be sitting at the end of the breakfast bar, sipping on his own mug as he pretended to read that morning's paper. His eyes flickering over to check if you noticed that everything had been mostly done for you kinda gave him away.
Then there was him following you around the first couple of days since the incident, making sure you weren't exerting too much effort during your 'recovery' even though you'd suffered way more prominent bruises from missions alone.
When you did as much as use the stairs when the elevator was out of order, he was right behind, watching you like a hawk and ready to sprint in case you'd slip even though you were more than capable enough. You told him just as much. It only earned you a small yet reassuring smile and shrug.
During missions, you noticed how he was always right by your six. When it came to splitting up into pairs, you both always got assigned together somehow. Sure, it could be a coincidence, but between Steve and Bucky's silent communication and the teasing grin the captain would throw your way as he called the shots, made you believe otherwise.
You didn't know if it was because of his guilt and he thought the least he could do was take care of you, or if it was something else entirely. But either way, it brought you two closer.
What truly broke the ice was when you two ended up sharing a tub of cookie dough ice cream at half past midnight.
You were sitting on the kitchen island, legs dangling as you hummed a random tune when Bucky padded down the hallway.
Wordlessly, he stood beside you, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. The dark circles under his eyes and the sweat that kissed his crown told you everything you needed to know.
With a soft smile, you held the tub in front of him.
He looked at you questioningly at first, the gray in his cerulean eyes fading as you wiggled the ice cream, the spoon clanking inside.
You saw the corner of his lips twitch before he took it from your hand, his fingers covering your own, a gentle squeeze before it was gone, taking the ice cream—and perhaps, your heart—with it.
Since then, things evolved from keeping you at arm's length to guiding your head to rest on his shoulder whenever you dozed off in the middle of the team's many movie nights. The change felt natural, from morning walks and breakfast at midnight, lunches at quaint coffee shops to romantic dinners for two.
But despite being the first to ask if you wanted to be his girlfriend, Bucky was still a little careful around you. He was still wary because of his past, untrusting of himself, fearful that he'd end up hurting you, accident or otherwise.
It was tricky at first since you were a fairly physically affectionate person. It was one of your most prominent love languages, after all.
So you settled for initiating it first, careful and slow, letting him have the choice to meet you halfway to avoid crowding him. Reaching for his pinky as you wait for the Quinjet to land, letting him be the one to intertwine your fingers together. Softly calling out his name with open arms, allowing him to take those few steps on his own to settle in your embrace. Brushing the tip of your nose against his with a reassuring smile, letting him be the one to close the distance, to press his soft lips against your own, to reach for you and pull you that little bit closer.
And after constantly showing him that you weren't afraid of him, that you trusted him—heart, body and mind, little by little, physical touch slowly became easier to come to in his life.
Because once Bucky Barnes got comfortable enough, he never let you go.
An arm around your waist, a hand on your thigh, fingers tracing your palm, his nose buried in the crook of your neck, his lips pressed against any skin he could reach.
Bucky would cling to you every time you were in the kitchen, one arm around your waist while the other reached for the ingredients, helping you cook but only by providing one extra limb. It was his viable solution when you told him you would never get anything done when a six-foot wall of muscle was constricting your movement.
He'd take huge offense in the form of a pout when you'd sit on the cushion beside him instead of settling on his lap during movie nights. He would always rest his chin on your shoulder whenever he stood behind you, thumb caressing your knuckles while you listened to Steve recount the strategy before an op.
Sam had teased him endlessly about it, telling him to "Let the girl breathe, Barnes, damn!" every time he caught Bucky hanging onto you like a koala—which was most of the time, to be honest. Sam would only get a glare and a scoff in response before your boyfriend would bury himself further into your embrace as if he could mold both your bodies into one.
Who would've thought that the mighty supersoldier was actually the biggest cuddly bear underneath all that brawn?
And being the receiving end of those cuddles? It was heavenly.
