Tumgik
marvelescape · 2 years
Text
i just woke up to SEBASTIAN STAN EMMY NOMINEE and i'm screaming!!!!!!! he deserves this soooo much
Tumblr media
15 notes · View notes
marvelescape · 2 years
Text
𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒚: 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵
Tumblr media
summary ─ he was toxic. most of the time you were with him, you were used for pleasure only, you knew that, and he wasn’t hiding it. maybe it was how good he made you feel that made you fell in love with him, or maybe it was the fact that he somehow made you feel like you were someone ─ but you fell in love with him. although you knew in the beginning that you shouldn’t have, it was way too late for that, now. you were in too deep. 
pairing ─ fuckboy!bucky barnes x reader
warnings ─ +18, smut, angst, college au, infidelity/cheating, alcohol consumption, rough sex, pet names, dirty talk, even more angst, the relationship between the reader and bucky is toxic af, light choking, light brutal strength (not a*use, no) [more tags to be added later]
the (after) party 
loft music 
valerie  
till dawn (here comes the sun)
echoes of silence
angel (epilogue)
blurbs: birthday morning ─ sexy video message
THIS WORK IS COMPLETED.
2K notes · View notes
marvelescape · 2 years
Text
Don’t You Worry (Your Pretty Little Head)
Pairing: Guitarist!Bucky x Reader
Summary: You agree to spend twelve hours with Bucky whom you just met.
Word Count: 9.1k
Warnings: THE LENGTH lmfao, soft smut??? Nothing vulgar and it’s sorta implied
A/N: I am honestly nervous about posting this piece because idk, aside from it being fucking long, I was never satisfied with how this was written lmfao. I literally rewrote this like idk 5 times??? And the fact that I made a mood board for a oneshot lmfao only means I poured my heart out into this shit and I’m really hoping y’all would enjoy this as much as my other works 🥺
MAIN MASTERLIST
Tumblr media
Your idea of a fun Friday night involved your couch and Netflix playing in the background as you scrolled through your phone with a glass of wine in hand. This was your definition of pure bliss, something that Wanda violently opposed to.
So here you were, seated in the front of a music bar while Wanda’s favorite band played.
“See? This isn’t so bad, right? Better than wallowing in your apartment alone.” She teased as she leaned over to you, needing to amp up the volume of her voice so you can hear her.
“The fact that we can’t even hear each other properly makes wallowing alone sound so much better.” You told her, not even bothering to repeat yourself when she didn’t understand what you said over the loud music playing.
Her favorite band introduced their last song for the night and as they did, you checked your phone for the time. It was barely past ten in the evening and you were already dying to get home. You’ll bid goodbye after this, you promised yourself. Just one last song and you’re out. Before the band could even finish their last song, you’d already decided on what pizza to order and which wine to bring out.
That was until the next band came up on stage to prepare for their performance. You were leaning over Wanda already, about to tell her that you were heading home, when one particular guy caught your eye. Something that Wanda noticed when she saw you gawking at the stage.
“Oh my god. He’s definitely your type.” Wanda said when her eyes landed on the bassist.
Keep reading
942 notes · View notes
marvelescape · 2 years
Text
HAPPY BIRTHDAAAAY BUCKYYYY
1 note · View note
marvelescape · 2 years
Text
400 Flowers
Chris Evans x Actress!Reader Summary: How does it feel to lose to an Italian group of 20 year olds, Chris? Word Count: 1k+ Warnings: Måneskin because I wanted to add them, dont fight me on this i need a plot, crack fic, fluff, i still use y/n /:, google translated Italian for like one sentence, typos, jealousy, etc.
A/N: HEYA as I promised, I would make another addition to my actress!reader crack fics. because im tired grandpa. i hope yall enjoy this cos it's what ur gonna get 🤩
Also pardon my google translate Italian T_T
If you're new here, here are the said fics, which you dont have to read btw to understand this fic: Dude, She’s Just Not Into You | White Bread | The Other Guy
I forgot who wanted to be tagged so im just tagging everyone from The other guy and the ones who asked to be @time-for-a-lullaby @christmaswonderworld @readsreblogsfics @marianastudiesart @r2gers @undergroundstyle @notbrooklynsblog @marc-rogers @lam0ureuxq @mickymouselol1 @kimmyevansblog @captainwans @lizamango @freyathehuntress @freshfreakoaftrash
Tumblr media
Watch: Y/F/N Talks About Chris Evans and Måneskin While Answering Questions From The Internet
"Hello everyone," I start by smiling and waiving. I introduce myself and what I'm doing, "and today I will be attempting to answer all the questions you have for me, gathered from the internet."
There is a cut.
"Ah," I look up, "I would say my current obsession is this Italian group I encountered." I clarify, "well, I'm not really in the business of being obsessed anymore, I think," I sigh and shake my head, "not since my One Direction phase. But I do very much like this band.
"They're called Måneskin," I then break into a laugh, "and I had, like, a mental break down when I found out that they weren't in their 30's and were just in thier 20's," I sigh and throw my hands up, "I'm..." I give a confused look, "so old?"
There is a chorus of laughter from the staff behind the camera.
I shake my head again and sigh, "at least," I chuckle, "I will eternally younger than all of my male co-stars ever."
The chorus of laughs get louder.
Another cut.
I am now furrowing my brows over a photograph they were showing me. Said photograph is flashed on screen. It's a worms eye view of me up on stage, barely holding onto a plethora of flowers. It's a screenshot of a tweet that's captioned: where/when is this from and why are people talking about Chris Evans because of it.
"Ah," I nod, "that was taken," I puff out air from my cheeks, "I don't know when exactly, but it was during one of the nights in our two week run of Seasons In Osaka, which is a musical play I starred in.
"I can guess that this was most probably when Chris watched opening night, judging by how overwhelmed I am carrying that large bouquet I have in my arms."
Another cut.
I nod and raise a hand, "Chris Evans." I look away in thought, "I... he watched the show a total of four times," I break into laughter, "which was already excessive in and of itself, but every time he would watch, he'd bring me a bouquet of 100 roses and I would distribute it to everyone on set, the cast, the actors, the extras, the crew, the director, the musicians, the technicians, the producers. I actually did that with all my flowers, because without them I wouldn't have shone as brightly as everyone said I did, so," I shrug, "it was the least I could do.
The comment section of this video:
I'M FUCKING FERAL CHRIS EVANS BOUGHT HER 100 ROSES PER SHOW AND I TAKE SHIT FROM UGLY MEN WHAT THE FUCK [10k+ likes] >>>200 REPLIES<<< FOR REAL THO HE'S SET THE BAR SO HIGH [1.6k+ likes] REMEMBER IF HE WANTED TO HE WOULD [5k+ likes] RIGHT. They are literally perfect for each other I'm sobbing. [905 likes]
Y/N having a mental breakdown over Måneskin issa mood [3.6k+ likes]
Everyone who thinks Y/L/N-Evans isn't a thing 🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡 [5k+ likes] >>>62 REPLIES<<< People who say they aren't together 🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡 [598 likes]
Chris Evans Settles Dating Rumors With Y/F/N Once And For All | CONAN on TBS
Conan leans in and sighs, "Chris, just give it to us straight."
Chris breaks into a laugh then falls into a poker face, nodding his head all serious, "yeah."
Conan looks him dead in the eyes and asks, "are you or are you not dating Y/F/N?"
Chris sighs and slaps his lap, "you know," he turns to the audience then back to Conan, "I've been answering this question for what feels like forever, and I feel like no one's listening to me."
"No, no, no, no," Conan shakes his head and his hands, "I'm listening," he motions to his side, "America is listening," the crowd cheers and Chris laughs, "we're all listening."
"Yeah but," Chris chuckles then regains composure, "I keep saying yes, but it's like you're looking for a no."
Conan protests, "well maybe if you weren't so darn confusing, Chris, this would all be behind us!"
Chris boobie grabs himself as he laughs, "you wanna hear the truth or do you wanna hear what you wanna hear?"
Conan looks at him for a moment then bursts, "I wanna hear what I want to hear and that's the truth! This is literally what Captain America stands for!"
Chris raises his hands, "I haven't handled the shield in a while."
"JUST TELL US!"
Chris chuckles and shakes his head, "we're," he sighs, "very close friends."
Conan looks at Chris
Chris looks at Conan.
"Friends?" Conan asks.
Chris nods, raising his hands in defeat, "that's the truth."
Conan's eye twitches.
The crowd begins to boo. Chris gives a look to the audience, "really? You're going to boo me for being honest?" He clicks his tongue.
"But you- and she- and- but the-"
Chris turns to Conan, "it's okay. You'll understand when you're older."
Conan makes a face, "understand what exactly? That love is dead?!"
"Hey! I love my friends!" Chris defends for absolutely no reason, "and I love her bits and pieces, so don't be so dramatic."
"Dramatic?!" Conan shouts dramatically, "you don't love your friends, Chris."
Chris breaks into a chuckle, which morphs into a concerned look on his face, "I- uh... you don't love your friends."
"NO!" Conan shouts back, "I would sell Andy for spare change and some candy!"
Chris loses it as he turns over to Andy, who was spectating everything from the other couch and nods slowly, "it's true. He's tried."
"Aww," Chris chuckles then eventually frowns.
20 min video titled: How Måneskin Is Making Y/L/N-Evans Extremely Volatile
It all started when, *insert clip*:
"I would say my current obsession is this Italian group I encountered."
*CUT*
"They're called Måneskin."
... happened.
Since then, all hell has broken loose.
*CUT TO*
A clip of a red carpet event.
Måneskin is at the AMA's in their suits and the interviewer asks them, "do you guys know that you're Y/F/N's current obsession."
The group all breaks into a smiles and starts getting excited.
The only girl in the group, Victoria, replies with a wide grin, "yeah, yeah! Our fans were freaking out about it."
"I saw it on twitter," the vocalist, Damiano, says, "then," he breaks into a giddy laugh, covering his face, "I started freaking out. I ran to the other room and started telling everyone about it."
The group agrees with him.
"It's like a dream," Damiano shakes his head.
The long haired drummer, Ethan, raises a hand and chimes in, "I love her very much. She is amazing."
"I lover her too," the guitarist, Thomas, adds, smiling.
The interviewer smiles back at them and agrees along, "and I'm sure it's mutual, you guys."
Damiano then, with his mischievous lopsided grin turns to the camera and says, "I don't mind dating older or younger." He points to the camera and shoots his shot in Italian, "if you want to go out with me, call me, "se vuoi uscire con me, chiamami." He seals it off with a wink.
His members turn to him and holler.
The interviewer, living for the drama, asks, "hey, hey, what was that?"
"He asked her out," Thomas laughs.
Ethan continues, amidst his chuckling, "It's like, if she wants a date, call him."
"Yeah right," Victoria says in a scolding manner, "as if she'd go for you."
"Well," Damiano clicks his tongue, "you never know."
"Well, I'm also available," Thomas says.
Victoria knits her brows in offence then says, "me too!"
Ethan, seemingly not sure of what was going on chuckles, "me three!"
There is an argument amongst them in Italian and it's all pretty chaotic.
*CUT TO*
I'm in a sparkly, golden dress for I too am at the AMA's, smiling at an interviewer.
"You have Måneskin quite whipped for you," the interviewer says, making me laugh.
"Why? Did you talk to them, did they say anything?"
"Uh yeah!" she nods, "I just talked to them a few minutes ago they were all all shooting their shot at you. Damiano specifically asked you out in Italian."
I throw my head back in laughter, "what? How do you know that, do you speak Italian?"
"No, but I have my sources, as in their cute drummer Ethan translated for me."
I break into another laugh then fan my face, "well," I click my tongue and wiggle my brows, "I know what I'm going to be doing tonight."
*CUT TO*
A photograph of Måneskin with me in the middle. A normal photo, one with all of us with our tongues out, one where Damiano was carrying me, one with Victoria kissing my cheek.
Yeah that was the equivalent of a forest fire on the internet.
*CUT TO*
A screenshot of these tweets:
@ChrisEvans: Why is everyone telling me to learn Italian? @ChrisEvans: [replying to @ChrisEvans] I have a strong inkling it's not because my maternal grandfather is Italian...
And replies to that tweet
@pepanna: [replying to @ChrisEvans] this man literally ON the internet and still can't google? @marvelsloot: [replying to @pepanna] disappointed but not surprised
@y/nisqueen: [replying to @ChrisEvans] sir, with all due respect, if you're going to lose to anyone, maybe dont to someone half your age ☠️
@steve0ger$: [replying to @ChrisEvans] IF I DON"T SEE AN UPDATE OF YOU AND Y/N IM JUMPING INTO TRAFFIC
@teaishotloser: [replying to @ChrisEvans] ok but chris evans vs maneskin when @donttalktomerat: [replying to @teaishotloser] ngl vic could kill chris no questions @chrissleftboobie: [replying to @teaishotloser] me but chris v simu
*CUT TO*
Chris getting asked by one of the fans at a press con whilst a couch interview.
