#god mobile formatting was a b it ch

[buckysdior]

no filter || roommate!bucky

summary: bucky is a grump who gets flustered easily. reader has a habit of drunk calling and not having a filter

wordcount: 1.6k

warnings: i wrote this sleep deprived and on mobile so it may be bad, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sex, reader is horn-knee, reader is a messy drunk, reader has a thigh kink, and a metal arm kink

sidenote: lol so inspired by me loving roommate!bucky and my own personal messiness this previous weekend, tried to write canon bucky but i also s*ck so

It was so easy for him to become nervous.

Not because you were reckless or because you were a lightweight or anything like that, but Bucky didn’t like the idea of you getting plastered with your friends when he couldn’t take care of you.

You just happened to be a work-hard-play-hard type of person and you worked hard. So when you went out and there was alcohol involved you could hold your own, but no one should let you near your phone. A notorious lovey and loose-lipped drunk, you constantly left friends voice memos that sound like “iloveyousomuchandi’msoproudofyouandgodyourfriendshipmeanstheworldtome” or on a particular day when you were feeling ballsy and a bit horny “godiwouldactupforyousobadit’ssoinappropruatebuti’mdrunkandthat’sabadidea”.

Bucky’s been on the receiving end of your more platonic affection once or twice. Barely readable drunk texts in the Uber home from the bar followed by a facetime call where you blabber about how proud you are of him and how much he means to you followed by a panicked realization that he’s with Sam and probably busy and “ohmygodi’msosorryforbotheringyou” before hanging up. And when you wake up the next morning to a text that says, “You’re not bothering me, doll” you remember exactly what you said and did but choose to pretend like it didn’t happen. Bucky has always assumed you never brought it up because you never remembered what happened (or deny yourself the tangible evidence left on your phone), so he just does what he thinks the gentlemanly thing is to do and never talks about it.

But tonight. Tonight he’s home, on the couch, sitting by the phone praying you’ll ask him to pick you up from your friend’s birthday party even though you told him that the group of you have hotel rooms, “It’s like… A sleepover, but we’re grown so there’s alcohol and silly photoshoots,” you had told him earlier.

The drunk texts began about an hour ago. A blurry selfie in the hotel bathroom, a couple texts about your friends, some more about how you think people can tell you’re drunk. The more drinks in you, the more of a guessing game Bucky was playing with his texts. And suddenly, a voice memo comes through, “Okay I…….Know I have bothered you for a lot of tonight……But can I call you for like two minutes? Justliketwominutes,” you trail off in the end. Not even a minute after texting you 'of course', there’s an incoming facetime call.

He clears his throat as he answers, the first thing he sees is you sitting on the bathroom floor.

“Hey bestie,” you greet in a singsong voice.

“What are you doing on the floor? Did you throw up?” Bucky asks with a creased brow. Usually when you call drunk, he’s too far or too busy to do anything, but he’s declined calls from Sam all night in case you wanted to come home. He wanted you to come home.

You brush him off with a roll of your eyes and a head shake, “No,” you draw out, “I just like it here.” He’s trying to figure out what’s off when he realizes you’re not wearing the clothes you were in the photo you sent him.

“Where are your clothes?”

A lazy shrug as you prop the phone up against the side of the tub, “Dunno’ it got hot and gross so I’m in my underwear. Dunno’ how.”

His jaw clenches and he has half a mind to demand where you are, but he knows you can take care of yourself. And before he can even continue down the line of his average taking-care-of-you-through-the-phone questioning, there’s a loud knock on the bathroom door and your friends drawing out your name lazily. “Who’re you talking to?”

“Bucky!” You yell back as you grin at the unamused man on the screen.

“Who are they talking to?” Someone else asks faintly.

“Their hot roommate,” the first voice replies, both of them loud enough for Bucky to hear.

“Oh the one they wanna’ fu—“

“Shut the fuck up, I can hear you!” You reply as you spring to life and bang the door. And as their giggling fades away, you slink back to the floor. The burst of energy escaping you.

Bucky’s face has already turned beet red at being called your “hot roommate” and he’s fairly certain he knows where that next question was going. He shouldn’t press because he knows you’re drunk enough to answer, but curiously just gets the better of him.

“What were they about to say?”

