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#james bucky barnes
angrythingstarlight · 27 days ago
You need a fake boyfriend to chase off an ex or some other creep. There’s two men in the crowd you’d consider asking to pretend to know you and help chase this other guy away. Do you pick mafia Bucky or lumberjack Bucky? Is there another guy in the room that I’m not seeing that you would want over these two?
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Pairing: Beefy Lumberjack Bucky x Reader
Warnings: implied past abusive relationship (omc x reader) protective Bucky
Word count: 965
A/N: Written on my phone. Don't copy,rewrite, translate, or repost my work.
You've been dodging your creepy ex all night but he's getting more persistent and frankly, you're frightened of what he's going to do.
It took everything you had to break up with him. The last time you left him, he found you and dragged you back. No one had helped you then. You can't let that happen again. Clutching your fist to your mouth, you hold back a sob. You can't let that happen again, you can't.
Looking around the room, you see a tall man with chestnut hair and clear blue eyes. A bright, genuine smile cutting across his bearded face as he speaks.
You go to him because he radiates a gentle energy and he towers over everyone in the room. You don't why but he seems safe. You say a silent prayer that for once in your life your instincts about a man are right.
Looking over your shoulder, you see your ex stalking towards you, his bleary eyes staring you down. He’s drunk and when he drinks, he gets even meaner.
Fear knots in your belly, an all too familiar sensation that sent a jolt of adrenaline through your veins.
You speed up to a near sprint, stumbling into the lumberjack. He looks down at you, his smile fading into a worried frown at the sight of your tear-filled eyes.
“Please help me,” you rush out, glancing back again. “Please-“
Bucky follows your gaze, his eyes narrowing at your ex. “He hurt you?”
You swallow thickly, mouth suddenly dry. You drop your head, you shouldn’t be ashamed, but you are. And it makes you hate your ex even more.
Bucky stares at your downcast face, his eyes flitting to the drunk idiot stumbling in your direction. And he’s angry, it’s raw and instantaneous. He thinks of his family and how he would kill anyone who hurt them.
He doesn’t know you yet, but he knows that he can’t stand how scared you are. And he knows that whoever that man is doesn't matter, he will never harm you ever again.
“Steve, Sam come here a sec,” he calls out across the room. You turn to see two equally tall men walking towards you. Bucky tilts his head down, he reaches for your chin but then stops. “Hey, don’t worry about anything, I got you.”
“I- thank you.” You keep your eyes averted, flinching when you hear your ex scream your name, telling you to get your ass over now.
Bucky laughs, his eyes hardening. “This is the last time you’ll have to worry about him.”
You shrink back when Bucky storms through the crowd, Sam and Steve following him. The room goes quiet when Bucky lifts him up by his neck and shakes him like a rag doll.
He slowly walks out, keeping your ex in the air. The conversations resume when the door closes behind him.
You weren’t expecting that. For once, your ex looked terrified and you can’t lie, it looked beautiful, you wish you could have taken a picture.
You wait nervously by the bar, perking up when Bucky and his friends come back in. He looks around, his face lighting up when he spots you. As he gets closer, you see his bottom lip is split open and his bruises mar his large knuckles.
“I’m sorry,” you say, “I shouldn’t have asked-“
Bucky gently waves off your apologies. “This is nothing, I once tripped and landed face-first in a pile of wood, gave myself a black eye and broken nose.”
He gestures at his face. “This doesn’t even hurt. And around here we don’t hurt women, so don’t apologize and don’t thank me either. I’d do it again.”
“Thank you,” you say, unable to stop yourself. “And I’m sorry that you got hurt.”
“How about you stop by Martha’s diner tomorrow morning and check on me?” He smiles at you, his blue eyes widening a tad as he playfully raises his brows. “Make sure I’m not dying from my injuries. “
Bucky scrunches his nose at you as he places his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders. He’s trying to make himself seem smaller, hoping he doesn’t scare you.
It's working. You feel protected for the first time in forever.
“I thought you said it didn’t hurt?” You question, fighting to keep the smile off your lips.
