#modern!bucky

[nexusnyx]

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."

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[pellucid-constellations]

When the Morning Comes

Pairing: Modern!Bucky x Reader

Summary: An entire childhood, an entire life, and Bucky just hopes you’ll be there when the morning comes—that you’ll get tired of this town and follow him. If not, he’ll try again next summer. And the summer after that.

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: A little angsty, lots of wistfulness and pining, childhood best friends to lovers <3

a/n: Inspired by this song (and by that I mean that I only wrote this because of that song, so give it a listen if you want!!) I really loved writing this :)

Masterlist

~~

The strap of Bucky’s duffle bag inched down his shoulder, sliding with each step he made towards the run-down motel. Leather clicked against pavement and a slight wind ruffled his clothes, but Bucky didn’t register any of that. Steve was talking to him, surely, but that was lost along with everything else. 

God, it was hot here during the summer—he had almost forgotten. Summers with burning tire swings and melting cones seemed so long ago, almost as if they were crammed in the back of his mind and filtered behind pie charts and big figures and signatures on stacks of paper. A sweltering heat filled with laughs and TV dinners and Bucky had almost forgotten. 

But he had felt this last summer. And the summer before that. 

He welcomed the heat. 

“You even listening to me, Buck?” Steve nudged him. “This is supposed to be a business trip, you know. Should probably listen when I talk about business.” 

Bucky threw him a look, swiping the key card to their room with a twisted frown. “I was listening, punk.” 

Steve followed him inside and threw his bag down on the bed closest to the door. He carded his hand through his hair, took in the room, and then let out a deep sigh. Bucky knew where the sound of internal strife originated. He decided not to comment on it. 

“Okay, well,” Steve blew out through an exhausted huff. “Then you know that this is just a pit stop. We head to the LA conference in the morning.” 

Bucky’s head was starting to hurt. 

“Why’re you telling me stuff I already know? I’m jet lagged, not stupid.” 

This small dance Steve had choreographed started last summer—the second year in a row their assistant had coincidentally booked them for an overnight layover in their hometown, and the second year in a row that Bucky had coincidentally gone out to dinner. Alone.

Steve wasn’t stupid either. He saw the way girls threw themselves at Bucky back in New York, and he saw the way his best friend never even humored them. It had confused him at first; they were both so young, fresh out of college and beyond lucky with their successful startup, and oddly, Bucky never reaped the benefits. 

But then, this was the third year of their mysterious, hometown layover, and Steve wasn’t stupid. 

Bucky knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. Well, other than himself, maybe. 

“I’m gonna hit the shower, head out for some dinner after. You want anything?” Bucky asked, eyebrows raised in a question that didn’t need an answer. Maybe two years ago, Steve would have said yes. 

“Nah,” Steve replied, flopping down on his bed and flipping through the channels of a twenty-year-old television. “Tell y/n I said hi.” 

Bucky ignored him. 

The steam of the shower did little to envelop the rawness in his chest. 

~~

The diner door creaked when Bucky pressed his fingers to the frosted glass. He had shown you how to fix that last summer—spent a precious thirty minutes walking you through the steps when he should have been doing literally anything else. Maybe you weren’t listening. Maybe you forgot.

Bucky would show you again. 

But for now, he smiled at the teenage boy that greeted him at the podium, took a quick glance at his name tag and tried to place a “Peter” in his mind as he walked back to a booth. He couldn’t remember anyone by that name, but then again, it wasn’t as if he knew many high schoolers these days. 

You hadn’t mentioned anything about hiring a new host. 

You also hadn’t mentioned anything about the letter Bucky had sent you. 

He had an extra copy in his pocket because maybe he got the address wrong, or maybe his assistant never got around to sending it. He hadn’t wanted to ask you about it over the phone; those conversations were so rare and he wasn’t going to spend one pleading with you. 

A waitress came by. It wasn’t you. 

But you weren’t a waitress anymore, Bucky reminded himself, and he asked the girl with the ponytail if the owner was here, if he could talk to her. With an order of fries scribbled onto a small notepad, the waitress left and promised to see if you were available. Promised to tell you that someone named Bucky was here. 

Bucky chewed on his plastic straw while he waited and regretted ordering lemonade. 

“Did someone here order, like, an entire table’s worth of fries?” 

The sound of your voice, clear, with no phone static, was like a jab to Bucky’s chest. He could tell you were smiling before he even looked, could hear the laugh looped through your words without having to pick through the syllables. 

He supposed that was what happened when you loved someone for the better half of a life.

“For a ‘Bucky Barnes’? No, that can’t be right. Doesn’t even sound like a real name,” you continued, and Bucky turned this time to see you squinting at a small piece of paper. “Sorry, sir, the kitchen must have gotten mixed up.” 

When you met his eyes, a blink covering the glare of restaurant lights, Bucky remembered what it was like to feel giddy. To feel ten and know that it was you and Steve and him. To feel thirteen and in love when he didn’t even know what love was. To feel eighteen and leave for college and leave you in this town. 

He cleared his throat, his eyes a dull screen. “No mix up, ma’am. I’m Bucky and I did, in fact, order a table’s worth of fries.”

You laughed. “Mind sharing some then?” 

“I think I could spare a few.” His hand didn’t shake when he gestured to the booth across from his. He considered that a win. “But it’ll cost ya.” 

A car passed by on the street. The headlights shined through the window and along the left side of your face—just fleeting, lighting you up for a small moment. 

“You’re going to charge me in my own restaurant?” you quipped, leaning back in the leather seat and crossing your arms. “New York’s changed you.” 

Bucky feigned shock. “Hey, whoa! I’m not as bad as Steve. You should see that guy, telling everyone within a ten foot radius that he’s gonna buy them out.” 

“Oh, I’m sure. Steve Rogers, out there… belittling the world.” 

“It’s the truth. Punk’s got a real ego on him now.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek, the small action not lost on Bucky. You did that a lot when you were trying not to smile—when Bucky was being ridiculous or when you were in trouble and trying to act serious. He wished you would smile; it would give him something to think about later, when he was on a plane and you weren’t. 

“Steve’s back in the motel, I’m guessing?” 

Bucky’s nose scrunched up. “Yeah,” he drawled, because you knew what that meant. You knew this was only for the night. “He’s probably sleeping already. I would’ve brought him with me, it’s just…” 

“Jet lag?” you asked, repeating the excuse he gave you the last two years. 

“The guy’s real big on sleep.” 

“You’ve mentioned that.” You leaned forward, hands soft on the tabletop. Bucky knew what came next. “Want to go for a walk? I don’t have to be here for close.” 

“Sweetheart, I came here specifically to go on a walk with you.” 

You smiled, and Bucky felt his lips turn up before he had the chance to stop them. He followed you outside the diner, took glances at your hand as it swung by your hip and willed his own to stop twitching. The air outside was warm and it felt like you—like childhood comfort and fingers down his spine. 

He fiddled with the hair tie on his wrist before he could find another way to occupy his hand. 

“So… how’s business,” you asked, bumping your shoulder into his arm. 

Bucky chuckled; a breathy sound angled up at the streetlights. “You wanna talk about my company?” 

“I want to talk about you.” 

So, Bucky humored you. He told you about contracts and new hires and expansions. He realized about halfway into a long winded speech about a recent meeting that he had barely gotten a look at you since you started walking, and decided that needed to be rectified immediately. 

Your head was titled as you looked over at him and your eyes were wide as you listened. Bucky was pretty sure you had no idea what he was talking about—hell, most of the time he didn’t even know what he was talking about—but you listened just the same. You laughed when he laughed and you asked questions about assistants and employees. 

“And what about the coffee there?” you probed, linking your arm with his. “Is it any good?” 

Bucky loved coffee, but mostly because you loved coffee. When he was younger, he wondered if your lips would taste like it when he kissed you. He hadn’t gotten to find out; Bucky went off to college right after your mother died, and he hadn’t gotten to find out. 

“Oh, not as good as yours, promise.” He tugged your arm closer to his chest. “But you could always try it if you came to visit.” 

You hummed. “I’m sure all your New York girlfriends would love that.”

“What?” 

Gravel scuffed concrete as Bucky came to a stop, the abruptness yanking you back a few paces. He wasn’t sure what this heaviness blanketing his shoulders meant. It couldn't be jealousy, but the weight felt as if it stemmed from the same place. 

“I follow you on instagram, you know. I see all those girls that love to tag Bucky Barnes in their posts,” you teased, your tone entirely too playful for Bucky’s liking. 

“I don’t… I don’t have any girlfriends. None. You know that.” 

Your smile vanished, lip taken between your teeth. “Bucky…” 

Bucky compared this feeling to guilt; he was feeling guilty and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the random girls or because of the way your brow was furrowed to an uncomfortable degree. He was breaching a topic he shouldn’t have yet. This came later. 

“Let’s walk to the park, yeah? You can tell me about the diner,” he offered, finally letting his hand run down your arm to lace your fingers together. 

The conversation felt lighter after that. Things were the same at the diner, nothing changing since the last time he saw you other than that new host Bucky didn’t recognize. He expected as much; in a town as small as this one, everything tended to stay the same. But you didn’t have to stay here, unlike many of its inhabitants, and he was hoping maybe you would come to your senses soon. 

“Damn, this place is really rundown,” Bucky commented as the two of you closed in on the old park. 

“Yeah,” you agreed, tugging him forward despite your words. “It’s probably a safety violation or something, but that’s half the fun.” 

“You trying to get me injured before my flight tomorrow?” 

“Would that make you stay longer?” 

Bucky watched as you sat on the swing he was currently appraising, his fingers now inches from yours as they slotted in the metal chains. He reached up and took the other chain in hand, encasing you in his shadow as he hovered over your seated position. You looked up at him, question still lingering in the air. 

“Do you want me to stay longer?” he asked, fighting the urge to run a hand along your hair. He seemed to be doing a lot of that tonight. 

You narrowed your eyes at him in jest. “Of course I do. You know I do.” 

“And you know I want you to come to New York.” 

Bucky tracked your shoulders as they rose and fell, watched as you blinked a few more times than necessary and dropped your hands from the chains to your lap. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe, as you took time to formulate a response. You knew he meant more than just a visit. 

Bucky knew the words that were about to fall past your lips. 

“I can’t leave, Bucky. I can’t.” 

A switch flipped, the illusion of a friendly visit crumbling into the playground sand under Bucky’s boots. He felt a tinge of desperation harden his jaw and his hands were on you, angling your face up from where it had fallen. 

“Why, sweetheart?” he whispered, resolve gone. “I can take care of you, help you open a place in New York. You don’t have to stay here. I know you’re tired of it—you used to talk about leaving all the time.” 

“But that was before—”

“Your mom, I know.”

You sighed, the sound adding pain to the weight on Bucky’s chest. You wrapped your fingers around his wrists that still lingered by your face and pressed his hands more firmly to your cheeks. The pain Bucky felt turned into an ache. 

“I can’t leave everything here. She worked so hard for all of this and it’s my responsibility. When I talked about leaving that was before all my time ran out,” you explained, voice low, ashamed. 

Bucky shook his head, knee meeting the ground as he kneeled down to your height. “Your time? Y/n, we have so much time. I left so I could give that to you and I keep coming back because I want you to take it.” 

Your face twisted into confusion and the letter in Bucky’s pocket was suddenly burning a whole through the material. It struck him then that if you hadn’t read the letter, this would only make partial sense; that, to you, this might seem like a friendly thing. 

Because Bucky had never told you he loved you—not in the way he wanted. He had laughed the words out at birthday parties and affirmed them in your ear when you cried over high school boys, but even last year and the year before that, Bucky had never told you that he was in love with you. 

But he wrote it in the letter he sent you a few weeks ago. A letter you never mentioned. 

Bucky removed his hands from your face and reached into his pocket with a nervous tremor. 

“I don’t know if you ever got this,” he started, tapping the paper against his palm. “But it kinda explains everything. I wanted to tell you—” 

“I got it.” 

The plastic swing seat creaked, the only sound between you after the breathy words left your lips. Bucky’s lips parted, face still level with yours, and you visibly swallowed. There were grains of sand stuck in his socks and Bucky was at a loss for words. 