He makes a face, repeating what was asked of him, "do I have plans on marrying Y/F/N?"
The fans go absolutely livid and scream their head off.
"You guys," Chris makes a face as he grits his teeth, "wrong movie."
His costars and the audience laughs.
The director of the new film he was in says after laughing, dead serious, "answer the damn question, Evans."
Chris turns to him in shock, breaking into a laugh. He points at the woman and says, "hey, I don't like your tone."
Someone in the crowd echoes, "answer the damn question!"
Chris turns to the crowd and chuckles. He places his hands in his pants and licks his lips, "I don't like your tone."
After a moment passes, Chris eventually answers, "well," he pulls out his hand and pats his thigh, "apparently I lost to this Italian band." He pinches his nose bridge then fake cries, "it's over you guys."
*CUT TO*
A clip of someone screaming BITCH WHAT THE FUCK
*CUT TO*
A screenshot of more these news articles:
See: Chris Evans and Y/F/N Lock Lips In An Audi
It looks like they really enjoyed themselves.
Y/L/N-Evans Caught Kissing in Evan's Car
What a time to be alive.
If You Were Wondering If Y/L/N-Evans Is Real, You Have To See This
THEY MADE OUT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
Evans and Y/L/N Confirm Their Relationship
But for real this time
Y/F/N: We've been telling everyone we've been dating.
It's time to get that betting money.
*CUT TO*
Onto literally the pettiest video on the internet, this:
"Me or Måneskin," Chris asks as he holds up a phone to my face.
I look at him, past his phone. He covers his face with his phone and whines, "Måneskin or me!!!!!"
"Why are you doing this? Where you paid to do this?"
Chris replies, "I'm trying to prove a point."
I roll my eyes, "Måneskin."
He turns the phone to him and smiles, "see, I told you!"
The comment section of this video:
HELP WHY THE HELL ARE THEY LIKE THIS [13k+ likes] >>>50 REPLIES<<< Because it's real 😌 [1k+ likes]
1K notes · View notes
marvelescape · 2 years
Text
Will you marry me? | Sebastian Stan
Sumarry: A drunk Sebastian, asking his girlfriend to marry him.
Pairing: Sebastian Stan X Reader
Characters: Sebastian Stan, Y/N
Word Count: 307
A/N: This is so short, but this idea came out of nowhere, and so I really needed to write this. ♡ English is not my first language, so I’m sorry for any mistakes.
I'm posting this again!
Tumblr media
“Will you marry me?” Sebastian says when Y / n was almost asleep, lying next to him.
“Love, you’re drunk,” she responds laughing.
“I’m drunk, not crazy.” He talks a little curled up.
“Go to sleep Sebastian.” Y / n speaks with eyes closed.
“I’m not going to sleep until you say yes.” He speaks, and Y / n sighs.
“You are crazy.”
“You are very cruel, I am asking you to marry me and you certainly do not want to marry me, the love of my life has just abandoned me, I am so sad now.” Sebastian says doing Drama.
“You can ask me on a sober day, and I will be happy to say yes.” Y / n says, making Sebastian smile.
A few minutes pass and the silence takes over, Y / n sighs in relief thinking that Sebastian slept until he …
“Y/n?”
“What happened dear?” She asks, already losing patience.
“You shouldn’t know, but I already bought the ring, I really hope you like it.” Sebastian says, making Y / n’s eyes widen, and look at him in surprise.
“Really?” She says quietly, and Sebastian agrees with a smile.
“My God, sober Sebastian is going to kill me.” Seb says, and Y / n can’t help laughing, no matter what the circumstances, Sebastian has always managed to make Y / n smile.
A few more minutes of silence, and Y / n finally feels like he’s going to be able to sleep.
“love?”
“Sebastian please, I need to sleep!” Y / n says mad.
“Okay, but … can you pretend to be surprised? You know, when I ask you to marry me, when I’m sober.” Sebastian says, and Y / n leans over, kissing Sebastian’s cheek and the corner of his mouth.
“Alright love.” Y / n says, and Sebastian wraps his arms around his waist, snuggling up, and finally, the two manage to sleep.
─────────────✧──────────────
1K notes · View notes
marvelescape · 2 years
Text
Oversized (Bucky x Reader)
Tumblr media
Summary: Bucky x reader. You order an oversized hoodie in the mail, and your teammates are obsessed with how cozy it feels, especially Bucky.
Word Count: 1.1k
Content Warnings: Pure fluff. Hugging underneath clothes. Avengers tower fic.
A/N: This fic is a request for the lovely @cherry-season. Thank you for all your support and patience these last few weeks, you're a star! And I loved writing this prompt! As always requests are open, just drop me an ask or inbox me if you have an idea 💜
********************************************
"Oh. My. God." You stifled a laugh as you stepped in front of your bedroom mirror.
You had ordered an oversized hoodie from an online clothing store, but you didn't expect it to be this big. It draped off you like a bed sheet, the sleeves hanging several inches below your wrists, and the bottom falling at your knees like a chunky sweater-dress.
"I mean... the colour is cute I guess?" You chuckled to yourself, gazing over the cherry coloured fabric.
"Y/N! Foods cooking!" Natasha's voice bellowed up the hallway.
"Okay! On my way!" You shouted, still turning your body in the mirror - you looked like a fluffy penguin. But it didn't matter, dinner was almost ready and you needed to head downstairs. Throwing your hair into a quick messy bun, you grabbed your phone and made your way to the living room, dressed in your new attire.
As you approached the lounge, you heard a loud giggle erupt from Natasha, who was perching against the door, drink in her hand.
"What on Earth are you wearing Y/N?"
"Well..." you stuttered, laughing as you went on to explain how you came to be donned in what looked like a red king sized duvet with arm holes.
"You could literally fit a person under there!" Natasha exclaimed as she lowered her head, straightening up against your under layer of a vest top and black leggings as her body seemed engulfed by your hoodie.
You chuckled at her closeness - she was right. Your friend was well and truly wrapped in the fabric.
"Hey guys!" Nat called to the rest of the room. "You gotta try this!"
Turning to face the others, you saw Wanda sitting at the small coffee table, and Tony watching television with Peter seated next to him, phone in hand. To your right, your two best friends Bucky and Steve, sprawled out on the large sofa as they shared the newspaper, catching up on the latest news.
You couldn't help but study Bucky's features as he shifted his gaze to you, following Natasha's words. He was one of your best friends, but you couldn't deny you were falling for him. His dark shoulder length hair framed his face as his piercing blue eyes found yours, goosebumps rising over your body, enamoured with your favourite super soldier.
His brows furrowed as he noticed your breathing hitch. You passed him a soft smile, a small gesture to say I'm fine, as you mentally kicked yourself for being so obviously affected by his company. You were sure he noticed. But it was Bucky, and with you, Bucky always noticed.
"Lemmie try!! It looks super toasty under there!" You broke out of your thoughts at the sound of Peter's voice. Padding over to you, he stuck his head inside your hoodie like an excited puppy. Tony was right, this kid really had no chill. Chortling against your under layer, he wrapped himself like a cocoon, only to emerge after a few seconds with a wide grin.
"Wow, Y/N, you need to wear this more often! You're like a walking radiator!"
Heading over to the last empty space on the sofa, you lay down next to Steve, who curiously peeked over his newspaper to catch a glimpse of the hoodie that had been causing such a ruckus.
"Oh, to be fair Y/N that does look cozy..." he smirked.
You sighed and shook your head with raised eyebrows and a half smile. "Go on then, I know you want too."
The Captain gave a low chuckle, and slid his hand respectfully under the cotton material, careful not to make contact with your skin or under layer. "Woah, it really is like a heated blanket under there."
"Hang on, I gotta try this." Wanda's voice echoed from the other side of the room, as she stepped over to you, squeezing her slim form on the sofa as she moved to face you. In true Wanda style, your friend ducked underneath your hoodie, enveloping you in a tight hug.
"Oh my God Y/N." Her words vibrated against your tank top, causing a giggle to escape your throat. "Tell me I don't have to leave. This is so snuggly."
"Wanda!" You yelled between laughs. "Get out you're making me ticklish!"
As Wanda returned to her seat at the coffee table, Natasha's voice rang out once again.
"Tonyyyy!" She sang. "C'mon you gotta try this."
"Nope. Absolutely not."
"Um..." The sound of someone clearing their throat caught everyone's attention, and all eyes reverted back to... Bucky. "I-I'll try..."
Your heart skipped a beat as your best friend crawled across the couch, positioning himself at the edge of your new hoodie. Looking up at you for confirmation, you nodded sheepishly as he lifted up the material, and nuzzled his head against your torso.
Attempting to remain calm, you focused on taking some deep breaths, knowing full well that if your heart rate increased, Bucky would certainly feel it with his body pressed against yours.
"Mmm" The vibrations of his mouth sent shivers down your lower half. "I could stay here forever doll..."
Unable to contain the smile that crept onto your lips, you sighed in comfort. The look on your teammates faces seemed to share your sentiment, watching you with compassion and smirks of contentment.
"He's like a koala, isn't he?" Wanda whispered delicately, taking in Bucky's beefy physique, gripping to your torso like a baby bear.
Gazing upon the covered brunette with adoration, you began to smooth your fingers over the outer material of your hoodie, placing soft strokes and scratches to the area where his head was underneath.
His breathing began to sound regular and slow - relaxed. Internally cheering, you took it as a sign that he felt comfortable and became more generous with your soothing movements, Bucky's hands now snaked around your waist as he lay consumed in your hoodie.
A few minutes passed, your friends catching your eye with furrowed brows, as Bucky remained still, seemingly rooted to your midsection.
"Buck?"
Soft snores escaped the sergeants lips as you felt his grip on you tighten. He was asleep. The man you love had fallen asleep on your chest, and it was even more adorable than you could have imagined.
"Uhhh, shall I wake him up?" Steve offered, concern lacing his tone.
Your gaze drifted to your Bucky, sleeping soundly against your warm form. For once, it seemed like all his trauma, all his fear, had subsided to be replaced by a reassuring, deep embrace. All because of you.
"No, no." You shook your head and smiled. "He can stay here for a while..."
Suddenly, your oversized hoodie didn't seem like such a joke anymore.
3K notes · View notes
marvelescape · 2 years
Text
The Shot Heard Round the Tower
Pairing: Bucky x Reader
Summary: You just want to know if Bucky has feelings for you. Bucky just wants you to be okay.
Word count: 3.7k
Warnings: Canon level violence, some angst
a/n: I’m so excited to start writing again!! WOOO. This now has a part 2 which you can read here!
Masterlist
Tumblr media
Being a secretary was never your first choice. You went to college, bounced around a few majors, tried to “find yourself”, but nothing ever really stuck. So yeah, being a secretary was never your first choice, but nothing else really was either. It’s not like it really mattered, you were good at your job. In fact, after just a few short months, your meger front desk position at the Avengers tower was promoted. Numerous late nights picking up the slack for your coworkers to  avoid the empty apartment waiting for you a few blocks away, had piqued the interest of none other than Tony Stark.
It started off with small things. Grabbing him a late night coffee from that 24 joint two streets over. Cutting out those paper valentines shaped like Captain America’s shield for the children’s hospital the team was planning to visit. Going down to Tony’s lab at 10pm to hold a wrench for him because, “You’re the only one here, kid.”
It wasn’t until you suddenly found yourself walking home, clutching a binder to your chest filled with Tony’s engagements for the week, that you finally agreed to manage the team. Tony had asked you five times prior to your realization.
Keep reading
3K notes · View notes
marvelescape · 2 years
Text
Citrus, Miniature Sun ✗
Tumblr media
pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader
summary: Steve's getting married, and as much as it thrills you that one-third of your 'to the end of the line' trio is getting hitched, it also fills you with dread at the prospect of your ex-fiance also being on the guest list. Luckily for you, the other third of your trio (who you are most certainly, absolutely not in love with) has a plan. A childhood friends-to-lovers, fake dating AU fic.
author's note: This is my first commissioned fic, written for @/pham-tastical! Anna, thank you so much for entrusting me with your vision! I hope you love it. (The title comes from the beautiful poem Oranges by Roisin Kelly.)
warning(s): cursing, alcohol consumption, mutual pining/oblivious idiots in love
word count: 6.4k
( masterlist // ko-fi // library blog )
Tumblr media
The save-the-date arrives on a Tuesday morning, tucked away inside a baby blue envelope.
It matches the gleam in Steve’s eyes—all cotton candy, mid-afternoon skies blue—in the photo that falls out from it. He beams up at you so hard from the picture that you have to blink back the image of him decades younger, backwards baseball cap on his head and dirt caked in the hollows under his eyes and lips split so wide around those missing baby teeth that his cheeks look pinched, like his ma’s fingers had just caught him there, drawing all the red blood to the apples.
“He looks happy, doesn’t he?” Bucky’s expression mimics that of Steve’s in the photograph when you tack it to your refrigerator, an easy, white-toothed smile at his lips.