Bucky's blood always ran that extra bit of warmth. You didn't know if it was simply how his body functioned, or if the serum that ran through his veins, elevating his body heat somehow. Still, it was like having your very own personal weighted blanket that came with an extra package of kisses.
His cuddles were wholeheartedly welcomed during cold, rainy nights or during walks around the city as the snowflakes fell from the sky.
But in the middle of a heat wave while the air conditioner in your shared apartment was broken?
It felt like you were about to faint.
The room was sweltering, the curtains lifeless as a rock despite the windows being open. There was a soft buzz in the air, an old standing fan Bucky found in the basement. It was in working condition but barely.
The man beside you was in nothing but his boxers. You were in your underwear and a loose, cropped tank top you rarely wore but you would honestly feel suffocated if you put on anything more. Still, despite the barely-there clothing and having the covers already bundled at the foot of the bed, it was still so fucking hot.
Maybe it was the fact that you still had your head on Bucky's chest, your arm slung over his abdomen and your leg over one of his thighs. He had his metal arm under your pillow since it wasn't exactly the softest thing to lay on, flesh hand resting on your hip, squeezing absentmindedly from time to time.
It was usually how you slept most nights, limbs tangled, skin touching skin, nestled in each other's arms whichever form that may be—big spoon, little spoon, you on top of him or the other way around.
You were used to it. To be honest, it was the only way you could truly fall asleep with no trouble at all.
But then again, most nights weren't an incarnation of hell itself.
Your cheek was starting to stick on his skin, as a matter of fact, it felt like your whole body was about to melt on him. So you pulled away with a sigh, back turned to him to let the air circulate between you both in hopes that it would at least cool you down a little.
You should've known Bucky wasn't going to let you go that easily.
Before your body even got the chance to lower its temperature, a strong, hot arm hooked around your waist, pulling you close until your back was pressed against his sweaty chest, his stubble rough on your skin as he nuzzled his face in between your shoulder blades.
You squirmed, trying to get him to let you go. But his hold around you only grew tighter, keeping you in place.
"Buck," you huffed, annoyed. You knew he was awake, you could feel his lips quirk up against the nape of your neck.
But if there was one thing you learned about James Buchanan Barnes, it was that he loved being a little shit when he wanted to be.
You wiggled again, curling your fingers on his forearm that was wrapped around your stomach, trying to pull it off. He grunted, bringing you even closer to his warm body as he threw one heavy leg over yours and pinned you down the bed.
"Bucky," you groaned, huffing in utter frustration as you tried lifting his leg with your own which was a fucking feat and a failure.
Goddamn you, you heavy hunk of muscle.
You tried freeing yourself from his grip again but there was no use. All your limbs were trapped in his, your body fully cocooned by a heavy mass of heated super soldier in the form of your boyfriend. You couldn't move, and it was getting really, really hot.
"James," you whined, kicking whatever was free of your legs like a petulant child. Not one of your best moments.
"What," he mocked your tone, rubbing his warm and wet forehead in between your shoulder blades and curling his feet around your ankles to stop your flailing.
You were just about to sob in pure annoyance.
"I love you, I do. I love your cuddles too. But you're a goddamn six-foot furnace so could you please," you cried frustratedly, pushing at his forearm with both hands and spreading your legs apart as much as you could to try and get him to let you go.
"Alright, alright, fine," he grumbled, his whole body heat gone in an instant as he pulled away completely.
You sighed in relief as the cool air wafted over your damp skin. Though, it was a momentary reprieve when he spoke again.
"It's not me who can't sleep without cuddles."
When you glanced over your shoulder, Bucky was laying flat on his back with his eyes closed, toned body in full show, flesh arm draped over his abs while the metal one was tucked underneath his pillow as he laid his head on it.
He truly was one adonis of a man, sculpted to absolute perfection with the most handsome face to match but good God you wanted to smack that smug smirk off his lips.