“So you know then?” he nodded, eyes flicking back and forth between your own. 

Your smile was sad. “I think I’ve known for a long time.” 

This was it then. The words weren’t spoken aloud but they were out, and still, the only thing Bucky was processing was the sound of the swing set and the way the wind filtered through tree branches. Because you weren’t saying anything, and this was it. 

You were going to stop talking to him. He was going to have to find out how you were doing from Steve, lose the small comfort of rushed phone conversations, and let go of any glimpse of hope that you would be his. An entire lifetime of loving you and it was gone. Maybe in the morning he could still have a piece of you, but he had lost the most important parts. 

“You look awfully stressed, Barnes—” you finally broke through the silence “—when I’m the one that still has a confession to make. You already did your hard part.” 

“But you…” Words escaped him before he even knew what he wanted to say, the letter floating to the ground and his hands on your thighs. “I mean, you never said anything.” 

“Because you deserve someone that can be there. I don’t… I don’t think I can do that.” 

You didn’t think you could? Bucky would take that. It was much more promising than anything else you had offered him. 

“If you read my letter then you know that's not really gonna work out for me.” Bucky spoke softly and titled his head when you looked up at him. “You know I’ve been pretty much gone for you since that middle school dance. The one with the terrible Christmas decorations?” 

You granted him with a small laugh, the kind that sounded like nostalgia and classrooms that were supposed to be silent. Bucky took the small shift in mood as an opportunity, catching your gaze and keeping it there. 

“Do you think your mom would want this for you? Do you think she’d want you to live half a life out here in this town?” 

“I can’t know what she would want,” you whispered. “All I can be sure of is that restaurant and her house and… and this town, I guess.” 

“You can be sure that I love you.” Bucky shifted on his knee, sand falling into the pit under the swing. “You can be sure that I’ve loved you even when we fought as kids and even when I left for college. That I’m pretty sure I’m never going to stop, even after you tell me to take a hike and I get on that plane tomorrow.”

Your next laugh was strained, but Bucky continued. “And you can be sure that I’m gonna be back next summer. And I’ll keep coming back until you finally agree to come with me because the damn streetlights in this town don’t do you enough justice.” 

God, he wanted to kiss you, maybe more than he’d ever wanted to before. He wanted to lean forward and kiss you senseless so that you’d want more and then you’d have to come with him. You kept glancing down at his lips and he could feel your breath on his skin; Bucky was a strong man, but he was cracking now, just inches from you. 

“Meet me in the morning,” Bucky pleaded, making you blink up from his lips. “Even if it’s just to tell me no. I never get to see you in the morning.” 

Your voice was soft. “That’s because your flights have been at the crack of dawn.” 

Bucky threw caution to the wind, running his hand over your hair and watching the movement it created as he repeated, “Meet me in the morning.” 

~~

“Buck, it’s four in the morning. I don’t even think she woke up this early when we went on our senior trip. You think you’re better than Hawaii?” Steve groaned, rubbing his eyes to ward off the motel lamp. 

Bucky continued to pack. “She said she would come, Steve. She’s gonna be here.” 

“And do you think she’s gonna say what you want her to when she gets here?” 

Bucky paused, hands pressed to the bathroom counter. He kept his head hung in exhaustion and eyed the toiletries he still needed to shove in his duffle bag. He had gotten terrible sleep last night—absolutely awful—and the one thing on his mind was you saying no to him. Again. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky replied, zipping up a few more things and fighting off a yawn. 

He barely got a hum in reply. 

And then a knock sounded off in the room, Steve cracking an eye from his place on the bed. Bucky stared at the door, then at the ground, and then at Steve; he made no move towards it and didn’t speak, not even when another knock bounced off the walls. 

“You gonna get that?” his best friend accused. 

Bucky wiped his hands on his sweats and stepped around carry-on bags until his hand met the cool handle of the door. It clicked open, and you were there. 

“Hey,” you breathed, voice tight the second Bucky stepped outside. 

“Hey,” he replied, because he couldn’t be clever at four in the morning, but also because you were here, shifting your weight between your feet in front of his motel room. 

There was a silent beat, and bucky thought it felt… awkward. He couldn’t remember a time he had felt awkward around you. He cringed at the thought of it being his fault, glancing up from his shoes to catch you thumbing the edge of a piece of paper.

He nodded to it. “What’s that?” 

Better to talk about anything but the elephant in the room, he figured. 

You tilted your head to the side and unfolded the sides. “It’s your tab.” Eyes finally met his—unbothered and a different shade in the morning. “From last night.” 

“My fries?” Bucky smiled. 

The way you looked at him made everything okay, because he could remember your slow blinks and the way your mouth moved, even if you told him you would never leave this town. 

But then you said, “Yeah. I figured if I’m going to sell the place I might as well tie up all the loose ends. No freebies, even for returning locals.” And Bucky couldn’t see your face anymore because he was kissing you. 

And god, you didn’t taste like coffee but that didn’t matter. And he’d forget the words you just spoke but he’d never forget the way you gasped against his lips and the way you melted into him.

It was humid outside with a touch of morning frost and Bucky didn’t care that it would make his skin feel sticky if he didn’t go inside soon because he was kissing you, and you were kissing him, and sixteen-year-old Bucky would have sat through much more than a humid morning for this exact moment. 

He slotted his lips between yours and grabbed your waist and it felt different. It felt the way it was supposed to and Bucky wished he had written you that stupid letter sooner. That he had made more trips out here—spent more time convincing you. 

“I can get you a plane ticket,” he rushed, forehead pressed to yours and joy coming out in short pants. “We can move our flight time, Steve’ll be fine with it—” 

“Bucky!” you giggled, brushing his hair behind his ear. “I have to sell the restaurant before I can leave it. I can’t just get on a plane, but I am flattered by your urgency.” 

Bucky gave you a disbelieving look followed by lips pressed to your face. “I’ve been in love with you since we were thirteen, sweetheart. Can’t blame a guy for rushing.” 

You told him you loved him back for the first time. Bucky wouldn’t forget that part. 

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes #modern!bucky #marvel oneshot

[fandoms-writings]

Make Our Own Traditions

Pairing: Bartender/Neighbor!Bucky x female!reader (there aren’t too many body descriptions though)

Summary: The holidays are a sore spot for you, but Bucky’s willing to do everything he can to change that. 

Word Count: 7.3K (oopsie)

Warnings: little bit of angst in the beginning, mentions of anxiety, disappointed parents, mentions of alcohol, fluff.

A/N: this is my submission for @foreverindreamlandd ‘s holiday event, and is also a continuation of a previous work - Forgotten Keys and Warm Tea. Thank you Col, for allowing me to write this for your event, I hope you love it <3 also, i only proofread this once soooo yeah. Also also I know Christmas passed but just pretend it hasn’t yet, this is my gift to all of you <3

Series Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist || Main Masterpost

You couldn't help the roll of your eyes as you saw the bar wrapped in colorful lights, a soft christmas song seeping from the other side of the doors and out into the street as people walked out.

"Oh come ooooon," Ana said as she tugged on your arm with a smirk, "Let's let the hunky man behind the bar make things better, yeah?"

You sighed as you shook your head, taking a breath to steel yourself from the harsh winds whipping around you before following your friend inside.

The holidays were tough for you. Sure, you could video chat with your parents back home, or call any extended family.  But, your extended family only ever called you when they needed something, so why should you give them your time when you could do something you actually enjoyed?  And your parents weren't exactly supportive of the whole art path for your degree so it was rocky waters whenever you called anyway. And over the years you've been gone, the flimsy relationship you had with them had started to wither.

You didn't mind, not having them constantly check up on you gave you a sense of freedom you'd been dying for since you were a young teenager. But it hit harder around the holidays. Seeing everyone you knew with their family and loved ones while all you had was your roommate and boxed wine. And you loved Ana to bits, you really did, but it wasn't the same. It never was.

Unfortunately, your parents had called early that morning to see if you had any plans to travel home for the holidays and, once you told them you were staying in Brooklyn, you'd received an ear full from them about how you aren't around anymore and how you were making a mistake pursuing art.

So you'd come to Bucky's bar to hopefully nurse away the bout of depression and anxiety they had caused in you when you'd seen the offending decor lining his building. The colorful lights around its edges and a wreath hanging on the front door.

He didn't even have a wreath on his apartment door - at least not that you noticed, and you would have noticed.

You slid onto a barstool next to Ana as she waved over Natalia who gave a wide smile when she saw the two of you. She was wearing a low cut red shirt and a Santa hat on her head with dangling earrings that looked like little snowmen.

"Oh! Always so good to see you two!" She exclaimed on her way over, ignoring the handful of men ogling her and trying to get her attention, "What're you up to tonight?"

"Well little miss 'I hate happiness' is here to drown in her sorrows, but I would love a martini please." Ana smiled victoriously as she ignored your groan of embarrassment. You rested your forehead against the counter, doing your best to ignore its stickiness.

"What? Do you hate Christmas?" Natalia asked as she whipped up Ana's requested drink.

"It's not that I hate Christmas," You muttered as you turned your eyes to her, keeping your head down, "I just don't care for it."

"Why, though?" She asked, setting the finished Martini before Ana and waving her hand in a dismissive manner when your roommate tried to hand over her card. "First one is free," She whispered before returning her attention back to you, waiting for an answer.

You sighed before sitting up and resting your face in your hands. You looked up at her and gave her a meek smile. "My family and I aren't exactly close." You shrugged.

Natalia frowned before leaning her elbows on the counter to be eye level with you. "Well, then it's a good thing you have the sergeant." She winked with a smile before straightening back up and pouring you a whiskey on the rocks. "On the house."

Shooting her a small smile and a whisper of thanks, you took a sip from the glass as Natalia stepped away to help someone else.

"I wonder where your sergeant is," Ana whispered as if it was a secret, "Did you know he was a sergeant?"

You shook your head, "He mentioned it a few times, but doesn't really like talking about it."

She nodded in understanding before turning to look around the bar, "But really, where is he? Isn't this place like his baby?" You giggled at her over dramatic way of looking over people's heads to try and spot him, as if he was someone who easily blended into a crowd. Maybe he was for her, but for you, no chance. You'd be able to spot that head of cropped brown hair and broad shoulders anywhere.

As if he was being summoned, the man in question emerged from the back office looking over his shoulder at a man who was slightly taller than him with blond hair and a neatly groomed beard. You watched as Bucky animatedly continued whatever conversation they were having, waving his hands about with a large smile on his face and a Santa hat covering his hair.

The anxiety and somberness of your day dissolved into the background of your mind as a small smile grew on your lips. You loved seeing him chat with people. He was someone who talked with his hands and you found it so endearing.

He turned to watch where he was going and his eyes landed on you, his large smile softening into a look reserved just for you. The corners of your lips lifted in return and he made his way over.

"Hey," He stopped in front of you, his left hand coming around to pull you into a hug.

"Hey," You smiled as you leaned into his chest, letting the warmth from him seep into your fingertips. He pulled away too soon for your liking but you relented as he kept his hand on your shoulder and turned to his bearded friend.

"This is Steve, an old friend of mine."

You introduced yourself and held out your hand, which Steve gently took in his large one, softly shaking it.

"It's so nice to meet you," He said with a smile, "How do you two know each other?"

"Oh, uh," You looked up to Bucky for an answer. Sure, you two had somewhat of a relationship forming over the past few months, but you'd never really talked about it. You'd never put a label on it so you weren't sure what he'd want to answer with.

"Uh, she's my neighbor," He said, giving you a similar look, as if he wasn't sure how to introduce you any other way. And though you were basically on the same page with him, it still stung deep down. It sounded like you didn't spend almost every weekend together, going to museums and cafes and diners together. Like you didn't come sit with him for a couple hours every other night at the bar. As if you didn't wake up in each other's beds, half dressed after spending the night before drowning in each other's pleasure.

Maybe not having a label to what you were did bother you.

But you also knew that it shouldn't. You knew that your relationship with Bucky, whatever it may be, was stable and that there wasn't anything threatening it. You knew he wasn't out with other people, you were with him enough to know that.

Perhaps it was the fact that Steve didn't already know who you were. Did Bucky not talk about you to his friends? Because you talked about him. If you were to introduce him to your friend back home, she would immediately know the story, she wouldn't have to ask how you knew him.

