#bucky barnes x reader modern au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nexusnyx · 1 year

Text

the sargeant's tattoos | b.b.

SUMMARY: It's a lazy morning in bed, and your boyfriend has new tattoos, which means inspection. Bucky lets you do your thing, as always.

🏷️ Established relationship, fluff, body worship. WC: [2.2k].| 📑 This work is part of a series called Coming In Hot, but it can be read as a stand alone. This is specially for the nonnie that missed it. Mwah.

"Can you get back up here?" You giggle. "I wanna see the new one. You said it's healed. Lemme see, Sargeant."

Bucky's got a thing for your legs, he tells you all the time, but the amount of time he's willing to spend sometimes kneeling on the floor just because your bed is basically on the floor is ridiculous sometimes.

He looks up at you, rubbing his scruff on your calf and smiling with the same indecency in his eyes he had when he first walked in and saw you sprawling across the bed with a book in your hands and only your newest sundress—pure want, mixed with devious thoughts and even more devilish intent.

"I like it down here," Bucky answers. He puts on a cute pout, and you grab him by his hair. The soft and now longer strands are perfect for pulling, and you smile with your jaw hanging open at the fact that this bastard hisses with a smile on his face at the strength you use. "Ow. So you get to trace my tattoos for as long as you'd like—ow, woman, god, you're hot when you're needy little this," Bucky's laughter tastes somehow even better when he presses it against your mouth. "But. If I spend half an hour sucking bruises on your legs, I can't? I don't like that. Doesn't sound that fair to me."

You're successful in pulling him back in bed with you.

"I just miss you," you whine. You kiss him back when Bucky dives for several small pecks, holding his head there, as close to you as possible. "And your tattoos are up there with my favorite art pieces. You know that. You also gave me full permission to ogle them for as much as you want, so..." you shrug your shoulders.

Bucky scrunches his nose, then lets all of his weight drop on you.

Your body lets out an 'oof' sound when he does that, but you wrap your legs around his waist even though you can barely breathe.

In a mocking tone of military order, Bucky says. "Tell me I can go back to my duty of honor after you're done with your starin'."

"No!" Bucky's heavy, and if he makes you laugh this is over before it starts. "You said we're gonna go watch a movie, Buck."

"Don't whine at me, darlin'. Tell me I can do it or else I'll just crush you to death," he insists, wiggling his body for good measure.

Muscle.

Your boyfriend left the military many years ago — thank everything that's real — and his only exercises involve a lot more aerobics than you'd like to think of at any given time, but he's also a mechanic.

One who loves what he does, who's always doing the most himself. You've seen him lift things in that car shop you were sure were a part of the decor, and it shows.

"If you stay on top of me like that for one more minute I'm gonna lick your face, Barnes."

The threat almost sounds real, but Bucky knows how to recognize weakness in your voice when he hears it better than anyone.

He leans closer to your face. "Tell me," he whispers, inches away from your lips.

"Fine. You can go back to whatever you want between my legs," you exhale heavily. Oh, what a cruel hand you'd been dealt with. "Now off. On the bed, face down." You wiggle your eyebrows.

A deal's a deal, so Bucky gets off.

Smiling because he's won what he wants, too, but all that matters right now is finally getting the time to look.

When he arrived earlier at your place, you'd been so lost in the ocean of sadness, longing, and desperate need to see him, be near him, kiss him, taste him feel him rub on him gasp his name have him writhing and begging for you, begging for him right back, Bucky BuckyBucky—there was time for nothing else.

Barely a hello.

His working clothes were still somewhere close to your front door, with grease on them and a button missing, most likely.

You hated residency.

Hated being away from him, the boys — your boys — and hated even more that the limited time you had was often wasted doing stupid, grown-up shit.

You missed and loved Bucky Barnes each more every day, ever since the day he welcomed you into his shop and fixed your Baby, and being away from him felt like torture at times.

Specially when he got a new tattoo.

Bucky laid with his stomach on the mattress, wiggled his hips a few times to get comfortable, and placed a pillow under his head.

"Go ahead," he muttered, resting his cheek on your silk pillowcase and casting his blue eyes on you.

You climbed on top of him this time, sitting on his ass.

"Pain level?" You ask.

The first of many questions, as he well knows.

"Mmm. A solid five. The parts closest to the ribs were the worst," he answers.

Your fingertips start tracing the lines of the tattoo that so far you had only seen through pictures.

There was not an ounce of a lie in your previous statements to Bucky:

All his tattoos were art.

This new one was no exception.

"Time?" You ask.

"Seven hours with a few breaks here and there," Bucky answers.

You whistle. "That's impressive, Sargeant."

He chuckles. "It's not that painful," he states.

"So you say," you tease him.

Bucky's still daydreaming about the day you'll allow him to pay for a tattoo on you, and the day is yet to arrive.

The art he puts on him makes him look like art as well.

It was the first thing you said back when at the beginning of the relationship you had a chance to truly look at his tattoos. To lay on his chest and analyze them from up-close without feeling like you were invading the privacy of what they meant.

Each tattoo Bucky had held personal meaning to him — unlike his best friend, Steve, who had a bunch of random (and beautiful) shit permanently drawn on many parts of his body — and it took no genius to figure out Bucky would rather chomp his own feet off than talk about it with anyone.

You knew from stories of the boys that Bucky had the habit of giving people the bluntest answers he'd given on the times they all traveled to the beach and the rare occasions when someone saw him shirtless and asked about his very sick tattoos.

How could you blame those people?

On his right side, drawn across his ribs, there was a raven taking flight. A very realistic one about the size of an adult man's hands spread wide open.

"That's my dad's favorite bird. He liked the poem by Poe—very on the nose, I know. But I like it, too. It's funny this is the first one you ask about 'cause... this was the first one I got."

Unlike with others, Bucky had no problem talking to you.

He told you about the raven, about Saturn on his chest, and the story his mother told him when he was a kid about how she had a guardian angel who picked up rocks and asteroids straight from the planet of Saturn only on the special occasion of her birthday, and how his mother started to give him her special "Saturn stone" to him whenever he felt anxious.

"She said it wouldn't give me superpowers, but that it had superpowers and I had to trust it would just be whatever I need to face off the challenge I was anxious about, and... it worked." That explanation had been so beautiful you told him it made you want to get Saturn's rings tattooed on you, and that had made Bucky laugh. "It's a nice magic thing to believe in. You know... back in the desert, sometimes... I would just pick up any stone, close my eyes, and pretend it was a Saturn ring. Carry it around in my pocket like a lucky charm."

Before the newest addition, Saturn had been your favorite of all his pieces.

Bucky also had tattooed on his left chest a hyper-real android thing that made it look like he was part robot on the inside.

"This one was just after I learned how to accept this," he'd told you, wiggling his prosthetic arm. "Learning how to feel okay with the new me and all that yadda."

Then, there was the constellation.

Wrapping around the left-wing on the back of his left shoulder there was the constellation of Cassiopeia.

"It was... this was Kim's favorite." The sound of Bucky's lost battalion member might be closed, but the scar of losing a loved one was forever. "Stars and stuff like that was the first thing that got him talking back then. You know how he was intimidated by Stevie and I..." You recalled seeing the fondness and the obvious infatuation still visible in Bucky's eyes when talking about Kim, and all it made was bring you this wave of sadness of knowing you'd never be able to meet someone who made Bucky feel so happy. "It was the first thing we really talked about. And we could talk about it for hours."

After you two started dating, Bucky got a new one a few months after on the back of his right shoulder in the same conceptual style as this newest piece.

It was a quote from Wuthering Heights.

Be with me always. Take any form—Drive me mad!

The quote stood between an anatomically correct heart and a book.

Seconds before showing you, Bucky had stood on your bedroom door playing with his fingers and hair, trying to figure out what to say. Then, he had just closed his mouth, took off his shirt and come to sit next to you in bed in complete silence.

When you read the quote, all you could see was your Instagram post.

He had sat and waited for you to find your own words, and it took you a while.

"It's gorgeous."

Bucky had looked at you, smiling so softly it hurt. "An ode to love."

"Is it?"

"It is. It turns out... that there is such thing as a love you'd want forever."

That day was one of your favorites. Ever.

Today, though, you stand there sitting on your favorite seat with your fingers tracing the new conceptual art on his back.

There were a lot of things, but the main connection was time, and in the other lines, you recognized little things that each traced back to one of the boys from his group. To Steve, Sam, Peter, Gabe, Morita—even Kim was there if you paid close attention to details.

It was gorgeous.

Then, you noticed that the dismantled machine on one of the edges of the tattoo was a 1959 Cadillac.

Your Cadillac.

"Bucky..."

"Ah. She found it," he says with a laugh, talking to himself. With a look up, you see Bucky twisting his neck a little just to look at you. "You like it?"

Like it?

To be included in his vision of... what? Family? Love? All the things that time brought to him and mattered?

Your answer is to close the distance between your bodies and press your lips on his. Bucky sighs softly, kissing you back and trying to hold onto his smile.

"I love you so much," you whisper to him. I'm not gonna cry. I'm not gonna cry. To fulfill that, you focus on kissing him some more. "I love how the art on you makes you even sexier. It should be fucking illegal, to be honest, but it's the best eye candy ever so I do not care."

"I'm eye candy?" Bucky asks, laughing again.

You nod. "You know you are." And... there it is. The blush on his cheeks as he shakes his head, trying to play coy or argue with you when he knows it's useless. Caressing his face, you sing the praises your lips are used to. "Beautiful, pretty, gorgeous Sargeant," they're as familiar as the taste of his mouth by now, and how much he seems to drink them in is all that you ever want to see at the end of the day.

Bucky blinks heavily, smiling so hard his cheeks must be hurting.

Then, he opens those hypnotizing blue orbs and leans in to sensually touch his lips on yours.

"And she wonders why I love to spend time between these legs," he hums in feign disapproval.

There's a sharp slap on the side of your thigh, and you yelp.

Bucky's smile turns devious.

"You've done your ogling. Time to stick to your word, darlin'."

He's right.

This time, it's you who sighs before lying down. "Yes, Sarge."

↳ my inbox 💌 | tip jar ♡ | ✒️ masterlist ↲

#usernexusnyx #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x smut #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #modern!bucky #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes drabble #coming in hot

2K notes · View notes

fandoms-writings · 1 year

Text

Soak with Me

Pairing: Bartender!Neighbor!Bucky x artist!reader (intended female reader)

Word count: 1.2K

Summary: Bucky didn’t use to love baths, but with you? How could he not?

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI, Bucky is a menace, fingering, naked people in a bath, fluff, Bucky’s in love

If you enjoy the story, please consider supporting me on my Ko-fi <3

Series Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist || Main Masterpost

Baths weren't really something Bucky did very often, only succumbing to them when he'd had a particularly grueling day and his muscles needed to relax. He'd fill the tub with hot water and throw in some bath salts, the green ones that filled the air with eucalyptus, menthol, and spearmint, and let his body relax in the hot water until he deemed himself fine again before getting out.

Now that he had you though, baths had sort of become a staple in his life.

It started when you were studying for finals. You were hunched over the coffee table, your legs folded up under you as you studied flash cards and gripped your head in frustration. The tea he'd made you sat to the side, untouched and cold, and he could see the angry tears starting to build along your lashes.

He'd disappeared down the hall, drawn a bath, and came back to pull you from your studies. You didn't put up much of a fight, but you did argue that you didn't have enough time for his antics. He shushed you, pulling you into the small bathroom by the seam of your shirt.

"Just give me ten minutes with you, sugar," he'd said, "then I'll leave ya alone." And how could you say no to him? So, you'd relented.

You let him strip you down and help you into the bath before you tugged on his hand, asking him to join you. Bucky hadn't even planned on it, he was going to let you relax and bring you a new cup of tea and even wash your hair for you if you'd let him. But to join you - fuck.

He nodded, stripping himself down before sliding in behind you, holding you as you leaned against him and finally let your body relax after days of studying.

You'd never let him keep you there too long, though he could always tell how you didn't want to return to your studies, but he wasn't going to be the one to hold you back from acing your finals.

Now, as you laid with your back to his chest, you didn't have a deadline looming over you. There was no exam or final paper waiting for your attention as you let the warm water envelop you. You could stay here, wrapped up in his arms, as long as you liked.

You'd convinced him some time ago to get some new bath salts, though it didn't take much convincing, and now the water smelled like lavender. But really, you had a different scent for each day of the week if you wished to use them as such.

The tub wasn't very large - apartment tubs never were, but Bucky didn't mind having you pressed against him like you were. His shoulders and his knees poked up above the water line, but as long as you were mostly submerged and warm, it didn't matter. He wasn't in here for him, he was here for you. To spend time with you, to help you relax, to feel you.

Your head was resting back against his shoulder as his hands lazily roamed your skin under the water, feeling every dip and fold as they went. Your head turned and you pressed your face into his neck as you hummed and Bucky couldn't contain the smirk that grew on his lips.

A light feeling filled his chest, making him feel giddy.

He loved how you made him feel. He knew he wasn't necessarily old, but you made him feel young again - adventurous. You made him feel more like himself than he had in a long time. Like he was that twenty-something year old running around Brooklyn causing trouble and pulling his best friend out of back alley fights. Like he was still the 'ladies man.' Not like he was starting to sport grays in his hair.

You'd actually told him you preferred the grays, saying it made him look sophisticated. He wanted to dye the offending hairs back to brunette, but he just couldn't after hearing you talk about them the way you did and seeing the way your gaze held such fondness and lust when you told him how you liked it.

Your breath tickled against his neck as you sighed into his skin, melting into him as he got lost in the skin of your thighs. He didn't know how you kept your skin so soft all the time but it always beckoned him closer. He would always try to just make you feel good, massaging or tickling your skin to help you relax, but when your skin was as soft as yours, he couldn't help it if his hands wandered a little too much.

The hitch in your breath as his fingers ghosted over your folds threw gas on the fire that had lit in his chest and tugged at the corners of his mouth. Your body always responded so well to his touch, your hips chasing his fingers as he teasingly pulled them away, dragging them up the inside of your thigh again.

He loved that you let him do practically whatever he wanted to you.

It took sometime to get to that point - he didn't want to scare you off by how much he'd become obsessed with you and your body and the noises he could pull from you, whether it be by his fingers, his cock, or his tongue. But once you finally got it through his thick skull that he didn't need to ask to touch you - god it was a game changer for him. With your patience and encouragement, he'd grown more confident in himself again. Confident in the way he enjoyed loving you. In the way he loved fucking you.