Because, unfortunately, he was right.
There was a reason why you have two pillows in bed, and how one of them was roughly the same size as your boyfriend, the same one that was placed by your foot because again, it was too goddamn hot.
You glared at him, sticking your tongue out even though he couldn't see before turning your back on him with a huff. Again, not one of your best moments.
Bucky chuckled, taking in a deep breath, and then silence.
You closed your eyes, trying to lull yourself to sleep, using the need to prove him oh so wrong as motivation. And it worked…for a minute.
Because then you were twisting and turning, blaming it on the way one side was getting too hot so you just had to turn. It was totally not the fact that you needed the weight of him to help ground you, in more ways than one.
"Go to sleep, doll."
You knew he was tired. He did just get back from a mission. And you would've felt bad if you didn't hear the teasing that was apparent in his tone.
Little shit.
"Shut up."
You weren't giving in. You knew he would be so smug about it, taking pride in the fact you couldn't sleep without cuddles—his cuddles, in particular.
Then, like a bulb over your head, a plan was formed.
You waited for his breathing to steady, staying still for another moment or so to make sure he was asleep before reaching for your body pillow. It was definitely a better alternative since at least it didn't radiate its own heat. Stretching your leg, you managed to pinch it between your toes, slowly dragging it up until you could reach it with your fingertips.
You froze when you heard him chuckle.
"I'm a better cuddler than that, sweetheart."
"It's too hot," you whined, dropping the pillow on the floor and flopping back on the bed. "And you're literally a human heater."
"Suit yourself," he yawned, too exaggerated for it to be real, before turning his back to you, metal arm catching the light from outside that leaked through the open window.
You sighed, laying on your back, legs and arms spread out to evenly distribute whatever air there was in the room—which currently felt like none—over your skin. Your lips curled up as your eyes began to droop, tasting the sweet victory and sleep right at the tip of your tongue.
But then your whole back was starting to grow hot.
You groaned, turning to your side, frowning once you locked eyes with Bucky's toned back, fucking pretty to look at, but oh so far. Sighing, you sat up a little, flipping over your pillow before flopping back down, twisting and turning and—
"Jesus Christ."
The next thing you knew, you were flat on your back, body pinned down by Bucky's metal arm as he draped it across your torso.
You were about to protest but then—
Huh.
This feels nice.
If you didn't know any better, you swear you heard your skin sizzle when the cold metal touched it. The coolness of the vibranium was soothing, the familiar weight of it comforting.
"Better?"
You nodded with a hum, flashing him a sheepish smile.
Bucky chuckled, rubbing his cool thumb against your hip. "Now, sleep."
You twisted in your place to face him, hugging his arm to your chest as you placed gentle kisses where the metal met flesh.
Bucky turned his head, pout prominent, earning a giggle from you and a kiss there too.
You laid your head on his shoulder with a sigh, your body relaxing as he ran his cool fingers soothingly against your thigh.
"You know, you're starting to become high maintenance."
"Says the man with a vibranium arm."
He scoffed, "Right, give it back."
"No," you whined, holding his arm tighter and trapping his hand between your thighs, rubbing your cheek against his shoulder. "Was kidding."
"Careful where you put my hand, doll," he teased, squeezing your supple flesh.
"Don't even think about it," you grumbled. "I'll get a heatstroke if we do as much as make out."
"Dramatic, too," he chuckled, kissing your forehead when you huffed. Lips against your skin, he whispered. "Go to sleep."
Eyes fluttering close, you yawned, "Love you."
You felt Bucky smile against your crown.
"Love you most."
It didn't take long for you to fall asleep and stay asleep after that.
Unbeknownst to you, Bucky managed to carefully reach into his bedside drawer—pushing back the velvet box deeper inside, one he really needed to find a better hiding spot for—and pulled out a flyer of a cute, little white kitten, waiting to be adopted, and used it to fan your sleeping form.