There was a squeeze on your shoulder and you looked up to see Bucky watching you with worry in his eyes.

"Everything okay?" He muttered to not get the attention of Ana and Steve who were now in a playful debate about whether or not Natalia's Russian accent was hotter than a British one.

At least they're getting along.

"Yeah, um," You gathered yourself and put on your best smile to make it seem like you were indeed just fine, "I, uh, have a lot of work to do for my class." You downed the rest of your whiskey before sliding the glass back to Nat's side of the bar and grabbing your things.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" He asked, more worry starting to drip from his words.

"No, no, I'll be okay," You wrapped your arms around yourself as you looked at Ana, "I'll see you at home, yeah?"

When Ana's eyes met yours, you could see the confusion swimming in them as she watched you. But one thing about Ana was she was incredibly good at reading you, so you knew she was already aware of what was going through your head.

"Yeah, of course."

You gave her a hug and the squeeze she gave you almost broke the dam in your throat. She leaned into your ear and whispered that she won't be long and you nodded. Releasing her, you were going to walk out when Bucky stepped next to you.

"Do I get one?" He asked with his hands in his back pockets. He had a small smile on his face, but you could tell it was only because you weren't telling him what was going on and he was trying to lighten your mood. Your heart panged at the confused worry on his face as if he did something wrong and you sighed.

"Of course," You all but slammed into his chest to wrap your arms around him in a quick tight hug, his arms settling around your back as he held you close.

"Will I maybe see you later tonight?" He asked as you pulled away.

"Oh, uh, maybe. I've got some stuff to work on for my classes."

"Okay, well, you know you can always work on whatever it is over at my place. Or I can just come keep you company, if you want."

You nodded, "I know."

He nodded back, though he seemed hesitant to let you go.

You walked out into the cold, pulling your jacket even closer around you to try and fight the cold.

~~~

Bucky hesitated in the hallway, between your door and his. He wanted to knock, to see if maybe you were still awake, if you wanted to talk.

He couldn't stop thinking about the look in your eyes when you walked out of the bar earlier that night. And he knew you had finished up your semester and were on winter break, so he knew there wasn't much for you to work on right now, so that excuse was just that - an excuse to leave.

He felt like it was his fault - how he'd answered Steve's question on how you met was what upset you. But he didn't know if you wanted people knowing that you were dating him.

He wanted to scream it from the rooftops and show you off as much as he could. He wanted to brag that you were his even if you had never had that conversation before. But he was also a little over a decade older than you and some people could be ruthless in their judgemental words and he didn't want to subject you to that if you didn't want it.

Maybe it was time to have that talk.

He sighed, jingling his keys in his hand as he looked at your door again. Pulling his lip between his teeth, he shoved his keys into his pocket and pulled out his phone. You hadn't texted or called, usually you would before he left the bar, trying to see him even if it was right before you went to bed. So seeing nothing from you put an uncomfortable feeling in his chest.

He typed out a quick message, asking if you were still awake before turning to his door and unlocking it. He only made it one step inside before the sound of your door opening had him turning around.

There you were, in pajamas and your face free of makeup. Your eyes were a little puffy and rimmed red, the sight plunging his heart into the depths of his stomach. The way you were holding on to the door handle with one hand and slightly leaning against the frame with your opposite shoulder made it look like you were scared.

"Hey," He whispered, stepping back into the hall. The right corner of your lips lifted the tiniest bit in return. "You alright?"

You looked down to your feet before shrugging and looking back up, letting the door go and crossing your arms.

"Can I come over?" You asked, your voice was soft but had that edge to it that, if he hadn't seen the evidence of shed tears in your eyes, would've told him you'd cried.

"Of course you can." He held his hand out for you, and you gently took it after pulling your door closed, locking the handle.

After getting in his apartment and closing the door, he tugged you to him, light enough that you could stop if you didn't want to be closer. But you all but fell into his chest, your arms wrapping around his torso in a tight grip and your face buried in his sweater as he supported you.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, resting his chin on the top of your head, and just held you for a moment.

"Sorry I left earlier," you mumbled through his sweater, "It's been a rough day."

He sighed, squeezing you a little tighter as his heart constricted at hearing you having a bad day. He wanted you to only ever have good days, to never have something make you even the slightest bit upset. But the world didn't work like that.

"It's okay, sugar," he muttered into your hair before pressing his lips to the crown of your head and pulling back to look down at you. "Wanna talk about it?"

You nodded before looking back up to him. "Can we have some tea, too?"

He smirked down at you. Tea had become a bit of a routine for the both of you since that first night. You two shared mugs of tea almost every time you came over. He loved it.

"For you? Always."

He reluctantly let you go, stepping to the little bar of the kitchen and pulling out a stool for you before walking around and pulling out everything he needed to make you both tea. A comfortable silence filled the space as he heated the water and you fished out two tea bags, working in tandem with one another until the tea was made. He passed you the honey and leaned back against the counter behind him, holding his mug and letting the warmth seep through his fingers.

He watched you stirred in a spoon of honey, mindlessly watching the spoon go round and round in circles. He let the clinking of the spoon against the mug continue for a moment before speaking up.

"What's on your mind, sugar?"

You blinked, straightening your back when you realized you'd somewhat zoned out and removed the spoon from your mug and set it aside, wrapping your hands around the warm ceramic.

You tried to look at him, to let his calm demeanor maybe reach out to you and sizzle your nerves, but all it did was make your heart beat faster in your chest and your thoughts run wild. Looking back to your mug, you took a breath before just blurting out your question before you chickened out.

"Why did you introduce me as just your neighbor to Steve?" You whispered it, your voice not quite having the courage to join in your decisions.

You heard him take a deep breath before sighing and you prepared yourself for the worst. That he wasn't into you like that, that he didn't want to be in a relationship with you. That these past few months together have meant nothing to him. All those nights spent cuddled in each other's bed, making breakfast together in the morning, walking home together after he closes the bar, painting him - fuck, you've sketched and painted so many portraits of him and he was going to tell you that he doesn't want this - whatever this is.

"I don't, um…"

Oh no. You kept your gaze on your tea, still untouched as you waited for him to say the words that would shatter your heart and for him to leave you to pick up the pieces on your own.

"I just don't want you to be faced with the judgment that might come with dating me." His words were gruff, and you could feel the hesitation and the worry that coated them.

You looked up to see his normal smiling lips tipped down into a somber line. His eyes seemed so sad.

"And I know Steve would never judge or make any sort of comment, I know that," He continued softly, "But I didn't want to make that decision for you."

"What do you mean by judgment?"

"Well," He put his mug in the sink before gripping the edge of the countertop behind him, "I'm over a decade older than you, hun. It's not exactly conventional, or accepted by a lot of people. And I know people can be really harsh with their comments, speaking before thinking - hell, I witness it every night at the bar." He raked his teeth over the edge of his lip before continuing.

"I want to tell the world that you're mine," He muttered, glancing at you with a nervous look in his eyes and your anxieties started to dwindle. "But, we'd never really talked about it so I didn't want to assume that you would be okay with it." His words picked up speed in your silence, a nervous habit of his you'd learned.

"You want me?" You cut him off when he started talking himself in circles and he stopped, looking at you with the softest gaze and a hint of a smile, as if he wasn't sure the situation called for a smile yet.

"I want you," He stated, as if it was the world's truth for him to bear. "I want you and all your quirks, all your paintings," he walked around the bar top to your side, "The little noises you let out when you're stretching in the morning. Your simple but delicious breakfasts. Your kisses. Your stray hairs I find on every single one of my sweaters no matter how many times I wash them." He reached out, laying his hand, palm up on the counter top, waiting for you to take it. "I want all of it, all of you."

You couldn't help the tears that gathered on your lashes threatening to fall as you placed your hand in his, quickly squeezing it. "I want you, too," You whispered.

"I never want to see you upset, and I'm sorry if how I introduced you caused your bad day. I just didn't want to assume that you'd be okay with it." He reached up to cup your cheek and you closed your eyes, relishing in the feeling of his warm hand on your skin before you sighed.

"That's not why I was having a rough day, it was just kind of the cherry on top," You whispered, opening your eyes again. At that, his brows came together again and he swiped his thumb along your cheek, catching the stray tear that fell.

"What's going on then?" He let go of your face to pull out another stool so that he could sit in front of you before grabbing your other hand and holding both of them in front of him, your knees sandwiched between his own.

"It's dumb," you muttered. You didn't want him to worry about the fact that your parents weren't going to visit you for Christmas, that you weren't going home because if you did you would go mad only hearing about how they aren't supportive of your college career path. That wasn't something that you wanted him to bear for you.

"If it's got you this upset," you looked up at him, "It's not dumb."

You gnawed on the edge of your lip for a moment before sighing. He waited for you to gather your words, rubbing his thumbs along the tops of your knuckles and all you could think was how on earth did you get so lucky to find him.

"Do you think I'm making a mistake by pursuing art? Going to college for it?" You whispered, staring at how his fingers had yours completely engulfed.

"Well, is it something you enjoy? Something that you love to do?" He asked in return.

You nodded, keeping your eyes down and he let go of one of your hands, moving to tip your chin up again.

"Then, no. As long as it's something you enjoy, it's not a mistake." Your heart banged in your chest at his words. "Too often do people try to go to school for something that will make them money or make them successful, but they end up hating what it is. As long as doing art makes you happy, you'll be alright."

You sighed through your nose as you nodded and tried to take a deep breath. Sometimes, all people needed to hear was that they'd be alright, and you weren't an exception. His words calmed your thoughts and your tears and a weight lifted from your shoulders.

"Why are you asking though? Do you feel like you're making a mistake?" He asked.

You shook your head, "No, no, it's not - it's not me."

His brows pinched in what you could assume was anger at whoever had planted doubt into your mind. "Then who?"

You took a breath, leaning back in your stool. "My parents. They called earlier this morning, asking if I was coming home for Christmas and when I said no, because I have paintings to work on for my final portfolio, I got an earful about how I'm wasting my time."

He stood from his stool and walked up next to you, wrapping his arms around your neck and pulling you into his chest. He pressed his lips into the top of your hair and whispered there, "I'm so sorry."

You wrapped your arms around his torso, leaning your cheek against his sweater. "That being said," he looked down at you, "Can I spend Christmas with you?" You asked.

His shoulders relaxed as a soft smile grew on his face. "I'd be honored." He pulled back and leaned down, tipping your chin up with his hand and placing a small kiss on your lips. "We'll go all out. I'll get stockings and a tree tomorrow. You can decorate this place from top to bottom if you want to. We'll go ice skating and watch Christmas movies. And I'll make you my mom's homemade eggnog - it's the best in the world."

You couldn't help the giggle that escaped your lips at the excited look in his eyes.

"Okay," You leaned up, kissing his lips again and letting the worry of your parents wash away.

~~~

Bucky held true to his word. The very next day, he took you ice skating, though he wasn't very good at it. He spent most of the time clutching the side rails and watching you twirl around on the ice as if it was second nature. Where you learned how to skate like that, he didn't know, but he'd have to remember to ask you later.

After he had fallen on his ass one too many times for his liking, you helped him off the rink and turned in your skates to the bored teenagers working the desk before he took you to the super market. You pushed the cart behind him as he filled it with various things, some you recognized as ingredients for icing and baked goods, others you were pretty sure he was grabbing just because he was out of them at home. You also definitely let him think that you didn't notice him throwing in two pairs of matching plaid pajama pants into the cart before he quickly buried them in a tree and stockings and lights and ornaments.

Once you got back to his apartment, you helped him put the groceries away and you 'just happened to open the bag with the pants' and his face flushed as he smiled.

"What? Ma used to make me and Becs wear matching pajamas on Christmas Eve, I thought it'd be fun," He defended himself.

"Oh? But Christmas Eve is still a couple days away, were you just hoping I didn't find these until then?" You teased.

"If you don't want to have fun with me, then give them back," He reached for the bag but you yanked it out of his reach.

"Now I never said that!" You giggled as he pulled you into him to try to get to the bag. "I'll wear them! But only if I don't have to wait until Christmas Eve."

