grave-rose-reblogs

[grave-rose-reblogs]

The Other Guy

summary: pietro proves to y/n that bucky is into her by doing everything in his power to make him jealous

pairing: bucky x reader, pietro x reader [pretended]

word count: 3.6k+

warnings: mentions of smut, jealousy, annoyed bucky, confrontation

a/n: literally wanna vom just thinking about hurting bucky like this i would never also this is shit but its been chilling in my drafts for 8 millions years so i decided to post it

“You are so full of shit,” Y/N laughed, absentmindedly stirring the oatmeal in her bowl. She sat at the kitchen island, blinded by the early morning sun, her pink sock clad feet swinging above the ground. She was dressed in only her tiny pyjama shorts and a hoodie, hair messy and the side of her face slightly red due to the position she slept in.

Pietro stood by the counter, dumping a bunch of different berries into a blender. It was only 8:30am and most of the compound was still fast asleep. Y/N and Pietro, however, made plans the night before to get up early, train together and then go out and buy a present for Wanda; Pietro’s way of apologising for crashing her date a few days back. The witch hadn’t spoken to him since and Pietro was slowly growing exasperated. 

“I’m serious, Y/N,” Pietro chuckled, putting the lid on the blender and glancing at her over his shoulder. “He’s into you. I can prove it.”

Y/N shook her head, rolling her eyes and pushing another spoonful of bland oatmeal past her lips.

Pietro switched on the blender, his back facing the shorter girl as he worked on preparing his usual morning smoothie. The loud noise of the blender continued to buzz inside Y/N’s ears even after Pietro had switched off the appliance. 

“I’d like to see you try, Maximoff,” Y/N smirked, provoking a quiet laugh from the speedster’s side. He popped off the lid of the blender, glanced inside to make sure his smoothie was ready and then made his way across the kitchen to grab a glass.

“I’m going to murder Bucky if he keeps eating my cereal. This stuff is gross,” she complained, pushing her bowl away with a roll of her eyes. She couldn’t understand how Steve could push the tasteless oatmeal past his lips. Unfortunately, since Bucky had cleared the cupboards of her usual breakfast cereal, she didn’t have much of a choice.

“Yeah, right. You wouldn’t lay a finger on Buck if your life depended on it,” Pietro laughed, soon realising he had to empty the dishwasher in order to find a clean glass. He bent over, focusing on the task at hand as Y/N pushed herself up and placed her bowl of oatmeal in the sink.

“You know me all too well,” she murmured, glancing inside Pietro’s blender and then back at him to make sure he wasn’t looking. Realising he wasn’t, Y/N grabbed her glass of water from the island, dumped the contents into the sink and hurried to fill it with the berry smoothie instead. When she was finished, she hopped onto the counter and sipped innocently on Pietro’s drink until he finally realised what she had done. 

“Thief,” he narrowed his eyes at her, abandoning his mission of emptying the dishwasher. He looked towards the now empty blender, realising he’d have to make more if he wanted to have a berry smoothie for breakfast. 

“Not a thief. Bucky’s a thief because he stole my cereal. I’m just… taking what’s rightfully mine. I did the grocery shopping yesterday.”

Pietro laughed, making his way across the kitchen and coming to a stop opposite Y/N.

“I don’t think he’d like to hear you say that. He’s too into you to not be upset by such words,” he teased.

“Right, he’s so into me he keeps stealing my cereal to piss me off. So romantic,” Y/N rolled her eyes sarcastically and Pietro shook his head at her. He watched her expression as she sipped on the smoothie, wondering if it tasted as good as he hoped.

When Y/N didn’t say anything about it, Pietro took a few steps forwards so that he was standing between her parted legs and reached for one of the straws sitting in a glass container behind Y/N on the counter.

She quirked a brow as he slid the straw into her glass. He leaned in, captured the end between his teeth and took a generous sip of the smoothie.

“Um, excuse you,” she objected, trying her hardest to hold back her laughter.

Y/N held the glass in both hands, far enough from herself for Pietro to drink from, and yet not far enough to not feel his breath on her skin. They were standing only inches apart and to anyone watching the interation could appear to be awfully intimate; so it wasn’t a surprise that only seconds later Y/N had to tear her eyes away from Pietro upon hearing someone clearing their throat.

Bucky was standing leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his muscular chest, one eyebrow cocked expectantly. He eyes the two Avengers already occupying the kitchen, then focused solely on Pietro with a confused glance. 

The speedster didn’t acknowledge Bucky’s stare, only looking at him for a brief second before turning back to Y/N. He placed the straw back between his lips and sucked. 

When Y/N looked down at him, Pietro was smirking knowingly. 

“Morning, Buck,” Y/N said cheerfully, trying to seem casual despite Pietro still standing between her parted legs, his hands now resting on either side of her hips, mindlessly humming as he continued sipping on the smoothie. He stepped even closer.

“Morning,” Bucky grumbled in response, strolling past the two of them and yanking open the fridge. He glanced inside, grabbed a tub of ice cream from the freezer and shut the door with unnecessary force. He found a spoon in the cutlery drawer, once more glanced at Pietro and Y/N and headed towards the exit.

When he was out of sight, Pietro finally retreated, clearly satisfied with himself by the shit eating grin across his face.

“What the hell was that about?” Y/N whispered, scared Bucky might still be close enough to hear. Pietro plucked the now empty smoothie glass out of her hands and chuckled as he placed it in the sink.

“Told you I could prove to you he’s into you,” he answered nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders and reaching out to plug out the blender.

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest. “By almost feeling me up in front of him?”

Pietro scoffed. “I did no such thing,” he protested. “I’m going to prove to you he’s into you. With my help, his possessive self will be asking you out within two days.”

Y/N expelled a humourless chuckle. “Sure he will.”

“I can guarantee you that. Go and change in your training gear and we’ll get started right away,” he challenged, and Y/N eyed him suspiciously before sliding off of the counter.

“Fine, but if this doesn’t work out, you’ll be the one explaining to everyone why you’ve been all over me for two days,” she told him sternly, pointing her index finger in his direction.

Pietro grinned, holding his arms up in surrender. “Fine by me.”

By the time Y/N was dressed in her training gear, her hair brushed back into something that reassembled practicality, Pietro was already waiting for her outside the gym. She appeared behind him with a bottle of water in her hands and managed to scare him a little before he pushed open the door.

“Good choice of clothing,” Pietro commented quietly, nodding towards her shorts, “They’ll surely get his attention.“ 

Y/N walked past, looking at Pietro over her shoulder and furrowing her brows in confusion.

“His attention?” She questioned, and then finally realised that the gym wasn’t empty like she had expected it would be. Steve was running on the treadmill and Bucky was beating the hell out of a punching bag. When they entered, Steve waved a quick greeting but Buck only grumbled, causing Steve to shoot him a confused glance.

Y/N and Pietro strolled over to a bench at the end of the room and set their stuff down.

“I knew he’d be down here after what he saw in the kitchen. He’s probably picturing my face on the punching bag. He needs to blow off some steam,” Pietro murmured, only loud enough for Y/N to hear. 

When she looked towards Bucky, she noticed sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. She looked elsewhere, deciding to take a sip of her water.

“It’s a shame you’re not the one helping him do that. I’m sure it would be more satisfying for him - and you - if that punching bag wasn’t the only thing getting pounded by him.”

Y/N began to choke on her drink. Her body shook with violent coughs, getting the attention of the other two guys across the room. Y/N could feel tears pooling in her eyes as she attempted to stop herself from quite literally… dying.

“Is she alright?” Steve called out, stopping the treadmill as Pietro hit Y/N on the back, attempting to stop her from choking.

When she calmed down, she answered feebly, “I’m fine. Pietro was just… telling me a funny story.”

Bucky scoffed at that and Y/N almost didn’t catch it, but she did; and so did Steve.

“What’s wrong with you this morning?” He asked his best friend, but Bucky only shrugged, watching as Steve headed off to do some heavy lifting.

Pietro nodded for Y/N to follow him to the padded flooring. They did some stretching in silence and while Y/N worked on her arms, she spared another glance in Bucky’s direction. 

His sweat soaked shirt had disappeared and his face showed deep concentration as his fists furiously slammed against the surface of the red punching bag. He was light on his feet, sweat trickling down his face and chest, damp hair pulled back into a messy high pony. He looked damn good.

“Ahem,” Pietro pretended to cough and when Y/N looked back at him he was smirking. He had clearly noticed her staring and was amused by the expression on her face. Pietro handed her her sparring equipment.

“You’re drooling,” he noted, and she smacked his arm playfully.

“Am not,” she protested, finally pulling on her gloves and making her way towards the centre of the mat.

She made sure she was steady, got into position and when Pietro was ready the fighting began. Y/N pulled a few of the signature moves herself and Nat had come up with, and it wasn’t long before Pietro was lying on his back on the floor.

He got up each time and by the fourth time Y/N had him on the mat, she was growing kind of bored. That is, until Pietro managed to kick her legs out from under her and she fell with a loud thud. The silver haired speedster was quick to pin her down, one hand around her neck, the other holding the back of her thigh which she had wrapped around his waist.

When Y/N glanced to the left, knowing that the round was over and that Pietro would retreat any second, she noticed Bucky watching them from the sidelines, using a black towel to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Pietro seemed to notice him looking, too, because soon he was leaning down and bringing his lips to Y/N’s ear, his hair covering her eyes so she could no longer see Bucky.

He remained silent for a second then whispered. “He’s going to leave in three… two… one”.

The door to the gym slammed shut.

Pietro pushed himself up, his grin once more appearing. Y/N’s wanted to roll her eyes at his confidence but she had to admit, Pietro was damn good at this. It was as if he had his sister’s powers and could read Bucky’s mind. Then it hit her.

“Wanda told you he’s into me, didn’t she?" 

Pietro looked like a deer in headlights.

He inhaled sharply, then sheepishly admitted, "yeah, okay, she did.”

“Which means you’re not as cunning as you think you are. Which means this could not end as well as you expect it to." 

He shrugged his shoulders. "To some extent, maybe.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes and then next thing Pietro knew her legs were around his neck and she was forcing him down onto the floor, swiftly moving to pin him down, face first on the mat. She held his hands behind his back.

“You’re an idiot,” she told him, and Pietro laughed in response, hissing when she pulled at his wrists.

“An idiot who’s helping you get laid.”

Their sparring session continued for another twenty minutes, followed by some cardio and lifting. Steve seemed to have followed Bucky because he was no where to be seen and Y/N didn’t see either of them before herself and Pietro left the compound to buy Wanda’s gift. 

Finding the perfect apology present took them the majority of the afternoon and after grabbing lunch together and arguing over whether or not Pietro’s plan would work, they returned home. They waved a quick greeting to all the other avengers who sat around the lounge before heading straight to Y/N’s room to wrap up the gift.

Of course, the process of them wrapping up the present resulted in another play fight over which colour wrapping paper and how big of a bow to use. This led to Y/N’s hair looking like a bird’s nest, her already baggy sweater falling off her shoulder and her sticky lipstick smudged across her cheek.

By the time they were finished, they both looked like a mess and Pietro had bits of tape stuck to his face like a child on Christmas morning.

He thanked her for the help before heading to his room and asked her to tell Wanda to find him.

Y/N didn’t bother fixing her appearance before heading to the lounge where everyone else was sitting around watching a rom-com. As asked, she told Wanda that Pietro wanted to see her and then headed to the kitchen to grab a drink. 

There, Bucky was already making coffee. He remained silent, leaning against the counter as Y/N grabbed a mug and dumped a tea bag into it, staring at the buzzing kettle between them. 

When she looked up, Bucky was studying her carefully.

“Your, uh… Lipstick is smudged,” he told her, pointing to his own mouth rather sheepishly. Y/N grabbed a paper towel and said nothing as she began to wipe it off. Bucky continued to look at her.

“No, you’re just making it worse,” he chuckled lightly and took the towel from her hand, stepping closer to help her. Y/N stayed unmoving as he held her chin lightly, wiping off the redness. 

“Thanks,” she muttered, hearing the kettle switch off.

“You need to tell your lover boy to be less sloppy,” Bucky noted, stepping back and throwing the tissue into the trash. Y/N cleared her throat before moving over to pour the boiling water into the two mugs.

She didn’t say anything to his previous words and when their drinks were made, they both headed back to the lounge. Bucky sat down between Nat and Steve and Y/N situated herself on the vacant love seat to the right of the TV. 

She tried to focus on the screen but she couldn’t help but feel Bucky’s eyes on the side of her face. However, every time she’d glance over at him, he’d look away as if nothing happened.

It wasn’t long before Wanda and Pietro returned, both smiling, obviously having made up. Wanda quickly situated herself on the pile of cushions and blankets on the floor and Pietro moved across the room to where Y/N sat. 

He made himself comfortable, his head in her lap, casually glancing over at Bucky to check if he was looking. Out of pure curiosity, Y/N looked over at him, too, and felt disappointment when she realised he wasn’t looking back at her. Instead, Buck’s eyes were glued to the screen, his arm casually thrown over Steve’s shoulder, his lips pursed.

Maybe he wasn’t jealous the way Pietro wanted him to be.

The movie continued and when it ended, Bruce got up to put on the sequel. This gave everyone an opportunity to go to the toilet, grab more snacks or chat for a while. It was then Pietro rolled over onto his stomach and looked up at Y/N, almost as if he knew she wanted to say something.

“I don’t think he’s all that bothered. Maybe he’s just not a fan of PDA in general,” Y/N whispered to him but Pietro only rolled his eyes. 

He remained silent as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, threw his arm over Y/N’s shoulder and pulled her legs over his lap. Y/N didn’t say anything but she could already feel Wanda and Tony eyeing them curiously from across the room; and although she wanted to explain to them there was nothing going on between her and Pietro, she remained quiet.

The movie began and the lights were switched off, the late hour resulting in a cozy dark room. It was getting kind of chilly, courtesy of Tony’s inability to sit in a room without the windows open, so Y/N didn’t actually mind having Pietro to cuddle. In fact, when his hand began slowly stroking her calf, she wiggled even closer and nuzzled her face into his chest. 

Suddenly, Tony spoke up.

“So, uh, am I the only one who’s confused about what’s going on?”

Y/N lifted her head and looked over at him to see what he was talking about. Upon realising he was already staring back at her with a confused frown, it only took her a second to figure out what the hell he meant. 

“Since when are you two a thing?” Tony continued, chuckling a little. “Yesterday I heard you two calling each other names and now here you are.” He waved his hand in their direction rather dramatically. “Doesn’t anyone else find it weird?”

Natasha then decided to pipe in. “Yeah, I mean, I’m a little confused myself. I thought you liked that other guy.” By other guy Natasha clearly meant Bucky, having been the person who listened to Y/N ramble about her crush day and night.

“What other guy?” Bucky asked, looking from Nat to Y/N, but both of them only shrugged, not wanting to give it away.

“Guys, that’s enough. Let them be,” Steve decided to interfere, not liking the way in which this conversation was heading. He wasn’t very fond of the rest of the group holding this intervention. 

“Steve, stop pretending to not care. You were just as confused as everyone else after what happened in the gym today,” Bucky announced, and the rest of the group looked at each other, almost as if waiting for someone to elaborate. No one did. 

“So,” Tony once again spoke up. “Dare to enlighten us about the situation?” He eyed Y/N and Pietro again. Y/N was seconds away from telling everyone the whole truth. However, before she even managed to open her mouth, Pietro was already speaking.

“I don’t know. We’re just sorta… hanging out, I guess,” he tried to seem casual.

Bucky scoffed, looking at Pietro as if he had lost his mind.

“Hanging out? Please, cut the bullshit." 

At this point, the whole room was holding its breath.

"You damn well know I like her and you’ve been rubbing your new relationship in my face all day. But let me tell you one thing,” he turned to Y/N. “Whatever it is you two have, it won’t last longer than a week.”

Y/N remained silent for a moment, and so did everyone else, not wanting to interfere. Even Steve seemed to have locked his mouth with an imaginary key and kept his preaching to himself for once. Then, after several seconds, Y/N finally responded timidly.

“Truth be told, it wasn’t gonna last more than two days.”

“What?” Bucky’s brows knitted together into a confused frown.

Y/N inhaled sharply and groaned at his stupidity. She pushed herself up from the sofa. Uncertain, Bucky stood up, too.

“I’ve been hinting that I like you for months! Who do you think this other guy Natasha mentioned was, huh? It was you, you absolute dumb ass! I’m not into Pietro for God’s sake!”

Sam began laughing but Wanda clamped her hand over his mouth.

“Wait, what?”

Y/N rolled her eyes at Bucky’s stupidity and Steve got up, placing a hand on his best friend’s shoulder.

“I think what she means, Buck, is that her and Pietro were trying to make you jealous,” he explained, but Bucky only looked more confused than before.

“What?”

He simply couldn’t get any slower.

And so, not seeing any different way of going about this, Y/N breathed in and began trudging in his direction. Afraid Y/N was on her way to smack him for being silly, Bucky took a step back and fell back onto the sofa. His eyes displayed utmost confusion as Y/N climbed onto his lap with her legs on either side of him, grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him. 

Right there. In front of the whole team.

A series of cheers, shouts and whistles followed. Bucky’s surprise melted away and soon he was wrapping his arms around Y/N’s middle, pulling her closer and kissing her back. It didn’t last long, but the kiss was pleasant, and when Y/N retreated, she realised everyone was still looking at her.

Catching Bucky’s gaze, she smiled sheepishly and knew that he finally understood what she meant.

“Does that explain it?” She murmured, and Bucky nodded, lips swollen and gaze blazing. 

Y/N sighed in relief and when she turned her head to look at the rest of the team, Pietro was cracking up at the other end of the room. He stood up, brushed off his jeans and said:

“You owe me one, Y/N.”

She smiled, turning her gaze back to Buck when the brunette finally spoke up. “As do I.”

[grave-rose-reblogs]

Hey can I request an enemies to lovers where reader and bucky are on a mission but she doesn't feel well because of her period cramps and bucky tries to comfort her?

Stakeout Company

A/N: I absolutely adore all of these enemies to lovers requests that I’m getting. Keep ‘em coming haha! But, thank you so much for this request! It was a pleasure to write! 

I hope you all enjoy and as always, any feedback is appreciated :)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem! Avenger! Reader

Warnings: angst/fluff, enemies to lovers, violence, weapons, cursing

“I can’t believe we got stuck with this job.” 

That is all you’ve been hearing. All day. At first, you agreed with him, not particularly wanting to just be sitting here and scouting out your witness. But now, after repeating that same phrase for the past two hours, he’s starting to piss you off. 

“Look, I hate it too, but can you please shut the fuck up about it?” 

Bucky glares at you, but you ignore him, instead continuing to look out the window of the abandoned building you’re in. 

The two of you are on a stake out, tasked with spying on the leader of an organization that you’ve found out is making more super soldier serum. 

You’ve been on duty for the past eight hours and you desperately need a coffee, as well as some headphones to block out Bucky’s non-stop talking. 

This isn’t unusual for the both of you, considering you two usually bicker back and forth, but today, your patience for him is even worse. You just started your period yesterday, and your cramps are unbearable. 

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Bucky mutters, ripping the binoculars out of your hands to use himself. 

“You do have your own pair of binoculars, you know.” 

He looks at you and winks. “I know, I just like pissing you off.” 

Scoffing, you yank your binoculars back and focus your attention outside. “Yeah, well now’s really not the time to be making me mad.” 

“And, why’s that?” 

You spot the leader walking into the building across the street. He’s with four other men. All armed. 

“Y/N?” 

Jumping up, you start to gather your gear: a gun, two knives and a recorder. You walk past Bucky. “C’mon, he’s across the street.” 

Bucky takes a quick look in your binoculars before gearing up and following you.

---

As you walk into the building, you raise your finger up to your lips, signaling for Bucky to be quiet. He rolls his eyes, but continues to follow you. 

When you start to hear voices, you stop and peer into one of the rooms. In the center stands the leader, as well as the four other guards that were walking with him. 

You look at Bucky and he nods towards the recorder in your hand. You hold it out and press play. 

“What’s next, boss?” One of the guards asks. 

The leader, or who you realize they call boss, sighs. “We’re heading to New York tomorrow to pick up the shipment. Then, we head back to the lab in Sokovia. We’ll have everything we need to create our own batch of super soldiers then.” He grins after he speaks and it makes you sick to your stomach. 

“We’re meeting at that hotel?” The guard asks. 

The boss nods. “Emerald Stone Inn.” 

While they continue talking, you look over at Bucky to check if he’s okay. You know this is a touchy subject for him and for some reason, you have a sudden urge to hold him. 

“You okay?” you whisper. 

“What was that?” The boss asks, now looking around the room. “Is someone else here?” 

Bucky grabs your hand and pulls you over to hide behind a large statue. Your hand is already reaching out to grab your gun, just in case. 

“Spread out!” The boss yells. “There’s someone here!” 

“Let’s split up,” you whisper to Bucky. 

He hesitantly nods. “Okay, just… be careful.” 

He’s walking away before you can respond. The last thing you expected him to say was that. Confused, you shake your head and walk away, heading down the hallway to hide behind another statue. 

You wait for a guard to walk past you and then you strike, sliding out behind him and grabbing his arm, pressing down on his pressure point to knock him out. You grab his body before he falls and lay him down gently. 

“Hey!” A guard says behind you. 

Shit. Turning around, you come face to face with two guards. 

“Did you find them?” The boss comes running around the corner and stops when he sees you. 

Double shit. You hear more footsteps and a second later, Bucky is behind you. 

“Look who we have here,” the boss says. “The inspiration himself.”

Bucky moves to step forward and you put your arm out to stop him. 

“You’re not getting that serum,” you say. 

“And, who’s gonna stop us? The two of you?” 

Bucky steps in front of you. “That’s right.” 

The boss laughs before lunging forward at Bucky, while the other two guards head towards you. 

You pull out your knives and step forward. One of the guards rushes at you and you dodge them, stepping to the side before throwing your knife at the other guard, hitting him right in the middle of the chest. The guard immediately goes down, falling to the ground in a heap. 

You turn around quickly to dodge the other guard who’s rushing at you again. He kicks out his leg, attempting to trip you and you jump to the side. As he collects himself, you jump onto his back, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly. He grabs at your thighs, trying to loosen your hold on him as he chokes. 

When he starts to sway, you jump down right as his body knocks into the ground. 

“You’re finally done?” 

Turning around, you see Bucky standing there, the boss’s body lying lifeless next to him. “Took you long enough.” 

Rolling your eyes, you walk past him. “Asshole.” 

Bucky grins as he falls into step behind you. 

---

It’s day two and you’re ready to punch Bucky in the face. Apparently, the men from yesterday weren’t the only ones in the organization trying to acquire the serum, so now you’re on another stake out, just in a different location. 

You’ve been sitting here for six hours already and your cramps are somehow even worse than yesterday. 

Bucky’s been stealing glances at you for the past hour and it’s starting to irritate you. 

“Is there a problem?” you spit out as you stare at him. 

“Is everything okay?”

His question stumps you. How can he tell that something’s wrong? And more importantly, why would he even care? 

You turn to look back out the window. “I’m fine.” 

“You don’t seem fine. You’ve been clutching your stomach the whole day.” 

“Very observant, thank you. Why don’t we use those skills for the man we’re supposed to be watching?” 

Bucky doesn’t look away from you. “Did you get hurt yesterday?” 

You ignore him. 

“Y/N, seriously. Are you injured?” 

You throw your binoculars onto the floor and cross your arms over your chest. “Why do you care?” 

Bucky scoffs. “You act as if I don’t care about you.” 

Now it’s your turn to scoff. “You don’t.”

Bucky stands up to walk closer to you. “I’ve always cared about you, Y/N.” 

You look down at the ground. “Funny way of showing it,” you mutter. 

Once Bucky is right in front of you, he sits down. “I care, doll.” One of his hands reaches out to cup your cheek and you gasp, not expecting him to be so gentle with you. “Now, what’s wrong?” 

“My cramps,” you whisper.

“What was that?” 

You stand up. “I have cramps, Bucky!” 

Bucky is quiet for a second before standing up and facing you. “What can I do to help?” 

You sit back down and grab your binoculars off the floor. “Nothing. Just pretend we didn’t have this conversation.” 

He sits back down, behind you this time. “I’m not going to do that.” He scoots up towards you and stretches his legs out on either side of you, pulling you back against his chest. His arms snake around your waist and he rests his hands against your stomach, applying pressure. 

“Is this okay?” he says against your ear. 

The pressure helps take off some of the edge and you sigh, resting your head back against his shoulder. 

He chuckles. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

You find yourself chuckling with him. “It feels good. Thank you.”

He looks down at you and smiles. “Anytime, doll. Glad I could be of help.” 

Looking away from him, you focus your attention back on the window. “Yeah, you’re not too bad, I guess.” 

You grin as Bucky gasps. “Oh, really? Wanna say that again, doll?” His hands move to your waist, ready to tickle you.

“No, no! I surrender!” 

Bucky laughs as he moves his hands back to your stomach. “That’s what I thought. Now, lay back and relax. I’ll keep watch for the next hour.” 

Doing exactly what he says, you rest back against him and close your eyes, content in his arms. 

You and Bucky definitely have some talking to do when you arrive back home.

[grave-rose-reblogs]

this time of year

pairing: friend!steve rogers x female reader

summary: you've kept your feelings for your friend, steve rogers, quiet for years—but when you're at the holiday market with your whole group of friends, some things come to light, and you don't think you can keep pretending you don't desperately want him anymore.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), fluff, light angst, smut, oral sex (m and f receiving), piv sex, protection, fingering (f receiving), nipple play, multiple orgasms, kissing, making out, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (sunshine), aftercare, happily ever after—this is probably the most vanilla sex i've written in a while but it's still porn with feelings.

word count: 11.9k

a/n: my first entry for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, and it's technically still december 1 where i live (just barely)!!! i used the prompt "Can I put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?" and had an idea i really liked and just ran with it! i promise most of my december fics won't be 10k+ words—mainly because i don't think i'd survive it 😅 but i hope y'all enjoy this soft and sweet and smutty start to december!! ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

Teasing tingles of chill danced across your skin as the crisp December wind brushed against your cheeks, making you huddle deeper into the warmth of your winter coat. You pushed your hands deeper into your pockets, but it didn’t do much. You’d forgotten your mittens, and your fingers felt nearly frozen. 

It didn’t help that you and your friends had been meandering through one of the city’s holiday market for more than a few hours, the cold of the evening sinking deep into your bones. Unfortunately, there were only so many cups of hot chocolate one person could consume before they made themselves sick, and you’d reached that limit. 

Still, you were having fun—too much fun to complain about the cold or to try to beg off early. That was why you smiled as you watched your best friend, Yelena Belova, duck into one of the market stalls, her green eyes going wide as they raked over the vendor’s display of knives.

You trailed a little slowly behind the rest of your friends—Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers—beneath the pop-up tent, distracted by the chill in your fingers as you rubbed them against your body through the material of your coat, trying to get them warm.

The wintry wind cut through the market again and, despite the trembling of your body, you smiled as you breathed in the scent of it. Beneath the pine smell from the evergreen trees being sold at the big tent near the entrance and the swirling richness of buttery baked goods, there was a fresh scent that made you turn your face upward.

Gray clouds were rolling in overhead, blotting out the deep navy of the evening sky, and you knew, deep in your bones, that it was going to snow. A smile curled the edges of your lips and you let your eyes fall closed as you breathed in that fresh scent of oncoming snow. 

You loved this time of year because you loved the snow. 

Everything about it conjured up memories of sitting by a crackling fire, wrapped in a cozy blanket, watching the beautiful flakes fall from the sky and dust everything in a perfect wintry cloak. You could spend hours sitting by a window, watching the snow come down, and you were suddenly looking forward to doing just that once you got home that evening. 

When you finally opened your eyes and turned away from the sky, you found Steve lingering in the entrance of the tent where your friends were browsing, an intensity in his gaze as he looked at you. He didn’t look away when you caught him staring, simply held your gaze, letting you see the heat swirling in the depths of his bright blue eyes.

That heat had begun appearing in Steve’s eyes more and more when he looked at you, and you knew it had started after a certain night at the bar your friends frequented a few weeks prior. But you’d been determinedly ignoring that look in Steve’s eyes ever since that night—just like you’d been ignoring what exactly had happened between the two of you. 

As fast as the memory of that night sprang to mind, you shoved it aside, reminding yourself that there was no use in dredging it up. What you and Steve had done that night had the potential to ruin all of your relationships, and no matter how much you might’ve wanted reenact the night at the bar, your friend group was too important to you to risk it.

Even after years of knowing them, you still felt like your addition to the group was precarious because you’d joined so much later. Steve, Bucky, Nat and Yelena had all known each other since they were teenagers, and you’d only met them in your early twenties. You’d sat near Yelena at your first job after college, and it had been best friends at first sight—or, at first snarky comment, anyway. 

She’d adopted you as her best friend and introduced you to the others since you were new to the city and didn’t know anyone. You’d liked Steve from the moment you met him, but you’d kept a tight lid on your crush since you were more concerned about fitting into the group as seamlessly as possible, and you figured following your feelings would unnecessarily rock the boat. 

Still, despite your intention of taking your crush on Steve to your grave, you couldn’t ignore the way he’d grown into himself as you all had gotten older. 

Gone was the boy-next-door blond hair and clean-shaven face of the man you’d first met. Steve’s hair had darkened and he’d recently let it grow long enough that it was beginning to curl at the nape of his neck. He’d also grown out his beard, keeping it thick but neatly trimmed.

Steve had also, somewhere along the way, learned how to dress his tall form—and do it well. 

That night at the holiday market, he’d worn light gray slacks, a dark charcoal sweater that you desperately wanted to rub your cheek against to see if it was as soft as it looked, and a black wool overcoat. It was an outfit that had you nearly drooling when you’d met up with your friends, unable to tear your eyes away from how Steve’s broad shoulders and trim waist filled out the clothes.

Despite the chill of the evening, Steve hadn’t seemed the least bit cold, and you’d caught yourself thinking more than once how warm it would feel to be wrapped up in his strong arms. Your fingers would never have gotten so miserably frozen if you’d snuck them beneath Steve’s coat or in his pockets…

With a start, you realized you’d been staring back at Steve for a long, lingering moment, and heat bloomed in your cheeks. You didn’t want him to get the wrong idea—though, at that moment, you were struggling to figure out what exactly the wrong idea was—so you ducked your head and pretended like you were bundling deeper into your coat as you made to move past him into the tent.

“Are you alright, sunshine?” Steve asked as you passed him, his hand landing gently on your arm. Even through your coat, you could feel the warmth of his touch; it made you pause and glance up at him.

You realized your mistake immediately. You were too close to Steve—far too close. So close you could smell the rich, masculine scent of his cologne and feel the heat radiating off his body. It made you want to bury your face in his neck and inhale deeply, to wrap yourself up in his warmth until your bones didn’t even remember what the cold felt like.

“I-I’m ok,” you said in a shaky voice, more rattled by Steve’s closeness than the December wind cutting through the city, and you dropped your gaze to the gold pendant around his neck. 

It glinted in the soft light of the market stall, and you remembered it had been a gift from his Irish Catholic mother. You used the memory of Steve telling you about the pendant to ground yourself and your voice came out stronger. 

“Just cold.”

“D’you want some more hot chocolate?” Steve asked, and there was a hopeful note in his tone, like he was offering to get it for you, but you were quick to shake your head.

“Any more and I think my body will be more hot chocolate than water,” you joked, trying to ignore the emotions swirling in your chest like snowflakes on a wintry gale.

When Steve chuckled, you couldn’t help but look back up at him, finding his blue eyes sparkling as he gazed down at you, affection clear in the lines of his face. 

Slowly, his smile eased into something else—something heavier, an expression that was almost yearning. It made the fluttering flakes in your chest swirl more frenziedly while a warmth bloomed somewhere lower, throbbing more to life the longer Steve looked at you with those darkened blue eyes. His expression spoke of things you’d never dare give voice to.

For another long moment, you and Steve just stared at each other, standing too close just inside the canopy of the vendor at the holiday market. A tension you refused to acknowledge crackled in the air around you.

Of their own volition, your eyes dropped to Steve’s mouth, his lower lip looking so soft and pink amid the dark brown of his beard. For what felt like the millionth time in the last few weeks, ever since that night at the bar, you imagined kissing him—how soft his mouth would be, how warm and inviting, and the feel of his rough beard rasping over your cheeks. 

“Hey Steve, c’mere!”

Natasha’s call finally broke the spell that had fallen over you and Steve, and you jumped back, only in that moment realizing how close you’d been. Close enough that when you ducked your head and turned away from him, making your way over to Yelena and Bucky, that you missed Steve’s warmth almost immediately. 

You let out a shaky breath, trying to ease the tension and whirling emotions in your chest, and slid between your friends, who were still looking at the knives on sale. Looping one arm through Yelena��s, you rested your head against Bucky’s shoulder, taking comfort in your friends’ warmth, even if it wasn’t as soothing as Steve’s had been.

“Both of you already have too many knives,” you said by way of a greeting. Your comment made both of them snort derisively, which made you smirk since it had been your intention to get a reaction out of them. 

“There’s no such thing,” Yelena scoffed, tearing her eyes away from a double-edged dagger with an engraved handle to glance sideways at you. Her gaze met yours and then slid over your shoulder.

You followed it to where Natasha and Steve’s heads were ducked together. They were standing near a display of jewelry and you figured Nat was helping Steve pick out a Christmas present for someone, though you couldn’t think of who. You frowned.

“When are you going to put him out of his misery?”

Bucky’s gruff question drew you out of your thoughts of trying to remember someone in Steve’s life who he might be buying jewelry for, and you looked at your friend. Without even seeing your reflection, you knew confusion was written plainly across your face.

“What?” you asked, a little sharper than you’d intended, but you didn’t appreciate the implication that you were making Steve miserable.

Bucky cut his eyes to you, then slid them to Yelena, giving your best friend a pointed look. You spun your head around to your other side in time to watch Yelena’s mouth flatten into a reproachful frown. 

Suddenly, you got the distinct impression that your friends were having an argument about you, though you couldn’t even begin to wonder what it could be about, except that it had something to do with Steve.