Bucky shrugs. “If it gets me a date with you, I’ll go out back and fall into another pile, a car, whatever I can find around here, hell I’ll use this counter,“he laughs, tapping the marble surface with his knuckles.
You snort, hiding your face behind your hands. Bucky can’t remember the last time he saw anyone as beautiful or sweet as you. He wants to make sure you never have that scared look in your pretty eyes again.
“I don’t wanna pressure you, I’m guessing you’ve been through a lot, so we can go as slow as you want.” He grabs a napkin off the bar counter and snags a pen out of his pocket.
Bucky finishes writing and slides the napkin to you and backs away.
“Something tells me, I would regret not asking you out, so here’s my number. I eat at that diner every day before work, it’s an open invitation so just show up whenever you want.”
You watch him walk away before looking down at the napkin. Under his number and name, is a tiny stick figure with oversized biceps face-first on the ground.
A wide smile stretches across your face. Yeah, your instincts were right about him.
Breakfast with Bucky sounds really good.
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ivannkadelamb · 3 months ago
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John Walker getting a best down from the Dora Milaje wasn't just great television or even "fan service". There a lot going on in that scene which will be dissected just below
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The Dora enter the scene when John Walker has just threatened Sam. One of them throws a spear into a beam between them, protecting Sam who is obviously didn’t want to fight.
So John Walker started the fight by threatening a Black man who helped defend Wakanda. #WinterSpoilers
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John’s behavior toward the Dora is insulting and passive aggressive & FILLED WITH MICRO AGGRESSIONS (Like when he referred to their spears as "pointy sticks). He touches Ayo without her permission in a gesture that white men often claim is friendly but is actually a condescending way they assert their authority and power over others, especially women.
YOU DO NOT PUT HANDS ON A BLACK WOMAN WHOM YOU ARE PAINFULLY UNFAMILIAR WITH. It is not cute neither is it an ice breaker. Just F*cking DON'T ✋🏾🚫🛑
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We’ve seen John uses that gesture before, along with his nonchalant “aw shucks” act before. At this point we, the audience, should be aware that it is a mask that covers calculated violence and can’t be reasoned with. Ayo sure sees it. #WinterSpoilers
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Which makes it very interesting to see so many people cast the Dora as aggressors in this situation. It shows how much we’ve internalized white supremacy that we see a white man we know to be dangerous threaten a Black man but frame Black women as the aggressors.
PS I understand that by virtue of how the fight scene is filmed it looks like the Dora, Ayo especially, have lethal intent. But if anything the fight demonstrates that if the Dora Milaje want someone dead he would be dead. They left those men alive. 🤷🏽‍♀️
And by returning the shield, they demonstrated that John Walker was of ZERO THREAT to them.
The Dora Milaje showed restraint and more importantly, class.
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For those of you idiots saying "Don't make it about race", I say screw you. This show if anything shows how America views itself as the altruistic saviour when in truth they're little more than soiled cattle muddying & soiling everything they touch.
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angrythingstarlight · a month ago
The next dad Bucky would be....
Bucky with a breeding kink? Has to be. He wants more children. I volunteer to do just that 😏.
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Pairing: Dad!Bucky x reader
Warnings: smut, creampie, breeding kink, Minors DNI, 18+
A/N written on my phone, will edit later. Do not copy, rewrite, repost or translate my work. Even if you credit me. Comments and reblogs are wonderful!
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Bucky wants more babies. With you. He wants his little family to grow. He wants little ones with eyes like yours running around the house. Filling his home with laughter and comfort, the kind he only seems to find in your embrace.
He loves seeing your belly become more round and swollen as you carry his babies. He cherishes every minute of your pregnancy, loving that you made him a father.
Bucky never asked for much, but somehow received the world when he met you. He would have been ecstatic to just have known you, but then you loved him in return. You gave him things-home, love, family- things that he never thought he could have.
Lately, Buckys been a bit more clingy.
It started when you asked him to clean out the nursery; he had a brief flash of melancholy darkened his blue eyes. You thought you imagined it at first.
But then it took him hours to pack up the baby clothes that your youngest had outgrown. When you finally went to look for him, you found Bucky in the nursery sitting on the floor surrounded by the baby’s clothes and toys going through pictures on his phone.
