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#(un)cool!bucky
ritesofreverie · 15 days ago
☁️ maybe some of your favorite fics your mutuals have written
congrats on 2k btw 🤍
just a heads up that this is a long list lol, and thank you 💕
**majority of these blogs & their works are eighteen plus and over, please abide by their rules
@babyboibucky
devil’s mark | bucky barnes x fem!reader
don’t you worry (your pretty little head) | bucky barnes x fem!reader
deserve better | bucky barnes x fem!reader
@babycap
no vacancies | steve rogers x fem!reader
come and sit in my shade | sam wilson x fem!reader
@belladonnabarnes
extra syrup | bucky barnes x reader
@belowva
(un)cool | bucky barnes x fem!reader
don’t look back | bucky barnes x fem!reader
i wanna make you hungry (then i wanna feed ya) | bucky barnes x fem!reader
@bitchassbucky
CTRL | dark!bucky barnes x darkfem!reader
@blackberrybucky
if you ever want to be in love | sam wilson x fem!reader
as long as i’m here, no one can hurt you | bucky barnes x fem!reader
for the glory of love | thor x fem!reader
@bloomingbucky
attitude problem | bucky barnes x fem!reader
@bucksfucks
clementine | steve rogers x fem!reader
the ink on your skin | steve rogers x fem!reader
@buckysbiota
optimist | steve rogers x reader
@buckycuddlebuddy
ever since new york | bucky barnes x fem!reader
wicked tongue | bucky barnes x fem!reader
trilogy | bucky barnes x fem!reader
@certainaesthetic
spilled coffee | sam wilson x woc!reader
misconstrued and mistaken | sam wilson x woc!reader
2 am waltz | bucky barnes x woc!reader
@divine-mistake
‘till death blooms us art | sam wilson x fem!reader
helios, his modern muse | steve rogers x fem!reader
@golden-bucky
still into you | sam wilson x reader
@gwenavibra
wicked heart | loki x fem!reader
do you want me, love me, hate me? | steve rogers x fem!reader
@jurassicbarnes
take a chance | bucky barnes x fem!reader
sundress season | andy barber x fem!reader
some nights | steve rogers x fem!reader x bucky barnes
@mickey-henry
knowing my fate is to be with you | bucky barnes x reader
you’re the best book i ever read | bucky barnes x reader
@my-divine-death
it’s brooklyn baby | bucky barnes x fem!reader
@roger-that-cap
jack pendleton | bucky barnes x reader
on your desk | natasha romanoff x fem!reader
our olive branch | wanda maximoff x fem!reader
lover | sam wilson x fem!reader
what a lovely dream it is | wanda maximoff x fem!reader
@samwilsons-pillowpecs
crazy, beautiful | bucky barnes x fem!reader
enigma | sam wilson x fem!reader
@starbuckie
soda pop | bucky barnes x reader
keeping me warm | bucky barnes x reader
@strawbeariefaerie
smile for the video camera | harvard hottie x fem!reader
museum melodrama | harvard hottie x fem!reader
@sunstalgia
introspection | steve rogers x fem!reader
safety net | steve rogers x fem!reader
@thefanbasewhore
i never hated you | bucky barnes x fem!reader
@winter-james
strings | bucky barnes x fem!reader
there’s so many more but there were the ones i could think of off the top of my head <3
💛🌼 join the sleepover 🌼💛
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belowva · 19 days ago
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five. topeka
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(un)cool masterlist
pairing: rockstar!bucky barnes x journalist!reader
summary: after a fight between steve and bucky breaks out during rehearsal, bucky walks out on the band and you follow him. while you're taking a walk through the streets of topeka, a group of fans recognizes him and invites the two of you to a house party.
word count: 2.7k
warnings: language, drinking, fluff (wow, finally!), angst, chaotic bucky, overwhelmed reader, a lot of feelings for just one night
author's note in the end!
“What’s up with you and Bucky?”
You were scribbling a piece of landscape on the corner of your notebook when you heard Scarlet’s slightly accented voice address you from her seat next to you. She had been quiet through the whole trip, knitting a blood red scarf with her delicate hands - you had no idea how she could concentrate like that inside a moving bus filled with men that behaved more like sugar high toddlers around her. Scarlet’s calm and inherent insight were some kind of magic.
“Um… Nothing, I think. Bucky is Bucky, you know. You know him.”