While continuing to tease you by making another pass across your clit, his other hand came up to wrap around one of your breasts, grasping it and using it to pull you even closer into him. Your breath fanned across his neck, causing a wave of goosebumps to spread over his exposed shoulders as his fingers dragged down your thigh again, this time pushing through your folds to prod at your core.

The moan that left your lips and buzzed against his neck was sinful as he circled his fingers, not quite giving you what you wanted while your hands gripped his legs.

"You want this here?" He asked, pressing his lips into your temple as he brushed his thumb over your clit, "Or in bed?"

He watched your eyes flutter open and the lust that darkened them was enough to have him swallowing around his suddenly dry throat. He could feel your heart thumping in your chest with his hand that now laid across your sternum and the blood that was rushing in his ears was almost deafening as he waited for your answer.

Just because he was waiting for a verbal response though, doesn't mean he was going to stop.

You opened your mouth to reply but nothing came out as he sunk two fingers in and he watched your eyes flutter, trying to stay open and on him.

"C'mon, sugar," he smirked while slowly dragging his fingers across your walls and pressing the palm of his hand against your clit, earning another moan from you, "What's it gonna be?"

Your hand let go of his leg and moved up to grab his hand on your sternum, moving it to wrap around your throat as you looked up at him, and he suddenly knew one thing was very clear.

Baths were very important to Bucky now.

As always, thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated <3

If you want to be updated when i post a new story, please follow my library blog and turn on notifications @remis-library

521 notes · View notes

navybrat817 · 2 years

Text

Cordially Invited

Pairing: Modern Knight!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Female Reader Summary: You're in need of a date for an upcoming wedding. Word Count: Over 1.9k Warnings: Pining, flirting, slight feels (it's me okay), could be considered fake dating (or is it? 😏), protective Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?), future smut. A/N: Again, I need another AU like a hole in the head, but here we are. @11thstreetvigilante, thank you for letting me scream about this. ❤️ Beta read by the beautiful @whisperlullaby (thank YOU as well!), but any and all mistakes are my own. Bucky edit by Nix, divider by @firefly-graphics and moodboard and banner by yours truly.

Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications and please reblog or comment as it means the world!

Modern royalty is both a wondrous and strange concept. As the only child of the King and Queen of Brooklyn, your parents raised you with a blend of tradition and modernization. They taught you to speak your mind while stressing to follow certain customs. You did your best to make them proud.

The picture-perfect princess.

Except, you didn't have a prince by your side.

“Something wrong, your highness?”

You turned in your chair to look at your personal knight, James “Bucky” Barnes. Standing tall at 6’4” with a muscular build, he served as your bodyguard when he wasn’t fighting for your father. Like his father before him. You worried in the beginning that he’d resent you for having to be your personal guard, but he took his duties seriously. He watched over you as if it was an honor to do so. Though he intimidated most because of his size and strength, he displayed kindness toward you. He quickly became one of your closest confidants.

A knight in name, but a prince in my heart.

“Nothing to concern yourself with.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, not moving from his spot in the left corner of your large bedroom. It was the perfect vantage point for him to see your window, the door, and you. “You dismissed your ladies for no reason, you’re not dressed for the day, and you’ve been staring at that invitation for the better part of an hour.”

You turned back toward your vanity and picked up the ornate invitation with a sigh.

Her Majesty Queen of Waverly requests the pleasure of your company at the Marriage of His Royal Highness Prince Clinton of Waverly with Her Royal Highness Princess Natalia of Volgograd.

You RSVP’d to Clint and Natasha’s wedding weeks ago and said you would bring a plus one because that was the expectation. Your parents asked every day since the invitation arrived who you planned to have on your arm. They gave you the option of choosing instead of making the decision themselves. With the wedding around the corner, you were running out of time.

“I still haven't chosen a date and my parents want an answer today."

"Forgive me for saying so, but you have been dodging the King and Queen's question."

"I know, I know. They're already disappointed that I've dragged this out."

Just like they're probably disappointed that they didn't arrange a marriage for me once I was old enough to wed.

"I highly doubt you could do anything to disappoint them or anyone else. You’re Brooklyn’s beloved princess through and through," he said.

Blood rushed to your cheeks as you set the invitation down. His praise felt good. "Thank you, Bucky. But why do I have to bring someone?”

"Tradition," he replied, crossing his arms. “You know, I figured the princes would be knocking down your door at the chance to be your plus one.”

“As if you’d let them get close enough to ask,” you said. "You don't even let Sir Steven near me and he's your best friend."

As your knight, one of Bucky's duties was to keep you safe from any possible threats. He took it to the extreme. If anyone got within a few feet of you, he was there to keep them away. Most didn’t try to speak to you once they caught a glimpse of him.

“It is my job to protect you,” he reminded you. “Especially from handsy princes.”

"Does that include Prince Nicholas?"

Bucky's jaw twitched as he nodded. It was a bit of a low blow to mention Nick’s name considering your knight couldn’t stand him. The prince was one of the few men not afraid of him.

"Especially Prince Nicholas," he grumbled, not hiding his disdain for the man. "What gift did he send you last week?"

"An emerald necklace. I almost felt bad sending it back."

"Insulting. Doesn't he know diamonds are a girl's best friend?"

You narrowed your eyes at him in the mirror, which made him chuckle. The sound sent a jolt between your thighs. Between that and the earlier praise, you prayed he didn’t notice how it affected you. Your knight was not only brave and trusting, but so handsome. Staring into his eyes was like getting lost at sea. Too many nights, you imagined how silky the brown strands of his hair would feel against your fingers.

And how the scruff on his chin would feel between your legs.

“Emeralds, diamonds, it doesn't matter. You don’t let any man get close enough to give them to me themselves,” you muttered to distract yourself from getting aroused. “Some days I wonder if you take pleasure in making sure I’m alone.”

Bucky frowned as he unfolded his arms. “You think I want you to be alone?”

"You tell me. My parents want me to wed eventually, but how will that happen if you won't let any suitors near me?" you asked, toying with one of your makeup brushes to keep your hands busy. “Or are you punishing me for constantly being on babysitting duty?"

"I'm sure the right man can court you without being in close proximity to you," he said, even though he didn't sound pleased. "And we both know I want to watch over you, so why are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

You looked away, embarrassed. You had no reason to speak to him like that. But how could you admit that you didn’t want any suitors when you had him right in front of you? He wasn’t just your knight, he was everything to you. It upset you to think he didn't want you. It scared you more that he’d resign from his duties to settle down and have his own family. You didn't want that day to come.

Is it selfish that I want him forever by my side?

“I’m not trying to pick a fight,” you said, turning in your chair to face him. “And you know I don't care about any suitors. I'm just frustrated."

That includes being sexually frustrated and the toy I named after you is calling my name.

"I'm glad you don't care about those suitors because if you married one soon, I might be out of a job."

"You're stuck with me no matter what," you smiled. "I'm sorry for being rude."

“Give me a hug, princess, and I’ll forgive you,” he said as he held out his arms.

“No,” you said, but you were already on your feet. The robe you wore didn't do much to cover your body and you wondered if you imagined the hunger in his eyes. “I don’t think you deserve a hug.”

He placed his left hand over his chest, which drew your attention to it. He lost his left arm in battle years before and the kingdom had a state of the art metal prosthetic fashioned for him. To some, it was a sign of sacrifice and bravery. It showed you that he was a fighter and survivor.

“You wounded me with your words and you’re hurting me more by denying me a simple request.”

You fought to keep from smiling as you walked toward him. Knowing that he wanted to touch you, even in an innocent form, was a heady feeling. You wanted his touch, too. You craved it like nothing else.

“I’m only going to hug you because I love you,” you said, wrapping your arms around him once you were close enough.

He inhaled as he hugged you close and you allowed yourself to melt in his strong embrace. It made you feel safe and cared for. “I love you, too, my princess,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes and hid your face in his shoulder. Whenever you said you did things for him because you loved him, he always replied that he loved you, too. You dreamt of falling asleep to him whispering that in your ear.

I wish he loved me the way I love him.

“If I could, I'd be your date for the evening."

You lifted your head and pulled free from his arms as you considered his words. You couldn't stop the grin from spreading across your face. Bucky as your date? Why didn't you think of that?

“What’s that look for?”

"Sir James, would you do me the honor of being my date to the wedding?"

His eyebrows shot up. "You called me James."

"That should tell you how serious I am."

Please, don't reject me. I'd feel like a fool.

He cleared his throat and you tried not to feel anxious as you waited for his answer. "I’m not a prince.”

“Who said I have to bring a prince? It may be tradition for a princess to have someone on their arm for royal functions, but it should be a person of my choosing. Who better than the man my parents trust with my life?”

“But-” he began before you held up a hand to stop him.

"Isn't it your duty to serve and protect me? Your princess?" you asked.

“It is,” he answered, looking down when you took his left hand in yours.

“Bucky, I’m not just asking you as my knight. I’m asking because I want you to go with me,” you said, your voice soft as he lifted his head to look at you. "There’s no one else I’d rather go with."

You felt a slight burn in your eyes from unshed tears, but you held your head high. If he sensed your vulnerability, he kindly didn't call you out on it. You didn’t want to command him to take you nor did you want to beg.

“But if you don’t want to, I understand. I can ask Prince Nicholas instead.”

Bucky stopped you before you could turn away from him. "You'll do no such thing," he said, bringing your hand to his lips and softly kissing it. “It would be my honor to be your date, your highness."

"Really?" you smiled as he lowered your hand, but didn't let go.

"Only because I love you," he smiled back.

Your heart raced as you playfully hit his arm, letting your touch linger. "That's my line," you teased, looking over your shoulder to check the time. "Let's go tell my parents."

"You're in your robe," he reminded you as you tried to pull him across the room. "I don't think the other guards need to see you like that."

"I'll change later," you huffed when he planted his feet firmly on the ground. A wall of muscle, he was nearly impossible to move. "Bucky."

You gasped when he gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His enormous hand could crush your bones if he chose to, but the gentle hold reminded you that you were in his care. There was no mistaking the hunger there this time.

"Get dressed, princess," he gently ordered, his voice deeper than before.

I'm going to have to change my panties since I'm soaking wet.

"Then we'll tell your parents."

"Yes, Bucky," you whispered as he released you, having to put some distance between the two of you. If you didn't, you'd be too tempted to kiss him. And if you kissed him, you wouldn't be able to stop.

"Good girl," he smirked, moving back to his spot in the corner as you tried to calm your pounding heart. "I'll be right here waiting."

Good girl?

You weren't sure if he was teasing you or trying to rile you up, but you could play, too.

Oh, this wedding is going to be a lot of fun.

Let's hope it's nice and easy for them. We'll see how it goes. 😏 Check out Part 2. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

#navybrat writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #modern knight!bucky barnes x princess!reader #bucky barnes #knight!bucky barnes #modern knight!bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan #royalty au

2K notes · View notes

jen-with-a-pen · 6 months

Text

⊹-୨୧-⊹𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓⊹-୨୧-⊹

⊹–SUMMARY–⊹ Inexperienced and still freshly-traumatized by his first heartbreak, Steve Rogers decides to finally move away for college after taking two gap years to work, save, and help his Ma around the house. It’ll be good for him. Away from his ex. Away from his hometown. He's excited to finally chase his dreams and begin again as a promising fine arts student at Richards College. Well, almost. Thanks to a generous scholarship spanning the next four years of his life, Steve is required to participate in on-campus Greek life. It’s simple: join a frat. They shouldn't be too intimidating. At least they're not as bad as they are in the movies, right? Right..?

⊹–PAIRINGS–⊹ Art Student!Frat Brother!Steve Rogers x Film Student!Sorority Sister!F!Reader

⊹–WARNINGS–⊹ more to be added as series progresses frat bros being frat bros, sorority sisters being sorority sisters, manipulation, coercion, blackmail, fluff, angst, whump, explicit forced s3xual acts, slow burn, dissociation, nud1ty, dubcon (bordering noncon), forced drvgging, mentions of kidnapping, emotional damage, Steve's just trying his best, Bucky and Sam are major frat bros, Tony and Clint are somewhere I swear The warnings listed here are not exhaustive but generally encapsulate the series as a whole and do not represent every single chapter. Please be mindful and read the chapter warnings!

Read this fic on AO3!

The Richards College Playlist

Steve's Playlist

any art featured in the series title header and story-specific dividers was found on pinterest and is used in good faith. all credit goes to the original artists, as i could not find accurate credit for any. collage done by me

Spam liking my works will result in an automatic block!

ALL TIED UP: STEVE'S WEEK

–⊹– One: Saturday, currently.

–⊹– Two: Last Monday.

–⊹– Three: Last Tuesday.

–⊹– Four: Last Wednesday.

–⊹– Five: Last Thursday.

–⊹– Six: Saturday, still.

–⊹– Seven: Last Friday.

–⊹– Eight: Saturday, again.

–⊹– Nine: Saturday, again.

178 notes · View notes

storiesoflilies · 2 months

Text

to love the sea

pairing: modern!bucky barnes x f!reader.

warnings: angst, brief descriptions of smut and nudity.

a/n: originally posted years ago on my old blog @theoldlily (previously honeybabybarnes). i worked really hard on this, so it deserves to see the light of day again! please enjoy.

James Buchanan Barnes had once met the sea and it was, without a single doubt, the most precious memory of his entire life.

It was not particularly special, the way they had come to know each other, but it was strangely momentous in its own way. After all, how could he have known that it would have such an impact on his life? It was not even an out of the ordinary day, the hot Spanish sun beat down upon the crowded streets of Valencia, and James had to squint to keep the rays from glaring into his eyes.

It wasn’t an electrifying, heart stopping, moment in time when their eyes briefly met, nor was there any immediate sensual chemistry threatening to explode. No, what struck James so much was how ordinary it was, like the coolness of lovely frothy waves lapping against a sandy shoreline. It was a refreshing breath of air, and he couldn’t help but go and pursue whatever this feeling was.

She was an artist, that much was obvious from the various paintings surrounding her stall, but my god, was she the best one James had ever seen. Not that he was an expert on the subject, but he knew what made a painting truly stand out from just a pretty picture. Or maybe that was just his attraction simply speaking, but he chose not to dwell on it too much.

“Good morning,” he greeted politely, the left corner of his lip curling upwards ever so slightly, a happy twinkle in his cerulean eyes.