“I miss this.” He murmured under his breath, as he gazed at the picture of the two of you. He’s standing behind you with his chin on your shoulder and his hands cradling your belly.
More and more you noticed the longing in his eyes whenever he found a picture of you pregnant and smiling or whenever he saw a baby.
He may not admit it, but Bucky has baby fever.
And it’s contagious.
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You’re tangled up in soft, lavender-scented sheets with him hovering over you. His hands lingering over your belly as he gives you that look again.
“Bucky,” you sigh when his large palm, rough and warm, rubs your belly before he goes down your thigh.
He hums in response, tracing up your hip with his fingertips. A thick callous on the pad of his thumb pressing into your skin as he makes his way across your waist.
You push your head into the downy soft pillow, shifting back to see his face. Warm deep blue eyes gaze down at you. There’s so much passion and love in his expression that it encases you, spreading across your being like wildfire.
“What are you thinking about?”
He leans down, his nose nudging your cheek. “You.”
You shiver from his deep voice smoothing over your skin. The twist of his lips tells you he felt you.
“You.” He repeats, his tone thick with unspoken emotion, it’s hard to breathe with him looking at you the way he is, his eyes don’t leave your face as his hand finds its way back to your belly. “You round and swollen with my baby. You glowing and beautiful as you carry our child. Maybe a little girl with your smile.”
Tears prick the corners of your eyes. His lips brush over yours, his large body easing over you. “You want that,” he murmurs, “wanna have my baby?”
You nod, parting your lips, his tongue dipping into your mouth. You do, you’ll give him as many babies as he wants. His scent, fresh and masculine, encompasses you as he deepens the kiss.
You moan into his mouth when you feel his cock, throbbing and hard, on your thigh. You slide your hands between your bodies and wrap your fingers around his thick, veiny shaft, guiding him to your aching core.
“So wet and tight for me,” he groans, your silky walls stretching around him as he sinks into you. “So fucking good, fuck you feel so good.”
He can’t stop praising you, telling you how sweet and good are you, how much he loves you with each deep stroke until your body is thrumming with pleasure.
“-gonna fill you up so good, you’re going to feel me for days,” he pants in your ear over the salacious slapping of his into yours as he drives deeper into your pussy. “Gonna keep your pretty pussy stuffed until you’re nice and round.”
“Yes, oh fuck yes Bucky.” You keen, a high thin wail, when he lifts your hips, making you meet his powerful thrusts.
His fingers intertwine between yours, pinning your hands by your head.
Bucky pushes you into the bed, dropping his weight on your body. “ And he grinds his hips down, his cock dragging and stretching you, pressure building in your core, you claw his back. His name a vulgar, desperate chant on your lips.
Bucky feels you flutter and tighten around him and he pounds into you, the headboard crashing into the wall, throaty, frantic sobs escape your mouth.
“Cum for me, cum for me please, cum-,” he insists, his eyes watching your face contort with pleasure. The pressure in you cresting higherhigherhigher until you snap. “-fuck, good girl, just like that doll.”
He fucks you through your orgasm, sensations twisting and burning with each slow push of his cock into your spasming cunt.
You feel all of him, his warm, sweat-slicked body surrounding you as he moves deeper in you. “S close doll, fuck I can’t, so good-“ He mumbles, groaning your name when you clench down. “So good for me.”
He tilts his head, kissing you as he tenses over your pliant body, you hear the low, deep groan in his throat, his hips stuttering until warmth floods your core, your belly nearly bulging from how full you are.
He drops onto your body with a shaky laugh, “damn you’re good. I could stay in your pussy all day.”
“Bucky,” you breathe out, biting your lip, his joyous grin making your face burn."Too heavy." You playfully slap his ass before brushing back his hair.
The room spins as he rolls you over until you’re laying on his chest. You slide off him, stopping when he grabs your ass.
“Let’s stay like this for a minute,” he says. Bucky doesn’t you to leave him just yet, you’re too warm and snug around him to let you go. He’s already planning on fucking more of his cum into you until he’s sure it takes.