Your friend watches you splutter through her pink, heart-shaped glasses. Under her scrutinizing green eyes, you feel small, as if you were a child lying to their parents. Sighing, you put your worn out pencil down, and thought of what could say to avoid her question - only because you didn’t know what to say.
There wasn’t anything “up” with you and Bucky other than your initial, mutual dislike of each other, and the consequent animosity that followed. It wasn’t because you’d decided upon a truce and that you were on speaking terms now didn’t mean there was something up.
In your eyes, at least.
You started simple, throwing a question back at her. “Why do you ask?”
“You two seemed pretty cozy without the rest of us that night at the pool.” She’d stopped working with hands, letting her needles fall onto her lap. Her words had a hint of teasing, though her face remained serious. “And backstage in Arizona. It looked a little too up close and personal for two people who barely talked to each other not too long ago.”
“Fair.” You pointed. “He’s the one who came to me at the pool, I was just minding my own business. He was weirdly chatty that night. And yesterday… Bucky was concerned about something he told me and he didn’t want me to write about, so asked me not to, that’s all.”
“Are you going to?”
“Going to what?”
“Write what he asked you not to.” Scarlet threw back, chuckling, knowing you were averting the subject. It wasn’t pressuring, she was just teasing you - but something inside you stirred, agitated with the question.
Shrugging, you avoided her gaze. “I don’t know. I don’t think so…”
“So now you’re keeping his secrets?”
“I don’t keep anyone’s secrets. Just my own.”
That went out a little too fast, and a little too defensive. Though you were telling the truth about not keeping secrets - your place there wasn’t to hide anything, but expose it - you admit you were being too lenient with Bucky - someone who, as Scarlet had just said, you barely spoke with only a few days ago. You didn’t know if you could explain that, so you didn’t.
“Yeah.” She nodded slowly, looking away from you, smiling and picking up her knitting tools where she’d left them. “I can see that.”
Moving to shoulder her lightly, so as not to disturb her knitting, you let out a nervous laugh. “Stop!”
There was more to those three words than what was on the surface. You tried not to think about them as you stared at the blurred images running through your stained window for the rest of that morning.
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Soundcheck, incredible as it may seem, was the most peaceful part of your days - usually, that was, until things changed in Topeka.
Topeka, Kansas, was a small town, and your second-to-last stop on The Howling Commandos’ national tour - their concert venue was also small, and during the band's rehearsal, you sat backstage alongside Peter, who was helping you sort through your notes and interviews - which were almost finished, with the exception of one dark-haired, bad tempered guitarist.
It was all you needed to wrap things up and go home, but Bucky seemed to be avoiding you anywhere you went since the incident in Santa Fe, and his little game of push and pull was getting on your nerves.
Not that Bucky didn't get on your nerves on a daily basis.
The brash and sudden sound of feedback echoed through the room, as fast as lightning, and you watched, stunned, as instruments were dropped and Steve raised his voice, settling his microphone back in the stand.
"Seriously? Do you really need to show off during fucking rehearsal?"
Steve wasn't one to raise his voice - his presence was commanding, as frontman that was practically his job, but he was also collected, the band's guiding hand, a steady force. Things were tense between him and Bucky, however, but you hadn't seen it explode until then.
"And by showing off," Bucky emphasizes with air quotations, sarcasm dripping in his every word, "you mean playing the song the right way?"
"That's not what I mean and you know it, Bucky."
As much as you, sadistically, liked seeing Bucky being told off, it hurt to see them fighting. There was no Steve without Bucky, and no Bucky without Steve - like Mick and Keith, Page and Plant - you couldn't conceive of them apart.
"You know what? No. I don't, Steve."
"We talked about this! You can’t just run off a song anyway you want, if you want to change something, you tell us. This isn’t your band, Bucky."
"Maybe I need to hear it again. Maybe I refused to listen the first time you tried to tell me how to play my own music."
Exasperated, Steve sighed, planting his feet in place in a defiant manner. His sky blue eyes turned to you, then. “I’m not saying anything in front of the goddamn writer.”
Before you even had the time to feel offended, Bucky interjected. “No, please. Anything you have to say, you can say in front of her.”
At the sight of Bucky’s open arms, not backing down from Steve’s stubborn threat, Scott stood from his place at the corner and intervened, putting himself in between the frontman and the guitarist, calling them out. “C’mon, break it up, let’s take five. Everyone out of the room for five minutes!”