“Morning, sir,” she smiled, showing just little sliver of her pearly white teeth. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

James shrugged his shoulders at first, then his right hand softly patted the painting that had caught his eyes the most when he caught sight of her stall. It was an oil painting on canvas, of a rocky seaside with enormous crystalline blue waves clashing against the shoreline, with white seagulls fluttering about in the sky above the ocean. It was not as grand as some of her other pieces, but he took a liking to it anyways, probably because it wasn’t as noticeable as the rest.

“How much for this one?” He inquired, flipping it around for her to see.

She smiled sweetly, albeit a little wistfully, and James suddenly wanted to know everything there was to know about that painting.

“Ah, a little gem among treasure,” she grinned, her fingers gently caressing the paint strokes on the canvas. “I was wondering when someone would take an interest.”

“I think it’s nice,” James said quite plainly, cringing internally when he thought of a thousand other better words to describe it.

She hummed in agreement, placing her left palm across her cheek as she thought, and James took this tiny moment to purely admire her. The strands of her beautiful tousled hair falling out of place, two simple silver rings glinting on her left index finger, her smooth and even skin tone against her radiant eyes.

“Twenty five euros,” she suddenly stated, unknowingly pulling him out of his train of thoughts of admiration for her.

“Are you sure?” He asked hesitantly, almost sure in his head that it must be worth much more than that.

She narrowed her eyes at him, and James decided then and there that he didn’t like that look upon her face at all, and would do whatever it took to take it away.

“I know the worth of my work, sir,” she said tensely, her lips pursed together, annoyance flashing like a warning sign in her eyes.

James shook his head quickly, “Please no, I didn’t mean to offend you, I just meant that it looks like it’s worth at least twice as much.”

She nodded her head in understanding as she realized what he was trying to say, the irritation quickly fading away from her facial expression, and James almost sighed in relief.

“I appreciate your honesty,” she said, an almost teasing tone lacing her words. “But I’m not here to make more money than I deserve.”

“That’s the first time I’ve ever heard somebody say that,” James chuckled, and she laughed pleasantly as she took the wad of cash from him, not forgetting to kindly thank him for his purchase.

James didn’t want to go just quite yet, he really wanted - no, needed - to see this ethereal woman again. There was a little niggling sensation in the back of his head, warning him not to act like a lovestruck fool, but he ignored it in favor for the relishing joy that came with him throwing all caution to the wind.

“Do you mind if I come to collect this later?” He asked earnestly as he possibly could. “I’m sort of running late for work, and I don’t want it to be at the mercy of someone’s spilt coffee.”

That last part was not a lie, James really was running late for work, but that was the last thing that mattered in his mind. She gasped in mock horror, her hands dramatically hovering over her mouth, before she laughed heartily. James heart beat just little faster in his chest, trying to thump it’s way out of his chest to put on a show that was just meant for her.

“Sure thing,” she chirped. “I close at four though, so be back a little bit before then yeah?”

He smiled charmingly, assuring her that he would do just as he was told, giving her a little wave of farewell as he left while reality caught up to him, and he was off running towards his priorities.

-•-

James Buchanan Barnes had once fallen in love with the sea, and it was as liberating as birds falling from the tallest treetops, only to spread their wings towards the sky at the last moment.

James felt like a bird, and she was his wind, lifting him up and taking him to places he had never been to before. After their first meeting at her stall, he had come back at precisely four o’clock to pick up the painting, and insisted on helping her bring her other items back to her apartment.

It was all perfect fairy tales and rainbows after that.

He took her to a quaint little restaurant beside the docks for their first date, famous for its fresh lobster and oysters, and almost did a double take when she admitted that she had never tried oysters. They laughed good naturedly as she ungracefully slurped them down, not that James minded that so much anyways, and she shyly covered the rosy blush spreading on her cheeks and nose as he smiled at her with his eyes full of emotion.

He walked her home afterwards, respectfully keeping his hand on the small of her back, and not once was too forward. James was used to the lustful side of a relationship, he was no stranger to sex and loosing himself in the pleasure, but he didn’t want to go down that path with her. She was different, a strong and mature woman who didn’t deserve the tasteless side of him who loved to please women. She deserved all of him, every fiber of his being, and he was ready to give to that to her whenever it felt just right for the both of them.

They met each other everyday when he finished work, and when she finished closing up her stall, and more often than not, they ended up at one or the others place. Well, James had his own house, but he didn’t mind going to her run down apartment block either. He was not a snob, much to her delight, and relished in being a part of her life just a little bit more. Finding out all the bits and pieces about her, funny habits and quirks - what made her human - was one of his new favorite pastimes.

James realized he was falling in love with her when she was painting.

She was sitting on top of his newspaper covered carpet, her only tools were her various paint colors and a single paintbrush. He couldn’t see what she was doing, her back was against his crème suede sofa, while he sat behind her with his legs comfortably spread.

“What are you working on this time?” He asked softly, his eyes flickering from the TV screen to her.

She lightly smacked his thigh, and he let out a sound of protest, and she giggled, “Not yet.”

“Fine,” he said in a resigned tone, his curiousity growing by the minute.

After a good half an hour, she excitedly clapped her hands together, then hastily checked to see if any paint had splattered on the sofa. James snuck a peak at her canvas, and she glanced up at him as he did so, judging his reaction.

The painting was simple. She had used acrylic paint, and it was just a single picture of a pair of blue eyes - his. From the slight curl of his thick dark eyelashes, to the little wrinkles beside the corners of his eyes when he smiled too hard, and to the deep blue storm held within his irises.

“Do you like it?”

He nodded his head vigorously, gently grabbing both sides her head and planting a sweet kiss on her forehead. She grinned widely, he could feel her pulse quicken as his hands lightly rested against her neck, while an attractive red blush graced her whole face.

If he had to call the blissful time they had together after that, it would be the honeymoon stage. They never left one another’s side, it almost pained him to leave her to go to work in the morning, even though he would see her again only a few hours later. That was what James thought love meant. The constant need to be around each other, to have his heart beat so hard against his ribs it hurt whenever he held her, to have his eyes constantly search through the crowd for her - even when he knew she wouldn’t be there. He thought this was how love was supposed to go, and who was there to tell him otherwise?

-•-

James Buchanan Barnes had once made love to the sea, and it was nothing how he thought it would turn out. It was all cold and violent, beating against him with all the cruelty of the Devil, drowning him beneath churning waters as he tried to swim towards the light.

It was silly really, how it began. James never really understood how it even begun, but it did. One day, she was kissing him and holding him, saying she returned his feelings wholeheartedly, and then, there was nothing at all.

He couldn’t help but think he’d done something wrong, and he tried to correct all the possible options he came up with. Or maybe he hadn’t done something? Perhaps he had to figure it out, and then everything would be alright again. His heart started hurting, and not because it was filled with love anymore. He felt sick and empty, like a porcelain doll in a glass box. His family and coworkers noticed a change in him, but said nothing, because he was a grown man now, and men are supposed to take care of themselves.

Had she been having an affair? James chatistised himself for even thinking so, she was too honest of a person - it defied everything that she believed in - and he knew that all too well. But still, the love in his veins was turning to poison, and he couldn’t help but grow angrier towards her, as she became a shell of the person he once knew.

His family was right, he is a man, and all men have their breaking points.

She was sitting at his dining room table, slowly eating a bowl of leftover paella, probably thinking about all the ways to make herself scarce, when he strode over and gripped her chair from behind. He saw her back freeze up, her fingers tightly grip the fork in her hand, and he felt a little guilty for scaring her - but his heart had steeled, and he no longer cared for her meager feelings anymore.

“Alright,” he started, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t know what’s happening with you, but I’ve given you time to talk to me, and you still haven’t. I think it’s only fair if you explain why you’re treating me this way.”

She swallowed thickly, obviously nervous, but he didn’t care. He’d had enough of walking on eggshells around her at this point.

“I-I,” she stuttered. “I don’t know.”

James raised his eyebrows incredulously, and exclaimed, “What do you mean you don’t know? You’ve been silent for the past month, and you don’t know why?”

She was quiet for a moment, formulating an explanation in her head. James could see her gears working, and impatiently tapped his fingers against the table as he waited for her to try and speak to him again. It was messed up, but he relished in the feeling of being in control of himself around her, even if it had to happen under these circumstances.

“I’m like this sometimes,” she started, placing her fork neatly against the bowl. “I get into things, and sometimes I think I know what I want, but then I ignore that part of me that says I’m wrong.”

James was beyond confused, not understanding how this was relevant at all, but she continued before he had the chance to interject.

“But then I met you, and I was so convinced that I wanted you. That you were finally the thing that was right for me, that you were made to fit me, but there’s still that part of me that’s telling me I’m wrong. That you’re not what I need, and that I don’t need you to make it easier, and I don’t want to feel that, because I feel I do need you-“

He shut her up with a sloppy wet kiss, fueled with the fire of his rage, and stoked with the smoke of her confusion. A flurry mess of tongues and hands and bodies, and there was nothing right about it when they became lost in each other that night. James gave her everything he had in him, trying to push his love for her back inside, but she would snap out of it and fight harder against him. She was only focused on the fight, the cruel battle for dominance between them, only caring about keeping up the illusion that she was the one in control of it all.

Afterwards, he thought she looked as if she was a painting. Her body was like water dripping from sharp icicles that melted against the burning heat of his skin, almost too painful for him to bear. Her breaths were irregular, the rise and fall of her chest clearly visible beneath the sheets. Her eyes were closed, and James didn’t know if she was awake or dreaming anymore.

He didn’t even know if he was alive, or completely numb on the inside.

-•-

James Buchanan Barnes had once understood what the puzzle of the sea was, and he had hated himself for years afterwards, for playing the part of the naive little boy playing with matches. He was just a another lost sailor in the ocean, trying to follow the trail of stars back towards home, only to be lulled into the dark depths of the ocean by the song of a siren.

He was clearing his house the morning after she left him, trying to rid himself of every trace of her scent and ghostly presence. Goddamn her to hell and back, she was the worst human being James had ever met in his life. He cursed her again and again, vigorously tearing apart the canvas painting of his eyes that he had found unceremoniously dumped in his garbage disposal, before violently throwing it straight on the floor after it almost felt like it was burning holes in his hands.

James was a man in pain who was learning, just as the rest of us are, how to process his loss. He didn’t know how he could forget someone who had changed his whole persona, let alone go back to the person he was before - not that he even remembered who that guy was anymore. If this is what love was, then James certainly didn’t want to feel it anymore, or go through any of it again. He opened the windows, the whispers of her ghost passing right through him and up into the sky, and clenched his fists tightly to his sides. It wasnt until he zeroed in on her painting of the sea hanging on the wall besides his TV, a haunting and horrifying piece of evidence of the crime scene, that it all clicked into place so smoothly in his mind.

James realized she was his sea, the limitless soul that was exactly what he wanted to believe was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She was limitless, able to travel wherever she wanted to go, but completely incapable of bringing him with her. She was affected by the turning of the clock, of it standing still, and becoming forever trapped in a tank with no way out. She was violent and cruel, her anger was exactly like the waves crashing against the rocks of the painting, but she knew how to be a soothing presence when she wanted to. She needed comfort, she was still only human after all, and to know that she was needed by someone. She wanted to feel important, to be as powerful as a tsunami, to not be afraid to show who she really was - but could not, because then everybody would be afraid.

She was uncontrollable, and he wasn’t the one to attempt to control her. James had left her to be as free as she wanted to be, because that’s what he thought was what she wanted, and that was probably his mistake. Or not, maybe he just wasn’t enough for her. Maybe she wanted the moon instead, not a little sailor who she could douse into nothingness within a second. Perhaps she wanted to fly up and reach for the sky, to touch the stars and the luminous silver moon, who could tell her exactly who she was supposed to be to finally feel happy. He was only a man, who was he compared to the moon of her dreams? He suddenly felt small and insignificant, like a little speck of dust floating about in the universe.

James left the painting where it was, his home bearing it like a battle scar, and resumed the arduous task of picking up the broken pieces of himself - resigning himself to the fact that he was never going to be special enough to be the moon.

- fin -

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel #my writing #marvel au #modern au #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky angst #bucky smut #to love the sea

75 notes · View notes

botnasty · 1 year

Text

The Theory of It All

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes X F!Reader

Summary: There are theories for everything in life and Bucky sure heard some pretty interesting one...

Warning: SMUT, FLUFF, some angst, hurt/comfort, Bucky with tattoos and glasses (and more on each chapter, read them carefully)

Part One: I Heard a Theory

Part Two: I Heard Another Theory

Part Three: Fuck your Theory

Part Four: No More Theory

1K notes · View notes

buckrecs · 1 year

Note

Hi!! Was wondering if you had recs for Bucky and reader fake dating??

Fake Dating / Marriage

masterlist | req masterlist

ONESHOT

Keeping Score by @all1e23

After hearing you begging Steve to pretend to be your fake boyfriend to keep your family off your back, Bucky quickly jumps at the chance to play your boyfriend even though you’re a hundred percent sure he hates you. What could possibly go wrong?

the right partner by @bucky-bucket-barnes

You and Bucky have always possessed a complicated history, and even more strained relationship with one another. Begrudgingly, you're sent out on a mission with Barnes where you two are posing as a newly wed couple. In an effort to investigate the consistent disappearance of young women in a certain neighborhood, you find yourselves forced to confront a whirlwind of emotions.

Suburbia by @wkemeup

Posing as husband and wife, you and Bucky infiltrate a quaint suburban neighborhood in search of a Hydra hacker. Perhaps if you weren’t so in love with him and he hadn’t broken your heart, the act of pretending wouldn’t hurt so much.

where do we go from here by @barnesafterglow

when you agree to be bucky's date for his sister's wedding - and his fake girlfriend for the weekend - you're expecting a good time with your best friend. but things may never go back to normal

Fake It Till You Make It by @buckyalpine

Fake dating solves everything… right?

A Little Longer by @buckyalpine

It’s just a little lie.

Crossing The Line by @jadedvibes

After your friends set you up on a blind date with your sworn enemy, you both drunkenly decide to mess with them by making a bet to see who can pretend to be a happy couple the longest.

annoying neighbors and fake boyfriends | 2 by @lovelybarnes

“You stayed over at my place one night but my nosy, annoying neighbour saw you leave. They always get on my case about being single so I told them that we’re dating to show them”

Undercover by @buckysknifecollection

You and Bucky go on an undercover mission, where you need to pretend to be married. You are close to solving the case when Bucky decides he’s done pretending.