He stopped and settled his hands on your shoulders, looking down. "But that ruins the tradition." You couldn't help the giggle that escaped your lips at the pout on his and the serious tone of his voice. You knew it was fake, that he wasn't actually upset, but it still tugged at your heart strings.

"We can wash them and wear them again, it'll be okay grumpy-pants." He huffed at you but couldn't fight the smirk that was growing on his face as you pulled the pants out of the bag and shoved the ones his size into his chest.

Once you were both comfortable in the pants, which were made of some of the softest fleece you'd ever touched, you perched on your barstool and watched him make eggnog from scratch. Much to your surprise, which now seemed silly considering it was in the name, there were actual eggs in eggnog.

He finished the batch, adding a little bit of brandy to it and poured both of you a mug before you cuddled up on the couch together, browsing through Christmas movies.

He turned to look at you, softly gazing at your features as your eyes lit up when you found Die Hard and you pressed play.

"That hardly counts as a Christmas movie," he muttered, taking a sip of his eggnog.

"Excuse me?" You whirled on him, your hair just barely missing his face. "It is! It takes place on Christmas Eve!"

"That doesn't make it a Christmas movie!" He argued with a laugh.

You held your mug close to your chest. "Just shut up and watch Bruce Willis save the day, will you?" He chuckled but stayed silent as the movie started and you tasted the eggnog for the first time since he poured it into your mug - you had to agree with him, it was definitely the world's best eggnog.

~~~

You spent the next day setting up the tree, stringing lights through its branches and hanging ornaments on it. Bucky even let you pick out a star for the top and let you hop on his back so that you could place it on top. When that was done, you got to decorating the rest of the apartment. Placing little deer on the counter top, lighting a peppermint candle, even hanging a wreath on the outside of his door.

When you had decided that his place seemed festive enough, he took you to the store to pick out gingerbread houses. But when you got back to his place, ready to put them together, he got a call from Natalia, saying they needed some help at the bar. Apparently, the girl who was supposed to take over her shift had come down with the flu, and they had no one else they could call.

"I'm sorry, sugar," he said with a kiss to your forehead and throwing on his coat, "Can we put them together tomorrow? We can do it while we wait for Santa Claus."

You let out a snort and shook your head. "I don't know if these gingerbread men can wait that long for their house, it's pretty cold out."

He huffed, "Well, they're gonna have to. Maybe there's a hotel they can stay at for the night." He grabbed his wallet and phone before leaning down for an actual kiss, "But really, the bar will be closing early tomorrow night, so we'll have all the time in the world."

"I know," You met his lips with yours, "Now go before Sam burns your baby down."

He took off with a laugh, leaving you with his spare in case you wanted to go back to yours and Ana's apartment, but after asking if she was busy, you learned she was at Val's, so the night was yours.

So, you decided to take this time to figure out a gift for Bucky. You weren't expecting to spend the holidays with him, so you hadn't had anything prepared, and you were a broke college student, so going shopping wasn't really a viable option.

You looked around online, seeing if there was a store near you that would be cheap enough but still have something meaningful, but you also knew that, with Christmas only two nights away, the crowds were going to be insane.

It was when you started picking at the paint stuck to your cuticles, a nervous tick of yours, that you had the perfect idea. Springing up from his couch, you grabbed the keys and locked his door on your way out, heading to your place across the hall.

If you got started now, you could hopefully finish it before tomorrow night.

~~~

The sound of crinkling woke you up and you glanced at the clock on Bucky's night stand. It read 5:27 in thin green light and you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes before throwing the blankets off your legs. Grabbing your plaid pajama bottoms from the floor, you pulled them on and shuffled out of Bucky's room.

The hall was dark, but at the end, where the kitchen and living room were, the space was softly lit up by the Christmas tree. You took careful steps around to the corner, trying your best not to catch his attention as he came into your view.

He was kneeling by the tree, placing a small box that was messily wrapped under the tree. If you looked around the floor, you could see the evidence of cut paper and pieces of tape and ribbon scattered about.

"Are you supposed to be Santa Claus?" You whispered, watching his bare back tense as he whipped around with wide eyes. When his gaze found you in the shadows, he relaxed with a soft smile and chuckled.

"Don't startle me like that," he groaned before sitting back on his feet, "And so what if I am?"

"Then you aren't very sneaky," You giggled as you walked over to him, his arm lifting to wrap around your legs, his hand resting on your hip. "What are you doing anyways?"

"What does it look like?" He asked, looking up to you, the twinkling lights reflecting in his eyes giving almost an ethereal feel to his gaze. Your brows scrunched as you looked at where he was pointing.

"Is that," you glanced at the box, a small name tag stuck to its corner. You couldn't read it from where you were standing, but it looked similar enough to the word 'sugar.'

"Yes, but you have to wait until morning to open it."  

"Bucky," You sighed, looking back at him, "You didn't have to."

"No, no, no, don't do that," he turned his body to face yours, wrapping both arms now around the backs of your legs, "I will get you whatever I want to get you and you can't tell me no. Especially for Christmas."

You sighed at the excitement in his eyes and you raked your fingers through his hair. "Fine, but just so you know, you're also getting something."

"Oh I can't wait," he smirked up at you. "Now, come on," he stood, lacing his fingers through yours and pulling you back to the bedroom, "The sooner we go back to sleep, the sooner you can open your gift."

You followed him back to bed, your previously interrupted sleep quickly taking over you again once you were settled, wrapped under the comforter and in his arms.

When you woke the next day, he was still there with you, and you got the chance to admire him for just a few minutes. The sunlight coming through the window made him look younger, his face relaxed and his lips parted slightly. His hair, which he’d been letting grow a bit, was splayed around his head like a halo and you knew it was going to be sticking up in every direction once he got up. But it didn’t matter.

All that mattered right then and there, was that he was there with you. He was there with you and he was trying to make it great for you. You'd spent the holiday seasons too many times now, on your own, or with Ana and Val - you being the obvious third wheel. Now it was your turn. Your turn to have someone by your side who was doing everything he could to make sure you were happy.

You weren't able to admire him for long before he cracked his eyes open and spotted you staring and tracing little patterns into his chest.

"Well, good morning," He grumbled, his voice thick with sleep and just a little raspy. And oh you loved when his voice did that.

"Hi," You smiled back. The two of you remained like that for a few minutes before nature called and you had to get up to go pee. Once you were finished and walking out of the bathroom, you could hear Bucky rummaging around in the kitchen, talking with someone on the phone. You got his attention, whispering that you'd be right back before running across the hall to your apartment. The lights were still off, telling you that either Ana was asleep or she wasn't even home.

You locked the door behind you, so that he couldn't try to come check on you and ruin the surprise, before you quickly walked over to the painting lying on its drying rack in the middle of the living room floor. Giving the surface a gentle tap tap tap of your finger and seeing your skin come away clean, you sighed in relief.

You'd worked on this while he was at the bar, as quickly as you could so he wouldn't catch on to what you were up to. Luckily, it wasn't a large painting and you were able to throw on a quick drying varnish before you went over to his place to build your gingerbread houses last night.

After triple checking that none of its surface was tacky, you slid it into a box and put a big bow on top. Bucky had all of the wrapping paper, and you weren't about to wrap this in front of him.

Bringing it back across the hall, you opened the door to have the smell of french toast and bacon envelop your senses and you couldn't hide the growl of your stomach, freezing in the doorway when Bucky turned to you.

"What is that?" He asked with a smirk.

"You'll find out," You walked in, placing the box carefully under the tree before taking a seat at the bar. "Who were you talking to when I left?"

"Oh just Steve," he turned back to the stove and pulled off some slices of french toast before going to batter and cook a couple more, "He was wondering if he could come over later, bring his girlfriend with him."

"Oh. Is he coming?" You were fine with it, of course. Steve was Bucky's friend and you weren't about to tell him that he can't have his friend come over on Christmas. You just weren't sure if Bucky had told Steve yet that you two were dating. And though Bucky had told you Steve wouldn't judge, you suddenly felt a little nervous.

"I told him I'd talk to you about it first," He said as he flipped the bread, "I would love for you to really meet him, but this is your Christmas." He looked at you over his shoulder.

You sighed. One of the reasons you fell for him so quickly was the fact that he was always thinking of you and your feelings. Trying everything to take care and help you that he often put his own wants aside.

"Bucky, I would love to properly meet Steve, and his girlfriend." He smiled at you with a nod before asking if you were sure. When you assured him of your decision, he finished cooking and called Steve back, telling him to bring himself and his lady by for dinner.

You took the plates of breakfast to the couch, setting them on the coffee table and all but devouring the delicious food. Once everything was cleaned up and you both had mugs of coffee, you got started on your gifts.

You'd filled his stocking with his favorite chocolates and a pair of silly socks with cocktails on them that you just couldn't pass up - he loved them so much he pulled the tags off immediately and pulled them on his feet. Yours was about the same, filled with your favorite sweets and a card that had a hand made voucher for free drinks for life at his bar.

Then it was time for the actual gifts.

"Me first," You declared, grabbing his gift for him and gently handing it to him before sitting back on the couch. "Open it."

You watched as he opened the box, peaked inside to see what he was grabbing, and gently pulled out the painting.

"Oh wow," he breathed, refusing to take his eyes off of it as he examined the details, "When did you do this?"

"Over the past two days, while you were at work." His head whipped to you.

"Are you serious?" You nodded and he turned back to the painting. The bright colors of the oils staring back at him. It was a simple still life of the first drink he ever made you, your whiskey on the rocks. The glass was sitting on the bartop, and in the background, though you'd made it more unfocused than the glass, you could see his hands leaning against the wood of the counter.

"I'm hanging this in my office," He said as he refused to pull his eyes from it. "I'll pay you to make more like this to hang in the bar." Your brows shot up.

"What?"

"Yeah, I've been meaning to do a little redecorating, I haven't switched out the decor in a few years, needs something new," he looked to you. "And this," he held up the painting, "this is just what it needs."

You couldn't help the shy smile that grew on your face and the heat that flooded to your face. "Okay." He smiled and leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on your lips before putting the painting down on the coffee table as if it was the most fragile thing in the world.

"Now my turn," He stated before going to grab the present he tried to sneak under the tree earlier that morning.

He placed the box in your hands, taking his seat next to you. It was light, and the paper was wrinkled from his attempt at wrapping it in the dark and there on the little label, was written 'Sugar' with a little heart next to it that made your insides melt.

You pulled the paper off, being careful not to rip that little name tag, and couldn't help the gasp that escaped you as you looked at him. He had a nervous look as he gnawed the edge of his lip in anticipation to know if you liked it.

"Are you serious?" You asked, holding up the box of oil paints as if he didn't know what it was. "Are you serious?!"

He let out a laugh at your increasing volume, "I saw you eyeing them when we went to the art store a few weeks ago."

You looked back at the box, full of colors you usually had to mix yourself, from your favorite brand. Your head was already swimming with ideas as you stared at the colors and you couldn't wait to get another painting started.

Holding the box in your lap, you turned back to him, "Thank you, Bucky."

His large smile turned soft as he gazed at you. "Anything for you, sugar."

You basked in the warmth he caused that flowed from your chest to the rest of your body as he watched you and you again wondered how on earth you were so lucky to have him. He glanced at your tapping fingers and chuckled.

"You want to paint now don't you?" He asked with a smirk.

"Maybe," You muttered and he let out a loud laugh.

"Go get your stuff then. I don't want to stop you from doing what you love." You smiled, setting your paints down on the table and running across the hall to get your easel and a canvas and your box of other supplies, dragging them to his place.

You spent the day painting a large canvas that he was going to hang in the bar while he proposed the idea of getting Chinese takeout for dinner and inviting Natalia and Sam to come over too. You loved the idea and even tried to invite Ana and Val, but they had already promised Val's parents they'd eat over there, which was just fine. You were happy they had family to be with.

When it came time to get ready, you cleaned up your paints, setting everything in his bedroom so it'd be out of the way.

Everyone showed up with chilled cheeks and noses, ready to come inside and out of the warmth. You were introduced to Steve again, this time as Bucky's girl, and to Steve's girlfriend, Peggy - who had the British accent that Steve was arguing with Ana about.

