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bluerobin35 · 2 days ago

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I Think I Love You

pairing | fwb!bucky x new!avengers!reader

word count | 5.4k words

summary I You agreed to keep it casual—just sex, no feelings. But when loving Bucky in silence begins to break you, walking away is the only thing you can do… even if it destroys you both.

tags | Thunderbolts Spoilers??? I guess, tower fic, 18+ (MDNI), smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, obsessive!bucky, fem!reader, miscommunication, dumbasses in love, platonic!bob x reader

a/n | new acc, this was to cute to write. Enjoy! REQUESTS ARE OPEN

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

It was always like this.

His body above yours, surrounding you, drowning you in heat and hunger like you were oxygen to him. Like fucking you was the only way he knew how to breathe. Like if he didn’t bury himself inside you right now, he’d come apart at the seams.

Bucky kissed you like he was starving—mouth hot and bruising, tongue claiming yours with an edge of desperation that never quite dulled. His hands were everywhere, rough and sure, sliding under your tank, gripping your waist, dragging you beneath him like he was scared you’d vanish if he didn’t anchor you down.

You didn’t fight it. You never did.

Because this was the only version of him you could have—the one that came alive behind closed doors. The one who groaned your name like a curse when you kissed down his throat, who pulled your panties down with shaking hands, who slid into you with a sound like it hurt to finally be inside you.

“Fuck, doll,” he rasped, forehead pressed to yours, hips grinding into you deep and slow. “You always feel so fuckin’ good. You were made for me.”

God, it sounded like love. It always did.

His mouth found your neck again, biting gently, sucking bruises into your skin like a claim no one would ever see. And your hands clutched his back, nails digging in, legs wrapping tighter around his waist as you rocked your hips up to meet every thrust.

You wanted to believe this was real. That it meant something more. That the way he looked at you—eyes dark and blown wide, lips parted, breath ragged—wasn’t just lust.

But you knew better.

You’d agreed to this.

No feelings. No mess. Just heat and need and late nights tangled in sweat-soaked sheets.

Still, you craved it—him—in ways you couldn’t admit. Not even to yourself.

Bucky fucked you like you were a secret he couldn’t bear to keep. His metal hand gripped your thigh, forcing it higher around his hip, while his other tangled in your hair, tugging gently to expose your throat. He licked a stripe up your neck and groaned when you whimpered.

“Don’t hold back, baby,” he said, voice low and rough. “Wanna hear you.”

You moaned for him, because you always did.

And he gave you everything. Thrust after thrust, deep and controlled, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you from the inside out. Your bodies moved together like muscle memory—practiced, perfect.

You cried out when he hit that spot, again and again, stars bursting behind your eyelids as your orgasm built too fast to control. He felt it—knew it—and his grip tightened, pace faltering just slightly as he pressed harder, deeper.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he growled. “Come on, give it to me.”

You shattered.

Your body seized around him, nails raking down his back, mouth falling open in a silent cry as pleasure tore through you in waves. And Bucky? He didn’t stop. He chased his own release through the pulsing grip of your cunt, moaning your name like a promise he’d never make aloud.

“Fuck—gonna come—shit, fuck—” he gasped, slamming into you once more before spilling inside with a groan so raw it made your chest ache.

He collapsed against you, face buried in your neck, his breath hot and ragged.

You held him, like you always did. Tangled in the afterglow, skin slick with sweat, hearts still racing. And for a moment, you let yourself pretend.

That maybe this time would be different.

That maybe he’d stay.

That maybe he'd roll off of you, cup your cheek, and tell you he couldn’t keep pretending this didn’t mean something.

But instead, he sighed. A soft, satisfied sound. Then rolled onto his back, pulling his arm behind his head.

He didn’t look at you.

He never did after.

You stared at the ceiling, heart pounding in your throat, your body warm and full and hollow all at once.

And all you could think was:

I want him to touch me like that in the daylight.

I want him to want me when we’re not naked.

But he didn’t. Or wouldn’t. Or couldn’t.

You weren’t sure which hurt more.

The kitchen in the tower was quiet, save for the soft clatter of a cutting board and the low simmer of something bubbling on the stove. You stood at the counter, knife in hand, carefully dicing onions while Bob sat beside you, his own cutting board a chaotic mess of uneven pepper slices and cucumber spears.

He was squinting at the vegetables like they’d wronged him personally.

“I swear,” he said, furrowing his brow as he tried to slice a tomato without completely demolishing it, “these things are out to get me. Slippery little bastards.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You don’t have to help, you know.”

“No, I want to. It’s… nice.” He shrugged. “Domestic. Also, I read somewhere it builds team trust or something. Shared food prep.”

You snorted. “Where’d you read that?”

“A Reddit thread about Dungeons & Dragons, actually.”

You laughed for real that time. “Of course.”

The smell of garlic and rosemary floated through the air. The oven clicked softly as it preheated. Outside the window, the sky was grey and moody—classic New York—but there was something warm about the kitchen. Safe. Familiar. Even with the quiet ache in your chest that you were pretending wasn’t there.

You kept chopping. So did he. Or tried to.

“Y’know,” Bob said after a beat, holding up a mutilated chunk of bell pepper, “I don’t think I’m ever gonna be a culinary genius. Might have to accept that my gifts lie elsewhere.”

“Like sitting on the couch and watching TV?”

“And comic relief,” he added proudly. “Two very underappreciated superpowers.”

You gave him a sidelong look, smirking. “You’re not wrong.”

He grinned. Then, more softly, “I like this, though. Being part of a team. Even if it’s weird sometimes. Even if people yell. Or punch through walls. Or if Alexei keeps pitching us matching uniforms with capes.”

You snorted again, setting down your knife. “He has been obsessed with that lately.”

“Right?” Bob said, picking at a cucumber slice. “But even with all the chaos, it’s good. I never really had this before. A group. People who give a damn. Who check in. It’s like… like being part of a weird, violent little family. And I know I’m not the most… stable, but I feel like—like I’m seen. Cared for. Loved, even. Not in the romantic sense—though Walker did call me ‘acceptable’ once, which I’m counting as progress.”

You laughed softly again—but it was different this time. Quieter. Shorter.

Bob didn’t seem to notice.

He kept talking, absently stacking pepper pieces into a leaning tower. “I don’t know. It just hit me earlier when Alexei dragged me to look at fabric swatches, and he was complaining about the thread count like we were planning a wedding. I was like… this is insane. But also—this is nice. Like I matter. Like I belong.”

The sting started slow. So faint you barely noticed it at first.

A tightness behind your eyes. A pull at the corners of your mouth. Something twisting low in your stomach like a warning bell you were trying very hard to ignore.

Bob looked over at you with an easy smile, still speaking, voice gentler now. “I guess I just wanted to say… I’m glad I’m here. I’m glad I get to be around people who give a damn. That’s why I love being on this team.”

And just like that—it cracked.

The sting sharpened. The pressure behind your eyes pulsed hot, and your throat closed up around the sudden, suffocating weight of it.

Because all you could think was:

God, I want that too.

To feel loved. Chosen. Not just useful when someone needed to blow off steam. Not just fucked behind closed doors and forgotten in the light of day.

You bit the inside of your cheek hard, forcing yourself to blink fast, to keep your head down, to move your hands like nothing was wrong. But the tears came anyway—silent, slow, slipping down your cheeks before you could stop them.

You tried to wipe them away subtly, turning toward the sink, pretending to rinse your hands. But it wasn’t subtle enough.

“Whoa—oh no,” Bob said, his eyes going wide. “Did I—did I say something wrong?”

You shook your head quickly, facing away. “No. No, it’s not you. I swear.”

He stood up beside you, hovering awkwardly, clearly panicking. “Is it the peppers? I knew I was butchering them. I knew they looked sad but I didn’t think they were tear-worthy—”

A shaky laugh broke out of you, even as you tried to wipe your face. “Bob, no. Stop. It’s not your fault.”

He hesitated, frowning deeply, hands fidgeting at his sides. “Is it—do you want me to go? I didn’t mean to mess anything up—”

You turned to him, eyes red, cheeks wet, and smiled—small and painful.

“I just… needed to hear that,” you said softly. “What you said. About being seen. Cared for. Loved.”

Bob’s face softened immediately. “Oh. Oh. I get it. I’m sorry.”

“No,” you said again, shaking your head, voice barely a whisper now. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He reached out, then hesitated, then finally rested a hand gently on your hand. “For what it’s worth… I think whoever’s making you feel like you’re not those things is an idiot.”

You gave him a wobbly smile, another tear slipping free. “Yeah.”

Bob didn’t ask more. He didn’t need to. And you were grateful for that.

Instead, he just stood with you in the quiet hum of the kitchen, as the smell of dinner simmered in the background and the sky outside darkened to evening.

And all you could think—over and over—was:

I can’t do this anymore.

The second the quinjet touched down, Bucky unbuckled and stood, impatient fingers already tugging off his gloves. He barely registered Yelenas's debrief, or the way Ava elbowed him and muttered something about getting sleep for once. He just nodded and walked out, barely hearing her call after him.

He didn’t want sleep.

He wanted you.

He’d been thinking about you the entire mission. About the way you always curled up on the couch when you thought no one was watching. The way you’d made blueberry muffins the morning before they left and snuck him one while everyone else was busy fighting over the coffee machine. The way your eyes crinkled when you smiled—just for him.

No one had to know.

No one did know.

And that made it easier to pretend this wasn’t killing him.

That this wasn’t something he wanted every damn day.

He reached your hallway before he even realized how fast he’d been walking. It was late—11:07 by the glowing red digits on the hallway clock. Most of the tower was asleep. But your light was still on.

He exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders back, nerves flaring. He always got like this before seeing you. Like some teenager with a crush instead of a 100-year-old ex-assassin who’d watched entire countries fall.

But you made him feel… different. Human.

He raised his hand and knocked, soft and firm.

And then the door opened—and there you were.

A soft lime green nightgown hugged your body in a way that made his breath catch. It clung to your curves, all sleepy and ethereal and warm, and for a second, all he could do was look at you.

His chest ached.

God, you were beautiful.

He didn’t wait. He didn’t think. He reached out, cupping your face in both hands, drawing you in like a man starved for warmth and memory. His lips found yours—soft, reverent, desperate. He kissed you like you were the last safe thing he had.

And then your hands pressed against his chest.

Not pulling him closer.

Pushing him away.

He pulled back, blinking. His brows knit together. “What’s wrong?”

You looked up at him, eyes already glossy, mouth parted like the words hurt too much to say. “Bucky… we need to stop.”

His stomach dropped.

The hallway suddenly felt ice cold.

“What?” His voice cracked, quiet and rough. “What do you mean?”

You looked down, fingers curling into the fabric of your nightgown, and stepped back just slightly. “What we’ve been doing… this… it needs to end.”

It hit him like a punch to the ribs. All the breath knocked from his lungs.

“I—I don’t understand,” he said. “Did I do something? Say something? If I—”

“No,” you cut in gently, and it broke him how kind your voice still was. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why?” He was still holding your gaze, desperate. “Is it… is it someone else?”

You hesitated.

That was enough of an answer.

You nodded once. “I’ve… met someone. And this would complicate things.”

The lie hung between you like smoke. Fragile. Choking.

Bucky swallowed hard. His hands had dropped to his sides, and he clenched them into fists before forcing them open again. He was trying to stay calm. He had no right to be angry. You weren’t his.

You’d never been his.

But still, the ache that bloomed in his chest was unbearable. His heart was thundering, cracking in real time as he stared at you, unblinking.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to tell you that no one could touch you the way he could. That no one could possibly know you the way he did. He wanted to grab you, beg you not to leave him in the dark again.

But he didn’t.

Because you deserved better than that.

You always had.

He cleared his throat, voice suddenly hoarse and distant. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

You blinked at him, a flicker of pain crossing your face. Then you leaned in, so gently it almost made him flinch, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Soft. Final.

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

You stepped back inside your room.

And the door closed.

He stood there for a long time.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Just stared at the closed door like he could will it to open again. Like maybe if he stayed still long enough, this wouldn’t be real.

But it was.

And all he could think was:

You found someone else.

You—the one person who made him feel like maybe he wasn’t ruined. Who baked for the team. Who held him after nightmares without asking questions. Who looked at him like he wasn’t just the Winter Soldier, or some washed-up relic, or some broken man with too much blood on his hands.

You looked at him like he was worth something.

And now you were gone.

He backed away slowly, footsteps hollow against the corridor floor, heart pounding like it was trying to claw its way out.

It was just supposed to be sex.

It was never supposed to hurt like this.

It started small.

You weren’t avoiding Bucky—not outright. But you were pulling away, and he felt it in every single subtle shift like a blade under the skin.

No more soft smiles in the hallway.

No more plates quietly set in front of him when you made dinner.

You still said “hey” in passing, still nodded when he entered the room, still asked if he wanted coffee when the whole team was around—but your eyes didn’t linger anymore. You didn’t touch him. You didn’t look at him the same way.

And that quiet, gentle retreat was worse than a clean break.

Because it gave him just enough to hope. And not enough to hold.

It drove him mad.

He tried to play it cool. Tried to remind himself that you’d made your choice—that you’d moved on. That there was someone else. But the words haunted him like a ghost he couldn’t punch, couldn’t outpace.

Who the fuck was he?

Where did you meet him?

Was he better than Bucky? Was that it?

Was he stable, normal, sweet? Did he hold you in the morning, trace your spine with soft fingers, kiss your forehead and mean it?

The thoughts ran wild in his mind like wildfire. And soon, it stopped being curiosity. It became need. Obsessive. All-consuming.

He started watching. Not you—he couldn’t stomach how far away you already felt. No, he watched everyone else.

Was it someone on the team?

Someone new?

Someone from missions? The tower? That goddamn bar you liked downtown?

He noticed every time you laughed at someone else’s joke. Every time you left a room too quickly. Every time your phone lit up and your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. It was driving him insane.

And it didn’t take long before he cracked.

──────────────────

“Seen her with anyone lately?”

Ava didn’t look up from the security feed she was reviewing. “What?”

He cleared his throat, leaned against the console like this wasn’t eating him alive. “Y’know. She’s been… out more. Wondered if you’d noticed her with someone.”

Ava gave him a look that said you have five seconds before I tear this conversation apart with a crowbar. “She’s not a suspect, Barnes.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “Didn’t mean it like that. Just—wondered.”

She paused. “You checking up on her?”

He shrugged. “Just being observant.”

“Then observe your own damn lane,” she muttered, turning back to her screen. “She’s allowed to have a life.”

──────────────────

The next day, he tried John.

“Any idea who she’s been seeing?”

Walker blinked at him, halfway through microwaving a bowl of instant mac and cheese in the lounge. “She told you she’s seeing someone?”

“Yeah.”

John stirred his pasta slowly. “Huh.”

Bucky waited.

John shrugged. “I mean, good for her, I guess.”

Bucky clenched his jaw. “That’s not helpful.”

“Neither is asking around like a jealous ex.” He looked up. “You okay, man?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky snapped.

John gave him a long look, then went back to his mac and cheese.

──────────────────

Yelena was less gentle.

“Are you drunk?” she asked, one eyebrow raised as she watched him pace the kitchen while you chatted with Bob across the room.

“No.”

“Then you sound like a madman.” She sipped her tea. “You are obsessed.”

“I’m just—”

“You had her,” she interrupted, calm and sharp as a knife. “You had her when it counted. And now you’re circling like a lonely wolf because someone else has her?”

“You knew about us?“

“I am a literal spy, Bucky.”

“I just don’t know who it is.”

“You’re not entitled to know,” she said simply, and walked away.

──────────────────

Alexei was worse.

“She has mystery man, huh?” he said, delighted, cracking open a beer like they were old pals trading war stories. “Ah, young love! Reminds me of my fourth love—no, fifth. It was confusing time. She had beautiful thighs. We met during a snowstorm, and she carried me to safety like bear.”

Bucky stared at him, hollow-eyed.

Alexei clapped a massive hand on his shoulder. “You cannot compete with new love, my friend. It is fire. It is danger. But! Sometimes fire burns out. And when it does, you be there with flowers. Or your shirt off. Both work.”

Bucky did not thank him.

──────────────────

And then there was Bob.

Goddamn Bob.

Bucky cornered him while he was grabbing cookies from the kitchen. Big mistake number two. He tried to sound as casual as possible.

“So, uh. You and her hang out sometimes, right?”

Bob blinked, brow furrowing. “Uh… yeah? She’s awesome.”

“She’s been acting different. With me.”

Bob fidgeted, clutching a cookie like a shield. “I mean, she’s been normal with me. Maybe a little sad? But also like, really pretty. But she’s always pretty, so that’s—uh—not relevant.”

Bucky stepped closer. Bob stepped back, hitting the counter.

“I was joking, Bucky. Please don’t punch me.”

Bucky took a deep breath, backed off. “Sorry.”

He didn’t mean to scare him.

He just couldn’t take it anymore.

──────────────────

It didn’t help. None of it did.

Because no one knew—or if they did, they weren’t telling.

And every time he saw you, something inside him twisted.

The way you laughed with Ava over your shared playlist. The way you sat on the arm of the couch next to John during a debrief. The way you ruffled Bob’s hair like a big sister, patient and teasing.

He saw you with everyone.

And he didn’t know which of them you were fucking.

Which of them made you smile when you looked at your phone.

Which of them got to hold you the way he used to—like you were theirs.

And it was killing him.

He started losing sleep. His nights were spent pacing his room, replaying every kiss, every laugh, every small moment with you. He couldn’t go to the kitchen without thinking of you cooking in it. Couldn’t walk by your room without hearing your voice.

Because the truth was, he hadn’t stopped wanting you.

Not for a second.

But he hadn’t thought he deserved you.

He’d told himself it was better this way. That he couldn’t be what you needed. That he was too broken, too guarded, too haunted.

He didn’t want to drag you into his shadows.

But now you were in someone else’s light.

And Bucky Barnes—super soldier, ex-Winter Soldier, world-class killer—was unraveling.

One glance. One silence. One laugh that wasn’t his to earn.

At a time.

It had been two weeks.

Two weeks since that night at your door. Since you told him you were seeing someone. Since your lips brushed his cheek like a goodbye that had already been decided, like the end of a story he hadn’t realized was even being written.

And still—no one.

Not a name. Not a face. Not even a damn clue.

No late-night laughter through thin walls. No footsteps sneaking down hallways. No signs of you sneaking off to a date. You still had the same quiet routines. The same soft smile when Bob told one of his nervous jokes. The same stretch in the mornings when you walked into the kitchen with sleepy eyes and socks that didn’t match.

But different.

He still watched you.

Not like before—when he’d admire the slope of your shoulders, the way your nose scrunched when you were concentrating, or how your hands always smelled faintly like vanilla and cinnamon. No, now he watched you with something closer to desperation.

He was trying to catch you.

Catch you in a lie. Catch you with him. The one who apparently meant enough to end everything you and Bucky had.

But nothing ever happened.

Instead, he saw things that confused him more.

You started going out on your own more often—midday errands, little walks, solo grocery runs even though there was food delivery and team shoppers. And he followed once.

Not to spy, he told himself.

Just to know.

You walked into a bookstore first. Wandered the aisles slowly. Bought two paperbacks and left without speaking to anyone. Then you stopped by a florist—picked out a single bouquet of fresh lilies, something subtle and quiet.

He expected you to deliver it to someone.

But instead, you brought it back to the tower and placed it on the dining table. Just something to brighten the space, like you always did.

You went to the park next. Sat on a bench. Ate a pastry. Fed the ducks.

Alone.

He watched from across the street, feeling something cold settle in his chest.

When you returned, he waited a few hours before asking Yelena—casually, as he always did, which fooled absolutely no one anymore.

“You know where she went today?”

Yelena raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “She went to clear her head. Like normal people.”

“Not with anyone?”

“Do you think she is incapable of being alone? Because that says more about you, Barnes.”

He didn’t answer.

He stopped asking questions after that.

Because it was dawning on him—slowly, painfully, in pieces—that there was no “someone else.” There never had been.

You hadn’t lied to hurt him. You’d lied to protect yourself.

And he had made you feel like you had to.

The thought made him sick.

He started noticing more, then—not just your absence, but the echo of what used to be. How you still made muffins for the team on Mondays. How you always passed out Advil after training. How you left soft music playing in the kitchen while cooking like you didn’t know anyone was listening. How you still took care of everyone except yourself.

He noticed how tired you looked sometimes. How your smile faltered when no one was looking. How your laugh had a hollow note now—like it had to fight its way out.

He noticed how you stopped meeting his eyes entirely.

And he finally asked himself what he had been to you.

Not just the sex. Not just the soft groans in the dark or the way your body curved into his like you were made for him.

But the mornings.

The muffins.

The hand you placed on his back after nightmares.

The way you listened when no one else could see he was slipping.

The way you waited—patient, hopeful—for something more from him.

And he hadn’t given it.

Not because he didn’t want to.

Because he thought he couldn’t.

He had told himself he wasn’t ready. That he was too broken. That he would only ruin something good and pure if he touched it too deeply. But the truth was, he’d already touched it. You had given him your heart in small, quiet ways, and he hadn’t even noticed until it was gone.

And now you were hurting, silently, because of him. Because you’d fallen for someone who told you not to. And he’d let you think he didn’t feel the same.

Until now.

He couldn’t sit still.

He’d tried. For two days. Two full fucking days since the realization broke through him like a goddamn lightning strike—and he’d tried to be patient. Tried to breathe. Tried to think.

But he wasn’t thinking anymore.

He was moving.

Searching.

Every room. Every hallway. The kitchen, the gym, your room—empty. He was spinning, chest tight, mouth dry, pacing like an addict itching for a fix, until finally—

Laughter.

The living room.

His boots hit the floor fast. He rounded the corner and stopped.

You were there. On the couch.

You, Bob, and Yelena.

Golden Girls was playing—Dorothy mid-quip, the volume just low enough to keep conversation alive. You were laughing, body relaxed, tucked into the corner with a blanket over your legs and a mug in your hand.

And he didn’t hesitate.

He walked straight in. Right past Bob’s curious look. Right past Yelena’s raised brow.

Straight to you.

You looked up immediately, your smile faltering when you saw his face. The tension in his shoulders. The storm in his eyes.

“Bucky?” you asked, sitting up. “Are you okay—?”

“I think I love you.”

It spilled out of him like it had been waiting behind his teeth for weeks.

You blinked.

Bob’s mouth dropped open mid-sip.

Yelena turned fully toward him, brows lifted to her hairline.

He didn’t care.

“No—” Bucky swallowed hard. “No, that’s not right. I know I love you.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, lips parted slightly. Stunned.

Bucky’s heart pounded against his ribs, chest tight and burning. “I know it’s not the way I should’ve told you. And I know I don’t—fuck, I don’t deserve to say it after everything I didn’t say before. But I need you to hear me now.”

You still didn’t say anything. Just stared.

Then your hand twitched. Slid to your opposite arm.

And you started pinching your skin.

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “What… what are you doing?”

Your voice was breathy, soft. “Trying to wake up.”

“What?”

“I’m pinching myself,” you said, barely louder than a whisper. “Trying to wake up. Because there’s no way this is actually happening.”

Bucky felt something in him break.

He took a shaky breath, stepping closer, dropping to his knees in front of you. His voice was rough but steady now.

“It’s real. I swear to you, it’s real.”

You stared at him like he was a ghost. Like he wasn’t allowed to be saying this.

“I’ve been losing my mind,” he continued, voice cracking slightly. “Thinking there was someone else. Trying to believe you’d moved on because it was easier than facing the truth.”

You swallowed hard, but didn’t speak.

“And the truth is—I was scared.” He laughed, humorless, shaking his head. “I thought I wasn’t enough. That I’d mess it up. That I couldn’t give you what you deserve.”

He looked up at you now, eyes wide, glassy.

“But then I realized… you are what I deserve. You’re everything. You’re the reason this damn place feels like home. You cook for us even when no one thanks you. You remember everyone’s coffee orders. You make playlists for Bob and knit Ava a goddamn scarf even though she acts like she doesn’t care. You bake when you’re anxious, and I fucking love when you bake. You hum when you clean. You take care of everyone and let yourself break when no one’s looking.”

He reached up, brushing your arm where you’d been pinching.

“And I didn’t see it. Not really. Not until it was too late.”

A beat.

Then, softly—“But maybe it’s not too late.”

Yelena had stopped breathing. Bob looked like he might cry. But none of them mattered right now.

Just you.

Bucky’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I love you. And I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out. But I know it now. And I’m not running from it anymore.”

You didn’t say anything for a long moment.

Just looked down at him.

And your eyes… your eyes were full.

You couldn’t breathe.

He was on his knees in front of you, staring up with those wide, heartbreak-blue eyes, his voice still echoing in your ears like a song you hadn’t heard in years but somehow still knew all the words to.

I love you.

And now he was waiting—watching—like his whole world depended on what you were going to say next.

Your throat felt thick. Your heart was pounding so hard you were surprised no one else could hear it. You blinked fast, trying to keep your vision clear, but the tears were already threatening to fall.

You stared at him for a long moment, lips trembling, and whispered, “Promise me this isn’t a dream.”

Bucky’s breath caught. He reached up, brushing your cheek so gently it made your chest ache. “It’s not,” he said, voice wrecked. “It’s not, baby. I swear.”

And then you saw the moment he broke.

The last thread of restraint snapped, and suddenly he was rising—leaning in, closing the space between you before you could even think.

His lips met yours, soft and trembling at first—almost reverent—then deeper, hungrier, like he couldn’t bear to hold back another second. You gasped into his mouth, one hand flying to his jaw, the other looping around his neck, pulling him in like you were afraid he might vanish.

He groaned against you, like the sound of your mouth opening for him undid something inside him.

And then he climbed onto the couch, practically on top of you, bracing one knee beside your hip as he leaned down, his hands burying themselves in your hair. Your back hit the cushions, breath caught in your throat, and the world narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the feel of his body pressed into yours, the desperate, perfect weight of him finally, finally there.

His thumb stroked the line of your jaw as he kissed you again, deeper now, and you let yourself sink into it. Into him.

Until—

“…Guys?” Yelena’s voice cut in, dry and deeply unimpressed. “We are still here.”

You froze.

Bucky pulled back just slightly, resting his forehead to yours, his lips still hovering over yours, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run ten miles. You were both breathless, giddy, flushed.

“I forgot they were here,” you whispered, blinking up at him.

“Me too,” he said, smiling against your cheek.

From the other end of the couch, Bob cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Sooo… should we leave now?”

“No,” Yelena snapped immediately. “We were here first. This was very sweet two minutes ago, and now it’s making me deeply uncomfortable.”

You laughed into Bucky’s shoulder, muffling the sound.

He just chuckled and kissed your temple before whispering, “Still not a dream, I swear.”

You smiled up at him, and for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like something you had to fake.

It felt real.

Because it was.

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bluerobin35 · 3 days ago

Text

Cute!!!

blush

pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

summary: the five times Bucky made you blush and the one time you did.

warnings: AU where all Avengers are alive and live together as a family because I say so; lots of fluffy couply things because I'm In A Mood™; this is NOT proofread!!

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the two of you were new to this... relationship. not that it was an exclusive one. you were still figuring out whether you wanted to be a superhero's girlfriend and Bucky was still figuring out what modern dating looked like.

today was your third date, an evening to the new observatory, both of you excited to look at some stars together. New York could be suffocating without the glitter in the sky.

you were wearing a blue, full-sleeved top with a sweetheart neckline, paired with dark trousers. when you met Bucky in front of your door, he gave you a once over before a charming smile spread over his lips.

"I'm not sure whether I'll be able to focus on the stars if you look like that, doll."

it was the first time he had called you by a nickname. his words paired with him calling you doll in that low, teasing voice made heat crawl up your neck and face, your bashful smile directed at the ground as a sudden wave of butterflies swarmed your belly.

"th- thank you?" you said, not sure how to respond.

he chuckled warmly, holding out the helmet for you.

"and if you keep reacting so cutely, I'll have to call you doll more often," he remarked, meeting your eyes and winking at you.

damn him and his disarming smile.

after an exciting time at the observatory, both of you were walking down the New York streets together to get some food to eat. his bike was still parked at the observatory, you two deciding to walk to the nearby quaint cafe instead.

walks with Bucky were one of your favourite things. despite his long strides and natural tendency to walk fast, he would consciously slow down to stroll behind you, your hands animatedly talking about a random topic and his staying in his pockets.

when a rowdy friend group suddenly crowded the sidewalk, Bucky's hands immediately found yours, pulling you close to him as you two passed them.

it was the first time he had held your hand, his big, calloused hand almost enveloping yours. somehow, they fit perfectly, like two jigsaw pieces.

it was a weird sensation holding his hand. good weird.

you could feel his steady hold grounding you to the present despite the way your insides were melting at the contact.

when the path cleared, you expected him to let go of your hand.

instead, it loosened slightly but still held on, now a more casual grip than the protective one it mimicked earlier.

you continued to talk about your favourite Latin phrases while he walked on as usual, the other hand in his pocket.

your hands intertwined together felt natural.

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you had heard about the glamourous, over the top Tony Stark Galas. everyone had heard of them. never in a million years would you have thought you'll be invited to one.

so when Bucky asked "would you be my date for the Stark thing?" it took you a few moments to understand what he was saying.

"Stark thing? like, the Tony Stark Charity Gala?" your voice had raised by two octaves, excitement bleeding from your voice.

"yeah, that," Bucky's nonchalance gave way to amusement at your reaction.

you squealed in delight. "will Captain America be there? I mean Steve and Sam both. Black Widow? Thor?"

you started pacing in front of him, his eyes following you.

"I don't know what to wear, but wait- what if I make a fool in front of them?"

"you do realise these are all people I work with."

you turned around with a flurry that had Bucky concerned about whiplash. "wait so... we'll be going together?"

"... yes?"

"no, like. together together?"

"doll, you need to be clearer."

you shook your head, standing directly in front of him, your feet touching his as you looked up to him.

"I'll be your date." you stated, as if that was supposed to clear things up for Bucky.

"yes," he nodded, still giving you a confused smile.

"you'll introduce me as your...?"

"date?" he responded, his eyebrows scrunching in a cute but dumbfounded way.

you groaned. "Bucky this is the first time I'll be meeting your friends!" exasperation laced your tone. "that's... that's a huge step for us, right?" your hands found each other, fiddling with each other.

"do you not want to?" he asked, suddenly nervous. had he pushed you too far? Sam had given him the 'don't take things too fast' talk when he had ventured into dating in the 21st century.

"no, I want to," you clarified quickly. "I just want to make sure we're on the same page. you're ready for this, yeah?"

"of course," he stated, tugging you closer by your hands, his arms wrapping around your frame. "I get to show you off and prove to Romanoff that I can get girls to go out with me."

the sentence brought you back to your earlier predicament. "oh my god Bucky I don't have anything to wear! and my hair! and makeup! this is an Avengers affair! what if I embarrass myself?! what if I embarrass you!"

"doll," he tightened his hold on you, kissing you to shut you up.

your mind came to a stop, your focus shifting on his lips.

"it'll be fine," he promised. "you'll be great. you'll look pretty - there's no way you could look ugly even if you tried - and I'll make sure to punch anyone who dares say anything against you. yeah?"

"okay," you said in a daze, looking up at his eyes, finding comfort in the ocean staring back at you. "but no punching."

"no promises."

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when the big day was here, you were surprised at how good you looked. after all the panic and indecision, the begging your girl gang to help you get ready, the shopping and the borrowing of dress, accessories, and everything else, you were satisfied when you looked in the mirror. you looked pretty.

you hoped Bucky would think the same.

so when you opened your apartment door and saw him standing outside in a dark blue suit, the jacket hugging his biceps, the shirt underneath outlining his chest, and the tie adding a delicious flair, with his thick thighs being on full display with the slacks...

your breath hitched. you felt familiar heat up your neck, a blush forming on your face by just looking at him.

you didn't have energy to focus on your insecurities when you could focus on Bucky and how downright decision he looked.

"you look exquisite, doll," he said, a single white tulip in his hands. you had strictly banned him from getting bouquets for some time, after he filled your apartment with flowers and you were running out of vases. but he couldn't not get you a flower. especially for an occasion such as this. your first public appearance together.

"Bucky, you look..." you breathed out, mind working in overdrive to find a word that would describe the effect he has on you. your mind was also distracted by his slicked hair and clean shaven face, the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at you, the way his muscles bulged when he moved his arms. "simply delicious." you settled.

well, so much for being coherent.

he chuckled. "I could say the same about you."

he held out the flower in front of you, giving you a wide grin as you narrowed your eyes at him.

"you said no bouquets," he winked.

you sighed, shaking your head.

he assessed your hairstyle before you could take the flower, deeming it good enough for his next actions.

he tucked the flower behind your ear.

Bucky Barnes, the feared assassin, tucked a tulip in his date's hair.

like a lovesick fool.

you blushed even more profusely at his actions.

"it goes well with the dress," he concluded, giving you a once over, taking your hand in his. he pulled you closer, his other hand settling on your waist. "did I tell you how beautiful you look?"

"yes," you said, still in awe of the man in front of you. "did I tell you how handsome you look?"

he chuckled, kissing you, careful of your lipstick.

"are you two ever getting out of here? I have a takeout box and Netflix waiting for me at home," your best friend said from behind you.

"right," you pulled away from Bucky, turning around. "thank you for the help," you hugged her goodbye.

the gala was... overwhelming. both in a good and bad way.

the Avengers were everything you hoped for. a delight.

the attention, on the other hand...

but Bucky was always there, a hand on your back or around your waist. if he left, it was to bring you a drink or talk to someone about some superhero-y thing. classified and top secret. but he was never out of your reach for too long.

in the rare moments he was, his team members kept you company.

Steve and Sam were teasing but respectful, trying to get you to tell them embarrassing stories about Bucky. Wanda and Natasha were friendly, letting you be comfortable in their presence and dishing out gossip to you as if you three were a clique. Pepper and Jane occasionally joined the three of you. Thor was... booming. loud. his presence demanded attention, which made sense. he was a god, after all. Loki, on the other hand, was a shadow. he would occasionally prank someone in a small way, but nothing too major or serious. he was a refreshing presence. Tony was the star, the one that got everyone to act like a group. a united front, and all that. he was both charming and disarming, intimidating to an outsider like you at first, but his warmth was noticeable after some time.

the team welcomed you into their group easily. so much so, they even welcomed you at the after party.

when Bucky returned with your drink, he heard the end of your conversation with Tony.

"think about it, we could use a mind like you," Tony was saying, nodding his head at Barnes in acknowledgement.

"are you poaching my girl, Stark?" Bucky asked, pulling you closer.

"just offering her a better pay, right sweetheart?" he said.

you laughed, nodding. "I'll think about your offer."

"you know where to contact me," he raised his glass, swiftly siding away in response. you frowned in confusion.

"I actually don't know that..."

"are you having fun?" Bucky asked.

"yeah, your friends are nice. do you think they like me?" you played with the lapels on his coat.

"you're their new darling," he said, stealing a kiss. "I think they'll be fighting me for your attention."

"Bucky!" you said, slapping his shoulder. "don't kiss me, we're in front of the Avengers." you whispered the last phrase.

"so?" he laughed. "I'm one of them."

"yeah but you're... you. I know you."

"do you, now?" he raised his eyebrows. you could practically feel the teasing remark on his lips.

"I know you well enough to know you're not gonna stop kissing me in front of your friends."

"damn right," he said, leaning down to give you a proper kiss. the one that left you in a breathless daze afterwards. with a slow motion of your lips, the taste from your drinks mingling with each other. faintly, you could hear Sam shouting a teasing remark that only made Bucky pull you closer to his chest.

when you pulled away, your lipstick was smudged on his lips, but he seemed to not mind.

you could barely meet anyone's eyes for the next ten minutes, cheeks and neck flushed at the memory of Bucky's very public display of affection.

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you were sprawled out on Bucky's chest, the movie playing in front of you, but it was well in the background of your perception. your mind was clouded with new information about your relationship with Bucky, unable to focus on anything else, not even the way his fingers made patterns on your back as he held you.

he could sense you were distracted.

"is everything okay?" his voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

you wondered whether to share the information with him or not. would it help your relationship? it could make or break your future, effectively changing your life forever.

your thoughts were a jumbled mess.

"I came across some new information about our relationship," you said, finally.

that made Bucky sit up, pausing the movie to give you his full attention.

"I think this could make or break us," you repeated your thoughts out loud.

"okay..." Bucky said slowly, not sure what you were getting at. "what kind of information?"

"feelings," you said simply, looking at him expectantly.

"feelings?"

you nodded.

"you've stopped making sense again," he stated simply.

"the information has to do with feelings," you clarified.

"uh... still not making sense."

"I think I love you," you clarified further.

"you- what?" Bucky spluttered, not expecting that.

"I think about you all day, I dream about our future. you make me feel safe, warm, and excited about life. you've made it really hard to not fall for you, you know that? from your compliments to your gestures to your looks. it's a little frustrating how perfect you are."

for the first time, you saw a blush creep up Bucky's neck, a pink tint to his skin.

it was a beautiful thing - everything about this man was - the way his eyes darted around with a sheepish smile, the way his hand wrung together with nerves in a way you've never seen him. Bucky Barnes didn't blush or lose control.

apparently, he did now.

"do you mean all of that?" he said, his voice a whisper you had to strain to listen.

"yeah. every word. I love you, Bucky," you repeated. "you can take your time to say it back, or whatever, I don't really know. I- I just don't want this to ruin what we-"

your words were cut off with an oof escaping your lips before they were covered by his. this time, his kiss was deeper, his tongue fighting with yours for dominance before you gave way. he languidly explored your mouth, his hands gripping the side of your face, his fingers stroking your cheek.

your hands were on his neck, feeling his heat.

when you both broke away, you smiled at him.

"Bucky, you're blushing," you gushed, kissing his cheeks, adoration swelling in your chest.

"shut up," he grumbled, no real heat behind his words.

"make me?" you said.

he kissed you again. and again and again.

when the two of you were done kissing each other, he rested his forehead against yours. he was looking at you, eyes intense and focused only on you.

"I love you, too," he said finally, letting his walls crumble around you, letting you hold him safely.

tears welled in your eyes, the rush of feelings washing over you.

"I love you, Bucky," you repeated.

you spent the night intertwined with each other.

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