The look must be contagious—or maybe it’s the fact that one-third of your childhood trio would be getting married come spring—because your own mouth slides up into a relaxed smile, teeth not quite making their appearance yet.
“Yeah,” you nod, hopping up on the counter to peel the last orange from the fruit basket. A hint of citrus hits your nose as your fingers dig into the ream. “He does.”
Bucky doesn’t look away yet, crepey skin of his eyes still crinkling as he looks between Steve and Peggy’s inked faces. “Looks kinda dopey.”
“‘Course he does,” you laugh around an orange slice, tart juice sugaring your tongue. “He’s in love. He always looks like that when he’s in love.”
It’s the sweet smell of the orange that finally draws his attention away from the card stuck to the fridge, long limbs seeming to move towards you on their own accord. He leans back against the quartz island countertop, elbow brushing your waist.
Placing the flesh palm of his hand in your lap, the backs of his fingers tickling the bare and dimpled skin of your thigh, he awaits the offering. “Please tell me I don’t look so damned goofed up when I’m in love.”
“Never seen you in love,” you shrug, dissecting the little orange between your fingers, your nails collecting remnants of its peel beneath them. His fingers curl around the slice you’ve given him, pink lips enveloping it, even as his brows furrow. Another slice settles against your tongue as you continue, “Tara? Evie? Claire? You think it was love with any of them?”
He chews, jaw sliding back and forth, lips pursing against the slightly soured sweetness. “Guess not.”
He’s licking his fingers, droplets of juice or the flavorings of food never allowed to go to waste from James Barnes’ tongue. How many times had his ma smacked him upside the head for that? Given him that silent warning with her eyes, just as steely blue as her boy’s, just as scary when sharpened with reproach?
It’s rude, James, she’d tell him. Go wash your hands, son, for Christ’s sake.
But you’re not his ma.
“Last one,” you tell him, holding the final, near-translucent fruit slice up to the light streaming in from the kitchen window. “Wanna split it?”
“Nah,” he shakes his head, a strand of hair falling in his eyes. “You have it.”
He knocks his elbow against your knee—the heat of his touch still looming there—pushing away from the counter to go dig in your refrigerator, the sound of drawers opening and bottles rattling in his wake.
“Wanna beer?”
“From my own fridge?”
“Yeah.”
You swallow down the last of the orange, tossing the peel into the bin. The scent of citrus is soaked deep into the skin of your palms, deep into the skin of his fingers. You smell like the juice that he’s licked from those long, flesh and bone digits—your shared scent tangy on his tongue—and the thought sends you clearing your throat before answering him.
“Yeah, hand me one.”
The glass bottle clinks against the silver ring on your middle finger as he tucks it into your hand. Bucky’s eyebrow raises at the sound, eyes flickering to where the band glitters beneath the fluorescent kitchen lights before meeting your gaze again.
“He’s gonna be there, ya know,” he says instead of asking the unuttered question that’s already been swallowed down with the first barley-tinged swig of his beer. It’s probably swimming around deep in his belly by now, but you know him better than he knows himself, know the words dissolving in his stomach acid: Why are you still wearing that thing?
“It’s pathetic, isn’t it?” You twist the band around your finger, watching the sapphire twinkle blue in the light as it slides up and down past the knuckle. It never did fit your ring finger.
He shrugs, another swallow of the beer. “A little.”
There’s the tilting up of his right mouth corner, white-squared teeth playing peek-a-boo from the window his lips create.
“Wanna hear something even more pathetic?” You offer to the sliver of cornflower blue in his eyes, the color darkening to harbor belittlement or shame in your direction.
“Always,” he says, eyes lightening—always lightening, only ever lightening towards you—in amusement.
“I ran into him at Sam’s work thing last weekend,” you begin, Bucky’s eyelids narrowing slightly now, looking at you down the neck of the amber bottle. “He was with her—Jo—and he asked how I was doing, and I panicked, and I might’ve told him I was seeing someone.”
“Might have?”
“What was I supposed to say to him?”
“I don’t know,” he huffs, annoyance not directed at you but still grazing your cheeks as he sets the bottle aside to rest his hand against his hip. “Tell him to kiss your ass? That he owes me about fifty bucks for all the ice cream it took to get you out of bed that first week?”
“Bucky—,”
“No, come on,” he says seriously now, grabbing your left hand up in his, fingers wet from the condensation as they rub at the place where the ring’s left an impression in your skin. “You gotta pawn this thing, alright?”
“I’m not going to—,”
“Jesus, your hand’s freezing,” he ignores your protest, frowning at the chilled flesh of your digits that rivals the coolness of the Heineken abandoned against your thigh. “Remember when you used to chase me and Stevie around in the winter with those cold ass hands of yours, trying to press ‘em up against our cheeks?”
You laugh then, watching as he tries to melt away the ice in your skin with the familiar flint of his thumb. “Yeah—and I always caught you.”
His tongue pokes out, swiping around his bottom lip like he wants to say something and he’s got to slicken up the runway for the words to slide out just right. At the last moment, he just chuckles instead, shaking something from his head like a swimmer shakes the water from their ears.
“Steve and those skinny little legs of his—outran every last one of us.”
“And then he’d have to come to my rescue, hauling you off me when you’d wrestle me to the ground, shoving my hands in your jacket pockets,” you shake your head like you’re developing the memories like film in your mind, a Polaroid of a pre-teen Bucky, all dark hair and a dimpled chin, holding you down in the snow, his breath hot and stuttering with laughter against your neck, grows clearer. “You were such an asshole.”
But even then, you were harboring the secret, the one you hadn’t dared spoken into the air lest it became real—you liked the way the furnace of his skin, the smoke of his breath, reduced the glacier in yours to ice water in your chest each time.
“Hey, I was doing you a favor,” he argues, pulling your palm up to rest flat against his chest like he used to back then, shoulders broader and sternum stronger all these years later. His heart still beats the same beneath the lifelines. “Your ma sending you out without mittens—you know Steve’s ma used to threaten to knit you a pair every Christmas?”
You nod, grin at your lips softening at the memory of Mrs. Rogers, thick Irish accent wrapping around your name as she called out to you from their apartment stoop, warning that she’d better not see you at St. Andrew’s after dinner with frostbitten fingers or she’d lob ‘em off herself.
Something shifts in the conversation with the mention of Steve’s ma.
Bucky’s sweatshirt is soft and well-worn against your fingers as you grab up the material and gather it up inside your fist, pulling him back into the present—back to this version of you with time-marked skin and furnace-heated cheeks—by the collar. “What am I gonna do?”
“About the wedding?”
“I’m going to look so stupid when I show up without a date, and he’s sitting there with Jo, smiling like an idiot because she looks so perfect and—,”
“I’ll go with you,” he says, fingers curling around your grip on his shirt.
“Well, yeah, I figured we’d go together—,”
“No,” he shakes his head. “I mean I’ll go with you—be your date. Pretend to be your boyfriend, or whatever the hell will get his eye twitchin’.”
And now your eye might begin to twitch, eyelid jumping in beat with the sudden quickening of your heart, a Morse code of fluttering eyelashes betraying you at the prospect of Bucky being your date, your romantic partner—even if just for a night, even if just in pretending.
You say his name like a hiccup against the obtuse feel of your heart in your throat. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun,” he insists, eyes so light now that crystalline. “You, me, a little dancin’, too much champagne? Don’t tell me you don’t want to see the way Steve’s eyes will bug out when we tell ‘em we’re together.”
You can’t help but laugh at the thought of how your friends would react, even as your mind can hardly think of anything but the warmth of Bucky’s fingers still wrapped around your own, the ice in them long melted by his touch.
“Nat’ll know,” you tell him in a breathy giggle. “Nat always knows.”
It’s your attempt at giving him an out—giving yourself an out before this goes too far, before you get a taste of what it would be like to call Bucky yours, enough of him on your tongue that you’d have to admit that it’s what you’d been craving all along, a hunger in your belly all these years you could never let yourself sate.
He shrugs, and there’s a cerulean glint of mischief in his eyes—and something almost indigo in shade that you can’t quite place—when he says, “We’ll just have to make it believable then… if we’re gonna fool Romanoff.”
Your stomach is somersaulting, all acidic and light from the orange still lingering beneath your fingernails, as you swallow down the fleshy red organ of your heart enough to tease, “Let’s see how much you remember from drama club.”
His heart flutters strongly beneath your palm, teeth glittering white like snow, in reply.
Tumblr media
“You comin’ or what?”
His knuckles tap against the hotel room door, exasperated tone of his voice muffled by the thick wooden barrier.
“I’m coming,” you call out from in front of the mirror, neck angled uncomfortably to peer at the back of your dress. A huff of irritation blows past your painted lips. “Can’t get this fucking zipper to zip up.”
“Steve’s gonna have my ass,” he groans against the wood, voice a little clearer now. The shadow of his loafers peeks in from underneath the gap between carpet and door. “Kinda fuckin’ important that the Best Man isn’t late.”
“Co-Best Man,” you remind him through another huffy sigh, dropping the material between your fingers and shuffling over to the door in your heels. “Sam can cover for you for a second,” you say as you start to unlock the bolt, “Just get in here and help me with the damn thing.”
When you swing the door open on its hinges, Bucky stumbles forward a bit, righting himself from where he’d been leaning up against it.
“Jesus, couldn’t give me a warning—?” he begins to complain, scowl marring his features, before his neck snaps and he’s blinking at the sight of you in the doorway, jaw slackening as the words catch in his throat. “Uh, hey.”
The way he’s looking at you, as if he’s never truly seen you before, makes you shift uncomfortably in your heels.
“Hi,” you test, a nervous smile creeping up on your lips. You’re suddenly second-guessing the extra swipe of blush to your cheeks. “Everything okay?”
His fingers fiddle with the bow tie at his collar, blue eyes blinking back that strange indigo tint again, before he’s correcting his face, placing a familiar half-cocked smile at his mouth that puts you more at ease. “Yeah, it’s fine—I’m great. Uh, you needed help with your dress?”
“Yeah,” you nod, turning your back to him to allow him to trail you into the room. As you retreat, two pairs of feet padding against the carpet, it’s impossible to not feel the burn of his eyes at the bare skin of your back. “It won’t zip up.”
He grunts, nodding, as you stop in front of the mirror, watching the eyes of his reflection flicker from where the zipper rests just above the curve of your backside up to your own reflection in the glass.
You offer him a soft smile, lips not quite parting to display a flash of teeth, to coax him on. His Adam's apple bobs beneath the milky skin of his neck as his left hand hovers for just a moment at your waist before he gingerly leverages it above the swell of your hip.
The feel of those firm, metal fingertips pressed into the material of your dress sends your heart hammering away inside your chest. Your pulse is a deafening thunder in your ears that follows the lightning strike of his touch.
How many times had he touched you before, hooked a casual arm around your waist, without calling the thunder to your rib cage like some Norse god? This was a new power over you.
His right hand finds the zipper, mouth flattening into a straight line as he tugs at it, fingers digging a little less featherlight into the bunched material of your gown for purchase.
“Damn thing,” he mutters under his breath, and you feel the curse hot on your shoulder. His lips are so close to the blade of your back that he could lean forward, just less than an inch, and press a kiss into—
There’s a little puff of relief that fans across your neck when the zipper pulls upward on its track, Bucky smoothing the material of your dress at your back before taking a step back, eyeing you with a raised eyebrow in the mirror. Pink dusts his cheeks like windburn.
“Alright,” he rubs a large palm down his face. “You ready? Steve’s gonna kill me.”
“Let’s go,” you nod, grabbing your clutch up in your hand as Bucky opens the door for you to step out into the hallway in front of him. “You can tell Steve it’s my fault you’re running late.”
“Still don’t think he’s buying that we’re seeing each other.” He presses the white button for the elevator, and it glows yellow beneath his fingertip, beckoning the lift to your floor.
The elevator doors open with a ding. “Nat’s not buying it, either,” you tell him as you step inside, leaning up against the stainless steel wall opposite from him. “Sam’s the only one convinced.”
“Yeah?” Bucky’s lip twitches amusedly, ghost of a laugh rolling off his tongue. “What’d he say?”
“‘Finally,’” you parrot Sam’s voice from earlier in the day when you’d told him that you and Bucky had started seeing each other.
Bucky laughs at your impression of the man, running a hand through his hair as the elevator doors close. “Well, at least we’ve got one down. Three more to go.”
Your bottom lip works its way between your teeth, the waxy taste of lipstick in your mouth preparing your tongue to speak a name you’d forbidden from it months ago. “Nate’ll probably be quick to believe it. He was always jealous of you.”
A surprised little chuckle catches in his throat, nose scrunching into itself. “Of me?”
“Yeah,” you laugh a little awkwardly, a little ungracefully. “Always thought that maybe there was something between us.”