Make Believe on Christmas Eve by @green-eyeddragonfanfiction

When your family insists you bring your [nonexistent] long-term boyfriend over for Christmas, you panic. You hadn’t expected to be put in this situation; you never thought you’d actually have to bring “him” over.

Stop flirting with the staff by @writingsoftheloser

You and Bucky go undercover to stop the sale of a very important device.

The Karen’s of the World by @espinosaurusrexex

Aunt Karen is possibly the worst person you know. So when her annual Independence Day party arrives, you try to give her as little reason to pick on you as possible. Not being single for once should cover most of the topics she complains about. So you ask your friend Bucky to play pretend.

Tis the damn season by @starrysebastians

On the first post-blip Thanksgiving, you find yourself having to reunite with your parents and your heart is not in it — Sam persuades you to take Bucky with you, and this might be an opportunity for you two to get to know each other.

SERIES

The Holiday Hack by @gogolucky13

You ask Bucky to be your stand-in boyfriend for your family’s Christmas party.

Breaking The Rules by @redgillan

You hate James Barnes with a burning passion and the feeling is entirely mutual. Just when you think things can’t get any worse, you are tricked into attending his sister’s wedding as his girlfriend. Stuck with a bunch of strangers, you come up with a set of rules that are not going to last long.

Best Boyfriend You’ve Ever Had by @language-rxgers

When you find out your sister is getting married and expects you to bring a date to her wedding in two months, you panic, having not gone on so much as a coffee date with a guy in far too long. After all, being an Avenger doesn’t leave too much time for a life outside of work. So, when your best friend, none other than the James Buchanan Barnes himself, offers to pretend to be your boyfriend and plus one, how can you refuse? It seems like something that would come out of a movie. However, real life is never like the movies, and stories like this never go as planned.

Stepping Up by @i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend

When Steve can’t go with you to your cousin’s wedding, he sends Bucky in his place. What happens when more than one person assume you’re dating?

Picture Perfect by @writingsoftheloser

When Steve asks his collegue to be his fake girlfriend, she accepts, thinking nothing could really go wrong. Then, she meets Steve’s best friend.

-> this is not bucky and reader fake dating but it’s one of my favorite fics so I included it!

Worst Idea Ever by @firefly-in-darkness

Wedding Season is brutal as it is but throw in two friends that decide to be each other’s plus ones and a mixed bag of feelings, what's the worst that could happen?

Heart to a Gunfight by @lailannajacobs

You didn’t want to help Bucky Barnes make it through the party by pretending to be his fake girlfriend, after all, you had just met him. You also didn’t plan on the charade lasting as long as it did.

am i more than you bargained for? by @morsmordre-writes

Bucky has an unwanted secret admirer, so naturally you pretend to be his girlfriend until it blows over. Will someone catch feelings? Will they be absolute idiots about it all? Will they live happily ever after? We may never know.

Almost Had Me Believing It by @tuiccim

An undercover operation playing Bucky Barnes' wife is a dream come true. Playing house in the suburbs while trying to take down a drug ring brings you and Bucky closer but a nosy neighbor causes trouble in paradise.

A Certain Romance by @wienerbarnes

With the threat of yet another bad date at the result of Sam Wilson’s meddling, Bucky’s desperate to find a solution. As are you, another victim to Sam’s failed matchmaking. The two of you come up with a genius plan: pretend to date each other in order to escape the poking and prying nose of the Falcon.

The Proposal by @toomanyrobins2

Y/N Arnaud is the liaison to the Avengers, but she’s also a French citizen. After a couple mistakes, her visa application is denied. Even though they can’t stand each other, Bucky offers to marry her in order to keep her visa status in the U.S. and avoid deportation.

Follow My Lead by @ciarawritesmarvel

You and your new friend Wanda are enjoying a day together at the Avengers Tower, her giving you a tour around the place when you both run into the infamous Bucky Barnes. Moments later, he’s introducing you to Sam as his girlfriend and placing a kiss on your temple and you’re not sure you’ve ever been so confused in your life.

Where Dreams Go To Die by @insomniumstella

#bucky barnes fic rec #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes smut #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes fake dating #fake dating #bucky barnes fake marriage #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #neighbor!bucky #bucky barnes college au #bucky barnes modern au #best friend!bucky

3K notes · View notes

pellucid-constellations · 2 years

Text

A Million Reasons - One

Pairing: College!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes, with all of his trust fund money and family connections, gets assigned community service. You, as someone that’s technically part of the community, now have to put up with him. Every day. And he won’t stop killing your plants.

Warnings: Bucky is the captain of this annoyance to lovers ship

Word Count: 3.7k

a/n: New series!! I’m super excited about this one :) Let me know what you think because I adore feedback ♡

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

The greenhouse was always a touch too warm for your taste. Something about the fixed humidity made your shirt stick to your skin, even as the weather beyond the walls raged with a frigid chill. It made it difficult to appreciate the changing seasons when you found yourself inside with the plants more often than not.

But it was hard to complain. If being sweaty meant you got to complete your senior research project at an ivy league, you would put up with the hassle.

God, your senior research project. Your excitement was almost palpable each time you thought about the word. Every late night you had spent pouring over books—and every early morning you had spent examining plants instead of sleeping—was all going to be worth it.

A degree from Yale would open so many doors you never thought available to you. Graduate schools, research labs, publications; a world of academia, all within your grasp. You just had to finish this last year of undergrad and get through your project. Eight months at most.

You made your way to your notebook across the greenhouse, ducking beneath greenery and sidestepping planters as you went. There were about one too many broken watering cans in this specific house, along with more cobwebs than you could count, but you were grateful for any space at all. Being on a scholarship meant you expected less, even when your professors profusely argued against such a notion.

The stool groaned as you took your place at the rickety table, pushing yourself in until it was more comfortable to write your notes. Your pencil was in dire need of a sharpening, and you almost wished you had brought your computer instead of the paper that was wilting in the sticky air of the greenhouse. Unfortunately, that was never an option; Professor Potts had made it abundantly clear that field notes were to be handwritten.

A gentle spray started up in the corner of the room, water raining down on the plants as you placed the end of the pencil between your teeth. There wasn’t too much information for you to graph just yet; the project had just been approved a few weeks ago, and your plants were still sprouting up. Still, you took careful notice of each little change, not wanting to waste any of the resources you had been allotted.

“So, uh,” a voice drawled, an awkward inflection in its tone. “You just want me to stand here, or…?”

You raised your eyes from your notebook to instead glare at the wall your table was pushed up against, your peace interrupted for the second time today. Your jaw clicked as you fought to keep it relaxed, a battle you were surely going to lose as the morning progressed.

“‘Cause I can’t really leave unless you give me something to do out there. Rules of community service and all. They have people making sure I spend my hours in here.”

You sighed, finally looking over your shoulder at the man leaning against a table he shouldn’t be. “You can stay over there,” you concluded. “Just don’t… touch anything.”

“Right,” he agreed, crossing his arms and kicking away from the table.

His pressed shirt didn’t exactly fit in with the nature of the greenhouse, and it was certainly a contrast to your loose hoodie with the college emblem stamped on the front. You took note of his blinding white collar and decided that if he walked out of here without any dirt on it, he would be a lucky guy. That thought was fleeting; you had turned back to your notebook almost as soon as he settled against a wall.

You were about halfway into your diagram when the man in the dress shirt spoke again. “It’s hot in here.”

“It’s a greenhouse,” you deadpanned.

“Greenhouses have a reputation for being hot?”

You tapped your pencil against stiff paper, still not turning as you hummed and simply replied, “Typically.”

The man mumbled something incoherent in response, apparently deciding that walking around the rows of plants was a better way to spend his time. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, biting the inside of your cheek when he rubbed a leaf between his fingers. It wasn’t your plant, technically, so no harm done—for now. You couldn’t say the same for his shoes; the shiny leather had surely been scuffed from the amount of times he had ran into old wood.

You were still cursing Pepper Potts for agreeing to whatever this was. She had approached you with so much hesitancy the other day, an apology already on her lips that you assured her wasn’t necessary. But you were second guessing that as time went on… maybe you did deserve an apology when James Barnes was the one being forced upon you.

Your professor had left out that small detail.

To be fair, the detail had very little impact on your life. You had never met the guy before today, and it wasn’t as if he had done anything to you personally. But he was very clearly a Barnes, a name that was also displayed on the main campus library and probably stamped on quite a few “donated” collections.

It would’ve been nice to know that it was a Yale legacy student serving community service in your greenhouse—not just some random guy with a penchant for misdemeanors.

“Which plants are you in charge of?” he asked, running his hand under the gentle spray of water still going strong in the corner.

You furrowed your brows. “This isn’t some community garden. I’m not taking care of these plants, I’m studying them.”

He made a slow approach to your table, stuffing his hands in expensive pockets. “Okay. Which plants are you in charge of studying?”

“Why? Are you planning on defacing them?”

He scoffed, knocking his head back as if your statement was completely uncalled for. It wasn’t, of course. You had seen the proof of that yourself, the large, egregious pictures spray painted along the bricks of the Marsh Botanical Garden still only partially scrubbed off by the janitor.

“Come on,” James argued. “That was funny. And you don’t even know why I did it.”

You met his cocky smile with an uninterested expression. “I don’t think motive is going to help me find beauty in the dick you drew over the daisies.”

“I get your favorite flowers or something? My bad, I’ll make it up to you,” he winked.

“No need.”

“Hey, I can buy you some daisies. I’m good for it.”

You huffed, trying to decide whether or not that was a joke. Of course he was good for a few daisies—he probably had the means to sell out an entire flower shop, pre-made wedding centerpieces and all. And that would barely make a dent in his bank account.

You pushed away from the desk instead of answering him, heading for the small shed by the entrance of the greenhouse. You yanked the doors open with a loud creak, procured another worn stool from the inside, and then set the seat in a corner very far from your desk. The slap you forced down on the stool’s surface echoed.

“For you,” you explained, jutting your hand out in its direction. “Go on your phone or something.”

He raised a brow at you, a small puff of laughter escaping him. He meandered to your designated location at an unhurried pace and nodded when you offered him a sardonic smile. With a purposeful tug at the material of his pants, he took a seat, and you were back at your desk feeling more satisfied.

Professor Potts had instructed you to put him to work the second he arrived. Sweeping, tossing old materials, dragging in soil; Barnes was supposed to be a garden hand to atone for his campus crimes, but in all honesty, you preferred him sitting in the corner on his phone.

You figured he would prefer that as well, but the guy wouldn’t stop talking.

“So you gonna tell me your name, Ms. Daisy?” he asked, after only a few minutes of blessed silence. “I have to be here every weekday for quite a while. Might be nice to know who you are.” He paused. When your silence persisted, he followed up with, “Unless you like daisy. ‘Could just call you that.”

“It’s y/n,” you corrected.

You could hear the smile in his words as he responded. “Okay, y/n. I’m—”

“I know who you are. They gave me the rundown when they explained your community service,” you lied. He didn’t need to know that you had actually been blindsided when he walked in this morning.

“Enlighten me then.”

You almost choked on the confidence in his tone. “Is this some kind of power trip? You like to hear the sound of your own name, James?”

His brows shot up in response, leaning his chest over his knees as he smirked at you from across the room. “Not sure why you’d assume I want a power trip.”

If you could glower any harder, you would. Was it really so much to ask for a peaceful last year of college? Did the universe have to chose you to entertain the millionaire with a criminal streak when all you really wanted was to graduate? James started bouncing his knee, making the floor groan as he stared back at you, and you concluded that yes—the universe did in fact chose you for this fate.

“Maybe because it’s eleven a.m. on a Tuesday and you look dressed for prom?” you shot back.

He laughed. Throwing his head back with his shoulders shaking, he laughed and you were left confused because you were positive that you had just insulted him. Then again, you weren’t really sure what was considered an insult to someone with an endless stream of money. Maybe he wanted to look like he was going to prom.

“You’re pretty funny, you know that?” he chuckled, the whispers of humor still fresh in his voice.

“Thanks,” you accepted, a monotone grumble.

You slid your phone from your pocket, praying that your allotted time with James was over and not attempting to be subtle about it. Luckily, the clock confirmed that he was actually set to leave three minutes ago, a small swell of joy rising in your chest.

You shook your phone up by your face. “Eleven thirty-three,” you called. “You’re free to go.”

Your happiness was not well met. James paused and gave you an uncharacteristically—from what you could discern in the few hours you’d know him—dubious look, standing from his seat and pulling a folded up piece of paper from his back pocket. He took a deep breath in before laying it flat on your table and letting his fingers linger. The mint from the gum he hadn’t stopped chewing fanned past you and hit unfinished plywood.

“I know I didn’t really do anything,” he began. “But you gotta sign off on my time here—so I can take it back to the board and all.”

“Okay,” you simply agreed, turning your pencil to the new sheet.

“You really aren’t gonna make me clean this place up?” His head titled down to catch the gaze you weren’t offering

“You’re free to clean up if you feel so inclined, but really, staying out of my way will get this paper signed.”

“And you don’t… want anything from me?”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye before refolding the paper and placing it in his unexpecting hand. His expression was cautious, maybe even a bit untrusting with the way his mouth was twisted into a small frown. You knew what he was implying, but you weren’t going to acknowledge the elephant in the room if you could help it.

The spray in the back of the house stopped. James shifted and the floor groaned.

“Like what? A pocket square?”

James shook his head, face relaxing, and placed his palm on your table to bend down and loom over your seated posture, requesting a quick, “Hey, call me Bucky, yeah? James is my father.”

“Whatever,” you called, waving him off before you could process the gentle heat of him on your back.

Bucky’s chuckle lasted well past his exit, the sound only ceasing as he complained, “This door is broken.”

You rolled your eyes, not turning to confirm when the heavy wood slammed behind him.

“I was thinking it had something to do with the soil, but when I brought that up to Professor Stark he told me to shut up.”

“Peter, I don’t know why you even try with him. I keep telling you to go to the TA first.”

Peter sighed, dejectedly picking at the salad wilting in its plastic container. He had been fighting with it after about the second bite, turning the leaves over as he complained about his final project.

“It’s not fair that you got his wife as an advisor,” Peter accused, a finger pointed at you as you ate your own lunch. “She gets the job done and she thinks you’re amazing. Dr. Stark just thinks I’m an idiot on legs.”

“Hey, come on!” you argued. “If he thought you were an idiot on legs he wouldn’t have accepted your proposal in the first place. And he gave you the best greenhouse on campus. Dr. Potts is nice, but I’m still stuck out there with all the spiders.”