You settle back on his chest, propping your chin on his chest. Bucky rubs small circles into your back, a comfortable silence drifting over you.
“I didn’t pack up the nursery.”
You laugh, placing a kiss on his chin. “I know.”
His swollen lips curve into a smile. “If we have a girl, I want to repaint the entire room. Then I want to build a rocking chair like the one my dad made for my sister.”
You rest your head over his heart, listening to him play for your baby’s arrival. His raspy deep voice washing over you, lulling you to sleep.
Bucky looks down at you, muttering a thank you to the universe for giving him someone so wonderful.
Everything he wants from the world is right here in this bed, in his home with you. And if he’s lucky, his small family will have a new addition in nine months.****
Part 1
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"They weren't even super soldiers."
NO YOU WEAK BITCH THEY'RE WAKANDAN WOMEN.
Put some respect on their name.
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angrythingstarlight · a day ago
How does beefy biker Bucky react when gorgeous’ pussy is being mean to her (aka when she has her period) (yes I know it’s actually the uterus but you get what I mean)
You mean when his pussy is being mean to Gorgeous?
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Oof Bucky doesn't like it when the two of you fight.
He doesn’t care about blood or if you accidentally leak through a pad or tampon. “Gorgeous, only little boys care about shit like that,” he told you when you tried to hide a pair of ruined panties a few months ago. It genuinely confused him that you were embarrassed, explaining to you that he gets the privilege of being your man (and being inside you) and he would never shame you because of something natural.
Bucky’s not ashamed to buy your tampons, pads and whatever else you need to get through your period. He still teases you about the time he caught you trying to hide them in the bathroom cabinet, he took them from your hand and told you to put them wherever you wanted. “Gorgeous, I meant it when I said I don’t care.”
He took pictures of the boxes you have in the bathroom, so if you run out; he knows which ones to get without you even having to ask. And no one dares say anything to the six-foot-something tattooed biker standing at the register holding a box of tampons in one hand and chocolates in the other.
He only cares that you’re in pain. And he can’t stand it, so he pushes you back down on the bed and asks “do you really want to go to work, or do you want me to take care of you?”
No one ever said Bucky plays fair. When he sees how conflicted you are, Bucky massages your lower belly, making you sigh in relief. “Cmon Gorgeous, lemme take care of you.”
He presses deeper just as a painful cramp claws its way up, the pain’s gone before you can wince. He keeps rubbing your belly and it feels good, so good that you can’t see yourself at work when you can be catered to all day.
Bucky politely informs your boss that you will be spending the day with him.
The morning starts with you two sharing a nice long hot shower with him, washing your body as he tells you how pretty you are.
Followed by a quick breakfast and then you’re back on the bed, watching him gather lotions and oils for your massage.
He rubs your belly and back for as long as you want. He’s so good with his hands kneading your soft skin between his fingers until you’re moaning as the cramps fade away.
Bucky stocks up on everything from medicine to snacks to heating pads. He loves taking care of you and making you happy. He has all your favorite foods and movies ready to go.
And you’re not allowed to walk to the living room.
Oh no.
Not after he just massaged you senseless, he’s carrying you whenever you want to go, placing loving kisses on your forehead as he lifts you up, you don’t protest, feeling safe and warm in his massive arms.
He gently lays you on the couch, ordering you not to move while he goes around lighting the candles before dimming the lights. The room is aglow in soft oranges and flickering yellows as he turns on the TV.
Bucky settles behind you, his hand on your belly, bearded chin on the top of your head. “How you feelin?’” He murmurs in your ear, interlacing your fingers between his.
“Good,” you say, the happiness in your voice making him smile. You can feel his lips curl up against your neck, another sweet kiss pressed into your skin.
The rest of the day is spent on the couch, Bucky shuffling back and forth to get you whatever you need, both of you talking and laughing. Always touching and kissing. He loves you so much, you can feel it in his touch.
His hands never straying too far from you, his sharp eyes watching your face for any signs of pain, ready to make it go away.
You’ll fall asleep in his arms, drifting away to the sounds of his deep voice saying I love you, go to sleep Gorgeous, I got you.