Bucky doesn’t respond outside of a grunt, head nodding back against the metal wall of the lift before a smirk begins to transform his features. He’s shaking his head a bit incredulously, shoulders shivering with a silent laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
He drags his shoulders up into a nonchalant shrug. “Guess I just like the idea of making the prick jealous.”
“Bucky—,” you begin to warn.
“No, I’m serious,” he shakes the air of fun from his voice, picking up a sharper, more serious quality as he crosses the lift to stand next to you. “He’s a prick—he was a prick for leaving you, and he’s gonna feel like a prick when he walks in tonight and sees you with me.”
He’s so close, face just inches from yours, that you can smell the mint of his toothpaste still on his breath.
Your mouth parts in time with the parting of the elevator doors, an image of a guest in a maroon wrap dress coming together on the other side. Before you can speak, Bucky’s already leaning, lips nearly brushing the hot skin of your cheek in their path to your ear.
To anyone else, it would appear he’s placed a gentle kiss on your temple. “Follow my lead.”
You nod, words lacking the air needed to produce sound, and then he’s pulling you by the hand, fingers interlaced with yours, off the elevator and towards the reception hall.
The sound of your heels clicking against the floor reverberates in your mind, colliding with the constant stream of thoughts bouncing against your cranium.
Bucky’s held your hand a hundred times before—guiding you through the crowds at the fall fairgrounds, pulling you to your feet after Kat McNamara knocked you down at Sam’s twenty-first birthday party, bracing you against the clergyman’s words at Ms. Roger’s funeral—but it had never felt like this. Never had it felt so tender, so warm with affection, and yet so electric.
The feel of fingers interlocked with yours, his thumb pad rubbing circles into the underside of your hand, sends white hot bolts of lightning into your veins, the energy following the path-of-least-resistance straight to your heart. Underneath your dress, away from prying eyes, you’re certain there’s a tree-branch marking of his lightning strike branded into your skin.
He’s motioning for you to sit on the end of a row of chairs, the aisles still mostly empty save for a handful of guests. Ahead, Steve is talking to the officiant, hands in his pockets and head bowed slightly. When he catches sight of you and Bucky, he waves a little exasperatedly, but the annoyance doesn’t reach the edges of his face. Instead, he wears a broad smile, gesturing for Bucky to join him and the rest of the groomsmen.
“Better go,” he tells you, hand unlacing from yours. “I’ll be right up there the whole time—I’ll find you after the ceremony, okay?”
“Okay, go,” you smile up at him, raising your hand to swat him away. He catches your open palm, delicately closing your fingers into a fist and pressing his lips to your knuckles before dropping your hand and bounding down the aisle without another word, seemingly entirely unaware of the state he’s left you in.
Watching him while you try to steady your heartbeat again, you take in the sight of him, muscular shoulders cloaked in his navy suit.
He’s all sharp cheekbones and angular jawline and dark hair as he laughs with Steve and Sam, eyes crinkling so familiarly. He looks the same as ever—still your Bucky with the flattened nose bridge and the round eyes and the two parallel lines between his eyebrows—but none of this feels familiar.
You’re absent-mindedly rubbing at the joints where he’d pressed his lips, soft and pink and warm, when someone clears their throat beside you.
He’s smiling when you angle your neck up to get a glimpse of him, a beautiful woman you’ve met only one other time before on his arm. “Mind if Jo and I sit with you? Everyone we know’s in the bridal party.”
“Oh, uh,” you flicker your eyes towards the flower-covered arbor that Bucky stands beside, drawing strength from his side profile. “Sure.”
They both nod their thanks, bright smiles plastered against their cheeks, as they scoot past you into their chairs. Your left middle finger burns, the indent from Nate’s ring long disappeared, as he leans closer to ask, “So, where’s this lucky guy of yours? Been dying to meet him.”
Bucky’s already looking at you when your eyes flit up from your hand to find him, concern etched into those two parallel lines at his forehead.
“You’ve already met him,” you smile sweetly, nodding in Bucky’s direction. He waves, the worry dissolving in the wrinkles in the center of his face, melting them down to the lines that form around those cornflower blues instead.
Nate doesn’t try, or maybe isn’t able, to hide the note of surprise in his voice. “Barnes? I didn’t know you two were—uh, when did that happen?”
“It was still pretty new when I saw you at that Christmas party, the one at Steeple & Chase?”
The lie rolls off your tongue easily, and you’re a bit surprised by it, by how easily you’re allowing yourself to slip into this fabricated reality where you and Bucky are some happy couple.
“Right,” he nods slowly, fingers drumming in his lap as they always did when the gears in his mind were overworking. He glances down at your left hand, finding the fingers bare. “Well, I’m happy for you. Guess you and Barnes were always meant to be.”
And just like that, the runaway train of your heart hits a solid brick wall. That little red caboose stills in your chest, one last push of red hot blood to your cheeks before the engine sputters out, dark steam practically billowing from your ears.
“Thanks,” you force out against the sudden, smokey thickness in your throat.
You paint a smile at your lips, one that Bucky returns from across the room, unable to see the wreckage of your heart, ribs a splintered mess like uprooted tracks and twisted turnstiles.
And when the ceremony begins—when everyone rises as Peggy walks down the aisle looking like an angel in white and with lips of red, when Steve’s a little teary-eyed and Sam’s clapping him on the back with a smile that shows that little gap between his teeth—that matrimonial march is the work song singing in your chest as Bucky winks at you. A vision in a navy suit, he untangles the railings, refastens the crossties, and welds the pieces of you together with a single gesture.
Tumblr media
“Be honest, is my mascara everywhere?”
Bucky’s holding you close, arms wrapped around your waist as the two of you sway to the soft rhythm set by the live band, the bright white lights of the banquet hall acting like the heat lamp of an incubator. Sweat clings to your hairline, and you swear you feel your makeup beginning to slide off around the edges of your temples.
“Nah,” he shakes his head, toothy smile on his face that hasn’t managed to make a disappearance all night. “Still looks good… you look good.”
Even as the blood rushes to your face, dizzying you a little, you grin. “Steve did you a real favor, picking out navy for the suits.”
“Yeah?” There’s a gleam in his eyes, irises impossibly blue.
“Yeah,” you nod, hands leaving the back of his neck to straighten the bow tie at his throat. He peeks down at you beneath a fan of dark lashes. “My date just so happens to look good in blue… something he should have heeded when picking out his tux for prom.”
“Now that’s low,” he shakes his head, the motion doing little to dislodge the reflection of string lights, like little white stars, in his eyes. “You know my ma picked it out for me.”
“I think she was trying to deter Krista Levens from meeting you under the bleachers.”
He laughs out her name, nostalgia blanketing the syllables. “Krista—ma never did like her.”
“No,” you mimic the airy noise. “She did not.”
When you finish smoothing the wrinkles in his bow, more pop up around the corners of his eyes as your fingers find the warm skin of his neck again. He leans in close, lips hovering millimeters from your cheek.
Just barely over the thundering of your pulse in your eardrum, you hear him say: “Always liked you, though.”
Warm lips climb the highest peak of your cheek—the place where flesh is most scant over angled bone—and deposit a kiss so gentle that it would be easy to believe that you’ve imagined it.
But it’s not a figmentation; that much is clear when Natasha catches your attention from across the dance floor, her own arms draped around Sam’s shoulders. Her lips, plum in color and plumped in satisfaction, draw up into a smile. Those eyes, green and so often dangerous, glint brightly.
They’re filled with belief.
Suddenly, the temperature beneath the lights—beneath Natasha’s approving gaze and Bucky’s false attentions—has risen to become unbearable.
“I’m dying in here,” you mumble, pulling away from his grip. You already feel cooler, familiar chill returning to your skin, as his hands drop from your waist. “I think I’m gonna get some air.”
You’re already several steps towards the French doors marked by the glowing red exit sign when his fingers catch you around the wrist, spinning you on your heels to face him. His eyebrows are drawn together, eyes rounded in concern.
“You feeling okay?”
You force a smile, and he notices. “Yeah—just burnin’ up in here.”
He nods. This time, the motion does seem to shake some of the glittering from his eyes.
“Okay,” he drawls out a bit. When he slows his cadence down like that, he sounds like Brooklyn. Sounds like home. It makes you suck in a breath as he says, “I’ll come check on you in a bit, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you exhale, feeling his grip on your wrist falter, releasing you to scurry towards the exit, heart beating in time with the clacking of your heels.
The sun had set hours ago, stealing away the April warmth with it.
Dogwood trees and neatly-pruned hedges and just-bloomed lilies meet you in the courtyard, the rustling of their branches and leaves and petals in the wind a hushed greeting. There’s an iron-wrought bench beneath a particularly lonely looking tree, and as you sit down on it, the chilled metal digs into the exposed flesh at the underside of your thighs.
The sensation sends goosebumps rising on your forearms, your teeth gritting against the coolness of the evening, but you don’t move to return to the reception yet.
It’s too hot in there.
Nat’s in there, lips stained like merlot, pulled up at the edges in an undeserved, misplaced blessing of a lie. Nate’s in there, too, swirling Jo around, skirt of her dress spiraling pink across the dance floor like his words in your mind: Guess you and Barnes were always meant to be.
Bucky’s in there, too—the blazing hot sun at the very center of this solar system. If you orbit him again, his arms wrapped around your waist like solar flares from a red hot star, it’d surely mean an extinction-level event for your little blue planet.
It seems you’re meant to orbit one another, gravity working like fate, when he eventually comes hurtling through the door like an asteroid.
He searches the ill-lit garden, eyes like sad, demoted-to-dwarf-planet Plutos until they land on your face. He crosses the courtyard silently to sit beside you on the bench, leaning casually into the intricate iron details of its back.
There’s a beat of silence between you, the most uncomfortable pause there’s ever been in the twenty-year expanse of your friendship, before he’s clearing his throat. “Cold out here,” he says without turning towards you.
“A little,” you lie. Before the night is through, maybe you’d actually grow to be good at weaving fabrications and falsehoods, as good as him.
He’s watching you out of the corner of his eye, you can feel it. “Your hands cold?”
You pause the absent-minded rubbing of your hands together you’d been doing. “No.”
“You’ve always been shit at lying,” he laughs, though the noise lacks its usual lightness.
His hands reach forward and gather yours up in them, gently guiding your freezing fists to the pocket of his suit jacket. Almost immediately, the ice that’d set into the long bones of your fingers begins to melt.
“Better?”
When you look up to meet his face, his eyes are so warm—ever warm, always warm in your direction—that they boil the blood in the capillaries of your cheeks. It feels like anger, something easier to acknowledge in its regard of Bucky than this other burning, all-consuming fire that threatens to eat up every bit of oxygen in your lungs.
Your tongue sharpens the words like a whittle. “How is this so easy for you?”
“What?”
“This,” you nod down to your hands resting in his pocket, avoiding that irksome, unplaceable shade of indigo in his eyes. “Lying. Lying to our friends. To Steve, to Nat, to Sam. Making them think that we’re together.”
He blinks, and you can’t look at the surfaces of those dwarf planets. The coloring of them looks too much like pity.
“How is it so easy for you to touch me like that?” And even as your voice begins to break, like hot magma oozing from the crater he’s dug in your exterior, you don’t have the strength to fall out of his orbit. “To lie about—to pretend like you could love me?”
There it is.
Extinction.
You shut your eyes against the sight of it, decades of friendship imploding because you couldn’t take the heat of him, couldn’t force the molten, ugly truth of your feelings back down into your core.
“Wanna show you something.”
You pry your eyes open, expecting to see unfamiliar blue planets on the horizon. It’s still two Plutos that greet you, welcome you back with reddened rust on their surfaces.
Cool, metal fingers brush away tears from the hollows under your eyes. “Come with me to my car?”
It takes you a moment to collect your voice. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere,” he chuckles like he’s tired, pulling you to your feet. He loops his arm around your shoulders, and it feels nothing like a lie. “Just something I’ve been meaning to show you in my trunk.”
Your heels are scuffing against the asphalt of the parking lot. “Your trunk? The last time you showed me something in your trunk, it was that box of pizza that’d been in there for—,”
“It’s not old pizza, alright?”
“Better not be.”
“It’s not,” he insists, palming his pocket for his keys. He presses his thumb against a button on the fob, and the car unlocks, tail lights flashing red as the trunk pops open.
There’s a little silver paper bag inside with silver handles, a card taped to its front. Your name is written across it in his neat, blocky handwriting. When you look at him with a question in your eyes, he nods, gesturing for you to open it.
“Your birthday present,” he says sheepishly, palms spread flat and fingers flexing nervously against his thighs. When you raise your eyebrow at him, he says, Uh, last year’s.”
“I thought you forgot.” He’s put enough tissue paper in here to completely obscure whatever’s lying in wait at the bottom from view, but you begin to make out something fuzzy and maroon. “You paid for mine and Nate’s drinks—I thought that was you making up for forgetting.”
He shakes his head. “Since when have I forgotten your birthday?”