Peter huffed out a laugh, the sound lost in the noise of the dining hall. You were immune to the disruptions at this point; three years of lunches with Peter Parker and you were more than capable of picking his voice out in a crowd, dining hall or otherwise.

The first time you had done so was in a packed lecture hall freshman year. The poor guy didn’t have a pencil in one of Stark’s lectures and he had asked just about everyone in his row. You saved him from the fearful task of asking the professor himself, tapping on his shoulder and, apparently, also becoming friends.

It was luck that you happened to be in the same department as well.

“That reminds me,” Peter said over a mouthful of croutons. “How’d your thing go with the criminal. Did he get those spiders out?”

You laughed, setting down the coffee you had grabbed on the walk over. “He’s not a criminal, Pete. I told you it was just vandalism.”

“Vandalism is a crime,” he pointed out, gesturing with his fork.

“Okay, well it’s not a hard crime. I think labeling him as a criminal might be a bit premature. Not that a permanent record would have any real effect on his life, honestly.”

“What d’you mean?”

You gave Peter a blank look, urging him to swallow his food before you continued. There definitely wasn’t a lack of comfort between the two of you, if the mouthful of lettuce accompanying his words gave anything away. He offered you a sheepish grin and reached for his water, motioning for you to explain yourself.

“I mean that the criminal is James Barnes. You know, like Barnes and Rogers’ Library? I seriously doubt a label like that would hurt his life prospects.”

Peter choked on his water and you found yourself wishing he was still talking with his mouth full instead. You reached for the napkins on his tray, shoving them in his direction as he fought for air. He looked like a fish out of water and all you could do was cringe as the table next to you grimaced in disgust. It wasn’t until he recapped the bottle that you spoke again.

“Are you going to live?”

Peter hit his chest a few times before nodding with vigor. “Fine, yeah,” he squeaked out. “Are you sure it was him?”

You threw him a look. “Do you think I’m an idiot on legs or something?”

“No! No, of course not. Just, wow, a Barnes doing community service. Wouldn’t really expect that.”

You hadn’t either. With the reputation that came with his name, you were surprised that his family hadn’t just made the problem go away with another big “donation” toward the library. Or the science department. Or just about any place that would have gotten him out of trouble.

You had seen it happen before. Last year, all the trees and bushes in front of the literature building were covered in paint and toilet paper during finals week. It was cleaned up rather quickly, and then—like clockwork—the Yale Newspaper reported a very sizable donation made toward the college’s book collection. An anonymous donation.

Very discrete.

Your shrugged at your friend, rolling your straw between the pieces of ice in your cup. “Maybe he was feeling generous.”

“Yeah, sure,” Peter scoffed. “Look, I think you should stay away from him, y/n. I’ve heard… things and stuff.”

“Things and stuff? Wow, Peter, why didn’t you tell me sooner? I’ll make sure to bring pepper spray next time I see him.” Peter clicked his tongue and gave you an exasperated look, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. You sighed, “Okay, okay. Sorry. Please, explain.”

“It’s just—you know who he is. I don’t think you should try to be buddies with this guy or anything. Seems to make a lot of trouble at a school he didn’t really get into on his own merit. And I'm pretty sure he’s like engaged or something? Maybe, I don’t remember all of what Ned said...”

For some strange, unknown reason—completely unfathomable—a tiny part of you deflated as Peter continued his rant. It certainly wasn’t because of the engagement; that would be certifiably insane.

Bucky was entitled and probably only in college because his family made him go. He probably spent his days in some fancy apartment down the road and only came to campus when he felt like spray painting over the ecology department. He most likely had stupid handkerchiefs in his pockets and got his pants dry cleaned and said said things like oh, I’m going to have a nice game of golf this morning.

He didn’t have the passion you did, and he certainly didn’t have the drive. It didn’t matter that he smelled like a fresh bonfire and the woods when you went camping in the winter. His stupid fluffy hair didn’t make up for his lack of common sense and his glinting blue eyes definitely didn’t make you want to blink up at him and fall into his words each time he spoke.

His smile was just… average; it didn’t make your heart skip a beat at all, even when he called you daisy and came up behind you to make you sign that stupid paper.

Maybe you were just feeling a bit morose because Peter was lecturing you again. Yes—that was it. “Peter! Peter, hey, I get it,” you cut him off, not even sure which part of his argument he had dove into as you let your mind wander. “It’s not like I’m hanging out with the guy on purpose. I’m not even making him clean anything. He just sits on his phone for a few hours and then he leaves, alright?”

But Peter looked disgruntled at that prospect as well. “I think you should have him doing something, y/n. He’s supposed to be in trouble.”

“Do you have a vendetta against this guy or something?”

Peter blanched, clearing his throat and uttering out a few too many arguments for it to be believable. Your best friend was many things, but a good liar was not one of them. You arched a brow in his direction, trying to pull the truth from him, but Peter just kept babbling on about nonsense. Which was fine, you supposed; he could have secrets and so could you.

Your secrets just involved maybe finding Bucky Barnes attractive. Maybe. On a physical level only.

You checked your phone when Peter pretending to drink his water, the only interesting notification being a message from your roommate asking you to bring pizza home for dinner. Which probably meant Natasha was coming over as well. That would be the perfect opportunity to tell both Wanda and Natasha about your new greenhouse development, and you wouldn’t even have to use the groupchat.

You sent her a quick confirmation text and heaved yourself up from the table, Peter following closely behind.

“You wanna come over for pizza tonight? You can tell the girls how much you hate Bucky Barnes,” you offered, tossing your empty cup in the garbage.

“What’d you call him?” Peter asked, tightening the straps of his backpack and scrunching his face up in confusion.

You mentally cursed, forcing out a fake laugh and linking your arm with Peter’s. The air past the dining hall doors was a brisk sunniness, a hint of summer still lingering in the fall air. You breathed in the faint aroma of the grass in the courtyard and the hint of pine from the tree that hung over the benches on the far side of campus, but Peter was unimpressed with your minuscule attempt at a diversion. He craned his neck to block your view of the yard, raising his brow in expectation.

You nudged him. “Nothing, Pete. You wanna come or what? Better tell me now or I’m not going to know to pick up your favorite.”

“Okay, yes,” he groaned, pulling you toward your next class. “But if you think we’re not gonna talk about this tonight, you’re wrong. I’m going to have a very serious discussion with Wanda and Natasha.”

“Okay, Mr. Serious,” you rolled your eyes.

Peter got wine drunk that night, which meant there was, in fact, no serious discussion.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #college!Bucky #modern au #bucky barnes #bucky barnes reader insert

1K notes · View notes

angstysebfan · 5 months

Text

My Roommates Boyfriend - Chapter 2

Pairing: Bucky x Female Reader AU: Modern

Chapter Summary: The drive begins... along with some tears.... Warnings: Angst, cursing, asshole Bucky

Series Masterlist

You woke up the next morning at 4, just to give you enough time before Bucky arrived. You showered and finished packing some last minute supplies. You had bought snacks for the car and made different playlists, as you weren’t sure what kind of music Bucky listened to.

At 4:45 exactly your front door opened to reveal Bucky, with a duffel bag over his shoulder. You were busy making coffee in to-go cups. You looked up in surprise, forgetting Nat had given Bucky a key.

“Remind me to get that key from you before we separate,” you say with a sigh. Buck just rolls his eyes and sits on the couch, saying nothing.

“Good morning Bucky, how do you take your coffee?” you ask sarcastically.

He glares at you, which makes you want to laugh. He obviously isn’t a morning person.

“Black,” he says.

You put a cover over the black coffee and hand it to him. He takes it and turns to sit on the couch.

“You’re welcome” you say, rolling your eyes. This was going to be a long trip.

You grab your stuff and you both head out the door. When you get to the car, you grab the keys from your purse, which are quickly yanked from your hand.

“I’m driving,” he says, getting into the drivers seat.

You angrily throw your bag into the trunk with his and close it. Before getting in, you flip him off behind his back, just to make yourself feel better. Then walk over to the passenger side and get in.

Once you buckle up you take out a stack papers from your purse as Bucky starts the car and immediately pulls away from the curb.

“Okay, so I have everything mapped out, and even put deposits at a few hotels and motels on the way, separate rooms of course. I also circled some fun things we might want to see before–”

Before you can finish your sentence, Bucky grabs the papers out of your hand and throwing them out of the open window.

“I’m not gonna following any plan of yours. This is not some fun road trip, alright! The sooner we get there, the sooner we're away from each other. Which can't come soon enough,” he says the last part more to himself, keeping his eyes on the road.

“What the actual fuck Bucky!? You don’t have to be such a douchebag to me all the time!” you say, trying to keep your emotions at bay.

Maybe it was the early hour and the lack of sleep, but you were really trying hard not to cry. Bucky just ignores you and keeps driving, while you tear up in the passenger seat, your arms crossed over your chest.

“Look, we don’t need some stupid plan. It’s 2020, we have GPS on our phones,” he says.

You decide saying nothing is the best option. You turn away from him and lean your head on the window, allowing the tears to come down. You really wanted to tell him to stop and let you out before you left the city. But then you thought of Nat, and decided that you would make the most of this time. After all, you will never see Bucky Barnes again after this trip. Man did she owe you after this trip.

After an hour of silence, you grab your phone and start looking through the playlists you created. You weren’t sure how to broach the subject with Bucky, since everything you did seemed to annoy him. You find your classic rock playlist, you looked at Bucky.

“Um… I’m sure you don’t want to sit in silence the whole time. I made a few playlists, since I didn’t know what kind of music you like. I have a classic rock one, if that works for you,” you say cautiously.

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up for a moment, then he glances at you with an unreadable look.

“You… you like classic rock?” he asks, shocked.

You scoff, “Yeah, what kind of music did you think I listened to?” you ask. He shrugs, not taking his eyes off the road, “Not sure, I thought some Ariana Grande or some shit like that.”

You roll your eyes, “Do you want the classic rock or not?” you ask, getting slightly annoyed.

He smirks, “By all means princess,” he says.

You grab the aux cord and plug it into your phone, ignoring the name called you. Queen’s greatest hits starts playing, and before you know it, you are both bouncing your head to the beat and singing along. You realize this is the first time that you both are near each other and not tearing each other’s heads off. It’s nice, if you were to be perfectly honest.

Soon you find your eyelids getting heavy. You hate falling asleep in the car when there is no one else is in the car. Bucky sees you struggling and rolls his eyes.

“Just take a nap, I’m fine,” he says.

You look at him for a moment and then lean against the window, allowing your eyes to finally close.

–

Bucky’s POV (not saying anything out loud)

"Look at you, sleeping huddled against the door. You actually look…. adorable, to be honest. Not that I would ever let you know that. I will never let you know I actually find you attractive... more than attractive. Not after what you said about me. You try and act like you're this nice innocent girl, but I know the real truth. You're nothing but judgmental and cruel. Nat might have been fooled, but you couldn’t fool me.

I still can’t believe Nat is forcing me to drive you across the country. I thought this was going to be my last days with my girl. We both decided long distance was too complicated, so we were going to part as friends. But, man am I going to miss her. She's just so beautiful, and funny, and smart. But she wasn’t my first choice to be honest...

If only you knew that it was you that I was looking at that night. It was you that I wanted to talk to. Good thing I found out who you really are before I made a move. Not that I wasn’t happy with Nat, but it was really you who caught my eye that night. But I won't fall for your good looks, kissable lips, and sweet smile. I’ll continue to keep my distance from you and your tricks because I know who you really are.

–

When you opened your eyes the sun was high in the sky. Your music was still playing, now moving on to The Beatles. You check the time and see that it is past noon. You stretch your arms up, which causes your shirt to ride up, showing just a slight amount of skin. You don’t notice Bucky glancing at it.

“Where are we?” you ask as you yawn.

“Western Pennsylvania, not too far from the United 93 Memorial, I think,” Bucky says dryly.

You look at him and bite your lower lip. “Do… uh.. do you think we could stop there? I've always wanted to see it,” you say.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “This isn’t that kind of road trip. I just want to get to Seattle,” Bucky says.

You look down at your hands, nodding sadly, then look back out your window.

Bucky looks at you while you look sadly out your window. “Fine, we can stop there. Stop your pouting, please!” he says, exasperated.

You look at him and can’t help the smile that comes across your lips. Bucky’s breath hitches when he sees that site, but quickly shakes it off. He starts following the signs toward the memorial site.

After touring the memorial for two hours, you both get into the car. You both have been having quiet conversations about what you remember about 9/11. Where you were, what you were doing, how you felt. It was honestly the easiest and nicest conversation you both have had with each other.

When Bucky gets back onto the highway he sees a sign for a rest stop. “You hungry?” he asks.

“Starving” you say with a laugh. “I’ll stop at the rest stop to fill up and grab food, but I want to get back on the road quickly since we lost time at the memorial,” he says. You give him a thumbs up and put your playlist back on.

As you are driving toward the rest stop, you think about how today was actually an okay day. Maybe this road trip wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe you and Bucky could make it across the country without killing each other. When you pull up to the gas tank you grab your wallet.

“What do you want? I’ll grab the food.” you say looking at Bucky.

“Just a burger or something. I’ll get the gas,” he says calmly.

You smile at him before leaving the car. After getting you both 2 burgers, fries, and cokes, you walk back to the car, where Bucky is waiting. You get in and hand him his bag with a smile.

“Took you long enough. I didn’t realize getting a burger was so difficult,” he snaps at you.

You sigh defeatedly, so much for having a good day. “It’s not my fault there was a long line. I got it as fast as I could,” you say calmly.

He scoffs at you, as he takes a bite of his burger. “I’m sure you did the best you could,” he says rolling his eyes.

You get back onto the highway, with complete silence in the car. The only noise was you both chewing or drinking your soda’s. The sun was starting to set as you passed the Ohio state line. You take out your phone and start looking at hotels in the area, since you are no where near where you planned on driving so all your hotel choices are obsolete.

“There's a motel about 10 miles up, if you want to stop for the night,” you say, keeping your eyes on your phone.

“Well, if the princess needs her beauty sleep, then of course I'll stop.” Bucky says sarcastically.

Your eyes shoot up and you look at his side profile. “Excuse me?!” you say, your voice raising. “I was thinking about you, dick! Especially since you've been driving all day. I'd rather not die in an accident because you fell asleep at the wheel. Since you obviously don’t want me to drive, I figured allowing you some rest was the next best option. Do you have to bite my goddamn head off with everything I say?!” You shout.