It took a moment of silent arguing before Yelena and Bucky seemed to come to an agreement. Yelena looked at you, a gentle expression on her face that made your stomach drop with anxiety—which only worsened when she put her free hand on your arm that was still looped through hers. 

However, before she could voice whatever bad news she clearly had to tell you, Bucky cut in.

“You know no one would be upset if you and Steve dated, right?” he asked bluntly, his eyes intense and searching when you turned to look at him. “We all know you like each other.”

If you’d been drinking hot chocolate at that moment, you would’ve spit it out all over Bucky and the display of pretty decorative knives. 

Thankfully, you weren’t. But you still managed to sputter and open your mouth repeatedly while you searched for the words to address the preposterousness of Bucky’s statement.

“I do not—”

Whatever weak protest you were going to utter was cut short when Yelena blurted, “We know you kissed.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, the snowflakes that had been fluttering in your chest when you’d been standing with Steve sharpened into icy daggers of unease. You whirled on your best friend. “Pardon?”

“I saw you guys at the bar that night—I went back to get my scarf…” Yelena explained quickly, having the good grace to look apologetic, both for what she’d seen and for bringing it up. “I know you’ve liked Steve for ages, even if you haven’t said anything,” she rushed on, as if she thought if she spoke fast enough, it would make it easier to hear. “I was so excited it was finally happening that I blurted it out to Nat and she told Bucky—we were just so happy for you both.”

You floundered again, your mouth opening and closing as you processed your best friend’s words. It was almost too much to take in. Not only did everyone know what had happened between you and Steve that night at the bar, but it hadn’t changed anything. You’d told yourself for years that nothing could happen between you and Steve because it would throw off the whole balance of the group, but something had happened and it hadn’t done anything. 

“I—”

Again, you were cut off, though it was seemingly Bucky’s turn, and your head swiveled back to him on your other side, feeling a bit like a broken bobblehead. 

“He’s liked you too, for what it’s worth,” Bucky said. Your face must’ve conveyed disbelief because he went on. “He’s been talking about you since Yelena first introduced you to everyone, but he didn’t know how you felt,” he said, cutting his eyes to Yelena with the barest hint of a glare, “and didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

Hearing that Steve liked you was officially too much for you to bear. The dawning realization that you could’ve been with Steve without risking your friendships with Yelena, Bucky and Nat was like a yawning, desolate chasm waiting to swallow you whole. You’d lost so much time because you were so afraid of losing them all, and it hurt—it hurt enough that it took you a moment to realize Yelena was talking again.

“We thought someone had finally made a move, but then you guys were pretending like nothing happened,” she was saying, and you turned back to her, your mind so overwhelmed that you no longer felt cold, only numb. “None of us wanted to bring it up because, y’know, I wasn’t supposed to have seen it.” She shot you an apologetic grimace before plowing on, her expression turning gentle again. “You know we’d never stop being your friends, even if something happened with you and Steve, right?”

Your heart was racing, the fear of change quickly eclipsing the fear of losing any more time with Steve. You’d been friends with Yelena, Bucky, Nat and Steve for so long that you couldn’t even imagine what it would be like if the two of you started dating—let alone what might happen if you broke up. Shaking your head, you refused to acknowledge Yelena’s assurance. Even if they’d still be friends with you, nothing would be the same. 

“Nothing happened,” you said vehemently, even as you choked on the words, the lie tasting like ash on your tongue. But you couldn’t seem to stop. “We were drunk, it meant nothing.” 

But then Bucky—blunt, too-perceptive Bucky—broke into your thoughts and pulled you up short with another simple question.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, his tone not unkind.

You opened your mouth to snap a quick answer, but the ‘yes’ died in your throat. Because of course something had happened, and of course it meant everything.

For the first time in weeks, you gave yourself permission to remember that night. 

You’d tried to forget it—forget the softness of Steve’s lips on yours, forget the heat of his tongue as it slipped into your mouth, forget the pleasant scrape of his beard against your skin and the gentle way he’d held your face as he deepened the kiss. 

Your first kiss with Steve Rogers had been glorious and messy and too short and too perfect—and it had meant everything to you.

But then you remembered what had happened after, the way you’d pulled away, even though you’d been the one to initiate the kiss in the first place, and panicked as soon as your mind had caught up with what you’d done. 

The rest of the memory was a blur, the anxiety of the moment softening the edges, but you distinctly remembered extricating yourself from Steve—which had felt a little like cutting off a limb—before telling him it was a mistake and it couldn’t happen again.

Back at the market, you buried your face in your hands, and almost sobbed at the memory. “I’ve already ruined things,” you mumbled miserably into your frozen fingers, squeezing your eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.

Bucky made a humming noise, as if he was considering your words. “Whatever happened between you two, it hasn’t changed Steve’s feelings for you,” he said, squeezing your wrist gently until you looked at him. He stared at you for a long moment, making sure you heard him. “So my question stands: When are you going to put him—and yourself—out of this misery?” 

Your friends let you sit with that question for a silent moment, then Yelena selected one of the knives, claiming it was an early Christmas present for herself and made her way over to the checkout. 

Steve was also apparently buying something, accepting a small wrapped package from the cashier that he slipped into his pocket. You were too overwhelmed by your thoughts to be curious about it anymore though.

You stood with Bucky near the entrance to the tent, waiting for your friends to finish their transactions while your mind swirled. You were grateful to your friend for leaving you alone with your thoughts, though you knew it was only because Bucky was confident he’d made his point.

And he had. Oh how he had.

Your mind and heart were a mess. You’d spent so many years telling yourself that you could never let anyone catch on about your feelings for Steve, because if they did, it would lead to the end of the friend group. But they’d all known for weeks, and nothing had changed. 

Well, nothing except apparently Bucky and Yelena had taken it upon themselves to play matchmaker. And you wouldn’t have been surprised if Natasha had been in on the ploy as well, distracting Steve purposefully so Yelena and Bucky could ambush you.

Still, you couldn’t fully silence the tiny voice of fear deep in your heart that insisted that if you and Steve got together, and things ended badly, you’d lose all your friends. 

The rest of the group had known each other for so long and it had been more than a little daunting to figure out where you fit. Adding a romantic relationship into the mix seemed like a recipe for disaster—and if it ended so badly that everyone was forced to choose sides, you couldn’t imagine them choosing yours when they’d known Steve so much longer. 

But as you watched Yelena finish paying for the knife, her words about always being your friend came back to you. She was your best friend—and you were hers. As if proving the point, she caught your eye and smiled impishly as she caught up with you, linking her arm through yours and tugging you back out into the market. 

In that moment, something settled in you. Without fully realizing it, you’d always been a little insecure in your group of friends, always worried they would kick you out at the smallest infraction. But Yelena had said it plainly—they’d always be your friends, and you owed it to them to believe her, to trust her, because that was what friendship was. 

That was what you had to do to have any kind of meaningful relationship.

As your group of friends wandered further down the row of stalls at the holiday market, you couldn’t help the way your eyes kept straying to Steve. Each time, you found him either looking at you already, or glancing your way within seconds, like he could feel your gaze. 

When you looked at him, really looked at him, you noticed a little bit of hurt in his eyes. There was only a hint of it, like he was trying to hide it from you and everyone elese, but you could see it. 

You wondered, briefly, how you’d missed it, but a part of you knew you’d been seeing it since that night at the bar. You’d just been ignoring it along with everything else swirling in his gaze. 

“When are you going to put him out of his misery?” 

You’d known you were making yourself miserable—of course you had. But the realization that you were making Steve miserable, even as he made a valiant effort to hide it, was what finally made your decision for you about what to do with everything Bucky and Yelena had told you.

No matter how scared you were that things might end badly, and you’d end up getting your heart broken and lose all your friends, you had to trust them when they said they’d always be there for you. You had to trust that Steve knew what he wanted—and that what he wanted was you.

The group came to another stop when Bucky spotted a specialty chocolate vendor and he ducked inside. Nat and Yelena followed him in—the latter giving you a meaningful look as you trailed behind before cutting her eyes to Steve. The message was clear and you nodded, giving her a playful shove that made your best friend cackle as she followed Bucky and Nat.

You stepped toward Steve where he hovered just outside the tent, and he shot you a knowing smile when he caught your eye.

“Still feeling like you’ve had enough chocolate?” he asked in a friendly tone, referencing your earlier joke. His beard twitched like he was trying to hold back a smile and it warmed your heart that he not only remembered the joke, but still found it funny.

The side of your mouth curved up in a lopsided grin, and you inched a tiny bit closer, just barely stepping into Steve’s personal space as you looked up at him.

“Yeah, I’ve had my fill,” you said, keeping your tone light. You took on a considering expression, tipping your head to the side and tapping a finger to your chin as if you were thinking. “For tonight, at least.” 

Both of you laughed, but the December wind cut through the holiday market just then, and it reminded you of how cold your fingers were, especially out in the open. You quickly shoved your hand deep into the pocket of your coat, and Steve didn’t miss the movement, drifting even closer to you.

“Do you have any gloves, sunshine?” he asked in a low, rumbly voice that had warm tingles of delight dancing down your spine, all the way to your toes. 

“No,” you said, shaking your head. Steve had moved close enough that you had to tip your head back to keep looking up at him, and you could feel the heat radiating off his larger body.

His blue eyes were sparkling in the warm, golden light of the market, and you could see the swirl of emotion in their depths that was only there when he looked at you. But there was a crease of concern between his brows, too, and you knew he was seconds away from offering to find you some gloves—or something else that would be chivalrous and perfectly friendly. 

You realized, very suddenly, that if anything was going to happen between you and Steve, anything like what had happened at the bar, you needed to make the first move. Bucky had said Steve had been worried about making you uncomfortable before that night, and you were certain it had only worsened after the kiss you’d shared. 

So, before he could say anything, you blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Can I put my cold hands up your sweater for warmth?”

Steve’s brows lifted in surprise, and you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from trying to take the words back as soon as they’d slipped out of your mouth. And you were glad you did, because as the moment stretched on, and Steve realized you were serious, his brows lowered and his blue eyes darkened with interest.

“Ya sure about that, sunshine?” he asked, his voice low enough that you knew it was meant for only you. He ducked his head slightly, so he was nearly at your eye level, and held your gaze. “I wouldn’t want you doing anything you might regret.”

The words stung a little, but you knew you deserved them, especially after you’d told Steve that kissing him had been a mistake. So you held his gaze and stepped even closer to him, until there was barely any space left between your bodies.

“I’m sure,” you said firmly, letting Steve see the honesty in your open expression. “I know what I’m doing and I—this is what I want.” You were proud of yourself for only stumbling once, and held your breath as you waited for Steve’s response.

The corners of Steve’s mouth flickered in an eager grin, but he wiped the expression away, like he was worried that if he appeared too excited, he’d scare you away. You felt a pang of regret, and it doubled your determination to show Steve that you weren’t going to panic and run away again. 

Pulling your hands from your pockets, you brushed your fingertips against Steve’s stomach in a silent reminder of your question. 

“Can I?” you asked, your voice breathless with anticipation. 

“Yeah,” he rasped, his eyes molten with heat as he stared down at you. “Go ‘head, sunshine.”

You were cold enough that you didn’t waste any more time, slipping your fingers beneath the hem of Steve’s soft sweater and pressing your frigid fingertips to the warm, smooth skin you found. 

“Fuck, your fingers are freezing,” Steve rumbled, the muscles of his abs contracting beneath your touch like they were trying flee. But before you could apologize and pull away, Steve’s hands flattened over yours outside his sweater, pressing your palms against the hard-packed plane of his abs. “Good thing ya got me to keep you warm, sunshine,” he teased, his voice so full of charm that you melted into him. 

“Yeah, good thing,” you echoed in a whisper, the edges of your mouth curling up into a pleased smile. You shimmied closer to Steve, watching the way his blue eyes sparkled with affection as he held your gaze captive.

He wrapped you up against him, holding you in the loose cage of his warms while your fingertips stroked idly against his smooth skin. You wanted to let them wander further beneath his sweater and explore the wonders of Steve’s bare chest, but you managed to keep the urge in check since you were in public—though it was a near thing.

“You know what I like to do most in the winter?” you asked Steve, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over the two of you. The sounds of the market all around you were a distant soundtrack.

“What?” he asked indulgently, squeezing you slightly in his arms.

“Curl up in bed and snuggle on a snowy day,” you said with a sly smile. And then, as if a thought had just occurred to you, you tilted your head to the side. “Hey, is your bed comfy? Do you have a lot of nice warm blankets and good pillows?”

A grin pulled across Steve’s face even though he was fighting it, trying to look like he was taking your questions under serious consideration.

“Y’know, I think it’s very comfy,” he said, giving you a knowing look. He’d obviously picked up on the not-so-subtle cue that you might want him to take you back to his place, and you appreciated that he was sticking to the bit. “But it sounds like you’re an expert, so I think you should come over and be the judge of that.”

An answering grin curved your mouth and you murmured, “I’d like that.” 

Then, before you could let your fear get the best of you again, you pushed yourself up onto your tiptoes, your lips brushing against Steve’s beard as you moved to whisper in his ear. 

You shivered at the physical reminder of the coarse hair rasping deliciously against your cheeks when he’d kissed you and it took a moment to remember what you’d been about to say. When you did, you couldn’t hold in your smirk.

“Did I mention I do my best snuggling naked?” 

“Sunshine.”

The nickname was uttered in a gruff, rumbling rasp, like the sound of a plow on snowy streets. It was so deep and delicious, your toes curled in delight and your mouth pulled into a full-blown grin. 

You barely had time to pull away before Steve was wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and towing you in for a kiss.

Steve’s mouth was wonderfully soft and exquisitely warm and achingly familiar against yours. He wasted no time licking along the seam of your lips, seeking entrance that you happily gave him. 

Your fingers curled around Steve’s sides beneath his sweater, digging greedily into the soft skin at his waist while you kissed him back feverishly, trying to close every gap between your bodies.

“Fuck, how does this feel so much better than I remember?” Steve growled against your lips, his hand on the back of your neck tilting your head just the way he wanted so he could lick even deeper into your mouth. 

Your breathy, delirious laugh was swallowed by his all-consuming kiss, the sound turning into a helpless moan. 

God, he was right, it did feel so much better than you remembered to have Steve’s mouth on yours, and you couldn’t fathom how you’d run away from him before because, in that moment, the last thing you wanted to do was stop. You wanted to kiss Steve for the rest of your life.

“I don’t know, but Steve, please, don’t stop,” you murmured when he finally let you up for air. You tried to catch your breath while he was busy pressing insatiable kisses to your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth, anywhere he could reach without straying too far from your lips. 

Pulling your hands from beneath his sweater, your no longer freezing fingers threaded into the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, pulling him closer while at the same time pushing yourself up onto your tiptoes again. Your bodies slotted together even more perfectly, and you moaned softly into his mouth as you tugged him in for another kiss.

Steve kissed you harder, holding you tight to his chest like he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear on the wintry wind. In turn, you held him just as fiercely, your nails raking through the beard on the underside of his jaw and tugging lightly to bring him closer until he was rumbling a pleased sound deep in his chest.

“Get a room!”

The perfect bubble that had formed around and Steve abruptly popped, the sounds of the bustling holiday market rushing in along with the December chill and you pulled away, your first instinct to worry about what your friends would think. But then you caught the look on Steve’s face. 

He was staring at you with such a blissed out expression, his blue eyes dark and hazy, a pleased smile on his kiss-swollen lips, that you couldn’t help but relax and melt back into him. You took your time to press a sweet kiss to his lips before turning to your friends.

Natasha, Yelena and Bucky all wore matching smug grins. Nat was even popping little chocolate candies into her mouth like she was enjoying the show. 

“Oh no, please don’t stop on our account,” she called to you and Steve, gesturing with her hand for you both to continue. The whole group burst into raucous laughter. 

Cracking up and shaking your head, you buried your face in Steve’s rumbling chest, feeling a little shy about being caught making out so heatedly by your friends. But you felt relief, too, that no one was upset—that all your friends were happy for you and Steve.  

When you’d finally gotten ahold of yourself, you tipped your face up and caught Steve’s eye, giving him a sly smile that had his expression instantly darkening with a hunger that made you pulse with desire. 

“So about that comfy bed of yours…” you murmured, just for him to hear. When he nodded once, quickly, to acknowledge he remembered it, you went on. “I’d love to see it if you’re ready to go?”

The implication of your question was clear and Steve clutched you tighter to his chest, capturing your lips for a brief, hot kiss that did more to warm you from the inside out than any of the hot chocolate you’d consumed that evening. 

“Sunshine, I’ve been ready to take you home for years,” he rasped against your mouth, the honesty in his voice making you smile. 

When Steve pulled away, he tugged you over to your group of friends and told them you were heading home—yes, together, he confirmed. All three of them murmured encouraging words in your ear as you hugged them goodbye, and you could tell by the pink tinging Steve’s cheeks that they were doing the same to him.

Once farewells were said, Steve snagged your hand and laced your fingers together. As you walked to the subway, he tucked your clasped hands into the pocket of his overcoat, and then your other into the crook of his elbow, where he covered it with his palm to keep you warm. 

Steve held you tucked into his side the whole way back to his place while he made idle conversation, asking about the latest books you’d read and movies you’d watched. He only let go when it came time to pull out his keys and unlock his door.

There was a giddy, electric energy between the two of you as Steve helped you out of your coat and hung it up. Your gaze kept drifting back to him while you took off your boots and he hung up his overcoat. Once done, he stepped close, toeing out of his shoes next to where you’d dropped your boots.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Steve asked, his voice rough and a little uneven, like he was nervous. It made you smile, settling your own nerves to know he was right there with you.

You stepped further into Steve’s space, your fingers sneaking beneath the hem of his sweater and giggling when he sucked in a sharp breath. He’d made an excellent effort to keep your fingers warm on the way home, but the December cold had still snuck in. 

It was a good thing Steve was there to warm you up again.

“I think I’d just like to see this comfy bed of yours,” you murmured, pushing up onto your tiptoes and kissing Steve. 

The two of you lingered in the entryway of Steve’s apartment for long minutes, kissing and learning what made each other gasp and moan. His teeth nipped at your lower lip, sinking in hard enough to make you whimper before relenting and soothing the sting away with his tongue.

Meanwhile, you let your hands wander further beneath Steve’s sweater, finding a light trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his slacks. You raked  your nails through it, and relished the pleased sound that rumbled in his chest. 

Warm, wet desire was gathering between your thighs, and it wasn’t long before you squirmed impatiently against Steve, needing more.

By the time Steve broke the kiss and spun you around, his heavy hands dropping to your hips to guide you through his apartment, your panties were damp and you were aching for something only Steve could give you. 

Both of you moved quickly as you let Steve lead you to his bedroom, pausing just inside the darkened room while he flicked on a light.

A soft, golden glow emanated from two lamps set on low wooden tables on either side of the massive bed. Curiously, your gaze roved over the room, taking in the earthy colors and tasteful design.

It seemed Steve hadn’t only gotten his wardrobe and appearance together—he’d also made his home a place that was warm and welcoming and entirely him. 

The king-size bed was swathed in a thick, forest green comforter with dark charcoal sheets, a veritable pile of pillows at the head that looked far too enticing. The rest of the room was furnished with a dark wooden bookcase and dresser that matched the bed frame and side tables. There were even some vintage photographs of Brooklyn decorating the wall, along with some framed pictures on dresser.

Wandering over, you picked up one of the photographs. It was from the first autumn after you’d met Yelena and the others. The group had rented a car and gone to a farm upstate to go apple picking and enjoy all the other autumnal delights the state had to offer. 

In the photo, you were tucked into Steve’s side on a bale of hay, ready for the hayride the group had decided to go on, with Yelena on your other side. There was a blanket draped over your laps, and Steve’s arm was wrapped around your shoulders. The three of you were beaming at the camera. 

“Do you remember that trip?” Steve asked, sliding up behind you and wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder while he peered at the photograph.

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. Then you winced as you remembered something about the trip. “Wasn’t this the time I fell asleep on your shoulder on the way home and drooled all over your jacket?”

Steve laughed huskily in your ear.

“It is,” he confirmed, brushing a kiss to your cheek before murmuring. “I didn’t wash it for a month.”

It was your turn to laugh, though the sound was more of a surprised exhalation as you twisted your upper body so you could see his face better.

“What?”

Steve grimaced, wrinkling his nose and scuffing a hand against the back of his neck sheepishly, like he regretted admitting that to you.

“It was more because it smelled like you than because of the, y’know, drool,” he explained, his tone a tiny bit defensive. But then he looked at you, finding your face still frozen in surprise and his expression softened. “I’ve liked you since I met you, sunshine.”

It wasn’t anything Bucky hadn’t already told you, but it still felt like an entirely new revelation coming straight from Steve, and all you could think to say was, “Oh.” 

You turned back to the photo, still held in your hand, and all you could think about was the fact that you had the same one tacked up on the corkboard over your desk. You wondered if Steve liked it for the same reason you did—because it made the two of you look like a happy couple, even with Yelena sitting next to you.

“I liked you too,” you confessed in a small voice.

Steve was quiet for a moment, his hold on you loosening slightly as you stepped forward to put the photograph back on his dresser. But when that was done, he towed you back in until your back was pressed to his chest. 

“Liked?” he asked, enunciating the ‘d’ at the end of the word. 

Your mouth flickered in a smile and you turned around in his arms. Your hands smoothed over his broad shoulders while you leaned into him, your soft curves pressing into the hard planes of his body.

“I liked you then, and I like you now, Steve,” you said, holding your breath as you stared up at him. Even knowing he felt the same way about you, it was still scary to lay your heart bare for the first time, and you waited eagerly for his response.

An exhale gusted from Steve and you couldn’t help but note the relief in his expression, even as he grinned wide.

“That’s good to hear, sunshine, because I like you, too.”

“Good,” you said with a grin, dragging Steve down for a too-brief kiss. “Now, will you take me to bed already?”

Steve’s laughter was muffled as he kissed you again, guiding you around and walking you backward until the backs of your legs hit the bed. He didn’t break the kiss as he lowered you to the soft mattress and helped you slide up the bed until your shoulders settled into the pile of pillows at the head.

Your arms wrapped around Steve and you pulled him down on top of you while he braced himself so he didn’t crush you. One of his legs slid between your thighs and he lowered himself down on top of you until his bulge pressed into your stomach. Your belly swooped with excitement and your pulse thrummed with desire.

Hiking one of your legs up around his waist, you writhed beneath Steve, grinding your hot core against his thigh through your jeans. 

You couldn’t seem to stop touching him, your hands sketching the exact measure of his body, and he seemed to be doing the same. Steve’s hands couldn’t stay still, sliding up and down your sides before finally pushing beneath your sweater.

His warm, calloused fingers stroked covetously over your skin, and you felt extra sensitive wherever he touched you, his every caress sending shivers of pleasure racing through your body. 

“Steve,” you whined, wrenching your mouth from his to drag in a much-needed breath. Even still, you craved more and your body rocked up into his, grinding against his thigh while his bulge pressed insistently into your belly. 

“You feel so good, sunshine,” he rasped as he kissed a trail along your jaw and down to your neck. The scratch of his beard against your skin had you shuddering beneath his big body. “Can I…?” he asked, his fingertips teasing along the edge of your bra beneath your sweater.

“Yes—please,” you gasped. Your own fingers curled into the soft fabric of Steve’s sweater between his shoulder blades and you tugged on it, trying to pull it over his head.

Steve chuckled into your neck before he sat up and yanked his sweater off for you, baring the broad expanse of his chest. You caught glimpses of soft brown hair dusted across his pecs and endless swaths of golden skin before he was helping you out of your sweater. 

You grumbled disgruntledly when your view of Steve was cut off as he tugged your sweater over your head, then as he leaned close to unclasp your bra and toss it somewhere in the room. You only dragged your eyes away from Steve’s perfect chest when he made a low, almost anguished sound.

He looked a little dazed, his eyes staring down at your bare breasts. Your chest was heaving slightly, making them bounce gently, and Steve looked almost hypnotized by the sight. 

Snorting to yourself, you curled your fingers around his firm biceps and tugged him back down on top of you, whimpering when your nipples brushed against the hair on his chest. They pebbled as pleasure spiked through your body, settling heavily between your thighs and making even more wetness soak into your panties.

The movement had broken Steve from his trance and he began kissing from your neck down your chest. The rasp of his beard over your clavicle sent a delicious shiver down your spine, making you keen and tremble beneath him.

“Fuck, you’re so soft,” he rumbled gruffly into your skin. He buried his face in the valley between your breasts, groping your supple flesh in his big hands while pressing teasing kisses and gentle bites to your skin. “You’re so perfect, sunshine.”

You whined a needy sound, reacting to his touch as much as his awe-filled words, and threaded your fingers through Steve’s soft hair. You held him tightly to your chest, wordlessly pleading for more, and he enthusiastically indulged the request.

Steve wrapped his lips around your nipple and sucked deeply, drawing so much of you into his hot mouth, it felt like he was doing his damndest to devour you. You were already so sensitive for him that it felt like there was a direct line connecting your sensitive peak to your clit, and you cried out in pleasure, your spine arching up off the bed and pushing your chest further in Steve’s face.

He grinned, doing a poor job of hiding his self-satisfied expression in your soft tits, but you didn’t begrudge him the smugness—not when he nibbled at your hardened nipple so good, it made your hips buck up from the bed. A whine slipped from your lips when you realized you no longer had his thigh to grind against, your legs kicking restlessly at the sheets.

After giving the same torturous treatment to your other nipple, wringing even more whimpering whines and desperate keening sounds from your mouth, Steve began kissing his way further down your body. He nipped playfully at your belly before lifting his head to catch your eye. 

It took you a moment to blink them into focus enough to see him clearly.

“I’ve been dreaming about your taste for years, sunshine,” he rumbled, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your jeans and tugging just enough that you knew he was asking if he could take them off. “Please, can I…?”

You were already nodding, your fingers fumbling over the button of your jeans. Steve seemed just as eager as you, gently pushing your hand aside and taking over as he thumbed it through the hole in the denim and pulled your zipper down. Then he was peeling your jeans down over you hips and thighs, taking your panties off at the same time.

In only a few seconds, you were stripped bare for the first time in front of Steve Rogers, and if it wasn’t for the shuddered exhale that gusted past his lips and the sizable bulge twitching in the front of his slacks, it might’ve occurred to you to feel a little insecure. 

But before those thoughts could even begin to creep in, Steve was dragging his hands up your thighs and spreading your legs with a reverent look on his face, giving an appreciative rumble deep in his chest as he raked his eyes up the naked length of your body. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful, sunshine,” he rasped, pressing his face between your thighs and taking a deep breath. 

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you didn’t have time to wonder at how you smelled because Steve was licking his tongue into the seam of your pussy, groaning like he’d eaten something delicious. 

“Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,” he growled before diving in deeper, burying his face against your cunt and eating you out like he was a dying man and you were his last meal. 

In no time at all, he had you crying out, your hips bucking up off the bed as pleasure swirled through your body. It was all you could do to try to stop yourself from humping against his handsome face.

Steve’s thick biceps banded around your thighs and he held you spread open while he feasted on you, his eyes staring up past your quivering belly and heaving chest to watch your reactions. He sucked and nibbled and flicked his tongue over your sensitive clit, paying attention to what had you writhing and moaning your pleasure beneath him.

He licked into your pussy, fucking you with his tongue until you were squirming and panting on the bed, your thighs tensing and trembling with your building release. 

Needing something to hold on to, you threaded your fingers into Steve’s hair, holding his head against your greedy pussy and rocking your hips into him. You moaned loudly, unabashedly, grinding against his mouth and beard as you neared the edge.

“Oh god, Steve, ‘m so close, please—please, don’t stop, ‘m gonna come,” you babbled, your spine arching up off the bed as you threw your head back into the pile of soft pillows. “Fuck, please, please, please!”

It was clear that Steve was a quick study when it came to your body, and he put what he’d learned to good use, sucking hard on your clit and flicking his tongue over it, steadily driving your pleasure higher until, finally, it crested. And then he pushed you right over the edge.

Your fingers fisted in Steve’s hair and you humped shamelessly against his face as you came with a cry of his name—“Steve!” Your body tightened, and then loosened as wave after wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, making you shiver intensely while Steve’s mouth worked you through your release. 

When the pleasure began to ebb, you melted back into the soft blankets on Steve’s bed, a dazed smile curving your mouth. Steve eased you down with gentle sweeps of his tongue and soft kisses to your inner thighs, murmuring sweet words to you about how good you tasted on his tongue.

It wasn’t until you whimpered from overstimulation that Steve stopped. He pressed one last kiss to the top of your mound before pushing himself up. His happy grin when he saw the sated, content expression on your face made your heart skip a beat in your chest. He was just so damn handsome. 

“Good?” Steve asked, though you knew from the self-satisfied look in his eye that he already knew the answer to his question.

Still, you nodded. “So good,” you purred, stretching and reaching for him. Your fingers curled into coarse hair on the underside of his jaw and you tugged him up your body for a kiss.

You could taste yourself on his lips, and his beard was so drenched in your juices, it made your own cheeks damp. A groan worked its way up your throat at the filthiness of the kiss, and you pulled Steve closer, letting him muffle the sound as his tongue slipped into your mouth. 

Even though Steve had just made you come harder than anyone else in your entire life, renewed desire was beginning to bloom in your core, the heat of your arousal already building again. Distractedly, you recognized that you’d never felt the way you did for anyone but Steve—insatiable, unwilling to let the night end just yet. 

When Steve’s hard bulge knocked against your hip, a devious smirk curled your lips and you wasted no time trailing your fingers down his bare, golden chest to grope his cock through his slacks. He was hard and heavy in your hand, and an excited thrill raced down your spine at the thought of taking him in your mouth. 

Steve groaned against your lips, his big body shuddering when you squeezed and stroked him through the thick material of his pants. So you did it again, rubbing him with your palm until you felt his hard length jump against your fingers, like his body was just as eager for your touch as the rest of him.

“We don’t have to do more,” Steve said, his voice a little breathless. “I-I mean, you don’t have to return the favor or anything. I’m good to just go to sleep if that’s what you want.”

Steve’s words were honorable, but you didn’t want to sleep. 

You pushed at his larger body until he flipped onto his back. Following after him, you kissed down his chest, taking a moment to nuzzle in the soft hair scattered across his pecs before you lifted your head and caught his eye, letting him see the desire in yours. 

“I bet I’ve dreamed about sucking your cock just as much as you dreamed about eating my pussy,” you whispered huskily, holding his gaze determinedly while you shifted down his body until your face was level with his bulge. You mouthed at his hard length through his slacks. “Please, Steve, can I…?” 

“Yeah—yes—fuck, sunshine, you can do whatever you want,” he rasped, helping you undo his button and fly, his fingers trembling. Then he lifted his hips so you could pull his pants down.

You felt like you were unwrapping the most perfect Christmas present as you tugged his slacks and boxer briefs down his thick, toned thighs. You even let out a little gasp of delight when Steve’s cock bounced free, marveling at the sheer masculine beauty of it.

Impatiently, you pulled his clothes the rest of the way off, pausing only to kiss his thighs, enjoying the softness of his leg hair against your lips and cheeks, before returning to his cock. 

Taking him in hand, you circled your fingers around the thick shaft and gave him a loose pump, watching how he bucked his hips into your fist from just that little bit of touching. Steve’s hands were fisted in the blankets on the bed, like he was holding himself back from touching you, and you decided you want to make the man—your man—lose himself in pleasure, just like he’d done to you. 

You ducked down and licked the tip of Steve’s cock, humming in delight as the salty, musky taste of his precum burst on your tongue. The vibrations made Steve groan and you hid a self-satisfied smirk against his cock, before refocusing on your task.

You pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses up and down Steve’s shaft, staring up his hard, firm body while he watched you worship his cock. His cheeks were tinged pink, a light sheen of sweat dotting his brow and his eyes were so dark, his pupils blown so wide, they looked like the navy blue night sky on a winter evening. 

When you ducked down further, taking his balls into your mouth and suckling greedily, Steve’s gaze widened and his cock twitched in your hand. 

“Sunshine,” he rasped, the nickname sounding like a plea for mercy as he groaned loudly. “Ya keep sucking my balls and I’m gonna come way too soon.”

With a smirk, you gave his sensitive sac one last little suckle before letting it fall from your lips, then you licked up the length of his cock.

“Can’t have that,” you quipped, shooting him a smug grin. You pressed a kiss to the tip and wrapped your lips around the head, taking him into your mouth and sucking hard enough to make his hips buck up off the bed. 

Another anguished sound wrenched free from Steve’s lips. 

“Oh fuck,” he moaned as he settled back down, one of his hands coming to rest on the crown of your head—not pushing you down or pulling you away, just holding you like he couldn’t help but touch you. 

For a moment, you focused on Steve’s cock, pulling back before taking him deeper into your mouth, using your tongue to swirl around the head and trace the veins decorating his shaft while your fist stroked him. But when you flicked your gaze up to Steve, you found him watching you with adoration in his eyes.

“You’re amazing, sunshine,” he rumbled when he noticed he had your attention, one side of his mouth pulling up in a lopsided grin. “You’re gorgeous—and you look so fucking hot with my cock in your mouth.” 

The corners of your mouth flickered in a pleased smile as his praise washed over you, and you closed your eyes, soaking it in. When you opened them again, you redoubled your efforts on Steve, bobbing up and down on his length at a steady pace while you pumped him in your fist. 

You lost yourself in the pleasure of sucking Steve’s cock, and before long, you could feel yourself growing wet all over again. Your inner walls clenched pathetically around nothing while your mouth was filled with his big dick, but you didn’t want to stop. 

However, before you could make Steve come down your throat, his hands gently gripped your head and he pulled you up off his cock. With his considerable strength, Steve hauled you back up the bed and rolled you over onto your back beneath him, bracing himself on one hand while the other slide between your thighs. He bit off a curse when he felt how wet you were.

“Christ, sunshine, ya got this wet from sucking my cock?” he asked, a note of teasing in his tone that had heat coursing through your body. Before you could respond, though, his mouth found yours for a kiss. 

You were certain he must’ve been able to taste himself on your tongue, but he didn’t seem to care. He was too determined to devour your lips and swallow your moan while he speared you open with two fingers, capturing your cry of pleasure.