But you don’t answer him—can’t answer him when you fish the hand-knitted, maroon mittens out from the bottom of the bag. They look just like the ones Steve and Bucky used to wear, woven on the end of Mrs. Roger’s needle, every winter.
“Bucky,” his name is a choked sound in your throat, coated in disbelief. “Did you… did you knit these?”
“Fuck no,” he laughs now, and it’s a sound that’s familiar. “Got ‘em on Etsy.”
“They’re—,”
“Read the card.”
He nods towards where the envelope flaps against silver, wind picking it up before the tape tethering it to the bag brings it back down. It rips as you glide your index finger between its flap, revealing the little yellow card inside.
On the front of the card is the image of a dog wearing  a party hat, blowing out the candles on his birthday cake. Happy Doggone Birthday!
You laugh, splitting the card open to read the message he’s undoubtedly scrawled inside—every year, he’d wish you a happy birthday in that comic book lettering font of his. To your surprise, a lengthy letter in blue ink, blocked letters even smaller than usual to fit within the space, is dashed into the paper.
Your eyes flit up to his again, and he simply nods, spurning you on.
Mittens.
You have any idea how long I spent on Etsy, searching for the perfect pair of mittens? I’ll tell you how long. Three months, every night before bed, I’d be scrolling and searching and reading reviews before I finally found a real nice lady, lives in Michigan, to custom knit a pair just like the ones Mrs. Sarah always threatened to knit for you.
Still, three months is nothing. Nothing compared to how long I’ve been wanting to write this letter—hell, needing to write this—and chickening out. I always was the chicken, wasn’t I?
You and Steve, you were the brave ones. Brave but so damn tiny. I was just the one with the height, the one that followed the two of you into whatever trouble there was to find.
Jesus, my stomach hurts just writing this, telling you about the damned mittens, and I haven’t even gotten to the hard part yet.
Truth is, my stomach’s been upset for a long-time now. All twisted up.
Thought I was gonna puke, when you called me that night, telling me you were engaged. Even went to the toilet bowl, clingin’ on for dear life, but nothing would come up. You sounded so damn happy. Couldn’t even get sick, couldn’t push that happy laugh of yours out of my stomach if I tried.
Even if it’s killing me, seeing you smiling with that damned ring on your finger, too damn small to fit the way it should—the way it would, had someone who cared enough about you been the one to ask you that question.
And really, it’s nothing personal against Nate. He’s a prick, but you seem happy. Real happy.
Fuck, I’m running out of space. Alright. Here goes nothing.
I wish it was me. God, I wish it was me who’d asked you. I always thought it’d be me and you. Believed it so bad that I guess I never realized I’d have to come clean with it, tell you the truth, for that to happen.
I got you these mittens—took them six weeks to come in the mail, mind you—because I know your hands stay so cold all the damn time. Doesn’t matter if it’s summer and the AC’s out, your hands are freezing, and I can see now that I won’t always be there to hold them, warm them up against my chest or in my pockets or in my own hands, like when we were kids. I bought them because I know you, and, dammit, I love you.
So, happy birthday.
I hope these keep your hands warm, but there’s a bigger part of me still hoping that you’ll never stop letting me do it.
Love always,
Bucky
The card wavers between your fingertips, but it’s not the wind that sends it fluttering now. It’s the tremor in your hand, the same tremor at your bottom lip, when you breathe out his name.
“Couldn’t give it to you,” he shrugs weakly, his voice sounding choked and wet. “Not last year.”
“Chicken,” you tease, but it comes out softer, affectionate like a pet name.
His face splits open in a smile, area around his eyes wrinkling, and you realize that you’d never want to do anything that’d risk ironing them out from the silk of his skin.
“It was easy.” He doesn’t dare move, allows you to orbit always closer to him, as he watches. “So damn easy today, ‘cause it was the first time all these years that I wasn’t pretending, not for even one second.”
It’s a gentle collision—a satellite docking into a space station always expecting its arrival, built to welcome it home—when your body meets his. There’s nothing between you now, nothing but the little silver bag and the card and the mittens.
His hand finds your face, cups your cheek. There’s that indigo in his eyes again when he leans down to close the gap between your features and his, and you finally understand.
Before, when Bucky asked you what he looked like when he was in love, you didn’t have an answer for him. You thought you’d never seen how it might’ve impossibly widened his smile, like Steve, or heard how it would honey his voice like Sam.
It never occurred to you, not until now, with his lips so close to yours that you can already feel their warmth, that you’d been seeing what it looked like for Bucky to be in love every day. Same angular cheekbones, same hardened jawline and pink lips and parallel lines between his brows. Same round, blue eyes.
Just a tint of indigo to color them.
“Been wanting to do this for a long time,” he says against your lips, thumbpad stroking your cheek. “Dreamed about it.”
“Feels like I’m dreaming,” you whisper.
He kisses you then, lips smothering any doubt that this could be anything but real, and his tongue tastes like the mimosas they’d passed around on little white trays earlier. Champagne and orange juice.
Citrus, on your tongue and his.
Tumblr media
1K notes · View notes
marvelescape · 2 years
Text
thank youu so much for including a kiss on your hand ✨✨✨
𝙅𝘼𝙉𝙐𝘼𝙍𝙔 𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙎 𝙄
WE’RE BACK BABY! Happy new year my loves, let’s make it a great one. As per usual, I’m here to start off your next month with some fic recs :) PLEASE support the writers as they put a lot of work into their fics! Comment any fics for me to check out and add for next month! All fics are Bucky Barnes x Reader unless stated otherwise. If you find any mistakes or missing/incorrect “*” please let me know! 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙞𝙞 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚
[ * = 18+, minors DNI ]
𝙊𝙣𝙚 𝙎𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙨
Brazilian wax * @gagmebucky
Breeding kink * @/gagmebucky
Bestfriend’s brother!Bucky * @/gagmebucky
Love me like I’m brand new * @leahkenobi
Movie nights @/leahkenobi
I don’t want you like a best friend * @/leahkenobi
Happily ever after * @mobbucky
Spread * @jobean12-blog
Baby mine @samthemarvelfan
Say you won’t let go * @/samthemarvelfan
Vicious circle * @a-fictional-mans-wife
Deal with it * @breakablebarnes
Late night frustrations * @marvel-3407
Coming home * @/marvel-3407
First date, last night @intrepidacious
“Well this is awkward” @seventven
Good cop, bad cop @buckys-bitchh
Baby it’s cold inside @mox-writes
Between your legs * @daxdrabbles
Something like forever @majestyeverlasting
Pretty face on a pretty neck * @whistlingwillows
Like the very first night * @marvelatthetwilight
Is this the life? @phantomspiderr
Canyons and valleys @wkemeup
The man next door * @harrylovex
Alpines diary entries @blizzspeaks
Forever, forever with you @psychokidenteredchat
You deserve a soft epilogue, my love @sweetdreamsbuck
Adult slumber party * @babymarvelbunny
Midnight escapades @kiritella
The sweetness on our lips * @littlelioncub43
Yours * @jadedvibes
The one where there’s only one bed @thenewlarislynn
Adore you * @sinner-as-saint
Mr Barnes * @just-a-desparate-fangirl
That’s the way love goes * @dirtytomatoedwrites
Bed sharing * @yarnforbrains
Don’t touch what’s mine * @myfictionaldreams
Content @thepokyone
Keep you warm @heavenlybarnes
Ghost of you @justmymindandstuff
Stay @maladaptivexxdaydreaming
Secret admirer @bxcketbarnes
5 years later * @annabellehoran
𝙈𝙞𝙣𝙞 𝙎𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨
bestfriend’s dad!Bucky * | Part II * @/gagmebucky
Soul tie * | Part II * @/jobean12-blog
Sweet reverie | Right where you left me * @samwlscns
The graduation party * | The vacation * @becca-e-barnes
Dangerous woman @/samthemarvelfan
Newbie * | Homecoming * | Quarter finals * @ramp-it-up
Good to you * @/sinner-as-saint
Stars & stripes, Studs & spikes * | Part II * @thefalconthatcriedwolf
𝙎𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨
The sweet life * @/mobbucky
You still get burned * @indyluckycharlie
A kiss on your hand @marvelescape
The warmth of winter * @captainsimagines
Snow * @delaber
Tolerate it * @buckysswinter
A line through your @ means I couldn’t tag you!
𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ゚*✧ 𝙅𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚
273 notes · View notes
marvelescape · 2 years
Text
breakfast-for-dinner date
summary: Moving in with Bucky sparked up new routines, one being eating breakfast together. When he wasn't able to join you, why not do it for dinner?
pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
warning/s: nothing serious just narrations heavy. [please do tell me if I missed anything]
word count: 1039
author's note: Just a short fluff inspired by a tweet from one of my close friends. Always try to eat your breakfast, everyone! 💗
Tumblr media
You had never been a morning person but ever since you and Bucky moved in together, you made sure to never miss breakfast with him.
It was three months ago when Bucky suggested that you two move to a place you can make a home of after being together for almost two years. You had no complaints on him spending numerous nights on your little apartment and you taking on the left side of his bed on his room in the Avengers compound but you have to admit that you were more than ecstatic to finally have a place shared with the man you were convinced to spend the rest of your life with.
Since the moving process began, Bucky convinced Fury to give him a time off from being the full-pledged Avenger that he was.
He was given six weeks.
Changes in routines. Shared decisions. ompromises.
Your life was flipped upside down for the better.
Your shirts were set aside for you borrowed his most of the time.
Your check-in messages turned into cuddles and kisses.
Your usual meet up at the nearby cafés turned into daily breakfast dates at the comfort of your own kitchen.
It was set. You will cook the food. He will make the coffee.
Some mornings there would be two plates of bacon and eggs. Some days it would be waffles. Some days it would be plain toast.
There are a few times when it would just be two cups of coffee.
Nevertheless, it was the comfort and warmth from having each other's company that you two looked forward to every morning.
You did not have to talk. Sometimes standing beside him was enough to complete your mornings.
However, Fury's gift of six weeks had to end at some point. And for a few weeks, it wasn't that bad.
Being out of the field for a while, Bucky was given light missions– observation, intel analyzation; those missions that allowed him to still continue your morning tradition.
He could be going home at four in the morning, exhausted, but there is no way that he won't be getting up at 7:30 to watch the sun's rays land on your face.
That went on for another month and a half until last week. He was finally back out there, risking his life for the betterment of the world.
You know what the job takes and what the people expects of the Avengers. You know his responsibilities. Bucky explained that to you very well and you have always been grateful and proud of the honor to be called a hero's partner.
But you have to admit that eating breakfast alone, in the quietness of the now too large home, was slowly pulling your spirits down.
The food doesn't seem so exciting to eat.
The coffee doesn't leave that aftertaste you loved so much that lasts until before lunch.
The warmth from the sun was almost too hot.
It's only been a week and the fact that you are not sure when Bucky is coming home frustrates you.
You never told him this though. You're not one who likes to be described as clingy.
And so you waited, his limited messages at the end of the day sustaining you.
For security reasons, doll. We can't risk getting tracked, was his explanation as to why there will be little to no communication during the course of his mission.
Another two days passed before Bucky's name flashed on the screen, calling you.
You just turned off your laptop for the day, finally finishing the work hours you were required to, when he said he would finally be home by dinner.
After a rather excited squeal, you said, "I'll cook, Buck. What do you want to eat?"
"We can just order in, doll. I don't want you to tire yourself out. I know you had work today," he said in a soft voice.
You huffed. "And I also know that you only ate fast food or those instant and packed foods you guys stashed the last few days and needs some homemade stuff for your stomach."
You only heard a chuckle and can almost see him shaking his head in amusement.
Before he can reply, an idea popped into your head. "Nevermind, Buck. I know what we will have for dinner. Just come home safe to me, okay?"
A smile was decorated on your face as you hung up.
Restaurants had those All Day Breakfasts written on their menus so really, what's stopping you from having breakfast for dinner?
Nothing.
And he has to know why you would serve breakfast after the sun's down right? It was your thing.
So few moments later, there were plates of pancakes– a Y/L/N-Barnes household favorite– waiting to be eaten. Two cups of coffee, decaffeinated of course since you gotta sleep, kept the plates company as pancake toppings were standing beside it.
The opening of the house's front door was just in time as you set the coffee pot down.
Everything was still freshly made, light smoke coming up from the table as the aroma graced your home.
"Doll?" You heard Bucky call.
You greeted him with a tight hug and inspected his well-being as soon as you pulled away finding only a few scratches and bruises that you were sure will heal the next day.
As you inferred that he is more than capable of eating with you, you ushered him to the dining table.
"Have a breakfast-for-dinner date with me?" you asked with hopeful eyes. "I can't wait for tomorrow morning to eat breakfast with you so I figured why not–"
A kiss interrupted the explanation you somehow prepared a while ago.
And for a while, you felt contented with how your lips meshed with his– almost keen on skipping eating altogether and just hold him close to you and feel his warmth. However, the thought of him not yet eating a proper meal was what urged you to pull away.