Bucky laughs, “Oh yeah, like you really give a flying fuck about me. I know what you really think of me. You don’t have to put on this show anymore, Nat's not here,” he says.

You look at him like he has 10 heads. “I would love to know what you think I think of you. I've been nothing but nice to you ever since I first met you. YOU, on the other hand, have been a complete and utter asshole and don’t care if you hurt my feelings.”

Bucky laughs again, “Yeah, keep going with your innocent act. Pretend I’m the bad guy. I may be an asshole, but we both know what you said that night in the bar,” Bucky sneers.

You look at him and scoff, “I actually have no idea what you are talking about, but whatever. Do you want to sleep at the motel or not?” you say annoyed.

“Fine, I’d be fine sleeping in the car, but I don’t want the princess to be uncomfortable,” he said.

You look back down at your phone, again trying to keep the tears at bay. You hate the way he always manages to get a reaction from you. As you are looking for hotels you get a text from Nat”

-Hey love, how’s the trip?

-Ugh… Bucky is being Bucky. I still don’t know why you wanted the two of us to come together.

-You know I always have my reasons. You're just going to have to trust my instincts on this one.

What does that mean? What does Nat have planned?

Part 1 / Part 3

Yeah Bucky is an asshole... and you'll find out why soon. Will it make a difference is the actual question. Also what does Nat mean? If you already read this don't spoil it! Feedback is appreciated!

Permanent Taglist: Permanent Taglist: @rebekahdawkins @marajade1974 @missvelvetsstuff @phillygirl77 @pattiemac1 @winterslove1917 @vampire7595 @unkasworld @midnightramyeoncravings

Story Taglist: @unaxv

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky angst #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky x you #bucky x natasha #enemies to lovers #bucky barnes modern au #modern au #bucky is an asshole #misunderstanding

104 notes · View notes

ghostlyfleur · 21 days

Text

♡ modern!bucky x tennis instructor

modern!bucky bumps into the most beautiful — and stoic — girl he’s ever seen on the way out of his gym, and after pleading and whining with one of his buddies working the reception desk he is told where to find her.

and so is the reason he signed up for private tennis classes.

she’s hard to crack, set on only interacting with him in a professional manner and ignores all of his attempts at flirting; guarded and lacking trust, the young woman who believes no romantic relationship is worth it, works hard to ignore the butterflies in her stomach whenever her saturday morning appointment comes in… flirty, full of sweet pet names and a charming smile as he does his best to tear her walls down. she can only resist for so long when he is this relentless and caring and funny. “what exactly do you want?” is her exasperated response one day after the daily texts he sends to make her smile and that she usually ignores, “you.” is his answer, “for a really fucking long time.” and so her walls colapse.

35 notes · View notes

nexusnyx · 1 year

Text

baby, i'm gonna leave you

#NightSkyChallenge: Prompt 5 — The night I saw everything in your eyes. “It’s like looking in a magic pond… there’s so much hidden.” [8.2k] ⚠️Smut: unprotected sex, choking, body worship, rough-handling; | 🏷️ Angst, slow-burn, denial of feelings; | 📑 This work was commissioned by my darling Malin (@charlie-hunnam) and I hope they enjoy every single word of it.

SUMMARY: His first thought is that he messed up. Bucky messed up badly not only by sleeping with you, but by doing so while knowing how much everything about you got under his skin, fogging every corner of his brain in ways he wasn't used to. So Bucky fucked up. Whatever. It happened. Then, Bucky promised he would not do it again... Except—he does. Bucky does it again, and again, and lying to himself gets harder each time.

Being surrounded by books is the only comfort Bucky has.

Nothing else comes close.

Usually, work is his safe haven. Not everybody can say that. Everything about his books soothes him—the smell of them, their textures, arranging by authors, size, or colors; he has fun with his shelves, keeps his employees in line, and offers little to no sympathy for the University students who always come to him with Pussyboot Cat eyes and some shitty, feeble excuse as to why they need Bucky's help, desperately.

None of that is working today, and it's because of you.

Bucky feels irritable beyond words — an irony of destiny considering how many of them he knows — because, for reasons he's well aware of but refuses to accept or think about it too hard, you're giving him the colder shoulder.

If you don't look at him in the next ten minutes, Bucky might die.

If Steve were here, he’d call Bucky dramatic.

He’s not—that’s what he feels like.

Being in the same vicinity and yet getting no nod of acknowledgement from you was a kind of splint under his nails kind of feeling—something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Kind of ironic, he thought, that he’d be the source of his own pain like that.

Because it was his fault. Undoutedbly.

He’d been the one to fuck up.

Again.

For the sixth time. Counting them was never his intention; there had just been few of them, and each one was more memorable than the other. Not knowing how many times he fucked up would be the fucking miracle—Bucky had the imprint of your mean chuckle tattooed at the nape of his neck, followed by the distinct taste of your tongue against his skin.

Not for the first time, Bucky takes a deep breath and, tiredly, exhales.

“Good gods!” Wanda’s voice is but a whisper, but Bucky’s ears are trained to pick it up among the overlapping conversation going on at the library, the several computer clicks and trays of books moving back and forth. “That’s like, the fifth thousand time I’ve heard you huffing and puffing back there. What is wrong?”

I went and did it again. Bucky’s eyes trail to your table once more, “No need to worry your cute little head over it.”

While he had no clue what would happen after he ignored you like a massive dick for days, Bucky expected that the weak — but plausible — excuse would mend some of the patches.

Nothing.

A dry, curt “hi” when you arrived to grab the necessary books, and then straight to your table.

“Bucky, I can hear you thinking. It’s eerily loud, for some reason, and it’s just the two of us inside our Weird Moon Valley.” Her soft, even voice gets closer, and Bucky looks up to see Wanda sliding with her chair closer.

"You're frowning." Wanda slides a hardcover copy along the counter until it hits his still hands. "Harder than usual, that is. What's up?"

"Nothing."

“Bullshit,” she spits back with a trained customer-smile still on her face. “It started when your girl—”

“She’s not my girl,” he interrupts, as always.

“—when your girl,” Wanda quips back, as always, “arrived, looked at you like you were one of the flies that surrounded her horse’s shit, got her books, then went away. Since then, mysteriously, your face’s been looking like that.” She hums, feigning curiosity. “I wonder if those are connected.”

“Your sarcasm is really over the top, you know?” Bucky considers leaving the reception and going to organize some books, but the idea is dismissed as soon as it comes. “And that description was hurtful. I’m wounded. ‘The flies that surrounded her horse’s shit’ is kinda mean, even for you.”

“My sarcasm is over the top and your attempts to pull this conversation away from the point is as horrible as your inability to play coy.”

“Harsh.”

“Alright, fine,” Wanda’s hands fly up to the sky in surrender. “I yield. Mope. Pout. Sigh. Stare at her longingly—stare at her ‘till you forget how to talk, again. See if I care,” she finishes with a dramatic sharp turn of her body, and Bucky just grabs her by the string of her apron.

He pulls her back a few steps and hits his own head against her back. "Wanda."

"Bucky."

He yields. Of course he does. "She is so mad at me." It's barely a whisper, but he knows she's heard.

He feels her scoff more than hears it. "Astute observation, dude. Do I wanna know why? And weren't you two cool until, like, a week ago? This is starting to get ridiculous."

"We were. Now..." There's a moment of hesitation in which Bucky's face becomes a wince. He wants to hide even further behind Wanda's back. "You know why," he eventually says.

Two weeks prior, Wanda had said: you two float around each other. gravitate, or some weird shit like that. you keep making the same mistakes—you gotta stand on what you two decide, dude. she'll lose her shit eventually if you don't.

A second after he says it—one heartbeat, and she understands.

It makes her turn the same way as she did before, facing him again. “Shut the fuck up,” she mutters when her pin drops on what he meant. “You didn’t.”

“Hey—technically, we did it.”

Wanda’s stare could punch holes through Bucky’s ribs. “If we weren’t at work, your left cheek would be on fire right now.” It’s not often Bucky hears Wanda’s angry tone, but it makes all of his stupidity the more real. “Are you serious?”

Did you really do it? “I… yeah.”

Did you really go and fuck the girl who’s in love with you, and who you have feelings for, but can’t date, because unlike her you’re a slut — a polyamorous one at that — who’s never been and never wanted to be in a relationship, while she is someone who expects a ring on her finger? The woman who you entangled yourself with despite her telling you she couldn’t ever pursue something with someone like you and yet, and still, you seduced her because you ‘felt something you couldn’t ignore’ with her?

Bucky heard and saw all those words in Wanda’s fiery eyes, and for a moment, he wanted to take it back.

It came and went in a flash, because the reality still was— “If I tell you how it happened you might not hate me so much?”

“I highly doubt that, James.”

Damn. “Can I tell you?”

Wanda’s nostrils flare as she exhales. “Fine.”

With a lengthy exhale, Bucky retells the rollercoaster of Tony Stark’s engagement party, and watches as Wanda notes—he has a point, after all.

2 DAYS AGO

"She looks so good, Steve," Bucky whined.

He wasn't one for whining, but tonight in particular, he felt stupid.

And she looked good. She walked in — drunken eyes check the glowing numbers on the microwave — 7 minutes ago. Not that he’s counting. Bucky muffles another whine behind his cup.

"God, you're whiny when you're drunk," Steve exhaled the smoke in his lungs and laughed right in Bucky's face. Little shit, Bucky thinks. "She just arrived, Buck. Get your shit together before you make the same mistake again, I swear—"

"I know, I know," Bucky's heard the speech enough times by now. "Don't worry. We're not doing that shit again."

Steve gave him a look. A single look. A “I heard that shit before” look, and “I know exactly how that promise ended, buddy” look.

"We're not," Bucky insisted. They’re not. Not matter if he wanted to. Bucky didn’t—he liked your friendship too much to fuck this up. He took another sip of his beer, then immediately regretted it. Alcohol had memories attached to its taste, had things in it that made his thinking skills fly off the goddamn window. "I need some water,” he decided.

"Fuck water." Steve opened the fridge and grabbed a can of Coke. "Drink this, then we'll go back."

Fuck.

"And don't you dare whine about soda or any of your gym rat shit about calories and training, it's the last thing I wanna hear tonight," Steve looked out of the glass walls that separated the kitchen from the outside, looking for something at the party. Probably his boyfriend, because Steve was now in love, and monogamous. "I'm so fucking anxious. He's gonna fuck this up somehow, I just know it."

"He's not gonna fuck it up."

"He might."

"Tony's not that self-sabotaging, Stevie." Bucky downed half of the can in one go, and then felt that little prickle in his neck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He hated going out. He should've stayed home. He should've stayed with his books, should've kept his mouth shut. Tony barely even likes him (a lie) and he wouldn’t even notice if Bucky wasn’t around (a bigger lie). "He's not gonna screw up the night he's been planning for months."

"What if he does? D'you know how hard it was to make that sculpture? I haven't slept in weeks. Weeks, Buck."

Bucky could tell.

"Ugh, look away from me," Steve grunted and flipped the rest of champagne down ungraciously.

Now Bucky laughed. "What?"

"Your eyes say I can tell and I hate you for that," Steve answered with a pointed finger at Bucky, who laughed only harder. "Do I look awful? Do I have eyebags?"

"Shit, I forgot how fucking chatty you get when you're anxious." Bucky knew his best friend better than himself sometimes, but it was easy to forget things when habits change, and going out was one Bucky lost about a decade ago. "Steve, hey, c'mere."

It took him a second, but Steve walked until he stood in front of Bucky.

True to his words — or eyes in this case —, Steve looked a little under the weather.

Bucky drank the rest of the Coke, smashed the can with one hand and threw it in the trash. Then, he placed a hand in each of Steve's shoulders, and smiled at him.

"It's all gonna be fine," he started, smiling at him.

Steve took his first deep breath.

"Good," Bucky praised. Some habits, on the other hand, never died. "Your art is beautiful," his smile softened, something only Steve's art could do easily. "Tony's a really lucky guy to have you as a friend. He's gonna be lucky to have Bruce as his best man, because—guess what? Piper's gonna say yes. God knows why—"

"'cause She made her with the biggest rope of patience in the world," Steve offered in a low whisper, and Bucky laughed.

"—sure, buddy, because She made her that way, Piper's gonna say yes. And then they'll be happy together, for many decades, hopefully. They might even have kids."

"Oh god," Steve expression changed drastically. "Their kid is gonna be president."

Bucky hummed. "I—yeah. Probably."

"I don't know if I'm excited or terrified for it."

"A bit of both sounds good." Bucky put his hands down. "You better now?"

Steve exhaled. "Yup. Everything's gonna be fine. They'll be happy together."

"Yup."

Then, Bucky heard a chuckle. A familiar one. The hair at his nape answered before he even heard the voice, raising just at the realization of your presence dawned on him.

"Damn. Am I interrupting something?"

Bucky is fucked.

He should've stayed home, with his goddamn books.

He's not ready for this.

"Hey!" Steve exclaimed happily, as oblivious as Bucky had been of your approaching. "Babe, you came!" Babe. Bucky wanted to puke on Steve and your parade. "And please," he scoffed, walking your way. "You know damn well I don't fall for those pretty blue eyes anymore, no matter how close they are to me."

It was true. Steve was now in a sweet, monogamous relationship. "You lived with these pretty blue eyes,” he started, dated as well, loved, painted them, sculpted them, “so how about no slander towards them, hm?" Bucky joked, turning around to see Steve's gigantic body engulfing yours in a hug.

“Sure thing, Buck,” Steve replied with only a third of his attention.

When you were present, the air in the room differed.

Bucky could hear your whispered conversation if he tried, but he opted out. Instead, he got another soda can from the fridge while you two said your hellos and whatever else you two loved talking about when he wasn't around and waited for it.

It took only a minute, but it came.

Your eyes on him.

Bucky was a coward. He hid behind his can, sipping the liquid as he drank the sight of you as well.

Impeccable.

"Evening," he nodded.

"Hi," you answered.

"How was your trip?" he asked, even though he knew.

You smiled, probably thinking the same thing. "Good. You know that," you shrugged your shoulders, and had Bucky's chest been this tight since he left home? Since you walked in?

Since you smiled, maybe?

"I liked the pictures at the party," he drank another sip, then put the can on the counter. "You and your friend looked nice with those costumes on."

"You said I looked, and I quote, wow, she's nerdy AND she's silly."

"It was a nerdy, silly costume."

Your smile widened. "Please. He's your favorite character and I know it."