“Oh god, Steve,” you mumbled against his mouth, your hips rocking into his hand and fucking his fingers. “Please, I need you—I need you to fuck me.” Your hand was fisted in Steve’s soft hair and you clung to him, your entire being straining to get closer while still taking all the pleasure his fingers offered.

“Thank fuck—I need you so goddamned bad, sunshine,” he groaned, easing his fingers from your dripping hole and rolling onto his back so he could reach for something. 

A moment later, you heard the sound of a wooden drawer snap closed and he rolled back on top of you, the square foil packet of a condom held in his fingers.

“Ya wanna do the honors?” he asked, his grin so charming and so like the Steve you’d known for so many years that it took your breath away. 

But there was a comfort and an ease to the moment because you were there with Steve—your Steve—and you laughed at his silly offer. You were shaking your head even as you took the packet and tore it open, tossing the foil aside and making quick work of rolling the condom onto his cock. 

When you were done, you gave the base of his shaft an affectionate squeeze and Steve chuckled, capturing your lips in a kiss while he shifted on top of you, pressing his knees between your legs and spreading your thighs to make room for his big, broad body. 

You opened happily for him, kissing him back while your legs hooked around the backs of his thighs. Together, you lined your bodies up until Steve’s cock lay heavily against your mound, kissing lazily all the while.

After a moment, Steve broke the kiss, pushing himself up with one hand while the other fisted his hard length and held himself away from the place where you ached for him to fill. He stared deep into your eyes and gave you a serious look, a little bit of anxiety swirling in his gaze.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his eyes roving over your face like he was searching for any hidden remnant of hesitance on your part—any sign that you might run, you realized. “Because I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted you for so long, that if you tell me tomorrow this was a mistake…” Steve paused, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed, “it’ll break my fucking heart, sunshine.”

Steve’s voice cracked a little on the pet name and it made your heart split open in your chest. You didn’t know if you’d ever forgive yourself for hurting Steve the way you did, for saying those things you didn’t mean and trying to push him away when all you’d wanted was to pull him closer. 

You decided then and there to make it up to him—and that began with being honest with him. Always. 

So you threaded your fingers into Steve’s beard until you were cupping his face and you stared him directly in the eye as you answered his question. 

“I’m sure, Steve,” you said firmly, certainty resonating in your tone. “I was scared before—I’ve wanted you for so long that the thought of finally having you was terrifying.” You gave him a tremulous, apologetic smile, and his expression softened. “But I’m sure about this,” you said again, your voice stronger. “I’m sure about you, and I’m sure about us.”

When you finished your confession, Steve’s eyes closed and he exhaled a long, relieved breath. You pulled him down for a kiss, and it was a gentle thing—tentative as you both savored the vulnerability you shared, physically and emotionally, thanking one another for the trust that took. 

It was only when the kiss ended and Steve pressed his forehead to yours that he pushed inside you for the first time, his thick cock sinking deep into your pussy with one determined, inexorable thrust. 

Your arms and legs were wrapped around him already and you clung to Steve as you cried out, tears of emotion pricking at the backs of your eyes even as pleasure radiated through your body.

“You ok?” Steve asked softly and the question—so gentle and genuine—had a tear spilling onto your cheek. He brushed it away. 

“This is the happiest I’ve ever been,” you admitted in a thick voice, tugging Steve’s mouth back to yours, kissing him deeply. 

Together, you gave yourselves over to your instincts. Steve pulled his hips back until only half of him remained inside, and your heels dug into the backs of his thighs, urging him to plunge deep into you again. He slid home, and both of you moaned. 

Steve rocked into you with slow, thorough thrusts, but when you moaned for more, he drew back more each time and thrust harder. It wasn’t long before he was fucking you in hard, deep strokes that hit all the most perfect spots inside you, his mouth kissing your cheeks and neck and anywhere he could reach while he held you pinned to his chest, his hips working his cock deep into your cunt. 

With every hard thrust, you clung more tightly to Steve, holding him with your arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers buried in his hair, thankful he’d grown it long enough that you could grip it tight in your fists. Your body writhed beneath his bigger form, using your legs draped around his thighs to meet his thrusts. 

For what seemed like forever, you and Steve were nothing more than two writhing bodies trying to get closer, deeper, tighter together, like your hearts were straining to become one. And you were so consumed with pleasure that it wasn’t until you were right on the precipice of your release that you realized you were close.

“Steve,” you gasped, trying to tell him you were going to come, and just then he changed the angle of his hips, stealing the words from your lips. 

He was driving his cock so deep into your cunt and grinding against your clit so exquistiely that you saw stars. Your body shook under a deluge of pleasure and the coil of tension twisted tighter in your core.

“Come for me, sunshine,” Steve rumbled, fucking you hard and deep and so perfectly you knew you were forever ruined for any other man. “Be a good girl and come on my cock before I fucking explode.”

His filthy words were your undoing. 

You shattered apart, sharp, sparkling pleasure devastating your body and mind while you screamed Steve’s name as you came. Your whole body clenched tight, clamping down on Steve’s cock hard enough that he grunted into your neck, then you succumbed to the pleasure as it dragged you under its thrall, whimpers and moans spilling from your lips mindlessly.

Steve’s hands gripped your hips tightly, and he rutted into your clenching pussy with wild thrusts as he chased his own release. He found it only a moment after yours, groaning your name against your cheek while his hips stuttered and shunted forward, burying himself balls-deep in your fluttering pussy while he came, his cock throbbing deep in your cunt. 

You held each other close as you came down from your releases. Your fingers stroked through Steve’s soft hair, the strands damp with sweat, and twirled around the gently curling ends. Meanwhile, his hands were petting up and down your sides, his face buried in the pillow beside your head while he rumbled muffled words of praise in your ear. 

Eventually, Steve sat up, pulling his softening cock as gently from your body as he could manage, watching your face closely for any hint of pain. You were a little sore, but when he pulled free, your body mourned the loss of him more than anything else. 

He quickly disposed of the condom and wrapper in his bathroom, then came back with a warm wet washcloth. He cleaned you up with gentle caresses, pressing a kiss to your hip and nipping playfully at your belly until you were giggling and pushing him away, your body too tired and sated and oversensitive for such treatment—but you were grinning all the same.

When he was done, you rose from the bed and went to the bathroom while he padded to his dresser. After you were done, you found Steve relaxing on his bed in only a pair of lounge pants, his chiseled chest deliciously bare and biceps bulging with his hands tucked behind his head. 

You paused, raking your eyes over his gorgeous chest, only catching his gaze when he made a deep, rumbling sound of good-natured warning. 

“You better put on some pajamas, sunshine,” Steve started, his blue eyes heated and a playful smile flickering at the edges of his mouth, almost hidden by his beard. “Unless you want me to fuck you again.” 

The threat in his tone was flirtatious and you almost took him up on the offer. But you knew that if Steve fucked you again, you’d be sore the next day, and you didn’t want that. Huffing a petulant sigh, you moved to the pile of folded clothes Steve had left on the corner of the bed.

The heat in Steve’s eyes didn’t abate as he watched you pull one of his shirts over your head, tugging the hem down until it covered your ass and part of your thigh. You didn’t have any clean panties, so you crawled into bed like that, your eyes finding Steve and watching as the heat of desire softened into the warmth of affection.

The two of you slid beneath the blankets and you curled up at Steve’s side, your head on his chest. You fell asleep quickly and easily to the sound of his gentle breathing, and the steady drumming of his heart beating beneath your cheek. 

The next morning, you woke to snow flurries drifting past the windows of Steve’s bedroom, the flakes having covered his neighborhood in a blanket of white while you slept. You pressed a happy smile against Steve’s sternum, the expression deepening when you felt his heart skip a beat at your closeness.

“So, is my bed comfy enough for you, sunshine?” he asked in the deep rasp of a man who’d just woken up. Using his arms looped around your waist, he pulled you on top of him, his mouth finding yours for a decadent good morning kiss before he let you answer.

“Hmm,” you hummed playfully in thought, smiling against his mouth while you pulled him closer with your fingers curled into the scruffy, coarse hair of his beard. “It could use a few more pillows—and maybe a nice throw blanket.”

“Consider it done,” he murmured, rolling you beneath his broad body and sliding his hips between your thighs. His morning wood brushed against your bare core and you moaned into his mouth. “Anything you want, you just tell me, sunshine,” he rumbled in between slow, drugging kisses, his hips rolling leisurely against you. “I want my girlfriend to feel comfortable here.”

“Girlfriend?” you gasped breathlessly, your heart beating harder with excitement while he pulled away to kiss down your neck. You could feel Steve’s grin against the side of your throat before he pressed a kiss against your thrumming pulse. 

“You wanna be my girlfriend, don’t ya, sunshine?” he asked. 

It was only because you’d known Steve for so long, and were so determined never to hurt him again, that you heard the tiny thread of anxiety in his tone. You squeezed him tightly in your arms and rushed to answer, eager to put his worry to rest.

“Yes!” you cried happily. “Yes, I want to be your girlfriend, Steve.” You twisted your fingers in his soft hair and tugged his mouth up from your neck. “Now kiss me, boyfriend,” you murmured and Steve, obligingly, crushed his mouth to yours in a blissful kiss. 

You and Steve reveled in your new relationship, spending a long time in bed just kissing and exploring each other and making up for lost time before your growling stomachs finally made you get up.

After breakfast, Steve seemed to remember something and he padded to the entryway, coming back with the box he’d acquired at the holiday market the evening before. He handed it to you, saying there was no way he’d be able to wait until Christmas to give it to you.

You opened the present, finding a simple silver chain and a stunningly engraved sun pendant within. You were so overwhelmed with happiness that tears sprang to your eyes and you had to hastily wipe them away.

“A little bit of sunshine for my sunshine,” Steve murmured against your temple before pressing a kiss to your skin. 

At your insistence, he helped you put the necklace on and you thanked him graciously—with words and kisses. Then you towed Steve back to bed, and the two of you gave in to the pleasure of your bodies until you collapsed, sated once again.

All day, you couldn’t stop smiling. You were doing one of your favorite things, snuggling on a snowy day, with one of your favorite people in the world—your boyfriend. And you were making plans for the future, talking about what you were going to get your other friends for Christmas and arguing about how to best decorate Steve’s apartment for the holiday. 

The whole time, you couldn’t help but think about how Christmas would always be extra special for you from that year on. It was a wonderful holiday but, more importantly to you, it was when you and Steve Rogers finally admitted your feelings for one another and took the first step toward a forever together. 

So, this time of year would always be your favorite time of year.

december daze challenge masterlist

[grave-rose-reblogs]

Truth- B. Barnes

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader Warnings: truth serum, ooc (its so hard keeping bucky and a truth serum in the same fic?) About: truth serum, request. (ph1+df31) Forgive for mistakes. why do i kind of hate this now

“Where’s this thing supposed to be again?”

Not missing a beat, you continue to survey the wide lab table in front of you, deft fingers careful when they tilt small vials at an angle so you can squint at the contents. “Things. Where are these things supposed to be.”

“Things, then,” Sam mutters, a fragile clinking noise following.

“Be careful,” you chirp, cocking your head at a thick tube with thick, dark liquid. You hold it up to the light, finally able to read the contents. “Whoa.”

“What?” 

“Did you know Hydra made hair nutrients, essentially? This is, like, the evil solution to baldness.”

“You’re kidding,” Sam crows, stepping closer to examine what you’re holding.

“High amounts of minoxidil, some weird fungus, and something that sounds like finasteride on steroids. Also, probably steroids.”

“Bet they could make a fortune on it.”

“If it works in a way approved by the FDA. Like I said, evil solution.” You grimace and set it back on the desk. “Did you find anything yet?”

“No. There’s slime and weird little liquids everywhere but no big-ass, weirdly-shaped tube marked deadly,” Sam grumbles, nose wrinkling as he catches sight of a limp plant. “Do you think that’s a normal dead plant? Or something freaky and poisonous?”

“Probably the latter,” you hum. “And I really, really doubt Hydra would be so stupid as to have the most cliched image of a toxin representing their mysterious poison.” You pause at a large, bumpy glass. “This one is pretty weird,” you say contrastingly, carefully picking it up with two gloved fingers. “Von innen brennt,” you read.

“What does that mean?” Sam asks.

“Burn from within.” You inhale sharply, and tuck it into your chemical storage container. “I really don’t think we should be leaving this in here,” you reason.

“I don’t think we should be leaving anything in here,” Sam adds, pointing to another bottle. “Weltschmerz,” he recites. “What’s that?”

“It’s… it’s apathy. There’s no good translation but it literally means ‘world pain,’” you frown as you grab it, too, twisting it in your fingers. “Bruce and I are going to have a field day.” You tuck it inside the container and purse your lips. “In a morose way.”

Sam shoots you a quick look. “Right.”

You bring your index to your ear and connect to Bucky’s channel. “Hey, how’re you doing?”

“I fuckin’ hate Hydra.”

“Yeah, it’s not great over here, either. We still have that huge lab to check over; are you done with yours?”

“Yeah, I’ll meet you there.”

You confirm, scanning the room once more and sighing softly. “Be careful, okay?”

“I am.”

“Then continue,” you quip, narrowing your eyes at a fat bottle with a tiny opening, translucent candy red sticky inside of it. You poke it to teeter so you can see the label, seeing something unintelligible but missing the necessary ideogram. “We’re not even sure what this stuff is yet.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out the moment you see it,” Bucky comforts. Your face heats up, lips pulled to one side as you avoid Sam’s raised eyebrow.

“Right,” you mumble, straightening up. “Uh, we should probably head over there now.”

“Right,” Sam parrots, long and curved with a smile.

You shoot him a look over your shoulder as you walk out, disconnecting from Bucky before responding. “Shut up.”

“I’m not doing anything!” he argues, hands up in surrender. He follows you out chuckling.

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” you murmur, shooting him a final glare as you turn a corner into another dull hall. Grimly, you observe the doors you pass them, perking up when you hear familiar muted footsteps ahead.

Bucky catches your eye, lips turning up a little at the sight of you. You catch his pupils flicker down your figure once you’re closer, snagging on a darkened spot right above your right knee.

“I spilled some water,” you explain, fingers dipping unconsciously to brush against the purported area. “No harm done.”

He moves and the ruby tucked in the crevice of his thumbnail catches your eye. Like an instinct, you reach for his hand, a frown pulling on your lips as you observe the small gash on his thumb. 

“Hangnail,” he responds to your silent question, rubbing small circles into the side of your palm. “M’okay.” 

You’re pleased to affirm so, bumping his shoulder gently after you sneak a glance at Sam. “Okay. How’re you doing, hangnail aside?” 

His eyes constellate among your features and he manages some sort of comfort in his expression. “Bored.”

“Great.” Your voice is soft and pleased. He agrees.

You fall silent once again when the intended lab comes into view, Bucky’s large frame stepping half in front of you to prevent you from getting to it first. He pushes the door open before you can, left hand hovering above his weapon as he scans a room already cleared before letting you in, the same fingers that reached for a gun now grazing the small of your back.

Sam raises an eyebrow but remains silent, watching Bucky’s eyes follow you as you head toward the other side of the room to look through a multitude of vials. They don’t waver even after you spare him a reassuring glance crinkled with a tiny smile.

Quietly, he walks over to Bucky, who’s definitely aware of the movement but startles when he leans in close and taps his shoulder. “Strange man-made horror to find,” he reminds. “You can stare later.”

Bucky squares his jaw, metal fingers moving to graze uselessly along the glasses. “I’m aware, Sam.”

“Uh huh.”

It’s nearly silent then, tinged by brittle clinking and quick glances so heavy they seem loud.

Bucky is tired. Sam is tired. Most importantly, you’re tired—and it makes someone like Bucky a little careless.

He’s very sure he won’t be the one who finds the culprit matching Bruce’s description, which means he isn’t as careful as he should be when he ducks his head and inhales something so pungent it’s startling. He flinches back, making the steel shelf teeter. Both his hands shoot out to steady it, flesh fingers bending close to an undulating liquid that spills little bubbles onto his skin, burning sharply into the broken crevices of his nails.

What follows is worse. Clandestinely, a smudged window closes around his brain. It’s subtle and awful, like his mind processes become blurry and slow while outwardly remaining consistent. He keeps himself from stumbling but is sure his eyes round dismally, blinking owlishly as he struggles to catch up with himself.

It all happens in the quick span of a second before he opens his eyes and everything seems normal again, although something tugs thinly from the back of his mind. Super-soldier sanity, he guesses. He looks down at the cause and sees a match, vial open and a dizzyingly clear liquid stationary inside. A red symbol stamps the label, unnamed.

“I think I have something,” he says, cringing at how far away he sounds. Just when he feels the prickling of doubt, everything clicks into agonizingly perfect place. “This might be it.” Unthinkingly, he curves a finger around the neck of the bottle and holds it up.

“Whoa, there,” Sam warns.

You’re next to him fast, taking it away carefully.

“It was open when I found it,” Bucky supplies.

You nod at him distractedly, producing a lid from your pocket to close the beaker and observe it, thankfully protected fingers twisting it around in the light. 

“It matches the description,” he adds.

“Yes,” you mumble distractedly, half in response to him and half in thought. “This is it,” you lower it into your transfer box and grin up earnestly at him when you close it, “good job, Bucky.” It’s very sweet.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “S’what is it?”

“I’m not that smart,” you laugh.

Bucky disagrees.

“It’s probably not too dangerous. Not airborne, at least, since it was uncapped like that.” you contemplate a little more, looking back up at Bucky. Your pupils set in a way more calculating. “How close did you get to this? Did you inhale it?”

“No. I don’t think so. I smelled something, but it wasn’t that.” Bucky juts a finger behind him. “Maybe the rotted plant. Probably.” 

“Okay.” You say it rounded, edged with lightly veiled concern. “Tell me if you feel weird at all, okay?”

“Of course.”

Sam comes up from behind you, annoyed. “Okay. Are we done here? Can y’all flirt on the jet? I’m hungry.”

“You get so bitter when you’re jealous,” you bite, shooting Bucky a final, doubtful glance before tugging on his hand to leave.

“Am I so transparent,” Sam deadpans.

Bucky contemplates his strange state as he trudges back to the jet, taking quick notice of how dry his mouth has become, his tongue voluble. What he’s hazed with reminds him of oak bar tables and smoke, drunk confidence summery in his chest. He feels fine, he’s sixty-three percent sure. He thinks.

He’s in front of the jet before he can process the journey over, trying to shake away what feels like a creasing tug to his cling film mind. Your eyes are on him, and it looks like it’s not the first time, lashes kissing anxiously. Sam clambers inside, and you wait for Bucky right next to the doors.

“Are you okay?”

“Tired,” he tells you.

You’re about to respond when Sam shouts for you to hurry. Bucky scowls in his general direction, although it dissolves at your amusement.

“It’s okay, c’mon.” You guide him inside, seemingly unbothered as he follows you around like a puppy. “Do you want to take a nap on the way back?”

“Can I sleep on you?” he asks too rawly. You startle subtly with it, but recover quickly, a pale beam on your features.

“Yeah.” You smile at him, entirely saccharine. “Let me just get everything into the containment units.”

He sits in the seat next to your usual spot and stares after you as you walk away, appreciating the concentrated point of your expression as you fiddle with the storage settings.

“Maybe if you stop staring at her and actually talk to her, you might have a chance,” Sam cuts in, slumping next to him.

“I do talk to her,” Bucky argues. “I talk to her all the time. It’s just… she’s pretty.”

Sam struggles for a response for a second. “Oh-kay.”

“Do you really think I’d have a chance?” Bucky finds himself saying, unsure where his mouth has gotten permission to voice his thoughts. He clutches the suddenly few tendrils of control and tries his best to filter his thoughts. It’s too bad he can’t take things back.

Sam gapes. “What?”

“Nothing,” Bucky forces through his teeth, feeling like he wants to puke. Unexpectedly, words feel so much easier to spill out than silence.

Lovely warmth touches his knees. He doesn’t need to look up to know it’s you, your presence something deftly familiar.

Up close, you’re even more captivating when he finally meets your gaze. He holds back from reaching for you, digging his fingernails into his palm to restrain them from curling around your wrist. He wants you closer.

Your sweet features furrow, sparkly eyes catching on his heated forehead and dilated pupils. “Bucky, are you okay?”

“Can I touch you?” he asks, a little desperate from gating the inclination.

“What?”

“He’s acting weirder than usual,” Sam provides.

“Bucky, sweetheart,” unauthorized, he softens at the nickname, “did you inhale anything? Do you feel okay?”

“Some of it got on me. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. It got on your skin?” You pull on gloves. “Show me where?”

He raises his right hand for you to examine, inhaling sharply when you take notice of the small gash on his thumb again.

“Okay,” you breathe, slowly and then assured. You grab his hand. He blinks. “Come on.” You say, tugging him to the sink and spraying water up to his elbow. “It might’ve entered your bloodstream, we have to wash it out. Sam, call the team, get Bruce working on exactly what it is.” You push Bucky into an isolation unit. “Probably not contagious, probably not deadly,” you mutter to yourself. “We found it nearly half an hour ago. More severe signs would have started by now.”

“It was a level three at worst,” Bucky says, but stays willingly, watching you. “It’s probably one or two. I feel fine, just… uninhibited. Reminds me of getting drunk back then.”

You shake your head, confused, edging on frantic. “Drunk?”

“It hurts to not tell you things.”

“It hurts?” You’ve never felt more helpless, only able to repeat his symptoms in an attempt to inspire some helpful memory from your research.

“More than usual.”

“Bruce says isolation!” Sam calls. “I quote: ‘There’s probably no need, but better safe than sorry.’”

“She knows!” Bucky shouts, eyes on you.

“He sounds fine. Just as annoying,” Sam chatters away to Bruce, and Bucky tunes him out, concentrating on the concerned lines of your face.

“Sam’s worried,” he thinks out loud. “So are you.”

“I am. You’re sweating, Buck.” You examine his face, fingertips bumping into the panel.

“Don’t worry,” he tries to soothe, his own fingers thumping against the separation barrier when he attempts to touch you. “If anything, this is a little bit of a relief. I don’t need Thor.”

You snort lightly. “You’re insane.”

“A little. Not stable, definitely,” he admits.

You hum lowly, biting your bottom lip, pupils quickly inspecting his features. Before Bucky can comment on it, you voice your thoughts. “Okay. I’m gonna test out a theory. I’ll ask you some questions and you just have to answer. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes,” he answers, then, unnecessarily: “I don’t think it would be if it were anyone else.”

You graciously ignore it, only ducking your chin. “What’s your full name?”

“James Buchanan Barnes. But Steve’s right, that sounds a little snotty, doesn’t it? What do you think?”

You laugh. “I like your name. When were you born?”

“March tenth, nineteen-seventeen.” He frowns. “Damn. Just when I was reeling you in with the name thing.”

“Where do you live?” you ask, ignoring his comment.

He prattles off the address to his apartment. “Also you.”

“Me? I’m not…”

“You are,” he interrupts, glancing up at you anxiously. There’s so much he wants to tell you on the tip of his tongue, so much he doesn’t want to be forced to. Not right now. Not like this.

You catch his meaning and move on, eyes thinning accusatorily. “Are you the one who broke my mug?” 

“Yes, I knocked it off the table. But it was Sam’s fault, he pushed me into it.”

“I knew it,” you mutter bitterly, leaning back, limbs less tense. “I’m pretty sure we’re dealing with truth serum.”

“That’s not too bad. Considering the options,” Bucky says. “It makes sense. I feel… I want to tell you everything.”

“Effective.” 

“Thank you for not asking anything too invasive,” he says.

“I wouldn’t,” you respond.

“This shouldn’t be affecting me,” he continues. “The serum stops the effects. They must have made it stronger.”

You pause. “What?” Then, remembering his situation. “Nothing. Never mind. Do you have any pets?”

“A cat. You know Alpine, she loves you. But I know you like dogs.”

You tilt your head, wanting to ask further, but you stop yourself. “I do like dogs.”

“That’s why I’m getting you a dog for your birthday.”

You beam in surprise. “You are? Wait—”

“I keep looking but I can’t find the right one. I was thinking maybe it’d be better for you to come along, but I was supposed to think about that for a little longer.”

“Sam!” you call. “I feel like I shouldn’t be hearing this,” you confess to him, wringing your fingers in wait for the neutral party.

“No, you’re not supposed to know that.”

“I’m sorry. It’s weird it’s affecting you so much, it must be made for enhanced.”

“You figured it out?” Sam asks. 

“Truth serum, I’m pretty sure. Really strong truth serum, from the looks of it.”

“You have to leave,” Sam says immediately.

“What?” you ask, confused for what seems like the millionth time. “No. I want to stay with him.” Your face twists in concern again.

“I want her to stay with me, too,” Bucky adds.

“No, you don’t,” Sam commands. “Who knows… what you might say in front of—” he points at you, enunciating your name with an italic and a gesture. “You should leave,” he turns to you.

“You’re going to take advantage of me,” Bucky accuses.

“Have you been lying to me?” Sam questions. “I am only interested in confirming. Like: did you or did you not break Redwing two months ago—”

“Sam!” you interrupt.

“Come on. Do you know how much food has disappeared? Water bottles dented?”

“I told you that wasn’t me,” Bucky grumbles, leaning against the wall.

“That’s true. That’s what you told me, but what’s true and what you said can be—”

You glare at him. “Stop it.”

He hmphs. “Fine. I’ll settle. He owes me thirty bucks.”

“Whatever. Go make sure everything’s okay up front, I have to give Bucky some meds. Friday, did you activate isolation protocol?” She affirms as you open the door to Bucky’s unit. It’s cold when you step inside, but when you reach Bucky, he’s burning. “Bucky, how are you feeling?”

“Fine.” He looks up at you, pupils dark and blown. He can’t stop his hand when it lands on you, but you don’t seem to mind, leaning in close enough to his face for him to catch the little details of your face. He clears his throat. “Now I’m a little hot.”

You wipe hair from his sticky forehead, taking a small napkin from your pocket to wipe sweat from his brow. “I can see that. Friday, can you lower the temperature in here?”

“You’re gonna get cold.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“I always worry about you. You can’t ask me to do that.”

You stare down at him worriedly, thumb rubbing gently at his temple. There’s a hiss nearby, and three pills in a little cup stand on the table. You grab them and hand them to Bucky.

“Take these.” You point to the pale tablets, three in a single container. “They’re a precaution and the blue one,” you pinch it to show it to him, “should make this pass a little quicker.”

He takes the blue one first.

“Five minutes ago, we didn’t know what it was,” Bucky says. “You’re amazing.”

“Friday’s amazing. All I do is hand things to you.”

“You’re amazing.” 

You chuckle, observing his eyes. Purely clinical. “Okay. You are, too.”

Bucky bites his lip. “You don’t believe me.”

“I do.”

“You don’t. You’re amusing me.”

You look genuinely offended. “Absolutely not.”

Bucky cracks a smile. “You have a tell.”

“Bucky Barnes.”

“It’s in your lips. You purse them a little. Like even you can’t believe yourself.”

You pinch his lips closed with your index and thumb. He stares up at you with wide, blazing eyes.

“I won’t complain,” he says, muffled.

“You should! Don’t be so nice to me, Barnes.”

“I like it better when you call me Bucky.”

“Really? Everyone on the team calls you Barnes.”

“I said you, not the team.”

You let go of him, eyes sorry. Your thumb bends, the bone tracing along his bottom lip. You’re so close. He wants to echo his realization so badly.

“You’re so close.”

“I’m sorry.” You move to take a step back.

“No,” he protests, reaching for you again.

“What?” You laugh.

“I’m in love with you.”

The very first thing he feels is great, overwhelming relief. Like something had been interfering with his breathing and his feeling and his being and it was removed.

And then came the panic, thickened with fear of the consequences of his honesty and very thinly edged with something nicer.

You haven’t moved since he admitted it, pretty features contorted in neutral shock. He wants to know you so well, he can tell if it’s good or bad.

“I didn’t mean to say that.” He gulps, wanting very badly to let go of you but unable to do so. “Does that blue pill make it a lot worse before it gets better?”

You stare at him.

“Say something, please. I didn’t mean to say that. I don’t want to—I never wanted to tell you that.”

“Why?” you ask finally. Your brows are knitted, the edges of your features dipped in pain.

“Because I’m in love with you.”

You don’t say anything, but your lips part, the sorrowful border of your features softening. “I… I really want to kiss you right now.”

Bucky freezes. “What?”

Your face heats, pupils flickering away from him. You clear your throat. “But you’re in a vulnerable position right now and I don’t want to take advantage of that. I want you to tell me because you chose to.”

“You’re saying…”

“Yeah.”

Bucky really wants to kiss you too. “Why?”

“Because I think you deserve honesty.”

Bucky really, really wants to kiss you. He cracks an unfiltered smile, although it’s not entirely because of the serum. “Damn.”

“What?” you ask uneasily.

“I’m really fuckin’ lucky.’

[grave-rose-reblogs]

Shape (Steve Rogers Oneshot)

Summary: Steve is definitely someone you would consider a respectful man. A traditional man—a vanilla man, even. His mind rarely goes to the gutter… except for today.

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Warnings: nudity, sexual themes

~

Today was a rest day.

A much needed one for Rogers.

From missions, to meetings, to press conferences, the man had been spread much too thin for his liking.

He knew the job, he knew this role meant that it wasn’t necessarily me time friendly.

But a break every now and then was nice.

A few others weren’t on call today, they’d ask Steve to join in on plans. Sam pitched going to a VA meeting, Bucky wanted to tour Brooklyn for old time’s sake, and Bruce wanted to catch the new Sandra Bullock movie.

But all Steve wanted today, was to be alone.

He tried to zone in on his sketches, taking advantage of the bright lighting in the common room. The new headphones Nat gave him helped him drift off into his artistic headspace, the melody of Sam’s playlist soothing him as he drew…

He finally had some peace and quiet.

For awhile.

Y/N was under the impression that she was completely alone as well, knowing the team was out on their own separate agendas for the day based on Hill’s one on one briefing this morning.

As she slipped out of the shower, looking for a towel, she ran over the avenger’s attendance — or lack of — in her mind.

Nat was gone, Tony was gone, Wanda and Vision were out… she thought she was by herself.

She hadn’t thought to ask for Steve’s whereabouts.

It wasn’t that she particularly disliked Steve: they were amiable.

They just…

Didn’t care for each other.

They had each other’s backs on the field, they stood up for one another in meetings, but that was where their loyalty ended.

They didn’t hangout with each other, they didn’t have a history, they just didn’t have—well anything really.

In short; she hadn’t asked Hill where Steve was.

She hadn’t realized he was 50 feet away from her, give or take.

“Shit,” she cursed aloud. She’d forgotten her towel in her room.

Ah fuck it, she thought. It was just across the hall, no one would see…

She grabbed her speaker and belted the lyrics of her music loudly, and rather off key.

“And so I wake in the morning and I step outside…”

Steve heard faint music clashing with his.

Y/N stepped out of the bathroom.

“…and I take a deep breath and I get real high and I—”

He sighed, taking off his headphones as the music got louder. He glared in annoyance as footsteps neared down the hall.

He recognized the voice immediately: Y/N.

He huffed, not content that his solitude was now non-existent.

It could’ve been worse, Y/N wasn’t that bad. He just… didn’t know her.

Sam or Bucky were easy people to yell at, you can always tell friends to shut up.

Barely-friendly coworkers? Not so much.

“Can you turn it down?” He asked.

Y/N didn’t hear him, rounding the corner as she sung the loudest part of the bridge.

“—scream from the top of my lungs, WHAT’S GOING ON!”

Steve tossed his sketch book on the chair as he stood, striding across the room to yell down the hallway.

“Can you please—”

All Steve saw was skin.

“—Y/N!!” He screamed.

Y/N’s eyes went wide at the realization, screaming and dropping the stereo as she scrambled to cover herself.

“OH MY GOD! WHY ARE YOU HERE?!”

“WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!”

The Four Non-Blondes continued to sing as the two shouted at each other.

Steve tried to look anywhere but her, while she desperately looked for a blanket.

“WHY ARE YOU WET?!”

“STOP LOOKING AT ME!”

“I’M NOT LOOKING!”

But he had been looking.

And unfortunately, he saw everything.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my fucking god—HELP ME FIND A BLANKET!”

“I can’t—”

Steve looked to her figure in the lounge, realizing he was now seeing her entire backside.

His eyes shot to the ceiling as his hands tore at his hair.

This was not fucking happening.

“Y/N JUST—JESUS CHRIST GO TO YOUR ROOM!”

“DON’T LOOK!”

“I’M NOT!”

She ran as fast as she could down the hallway, leaving her speaker behind.

As he heard her footsteps leave the room, Steve scrambled to turn it off.

“Shut up, shut up, oh for the love of god—”

He finally managed to turn it off, sinking to the floor and putting his head in his hands.

Everything.

He saw everything.

Never in a million years would he ever guess that Y/N, of all people, would be the first person he saw naked on this team.

Hell, he’d been on countless missions with these guys, trained and changed millions of times in front of them, but of course it was Y/N’s body he…

He tried to stop thinking about it.

He tried to push it out of his head.

It was embarrassment and shock at first. But then he tried to forget it, distracting himself by drawing and blasting the loudest rock music out of his headphones to drown out the thought.

But then his brain would drift back to it…

Bare skin, the glisten of water

He grit his teeth as he sketched angrily, his streaks becoming thick and dark.

The slope of the shoulder, the dimples in the back

His pencil snapped against the sketch book, he tossed it angrily across the room.

The dip of the navel, the curve of the hips

Steve could’ve screamed.

He looked down at the book in his hands, his eyes wide.

He hadn’t realized he’d started drawing the outline of her figure.

Y/N.

Just Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.

Then the worst thought came to him.

Did she shower in hot or cold water? Would her skin feel warm against his palms or would goosebumps rise in his touch?

Steve began to pace the room, trying to pull himself together.

How would it feel to pull at her dripping wet locks? How would her skin taste against his tongue?

“Jesus Christ,” he thought aloud.

How badly he wished he could’ve joined her, hands gliding along slippery thighs as he hoisted her up and pressed her into the cool tile

He was done for.

Steve stormed down the hall to her room, his heart pounding and thoughts racing.