You were met with twinkling bright blue eyes and a wide smile. He put his forehead on yours and whispered, "A yes would always be my answer to breakfast dates with you, doll. Even if it's for dinner."
18 notes · View notes
marvelescape · 2 years
Text
Mac and Cheese
Summary: Bucky takes the last box of frozen mac and cheese, takes your phone, and makes you fall in love with him. The audacity of that man.
Prompt: “This has been a very bad week and you just grabbed the last box of my favorite comfort food at the supermarket” 
Pairing: bucky x reader
a/n: i wrote this and was fully done formatting it and everything, like, 6 months ago. i didn’t post it because it’s approx. 82% nonsense but i figured why not post it now when it’s still 82% nonsense but im struggling to finish everything else. so taal, long time vegan, writes a story about mac and cheese and, listen, idk what this fic is either. can i write a fic without adding sam to it? no.
Tumblr media
Mac and cheese. That’s all you want. Disgusting, frozen, usually-quite-mushy-if-not-microwaved-correctly mac and fucking cheese. 
The kind with the layer of cheese on top. The kind with that real elbow pasta, not rotini or penne or seashell pasta— real macaroni. The kind you try to only eat one serving size of before you eat everything in the package. The kind you always gravitate to when your eyes are stained red, swollen, and too proud to be anything other than dry.
You take the subway. You switch lines. You endure the smell of the F train during rush hour when you aren’t sure where your thigh ends and the thigh of the woman sitting beside you begins. All for that one Trader Joe’s, out of many, in Brooklyn the hipsters abandon before six because the coffee shop next door closes at five.
Your feet ache in your boots and you’re pretty sure a rock has somehow lodged itself between your toes, it’s starting to rain and you have no umbrella, you don’t think your throat has ever felt so parched. 
But you tuck your phone into your back pocket and march into that store with the hideous overhead lighting that makes your skin look like it hasn’t seen a bottle of toner in days like you’re Hades, the box of mac and cheese is Persephone, and Trader Joe’s is Mount Olympus.
Keep reading
5K notes · View notes
marvelescape · 2 years
Text
A Bid on Bucky
Summary: You spend thousands of dollars at a bachelor auction for Bucky when you could’ve had him for free this entire time.
Pairing: bucky x reader
a/n: this fic is damning evidence that idiots in love is my favorite genre, your honor. i’ve more likely than not used this gif before but idc because im lov it
Tumblr media
Tony Stark is a humanitarian— a fact you have neither forgotten, nor will he allow you to forget. 
Oftentimes, he’ll remind you verbally and, other times, a visual reminder will be posted on the team’s social media accounts. The pictures of him at the elephant sanctuary he helped found in Thailand are your personal favorites.
If news of his latest cause is not filling the pages of The Times or showing up on CNN’s special segment of Billionaires Who Care with Christiane Amanpour, it’s being distributed via monthly text reminder of reasons to leave Tony’s special coffee alone— last month you were told, “His donations allowed the doors of Planned Parenthood to remain open in developing nations such as Burkina Faso, and all he asks for in return is that his teammates do not finish his goddamn coffee.” 
Of course, because you all live for him sniffing out your mugs at morning meetings to discover the culprit, his reminders only lead to greater coffee theft as it, in turn, increases the redness in his face when he finds the morally corrupt heathenous criminal— who is usually Clint. 
In true Tony Stark fashion, though, his favorite way to remind you all, and the rest of the world, is through a gala. A gala where champagne flows like water, money is no object, extravagance is to be expected, and, as a member of the team, attendance is mandatory. 
At first, you hated the damn things. It’s not like you’ve ever cared about the private island one guest owns which another guest is so obviously jealous of, or if the deal to buy a chunk of land on the light side of the moon before that hippie Elon Musk usurps it all has successfully closed. 
But now? Now that you’ve learned how to direct the money those snots brag ostentatiously about into causes you truly care for with a couple little sly techniques, you fucking love the things. 
You and Natasha have a game, actually. Whose Shameless and Absolutely Disingenuous Flirting Will Lead to More Money Donated to (Insert Tony’s Latest Cause Here)? 
Natasha is the current titleholder as Smelly Von Oil Tycoon’s wife shooed you away before you could close the million dollar deal and Cowboy Hat McFast Food Franchise would have given up his entire company if Natasha kept batting her eyelashes at him. But in the end, just as every other time the two of you have played, you both felt like winners because the almost obscene amount of money was helping fund housing for Rohingya refugees living in Bangladesh. The competitive edge to it is just for entertainment. 
This time, though, seeing as this event is an auction and you are in no mood to flirt with red-faced old men with paper-thin skin, you have taken to auctioneering with Sam. 
Keep reading
3K notes · View notes
marvelescape · 2 years
Text
Under Oath - Masterlist
Tumblr media
Summary:  The people called for justice, the state answered. The trial of State v. Barnes is set to begin, and the odds are most certainly not in favor of the not so beloved ex Winter Soldier. That’s where you come in, the quick, smart, and all too brave lawyer set on defending and saving one Bucky Barnes from legal prosecution. The only problem? He’s not so sure he’s worth saving at all.
smut indicated with *
Tumblr media
𝒷𝓁𝓊𝓇𝒷
𝑜𝓃𝑒
𝓉𝓌𝑜
𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑒𝑒
𝒻𝑜𝓊𝓇
𝒻𝒾𝓋𝑒
𝓈𝒾𝓍
𝓈𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃
𝑒𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉
𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑒
𝓉𝑒𝓃
𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃
𝓉𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓋𝑒
𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓇𝓉𝑒𝑒𝓃
𝒻𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉𝑒𝑒𝓃*
COMPLETED
2K notes · View notes
marvelescape · 2 years
Text
the amount of times i squealed omgggg 🤧🤧
faking it
ii. the first date
series masterlist | chapter one
summary: 24 hours later and you’re lip-locked with bucky—his hand on your ass because some people just never change.
pairing: actor!bucky barnes x f!actress!reader
word count: 3,161 words
warnings: fake dating, enemies to lovers, sex dreams [incl. dirty talk, teasing, orgasms, foreplay], bucky being a tease, so much sexual tension, suggestive touching, praise kink, size kink, pet-names [little one, princess, sweetheart], rumours being spread, reader gets slightly overwhelmed, social media au, first date, wholesome fluff, first kiss!!!!! feelings of sadness— 18+ only | minors dni
Tumblr media
There was a cool breeze in the air when you stepped out of the bleak, grey building. The same one where Bucky and you had signed away your lives for at least three months.
So why the fuck weren’t you freaking out?
The reality hadn’t set in yet, you told yourself.
And it hadn’t. You really had no idea what the fuck you had signed up for.
Walking into your apartment you set everything down and bolted into the shower. You didn’t want to socialize with anyone, answer any questions, or think of him.
Which had proven to be near impossible.
You could still smell him on your clothes from when he held you against his ridiculously hard body.
An annoyed groan left your lips as you stood under the hot water. This shouldn’t be where your head was at.
Bucky was selfish and a dick.
He had proved that right away.
Still, you had needs and the subtle throbbing between your thighs was apparent. It had been too long since you’ve been with someone who truly cared about what you want.
In your imagination, Bucky was selfless in bed.
His words echoed in your mind.
Don’t try to fight it, princess. I know a brat when I see one. And I know how to handle them.
You remembered the sickening height difference between the two of you.
The size difference.
He may have been a walking red flag, but unfortunately for you, red was your favourite colour and Bucky Barnes was undeniably hot.
The shrill sound of your ringtone snapped you out of your daze, a blessing in disguise, as you finished in the shower.
Whoever it was could wait, you were having a Bucky Barnes related crisis.
When you did grab your phone, you saw that you had a missed call from an unknown number.
Unknown: Do you always choose not to answer your phone or are you trying to get on my nerves princess?
Bucky.
You: When I’m showering I don’t generally take phone calls
Your reply came quick and was immediately met with those floating three dots.
Why your skin felt hot again, you blamed on the shower and not the excitement you got texting Bucky.
Bucky: Well I suggest you pick up the phone
You barely had time to register his words before the phone started to buzz again.
“What?” Your reply came harsh as you answered the phone only to hear Bucky’s deep laugh.
“Is that anyway to address your boyfriend?” He teased and you rolled your eyes.
“What do you need?” You decided to ignore his question and change the topic.
“Our date.”
Those words seemed to send a shiver down your spine. You quickly went to grab for some sweats to put on.
When you stayed silent, Bucky continued.
“Be ready for 6 tomorrow. Wear something comfortable. Oh, and text me your address.”
“Why? So you can show up unannounced to annoy me?”
Bucky laughed again, the sound quickly becoming something you genuinely wanted to hear. You wanted to be the one making him laugh.
“Wouldn’t you like that, princess.” You could hear the smirk on his face.
“I’m picking you up tomorrow. So don’t be late.”
“Can’t I know where we’re going?” You asked.
“And ruin the surprise? Believe it or not, I want to have you completely at my mercy.” Bucky purred as you chewed on your bottom lip.
“Okay, fine.” You grovelled, “see you tomorrow.”
The next words than came out of Bucky’s mouth caused a breath to catch in your throat and a goosebumps to prickle your neck.
“Good girl.”
You didn’t say anything, swallowing because suddenly, your throat was dry.
“See you, sweetheart.” And with that, the line went dead.
It took you longer than you would’ve liked to admit to drop your phone from your ear, but when you did, you had to physically shake your head of your thoughts.
         ✧── ・ 。゚★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
His hands roamed your body, large and warm as they squeezed your hips, ass, tits…anything he could. You were a writing mess under him.
When he lowered his lips to your ear, a soft shudder running through you, he whispered those words in your ear.
“I want to have you completely at my mercy.”
You felt him, all of him, against your hip and you were clawing at his back in pure desperation.
The ache between your legs was your only concern as your slick coated thighs seemed to please him as he let out a dark chuckle.
“Good girl.”
Then, he was inside of you. Deep and full, giving you what you had been begging for. He continued to snap his hips, harsher and harsher each time as the headboard thudded against the wall without mercy.
The coil tightened in your lower belly, the flame growing bigger and bigger and…
You gasped, alarm blaring in your ear as you sat up gasping and covered in light sheen of sweat. Your breathing was erratic.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You groan, falling flat against your pillows and you try to catch your breath.
Bucky’s words alone had given you an orgasm.
He made you come. In your fucking dreams. Without touching you.
Tonight was going to be a disaster, but if Bucky ever found out that you had a sex dream about him? You’d never hear the end of it.
         ✧── ・ 。゚★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
When you opened the door, you were met with his familiar scent. Bucky stood in front of you, so tall that you had to crane your neck upwards, with a smirk plastered on his face.
“Surprised you’re ready on time, princess.” He comments, pushing himself off the doorframe that he was leaning against.
You roll your eyes, grabbing your bag and keys before making sure your phone was in your back pocket.
“You know, some people say hello to greet people.” You grumbled, stepping out to nudge him backwards before locking your door.
“You should try it sometime. You know, instead of being an ass.”
Bucky throws his head back and laughs, eyes crinkling and you were reminded of how much you enjoyed the sound of it.
The elevator comes soon after and the doors closed.
It’s silent.
Suddenly, your brain decides to replay your dream. It causes you to fluster, unable to make eye contact with Bucky.
“There’s something wrong,” Bucky comments.
“You’re much less hostile than I remember.”
You want to bite him. Sink your teeth into his skin and bite.
You also want him to bite you.
“Nothing’s wrong.” You lie straight through your teeth. “I just had a dream.”
Bucky’s interest was suddenly peaked, taking a step towards you until there was barely a gap between you, the wall, and him.
“A dream?” He questions with a quirked brow.
You don’t say anything.
“Did it involve me by any chance?” He asks only for you to nervously laugh.
“No.”
He laughs, again. Except this time, it was much deeper and darker.
Bucky then pressed the emergency stop button and the elevator stopped dead in its tracks.
“You’re going to have to get a lot better at lying, princess.” He purrs, bending down so he’s face to face with you.
Now you’re trapped in an elevator with Bucky.
Now you have nowhere to run.
“So I’ll ask again.” There’s something in his tone that compels you to listen.
“Was I in your dream?” The glimmer in his eyes was mischievous and dark.
You just barely nodded your head, but it was enough for him.
The air around you was thick and hot, just like your skin. Bucky moved closer until he was lightly pressing you against the wall.
His hands moved to either side of your head, locking you in place. You were in trouble with the way his eyes flicked to your lips.
“And what was I doing, hmm? Tell me, little one.” He whispered, mint on his breath as if he had just brushed his teeth.
The new pet-name broke you as a soft whimper left your lips and Bucky dropped his head and audibly groaned.
When his eyes met yours again, they were much darker and hungrier.
He pressed his body against yours, dropping his hands to your hips.
“If you don’t wanna tell me, you can always show me.” He winked, squeezing your hips and you somehow found the strength to reject him.
“In your dreams, Barnes.” You didn’t see the irony of your words until you’d said them.