It was a small apartment, so you settled with sitting around the coffee table on the floor, feet tucked under yourselves as you bumped shoulders, everyone sharing stories of how they knew each other and from their own childhoods. Even when everyone was stuffed from dinner, no one made a move to get up and remove themselves from the close quarters, continuing to laugh amongst the group.

It was in that moment that you were reminded of what this time of year was about. Friends and loved ones and being grateful for who you've got in your circle. Being surrounded by people who enjoyed your company and actually wanted to hear from you about your hobbies and your passions. You may have just met some of them, but you wouldn't trade them for anything.

And when the night was over, and everyone had gone home, you and Bucky lounged on the couch. You were cuddled up against his chest as he leaned across the cushions, watching A Christmas Story, when you popped your head up into his line of sight.

"Thank you," You whispered. He wrapped his arms around you with a smile.

"Any time," He pulled you in for a short kiss before pulling back, "Maybe. . ."

You raised a brow in curiosity, "Maybe what?"

"Maybe, next year we can do it again? Make our own traditions?" He asked, nothing but hope swimming in his ocean blues and you couldn't help the happy sigh that left your lips as you leaned in to press your lips back to his.

"I'd like that."

As always, thank you for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are all appreciated!

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x Female Reader #modern!bucky x reader #modern!bucky x female!reader #modern!bucky #bartender!bucky #bartender!bucky barnes #neighbor!bucky #neighbor!bucky barnes #female reader

[world-of-aus]

The Reading Nook

Pairing: Modern!Bucky x Reader

Warnings: None. Fluff.

Author's Note: A self indulgent piece, one that I had to force myself to finish because the longer I stared the more I felt like It was sounding worse and worse. The writers block is real but I will not be deterred! I hope you all enjoy this little piece, happy readings buns!

It’s a quiet morning in the bookshop; as it is most days, the bell above your door having only jingled a handful of times through the morning. Bookshelves line the walls of your store, smaller shelves filling in the space of your shop.  

The Reading Nook was a quiet homey place for customers to come and escape. A place born of your dreams that you turned into a reality.  

A home away from home.  

Your collection of paperback and hardcover books that were sorted neatly on your shelves provided an escape for any customer that might come in to look for their next read. From romance to horror and everything in between, there was a genre for everyone to come in and read. It filled you with joy to see a regular come in with wonder in their eyes as they made a beeline for your shelves, fingers drawing lines down the spine of the book before they plucked it from their spot. 

You’re replacing the spots were books once sat with copies fresh from the back, regulars roaming around you quietly as they look for their next read. Sliding a book into its spot, you call out a greeting as the bell in your shop rings out signaling a new customer. You’re reaching behind you to the cart that sits beside you to place the next book down but a ringed hand beats you to it, a fresh copy of the newest novel finding its place in your shelves. Looking over your shoulder the argument distinguishes on your tongue when you find those sparkling cerulean blue eyes; your shock turning to surprise. 

“Bucky, what are you doing here,” you grin turning to face the man, the black coat he has on seemingly making him broader to the eye as you move forward to get your arms around him. His grin is hidden in your hair, “it's good to see you to sweetheart,” his large hands finding your back as he returns the sentiment. “Becca said you wouldn’t be home till next week, did something happen with the settlement? You question as you pull back to meet his gaze, one of his hands comes up, fingers sweeping his longer locks away from his eyes, tucking the strands behind his ear.  “We got them to sign within the first two days that we were there, Steve wanted to stay longer but I had something back home that I wanted to come back too.” Despite wanting to ask Bucky what was here that he rushed to get back home to your excitement can hardly be contained, your arms going around the man once more. A husky chuckle meets your ear, his embrace warm as he holds you to him, “that’s wonderful news Bucky, see I told you, you two could do it,” you grin as you pull away. He shakes his head, “It was your idea that sold, we just pitched it.” 

“So, it’s really happening? The Reading Nook is expanding.” 

“It’s happening sweetheart,” you’re jumping on your toes again, Bucky ready to catch you in his arms, “thank you, thank you, thank you,” you breathe. He’s squeezing you, “don’t thank me yet, let’s find you a shop to open first yeah?” 

The two of you pull away from one another, a comforting silence blanketing the two of you as you hold one another’s gaze. Bucky’s the first to break it after a short second, “so aside from stocking the stores latest, how’s it been?” A smile pulls at your lips, “well its been busy, as you can tell,” you gesture to the book cart next to you, “regulars have been coming in more frequently for their latest reads.” 

“Oh yeah, you’ve had to order anything new,” he questions. 

“Actually, I've ordered a thing or two, even got something for you,” Bucky raises a brow, “come with me,” you say as you push the cart up against the shelf, motioning for him to follow you towards the glass register up front. There’s amusement in the man’s eye as he follows you, a bounce in your step as you round the register. He comes up to it, hands leaning on the oak surface as he watches you drop fetching something from the glassed shelves below. He leans forward to see what it is you’re grabbing but you’re popping up with a smile. He mirrors it, brow raised, you’re sliding over a brown papered package. He eyes the package taking it gingerly from the glass, his eyes meet yours, “what is it?” 

“Open it,” you laugh, he’s gentle with the wrapping, unfolding the brown paper from the package. You're hooked on the side of the glass case, watching with eager eyes as he unfolds the package that had just arrived hours earlier with the other shipment that waited in the stockroom. The search for it had been easy, there were multiple suppliers for the book online, but finding the right one in between multiple sellers had come hard for you. 

‘I want him to cherish it.’ You had told his sister Rebecca. The younger Barnes had snorted at your distressed state as you scowered the internet for the best seller, ‘Oh come on,” she said pulling the tablet from your hold to look at the current page you were searching on, “you’d be replacing his cheap old one that Sam ruined with wine during game night, with not only one volume, but a five volume classic set, of course he’s going to cherish it, it’s you - my brother love’s you.” 

While Becca had waited for your reaction at her words you didn’t give her one, “Your ma bought that copy for him Bec’s, it meant a lot to him,” you chose to say instead, opting to continue ignoring the elephant in the room as your group of friends had called your unspoken feelings for the older Barnes, and apparently the ones they were so sure he returned. “I want this to mean just as much.” 

The brunette passes you back the tablet, a confirmation of your purchase of the five-volume classic staring back at you, you meet her gaze a small smile pulling at the corner of her lips, “The reason behind you making this purchase will mean more than to my brother than you know, and if you won’t tell him how you feel about him, maybe this will finally get things rolling.” 

While Becca's words had stirred something within you, you didn’t want to grasp onto any false hope. You were happy with continuing to ignore the elephant in the room, or at least you’d keep telling yourself that. Bucky pulls you from your head with an almost inaudible breath of your name, his fingers skimming over the hardcovered case that held the five volumes of Tolkiens immortalized epic fantasy world.  

It's an emerald green, leather-bound, five-volume set accented with 22kt gold. The page-ends are gilded with a gleaming gold finish, its fabric end-sheets provide both beauty and sturdiness. Your breath is baited as you watch him slip the volumes from its protective hard cover case, his fingers roaming over the first in the volume, the hobbit. His eyes find yours, “I knew how upset you were over Sammy spilling the red wine on yours during game night, Becca say's you haven’t moved it from its spot.” 

His eyes flick down to the books, “I was afraid I'd only ruin it further if I moved it off the coffee table, think its permanently glued there now thanks to that red wine,” his laugh is humorless. “I knew how much that copy meant to you, and while I know this might not match up to it coming from your ma, I was hoping it might.” 

Bucky’s dumbfounded as he looks down at the five-volume set, his chest swelling with the fondness he has for you. “Sweetheart, you didn’t have to do this.” Your head sways to the side, small smile pulling at your lips, “I may not have needed too, but I wanted too, take it as a gift for getting the buyers to sign.” 

He’s slipping each of the volumes back into its protective case, fingers running over the hardcover before he’s setting it gently down onto the glass pane. He moves then, his feet taking him behind the register where you stand waiting. His hand finds yours pulling you into a tight embrace, his lips finding the side of your head. You melt further into him, “thank you for this, it means more than you know, and hey maybe you can stop by tonight after you close shop so we can celebrate the signing?” 

You pull away reluctantly thanking the heavens that no customers have needed you thus far all your patrons still immersed in finding there next read, “I'd love that, maybe you and I can find the perfect place for it on your shelves after?” There’s a twinkle in the older Barnes eye, “I think I have the perfect place for it, so I'll see you after work?” 

Your smile twitches at the corner of your lips, “I’ll see you after work Buck.” 

He takes his exit then, books held tightly under his arm as he promises to see you after work. There’s a grin on your lips as you pull your phone from your pocket, feet guiding you back to the shelves to continue your restock. 

To becca: he loved them, he also got the buyer to sign, WERE OPENING ANOTHER STORE!!!! 

From Becca: Did he get down on one knee and propose his undying love for you?? ANOTHER STORE!! ARE WE CELEBRATING!! 

You snort, rolling your eyes at the younger Barnes antics, you’re typing in your reply when another text is coming in. 

From Becca: Hey so my brother just told me to come up with an excuse as to why I cannot celebrate with you tonight because he’d like for it to just be you and him. Anyway, here’s my excuse... ALSO I better be the first to know when it’s official I want to make sure Rogers, Wilson and the Romanoffs pay up, we can do brunch tomorrow to celebrate! 

Your heart skips a beat in your chest, eyes widening as you reread the text, fingers deleting the already written out text. 

To Becca: Rebecca Barnes what do you mean your brother asked you to make an excuse??? Make what official, Becs stop playing! YOU ALL HAVE A POOL GOING?! 

You wait with bated breath for a reply, your fingers taping away at your screen when it goes ignored. 

To Becca: REBECCA BARNES DO NOT IGNORE ME! 

You try, disbelief rolling over you in waves when a text finally comes in. 

From Becca: 🤷🙅 

From Becca: GOODLUCK! 

Any other messages sent out to the younger Barnes go ignored. Though after the first few that you send out many of your patrons are seeking you out with their newest finds ready to check out and head home. Your evenings are always fairly busy, many of your patrons filtering through with their latest finds, smiles on their faces as they bid you a farewell with one hand a plastic bag with their book in the other. 

You find there’s not much that needs to be done tonight, you had already restocked most of the morning into the early afternoon all that was left to do is do a walkthrough and make sure your store and its shelves were ready for tomorrow morning. You’re shutting off the lights, flipping your sign from open to closed with a trash bag in hand as you lock it up. 

“Need help with that?” 

You startle, trash bag coming up to your chest as you snap your head in the direction of the voice. Bucky chuckles from where he’s leaned up against the side of his car, “Buck,” you laugh despite your racing heart, “what are you doing here? I was just about to head over to you, you didn’t need to come this way.” Bucky smiles kicking off his car as he closes the distance between the two of you, grabbing the tied trash bag from your hand. “Didn’t see your car this morning,” he answers as he goes to deposit the bag in a bigger bin, “figured you were going to end up walking and thought I would save you the trouble.”  

Your lips drop open in surprise for a brief second, your heart racing in your chest as he turns back to you, closing the distance once more, bright smile and even brighter eyes shining back at you. He offers you a hand, one you willingly take as he helps you over to his car. You watch as he pulls the passenger door open obscuring your view inside as he reaches for something. Your breath catches in your throat, heart swelling in your chest when he turns back to you, a book bouquet in hand. 

Your eyes flit from the neatly arrayed set of your most treasured reads to his bright gaze, “Bucky, what is this,” you breathe as he passes it over to you, your hands careful as you bring it your chest, eyes flitting over the novels. “Been working on this for a few months now,” he admits, “had some help from Becs with it, and what better night then tonight.” Your eyes are finding his again, “this is so beautiful, thank you so much B I - I don’t know what to say,” you laugh, though you could think of a few things as you recall your messages with his younger sister from earlier. 

“This is really beautiful,” you choose to say instead as you glance back down at the books, “you’ll have to help me find a place for them when we find a new shop, I'd love to have these displayed, just like this.” 

Bucky hums, and when you look back up you catch him swaying on his feet nervously, “you okay B?” 

He lets out a breath, “I was actually hoping that I could do much more than help you find a place for them.” 

“What did you have in mind?” 