"He is," Steve agreed, looking between you and Bucky with amusement. "It did look nice, though."

"Thanks, babe."

"Now—you two behave. I'm going outside to check on Tony. Gotta make sure he's not being, too—you know."

"Himself?" you offered.

"Exactly!" Steve kissed your cheek. "See you outside. Wait—did you come alone or did you come with Yelena?"

"Yelena."

Shit, Bucky thought. "Cool," Steve smiled because he wasn't Bucky, and he wasn't currently one of the people on Yelena's Shit List. "'m gonna look for her."

And with that, he left you two alone.

It’s tense, electric, and Bucky wants to swim in the palpable air.

“How’s your back doing?” he asked.

A week ago, you sent him a picture of your sunburnt back. Your face winced at his question, and then you turned around, taking off your coat and—fuck, fuck him.

Backless dress. It’s fine.

“Damn,” he whistled. Not because he could still see the marks of bikini on your back, but because he remembered what tracing the muscles of your shoulders with his tongue felt like. He cleared his throat as you turned back around. “Not hurting anymore, at least?”

“Nah. Lena’s been helping with that,” you answered.

“The great Lena.”

You scoffed, and walked until you leaned on the counter along with him. “She’s not pissed with you.”

“I highly doubt that.”

You had no arguments for him.

Bucky smiled, and you mirrored him. He missed seeing that in person. “You look nice,” he commented.

It was more than just habit—he liked the outfit on you, and the blush on your cheeks tasted like cherry on the top.

There was the pretty black thing around your eyes, and Bucky wondered if you made it that sharp because it killed him more. Pierced through his soul—your eyes always looked at him with so much swimming under them.

“Thanks,” you said. The drink twirled in your hand. “Is Nat around?”

Outch. Bucky’s smile stiffened. “Nope.”

“It’s just—I still have her jacket. It’s in Lena’s car.” The tapping of your rings against the glass told Bucky your next words were true. “Wasn’t trying to be a dick.”

“Okay.” He believed you. “She went to Moscow to watch one of her first students perform.”

“Oh. That’s really nice.”

“If you don’t care about being in Moscow on late December—sure. Sounds lovely,” Bucky laughed behind his cup.

“Call me crazy but I just feel like someone like Nat is immune to the cold. Does that make sense? I just can’t bring myself to see her bothered about something like minus fifteen degrees.”

“She isn’t. I’ve never seen her bothered by any weather, actually.”

“Stronger and cooler than we’ll ever be,” you muttered, sipping your drink. It sounded like an ironic and fun bite, but Bucky knew the feeling underneath it—the Romanoff effect.

It’s the thing that stands between you two, after all.

“She’s an alien,” Bucky whispered to you. Your eyes lifted, meeting his. “Or a secret agent.” The ghost of a smile appeared on the left corner of your mouth. “Let’s not dive into all the reasons we can’t be a Romanoff.”

Bucky hated to look at you now and realize what you were holding back.

“I don’t think I’d wanna be one, anyway,” you said eventually.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” The smile might’ve been hidden, but you made no effort to withhold with your look. “She’s not into horses,” you whispered, as if telling a secret, and Bucky walked towards you in instinct. “I can’t live without them. Not even to be an ex-dancer with a top secret job and the prettiest hair.”

“Your hair is pretty,” he retorted, gaining the smile as result.

“Thanks,” you chuckled.

“Plus—I’m sure you could pull off red if you wanted to,” he said, then closed his mouth shut.

It was too easy to get lost in it.

Not even two minutes in your presence and Bucky had walked closer, complimented you twice, and he was about to do it again.

He swallowed around the feeling of your eyes ranking up and down his body.

“I’m gonna go see if Tony’s embarrassed himself again,” ‘cause I’m a coward. From this distance — or lack thereof — Bucky smelled your perfume. “Wanna join me?”

One week without it and he was now drowning in it.

“Sure,” you shrugged. “Let me just get the beer I came for.”

Everything he carried as okay crumbled more and more with your steps, but Bucky embraced it all night long.

Watching you laugh and feeling it like a punch to the stomach because all he could see was you bathed in sunlight, laughing at his morning hair dressed in his shirt? It was fine.

The way you sometimes leaned in closer so your scent was all over his space? Fine, too.

(Lies.)

All night long, he ignored the longing glances.

It was a hard task to fulfil—your eyes and his had magnets after what happened before your trip, and the distance made it that the pull only got stronger.

Through the drinks and overlapping conversations, Bucky tried to focus on what is instead of was.

Instead, he got cornered.

Close to the grill at first, you showed up with your wine glass in hand and pretended to not see him until the last second, then smiled with your wicked ways when he was forced to guide you away from the heat with hands on your elbows.

What he got was your eyes blinking up him, muttering, “‘m sorry. Slipped,” as if Bucky wouldn’t know better.

As if he didn’t see you clear as daylight.

Then, as he wondered why you were playing this game with him again, you did it again when he ran for the kitchen and decided to stay there while Thor made a show of creating spicy cocktails.

You entered the kitchen applauding already, smiling at one of Thor’s nice tricks, and the next thing Bucky knew, he felt your body pressed against his. It was a bit crowded in there. Not enough space for all those grown, broad bodies, but that was no excuse—Bucky had been there for minutes already, but it was on him that you decided to lay rest and watch the show.

“You don’t mind if I sneak in here, do you?”

Bucky minded very much. You knew that. “Not at all.” Maybe this was punishment. A way of you to get back to him, somehow. “He’s got some talent,” he commented, sipping the rest of his drink. “Here, have my spot.”

He left because he knew it was the alcohol.

There was not a mean bone in your body — also a lie — and Bucky recognized the telltale signs of a pissed off you. The lashing out and pettines kind of gave it away.

So he tried to escape.

He managed to stop Tony on the way from one room to another, give him a hug and congratulations, and say he needed to head home.

“Already? Well. I’m not gonna say I’m surprised,” Tony looked happier than Bucky had ever seen. “Rhodey and I have this theory that you might expire if you don’t sniff a book every X amount of hours and your early cue actually puts my guess in advantage, so feel free to skadaddle.” He hugged Bucky again—definitely drunk. “Thanks for coming, Barnes. I don’t say it much, but I’ve grown fond of you.”

It was all in motion.

All Bucky had to do was make it out of that stupid, gigantic mansion and—

“Leaving already?”

Fucking hell.

Bucky turned around to face you, gripping his jacket a little tighter in his hand. He put on a smile. “Yeah. You know me.”

“Sure do,” you chuckled.

“Sorry—I didn’t find you inside to say goodbye.”

The next laugh came accompanied by a roll of eyes. “You really don’t need to lie to me.”

‘You have a tell when you lie. Did you know that? Has anyone ever told you that?’

‘Do I?’

‘You do. It’s adorable.’

“You never told me what my sign is,” Bucky’s smile softened at the memory, but he tensed again when he saw you stepping closer.

“Can’t give that away. That’s important information.” Your step was steady and straight for someone who’s had so much to drink, but then again, your tolerance was kind of high. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Can I get a ride home?”

Are these eyes playing with me or does she really need me? “I thought you came with Yelena.”

You nod, but don’t touch your hair. Maybe you do mean it. “I did. She’s not leaving ‘till the party’s over, though, and I have training tomorrow.”

Plausible. Bucky knew how much you hated to train with little to no hours of sleep. “Yeah. Sure.” What hard could a ride do?

The smile you gave him was so genuine that he almost felt like letting his guard down. “Thanks, Buck.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” he needed to stop being so full of himself. “Let’s go.”

It’s almost unbelievable what a little bit of your charm or smile would do to Bucky.

He got inside that car without a worry in his heart.

She just needs a ride. Chill, Buck.

The way his guard is disarmed by every single glance of yours out of the window instead of the chatty, witty remarks he expected.

The drive home happened without much conversation. This part you two already knew.

It’s how you got close, in the first place.

You two existed well in silence. Sharing space was enough—comfortable.

As it was, you picked the music. Bucky asked about your course, which you were ‘okay’ with, as always. You asked about his few students, his phD. Work.

Small talk.

It lasted all the way until your house.

When Bucky parked and said goodnight, he was examining your eyes in search for the alcohol and that glint he saw a few times during the night. Instead, he found a reflection—there was a search in yours, and his stomach tightened.

All the things we could’ve been…

“I’ll walk you to your doom,” his voice came out as nothing but a whisper. The air felt thicker, somehow. “C’mon.”

You nodded, and opened your own door before he walked out of his side and reached yours.

The light of your porch lit up after sensing presence, and Bucky was thinking about how to unglue his tongue from the roof os his mouth and whisper something plausible, something, just something when you said it:

“Remember the last time you came here?”

Just like that.

He paused, hesitating his next step. “I mean…”

Yes. His whole body felt in alert, and a part of Bucky felt glad to still face your back because he imagined his face looking very stupid right now.

The last time he’d been here the two of you watched movies. Had dinner. Three bottles of wine, and two shots of a special tequila you had as a gift from your best friend’s trip to Mexico. Then, when you were showing Bucky pictures of you and friends on a trip to the beach, you two had been a little too close.

A little too personal.

That time, there was no alcohol to blame.

No party, no high, nothing.

Just that thickness hanging heavy in the air and the notion that both of your bodies emanted so much heat it was palpable. It felt palpable.

Much like now.

“I never thought I’d have the guts to do what I did.”

Your confession felt like a caress. They broke him out of his stupor. Reaching the door, you turned around, facing Bucky.

He wanted to be a good guy and wanted to abide by what you had asked him of staying away, but it proved difficult when everything pointed towards the fact that you wanted this. He wasn’t crazy. “Why are you telling me this?”

Both your shoulders shrugged. “I don’t know.” You did. Bucky could see your eyes knew what the previous words meant. “‘Cause I’m still a bit tipsy? Or maybe—we just—we danced around it. Since we met. All the flirting and the kissing at Steve’s house parties.” Lower, you whispered. “I felt like a teenager.”

Goosebumps rose at the back of Bucky’s neck, and it felt like a confession of his own.

Despite being well over his thirties, he knew exactly what you meant.

You went on. “It was kinda exhilarating, I’m not gonna lie. I told my best friend about you and I kept thinking to myself ‘I never got this giddy when I was younger, what the hell is wrong with me’. And… I had convinced myself it was unilateral. You know? Just you indulging me in all my want.”

“That’s not true.” He couldn’t help but interrupt. “You know that’s not true.”

“I do now.”

He fidgeted with his car keys, deliberating if pushing was the right choice or not. “Where are you going with this?” came out after a heartbeat of silence.

“I don’t know. I just—I spent all night today trying to avoid the fact that all I wanted was to drag you back here.”

All he could do was whisper your name.

You weren’t finished. “And because of what? Because of me? Because I can’t deal with something that I already knew?”

Bucky barely has time to think of an answer before—

“What if I want it again?”

Just another whisper. It had his feet moving before he could put words in back in his mouth, then out of it. “You know my answer to that.”

The widened eyes surprised him, just as much as his answer apparently surprised you. “Really?”

“Really. But it’s not fair. Because you say this now, but I’m not sure you’ll feel the same tomorrow. You’re tipsy—”

“—you know that’s not true.”

“Still. You drank.”

A single pause from you, but Bucky knew this was a lost battle.

“Are you trying to find excuses? It’s okay if you don’t want to,” you said.

“I’m not. I’m trying to be rational. I don’t want you hating me tomorrow morning” it was very true. “I like our truce.”

“I do, too. But I also really like the way you’re the only man who’s ever been able to handle me. To do everything I wanted. I also really like the way I barely had to ask for things, and the way you gave them to me when I did. The way you stretched me out, and took no pity, and made me see how far even I can go. How much—”

Some things took a lot of effort, and others took none at all.

Pushing your body against the nearest surface was easy.

Muscle memory, even if he did it only a few times.

More than anything, Bucky liked the way you took work.

More than just with this—meeting you had taken work, getting to know more of you required gaining your trust. Unlike most people, you preferred to keep your life and energy private until someone proved they deserved to know more.

In bed, Bucky liked how none of it was performative.

Maybe he should count himself lucky—you fit him like a puzzle piece, if he was being honest, in ways very few people in his life did.

Steve, Natasha, you.

Winning him over was difficult, too.

All night long, Bucky let it all go.

He knew it was unfair the way he stared at you all along—Bucky saw in your eyes the way you dived in his eyes just like he dived into your body.

When he cupped your cheeks and your nails clinged to the back of his neck, Bucky knew how this would go.

Your kisses tasted like I’m gonna hate you tomorrow, and when you moan in his ear, his name coming out gravely and hoarse, Bucky heard the silent plea underneath. It’s hard not to spill empty words—Bucky bit his tongue so hard, so many times, that he wondered how he never tasted blood.

He preferred your taste, anyway.

It overpowered everything else, as always.

When all the clothes were on the floor and he pinned you against the nearest surface — your counter, just like the last time — Bucky wanted to slap himself instead of your ass.

“Stop starin’ at it.”

He slapped it. “You like it when I stare.”

“I like it better when you use your hands. C’mon, Bucky—”

“Fuckin’ impatient, as always.” He adored it. Your lust and his mixed in the air, clouding his thought. “I’ll give anything you want. You want my hands, baby?”

“Yes, goddamn it—”

“Then kneel for me.”

The sight of you on your knees between his legs would be his undoing for how long? He couldn’t tell, or bring himself to care. He held onto your hair, gripped your neck thigh just the way you liked it, and let himself feel your lips wrapping around him like velvet; it’s a deja vu, as well as foreboding—Bucky loved to have you on your knees because you loved it, and after he came so hard all his senses mingled into one, it was a pleasure to pick you up and drag you to your room whilst feeling what undoing him did to you.

“Look at this, baby. Look at how fuckin’ wet you are for me—”

“Couldn’t cum the way I wanted to—please Buck, please—”

“Shhh, I’ll do it. ‘m gonna fuck you all night, baby.”

The neighbours must have heard it that day.

It was more than the first time—it was pent up frustration, desire, heartache, longing; Bucky did what he promised, and you gave back just as good as you received.

There was a pause for food and drinks somewhere around five in the morning. Not many words were spoken during that time—the glass windows let in the faint light of the sky changing colors outside, and in your kitchen, Bucky just wrapped you in his arms and fed you the food you cooked for both. The whispered conversation was meaningless, but as warm as your bodies tangled together.

“You think we’ll have many more Stark parties to attend now?”

“Buck—that man will use any excuse to throw a party. Yes. We will.”

“Don’t laugh at me, he’s gonna be married now!”