Bucky took a step back, his stubble brushing the side of your face as he hit a button that resumed the elevators descent.
He stayed quiet, silently readjusting himself as you forced yourself not to look. But a sense of pride washed over you as you bit your lip.
You had made Bucky Barnes’ dick hard.
And you didn’t even touch him.
Bucky cleared his throat, “you ready?”
“I guess.”
He shook his head and extended his hand—the ungloved one—as you stared at him.
“I’m starting to think you’ve never had any human interaction, princess.” He teases, taking your hand and lacing his fingers with yours.
“This is what couples do.” He whispered, “and when they really like each other they also fu—“
“Enough!” You whisper-yelled, allowing him to tug you into his side.
Bucky smiled and you realized that he didn’t do that often. He had a perfect set of teeth and didn’t look menacing for once.
When you stepped out of your apartment building, the camera flashes were almost immediate. You’d never had a problem with paparazzi, but Bucky did.
Clearly.
“Shit.” He cursed under his breath, dropping your hand to wrap a protective arm around you as the crowd swarmed.
People were shouting things, but you couldn’t focus on anything other than how safe and protected Bucky made you feel.
“Are you okay?” He asked, watching you with worried eyes.
“Fine.” You managed out, quickly ushered into his car.
When he got into the drivers side you both breathed a sigh of relief. The engine started and sank into the comfortable leather seats.
“Where are we going?” You asked when you pulled away from the curb and into traffic.
Bucky shot you a look, “it’s a surprise, remember? I still want you at my mercy.”
You shuddered, it felt so real in the dream.
Bucky wove through traffic, keeping you in suspense for a whole 40 minutes before you had parked in front of an old abandoned building.
“Oh.” You said, “you are going to kill me.”
Bucky rolled his eyes, stepping out of the car before helping you.
“Ha, ha.” He deadpanned, but didn’t say anything else.
When you stepped out of the car, stretching your arms over your head, you Bucky’s gaze on you again.
He placed his hand on the small of your back, leading you towards the building. Once inside, none of your questions had been answered yet.
It was dark, but Bucky kept leading you through a maze of corridors.
“I hope you’re not scared of the dark.” He whispered in your ear, catching you off-guard as you let out a soft yelp and jumped at the sound of his voice.
Bucky laughed as you mumbled how much you hated him.
You were about to open your mouth to complain when you stopped at a door, when opened it revealed a fenced off area.
“Bucky!”
You were surprised. Shocked at where he had brought you.
He gave you a warm smile as you stepped outside again and into the mini golf course.
“I rented it out,” he shrugged. “Figured our first date should be more…intimate.”
You swallowed thickly, licking your lips as you looked around the empty course. It was surrounded by tall palm trees, everything decorated in pastel, beach theme and it was so close to the beach you could hear the distant waves.
It realized that this was the most thoughtful first date anyone had ever taken you on. In fact, it was your dream date.
You had revealed that in one of your press interviews last year.
“Well?” Bucky’s voice broke through your thoughts.
He stood a few feet away from you holding two clubs and two teal golf balls.
“Are you ready to get your ass kicked, little one?”
The smirk on his face was devious as you grabbed a club and a ball from him.
“Mmm, nope.” You said, popping the P extra loud.
“But I am ready to kick yours.”
Bucky laughed, shaking his head before quickly dipping his lips to your ear again. You wondered if he did this out of necessity.
If he did it because he was so much taller than you and was worried you wouldn’t hear him. But what he said made you realize he knew the effect he had on you.
“Would you care to make things interesting, then?”
You kept your composure, narrowing your eyes at him.
“Go on.”
He straightened his back, pushing some hair out of his face.
“If you win, you get to choose where we eat.” He said and you felt disappointed.
It’s not at all the direction you thought Bucky was going, but you did your best to hide your emotions.
“I hope you like sushi, because we’re doing all you can eat.”
He grimaced, clearly not a fan of sushi. That was all the more incentive to kick his ass.
And so, the games began.
You and Bucky trotted around the course, taking your time at each hole as you felt yourself relax around him.
Bucky wasn’t some selfish asshole right now. He was bare—naked, as he revealed little parts of himself to you.
You discovered why he wasn’t a fan of sushi—food poisoning—and that he was a freak of nature when it came to working out.
10 miles everyday. Strict diet. And you were convinced he was lifting 600 pounds at the gym.
It was almost like he was superhuman.
You talked about your families. About your new life in LA. About your favourite movies and books.
Soon enough, you were on the last hole and losing.
Horribly.
“I hope you like green smoothies and protein bowls because I am starved.” Bucky flashed a smirk in your direction, hitting the ball and immediately getting it into the hole.
You rolled your eyes, stomping your foot like a child.
“It’s not fair!”
Bucky raised an eyebrow at you.
“You’re so…tall. Of course you can see all the little bumps and stuff.” You grumbled.
Bucky leaned his weight on his club, it looked comically small despite it being the biggest one they had.
You took a moment to admire him.
His broad chest, strong arms now covered in a plain black hoodie. His hair was approaching a length where it truly began curling at the ends, ruffled and mused from the day.
Bucky’s moves were quick as he took one large stride until his was in front of you. He cocked his head to the side, pulling you into him.
You didn’t care about the game anymore.
“You do look lonely down there, little one.” Bucky whispers lowly.
He ducks his head and the arm that’s snaked around your waist tightens around you until there’s barely any room left for you to let out your shaky exhale.
“Why don’t you come visit me up here? The weathers pretty nice.” He teased and you can feel his chest rumble as he speaks.
You’re speechless, looking at him with tempting eyes.
Bucky has no trouble lifting you up until you’re suspended in the air, forced to wrap your legs around his toned torso. A gasp leaves through your lips involuntarily at the action.
Your arms slither around his neck and you can see the gold specks in his eyes again. They’re beautiful and glimmer under the early nights moon. He’s warm. So warm you start to melt into him, forgetting where you are.
His nose brushes yours, the right-side of his mouth twitching, “now why is your heart racing, princess?”
Bucky’s voice is barely above a whisper, warm breath fanning your skin and he smells of the sweet cinnamon of the pretzel you’d begged him to try.
It was in that moment you realized you wanted to kiss Bucky.
You can’t answer him, lost in the way you feel in his arms.
Fuck.
Now you realize why everyone wanted their chance to be with Bucky.
“Kiss me.” Bucky breathed against your lips.
“What?”
“You want to kiss me, princess. I can see it.”
You hate Bucky Barnes with a passion.
You also desperately want to feel his lips against yours.
“Kiss me, little one. Put me out of my misery and kiss. Me.” Bucky purrs, brushing his nose against yours.
The feeling in your stomach is the same one you get going over a drop on a rollercoaster when you softly press your lips against his.
Warm, soft, sweet.
Bucky kisses back. Passionately.
He squeezes his arms tighter around you, exhaling a breath of relief as he smiles against your mouth.
Your lips mesh together for a few more seconds longer before you’re pulling away at the sound of a click.
A crowd of cameras. Bucky’s jaw tenses.
He looks angry then when you jump down from him, he looks hurt.
“Andrea must’ve hired them. She asked where I was taking you.” He mumbles, taking your hands in his and pulling you out of sight.
You shake your head and then you remember.
“It’s part of the deal, remember? That’ll definitely get people talking. It’s what we wanted.” You remind him.
He just nods his head and gives a lethargic smile, “the privacy was nice while it lasted.”
It must’ve been impossible for Bucky to get an ounce of privacy and your heart sank deeper into the abyss of your belly.
Then, just like nothing ever happened, he put his walls back up and dropped your hand.
“I’ll drive you home.”
         ✧── ・ 。゚★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧
You lay in bed, wide awake, with your fingers on your lips as you kept replaying the kiss in your mind.
It was a feeling you hadn’t felt in years.
Giddy and happy every time you thought of him. You were getting your hopes up and starting to slip.
Starting to slowly fall for him.
The incessant notifications on your phone soon distracted you.
Text messages, DM’s, missed phones calls, emails, even.
You opened up your phone, immediately going onto Instagram only to gasp at what you were met with on your feed.
Bucky had posted.
But more importantly, but had posted you and him.
It must’ve been one of the shots from the paparazzi, Andrea must’ve sent them to him already to post it.
The feeling in your stomach was butterflies. You were excited, a smile plastered onto your face as you liked the photo and nothing more.
It dawned on you that faking it might be harder than you thought.
Tumblr media
1K notes · View notes
marvelescape · 2 years
Text
Marry Me At The Bottom Of The Sea
Tumblr media
Credit to the owner of the pics.
Summary: Are you asking me to marry you because we’re about to die?
Word Count: 4,570
Pairings: Bucky x reader
Warnings: swearing
“Will you marry me?” Bucky pushes you through a door, creating an airtight seal in the only room that’s not fully submerged.
His eyes widen as everyone turns to him in shock, collective yelling. “What!”
“Let’s be honest. We may not make it through this. This may be it for us…and If I’m going to die, it’s going to be with the person I love. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t ask you to be my wife.”
“Bucky, this really…”
“No, I know it’s not the best time.” The sounds of gunshots ricochet off the other side of the door, and he instinctively grabs you covering your body from harm.
“I want you to be my wife. I’ve wanted to ask for a long time. I have a ring and everything.”
“It’s true, he’s had it for like a year.” Steve splashes through the water, trying to help Sam with a busted door hatch.
“A year!”
“I was waiting for the right time, which I can see from the look you’re giving me that it is NOT right now…but come on, doll. If we’re going to go out, let’s do it as husband and wife. What do you say?”
“You want to marry me, waist deep in water, while we’re bleeding and bruised, and ten minutes away from dying?”
Keep reading
820 notes · View notes
marvelescape · 2 years
Text
a falling out
summary: You knew Bucky was hurt but why is he ignoring you?
the 4th part of a kiss on your hand but can be read as a one-shot
pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader
words: 3,650
warning/s: cussing, mentions of injuries and blood, angst? fluff!
Tumblr media
GIF is not mine. Credits to its owner! ✨
Tumblr media
There was an unspoken promise that whenever either one of you goes out on a mission, one would greet the other at the door as soon as they're home.
The whole team has always been briefed together of what each mission is about in case of necessary backups but the specific details are only kept within the group that will be out in the field. Thus, usually, those who are left in the tower to monitor other issues or have free time have no idea what is happening out there. They have no chance but to wait and wish for the best.
This was your situation for the last two weeks now.
Waiting and wishing for the best.
You hoped that you were not too clingy or too obvious with your true feelings with a certain super soldier but you have been nothing but anxious the last weeks Bucky was gone with Steve, Sam and Scott.
You knew he could handle himself- he got the guys with him- but still. You can't help but think.
Natasha and Wanda, even Tony, have been receiving ends of your constant worrying questions and while they have been reassuring you every single time, you know it wouldn't be long before they would snap.
It should have only been three days.
At least that was what you were all briefed about.
So something must have gone wrong right?
But why aren't Maria and Fury haven't updated nor asked for the rest of the Avengers' help if that was the case?
Your now routinely done spiraling was interrupted when the elevator in the common room, where you hung out and have an unread book on your lap, dinged.
"Oh my god," you exclaimed as soon as your eyes met the worn-out blood-covered bodies of your friends. "Why the fuck are you guys here? You should've gone straight towards the hospital wing!" you huffed and ran towards their side to assist Steve in carrying a limping Sam.
Bruce, who was silently reading with you a while ago ran towards Scott to ask what exactly happened. He alerted Friday and instructed the AI to inform every single one of the team of the guys' arrival.
"You guys could've taken the other elevator to get there easily!" you added, still pertaining to the hospital wing.
The men just sighed and kept quiet.
You took a glance at the man who has been living in your head the past few days as you walked along the hallways to where the resident doctors of the tower are.
He had a few cuts on his face, some already have dried blood. A black eye was definitely going to be decorated on that same face too.
His limbs look okay. He's not limping like Sam. His arms look unscathed.
He's hunched for a little bit and you figured that his upper body probably also had a few injuries under his gray and black get-up. His muscles are also surely sore from whatever they have been through.
As your eyes traveled back to his eyes, you saw his grayish eyes looking straight back at you. Unlike his usual ocean blues, the pair is currently glassy and an unknown sadness was hidden behind it.
And so your worry started to cripple back- bigger than before.
Because to you, it was obvious.
Bucky was not okay.
As much as you wanted to run up to him and ask the bubbling questions in your mind, you decided to focus first on helping a certain Falcon walk and headed straight to the hallways with white walls.
Tumblr media
You were never given a chance to ask him your questions.
It's been three days since the four men returned and you never had a chance to talk to Bucky.
They were recovering in their respective rooms and each of them asked Friday to not let anyone in.
The mission must have been that rough, you thought.
And while the fact that Bucky was already home, safe and sound, relieved your worry, him being in the same building as you yet he's shutting you out tugged on your nerves even more.
You were never a clingy one. You actually tried to make people think you never cared because honestly, you knew you cared too much. Especially since you can remember everything.