“I was hoping you’d read them to me when you had time – before you put them up on display,” your smile is warm, heart only further swelling in your chest as you look at the blue-eyed man, “I’d really love that buck, but I'm not sure how much you’ll enjoy some of my favorite picks.”  Bucky takes a step forward into your space, “I’d like to try,” he answers, “for you.” 

“For me,” you breathe. He nods stepping closer, a warm hand coming up to cup your cheek, “I've realized for some time now that there’s a lot of things I'd like to do for you, I'm not sure any of it would amount to the things you’ve done for me though.” He chuckles at the quiet breath of air that wooshes past your parted lips, his thumb running along your cheek, just under your sparkling eyes, “and as the time passed It became clearer to me that those things I'd like to do for you looked so much better if I was doing them with you.” 

Your breath is knocked from your chest, were you hearing right? 

“I was told a few times by our friends,” He continues, “that I should just come out and say it, there would be nothing for me to lose except my chance, and despite all the signs being there I guess I just needed that final push.” 

You were. 

“Bucky I – are you – do you – I" 

The two of you are breaking out into a breathless chuckle, your hold on the books tight as you look at the man before you. "I know, I know, I'm sorry it took me so long sweetheart, but I'm hoping you held onto hope just like you hold onto hope for those two idiots you're always reading about?"

You're laughing, one hand slipping from the hold you have on the bouquet, to wrap around the lapel of his coat as you pull him forward, "right until the very end," you whisper as you close the last bit of space left between the two of you, your lips slotting together.

The feeling better than any ending you've ever read.

#bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x you #Bucky Barnes au #modern!bucky #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #Bucky Barnes fanfic

[eclecticpatrolroadlawyer]

Till death do us apart

Summary: Bucky and Y/n are exes. What if they suddenly meet at the place they broke apart? Will there be chance for them to be together? What if there's a disaster happens like flood? Will they be survive together? Will they live happily after all this are ended?

Genres: Angsty, fluff, break up.

Note: @angstysebfan helped me to choose words. @jobean12-blog supported me and I got this divider from @firefly-graphics . Comment if u wanna be tagged in.

Chapter 1 (coming soon)

Chapter 2 (coming soon)

Notes: Hey guys! Hope u like it. English is actually my second language so, if there's any mistake u can inform me by messaging me privately. And PLEASE REBLOG and DON'T STEAL MY WORK. Please like and comment too so, that I can know ur guys views. Thank u for reading guys! Have a nice day and please comment if u wanna be tagged in.

taglist: @angstysebfan @cjand10 @medelinee @tapedeck-hearts @adoringsebstan

#bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x dark!reader #bucky x reader #college!bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes x fluff #bucky barnes x reader #modern!bucky #bucky barns imagine #bucky imagine #bucky barnes smut #college bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes x you

[buckywritesblog]

Kindness Connections

summary: When a night was ruined because I think no one wants me out with them, Bucky shows me just how well he listens. And I am powerless to the pull of the kind hunky baseball player.

pairing: Modern!athlete!Bucky x y/n

warnings: cursing, fluff, people being rude to reader, feelings of loneliness/isolation. Bucky has a dimple.

word count: 2K

a/n: this is the first piece I am posting here. this isn't the first story I've written though, I write to deal with overwhelming feelings and thought I might try posting one. Bucky fanfiction is a source of escape for me and helps me. I hope someone out there can escape in this and it helps them. 

“…so I went to talk to Tony about it, and he just…” I trailed off giving an exasperated look as if to say, ‘you won’t believe his response,’ but when I refocus to continue the story, I realize no one is actually listening to me right now. A few noncommittal nods and brief glances before turning to face other people at the table, but no one cares at all what I’m saying, that I’m even talking at all. I’m left with an overwhelming surge of loneliness sitting at this crowded table in the middle of a packed bar and restaurant right in midtown Manhattan surrounded by millions—I’ve never felt so isolated.

I didn’t even want to come out tonight. Peggy insisted I join her and her new boyfriend, Steve, on their evening out with his teammates and friends. Being friends since college, I knew Peggy was being sincere when she asked me to come along. She wanted me to meet Steve and maybe click with some of his friends. I don’t think she realized though just how loud and packed this place would be. But sitting a couple places down next to Steve talking to his friends and being the doting new girlfriend, she’s kind of left me to fend for myself in this sea of people I have never met before, and most of whom seem used to being the centers of attention.

I’ve been a sports fan all my life but the certain entitlement to attention some (most, male) athletes hold is downright barbaric. This asshole, (Brad? Chad? Tad? Lad???) asked me both about myself and about my job. So I, the foolish girl that I am, told him about myself and my job which included some rather hilarious stories of my boss, Tony, being well meaning but altogether ridiculous now and then. These are funny stories. Crowd pleasers: short, to the point, hilarious, well delivered. This ain’t my first rodeo talking to strangers (potential friends), I know what sticks.

But this guy, and his surrounding harem, didn’t actually seem to care one way or the other about me. I guess he was trying to give me a chance to brush myself off and ask about him. His work. His life. When I failed my mission in the first ten seconds, he quickly turned to the accompanying women who knew their assignment and passed with flying colors. Actually sitting on some laps, women are throwing themselves at these guys. I can’t say I blame the guys wholly, if someone else was giving me exactly what I wanted I wouldn’t waste my time with the new girl who erroneously answers questions I secretly don’t want answers to. But they could have waited until I was done talking.

I hate this feeling, like no one actually wants me here. I’m not wanted at this table, in this restaurant, by anyone at all for a two minute conversation and that’s enough to bring tears to my eyes. I look down and blink rapidly, feeling ridiculous that these people are having such an effect on me, but I didn’t want to come tonight to begin with. This was a favor to Peggy, and she couldn’t even try to sit beside me so I’m not all alone? I’m tired, I’m annoyed, I’m overwhelmed, and I’m so fucking lonely I could cry. I just want to go home. I stand up with my half full drink and walk over to the bar to give it back to the bartender. He asks wordlessly if I want another, but I shake my head no. A quick trip to the bathroom to look just slightly less pathetic, and I’m headed home to the cat. She’s good at helping me get through this loneliness. And she’ll listen to my work stories till kingdom come. Maybe she’s my best friend. I could do a lot worse.

I text Peggy to let her know I’m leaving. She must have her phone right in her hand because she responds quickly with “I’m really sorry this got so overwhelming. Steve said let’s go out with a few friends… I didn’t realize he meant half the city of New York. Let me know when you get home, I’ll take you to breakfast in the morning. <3.” I’m really fucking sad right now because Peggy dragged me here tonight, but it’s not her fault her boyfriend’s teammates and friends are assholes. She’s a good one. I could do a lot worse.

I finish up my primping and leave the bathroom, hearing the voices and music of the crowd. There are so many people here, but at least the hallway to the bathrooms is relatively sparce and somehow tints the noise of the place.

I hear a soft clearing of the throat, and someone say, “what did Tony do?” I look up to see one of Steve’s friends who just left the other bathroom. He was two seats down from me and the only one not groping women fans and getting their flirt on (though, not because he didn’t have options). He’s definitely handsome. They all are. And most of them seem to know it. Not an excuse for being an asshole. I am briefly stunned into silence, though, by the gorgeous blue eyes that are staring into mine. They aren’t snarky or smirky or looking for an ego boost. These are incredibly kind eyes that match a small smile and faint blushed cheeks of a man who just nervously shoved his hands in his jean pockets.

He continues, “I was just…you didn’t finish your story out there and I wanted to know what Tony did. He sounds kind of wild.” He clarified nervously, shifting on his feet. I, however, am winning the award for best statue impersonator. I haven’t moved. Or stopped looking in his eyes. When he ducks his head and mutters a small “sorry,” and starts to walk away looking rather embarrassed I’m jolted to life.

“Oh! Yeah he is wild. Sorry, didn’t think anyone was listening.” My turn to shuffle my feet nervously and, being without pockets (fuck you, women’s fashion) I wring my hands together. “But yeah, Tony just completely dropped the client, no questions asked. It was not the reaction I expected.” I finish my story half-heartedly, already kind of forgetting where I had left off and not knowing where I lost the crowds interest.  

This guy though doesn’t miss a beat. “What?! That’s crazy, he just turned the client down?” Must be a lucrative company if he can just turn away people like that.” Wow. So he was listening. Why didn’t I notice that, then? I looked around. Pointedly. Trying to find one person interested in the story. It was kind of a blur of bodies and noise, but I don’t recall seeing these gorgeous eyes on mine—that, I would have remembered.

“Yeah,” I shrug, still feeling rather defeated, “that’s Tony. Well, thanks for letting me finish, I guess, I’m just gonna…” I point to the hallway exit leading back to the crowd.

He cuts in before I can walk away. “Sorry Brock was such an asshole to you. He’s always doing that to people, its really shitty. I wish I got to sit next to you though so I could look at you while you talked, so you knew I was listening, but it’s so loud in there I had to lean in ear forward.” That explains why he wasn’t looking then. He’s explaining to me that he was listening. That’s nice. Much too kind for someone who looks like that. Might make me do something foolish, like fall hopelessly in love. “I hate these things. Steve promised this would be a small gathering, but Brock heard we were going out, tweeted about it and suddenly every baseball fan in New York is here.”

“You know Steve?” That’s a stupid question, they are on the same team.

He doesn’t make me feel stupid for asking it, though (again, the nerve), “yeah, he’s my best friend. He wanted me to come out tonight to meet his new girlfriend. We barely got to talk though because,” he gestures wryly to the crowd and noise.

“Oh, Peggy! She’s my friend and roommate and made me come out tonight to meet her new boyfriend Steve, but” I mimic his gesture about the environment of the place.  

“Y/N! Yes, Steve told me you’d be here!” His eyes light up with recognition. “I didn’t realize you were her, that she is you.” He flounders and gives himself a contemplative cringe at his words. Great. He’s cute and awkward too.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Bucky.” He extends his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

You shake his hand. “Nice to meet you,” I reply honestly. In the span of a two minute conversation I am feeling so much better. It really just takes some genuine kindness to make someone feel good about themselves. And it costs us nothing. Kindness, truly, costs us nothing.

He continues to shuffle his feet and bury his hands in his pocket. “So…are you leaving?” He asks after eyeing me clutch my crossbody purse.

“Yeah, this really isn’t my scene.”

He blows out a breath, “mine either.”

“Really? Aren’t you used to crowds and noise being a famous baseball player and all?”

“You’d think I’d have gotten used to it by now but no, I really hate these kinds of things. On a field is one thing—I’m focused on the game, doing my job without loads of strangers breathing down my neck or trying to sit on my lap.”

I cringe on his behalf, “yeah, that does sound suffocating.”

He looks at me for a long moment. “Are you set on going home? I didn’t actually get to eat anything here, and a few blocks down is a great whole in the wall type place with some great food.”

Did I actually fall in the bathroom and hit my head on the sink? No other logical explanation for what is happening to me right now. Let’s recap: gorgeous, hunky baseball player with kind eyes and disarming mannerisms who not only listened to my story but asked me to finish it is asking me out to a late dinner because he, too, is exhausted from this place stuffed to the brim with his adoring fans? He wants to go out with me? I am statue again. When he, again, looks away with a blush and embarrassment coating his cheeks I snap back to life and say, almost too loudly, “yes! Let me text Peggy really quick to let her know!”

He gets an adorable grin on his face, which introduces me to his left cheek dimple (aka the eighth wonder of the world) (also, the audacity), and says “great! Let me go grab my jacket and we can go!”

He rushes back to the table, as best he can in the sea of people, and I text Peggy my change in plans. She responds, again almost instantly, “I knew you two would hit it off! I was worried you didn’t get to meet because of the crowd. He comes highly recommended by Steve, who is highly recommended by me, so have fun!!! Text when you get home or need anything <3.”

“Also, Steve told Bucky he doesn’t expect him home tonight then smacked his ass when he walked away. Just letting you know. Steve’s a matchmaker sometimes.” I read from Peggy. I reply, “lol we both know that won’t happen but nice to know you found a fellow matchmaker to share your heart with :).”

Bucky comes back, jacket in hand, with a sheepish grin and a blush on his cheeks that mimics a sunburn. “All good?” I ask.

“Oh yeah just Steve being a punk, as usual,” he tried to deflect with a roll of his eyes but is still pretty flushed.