Suddenly, your mismatched papers and post-it notes scattered over the amp you were sitting on got immensely more interesting. Your chin dropped as you kept your head low, trying to make yourself smaller and out of everyone’s gaze - you knew your presence was, at times, unwanted - but it was in times like this that you felt you were overstaying your welcome.
You liked the illusion of belonging, a little too much even. It was easy, pretending you were accepted, the reality of being an outsider was a lot harsher.
After gathering everything into your notebook, you noticed the room was empty - except for you, and a pacing Bucky.
It was an eerie atmosphere. The yellowing white paint chipping on the walls, the empty seat on Clint’s drum kit, the hushed voices on the corridor outside - you held onto the notebook, pressing it to your chest as some sort of shield, and braced yourself to make your way out.
“You!” A voice calling out startled you. Turning, you found Bucky, in clear distress, pointing at you, in the middle of the room. Likely sensing your confusion, he repeated himself. “Yeah, you. C’mon, let’s go.”
You stopped in your tracks, fazed. Bucky didn’t seem to care, grabbing his trusted, brown leather jacket from where it hung on the back of a chair and putting it on in a haste. Sudden movements and manic behavior weren’t usual for the smooth, quiet man you knew, until now. “Go… where?”
“Anywhere. Everywhere.” He sighed, running a hand over his wild hair. “Anywhere that’s not here.”
Contradicting your own best judgment you followed Bucky’s steps to the double doors - and when he sensed your uncertainty, he grabbed your hand, keeping it in a firm hold as the two of you made your through the small group gathered just outside of the entrance, guiding you away from the venue and into the street.
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The strange comfort of Bucky’s calloused hand in yours was short lived - and if your skin still tingled after you let go, feeling all too empty at once, you did your best to ignore it.
Uncomfortable silence wasn’t uncommon between you and Bucky - and it’s not that you were shy to start a conversation, but you often didn’t know how to act around him. His volatile attitude and the fact that you didn’t know where you stood with him didn’t help. Still, seeing a tormented Bucky sit down at the curb, blank stare directed at the parked car on the other side of the street, your compassion spoke louder than your uncertainty.
When you joined him, sitting side by side, the fabric of his battered jeans touching the bare skin of your thigh - which made you wish you’d worn something a little longer that day - he looked at you, an unreadable expression on his face.
“I’m sorry about… whatever happened between you and Steve.” You started, offering him a kind smile. “It mustn’t be easy.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Bucky shook his head. “That’s showbiz for you, it’s all a fucking joke. Right now, I just wanna focus on what’s real. Real feelings, real people.” You had a feeling Bucky was more talking to himself more than anything, until he turned to you again. "You know, you know all about us and I don't know shit about you…" He questioned. "Tell me, what's your family like?"
"It's always been me, my mom and my sister. But, a few years ago, my sister felt that my mother’s overbearing ways were too intense, so she left for San Francisco with her boyfriend, Darryl, and became a stewardess. Plus, she left me all her albums, and she and mom won’t talk to each other.” You laughed at yourself, reminiscing. “I left for college, too, and now I only see her on holidays. I wonder if she’s lonely, but I don’t really miss home.”
Taking a deep breath after confessing it all, you laughed, again, this time in relief. "It's good to talk about that. Really good. But here I am telling secrets to the one guy you don't tell your secrets to."
“Don’t you dare use my words against me!” He teased, shouldering you lightly, lingering a little at your side, causing you to snort.
“Oh, please. That’s what I do best.”
“What am I going to do with you?” He mumbled, rolling his eyes.
As the mood lightened between you and Bucky, you watched a white van approach from your peripheral. The vehicle slowed down as it passed in front of you, and you could see a dark skinned girl behind the wheel, her long hair tied with a bandana, and, unexpectedly, she waved at you.
"Hey! You're Bucky, from The Howling Commandos!"
Smooth and used to the attention, Bucky stood up, a charming smile on his face. You stood along with him, feeling awkward, as if you weren’t supposed to be there. "Yeah, on my better days I'm Bucky, from the Howling Commandos." Bucky chuckles, and places a hand at the small of your back, pushing you a little forward. "And this is my journalist friend, Y/N Y/L/N."
"You wanna go to a party at my friend Thor's house? I know you're a big rockstar and all but you wanna hang with some good people tryna have a good time?" The other kids in the van cheered, calling Bucky to join.