He was ten feet from her door when she came out, immediately catching him in his stride.

She saw the dark look in his eyes, and nearly shuddered.

“Rogers I’m so sorry, I had no idea you were—”

His hands on her shoulders interrupted her, pushing her back into the room.

“Stop talking.”

His mouth was on hers before the door slammed shut.

~

Taglist:

@cuddlycalcifer @babyblue-07 @babybluereads @lonewolf471 @shawnie--jo @niiight-dreamerrrr @julipmoon @fandomsfallnomore @elliee1497 @godspeedlover @sexwithhiddlesbatch @annestine @shower-me-with-roses @yougottalovefandoms @rebekahdawkins

[grave-rose-reblogs]

Writer’s Block

Summary: Friends help each other out, that’s just how it is. Steve doesn’t bat an eye at his and Y/N’s behaviour, but insights from Sharon make Steve rethink things between them.

Word Count: 3k

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: swearing, suggestive themes, dumbasses Bucky and Sam, an extremely chaotic turn of events

“Steve!”

Sharon nearly spilled her beer as she jumped at the voice, surprised to hear it so loudly after Y/N had been holed up in her room for days.

Steve turned nonchalantly at this voice; used to the chaotic out bursts. “Yeah?”

The young woman trotted in, dishevelled and tired but manic looking.

“I need your shirt, I’m on to something here–”

Steve stood without hesitation; as if he’d done this thousands of times before. And he had.

“On it,” he said, pulling the garment off with one hand and tossing it in her direction.

She caught it with ease, not even taking in his shirtless state as if she’d seen it a thousand times before. And she had.

Sharon however had never seen this interaction before, and stared in awe at the two’s casual exchange.

As Y/N rushed out of the lounge and back to her room, Sharon couldn’t help but gawk.

“What the hell was that?” She asked, amused.

“What?” Steve asked, now shirtless on the couch, “Oh–she’s writing.”

He sipped his beer after his statement, and Sharon was surprised at how he expected that to answer her question.

“I’m sorry?” She said confused.

He leaned further back into the couch, getting comfy. “She’s writing–she needs my shirt when she writes.”

Sharon laughed; “Why’s that?”

Finishing off the last of his bottle, he set it down on the floor as he spoke; “She says it helps her write when she gets stuck–it’s a weird process but…” he shrugged as he grabbed a new bottle.

“How romantic.” Sharon teased, sipping her own beer.

He smiled awkwardly; flustered at where the conversation was going, “Come on–” “What? We’re friends, we can talk about this stuff.” She said.

He gave her a look, “Can we?”

She shook her head at his prudence, taking another swig.

“Yes,” she said, “It’s not like we were married. We kissed like–twice, plus you’re not exactly my type anymore…”

Steve chuckled, “Oh right–how is Maria, by the way?”

“Don’t change the subject,” she said, pointing a finger in his direction, “I want to hear more about this process.”

“It’s no big deal, it’s just…” He thought, choosing his words carefully to not give Sharon any more material to tease him with, “Helping out a friend.”

“Bullshit.” She said. He cracked open the bottle with his hand, avoiding response.

It was a touchy subject around the compound; his and Y/N’s very… intimate relationship. They were friends, coworkers they’d say. At least on the surface. But it couldn’t be missed how quickly he fell in line for her; and how her first instinct with anything and everything was to go to Rogers. They refused to go on missions without the other; they were touchy, they were jokey, if you found one the other was always in close proximity. Hell, the team was surprised they weren’t sharing a room yet. But apparently, for some unknown reason, they told everyone and themselves they were just friends.

Sharon looked at him, deadpan. “Steve.”

He looked back to her in playful annoyance. “What?”

She slapped her thigh with her free hand, finishing off her drink. “Come on, let’s get into this.”

He sighed, “I don’t know what to tell you–she doesn’t see me that way.”

She jumped on his choice of words immediately, “She doesn’t?”

The implication being, of course, that she didn’t but he did.

Flustered, he waved a hand at her. “No, no, no–that’s not what I meant.”

“It’s not not what you meant.” She countered, “You like her.”

“Shut up,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

“That’s not a no.” She hummed as she thought of another point; “And what’s she need your shirt for anyway? That’s cute as hell.”

He sighed again, “Well–it helps her��� get in the mindset.”

“Pardon?” she asked at his cryptic explanation. “‘Mindset’?”

He didn’t want to admit the reason, running a hand over his face, flustered.

He bit his thumb, his voice coming out muffled as he spoke. “Well, she writes about… characters… in romantic settings, so–”

He spoke, drawing out his words, “She needs inspiration, for those kinds of scenes.”

“Dude, EW!” She said, way too much information coming her way for being this sober, “I don’t wanna hear that.”

“NO,” he defended, “Not in a weird way. But like–if the guy gives the girl his shirt, or he picks her up or something, I dunno, but like–she’s very sensory. So the shirt helps with getting into the moment. She can put herself in the character’s shoes, if that makes sense.”

Sharon’s eyes went wide as she cracked open a bottle for herself, “Well I don’t know how you’re not using that to your advantage.”

Steve did a double take, “Elaborate.”

She laughed through her nose, “Well, if I were in your place–”

“–Hey.” He warned.

She raised her hands in defense, “I’m just saying, you could be giving her a hell of a lot more inspiration than your shirt and your cologne.”

“You think she likes my cologne?” He asked.

“Steve, you’re a grown man. In fact you’re an old man, figure it out for yourself.”

They sat in silence as Sharon waited for Steve to ponder this.

He jolted upright as if having an epiphany; “you don’t think–”

“–really? Are you fucking kidding me?”

She laughed at his blushing cheeks, he ran a hand through his hair cursing under his breath.

“So what now?”

“Oh my god–” Sharon said through gritted teeth, “Go give her inspiration. I swear you’d never get laid if I wasn’t around.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Steve joked.

“Hey,” She said, kicking his shin lightly.

He laughed, “Hey, we’re friends, we can talk about this.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Are you gonna go in there or what?”

“Like–now?”

“Yes! You dumbass, go get your girl. I can wait, I can handle myself.” She sipped her beer as if giving an example, and patiently waited for Steve to go.

Hesitantly, Steve rose from his spot, wiping his hands along his jeans nervously. He was stalling, evidently so. Was he really gonna do this? He didn’t know what was lying on the other side of that door, metaphorically speaking. He knew she was likely frantically typing away, thinking out loud, and egging herself on. How could he even begin to approach that? The man didn’t have any moves; hell, the last time he’d kissed a girl was Sharon, and that was ages ago.

He was frozen in place; glancing back and forth between the hallway and the woman in front of him. What the fuck was he gonna do?

“What are you doing? Warming up? Just go.” Sharon complained.

Steve sighed, throwing his head back in annoyance, “Fine,” he exclaimed, “But if this goes south, it’s your fault.”

“Fine, fine, whatever, I take the blame. Just do something already.”

Fed up with her pestering, Steve forced himself to leave the room.

Okay Rogers, you got this.

As he hunkered down the hall, moving quickly before he could change his mind, Rogers continued to silently hype himself up.

You–you’re captain america. You. Are. America’s. Ass. You’re already shirtless, and that’s half the battle won.

But as he found himself in front of Y/N’s door; all his false surety had disappeared.

Steve groaned to himself, “Oh my god, what am I doing?”

“What are you doing?”

The voice of his friend made Steve jump, as he realized he wasn’t alone.

Bucky and Sam approached him from the other end of the hall.

“Steve, where’s your shirt?” Bucky asked, equally as confused as Sam. They then realized who’s door he was in front of, and immediately lit up.

“Whoa, are you coming or going Rogers?” Sam asked, assuming illicit activities were taking place.

Steve pursed his lip, looking back to the door in front of him. “Coming, at least trying to.”

“Seriously? You’re actually making a move? I never thought I’d see the day–” Bucky said.

“–Proud of you buddy, we didn’t think you’d ever go for it.” Sam added.

“Wh–” Steve stuttered, looking between the two, in both shock and embarrassment. “Does everyone know how I feel?”

“About Y/N? Uh–yeah.” Sam said.

“Come on Steve, you’re not exactly the most subtle when it comes to feelings.” Bucky explained, “You’re always together..”

Sam added on, “…whenever you’re not, you’re depressed…”

Bucky nodded, “You remember her birthday, she remembers yours–”

“–Wait, do you guys not know my birthday?” Steve asked.

The two friends shared a look, squinting as they pondered how to break the news that; no, they didn’t.

“July?” Sam asked.

“I know you’re a Leo,” Bucky said, as if that would suffice for an answer.

“Oh my god,” Steve said, “It’s July first.”

“We’re getting off track,” Sam said, “What exactly is your game plan here?”

Steve put his hands on his hips, shifting his weight to face away from her room, “Honestly, I have no idea.”

“Well lucky for you,” Bucky stated, confidence in his tone, “We’re here to help.”

Steve looked at him, disbelieving, but also slightly intrigued. “Oh yeah?” He asked, half jokingly. At this point, he’d take all the help he could get.

“Yeah,” Sam spoke, nearly offended that Rogers could ever doubt the Wilson charm. And whatever the hell Bucky thought he had going for him.

“Just go in there and be cool, flex a little, maybe be a little dismissive.” Sam said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky agreed, eagerly, “And like–act like she wanted you there.”

Sam snapped his fingers, “Exactly, make her come to you.”

Bucky and Sam stood, satisfied with themselves, as Steve stared slack jawed at the men in his presence.

“You guys are idiots, how have you ever gotten laid?” He asked.

Immediately the two jumped to their defense. As the three soldiers’ argument increased in both intensity and volume, they didn’t realize they’d attracted the attention of the woman on the other side of the door.

Y/N huffed as the sound penetrated her walls, snapping her laptop shut as she rose and charged to her door. Whipping it open, she startled the men in front of her.

Bucky screamed and nearly knocked Sam over, while Steve stared at her like a deer in headlights.

“Will you guys shut up, I’m trying to–” Her face lit up with a sudden epiphany, “Steve! Get in here.”

Before any of them could react, or argue, the young woman had grabbed Steve’s arm, and with surprising strength, pulled him into her room. The door slammed shut in Bucky and Sam’s faces, leaving them as dumbfounded as ever. They scrambled to press their ears against the door, not wanting to miss a second of whatever was going to happen next.

~

“Thank god you’re here, I need your help–”

Steve stood panicked in her doorway, unsure of what to do. She started pacing around the room, dramatically gesturing to further elaborate whatever point she was trying to make; which was completely lost on Steve. This was classic Y/N behavior; off on her own tangent and assuming Steve was with her every step of the way. Usually, he was, but this time he was too caught up in the ideas that Sharon, Bucky and Sam had put in his head.

Fuck, what did they say to do? Uh–flex. Damn it, what do I do with my body? What do I do with my hands?

Steve tried to control his expression; aiming for stoicism, cool, as Wilson described it. With his awkward smoulder, Steve moved to lean against the wall in a flattering way. He flexed, or tried to, as he braced himself in the most horrible attempt at casual standing.

He looked around the room; trying to be nonchalant while Y/N continued.

“So,” She said, “What do you think?”

“Uh–yeah, sure. Cool, whatever.” He said.

Dismissive, got it.

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she took in his stance, gesturing a hand to the wall he was placed against.

“Uh… what are you doing?” She asked.

Immediately embarrassed at whatever the hell that was, Steve stood upright.

“Nothing, nevermind,” He said in an attempt to brush off his previous actions, “What were you saying?”

She groaned, “Just get over here.”

She manhandled him, pulling him to the centre of the room, closely in front of her.

“Okay,” she said, “Try it.”

“Try what?” He asked.

“Try to kiss me!” She said.

He pushed her hands off his arms, “What?!”

She laughed stupidly, “You don’t have to actually do it. I just need to get a feel for the motion of it.”

She went to take a step forward, her arms getting ready to wrap around his shoulders. Steve took a step back and raised his hands in fear.

“What motion? What are you talking about?” Steve sputtered.

“Oh my god, were you even listening?” She teased, reaching for his forearms to pull him back. God was she strong. Or was Steve just oddly willing?

“Chris is about to kiss Hailey, or try to anyway. Sebastian and Anthony just talked to him and he’s finally gonna do it. Your shirt was working for awhile but now I’m getting stuck again. So–try to put yourself in that position. You just realized you’re in love with your best friend and you’re really gonna go for it. Act it out if it helps.”

Steve felt like he was going to throw up, lord help me.

“Y/N, I don’t think this is a good idea–”

“Come on,” she ushered, “It’s just me.”

“Exactly.” He said.

She shook her head at his ridiculousness, not aware of the real sentiment behind his words.

“Please? Do it for me.” She begged.

He looked down to the hands wrapped around his forearms; this felt like cheating. It wasn’t supposed to go like this; using the incredibly odd and specific scenario she’d laid out for him. It was hitting too close to home; how could he use this as a scapegoat to get what he wanted? Confessing his feelings and holding her in a way he’d wanted to for so long… the guilt overcame him.

But as he looked back into her eyes, as she was pleading for him to do this for her, he knew he couldn’t say no.

“Alright–can you just, can you close your eyes? It’s freaking me out.” He said.

She nodded eagerly, closing her eyes at his request.

He sighed, I guess it’s now or never.

He slipped his arms from her grip, and gingerly took her hands in his. He ran his thumbs over her knuckles, and resisted the urge to pull her closer. To press a kiss along every delicate finger in his grasp, to take her immediately how he wanted to. He inhaled, he exhaled, he had to pace himself.

“Okay,” He whispered, readying himself for what he was about to do.

“I want you, I’ve wanted you for so long that it’s driving me crazy. I–I don’t how to do this; how to do this right but I have to do this now because I know if I don’t I never will.”

He laughed at himself; the romantic honesty of it all.

“I’m crazy about you; I can’t get enough of you.”

He let his hands glide down to her wrists, bringing her to his chest and placing her hands on his shoulders. His hands fell to wrap around her waist, drifting his fingers along the shirt that he knew was his, revelling in the fact that she was in his clothing, and in some indescribable way, in his possession.

She was lost in the low timbre of his voice, completely consumed by his words. It sounded so real.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He asked, breathlessly in her ear. “I could just…”

He allowed himself to trail off, lips ghosting just over hers, taking in all the beautiful features of her face that he’d admired countless times before.

This was it; this was the moment he’d been praying for.

She broke into a smile, opening her eyes and playfully squealing.

“That was perfect!” She said, not moving from her position. “That was so good, how’d you think–”

He didn’t let her finish.

Words couldn’t describe how good her lips felt on his; how intoxicating the feeling of her bare skin was in the palms of his hands.

He clutched her tightly as he kissed her; gripping the soft flesh of her waist in a desperate hold to keep this moment as long as possible. Indulging himself in her taste, her touch.

His tongue trailed gently along her bottom lip before gently taking it between his teeth.

She gasped softly as he deepened the kiss, her hands instinctively wrapping in his blond locks.

As she tugged at his hair, eliciting a groan from Steve, he shifted his hands down to her hips and pulled her taught against him.

Her hand moved to cup his chin, lightly scraping the stubble with her finger tips. She moaned as the action made Steve’s fingers dig into the skin of her back. She arched her chest at the feeling of the possessive hold.

Why the hell hadn’t they been doing this the whole time?

She pulled back from his kiss, trying to catch her breath. Steve couldn’t read the look in her eyes; a mix of shock and confusion, and another emotion he wasn’t sure he’d seen before.

She tried to clear her mind as her hands shifted to rest on his chest; she felt his heartbeat pounding with the rise and fall of his own breath.

“Get on the bed.” She demanded.

Steve’s eyes widened at the command, stupidly ogling her as her hands moved to remove her–his shirt.

“What about your story?” He asked her.

She chuckled lightly at his naivety, reaching out to grip his biceps and pull him towards her.

In one quick motion, she pulled them on to her mattress. Steve reached out his hands to brace his fall, hovering above her.

With a lustful glint in her eye, she smiled.

“Fuck the story. We’ve got better things to do.”

~

“Sam we have to go,” Bucky said, “They’re gonna start fucking and I don’t wanna be around for that.”

~

Tags: @babyblue-07 @fandomsfallnomore @elliee1497 @lonewolf471 @babybluereads @marianas-studyblr @godspeedlover @sexwithhiddlesbatch @annestine @shower-me-with-roses @yougottalovefandoms

[grave-rose-reblogs]

Wanna Be Yours

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Uni AU)

Run-through: Your best friend has been acting weird, and one night while you’re hanging out like you both usually do, he finally tells you why he’s been acting kind of different lately. 

Themes: friends-to-lovers, fluff, smut, soft, car sex 

“Hey, Buck.” 

Keep reading

[grave-rose-reblogs]

you- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader warnings: mutual pining, a littleeee angst about: request by the sweetest @lovelyrdjr , best friends to lovers

“bucky,” you sing as you enter your best friend’s room. he says your name back with a glance before looking back down at the book he’s reading—one of the ones you recommended—and drones distractedly. “guess what?”

he hums again, resisting the urge to look back up at you and the little butterfly clips pulling strands of your hair back. he recognizes them as the ones he gave you for your birthday last year. 

“bucky,” you whine when he doesn’t pay attention to you, poking his shoulder repeatedly. he holds back a smile, continuing to pretend to ignore you even though he hasn’t been able to concentrate on his book since the moment your perfume filled up the space of his room. you drag out his name again, climbing on his bed and dramatically draping yourself over him.

“yeah, sweetheart?” he responds, not taking his eyes off of his book but letting a hand fall on your shoulder, rubbing circles into your skin.

“i have news,” you inform, propping your chin on his chest.

“what’s your news?” he asks, sparing you a glance that he forces not to last long.

“well, you have to be paying attention to me to tell you.” you pout, tugging at his shirt.

“‘m paying attention.”

“no, you’re not.” you sigh exaggeratedly, dropping your cheek on his shirt. “and, as a punishment, you won’t get cake and sam will be my fiancé.”

that catches his attention, and bucky puts down his book, dog-earing the page he was on even though he doesn’t like doing it. you’re a horrible influence. “what?”

he feels you grin against his shirt, nuzzling your face deeper as you shrug innocently. “guess what opened today?”

“what do you mean sam is going to be your fiance?” bucky questions instead.

“the answer to my question will answer all of yours,” you reply cryptically, meeting his eye. you bounce lightly in petulance. “guess!”

bucky sighs. “the bakery?”

“close.” you grin, biting your lip.

“the… cake store?”

you nod excitedly. “and guess what they sell?”

bucky shrugs. “cakes?”

“yes, but what specific cakes?”

“this is a lot more than that question you said would give me answers, and i still don’t have any,” bucky complains.

“wedding cakes! and they give free samples to couples that are ‘to be wed,’” you quote the words with a goofy accent, beginning to tug his arm. “they look really good and i want something sweet and i already told the woman working there i was about to get married and would bring my fiancé back so we could try some cakes.”

bucky nods slowly, watching you bite on a nail at your confession. “are you asking me to marry you?”

you roll your eyes, pushing at his shoulder. “you know what i’m asking.”

“i think i’ll need a proposal for this,” bucky declares. “it is the custom.”

you glare at him for a moment before exhaling softly. “will you marry me?”

“that’s how you’re gonna propose?” bucky accuses, making you laugh as your head drops to his chest. shaking your head, you get off of him and drop to your knee.

“james bucket barnacles,” you begin dramatically, offering him your hand. “will you marry me and be my fiancé for an hour so i can eat cake?”

bucky pretends to think for a moment before bursting into a grin, pulling you to him. “yes, a million times yes!” he presses sloppy kisses to your face, making you laugh as you try to push him away.

“save that for the cake shop,” you recommend.

-

bucky is not proud of his triumph when people think you and him are dating. he’s never minded, and you’ve never said anything to him or to the strangers that compliment on your nonexistent relationship, shrugging it away with the fact that you will never see them again and find it useless to explain to them the nature of your relationship.

when he falls asleep with his head laying on your lap, your fingers combing through his hair, or when you smile at him in that soft way you only do to him, he catches himself believing that you don’t correct anyone for the same reason he doesn’t—not because it does not matter what unknown others think, but because you’re in love with him too.

when you ask him to pretend to be your fiancé, he revels in the fact that he won’t have to bite back his pride or hold back the ridiculous urge to thread his fingers through yours and wrap an arm around your waist. maybe he goes a little overboard, but he’ll insist it was for the role if you question it—which you don’t—and he’d kick himself if he didn’t take full advantage of the opportunity.

he’s buzzing from your touch already as you enter the shop, warmed further when you lean your head against his shoulder nonchalantly, sending you an amused look when the woman behind the register asks you if he’s “the bucky.”

he can’t help the pleasant feeling at the bottom of his stomach when you agree easily, squeezing his hand. “yeah, he’s my bucky—my fiancé.”

the woman coos at the both of you, commenting on how great you look together.

“it’s thanks to her,” bucky shrugs, genty bumping you with his shoulder. “i mean, look at how pretty she is.”

your skin heats enough for him to feel it through his shirt, making him grin and press a kiss to your forehead just because he can.

“oh, you two remind me of my husband and i,” the woman reveals earnestly. “we’ve been in love for forty-eight years. since the moment we met.”

“i know the feeling,” bucky murmurs, glancing at you to see your eyes already on him, caught on the startling honesty of his features until you snap yourself out of it, settling a smile on your lips.

“me too,” you agree quietly, toeing on the edge of too convincing.

“i’m so glad you were honest about this. do you know how many people pretend to be together to try cake?” the woman asks incredulously, shaking her head as she collects cake. bucky and you exchange a look. “so much so that i can tell if the couple is actually in love the minute they walk in here.”

“wow, that must be a frequent problem, then,” you mumble, biting your lip.

“yes,” the woman says. “but, luckily, no one can fake love once i’ve seen it enough.”

“some—some might…” you begin, her words getting the better of you, but she stares straight at you and wags her finger.

“oh no. not the real one. the one that’ll last. like yours.”

“oh,” you whisper softly, allowing yourself just one moment of believing her as your eyes meet bucky’s.

-

bucky doesn’t like to think about love.

he doesn’t like to talk about it—his love for you or, really, any of his love at all—since, by some means, love always goes back to you, leaving him in a panic because the platonic way he is supposed to love you is not so platonic at all, and he is left remembering that he has fallen in love with his best friend.

as terrified as he is of you finding out and putting your friendship at risk, he aches to tell you, to read the confessions that play in his mind when he’s around you out loud and simply attach them to a blank face instead of you, but you know him too well. as trained as he is, you’ve always seemed to be able to read his mind—and he yours—and you would figure out he was lying about his faceless girl, so he chooses to push it away and ignore it.

he leaves questions he has for himself unanswered through the fear that he’ll figure them out in a realization that he can’t hold it in anymore, that he has to risk the friendship because he can’t live as if he hasn’t completely fallen for you.

if you’ve noticed, you don’t bring it up, and he isn’t sure if he’s glad or upset about it since he can do the exact same thing to you.

he’s trying not to think about it now as pretends to concentrate on the show you’ve put on. it’s one of the comedies you love so much, and you’re completely immersed in the scene, pulling at his arm excitedly. one of the main characters is rushing to tell one of the others she’s in love with him as he does the same, and he can’t help but think, turning to you. his eyes drag over your features, his teeth digging into his lip when they catch on the happy twinkle in your eyes.

you turn to him, startled to find him looking back. “watch!” you insist. “this is the best part.”

you’re bouncing lightly as the episode goes on, one of your hands patting the bed until it finds his and holds it to your chest as if it was a comfort.

you squeeze it absentmindedly, thumb brushing against his palm.

your anticipation gets higher as the seconds pass, and then natasha is opening your door and calling your name, inviting you to game night.

friday pauses the episode when nat starts talking, and bucky is ready to angrily refuse natasha’s offer for making your features drop at the halt, glittery excitement washing away.

“sure,” you reply instead, lowering bucky’s hand to your lap and disappointedly moving to turn the television off when bucky stops you with a hand on your arm.

“why don’t we finish watching and then we go?”

you shake your head. “we can watch it later,” you reason. “i don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

bucky isn’t happy about it, but agrees because you have. you drag him to the common room with you after brushing his hair away from his face with your fingers and straightening his shirt. as reluctant as he was at the prospect of leaving the comfort of your room—of the simplicity and comfort of you and him—the peck you give his nose when you’re satisfied with your work makes him a little dizzy and his reasons for not going a little blurry.

he sticks by your side for the entirety of the night, watching as your teammates get drunker while the sky bleeds black, the both of you remaining the more sober.

even after several of the bright drinks tony made, the knowing glint in natasha’s green eyes remains, her smirk growing as the night goes on until she sits next to you and throws an arm over your shoulders.

“let’s play a game,” she says to everyone, but her attention is on you. her words are eerily sober as she offers truth or dare, the others agreeing behind her. at the look she offers bucky, a pit grows in his stomach, suspecting she has a plan.

he doesn’t know how he did it, but he manages to avoid her for the entire game, until they’re a while in and the bottle’s neck points to him. a sinister grin curls natasha’s lips as she settles in, cocking her head at bucky. “alright barnes, dare—” she starts, choosing the order of her words obviously purposefully. he doesn’t miss the way her eyes flicker to you next to him, lips pursing. “or truth?”

he suspects she knows about the way he feels for you, and although it’s most probable that she won’t be as cruel as to force him to confess, he isn’t sure what else she could force him to do. spots of pink still splatter on his skin after the kiss you were dared to give your best friend; besides, he’d chosen dare far too many times when he was younger.

“truth.” he gulps.

“alright. i’ve noticed you’ve acted… differently lately,” nat begins. “nicer. although you barely come out here.”

“don’t hear the question, nat,” he points out, cocking a brow as she takes a sip of beer, avoiding your eyes.

“fine. i guess i’m just wondering if it’s due to an… interest,” she continues. “basically, are you interested in anyone, bucky?”

bucky swallows harshly, pressing his tongue against his cheek. his eyes tactfully flicker to you, unsurprised but startled to find you already looking back at him expectantly.

“uh,” he stammers, already knowing he’d answered the question by his actions. so he decides fuck it, they don’t know who it is and he’d rather just tell the truth. “yeah, i guess. i am—interested in someone.”

you blink, an indecipherable look going over your face for a second.

natasha, however, leans over with interest played on her features. “who?”

“‘think it’s only one question,” he mutters as a reminder, but then he hears your voice, intrigued.

“who is it?” you wonder. “is it the girl from the coffee shop? she’s so pretty.”

when he turns to you, he can’t tell you no, so he nods without thinking, “yeah, it’s her.”

something passes over your eyes; realization, he recognizes.

“my turn, right?” bucky asks, looking away from you with a blush and a clearing of his throat, but natasha shakes her head.

“actually, you’ve asked truth or dare the most out of everyone and wanda has one more question before she catches up to everyone,” she smiles. “so if it’s okay, i think she should turn.” she looks around innocently, the rest of the avengers unconcerned and shrugging sure, enjoying the show. wanda seems surprised at her words, but leans over to play anyway once everyone agrees.

she spins the bottle, and somehow—probably thanks to natasha’s fucking glare—it lands on you.

wanda claps keenly. “truth or dare, y/n?”

her face is inarguably more welcoming than natasha’s, and after kissing your best friend, giving total control over your social media to thor for the night, and making bruce blush after showing him the most… provocative photo on your phone, you pick truth. you realize it’s a mistake after catching natasha discreetly poke wanda’s arm.

“oh, uh, same question as bucky’s.”

you sigh through an awkward laugh, meeting bucky’s heavy stare. “yeah,” you admit, a strange pull curling your lips. bucky looks to his lap as he mourns in your truth. “this guy i met at that new antique store, it’s him. he’s really sweet.”

his heart would break at the words if he wasn’t paralyzed by the split-second confusion—the little time bucky’s subconscious leaves him in the dark while it ascertains something even bucky is unknown to until it isn’t.

you’re lying.

bucky’s neck snaps back up to look at you, not wanting to question you right now but later, when you’re alone. he suddenly can’t wait for this to be over.

-

he doesn’t have to wait long. natasha, for all her intrusions, recognizes when her plans have worked, and the game dissolves after a while, everyone dozing off of the couches or entertaining each other with their strange little antics.

it’s silent as you and bucky ride in the elevator, and then bucky has to get it out, the observation he can’t make sense of has been plaguing him for too long to make sense.

“you lied,” he blurts, meeting your wide eyes when your head snaps to him. your lips part in question, trying to seem nonchalant, but the speed at which you turned to look at him and the blur in your irises tells him you’re nervous. “in the game. about the guy, you lied.”

knowing well that if you try to lie you would probably get discovered again, you flounder. “you lied too!” you counteract instead. “when you sad it was the barista.”

bucky scans your face, and you realize what he’s doing too late. “it’s someone in the tower. someone who was there,” he realizes, his whole body pivoting to you.

covering your face in your hands, you complain, “stop doing that!”

the elevator doors open to an agent, making you lift your head from your hands, joining bucky when he tells them to wait for the next one, clicking to highest number on the tower as the doors close on the agent’s startled face.

you turn to him, “so what? you like someone in the tower too. that’s why you lied.”

“hypocrite,” bucky grumbles.

“it’s nat, isn’t it?” you press. “or wanda?”

“no,” bucky states, squinting at you. “it’s thor, right? either him or loki.”

“no. who is it, then? why won’t you tell me?”

“why won’t you tell me?”

“because!”

“ah, yes, thank you for that comprehensive explanation,” bucky deadpans. you glare at him.

“it’s nat,” you repeat, squinting at him even though you know it isn’t. you’re sure of it because you can hear the honesty in his voice when he negated it and you can hear it again now, because you can see it so plainly on his face in that easy way only you can do. yet you insist because there is no one else it could be.

“no it’s not.”

“it is! it has to be nat!” you exclaim.

“why does it have to be nat?”

“because there’s no one else!”

“well there is because it’s not her!”

“no—no, it’s her. i’ve seen you with wanda, you don’t like how intrusive her powers are. i don’t think you’ve even met gamora or carol and you don’t remember maria,” you list, scrounging for all the reasons you’re ashamed of having prepared. “it’s natasha. who else is there?”

“you, you idiot! there’s you!” bucky cries, stepping closer to you to take hold of your shoulders, shaking you lightly to get his point across.

“me what?” you ask dumbly.

bucky’s frustration at you bubbles over, and he growls an insult at your stupidity before pulling you to him, holding you steady as he kisses you.

you’re shocked for a second before you respond, melting against your best friend, the arms that were limp at your side looping around his neck to keep you upright. his hands are tight around your waist, tugging you as close as he can get you.

the kiss is desperate, teeth bumping as he guides you to the wall of the elevator. you pull away for a second to catch your breath, running a thumb over his cheekbone, admiring the color of his eyes. “it’s you too,” you say.

“yeah, i figured,” bucky teases, making you laugh and roll your eyes before you kiss him again.

the elevator doors part to natasha and wanda standing outside, natasha’s features colored with satisfaction.

“told you,” she whispers to wanda.

[grave-rose-reblogs]

Do Not Fall in Love

pairing: roommate!bucky barnes x roommate!reader

word count: 7.8k

this is a commissioned fic for the lovely @bwhitewolfbarnes <3

warnings: strangers to roommates to lovers, fluff, pining, bucky being a horticulturist bc it’s cute, minor angst, bucky gets hurt and is hospitalized but nothing graphic is described other than the fact that he has cuts and bruises, happy ending

tip jar | masterlist

Sweat starts to bead on your forehead, some sneaking down your neck and causing uncomfortable dampness that results in unpleasant shivers every so often. Your arms are heavy, nearly weak at this point, and your thighs are screaming at you just to sit down, please, I’m so sore.

Soon, you think.

There are only a couple of boxes left, and, thankfully, you haven’t had to carry the heavier ones. You suppose that’s a perk of moving in with a man with super strength - you don’t have to over-exert yourself.

Your new roommate - a mister James Barnes - was nice enough to help out in the move, even driving to your old apartment to get the last of your things and lead you to his - no, your new apartment. It’s not the biggest place, but big enough for two people and not so crowded. The building itself is fairly new, and so far the landlord seems like she’d actually give a shit if something broke in the apartments.

You’ll truly never have any idea of how you managed to find such a nice place with a non-creepy, quiet albeit nice enough man - a handsome one at that.

But you don’t think about that last point. You’re only here so you can help watch over his place, you remind yourself, don’t get too attached.

Anyway, back to moving.

Once you step through the threshold, the central air conditioning immediately hits you in full force. This time, a pleasant shiver runs through your body, the cold is very welcome to the abnormal blistering heat outside.

“You can sit down, you know.” Suddenly, Bucky appears beside you, one of your heavier boxes tucked into his side by his left arm as though it’s no big deal. Which, granted, he is a super soldier, so you don’t doubt that it really isn’t a problem.

“Oh, it’s fine!” Your voice goes high, the shock of him suddenly appearing next to you wearing off once you turn and see his concerned yet amused look. “There are only two boxes left, I can handle it.”

He scoffs, gently setting down the box he’s holding before taking the one from your arms.

“You’re clearly tired, and I don’t need my new roommate passing out on me.” While his tone is playful, you can sense the underlying worry. So, instead of arguing, you give in to him - and your sore body - and make the short walk to the living room to fall onto the couch with a dramatic huff.

Behind you, you hear Bucky chuckling. And when you turn your gaze to him, he’s shaking his head softly. You try to fight your laugh, pressing your lips together. Then, Bucky turns back to the boxes and goes down the hall to your new room to make it easier for you to open and organize them.

And, truly, you’re coming to already like your new living situation. Yeah, you just met the guy so you’re not quite accustomed to how he lives, but it’s definitely already preferable to your old one. You’d been roommates for two years with one of your best friends before your lease was about to renew and she’d decided to move out at the last minute and there is no way you can afford an apartment in New York by yourself. That coupled with the fact that even though you’re friends, living together was a complete mess for almost those entire two years.

Bucky has been nothing but kind to you. From the moment you first came over to check out your potential new place to helping you out in the moving process, it’s been a pretty smooth transition. He is a little quiet, more reserved, but that doesn’t bother you. You understand that you don’t have to be best friends with your roommate as long as you’re cordial with them.

Plus, you’ve done your research, you know the basics of what he’s been through. So the fact that he’s even open to letting a stranger live with him must be a big thing for him, so you’re more than happy to stay out of his way when necessary - even if you do want to get to really know him.