“Married doesn’t mean dead.”

“Eh. For lots of folks it does.”

“Since when is Tony ‘folk’?”

“...you make a solid point.”

“Always do.”

When the first rays of sunshine came through, Bucky woke you up with his head between your legs.

Your thighs were reason for worship, he always said. And worship he did; Bucky saw the bruises already forming from the previous hours and admired his words with his hands as well as his mouth. He licked his way up, and when you finally squirmed awake, he was already pulling your sleeping shorts down so he could taste you before anything else that day.

The sound of his name on your lips first thing in the morning would follow him for the rest of the day.

It was also the only sound he’d hear for a few days to come.

+++++++ ++++++++

Even Wanda admitted him to be right when he said it wasn't really his fault. At least, not only his.

At least, not only his.

There was a lot involved in this.

Desire alone couldn’t sustain a relationship. He knew that better than anyone.

His desire for you alone could power a whole city—Bucky looked at you and the entirety of New York could have electricity to run for a fortnight; that’s how he felt.

The thing is—he also felt that way about other people. Few people, but still.

All it took was one Natasha and a few memories of Steve to stain what you two built over a year.

“You two worked better as friends,” Steve offered during brunch at Bucky’s apartment. Steve enjoyed offering his opinions, requested or not, and Bucky appreciated him for it.

“So do we.” The unspoken and yet, we were an item for over a decade hangs in the air. “Wish things were that easy, huh?”

“Nothing’s easy in life.”

Bucky laughed out loud at that. “Well, why don’t you preach.”

Steve smiled back, looking at him that way. “You know it’s true.” He scraped the rest of his food, and handed Bucky his plate. “I mean—take me and Sam, for example.”

“What about you and Sammy?”

“We—ugh, he hates it when you call him that.”

“I’m well aware.”

“You’re a douche,” Steve nudged Bucky with his hip, laughter stifled in respect for his man. “We shouldn’t have worked, right? I mean, we’re pretty similar except for all the ways that we’re not. He couldn’t handle the fact that I had non-monogamous relationships when we met ‘cause he didn’t understand it. Plus, he saw me the way most people do; as this goody-two-shoes that has unbreakable morals—”

“You do, though.”

“—and that’s, like, a republican or something.”

“Disgusting.”

“I know!” Steve sighed loudly, and prompted himself up on the counter. Bucky continued cleaning the dishes and did not think about how you loved doing that as well. “But then, we started getting to know each other better, bit by bit… and it worked out.”

“I’m confused.”

Steve turned to look at him. “Why?”

“Are you trying to say me and her are gonna work our shit our, or that we’re not?”

Steve hummed. “You know—I don’t even know?” He grimaced. “Sorry. I’m tryna say that whatever will be, will be.”

“Motivating.”

“I’m serious! If she wants to come here later tonight to talk, something’s gonna happen and soon you’ll know what.” Steve’s smile changed, and Bucky recognized it as his you smile. “She’s gonna be on her best behaviour.”

“What do you know that I don’t?” Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“Nothing much. Just that she’s been revaluating. She feels bad about ghosting you these days.”

“Really? ‘Cause from the way she ignored me every time she crossed my path I’d have thought she hated the guts outta me.”

“You know that—” Steve got interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing.

As always, Bucky knew who it was just by the sight of his eyes gleaming at the screen. While Bucky finished wiping the counter, Steve talked in his Sam tone about going back home in a few. He threw in a “Sam says hi,” to which Bucky replied with “Hi Sam, please answer my damn email!”; the laughter on the other side of the line could be heard even from a few steps away.

When Steve leaves, Bucky retreats to his safe haven.

His apartment is nothing much—small enough that he can clean on his own, but big enough to fit a study, a nice living room and a kitchen that’s not mingled with everything else. It’s been six years since he moved and only now Bucky realized he truly felt at home here. The staircase on the balcony outside where he sat for a smoke, sometimes with a book in hand or a cup of coffee, it felt like his place.

All of his home had tiny little memories of all the people that made up his heart painting the furniture and the walls.

He goes to his study for his two hours of research, writing and editing on his phD paper, but his mind is stuck elsewhere.

The phone call he got this morning which made him call for Steve keeps coming back, much like the dreams which are nothing but memories; Bucky saw you around campus these days without a word to spare for him, but inside his four walls, everything came back to him.

One single call and everything transformed into a hurricane.

The screen stared back at him, the numbers glaring holes into his skin.

21:32.

He ignored the way his stomach tightened even more.

She’s coming isn’t the thought that makes him anxious. It’s been months since she stepped foot here makes his palms clammy.

What had she said? ‘Right after work’, those were her words.

Bucky rubs both hands over his face, turns off everything in his office and heads for a shower.

Steve was right, he guessed. Whatever will be, will be.

“Hey, Buck.”

“Hey.”

“...Thanks for replying to my text.”

“You don’t gotta thank me.”

“I—yeah, I kinda do.”

“Hmmm. Why?”

“You know why. ‘Cause I need to apologize—fuck, I’m horrible at this.”

“You’re doing better than I did most of my life tryna apologize for stuff.”

“...of course you’d make me laugh.”

“I like your laugh.”

“I’m sorry, Buck.”

“...for what happened? Or…”

“For these days.”

A win. Bucky had counted that as a win. “Okay. Apology accepted.”

“Thanks… Can I come over later tonight?”

That had Bucky pausing. He almost knocked the pan out of the stove, because an apology came a long way, but an invitation, one for his house out of all places, was unexpected. “To my house?” he confirmed.

“Yeah. Right after work—I have a couple of seminars in the afternoon, then I have my client at the gym, can I go there after that?”

“I mean. Sure.”

“...’Sure’? Was that, like, ‘if you want, whatever’, or was that, like ‘’course you can even if I don’t know why the hell you’d want to’?”

It had been his turn to laugh. “The second option.”

“Okay. Then I’ll be there later tonight. Around ten? Ten thirty?”

“I’ll be here. It’s Saturday.”

“‘Kay. Cool. Is it ok if I bring a bottle of wine? Just one! Just—You know I’m nervous. It’s just so I don’t go to my cocoon or whatever.”

“Sweetheart. It’s ok. You can bring whatever you want.”

‘Bring whatever you want’ — why the fuck had he said that?

He’s unsure. He’s anxious, and excited, and his mind stays like this all night long until he hears the buzzing of you outside waiting to be let in.

Whatever will be, will be, Steve had said, but it’s sad when all that someone wants is one outcome.

He opens the door to find you outside in your work-out clothes. “Hey,” Bucky steps to the side to let you in, and watches as you take off your shoes and puts your gym bag on the floor.

“Hey,” your smile is weak, and tentative. “Is it a lot to ask if I can shower before we—sit, and whatever?”

Bucky shakes his head, and tries his hardest to push the images of you inside his bathroom naked out of his mind. “Not at all. You know where everything is,” he also holds back any stupid jokes or flirtatious comments that fall so naturally to the tip of his tongue.

While you shower, Bucky sets the station on the balcony outside. He brings two chairs to face the tiny table, brings the glasses, the pie Steve baked earlier. He sets everything on the table and rolls a purple haze for himself because if there’s one thing he needs right now, is to fucking chill.

That’s how you find him—with the corkscrew to open the wine in hand, and a blunt hanging between his lips.

Bucky mentally curses at the fucking scent you bring from the inside.

Peach. Wild berries.

“Do you take your stuff with you everywhere?” he asks before he can stop himself.

You frown. “What stuff?”

Bucky loves how big your thighs look in those shorts. He looks away to say, “Your creams and lotions and—skincare shit. All that.”

You laugh, sitting in one of the chairs, and you hold the bottle for him to open. “Not everywhere. Just when I go to the gym.”

“Hmmm.”

“Why?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Dunno. You always smell the same.”

“I like the way my stuff smells.”

“I can tell,” he chuckles.

“It was a gift from one of my best friends—you remember Nyx?”

He has to dig in his memory a little bit, but he finds it. “The one you met on your trip?”

You nod. “Yeah. She’s brazilian—their stuff smells amazing.”

“I can tell.”

Three words only, and the air in his small balcony shifts from light to heavy. Sticky. Honey sweet.

Instead of asking why you’re here and rushing it all, he lets you pour the wine into the glasses. He goes for small talk for now. “How’s your week been?”

“Fucking cold. I hate this time of the year,” the way you pout when you’re angry makes him pissed off. Bucky never wanted to do something so stupid and cheesy as kissing someone’s frown away. “The snow melting’s so fucking incovenient.”

“That it is.”

“And your papers? Still ripping your hair out?”

Bucky runs a hand through his hair; “Still have some left,” he takes out the lighter from his pocket and sets the thing between his lips on fire.

As the smoke fills his lungs, Bucky breathes easier. It’s ironic—but then again, so is the fact that your presence both calms and electrifies every inch of him.

“I gotta tell you—I thought you’d be one of those unfortunate suckers who lose all of their glorious hair by the time they’re thirty five—”

“I’m literally thirty nine,” he laughs.

“See!? Exceeding expectations.”

Small talk also exceeds his expectations.

At least, it does with you.

Other people? Bucky would rather not exchange a single word with.

You?

Half a bottle of wine goes in the blink of an eye. Sober him had clammy, sweaty hands, and an agitated leg that bounced up and down like a child who’s high on sugar. Tipsy and high Bucky focus only on the now, on the curve of your nose and how beautiful your hair looks underneath the street lights.

Even you indulge in the transcendental offer that is something to clear the mind, or maybe make it foggy.

Not that he minds sharing—Bucky sips your wine, you take puffs of his blunt, and he appreciates the way your fingers hold it between your lips.

He really likes your lips.

Both of them — the wine and the weed — have their expected outcome; so much that when you drop the bomb he’s been waiting for, Bucky barely feels his heart leaping out of his throat. It’s more of a skip; a small jump, if you will.

It comes after a lull in silence where you two are finishing off the cigarette, and he’s a little lost in the way Alpine curls in his lap when you say, “I think I know why we never worked out. Like… properly.”

Bucky’s fingers still in Alpine’s fur, and the cat nibbles on his hand to get him back at his job of petting. “Do ya?”

“Yeah.” The tilt on your chin tells him it’s true. It’s your little tilt of ‘I’m an expert at this topic’, so he figures this is what you must’ve spent those days doing—ignoring him in favor of thinking meticulously about the two of you, from every angle possible. “I mean; it’s pretty obvious, in the end. At least it must be to everyone else. But I hate it the all the same.”

“It’s not obvious to me.”

“No?”

“No,” he wished it was, many, many times. “Enlighten me.”

With a nod, you lay the words on the table. “I want you all to myself.”

Only six words, and they manage to knots every inch of his insides. He feels them everywhere; inside and out, from the tip of his cold toes to every last strand of hair he still has.

When he answers, it’s only a single breath. Your name, which sounds like a plea.

“I wanted that since I first saw you. It's those eyes—god, I swear to god only the skies above know how much I fucking love your eyes. And the way you look at me, Buck... When you kissed me at that party for the first time, I couldn't stop staring at them, remember? They're beautiful. Looking at them... It’s like looking in a magic pond… there’s so much hidden. All I could think about was: I want him. I want those eyes on me, always. I want him all to myself. But I can’t have that, right?”

“Sweetheart, I’m not pie.” It comes out exasperated, and Bucky hates how tired he feels of it, but he’ll be damned if he loses you like he almost lost Steve once because of that same stupid idea.

“What?”

“I’m not pie, love. Just because you get me, and someone else does too, it doesn’t mean they’re taking a piece outta me that you’ll never get it back. You do have all of me. When I’m with you, it’s all me.” He gestures from his head to his toe. “Right now? All of me. Every inch right here is yours. My mind’s thinking about you. I wanna talk to you. I wanna feel you. Does that make sense?”

It’s funny to think that sometimes, you can see the effect words have.

When he looks at you, Bucky sees the realization dawning bit by bit—the puzzle pieces are almost visible as they fit in your mind.

“You want all of me?”

The question catches him so off guard that it almost hurts.

Had it really been so difficult to see?

Bucky swallows the knot that your question formed in his throat and nods. “I do.” Always did. “Since I fuckin’ met you—d’you think I do this all the time? This aggravating, stupid—fucking mating dance?” God, how he loves the sound of your laugh. “I hate the excpectations, and the unspoken rules and whatnot; you realize that you made me go to not one, not two, but three events last year? Three. I barely leave my house, sweetheart.”

Gnawing on your bottom lip means you’re nervous, but not about thoughts—about what you want to do next. “I’m a really jealous person,” the whisper says I’m confessing, and I’m sorry about that. “I don’t know how I’m gonna act in the future, Buck.”

“You’re a grown woman, I’m a grown man. We could work it out, couldn’t we?”

“We could. But I…” you trail off, the words lost in the night, and he waits. “I don’t wanna lose you completely.”

“I can assure you that the only way I’ll be completely out of your life is if you actively kick me out. Use the words I don’t want you around anymore or something like that. Otherwise? I’ll just wait. I’ll keep coming back.”

“Bucky,” it comes out breathless, and Bucky wants to throw the table that separates you two out of the balcony and onto the street down below. “These days were miserable.”

When your lip trembles, Bucky thinks fuck it, and gets up. Alpine protests, he apologizes, but without any heat to it.

Kneeling down in front of you, Bucky searches your face for any shadow of doubt. Any lingering trace of pain, or uncertainty, and when he finds none of those, his hands come up to cup your cheeks the way he loves to do.

“I hate when you’re miserable.” Bucky hates how hard it is to hold back, too—the cheesy, honey sweet stuff that comes to his mind whenever you’re around are too much, but the dem is broken now and when you lean on his touch, Bucky knows you’re both doomed. “I want you happy, sweetheart.”

“I’m happy when I’m with you.” Another whisper. Another confession.

He smiles at that, and watches as you smile back. “Let me make you happy, then?”

For both of your lucks, Bucky has enough strength to hold you when you throw your body on him. He’s not a physical person like you — carrying books all the time holds no weight to what you do in the gym — but he has just enough to pick you up and carry you to where you should be.

He has enough in him to worship your body like he dreamt all week, and this time, with no worries about whether you’ll be there in the morning or not.

Bucky drenches you in him—sweat, kisses, sticky bodies clinging together until they’re nothing but one.

He sees the happiness in you, and feels it reflected in him.

He’ll make it last, for as long as you let him. As long as you wish him to.

↳ my inbox 💌 | tip jar ♡ | ✒️ masterlist ↲

583 notes · View notes