“I, uh- I’m not sure if we should…”
“We’ll be there.”
You and Bucky spoke at the same time, and as you saw him nodding profusely in your direction, you knew you were up for a long night.
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Watching Bucky Barnes, rising rockstar and virtuous guitarist, charm a bunch of college kids from Kansas, was something to behold.
It turned out, Thor was the girl’s boyfriend - Hilde, as she presented herself - and he had his parent’s house free for the weekend, which was why there was a huge party happening. There were trucks parked in the front yard, beer kegs spread through the yard, their backyard pool surrounded by people, and the inside of the house not doing that much better. Thunderous rock music bounced from the speakers placed in his parents’ living room. Following Bucky around all night, playing babysitter to a 30-something guitarist, wasn’t how you liked partying, but then, to be fair, you weren’t there to party.
Bucky, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. He smiled freely, telling his road stories to the curious boys and girls who would listen, crowding around him as any fan would - their eyes sparkled, not believing what they were seeing. You found it adorable - not the dazzled kids your age, but Bucky. Carefree and weightless, a beer in hand, dancing with a bunch of kids who didn’t want anything other than having fun with him.
That was the Bucky you wanted to have around, but you watched from the sidelines, knowing he wasn’t the one you could have.
You found him alone, later in the evening. Standing by the pool, blue eyes reflecting the swirling light. He’d shed off the jacket, flushed from the heat in his white henley. It was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him - and not only because he was clearly drunk - smiling to himself, swinging the beer in his white plastic cup. As if he was just a guy you’d meet at a regular party - but Bucky Barnes wasn’t just any guy.
“Don’t you think we should… go back to the others? They must be worried about you.” You suggested, stepping in front of him. Speaking quietly, you tilted your head to look into his downward eyes.
“No. They can deal without me.” He stood his ground, downing the rest of the beer in his cup. “You can leave if you want to, I’ll be back when I feel like it.”
“No! No, I’ll… I’ll stay with you. I don’t think anyone wants me near right now.”
Bucky smiled, all teeth and danger. “Oh. See, I knew you liked me.”
“Hiding together at some college kids’ party doesn’t mean I like you.” Flustered, you crossed your arms as you argued.
“Yeah. That’s what you tell yourself, princess.”
A groan escaped your lips before you could suppress it. “I liked it better when you…”
“Wanna get in the pool?”
Bucky’s interruption had you taking a step back. You stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. “The pool? Bucky, we’re not even…”
“C’mon.” He stepped to meet you, suspiciously slow. “Don’t you ever have a little fun?”
“I have plenty of fun, thank you. And stop interrupting me!”
With each step forward from Bucky, you took a step back, avoiding the touch of his body, until you couldn’t, just one slip away from the water, and he placed both hands on each side of your waist. “C’mon... It’s just water, or are you afraid of getting a little wet?”
Just like that - in the middle of your weak protest, holding onto his bicep for dear life - Bucky managed to lift you up, just enough to jump, and in a very long, slow motion, second, you were falling in the water, holding onto Bucky, his arms still around your waist, and not letting go.
You spluttered as you resurfaced, trashing against him, soaked through and chest deep in dirty, pool water. Bucky laughed freely, steadying you. “Tell me you didn’t like that!”
“I can’t believe you!”
“Believe me, sweetheart.” His softened tone and close eye contact had you stopping in your tracks. He was too close, closer than you’d ever let him. The smirk on his pink lips draws your attention, and he must’ve had noticed it, because the next thing you felt were those same lips, closing into your open ones, in a light and, but the furthest from innocent, kiss. “The night has just started.”
You gasped in stunned silence, as you heard the noises of all the other people around the pool deciding it was as good a time as any to jump in as well, splashing and screaming all around you - but all you could see was him.
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a/n: i'm gonna be honest here and say that i'm not sure about how this chapter turned out... but i really wanted to give you guys an update and i missed this story, so here we are! as always, reblogs and feedback are very welcome - i really want to know what you thought of this one.
sorry for the cliffhanger! i'll see you when i see you <3
142 notes · View notes
belowva · a month ago
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four. santa fe
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(un)cool masterlist
pairing: rockstar!bucky barnes x journalist!reader
summary: after a week on the road, you begin having trouble writing your article on the howlies. searching for inspiration, you find a different side of bucky - and that, maybe, you have more in common than you'd think.
word count: 2.5k
warnings: language, smoking, slight angst, bi!reader, stressed-out reader, self-doubting thoughts, bantering, a little sexual tension, bucky being a little shit (as usual) but less so - remember, the burn is slow.
author's note in the end!