But when Bucky comes back into the living room, he says “I’m going to get the last two boxes, I put the sheets on your bed already. Figured you’d wanna take a nap before taking everything out.” He says it almost timidly, like he’s not sure if he was allowed to even though all he genuinely wants to do is help - he’s been trying to be more open and nicer given his past, maybe it’s part of his retribution to society.

But you give him a small, grateful smile, and he then disappears out of the living room and then the house as he goes to your car to get the last two boxes from your trunk.

Yeah, you don’t have to be friends with your roommate, but something in you tells you that you will be.

____________

You’re drifting in the space between being awake while also asleep. You’re conscious enough to know that you should probably get out of bed but tired enough for your brain to try and convince you to go back to sleep. Something else makes that decision for you. Your arm is shaken gently, and a deep voice in a soft manner calls to you as you catch bits and pieces of the words being spoken.

Dinner. Shower. Unpack.

That’s when your brain catches up with the situation, and finally, you open your eyes. At first, things are fuzzy, but you rub your eyes and let out a soft yawn and that helps your body wake up as well.

“What time is it?”

Bucky chuckles and looks down at his watch. “Almost four.”

Your body sits up almost immediately, eyes wide and your mind running frantically with trying to figure out why Bucky didn’t wake you up. You fell asleep at ten this morning, shit, it’s going to take forever to unpack.

Bucky, sensing your concern, shakes his head. “You were tired, you said you packed up your things and helped your friend move for almost all last week and you worked hard this morning, I figured you needed the sleep. But, it’s okay. I found some of your boxes marked as your clothes and put them in the closet. The others are in the corner.”

Again, he sounds nervous, once again worried that he might have overstepped. He hopes he hasn’t, but he’s ready to apologize nonetheless.

Jesus fucking Christ. Why does he have to be so nice? You internally huff in confusion. You just met him, does he… want anything in return? Then you mentally slap yourself, some people are just nice, stop questioning why.

So, smiling, you say “oh, thanks, James. That’s really thoughtful.”

His eyebrow twitches, not used to people using his first name considering he doesn’t really like it, he doesn’t connect with it anymore. Normally, he’d be a little brash about telling people, ‘it’s Bucky’. But, for reasons unknown, he doesn’t correct you.

Bucky then smiles again - not a full, bright smile, it’s more of an uptick of the corner of his mouth - relieved that you’re not weirded out. Now, why he is so concerned with you being comfortable around him is written off in his head about listening to his therapist and trying to make more friends - which, yeah. He could definitely use some of those, and his tall and broad stature tends to scare people away. But, that’s all it is, he’s sure.

He nods his head then, stepping away from the bed so you can crawl out from under the sheets and stand.

“I’m gonna order pizza, is that okay?”

At the mention of food, your stomach interrupts with a rumble, making both of you chuckle.

“Yeah, pepperoni?”

Bucky nods and steps further towards the door while you go to your closet to pull out a fresh pair of clothes so you can take a shower.

“I’m going to shower, I’ll be out in a bit.”

Once again, he nods, then disappears out of your door and closes it behind you.

____________

After your much-needed shower, you tread down the hall to the living room and look to your left towards the kitchen and see Bucky sitting at the table, three pizza boxes resting in the middle. Again, your stomach rumbles, alerting Bucky of your presence.

Upon reaching the table and sitting down, Bucky grabs the box with the pepperoni pizza and slides it to you, leaving the other boxes - one of which is already half gone - in the middle of the table still.

“I, uh. I eat a lot so I got three so you can have one to yourself.”

A small smile makes its way onto your face as you grab one of the plates next to the boxes and pile it with pizza, though you leave enough to be used for lunch tomorrow. “Thanks, James.”

He hums, letting you know he heard you. When you look up at him, you can see a small amount of red coloring his face, hidden mostly by his beard that he has yet to properly shave.

Huh.

A small part of your brain tells you he probably likes being appreciated - maybe even praised. And when you think back on all he’s done and do a quick mental run through all of the horrible news articles that have been spread around the world, you start to think that maybe he’s not used to it.

I should start doing it more.

You’re both quiet as you eat, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence. That is, until, you clear your throat. “Um, do you have anything to drink?”

Bucky’s head pops up, swallows a mouthful of pizza, and points behind him. “The fridge has orange juice and some sodas, and the cabinet next to it are the cups.”

You send him a smile as you stand from your seat, then go to the fridge.

“I, uh -” Bucky coughs to clear his throat. “I did want to talk about… rules, I guess.” Internally, he winces at how awkward that sounds.

“Oh,” You come back around to sit back in your chair. “That makes sense. What are you thinking of?”

He glances down at his pizza, then reminds himself that eye contact is important in the friend-making department. So, he holds your gaze as he lists off his rules.

One. While it is your new apartment, it is still also his, despite the fact that he’s away on missions occasionally. So, cleaning up after yourselves is important. Keep things tidy. Nothing just laying around if it doesn’t need to be. Things like that.

Two. Because he’ll be away on missions, he won’t have time to get groceries. You’d been designated with the task, however, Bucky was kind enough to tell you he’d leave money for whenever you did need to. When it came to both being home, you would switch on doing the cooking, though the way he spoke about it made you believe he doesn’t really know how to.

Three. When Bucky is away, he’ll always text or call you to let you know when he’s coming back. That was more so your suggestion, you wouldn’t want to be caught off-guard if he came home and you thought someone was breaking in.

Four. No parties. Three friends max are allowed when Bucky isn’t there because he really, really doesn’t need any more noise complaints. Which works out fine with you, you don’t have too many friends and you’re typically either too busy working or sleeping to have any so-called parties.

Once the rules have been set down and agreed upon the food is almost completely gone, which prompts the both of you to start clearing the table.

“Thank you for the pizza, James,” You smile at him, not missing the twitch in his brow and the clench of his jaw. Luckily he has his head turned enough so you can’t see how flushed his face is getting, well, you can’t see most of his face.

“Um. No -” Bucky pauses to clear his throat nervously, “it’s no problem.”

You hum, placing the rest of the food in the fridge while Bucky works on the dishes.

“So, I know it’s still a little early, but I think I’m going to turn in for the night.” You catch Bucky’s eyes as he glances up at you, smiling at him again. “Thanks, again. For everything, you’ve been really helpful.”

Bucky ducks his head down, face growing more and more flushed as his body grows warm with the gratefulness that he’s never - not that he can even remember - received, yet deep down has always craved.

He nods his head, mumbling a “goodnight,” and then listens to you wander down the hallway to your room.

____________

The first mission he goes on is only two weeks later. In that time, he’s shown you his spare room - filled with different plants and flowers and a very elaborate cat tree housing a very sleepy cat. He’s verbally told you how he takes care of them, but given that it’s a lot of work he was nice enough to write everything down.

It seemed like he was hesitant at first to show you, after all, horticulture isn’t exactly a hobby most would assume an unofficial avenger would have. Somehow, though, it fits him. His timidity, you’ve concluded, stems mainly from his arm.

Bucky seems scared - terrified, really - of hurting anyone or anything with it. Sure, he doesn’t have too much of a problem showing it off around the house, but you’ve come to notice he doesn’t hold much with the metal hand. 

But seeing him working with the flowers makes you believe that maybe he’s trying, with all his might, to teach himself that he can be gentle. And from how he plays with Alpine - his precious cat - you know he’s far more gentle than he gives himself credit for.

But he’s been gone for almost a week now, and you can, thankfully, say that you haven’t killed any of his plants. You’ve actually seemed to make friends with Alpine, much to Bucky’s confusion. The cat - in Bucky’s own words - is much like him, reserved and more content in her own space. Apparently, you now qualify as ‘her space’.

It’s eight in the evening when you get a text from Bucky telling you the mission was successful and that he’d be home by eleven that night.

And, assuming he’ll be too tired and drained to even eat, let alone cook, you make a split-second decision to cook for him as a ‘thank you for letting me stay here at a very reasonable price’.

Running over the decisions in your head, and pulling ideas from what he’s told you his favorite foods are, you decide on hamburgers. Easy enough and just greasy enough to fill his stomach after what you assume to be days of not eating much. 

It’s ten-fifty by the time Bucky comes walking through the door with a huff. He closes it as quietly as he can, then comes tip-toeing down the hall before reaching the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

Bucky’s voice catches you off guard. And you’re about to ask how he was able to be so quiet while being so - for lack of a better word - huge. But then you remember that being a super-soldier as well as a very well-trained assassin probably helps. So instead of questioning him, you smile.

“I figured you’d be too tired to cook so I made food!” Your smile widens as Bucky offers you a small one of his own.

He pauses, seemingly thinking something over, before nodding. 

“Thanks, that’s really sweet of you, doll.”

Both of you freeze, moreso Bucky, his eyes widening and his throat bobbing as he swallows nervously. But before he can panic too badly, you put him out of his misery because, to be honest, it feels… good. You like it.

“It was no trouble, James.” You finish plating the food for him, move to set it on the kitchen table, and then go back to start clearing up the mess.

“You don’t need to do that,” Bucky says softly, sitting at the table and staring at you with an unreadable look in his eyes. “I can do it when I finish eating.”

You sigh wistfully, shaking your head as you smile, more to yourself than anything.

“I do need to. I made the mess.” Then, turning to look at him, you shoot him a wink. “Plus, no offense but you look like death. I’d rather you eat, shower, and go to bed than spend extra time doing something I am capable of handling.”

This pulls a laugh out of him, not quite loud and hearty, but enough to show he appreciates your efforts.

“Alright then, clean as much as you want,” He chuckles again, then returns to his burger, piled with every topping you know he likes.

Nodding resolutely, you resume cleaning. Both of you work in comfortable silence, the only noise being the soft clanking of the dishes in the sink as you hand-wash them. Bucky’s given up on telling you that there’s a dishwasher for a reason, because why would you use it for only a few dishes? Come on, James, think smart.

Once the dishes have been put away, you make your way to the hallway leading to your room, not before sparing one last glance at Bucky.

He’s also looking at you, though, with another unreadable expression.

“Goodnight, James,” You say, barely above a whisper. And despite your best efforts to not let it get to you, you can’t help but feel giddy when he murmurs “goodnight, doll.”

____________

It’s another two months until Bucky has to go on an extended mission. And in that time you’ve grown closer to him. It’s been a tad bit tough cracking his shell, but so far he’s been nothing but kind to you when you ask menial questions about his job or his hobbies, giving you as much information as he wants before you sense his uncomfortableness with the conversation and promptly stop.

But he’s warmed up to you rather quickly, something you find comforting in a way it probably shouldn’t. He’s also a good listener, and - quite surprisingly - really good at cracking jokes. He doesn’t complain when he wanders out of his room and ends up stuck listening to you rant about your day.

At first, it seemed like he was ignoring you like you were just talking to yourself. But you quickly realized that he is listening, while he may not be looking directly at you the entire time you speak, you notice he hums every once in a while to let you know he’s still there, even chuckling when you told him about how you walked into the kitchen island and bruised your hip. You quickly defended yourself, though, insisting that Bucky must have moved it because you are not clumsy, thank you very much.

He does still spend a lot of time in his room, though, or in the spare. Multiple times you’ve caught him watering his plants, mumbling softly to them while he tries to shoo a very interested Alpine away from eating the leaves.

Upon later research, you learn that some people think that speaking kindly to plants helps them grow. Now, you’re not too sure about that, but watching a six-foot-something man murmuring lovingly at some carnations is both humorous and adorable.

And despite your best conscious effort to not fall for the man you’re technically only a roommate with - the term ‘friends’ flashes in your mind every once in a while though - you just can’t help it. 

He’s nice, one of the nicest men you’ve ever met in fact. He’s funny, even telling you stories of when he was in the war and how he was almost genuinely considering stripping for a pack of cigarettes.

It seems like he’s had an easier time talking to you than you’d expected, but maybe your assumptions about him had been wrong - the stoic, closed-off man that the media portrayed him to be had all been lies, of course. Because despite him not speaking too much, he’s been a joy to be around when you do cross paths.

But when he comes home from his extended mission you get a notification that he’ll be coming home in about three hours - but it’s from a number you don’t recognize. And whoever was on the other end had talked about Bucky in the third person, and something akin to uneasiness settled deep in your stomach because why wouldn’t he text you himself? Is he okay?

The message had been short and there was no response when you’d texted back to ask if he was okay. You spent those three hours idly cleaning despite there not being much of a mess, it was mainly to keep yourself busy while you waited for Bucky to return.

And when he does return, you realize why he hadn’t been able to be the one to text you. His flesh hand is bandaged, though you can see a little blood seeping through. His face has a cut all along the cheekbone, and he’s limping ever so slightly.

Immediately your brain switches into mother-hen mode. Without even thinking you run to the bathroom and grab the first aid kit, before running back to Bucky, who’s leaning against the kitchen island. His metal hand is pressed against his side, eyebrows furrowed in pain, and breathing steadily so as to, presumably, calm himself enough to let his body heal itself naturally.

You don’t consider the fact that his super-soldier serum is going to heal all of his wounds by tomorrow, you’re more concerned with how he is now.

“Come here,” You say, in a sharper tone than you intended. Immediately, and without thinking, you grab his metal hand to pull him to the couch, something you’ve never done. It hasn’t really crossed your mind but Bucky has been very careful with not touching you with his metal arm - though he doesn’t really touch you at all unless it’s to steady you when he passes by and gets a little too close to knocking you down with his big frame.

As gently as possible, you push him to sit down on the couch, eyes frantically searching for the worst injuries so you can tend to those first.

“It’s fine,” Bucky chokes out, almost in a daze. “The doctor at the tower fixed me up, it’s just going to take some time for it to heal fully.”

You don’t really hear him though, because the blood seeping through the bandages on his hand is becoming more prominent, and you immediately drop to your knees and pull the kit to your side. You, very carefully, take hold of his hand and pull it towards you, already starting to unwrap the gauze.

“I don’t know how to stitch, but I know we have butterfly bandages and creams and antiseptic, it should be able to help. And I can re-wrap it, oh! I’ll have to grab the cotton pads and a damp cloth, just wait here!”

You can’t help the words from pouring out of your mouth. But, to your credit, you’ve never seen anyone in this bad of a shape. And your natural anxiety mixed with the man you’re definitely not crushing hard on being the one hurt spikes a small amount of fear deep within you.

“Doll,” He says, both exhausted and in pain. “I swear, I’m going to be fine.”

Finally, you look up at his face, staring into his eyes and searching for any amount of untruthfulness but only finding desperation. Sighing, you loosen your grip on Bucky’s hand but don’t let go of it completely. You’re cradling it between your own and looking at him with concerned eyes.

After a moment of silence, you place your right hand on Bucky’s metal one and squeeze softly. You know that he can’t technically feel it, but he seems to understand the gesture when he offers you a small smile.

“Will you at least let me check your hand?” You ask in a soft voice, merely above a whisper. “For my own sake?”

Bucky thinks it over in his head, though it doesn’t take long for him to nod. Your eyes and puppy dog pout pull him in, especially when you add “please, James.”

“Okay,” He, again, speaks softly, holding your gaze with an unreadable expression that you’re trying very hard not to try and decipher.

With a nod and a small smile, you remove your hands from his own and pull out the first aid kit, all the while Bucky has his eyes trained on you.

____________

Another two months go by and you can honestly say that Bucky is your friend, and more importantly, he considers you his friend too. Around a week ago you heard him on the phone telling the person on the other end that he had plans that night with ‘his roommate.’

A moment later he says ‘yea, she’s really nice… yeah I-I guess we’re friends… Yes, Sam, I have friends… no I did not pay her to live with me… Sam, I ju - yes, okay. Yes, she’s pre - I really don’t see how that factors into any… listen I have to go’ and promptly hangs up.

At the time you couldn’t help but feel… giddy? You didn’t know which emotion was running through your body, but you’re sure it was positive. Though there was one immediate thought that popped into your head.

‘Yes, she’s pre-‘. What was the rest of that sentence going to be?

Logically, you know what the rest was going to be, but you’re trying your hardest to not get your hopes up. He could just be saying that you’re ‘pretty cool’ or something along those lines, but part of you wishes it wasn’t.

And, to be fair, you’ve done a great job so far at convincing yourself that you definitely do not have a crush on your roommate. Because if you did then that would surely cause problems. One is that you’d have to move out. Truthfully, if you let yourself accept that your feelings for Bucky run deeper than friendship you’re not too sure if you could stand being around him knowing that he doesn’t feel the same way.

Of course, maybe he does. But you’re pretty confident that he’s not looking to date anyone. He hasn’t mentioned that he’s dating anyone currently, and he’s even told you that he hasn't dated anyone since he got out of Hydra’s hold.

How could you suddenly change that?

For the rest of the day, you’d been in a weird headspace. Really, it’s been a whole week of overthinking.

He thinks I’m pretty.

Stop that, he could have been complimenting my personality or something.

No, but he definitely thinks I’m pretty. He blushes any time I smile at him! He calls me ‘doll’!

I’m reading too much into this. Calm. Down.

And, unfortunately for you, Bucky has picked up on your mood shift. Ever since he started hanging out with you more he’s been able to pick up on a few of your tells. Plus, he’s a trained ex-assassin, of course he’d be able to notice.

Thankfully Bucky hasn’t commented on it though, seemingly waiting for you to bring it up. But you don’t. And you’re determined to never speak of the growing realization that maybe being around Bucky so much, being able to get to know who he really is, has deepened your feelings for him far more than you are willing to tell anyone.

You’ve been pushing through it though, spending nights fighting with yourself over if you should just admit your feelings or suppress them to the point where you can pretend they don’t exist like how you used to be able. You still spend time with him, forcing him to watch classic movies he’s never heard of in exchange for watching old black-and-white movies that make him laugh yet leave you confused.

And throughout these past months, you can’t help but feel happy and proud that you’ve managed to get Bucky to trust you, to laugh with and at you, to smile. And even if it’s sometimes awkward, it’s still frustratingly endearing.

It seems to get worse on one Monday at three in the morning when Bucky walks into the kitchen, bag slung over his shoulder and geared up in mission attire.

“Hey, doll. I-“ He cuts himself off, coughing slightly as though he’s shocked. 

Turning from your spot near the fridge you see him staring at you, wide eyed and a flush covering his body. For a moment you wonder why he’s frozen, why he’s suddenly stopped talking and looks like a deer in headlights.

That’s when you look down and realize you’re wearing a big t-shirt, underwear, and no pants.

Fuck. 

The shirt is, thankfully, big enough to rest a little below your mid-thigh. Yet it still doesn’t stop the onset of humility and embarrassment. A wave of warmth covers your body, suddenly becoming almost unbearably hot with how nervous you’ve just become.

“Uh, I was.. I was just getting some juice and I didn’t think you’d be up,” Your voice is surprisingly even given the nerves wracking your body, even more so when you catch Bucky staring at your legs with… longing?

For a small moment, no one speaks. The only sound that can be heard is your breathing and Bucky coughing to clear his throat.

“N-no it’s - it’s fine. I mean, you live here too I guess so…”

“Still, I’m, uh, sorry I guess.” Internally, you cringe. What exactly are you apologizing for? You’re not too sure. But amidst the voices in your head all screaming at you to run, go back to your room, no, stay here, let Bucky look at you like you’re a treasure to be held.

Wait. Huh? That look in Bucky’s eyes couldn’t possibly be that, no. You’re imagining things. But, amidst your internal panic you almost miss what he says next.

“No, it’s fine.” He pauses, tongue poking out to wet his bottom lip for a split second before holding your gaze. “I promise.”

Again, silence, awkward and tense. And you attempt to break it with “so, how long will you be gone?”

Bucky forces a smile, and you know he hates going on missions. While he does enjoy saving the world and repenting for his sins, you can see the toll it’s taking on him. It doesn’t help that when he comes back he’s usually a little battered and unwilling to speak more than a few sentences.

You don’t blame him, though. You couldn’t even imagine what he goes through so you’re content to stay on the sidelines, helping when you can.

“About two weeks.”

And something inside you hurts, knowing the Bucky will be gone for two whole weeks makes you uneasy, mainly because you don’t know what’s going to happen to him - as though you ever do. All you can do whenever he’s gone is hope that he’ll come back, bruised and battered is far better than not coming back at all.

You care for him as a friend - much more than a friend albeit - but a friend nonetheless. No one, especially a man who’s been through as much as he has, deserves the weight he carries.

“Oh, I hope it goes well. I don’t need you dying on me, James.” Your poor attempt at a joke actually succeeds as Bucky chuckles.

“Thanks, doll. I’ll try my best.”

Then, after holding his gaze for another moment, you turn back to the fridge. You lean in to get the orange juice you’d made yesterday, and choked off gasp sounds through the air. Only too late do you realize that your shirt had ridden up slightly and probably, definitely gave him a small view of your ass.

Quickly standing up straight you go for the cabinets to get a glass, flat out refusing to look at Bucky out of mortification. Why do you have to make things so awkward?

“Well, I'm, uh. I’m gonna go, I’ll update you when I can.”

With that, he rushes out the door. And when you sneak a glance to your right you see Bucky now holding his bag to where it’s pressed to his front.

And you’re left with a flush covering your entire body and a mind full of confusion.

____________

The first week Bucky is away is uneventful. You spend your days either at work or at home taking care of Bucky’s plants and Alpine. You’ve started taking after Bucky in the sense that you whisper lovingly to his plants. You’re not entirely convinced that this actually works, but you’ll be damned if you let any of them die.

You spend more time in your room than usual, finding it too boring to be out in the living room with a large space yet nothing in particular to do. You still make sure to keep your door open so that Alpine can come and go as she pleases - though she ends up staying, most times curled up at the end of your bed cuddled into one of your blankets she’s now deemed hers.

Bucky manages to text you one time from a burner phone that week. A short “everything’s good, Sam’s an ass but that’s typical. Going to try and get back earlier but I don’t know if Steve understands what ‘in and out’ means. Stay safe, doll.”

That last bit made you laugh. The fact that he is telling you to be safe is funnier than it should be. But then again, you’ve come to know that Bucky is a little - a lot - old-fashioned. So making sure you’re okay is probably just one of his Things.

The second week is a little more stressful. Work is piling up and you’re starting to have a perpetual headache, starting from the moment you get into work until the time you’re able to leave.

There’s also been your coworker, Aaron, who’s ‘conveniently’ always where you are, ready to give you backhanded compliments as his weird version of flirting. His smile hides something dark, like he has ulterior motives other than trying to sleep with you. It’s unnerving, to say the least.

Bucky also hasn’t texted or called you since the previous week's update. It’s already Friday and while you know you shouldn’t worry too much - after all, crime-fighting doesn’t have a set schedule - you can’t help but have some sort of uneasiness.

But you brush it off as a product of your stress from the week. You’ll give it another few days. But even then, who would you be able to call if he doesn’t return? What are you supposed to do if he doesn’t?

Friday turns to Saturday, then Sunday, and then it’s Monday again, two weeks from the day that Bucky left, and you can’t help but let your worry rise. And, yeah, you two didn’t specifically agree on texting often, but based on his previous missions you’d assumed he’d be in contact with you more often.

Somehow, Thursday comes around in the blink of an eye. Granted, you’ve buried your head in work to try and finish the foot-high stack of files that your coworkers seem to only add to, trusting you to finish their work.

It’s on this Thursday, about two and a half weeks after Bucky left, that you get a call when you’re in the break room during your lunch. It’s from an unknown number, so you’re flooded with relief knowing that it’s Bucky.

Except, no. It’s not. As soon as you answer, you’re barely able to get out ‘hello’ before a voice whom you’ve come to recognize as Steve starts whispering.

“I’m sorry, I know you’re at work. But, Buck’s been hurt pretty bad. We’re flying him to our Compound so the doctors can patch him up, but…” He trails off, almost uncertain as to whether he should finish the sentence.

“But what? What happened?” You’re almost frantic with worry, wondering how bad Bucky’s been hurt, wondering if his injuries were the reason he didn’t make contact last week, praying that Steve isn’t about to give you even worse news.

“It doesn’t look too good. I can’t say much, but I know how much he cares about you. I think it’d be best if you could be here for him. I know he’d appreciate it.”

Time freezes.

How much he cares about you?

And then his first words finally register.

It doesn’t look too good.

Fuck.

Without even thinking you rush to place your phone between your shoulder and ear so you can use both of your hands to clear up your food.

“O-Of course, yeah.��� You’re already in the process of heading towards your office when Steve speaks up again.

“Thanks, I’ll send you the address.”

He hangs up, and then you run into your office, packing up your essentials while somehow managing to text your boss that you’re suddenly sick, that you won’t be at work tomorrow either - you’re trying to be optimistic and assume that Bucky will pull through, therefore taking time off of work to be with him seems logical.

It’s on the drive over to the compound that you think of the past several months you’ve spent with Bucky. Not only has living with him been smoother than you could’ve ever imagined, but getting closer to him, becoming his friend, has easily made its way to your top ten list of things that bring you happiness.

And that’s when you come to the conclusion that, yes, you do love him. Immensely so. And now, knowing that he might not make it, makes you want to cry, to scream. At this point you don’t care about making things awkward between you two - although, signs seem to point towards him reciprocating at least some of your feelings.

God you hope he does. Because if he does live, you’ll tell him. You’ll admit it to him, to anyone who asks, because losing him like this would be far worse than just losing him as a friend. 

It takes thirty minutes to get to the compound, an extra ten to convince the security that you’re here for Bucky, that you’re not some obsessed fan or a secret assassin. Only when Steve comes into the main lobby does the guard let you go with Steve.

“He’s in surgery right now.” Is what Steve says, voice a little shaky despite him trying his best to stay calm. 

“Okay,” you murmur, following Steve through hallways, up elevators, down more hallways, before finally finding the medical wing.

People step aside as the two of you walk to where the rest of the team are waiting very impatiently outside the operating room's door. You get a few small smiles, but other than a simple few “hi”’s everyone stays tensely silent.

It takes several hours - five, to be exact - for the doctor, whose badge reads Helen Cho, to come out with a hopeful look on her face.

“We’ve stabilized him.”

At this, everyone visibly relaxes, sighs of relief echoing through the hallway.

“He’s in recovery right now, and then he’ll be moved to a regular room. He’s in and out of sleep, but one person at a time can go in and visit him.”

Suddenly, everyone’s eyes are shifting back and forth from you and Steve. Steve’s eyes, however, are focused on you. He nods towards Helen, silently giving you permission to be the first person to see him.

“Are you sure?”

Steve smiles and nods. “Yeah, he’d much rather see you than me, I’ve been busting his ass too hard the last few weeks.”

You give him an awkward smile, glancing around at everyone and trying to ignore their knowing looks.

So you stand and follow Helen down another hallway, stopping outside of a door reading James B. Barnes. 

For a moment you stay planted to the floor, unable to get the horrible images you’ve imagined Bucky to be in out of your mind. But Helen opens the door and gives your arm a comforting squeeze before leaving.

So, taking a deep breath, you step into the room, your eyes filling with tears at the sight in front of you.

Bucky’s right arm is bruised with cuts deep enough that even his serum won’t be able to heal overnight. He has a black eye, a busted lip, and another scar running across his cheekbone. He looks paler too, but blood loss can do that to you.

All in all, he looks worse for wear. But his condition right now is definitely preferable to him being dead.

“Hhngg.”

At the sound of a soft, but hearty groan, you rush to Bucky’s bedside, immediately grabbing his metal hand without thought.

“James?” Your voice is low and soft, very careful to not be too loud and cause his head to hurt even more than you’re sure it already does.

“Doll?” His eyes blink slowly, squinting when he finally registers the bright light bearing down on him. “Can you turn down the sun?”

Despite the situation you can’t help but laugh. The sedatives must really be strong if it has a super soldier loopy and almost delirious.

“It’s not the sun, James,” You chuckle, squeezing his hand though you’re aware he can’t feel it. “It’s just a lightbulb.”

“Oh,” Bucky sounds confused, eyes squinting again before turning to you fully. His eyes widen, lips curling into as much of a smile as he can muster through the pain and medicines.”You’re here!”

Nodding, you give him a smile of your own. “Yeah, well I told you not to die and yet you almost did. I had to come and give you shit for it.” And despite your light-hearted nature, you can’t help that your voice quivers on ‘die’.

Bucky’s smile doesn’t falter, but he does attempt to reach for you with his bad arm, which results in you quickly leaning over him so you can place his arm back down.

“Don’t move too much, James. I don’t want you hurting yourself anymore than you already are.”

Bucky now frowns, making a confused sound and pausing for a moment before his face lights up like he’s been enlightened. “Then just get up here with me! C’mon, I need cuddles to help.”

Now it’s your turn to be confused, and you start shaking your head - mainly because you don’t want to hurt him further, but also because you’re not too sure that you can keep your cool if you were to be pressed up against him.

But Bucky’s pout is too adorable and yet heartbreaking to resist.

“Pleassssee.”

Sighing, you concede.

“Scoot over then,” At your words, his smile returns, and he does a shimmy to scoot over on the bed that’s too cute for the situation.

After about a solid minute of manouvering you’re finally able to climb onto the bed and lay next to Bucky. Which was a mistake on your part. Bucky huffs and does his best to pull you on top of the good side of his body, which you go willingly, unable to resist the hold he has over you.

“Mmmm, yay,” His voice gives away that he’s still not fully mentally here, but something in you knows that he’s aware enough to know the situation you’re in.

Silence envelops the both of you, and you’re suddenly overcome with a wave of relief. Finally being able to touch him the way you’ve wanted coupled with the fact that you’re now able to realize that Bucky is alive and he’ll be okay just does something to start off the waterworks. And you’re now unable to stop the tears that have been built up ever since you got the call.

It turns into full on sobbing into his chest, your fingers clutching his hospital gown as though he’ll disappear any minute. The absolute horror you felt, the dread, the anxiety of knowing that Bucky might have died finally hits you. And you’re unable to stop, meaning you’re unable to hear Bucky calling for you, concerned and confused. Your body shakes, whether by the tears or his hand trying to shake you out of your sadness is unclear.

But then Bucky decides a good way to get you to stop crying is by lifting his shoulder so your head turns upward, using his bandaged hand as best as he can to steady your head as he kisses you.

He kisses you.

Bucky is kissing you. What the fuck?

For a moment you’re too stunned to do anything but succumb to his will, letting him kiss you with a gentleness you’re not surprised by. Though his tough exterior scares many, you are one of the few lucky enough to know that he’s a softie, that he can be gentle when he wants to be.

But a few moments later you snap out of your trance, pulling back as much as Bucky will allow to look at him with confused eyes.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

Bucky shrugs, giving you his best puppy-dog eyes. “I don’t know. You were crying and I don’t like it when you cry so I thought that would work. Plus, I’ve always wanted to kiss you.” He says this like it’s the most normal thing in the world. And you’re desperately trying to convince yourself that this is just a product of his medicine - something that hurts you dearly - but you know your James, he wouldn’t do something he doesn’t want.

“You want to kiss me?”

“Of course. You’re so pretty and kind and funny and, god you’re so amazing. You treat me like I’m just a normal person, you tease me and laugh at my dumb jokes that I know you don’t really find that funny. And I just..”

He gets cut off abruptly by your lips pressing against his, swallowing his shocked gasp. And you continue to kiss him for another minute - minutes? hours? who knows - before pulling back minutely.

“James?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, doll?” Through the anaesthetics he sounds frustratingly smug, and you decide to let him. You can’t deny that your own ego has swelled at knowing that this man, not a perfect one, but perfect for you, wants you, wants to kiss and hold you.

“I really like you.”

You feel him smile against your lips, he gives you another chaste kiss and then pulls away just enough to get a good look at you.

“I really like you too.”

Another moment of silence, both of you basking in the unusual turn of events that lead to finally having Bucky like apparently both of you have wanted.

“I swear to god, though. If you ever scare me like this again, I’ll kill you myself.”

[grave-rose-reblogs]

Friendly Fire

Bucky x reader

Summary: Sam exposes Bucky’s obvious crush on you.

Word: 1,3k

The compound was quiet. Too quiet. Which meant you were about to commit a crime.

Not a real crime, just a tiny one. A harmless, innocent late-night snack raid. You tiptoed into the kitchen, trying not to make a sound, reaching for the cupboard handle.

"Really?"

You turned around, startled, finding Bucky leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, looking very unimpressed.

"You scared the hell out of me!" You hissed, pressing a hand to your chest.

He smirked. "You’re terrible at sneaking."

"I wasn’t sneaking."

"You absolutely were." He smiled, walking closer to you.

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the cupboard. "What are you doing up, anyway?"

"Same thing as you," He admitted, stepping closer. "Figured I’d grab something before Wilson wakes up and lectures me about eating properly."

You chuckled. "Well, now that you're here, you might as well make yourself useful."

He arched a brow. "Useful how?"

You gestured at the top shelf. "Grab that."

He sighed but reached up effortlessly, grabbing cookies you couldn’t get to.

You narrowed your eyes. "Showoff."

Bucky smirked, opening the cookie package, taking one out, and he exaggeratedly slowly took a bite.

"You are the worst," You muttered, grabbing a cookie from the package.

"You love it," He teased.

You snorted, but didn’t deny it. For a moment, comfortable silence settled.

Then Bucky glanced at you with a smirk. "We’re gonna get caught, you know."

You shrugged, taking a bite. "Worth it."

"Wow. Look at this."

Both of you froze.

Slowly, you turned, finding Sam standing in the doorway, arms crossed, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"Two grown adults, sneaking snacks like criminals," He said, sighing. "Barnes, you should be ashamed."

Bucky groaned, rubbing his temple. "Sam-"

"No, no, don’t ‘Sam’ me." He pointed at both of you. "This is pathetic. You could’ve just eaten like normal people, but no midnight heist. What are you, spies?"

"Well...yeah," Bucky muttered.

Sam ignored that. "And you?" He turned to you, smirking. "Corrupted by Barnes already, huh?"

You sighed, pretending to be apologetic. "Guess I’ve been a bad influence on him."

Sam laughed, shaking his head. "No, no, you got it backwards, sweetheart."

Bucky rolled his eyes, grabbing cookies. "We’re leaving."

"Running from justice, huh?" Sam teased.

Bucky grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward the exit. "We don’t have to listen to him."

"Wait," Sam checked the shelf from which you got cookies. "Are those my cookies?" He called after you. "Thieves!"

You just laughed, following Bucky down the hallway.

---

"You’re terrible at this," Bucky muttered, watching you struggle with the dough. This time, the two of you decided to make cinnamon rolls.

You scoffed, tossing him a glare. "Excuse me?"

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "You’re kneading like you’re trying to fight it. It’s dough, not an enemy."

You huffed, turning back to the sticky mess in front of you. "You said I had to be firm!"

"Not aggressive," He corrected. "You look like you’re trying to kill it."

You sighed, rolling your eyes. "Maybe if you actually helped-"

Bucky smirked. "And ruin the entertainment?"

You narrowed your eyes. "You’re enjoying this way too much."

"I absolutely am." He chuckled, stepping closer to you.

Slowly, casually, you scooped up a bit of flour. "You know, for someone who’s supposedly a trained fighter, you’re way too close right now."

Bucky’s brow furrowed. "What?"

And before he could react, you flicked the flour straight at him. It was beautiful. A perfect explosion of white powder across his dark shirt and face. For one glorious moment, he just stood there, processing. Then his expression darkened.

"You," he muttered, wiping flour from his jaw. "Are in so much trouble."

You shrieked, immediately trying to back away, but he moved faster. In an instant, he grabbed a handful of flour and smeared it against your cheek, grinning at your stunned reaction.

"You did not just,"

"Oh, I did."

You lunged for another handful, and just like that, chaos erupted.

Flour flew everywhere onto counters, into hair, across shirts. You were laughing, dodging him, while Bucky, the incredibly skilled fighter, was apparently terrible at avoiding kitchen warfare.

By the time Sam walked in, he stared at the disaster in complete horror. "What the hell happened here?"

You and Bucky were breathless, covered in flour, smirking at each other like two kids who had just gotten caught.

Sam sighed. "I don’t even wanna know. But Barnes," He shook his head, walking out. "Just tell her, man."

"Ignore him." Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his flour-covered face.

You just laughed, but you wanted to know what he meant.

---

The compound's kitchen was quiet until Sam decided to stir up trouble.

You were sitting across from Bucky at the table, quietly sipping coffee, when Sam decided today was the day to ruin Bucky Barnes' life.

"You know, man," Sam said, leaning against the counter, smirking at Bucky, "you’re not exactly subtle."

Bucky, sitting across from you, froze mid-sip.

You raised an eyebrow. "Subtle about what?"

Sam grinned like a man who lived for chaos. "You."

Bucky’s jaw clenched warningly. "Sam."

You blinked, confused. "Me?"

Sam turned back to Bucky, absolutely enjoying himself. "Look at you, all stiff and silent, pretending you don’t have a full-blown crush sitting right there."

Bucky exhaled sharply, gripping his coffee mug so tightly that you were sure it was seconds away from cracking.

"I do not-" He muttered.

"Oh, buddy," Sam interrupted, shaking his head. "You do. The way you watch her when she walks into the room? The way you get all weirdly protective? And let’s not forget the time you lost your mind when she got hit during training."

Bucky shot up from his chair. "I was concerned!"

"You were dramatic," Sam corrected.

You stared between the two men, heat rising to your cheeks. Bucky Barnes, former assassin, impossible grump, had a crush on you?

Bucky dragged a hand down his face. "Sam, I swear, I will-"

"What?" Sam taunted. "Kill me? Finally admit you like her?"

Bucky looked half ready to commit a crime. But before he could, Sam pushed off the counter, laughing. "Relax, man. I'm just saying that maybe you should stop glaring at me and do something about it."

Then, with an obnoxious wink at you, he walked out. You sat there, awkwardly clutching your coffee cup, very aware that Bucky was still standing.

"...So," you said, glancing at him. "You have a crush on me?"

Bucky groaned. "Ignore Sam. He likes ruining my life."

You smiled. "But…was he wrong?"

Silence.

Bucky rubbed his temple, sighed, and finally looked at you. "I hate him," he muttered. "But no. He wasn’t wrong."

Your heart stuttered.

Slowly, you set your coffee down. "So… what do we do about that?"

Bucky was silent for one long second. He hesitated, but only for a second. Then, he moved.

His hand reached up, fingers grazing your cheek like he was memorizing the feel of your skin. His touch was careful, uncertain, but when his thumb traced the edge of your jaw, you leaned into it. That was all he needed.

He slightly tilted his head, closed the distance, and kissed you. It started soft, hesitant, like he was afraid to break you, but the moment you melted into him, everything changed.

The tension, the months of stolen moments and unsaid words, came crashing down all at once. His lips pressed firmer against yours, his hand slipping to the back of your neck, pulling you closer like he’d been waiting, aching, for this.

And you kissed him back with everything you had, gripping his jacket, letting him swallow the breathless sound you made when he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. The world blurred.

It was just heat, hands, Bucky, the quiet realization that this was exactly where you wanted to be.

"FINALLY!"

You jerked away, breathless, turning toward the hallway where Sam stood, grinning like a damn idiot.

Bucky groaned, burying his face against your shoulder. "I am going to kill him."

You laughed, still catching your breath, still feeling the phantom imprint of Bucky’s lips.

"Took you long enough, Barnes." Sam just shook his head, victorious.

[grave-rose-reblogs]

cry baby

bucky barnes x fem reader

words: 7.3k

warnings: **18+ ONLY** smut, edging, overstimulation, crying during sex, mentions of flushed cheeks, friends to lovers, misunderstandings, lapslock.

a/n: this is arguably one of my absolute fave fics i've ever written. she is near and dear to my heart :') i've provided the link for ao3 if you prefer to read it there! it's originally posted in two parts but i've combined them here. any and all mistakes are mine. feedback is encouraged & appreciated ♡

“the boys are running late,” natasha informs you when you make your way to the table she’s conquered in the busy cafe. “sam texted a couple minutes ago and said he and bucky got stuck in traffic.”

it’s the second tuesday of the month, which means it’s brunch day. it’s a running tradition that’s stood for the four of you since your college days. the time and place has changed over the years, but everyone does their absolute best to attend every time. these tuesdays are your favorite, naturally.

you plop into an empty chair across from her with a heavy sigh. “good, that means i have time to bitch about how fucking horny i am before they get here.”

she snorts, taking a delicate sip of her latte. “what’s new?” she wonders sarcastically.

“you don’t understand,” you begin, leaning into the table, gripping the edge tightly. “it’s been months, and not like, a few, i mean it’s coming up on a year.”

natasha’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “a year? what about that guy you went on a few dates with a while back? didn’t anything happen with him?”

“no,” you grumble, sitting back in your chair and crossing your arms. you huff. “and even if something had happened, i doubt it would have been satisfying. i can probably count on one hand the amount of times sex has been even kinda pleasurable for me.”

“sounds like you’re picking shitty partners.”

you scowl. “i know that, but it’s not my fault. all these stupid men keep promising they’re gonna fuck me ten ways to sunday and not a single one of them can even get me to wednesday.”

natasha laughs. “you poor thing.”

“you’re really not helping me here,” you whine with a pitiful pout on your lips. “you are getting routine dickings, you have sam! i am not so lucky here.” you notice her attention flicks to somewhere behind you, but you’re not finished with your rant. “nat, i’m serious. all of my sex encounters are the equivalent of asking someone to scratch my back and then they scratch literally anywhere but the spot that itches. i want to be fucked so good that i cry, just—completely reduced to tears. is that too much to ask?”

nat is hiding her smile behind her hand, amusement painted across her sharp features. someone clears their throat behind you and you pinch the bridge of your nose. sam and bucky occupy the empty seats, sam next to natasha and bucky next to you. they’re both sporting wide grins, looking far too pleased about stumbling into this conversation.

sam opens his mouth, no doubt to make a smartass comment, but you cut him off before he can get a good inhale in.

“not a fucking word,” you grouse with a finger pointed in his direction.

he presses a hand to his chest, expression offended. “i would never make a joke about your truly tragic excuse of a sex life.”

bucky snickers quietly, but turns into a cough at your glare.

“i’ll murder you,” you promise.

“leave her alone, boys,” natasha says, rolling her eyes, though she’s visibly biting back her own laughter.

you huff, digging your wallet out of your purse. “i hate all of you,” you announce before getting up and going to stand in line to order.

bucky follows a moment later, coming to stand at your side and throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“that bad, huh?” he asks.

you don’t have to look at his face to know he’s probably smirking right now.

“fuck off,” you retort, not bothering to push his arm away since you know he’d only put it right back.

“aw, come on, don’t be like that,” he jests, “you know we just like to poke a little fun.”

you roll your eyes, throwing him an exasperated look. “yeah, but that was something only nat was supposed to hear. i hate talking about sex with you and sam because you two wouldn’t understand.”

“that’s not true,” bucky insists, which makes you roll your eyes again. “it’s not!”

“first of all, sam’s got natasha, so we both know they’re more than satisfied.” bucky tilts his head in acquiescence. “and you don’t have to worry about if you’re gonna have an orgasm when you hook up with somebody. men have it so easy.”

it’s probably not the best thing to talk about in line of a busy cafe (especially since you haven’t decided between a blueberry muffin or the ham and cheese croissant, and there’s only one person ahead of you now and you’d really rather not be discussing your lack of sex in front of an innocent barista) but it sort of feels good to get this off your chest, even if it’s to bucky.

“okay, definitely not true,” he replies with a frown. “i’m not always guaranteed an orgasm.”

you give him a skeptical glance. “i find that hard to believe.”

this time, it’s bucky who rolls his eyes. “whatever, whether or not i come when i have sex with someone isn’t what i was gonna talk about when i came over here.”

the person in front of you finishes their order and then you’re stepping up for your turn.

“hi, what can i get you today?” the young barista asks with a smile.

“a large mocha iced coffee with sweet cream and a blueberry muffin, please.” you pause, contemplating, then add, “and a ham and cheese croissant.”

if you can’t get fucked within an inch of your life then food will become your lover, you reason.

“just a black coffee for me, please,” bucky tells the girl, taking his wallet out of his back pocket and handing over his card to pay before you can stop him.

“i could’ve paid for mine,” you mumble.

“you also could just say thank you,” he replies with a short laugh as he ushers you to the side to wait for your order.

you pinch his hip, pouting. “thank you.”

“why does your gratitude come with violence?” he asks, rubbing the sore spot.

“you know how i am when people do nice things for me.”

“you should be used to it by now,” he points out.

“well, i’m not,” you huff. “anyway, what did you come over here to talk about then?”

bucky reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, uncharacteristically shy all the sudden. “uh, well. i dunno, i just thought… you know, since you’re not—i mean, not that you couldn’t be, just—you haven’t been, so maybe… fuck.”

“spit it out,” you say with a giggle, wondering what in the world’s got him so tongue-tied.

“why don’t you let me?” he blurts, averting his gaze immediately after.

you tilt your head in confusion. “let you what?”

he sighs heavily, working his jaw in frustration. “you know…” he begins, digging his thumbnail into a knick on the countertop in front of you. “let me fuck you until you cry.”

“what?”

just then, your order is called. bucky quickly grabs it and turns to make his way back to the table, but you grab his arm to stop him.

“i don’t think so, you come back here right now and explain yourself,” you demand.

his eyes lift heavenward. “it’s just an idea, okay?”

“bucky, you’re talking about crossing a huge line. you can’t just throw that out all willy nilly!”

“i know,” he replies earnestly. “and it’s not—“ he grimaces at the phrasing, “willy nilly. you’re one of my best friends. i wouldn’t jeopardize that for anything, and i wouldn’t offer this if i thought that it could. this is something that’s obviously affecting you negatively in your life and i’m willing to help. i trust you, and i’m pretty sure you trust me, yeah?”

“of course i trust you,” you say, frowning.

he shrugs. “so, then it’s just… a friend helping another friend.”

“you make it sound so simple,” you muse in wonder.

“think about it?” he implores.

you swallow roughly, biting the inside of your cheek. “fine. i’ll think about it.”

he nods and walks back over to the table where sam and natasha are waiting. you hesitate for only a split second before following.

needless to say, you’re distracted for the rest of brunch.

***

you: what even makes you think you could fuck me until i cry anyway?

it’s been nearly a week, and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re actually considering taking bucky’s offer. it’s all you can think about since he brought it up. you can’t lie, you’ve always thought bucky was attractive, but ever since you were gently but firmly placed in the friend category back in university, you never allowed yourself to think of there ever being more between the two of you. he’s a wonderful friend to have and you’d have been an idiot to pass it up. bucky is kind and generous and just enough of an asshole to keep things interesting without it being a problem.

but this… this has left you reeling. why would he make such an offer after only ever keeping things strictly friendly and platonic in your relationship? and more importantly, where does he get the confidence to think he could follow through?

bucky: experience?

you make a face at your phone, furiously typing your reply.

you: ew. do you realize how douchey that sounds?

bucky: well, it’s not douchey if it’s true.

you: says you

bucky: and a few other people :)

bucky: you’d know it too if you’d let me fuck you

you exhale harshly through your nose, tapping your foot on the floor anxiously, carefully thinking of what you should say next.

you: it’s apparently a tall request, and thus far, nobody’s been able to deliver. you can understand my skepticism…

bucky: if i don’t leave you shivering and twitching with aftershocks of pleasure, in a mess of sweat and come, and tears stained on your cheeks, then i will have failed you.

your thighs squeeze together at the mental image that brings you. jesus christ, if he’s half as good at fucking as he is dirty talking then he just might do as he’s promising.

bucky: so? what do you say? wanna give it a try?

biting your lip, you give yourself a moment to weigh the pros and cons in your mind one last time.

it doesn’t take you very long to make your decision.

you: okay. we’ll try.

***

it’s a slightly overcast sunday when bucky comes over with the direct intention to fuck you. it should be weird, but strangely, all you feel is anticipation. maybe it’s because you know him so well and know that, no matter what, he’d take care of you.

(or, maybe it’s because those repressed college-aged feelings are doing their best to resurface, even though you steadfastly continue to ignore them.)

you’d taken a thorough shower earlier to ease the little bit of nerves you had when you’d woken up. cleaning up the small mess your apartment gathered over the last couple weeks helped, as well, and soon you found yourself standing in front of your lingerie drawer with your lips pursed.

you weren’t sure if you should even bother with it, but it felt you wouldn’t be putting in any effort into this encounter if you didn’t at least pick out nice underwear. so, with a pleased nod, you settle on some simple black lace panties and a matching bralette. not too much, but enough to satisfy yourself, and hopefully bucky. you pick out a simple sundress to put on over it, since you won’t be wearing much of anything once bucky gets here. that thought has you flushing, but you ignore it to put on some makeup, just to freshen up your face.

by the time he knocks on your door, you’ve already finished a glass of wine and are pouring yourself a second.

he smiles when open the door, a bit boyishly, greeting you with a quiet, “hi.”

“hi,” you return, just as soft. you open the door wider. “come in.”

he walks passed you, stopping to toe his shoes off and hang his jacket on one of the hooks.

“do you want a glass of wine?” you ask as you head to the kitchen to retrieve your own from the counter.

bucky follows, stopping in the entryway with his hands in his pockets. “no, thank you.”

you nod, taking a sip from your glass, trying to figure out what to say. the air feels a little awkward and you’re not sure how to fix it.

“nervous?” he wonders curiously.

you shake your head. “not really.”

he quirks a brow. “then what’s wrong?”

“i don’t know,” you murmur. “i guess i’m just worried we’re making a mistake.”

he hums. you take a larger sip of your wine.

with cautious steps, he comes closer to you. “what if i promise that things won’t be weird after?”

“you can’t really promise that, though.”

“sure i can,” he says, smiling. “it’s me and you. we’ve been friends for so long. plenty of people have sex and stay friends after.”

you’re not just ‘people’ to me, you think.

you sigh, frustrated with yourself. you can’t deny how badly you want this. it’s all you’ve been able to think about since that day in the cafe. but the thought of losing bucky is heartbreaking, and you don’t want your stupid horniness to be the reason that you ruin a friendship, even if he was the one to offer sex.

“why don’t we go make out on the couch for a little while first?” he suggests after a moment’s pause.

you snort, in spite of your thoughts. “like a couple of teenagers?”

his eyes crinkle on the sides when he grins. “yeah. we’ll just see how we feel about that, and if it leads to more, then…” he trails off, shrugging.

“that’s not a bad idea,” you concede.

“great! finish your wine.”

you laugh and do as you’re told, downing the little remaining wine in one go, sitting the glass down on the counter resolutely as you swallow.

“let’s do this,” you say, determined.

bucky huffs a laugh, grabbing your wrist and tugging you behind him as he makes his way to the couch. he settles slightly facing you as you tuck your legs under you beside him.

“do you wanna talk, or do you want to jump straight into it?”

“if we talk anymore i’m gonna change my mind. just kiss me already, bucky.”

“yes ma’am,” he sasses before doing exactly that.

he cups your cheek with one hand as the other is placed on your knee. he guides your face to his and kisses you chastely. you’re not sure where to put your hands at first, but you tell yourself to quit being a goober about it and place them on either side of his neck, your thumbs brushing under his jaw.

it’s an okay kiss, you have to admit, but it’s not really doing anything for you yet. he has soft lips, softer than you thought they’d be. you’re beginning to wonder if maybe this confirms you shouldn’t go any further when he tilts his head, and… hm.

he parts his lips, taking your bottom one between his, kissing it, then nipping it. you wouldn’t say the sound you make is a gasp, necessarily, but it’s close. his tongue lightly caresses the seam of your mouth and you don’t even think before you open up for him, letting his tongue sweep in, flicking against yours. you hum, scooting a tiny bit closer to him, chasing the feeling. his kisses turn insistent then, teeth biting at your bottom lip and tugging, soothing the ache with his tongue. he kisses you like a man quenching his thirst, like you’re the best goddamn thing he’s ever tasted, and it’s leaving you dizzy. you sway more into his space and he pulls away from your mouth.

“c’mere,” he whispers, gripping behind one of your knees to drag it over his hips so you’re straddling him. “much better.”

you don’t have a chance to process anything about the moment, his mouth back on yours in a blink. your fingers wind themselves into his hair, getting a good grip on it as you lick into his mouth. he lets out a soft noise at that and you try your damnedest to pry it out of him again, pressing your chest to his so there’s not even a sliver of space left between you.

his hands travel, down the sides of your torso to your thighs, back up to your hips where he holds on tight. it doesn’t take long after that before you find yourself grinding into him. you both moan at the same time, breaking the kiss to pant for breath.

you swallow roughly. “okay,” you murmur, “i think it’s safe to say this could work.”

bucky laughs quietly. “yeah? wanna move to your bed then?”

your squeeze your thighs around him, shifting minutely on his lap and feeling the beginnings of his erection beneath you. “yes,” you breathe.

quickly, you rise from your position and step back, allowing bucky to stand, then grab his hand and lead him to your bedroom. once you’re standing beside your bed, you turn to face him. he meets your halfway, pulling you into another, filthier kiss. you reach for his belt buckle, unfastening it and sliding it through the loops, tossing it to your floor. next are the button and zip of his jeans, shoved down his legs until he steps out of them and kicks them and his socks aside. he obediently lifts his arms when you slide your hands under his shirt and begin pushing it up, breaking the kiss to nearly yank it off, making bucky huff in amusement. once it’s tossed with the rest of his clothes, bucky grabs fistfuls of your dress and pulls you into him.

“my turn,” he says against your lips.

carefully, bucky helps you out of your dress, eyes raking over every bit of new skin shown to him. he bites his lip when he sees your lacy underthings.

“you got all dolled up for me?” he asks.

shifting under his stare, you nod. “wanted to look nice,” you admit.

he hums. “beautiful.”

he kisses you again, a little softer than before, but no less passionate. the urgency returns as he backs you up until your thighs hit the mattress. gently, he guides you onto your back, never breaking the kiss as he follows you down and settles over you.

you soon find yourself in need of air and pull away with a gasp. bucky is undeterred and instead presses his kisses down your jaw, to your neck where he decides to bite and suck until he’s left a mark you’ll have to reprimand him for later. he licks his way up to your ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth, drawing a whine out of you.

“bucky,” you whisper, hands gripping his sides as you squirm below him.

“hm?”

you close your eyes tightly when he makes his way back down to your collarbones.

“please,” you whimper.

“please what, sweetheart?” he asks, pushing himself up to look you in the eye.

“t-touch me,” you beg, cheeks flushing.

his lips quirk into a smile. “i am touching you.”

“bucky,” you whine.

“where do you want me to touch you, hm?” he wonders. one of his hands trails across your shoulder and down the center of your chest. “here? or… here?”

when his fingers glide, barely there, over your pebbled nipples, you push into the touch eagerly.

“or…” he continues, his feather light touch making a path down your stomach. your breath quickens in anticipation. “here?” he murmurs as his fingertips stop on your pantyline.

“yes, there, anywhere,” you agree hastily, “just —please. please, bucky, don’t tease me.”

he kisses you again, deep, full of promise. “you beg so prettily for me.”

he rearranges your positions until he’s between your spread thighs, sweeping his hands across the inside of them. he nods to your panties.

“may i?”

“yes, please,” you reply, lifting your hips to help him take them off.

he doesn’t give you a chance to close your legs in shyness, firmly grasping your knees in each of his hands and spreading them once again. the way he’s looking at you makes you feel unbelievably desirable, has excitement crawling up your spine.

“don’t forget,” you remind him, making his eyes flick up to yours in question, “you better make me cry.”

a slow, dangerous smile graces his lips. your stomach swoops eagerly.

~

a whine, high pitched and drawn out, escapes your lips. after you unwittingly challenged him, bucky took it upon himself to torture you—with sex. so far, he’s only used his fingers on you, in you, thrusting them steadily but never enough to bring you to climax. he’s taking his time and being a smug prick about it. you go to complain, again, hoping if you beg enough he’ll let you come, but before you can do more than open your mouth he’s quickening his pace.

“oh!” you gasp, clutching the sheets in your hands.

bucky slides his hand down your thigh, bringing his thumb inward to swipe around where his other fingers are buried inside you to gather your wetness and using it to rub circles on your clit. your back arches, head thrown back against your pillows as you feel your orgasm build. it’s not tears, but damn, it feels good enough.

just as you start to clench around his fingers, legs spasming, he stops.

your eyes open in a hurry, brows furrowing in confusion. “no, please, don’t stop,” you plead.

bucky smiles. “i gotta get the right build up.”

you groan in frustration. he laughs quietly and lets the inferno burning within you simmer down to embers, then starts inching his way down until he’s lying on his stomach, mouth poised above your pussy. the feel of his warm breath makes you shiver, and with no warning whatsoever, he leans in and sucks your clit into his mouth.

“fuckin’—oh my— bucky!”

you’re pretty sure you black out for the next several minutes, the only thing you’re aware of is the thudding of your heartbeat in your ears and the feel of bucky’s mouth on you. you’re lost in a mindless haze of pleasure, unable to think or feel anything else. you feel your orgasm cresting for the second time, and just as before, bucky pulls away before you can succumb to it.

“why,” you hiccup on a moan, wanting nothing more than to just come already, but he’s not letting you.

he shushes you, softly kisses your knee. sitting up to take his underwear off, bucky keeps his eyes on you, expression hungry.

“gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” he promises. “just a bit more. you’re being so good for me, yeah?”

“please,” you whimper, feeling completely pathetic.

he makes quick work of putting a condom on and then settles between your thighs. you sigh in relief when he wastes no time and pushes in, being careful not to go too fast. once he’s fully inside you, he pauses, wanting to give you time to adjust, but you’re back to whining.

“bucky, please, please just—fuck me,” you beg, squirming beneath him.

he takes mercy on you, finally, and sets a hard pace. your hands fly up to push against the headboard, moaning and gasping from his harsh thrusts, loving the stretch of him inside you. his thumb is back on your clit and you cry out, clenching hard around him, but his thrusts don’t falter. all too soon, you can feel yourself getting close. you hear your own voice chanting please, please, please, mixed in with bucky’s grunts and the sound of him fucking you.

you whimper, eyes squeezed shut as your climax hits the point of no return, crashing over you in waves. you think you might scream, but it’s hard to pay attention to anything other than the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. part of you thinks this’ll be it, bucky will come now and then you’ll have had one of the best orgasms of your life and he’ll be on his merry way home. but no, that’s not what happens.

instead, bucky keeps thrusting relentlessly into you, dragging out your pleasure to the point of oversensitivity.

“s’too much,” you breathe, gasping for air.

bucky shakes his head, face contorted in concentration. “one more,” he tells you, voice gruff and deep.

unbelievably, you feel tears beginning to gather in the corners of your eyes. bucky’s still rubbing your clit, still keeping a steady rhythm of his hips, and fuck, he’s so beautiful. you watch him fucking you, wondering how the fuck you got to this moment, how you got lucky enough to bear witness to the sight of bucky fucking, let alone be the one he fucks. his body is ridiculous, looking like it’s carved from marble. you know how much strength it holds, as well, know that if he really wanted to, he could probably fuck you against a wall.

it’s with that thought, with the added bonus of the way bucky touches you, looks at you, like you’re something treasured and gorgeous, giving you such intense pleasure, that the tears threatening to spill over finally fall from your lashes.

bucky notices, because of course he does, and he thrusts into you just a little faster, a little harder, and your body seizes up and then you’re falling into another orgasm. it spreads through your veins, slow like honey, making sure this one settles deep into your bones. bucky groans as he, too, reaches climax, hips twitching into you in aftershocks until he stops moving altogether.

you both pant for breath, sweat gathered in every crevice on your bodies. you think you won’t be able to move for the rest of the weekend.

“need to pull out,” bucky says softly, breaking the moment.

you nod and he carefully pulls his hips back, grunting. you poorly suppress a whimper and close your legs, already hating the empty feeling.

“well,” he starts, plopping himself on his back next to you, “i think i deserve some kind of reward.”

when you turn to face him with an exasperated look, he’s got his arms crossed behind his head, a smug smile across his lips.

“how about i don’t kick you in the balls? how’s that for a reward?”

“i literally just did the impossible.”

“what, made me come twice? i can do that all on my own. you’re not special,” you retort with a huff.

he scoffs. “i fucked you so good you cried.”

“you can’t prove it,” you say to the ceiling.

“keep up this attitude and i won’t do it again,” he threatens, poking you in your side.

you wiggle away from the ticklish touch while trying to tamp down on the hope bubbling in your chest.

“oh, we’re doing this again, are we?” you say as casually as possible.

he rolls his eyes. “of course we are. now,” he sits up in your bed, stretching his arms as he stands and picks up his underwear, “i’m starving. wanna order takeout?”

well, you guess if you’d been worried about any kind of awkwardness before, you shouldn’t have. this is bucky, your best friend. he’d never let things change between you.

***

except, things kinda change between the two of you.

it’s not very noticeable at first, changes so subtle you miss them, until one day he showed up at your apartment and greeted you with a kiss. you stood frozen in your doorway as he rambled about how stressful his day had been as he kicked his shoes off. it was only when you heard him calling out from the kitchen that he was gonna eat your leftovers that you snapped out of it, yelling back that you’d kick his ass if he even touched your dumplings.

another day, he facetimes you and asks if you want to go to see that new movie you’ve been talking about.

“oh,” you’d said. “are nat and sam coming, too?”

he’d given you a funny look, replied, “no, i thought it would just be us two.”

“oh,” you said again. “okay.”

so you’d gone to the movies, let him buy you buttery popcorn and peanut m&m’s and a soda bigger than your head. he shared with you, despite your protests, and halfway through the film you felt his hand settle on your thigh. you blinked and stared at it for a beat, turning to him in question. he only smiled at you briefly before focusing back on the movie.

in between all of this, you continued calling him over for sex. honestly, how could you not? as much as you didn’t want to admit it to him, he was the best you’ve ever had. and if he’s so willing, why shouldn’t you take advantage while you can?

a week ago, though, you’d texted him and asked him to come over, replying to his question of what time and then started getting ready. you’d purchased a new piece of lingerie, a periwinkle babydoll nightie, that left very little to the imagination. it had a matching pair of panties and felt soft and luxurious on your skin. you’d taken extra time to do your hair and makeup, wanting to look like sex on legs, and you’re pretty sure you succeeded.

but when he got there and you answered the door in your sexy outfit, he didn’t see it right away. in one hand he held his phone, typing something on it, and in the other hand he held a grocery bag that you eyed curiously.

“i brought stuff to make spaghetti—“

when he did finally look up, his eyes widened and traveled the length of your body several times. you bit your lip, trying and failing to hold back your smile.

“how about we skip dinner?” you’d said, fisting his nice button-up shirt and dragging him inside your apartment. you grabbed the grocery bag from his hand and sat it on the floor, absently noting he was wearing his date jeans.

whoops, you’d thought, hope i didn’t pull him away from someone important.

you hadn’t let yourself dwell on it, standing up on your tippy toes and kissing him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. he’d returned the kiss, licking into your mouth, drawing your tongue out so he could suck on it and made you moan embarrassingly loud.

“wait,” he’d murmured, “we should eat first.”

“or, you could eat me,” you’d retorted with a giggle.

he groaned like it pained him to say no, gripped your hips hard and put a tiny bit of distance between you. the look in his eyes had made you want to find the nearest flat surface and bend over.

“why don’t you be a good girl for me, hm? let me cook dinner for us and after we eat i’ll fuck you however you want me to. okay, sweetheart?”

you whined, but ultimately agreed, knowing he’d make it worth it.

and then there’s tonight, where he came over unannounced, armed with groceries again and promising to cook you the best meal you’ve ever had. to say you were confused would be an understatement, but you also didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

it’s just… well, bucky’s not really acting like a friend with benefits. sure, you hung out alone with him all the time before, but he never once cooked you dinner, and he certainly never helped wash dishes after. you guess the hello kisses could be explained away as part of the new aspect of your relationship, but something about that didn’t sit quite right with you.

after a truly delicious dinner, you find yourself on the couch with bucky as he scrolls through netflix to find a movie to put on.

“what do you want to watch?” he asks.

“mm,” you mumble, shifting closer to start kissing his neck, “don’t care.”

as he narrows down his decision and finally picks one, you make your way up to his jaw, sucking a small mark into the skin there.

“baby,” he protests softly, “let’s just watch the movie, yeah?”

you pull back, confused. first at the pet name, then at his words. he’s never denied you before, which isn’t to say that he can’t, it’s just that he’s always seemed on board. and, you know, you thought that was kind of the whole point of this thing.

“okay,” you reply after a moment.

he gives you a smile and a sweet kiss, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his side to cuddle. you can’t help but frown, feeling like you’re missing something, but not knowing what it could be.

it doesn’t take long for drowsiness to creep up on you. before he showed up, you had planned on probably ordering out for dinner and going to bed early since you’d had a pretty rough day. in fact, you remember texting bucky about it just that afternoon. your eyelids get heavier and heavier, finding it harder to keep them open as the seconds pass. your head droops and in the next blink, you’ve fallen asleep.

you’re not sure how much time has passed when bucky wakes you, but you groan, pouting and burrowing into his shoulder more.

he huffs a laugh. “c’mon, sweetheart, let’s get you to bed.”

“don’ wanna move,” you mumble tiredly.

“i’ll carry you,” he offers. “up you go, baby.”

you half heartedly argue about being jostled, but let him carry you to your bed where he carefully places you, helping you out of your sweatpants and pulling your blankets up around you. you sigh in content, feeling yourself already drifting back into sleep. you hear bucky shuffling, but think nothing of it until the bed dips beside you, then feel his warm body slide in underneath the covers and press in close.

“goodnight, darlin’,” he murmurs.

you’d ask him what in the word he’s doing, but sleep is just far too enticing to ignore. you fall into slumber with bucky’s warmth along your back, his arm draped over you.

the next morning, you wake to the feeling of his fingers playing with the tiny bow on the front of your panties and his lips placing gentle kisses on your shoulder. you hum, eyes still closed, in the back of your mind thinking this is a nice way to wake up. at the sound of you, his touches get firmer, more insistent.

“good morning,” he rasps, breath tickling your ear.

you don’t really get a chance to reply. he dips his fingers into your panties, making you inhale sharply, moaning as you buck into his hand. he fingers you for a while, kissing along the column of your throat, biting and sucking marks into the skin there. when you’re begging him for more, he relents, eases your panties off and lifts your leg to slide in from behind. the angle is so nice it has you gasping.

you clutch the sheets weakly, burying your face in your pillow and muffle your whines and moans. bucky keeps a slow, lazy rhythm, acting as if he’s got all the time in the world to draw this out. it’s good, so good, and you can’t hold back your whimper when he kicks up the pace a little, tells you to touch yourself. you come seconds before he does, shuddering through it and humming happily.

as you both lie there and catch your breath, awareness trickles into your mind. you swallow roughly, staring blankly at the wall as you realize your feelings have grown far too much for this to be only casual anymore.

bucky kisses your shoulder again. “i’m gonna go make breakfast, okay? i’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“okay,” you whisper, blinking rapidly to keep tears from forming.

hearing bucky bustle around your kitchen makes your heart clench with want; want for something you can’t have.

***

bucky: dinner tonight?

you bite the inside of your cheek as you stare at the text. you know you need to cut things off with him before you get anymore hurt than you already are. it’s not fair to either of you if you continue with this arrangement when you’ve caught real feelings for him. you have to tell him, and soon. with that thought in mind, you type out a reply.

you: sure. what time?

bucky: reservations are at 8pm, i’ll pick you up by 7:45.

reservations? where was he taking you? you get another text before you can ask.

bucky: dress nice ;)

with a sigh, you text back an affirmative and try to start mentally preparing yourself for the conversation you dreaded having. you could only hope and pray that he agrees to still be your friend after.

by the time there’s a knock on your door that night, you’ve worked yourself up into an anxious mess. you open the door to see bucky standing there with a single peach colored rose and a bashful grin.

“hi,” he greets, leaning in to kiss you on your cheek. “this is for you.”

he hands you the rose and you feel your heart crack in your chest. you muster a small smile.

“thank you. let me go put this in a vase and we can head out.”

he nods and waits patiently at the door. as you fill a vase with a little water, you take a deep breath, giving yourself a mental pep talk.

this was going to suck.

the drive to the restaurant doesn’t take too long, and when you see where he’s taken you, your eyebrows shoot up. this is one of the nicer places in the city, definitely not on the affordable side. he helps you out of the car, leading you inside with his hand on the small of your back. you’re led to a small booth in a far corner with overhead lighting that feels too intimate. maybe you’d have to wait until you left to tell him…

conversation is light, a bit surface level, and you get the feeling that bucky is a little nervous. you wonder if maybe he’s gonna let you down gently first, hoping that he doesn’t, because you’d rather not cry in such a fancy restaurant.

after the waiter takes your drink orders, bucky sighs.

“okay, let me just… get this off my chest.”

oh fuck, here it goes.

“i know i’ve never really come across at the most romantic guy, especially since i’ve never felt the need to be.” he runs a nervous hand through his hair. “you’ve always been so important to me, and this last month has been so, so wonderful.”

“bucky…” you trail off, attempting to somehow stop him, but he powers through.

“i just—i never thought i’d find somebody, you know?” he says, earnest, gaze locked on yours. another crack in your heart. “especially not somebody who was my friend first, that i already had a solid foundation with. the attraction had always been there, but the friendship meant more to me, and finally allowing that to blossom into this amazing, new, fun relationship has got to be the best decision i’ve ever made.”

did he start dating someone and not tell you? oh god, has he been sleeping with someone else? at the same time? your stomach turns, eyes burning, hating yourself more and more as he speaks.

“so, i guess what i’m trying to say is,” he says, rolling his eyes at himself and smiling, “happy one month anniversary, sweetheart.”

you blink, feeling a tear slip down your cheek. “what?” you croak, beyond confused.

bucky, however, looks concerned. “baby, why are you crying?”

“i…” you blink some more, eyes flitting around the room as if you’ll get some kind of clarity that way to the situation currently happening. “what?” you repeat.

“did i come on too strong?” he asks, looking embarrassed now. “i wasn’t sure if you’d even want to celebrate, but i’ve just been so happy with you—i’m sorry, baby, i should’ve asked.”

“bucky, what are you talking about?” you finally manage, unable to keep the bewilderment out of your tone. “anniversary?”

bucky frowns. “i didn’t get the date wrong, did i?”

“no, i—this isn’t—i’m not talking about—ugh, i mean, when did we even start having an anniversary to celebrate?”

bucky’s face goes blank, sitting back in his chair. your heart is pounding wildly in your chest, so fucking confused, so fucking hopeful.

“we… we’re dating,” he says, slow, unsure. “aren’t we?”

“since when?” you ask probably too loudly, cheeks flushing.

he opens and closes his mouth a couple times. “when i asked you out?”

“bucky, oh my god, you’re gonna have to be more specific before i lose my goddamn mind. when did you ask me out?”

he huffs, his own cheeks flushing. “at the cafe! a month ago, at brunch with natasha and sam.”

your eyes widen in disbelief. “when you asked if you could fuck me until i cried?” you hiss, ignoring the scandalized look on the waiter’s face as he brings your drinks over.

smiling apologetically, you thank him and wait until he’s gone before sending a glare bucky’s way.

“that’s not how you ask a person out,” you seethe.

“i asked if you wanted to give this a try and you said yes!” he replies desperately. “i’ve taken you on dates!”

you pinch the bridge of your nose, thinking of all the times you thought he was being too romantic, more-than-friends type of behavior. you’re a fucking idiot, but god, so was he.

“at no point did you say anything even remotely close about us starting a relationship. i thought we were just fucking, bucky, i didn’t realize it was more than that!”

“you don’t—“ he starts, then stops, looking down at the plate in front of him. “you don’t want to be with me?”

“i didn’t know it was an option,” you say carefully.

“well, it is.” he meets your gaze, cautious. “i just spilled my guts to you. you know how i feel now. how do you feel? about me?”

you lick your lips. “bucky, i… i was planning to end things with you tonight.” his expression drops, even though he tries to mask it, so you’re quick to explain. “not because i don’t like you, but because i do like you and i thought you wouldn’t want anything more than just sex with me.”

“it’s never been and never could have been just sex with you,” he replies, quiet and relieved. he reaches across the table to take your hand in his. “i meant it when i said you’re the best decision i’ve ever made. i want this—the sex, the dinners, dates, all the gross and sappy shit i never wanted before… i want it all with you, if you’ll have me.”

you can’t fight the smile spreading across your lips. “of course i’ll have you, bucky.”

he smiles in return, a laugh bubbling out of him, which makes you giggle, until you’re both laughing so hard and loud that patrons from other tables are sending dirty looks your way, which only makes you laugh more.

“do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, laughter dying down. “there’s pizza and sex calling our names, i think.”

bucky moans dramatically. “i knew i liked you for a reason.”

he leaves money on the table and then the two of you quickly make your way through the restaurant, giggling and holding hands the whole way, even in the car.

[grave-rose-reblogs]

a shore thing

bucky barnes x fem reader

i decided to write it hehe

a/n: any and all mistakes are my own! feedback is encouraged & welcomed :) xoxo

Bucky calls your name for the umpteenth time, beyond exasperated as you stumble away, giggling uncontrollably as you evade capture. He's hardly tipsy anymore, having decided to nurse a single beer for the last couple hours when he noticed how heavy you were drinking. Somebody needed to be responsible, he told himself. Even Steve was letting loose more than usual. But, to be fair, they were all on vacation.

“Guys, the taxis are here,” Nat announces, yet again, leaning heavily against one of said vehicles. “Bucky, we gotta go.”

“I’m trying my best here,” he replies. Although, that's not entirely true. “Someone should've cut her off ages ago.”

“Boooooo,” you heckle as you run past him.

Bucky sighs heavily. “Fine. You can stay here by yourself.”

You pause abruptly, almost tripping over your own feet, but you catch yourself before you face-plant into the gravel. “You're leaving me?” you ask in a pitiful tone.

“Yup.” Bucky turns and takes a few steps away, hearing you whine in protest. “Have fun.”

“Noooo, wait!”

Your uneven steps come closer and closer to Bucky and as soon as he gauges you're within arm’s reach he spins around with a smirk. It makes you lurch to a stop, gasping as it dawns on you.

“Betrayal!” you shout, pointing an accusatory finger at him. You try to take off running again, but Bucky is quicker. You're swooped up into a fireman’s carry before you even register your feet leaving the ground. “Ack! Put me down, you absolute caveman!”

Sam sticks his head out of the taxi. “There's room in this one.”

Bucky steers his steps that way, feeling your tiny fists beating his back the whole way, and plops you into the open seat. You let out a cute oof that he ignores as he tries to latch the seatbelt. You're a squirmy little shit though, and he soon finds that the only way he’ll be able to get the group back to the hotel is to enter the taxi himself and pull you into his lap. He quickly shuts the door and finally latches the seatbelt around the both of you, telling the driver to go.

Sam shakes his head in amusement in the seat beside Bucky. “You're seriously the only one who can rally that firecracker of a woman.”

“Hey!” you object with a pout. “I'm drunkies, not deaf. I can still hear you.”

You and Sam begin bickering and Bucky rolls his eyes, but he doesn't do anything to interfere. He's too busy trying to think about literally anything else other than the ginormous mistake he made by placing you on his lap. You, the person he's been in love with for far too long now, who has absolutely no clue of his feelings and sends constant mixed signals.

There are days he's sure you feel the same with the way you look at him, but then the next day you go out of your way to make sure he knows the two of you are just friends. He's losing his fucking mind. He doesn't know if he should tell you how he feels or try to move on.

You're wiggling suddenly, body jostling atop Bucky’s and his mind is forced to return to the present, only to see you and Sam slap-fighting like children.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” he addresses the driver, “I swear they're actually adults when they're not three sheets to the wind.”

The driver waves off the apology with a chuckle. The fight ends with you pinching Sam’s nipple, his cry of pain and outrage making you giggle wildly and throw your head back onto Bucky’s shoulder. After you catch your breath you sit up and wiggle some more until you're sitting sideways and can look at Bucky. Your eyes are glassy and your smile is sly and a touch wonky, and Bucky still thinks you're the cutest, sexiest woman he's ever known.

“Why don't you like me for real?”

The taxi is uncomfortably quiet. Bucky blinks a few times, shifting his gaze to Sam, who’s suddenly very interested in the passing streetlights and palm trees outside the window. Traitor, Bucky thinks. With no help from his supposed friend, Bucky looks back to you.

He clears his throat. “I do like you.”

“No,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “I mean like, like me like me. Like, more.”

Bucky is silent again, his mind whirling with a million questions–the biggest one being what the fuck?

“I'm not sure what you mean,” he says carefully. He hopes playing dumb will work in deterring the conversation, but he should've known better.

“You always just joke about it, but you never mean it. Always get my hopes up.”

“What are you talking about?” he blurts, truly flabbergasted, but he cuts you off before you can reply. “No, don't answer that. You're drunk, okay? You don't know what you're saying.”

You poke his cheek roughly, pouting. “I just want you to like me back, Buck. Wanna kiss you whenever I want.”

Bucky swallows thickly, unable to take his eyes away from yours as you lean in closer.

“Don't you wanna kiss me?” you question, reaching up you play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “Can I kiss you, Bucky?”

Your lips graze his, a feather-light touch, and he exhales shakily. Of fucking course he wants to kiss you. He's wanted nothing else for the last year. But he doesn't want it like this. He says your name, voice low in warning. You either don't hear him or you don't care.

Bucky’s eyes flutter closed as you continue pressing light kisses to his lips, the corner of his mouth, his chin, along his jaw. He fists his hands where they rest on either side of you, praying for the will to remain strong.

“You're drunk,” he repeats, a last ditch effort in getting you to stop, but even he can hear how weak the protest is.

“I still know what I want, what I feel.” You brush your nose against his. “I want you.”

Sam coughs pointedly beside both of you. “We’re here.”

Bucky is quick to unlatch the seatbelt and help you out of the car. Nat walks over and grabs your hand, Steve walking leisurely behind her.

“Let's go to bed, please,” she begs as she drags you with her.

You begin whining again, reminding Bucky of your inebriated state. He shouldn't have let you kiss him. You're not going to remember any of this tomorrow. Guilt punches him in the gut. He's so fucking weak when it comes to you.

“I wanna sleep with Bucky,” you complain as you resist.

Natasha squawks. “What?!” Her eyes are as wide as saucers, flicking back and forth from you and Bucky. Sam fails to hide his snort.

“His bed is bigger,” you explain, “You take up too much space.”

Natasha gasps. “How dare you!”

You turn to Bucky with pleading eyes. “Bucky, please let me sleep with you.”

“I… I'm not sure that's a good idea,” he replies.

You stomp your foot. “Pleeeease?” Your pout is lethal. “I promise I won't take up too much space.”

Sam puts his hand over Nat’s mouth before she can start yelling, doing his best to frogmarch her into the hotel so they don't cause a disturbance. Steve follows languidly, which is the sign that he's quickly coming down from his drunken high and will likely crash the moment his head hits the pillow.

“You should just sleep in your room with Nat,” Bucky advises.

“I don't wanna sleep with her,” you say, stepping back into Bucky’s space. One of your hands grasps his shirt, the other trailing across his chest. He fights the shiver threatening to run down his spine. “I wanna cuddle you.”

You look up at him through your lashes and Bucky knows he's lost. He sighs. You grin and giggle, grabbing his hand to lead him inside the hotel. He's quiet the whole ride up in the elevator. Your head is resting on his shoulder, humming along to whatever song is playing in your head. You’re still holding his hand.

When you're both standing in front of his room door, Bucky pauses, about to try one last time to get you to go two rooms down to the one you're supposed to be sharing with Nat, but you snatch the key card out of his hand and open the door before a word can leave his mouth. He doesn't trust you to be alone right now, and with Sam babysitting Nat and Steve probably snoring away in his own room, Bucky accepts his fate. He enters the room, closing the door with resignation.

“Ugh, god, these heels are the worst,” you grumble as you trip your way over to sit on the bed. You fight with the small buckle before making a noise of complaint. “Buckyyy…”

“Jesus,” he mutters, huffing as he walks to you.

He kneels in front of you and carefully takes your shoes off. You hum, pleased, once your feet are free, wiggling your toes.

“Why do you wear them if you hate them so much?” he mumbles.

“Because they make my legs and ass look fantastic, duh.”

Well. That's fair, Bucky supposes.

“Can you unzip me now?”

Fuck. Bucky chokes on nothing.

“Unzip you? What are you planning on sleeping in? Your pajamas are in your room,” he points out.

“Can't I borrow one of your shirts?” you ask, blinking innocent eyes up at him.

He doesn't trust it one bit.

“Please, Bucky? My dress won't be comfortable.”

Your pout makes yet another appearance. He doesn't bother pointing out that you wouldn't have this problem if you went to your own room. You'd ignore him anyway.

“Fine,” he grumbles. He rifles through his bag to find a shirt for you, grabbing pajamas for himself while he's at it. “I'll go change in the bathroom.”

He turns to head that way, but you stop him.

“My dress,” you remind him, spinning around and pointing at the zip.

Bucky's pretty sure you could do this by yourself, but he's just ready to go to bed at this point, so he’ll do whatever he has to to get there. He tries not to put too much thought into the action, but his mind can't help but wander, imagining unzipping your dress with different intentions. The more skin that is revealed to him, the more his breathing picks up. He takes note that you didn't wear a bra with this dress, which makes him realize you'll be wearing his shirt with only your underwear beneath it. He curses mentally.

He steps away like he's been burned once the zipper reaches the bottom. “There you go,” he says, voice gruff.

He doesn't wait for your response, quickly escaping into the bathroom before anything else can be asked of him. It doesn't take Bucky long to change his clothes, but he still lingers in the small space to gather his wits, taking his time as he brushes his teeth, and even splashes some cold water on his face. He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment.

“She’ll forget all of this by morning,” he assures himself.

He's not fond of the way that statement makes his stomach twist.

When he leaves the bathroom, he finds your dress pooled on the floor in the same spot you stood as he unzipped it. You're standing next to the bed, fidgeting with the hem of Bucky’s shirt that hangs off your small frame. He raises a quizzical brow.

“I don't know which side you prefer,” you say, unsure.

Bucky feels himself soften at your expression. “I'm good either way.”

You dart for the left side, lifting the comforter and sheets and snuggling underneath them. Bucky's lips twitch, but he resists smiling.

“C’mon, Buck, I want cuddles,” you entice, patting the spot beside you exaggeratedly.

He only hesitates for a split second. It's late and exhaustion is settling in his bones. He’ll worry about consequences in the morning.

You waste no time in invading his space once he's in the bed. You nudge his arm until he lifts it, worming your way under it and placing your head on his chest, your own arm slung over his waist. Bucky goes still, holding his breath until you get comfortable. Slowly, he lets his arm fall across your back, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh.

“Bucky?” you whisper.

“Hm?”

You nuzzle into his pec. “Love you.”

Bucky's eyes snap open then. His heart begins hammering in his chest and he prays that you're close enough to sleep to not notice.

“Goodnight,” he rasps after a minute passes by.

Your only reply is a light snore. Bucky feels his heart crack in his chest.

~

The next morning, Bucky lies awake, staring at the ceiling. He's not sure exactly how much sleep he got, but it wasn't a lot. You only got clingier as you slept, practically wrapping your whole body around him.

Bucky is a weak, weak man.

Sunlight begins peeking through the curtains, eventually finding its way to the bed and across your closed eyes. A frown forms between your brows and he almost smoothes it with his thumb. The only reason he stops himself is because you groan and turn away before he can.

“Turn it off,” you croak.

“The sun?” he retorts with a laugh.

“Yes,” you reply derisively. “Kick its ass for waking me up.”

Bucky smiles to himself. “Whatever you want, my love.”

It feels like the room freezes in time after the endearment escapes him. With a jolt, you sit up and face him. Bucky can't read your expression, but that's mostly because he's doing his best to look anywhere but your face.

“Seriously?” you gripe. “You're still going to poke fun about that kind of shit even after what I said last night?”

That gets his attention pretty easily. He meets your gaze and hates the dejected look on your face.

“What–what are you talking about?” he questions, thrown.

Your chin wobbles slightly before you scoff, whipping the comforter off your body as you attempt to leave the bed, but Bucky sits up and grabs your wrist to stop you.

“Wait–”

“Let go of me,” you demand, refusing to look at him.

“Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on,” he replies firmly.

You turn to him with a glare. “You're still joking about my feelings for you, even though I made it perfectly clear how I felt last night.”

“Felt? You… you don't feel the same anymore?” He's grasping for straws here. “I thought–I mean, I didn't think you were serious. You were drunk, I…”

“It doesn't matter if I still feel the same or not,” you reply, the fight leaving your body.

“Yes, it does!” he exclaims. “God, of course it fucking matters. If you have feelings for me, I need to know.”

“Have I not made it abundantly clear already?!” you retort. “If you're that fucking dense, then here you go: I'm fucking in love with you, you big, stupid, gigantic ass–”

He cuts you off by dragging your body to his and kissing you. You make a sound of shock, but you don't push him away, so he deepens the kiss, tilting his head and flicking his tongue at the seam of your lips. You open for him with a gasp, your tongue meeting his and making you both moan. He pulls away, chest heaving.

“We're both stupid,” he declares. “I'm in love with you too. I thought you were the one not taking it seriously.”

Your dazed expression begins clearing and realization sets in. “Oh my god,” you mumble as you yank him back into a kiss that has him reeling.

“Do you know,” he starts between kisses, “how fucking hard it was—to be a gentleman last night?”

You giggle. “I was hoping you wouldn't be a gentleman.”

Bucky curses, manhandling you until you're flat on your back. “That can be arranged.”

“Promises, promises,” you goad, biting your lip.

“Exactly,” he replies, lips tugging into a smirk.

~

Needless to say, the two of you have to put up with merciless teasing for the rest of the trip… But it's worth it.

[grave-rose-reblogs]

Wrong Number

Credit to the owners of the pics.

Summary: Natasha decides to take matters into her own hands after watching you and Bucky beat around the bush with your feelings for way to long.

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word count: 3,504

Warnings: Maybe one swear.

If you like it, throw me a note. I will be forever grateful if you REBLOG!

This is for @thoughtsofdarc Triple T challenge that I have been doing forever now! Only a few more to go girl!!

The prompts were:

11. “Damn you autocorrect”

22. “I’m adding you to my to-do list… IT! I’m adding it to my to-do list!”

B-Bucky

N: Nat

R- Reader

B: Hey. Can I ask you something?

It’s been forty five minutes. Twenty were spent pacing the floor, at least fifteen sitting at his desk coming up with a plan of action, and the rest typing and erasing the numerous text messages that he may or may not have felt stupid about sending. All because Bucky had a small crush on his teammate, and had no idea how in this day and age people even began to flirt with one another.

N: Sure. Is it about Y/N?

B: Yeah…how did you…nvm. Spies.

N: 🤷

He begins to write another line, erasing it, and then starting over. Much to her annoyance as she patiently waits for him to give her any hint of information about what this message is in regards to.

N: I need more than three dots, Barnes. Are you writing a novel over there?

N: Don’t keep me waiting here…

B: I was thinking of asking her on a date.

Keep reading

[grave-rose-reblogs]

me and my husband | bucky barnes

summary: bucky asks a lot of you. like that time he asked you to marry him, no-strings-attached, of course.

pairing: congressman!bucky x fem!reader.

warnings: explicit. 18+ only, MDNI. afab!reader. marriage of convenience. many mentions of alcohol and drinking! yearn city over here, reader is a chronic people pleaser, hurt/comfort, domestic fluff, tad bit of angst. flashbacks to endgame, mention of steve and nat death & grieving. mention of benjamin poindexter. vague timeline. oral (female receiving), piv sex, unsafe sex, no use of y/n.

wc: 10.6K (FUUUCK)

a/n: oh my holy guaca-freaking-mole. this. took. fucking FOREVER to write. i hope yall like it, i really do. anyways.. self-indulgent! yippee!!

EDIT: i forgot bucky cant get drunk. please pretend he can for my sake.

heavily inspired by love me more by byexbyez (aka the better written version of this trope, lol)

The soup you made earlier in the day had gone cold. Chicken noodle. It wasn’t your favorite, but your husband usually asks for it when you offer to cook. Your husband’s late again, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. He was busy. He always is. Life as a congressman isn’t easy. It’s monotonous, boring, and soul-sucking. As much as the empty yet somewhat grand house bothered you, you learned to get over its suffocating hallways. 

The sound of keys jingling in the door knob breaks you out of your little trance. The key sounds act as a little warning that someone’s coming in. Bucky enters quietly and he knocks off his shoes and removes his worn out tuxedo jacket and leaves on the coat hanger next to the door.

“Long day?” You ask. Bucky didn’t expect you to be up still, proven by the little jump he does when he hears your voice. He sighs, it’s just you.

“Yeah, when isn’t it?” He responds. You let out a light breath disguised as a laugh.

“Made soup. It’s a bit cold now, but I can go warm it up if you’d like.” You say as you start heading to the kitchen.

“I’m not that hungry.” Bucky replies. Bucky’s reluctance to eat made you bitter, however there was no use. Behind closed doors, there was no need for pretending. Bucky had asked you to sign that marriage license, however long ago, but there was no sentiment tied to it. It was simply a means to an end.

“You should eat Bucky. I’ll leave it out.” You respond, trying not to push too much. Bucky simply nods, a sign he’s not too interested in continuing chatting. At least when the topic is about him. Stage fright, maybe.

Bucky nervously fidgets with the cuff of his shirt. After a moment, Bucky lets out a deep breath and breaks his silence. “You’re gonna hate me.”

Your immediate reaction is anxiety. “What did you do?” You say, cocking your head slightly.

“There’s a charity event tomorrow.. ”

“Yeah, and?”

“I made a promise I would come.” Bucky says. What Bucky means to say is, ‘we would come’, but he thinks laying you into the news slowly will make your reaction easier to handle.

You would be fine with it, usually. You knew that these superficial galas and events came with Bucky’s profession. The only problem was that your mother was visiting the city for the day, and you had full-day plans for dinner and catching up. Bucky knew about them, as you told him the moment it was planned.

Your lack of a response was enough for Bucky. “I’m sorry. I know you have plans with your mother.” He says, apologetic enough to seem genuine.

“And I have to go?” You ask.

“It would look weird if you didn’t.” He responds. It’s always about looks, isn’t it?

“Right.” You reply, already planning out a long apology text to your mother, who would definitely understand. Can’t help but feel bad. You whip out your phone to start texting your mother.

“I’m buying a dress for you to wear tomorrow.” Bucky says, hoping that works as an incentive.

“Did you choose the dress, or did your secretary? You know I like her taste in fashion better.” You grin at Bucky for a second, then you look back down at your phone to begin typing your large paragraph of an apology.

“She helped.” Bucky laughs weakly. He can’t help but look at you frantically typing.

“Well, I’ll leave the soup out if you want it. You should eat something. ‘Gonna be a long day tomorrow too.” You say, finally, after you send your apology.

Bucky purses his lips and nods. “Okay. Thanks.” He says, so casually.

If anyone had seen how the two of you talk, they would assume you were roommates. Which you essentially were. The two of you weren’t very romantic, at least when the both of you were sober, or while you weren’t in the public eye, of course. Any non-public romantic passes were swiftly ignored the next day. It’s not that you didn’t find Bucky attractive, because you most certainly did, it was mainly the fact that Bucky made it clear from the beginning this relationship was strictly for political gain. Nothing really so hot and heavy about that.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning then, Bucky.” You yawn as you head to your bedroom, which was a guest bedroom that Bucky randomly assigned you.

“See you. Be ready by 6PM.” Bucky tells you off-handedly. You give him a thumbs up as you walk to your room.

It’s hard for you to go to sleep, usually. It’s partially your fault. You know that being on your phone before bed isn’t best for getting the optimum amount of sleep. However, you find yourself researching your husband’s political moves every night. Bucky hasn't been able to pass a single bill since he joined Congress, so you note to yourself to avoid talking about that while at the event tomorrow. You hated studying in school, but yet you find yourself studying every night. You have to present yourself as a good wife, or at least a believable one.

You sigh, shutting off your phone after reading a large amount of hate comments on Bucky’s surprising political career. People don’t like change, or at least the fact that an ex-assassin somehow got into office. You shrug it off. Weirder stuff has happened, anyway.

You groan as you get out of bed. You accepted the fact you just weren’t going to get your desired hours of sleep tonight. Maybe it’ll be easier to go to bed after a glass of water?

You walk downstairs into the kitchen to get your glass of water. You enter to see Bucky, sitting with his laptop, with a bunch of paperwork splayed all over the kitchen island. Bucky hears the sounds of your footsteps, and he smiles at you weakly when he sees you. He’s tired, it’s clear by the look on his face. 

You walk over next to Bucky, looking at all of his work. Just a bunch of political mumbo-jumbo; nothing of interest to you. You rub Bucky’s shoulder and neck, trying to massage what you can without seeming too touchy. Bucky groans a little, and he’s broken out of his little trance. He realizes just how tired he really is.

Bucky pats your hand on his shoulder and gently takes your hand off him. You’re not sure if that gesture was too affectionate. It shouldn’t be, but you can’t risk making anything awkward. “Thanks.” Bucky mumbles, his voice almost at a whisper. He rubs his eyes and yawns.

“You should go to sleep. You’ll work better after sleeping.” You tell Bucky, as you always do. You see an empty, used bowl. Bucky ate your food. You find yourself smiling.

“You like it?” You ask, heading towards the pot of soup that was sitting on the stove. You mix the soup around.

“It was perfect, thank you.” Bucky grins.

You grab a spoon and taste the soup you had made.

What the hell was Bucky talking about? It was the most watery, unflavorful soup you had made yet. And the soup you usually make is nowhere near gourmet. “What the hell are you talking about? This is ass.” You grimace at the taste.

Bucky grins and shrugs. “Tasted good to me.”

“HYDRA must’ve fucked you up bad.” You joke. Were HYDRA jokes too far? You were about to find out.

To your relief, Bucky let out a light laugh. “Guess they did. I’m just lucky that someone is willing to cook for me at all.”

You smile at Bucky, while continuing to stir the pot of soup. “It’s not a big deal. I’m glad you’re willing to eat it.” You say, while adding copious amounts of salt and herbs to make up for the lackluster taste.

After a moment, Bucky reveals, “I called your mom.”

You turn around. “You did?” You ask, looking a little concerned. Your mother didn’t know the true nature of you and Bucky’s real relationship. When you had told her the news, she was excited that her only daughter was getting married, but she was furious about the fact that she had never known about him before. Which is understandable. However, it wasn’t like you had much time before the fake marriage ceremony to introduce him.

You had asked for a wedding. With a nice dress. As a kid, you had always dreamed of having a perfect wedding, where most of the focus was just on you and your future partner. Bucky tried to deliver, but the wedding just didn’t feel complete. Probably from the lack of true feelings on either party, or the fact that you had to prepare for a new life under spotlight and public scrutiny soon.

The wedding you had was small, mainly just family and select friends. The only proof of the wedding’s existence was a photo you had taken with Bucky at the altar, along with the grotesque amount of photos your mother insisted on taking. You told her to keep the photos private, to which she begrudgingly agreed. All that, and yet the wedding also didn’t feel complete without Natasha there, as she was the woman who had introduced the two of you to one another many years ago.

It’s still weird Nat’s gone. You thank her for a lot of things. She provided you with your first job in the city. She convinced Tony that the Avengers needed a manager to handle all of their public appearances. She then convinced Tony that it should be you, and even with Tony’s unbearable stubbornness, she got you that job. It was there when you met Bucky, or the Winter Soldier, as he was named at the time.

“She wasn’t too mad about you canceling.” Bucky says about your mother, which knocks you out of your trance.

“She wasn’t? That’s a relief.” You respond.

“I’m still sorry that you had to cancel. I’ll make it up to you one day.” Bucky promises. While you’re sure Bucky means to keep the promise, he’s always so busy with work, so you wonder how long you’ll have to wait for Bucky to make it up to you — with whatever he plans to do.

“It’s fine, Bucky.” You shrug off as an instinct. 

Bucky looks remorseful, but he doesn’t say anything more about it. “Good night then.”

“Night.”

In the morning, you wake up to an empty house. Bucky leaves for work early in the morning. You work from home – something you had wished for a while – but you have to admit, it gets pretty lonely. After a long day of pointless powerpoints and spreadsheets, you get a text from Bucky’s secretary.

“Mr. Barnes will be bringing your dress for tonight in 30 minutes.” She texts you, overly formal. You’ve told her that there’s no need to be formal, but she insists as she’s on the clock.

Bucky gently knocks on your door. You turn to see him with a box in his hands. “Surprise.”

You grin. “Wow, a present for me?” You say as you open the box. It’s a gorgeous white dress with gold accents. What a surprise – there’s no way Bucky picked this out himself.

“Mia.” Bucky mentions his secretary, notioning that it was her idea. You look up at him and nod. “Makes sense.”

You check your watch. 4:30PM. “I should start getting ready soon.”

“You’ll look good either way.” Bucky compliments, seeming more affectionate than it should. You clear your throat. “That’s kind of you, Bucky.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” Bucky says, leaving the box on your bed. 

You say bye, as you start unfolding the dress. How the hell do you put this thing on? The dress had two strips of loose fabric, which were meant to be tied together in the back, similar to that of a halter top. At least you think they’re meant to be tied. You brace yourself to fit into this dress. You squeeze in a little, as the dress is a little tight in the back.

The dress was cute, from what you could see. The dress still needed to be tied, and there wasn’t a way for you to reach the back of the dress. You sigh a little as you try your best to make a knot. “Bucky?” You shout out.

“Yeah?” He calls out from downstairs. 

“Can you come up?” You ask.

You can hear Bucky’s footsteps slowly come closer to your room. You turn around. The top of the dress folds over the waist of the dress. You turn around, your back facing the door, as your chest is exposed, and you’re not so keen on giving Bucky an unwanted surprise when he enters your room.

Bucky enters your room, surprised to see your torso exposed. He clears his throat and asks you what you need. You tell him to tie the back, instructing him on how to assemble the knot.

“Tie it tight.”

Bucky hums a little ‘mm-hm’. As he finishes the knot, you turn back around to show off the dress. “How does it look?”

Bucky grins a little. “Perfect.”

–

Later, you and Bucky enter the fancy ballroom. Charity events were a bore to you, as bad as that sounds. It always surprised you how much money people had to just give so freely, as you had grown up with so little. Perhaps it was best not to focus on that. It’s good that these people are donating so much for good causes.

Bucky had cleaned up, his hair was slicked back and he was in his best suit. Your hair was tied up and curled neatly. It had taken forever to do, so at least it turned out nicely. You accessorized with gold jewelry, to match with the gold accents of the dress, of course.

Bucky’s arm lays on the small of your back. Servers pass by with champagne and hors d'oeuvres, to which you pick up naturally.

Small talk between politicians killed you. You could not think of a bigger waste of time. You could feel the venom in each of the politicians' voices, but it’s hidden by smiles and charming personalities. You know what you have to do. Smile big, and only speak when spoken to. Best to avoid any slip-ups.

“You’re doing great, just focus on me.” Bucky whispers into your ear. You cough off the warm feeling in your chest.

“Congratulations on the wedding. Still in the honeymoon phase, are you?” A wife of a congressman asked. 

“Very much so.” Bucky responded, looking at you with love in his eyes. He’s a good actor. You smile back as you place a hand on his chest.

“She gets me through my day.” Bucky adds, and a flurry of ‘aww’s’ follow suit. You swiftly push down the growing lump in your throat. Gotta act natural.

As you and Bucky break away from the group of people, you find yourself by the sidelines, people-watching. Bucky had left to go network, or whatever it is that he does. You had him in your line of sight, which comforted you in this large crowd.

You drink your champagne, unassuming.

“Mrs. Barnes?” A man asks out to you, seemingly out of nowhere. You jump a little at the surprise.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” The man laughs as he slowly inches up to you. Your neck cranes upward to look at the man’s face, as he’s much taller than you.

“Of course not,” You grin, “You just caught me off guard.”

The man rubs the back of his neck. “My apologies.” You shrug it off.

“I was trying to reach Mr. Barnes, but he seems to be occupied.” The man sighs as he shoots a glance at Bucky.

“Am I just your next best option, then?” You ask, smiling.

The man turns back to you. “Of course not.” He insists with a charming smile. You’re quick to brush it off and assure him it’s alright.

“Benjamin Poindexter. Most people call me Dex.” He reaches his hand out with a grin. You tell him your name and shake his hand, his grip steady and firm.

“Am I allowed to call you Dex?”

“Call me whatever you like.” He says with a wink. You laugh. As your eyes wander back into the crowd, you see Bucky stare from across the ballroom. You notice that he isn’t paying full attention to the man he’s talking to. You pay no mind and go back to your conversation with Dex.

You invite Dex to people-watch with you, and it’s easy to convince him.

“These events are such a drag.” He mentions off-handedly. You let out a sigh of relief. “Aren’t they?” You respond, more enthusiastically than you have been this entire time at this gala.

“Just a huge flaunt of money.” Dex notes.

“It is. At least it’s for a good cause.” You try to reason.

“I’m sure they could do that without all the pointless attractions.” Dex sighs. You laugh as you stare at all the grand decor, live music, and grand meals. It’s true, this entire thing was just so obnoxious to you. “You get me.” You say.

Dex grins at you as he lightly places his hand on your shoulder. “At least you look lovely tonight.”

“Are you flirting with me, Dex? You know I’m a married woman.” You roll your eyes and grin, your eyes pointed towards the ground.

“Of course not,” Dex responds, “Unless you’d like me to.”

Your eyes widen at his boldness and laugh Dex’s advances off. “You’re funny.”

Dex doesn’t respond, his only response being the faint upward curling of his lips. Before you get to speak again, Bucky appears by your side.

“I’m sorry, could I steal my wife from you for a second?” Bucky says with a tight-lipped grin.

“Oh, of course-” Dex starts to say, only to be cut off by Bucky swiftly grabbing your hand and dragging you out of there.

“Oh, Bucky, Dex — or Benjamin — wanted to speak with you-” You try to say to your husband.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll get to that later.” Bucky says, not paying attention.

“Are you okay? What are you doing?” You whisper to Bucky once he fully removes you from Dex’s presence.