“Ready?” Bucky asks.

“Yes!” I reply, completely surprised but not at all disappointed when Bucky grabs my hand to lead me to the front of the restaurant, then doesn’t let go, as he leads us down the street. What a night it has been, truly upsetting but then all turned around by a little kindness and maybe a genuine connection with a great person.

#bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barns x you #bucky x y/n #baseballplayer!bucky #athlete!bucky #bucky fluff #bucky barnes #modern!bucky

[damnyoucully]

“I’m sorry I punched you in your metal arm,” Steve offered quietly.

“I’m sorry my metal arm hurt you when you punched it,” Bucky mumbled against his neck.

This fandom I s2g lmaooooo we are so unwell

From the legendary Dishonor On Your Cow by mandarou

#stucky fic #stucky fic rec #modern!Bucky #steve rogers #captain america #stevebucky #dishonor on your cow

[themculibrary]

can u help me find some good “peter parker survives the snap” stories? thank u 🥺

A Study of Hope (ao3) - luisalesbian G, 1k

Summary: Peter survived the snap, but Tony didn't.

Now, five years later- after the arrival of Scott Lang, the Avengers have an idea that could bring back all those that died. But the person they need might not be up for the task...

At The End Of All Things (ao3) - It-is-the-Hannah (carry_on_my_wayward_outcasts) pepper/tony T, 32k

Summary: In which Peter survives the snap, and that changes everything.

My Soul (To Be A Part Of Me) (ao3) - WeAlwaysShare T, 1k

Summary: AU In which Peter survives the snap and he winds up with Tony in Vormir.

Stasis (ao3) - ImaginationReaper98 G, 13k

Summary: "I lost my parents, when I was a kid. And then my uncle got shot." Peter's voice was low and cracked and not for the first time Natasha was reminded just how young he still was. "May was all I had left."

Natasha averted her gaze from him. I can't remember my own parents.

"I lost the only family I ever had." she whispered, thinking of her team, aware that Peter heard her say it. Perhaps she didn't mind.

We Got Lucky (ao3) - The_Muses_Summer_House pepper/tony T, WIP, 143k

Summary: In the wake of the snap, three people leave Titan. Peter Parker is alive. Returning to devastation, he learns to navigate his new life with Tony Stark. Part 1/3 of a long AU Endgame fix-it series.

What If Peter Survived (ao3) - WaywardKeener harley/peter M, 4k

Summary: Peter survives the snap but May doesn't.

- Tori

#Anonymous #answered #found #howlingcommandos #stucky #steve rogers #modern!bucky

[nexusnyx]

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.

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[pellucid-constellations]

What You’ve Got

Pairing: Athlete!Bucky x Reader

Summary: With Bucky’s professional career taking off, you couldn’t be more proud. But the major leagues can open a lot of new doors for people, and you’re left wondering if what you have is still enough.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst, insecurities, ftlotg!bucky and his lovely simp self <3

a/n: This is a oneshot for my series ‘For the Love of the Game’, but it can be read by itself for some baseball bucky fluff :)

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

~~

He had no idea who you were—that much became clear the second he plopped down in the seat beside yours and started talking about Bucky’s many admirers.

You hadn’t really expected the assistant manager to recognize you. With the new recruits only just joining the team, you were still a newbie in the stadium. And that was fine; you’d have plenty of time to get acquainted with everything in Bucky’s work-life as time went on. 

Just not right now, and definitely not as some guy named Joe—as his name tag suggested—glanced down at your “Barnes” jersey and decided that you’d enjoy the inside scoop on the Dodgers' newest pitcher. 

“You should see him after the away games, signing like a million jerseys,” he grinned, and your pride swelled. Until he continued. “Getting like a million phone numbers too. I swear, that guy’s a legend.” 

Your chest twisted uncomfortably, the laugh you let out half-hearted at best. “Oh, I bet.” 

Joe continued, “The ladies in the PT room love him too. I hear them talking about him every time he comes in to get his shoulder iced.”

You bit into your lip as he dove into another story, thumbing the plastic edge of your popcorn container. You’d probably hand the box over to Nat when she met you in the stands; your appetite was shot and not likely to return for the rest of the night. 

You attempted to tune Joe out as the team began warming up, searching the field until you finally spotted Bucky. He was swinging his arm out and laughing at something Steve had said, the simple sight of him easing some of the tension in your body. Because he was yours, and you were confident in that. 

At least you were…about twenty minutes ago. 

“Supermodels love baseball players, you know?” Joe said, a mouthful of chips finally reaching your ears. “And they show up in those little skirts, finding their way onto the field after games. Lots of them ask for Barnes.” 

The leggings you picked out this morning suddenly felt foolish, and you covered your knees with your palms as if that would make a difference. Your jaw felt impossibly tight as Joe started talking about the following your boyfriend now had on social media. You wanted to calm down, but the nausea sweeping through you felt anything but calm. 

Bucky was talking to supermodels? And flirty physical therapists? And girls that were throwing their numbers at him? You knew that he was going to garner a large fanbase the second he went pro, but facing the reality of it wasn’t something you enjoyed. 

Who were you compared to a celebrity… just some girl he met in college that followed him across the country? And you knew who was liking his pictures on Instagram—what they looked like and exactly everything they had that you didn’t. You weren’t even engaged yet and it was still so early in his career; Bucky could leave you for one of those girls and there wouldn’t even be a whisper in the press.

“I could probably put in a good word for you. Barnes doesn’t seem to take people home, but there’s always a first for everything.” 

He didn’t seem to?  

“Uh, thank you,” you choked out, the tightness in your throat making it hard to speak. “I actually just remembered that I have to go so… thanks.” 

You left your popcorn on Joe’s lap, not sticking around to watch as he lifted it up and asked if you were okay. 

You weren’t okay. You felt confused and worried and inadequate, and the worst part was that you hadn’t even expected this. So caught up in his smiles and his adoring touches, you forgot that with Bucky’s new position, came new opportunities. Opportunities that didn’t involve you. 

You thought back to yesterday, to last week, to the last few weeks. Nothing was odd about the way he acted, even when he went out of town for away games. He never treated you differently. If anything, he was more excited to see you after he’d been gone for a little while. 

Someone bumped into you by the ice cream cart as your breath hitched. Being more excited could’ve meant he was hiding something, or maybe overcompensating for his guilt.

Bucky wouldn’t cheat on you—that much you were sure of. But he could’ve been guilty because he was bored. After going away and seeing cities full of beautiful women, having to come home to you was surely a downgrade. But he couldn’t just leave you when you had moved for him… became his responsibility. 

A vibration in your pocket pulled you from your thoughts, your fidgety fingers unlocking the screen to find an aloof text from Natasha. 

Where are you? Just made some guy get out of your seat. 

You ran a hand over your forehead, typing out a quick, coming!, and taking a few breaths to calm down before you faced Natasha. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that she would notice something was wrong if you didn’t sort yourself out first. 

She noticed anyway, even with your deep breathing.

“Something happen?” she asked, leaning forward in her seat as you slid into yours. “You look stressed.” 

You tightened your grip on the armrests, briefly, before shooting her a smile. “Nope! Just a super long line for the bathroom.” 

She raised a brow at you, but didn’t push the topic. You appreciated that, but it also meant that you had to spend the rest of the game with all of your thoughts, rolling over all of the possible scenarios that Joe had placed in your mind. 

Bucky had smiled up at you a few times between innings, but you could tell by his occasional furrowed brow that you weren’t doing a great job smiling back. That, and Natasha had to nudge your arm a few times just to get you to look down there, something you usually needed no reminder for. And Bucky definitely noticed. 

The game ended. You were pretty sure The Dodgers won. 

Instead of rushing down to greet Bucky as you usually would, you hung back, lingering at the edge of the field. You watched as he did in fact sign a million jerseys with a smile on his face, and you also watched the majority of those jerseys go to women. That wasn’t his fault, but tonight, it stung.

As the fans started to dwindle down, you noticed Bucky’s head on a swivel. He still had on that charming smile as he stood at the wall by the stands, but every time he looked over his shoulder, it dimmed a bit. You felt a small twinge of guilt in your stomach for not going to him; it wasn’t as if he did anything wrong. 

You stepped onto the dirt after flashing the security guard your pass, and Bucky’s next head turn was accompanied by a bigger smile. He quickly sent an apology to the small line of people and jogged over to you, a glimmer of joy bouncing off the floodlights of the field. 

“Hey, baby,” he beamed, pressing a kiss to your temple and squeezing the life out of you—your normal routine. “You have any trouble getting down here?” 

You squeezed him back, the coolness of the night air held in the seams of his clothes. “No, sorry, Buck. The line for the bathroom was just… really long.” 

They really needed to sort that line out. 

Bucky pulled you away from his chest, encasing your face in his hands. “You feeling okay? Nat said something about—” 

“I’m okay!” you interrupted. With Bucky so close to you, holding you like this, any mention of earlier would probably make you tear up. And he had just won a game; you weren’t going to bring him down anymore than you already suspected you were. 

You reached up for his hand, sliding it over until you could press a kiss to his palm. “Congrats on your win! You killed it, honey.” 

There was a small flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he looked down at you, his thumb rubbing over the apple of your cheek when you smiled. He tilted your face up and he kissed you, in front of all the people still in the stadium, and you were okay for a moment; you weren’t thinking about anything other than him, and you were okay. 

But then he stopped kissing you, and a call from the tunneled-hall made your nausea return. 

“Bucky! We need to get some tape on your arm before you leave!” 

The PT girls. Wonderful. 

Bucky kissed your nose and then your forehead; he tucked your hair behind your ear and fixed your sweater and then he promised he would be right back, but you felt empty as soon as his hands left you. You were stuck leaning against a fence as he ushered the girls into the tunnel, not able to hear him as he asked them to please hurry, you were waiting for him.

~~

You really weren’t up for the drinks Steve had proposed in the parking lot. You felt sad and tired and even with Bucky’s arm slung over your shoulders, you felt lonely, somehow. 

But Steve had said, “a bunch of the team’s heading over to that bar on Lincoln,” and you weren’t about to ask Bucky to stay away from that. Not after all the revelations you had made tonight—all of the ways you were probably holding him back. 

So you sat at the table surrounded by a few players you were getting to know, and you nursed the drink Bucky had ordered for you even though you insisted you were fine. You did it for him, because if you couldn’t offer him much, at least you could laugh with his coworkers. 

“Nah, Bucky would totally beat all of you. What was your record, Buck? Like six in a row?” Steve laughed from across the table. 

Bucky’s response echoed from his chest, the arm he had slung over your chair keeping the two of you close. “God, Steve. Sure, at one time I could shotgun six beers in a row, but I’m pretty sure I’d pass out if I tried that now. And y/n’s CPR certification needs to be renewed, so I’m not trying that tonight.” 

A small laugh left you—a spark of happiness warming your cheeks—and Bucky looked down at you with light eyes. The rest of the table had started in on Steve instead, so Bucky took the opportunity to whisper by your ear, “Finally.” 

You scrunched your face up in confusion. “What?” 

“It’s just—you’ve been huffing out those fake laughs all night. Thought I’d never get a real one outta ya.” 

“I have not.” 

He slid his arm from the back of your chair and tugged you closer to his chest, the pale lights in the bar making him look softer than usual. “You have. You wanna tell me what’s up?” 

You glanced back around the table, catching Natasha’s eye along the way. She was giving you that knowing look you always hated back in college, the one that made you spill all your secrets to her before she even had to ask for them. You averted your gaze almost instantly, instead focusing on the dart board above Steve’s head. 

Bucky didn’t seem to appreciate your silence, keeping his voice low as he prodded, “Y/n, you gotta tell me what’s wrong or I won’t—”

“On the house,” a gentle voice interrupted. “For the win.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek, keeping your eyes glued to the pitcher of beer now set on the table so that you wouldn’t have to acknowledge the waitress winking at your boyfriend. Bucky didn’t acknowledge it either, eyes still boring into the side of your face, but you seemed to miss that. 

It took another moment of her heels clicking away before Bucky finally turned away from you, directing his next words to the rest of the table. “I think we’re gonna head home for the night. My arm’s killing me.” 

Shit. 