Whoever said that travelling with a rock band was all sex, drugs and rock and roll was a piss poor, fucking liar.
There was a fair amount of drugs, sure. If you wanted them, you knew where to find them. Sex wasn’t hard to find either, but none for you, you were too busy worrying over writing to go after it - and it wasn’t for the lack of trying from some of the girls travelling with the band as well, there was something in their eyes when they talked to you, their siren eyes and glitter tipped fingers running over your hair when they got too close. Still, you were far too intimidated to do more than that.
(You also may or may not have made out with a couple of them backstage, or at an afterparty, but that was your business only.)
Other than that, most of the time on the road was spent working. The boys worked their asses off rehearsing, writing and planning for the recording of their next album, which would happen immediately after the tour was over. The crew was also on their feet all day, making sure everything was perfect for the concert in the evening - and all that meant you were working all day too. You followed them anywhere, taking notes of everything you saw and heard, and recording tidbits of interviews so you could later sit down and hopefully type something “Rolling Stone” worthy.
The problem was… you couldn’t. Everytime you sat on your bed, at whatever hotel you were staying for that past week, you stared at your notebook and at the empty piece of paper on your typewriter and absolutely nothing of use came out of your fingertips. You were exhausted, burned out and homesick - something you didn’t even think was possible.
You called Tony almost everyday - he usually didn't help with your homesickness, but it was nice to speak with someone who wasn't around you twenty-four-seven. You'd stand in a phone booth late at night, or on the telephone at the hotel lobby, until he asked you to "go to sleep, kid". Some nights you did, some nights you sat in your bed wondering what the fuck you were doing with your life, instead of sleeping.
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Hopelessness had sunk in by the time you got to New Mexico. You got out of the bus in Santa Fe that day thinking about getting on the next flight to Los Angeles and forgetting you had ever thought you could do something ambitious like that on your first try - but you had a contract and once in a lifetime opportunity, so you sucked it up, took your bags and checked into yet another hotel.
On the first night there, the boys and their crew had a little poolside party. Clint was trying to impress everyone with his clumsy backflips, jumping in the pool and dragging the girls with him. Sam and Steve sat by the side, nursing their beers, deep in conversation about something - their expressions seemed serious, though you couldn’t hear what they were discussing. The guys from the crew were there too, and while you’ve grown closer to them in the past few days, you just didn’t feel like socializing. So you sat further away, in a reclined plastic chair, an empty page of your notebook opened on your lap, but your pencil was tuck in your hair and a cigarette hung from your lips, miserably watching everyone have fun in front of you.
Things, however, could always get worse.
From your right side, you saw Bucky approaching - shirtless, low rise jeans elongating his torso, casually passing by the group gathered a few feet from you, and going in your direction. As you were used to by then, you pretended you didn’t see him - it was a truce, so to speak. After what happened that night, Bucky didn’t acknowledge you unless it was necessary. You suspected Sam had something to do with that, and you were grateful for it. The two of you moved on in begrudging silence and avoiding each other’s gaze - you decided that if he didn’t like you, he’d have to deal with it.
You kept looking forward when he took a seat beside you, on the next chair. He lit a cigarette of his own, inhaling it slow and deep, before releasing the smoke in the air. If you were still the same girl that met him in Los Angeles, two weeks ago, you would be staring at his plump lips and sculpted jaw. Now, you’re as disinterested as you could be - though you still snuck in a look or two.
Uncomfortable silence got on your nerves more than Bucky Barnes ever did. You noticed he had walked right past his friends and you knew they were inseparable - you couldn’t help but dig in a little.
"Trouble in paradise?"
You heard Bucky scoff, and turned to finally look at him. He was already looking at you, only then you noticed that his usual scowl was replaced by a tired expression. Downward eyes and pursed lips. "Creative differences. It happens." There was a beat of silence, before he finished his smoke and bumped the cigarette’s butt on the stone ground below him. "Are you okay?"
Surprised by his sudden inquiry, your eyebrows shot up, before you lashed you defensively. "Why do you care?"
He sighed, then, and ran one hand over his face, in a frustrated gesture. "Just askin'. You don't need to talk to me if you don't want to."