For the rest of the night, he made sure to keep you nice and cool, aiding you through a deep slumber.
The sight of you looking so content and peaceful, cuddling a part of him that was deemed dangerous and hurtful yet here you were so unafraid, it did nothing but warm Bucky's heart.
It's like falling in love with you all over again.
✫*゚・゚。.★.*。・゚♛ *.
↬ thank you for reading! reblog & leave a comment if you enjoyed! feedback is always appreciated!
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© t-lostinworlds, 2023 ✘ I do NOT give any permission to repost, translate, & use any of my works (writings, gifs, dividers, etc.) on any platform, with credit or otherwise. Please respect that. Thank you.
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pleasantlycrazyworld · 3 months
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I saw the post asking for fic requests so here goes. Bucky with reader who has a Russian blue cat named Solen’ya. (Russian for pickles) Thanks in advance!
Omg bucky!!!! He is my first love and will be my lasting love I swear! Thanks for the request it was so fun to do I never get request for Bucky
Just a heads up! I do not know Russian so I am taking your word for it lol
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You have been seeing Bucky for around three months now and it is time to introduce him to one of the most important boys in your life. Solen'ya...your baby...well your cat but to you he was your baby.
You got Solen'ya a few years ago to help you through some rough times and ever since then it's been just the two of you. He was your favorite thing to come home to but now you have Bucky. And he's amazing, after your third date you knew that Bucky was going to be in your life for a long time so you decided he needed to meet your Solen'ya.
Bucky was never this nervous. Why is he so nervous??? It's just a cat! Not a human, not a parent or a real son, no this was just your cat so why was his hand so damn sweaty? You asked Bucky to come over to your place for your next date. You said you wanted to show off some of the cooking skills you learned all the way back in home ec class in high school, but you also wanted to introduce him to Solen'ya. You knew he was nervous and he knew how much Solen'ya meant to you which is why he was so nervous but you were oddly excited for him to meet your baby. No one has ever met Solen'ya before and the people who did he shied away from and would hide under the bed. So you had no idea what would happen or how this was going to go but you wanted to be hopeful.
Bucky wipes his hand on his pants before knocking on the door. He grips the flowers, the daisies because he was going to get lilies than he learned cats can't be around those, a bit tighter than before when he hears your footsteps approach the door. "James" You squealed seeing him at the door, "come in make yourself at home dinner is almost done!" You smiled when you saw the flowers, they were your favorite. "Oh Jamie you didn't have to bring anything" You said blushing and taking the flowers from him to put in a vase. "It was no problem" He explains as he looks around the small home. It felt like you...felt like home. As he is looking around he notices a ball of grey fluff in the corner of his eye. "Hello there, you must be Solen'ya, I'm Bucky but your mom calls me James more often." He greets the cat by presenting his hands for him to sniff. Before he could react the cat begins to purr and rub against his metal palm.
You walk back into the living room to get Bucky for dinner but you freeze at the sight in front of you. There is Bucky, sitting on the floor with a cat in his lap purring louder than ever. You smile softly and take a photo to remember the moment where your heart melted, and to remember the moment you knew Bucky was the one for you.
If you want to be tagged in Bucky fics lmk! I hope to write for him more so please send request for him!
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gaysindistress · 4 months
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Связи (n.) connections - masterlist
gaysindistressmasterlist
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disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest
pairings: mob!bucky x reader
Summary: “Did you think you could hide from us? That’s adorable, little one. There’s no where on this planet where you could hide from the Shostakov Bratva and even if you did manage to evade us, the Barnes Bratva would find you. Your связи, your connections, will always come back to haunt you, Y/N.”
Status: in progress
Warnings: Mob!bucky is something special in this one, blood/gore, death, angst, guns, language, mentions of sex, murder, slow burn, smut, violence, weapons. Each chapter will have its own warnings as well and please read at your own risk!
gaysindistress masterlist
Moodboard one
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
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