You blink once, twice, three times. To him it seems like you’re just a little too off the handle, but really you just were hoping he wasn’t asking what you thought he was asking. You know there’s barely any self-control in you and if he presses this line of questioning, you’ll lose it.

“Hm?” You ask with a lazy smile on your face.

“Your friend at the door, what were they about to say? 'The one you want to'…”

You bite your lip and shake your head, “I….Don’t think I should tell you. It’s inappropriate.”

He laughs, surprised you still have some ability to bite your tongue. “No, tell me,” he presses gently.

“All my friends think you’re hot,” you blurt out. Hoping it derails the topic somewhat.

“—What?”

“All my friends think you’re hot. Like, they’d fuck you type-hot,” you grin.

“They’ve never met me,” as close as you and Bucky were, your life as roommates was kept very separate from your friends made in your college days. Not for any malicious reason, they’ve just seen you at your messiest and sluttiest and you were avoiding this situation or some version of it.

“They’ve seen pictures,” you reply as your body feels another surge of energy. You’re always giddy when you can make the supersoldier flustered and you’re exponentially expressive with the alcohol in your system.

“How?”

“I show them! And we talk,” you suggest.

“About what?” He asks, half-dumbly and half-embarassed.

“You! You’re a supersoldier for Christ’s sake. And we all know what the serum did to Steve’s body so…” You trail off with a cheeky grin.

“You talk about my body?” He’s hyperaware of his heartbeat as he thinks about what you could possibly say about his body, knowing you’ve seen it first hand in accidental run-ins to the bathroom and kitchen bump-ins post-workout.

“Your body, your thighs, and—Mm!” You bite back a moan that’s near pornographic. “Your metal arm,” you reveal as your eyes roll back into your head like the dramatic you are.

His thoughts pingpong in his head. His thighs? His metal arm? Is that moan what you sound like in bed? Have you thought about him in bed?

“You like my metal arm?” He asks stunned.

And it’s like a switch. There’s this newfound confidence, and you’ve gone from gushing-affectionate-drunk to bold-and-flirty-drunk.

“I like everything about you,” you purr.

“When they get started on you, I talk my shit,” you admit boldly. He can’t even get a question in because you go, “Like—I’d be such a whore for you.”

Poor Bucky has been flustered this whole time, but when you say that, he forgets how to breathe for a moment.

“Okay, is this TMI? Yes, but I don’t care. I’m naturally such a horny person, but living with you? God, it’s fucking difficult. You do the smallest things and I go fucking wild,” you drunk ramble, not caring about the volume you’re speaking at.

“…Like what?” He shyly asks, unable to think of what he could do that is such a turn-on.

“Uh, everything. Have you seen you? When you put your hands on me. Like on my lower back or on my thigh, I think I’m gonna’ fold right there and then.—And when you get all passionate about things? It doesn’t happen too often—But when it does, I swear I think I’m gonna’ jump your bones. I didn’t think I’d find your Hobbit tangent sexy, but here we are,” you sigh.

It’s a shocked silence that fills the call before he lets out, “…You actually like me like that?”

“For the last time, yes. If I got home tomorrow and you told me to get on my knees, I’d do it immediately. I’m telling you Bucky, I would be such a whore for you. I’d do anything you want me to,” you say matter-of-factly.

“I mean…. If we’re honest, I’ve thought abou—“ before Bucky finishes, the call abruptly ends for him.

And back on the bathroom floor of your hotel with the dead phone in your hand, there’s a sobering moment where you realize that if that phone call went any longer, you would’ve ended up trying to have phone sex with your roommate. Needless to say, the phone stayed dead and you pushed the thought back and you dove back into the party.

You thought you could go about your routine when you returned home the next morning. And for a moment there, it almost seemed like you could. Overnight bag on the floor, you sat on the kitchen counter with Bucky standing across from you. You sipped coffee silently before you hopped off and placed your mug into the sink. As you make your way to your room, bag in hand, he asks, “Do you….Remember what you said when you called me last night?”

You stop cold. You could deny it, pretend like it didn’t happen and live life knowing he knows what you think of him. Or you could say yes. And maybe it’s the caffeine or the sheer curiosity of how this’ll play out. You put down your bag and turn to him with a smile, “I remember every word.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #god mobile formatting was a b it ch #roommate!bucky #duchess writes