But with Bucky, you just can't help but do care.
You don't have to try and overthink and remember every single thing.
You just... care.
And you had no problems showing that to him; making him feel that you'll always be there.
Fortunately, for the last years you were in the team, you were sure that the concern has always been reciprocated.
It would always make your heart beat faster than it should when you realize how Bucky cared for you more than he did for anyone else.
Even Steve (and Steve was the one who pointed it out).
So now, what happened?
Why was he distant?
You weren't asking him to be attached to your hip all the time but...
You just needed to know that he's really okay.
"Hey, Friday?" you called on the AI as you sat in the common area, the show on the television long forgotten as you drowned in your thoughts.
"Yes, Ms. Y/L/N?" Friday replied.
"Do you happen to know what happened during the last mission?" You know Friday knows and you know that you're pulling a limb here but you have to try, right?
"I believe that's classified, Ma'am," a monotonous reply reached your ears.
You sighed and nodded as if she can see you (maybe she can? You honestly don't know how this works).
"Can you ask Bucky if he's okay? Maybe I can talk to him?" You knew you sounded desperate but deep in your gut, there's that feeling. Something has to be wrong.
It was silent for a few seconds before the AI spoke again, "Mr. Barnes said he's fine but he can't talk to anyone right now, especially you, Ma'am."
What the hell?
"What do you mean especially me?" You frustratedly stood up and waited for a reply but didn't get any.
You sighed and stomped towards the elevator, heading to his room upstairs.
You would have dropped it and continued to respect his space but what the heck does 'especially you' mean?
You dug through your perfectly capable brain of anything you might have done to offend him. The last few days. The last weeks. The days before the mission.
Nothing.
You two even bid goodbye with a few teasing and jokes about how you're sitting this mission out – the first one in two months.
"What is his problem?" You thought out loud as you came face to face to his door.
"Barnes!" You knocked, sorry pounded, on the door. "What the hell?" was all you could say as your knuckles continued to make contact with the wood.
"Ms. Y/L/N, Mr. Barnes told me to tell you that he would appreciate not seeing you right now." Friday's voice traveled through the hallway again and you felt your anger rise up.
You ignored the AI and continued to knock, blinded by your feelings. "The fuck is that supposed to mean, Bucky?" you hissed. "I was going to respect your space, believe me, but you can't just say shit like that and expect me to sit still. Talk to me, you fossil!"
You knew you were somehow making a scene at that point but you were enraged by this unusual and unwelcome treatment the super soldier was giving you.
"I've waited long enough, Barnes. At least let me see that you're okay!" you continued.
A muffled voice then came from the other side of the door. "I'm fine, Y/N."
"Okay," you exhaled. "Then talk to me. Open the door, please?" you softly asked, hand now resting on the door.
Silence met you.
"Buck. Look, I just want to know why you don't want to talk to me. That's all. Then you can–"
The door interrupted you as it opened and you now came face to face with Bucky.
You were right. He was sporting a black eye but it was already healing. His cuts on his face were nothing more than light scars already.
Ah yes, to be a super-soldier. Come back beaten up one day and heal as fast as you got the injuries.
You gave him a once over, looking for any more wounds or injuries that may have bothered him but he looked almost good as new in his thin black shirt and jogger pants.
"There," you sighed as you meet his eyes. "Okay. See was that hard?"
He stayed silent, stepped aside and gestured for you to go inside his room like you always did before.
You went in quietly and you turned to him at the same time he closed the door. "Now, tell me. What did Friday mean when she told me you said you did not want to see me?"
You kept your voice low, acknowledging the fact that he went through a rough mission.
"You're smart, Y/N. It's self-explanatory, don't you think?" he replied and sat in an armchair at the corner of his room.
Your forehead creased at his colder-than-winter answer. "Dial down the sass, would you? I understand I can't ask what went down on that mission but goodness, what's up your ass?" you huffed.
Bucky only stared at you, emotionless.
You crossed your arms and raised a brow at him. "Just tell me what's your problem with me, Buck. You know I hate getting the silent treatment. Talk then I'll be out of your hair."
Silence.
"If you think I'll walk out of here without answers then you do not know me at all." You smirked.
It was a minute or two of you having a staring competition before he sighed, stood up and walked towards you.
A good meter was kept between the two of you. You stood your ground and nodded at him, urging him to talk.
He gave you a small smile before he said, "I've always been ready, Y/N."
You frowned at the way his voice cracked. "What?" was all you could reply.
“I’ve always been ready," he repeated. "Ready to die on the field, Y/N!" His voice got louder this time as he chuckled bitterly. "God, even when I was still in the 40s, in the middle of a war, I wake up every day accepting the fact that it might be my last.”
You kept quiet as he pushed his hair up, frustration obvious in his voice.
“Dying has always been a part of my job, I know that! I was trained to know and accept that. But-" He chuckled again before continuing, "-it frustrates me because now… last mission, I found myself in the tiniest bit of inconvenience and immediately prayed to all the gods that they won’t take me because I can’t. Because I do not want to!”
He put both of his hands on his head before looking at you. "It's all your fault," he said.
"What?!" You can't help but react.
"I'm an Avenger, Y/N!" he expressed. "I've been a soldier, an assassin. Super soldier serum was injected in me yet it only took you for me to fear death." He pointed at you frustratedly as he continued.
Bucky then laughed sarcastically as his voice went down. “I've been through hell and back and it was only you who made me afraid to die." He licked his lips as he sighed and whispered the next words. "Because I still want to be with you.”
Your breath hitched as you listened.
"I can’t die because I want to still see you, feel you, talk to you. I don’t want to die because I want to come home to you." Bucky's blue eyes looked back at yours, tears starting to form in his. "I can’t die without you knowing that I am deeply, hopelessly in love with you, Y/N."
You felt your heartbeat stop as the words sunk in.
Tears started to well up in your eyes as well. You felt your face warm up.
Your mind was screaming for you to say something. Tell him your feelings that you had tried to bury for a long time. Tell him that you love him too. Words wanted to come out of your throat but can't.
You were frozen.
And Bucky seemed to misinterpret as to why.
“Fuck, it scares me, Y/N. It scares me because I never knew how in love I was with you until now that I almost did not have the chance to tell you." He bit the inside of his cheek and took a step back. "And I know that you don’t feel the same. That me coming home to you without life wouldn’t matter that much, wouldn't hurt as much as it would be to me if the roles were reversed."
Your face hardened at the sharpness of his words. “Excuse me, what? What did you just say to me?”
He ignored you and said, "I get it, Y/N. So until then, I am trying to create a space between us because god knows I would fall deeper if I wouldn’t.”
“Okay what? How fucking dare you, Barnes,” you replied, taking a step closer to him and raising your fist to punch his chest. "How dare you tell me that you dying on a mission wouldn’t be as painful? Is that what you think of me, huh? What you think of our friendship?!"
Bucky snickered. "Friendship," he said, the bitterness of the word in his mouth wasn't concealed in his voice.
You pushed his shoulder, forcing him to look at you. “Just imagining Steve walking through that door without you behind him fucking kills me, you know that?!" you angrily confessed. "Why do you think I always make sure to wait and greet you all as soon as you come back?”
You stepped back and paced around his room. You pointed at him, rage filling your body and said, “And how dare you assume that I’m not in love with you too? You think you know what I feel, huh, James? How dare you decide for the both of us and ignore me?”
"Idiot," you whispered to yourself as you continued to pace. You were flabbergasted by the words exchanged for the last three minutes, it was almost comical. "Just fucking talk to me, goddamnit," you told him. "You should have talked to me as soon as you realized then you would have known that I also love you!”
As soon as you looked back at him, you found blue eyes wide as saucers. His jaw was dropping. His cheeks were flushed. “What?” he weakly stated.
You groaned. “You’re a fucking idiot!” You started to walk towards the door but were halted by his grip on your wrist.
“What did you just say?” His soft voice invaded your ears.
You huffed. "You could have saved us a ton of drama if you weren’t a dumbass.”
He held your shoulders and made you face him. “Say that again," he requested.
You rolled your eyes and repeated. “You’re a dumbass."
He laughed and held your hands. He took a moment to maybe let everything sink in, a crease on his forehead being more visible as he did yet so was a small smile on his lips.
"I guess I really am a dumbass," he whispered more to himself than to you.
You chuckled lightly and raised your brows at him. "Yeah, you are."
“I’m sorry," he said, biting his lip and looking down.
You tried to come off as tough and replied, “You should be."
As Bucky stayed quiet, not knowing what to say, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Buck, you’re my best friend," you started in a soft voice.
With that, however, his smile immediately turned into a frown and if it was an entirely different situation, you would’ve cackled. He let go of your hand.
Did he misinterpret it? Misheard? Is this the part where you reject him?
“Drama queen, hear me out first,” you chastised and grab a hold of his hands, gripping it tighter than before. You looked straight into his eyes and words just came naturally out of your mouth. “You’re my best friend first. You will always be. That means you can always talk to me about anything, right?”
You remembered the times when he would knock on your room after a nightmare or that time when he started to let you in with the stories of his past - the Bucky in the 40s and the Winter Soldier.
You have always been grateful for the trust that Bucky gave you, of him considering you to be the only person aside from Steve to truly know him.
Not having any idea that he likes someone, moreover likes you, made you uneasy.
But then thinking about the situation, you understood. Especially when he muttered, "Not when I have the chance to lose you.”
You immediately replied, "But you can’t lose me. Not yesterday, not today, not ever. Especially since I’m deeply, hopelessly in love with you too.” You smirked as you repeated his words a while ago.
“And what if you weren’t? What if you’re just saying that to not make me feel stupid?” Bucky expresses his insecurities.
“Buck, you do know that I would be one of the first people to tell you if you were acting stupid, right?” When his face didn’t waver, you knew it wasn’t the right words to say at the moment. You gave him a small smile and rested your forehead on his. “Remember that first party? When we danced? Just us because everyone else was already too wasted to even know what’s going on.”
His eyes widened and he pulled away from you.
You haven’t spoken about that night since, well- that night. It seemed like there had been an unspoken agreement to never bring it up again when you greeted each other almost too casually the next morning.
“You-you remember that?”
“I remember very clearly." You smiled. "I remember you holding me close. I remember you thanking me. I remember us just swaying to that song.”
A small smile painted on Bucky's face as he too looked to be reminiscing of the first time he held you close.
“I clearly remember that night because I think that was the first time I felt like I have feelings for you. And it may be funny ‘cause we barely knew each other then. So I never took it seriously." You held his hands tighter. "Then we became friends. Then we would save each other’s asses- most of the time it would be me saving you." You both shared a chuckle. You looked straight into his eyes as you continued. "Then I didn’t notice that along those times, I just fell harder. I realized only a few weeks ago that I was in deep when I asked you what we would be watching for our movie date that one night and you said (your favorite movie) because that's my favorite and you knew I was upset that Clint beat me at Pictionary.”
Bucky laughed softly at the memory and looked at you with that soft gaze you realized he always gave you.
You shrugged. “I know that didn’t make sense on how I realized but- I just did.”
He whispered your name as he sighed contentedly and held your jaw.
This time, you were the one to pull away. “Well don’t get too cocky now. You were still a jerk for ignoring me.”
His smile only became bigger as he nodded.
A comfortable silence lasted for half a minute before he muttered, “I love you," looking straight into your eyes as his lips made contact with the back of your left palm.
Your next words were lost as you heard him say the words directly this time with a gesture that you come to memorize and crave by now.
Those three words. With conviction. With passion in his voice. With love in his eyes.
He kissed your hand again before saying, “I am sorry for dragging you into the mess that I am. I am sorry for hurting you as I tried to protect myself. I’m sorry, Y/N.”
You shook your head. “If you are a mess, then you're one that I would gladly deal with, Buck.” You winked, lightening up the mood. “You are my mess. A beautiful mess." You caressed his cheek as the distance between the two of you shortened. "You're beautiful," you sighed.
“God, I love you, Y/N,” he repeated.
“I love you too, Bucky," you replied.
He sighed contentedly as your noses touched. "Can I kiss you now?" he whispered to your lips.
You lightly nodded and smiled. "On the lips this time?"
Bucky chuckled at your question before pulling away and holding your left hand up again and giving it a light kiss. "Now, yes, on the lips," he then said.
You giggled and nodded.
With that, he caressed your cheeks and leaned in, his soft sweet lips finally meeting yours.
You sighed contentedly as you kissed back, tightening your hold onto his arm as your lips found a home in his.
You don't know how long you two were close but you both finally pulled away when your lungs forced you to.
His forehead rested on yours as his hands remained on your cheeks. Bucky's blue eyes met yours once again and you just know that at this moment, he can see your soul.
"I love you, doll," he said one more time. Then another. And another, kisses between each I love yous.
You rested your face on his hand and smiled. "I love you, Buck."
Tumblr media
taglist: @dontstopxx
362 notes · View notes