And sometimes when you’re horny, he’ll give you exactly what you want, always pulling out after you reach your peak, the much needed orgasm spiraling through you as he kisses you. He doesn’t care that he’s still hard; Bucky ignores the urge to come because it’s not about his pleasure during this time. He’ll gently clean you up, making sure you drink some water and eat the chocolate-covered strawberries he got you. Laying beside you as you nap, his fingers tracing patterns on your arms as he watches the game on his phone.
Later, when he’s feeling silly, he’ll make you lay on your back with your legs propped up as he has a chat with his pretty girl about how she’s not allowed to hurt you.
His face between your thighs as he stares at your pussy. “After all, I’ve done for you, this is how you treat us,” he grumbles, poking her with his ringed finger. “You better fix your attitude before I come in there and fix it for you.”
He lifts his head when you burst into laughter. He glares at you but can’t conceal the warmth and love swimming in his slate-blue eyes. “Excuse you, this is serious, don’t make me spank both of you,” he playfully warns, playing a soft kiss on your panty-clad mound. “Might do it anyway,” he promises, kissing up your belly until he finds your lips. “Bet you’d liked that, wouldn’t you?”
Later that night, as you sleep on his chest, he smiles down at you, plotting all the ways he can convince you to skip work tomorrow. He’s willing to do whatever it takes to get you to stay at home with him.
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boyfriendparker · 4 months ago
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cookies, kisses, and such
a/n: i sat down to write a prompt, wrote 3k words & then didn’t include said prompt <3 anyways bucky barnes hmu to make cookies whenever ur literally the love of my life word count: 3k or smth warnings: none! just pure fluff 
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Something had... shifted. 
Yet somehow, nothing had changed. You can’t put your finger on it, but sometime between then and now, there’s a difference. Well, that much was obvious — a lot of things had changed since Bucky and you became friends. 
In the beginning, he was colder. 
You couldn’t blame him, coming from where he did. He had rented up the vacant apartment that shared your left wall and for the first couple of months, you weren’t even sure if someone had moved in. It was quiet next door, and while there was a shuffle of furniture being dragged around for the first couple days, it went silent soon after. 
In fact, the only reason you found out there was someone living next door was because you ran overtime on your shift. You had ducked home through the rain and darkness, your noisiness the last thing on your mind as you stomped down the corridor, a hot shower the only thing on your mind. 
It must’ve been past midnight so you were hardly expecting to bound into someone and you gasped as you slammed into someone coming out of Apartment 5C, the one next to yours. 
Spluttering out an apology, you stepped back to take your first look at your neighbour — who only muttered an assurance under his breath as he passed. You had watched him walk down the hall without a sound under his boots and enter the stairwell, with a realization that had been someone in 5C all along. 
As you unlocked your apartment, stripped off your wet clothes, and stepped under the scorching stream of your shower, you cringed to yourself. All your loud attempted ballads that you thought only the tiled walls could hear, apparently had had an audience all along. 
Pulling back your sheets that night, you wondered where he was heading at this time of the night but before you could entertain any answers, you had drifted off to sleep. 
Somehow, you had ended up in front of his door the next day, your knuckles rapping on the wood. But, after the second knock, you were beginning to think that he just wasn’t going to open the door. 
And after the third knock, you began to question whether you had imagined the man you had all but tackled the night before. 
Shifting the plate in your hand, the cookies on them slide an inch to the right, still warm. You were initially worried he would know it was just a cheap box mix but now you’re just worried he’s not going to open the door at all. 
You sigh and pick up one of the cookies, taking a bite of it, ready to give up — right as the door finally cracks open. 
The chain on his door is still locked and from what you can see, the man behind it is very surprised to have a visitor. 
Your eyes widen, your jaw furiously trying to chew and swallow the bite you just took so you don’t have to speak through your mouthful. 
“Hh-i!” It comes out a bit muffled. You force yourself to swallow the half-chewed dough, wincing as it goes down. Your cheeks feel heated and you force an awkward smile on your face. 