You were messing everything up. 

The chorus of goodbyes made you feel heavier as you walked out of the bar, even with Bucky’s hand on your back to guide you. His thumb kept creating patterns in your jacket and it was making you want to cry. You were just a few paces from his car when he spoke up again.

“Baby, you gotta tell me what’s wrong,” Bucky pleaded, turning to face you, hand still steady on your back. “I can’t fix whatever I did until you tell me.” 

Your lip trembled as he looked at you, your lungs fighting to keep a steady breath. “You didn’t do anything, Bucky. I swear.” 

His jaw clenched; Bucky looked up to the sky for a beat, and then back down at you with a troubled gaze. He leaned down to brush his nose against yours, closing his eyes and pressing you closer. 

“I’ve been gone a lot,” he began. Your heart clenched. “I haven’t been around you as much as I used to. I know you’ve noticed.” 

Your next breath was accompanied by a rogue tear rolling down your cheek, and you prayed that he wouldn’t notice. He did, his eyes snapping open the second he felt it against his skin. 

“Bucky, it’s okay, I get it,” you comforted. “You don’t have to feel… tied down to me. I know there’s a whole world out there that you’re seeing for the first time. I can figure things out on my own.” 

He leaned back, shaking his head and bringing a hand up to cradle your neck. “What?” 

“You're a big shot now,” you smiled sadly. “And I’m so proud of you. You have fans all over the country and I can’t wait to see everything accomplish. Your, uh—one of your managers was telling me about… about the supermodels and stuff and I—” 

“Y/n, stop. Stop it. Supermodels? I don’t even—what are you talking about?” 

You sniffed, a few more traitorous tears escaping your eyes. “Buck, come on. You’re like a celebrity now. You have girls throwing themselves at you and you’re going to stay with your college girlfriend? I mean, Joe didn’t even think you’d want to take me home—” 

“Joe? You were talking to Joe?” 

“Well, Joe was talking to me while I sat there, but yes.” 

Bucky’s next laugh was almost angry, but that emotion was nowhere on his face as he titled your head up, his fingers running up into your hair. “Look at me, alright?” he insisted. “I don’t care how big I get. I don’t care who ‘throws themself at me’. I’m gonna want you until I don’t even remember my own name anymore. And even then, you’ll still be the first person I look for in every room.” 

He brought his other hand around to your waist, leaning down until his forehead was prone to yours. “Can’t believe your were talking to fuckin’ Joe. That guy’ll say anything to sell a VIP ticket.” 

You reached up to grip the material of his jacket between your fingers. “I’m sorry, I just—Bucky, there are girls out there dying to date you. Girls that have a lot more to offer than me.” 

Bucky tsked, his expression crumbling. He looked disappointed and anguished, the darkness of the parking lot only giving you hints of the depth conveyed there. He kissed you, twice, and then he spoke into the air between you. 

“You were the one that loved me when I was that asshole back in college. You believed in me and you came all the way out here because you still do. You know I’m shit at words, but baby, I don’t want anything other than what you’ve got.” 

Your laugh sounded strangled and wet from tears, but it brought Bucky’s lips back down to yours, so you knew it must have been genuine. He kissed you and he backed you up against his car and then he kissed you harder. It felt like college again—kissing in a bar parking lot—and you realize that everything with Bucky might still feel like that. For the rest of your life. And that wasn’t something you were going to complain about. 

When you parted, you leaned back a little, getting a full view of his face as you whispered you loved him over the low music from the bar. He looked more than a little relieved at the words.

“You know I dragged you out here because I thought you were leavin’ me?” he asked, a tinge of disbelief in his tone, his thumb wiping away your leftover tears. “Was gonna beg on my knees for you to stay. Then we get out here and you’re trying to kick yourself out or something.” 

“Well your weird friend Joe made it sound like you were Mr. Worldwide with the ladies or something. It was very jarring coming from a man I’d literally never met before.” 

“Mr. Worldwide with the ladies?” 

“Can you not make fun of me right now, I’m fragile.” 

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, wrapping you in his arm and kissing your hair. “And for the record, Joe’s not my friend. I mean maybe he will be. After I yell at him for making my girl cry.” 

You tapped his chest in reprimand. “Don’t yell at your coworkers. It makes for a hostile work environment.” 

“I play sports, baby. The entire field is hostile.” He reached behind you and yanked the car door open, helping you in before leaning forward to kiss you again. “And also for the record, I love you too.” 

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #modern!bucky #athlete!bucky #for the love of the game

[world-of-aus]

Say Yes To Forever; The One Where Bucky Proposes

Cat & Mouse; (Steve Rogers x Reader) It’s a battle for dominance, one Steve Rogers will always win, one you’ll always let him win.

One Shot;

Life Before You; Bucky appreciates what the others before him couldn’t.

Step Away With Me; The one where Bucky pulls you away from your stress.

In Plain Sight; The one where he was right in front of you all along.

In A Moment; Five instances when Bucky Barnes promises to give you the world, and one time he actually does.

The Power Of Letting Go; Bucky breaks off your engagement leaving you with an unborn child. Your certain you’ll never see him again, but years later in your daughters principals office you come across him and his son.

The Power Of Letting Go II; Part II of Power of Letting Go.

Live & Let Die; You didn’t move from your spot, “an agent gone rogue,” you murmur, “you really just like to cause me trouble don’t you,”

Live & Let Die II; Part II to Live & Let Die

Live & Let Die III; Part III to Live & Let Die

Among Us; There’s an imposter among us

Hearts At Stake; You come when he calls.

Hearts At Stake II; Part II to Hearts At Stake

A Rose From Your Garden; “Sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you’ve caught me and demanded to come with me to make sure the ‘girl is pretty enough to warrant flower theft’ and I’m trying to figure out how to break it to you that we’re on our way to a graveyard”

Blurred Lines; (Natasha Romanoff x reader) ‘just friends’ don’t look at each other that way.

Lessons In Swimming; (Steve Rogers x Reader) It’s all about the stroke.

Breaking News; (Steve Rogers x Reader)  Steven Grant Rogers was made for public speaking, he was a man meant to be in the limelight.

Our Girl; (Stucky x Reader)  And in truth your boys were different, so very different, but they loved you one in the same.

Mini Series;

I’ll Be There For You; A drunken night leaves you in an unexpected life predicament, but your best-friend may be the one to pull you out.

365 Days; “How can you stand there and say you love me, I don’t even know who I am, I can’t remember who I am!” You cried“Sweetheart trust me there’s no forgetting who you are.” He responded sternly eyes filled with conviction.“I can’t remember who you are.” You confessed voice threatening to break.His face fell, “you have to baby, you loved me, just the way I loved you, the way I still do, please y/n you have to remember, you have to remember us, you have to remember me.” He pleaded his eyes clouding over with tears.

Barnes Boutique; It had been a joke between you and Natasha, you weren’t expecting it to blow up as much as it had. The two of you were only expecting a couple of views, and a handful of likes. What you weren’t expecting was to open your phone to thousands of likes, thousands of shares, and the comments, you weren’t expecting the comments.“Girl please get a better angle, we need to see more of the hunk in the racks!”“Is that your boss?!”“Put the camera back on him, we need more of him!”

Series;

Baby It’s Cold Outside; Freshly single and with the holidays rolling around, you’re offered an opportunity by your bestfriend that you’re not sure you can pass up, what the worse that could happen?

Before You Go; (Steve Rogers x Reader) Traveling to pick up shipment, Steve Rogers drives through a quiet New England town when he finds himself caught in a blizzard, stranded in the snow, Rogers doesn’t think his luck could get any worse, surely there could be a light at the end of this quickly darkening road. Pushing his truck to nearly breaking point, he stumbles upon a quite, quaint little loft, and you.

#modern!bucky #modern au #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader

[buckrecs]

𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩 𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙧𝙚𝙘 : 𝙈𝙖𝙮

masterlist | monthly fic rec masterlist

FLUFF

Buchanan by @barnesmurdock

baby, it’s bad out there by @intrepidacious

set me free by @/intrepidacious (40s!bucky x nymph!reader)

When I’m With You by @phantomspiderr

You’re Worth It All by @/phantomspiderr

Scotty Doesn’t Know by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

cherry blossoms must be magic by @witchywithwhiskey

aisle 4 by @buckyhoney

Grump : The Musical by @itsapeterthing

Trough Sickness… Except Bucky’s by @teamcap4bucky

Wrong Number by @/teamcap4bucky

Alcohol You Later by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

Possible-Future-Girlfriend by @jurassicbarnes

Vegas, Baby! by @bxcketbarnes

Love in the Workplace by @bxcketbarnes

Too Hot, An Arm Cold by @t-lostinworlds

almond milk by @buckysblanket

After Words by @justsomebucky (Modern AU)

Once Upon A Dream by @abovethesmokestacks

cut my hair by @buckybarnesdiaries

Mind Reader by @espinosaurusrexex

Chain Around my Neck by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

Sweet and Strong by @navybrat817 (tattoo artist!bucky x baker!reader)

Charmed by @rookthorne (mechanic!bucky)

Rule Number One by @sidepartskinnyjeans

A Solid Foundation by @writing-for-marvel (fiancé!bucky)

It’s Not My Cup Of Tea by @malum-forev

The Weather by @saltsicklover

Silent Nights and Sorry Mornings by @veelacurse

In The Name Of Love by @moonbeambucky

Fallin’ For You by @/moonbeambucky

I’m Gunnin’ For You by @rookthorne (drifter!bucky)

Morning Workout by @sparklefics

ANGST

Call Me When You Get This by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

I’ll Wear Your Ring by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

After by @wkemeup

Spiral by @buckyalpine

Until We Meet Again by @bucksangel

Try Anything Once by @/malum-forev (doctor!reader)

A Place by @/malum-forev

SMUT

Silent Screams in Wildest Dreams by @buckets-and-trees

Ring Ring by @adrinktostopyourthirst (roommate!bucky)

Convince Me by @teamcap4buciy

Roadside Assistance by @urvenicebtch (mechanic!bucky)

That’s The Way Love Goes by @dirtytomatoedwrites

Surrender by @barnesmurdock

i was made for lovin’ you by @buckycuddlebuddy (rockstar!bucky x bassist!reader)

On My Tongue by @angrythingstarlight (chubby!bucky)

Sweeter Than Sugar by @/angrythingstarlight (chubby!bucky)

Destined to be Yours by @buckyalpine

sinner by @writingsbychlo (demon!bucky x angel!reader)

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic rec #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes smut #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes fluff #40s!bucky #bucky x nymph!reader #bucky barnes angst #mechanic!bucky #bucky barnes modern au #blip #rockstar!bucky #chubby!bucky #tattoo artist!bucky #bucky x baker!reader #fiancé!bucky #fiance!bucky #builder!bucky #bucky x agent!reader #bucky x doctor!reader #demon!bucky x angel!reader #demon!bucky

[rainbowsuitcase]

Every time I rewatch TFATWS, I can't help but notice - Bucky has the TV on. He's waking up from a nightmare to a turned on TV and since he doesn't have roommates, it's probably safe to assume he left it like that on purpose.

We know why he's sleeping on the floor, Steve had the same problem, the bed is too soft. But there's another reason why he's sleeping in the living room, and why the TV is on, and especially on something as neutral as a sports channel.

I wonder if it's simply because he hates the quiet. If his mind wanders too much when there's nothing for him to focus on, if his thoughts get too dark, if his enhanced senses are reaching for every small sound that a normal person wouldn't catch, every creak of the building, every whistle of the wind, and he can't fall asleep.

Or if it's also because of the nightmares. If when he jerks awake into darkness and silence, he panics. I'm back there, I'm trapped, I'm frozen and tortured and controlled, I'm a machine and a monster.

But when he hears the TV, the muted cheers and the sports comentator, and sees the light reflected over the living room, it ground him back into the present.

#if that's the case the sports channel deff makes sense #news are a no-go obviously #movie channels are risky too #maybe a music channel would work too? #tho modern music might not be helping much #bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier #bucky barnes meta #winter soldier

[heyitsropi]

i just realized—

maybe i have a type:

#what is my life #din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #winter soldier #marvel #mcu #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 #mw2 #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #din djarin x reader #bucky barnes x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader