18+ smut — men and minors dni. somno. (pre established) toy use (dildo/vibrator) squirting. multiple orgasms. breeding kink if you squint a little. daddy nickname. fingering (r). bucky is insatiable. he needs u fr.
wc 2.1k
a/n — this came from a place of horny (somno is one of my top kinks), along with this request. i felt this one in my pussy when writing it. this is just the start of camboy!bucky & camgirl!reader <3
“you guys would not believe how wet she is right now…” bucky’s voice is soft; quiet. with his eyes glued to your pussy, he pulls the translucent purple dildo out of your hole slowly — watching at is sheens in the slick coming from you.
“bet it doesn’t pick up well on camera…” he mutters, still watching your cunt as he pushes it back inside you.
you were knocked out — taking a nap after going several rounds with bucky was what you and your body needed
and you gave him permission to keep playing afterwards.
of course he took it.
your leg was hiked up as you rested on your side, an arm propped under your pillow and a blue night dress adorned your body.
the fabric was riding up on your hip, your cunt exposed with how you hiked your leg up further than the other. you always claimed it was a comfortable sleeping position but he knew you better than that.
it was an easy access position — one you only did when you wanted him to take advantage of you.
and here he was. fulfilling your wish.
“fuck, baby…” his own cock twitches in his lap as he watches your cunt swallow the dildo all over again — imagining it was his own cock sinking into your wet cunt.
not yet. he has to be patient. give the viewers what they want.
even if his cock is painfully hard right now and leaking all over the sheets.
he spreads your ass with his other hand, sinking the dildo to a hilt into your cunt as he reached over and grabs a small bullet vibrator.
“gonna make this pretty pussy sing around this fake dick…” he mutters, eyeing the chat of the live stream and hearing the sound of pings incoming — signaling that he’s getting extra tipped.
he hadn’t done anything like this with you before, but it was pre-established you both wanted to make this sort of content — whether it be for your own two eyes or for your shared account — it didn’t matter.
you both just wanted to play with each other.
he goes to grip his own cock in his hands, moving ahis fist at the same pace the dildo was fucking your pussy. it made his head spin at how easy you were for him — how easy you were to open up and let him take you like this whenever he wanted.
and you both were getting paid for it?
fuck. it made his cock twitch harder in his hand.
he never thought that he would ever do cam work let alone be with someone who did cam work and collaborate. but somehow he got lucky with you.
meeting you on the first few nights of his own career launching, needing some subscribers and some exposure but being the humble man he was — he didn’t reach out or initiate first.
until he saw you one time on live.
you were fucking your pretty pussy with a clear, glass dildo — tits bouncing with each thrust as you fucked yourself with it on the floor.
you had your fingers strumming your clit and the other twisted a nipple and he swore he never saw someone more beautiful than you when he saw you squirt on camera.
“you sound so fucking good, baby…” he mutters all to himself as he stops jerking his cock, taking the vibrator and turning it on before slotting it between your swollen cunt and the blanket that was snug between your legs
involuntarily, your hips jerk — a warm sensation spreading through your body as you move your hips against the sheets. he watches your body hungrily, biting his lip as he starts moving his hand on his own cock again.
your brows furrow as you keep your speed up, dreams blending together, not knowing what you were truly dreaming about or not.
all you knew was you had an ache — one so deep only bucky would’ve been able to fix it.
and he knew that.
sly little shit.
“makin’ a mess of the sheets, doll.” he coos softly as he turns to the camera and pulls it closer, letting everyone see your cunt glistening in the low ring light setting.
he looks back over at your cunt as he swipes a metal finger through your folds — your hips backing up into him instinctively.
“so responsive…so sensitive…” he trails off as he hears your quite whimpers filter through your lips, fingers clutching the sheets gently.
he pushes the tip of his fingers slowly into your hole, easily letting him in as you settle your hips back down — nuzzling into the silk pillowcase. his eyes travel up the length of your body, settling on your face.
that was something that was kept private by the rest of the internet except him.
you didn’t mind it, either.
in fact you kinda loved it. made it feel like he has a more possessive claim over you — being the only one able to bask in your pleasure.
that’s what he loved most about doing this with you.
he draws his finger back, lips parting softly at the sight of his digit covered in your slick. he has to bring it up to his lips, moaning softly at the taste of you on his tongue.
“such a sweet sleepy pussy…” he sinks his finger back into your cunt before he’s grabbing the camera off the tripod and holding it in his free hand.
“look how well she takes me — even in her sleep.” he groans as he sinks a second one in, your hips pushing back against his touch as you whine into the pillow. he chuckles to himself, knowing you can’t help it. your body is just that needy for him.
“shh..” he coos, picking up the pace with his fingers fucking your cunt. his cock bobs in between your thighs, nudging your clit every so often with the way his arm moves to fuck you. he groans every time he feels your swollen clit bump his sensitive tip — leaking and spreading a mess all over you.
“think i can make her cum like this?” he whispers mostly to the livestream — watching your face furrow in frustration as your hips start bucking gently against his fingers, his thumb coming to rub your clit as you let out the softest moan in your sleep.
“fuck.” his moan is deep; guttural. the only kind you can possess form him like that.
and you weren’t even awake this time.
after a few more lazy strokes to your clit and curling his two thick fingers inside of you, he had you cumming around his digits in seconds — your hips stuttering against his hold as he feels his cock ache painfully.
he needs to be inside you — feel your warmth around his aching cock.
“good girl.” even if you’re knocked out, he still needs to praise you. and your body responds to it the second you clench around his fingers as they stay buried in you for a second.
you’re dripping down his wrist and arm at this point — a mess had already been on the sheets from you rutting into them before all of this and started.
you couldn’t help it, you were a needy little thing in your sleep.
he keeps the camera positioned for a second before he pulls his fingers out of your pussy, watching the way it clenches around air from the loss of being filled
you whimpered in your sleep. that made his cock twitch — slapping against your wet folds.
he puts the camera back onto the tripod, getting the best angle of his thighs, your ass presented to the camera and the short length of your back before it disappears.
your wet cunt is on display for everyone at home to see, whoever is lazily jerking off to it.
at least bucky got to feel it for real.
he takes his metal fist and wraps it around his cock giving it a few jerks before he’s pressing the tip into your wet hole.
a debauched moan leave his lips before he’s even sinking into you. he feels almost embarrassed but to be quite honest after feeling you cum and jerk around his fingers mere seconds ago — he couldn’t have given a fuck.
“shit baby… you’re so tight…” he ends up leaning over the length of you for a second as he pushes all the way in — your cunt stretching nicely around the thickness of his cock.
he peppers kisses on the exposed skin on your shoulder, his scruff of his beard scratching against you making you stir slightly.
well, it was mostly the scratching of his beard.
you let out the softest, most pathetic sleepy moan bucky had ever heard in his life, following along with his name.
“buck…?”
the sound along has him almost busting a fucking nut.
he draws his hips back before he’s slamming them back into you, making you moan again, louder.
“shh..sweetheart,” he mumbles against your shoulder as his lips travel up your shoulder to your neck, right under your earlobe. “daddy’s just gotta take care of this sleepy pussy, alright?”
you’re so fucking sleepy and out of it that you don’t even process yourself nodding your head, nor the way your hips lift up and your ass pressed firmly against his own hips — driving the tip of his cock to your sweet spot.
“mm..” is all that leaves your throat as your eyes flutter open for a split second to look down at see bucky’s metal arm holding his body weight up and over you — his hips thrusting into you at a pace that rocked you back to sleep.
“atta girl, go back to sleep. daddy’ll take care of the rest…” he murmurs against your skin as you whimper in your sleep. he lets out a satisfied grunt as he pulls his hips back and reaches for the vibrator, pushing it into your hole while his cock sinks back into you.
the vibrations has him shivering.
“oh fuck…” his whimpers are muffled by your skin as he starts fucking you deep and slow, feeling the toy inside you and snug up against his shaft makes his head dizzy.
“fuck baby…oh god…” he’s now being reduced to a whimper, whining mess as he feels you drip all over him and his balls, down onto the sheets.
he feels your cunt clench the toy and him, hips rutting back against him as he makes sure you feel every single inch of his thick cock inside you. wanting to make sure even in your sleep — you can feel how deep he is.
so he takes he metal hand and leans onto his elbow before pressing his hand against your lower tummy, chest pressed against your back at this point
he’s rocking into you helplessly
he hears you whimper into your pillow as you press against him further, his own moans falling from his lips as he feels himself getting pushed to the edge.
he reaches further below your tummy with his metal fingers to press against your clit — the added stimulation making your cunt squeeze him hard enough to trigger his orgasm. the sound of the tip jar notification going off gets drowned out by blood rushing to his ears.
“oh…fuck—! take it, doll. every last drop…mm..” whimpering against your skin he rubs your clit making sure to get you there again, addicted to the feel of your cunt squeezing his cock.
he feels your body come after him, hops convulsions against him, still in your sleepy state.
your fists bunched tightly at the sheets as you moan into them, eyes screwed shut as you squirt all over his cock and the sheets.
he groans as notices you made an entire mess of him and yourself, kissing your skin gently.
“good fuckin’ girl…takin’ all of my cum…even in your sleep your pussy can’t get enough.” he’s reached to pull the toy out first and shutting it off before pulling out himself, taking the camera to show the after math
he angles the camera to show his hot cum leaking out of your wrecked cunt, dripping onto the soaked sheets below. his thumb finds your hole and pushes some more of his cum back in — his screen lighting up with tip after tip after tip.
he grins, feeling your cunt clench around his finger.
“gotta fill this pussy up one more time. she’s begging for it. see ya sluts later.” he says before he’s turning off the camera and live, tossing the phone and pulling you into his chest before sinking right back into you.
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Bucky learns that the best way to help you calm down when you're spiralling in a pit of anxiety is to lie on you like a weighted blanket.
Which would be fine, if he wasn't so damn in love with you.
The first time it happens, it’s an accident.
Not a cute accident. Not one of those romantic comedy accidents where someone trips and lands in another person’s lap while soft music plays in the background.
No.
It happens because you are halfway to a panic attack in the kitchen of the compound at two in the morning, shaking so hard you drop a mug hard enough to shatter it across the tile floor.
And because Bucky Barnes has spent the better part of a century reacting to danger before thinking, he moves before his brain catches up.
The mug breaks.
You gasp.
And then suddenly you’re crouched on the floor with your hands clamped over your ears like the sound physically hurt you.
“Hey,” Bucky says immediately.
Too sharp.
Too fast.
Your shoulders jerk violently.
His stomach drops.
“Sorry,” he says, softer now. “Sorry, doll. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
You don’t answer.
That’s what scares him.
You always answer.
Even anxious, even exhausted, even spiralling—you answer.
Usually with a joke. Usually with something self-deprecating and wry and designed to make everyone else comfortable while you quietly unravel inside your own skin.
But now you’re breathing too fast.
Your eyes are fixed on the floor.
And Bucky realizes with cold certainty:
Oh.
Oh, this is bad.
He’s seen panic attacks before. Hell, he’s had enough of them himself. But yours always look different than his. Quieter. Like you’re trying to contain the catastrophe internally so it doesn’t inconvenience anyone else.
“Can you look at me?” he asks carefully.
Nothing.
He crouches slowly several feet away, metal hand deliberately visible, movements gentle.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “That’s okay.”
Broken ceramic litters the floor between you both.
You whisper something he can’t hear.
“What was that?”
Your voice cracks.
“Everything feels wrong.”
Jesus Christ.
That sentence nearly tears him in half.
Because he knows that feeling.
The horrible skin-tight sensation of existing incorrectly. Like your bones are full of bees. Like every thought in your head is moving too fast and too loud and none of them can be stopped.
Bucky swallows hard.
“What do you need?”
“I don’t know.”
You sound ashamed of it.
Like not knowing is somehow a personal failure.
His chest aches.
“Okay,” he says again. “That’s alright too.”
Your breathing gets worse.
Shorter.
Faster.
Your fingers dig into your sleeves hard enough he worries you’ll bruise.
Bucky looks around the kitchen helplessly.
He knows combat. Extraction. Interrogation. Trauma. Survival.
But this?
You falling apart in front of him while he desperately tries to figure out how to help?
It scares him more than most things.
“Can you stand?” he asks.
You shake your head immediately.
“No? Okay. Okay.”
Think.
Think.
Usually when you’re anxious, you like warmth. Blankets. Hoodies. Pressure against your chest.
Pressure.
His eyes flick downward thoughtfully.
“Can I try something?”
You laugh once.
It sounds awful.
“Depends how weird it is.”
His mouth twitches despite everything.
“Probably pretty weird.”
You finally look at him then, eyes glassy and overwhelmed.
“Fine.”
He moves carefully around the broken ceramic before lowering himself to sit beside you against the cabinets.
For a second he hesitates.
This could go horribly.
But then he remembers the way you curl under every blanket in the compound during storms. The way you once admitted sleeping better when Alpine sprawled over your ribs like a furry paperweight.
So Bucky exhales once and says:
“C’mere.”
You blink at him.
“What?”
“Just trust me.”
Which you do.
That’s the dangerous thing.
You always do.
You shift toward him uncertainly, and before he can overthink it, Bucky pulls you gently sideways until your back rests against his chest.
Then he wraps one arm around your middle.
And slowly—carefully—leans enough weight against you that you’re partially pinned beneath him.
Not crushing.
Just heavy.
Solid.
Warm.
The effect is immediate.
Your breathing stutters.
Then slows.
Bucky freezes.
You go still beneath him.
“…oh,” you whisper.
His heartbeat trips.
“Too much?”
“No.”
Another breath.
Slower this time.
“No, that’s—”
Your shoulders finally unclench for the first time since he walked into the kitchen.
“Oh my god.”
Bucky stares at the side of your face.
“You okay?”
“You’re heavy.”
“I’m aware.”
“No,” you say weakly. “I mean—good heavy.”
Something inside him softens so violently it nearly hurts.
Carefully, cautiously, he shifts a little more weight against you.
Your eyes flutter shut.
And then—
Then you melt.
There’s no other word for it.
The tension leaves you in visible increments, your body gradually surrendering under the pressure of his weight and warmth. Your breathing evens out. Your death grip on your sleeves loosens.
Bucky can practically feel your nervous system recalibrating beneath him.
“What kind of sorcery is this?” you murmur.
He huffs a quiet laugh.
“Dunno. Maybe you’re broken.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“You’re calmer.”
“…unfortunately true.”
Bucky smiles before he can stop himself.
And because you can’t see his face pressed near your hair, you miss the terrifying realization blooming in his chest.
He likes taking care of you.
Too much.
In ways that feel dangerous.
Because this—holding you down gently against his chest at two in the morning while your breathing evens out—feels more intimate than half the things he’s done with actual girlfriends.
That should concern him more than it does.
Instead, he tightens his arm around you slightly and says softly:
“Better?”
“Yeah.”
A pause.
“Don’t move.”
His heart does something deeply embarrassing.
“Wasn’t planning to.”
After that, it becomes a thing.
Not intentionally at first.
Neither of you discuss it.
But a week later, after a disastrous mission briefing leaves you overwhelmed and shaky, Bucky finds you curled miserably into the corner of the common room couch.
He takes one look at you.
“You spiralling?”
“Maybe.”
“Move over.”
You snort tiredly.
“There is literally no room.”
“I’ll make room.”
And somehow he does.
The others walk in to discover you pinned beneath the bulk of the Winter Soldier like a hostage being gently comforted.
Sam stops dead.
“…what the hell am I looking at?”
Without opening your eyes, you answer:
“Medical treatment.”
Bucky feels you relax further when he settles more weight across you.
Sam stares.
“You’re using Barnes as an emotional support sandbag?”
“Yes.”
“…and this works?”
“Yes.”
There’s a beat.
Then Sam points accusingly at Bucky.
“You look way too pleased about this.”
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
Bucky ignores him.
Mostly because Sam’s right.
The horrifying truth is that Bucky likes this arrangement so much it’s becoming a problem.
He likes when you seek him out now.
Likes the sleepy, “Buck?” you murmur from doorways when your anxiety gets bad.
Likes how trusting you are with him.
Likes the way you immediately soften once he presses close.
And he especially likes the fact you never seem afraid of him.
Not of his metal arm.
Not of his size.
Not of the sheer physical reality of him.
You just curl beneath him willingly like he’s safety instead of danger.
It ruins him slowly.
The worst part is how domestic it becomes.
You’re both pathetic enough not to notice immediately.
It starts with movies.
You’re anxious after a rough therapy session, so Bucky sprawls partially on top of you on the couch while some terrible reality baking show plays in the background.
Then it becomes routine.
You reading while he rests against you.
You napping underneath him.
Your legs tangled together while Alpine sleeps smugly on Bucky’s back like she approves of the arrangement.
One night Natasha walks into the living room, sees the position you’re both in, and physically backs out again.
“Nope,” she says immediately.
You blink sleepily from beneath Bucky’s chest.
“What?”
“I’m giving you both privacy to deal with…” she gestures vaguely, “…whatever this is.”
Bucky frowns.
“We’re watching TV.”
Natasha stares at him.
“You’re lying on top of her.”
“To help her anxiety.”
“Mhm.”
“That’s literally all this is.”
Natasha looks directly at you.
“Are you aware he’s in love with you?”
Bucky nearly chokes to death.
You burst into startled laughter.
“What?”
Natasha rolls her eyes.
“Men are exhausting.”
Then she leaves before either of you can recover.
The silence afterward is catastrophic.
Bucky can feel heat crawling up his neck.
You clear your throat awkwardly beneath him.
“Well.”
“Nat talks too much.”
“Yeah.”
Another silence.
Then quietly:
“You’re not in love with me, right?”
And there it is.
The moment.
The opening.
The place where honesty could exist.
Bucky should tell you.
He should.
Instead he says, “You’d know if I was.”
It’s a lie.
A terrible one.
Because he is so violently in love with you it feels like organ failure sometimes.
He loves your laugh.
Your stubbornness.
The way you ramble when tired.
The way you pretend your anxiety makes you difficult to love while offering everyone else endless patience and gentleness.
He loves how you trust him with your softest parts.
He loves you so much it scares him.
But you relax at his answer.
And somehow that feels worse.
“Oh good,” you murmur.
His chest aches.
“Yeah.”
You smile faintly beneath him.
“Because that would make this complicated.”
Bucky stares at the ceiling all night afterward unable to breathe properly.
Things get worse after the nightmare.
Not his.
Yours.
Bucky wakes around three in the morning because someone is pounding on his door hard enough to shake the frame.
He’s moving before he’s fully awake.
When he opens it, you’re standing there shaking.
Not crying.
Which is somehow worse.
Your face looks pale and distant and terrified in a way that spikes immediate panic through him.
“Hey,” he says sharply. “Hey, what happened?”
“I can’t calm down.”
Your voice trembles violently.
“I tried—I tried everything and I can’t—”
“C’mere.”
You practically fall into him.
Bucky catches you automatically, metal arm bracing your back while your fingers clutch desperately at his shirt.
Your heartbeat is terrifying.
Way too fast.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “I got you.”
You bury your face against his chest.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I woke you up.”
“I don’t care.”
And he means it.
He’d wake up for you every night for the rest of his life if it helped.
The realization lands hard enough to nearly stagger him.
Before he can think too deeply about that deeply alarming truth, he guides you toward the bed.
“Lay down.”
You obey immediately, exhausted and overwhelmed.
Bucky climbs in beside you without hesitation.
Then carefully—carefully—he settles partially over you, broad chest against yours, one heavy thigh between yours, arms caging you safely beneath him.
The second his weight settles, you exhale shakily.
“There you are,” he whispers.
Your eyes close.
“There you are.”
The room goes quiet except for your breathing gradually slowing beneath him.
Bucky should move once you calm down.
Instead he stays.
Because you’re warm beneath him.
Because your fingers are curled loosely in his shirt.
Because every instinct in his body screams protect protect protect.
And because he’s hopelessly, catastrophically gone for you.
You fall asleep first.
Bucky knows because your grip loosens and your face softens against his shoulder.
He should leave then.
Instead he remains exactly where he is for nearly an hour staring into the dark.
He brushes hair away from your face carefully.
God.
He loves you.
He loves you so much.
And he’s completely fucked.
You realize the truth accidentally.
Which feels fitting.
It happens during a mission debrief after a rough extraction goes sideways.
Nothing catastrophic.
But enough to leave everyone frayed.
You’re wound tight all evening afterward, anxiety clawing under your skin while the team argues over tactical mistakes.
Eventually you stand abruptly.
“I need five minutes.”
Bucky’s up instantly.
“I’ll come with you.”
You don’t even question it anymore.
That should probably concern both of you.
The hallway outside the conference room is quiet.
You lean heavily against the wall, pressing your palms into your eyes.
“Sorry,” you mutter.
“For what?”
“I’m being annoying.”
Bucky’s expression hardens immediately.
“You’re not.”
“I’m literally one inconvenience away from imploding.”
“So?”
You laugh weakly.
“So normal people don’t require human compression therapy to function.”
His face softens.
“Hey.”
You look at him.
And Bucky says very carefully:
“There is nothing wrong with needing comfort.”
The sincerity in his voice nearly undoes you.
Your throat tightens unexpectedly.
“You always know how to help.”
The words hit him hard.
Too hard.
Because he does.
He knows your breathing patterns now. Your tells. The difference between stress and genuine panic. He knows exactly how much pressure helps. Exactly where to hold you.
Like your bodies learned each other instinctively.
Your eyes drift across his face.
And suddenly—
Suddenly you see it.
Not all at once.
But enough.
Enough to notice the unbearable tenderness in his expression.
Enough to notice how carefully he handles you.
Enough to realize no one looks at someone they don’t love like that.
Your breath catches.
Oh.
Oh.
Bucky notices immediately.
“What?”
You stare at him.
“You are.”
His entire body stills.
“What?”
“You’re in love with me.”
The silence that follows feels enormous.
Bucky looks almost cornered.
Like you’ve found something he desperately wanted hidden.
Finally, rough and quiet:
“Yeah.”
Your heart stumbles violently.
“Oh.”
“I didn’t want you to know.”
“Why?”
A humorless laugh escapes him.
“Because this arrangement only works if you feel safe.”
“I do feel safe.”
“You know what I mean.”
He steps back slightly then, expression tight.
“If I made this weird, I’m sorry. I can stop. I should’ve stopped earlier.”
The thought hits you like physical pain.
“No.”
Bucky goes still.
You swallow hard.
“Don’t stop.”
His eyes search your face carefully.
“Doll…”
“I mean it.”
Your pulse pounds.
Because suddenly everything makes sense.
The gentleness.
The devotion.
The way he always comes when you need him.
And maybe—maybe you’ve been avoiding the truth too.
Because loving Bucky feels terrifyingly inevitable.
“I think,” you say slowly, “I think maybe I’m in love with you too.”
Bucky looks stunned.
Actually stunned.
Like the words physically knocked the air from him.
“You don’t gotta say that because—”
“I’m not.”
You step closer carefully.
His expression turns painfully vulnerable.
“You make me feel safe,” you whisper. “You make my head quiet.”
Something in him breaks open then.
His hand comes up slowly, brushing against your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
“You have any idea what you do to me?” he murmurs.
Your breath catches.
“No.”
“You ask for me when you’re hurting.”
His forehead rests against yours.
“You trust me.”
“I do trust you.”
Bucky closes his eyes briefly like that means everything.
Because it does.
When he kisses you, it’s careful at first.
Gentle.
Almost hesitant.
Then you kiss him back and suddenly he’s holding your face like something precious, kissing you deep and aching and relieved.
Years of longing pour into it.
You clutch his shirt instinctively.
Bucky makes a soft wrecked sound against your mouth.
And then—
Because apparently neither of you can be normal people—
He murmurs against your lips:
“You anxious right now?”
You burst into startled laughter.
“You cannot be serious.”
“I’m serious.”
“Oh my god.”
“You want me to lay on you or not?”
You laugh harder, bright and helpless and happy enough it nearly kills him.
“Only if you kiss me again after.”
Bucky smiles then.
Real and warm and breathtaking.
“Deal.”
And later, tangled together in his bed with most of his weight draped over you while your fingers trace lazy patterns against his spine, you realize something quietly extraordinary:
For the first time in a very long time, your mind is calm.
And wrapped around you like armor, like warmth, like home itself—
Bucky learns that the best way to help you calm down when you're spiralling in a pit of anxiety is to lie on you like a weighted blanket.
Which would be fine, if he wasn't so damn in love with you.
The first time it happens, it’s an accident.
Not a cute accident. Not one of those romantic comedy accidents where someone trips and lands in another person’s lap while soft music plays in the background.
No.
It happens because you are halfway to a panic attack in the kitchen of the compound at two in the morning, shaking so hard you drop a mug hard enough to shatter it across the tile floor.
And because Bucky Barnes has spent the better part of a century reacting to danger before thinking, he moves before his brain catches up.
The mug breaks.
You gasp.
And then suddenly you’re crouched on the floor with your hands clamped over your ears like the sound physically hurt you.
“Hey,” Bucky says immediately.
Too sharp.
Too fast.
Your shoulders jerk violently.
His stomach drops.
“Sorry,” he says, softer now. “Sorry, doll. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
You don’t answer.
That’s what scares him.
You always answer.
Even anxious, even exhausted, even spiralling—you answer.
Usually with a joke. Usually with something self-deprecating and wry and designed to make everyone else comfortable while you quietly unravel inside your own skin.
But now you’re breathing too fast.
Your eyes are fixed on the floor.
And Bucky realizes with cold certainty:
Oh.
Oh, this is bad.
He’s seen panic attacks before. Hell, he’s had enough of them himself. But yours always look different than his. Quieter. Like you’re trying to contain the catastrophe internally so it doesn’t inconvenience anyone else.
“Can you look at me?” he asks carefully.
Nothing.