“Sorry, I just…” you trail off, lifting the plate of cookies higher as an explanation. “I thought I’d be neighbourly since I genuinely thought there was no one lived here. Didn’t mean to subject you to so much bad singing.” 
The man steps closer to the door, his eyes scanning your face in analysis and for the first time, you get a good look at him too. 
His hair is cropped short, his face is scruffy like it’s been a week or so since he’s shaved and he’s donned in a dark hoodie. From what you can tell, he’s handsome as well. You’re half expecting him to close the door without a word but after a long assessment, you seem to pass the test. 
“Do you—” he clears his throat like it’s been a minute since he’s spoken. “You always steal a cookie when you’re giving them as gifts?” 
Your cheeks feel hotter and you smile. “Only when it’s a batch as good as this.” 
The man smiles and you feel a surge of pride. You move the plate into one hand and hold the other out. “The name’s y/n. Apartment 5B.” 
You flick your head towards your front door. 
The man’s eyes follow your movement for a second before they move back to your outstretched hand. He shuffles behind the door and it closes for a moment before it opens again, fully unlocked. He still hangs behind the door but sticks out a gloved hand, shaking yours briefly. 
“Bucky.” He introduces himself and you smile, finally having a name to a face. You hold out the plate closer to him and he hesitantly takes it from you. 
“I’ll promise I’ll try to avoid any Taylor Swift songs for the near future.” You joke and Bucky’s brow furrows for a moment before it clears. 
“Thank you.” He says, before retreating into the apartment, closing the door without another word. Huh, not the talkative type, you mused. 
But still a victory in your books, you smiled wider to yourself, wandering back to your own apartment. Bucky. Apartment 5C. 
He gets warmer with time. 
You seem to pass him more in the hall since actually meeting him; you wonder if he was always there or he’s scarily good at not being spotted. He doesn’t quite smile but gives a nod of sorts, to show that he recognizes you. It’s nice — you think for a while, that’s all it will be. 
You won’t lie, you’re more than a little disappointed. Besides the fact he looked cute and you wanted to be his friend, you had also given him your nicest plate. Guess you weren’t getting that back any time soon.
You’re munching on Chinese food on your couch, a sitcom running on the TV but you’re not paying much attention. 
It’s the end of another working week and you’re glad to finally be off your feet, though, you don’t exactly love the quietness in your apartment compared to the liveliness of the shift. It was more gossiping than terrible customers, so much you were almost sad to leave your work-friends behind.
A knock on the door startles your attention, head snapping towards the noise. You feel a pang of confusion, not expecting visitors, quickly turning to concern. Who could it be? 
You consider not answering it when it comes again, softer this time and curiosity wins over concern. Placing down your food, you pad towards the door and ensure the chain is in place before you twist the knob and pull. 
You blink for a moment as you realize it’s none other than Bucky on the other side of the door. 
Your eyes take in his awkward half smile and travel down to the plate in his hands— your plate in his hands. With a fresh batch of cookies atop it. He looks less scruffy than the last time you saw him, his hair a little cleaner. 
“Bucky, hey,” you begin, pushing the door closed enough to remove the chain. “I wasn’t expecting…” 
My plate back. The cookies. You actually talking to me again. You trail off, not sure which answer is most appropriate. Bucky seems to sense your loss of words, clearing his throat and shifting back and forth on his feet. 
“I thought I should return the favour.” He makes an attempt to smile wider. “Be neighbourly.” 
You laugh a little, removing your hand from the door to take the plate from him with a warm grin. 
“Thanks.” His eyes drift over your shoulder, to the murmuring talk of the TV and you swear you see his nose twitch at the smell of your takeout. 
You weigh up your options for a moment, chewing on your cheek before you inhale, making a decision. 
“Did you have any plans tonight?” You ask. 
Bucky’s brows lift, showing his surprise but it quickly morphs into a small smile. He shakes his head. 
“How would you care for some Chinese food and re-runs of New Girl?” Grinning, you open the door open wider in invitation and Bucky contemplates your offer for a minute. 
He steps forward and smiles back. “How disappointed will you be if I tell you I haven’t seen this New Girl show?” 