There was something incredibly disarming about his vulnerability. You were accustomed to see Bucky be his stoic self, a rare smile reserved to his closest friends, usually ignoring everyone else around him. He was invincible on stage, standing proud like he owned the world, a cocky look on his face under the bright lights and pyro. You never thought you’d see a distressed Bucky, sitting beside you of all people, so desperate to distract himself that he was asking if you were okay.
It might have triggered something in you.
"I'm… I'm tired, and I miss home. And I'm hating everything I write and Rolling Stone is gonna have my head if I don't show something useful to them soon." You confessed, all in one breath, fast enough not to regret it in the middle of your sentence. "I feel like giving up, really. Pack up and go home, maybe I wasn't made for this."
You watched as Bucky nodded in agreement, lowering his head for a moment, his long brown hair falling on his face. He ran his fingers over it, combing it away. "No one's made for this life, sweetheart. You gotta get used to it."
Rolling your eyes, you let out an indignated breath. "That's your advice? Get used to it? Gee, thanks, sweetheart."
Bucky laughed. You looked right into his eyes, as if you dared him to continue. “If you just sat here to make fun of me, then you can leave and start ignoring me again. You’ll be doing me a huge fucking favor.”
“God, you look cute when you’re angry.” His raspy voice provoked you, and you almost got up and left, but Bucky continued right after. "You're a smart girl, you know what I mean. I've been doing this for years and it never gets easy, but you get used to it. The road becomes your home." He explained. "I miss my ma, and my sisters. I miss New York. I have those guys there, but it's not the same. It's a choice I made, though. Gotta live with it, and I don't regret it."
You sighed, defeated - you understood him. Beneath the layers of persona and an attitude problem, Bucky had a heart, and a family. It was easier to hate him when you didn’t know that.
"Do you ever feel alone, then? Lost, maybe?" You tried to dig in deeper, now that he was letting you in.
"Sometimes." He paused, trying to find what to say. "Sometimes I look at the band and want to quit. Sometimes I wanna punch Steve in the face when he acts like he’s always right about everything and leave. Maybe go solo. But then I look at them again, and I remember those guys have families, and girlfriends. Lives of their own. I can’t walk out like that, so I don’t.”
“I can’t say I understand but… I thought having a group meant you always had each other.”
“We do. But at the end of the day, when you go home, when you go to sleep at night, it’s just you.”
You nodded slowly, trying to make sense of what you just heard. Your hands ached to whip out your pencil and write down what he just said, but it felt wrong. It felt too personal, so you didn’t.
“That wasn’t very comforting.” You observed, chuckling - more to yourself than anything. Bucky followed along, giving you the first genuine smile you’d ever see from him.
“Yeah. Just telling you like it is.” He mused, letting out a tired sigh. "Don't mind me, though. Here I am telling secrets to the one girl you don't tell your secrets to."
Not knowing what else to say, you and him fell in silence again. The cool night air was filled with the splashes from the pool, the squeals of the drunken girls and the boys’ laughter - Bucky and you looked away from each other, withdrawing into yourselves again. He got up, then, and shuffled on his feet, before taking a couple of steps away.
Stopping, he turned to you. “I hope you don’t give up, Y/N. I hope you stay.”
“I hope so too.”
You watch him walk away, the rippling of the lines on his broad back as he moves, back inside the hotel. Stunned silence accompanies you in his absence, until you feel the courage to stand and leave too.
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Something shifted after that conversation, but not enough to incite any real change. On the next day, you woke up early and followed the crew to the concert venue to have some peace, sit outside and write a little. You scribbled something you were proud of for the first time in days, but you still kept it vague - a page about a certain guitarist and a certain conversation you had about loneliness.
Speaking of said guitarist, the next time you saw him, it was only minutes before they went on stage. You were standing next to Scarlet, who was telling you a little more about the boys’ setlist, your notepad ready in hand, when Bucky approached you.
He came up, almost shyly, to your side, calling your name and pulling you lightly by the arm, taking you to a more silent corner backstage, but not too far from everybody. You went along, suspicious of what was so pressing it needed to be spoken then.
"Hey." He started. Bucky was close, too close for comfort, again. His guitar strapped to his side, hia chest almost touching yours. You tried to breathe calmly, maintaining eye contact so as to not appear intimidated. "About what I said yesterday. It's off record, right? Don't publish that. It's… more trouble than it's worth."
"I can't promise you that, Bucky." You tried to be honest. His expression started to falter when you explained yourself. "I'm here to report what I see and what I hear, if it's relevant then… It's good material."
He nodded, looking away from you, jaw clenching, as if he was holding back from saying something he would regret. "Think about it, ok? I know we're not friends but I don't want anything getting in between me and the band, and I know you don't want that either."
"I'll be careful. You're gonna have to trust me." You tried to convince him. Something told you it wasn't going to work. Bucky stepped away, then, taking his guitar pick from his pocket and rolling it on his fingers.
"I don't if I can." He said, before leaving.
The first half of the concert was a blur after that. You kept to yourself, scribbling your notes fast and letting the music invade your every thought to keep from letting Bucky into your mind. You kept telling yourself you didn't need his trust, you didn't need his complicity, you just needed to get the job done.
Don't make friends with the rockstars.
If you didn't need it, then why were you so distressed?
The loud sound of feedback hit everyone's ears, drawing your attention back to the stage. Almost like in slow motion, you see Bucky holding the set microphone - as he always did for that particular song, helping Steve with the backing vocals - but he was hit with an electric shock, his body shaking before he fell to the floor.
Your body responded before your mind did. Scott rushed through the backstage crowd to Bucky's side, clearing the way to help him. When you came to yourself, you were running beside the manager, and on to the stage. As you inspected Bucky's left hand and Scott helped him up, the bright lights blinded you and the crowd's screaming were deafening.
The other boys dropped their instruments and everyone left the stage, Bucky being dragged by you and Scott, while Steve hurried to talk to the crew. Bucky was still disoriented, clutching his burnt hand to his chest.
Between Scott's fighting with the show's organizers - screaming about how they "almost killed my guitarist!" - and the rest of the band gathering their stuff to leave, pissed about the accident they just had let happen, you managed to take Bucky back to the tour bus.
It was a silent walk, his whimpers of pain were the only thing you heard as you climbed up the bus, and left him on one of the first seats. The adrenaline has yet to wear off, so you searched through the luggage to find the first aid kit, trembling hands making a mess through the bags.
Bucky was quiet while you patched up his hand, rolling the gauze over it. When you were finished, you simply asked "Is it too tight?"
"No." He answered curtly. "Didn't know you were a nurse too."
You knew that tone enough to know that he was trying to start something. So, you looked away, busying yourself with putting the tools back inside the kit. "Left home early. Had to learn how to look after myself."
Shutting the small plastic container with a loud click, you got up. "And you're welcome, by the way."
It was enough for him not to go on. The silence between you screamed of unsaid things, but none of you were willing to break. It was broken, though, not too long after when everyone started climbing up again, a mess of people and equipment passing hurriedly through you.
You watched them as you took your seat by the window, hugging your bag to your body, trying to make sense of what just happened. You didn't miss Bucky's eyes on you as you did.
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a/n: for those who don't know, the microphone accident thing was taken from the film, with my own twist to it, ofc - so credit goes to cameron crowe, ig. also, in honor of pride, i'm making our reader explicitely bisexual. it's something that means a lot to me and i hope more people can identify with her. i also hope you're all enjoying bucky and reader's journey, there's a long road ahead of us still. thank you for reading!
as always, reblogs and feedback are more than welcome and will make this writer's day 🖤
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belowva · a month ago
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"sometimes i feel so happy / sometimes i feel so sad / sometimes i feel so happy / but mostly you just make me mad / baby, you just make me mad" - a playlist for rockstar!bucky, our misunderstood menace
masterlist
personality crisis - new york dolls
rock and roll outlaw - rose tattoo
crying lightning - arctic monkeys
the chain - fleetwood mac
if i had a tail - queens of the stone age
all right now - free
plundered my soul - the rolling stones
ballrooms of mars - t-rex
live and let die - guns n' roses
pale blue eyes - the velvet underground
LISTEN HERE 💿
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belowva · a month ago
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signed (an (un)cool drabble)
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(un)cool masterlist
pairing: rockstar!bucky barnes x journalist!reader
summary: you watch as the howling commandos sign some unusual autographs after a concert - which leads to bucky teasing you, as always.
word count: 595
warnings: none! reader is a little judgy, though - but it's because she's jealous. inspired by this and this. this is set a little later in the series, but i honestly don't know exactly where, i just wanted to write it.
Another night, another crowd.
Your least favorite time of the day was when you had to brave a crowd of fans outside of a venue - you’d never the boys that, though. It seemed as if their fame was growing from city to city, as the word about how The Howling Commandos were the next great American rock band, they started drawing the attention of more and more people wherever they went.
It was sweet to see them so excited. They talked to everyone, took pictures, signed their records and posters - you could see in their eyes that that was what they were here for. Everything they did, they did for their fans. You couldn’t count how many times all of them told you that while you interviewed them, it was extra special to see that come to life in front of you.
They also signed a lot of bodies.
That’s a given for any successful rock band: with fame, came the women - and, man, how they annoyed you. Not the groupies, the groupies were your friends, your roommates, they loved the music just as much as you did. The squealing girls in front of the stage, the ones who flashed their boobs at the security to try to secure a backstage pass, the ones who weren’t there for the music but just to try a chance with the guys on the stage.
You knew they were attractive, and you especially tried to not think too much about a certain blue-eyed guitarist when you thought about that, but c’mon. Did they really have to scream that much?
Standing to the side, you watched them be overwhelmed with fans at the back of the parking lot, your arms crossed in front of your chest. Some girls were asking them to sign their cleavages, pulling down their tops to show off, and one of them, pen in hand and a charming smile, and asked said blue-eyed guitarist to sign her ass.
If you could have rolled your eyes, you would have. You did, on the inside. But no, all you did was watch as Bucky gave her his best smile as she turned around for him to give her his autograph - and you couldn’t look away. James “call me Bucky” Barnes was rarely charming, if those girls knew how much of a pain the ass he was, they wouldn’t be baring their bodies for him to sign.
Too distracted by your inner rant, you didn’t notice his eyes on you until your eyes met. You kept your neutral, unimpressed expression as the girl said her goodbyes, going back to her group of friends, but Bucky barely gave her the time of day. He was too busy giving you a stupid, smug look.
You tried to look as neutral as possible as he approached you, hands on his pockets, a small smile on his lips. “Is that jealousy I saw?”
A scoff was all you could manage. “Please.”
“Don’t worry, baby.” He teased, lowering his voice so that only you could hear him. Bucky leaned into you, speaking into your ear. “I like yours a lot better.”
This time, you did roll your eyes. “Yeah. Screw you, Bucky.”
“My room? Later?”
You watched him walk out, still smiling conspicuously, and then turn his back to you, walking to the tour bus without a care in the world. If that man knew how tongue-tied he made you, you would never hear the end of it. So, all you did was stand there, flustered, and thinking “did he actually mean that?”.
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belowva · 20 days ago
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hand-holding? in my enemies to lovers? it's more likely than you think
“You!” A voice calling out startled you. Turning, you found Bucky, in clear distress, pointing at you, in the middle of the room. Likely sensing your confusion, he repeated himself. “Yeah, you. C’mon, let’s go.”
Confused, you stopped in your tracks. Bucky didn’t seem to care, grabbing his trusted, brown leather jacket from where it hung on the back of a chair and putting it on in a haste. Sudden movements and manic behavior weren’t usual for the smooth, quiet man you knew, until now. “Go… where?”
“Anywhere. Everywhere.” He sighed, running a hand over his wild hair. “Anywhere that’s not here.”
Contradicting your own best judgment you followed Bucky’s steps to the double doors - and when he sensed your uncertainty, he grabbed your hand, keeping it in a firm hold as the two of you made your through the small group gathered just outside of the entrance, guiding you away from the venue and into the street.
The strange comfort of Bucky’s calloused hand in yours was short lived - and if your skin still tingled after you let go, feeling all too empty at once, you did your best to ignore it.
"topeka", the next stop of the howlies' (un)cool tour of 1973, will be up tomorrow, 07/07, 8pm (brt) 🖤
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belowva · 20 days ago
would you rather date (un)cool!Bucky or diego hargreeves?? 🤨 (sorry i like hard questions sksksk 💗)
definitely diego!
(un)cool!bucky would break my heart eventually, maybe not on purpose, but he's a difficult person and not the type to get tied down, i don't think we'd both want the same thing at the end of the day
diego, in the other hand, has his faults but he's loyal to a fault and is very loving once you get past his tough exterior, he's boyfriend material through and through 🖤
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send in an fmk or an 'would you rather'!
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