He crouches slowly several feet away, metal hand deliberately visible, movements gentle.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “That’s okay.”
Broken ceramic litters the floor between you both.
You whisper something he can’t hear.
“What was that?”
Your voice cracks.
“Everything feels wrong.”
Jesus Christ.
That sentence nearly tears him in half.
Because he knows that feeling.
The horrible skin-tight sensation of existing incorrectly. Like your bones are full of bees. Like every thought in your head is moving too fast and too loud and none of them can be stopped.
Bucky swallows hard.
“What do you need?”
“I don’t know.”
You sound ashamed of it.
Like not knowing is somehow a personal failure.
His chest aches.
“Okay,” he says again. “That’s alright too.”
Your breathing gets worse.
Shorter.
Faster.
Your fingers dig into your sleeves hard enough he worries you’ll bruise.
Bucky looks around the kitchen helplessly.
He knows combat. Extraction. Interrogation. Trauma. Survival.
But this?
You falling apart in front of him while he desperately tries to figure out how to help?
It scares him more than most things.
“Can you stand?” he asks.
You shake your head immediately.
“No? Okay. Okay.”
Think.
Think.
Usually when you’re anxious, you like warmth. Blankets. Hoodies. Pressure against your chest.
Pressure.
His eyes flick downward thoughtfully.
“Can I try something?”
You laugh once.
It sounds awful.
“Depends how weird it is.”
His mouth twitches despite everything.
“Probably pretty weird.”
You finally look at him then, eyes glassy and overwhelmed.
“Fine.”
He moves carefully around the broken ceramic before lowering himself to sit beside you against the cabinets.
For a second he hesitates.
This could go horribly.
But then he remembers the way you curl under every blanket in the compound during storms. The way you once admitted sleeping better when Alpine sprawled over your ribs like a furry paperweight.
So Bucky exhales once and says:
“C’mere.”
You blink at him.
“What?”
“Just trust me.”
Which you do.
That’s the dangerous thing.
You always do.
You shift toward him uncertainly, and before he can overthink it, Bucky pulls you gently sideways until your back rests against his chest.
Then he wraps one arm around your middle.
And slowly—carefully—leans enough weight against you that you’re partially pinned beneath him.
Not crushing.
Just heavy.
Solid.
Warm.
The effect is immediate.
Your breathing stutters.
Then slows.
Bucky freezes.
You go still beneath him.
“…oh,” you whisper.
His heartbeat trips.
“Too much?”
“No.”
Another breath.
Slower this time.
“No, that’s—”
Your shoulders finally unclench for the first time since he walked into the kitchen.
“Oh my god.”
Bucky stares at the side of your face.
“You okay?”
“You’re heavy.”
“I’m aware.”
“No,” you say weakly. “I mean—good heavy.”
Something inside him softens so violently it nearly hurts.
Carefully, cautiously, he shifts a little more weight against you.
Your eyes flutter shut.
And then—
Then you melt.
There’s no other word for it.
The tension leaves you in visible increments, your body gradually surrendering under the pressure of his weight and warmth. Your breathing evens out. Your death grip on your sleeves loosens.
Bucky can practically feel your nervous system recalibrating beneath him.
“What kind of sorcery is this?” you murmur.
He huffs a quiet laugh.
“Dunno. Maybe you’re broken.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“You’re calmer.”
“…unfortunately true.”
Bucky smiles before he can stop himself.
And because you can’t see his face pressed near your hair, you miss the terrifying realization blooming in his chest.
He likes taking care of you.
Too much.
In ways that feel dangerous.
Because this—holding you down gently against his chest at two in the morning while your breathing evens out—feels more intimate than half the things he’s done with actual girlfriends.
That should concern him more than it does.
Instead, he tightens his arm around you slightly and says softly:
“Better?”
“Yeah.”
A pause.
“Don’t move.”
His heart does something deeply embarrassing.
“Wasn’t planning to.”
After that, it becomes a thing.
Not intentionally at first.
Neither of you discuss it.
But a week later, after a disastrous mission briefing leaves you overwhelmed and shaky, Bucky finds you curled miserably into the corner of the common room couch.
He takes one look at you.
“You spiralling?”
“Maybe.”
“Move over.”
You snort tiredly.
“There is literally no room.”
“I’ll make room.”
And somehow he does.
The others walk in to discover you pinned beneath the bulk of the Winter Soldier like a hostage being gently comforted.
Sam stops dead.
“…what the hell am I looking at?”
Without opening your eyes, you answer:
“Medical treatment.”
Bucky feels you relax further when he settles more weight across you.
Sam stares.
“You’re using Barnes as an emotional support sandbag?”
“Yes.”
“…and this works?”
“Yes.”
There’s a beat.
Then Sam points accusingly at Bucky.
“You look way too pleased about this.”
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
Bucky ignores him.
Mostly because Sam’s right.
The horrifying truth is that Bucky likes this arrangement so much it’s becoming a problem.
He likes when you seek him out now.
Likes the sleepy, “Buck?” you murmur from doorways when your anxiety gets bad.
Likes how trusting you are with him.
Likes the way you immediately soften once he presses close.
And he especially likes the fact you never seem afraid of him.
Not of his metal arm.
Not of his size.
Not of the sheer physical reality of him.
You just curl beneath him willingly like he’s safety instead of danger.
It ruins him slowly.
The worst part is how domestic it becomes.
You’re both pathetic enough not to notice immediately.
It starts with movies.
You’re anxious after a rough therapy session, so Bucky sprawls partially on top of you on the couch while some terrible reality baking show plays in the background.
Then it becomes routine.
You reading while he rests against you.
You napping underneath him.
Your legs tangled together while Alpine sleeps smugly on Bucky’s back like she approves of the arrangement.
One night Natasha walks into the living room, sees the position you’re both in, and physically backs out again.
“Nope,” she says immediately.
You blink sleepily from beneath Bucky’s chest.
“What?”
“I’m giving you both privacy to deal with…” she gestures vaguely, “…whatever this is.”
Bucky frowns.
“We’re watching TV.”
Natasha stares at him.
“You’re lying on top of her.”
“To help her anxiety.”
“Mhm.”
“That’s literally all this is.”
Natasha looks directly at you.
“Are you aware he’s in love with you?”
Bucky nearly chokes to death.
You burst into startled laughter.
“What?”
Natasha rolls her eyes.
“Men are exhausting.”
Then she leaves before either of you can recover.
The silence afterward is catastrophic.
Bucky can feel heat crawling up his neck.
You clear your throat awkwardly beneath him.
“Well.”
“Nat talks too much.”
“Yeah.”
Another silence.
Then quietly:
“You’re not in love with me, right?”
And there it is.
The moment.
The opening.
The place where honesty could exist.
Bucky should tell you.
He should.
Instead he says, “You’d know if I was.”
It’s a lie.
A terrible one.
Because he is so violently in love with you it feels like organ failure sometimes.
He loves your laugh.
Your stubbornness.
The way you ramble when tired.
The way you pretend your anxiety makes you difficult to love while offering everyone else endless patience and gentleness.
He loves how you trust him with your softest parts.
He loves you so much it scares him.
But you relax at his answer.
And somehow that feels worse.
“Oh good,” you murmur.
His chest aches.
“Yeah.”
You smile faintly beneath him.
“Because that would make this complicated.”
Bucky stares at the ceiling all night afterward unable to breathe properly.
Things get worse after the nightmare.
Not his.
Yours.
Bucky wakes around three in the morning because someone is pounding on his door hard enough to shake the frame.
He’s moving before he’s fully awake.
When he opens it, you’re standing there shaking.
Not crying.
Which is somehow worse.
Your face looks pale and distant and terrified in a way that spikes immediate panic through him.
“Hey,” he says sharply. “Hey, what happened?”
“I can’t calm down.”
Your voice trembles violently.
“I tried—I tried everything and I can’t—”
“C’mere.”
You practically fall into him.
Bucky catches you automatically, metal arm bracing your back while your fingers clutch desperately at his shirt.
Your heartbeat is terrifying.
Way too fast.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “I got you.”
You bury your face against his chest.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I woke you up.”
“I don’t care.”
And he means it.
He’d wake up for you every night for the rest of his life if it helped.
The realization lands hard enough to nearly stagger him.
Before he can think too deeply about that deeply alarming truth, he guides you toward the bed.
“Lay down.”
You obey immediately, exhausted and overwhelmed.
Bucky climbs in beside you without hesitation.
Then carefully—carefully—he settles partially over you, broad chest against yours, one heavy thigh between yours, arms caging you safely beneath him.
The second his weight settles, you exhale shakily.
“There you are,” he whispers.
Your eyes close.
“There you are.”
The room goes quiet except for your breathing gradually slowing beneath him.
Bucky should move once you calm down.
Instead he stays.
Because you’re warm beneath him.
Because your fingers are curled loosely in his shirt.
Because every instinct in his body screams protect protect protect.
And because he’s hopelessly, catastrophically gone for you.
You fall asleep first.
Bucky knows because your grip loosens and your face softens against his shoulder.
He should leave then.
Instead he remains exactly where he is for nearly an hour staring into the dark.
He brushes hair away from your face carefully.
God.
He loves you.
He loves you so much.
And he’s completely fucked.
You realize the truth accidentally.
Which feels fitting.
It happens during a mission debrief after a rough extraction goes sideways.
Nothing catastrophic.
But enough to leave everyone frayed.
You’re wound tight all evening afterward, anxiety clawing under your skin while the team argues over tactical mistakes.
Eventually you stand abruptly.
“I need five minutes.”
Bucky’s up instantly.
“I’ll come with you.”
You don’t even question it anymore.
That should probably concern both of you.
The hallway outside the conference room is quiet.
You lean heavily against the wall, pressing your palms into your eyes.
“Sorry,” you mutter.
“For what?”
“I’m being annoying.”
Bucky’s expression hardens immediately.
“You’re not.”
“I’m literally one inconvenience away from imploding.”
“So?”
You laugh weakly.
“So normal people don’t require human compression therapy to function.”
His face softens.
“Hey.”
You look at him.
And Bucky says very carefully:
“There is nothing wrong with needing comfort.”
The sincerity in his voice nearly undoes you.
Your throat tightens unexpectedly.
“You always know how to help.”
The words hit him hard.
Too hard.
Because he does.
He knows your breathing patterns now. Your tells. The difference between stress and genuine panic. He knows exactly how much pressure helps. Exactly where to hold you.
Like your bodies learned each other instinctively.
Your eyes drift across his face.
And suddenly—
Suddenly you see it.
Not all at once.
But enough.
Enough to notice the unbearable tenderness in his expression.
Enough to notice how carefully he handles you.
Enough to realize no one looks at someone they don’t love like that.
Your breath catches.
Oh.
Oh.
Bucky notices immediately.
“What?”
You stare at him.
“You are.”
His entire body stills.
“What?”
“You’re in love with me.”
The silence that follows feels enormous.
Bucky looks almost cornered.
Like you’ve found something he desperately wanted hidden.
Finally, rough and quiet:
“Yeah.”
Your heart stumbles violently.
“Oh.”
“I didn’t want you to know.”
“Why?”
A humorless laugh escapes him.
“Because this arrangement only works if you feel safe.”
“I do feel safe.”
“You know what I mean.”
He steps back slightly then, expression tight.
“If I made this weird, I’m sorry. I can stop. I should’ve stopped earlier.”
The thought hits you like physical pain.
“No.”
Bucky goes still.
You swallow hard.
“Don’t stop.”
His eyes search your face carefully.
“Doll…”
“I mean it.”
Your pulse pounds.
Because suddenly everything makes sense.
The gentleness.
The devotion.
The way he always comes when you need him.
And maybe—maybe you’ve been avoiding the truth too.
Because loving Bucky feels terrifyingly inevitable.
“I think,” you say slowly, “I think maybe I’m in love with you too.”
Bucky looks stunned.
Actually stunned.
Like the words physically knocked the air from him.
“You don’t gotta say that because—”
“I’m not.”
You step closer carefully.
His expression turns painfully vulnerable.
“You make me feel safe,” you whisper. “You make my head quiet.”
Something in him breaks open then.
His hand comes up slowly, brushing against your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
“You have any idea what you do to me?” he murmurs.
Your breath catches.
“No.”
“You ask for me when you’re hurting.”
His forehead rests against yours.
“You trust me.”
“I do trust you.”
Bucky closes his eyes briefly like that means everything.
Because it does.
When he kisses you, it’s careful at first.
Gentle.
Almost hesitant.
Then you kiss him back and suddenly he’s holding your face like something precious, kissing you deep and aching and relieved.
Years of longing pour into it.
You clutch his shirt instinctively.
Bucky makes a soft wrecked sound against your mouth.
And then—
Because apparently neither of you can be normal people—
He murmurs against your lips:
“You anxious right now?”
You burst into startled laughter.
“You cannot be serious.”
“I’m serious.”
“Oh my god.”
“You want me to lay on you or not?”
You laugh harder, bright and helpless and happy enough it nearly kills him.
“Only if you kiss me again after.”
Bucky smiles then.
Real and warm and breathtaking.
“Deal.”
And later, tangled together in his bed with most of his weight draped over you while your fingers trace lazy patterns against his spine, you realize something quietly extraordinary:
For the first time in a very long time, your mind is calm.
And wrapped around you like armor, like warmth, like home itself—
It's Bucky's first time since the 40s. It's a good thing you really like him.
Word Count: 752
Warnings: SMUT, 18+ only!
“Oh fuck…” His whole body shudders against yours before locking up, his muscles tensed almost to the point of pain. “M’not gonna last… how’m I supposed to last?” His words are whispered with desperation into your neck where his face is buried, burning with a humbling mix of embarrassment that he’s about to blow so soon and the primal need to get his come in you as quickly and as much as possible. His hips twitch at just the thought and a low whimper escapes through his gritted teeth.
“S’okay Buck,” you soothe, running your hands gently over his straining neck before migrating to his shoulders and back. “You can relax… no pressure.” You’re a hypocrite of course. You’ve never been less relaxed in your life, lying there with this beast of a man held in the cradle of your legs, as he throbs deep within you while he tries to find an ounce of composure has you feeling like the most powerful person in the world.
You’re also fighting against the urge to moan wantonly into his ear and roll your hips up for some friction because you’ve never been this full. You know that none of that is going to help Bucky at the moment so you tamp down the wildness within that has you desperately wanting to flip him over and just ride. Regardless of how much you want this, you can’t risk overwhelming him - it’s just not about you right now. Intimacy has been a long and difficult journey for Bucky and -
“Oh god,” you gasp before immediately biting your lip to shut your damned mouth.
“Sorry, m’sorry,” Bucky pants, stilling his movements again and daring a glance at your face. “Did I hurt you?”
“No baby, it’s good, you’re good. You’re so good Bucky.” Your words are a bit garbled as they leave your mouth but Bucky continues pumping his hips gently, the panic receding from his eyes rapidly as static takes over his brain at the feeling of you wrapped around him.
“Ngh, don’t say that.” Bucky grips your thigh with the intention of keeping himself grounded against the exquisite pleasure, but it only succeeds in him pulling your leg up higher over his waist allowing him to nudge into you just that fraction deeper and you find you can’t help yourself. You cry out in bliss, clenching around his cock as Bucky ruts into you without conscious direction. A final scratch of your nails up his back is what finally tips him over the edge, his mouth dropping open as he pants through his orgasm because he’s pretty sure it never felt like this before and holy crap he’s still coming, pulsing and filling you up so much it’s already leaking back out around where he’s inside you.
“Sorry,” Bucky gasps, shivering at the sensitivity as he finally starts to come down.
You give him as soft a smile as you can manage as you slip away from the edge that you were just starting to climb. Bucky’s arm shakes and he lets some of his weight rests on you as he huffs a deep sigh, hanging his head and gearing up to apologise again, correctly, but furrows his brow when you cut him off by tilting his chin up and gracing him with a brief but firm kiss.
“Buck. It’s okay,” you mutter into the small space between you, hoping that he can hear the sincerity in your words. “Today wasn’t about me. It was for you-”
“No,” he cuts in sharply. “It was meant to be about both of us and I-”
“Nuh uh,” you interrupt - you can both play that game. “We talked about this. Your first time this century is way more important than me getting an orgasm. ‘Sides…” you give him a flirty little smile, “... I sort of hoped this wouldn’t be the last time we’d be doing this.” You punctuate your statement with a cheeky little pulse around where he is still buried within you and he hisses even as his dick gives an interested kick in response.
“You - you’ll let me… again?” It’s ridiculous how cute you find it that even with his dick fully inside you Bucky still struggles to verbalise wanting to fuck you.
“Mhmm,” you say coyly. “It’s almost like I really like you or something.”
“Or something,” he echoes, a rueful grin finally breaking through as he skates his hand down between your bodies, determined to make this repeat performance one to be remembered.
Honey grumbled with a fire she didn't feel burning, eyebrows twitching in frustration. The damned computer. She hated asking anyone for help, especially when her job revolved around the angry hunk of metal that sat buffering in front of her. Blowing a piece of hair out of her face with a huff, she decided she would rather let someone else try to fix it. That way, it was their fault if her files were gone. Was is selfish to think that way? Never mind that. Her kitten heels clicked on the spotless tile, entirely too loud for her liking.
Peeking her head around, she squinted victoriously when she spotted Peter talking animatedly with Steve about what she presumed to be whatever new feature was attached to his suit that Stark was obsessed with updating. Honing in, she waited for the perfect moment of weakness to pounce. The second the conversation was over, and he started to walk towards the hallway and coincidentally towards her, she bit her lip dramatically and scratched the back of her neck, eyes scanning nervously.
Peter, being the kind soul he is, paused when her saw her pained expression. "Hey Honey, are you ok?" His hands held tight onto the straps of his backpack, knuckles white. She just gave him a tense smile.
"Pete! I didn't see you there. I'm fine, I just, uh," she sighed softly, dropping her shoulders. "I was just trying to figure out where the computer manuals were. Havin' some trouble in my office." She pushed her gold-framed glasses up the ridge of her nose softly, nails painted delicately with little strawberries.
"Really? You know maybe I could lend you a hand."
Gotcha.
She smiled widely. "Would you? Gosh, I feel so clueless when it comes to anything techy. Not exactly my strong suit." She giggled lightly as she grabbed his hand, leading him back into her office with sparkling eyes and a victorious grin.
"Oh, it looks like you just need a little reroute." Peter went off into a rant of technological terms that her brain couldn't start to decipher when John opened the door. He smiled at her with raised eyebrows and a pink gift bag. She gave him a sweet smile, welcoming his arm around her like a warm embrace.
"Hey, babe." She bit her lip at the nickname. She wasn't too fond of being called babe. She didn't mind baby, but babe feels lazy and abrupt. "I got you something." He held the bag up.
"What for?" She grabbed the bag from his outstretched hand.
"Think of it as an early Valentine's. I was too excited to wait." He whispered. She laughed at him.
"All fixed!" Peter jumped up from under the desk, flinching when he saw John in the room, not hearing him come in. "Oh, hey man! Scared me there." He laughed nervously.
"Peter." He nodded down at him. An awkward silence went through the space.
"Well then, thank you, Pete!" She kissed him on the cheek and patted his shoulders. "Don't know what I'd do without you. I'll catch up with y'all later, alright?"
"Oh, uh, ok." His brain seemed to short circuit, face twitching before settling on a tense smile and waving goodbye without another word.
John chuckled. "Took him long enough."
"Hey, now. He was fixin' my monitor." She scolded him lightly. He rolled his eyes.
"Do you always gotta be so... touchy?" He grumbled. He face was tight. Blank. "I mean, not just with Pete. You're always hugging and touching people, always kissing their cheeks. You're my girl."
"John Walker are you jealous? Of a junior in high school?" She smirked playfully. "Pete is like a brother to me."
"He sure doesn't see you like a sister." He mumbled, rolling his eyes.
"Don't get yourself in a tizzy." She winked. "Now let's see what we got here." She pulled the wrapping away, revealing a small blue box in the bottom of the bag. She smiled giddily, popping open the lid, but her heart stuttered when she saw the silver bracelet looking back at her.
She was never one to wear silver. Gold burned bright and alive, like the sun in the early morning. Silver dulled and tarnished. Nevertheless, how picky can she be when he was trying his best?
She smiled anyway, kissing him promptly before the thought bled too deeply into her mind. The color was jarring against her dainty yellow gold pieces. She felt her eye twitch and a small pool of dread in her stomach build.
It was dreadfully ugly.
"Thank you baby. I love it." She whispered, giving him one last peck on the lips.
"Knew you would. Look, it stands out. A nice change from the rest of your collection. Cheaper too." She winced. He winked.
With a strangled sigh, Honey found herself chasing down Steve to confirm his color swatches for his tie for the upcoming Gala. Something about funding STEM programs for transfer students that Tony felt the need to involve himself in. Attendance was non-negotiable for all the Avengers, and higher-up SHIELD employees were promised Monday off if they attended.
She twirled around in the tower, going through endless halls to find him, and smiling widely when she spotted him through the glass in the gym. Pushing the door open, her ears were assaulted with loud music as they all trained.
"Cap!" She smiled widely, walking up to him with a clipboard and a few books in her arm. He turned to face her, feet bounding heavily on the treadmill at an ungodly speed. His muscles rippled under his skin as he moved, chest rising and falling steadily. Steve looked carved out of bronze as he moved, sure and steady. Looking between her and the machine a few times, he pressed the pause button and hopped off, chugging his water bottle.
"Hey, sweetheart. What you got for me?" He licked his lips, scratching his beard as he looked down at her.
"I need you to approve what color you want for your tie for the STEM students' Gala." There were five different blue fabrics on her board, all just slightly different from each other. To the blind eye, they looked the same. He squinted closely, frowning at the clipboard.
"They look the same." He chuckled. She rolled her eyes playfully.
"Do not! This one is more of a muted gray, this one is a mature navy, here we have-" She was quickly cut off.
"Honey. Which one do you like?" He raised his eyebrows. Her eyes lit up at the question.
"Well, this one would really make your eyes pop with the deep rich blue-"
"Then do that one." He chuckled at her liveliness. She was wordless for a moment before she nodded and saluted him before walking back out, not before greeting her friends though.
"Bye, Cap! Hi Sammy and Nat." She winked at the two sparring before leaving through the same door she came in. Steve looked back, pausing when he saw Bucky in the corner with a scowl on his face, but the thing that confused him was the longing look in his eyes. Fleeting and dark, the moment passed before he returned to racking his weights.
The second the heavy glass door closed, she felt a cold, slender hand grab her shoulder. Whipping her head around, her eyes quickly found Pepper's looking into hers with a wicked grin on her face. Her eyes twinkled hopefully.
"Drinks at Cosmos?" She batted her eyes. Honey frowned.
"Who's going?"
"Well, obviously me, Tony, Natasha, Sam, Steve and Buck, uhh..." She counted on her fingers and looked up at the ceiling. Honey let out a hmph.
"James is going?" She bit her lip nervously, pulling the skin apart between her teeth. She and Bucky had never quite connected over the last six months since he arrived at the Tower. The first month or two, she tried her best to give him the benefit of the doubt, with his being fresh off the ice and struggling to acclimate to the world around him, but his abrasive attitude and rude, clipped answers never satisfied her and only left her frustrated. Bucky was a man of few words, but the ones he let slip were rarely very kind.
"Are you still butthurt? Jesus, Honey, that was three months ago." Pepper giggled and rolled her eyes. "Anyways, meet us at 8. Invite John if you want." She winked before dismissing you for the day.
Rain poured down from the sky, pelting into her umbrella with a harsh slap. She cursed under her breath, racing across the flooding streets and quickly regretting her choice to walk. Cosmos wasn't far from her apartment, and she figured the rain would be light.
Oh, how wrong she'd been.
Her fingers trembled from the cold, droplets racing to soak her skirt through to her bare legs. All she could do was focus on her heels to make sure she didn't trip, and she let out a large sigh when the vintage sign came into view.
Cosmos was known for its cocktail hour and vibrant atmosphere. The walls were a deep, crusted velvet maroon, and smooth jazz played through the speakers on the weekdays. Weekends had live piano. Her hand struggled to yank the heavy door open, but when she did, she was met with the rich, intoxicating smell of bergamot and the sound of glasses clinking. Soft laughter was heard from the different booths, but Tony always reserved the same one, tucked in the corner with deep-seated benches and a large round table.
As she approached the table, she could hear Tony's laughter grow louder. He was talking animatedly, and she could tell he had had a few drinks by his lack of volume control. "Hey, strangers." Honey smiled at her friends. The umbrella hung low in her grasp, and she let out a small sigh as the cold soaked her legs.
"Jesus! What'd you do, walk here?" Tony chuckled. "Get in here." He waved her in, and she nestled into a spot between Pepper and Natasha. On the right was Pepper and Tony, and on her left were Natasha, Sam, Steve, and Bucky. He tapped his fingers on the whiskey glass he nursed. "Is John coming?" He asked, his tone half-genuine, half-poking.
"Should be! Said he won't be here until 8:30, though." She took off her glasses to wipe them clear on her shirt. Quickly, the conversation picked back up, with Tony narrating the majority of the time. Time passed slowly and she checked her phone nervously for any new messages.
8:08. No new notifications.
The bartender rolled around, collecting everyone's order. "What about you, darlin'? Dirty Shirley?" She froze in her spot. A dirty Shirley felt wrong. Wrong in the way silver jewelry clashed against her skin. She opened her mouth but Bucky beat her to it.
"Cherry whiskey sour," Bucky mumbled up at her, giving her a tight-lipped smile. Honey’s heart gave a strange, stuttered skip. She thanked him too brightly, too fast. He just looked down.
8:13. No new notifications.
Honey: Hey! Let me know when you're heading this way. Love you.
8:24. No new notifications.
She tapped her fingers on the table.
"You okay?" Steve looked at her with furrowed eyebrows. "You seem tense."
"Huh? Oh! Yeah, I'm fine," she waved her hand at him with a dismissive sigh. "John's just, he just hasn't answered me." She smiled tightly, sipping her drink. Steve just nodded, looking away after a moment.
8:45. No new notifications. Honey rolled her eyes and tossed her phone into her purse, silencing it for the night. If John wanted her attention, he could fight for it. Tony suggested a game of truth or drink, which everyone reluctantly agreed to.
His first victim was Steve.
"What celebrity do you wish you could date?" Steve chuckled, scratching his head for a moment.
"I don't really know many new ones. Uh, who's the redhead in Titanic? She's pretty." His face got flustered, blood rushing to his cheeks. His eyes glanced over to Natasha, but only for a fleeting moment before looking into his glass.
"Kate Blanchet! You know, I asked her out one time. Turned me down, though." Tony rolled his eyes. "Alright, golden boy, your turn."
Steve was lost in thought before looking at Sam with a sly smirk. "How many times have you googled the Captain America workout, no steroids, no serums?" Sam's face was gravely still, and there was something the rest of the group was not aware of.
"It was one time, Steve! How many times are you gonna bring that up?" He rolled his eyes, chugging the beer in front of him. Honey giggled into her hand. "Is that funny, blondie? How about you then? Is Walker really your type?" The table went quiet, and Honey’s drink caught in her throat, burning on the way down. She sputtered, wide-eyed, words tripping over themselves but never forming.
"That's a no," Bucky mumbled under his breath, voice low but sharp enough to cut. Honey rolled her eyes, focusing them on the thorned brunette across the table sulking into himself.
"Tell me, Barnes," she furrowed her eyebrows angrily, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "What is my type? Since you seem to know me so well from the sparse conversations we've had." She smiled at him. Soft and sweet, but her voice was sour like the glass clinking in her hand. If she was truly honest with herself, the reason the answer riled her up so much was that she knew deep down he was right, and even deeper down that he knew that as well.
Bucky simply stared at her, sizing her like prey almost. "You want someone to keep you comfortable." His voice was so quiet, falling low yet not quite reaching a whisper. Strong and deep. She watched as he slowly licked his lips, holding eye contact longer than he ever had before.
"I'm sorry?" She asked, half confused, yet half offended. He sighed, leaning his elbows forward against the mahogany wood and challenging her sharp, searing stare.
"You want someone who doesn't ask too many questions. Someone who lets you talk and nods at the right parts. Someone who buys you things that look good from far away and doesn’t notice when they don’t fit.” He pointed at the thick, silver bracelet that seemed to shy away from her other pieces like oil and water. Her eye twitched with frustration.
The table had gone uncomfortably quiet. Tony had stopped smiling. Natasha’s eyes flicked between them like she was watching a tennis match.
"You don't know me." Her tone quiet, yet stern. Her gaze remained unwavering.
"You think you're so mysterious? You don’t want to be challenged. You want to be agreed with. You want someone who likes how you look on their arm, how you make ‘em feel in a room. Someone who calls you ‘babe’ because actually knowing what you like would take real work." He spat his words, but his face remained stoic and dropped downward.
That last one bit. She felt the sting settle into her skin, like a bruise forming under the surface. Her throat felt constricted, and she reached up to grip her little heart necklace tightly between her thumb and pointer finger. His eyes followed every minuscule move she made, observing the way her throat bobbed. He knew he struck a nerve.
"I don't know what's worse, Honey," he spoke, softer now. "The fact that you settle for it or that you pretend it's enough." He sucked in a deep breath, whisking down the rest of his glass without breaking eye contact. She watched as his wide shoulders sank back into the booth with a quiet comfort. Pity hung low in his eyes, but unbeknownst to her, the very core was deep-rooted envy.
Silence stretched. The jazz humming through the bar felt suddenly too loud.
"I think I should go." The words came out softer than she had meant them to. Turning to the rest of the group, who sat with wide eyes and awkward expressions, she gave them all a polite smile. "I'll see everyone Saturday. Steve, don't forget to pick up your suit tomorrow morning." Without another word, they all watched as she walked away, kitten heels clicking with devastating familiarity.
The second her hand wrapped around the heavy metal handle and icy rain pelted her skirt, the tears came—hot and salty, streaking down her cheeks. She didn’t care. The sky was crying with her anyway.
Babe. Baby. Honey.
She placed the names over and over in her head, listening to the way they roll off John's tongue. She imagined his soft smile as he spoke to her. The way his teeth glinted in the sun, the way his lips curved slightly, the way his choppy brown hair-
"Ugh!" She slapped her hand against her head repeatedly, sobbing as she did so. Why did he have to ruin everything? She sucked in a shaky, snotty breath, lips shuddering as she did so. God, she wanted to be alone so bad, yet her heart yearned for comfort. From whom she wasn't quite sure, but her boyfriend seemed to who she should want. She let out a broken sigh, questioning the lest few months with John.
The Uber to his apartment was quiet and stuffy. She watched as rain slowly melted off her heels and into the rubber floor mats. She picked nervously at her manicure, replaying his words over and over. The little strawberries now cracked and pulled apart.
"I don't know what's worse, Honey. The fact that you settle for it or that you pretend it's enough."
They tugged at her heart in ways she had never felt before, and she was so embarrassingly ashamed to admit that his words were nothing but the dark, ugly truth. She didn't love John. Not like that, anyway. She felt sick to her stomach.
The world seemed to move around her in blurs, and she found herself approaching his apartment door faster than she thought. She didn't remember taking the elevator. His building was nice, with a single older doorman and warm sconces lining the hallways. It felt so warm and classy, so inviting.
“Tell me gorgeous, do you always have to be so charming?” John grinned down on Honey, taking a swig of his beer as he did so. She smirked at him, tilting her head flirtatiously and letting her ponytail sway with her body, bangs ruffled from the breeze off the lake. His eyes drank her appearance in, mouth practically salivating as he stared at her little pink boy short bikini with dainty black bows on the strings of the top.
She was petite. God was that attractive to him. Her wedge flip flops did little to match his height. The size of her sunglasses amused him, but what amused him most was her mouth. Such a polite, well mannered doll with such a vulgar tongue. The first time he paid attention was when he heard her bickering with Sam about how he’s a bag of dicks and somehow he still doesn’t have any balls. He let out a snort and turned around to listen, but gave a second look when he realized who was talking.
He decided then and there that he wanted her. Sweet, rotten, sugary, wicked little Honey Breeland.
“Didn’t know you found penises so charming, Walker.” He choked on his beer, her eyes squinting cruelly behind her comedically large sunglasses. “Do you have a little secret to share?”
“Now now, I’m straighter than a stick, baby.” He scrambled, defending himself. “You’re a real tease, aren’t you? So much spunk for such a little lady.”
Honey raised an eyebrow. He had a weird way of flirting. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She raised a hand up to block the sun from her face, turning back to the water to watch Natasha and Steve floating on the surface of the lake with a pool noodle holding them together, both holding either side.
He whistled at the sight in front of him. She stood proudly with her hip pushed to the side, gleaming from the beaming sun, making her glow like a star in the sky. Her lips were now drawn into a small pout, cherry red and juicy. He wanted her to be his.
And he made sure she knew.
From then on, each encounter became more flirtatious than the last. Each attempt of hers to push him away failed, and he only pursued her harder. It started small, with little comments here and there about her appearance. Walking her to lunch. Bringing her coffee and memorizing her order. John was a man lost in the dream of taming the wild woman that she was.
"Looking sweeter than Honey today."
"Morning, beautiful. I ever tell you how good you look in blue?"
Honey found the dedication amusing. He wasn't her usual type. John was brash and boyish, with his all-American grin and desire to claim what he felt he deserved. She didn't take the attempts seriously, at least not for the first month or two. He wasn't what she wanted.
What did she want?
She had no answer. More time passed and the question started to weigh on her more and more. Every bridesmaid dress she slipped over her shoulders or congratulation text she had to send to her college friends who were getting married or pregnant or moving in together and so on. She didn't want that, not truly.
But being twenty-six and your only accomplishment is your job seemed to be an embarrassment to brag about.
So after one particularly hard reunion with her past, and eight months of persistence, she finally said yes.
She let him buy her a drink.
Her feet hurt with every step she took on the plush hallway runner carpet. She felt as if she didn't belong, her presence comparable to a stray cat walking into the Plaza hotel, paws dripping with pity. Her tights dug uncomfortably into her abdomen, sticking to her in the worst way possible. She grimaced at the feeling of her bangs sticking to her forehead, letting out a small sigh of relief when his door came into view.
She didn't bother knocking, instead tugging the handle and pushing the door open, watching her feet as she walked in, careful not to ruin his doormat.
"God, I just had the worst night. I was up as Cosmo's with-" She looked up, but her heart sank into the ground. Every half assed comment, every lingering doubt illuminated as she watched John roll off the couch, Sharon Carter gasping and scrambling to pull a blanket over her bare chest.
"Fuck! Babe, I didn't know you were coming over!" He gasped, rebuttoning his jeans and jumping up. "This uh," he winced, "God I didn't want to do this like... this." His voice fell off, unsure and scared as he watched Honey stand with her eyes big and lip sucked between her teeth.
It hurt to see, but she felt guilty for not caring as much as she thought she should. She felt utterly betrayed and lied to, but the fact that it was from him didn't seem to bother her. It didn't feel like heartbreak. It felt like a release. Her blood pumped through her limbs with a warmth she hadn't felt in a long while. She was aware of every breath she took, the way the air felt going through her lungs, the tingles travelling up her arms from her numbing fingers. This is what it felt like to be alive. To be free.
"Honey, hey, babe-" John jumped up, yanking his pants back up his hips and over his boxers, walking closer to her shivering frame. She looked so small. Face lost and arms drooped. But she had never felt lighter. "Look, just- Fuck! Listen, things just got carried away, you know? We got a few drinks in and I missed my girl, I promise I was thinking of you."
"No you weren't." Honey deadpanned.
"You were?" Sharon butted in from the couch, body heaving but face contorted into an incredulous scowl.
"Shut up!" Both Honey and John snipped at her, watching as she sank back into the cushions and pretended to look at the TV that was turned off. Honey reached down and unclasped the goddamned silver bracelet, practically throwing it at him.
"Honestly, this is relieving. I know you can feel it. That this, us, isn't working." She spoke, pursing her lips and looking him in the eye. He knew it too; she could sense it in the way he seemed to just be defeated. His hands searched for hers, the heavy aching familiarity feeling so safe and out of place. His thumb rubbed the inside of her wrist, and when his fingers entangled with hers, it was wrong.
"I need to leave," Honey whispered, and when she looked into John's spacey eyes, they were full of turmoil. She had a strong sort of pity fall into her gut.
"I'm sorry." He whispered. "Maybe, you know, somewhere down the line we could be friends? I love you Honey. We just aren't made to match." She snorted.
"Friends? Fuck you, you couldn't even break up with me before finding a new bitch. Fuck you too Sharon! Eat my dick!" She snipped before rolling her eyes and storming out of the apartment.
The city was cold. Sleet was falling from the sky and if it wasn't so fucking freezing, Honey might've said that it was almost pretty. The lights of the city at night combined with the bustle of everyone trying to enter the Gala. They were in the heart of Manhattan and the venue was beautiful. Chandeliers hun in rows from the enormous vaulted ceiling, and red decorations adorned every blank space. She was glad that she settled on a red dress, the structured fabric suddenly confining her ribcage. She bit at her lip nervously, accidentally ripping a layer of skin and lipstick away. The spot stung and she hissed in pain.
Steve had called her earlier to see how she felt after the emotionally taxing argument with Bucky. She told him about John and Sharon. He was a good friend. He may not always have the right words, but his heart is in the right place, and all she needed was to talk. Steve wasn't entirely surprised. John and Honey were a time bomb ready to blow. He could see the way her lips would drop slightly at every mild off-putting statement he would say, or how she would huff in disappointment when he wouldn't listen to what she said the way she needed.
John was a free-floating spirit with no cares, Steve would say depth, and Honey had a heart so full of consideration that to her, a thought was love's currency. She didn't crave gifts or affirmation, not even a lot of conversation that John had so much of yet always lacked, but the simple idea of being considered. Being cared for. Being known and loved for being known. Honey burned for an all-consuming love. A love for who she is.
He could see Bucky's adoration for Honey early on.
The lingering stares across the room.
The purse of his lips when she would talk about John.
The furrow of his brows when she seemed sad, so far from her normal sugar and spice. It was subtle at first.
He was a man of another time, so when she saw his struggles in the modern world, she decided to lend him a helping hand. Honey took it upon herself to make him a notebook filled with helpful tips for everything. Technology. Pop culture. Changes in social norms. Everything you could possibly think of, she included. It took her forever from when he first arrived to finish, and eventually, after two months, she slid it under his door and bit her lip, running away to avoid any conversation.
The very next day, she was humiliatingly broken to see the very notebook she put every thought into in the garbage can in the hall. She swore then and there to never give Barnes the time of day. To her, he was nothing but an afterthought. Deep down, it was still a sore cut, but she refused to accept that it hurt her, and even worse, that she had an attraction to him simmering below her posh exterior.
Barnes was not worth her affection.
"Honey?" She gasped, turning around when a hand rested on her shoulder. Tony smirked, amused at her startled reaction. "Sorry, Honeybunny." He chuckled lightly, but his face was lined with concern. "Are you alright? Steve told me what happened last night."
She sighed. "I bet he did," Honey paused. "I'm gonna be okay. Can't control what people do." Her voice was weak. No fake certainty, no sugary sweet banter, just plain her. Tony gave her a small smile.
"You're strong, kid. And god knows you can find better. Come join me for a drink, will you?" She glanced around, listening to the buzz of voices and sensible laughter. Champagne glasses glittered in the hands of beautiful women as they were approached by beautiful men. Some danced, some sat silent. She looked down at the tips of her heels, wrapping her arms around her torso.
"I think I'm gonna get some air. I'll find you later though." She gave Tony a small wink before pulling away and walking out of the main ballroom. The voices simmered down and she followed the runner carpet, twisting and turning until she finally pushed open the door to the terrace.
Nose- nipping cold enveloped her body. Her breath puffed into the air, and snow fell lightly, a contrast to the sleet earlier. The sight was truly beautiful. It looked serene. The glow of building lights, the soft honking of the floors down in the road, the buzz of the city that never sleeps.
The door clicked behind her. She didn't have to look up to know who it was. The practiced stealth in his silent steps. The way he inhaled beside her. Slowly, Honey turned around to look at the enigma of a broken man behind her.
Bucky was intense. He always had been. Where everyone else had polished surfaces and smooth edges, he was all grit and jagged lines. His outfits never quite worked, and his haircuts that he only let himself do came out somewhat jagged and outgrown, even if he had just done it. His eyebrows creased severely from years of stress and abuse. Yet, while all of this conbined attributed to his cold, terrifiying demeanor, the only thing Honey could shiver from was his eyes.
They never showed any emotion. The once cerulean blue felt grey and dark at all times, glinting with restrained darkness and a swirl of negative manifestations from his head. As he stood in front of her, brows knit together and hands sitting idly on his side, his eyes were on her. She squirmed under the stare, and he only seemed to stare harder. A wisp of his hair fell into his face but he dared not move.
His adams apple bobbed slightly before he spoke.
"Hey, Honey." He said her name so simple yet firmly that she had to bite her lip. He was gruff, and his words grumbled, but now he spoke like she was a bunny that would pounce at the slightest scare. "I didn't mean to upset you last night. I can be harsh, and I'm not a good person, I know that." He humorlessly huffed. "But I wanted to say that I am sorry, really." He pursed his lips, watching her look down at her swaying skirt.
"What you said really cut me deep. I've spent my whole life being put on a pedestal by everyone, and I'm used to it from most, but not you. I know you hate everything and everyone, god especially me, but that doesn't mean you get to demean my choices and look down on how I live my life." Honey spat, looking into his eyes sharply. His eyes widened, possibly the most emotion she has ever seen on his face.
"I don't hate you! How could I ever hate someone like you?" He countered, voice trembling when he spoke. It left her breathless, hearing him prove he had some type of remorse for a man so cold.
"What do you mean someone like me?" She whispered, staring intensely.
"You are.. you. Soft with a burning passion. You're kind, god, you're so fucking sweet, it makes me sick in the worst way that it invades my dreams." He exclaimed, voice getting higher as his grip on restraint loosened. "Every morning I wake up, I see your face. I hear your laugh, I smell your perfume and cherry-flavored lip gloss. Every time I see you with Walker, I feel sick. I make myself sick, and I don't deserve to feel this way, I know it. I'm just-" he sighed, voice breaking. "I'm sick in the head, and you're, yknow- you. Your drive, your wit, you're so fucking smart. And God, you're beautiful. I am utterly consumed by you, and- and knowing that I will never be yours makes me... sick." He breathed heavily, the confession rolling off against his will.
Honey stood frozen.
He stepped closer, gently grabbing her hands. Her eyes watched as he rubbed her knuckles.
"I could never hate you. And knowing that's the impression I gave you- fuck, I feel.. sick. See, you know all these big perfect words for everything, and I'm just- me." Honey felt her eyes well up, and she bit down on her lip.
"You threw my notebook away." She whispered, and Bucky's face sat gravely still, utter mortification settling deep in the pit of his stomach.
"What notebook?" He whispered, voice flat as he realized the sheer horror of his actions. She bit the side of her cheek, looking away in embarrassment. "Honey, what notebook?" He demanded.
"When you moved in. You seemed so.. stuck. With everything, the world is a different place now. I thought it would be nice to write out things that I felt you would need to know. I thought it would help you adjust more easily. And then I saw it in the garbage, and it broke my heart." She trembled, tears falling down her face. They felt like an intrusion on her frosty cheeks, searing as they cupped her cheeks.
"No. No, no, no, no no- fuck. Honey, I promise from the depths of my soul that I did not mean to do that. When I got here, everything felt so foreign, and I knew that I didn't belong. Everyone pitied me, and I was going insane. And when I saw the notebook that had "modern world tips" written on it, I thought it was some sick joke one of the guys was pulling, and I swear I didn't know it was from you." He moved his hands up, holding her face. His thumbs wiped her teary cheeks.
"I never knew it was from you. I still have it. I pulled it out of the trash." He bit his lip.
"You do?" She looked back up, scanning him for any sign for any type of insincerity, but found nothing except the glaze of tears and his red nose from the cold. He pulled away slightly to stuff his hand in the suit of his suit jacket and pulled out a familiar red notebook, but it was now frayed and ripped, worn from use. He held it out to show her, and she flipped though to see the small notes he made to himself in the margins.
Tap card on the side with the silver thingy.
Don't answer unpaid toll texts.
Scan the barcode and not the name of item.
She giggled at his notes, and Bucky felt his heart soar at the sound. He held his hands over hers, engulfing her small fingers. "Honey, I have been so in love with you for months, and if it's shown me anything it's that I do not deserve you."
"Hey, don't say that. You know how hard it is for me to go months thinking you didn't like me when I saw how good you were to everyone else? All I wanted was for you to let me in."
"I have known you for months. I know everything I possibly could about you. I'm a man possessed."
"How can you love me?"
"What?"
"I'm a mess. I'm impulsive, loud, abrasive, and I can never read a room. I say the wrong thing about everything. All I know how to do is make things worse." Fresh tears welled up in her eyes.
"I think that you are free, open, and personable. You say everything the way it was meant to be said, even if it comes out right or not. I love you because of who you are, not in spite of it. That is how you deserve to be loved." He spoke firmly, grounding her in the moment.
"I- I don't know how to be loved like that." She hesitated, looking up hopefully. His eyes shone a fierce blue, full of adoration and conviction. His lips quirked up slightly. Snow landed on his cheek, face burning hot despite the cold air.
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Fluffy niceness, Bucky is a bit awkward but does his best
When you're feeling down, Bucky can tell, but your relationship is so new that he isn't always sure what to do to make you feel better, so he goes to Steve for some advice.
WC: 950
Masterlist
When you came into the Avengers tower with that frown on your face, Bucky immediately knew something was wrong. He rose from his place at the couch and came over to you.
"What's wrong?" he demanded.
You shook your head tiredly. "Nothing, I'm fine."
He raised his hands to cup your face and you turned into their warmth. "Are you sure?"
You nodded. "I'm sure. Just a long day."
"Been a lot of long days lately, sweetheart."
Shrugging, you broke out of his grasp. "Work is like that sometimes, I dunno."
You turned away from him and headed into the kitchen. He couldn't help but watch you.
Something about the way that you said it, or the way you looked away from him and couldn't meet his gaze made Bucky tense. He could tell you weren't telling the full truth, but what was he supposed to do, straight up accuse you of lying to his face?
You'd only been dating for about a month now, it didn't feel like you were quite at the stage where he could expect you to lay it all out for him one hundred percent of the time. But still, he'd hoped you would have trusted him enough at this point to feel comfortable telling him when you were struggling.
Then again, he hadn't gotten to the point where he had fully come clean about the ways he struggled either.
He let out a breath. "Do you want me to make you dinner?" he offered, joining you in the kitchen.
You shook your head. "No, that's okay. I'd like to tonight, if that's okay. It'll help me wind down."
He frowned, taken aback but tried to hide it. "Oh, okay. Yeah, no, that's fine."
Bucky waited a moment for you to change your mind, but when you started to pull out the pots and pans, he decided to let you have the space you wanted.
He found himself knocking on Steve's door a few moments later. Steve opened the door to see Bucky's furrowed brows and sighed. "What's the matter, Buck?"
"I don't know what to do. She had a bad day, but doesn't want me to do anything about it," Bucky said, walking past Steve into the room and sitting down on the bed with a huff. "She didn't even want me to make dinner, she wanted to do it. Alone."
Steve whistled. "Well, sometimes you just need space after a rough day."
Bucky nodded. "And I get that. But I feel so useless."
"Well, you could always get her something. If she doesn't want you to do something, a simple gesture would be good to show her you see and understand her."
Steve sat down next to Bucky, who looked over with a sigh. "Like what?"
He thought for a second then smiled at his friend. "I have something in mind."
-----
The next day, when you came home from work and walked into your room, you froze. Your room was never heavily decorated, so the burst of colour from the flowers on your desk stood out immediately. You slowly set your bag down and approached the vase.
The flower arrangement was vibrant and lively, your favourite colour. You reached out and gently stroked one of the soft petals. Sticking out of the vase was a small stick with a note attached. You pulled it out and read it:
To brighten up your day ~ Your Bucky
You giggled and bent down to smell the flowers. They were fragrant and beautiful.
"I, uh, thought it might be nice to spruce up the space," a voice said from behind you.
You turned to see Bucky awkwardly standing in the doorway, eyes locked on the flowers. "Hey," you greeted.
"Hey." He took a few steps over to you. "Do you, uh. You know, like them? If not, I can take them back. Well, maybe not back, but I can take them away. It was Steve's idea, he thought you'd like them. If not, I--"
You stopped him with your hands on his cheeks, pulling his face into yours for a kiss. He quickly melted into the kiss, his hands coming to rest on your waist. When you pulled away, you giggled at the deepening pink of his blush. "I love them," you said, glancing back at the bouquet. "What are they for?"
"You had a rough day yesterday, and I, just... didn't know what to do for you. You didn't need anything from me, but I still wanted to do something. I figured something like this could be a reminder that even if you have a bad day at work, there are beautiful things waiting for you at home." He looked down at you with those gorgeous blue eyes and you felt your cheeks growing warm.
You let out a little laugh. "I mean, yeah, my day wasn't great, but you didn't need to."
He shrugged. "I know. I wanted to."
"Well, they are beautiful. And whenever I see them, I'll think of my Bucky," you said, your lips stretching into a smile as you thought of his note.
A cough escaped Bucky's throat as he looked away. "Was that too much?" he asked, his eyes catching on the note that was now resting on the top of the desk.
You shook your head. "Not at all. I quite like the sound of it."
"Does that mean I get to call you mine too?" he asked. He tested it out a few times, letting your name linger on his tongue like a sweet he didn't want to finish eating.
You laughed, wrapping your arms around his body, tucking your head into his chest. "You are ridiculous."
⭐︎⋆˚࿔ Summary: Bucky hires a quartet for congressional campaign events. To say he’s intrigued by the principal violinist is an understatement.
⭐︎⋆˚࿔ Content: yearning. wrong first impressions, but bucky’s not being a “nice guy” promise! literally tons of flirting. you match each other’s freak. no use of y/n. sam and joaquín my menace beloveds
⭐︎⋆˚࿔ Word Count: 4.3k
⭐︎⋆˚࿔ A/N: part of my writing-more-buck-fics agenda. to my fellow violinists, this one’s for you😼 (unless you’re one of the mean ones LOL stay humble y’all)
Bucky knows he should be paying more attention. There are photos to pose for and hands to shake and speeches to review. His congressional race is going well so far – he can’t lose sight of the long-term election goals.
But he also can’t stop sneaking glances at her.
At first, he wasn’t sure if he wanted this campaign event to feature any live entertainment, fearing the inclusion of classical music would make this seem even more pretentious. The venue’s looming crystal chandelier is already annoying enough. Not to mention all the behind-the-scenes corruption and money politics.
When everything makes his eye start to twitch, Bucky takes sharp deep breaths. A reminder that he isn’t here to make a name for himself – he’s had enough news coverage of his goddamn business. He’s here to make a difference.
He realizes now that his secretary’s suggestion to hire a professional quartet aligns with that goal. It shows an investment in the arts, along with the people who help bring them to life. Who he’s always had a lot of respect for.
That’s exactly what he’ll tell the principal violinist if he gets the chance to speak with her tonight.
Bucky keeps giving himself mental slaps on the wrist. The quartet is performing all the way on the other side of the room – he shouldn’t make anything obvious. But as the night goes on, it only becomes more difficult not to stare.
Based on how her fingers move with a quick dexterity, it’s evident she does not take her craft lightly. Every musical ornamentation she adds resonates across the venue’s acoustics.
Her high notes are a siren’s call.
One of the times the quartet reshuffles music on their stands, she happens to look up at the same time he does. Before Bucky can make any kind of small gesture in response, she quickly looks back at her music and whispers something to her fellow musicians, likely an instruction for the next song.
Yet the corner of her lipstick-painted mouth twitches up ever so slightly.
Is she a flirt? Is she playing hard to get? She looks focused, but there’s also an undeniable fire in her eyes that he’d recognize in a past version of himself.
She’s someone who enjoys the rise and fall of a little challenge.
After the quartet’s beautiful setlist ends, he politely excuses himself from whatever conversation he was having – it was coming to an end, anyway – to make his way towards their half-circle of chairs. He’s determined to thank them for their time tonight.
And have a side chat with this woman, of course. Old habits die hard.
Much to Bucky’s frustration, people keep interrupting his beeline to shake his hand. All of these stupid handshakes have him at his limit. Each time he glances over the strangers’ shoulders, the quartet is closer to putting their instruments and music away. How hard is it to get across the room for a conversation?
Eventually, the now packed-up quartet is only a few feet from where he stands. Behind another small wall of attendees, but close nonetheless. He makes eye contact with the mysterious woman for what must be the hundredth time tonight.
She knows he’s coming. Bucky straightens his tie and rehearses his congratulations on a job well done.
However, the violinist pulls out her phone. Rolls her eyes with the force of an experienced diva. Then, with a quick goodbye to her colleagues, she turns around on her heels and leaves.
Barely registering how the violin case on her back moves farther and farther away, Bucky blinks in surprise.
It’s easy to stay extremely supportive when introducing himself to the remaining musicians, who are all very polite. He would just be lying if he said he wasn’t a little irritated, though.
It’s not about a potential rejection. He’s not a creep. This woman who he’s never even spoken with owes him nothing – and no is an answer.
What’s annoying is how she practically stormed out, attitude completely spoiled.
Did she check the time and decide he wasn’t moving fast enough? Like the world runs on her clock, and he was doing her a disservice by not adhering to it simply because he was conversing with other guests.
At an event that has Bucky neck-deep in crowds of ass-kissing politicians, he was hoping for a connection with someone who has an authentic dedication to their passion. The interaction – or lack thereof – leaves a sour taste in his mouth.
Only for a while.
Upon checking his schedule the next day, Bucky sees the secretary has already booked the same quartet for the next event. He’s reading over their contact information when he realizes this isn’t just any principal violinist.
She’s also the concertmaster for the New York Philharmonic.
Talk about a primadonna.
This woman probably lives for the limelight on and off the stage. That comes with strong self-admiration, the kind that demands big diamond rings and even the world if she feels like it that day.
Except, even though she must be nothing but difficult, the memory of her face makes Bucky’s heart skip a beat.
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
At the following fundraiser, you approach him first.
Bucky is completely shocked.
He had sworn there were two things he wasn’t going to do: keep staring like a man under a spell, or initiate a conversation. Partially because he didn’t want to give someone used to so much attention another ego boost, but largely to avoid coming on too strong if you weren’t interested.
Now, during a break from a longer setlist today, you choose to stand directly in front of him.
“Mr. Barnes.” Voice smooth, you extend a short-nailed, manicured hand in greeting. “Thanks for having us again. It’s been a pleasure to play for you.”
Suddenly handshakes don’t seem that tiring.
Trying not to get distracted by your ever-commanding presence, he returns the gesture and says, “The pleasure’s all mine.”
You beam, irresistible and dazzling – but there’s actually not a trace of conceit. The flash of your teeth is so genuine that he wants to throw all caution out the window and trust you right away.
He has to remind himself that he thought he was mad at you.
After stating your name, which sounds like it was destined for stardom, you sigh. “I meant to introduce myself last time, but I had to head out right away for another gig afterwards. I realized I probably seemed a little rude. The pianist I was performing with” – you huff tiredly – “let’s say he’s not a very patient guy.”
That explains the eye roll. You were checking a message, not the time. And there Bucky was, thinking that the world revolved around him.
“That’s alright, I understand.” He pauses, sticking his hands into his pockets. “It’s nice to meet you. You sound wonderful.”
“Aw, thank you! I appreciate that.” You nod with authentic gratitude, pearl earrings shining. “I owe a big part of it to being with such an awesome quartet. We’re really close, so they always make it a blast.”
It occurs to him how much humility actually radiates off you.
“I can tell,” he responds, starstruck feelings hitting all at once. “You seem really into it.”
“Oh, I definitely love it. And it helps when I can make eye contact with the audience. It makes things more…personal.”
There’s a hint of a grin on your lips.
Oh, so you are a flirt.
Two can play that game.
Body loosening up, Bucky’s posture lazily shifts from that of a congressman elect to a man who knows exactly how to turn on the charm. “What’s so helpful about that?”
“The tension. It gives the music a little kick.”
“Ah. Dedicated to your craft, I see. You’re definitely an artistic visionary.” Bucky licks his teeth. “Guess that means you know the beauty in things when you see them.”
“Okay, don’t get ahead of yourself.” Throwing your head back, you let out a small laugh. “You’re going to have to try a little harder than that.”
“And what exactly am I trying for?”
Thinking, you stay silent. Except you’re not shy. With your straight posture and crossed arms, you’re scary.
Eventually, you shrug with a feigned nonchalance. “Nothing easy, that’s for sure.”
The confidence becomes more attractive by the second.
He’s about to ask you out to dinner on the spot, but you see someone you recognize behind him. Your face lights up in greeting, wearing that same enthusiasm he’s realizing you wear on your sleeve.
“I have to go,” you say, extending your hand again. “But it was great talking with you, Mr. Barnes.”
“Bucky.” He smiles. “Just Bucky is fine.”
“Mmm…” You bat your eyelashes exaggeratedly in thought, then shake your head. “I think I’ll stick with Mr. Barnes. Sounds more professional that way, don’t you think?”
He lets his hand linger in yours. “You can call me whatever you want, doll.”
“‘Doll.’ That’s a good one. You’re creative.” You roll your eyes – this time with a playfulness that’s much different than the first time he saw this look on your face. “Well, hope you enjoy the rest of our show, Bucky.”
Your final grin is gut-wrenching. Before he can process anything else, you’re already on your way to your next conversation, shoulders brushing as you walk past.
Bucky just stands there, breathless.
And makes a mental note to ask his secretary to hire your quartet again.
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
“So are we actually going to see this girl, or are we stuck hearing about her forever?” Joaquín’s eyes are one step away from glazing over. “Wait, don’t tell me. She’s not even real.”
Sam, who’s been nodding amusedly at Bucky’s latest story about the so-called primadonna for nearly five minutes straight, lets out a snort.
“Relax, Torres,” Bucky sighs, pausing his rant about you. “The set doesn’t start for another twenty minutes. The quartet should be getting here soon.”
Sam and Joaquín are both here at the latest election event mainly to show their public support. But what they really want is to meet this enigma, a larger-than-life beauty queen. The last few weeks, they’ve been forced to hear all about you – the woman who’s skilled at playing violin and, apparently, driving Bucky insane.
Since your first conversation, he finds himself slipping away to speak with you in between sets more and more. He’s started listening to all kinds of classical music even though he doesn’t know shit about it just in case he gets the chance to impress you.
Your personality, humble yet commanding, has made him helpless.
Sam was the only one who was supposed to hear about this mess originally. When Joaquín got involved, Bucky had no choice but to accept it. He guesses the extra feedback helps.
Not that he’s ashamed of his feelings for you. He just tends to be emotionally constipated in front of other people, as Sam frequently declares.
Joaquín groans, glancing at his watch. “I’ll be honest. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
“Then you can leave,” Bucky hisses through clenched teeth.
Sam whistles playfully. “You know, you always have a stick up your ass, but tonight it’s worse than usual.”
“Because you’re not being subtle, damn it!”
“Please. Like you’re subtle, based on what you’ve told us,” Joaquín retorts. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger, dude.”
Okay, Bucky will give him that.
Still, he flushes furiously. “Whatever. Just act normal when she gets here, please.”
“Speaking of which.” Sam nods at the entrance, face lighting up in mischief. “Finally.”
Sure enough, there you are, with sparkling earrings and a professional pantsuit that reaches the floor. The signature violin case – which he’s constantly described in detail – on your back has made it clear who you are.
The atmosphere just shifts when you’re here.
Even from all the way across the room, you spot Bucky and give a wiggling wave of your fingers. He ignores the stares from the pains in the asses next to him and responds with a smooth nod.
As always, you follow it up with an abrupt glance away to talk with your quartet friends, which he now knows you do on purpose. It’s a teasing reminder of how grateful he is to be in your presence.
“Holy shit,” Joaquín whispers. “She is real.”
With an exasperated sigh, Bucky realizes this is going to be a long night.
Actually, the event itself is going off without a hitch. It’s the biggest one yet – so he’s glad to have company here, no matter how much said company is working his nerves.
He’d never admit that, though. What he can admit is how jaw-dropping you look tonight. The way you sway with grace when playing the latest repertoire is mesmerizing.
After an agonizing wait, the quartet takes one of their breaks that Bucky has grown to adore almost as much as their music – because that means he can talk to you instead of only sharing charged glances from across the room.
You make your way over with a casual elegance. Before, Bucky would’ve been frustrated at how you waltz around like you own the place. Now he knows your confidence isn’t in vain.
“Mr. Barnes!” You give a smile that’s laced with teasing before turning to the others with excitement. “And we have Captain America and the Falcon here tonight? I can’t believe it. It’s an honor to meet you!”
Bucky watches as you exchange energetic handshakes and introductory small talk. No doubt you’ve made a good first impression, considering how they both warm up to you immediately.
“Can I just say you’re absolutely killing it?” Joaquín asks. “Like, woah. You guys are amazing.”
“Thank you so much!” You nod proudly towards the rest of the quartet, who are stalled by another conversation with someone in a fancy suit. “I’m sure they’d love to hear it from you when they’re done. They’re huge fans of you both.”
“Honestly, we’re already huge fans of your work, too.” A glint appearing in his eye, Sam adds, “We’ve heard all about it.”
“Yep.” Joaquín nods exaggeratedly. “All about it.”
Of course they weren’t going to behave tonight. Bucky briefly weighs the pros and cons of starting a fight in the middle of this lobby.
“Really?” you muse, looking straight at him with fake innocence. “From who?”
He tries to salvage this humiliation ritual with a trademark flirtatious grin. “Take a guess.”
You laugh dryly, but your eyes are ablaze. “So you’ve always gone around telling people about the quartets you listen to? I didn’t know you were a music connoisseur.”
“Absolutely. It’s my favorite conversation topic,” Bucky says, tilting his head in a way that used to make people melt all the time. “That last piece sounded great, by the way.”
His voice drops to a gravelly volume. “Mozart, right?”
“Um…” You press your lips together in a closed smile, totally amused. “Beethoven. But I’ll take it.”
He doesn’t even have to look over to know Sam and Joaquín are covering their mouths in laughter.
Two strikes in one night.
“I think what our composer here meant to ask was”– Sam chuckles, but his tone with you is genuine –“what song did you just play? It rocked.”
Enthusiasm overtakes your features. “String Quartet Number One in F Major. Opus 18, Number One.” You giggle. “By Beethoven, to reiterate.”
That is, in fact, the last time Bucky talks out of his ass about classical music.
“Actually, on that note,” you add, rolling your shoulders back, “if you want to hear another Beethoven piece, we’ll be playing one at the symphony this weekend. I’d love for you all to come.”
In another attempt at recovery, Bucky says quickly, “Tell me the time and place, and I’ll be there.”
“Well, this one’s a special concert, so we’ll be at Carnegie Hall.” You beam. “Time is seven thirty sharp.”
He nods. “Got it. Can you text that to me, please?”
“I don’t–” You raise your eyebrow knowingly. “I don’t have your number.”
“Exactly,” Bucky murmurs, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “We should exchange. For the symphony, of course.”
Finally, his first triumph of the evening.
You shake your head and give a get a load of this guy stare to the others. “Do you really put up with him all the time?”
“No,” Sam snickers immediately. Shocked, Joaquín just freezes.
Bucky, on the other hand, passes the phone in your direction, as if no one else were there. “Do you put up with me?”
“Barely,” you scoff lightly, even though you’re already typing your number in with a smirk. When you’re finished, you hand it back with a sarcastic flourish. “This really is just for the symphony, by the way.”
Bucky purses his lips. “Is that why your hand’s trembling?”
You shoot him a joking dirty look. “Enough.”
He quickly accepts that he’s doomed, and that he always has been. In the best way possible.
“Anyways,” you continue, glancing back at the rest of the quartet. Their facial expressions are strained as they talk with the same person, whose gestures start to seem a little rude. “Looks like I have to go rescue them. I’ll be right back.”
Your parting gifts are a polite nod to the pair, then a gentle demanding look for Bucky – one that asks him not to go anywhere.
Oh, you can boss him around any time you like.
A stunned silence settles over the group as you walk away. But once you’re out of earshot, Joaquín wastes no time in breaking it. “Damn, I felt like I was interrupting something there.”
“Because you were,” Bucky says flatly.
“Or maybe we were here to save you,” Sam interjects. “You completely fumbled that Mozart thing.”
Joaquín tilts his head in a spot-on mocking impression. “Mozart, right? Wow, just – masterclass.”
“Oh, come on!” Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “Like you knew who composed it.”
“We didn’t,” Sam shoots back with a grin. “But I know I wouldn’t have said anything – to an expert, mind you – if I had even one single doubt that it could be wrong.”
Off to the side, Joaquín mumbles, “And I definitely wouldn’t have said it in a bedroom voice.”
“Alright. I get it.”
Bucky closes his eyes, pretending to look irritated with them when, actually, he’s cringing at himself.
The only thing keeping him from bursting a blood vessel is your name finally sitting in the contacts of his phone.
⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚
Is bringing a huge bouquet to your first concert too much?
Given how he’s clutching the stems both tightly out of stress and loosely to avoid crushing them, Bucky hopes not.
He’s not alone tonight – Sam and Joaquín have once again come along. You did mention the event to the three of them, after all. And that superhero status came in handy for getting tickets right in the front row.
As they walk into Carnegie Hall, with its intricate architecture and velvety seats, Bucky’s mouth goes completely dry. They really are in the front. As in, a few feet from the stage. Even when the lights dim, you’ll definitely be able to see him from your chair.
The sounds of tuning and fast-paced warmups make his heart rate skyrocket. Most of the other musicians are practicing already – with the exception of you, since you’ll enter on your own right before the show. He can’t believe he knows the concertmaster.
Once they’re sitting down, Bucky is tempted to run his hands through his hair to calm down, but remembers he gelled it. A lot. Obviously he wanted to look nice. He settles for tugging at the tie that suddenly feels too tight around his neck.
No amount of campaigning has been as nerve racking as this.
“That cyborg brain of yours needs to relax.” Sam grins and elbows him lightly. “This will be fun, Buck.”
“Fun. Right.”
“I’m serious. What are you worried about?”
He could say looking like an idiot in front of this absolutely gorgeous woman whose talent level alone could shut him up. You’re so intimidating – and he doesn’t know if that makes him want to take you on in an argument, run out of the room, or throw a rose on stage like an old-timey suitor.
Instead, he simply stays silent, drumming his metal fingers on his thigh.
“Come on,” Sam urges. “She invited you personally, didn’t she?”
Joaquín leans over from Sam’s other side. “Technically she invited all of us. That just means more moral support, though, right?”
Unfortunately, the kid has a point. Bucky is glad they’re here.
Sam sighs. “I promise it’ll be fine. Just enjoy the show.”
“And the view,” Joaquín adds, wiggling his eyebrows.
Never mind, he’s not as glad anymore.
But his eye roll is cut short by the lights dimming and the audience’s subsequent applause.
When you glide onto stage, it knocks the breath out of his lungs.
In your concert black uniform, you look like the embodiment of classiness tonight. Each click of your shoes across the wooden stage is an arrow to Bucky’s heart.
As you turn out to give a bright smile to the crowd, you happen to lock eyes with him in the front row. A different kind of delight flashes across your face just for a moment – something reserved for him only, even in this sea of cheering attendees.
It’s enough to make his head spin.
The lightheadedness lingers throughout the entire concert. Your movements are ethereal. The strokes of your bow are drawn out with such emotion – it’s clear you know how to both lead the section and collaborate with your fellow musicians.
In the orchestra’s closing triumphant notes, the standing ovation is thunderous. The visuals of your final bows are like something out of the closing credits of a film. Bucky’s so close that he can see the shimmer of tears in your eyes, your passion overflowing.
You are beautiful in every sense of the word.
Your three invitees rave about the music all the way out of the venue. But once they exit into the cool night air, Bucky stops dead in his tracks at the sight of the barricade, right by the door where the symphony exits backstage.
He catches a glimpse of your violin case. Laughing with other musicians, you’re already outside.
It’s now or never.
“I think this is where we head out,” Joaquín announces. “Good luck!”
Sam pats Bucky’s back. “You’ve got this, man. Don’t be scared.”
“And don’t say anything about Mozart!” Joaquín calls over his shoulder as they disappear into the crowd.
Bucky takes a deep breath and approaches the barricade. Scanning the attendees who filter out, you finally notice him.
Your face, already aglow with pride at your performance tonight, lights up even more radiantly. “Bucky!”
His knees are going to fold like a lawn chair.
“Hey! I–” He clears his throat, a bit stunned that you used his name instead of a title. “I don’t even know what to say. You were so amazing out there.”
“Thanks, that means a lot! And thank you so much for coming. I can’t believe you sat in the front row!”
Your eyes shift down to the bouquet in his hand. No doubt you noticed them before – it’s hard to miss the flourish of red roses and white baby’s breath. But the reality of their strong floral scent must barely register right now.
Because, for the very first time ever, a shy expression appears on your face.
Something more vulnerable passes between you.
“Couldn’t show up at this show without something for the concertmistress herself, so…” He grins softly. “Will you accept these?”
You blink a couple of times. And laugh quietly in disbelief. Finally, in one swift motion that catches him completely off guard, you bring him in for a tight hug.
Bucky hopes you can’t feel his heart about to hammer straight out of his chest.
Pulling back and gently grabbing the bouquet, you beam. “Thank you. Nothing I’d love more, Mr. Barnes.”
So much for keeping the nickname. You definitely know how to keep him on his toes.
He clicks his tongue. “And here I was thinking you’d finally stick to calling me ‘Bucky,’ doll.”
“There it is.” Smirking, you roll your eyes. “You can’t resist that doll thing, can you?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Uh huh.” Eyes fluttering as you inhale the flowers, you sigh before standing up straighter. “Now have you come here to talk Mozart with me or what?”
“I was thinking Beethoven this time, actually.” Bucky chuckles and tilts his head – hundredth time’s the charm. “We can discuss over dinner, if you’d like.”
“Are you asking me on a date, Bucky?”
Your gaze is so powerful that it coats his face in an instantaneous blush.
But it’s intoxicating.
In a gesture that he knows will send himself over the edge, he reaches out for your free hand, and – with an unwavering eye contact the entire time – presses a drawn-out kiss to it.
You almost gasp.
Lips grazing against your skin, he murmurs, “You tell me, beautiful.”
“Ugh.” You glance away dramatically as a joke. “You are so...so...”
“Irresistible?”
“Annoying. But I’ll admit, not annoying enough.”
Before he lets your hand go, Bucky caresses a thumb over where he placed the kiss. “So is that a yes to dinner?”
“Mhm.” Another smirk twitches at the corner of your mouth – the same way it did the night Bucky first laid eyes on you. “As long as we go right now.”
AGHH I'm receiving more love than I ever expected on my Biker!Bucky x Bunny fic >ᴗ< I am overwhelmed!! You guys have got me thinking about these two so much that I want to write more about them.
Read it here! Look at the Sky, It's the Color of Love ⸝⸝♡⸝⸝
I mentioned in my fic that Biker!Bucky kept the bunny keychain you got for him, and I pictured it looking like this as he carries it around haha:
I think Bunny starts to notice how he keeps the bunny charm on his bike keys religiously, that she just assumes that he likes it and wants more lol
"What is this, bunny?" He'd ask her as she attached a new bunny charm on his belt loop, or tucks it in the small pocket of his leather jacket. "A new little guy for me to look after, yeah?"
He eyes the white, fluffy bunny peaking out of his all black clothing, sighing at the thought of getting strange looks from people that will see him with it.
But he doesn't ever take them off. He wears it like a badge of honor, actually.
You giggle and nod excitedly at him, as he looks down amusedly at yet another new charm you've attached.
"Yes. He'll keep you company!" You tell him cutely.
All he can do is grin stupidly at how adorable you are. His heart warms up at you that he can't help but pull you closer by the waist and press a kiss on your forehead.
"Gotcha, bun." He promises, looking down at you with infatuation and adoration. "I'll guard him with my life."
(Sam teases him relentlessly about the dumb trinkets that he carries around now, but gets absolutely scared shitless when Bucky nearly flips him over for even trying to jokingly take his bunny charms.)
You drove home after an exhausting day, craving nothing but the warmth of your apartment—and, mainly, the warmth of your boyfriend.
The thought of stepping into a hot shower was the only thing keeping you sane, until a faint sound caught your attention right outside your building. A meow. A tiny, trembling meow coming from behind a metal trash can.
You hesitated for a fraction of a second before taking a peek. And then, your heart broke.
It was a small, white kitten, completely soaked by the rain. Without thinking twice, you carefully scooped her up and tucked her safely inside your jacket, right against your chest.
When you finally walked through the door, the rich scent of dinner filled the air. Bucky had already cooked.
“Finally. You took your time,” he teased, looking up with a soft smile that instantly died the moment his eyes landed on the bundle in your arms. His thoughts were completely interrupted by the tiny pink nose peeking out of your coat.
“Found her outside. I couldn’t just leave her there,” you explained, smiling down at the little white creature.
“She needs a bath,” you said, already heading toward the bathroom, but the cold weight of Bucky’s metal hand gently caught your forearm, stopping you in your tracks.
“You’re not planning on keeping her, right?” he asked, tilting his head, his blue eyes searching yours.
“I don’t know,” you shrugged, slipping past him to start filling the bathtub with warm water.
Bucky sighed heavily, trailing after you until he was leaning his broad shoulders against the doorframe. “You need to think this through, doll. Who’s going to feed her? What about her vaccines? You can’t just pick up a stray. What if she already has an owner?”
You rolled your eyes playfully. Gently massaging the warm water into the kitten's matted fur, you looked up at him. “Bucky, I found her freezing in the pouring rain. She’s just a baby. Trust me, there is no owner.”
He let out another long sigh, running a hand over his face before walking out of the room.
After the bath, you walked into the kitchen with the kitten securely wrapped in a dry towel.
“I still don't think it's a good idea,” Bucky muttered, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the tiny animal curling up on your lap.
You let out a heavy sigh, looking down at the small ball of fur. Maybe he was right. Maybe a high-risk apartment wasn't the place for a pet. “Okay,” you murmured softly. “I’ll take her to a shelter tomorrow morning.”
The next morning, the bright sunlight woke you up.
You reached out across the mattress, but Bucky’s side of the bed was already cold. No Bucky. No kitten. A small frown creased your forehead as you threw the covers off and padded quietly toward the living room.
And that was when you saw it.
Bucky was sprawled out on the couch, his massive frame taking up the cushions. Right in the center of his chest, matching his slow, deep breathing, the white kitten was curled up into a perfect ball. Both of them were fast asleep.
A hopeless smile tugged at your lips. You walked over soundlessly and took a seat right by his head, your fingers instinctively finding their way into his messy hair.
His eyelids fluttered open, blinking up at you with a sleepy, soft gaze.
“Ready to take her to the shelter?” you murmured, gently stroking his hair.
Bucky shifted slightly, his human hand coming up to protectively shield the kitten on his chest. “You know... I was thinking. Maybe Alpine is better off with us anyway.”
You raised a brow, your smile widening. “Alpine? You already named her?”
He gave you one last, quiet chuckle, closing his eyes as he pulled you a little closer to the couch. Maybe an extra mouth to feed was exactly what your home needed.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
WC: ~300
Warnings: Fluff | Super hot super soldier alert | Bucky exercising | Bucky seducing reader | Soft!dom Bucky vibes | Allusions to smutty times | Unbeta'd | Lemme know if I missed anything!
A/N: My submission for June Jukebox Scribbles | Prompt: "I can't control myself" Song: Animal I Have Become - Three Days Grace | @societynsoelsscribbles | Here ya go!✨🥹💞
Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! I do not consent to AI scraping my work. Banner & Divider made by me. Picture credits to Pinterest. Check out my other works: Masterlist
Indulge Away!
Grunt.
You ignored it.
Grunt.
Ugh! It was taking everything in you to focus on the screen rather than those huffs and grunts. But to your dismay, it grew louder.
Grunt.
This time it was less of a grunt and more of a moan.
"BUCKY, CUT IT OUT," you snapped, spinning around in your chair.
He didn't stop. Instead, he cocked an eyebrow as he continued with his set, showing off the muscles rippling under his sweat-slicked skin.
"What am I doing?" he rumbled, his voice hitting the pulse in your pussy.
"That's it". You abandoned the work and strode toward him, eyes fixed on his chest. He looked practically lickable.
"Stop it. I'm trying to work," you whined, failing to mask the tremor in your voice.
Bucky set the weights down with a dull thud and stood to his full height, a smug, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"I'm working out too, beautiful," he murmured, stepping into your space and leaning down until his breath hitched against your lips.
Your eyes narrowed, trying to summon a shred of resistance. "You could lift that entire couch single-handedly without breaking a sweat," you countered, poking a defiant finger into his chest. "You don't need to exert yourself this much."
Bucky caught your wrist, and before you could protest, his other arm wrapped around your waist, hauling you flush against his chest. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. "What's your point?"
You gasped, your resolve shattering. Every instinct urged you to pull away, but you were paralyzed by the scent of him.
"You're such a little shit, Buck," you groaned, your fingers finally giving in and tangling into his hair. "You know exactly what you're doing to me."
"Oh, I haven't done a thing to you yet, my love" he growled.
Before you could say another word, his mouth crashed onto yours. In one fluid move, he hoisted you up, forcing your legs to wrap around his torso as he claimed you completely.
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After a great deal of overthinking (and a mild therapy session) you cook up the perfect way to apologize to James. Literally.
Armed with a homemade pie and far more courage than common sense, you show up at his shop expecting awkwardness, rejection, or, at the very least, a sarcastic remark. But, little do you know, while you've been thinking about him, James has been doing the exact same thing.
And when the two of you finally find the courage to say the words you've both been avoiding, the years of distance begin to feel a little less insurmountable. For the first time since coming home, the familiar comfort of your friendship starts to find its way back.
▸ PAIRING: Mechanic!James Bucky Barnes x Fem!Citygirl!Reader
▸ WARNINGS: Reader pov, angst, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, arguments, shirtless Bucky, staring (obviously), mentions of reader dating, mentions of hermit life (no offense to hermits) (image does not depict reader)
▸ CHARACTER/WORD COUNT: 26.4 K / 5.7 K
▸ A/N: Been MIA for so long, but I hope this is worth it because we're finally out of the fighting!
✧ Masterlist ✧ < Prev Next >
After rolling around in bed with no ideas & no sleep in sight, you decided to do what you always did to tire. Baking.
It wasn’t like you were Master Chef or anything, but you were decent enough with your mom’s recipes.
"Goddammit..." you muttered under your breath as you aggressively whisked the batter. Your hands were covered in flour, and a mess of ingredients littered the counter.
The oven light cast a warm glow across the kitchen, but it did little to ease the frown creasing between your brows.
What had I even said that was so bad?
James had never walked away from an argument like that - not once in all our years knowing each other.
That was before, you were suddenly reminded, when you didn’t have arguments because he was so gullible. The more you thought about it, the worse it got. You kept replaying the whole scene in your mind over and over again.
The things you said... they'd hurt him. That look in his icy blue eyes flashed again in your mind, and guilt clawed at your chest.
You slammed the dough on the counter with a deep sigh, flattening it tiredly.
"I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have said that."
"He was just trying to help me and I... snapped at him like a bitch."
You put the pie in the oven, staring at the timer while you sat down on the floor.
"James is probably pissed as hell right now," you said, while waiting for the pie to bake.
"And he has every right to be."
"God, I'm an idiot."
"I didn't mean it like that. He knows that... right?"
You asked the invisible person in the kitchen. But you knew what the answer was.
No. James was stubborn as hell — if you'd hurt his feelings, he wasn't just gonna brush it off.
The pie timer beeped loudly in the quiet kitchen.
The sweet smell of baking pie filled the kitchen, but it did nothing to ease the anxiety in your chest.
You leaned against the counter, arms crossed as you stared blankly at nothing.
What were you supposed to do now? Apologize?
It did seem the only likely way, and you knew if Sam had wanted you to do it, you should.
“Okay. I’m a mature adult who can apologize when they're wrong.” you said, standing up.
Meanwhile, James was in his own personal hell.
He hadn't gone home.
Instead, he'd driven to the auto shop - his dad's old garage that was now his. The lights were on inside despite the late hour.
The wrench in his hand clanged loudly against a metal part as he tightened it aggressively.
"Fucking piece of shit..." He grumbled under his breath, more frustrated with himself than anything else.
James couldn't stop thinking about you.
He should have just ignored your damn comment and dropped you home like he planned. He should have kept his temper in check, should have walked away before things got heated.
But hearing you snap at him like that... it set him off. And then when you'd called him a lost puppy...
His jaw clenched tightly, and the wrench in his hand twisted harder than necessary.
Frustrated, he dropped the tools and ran a hand roughly over his face, a heavy sigh falling from his lips.
His heart twisted painfully every time he tried to forget your face, your voice, the look in your eyes when you'd said those words.
And he kept replaying the scene in his head, over and over again. The rain, the way you'd yelled at him, the things you said, the way you'd looked at him like he was nothing more than some lost dog trailing behind you...
His phone rang, the caller card flashing your mom's name.
For a split second, panic flashed through his mind. His mind raced with unwelcome possibilities as to why the older woman was calling him this late at night. He picked it up immediately on instinct.
“Hello? Is everything alright, Miss?” his voice came in a hurry.
You were dumbfounded for a few seconds, partially shocked at the worry in his voice. It was silent for a few moments, before you spoke, "James, it’s me.. Everything’s alright.”
James exhaled sharply through his nose, the wrench still in his hand. You continued quietly,
“I just.. called from mom’s phone cause I thought you wouldn’t pick mine.”
“Right about that.” he murmured, making you sigh softly.
“It’s not— never mind. Are you home?" you asked.
"Nah." His voice came out gruff, tired.
He cleared his throat before speaking again, trying to sound normal despite everything that had happened between you two.
"I'm at the shop."
"Oh. The shop in your garage?" you asked, slightly confused. The sound he made was somewhere between exhausted & annoyed.
“No, the shop I opened up last year. It's a few blocks away.” he murmured finally.
“You opened a shop?” you asked, sidetracked from your own thought process.
He just hummed in response.
“Oh. That’s..” you tried to process his words, or the lack thereof.
The silence was awkward — uncomfortable, even.
James ran a hand over his face, feeling tired and irritated and hurt all rolled into one. He should hang up, he really should hang up. But he couldn't.
"Did you call for a reason?" He asked gruffly, his thumb tapping incessantly on the wrench he held.
"Not really.. just.. nevermind, I'll drop it on your porch." you murmured.
James hesitated, the phone still pressed to his ear. He could hear you breathing on the other end — soft and unsure.
"Drop what?"
He didn't mean for it to come out so sharp, but he couldn't help it. After everything that had happened between you two today, it still somehow nagged his mind.
You winced internally, but replied nonetheless.
"Mom made some pie.. told me to drop some for Rebecca and you." you said.
"Tell her thanks." James' voice was flat, indifferent. He didn't want to talk about pie or Rebecca right now — he just wanted the call to be over.
He wasn't angry at your mom. Or even really mad at you. But this conversation? Right after everything? It felt weird.
You swallowed at the tone, looking down at your hand. "Ok. Good night." you mumbled.
"Good night." James said quietly, his tone softer than before, but still distant. Still hurt.
The line went dead as he hung up first this time, tossing the phone onto the workbench with a sigh.
He rubbed his face again and stared blankly at nothing for a moment... then picked up another tool to keep working on whatever car part was in front of him, anything to distract himself right now.
Ok so he was mad mad.
You stared at the steaming apple pie in front of you. It was a tiny lie really, and you didn't think he would notice. So you wrapped it up, put on some warm clothes and set out on a mission to find him and his shop.
The night was cool and dark as you left your house, the rain from earlier having made way for a clear night sky.
The walk to the auto shop was silent, the only sound coming from your own quick footsteps against the sidewalk, as you circled the 2 block radius of his house. You had an inkling of where it could be, since all the shops lined up on certain streets. Still you had to circle almost twice before you spotted the same worn sign that was once above their garage.
As you got closer, the bright lights from the auto shop came into view, casting a glow across the empty street and parking lot.
The shop was closed, but all the lights inside were on — like someone was still working despite the late hour.
You approached the shop and peered through the garage window, trying to see inside.
The first thing that stood out was the mess - tools and car parts were littered across the place, like a tornado had gone through. Then you noticed James.
He was standing near the back of the shop - his back to the entrance — and he was shirtless. His upper body and arms were covered in grease, his jeans were smeared with oil too, and he had a sweaty towel around his neck.
He was bent over the open hood of a car, fiddling with the engine.
Even from the doorway, you could see the muscles of his broad shoulders and back shifting and flexing as he worked — the grease only accentuating the hard lines of his toned body.
Your eyes roamed over the expanse of smooth, tanned skin, tracing the way his muscles moved with every flex and shift.
God, he was fit.
His jeans were hanging low on his hips, and the low light cast shadows over the deep muscle lines on his back.
Your eyes traveled lower without your permission, taking in the V-line that disappeared underneath the waistband of his jeans.
Your gaze lingered there, drinking in the view way too long before you managed to pull yourself together and snap your head up.
You shook your head, and then hesitantly knocked on the side door.
His head snapped up, the faint crease of his brow deepening as he saw your face. You took a step back from the door, mentally preparing for the conversation ahead. He walked to the door and pulled it open with movements that suggested he’d rather be anywhere else.
The pie looked freshly baked - warm even - and that made something twist inside him.
"You came all the way here?" His voice was low, gruff from working all night. Not angry anymore... just tired.
He didn't reach for the pie yet.
"Um.. hello to you too." you said, trying for casualness.
"Don't get smart with me." He grumbled back, his eyes narrowing on you.
"You shouldn't wander around at this time, 'snot safe." He murmured, glancing around.
"It was just a few blocks. I can handle myself." your response was met with a grunt.
Even like this — shirtless and covered in grime and sweat from working so late in the night — he somehow still looked like a greek demigod, which was very unfair in your opinion.
His eyes roamed over your face, searching for something.
"You really just bringing pie this late at night, or is there another reason you're here?"
"Well, mom didn’t want it to go cold, and I wanted to see what you've been up to all this time." you deflected, glancing inside.
"See what I've been up to?" James scoffed, leaning against the doorframe.
He crossed his muscular arms over his chest - grease and sweat glistening on his skin under the shop lights.
"Right now? Fixing this piece of shit car." He gestured vaguely behind him toward a rusted Honda Civic with its hood wide open. "And you know what else? Being pissed at you."
His voice was firm, unapologetic about admitting that much.
Your lips pulled down into a frown.
"Are you really that mad over name calling? Because I can remember times when you've called me worse." you said.
"Name-calling? Seriously?" James' voice rose slightly, his jaw tightening.
"You don't get to say that shit and then act like it was nothing. Like I'm some dumb dog following you around." He uncrossed his arms, gesturing wildly with one grease-covered hand.
"Yeah, I've called you names before, but never like that. Never in a way that actually hurt."
His tone was sharp now — not yelling but close to it.
You looked down, the pie feeling like a weight in your hands now.
"I didn't know you'd get so upset over it." you said.
"Of course I got upset over it." James' voice cracked slightly, the anger mixing with something more vulnerable now. "You don't just... say shit like that to me."
He rubbed his face roughly, smearing grease across his cheekbone in frustration.
"And yeah — maybe I called you worse things before, but not ever with the same tone you used tonight."
"Fine, I admit that it was harsh and rude of me to say that. I shouldn’t have done that." you said.
James exhaled sharply, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
"Good."
He reached out and took the pie from your hands, careful not to get grease on it, then stepped aside.
"Come in."
Without another word, he turned and walked back toward the workbench where tools were scattered everywhere. The shop was messy but warm from all the lights being on.
You looked up, before following him in.
There was an old coffee pot on the counter in the corner that had probably been brewing all night, and stacks of car manuals were piled high everywhere.
He grabbed a rag to wipe his hands cleaner before turning back to you, still shirtless & sweaty.
The shop smelled like motor oil and burnt coffee.
Your eyes flicked over the interior of the shop, looking everywhere as he put down the pie on the counter.
James leaned against the other side of the workbench, arms crossed as he watched you look around.
"You done staring around now?" He grumbled, one dark eyebrow raised.
The light gleamed off the muscles in his upper body as he shifted his weight.
"Well, it still looks like your garage just.. you changed.. stuff." you said to validate your staring.
James snorted. "Yeah, well. Had to."
He gestured vaguely at the shop - tools, parts everywhere.
"Barnes' Auto isn't gonna run itself."
A pause.
"You like it? The shop?"
You thought for a moment, then aimed for something neutral. "It's got.. character." you said.
"Character?" James repeated, his tone dry.
He glanced around the messy shop - oil stains on the floor, tools scattered everywhere.
"Yeah. That's one way to put it."
A beat of silence passed between you two before he sighed and pushed off from the counter, shrugging on a henley.
"You want coffee? I got a pot brewing."
"No, I'm fine, thank you." you said, glancing at the ancient pot.
"Suit yourself." James grunted back, pouring himself some coffee in a mug that said 'number one mechanic' across the side.
He leaned against the counter again, watching you glance around and avoid looking directly at him.
His eyes roamed over your figure silently, studying you quietly.
You looked smaller, somehow, in the woven cardigan, sleeves pulled to your knuckles. Delicate, his mind supplied the word unhelpfully.
"Do you keep a change of clothes here?" you asked dumbly, only now noticing that he was in different pants than before.
James took a slow sip of his coffee before answering.
"Yeah. Got a locker in the back."
He nodded toward a small storage room door covered in grease smudges.
"Sometimes I crash here if it's late and don't wanna go home."
Another pause as he studied you over the rim of his mug, steam curling up between you two.
You nodded once, eyeing the open car. "And food?"
"Yeah, got snacks and shit too. There's a mini-fridge back there."
James took another sip of his coffee, eyeing you over the mug.
"You hungry? I can make us something if you want."
He didn't sound mad anymore — just tired and maybe slightly softer than before.
"No, I was just.. asking out of curiousity." you said, before unwrapping the pie to have something to do with your hands.
James was quiet for a moment, his eyes tracking your movements as you unwrapped the pie.
He set his coffee mug down on the counter with a soft clink, before he said your name.
The way he said your name sent a shiver down your spine - he sounded a little tired.
"Can you look at me?"
You stilled, before looking up.
James stared at you, his blue eyes intense and searching.
"Look... I was pissed earlier," he started slowly, "and yeah, what you said hurt. But..."
He exhaled through his nose before continuing.
"I shouldn't have walked away like that. That wasn't cool of me."
You swallowed quietly. "No, it’s.. I am sorry for saying that. I was totally out of line, and kinda still pissed and took it out on you." you said.
James' head cocked slightly as he listened to your apology - his expression unreadable.
He crossed his arms over his chest, his muscles shifting underneath the smears of grease and sweat.
"We both should be sorry," he grunted bluntly before continuing.
"What you said to me... that bullshit about me being a lost puppy? I've known you almost all my goddamn life. You know how much that hurt?"
You huffed, trying not to deflect from the topic. "I am sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it like that. It just came out, and I knew it was rude but you agreed with my dad when he called me a naggy brat, so we should be even." you said.
James' jaw clenched at the incident you brought up.
"That was not the same thing and you know it," he said, his voice slightly sharper now.
The muscles in his shoulders tensed, and you could see a vein in his neck pulse slightly in frustration.
"You're right, it wasn't the same, because your mistake was worse." you murmured.
Your jaw worked and you looked away. You didn't like being talked to like that, especially when you were apologizing and he hadn't even bothered to do the same.
"I should go, it's late already. Enjoy the pie." you said, your voice tight.
James' face fell the second you turned to leave.
"Wait."
He stepped in front of the door, blocking your exit with his broad frame.
"You don't get to drop an apology and then bolt like that."
His voice was firm - not angry anymore, but insistent. Like he wasn't about to let you walk out on him tonight.
"You don't want it, and you don't seem like you want to apologize for bitching about me either. So why should I stay?" you retorted.
"Because I am sorry, damn it."
James bit the words out like they physically pained him to say.
He ran a grease-streaked hand through his messy hair, exhaling sharply.
"I shouldn't have talked like that when I knew it would hurt you. I shouldn't have been an asshole about it either."
A pause, then he added quietly:
"And yeah... maybe agreeing with your dad that one time was messed up too."
His hands unclenched at his sides, his throat bobbing as he continued, his voice strained from emotion.
"But you walking away right now? That's a dick move. Especially after you came here to my place, my shop..."
He paused, his eyes burning into you as he struggled to find the right words.
It was weird to see him like this - flustered, frustrated, clearly emotional.
"I... I want you to stay."
You exhaled through your nose, looking away. The weight of his words felt like a relief, like you finally felt at ease after walking on eggshells for so long.
"Okay." you said finally, walking over to a stool and sitting down.
James grabbed a chair and pulled it over, sitting across from you.
The stool creaked under his weight as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter between you two.
"Look," he started, voice lower now. "I don't wanna fight with you."
He rubbed at the back of his neck - a nervous habit of his since high school.
"I was an idiot earlier." he sounded almost like the James you left behind.
"I don't wanna fight either." you mumbled, picking at your sleeves.
"Good." James exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
“Good.” you said, glancing at him before you both looked away.
The shop was quiet except for the hum of overhead lights and occasional drip from a leaking pipe somewhere.
He reached over to pick up a fork that was lying on the counter - probably used earlier for eating something - and handed it to you.
"You wanna eat some pie? Your mom's cooking is always good."
You nodded quietly, not correcting him. The apple pie was, miraculously, still warm as he took a bite.
James chewed slowly, savoring the warmth.
"Damn... this is good."
He swallowed before taking another bite, his earlier anger completely gone now - replaced by something softer.
Your mom always made the best pies, and he hadn't had one in a while.
"You should take some home too," he said between bites, pushing the plate slightly toward you with greasy fingers.
"That's fine, she can just make another for us." you said, wiping the fork with a napkin before taking a small bite.
James stopped midway through his bite when you said that, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Since when are you that polite?"
He teased - just a hint of that old familiarity that you knew so well.
You frowned. "I am always polite. To the right people." you said.
James smirked, the first real one since this whole argument started.
"Right people, huh?" He took another bite of pie before continuing. "So I'm a right person now? After you called me names and almost walked out on me?"
There was humor in his tone - not mocking you, just teasing like he used to when things were good between you two.
"You walked out on me first, mister." you pointed your fork at him.
James held up his hands in mock surrender, the pie fork still dangling from his fingers.
"Okay okay! You're right - I walked out first."
He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully before continuing.
"But you did say some shit that pissed me off."
His tone wasn't angry anymore - just matter-of-fact. Like he was stating a simple truth rather than blaming you again.
"Grow a pair." you huffed jokingly.
"Grow a pair?" James repeated, raising an eyebrow.
He leaned back in his chair, mouth falling open with amused disbelief.
"You’ve really upgraded your vocabulary."
Another bite of pie - he was demolishing it at this point.
"You're lucky your mom makes good pie or we'd still be fighting."
You rolled your eyes. "Full mouth makes you shut up, huh?"
"Yeah, maybe." James smirked around the forkful of pie still in his mouth.
He chewed slowly, enjoying the food and this weirdly normal moment between you two despite everything that had happened earlier.
Swallowing, he pointed at you with his fork.
"You're lucky I like apple pies or I wouldn't be talking to you right now."
"It isn't luck, it's skill." you said.
James took another big bite of pie, chewing thoughtfully as he watched you.
"Your mom's skill is the only reason we're not still yelling at each other in a parking lot right now."
He swallowed and pointed his fork at you again.
"You really think I'd be sitting here with you if it wasn't for her cooking? Be real."
A pause - then he added with a half-smirk, "I mean... maybe. But mostly because of the pie."
You looked at the demolished dessert, before saying uncharacteristically quiet.
"I made it actually, mom's asleep right now."
James froze.
The fork in his hand hovered halfway to his mouth, pie crumbs on the tines.
"You... made this?"
His voice came out quieter than he intended. The thought of you baking - something you never used to do when you were younger - surprised him.
He hadn't known that skill was even in your wheelhouse.
"Yeah.. I.. made it out of guilt. And apples." you said with a light laugh.
James stared at the half-eaten pie, then back up at you.
"You made this... because you felt guilty?"
He sounded genuinely shocked. Not in a bad way - just surprised.
All this time, he'd assumed your mom had baked it like she always did when someone was visiting.
"Of course I did.. the look on your face could've made anyone feel guilty." you murmured.
James set the fork down carefully, wiping his greasy hands on a rag.
"You didn't have to do that," he said softly. "Bake for me."
He looked at you differently now - like seeing you in a new light.
"It's... really good though."
A compliment. Simple but sincere.
You nodded, looking everywhere but his steel blue eyes as you accepted his compliment.
James leaned back in his chair, studying you.
You looked different this way - still the same tough girl he knew all those years ago, but different at the same time. Like there was more depth to you now.
He thought of you, baking pie from scratch in your parents' kitchen... just to make him feel better.
The thought of it stirred something in his chest. Something old and familiar that he hadn't felt in years.
James exhaled slowly, the weight of everything settling over him.
He said your name softly, then stopped. How do you even begin to thank someone for something like this?
"It's been a long time since anyone did something that nice for me."
Not just the pie - but apologizing. Coming all the way here. Trying to make things right between you two after everything that happened earlier tonight.
Your gaze flickered up involuntarily, eyes holding his. It was silent for a few minutes as your gaze flickered over his face. His words were tugging at your heart strings without permission.
You didn’t know what to say to that.
"Yeah.. well, you aren’t all that bad, and neither am I." you said with a small smile.
James huffed out a small breath at the response, almost a laugh.
"Was that a compliment? I'd better savor it before you start being mean to me again."
There was no malice in his words - just humor and that familiar edge that made you roll your eyes affectionately.
"Not everyday am I willing to bake a pie, okay?" you huffed, but the smile widened on your lips.
James chuckled, a real laugh this time, warm and rich.
"Okay okay, I get it. You're not usually the pie-baking type."
He took another bite, savoring the taste.
"But damn... you should do it more often."
The compliment slipped out easily - he meant every word of it.
"You'd probably have a lot of guys lining up to get some of this pie if you made it more often."
You snorted at that. "Yeah right. The day you see me baking pies for men will be the day I got replaced by a clone." you said.
"Good. 'Cause I don't wanna see you baking pies for any other guys."
James said it so casually, like stating a fact rather than admitting something.
He took the last bite of pie, chewing slowly as he stared at you across the counter.
"I mean... unless they're family or whatever. But not random dudes."
You chuckled at that, thinking he was joking.
"In that case, you need to quit picking up women in that truck of yours—playing the helpful, sexy mechanic every time they have car trouble." you replied jokingly.
"Who says I'm picking up women?" James shot back, raising an eyebrow.
He crossed his arms - a defensive gesture. You tilted your head in confusion.
"I've been single since high school, you know that."
A fact he didn't bring up often. Not that it mattered to him - or so he told himself.
You blinked at that. "What?"
James glanced at you, his expression unreadable.
"You didn't know that?"
He shrugged slightly, as if it wasn't a big deal... even though it kinda was.
"Yeah, you're looking at a lonely bachelor."
His tone was dry and casual, but there was a hint of something else behind his eyes - something he was carefully pushing down.
"You're kidding right? Trying to make a fool of me?" you said with a small laugh.
"What do you think, smart ass?"
James' tone was still light and playful - but there was a hint of irritation too.
He wasn't kidding, and he didn't like you laughing at the idea of him being single.
"Why's that so damn hard for you to believe?"
"Because we're in our 20s, probably our peak, and you're telling me you haven't dated in 5 years?" you said, shock seeping into your tone as your voice rose slightly in pitch.
James exhaled sharply through his nose, arms still crossed.
"Yeah, I haven't dated. So what?"
He didn't understand why you were so surprised.
"Been busy with the shop. Helping my mom out with Rebecca and shit."
A pause as he studied your face.
"It's not like you have to adopt your girlfriend or something." you said, even more confused now.
James ran a hand through his greasy hair, exhaling sharply.
"Look, I never really cared about dating anyway." he said bluntly.
It wasn't that he hadn't had opportunities - there were plenty of girls in town who'd flirted with him over the years. But none of them stuck around for long, and frankly? he was fine with that.
You absorbed his words, blinking and nodding. "Wow, okay, so you wanna end up a spinster.. that's cool." you said.
James snorted, rolling his eyes at the comment.
"First of all, I'm not a spinster, dumbass. Second - yeah? Maybe I do."
He shrugged like it was no big deal.
"Not like anyone's been worth my time anyway."
A simple truth that he didn't feel ashamed of saying out loud.
“Really? Cause I remember you swearing up & down that you & Nat could be such a great couple if she gave you the chance.” you said amusedly.
James’ face immediately twisted into a grimace.
"Nat? Jesus, don't remind me of that."
He groaned, dragging both hands down his face like the mere memory physically pained him.
"That was high school stupidity! We were kids with crushes on literally everyone in our grade!" he said indignantly.
“Exactly! And now you’re telling me you’re living some kind of hermit life. I don’t believe it.” you replied.
James leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter.
"Okay, listen - high school me had a type. Brunette girls who could bench press me. That’s not exactly a personality trait."
He waved his hands dismissively before continuing, "And no, I'm not living like some hermit! I go out! To Wanda's diner all the time!"
“A diner is not going out.” you pointed out.
"Okay, fine! Maybe I don't go out go out," James admitted with a huff.
"But it's not like there are other places to go out here anyway! Unless you wanna hang at some dive bar where half the guys are married and drunk off their asses."
“A dive bar is still a better place to find girls your age.” you quipped.
James rolled his eyes again, running his fingers through his messy hair.
"I can't believe I'm arguing with you over my dating life."
Then he leaned forward, fixing you with a steely gaze as you chuckled.
"Oh, you think this is funny? Me being single?"
His tone was dry but not actually upset - more amused than anything.
"I mean... yeah, whatever. Laugh it up."
“Don’t worry, we’ll find a good one for you.” you snorted.
James huffed. "So what about you, huh? You got some boyfriend stashed somewhere I should know about?" he asked, partially because he wanted to change the topic.
"Nope. I dumped one last christmas and that was that." you shrugged.
"You dumped someone?"
James sounded skeptical bordering on doubtful. He raised an eyebrow, watching you closely.
"Let me guess, he was some stuck up college boy?"
“No, actually, he worked at a Law firm.” you said, frowning.
James scoffed.
"A lawyer, huh? Should've known."
He crossed his arms, looking at you over his greasy biceps.
"Let me guess - he was some tall pretty boy in a fancy suit who talked like a rich snob."
“That’s.. Inaccurate and very judgemental. He was nice.” you replied.
James rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, I'm sure he was real nice. Polite and proper and clean-cut, right? Wore fancy shoes and probably some dumbass fedora on his days off?"
He didn't like it. The idea of you with some polished city boy made his fingers clench involuntarily around the arms of his chair. He didn't know why it bothered him so much, but it did.
You couldn’t help but laugh at his words. “Nobody wears a fedora in the city. They’re not.. fashion criminals.”
James scoffed.
"Okay, well whatever he wore - point is, you dumped him." He said it like it was a victory.
"So what happened? Did he bore you to death with all his law firm talk?"
“Not really, he was just too serious for me. We weren’t compatible.” you said lightly.
James nodded slowly, absorbing your words.
"Yeah... that makes sense." He said it like he understood exactly what you meant - the incompatibility thing. Then a thought struck him.
"So if he was too serious for you..." James hesitated before continuing carefully, "...what do you like in guys?"
Your lips quirked a little. “Oh I’ve got a list, but I guess what really matters is that they’re not intense. Cause I’m plenty intense for the both of us.”
James gave a snort at that, the corner of his mouth tugging into a slight smile.
"Intense, huh?" He repeated dryly.
That was definitely one way to describe you. Intense, stubborn... a royal pain in his ass. But he wouldn't have you any other way.
"So you don't like intense guys. Noted."
He tried to sound casual, like the conversation wasn't slowly veering into dangerous territory. That he wasn't actually taking mental notes.
"Okay, what about... looks?"
He was pushing it and he knew it, but James couldn't stop himself from asking.
He told himself it was only curiosity - after all, you were a grown woman now, a lot could have changed since the last time you talked like this.
But another part of him just wanted to know.
“Since when are you so interested in my likes?” you tilted your head with an amused expression.
James coughed, shifting in his seat like he was suddenly uncomfortable.
"I'm just..." he started, but the excuse died in his throat.
Just what?
He sounded ridiculous, asking questions about your type of guys like he had any sort of right to know.
"Just curious, alright?" his tone was defensive. Trying too hard not to care.
He rubbed his thumb against the edge of his coffee mug nervously without realizing it.
You hummed in response, lips still quirked in an amused way at his nervousness.
“Tell you what, you ditch the hermit life and go out for a night, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
James stiffened at the suggestion.
His first instinct was to shoot it down. Tell you to forget it, he had work and stuff to do, no time for going out.
But then he glanced at you.
You looked relaxed and unguarded for once, sitting on that stool with the shop lights behind you, amusement dancing in your eyes.
You looked.. so different yet the exact same. And... maybe he didn't want to refuse your offer after all.
Summary: After Bucky gets injured on a mission, your secret gets exposed.
Author's note: This is my 400 followers celebration. Thank you all for this! I can't stress how happy I am!
Thank you to my babies @herejustforbuckybarnes @w1nter-fairy for betareading, but all mistakes are still mine.<3
“I’ll be home soon,” He kissed your cheek before taking his last coffee sip.
“That’s what you said last week, and you were gone for three days.” He sighed.
“I know, sweetheart. But what can I do?” You wanted to fight back, but you knew he was right.
“Just promise me you’ll come back safe and sound.” You pouted as he hugged you by the shoulders.
“As I always do.”
You nodded and saw him walking away to prepare his gear suit.
You sat on the kitchen bar while you continued scrolling on your phone.
This was your life. The life you had chosen to have by his side since you met. Since the first date, he told you who he was, what he had done—that he worked alone, and the only man he trusted was Sam. And then, the whole undercover as a Congressman appeared, and they drifted away, making you even more alone than you were before.
Sam always took care of you, and he invited Sarah over very often, but after that, it was only you, the neighbors who caught you on your daily walk, and that was it.
He came back to the kitchen and saw you lost in your thoughts.
“Something wrong?” He leaned, hauling you between his arms, and you shook your head.
“C’mon, sweetie. I know something is haunting your thoughts. Talk to me.”
You furrowed, “Do you think there will be a reconciliation with Sam?”
He kissed your temple and left his lips there for a minute, “Not really. He’s still very mad about this whole Thunderbolts thing. And he’s kinda right, but I need to keep an eye on them if Valentina’s still behind them.”
You turned around and hugged him by the waist, “I’m just tired of being here alone—and Sarah keeps asking to come, but I don’t want to make Sam more upset by her bringing the kids.”
His lips were resting on your crown while he furrowed.
“You know you’re not a secret just because. This is for your protection, mine, even your smelly cat. I don’t want to lose you.”
“Don’t call Alpine smelly, that’s why she hates you.”
“Well, if she weren’t smelly, I wouldn’t call her that way.”
He scooped you into his arms before you could answer.
“Now, let me have some of this before I leave to deal with those shitheads.”
He tossed you carefully in your bed and knelt between your legs, unzipping his jeans.
“Bucky! You’ll be late.”
“And what are they gonna do? Start without me?”
He lifted your dress and hooked a finger in your panties just to slide them aside. His throbbing length leaked already while he towered over you. His dog tags hanging by his neck, while he positioned himself at your entrance, his tip slowly kissed your entrance.
“Maybe when I get back, we could start planning about that baby you told me last night you wanted.”
He slid inside slowly. Your inner walls clenched at the feeling.
“I was… not serious.” You pinched your eyes closed when he started to thrust slowly. His arms now fell to your sides, and he started to peck your cheeks.
“No, you weren’t. This is the third time you’ve mentioned how much you want to be full of me. How much you would love to have some super babies…” He chuckled.
You bit your lip and grasped his hard gear suit from behind.
“What do you think? When I come back, we can talk about you getting rid of that damn birth control.”
“Not with you going on missions every week.” You scolded.
“I’ll deal with that the moment we learn you’re expecting our first child.” He rolled his hips carefully.
“First? How many does Sergeant Barnes want?”
“Old style, baby. As many as you want to give me.” You laughed and looked at him.
“You’re crazy.”
He finally spurted his seed within you and scrambled into your arms, but before even slowing his hips, he straightened out and started circling your clit, “I’m not leaving until you give me one.”
“I gave you one already in the morning,” You whined, clutching the blanket under you.
“But I need one before I leave.”
You faded as soon as the orgasm started to wash over you.
“I promise I’ll be back soon,” he said, kissing your lips. “See you tonight.”
When he finally slipped out, you missed the contact between your thighs.
“Leaving already?” You pouted, coming down from your peak.
“Tonight, I promise.”
You sighed and saw him leaving.
“Gear up,” Walker said, tossing a tablet at Bucky, “We are leaving in twenty.”
“I’m not leaving nowhere.” Bucky furrowed, looking at the tablet.
“Something came up, and unless you want us to leave alone. You’re coming with us.”
He sighed and started to read the information on the tablet.
“And what the hell are you wearing now? A woman’s perfume?”
He barely twitched a smile in the corner of his lips when he remembered the way your arms hugged him while he thrusted against you.
“Mind your damn business, Walker.”
He said, walking to the Quinjet.
It was supposed to be easy. Just some document retrieval—and somehow a one-day mission became a two-day shift he couldn’t skip.
He had been texting you, letting you know he was doing fine and we’d be home as soon as possible, but a bad manoeuvre on Walker’s side provoked a bullet to rip through Bucky’s gear suit. Alexei and Walker carried him to the car and rushed to the nearest hospital.
He was bleeding and almost unconscious—his phone kept ringing nonstop.
And then, you received the phone call.
Your last name came through the phone.
“Speaking.” You were sitting on the couch trying to get a hold of Bucky.
“Mr. Barnes got you listed as an emergency contact. Is that correct, ma’am?”
You sighed and stood up immediately. He had prepared you for this. You always knew this was a possibility.
She gave you the location, and without thinking much, you hurried yourself to the hospital where he was.
When you came into the hospital, you recognized his team there.
They didn’t even bat an eye at you. Why would they? They didn’t even know what kind of life Bucky had outside the tower.
You walked to the reception bay.
“Good afternoon,” you took out your ID and said your name, “I was called for the patient James Buchanan Barnes.”
Walker nudged Yelena’s shoulder as soon as he heard you asking for Bucky.
“Oh, you’re listed as his wife. Is that correct, ma’am?”
You nodded and smiled.
“Wait, wait, wait—” Yelena rushed, “I don’t know who this girl is, but she’s not Barnes’ wife. He’s not married.”
The nurse furrowed. He had warned you before this could happen, so you were prepared. You took your marriage certificate from your bag and showed it to the nurse.
“It looks pretty real to me,” She directed to Yelena.
“She doesn’t even have his last name!”
“Well, he’s Bucky Barnes. It was for protection—” you interjected.
Walker nodded with a thinking pout.
"I’m gonna validate this, but in the meantime, she’s got all right to be in the room with him.”
“How’s he doing?” You went back.
“He’s doing fine, his recovery is fast, and he will be out tomorrow. He just needs to rest.”
“Can I see him?” She nodded, but Yelena stopped you by your wrist.
“Are you really letting her into Bucky Barnes’ hospital room without any vigilance?”
You sighed, “Yelena, if you want, you all can come. I don’t care.”
Yelena tilted at the team, and the four of them walked behind you. The nurse escorted you all to Bucky’s hospital room. He was already awake when the nurse motioned for you to come in.
“Sweetheart, what are you doing here?”
“Sweetheart?!” They all shouted in unison.
Bucky sighed while you walked to his bed.
“Well, they called me. They never do, this had to be something important if I was called.” You stroked his hair, and he furrowed.
“I’m fine. Walker’s an idiot and didn’t cover as I damned asked for.”
“Stop right there. Yes. I can be the most imbecile, I can be whatever you want, but you’re not going to make it like this is nothing, Barnes.” Walker walked and motioned to you immediately.
He grunted and kissed your knuckles. “Yes, I’m married. We’ve been together for almost five years now, but we got married last year.”
“Five years?! And you didn’t mind telling us about it before?!” Yelena chimed in.
“It was better that way. I was still on a dubious legal status when we got together, and didn’t want to make such a fuss about it.”
“And he calls her ‘sweetheart’, by the way,” Bob said, shyly.
You giggled. “I told you that you needed to be kinder to them.” You stroked his hair again.
“And she’s a sweetheart!” Bob was still amused by you.
“Shoot.” Bucky sat in the armrest, and you stood up next to him, leaning on his body, his arm wrapped around your hip.
“How?!” Alexei chipped.
“We met accidentally.” Bucky answered immediately, you nudged his side, “We met at a bar, Sam pushed me to ask her for her number, and somehow she accepted it.”
“Why?!” Ava asked you directly. You chuckled.
“He was nice. He’s softer than you think.”
“No, I’m not.” Bucky mumbled. Really trying to keep his stern figure in front of them.
You rolled your eyes and motioned them to continue.
“Where do you live?!” Alexei continued the interrogation.
“Uh… Brooklyn?” You tilted your head, and Yelena pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Did you really just ask for that?!”
“Were you planning to tell us?” Bob fidgeted while he asked.
“Not really,” Bucky said shyly, and you scolded him with your eyes. “Yeah. We were planning to, but not so soon.”
You smiled.
“Is she always this sweet?”
“Don’t know how,” Bucky admitted.
“Are you planning on having kids?!” Alexei asked, and everyone scolded him immediately.
“What? We need to know if we’re having more mini winter soldiers!”
“That’s a plan, but not… in the foreseeable future.”
A ring on your phone took you out of the conversation.
‘Wilson.’
Bucy furrowed as soon as he saw it.
“Did you tell him? Did he answer you?!” Bucky was perplexed.
“Well, I was worried—and needed some help. Who do you think took me to the hospital?!”
“Wilson knows?!” Yelena seemed surprised.
“Yes. He was our witness; his best man, Sarah, his sister, was my maid of honor and witness, too. Since Bucky didn’t want a lot of people involved, we were just four and my family.”
“Does your family approve of him?” Ava really tried not to sound harsh.
“They love him. My mom loves to have him around.”
“This is too much,” Bob said and walked away, “But… I guess welcome to the family?”
“Thank you, Bob.” You smiled fondly at him, and he was pretty impressed by it.
“Now, do you have any other questions for my wife, or can we leave for home now?”
Alexei lifted his hand.
“I’m not answering any question about my sexual life to you, Alexei.”
And as soon as he lifted it, he put it down.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He mumbled in your ear, and you shook your head.
“It’s fine, honey. But I gotta go, I need to pick up Alpine, she must be ruining all Sam’s couches.”
“Who the hell’s Alpine?” Ava questioned.
“Our cat!” You took out your phone. Your lockscreen showed your courthouse wedding. Bucky was wearing a black suit, while you had a long but simple bridal dress.
“Very domestic from you, Barnes.” Walker teased, and Bucky threw daggers at him immediately.
Then you finally showed a photo of Bucky and you holding Alpine.
“She’s the cutest. I’ll bring her soon so you can all meet her!”
Bucky shook his head and guided you to the sliding door.
“See you, guys! Nice to meet you!” You said as he walked you out.
“I knew he smelled different.” Walker nodded, pursing his lips.
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Do you think Bucky ever heard Steve tell the story of how the serum supposedly only enhances what is already there to start with, that good becomes great and bad becomes evil? And do you think he wondered why, when Steve took the serum, his best friend ended up as a superhero? And when Bucky took it, he ended up murdering countless people?
Would bet hydra probably used that logic against him a fair few times as well…
Summary: For the first few months you worked with the avengers, they barely knew you. Beyond what you were like during a mission, you were a mystery to them. It was truly marvelous how well you worked with the team and yet there was so little they knew about you.
You barely went to team bonding and you NEVER went to Tony Stark's parties. Well, not until last night. And you’re never going again.
A/N: this is the longest thing I’ve written, WHOOPS. I couldn’t stop with this one so hope some of y’all enjoy it! Ps: no I don’t know what card game Steve and Bucky are playing, make believe (shrugs) beta read by my friend @whats-yesterday00
It’s official. You’re never leaving your room again.
Not after what happened last night.
From this moment forward you are not leaving your room. No matter the reason. No matter how much they beg.
Actually that’s a lie, you would have to leave your room at some point.
But you’re going to camp out in your room for as long as possible.
There’s a chance that if you do leave your room, and risk running into him, you’ll melt into a pile of goo on the floor. Or maybe you’d implode from the mortification.
Either way, you shouldn’t risk it.
You should just revert to the old version of you. The girl that didn’t ever leave her room. Was too intimidated by the other avengers to spend time with them. The girl who — even though you had been given a warm welcome — didn’t feel like part of the team yet.
For the first few months you worked with the avengers, they barely knew you. Beyond what you were like during a mission, you were a mystery to them. It was truly marvelous how well you worked with the team and yet there was so little they knew about you.
Steve would occasionally organize team bonding events. After you joined, Steve planned them more frequently. A subtle way to get you to open up to them.
Sometimes you would attend. Key word, sometimes.
Usually, it would take some convincing from a few of them. Like when Sam would crack some jokes about how this week you HAD to be there because they were doing XYZ and so on. At some point you’d feel guilty for missing it and show up only to sit there quietly the whole time. You’d speak when spoken to, but never intentionally join a conversation.
A majority of the time, you wouldn’t feel up for socializing and gave some excuse as to why you’re not feeling well. Steve never pushed you to show, but his eyes grew soft with concern whenever you told him you couldn’t attend.
But, at some point, the Avengers noticed a change in you. You stopped turning down bonding events and started actually participating. They would find you hanging out in the lounge more often or sticking around to watch movies.
After a long and brutal game of Uno during game night, they were all left surprised by how excited and competitive you were. The game ended with a stare down between you and Clint.
You were still a relatively shy person, just more willing to open up and be yourself around them. None of them knew what caused this sudden change, but few of them had their theories.
The first time you were tempted to leave your room was about two months after you started living in the compound.
You were standing on the only chair available in your room which happened to be the swivel desk chair. Was it the safest way to hang up your room decor? Probably not. But you wanted to decorate your walls and this was the only way to do it.
Your arms were starting to grow tired. One hand was holding up the poster, desperately trying to keep it straight, while the other was trying to rip off a piece of tape.
Somehow the chair moved just the right way and you lost your balance. You stumbled to the floor and took the chair with you.
“Shit!” You loudly groaned after landing on your side with a thump.
As you carefully stood back up, you heard a voice from the other side of your door.
“You okay in there?”
Your stomach dropped at the realization someone heard you fall. The urge to ignore the voice was strong, but you also knew they were just trying to check on you.
With a slight limp, you approached the door and opened it. Behind it was a concerned Bucky Barnes. Up until now, you’d never gotten this close of a look at him before. You never noticed how blue his eyes actually were. It was almost hypnotizing the way you were so easily lost in them as he stared back at you.
“Are you alright? I heard a crash.”
You blinked back to reality. “Yeah I’m fine. I fell trying to put up a poster,” you gestured towards it- now discarded (and thankfully not ripped) on the ground.
He peeked inside to see the fallen chair and poster. “Want some help?”
His kind gesture shouldn’t have surprised you. There was no indication Bucky Barnes was a bad guy. He was a great partner to work with in the field and his friends spoke very highly of him. But it did surprise you because outside of that, you never really had the chance to actually interact with him.
You also heard a notorious amount of grumpy old man jokes from Sam that you didn’t exactly know how to interpret.
“Yeah sure,” you nodded.
He followed behind and entered your room. He examined the decorations you managed to put up in the time you’ve been living there.
There were various music and movie posters of pop culture he mostly didn’t recognize. There were fake plants littered all around the room, scattered on different surfaces. The shelves were also covered with books. Rows and rows of books, that would’ve taken him years to get through. Close to the ceiling were strings of lights that gave the room a soft warm glow.
While he stood in the quiet of your room he noticed the faint music playing in the background. His face grew with curiosity as he looked around for where the sound was coming from.
“What song is that?”
You walked to your desk and grabbed the chair off the floor. “I’m not sure. It’s a playlist of old music I found online. Sometimes I like to put on old music from the 30s and 40s to have as background noise.”
You pointed to a YouTube video playing on your computer.
“You like old music?” He inquired, looking slightly surprised.
“Yeah, but I don’t know much about it,” you shrugged. “I don’t know what was popular back then or have any favorites.”
He glanced at the video playing on your computer, “I could give you some recommendations if you want.”
“Really?” you asked with growing enthusiasm.
The corners of his mouth threatened to perk up. “Yeah why not? If you wanna get into that type of music. Who better to learn it from?”
“That sounds great,” you said with a shy smile.
The realization dawned on you that now you were both just standing in the quiet of your room. You grabbed the poster and cleared your throat to grab his attention.
“Oh right,” he mumbled, looking a bit flustered and ran a hand through his short hair. “Where did you want to hang it?”
“Up here,” You pointed to the empty space on the wall next to your desk.
He took the poster from you and carefully stepped on the chair as you held it still. He placed it against the wall, following your directions for where to hang it. You handed him a few pieces of tape and he slowly flattened out the poster before sticking it to the wall. When he was finished, he stepped off the chair and took a step back with you to get a proper look at it. The picture hung high above your desk. A starry sky with a collection of different constellations.
“It looks nice. I like what you’ve done with your room,” he complimented.
“Thanks. And thank you for helping.”
“It was no problem. Wouldn’t want you breaking a bone from falling off a chair,” he lightly teased.
You started to blush at the embarrassing reminder. “Please don’t tell anyone about that.”
Bucky pressed his pointer finger and thumb to his lips and ran them across his mouth, showing you his lips are sealed.
After he left, you admired the poster on the wall, listening to the music still playing in the background. The image of him still fresh in your mind.
Bucky was nicer than you expected. Not that you expected him to be an asshole. But he was one of the few Avengers you hesitated to talk to because they were a bit intimidating outside of work. Bucky had a consistent glare or grumpy look on his face that kept you at arm's length.
The day after the poster situation when you made yourself coffee in the morning, someone stopped near you and waited for their turn to use the coffee machine.
“Hey, I made that song list I was telling you about.”
You looked to see Bucky standing next to you and digging something out of his back pocket. He handed you a folded piece of notebook paper.
“Most of them are from the 30s and early 40s, songs I used to listen to. But I also included some late 40s and 50s songs I was introduced to after the war and … everything.”
When you took the paper from him your stomach swirled with something you haven’t felt in a long time.
“Thanks,” you replied sweetly, “I’ll give them a listen later.”
He offered you a small smile before filling his mug with coffee.
That was probably the first time you started to see through his tough exterior and he let his real self shine through the cracks.
_____
After that day you started to pay more attention to Bucky. In the field, in the compound. Just in general.
While you still didn’t spend much time with the team, in the brief moments that you did, your attention would drift towards him. You were more aware of his presence when he was near.
And you did in fact give the songs he recommended a listen. You listened to them quite often actually.
You were still listening to those songs weeks later.
You were in the kitchen listening to your new “oldies” playlist. It was late in the night and you needed to focus on something that wasn’t the chaos swarming in your brain. So, you decided to break out the baking supplies and royal icing you bought weeks ago.
As you flattened out the dough with a rolling pin a figure appeared from the dimly lit hallway.
“What are you doing?” Bucky asked once he noticed your presence. His voice was laced with sleep.
“Making cookies,” you answered, grabbing the cookie cutters.
He walked closer to the kitchen island and leaned his forearms on the counter. “Why are you making cookies at one in the morning?”
“Stress baking.”
There was a pause as he watched you cut flower shapes out of the dough.
“Can’t sleep?”
You shrugged without looking up, “something like that.” You didn’t feel like elaborating.
This guy you barely know definitely does not want to be hearing about how you can’t sleep from anxiety. He didn’t need to hear that after the last mission you went on with the team your brain was constantly screaming at you all the things you did wrong and could’ve done better.
“Do you do this a lot?” he gestured towards your work. "Bake in the middle of the night?”
“I have once or twice. It also helps that no one is coming and going so I get some peace and quiet.”
Bucky visibly tensed at your explanation, “sorry I ruined it.”
Your head perked up immediately to prove him wrong. “It’s alright, you didn’t.”
He looked relieved to hear that.
“What are you making?”
“Sugar cookies, but I’m gonna put icing on when they’re done.” You placed the cut out dough on the baking sheet.
Your stomach coiled with nerves before speaking again. “I could save you some. If you want,” you said in a quieter voice.
His eyes softened and he smiled at you. “That’d be great.”
As you continued placing cookie dough on the sheet, he walked over the fridge to fetch what he came down to the kitchen for.
Now that the room was quiet, he could fully process the music that was playing in the background. For a moment, he stared at the inside of the fridge as he listened to the beginning notes of the next song.
He finally grabbed the bottle of water and closed the fridge door before eyeing you with a quirked brow.
“Billie Holiday?”
You looked up from the cookies in confusion. You momentarily registered the song playing in the background was “What a Little Moonlight Can Do” by Billie Holiday. One of the songs from the list he gave you.
“Oh yeah I finally made my own playlist. Most of the songs are the ones you gave me,” you grabbed the baking sheet and carefully placed it in the oven.
“You liked the songs?” His voice sounded like it had a hint of surprise.
You nodded as the corners of your mouth perked into a grin. “I do yeah. They’re really good. It’s different from the normal stuff I listen to but it’s really growing on me.”
Joy inched its way onto his face as he listened to you. “That’s great. I’m glad.”
You leaned back against the counter and took off the apron you were wearing. “You have good taste in music.”
The ends of his ears turned red, “Thanks.”
Silence returned to the kitchen. you both stood there not knowing what to say next. The air between you was thick, like you wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words.
The song continued playing in the background, almost taunting you.
You’re in love
You’re hearts a flutter
And all day long,
You only stutter
How dare Billie Holiday tease you right now with him in the same room. Who gave her the permission to take a peek into your heart and put it on display in front of him.
The music was disrupted by Bucky clearing his throat, “well, I should go back to my room.”
You shoved your hands in your pockets, “hope you get some sleep.”
He nodded before making his way out of the kitchen and walking down the hall.
A few seconds after you were sure he left, you took a long deep breath. You stood there grappling with the fact that you definitely were starting to feel something for him.
Something strong.
Something you couldn’t get rid of.
The next morning you stood on the other side of Bucky’s door with a small plastic container in your hands.
This was starting to feel silly. You’ve stared down countless criminals and kicked the crap out of them. But this was making you nervous.
With a shaky hand you finally knocked, and hoped that he was actually in his room.
It took only a brief moment for Bucky to answer. He must have just showered. His hair was a bit messy, slightly damp and he smelled nice. He was wearing one of those black compression shirts that hugged his muscles all the right ways.
It should be illegal for him to look that good.
“Hey, what’s up?” He asked, surprised to see you.
His question paused your ogling and brought your attention back to why you were there in the first place.
“I saved some cookies for you,” you offered him the tupperware.
Bucky’s eyes softened as he glanced between you and the dessert. He took the container from you and opened the lid, looking down with a smile at the flower cookies with purple, yellow and pink frosting.
“Thanks, they look amazing,” he complimented. “Hope you didn’t stay up all night making them.”
You shrugged, “It’s fine, I ended up getting some sleep. It helped me clear my mind.”
Only because something else obsessively invaded your thoughts. Someone that cleared away the anxiety from your job.
_____
As the weeks rolled by, you started to leave the sanctity of your bedroom and brave the common areas.
Was it because of Bucky? Maybe.
You found yourself intrigued by the man. And it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes.
That’s why you slowly but surely started to hang out with them more. You needed an excuse to be around him.
It was almost embarrassing how much your crush on Bucky was affecting you. You were so worried about talking to the other teammates, yet desperately wanted to talk to him. Even if it was for a fleeting moment.
The team took notice of your increased presence around the compound. Some were quiet about it, others weren’t, and loved to tease you.
In a weird way, the teasing made you feel more welcomed. Like you were really part of the team.
“Well well well,” Sam started with a smirk as he walked into the gym. “Look who’s training while the sun’s still out.”
You froze in the middle of wrapping your hands to look up at him, Bucky, and Steve about to start their workout.
”I’m not nocturnal Sam,” you joked back.
Usually, you would visit the gym at night before you went to sleep while no one else was there. As of lately, you had a slight change in routine.
“Could’ve fooled me. I heard that you bake in the middle of the night.”
Your eyebrows raised at his comment, “How’d you know that?”
“Little birdie told me.” his grin couldn’t get any wider.
You looked to the only possible suspect. Bucky’s eyes quickly averted from you as his ears turned pink.
Steve shook his head with a smile at his two friends. He tapped Sam’s shoulder before making his way to the bench, “c’mon quit bothering her.”
Sam playfully rolled his eyes at Steve before pointing in your direction, “I better see you at game night later.”
You shrugged, “Maybe I could stop by.”
“You better stop by. We’re breaking out Uno,” he beamed before following behind Steve.
You smiled to yourself as he left and finished wrapping your hands. Before you could hit the punching bag, you realized Bucky didn’t leave to join Sam and Steve.
“You want some help?” he offered while pointing towards the bag.
You nodded as nerves turned your stomach. “Yeah sure.”
He walked closer to the punching bag, held it, and prepared for you to strike.
You exhaled and prepped your stance while staring at the bag in front of you. Your punches started off weak and hesitant — mostly because of his presence — before you slowly relaxed and drew more of your strength.
Besides Sam and Steve, another Avenger that always tried to rope you into social functions was Tony. Occasionally he would throw some party for a holiday or even for no special reason, simply because he wanted to.
The only party of his that you attended was the first one he threw after you joined. Only because he didn’t give you much of a choice. After that, you never attended another Stark party.
Well, until last night.
“I’m going all out for this one. Thor’s coming back to earth and man does that guy like to party,” Tony boasted about his plans for the weekend in the lounge. Or what would soon become last night's party.
You silently sat in the corner of the couch “reading” a book. Well, you were reading but now you were nosy and listening to the people around you. As part of your attempt to be more social with the team, you bravely chose the lounge instead of your room.
You heard earlier that Thor was returning after being away from earth for a few weeks doing some Asgardian space duties you didn’t know the details of.
“Don’t set anything on fire this time,” Wanda teased before taking a sip from her mug.
Tony spun on his heel to point at her. “That was not me!”
A few chuckles could be heard throughout the room, even a quiet one from you. You’d heard the same story from three different people about how Tony swears it wasn’t his fault that his drink spilled and caused a small electrical fire.
“Regardless, it’s going to be amazing and I better see you all there on Friday,” he then pointed at Bucky playing cards with Steve. “And that means you Barnes. Don’t think I forgot you missed out last time.”
”Looks like I lucked out considering you almost burned the place down,” Bucky quipped back without looking up from his cards.
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “It wasn’t me,” he mumbled under his breath.
Steve nudged his best friend before placing another card down on the coffee table. “Come on Buck, it’ll be fun.”
Bucky gave a long stare to Steve. You noticed he tended to do that a lot. Turn a normal glare into a staring contest with Sam or Steve. A few seconds passed before he placed his next card down with a sigh. “Fine.”
Having sensed that your eyes were on him, Bucky glanced up at you from across the room. Your gaze darted away and back to your book in an instant.
Tony noticed this and walked closer to the couch, studying you trying to read. He could clearly tell you were listening in and watching. “What about you, wallflower?”
Your head perked up in confusion.
You knew he was addressing you because of the nickname. At first Steve was worried about Tony calling you that, but you actually secretly liked it. It was like the teasing, made you feel more included.
“You wanna step out of your comfort zone? Ready to mingle?”
You let the question hang in the air for a moment, contemplating your response. After hearing Bucky’s answer, the idea of attending Tony’s party was sounding more and more appealing.
“I might.”
You tried to ignore how a few sets of eyes landed on you. Including his.
“Seriously?” Tony asked, not expecting you to actually accept his invitation.
”Yes seriously, I’m considering it,” you answered with more confidence.
Tony excitedly snapped and pointed at you. “That’s a yes! You can’t take that back.”
You awkwardly smiled in return.
“Finally! I knew this day would come,” Tony cheered as he left the lounge.
You attempted to actually read your book now but felt Bucky’s gaze lingering on you. When you met his eyes, they returned to the pile of cards on the coffee table. You then finally went back to your reading.
_____
You don’t know what feels worse. The pounding headache from last night's drinks, or the anxiety pulling you apart from the inside out.
While you laid in bed, the lights were kept dim to not aggravate your headache further. You were admiring the poster Bucky helped you hang up. For so long you’d look at it and your thoughts would drift to the man who helped you hang it. Your mood would lift or your heart would flutter making you feel giddy.
Now, you wanted to rip it off your wall.
It stared back at you as a reminder of what you did last night. You couldn’t stop thinking about how it only took a little liquid courage and one single brave moment to embarrass yourself. You most likely ruined your chances of becoming real friends with him, or even something more.
There’s no way Bucky actually wants to be with you. There’s no way Bucky felt the same way, held the same admiration for you that you did for him. He’d probably be nice about it and let you down easily.
Well, he tried to let you down easily, but your fear interrupted him before he could inevitably ask you to forget about what happened. You couldn’t listen to it. You didn’t want to hear the heartbreaking reality that he didn’t want you beyond a spur of the moment fling.
You’d rather just let the whole thing blow over. Let Bucky take your silence as a signal to let this pass. Let everyone forget about it and go about their business like normal. Because words always travel fast here. And by now everyone probably fucking knew about you and Bucky.
As the hours rolled by and the sun was setting, you couldn’t ignore the fact that you ran out of the water and food stashed in your room.
You have to leave. As much as you don’t want to, you have to.
It kind of felt weird, spending all day in your room. You’d just started getting used to being around everyone, that now it felt kind of normal. You almost looked forward to the social interactions. Even if you didn’t speak a lot or join in some conversations. Just being around them felt … nice.
You rolled over in bed and reached for your phone left on the nightstand. After turning off do not disturb, the screen was flooded with notifications. Part of you was surprised that they were checking in on you considering it used to be normal for you to live like a hermit.
Natasha: Morning sleepyhead, you hungover? Feeling alright?
Clint: I got doughnuts, you better get down here before Thor wakes up and eats them all
Steve: Hey, you doing okay?
Let me know if you need anything
And 1 missed call followed by 2 texts from Bucky:
I know you’re hiding in your room
Can we talk?
You really didn’t want to talk. Because you knew he wanted to talk about last night. You weren’t ready to have that conversation yet. You weren’t ready when Bucky tried knocking on your door hours ago and you still weren’t ready now.
Maybe later tonight. Depending on your bravery.
You didn’t answer any of their messages. Just got out of bed and shoved your phone in your pocket.
You hoped there wasn’t a large crowd or any crowd period in the kitchen. But unfortunately, you weren’t so lucky. As you approached the kitchen you heard voices that only got louder as you got closer.
You stayed behind the doorway while you listened. Not exactly intentional eavesdropping. More like you froze at the realization they were talking about you.
“What the hell did I do now?” Tony complained, he sounded offended.
“You told everyone about me and Y/N,” Bucky scolded Tony, his tone sounding bitter and angry.
“Correction, I told two people last night,” Tony countered. “It’s not my fault that the gossip was so juicy it spread like wildfire.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Bucky grumbled.
“What’s unbelievable is you and your girl not making out sooner.”
You heard Bucky sigh and after a pause he quietly mumble, but it was loud enough for you to hear. “She’s not my girl.”
Those words echoed in your ears as if you heard it up close. She’s not my girl.
A suffocating ache wound itself around your chest. Your fists clenched so tight, your fingernails made an imprint on your palm.
His girl. You could only dream of being his girl.
You almost went back to your room. Almost. But you were already here, and the kitchen wouldn’t be empty for hours.
During the pause in their conversation, you passed the threshold. The room fell silent. The sound of a pin drop could bounce off the walls. You felt the tension in your bones with every single step you took.
You didn’t look any of them in the eyes. You couldn’t. Just kept your focus trained on the floor as you moved the counter.
From the cabinet, you found a large refillable water bottle to stock up and keep in your room. You waited at the fridge for it to fill.
All their eyes on you made your whole body tense. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel it. Their looks weighed like a heavy blanket and they practically saw right through you.
Steve was the first to break the silence. “How’ve you been? Are you feeling alright?”
You cleared your throat before speaking. You don’t know the last time you said something, your voice was probably hoarse. “I’m fine. Was a bit hungover this morning, didn’t feel well.”
The second the water bottle was filled, you tightened the lid and turned back to the counter where you found the box of doughnuts that Clint texted you about. With a nervous hand, you grabbed the last chocolate frosted doughnut.
You belined for the hallway, eager to leave when Bucky called your name. His voice reached through your chest cavity and squeezed your heart. You didn’t stop walking. You couldn’t speak to him. Not yet.
____________________________
“And that means you Barnes. Don’t think I forgot you missed out last time.”
Instead of actually acknowledging that he was absent during Stark’s last party, Bucky opted for poking fun at the man. He didn’t even have to look up from their card game to know that Stark was rolling his eyes or pinching his brow in frustration.
Bucky felt Steve’s elbow nudge his side before he placed another card on the coffee table. “Come on Buck, it’ll be fun,” Steve tried to encourage.
Bucky stared back at his best friend, trying to silently tell Steve that he would rather Stark actually burn down the building.
Bucky hates parties.
Actually that's a lie.
Bucky Barnes used to love parties. Before HYDRA, he used to be the life of the party. He’d be cracking jokes with his pals or going out dancing with dames. The music was loud and the excitement ran through the room and into your bloodstream, carrying you across the dance floor.
After everything that happened, he didn’t have much party left in him. It left him more reserved, more introverted. His blood ran cold now.
He always went to those team bonding things Steve organized because, well it was Steve, but they were also smaller, more intimate. He even found himself having fun. Some of the movies the team chose were weird, but some he really liked. During game nights he was more engaged then he expected he would be.
But the large parties he wished he could avoid. Now, the loud music irritated his ears. The modern music that played wasn’t to his taste and hard to dance to. The very few festivities he did attend, Steve managed to convince Tony to play one or two old songs from the 40s or at least the 50s, but that was it.
Steve stared back at him with an expression he was all too familiar with. It was the same look that Bucky would give scrawny little Stevie back in the day when he tried to convince him to join.
Bucky sighed and placed a card on the table. “Fine,” he grumbled.
In his peripheral vision, he sensed someone looking in his direction. When he turned away from their card game, he was met with your eyes. But only for a second, before they retreated back into your book.
Steve's mouth curled into a smile as he put down another card. “Who knows you might like it. And maybe your girl will go,” he whispered.
“She’s not my girl,” Bucky muttered back. The words tasted bitter in his mouth. He didn’t want a reminder that he didn’t have the luxury of calling you his girl.
From the moment you met, he knew he needed you in his life. Not just because you were pretty. And God damn it you were so pretty. But because you were enchanting.
It was like you had some magnetic pull on him he couldn’t avoid.
He’d worked with you on multiple missions because of course Steve immediately caught whiff of Bucky’s interest in you and paired you guys up. He saw first hand the power you wielded during a fight. The mysterious way you hid in the shadows and snuck up on people rivaled only him and Natasha. He almost got knocked out once because he stood there watching you attack a guard that towered over you like it was nothing.
Steve wouldn’t shut up about that for a whole week.
But when you weren’t beating up criminals or sitting in silence during mission briefings, he barely saw you. You almost never showed face at team functions and (more importantly) you never spoke to him.
He was worried you didn’t like him, or even worse you hated him. Steve and Sam tried to convince him that wasn’t true but it still never left his mind. It was still in his mind when he passed by your room and heard that crash. Bucky remained cautious, scared that you would ignore him or act coldly, but he still felt compelled to make sure you were okay.
And when he did finally get the small chances to talk to you, to see the parts of you that you often hid, he felt a thousand times lighter. Bucky saw the light in you grow brighter as you became more comfortable with the team.
In the moments you let your walls down, you shined like a diamond.
But he never saw you shine like that at Stark’s parties.
Bucky shook his head as he placed a new card, “besides, she never shows, you know that.”
Bucky noticed Stark approaching you to test the waters with an invitation for you to attend. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but then again, it isn’t exactly a private conversation. And he had enhanced hearing anyway.
“You wanna step out of your comfort zone? Ready to mingle?”
“I might.”
His head immediately snapped in your direction. He couldn’t hear what Stark asked you, he was too focused on your response.
“Yes seriously, I'm considering it.”
As of lately, you had a habit of saying you might go instead of actually saying yes. He noticed this because every single time you said ‘maybe,’ you showed up. It seemed like a way to give yourself an escape. A safety net to land in the roaring sea of anxiety.
But if you were considering it, that definitely meant you were going.
He tried to not linger on the fact that his heart rate increased the more he thought about it.
Stark seemed quite excited at your answer. “That's a yes! You can’t take that back”
You gave a bright smile in response. Bucky loved your smile. He’d go to hell and back to see you smile.
He didn’t realize he was still staring until you looked up from your book. He quickly returned his attention back to the cards in his hand.
Bucky cleared his throat, “is it my turn?”
“Nope,” Steve tried to hide the humor in his voice as he placed a winning card.
Bucky sighed while tossing his remaining cards on the table. He wasn’t too bummed about losing the game though. He was still thinking about seeing you Friday night.
_____
Steve Rogers is a traitor.
Well, at this very second he is a traitor. Because he is on the dance floor, dancing with you.
Slow dancing with you.
Bucky was watching from afar. Wait, that sounds creepy when he thinks about it like that. He was observing the party, and naturally his gaze landed on you. How could it not? In every room he entered, he looked for you.
The party had started by the time you showed up. He was in the middle of conversation with Sam when he saw you walk in by yourself, fashionably late.
He could’ve sworn his heart skipped a beat at the sight of you. The burgundy dress you wore made his head dizzy.
Bucky had a plan. He originally was going to catch you on the dance floor with a song that was easier to dance to, aka an older song. But you were already dancing with Steve and Wanda when one of those newer Sinatra songs came on. Well, new to him. A while back Natasha gave him a crash course in 20th century music after the war.
Should he be bitter and maybe just a tad jealous? No, he shouldn’t. He had all night to ask you to dance and yet he stood off to the side. Then Steve swooped in and ruined his plans.
And now the little punk was dancing with you.
Of course you wanted to dance with Steve. You were closer with him then you were with Bucky. Steve was the first person you started opening up to. And why shouldn’t you? Steve’s amazing. He’s sweet, courageous, a gentleman, someone to look up to. Hell, Bucky looked up to him. Even when Steve was that scrawny kid in Brooklyn, Bucky admired his bravery and good heart.
Steve was a good man. Bucky was a broken one.
“Oh no, who’s victim to your impenetrable stare now?” Natasha asked as she approached him.
“I’m not staring,” he mumbled, pushing off from where he was leaning on the bar and turned his back to the dance floor.
“Sure, and Tony isn’t drunk.”
“Got the fire extinguisher on deck?” He downed the rest of his drink and left the glass on the bar.
She chuckled, “yup.” Natasha walked around behind the counter and grabbed herself a fresh wine glass. “You know, if you ask her to dance, she’ll say yes.”
Bucky hated it when she saw right through him. For a woman with no enhanced abilities, Natasha sure had a way of reading people.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve been watching her all night, Barnes.”
He cringed, “It sounds creepy when you put it like that.”
Natasha shook her head and smiled as she continued to pour herself a glass of red wine. “Then don’t put so much distance between yourselves. Maybe actually talk to her, ask her to dance.”
“She’s already dancing with Steve,” he answered, looking down at the counter.
She raised an eyebrow at him in fake confusion. “That’s not jealousy I hear, is it?”
“I’m not jealous,” Bucky quickly rebutted. He paused while his jaw clenched. “I just don’t wanna bother her.”
Natasha sighed as she put the bottle away. “You don’t bother her. Believe me.”
He crossed his arms, “how would you know that?”
She carefully swirled the red liquid in her glass. “The same way I know that you’ve wanted to dance with her all night.”
Bucky stared at her with annoyance and disbelief written all over his face. Natasha stared back at him with a slight smirk knowing she was right.
Their staring contest was abruptly interrupted by Thor stumbling towards the bar.
“Romanoff! Barnes! How are you enjoying the festivities?” Thor beamed. Bucky couldn’t tell if Thor was just that excited or if he was bordering on intoxicated.
”I’ve been having a wonderful night but“ —Natasha gestured towards Bucky— “I don’t think he’s in a partying mood.”
Thor looked at him with a slight pout. Yeah he was probably a bit intoxicated, Bucky thought.
”That sounds terrible. We need to fix that right away.” Thor rushed to the cabinet to grab a fancy looking bottle and two clean short glasses. He set the bottle on the counter across from Bucky and waved a hand behind it to show it off.
“I brought this back from my most recent trip to Asgard. It has aged for a thousand years. It’s too strong for mortal men, but you my friend” —he patted Bucky on the shoulder— “are well suited for it.”
Thor poured some of the drink into each glass and pushed one closer to Bucky. “This should help raise your spirits.”
He stared at the honey colored liquid hesitantly before picking it up. “Thanks pal.” He offered a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Thor raised his drink to the man across from him. Bucky took another look before raising his drink and clinking it with Thors. He took a sip and found it to be sweeter than he expected.
It was also much stronger than he expected.
Thanks to the discount super serum he received, he couldn’t get drunk. Bucky hasn’t been drunk since 1945, the last time he went out to a bar with the howling commandos.
After two and a half of whatever that Norse drink was, he was starting to get that dizzying buz he hasn’t felt in decades. He wasn’t as drunk as Thor or Tony were, but he was feeling more confident than he had been earlier in the night.
He wouldn’t bother to hide the glances he threw your way. At some point he got rid of his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. If someone asked if he did that because he was warm or because he wanted to show off to you, he wouldn’t have answered. But it was pretty clear when he noticed you looking at him and he would stand up straighter or flex his arms.
Then of course when you caught his eyes he winked at you and then smiled when he saw how bashful you looked.
Bucky was definitely having a better night than before. And it just kept getting better the more he interacted with you.
His favorite —but also least favorite— part of the night was when he accidentally ran into you.
He was leaving the bathroom at the same time you were. As he turned the corner he stumbled into your side, not expecting you to be there. As Bucky collided with you, you yelped and almost fell down yourself.
“Shit, I’m so sorry,” he apologized as he tried to regain his balance.
You grabbed onto his arm and helped him stand straight. “It’s fine, no worries.”
His chest ached at the feeling of your hands on his bicep.
A look of confusion crossed your face before you asked, “are you drunk?”
”No.”
You raised an eyebrow at him; your expression screaming that you don’t believe him.
“Maybe,” he mumbled.
You scoffed and let go of his arm, cautiously as you made sure he wasn’t going to fall over. “I thought guys like you and Steve couldn’t get drunk.”
“We can’t. But Thor gave me this funky Asgardian beer.” Bucky's words slurred together as he explained.
“I think it’s mead.”
He looked baffled, “what’s mead?”
You shook your head amused, “not beer.”
He scoffed and pointed an accusatory finger at you. “Don’t talk like I can't smell the tequila on your breath,” he joked.
You playfully swatted at his arm away using very little force. “Shut up, it’s the first time I’ve let loose in a long time.”
He loved seeing you riled up. You looked so adorable.
”You should do it more often.”
”Drink?
“No, come to these stupid parties,” he gestured down the hall to where music was coming from.
“I will if you’ll be there,” you replied in a sweet tone. You sounded more forward than he was used to. He was a bit surprised but decided to lean into it.
“Is that a promise?”
“Maybe.”
“Good,” Bucky smiled as he remembered what it meant when you said maybe to plans.
He hoped you would keep showing up. He’d go to every single one of those dumb parties if he knew he’d see you there.
“I like seeing you like this. More social, having fun. No more hiding in your room.”
“I didn’t hide,” you protested, even though you knew he was right.
“You avoided us like the plague,” he countered. “For a while I thought you didn’t like me,”
Your jaw dropped at his confession. “You thought I didn’t like you?” Your voice sounded both a bit worried and surprised.
“You never spoke to me!”
“I gave you cookies!”
“But that was like-“ he paused to do the mental math, “three months after we met. Before that I wasn’t sure.”
You relaxed as you settled with the information. “Okay, but it wasn’t just you. I didn’t talk to anybody,” you answered with a shrug.
“And look at you now.” He gestured to you with a small smile of admiration. “Going to parties, spending time with us. You looked like you were really having fun.”
Your eyes lit up with a look of realization as you leaned back against the wall. “Wow, you were watching me?” You teased him.
Bucky should’ve known that would come and bite him in the ass, again.
“I wouldn’t say watching.”
You squinted at him, that glimmer still present in your eyes, “hmm sounds like you were.
“I can’t help it, not when you look like that,” he said in a sultry voice.
You tilted your head, “like what?”
Bucky licked his lips as he fully took you in. Even as your makeup took the toll of the night, you still looked perfect to him. Your eyeliner was a bit smudged and your lips still shimmered from the left over gloss. He gazed down at your dress, it had a flowy skirt that hid some of your curves but a slit down the side that gave him a view of your leg.
“Like the most beautiful woman at this party.”
You rolled your eyes at him. “Come on,” you playfully dismissed his compliment.
Bucky took a step closer to you. “I’m serious, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” he continued as his voice got lower.
Your cheeks turned pink and your voice raised in pitch, “you’re such a flirt, Barnes.”
“Maybe,” he returned with a smirk. “Doesn’t change the fact that you are breathtaking.”
Now your face was crimson. You tried to bite back a giddy smile but he could see right through you.
“Stop being so sweet, it’s making me want to kiss you.”
Bucky's heart pounded in his ears and he felt his face start to heat up. He desperately hoped you weren’t kidding.
He quickly glanced at your lips and leaned closer. “Oh yeah? What’s stopping you?”
Your eyes slightly widened at his question, like you weren’t expecting him to take you so seriously. He watched the contemplation in your features as you stared back at him.
Hidden behind his confident exterior, Bucky’s stomach was churning as he awaited your response. Even with the alcohol swimming through his bloodstream, he still had a lingering cloud of anxiety telling him you really didn’t want to kiss him. Telling him that you didn’t want him.
“Right now?” You whispered. You looked up at him with those doe eyes that made him weak in the knees.
Your gaze darted between his and lingered on his lips. “Nothing,” you breathed before capturing his lips in yours.
Bucky was taken by surprise at your forwardness, his lips froze for a split second before moving in rhythm with yours. You reached up, placing your hands on his neck and face. He sighed against your mouth as you pulled him down closer to you, desperate to taste him.
Bucky’s hands traveled up and down your hips, starved for more of your touch. His metal hand settled at your waist while his right hand slipped past the slit in your dress and grabbed at your thigh. You leaned into him, your back arching off the wall you were pressed up against and your leg wrapped around his, pulling him closer. He continued to paw at your thigh, his hand sneaking higher and higher, finding its place on your ass. A soft moan escaped you, trapped against Bucky’s lips. The sound tasted like heaven to him.
Asgardian alcohol was nothing compared to the intoxicating drink that was you. Bucky was lost in the touch, the smell, the feel of you. He breathed you in like it was his first breath of fresh air in years.
It was like the earth stopped spinning just for you two. Time was put on pause and there in that secluded hallway, you and Bucky were the only people in the world.
Of course, you were in fact not the only people in the world, let alone that party. While your lips were still interlocked and hands grabbing at each other, footsteps inched closer.
Immediately you pulled away from each other at the startled gasp of, “holy shit!”
Bucky and you froze in horror at the man across the hall.
Neither of you noticed Tony approaching around the corner. He stared at you with shock written all over his face, which then transformed into a cheeky grin.
“Wow, and to think you two almost didn’t show up.” He pointed at both of you, “If you guys get married, I better get credit in your vows.”
“Stark,” Bucky warned in a sharp tone, staring daggers at the man in question.
Tony raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t mind me. Please, go back to eating each other's faces.” He chuckled before retreating down the hall back to the party.
Bucky sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Even after he cut it he couldn’t shake the habit.
He couldn’t look you in the eyes yet, still too flustered. “He’s such an ass,” he joked, shaking his head.
You fixed your hair and offered a nervous smile. “Yeah, I know,” you mumbled.
The air in the room wasn’t the same after Tony walked in. The realization of what you were doing had caught up to both of you. Bucky had wanted to kiss you long before now, he just never expected it to be a spur of the moment first kiss.
That doesn’t mean he regretted it. Not one bit.
“We should probably return to the party.” Bucky cleared his throat, “listen I know it might be a bit awkward when we get back but, I wanted to ask if-“
”I’m sorry, I um,” you interrupted with a slight panic in your voice.
“I’m gonna go. Have a good rest of your night Bucky,” you excused yourself with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.
Bucky watched you shuffle away and down the hall, in the opposite direction of the party. His posture deflated as his stare lingered from where you left. He tried to ignore the slight ache in his chest but it stayed, infecting his heart like a poison.
Finally when he had the chance and nerve to ask you to dance, you ran away.
_____
From when he returned to the party to the next morning when he woke up, that ache didn’t fully go away. It became quieter, more tolerable to deal with. But still present.
He tried to dilute it with reasonable answers. You might have still been flustered from being caught in the hallway. You might have been more drunk than he thought and didn’t feel well.
But his train of thought always returned to anxiety and doubt. The voice in the back of his head that told him you didn’t want to be seen with him. You were embarrassed to be seen kissing him. The voice that screamed he wasn’t good enough and you would never have feelings for him.
For now he would shove down those left over doubts. Try to ignore them the best he could.
Unfortunately that wasn’t an option when he was hounded at breakfast.
When he walked in the kitchen, he felt the tone change. It was subtle, but as Sam, Clint, and Yelena’s conversation died down, he sensed multiple pairs of eyes landing on him.
“So Bucky, how was your night?” Sam asked before sipping his coffee.
Bucky walked to the coffee machine and grabbed his own mug from the cabinet. “It was good,” he muttered.
Yelena spun in her chair to face him, “you had fun?”
“Sure, I guess.”
Sam quirked an eyebrow at him. “You guess?”
“Why do you care so much?” Bucky groaned as he poured a fresh cup of coffee for himself.
“No reason, just wanted to see what you thought of the party.”
Bucky shrugged, turning back around to face the group. “It was like every other party.”
“You don’t get drunk at every other party,” Sam countered in a snarky tone.
“I was not that drunk,” Bucky protested.
“Drunk enough to get freaky in the hallway?”
Sam’s question had Bucky gripping his mug so hard he almost shattered it. Anger seeped into his bloodstream that made his veins hot.
Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head. “Stark, that son of a bitch,” he grumbled under his breath.
Yelena's interest was piqued at Bucky's reaction, confirming her suspicions. “So it’s true? You and Y/N kissed?”
“Oh they did more than kiss,” Sam added.
“Sam,” Bucky warned with a sharp tone.
“Did you see him peacocking? He kept flexing his arm muscles at her and at one point I think I saw him wink. I guess all that paid off.” Clint finally added his thoughts, amusement creeping its way onto his face.
Yelena sat with a smile, still processing the information. “Wow, I didn’t think you two would get together for another month or more.”
“We’re not together,” Bucky corrected. The words tasted like a nasty poison on his tongue.
“You will be soon,” Clint insisted.
“Don’t bet on it.”
“What are you talking about? Sam asked. “You like this girl. You’ve been crushing on her for months!”
Bucky’s jaw clenched before. His stomach boiled over with the feelings he tried to push down.
He shook his head and waved them off. “Never mind.”
Yelena leaned forward, eager to understand. ”No wait, Bucky what happened?” She asked calmly, voice filled with concern.
He sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. His lips sealed shut while he stared at the floor, contemplating how honest he should be with them.
“It’s nothing. After Stark walked in on us she didn’t exactly tell me how she felt about the kiss.” Bucky nervously ran a hand through his short hair. “I tried to ask her to dance. She left before I could spit it out.”
“She’s a shy girl. She was probably overwhelmed and embarrassed.” Clint offered.
Not embarrassed because of you, Bucky tried to remind himself.
Sam stepped closer to Bucky, his tone of voice much more serious than before. “Just talk to her about it. I’m sure she feels the same way.”
Bucky looked down in his mug, the hot black coffee staring back at him. “Have any of you seen or talked to her yet? It’s still early. I don't know if she’s awake.”
”No, she hasn’t been down here yet,” Yelena answered.
Clint grabbed out his phone, “I’ll text her-“
”No, Clint,” Bucky cringed.
Clint held up a hand to him, still typing away on his screen. “Calm down, I’m telling her about the doughnuts I bought.”
Bucky’s tense shoulders relaxed at the explanation.
“Let me know if you find out she’s awake. I’d hate to wake her up just to pester her about this.” He grabbed his coffee and a doughnut for himself from the box on the counter.
“Leave a chocolate frosted,” he instructed as he walked to the lounge. “She only likes those.”
____
It’s been three days.
In the last three days, he’s seen you once. When you tip-toed into the kitchen, barely looking him in the eyes.
He already thought about you every day. He’d leave his room with anticipation, eager for the chance to see you.
Now that same anticipation had a sour taste. Bucky would go to the gym, lounge, or kitchen with hope that he would see you there. And every time he was crushed at the sight of a room without your presence.
You had gotten pretty successful at staying hidden. After that brief awkward encounter on Saturday, you made yourself completely undetectable. He should’ve known it would be an easy feat for you considering you were a spy before joining the Avengers. The only indication that you were even still in the compound were the clean dishes on the drying rack and the missing food from the fridge.
Not only was Bucky missing and craving your presence, but he had to sit with the unknown meaning behind your kiss. He had no idea how you felt about him, and it drove him mad.
The lustful look In your eyes and the desperate touch of your hands on him told him that you might feel the same way. But the way you recoiled and shut yourself out said something else.
One thing he did know was that all this overthinking was going to be his downfall.
It was past midnight and instead of staying in bed, struggling to fall asleep, he decided to go to the gym and let out some stress.
Little did he know he wasn’t the only one with that same idea.
He wasn’t that surprised to see some of the lights on as he approached the gym. Every so often someone was working out late at night. Who he didn’t expect to see was you, laser focused as you striked at the punching bag.
Bucky stood still for a moment, watching you, debating whether or not he should leave you be or talk to you.
His legs seemed to be moving on their own as he approached you.
“Want some help?”
You jumped, startled out of your focus. “You scared the shit out of me!” You placed a hand over your heart, probably felt it pounding.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “You didn’t answer my question though.”
You looked at him with puzzled, furrowed brows.
“Do you want some help?” He repeated, gesturing towards the punching bag.
You paused before answering in a calm tone. “No thanks.”
You shifted your weight and prepped your stance, attention returned to the bag.
“I thought you didn’t work out this late anymore,” Bucky commented with fake innocence.
You shrugged before you started punching again. “Guess old habits die hard.”
“Like hiding in your room?”
You hesitated. He watched your jaw clench before you punched again.
“I am not hiding.”
“I haven’t seen you in three days.”
Your punches got stronger while your voice stayed calm. “Didn’t feel well. Needed rest.”
“I texted you.”
“Sorry,” another punch. “Didn’t see it.”
Bucky exhaled, “Why are you lying?”
“I’m not-“
“Yes you are,” he interrupted, a bit of frustration leaking through his firm voice.
“We’ve barely seen you. And this isn’t like when you first got here, because I still saw you back then. You’re ignoring us.”
You’re ignoring me, he wanted to say.
Your attention broke from the punching bag. Your hand landed limp against it as you turned to him.
“Why do you care?” You asked with more curiosity than you showed on your face.
“Because I’m worried about you. And I know something’s wrong.”
You didn’t reply. Just stared at the floor and picked at the wraps on your hands.
Bucky didn’t want to pester you about it, but he had to stop you from isolating and keeping everything bottled up. He knew better than anyone what that felt like. The desire to hide away and run.
He could see the walls you built up slowly starting to crack, but you held on so tight to that security. Desperate to not let it fall down.
He was going to get you to open up, whether it hurt him or not.
“Is this about the kiss?”
Your eyes squeezed shut and fists clenched. “Bucky, I really don’t want to talk about that right now.”
“Well when do you feel like talking about it?” He interrogated, folding his arms. “Tomorrow? A week from now?”
“Fine!” You snapped back at him. “We got drunk, flirted a little and kissed. Can we just put this behind us and forget about it?”
Forget about it? You really want him to forget about the kiss? The best kiss of his life. The kiss that brought warmth back into his cold veins. Forget the kiss that made all the decades worth of tension fall off his bones and disappear for a few minutes.
He scoffed, “I’m sorry but I can’t just forget about it.”
Your cheeks that were previously pink from your work out turned red.
Bucky kept his gaze trained on you. He watched your eyes repeatedly dart away from him, still trying to hide while you stood right in front of him.
“Why did you leave after we kissed?” He asked, keeping his voice steady even while his insides were twisting.
“Bucky,” you groaned, pleading with the man in front of you.
“I gotta know.”
You looked down at your hands and resumed picking at the wrappings.
“Did you mean it?” You inquired, deflecting from his question. “What you said that night.”
He pursed his lips, trying to mentally sort through all the things he said. “Which part?”
You paused your fidgeting, hands tense as you spoke. “All those nice things you said about me. When you said I was the most beautiful woman at that party.” You finally looked at Bucky, eyes swimming with uncertainty.
“Did you mean it, or were you just flirting?”
You were trying to hide behind a guarded expression, but Bucky could see the vulnerability in your eyes and hear it in your voice.
You felt the same way about him.
But just like him, you didn’t believe your feelings were reciprocated because of the overwhelming fear. Your vision was clouded by fear and doubt.
He took a few steps closer. You took a half step back.
His eyes stayed on you. He never wavered.
”I meant all of it,” he answered softly. “Every single word.”
Your eyes widened and lips parted.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
You gave him a nervous grin and shook your head as you tried removing the wrapping from your hands. ”That’s overselling it a bit,” you lightly joked. You fought the hand wrap with a shaky hand, struggling to take it off.
Bucky inched closer. Before you could register what he was doing, he reached forward and gently grabbed your hands. He separated them and continued undoing the wrapping for you. His touch was soft as he handled you with the utmost care.
“I’m being serious,” he started, eyes trained on your hand. “Whether you believe me or not.”
He finished working on your left hand and moved to your right. You didn’t protest. You didn’t stop him.
“If you really want to forget about the kiss. Go ahead.” But now he knew you didn’t want to forget about it. He swallowed, preparing to place his own heart in the palm of your hand. “I don’t think I could ever forget it. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since Friday.”
He chuckled as a blush crept its way on his face. “Actually, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first time we met.”
He felt your hand freeze against his. “Bucky, that was over 6 months ago,” you reminded him breathlessly.
He finished unwrapping your hand, looked up at you, and nodded. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered.
Bucky still held your hand, neither one of you moved away from the other.
You took a deep breath, the expression on your face looked like you were mentally wrestling with yourself.
“What were you going to ask me before I left?” You asked cautiously.
“If you wanted to dance with me.” The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile as his cheeks turned pink. He softly caressed the back of your hand, “I’d been trying to ask you all night but never got the chance. Or the nerve.”
Bucky searched your eyes and found wide pupils in a sea of emotion. He wasn’t sure if they shined from the lighting or if they were glossy.
You licked your lips, “I would’ve said yes by the way. If you asked.”
He smirked back, stomach fluttering with butterflies. “You mean if you let me ask?” he asked, tone laced with sarcasm.
You rolled your eyes and sighed, “yeah. I was just being an asshole.“
“You’re not an asshole,” he countered, genuinely.
You squinted and tilted your head. “I was a little bit.”
He chuckled in defeat, his thumb still tracing your skin.
You peered down at your hand intertwined with his, swallowing down the nerves caught in your throat. “I uh- I was scared and catastrophizing. I thought of the worst case scenario and let it control me. I shouldn’t have run away, I’m sorry.” You sounded small, defeated.
With his free metal hand, Bucky gently pulled your chin up to look at him. “You’re not the only one who gets stuck in their own head,” he comforted. Your breath shuttered as his touch traveled to the side of your face before brushing your hair behind your ear. “Just don’t shut the world out okay?”
You nodded, with a bashful smile. “Okay.”
Bucky’s mouth curled up in a way that matched yours. “I love your smile,” he complimented, his voice dripping with admiration.
You bit your lip as a blush danced across your face. “Don’t say sweet things about me. It’ll make me want to kiss you,” you warned with a teasing hint in your tone.
Bucky's smile turned to a wicked grin. He leaned closer, his lips ghosting over yours as he caressed your cheek. “What’s so wrong with that?” He whispered with desire.
He felt your breath against him as you whispered back.
“Nothing.”
Bucky wasted no time and captured your lips with his. He instinctively reached for your waist and pulled you closer, flush against him.
This kiss was different from the first one. You still tasted the same on his tongue, your lips left the same imprint on his. But the rhythm was different. No rush of passion. No hunger that needed to be resolved.
It was slower, more delicate. Like the two of you were absorbing the others' existence into your bloodstream.
When you separated from him Bucky chased after your lips. You giggled as he pecked all over your lips and cheeks. Your laugh only spurred him on more as he grabbed on to your face to keep you still and smiled against your skin.
You made him feel lovesick. He felt like he used to, back in the 40s, before everything went wrong. He felt like Bucky Barnes.
Bucky chuckled as he finally retreated from his kissing attack on your face. He stared at you lovingly, his hands traveling back down to your hips.
“So, hypothetically, if I were to ask if you wanted to go dancing, like we find somewhere in the city we can go to dance one night, what would you say?”
You looked up at him with a sweet smile. “Is this a hypothetical or are you asking me out?” You pondered with a mischievous tone.
Bucky loved it when you teased him like that. You were going to drive him insane.
“I’m asking you out.”
You stood up straighter, your eyes pierced him with confidence. “Then do it.”
Warmth stirred in his chest as he finally asked what he’s been meaning to for so long.
“Would you like to go dancing with me?”
You wrapped your arms around his neck and placed a soft, quick kiss against his lips. “I’d love to.”
_____
The lounge was quiet. Yelena sat on the couch with Wanda as a movie played in the distance. Steve sat on one of the chairs ignoring the movie, his nose deep in a small notebook he liked to sketch in. Natasha sat on the other chair, her back and legs against the arm rests as she focused on a book.
The elevator dinged when it reached the floor. As it opened, Bucky walked out and passed through the lounge with you in his arms bridal style and barefoot, holding your heels in your hands.
All of their eyes slowly peered away from what they were doing and towards you and Bucky.
Natasha was the first to comment on the display, “uh, Barnes, why are you carrying your date?”
“I complained my feet hurt on the way home and now he won’t put me down,” you announced back to her.
Bucky abruptly stopped in his tracks. “Do you want to walk back to your room?” He asked, voice deep with a teasing tone.
You sunk further into his chest as a blush crept onto your face. “No,” you mumbled quietly.
He chuckled and continued walking. “That’s what I thought.”
“Awe, what a gentleman,” Yelena remarked.
“Anything for my girl,” Bucky yelled back as he walked away with you in his arms.
“Finally, I’ve been waiting for them to get together for weeks!” Yelena joked as she turned back to the group.
“Try months. I knew that when she started leaving her room it was because of him,” Natasha added.
Steve looked up from his notebook, a small glint of amusement in his eyes. “Why do you think I pushed for him to go to that party? I had a feeling she would go if she knew he would be there.”
“Seems like everyone knew but them,” Yelena remarked.
“I’ve known the whole time.” Wanda chuckled, “For two quiet people, their thoughts are awfully loud.”
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authors note: Okay, so this idea is so silly and stupid, but I like it okay?! So, yes, I decided to write a secret Tumblr user Bucky fangirling over their teammate. And because I wanted to add some comedic elements, I made Bucky not even create an alter ego, his love for his teammate might as well be plastered across a billboard if his account ever reached popularity (I envision his blog having less than 200 followers.) Anyways, I hope you guys like this turned out!
synopsis: Bucky being aloof was nothing new. It was his thing, okay? But would you believe it if he was secretly the account owner of a blog dedicated to you? Fanart, fan fiction, thirst posts, you name it. Discovering the page while scrolling through Tumblr, you couldn't help but be amused by the whole thing.
The mission had been a nightmare. Three days of tracking, two of fighting, and now you were finally back at the Avengers compound, nursing a bruised rib and slight limp. Bucky had been your assigned partner for the mission, as per Steve's strategic pairing.
You'd always thought Bucky was a bit aloof around you. Not rude, just reserved. He'd nod in acknowledgment, offer tactical advice when needed, but rarely engaged in the casual banter you shared with other team members. Steve had assured you it was just Bucky's way, that he'd warm up eventually.
"I'm heading to the debrief room," you told Bucky as you passed him in the hallway. "Steve wants us to go over the mission report."
He gave that slight nod you'd become accustomed to. "I'll be there in five."
As you walked away, you didn't notice the way Bucky's shoulders relaxed, nor did you hear the soft sigh of relief he exhaled once you were out of sight. He pulled out his phone, opened Tumblr, and began typing furiously.
For the past eighteen months, Bucky had maintained a secret identity online. WinterShield, a fan account dedicated entirely to you. His blog was a collage of mission photos (some official, some surreptitiously taken), analyses of your fighting techniques, and, most embarrassingly, fan fiction he'd written about you.
Thinking that the account would never see the light of day, Bucky didn't see the point of keeping his identity a secret. After all, who in their right mind would think that the official Bucky Barnes would be on Tumblr and not some role player? Opening the draft section, Bucky's latest post was already taking shape.
THEY DID THE THING AGAIN. That move where they disarm three guys in like 2.5 seconds? I'M SCREAMING. And then they looked at me, AT ME, and asked if I was okay. ME. The former assassin who definitely was not having heart palpitations because their teammate looked at them with concerned eyes. NOPE. Totally cool over here. Just casually internally combusting.
Afterward, in the quinjet, they kept adjusting their tactical gear, specifically the left shoulder strap where it was rubbing against their bruised ribs. I wanted to offer medical assistance but instead I just sat there like a malfunctioning robot, probably looking constipated. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?
Bucky hit post. This was his release valve, his way of processing emotions that still felt too big and too complicated for his post Hydra brain. The anonymity (or lack thereof) of the internet allowed him to express what he couldn't in person. That he was completely, utterly smitten with his teammate.
A week later, you were browsing Tumblr during some downtime, scrolling through fan theories about recent Avengers missions and liking fanart. However, one particular post caught your eye. As you began reading, a strange feeling washed over you.
The details were uncannily specific. The way you'd hidden your injury during the last mission, the exact sequence of moves you'd used against the final opponent. But that was public knowledge, right? Anyone could have pieced that together from mission reports.
You decided to keep reading.
Afterward, in the quinjet, they kept adjusting their tactical gear, specifically the left shoulder strap where it was rubbing against their bruised ribs. I wanted to offer medical assistance but instead I just sat there like a malfunctioning robot, probably looking constipated. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?
Your hand flew to your mouth. That specific detail, about your left shoulder strap, was something only someone on the quinjet would have known. Something you hadn't even gone to the medic bay to get fixed.
Frantically, you scrolled through WinterShield's blog. Post after post, detail after detail that was too precise to be coincidence. Photos taken from angles only a teammate could achieve. Descriptions of your habits, your expressions, your mannerisms.
And then you found it, a post from six months ago titled "Coffee and Kindness":
TODAY THEY BROUGHT ME COFFEE AND I'M PRETTY SURE I STOPPED BREATHING FOR A SOLID MINUTE. They remembered how I take it. Extra sugar, black otherwise. HOW? Is their superpower mind reading? Do they have a secret file on everyone's beverage preferences? I'm not even mad, I'm impressed. And also maybe a little aroused. OKAY A LOT AROUSED. SEND HELP.
You couldn't help but laugh at the all caps enthusiasm. This wasn't just a fan. This was a full on stan, and based on the details, there was really only one person it could be.
"Steve?" you called out, your voice shaky with laughter as you found him in the common area. "You need to see this."
As Steve read through the blog, his expression shifted from confusion to shock to concern. "This is detailed and very enthusiastic."
"You don't think…" you couldn't finish the thought, giggling now.
Steve's eyes met yours, full of dawning realization. "The all caps posts about tactical gear, the detailed analysis of your fighting style...there's only one person who could have written this."
You decided not to confront Bucky immediately. This was too entertaining to end so quickly. Instead, you decided to conduct a little experiment. The next morning at breakfast, you made sure to sit across from Bucky.
"Morning, Barnes," you said with your brightest smile. "Sleep well?"
He nearly choked on a piece of pancake. "Fine. You?"
"Couldn't sleep," you replied, leaning forward slightly. "Too busy thinking about that mission debrief we have today. I'm really looking forward to working closely with you again."
Bucky's fork froze halfway to his mouth. "We…we have a debrief?"
"Yep," you said, popping the 'p'. "All day. Just the two of us. In a small room. With lots of paperwork."
Later that day, you checked WinterShield's blog. Sure enough, a new post was up:
THEY SIT ACROSS FROM ME AT BREAKFAST AND ASK IF I SLEPT WELL. I DON'T SLEEP. I HAVEN'T SLEPT PROPERLY SINCE 1945. BUT TODAY I ESPECIALLY DIDN'T SLEEP BECAUSE THEY LEANED FORWARD AND SAID "LOOKING FORWARD TO WORKING CLOSELY WITH YOU." I think I short circuited. Sam had to check if I was still breathing. I wasn't. I'm writing this from the afterlife where I will spend eternity replaying that moment in my head.
You were practically crying with laughter. This was your new favorite hobby.
The next day, you upped the ante. During training, you "accidentally" brushed against Bucky more times than strictly necessary.
"Oops, sorry," you'd say with a wink each time. "Guess I'm just clumsy around you."
By the end of the session, Bucky was a flustered mess, barely able to complete his training routines. That night's blog post was a masterpiece of keyboard smashing:
ajskdhfaskdjhfg THEY KEEP TOUCHING ME. "ACCIDENTALLY." THEIR HAND BRUSHED MINE SEVEN TIMES. SEVEN. I COUNTED. I'M NOT EVEN SURE MY NAME IS JAMES ANYMORE. IT MIGHT BE "THE PERSON WHOSE TEAMMATE KEEPS 'ACCIDENTALLY' TOUCHING THEM." I WOULD ACCEPT THIS NEW IDENTITY. GLADLY.
You decided it was time to put Bucky out of his misery. During movie night, you strategically positioned yourself next to him on the couch, "accidentally" falling asleep and resting your head on his shoulder. You weren't actually asleep, of course. You were listening to his increasingly panicked breathing.
When the movie ended, you "woke up" with a stretch.
"Oh, sorry about that," you said, pretending to be embarrassed. "Guess I was more tired than I thought."
"No problem." Bucky said, but his voice was an octave higher than usual.
"You know," you said casually, pulling out your phone, "I was reading this really interesting fan blog earlier. WinterShield? Have you heard of it?"
Bucky went rigid. "I don't really follow fan content."
"Really? You should," you said, turning your phone to show him the blog. "They have some interesting perspectives. Like this post about how I 'accidentally' touched them during training. But the strangest thing is that instead of the reader being faceless, it has you being the recipient. Every single post."
Bucky's eyes widened in horror as he stared at the screen, then at you, then back at the screen. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out. The blush that had been creeping up his neck suddenly exploded across his face, turning him a shade of red you'd previously only seen on the team's warning alerts.
"That's…that's just a coincidence," he finally managed to squeak out, his voice cracking. "Lots of people look like me."
"Bucky," you said, your tone softening slightly despite your amusement. "The post includes detailed descriptions of your tactical gear. Unless there's another one of those running around, I'm pretty sure it's you."
He slumped against the couch cushions, looking utterly defeated. "How long have you known?"
"About a week," you admitted, unable to keep the grin off your face. "I have to say, your all caps posts about my 'combat hair' and 'mission face' are my personal favorites. Very passionate analysis."
Bucky buried his face in his hands. "I'm never using the internet again."
"Oh, don't say that," you replied, nudging his shoulder playfully. "Where else would I get such detailed compliments about my 'strategic genius' and 'battle ready physique'?"
He stared at you, completely dumbfounded. "You…you read them all?"
"Every word," you confirmed. "Including the one where you described my 'eyes like molten chocolate' and 'smile that could stop traffic.' Though I think you might have been exaggerating a bit there."
Bucky's blush returned with a vengeance. "I…I was…it's called creative license."
"Well, Mr. Creative License," you said, reaching out to trace a line down his metal arm. "I was wondering if you'd like to get some coffee sometime? No audience, no blog posts. Just you and me."
He looked like he might actually faint. "You…you want to get coffee...with me?"
"I do," you said firmly. "Unless you'd rather write about me from afar?"
"No!" he said quickly, then cleared his throat. "I mean…yes. To the coffee. Not to the writing from afar."
"Good because I'd much rather have the real thing than read about it."
Bucky's eyes widened at your implication, but he managed a nod. "Friday? Seven o'clock?"
"It's a date." you confirmed, giving him one last wink before walking away. That night's WinterShield post was short but sweet:
I HAVE A DATE WITH THEM. AN ACTUAL DATE. I'M PRETTY SURE THIS IS A DREAM AND I'M GOING TO WAKE UP ANY SECOND. IF THIS IS REAL, I MIGHT ACTUALLY EXPLODE FROM HAPPINESS. SOMEONE PUNCH ME, BUT NOT TOO HARD BECAUSE I NEED TO LOOK GOOD FOR FRIDAY.
♪ Prompt | All Shook Up - Elvis Presley | “I can't seem to stand on my own two feet”
♪ Summary | Rebecca Barnes drags you to a dancehall, where Bucky is determined not to let you be a wallflower.
♪ Warnings + Tags | Fluff, Smoking, Bucky Barnes is too charming
♪ Phoenix Chirps |There's only 10 days left y'all...I have almost all of my stories drafted. Can I actually finish something? Stay tuned to find out. I also apologize for including smoking in so many of these? idk what's wrong with me.
♪ Word Count | 299
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You had begged Rebecca Barnes not to take you out dancing. Surely your oldest friend knew that you had not received whatever dancing gene everyone else of this century had.
Yet here you stood, off to the corner dismissing any man that tried to ask, while watching Rebecca laugh after a particularly dramatic dip from the fifth man that asked her to dance. You took a slow drag from the cigarette that was currently keeping you company, blowing out a ring of smoke, and watched it drift to the ceiling.
"Ya know that's bad for ya," Bucky Barnes, Rebecca's older - very much off limits to you - brother chided. A charming grin pulling at his lips while he plucked the cigarette from your fingers, while you rolled your eyes.
He placed it back in your hand after taking a long puff, nodding out to the dance floor. "Don't wanna get out there?"
You huffed, shaking your head. "I can't seem to stand on my own two feet on a good day, much less when I'm being spun around."
"Alright, come on, I'll teach ya." Bucky gently tugged on your sleeve, pulling you onto the dance floor.
You barely had time to register where he was leading you. Just that he had flicked your cigarette into an ashtray, and currently had his arm wrapping around your waist - holding you in much closer proximity than you had ever allowed yourself to be.
"You're gonna teach me how to dance?" you managed to stutter out as he swayed, nudging your feet with his shoes to get you to follow his lead.
Bucky nodded like it was his most important task tonight. "Can't let a pretty face like yours waste away in the shadows. Besides, I don't trust any other guy here with you."