Scoffing dramatically, you shake your head in feigned disappointment. “I hope you’re prepared for a marathon, my friend.” 
Bucky found it hard not to like you. You’re inviting, funny and most importantly, you seem to genuinely enjoy his company. 
He would’ve never guessed that the remedy to being somewhat social again was through his pretty next-door neighbour, but he wasn’t going to complain. 
You showed him the popular media you liked, which naturally, became the stuff he liked too. You were nice about his dismal cooking skills, spitting the baking soda clump in one of his cookies back onto your plate without a word. And you made life in these dingy apartments seem nice. 
Each night he got to spend time with you, it became increasingly harder to return to his own apartment. It didn’t hold life like yours seemed to do. 
Bucky is good at reading people. He knows from a glance if you’re too tired from work to have him over, but you’re never not in the mood to see him. After some time, he’s pretty sure he spends just as much time in your living room as he does in his own apartment. 
He never stays over. That’s a given by now. You’ve stayed up with him chatting past midnight and even had him knocking gingerly on your door, later in the night, your music giving away the fact you're not asleep. But he doesn’t stay; in fact, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him get tired. 
You’re always the one stifling your yawns, slumping further down the couch, and letting your eyelids droop. Bucky’s a gentleman though, and he’ll take his leave when he knows you’re getting too tired but won’t tell him. 
He used to go at the first sign of a yawn but over time, you’ve convinced him that just because you’re yawning doesn’t mean you don’t want to hear the end of his story. Begrudgingly over time, he believed you. 
The one time you had actually fallen asleep on the couch, you awoke in the morning in your bed, a note on your bedside table that read didn’t want to wake you in Bucky’s scrawled writing and you smiled yourself giddy.
He’s warm enough that he almost glows now. 
It’s a drizzly Sunday evening and you’re dropping the last of the chopped spring onions into the Pho that’s bubbling away on the burner, filling your apartment with a delicious smell. 
Your hair is messily tied back from your face, a few strands escaping the hair tie and you’re wearing the only apron you own, covered in Australian flags brought back by one of your friends. 
A knock sounds on the door. 
“It’s open!” You call out, knowing from his knock that it’s Bucky on the other side. Besides, you’re expecting him — Sunday is the evening you always put aside for each other, even if you see each other every other day of the week. This week you haven’t had a chance to see him at all, much to your disappointment. 
You hear his boots on the wooden floor, the door closing, and the lock turning. You stir the pot, fighting to keep yourself from looking too eager at his arrival. His footsteps turn softer, showing he’s left his boots at the door and you bite back your smile, more than glad to know he’s comfortable here. 
“Hey, doll.” He murmurs and you turn to greet him with a smile. He sidles up to your side, peering down into the simmering broth, his hand unconsciously coming up to rest on your waist. 
“Sorry, I haven’t had time to come by this week. It’s been…” He trails off with a sigh — but as if he remembers where he is, who he’s with, his shoulders ease and he relaxes. 
“You’re fine,” you assure him, leaning into his side just a little bit. “Nothing a little hearty food can’t fix, right?” 
You pull your most cheesy smile and Bucky laughs, his eyes shining as he gazes down at you. If anyone else looked at the two of you, it would be an obvious guess that you were a couple. 
And it’s not like, you’re not. But, well, also, you hadn’t exactly talked to him about whatever this was. You didn’t want to be the one to bring it up, especially considering how long it had taken the two of you to become friends. 
But the part of you that really wanted to sling your arms around his neck and kiss him was getting harder to ignore. 
Clearing your throat, you step away from him and fetch the bowls from your cupboards. As you spin back to him, Bucky takes them from you without a word and begins to set up your little coffee table by the couch. 
Dinner is like usual; comfortable silence as you eat, quiet chatter from the TV, and the two of you drifting closer together on the couch. 
By the time your bowls are empty, your arm is pressed against his as you lean against one another. Your eyes are on the screen and so are Buck’s but every couple of minutes, they shift to check on you. After the 3rd time, you can’t stay silent. 
“You alright there, Barnes?” 
Bucky falters for a moment, his eyes jumping between the TV and your face like he’s trying to play off his previous staring. His eyes settle on you and he smiles in that heart-melting way. 
“Just thinking back to the first time we met — you with your cookies at my door.” 
You chuckle as you recall the memory all those months ago. It seems a lifetime ago, your best plate and the best cookies you could scrape together, all presented with your best smile. 
“I’ve got a box in the cupboard.” You say and raise your brows, knowing he’ll pick up on your suggestion. Bucky’s eyes light up and he sits up a little straighter on the couch. 
“Can we?” He asks. 
You push off the couch, getting to your feet in answer, and offer out your hand. “C’mon then.” 
Bucky grins with childlike excitement and takes your hand, leading the way to the kitchen with hurried footsteps that have you stumbling behind him. He releases your hand and ducks into your pantry, returning a second later with the box in his hands. 
“Someone’s eager,” you comment in a teasing tone, beaming adoringly at him. Bucky rolls his eyes with a grin and points towards the drawers. 
“Mixing bowls and spoons please, doll.” 
Following orders, you duck down and pull out all the baking equipment needed, and pop it onto the bench. Pulling out your phone from your back pocket, you select a 70s playlist and bob your head as Marvin Gaye’s Got to Give it Up begins to flow from your speakers. 
Bucky does a little shuffle that you think is supposed to be dancing and you giggle, rejoining at his side as the two of you begin to bake. 
It’s not very precise; Bucky’s spilled half the flour mix on the bench and you’re trying to stop laughing enough to fish out the eggshells you dropped into the bowl. You feel light, almost like you could float with how happy you feel right now. 
“Oh, this is funny to you, is it?” He says, still trying to scoop up the flour mix and tossing what he can in the bowl. You don’t get a chance to retort when he blows a handful in your face and looks far too happy about it. Your face contorts into shock, eyes squeezed closed for a moment before you open them again.
“James Buchanan Barnes.” Your tone seems to make Bucky grin wider, his nose scrunching in that adorable way that only happens when he’s really happy. 
“The full name. I’m in trouble now.” He smirks, watching as you shake your head in an attempt to dust off the flour. 
You do your best to glare but Bucky manages to crack it within a few seconds and you dissolve into giggles instead. 
He steps closer, his hands coming up to your face as he begins to wipe away the flour that hadn’t come off your skin. His thumb swipes gently along your cheekbone and you lean into his hand instinctively. You’re almost scared to breathe, just wanting to stay in this moment. 
“Still beautiful, even covered in flour.” He murmurs quietly and you wonder if he knows he’s even said that aloud. Your chest seems to fill with pure light and you know without a doubt that the thundering in your heart is love. You love this — you love him. 
So, you tell him in a way you know he’ll understand — turning your face and placing a soft kiss on the palm of his hand. 
Bucky swears he nearly melts right there and before he can lose the nerve, he ducks in and presses his lips against yours. It’s short and sweet but it still has his heart beating out of his chest in nerves. It’s been goddamn over 70 years since he’s done this. 
But you’re there, and you’re kissing him back. 
He pulls back, still close enough that his breath mingles with yours, and watches as your eyes flutter open, lips curling up in the most beautiful smile. Between you is only love, lighting up both your faces, alighting every sense. 
After a moment you lean forward and nudge your nose against his and gingerly connect your lips again, hands traveling up to rest on the sides of his face. 
This kiss is more assured, less nervous this time and Bucky swears he’s never been this lucky in his life. To be here, to be kissing you in your kitchen, chocolate chips scattered across the counter because you both wanted a trip down memory lane to when you first met. It’s almost comical how it comes around in a full circle. 
The song in the background switches, Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On opening notes interrupting your tender moment. You can’t help yourself as you break the kiss, tipping your head back as you laugh loudly and Bucky has never seen something more beautiful.
“I swear that wasn’t planned.” you gasp out between your laughter and Bucky looks amused, like he only half believes you. His hands drop from your face to your waist and he tugs you closer, lips meeting your hairline. 
“Cookies now?” He asks and you smile, content, with a nod. 
“Yeah, we can make cookies now Buck.”
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