“How do you think I look when my wife’s too busy giggling with another man?” Bucky mutters into your ear. You pull back.

“It wasn’t like that-” You say, naively.

“Course it wasn’t,” He spits out, and a brief silence follows.

After taking a deep breath, Bucky says, “Just stick by me for the rest of the night, okay?”

You frown slightly, your face turning sour. “Right, okay.”

The rest of the night killed you. Every boring conversation felt even longer than it had before. It wasn’t helping that Bucky kept his grip on your waist tighter than usual. You counted down the seconds until this stupid gala was over, all with a big smile on your face.

You couldn’t ignore the looks Dex would shoot at you occasionally, but you didn’t let your gaze linger.

The car ride back home was quiet. You couldn’t tell if Bucky was still angry, his face was unreadable.

You two finally get back home, and the door shuts with a click. Bucky immediately lets out a deep sigh. You take that as a sign to initiate your go-to unwind routine, which usually consists of ordering Chinese and drinking. Hopefully Bucky will warm up to you again with some food in his stomach.

“Chinese?” You ask, waiting for Bucky’s go-ahead.

“Yeah. Sounds good.” Bucky says, his voice void of any emotion.

You fight the urge to ask Bucky if he’s still mad at you, best not to disturb the lion. 

The ring of the doorbell notifies you that the takeout was finally here.

“So, talk to anyone interesting tonight?” You ask as you and Bucky sit down next to each other at your small dinner table.

“Never.” Bucky lets out a light breath of amusement. He watches you as you crack open wooden chopsticks for the both of you. You frown slightly at the uneven crack of the chopsticks.

As you hand over better separated chopsticks to Bucky, you stand up to grab drinks from the kitchen. “Beer?” You ask.

“Always.” He says as he chews on his noodles.

You grab a beer from the fridge, opening it up for Bucky. You grab a wine glass for yourself, pouring your favorite red wine into it.

As you hand over the beer to Bucky, he nods his head as a way of thanking you.

The dinner between the two of you is silent. Not that that’s necessarily weird, as you and Bucky have grown accustomed to uncomfortable silences.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize mindlessly. “For Dex.”

Bucky sighs as he finishes chewing his greasy noodles. “It’s fine. Just.. I don’t want anyone to suspect anything.” Bucky admits.

“Right.” You say, not putting up a fight. The idea of making Bucky angry makes your stomach bubble up in anxiety. You don’t want Bucky to smell your worry, so you bite your cheek to stifle it down.

— 13 YEARS EARLIER (POST CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER)

“He doesn’t talk a lot, but I think he just needs some time to readjust.” Natasha says as the both of you walk past the room of the new addition to the Avengers Tower. HYDRA had called him the Winter Soldier, but Steve calls him Bucky. Steve’s very adamant the rest of the Avengers (and also you) call him Bucky too.

It was your first week at your new job of being the Avenger’s manager. You’re still not sure how Natasha managed to snag this job for you, but it was better to not to question anything. You just couldn’t believe your luck.

Tony seemed apprehensive towards letting you in, but whether he liked it or not, the Avengers were becoming public figures, and they needed someone to manage their schedules. The rest of the Avengers didn’t seem to mind your presence; you were sure they had bigger things to worry about — like the state of the universe, for example.

Natasha had known you for at least a year prior to you moving to New York. She had saved you in an attack in your small hometown. You had no idea what she was doing in a small town like yours, but she had many secrets. You were just thankful she was in the right place and the right time.

As you and Natasha mindlessly tour the tower, you bump into a man much taller than you. It was Bucky.

“Oh— sorry about that.” You apologize instinctively.

Bucky looks at you bewildered. Well, you note that he kind of just always looks that way. It must be hard for him. You knew he was still fighting off the last bits of HYDRA’s brainwashing. It was best to just let him do his own thing, even if his hard stares felt like they were burning holes into your skin.

— PRESENT

You and Bucky finish eating the take-out noodles. They never get any less greasier. There’s spots of grease along Bucky’s mouth. You laugh and gesture to his mouth. “Got something on your face, Bucky.”

“Ah, shit—” Bucky groans as he tries to wipe it off with his hand. It’s unsuccessful, he’s just spread it around instead of getting rid of it.

“Here.” You say as you grab a napkin and start wiping his mouth for him. Bucky tilts his head up towards you as you hold his face. You wipe his lips, cheeks, and chin. You’re too focused on cleaning Bucky’s face that you don’t realize how flustered Bucky looks. “Done.”

You go to wash the oil off your hands in the kitchen sink. Bucky clears his throat to regain composure.

Little moments of soft domesticity like this make this makeshift marriage feel more real. Sometimes, it’s hard reminding yourself that it’s not.

“I should go to bed soon.” You note. You don’t want to end the night early, but you don’t want to seem too desperate for Bucky’s presence.

“Course. Right.” Bucky says. His lack of willingness to keep you around makes you frown. But you know there wasn’t anything to expect. At least it’s a guarantee that you’ll keep seeing him around.

The next morning, you wake up earlier than Bucky. It’s quite rare, knowing your sleep schedule. There’s sounds coming from Bucky’s bedroom. Muttered curses and frantic scribbling. You knock on his door. “Can I come in?”

Bucky looks at the door, his eyes tired. “Oh, yes, come in.”

He looked like a mess. He had fallen asleep at his desk. He was still wearing his suit from last night. That must’ve been uncomfortable, not to mention dirty. “Bucky— are you okay?” You ask, your eyebrows furrowing.

“Mmm, yeah. Perfect.” Bucky says as he stares at his endless pile of paperwork. You sigh as you turn Bucky towards you in his spinny-chair. “I have to go to work soon.” He yawns.

“Yeah, you do.” You respond. He wasn’t close to ready. “Come on, get up.”

Bucky doesn’t protest. He lets you drag him into his walk-in closet. There were a plethora of suits that all looked the same. You pick the first one you see, and shove it into Bucky’s hands. “Put those on.” You tell him as you turn around, to give him privacy.

Bucky does as you say, yawning as he does it. He would usually resist your attempts to help him, especially with tasks so mundane as this, but he was too tired to think. You grab a random necktie and wrap it around Bucky’s neck. Luckily for you, you had spent many hours studying on how to tie a necktie for the day of your wedding. You tie the necktie with swiftness. It’s a little lopsided, but it’ll do. You adjust his tie one last time, patting your hand on his chest as you finish. “Good.”

Bucky smiles weakly. “Thank you, I don’t think I could get anything done without you.”

You let out an amused breath. “I’m barely any help.” You say, as you pick up from stray clothes from off the floor.

Bucky softly smiles and shakes his head, while looking at the large mirror. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”

“When’s your next day off?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Good. You need the rest, Bucky.” You say. Bucky grins weakly, looking at the ground. 

A pause.

“You know, I’m not sure what the hell I’m even doing.” He admits.

It sure was weird seeing Bucky open up. In the grander scheme of things, Bucky wasn’t being vulnerable at all. However, Bucky isn’t one to talk about himself — at all, really. Emotions made him feel antsy. Especially his own.

“Politics isn’t easy, Bucky. I’m sure you’ll grow into it.” You attempt to say some comforting words. You rub one of his shoulders to ground him, or something.

“No.” Bucky laughs lightly as he shakes his head. “I don’t know the first thing about this shit.” Bucky couldn’t admit that his whole sham of a political career was just a ploy to ethically inch himself towards Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. Val was hiding something, and Bucky was going to figure it out. That didn’t mean his wife had to be dragged into this. 

You purse your lips, unsure of what to say. 

“Steve would know what to do.” Bucky sighs. Nowadays, Bucky hasn’t mentioned Steve as much as he used to, but that didn’t mean he never stopped thinking about him.

— 4 YEARS AGO (POST ENDGAME)

There wasn’t much noise from the Avengers anymore. Everyone had gone their own way, feeling lost after the loss of Tony, Natasha, and Steve. You feel sick to your stomach whenever you think about Natasha. Your friend, gone just like that — all for some stupid orange stone. You couldn’t bear to see Clint, his grief clouded him and invaded the space to those around him. You wish you could help him, but you couldn’t even help yourself. You're just grateful Clint at least has his loving family around him.

As you walk around Central Park, you see a familiar face. Bucky. His metal arm stuck out like a sore thumb. The two of you had become acquaintances, and maybe even friends? You could never read him. You also hadn’t talked to him in a while, as he was too busy helping save the fate of the universe. You know, the usual. As you walk up to him, you tap his shoulder and ask, “This spot open?”

Bucky looks up at you and grins weakly. He says your name and scoots on the bench to invite you in. 

“How are you holding up?” You ask a dumb question. Everyone was grieving.

“Fine.” Bucky lies. You lean back on the bench.

“Wish I could say the same. I don’t really know what to do with myself.” You laugh, awkwardly.

“Yeah. Same.” Bucky says, seemingly distant. 

You and Bucky sit in the silence for a second. “Talked to anyone recently?” You ask.

“Saw Sam a couple of days ago. He’s really busy right now.” Bucky sighs.

“How’s he?”

“Stressed. Steve giving him the shield really put a lot of pressure on him.”

“Can’t imagine what he’s feeling right now.”

There’s another awkward silence as your topic of discussion runs its course.

That’s when you had an idea. You two shouldn’t have to continue living in limbo. You were gonna ask Bucky to hang out, so the both of you guys could be less alone together. Innocent and easy, yeah?

“Let’s get drinks, Bucky.” You ask. He seems confused, but anything sounds better than rocking himself to sleep.

“Really?”

“Why not? I’ve been sitting around for weeks. Steve and Nat would want us to keep living, don’t you think?” You reason.

“I think you’re right. That sounds good.” He says as he gives a small grin.

You get up from the bench and give a hand to Bucky, “C’mon, I know a place.”

Hours passed by, and the night didn’t go quite as well as you planned. You heavily underestimated how much alcohol you could tolerate, as you hadn’t drank in quite some time, and Bucky got carried away trying to drown out his sorrows. Luckily, you could still control yourself, at least when you really focus.

You managed to call an Uber to your apartment. Bucky wraps his arm around you as the two of you stumble into your house. Bucky was sure to regret everything tomorrow morning. But for now, he took his chance to let down his inhibitions and connect with someone else. Bucky hadn’t stopped talking about Steve, which was fine, since you just replied with your own grief about Natasha. The two of you flop on your couch.

“Can’t believe he’s really gone.” He hiccups. “Me neither.”

“He was the greatest.” Bucky mumbles as he lays his head on your couch.

“Natasha was so kind.” You mumble.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Bucky says.

You look at Bucky, his eyes low and fluttery. His lashes look beautiful as Bucky blinks. You sigh as you continue to peer into Bucky’s soul. Bucky would normally feel exposed, but he feels a sense of company he hasn’t felt in a long time. “Me neither.” You say.

There’s a lingering silence. Steve and Nat wouldn’t want the both of you guys drinking yourselves to death over them. The two of you knew that, but it was easier said than done.

“I just feel so alone.” Bucky says as he looks at you. You grab Bucky’s hand, squeezing it tight. You’re unsure of what to say. You should say something comforting, but you feel the same. You feel the same agonizing isolation he feels. You muster up something somewhat comforting to say. “I’m here, you’re not alone.” You say. You wish emotional maturity didn’t feel and sound as corny as it did.

Bucky looks at you. It’s softer than the gaze he would look at you with when the two of you met first at the Avengers Tower. He breathes slowly before he says, “I’m sorry.”

Bucky cups your jaw, and inches himself closer to you. He places a kiss on your mouth. You back away from him a second. He curses to himself, did he mess it up? Maybe he misread the bonding experience the two of you both shared. Maybe you didn’t feel as alone as him, or maybe you didn’t need this as much as he did.

You lean back in, kissing Bucky roughly. Your mouths morphed into one. Quick breaths are taken in between kisses. It was as if kissing was your life-line, and if either one of you were to break it, you would die. Your nose was pressed so hard against Bucky’s face, it felt as though it could break. Your hands were clasped around Bucky’s jaw, your fingers spilling onto his neck. You could feel his heartbeat thunder against his throat. His face was scruffy from his stubble. He felt rough in your hands.

As you break away from the kiss, the both of you take deep gasps of air. Bucky doesn’t seem to mind, as he pins his focus on your cheek and jaw. He peppers kisses all along your cheekbones, nose, jaw, and neck.

“Jesus, Bucky..” You whisper out.

The night continues, and you wake up the next morning with you and Bucky’s clothes scattered all over your bedroom floor. Your head felt like it could pop. You felt nauseous as you propped yourself up in your bed. Your twin XL bed wasn’t enough space for you and Bucky. He was nearly falling off the side. You still had enough memories from last night, thankfully. You weren’t sure how Bucky was going to react to it. Shit, maybe this was a bad idea.

— PRESENT

You and your mother had re-planned your previous plans. Your mother was a kind break from the rest of the things on your mind. As you and your mother sat at an outside table outside a quaint little cafe, she let out a little sigh as she looked at you.

“You know, the rest of the family still wants to meet him.” She mentions Bucky.

You loved your mother, but you didn’t love her nagging. “Yeah. Yeah. They’ll meet him soon.”

“You always say that.” Your mother says, as she takes a sip of her coffee. You sigh as you ignore your mother.

After a moment, you finally respond. “I sent them our wedding photos. Surely that’ll hold them over for now.”

“They’re all so nosy. They want to meet him in person.”

You frown. “Bucky’s shy. It’ll happen eventually, mom — trust me.”

“Whatever you say.”

Your apprehension for having Bucky meet your family was understandable. Your family was a lot to deal with, as with every family, you assume. You were scared that Bucky would get scared. You’re not worried about Bucky leaving you over anything, as you were safe as long as Bucky was still a congressman with a ‘family-man’ reputation to uphold. The possibility of Bucky leaving after his term ended made you feel uneasy. Hopefully he likes you enough to keep you around.

— A YEAR AGO (PRE THUNDERBOLTS*)

Bucky had called you to meet him at a nearby bar where he was at the moment. Bucky and you had become proper friends. Friends who don’t really talk about that time they hooked up approximately 3 years ago. You had heard whispers from people of Bucky’s potential political career. Of course, it didn’t make sense to you. But you weren’t one to discourage one from their goals.

You walk into the dingy bar, and wave to Bucky. “How are you, Bucky?” You say as you sit in the seat next to him, making small talk.

“Fine. As good as I can be.” Bucky shrugs, his beer hanging loosely in his hands. You order your usual drink, and Bucky tells the bartender to put it on his tab. Always the gentleman.

“So, what’d you call me for?” You ask.

“Good company. I don’t need an excuse to see you, do I?”

“Course not, Buck — Just didn’t expect it.” You say. You’re always the one who asks Bucky to hangout. The bartender hands you your drink. You thank them swiftly and look back to Bucky.

“It’s good seeing you, really.” Bucky says.

“Is it?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Bucky laughs lightly. “You’re a good break from politics.”

“What are you even doing in politics, anyway?”

Bucky groans. “It’s all for public image, really,” He admits. “Wanna do some good out there, you know. It’ll help the public like me after my whole ‘Winter Soldier’ thing. You know.”

“I think you helping to save the universe did enough for your public perception.”

“People don’t like to forget the past.”

“Fair.”

Of course, Bucky didn’t mention Val. No reason to drag his friend into his ploy. The night went on, and you and Bucky continued catching up. You made sure not to overdrink, only feeling a little looser now than when you walked through the bar doors.

“People don’t really believe my whole campaign. My manager has been saying I need to make my reputation look better.” Bucky mumbles to you.

“How?”

“Well, he suggested I make myself look more family-oriented. Married with kids, and all that.”

You smile as you laugh into your drink. “Good luck with that.” You turn to Bucky silently observing you. His gaze makes you feel exposed. “Something on my face?”

“No, sorry. Just thinking.”

“Whatever you say, Bucky.”

You and Bucky walk out the bar; quite put together, thankfully. You tighten your grip around the handle of your shoulder purse. “Well, it was nice seeing you.”

“Course, you too.” Bucky says as you tap your phone, trying to find yourself an Uber.

“Wait.”

“Hm?”

Bucky cleared his throat, looking nervous and antsy. “You can say no. This is going to sound crazy.”

You furrowed your brows and smiled, timid. “What? Just say it, Bucky, you’re making me nervous.”

“You can say no.”

“Just fucking say it, Bucky.”

“Fine.” Bucky says. He still takes a moment to collect himself, his heartbeat beating out of his chest.

“Would you consider marrying me?” Bucky finally musters the courage to ask.

You stared at Bucky, your anxious grin still not leaving your face. He’s right, he does sound crazy. 

“What are you talking about, Bucky?” You laugh as you shake your head.

“If I asked you, would you marry me?” Bucky repeats himself.

“You’re drunk.” You laugh off his question, awkwardly.

“You know how I am when I’m drunk.”

“You being sober doesn’t normally include you proposing.”

“You can say no.”

“Why are you even asking me that?”

Bucky flicks his fingers in anxiety. He asked out of desperation, the pressures of appearing family-oriented to the public weighed on him. Also, the fact you were previously the manager for the Avengers could also help with his public perception bullshit. You being attractive also helped. He wouldn’t say that out loud though, he had class.

“Doesn’t have to be real. Just has to look it.” Bucky says. “You can do your own thing, I can do mine.”

“This for your politics?” You guess correctly, rubbing your forehead.

Bucky sighs. “Yeah.”

“I’m not sure, Bucky.. This is a lot to ask—” You say, before getting cut off by Bucky.

“Just think about it. You can say no.“

You bite your bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”

It’s been a few days since Bucky asked you to marry him. You hadn’t texted him since, being too scared to do so. Bucky beats himself over it. He was sure he messed up a good friendship for something so stupid; of course you’d say no. What was he thinking?

You walk back into your dark, empty apartment. The dishes you had refused to wash piled in your sink. It’s eerily silent. And cold. Your landlord was neglectful, proven by your heater that had been broken for weeks. You made up for the cold by buying more blankets. You couldn’t buy another portable heater just yet, you were late on last month’s rent. You were trying to find work after being blipped and after the Avenger’s disbanded.

You groan, your head laying back on the edge of the couch. Bucky’s offer didn’t sound so crazy. You’ve been to Bucky’s house a couple of times. A proper heater and A/C sounded more and more appealing. Not worrying about how you’re going to pay rent sounded more and more appealing. Not being so alone sounded appealing as well.

In your moment of desperation, you text Bucky back. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

— A WEEK AGO FROM PRESENT DAY

You were busy wiping the countertops as Bucky came back home. Bucky didn’t drink as much as he used to. You were surprised to smell alcohol off of Bucky’s clothes.

“I’m home.” Bucky calls out as he drops his bag down on the floor.

“Bucky.” You grin. You were happy that the house wasn’t going to feel as daunting as it did when you were alone. Bucky’s good company, whether or not you liked to admit it.

Bucky smiles at you. The smell of alcohol invaded your nostrils. “You drank?”

“Only a few drinks. One or two. Maybe three.” Bucky says. You roll your eyes, smiling softly.

“Jesus, Buck.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Sure you aren’t.”

“Not.” Bucky says as he sits on the couch.

“Need anything? We got some leftovers, if you’d like.” You offer. Bucky looks back at you, tempted. You heat up food for him, and hand it to him carefully. “It’s hot, be careful.”

“What would I do without you?” Bucky says with his mouth stuffed with food.

“Probably die.” You say, as you pick off food from his face. Bucky giggles. “Yeah. Probably.”

Bucky brings his plate to the sink and starts to wash it. You attempted to do it for him, but Bucky insisted. He wanted to prove he didn’t need your help with everything — not that he really minded the help.

Bucky comes back to the couch. Later, he’s mindlessly watching TV as you’re attempting to read the book you promised to finish about 3 months earlier. His hot body lays on top of you. Like a custom heated, weighted blanket. Bucky’s hot body clashes with his abnormally cold metal arm. You’ve usually found yourself placing your hands on top of Bucky’s arm, as to cool your hands that are always hot. You and Bucky have formed your own mutualistic relationship. In terms of body heat. 

The walls Bucky usually has up are lowered, thanks to the alcohol. He gently inches closer to you, resting his head on you. You smile softly. He’s usually like this when he’s a little tipsy. You can’t blame him, you know a lot of touchy drunks. You gently play with the ends of his long hair. Bucky nearly purrs from the soft sensation. He’s like a cat in your touch.

You lay on the couch, to which Bucky adapts and lays on your stomach, his arms wrapped around you. How silly. You continue brushing your hands through his scalp. The soft companionship makes you feel warm inside.

You had finished about 30 pages of your book when you realized that Bucky hadn’t spoken or moved much in a while. He had fallen asleep on you. You laugh as you look at the large man on you. It was a funny sight, for sure. You go back to reading your book. Reading usually makes you sleepy, though. It’s not a surprise that you fall asleep not too soon after.

— PRESENT

You fidget with the ring on your finger. It was a plain, gold band. You didn’t want to run through Bucky’s pockets when trying to pick out a ring. It would be nice to have a pretty ring, though. Bucky was going to come back home anytime now. He texted you that he was going to pick up food on the way back. You had nothing to do, no more work for the day and no food to cook for someone. It felt weird, but you tuned out the little itch in your head to be useful by mindlessly doom scrolling.

Bucky opens the door with his keys. He groans as he knocks off his shoes and takes off his jacket.

“What’d you get us?” You ask, from the couch.

“Thai.” Bucky mumbles as he lifts up the large bag to show you. He sounds tired.

“Oh, my favorite.” You say as you grab the large takeout bag from Bucky’s hands. You place the bag on the dinner table, and rush to grab cutlery for the two of you.

“Actually.. I think I’m gonna eat alone.” Bucky says as he grabs his food and laptop to bring to his room.

“Oh. Okay.” You say, disappointed. You don’t want to shove your company onto Bucky, so you just agree. Compliant wife, or whatever. Bucky didn’t stay long, he immediately headed towards his room. Did you do something wrong? Why was being like this?

After Bucky had got up and left for his room, you grabbed your portion of the food and brought it towards the coffee table in front of the TV. Eating alone while watching TV reminded you too much of your life before you decided to “marry” Bucky. 

After approximately 30 minutes, Bucky walks out his bedroom, with his takeout trash in his hands. You get up, walking towards Bucky. “I can get that!” You say, desperately trying to help out.

“Oh—” Bucky says, surprised.

“You need anything, Buck? I can go fill up the tub, or clean your room. Ugh, I’m sorry I didn’t clean before, I really should’ve, that’s on me—” You ramble. Bucky cuts you off by saying your name.

“Stop. It’s.. it’s fine.” Bucky says, looking overwhelmed and overstimulated. You bite back a whimper as you nod your head. You so desperately want to be a helping hand, and yet now, you just feel like an overwhelming burden. “Sorry.”

Bucky purses his lips. “I’m just going to go to bed.” He says, as he throws his trash away by himself.

“Right. Okay. Goodnight.”

The next day, you stay at your friend’s place. You had the day off, and you thought it was best to spend the day with someone that wasn’t Bucky. Or your mom. During the day, you think back to how Bucky was last night. He has a lot on his plate. Maybe you really were being too much. As much as you didn’t wish for it to happen, you couldn’t stop thinking about Bucky.

The idea that you had planted into your own brain, the idea that Bucky might leave you after his term ends, haunted you. It seemed silly. He wouldn’t just leave, right? Well... there’s been no signs that Bucky would necessarily stay. He wasn’t obligated to, and neither were you. You wouldn’t leave, though. You’ve grown accustomed to your new life with Bucky. Bucky on the other hand, might want to return to his life of peace and quiet he had before he married you. God, this whole thing made you feel sick.

Your friend had seemed worried about you, but you were adamant you were fine. You didn’t allow her to worry about you. Nothing for her to worry about, after all.

It was late at night when you returned home. Using the keys Bucky gave you, you tried to enter as quietly as you could.

Bucky’s at the dinner table, looking concerned. He eases once he sees you.

“Where have you been?” He asks, standing from his chair.

“At a friend’s place.” You tell him. The conversation sends you flashbacks to your teenage years; when your parents would be worried sick about your whereabouts. Is this what your relationship with Bucky has amounted to? Some kind of parental relationship?

“You should’ve texted me.”

“Right.”

“I’m being serious.”

You feel uneasy, and also annoyed. Why the hell did Bucky care? You two weren’t actually together. Roommates don’t have to always know where the other one is. That doesn’t change with Bucky — who’s basically your glorified roommate.

“Sure.” You mumble.

Bucky glares at you. “What the hell’s your problem?” He asks. You don’t get into fights with Bucky often. Fighting also makes you anxious. Perfect combo for you.

“Nothing, Bucky.” You say, as you hang your bag and outdoor clothes on the nearby hangers.

“Obviously there’s something bothering you. Just spit it out.”

You roll your eyes, which makes Bucky’s jaw clench. Bucky doesn’t need to pretend he cares. “Let’s just leave this alone.” You say, as you try to head to the bathroom, to freshen up before going to bed.

“No. What’s going on with you?” Bucky says, as he grabs your arm, holding you back.

You stare at Bucky, taken back by his audacity. “Fine.”

Bucky drags you to the couch. The place where a week ago, you were sure Bucky and you had a proper, domestic moment. Maybe he didn’t think much of it. He was tipsy, after all. Would Bucky still want to be tender with you if he didn’t have a couple drinks in him? Did you sicken him that much?

“Why have you been avoiding me? Did I do something? Please— just tell me.” Bucky pleads, hints of worry speckled in his soft, blue eyes.

Being vulnerable never came easy to you. The feeling of burdening others with your mundane emotions made you feel sick. Feelings of anxiety bubbled from your stomach to your chest.

“I.. haven’t been avoiding you—” You say, before you’re swiftly cut off.

“You have been. I’ve texted you multiple times today.” Bucky says, matter-of-factly. You clear your throat, feeling too exposed.

“Okay, well..” You find yourself trailing off again.

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky says, while also saying your name, distressed. “Just fucking say it.”

Bucky’s attitude was out of control. You scoff with your eyebrows furrowed, staring holes into Bucky.

“Stop fucking doing that.” You say, biting your bottom lip in uneasiness.

“I will if you just fucking let me know what’s been up with you.”

“Fine! Fine.” You say, trying to sort your thoughts. How much are you willing to expose to Bucky? Are you really willing to spill to him that you actually do like him? Well, not that you’re like, in love with him or anything, but the idea you’ve planted in your head that Bucky might choose to leave you after he leaves his failing career in politics lingered in your brain. Shit, who were you kidding. You were in love with Bucky. You were in love with Bucky and it was eating you up alive. You’re not used to being so open. It feels so invasive.

“You can tell me anything.” Bucky attempts to be comforting, but he’s unsure of its effectiveness. He grabs your hands, and rubs loving circles with his thumbs. How unfair.

“You know, it’s stupid..” You say.

“Not stupid.” Bucky responds.

“I was just mad.. That you seemed distant. Last night.” You let out.

Bucky lets out a deep breath. “Right.”

“It’s stupid. It’s not like you always have to be around me.” You try to explain, but Bucky cuts you off short.

“No. It makes sense. I’ve been really stressed out recently.”

“No, no, right, right. That makes sense. I told you, it’s stupid.” You find yourself rambling over Bucky again. Bucky cuts you off by saying your name yet again.

“Stop. Breathe. It’s fine, really.” 

You take a deep breath in. It makes you feel less like you’re about to pass out, but the antsiness never leaves your chest. Bucky places a hand on your knee that had been bouncing like crazy. You didn’t even realize it was shaking.

“Well, that can’t be it, right?” Bucky urges you to continue. You pick at your ring, a tic you’ve picked up on during the last couple of months.

“I just.. feel-like-a-burden-to-you.” You say quickly, hoping the faster you say it, the faster this whole conversation will end.

Bucky furrows his eyebrows. He looks almost.. hurt? “Why would you think that?” He says, almost too lovingly. What a considerate asshole.

“I just.. I know I overwhelm you. I just want to feel useful. Make you feel like you didn’t make a mistake in choosing me as your fake wife.”

“I fully knew what I was doing when I asked you.”

“I can’t help it.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.” Bucky says, quietly.

You fight back the urge to say, ‘You’re just saying that.’ He was just being nice. God, you hate that he managed to fish all this out of you. You felt so bare. Bucky knocks you out of your trance by saying your name.

“Look at me, okay? You don’t have to prove anything to me.” He says, with a face too genuine it makes your stomach churn. You spin your ring around your finger. How easy would it be to just give it back to him? He’s just gonna leave you anyway when he decides to leave politics.

“You should have this back.” You say, gesturing to the ring. You didn’t mean to be so dramatic in the way you decided to hand back Bucky his ring. Just fell out that way.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks, looking bewildered.

“You shouldn’t feel obligated to keep being with me even after your term ends. This whole thing was to appear family-oriented to the public, right? So, when you’re done, you should be able to do your own thing. I don’t want to hold you back.” You let the words flow out your mouth. While it did make you feel like a burden had been lifted off your shoulders, with the way Bucky looked at you, it didn’t do much for making you feel any better.

“What?”

You sigh, biting your lip. Little droplets of blood bead at your lip from where you bit. You wipe it away, hoping Bucky doesn’t overanalyze how you’re acting.

“You should be able to meet someone else, you know. Someone you actually want to spend the rest of your life with. You don’t have to do this whole charity thing, you know.”

“Charity?” Bucky repeats, baffled. “Is that what you think?”

“You know, I’m surprised you hadn’t seen anyone during the time we were together. Missed opportunity, I think.”

“Jesus,” Bucky says, his words tinged with a slight tone of disappointment. You hate the way it makes you feel.

Bucky’s quiet for a moment, but you could tell small bits of anger was boiling inside him.

“That why you were so close and personal with that fucking guy— what was his name.. Dex? You thought I was out here, doing the same shit?” Bucky says, his jealousy reaching his throat, choking on his own words.

“I..” You struggle to find the words. “I wasn’t doing anything with that guy.”

“You know, the way you looked at him made me feel fucking sick. Jesus, I’d never want anyone to feel the way I felt then.”

“Jesus— Bucky, you’re making me sound like some kind of monster.” You scoff.

“And you’re making me sound any better?” Bucky retorts. Bucky’s words make you choke up on your own. “You make it seem I was just trying to use you.. Like I don’t appreciate you, at all.”

“Which isn’t true.” Bucky adds, at the last second.

You groan, sinking into the couch. It would be convenient if the couch swallowed you whole, right about now. It would save you the trouble.

“Talk to me.” Bucky pleaded, again. His eyes were glued onto you. His fleshy hand felt clammy.

“You’re going to hate me.” You mumble. “I could never.”

You take a deep breath in, trying to compose yourself the best you can. You’re so anxious, you can barely find the words you want to use.

“God.” You say.

“I fucking love you, okay? As if it’s not glaringly obvious. Fuck.” You say, to Bucky’s surprise. “I want to feel helpful, I want you to want me around you, and I want you to want me the way I want you.” You say, truthful, for once.

Bucky doesn’t know what to say. Well, he’s happy, of course. Thrilled, one could say. He didn’t want to jump at his chance to be with you so fast, out of fear of looking starved and desperate. But life was too short to worry about how he was perceived. His grin spread from cheek to cheek. You didn’t know if that was necessarily a good thing or a bad thing. His stupid, beautiful fucking face shone at you.

“Say something. I feel like I’m gonna vomit.” You say quietly.

“Jesus Christ. You know how long I’ve been waiting to hear that shit?” Bucky says before he clasps your face, bringing you towards his face with a clash. Bucky kisses you like he did that one night many years ago. But yet, now, it’s more caring. More careful. You melt like a puddle in his hands. This is everything you wanted, but your fear of underperforming haunts you.

“Just let me guide you.” Bucky breathes out, saying the perfect thing. It’s like he could read you. He knew you through and through. Bucky’s tongue slips into your mouth with ease. He lovingly kisses your top and bottom lip. He did exactly what you needed. He guided you through it.

Bucky grabs you by your thighs, lifting you up and taking you to his bedroom. He mindlessly opens the door. He’s too busy being engrossed by your presence. It’s intoxicating. Bucky feels his way through his room. He lays you gently on the side of his bed.

“Fuck.” He whispers out, as he grabs the side of your face, lifting your gaze up to reach his. You looked so beautiful under his touch, and he was dedicated to making you never doubt how much you mean to him again.

Bucky sits beside you, shoving his mouth on yours again. His tongue follows down the path of your throat. His hands slowly graze the sides of your thighs. You felt soft in his hands. It made him feel insane. Bucky let out small praises, whispers of ‘So gorgeous’ and, ‘I needed this’ exit his mouth. You took your hand, the hand that wasn’t clasped around Bucky’s face, and palmed at Bucky’s unmistakable boner. Bucky lets out a deep groan. “Jesus.”

Bucky reacts by swiftly removing your top, still kissing you. He was desperate to see you. You unbuckled Bucky’s belt, and unbuttoned his pants. “Tell me what you need.” Bucky says.

You laughed into the kiss. You felt the growing knot in your stomach expand. You needed Bucky as much as he wanted you. “I want to sit on your face, Bucky.”

“Course you do.” Bucky responds, as he pulls off your clothes. Bucky lifts you over him, so you’re straddling his chest. It was embarrassing, having Bucky feel the growing wet spot from your core on his skin. You couldn’t really think much of it though, you had bigger things to think about right now.

Bucky adjusts himself just perfectly under you, his eyes looking at you, filled with lust and care. You fall forward on the headboard of the bed; the first touch from Bucky’s tongue on your pussy making you reel forward.

Bucky was an animal. His tongue drove into you like a machine. He would spend time easing you into it, but he was selfish. He needed you, and guessing from the sounds you’re making, you needed him too.

“Fuck— Oh my god!” You moan out.

You rest your arms over top of the headboard for support. You leaned your head on top of your arms, only making the bottom of your face visible to Bucky. He reaches his hand towards your chest and pushes you back, notioning that he wants the full view.

“Fuck. Fuck, Bucky— I…” You whisper out as you lean your arms back to support yourself on Bucky’s torso. Your boobs jiggle over Bucky’s face in a mesmerizing way. Bucky wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking on it. You’re so wet already, it’s proven by the ridiculous sounds Bucky’s mouth is making while eating you up.

As you inch closer and closer to your high, you’re cut off by Bucky’s frantic slapping on your thigh. You get up from off of him immediately, to which he gasps in a big breath of air. He was nearly drowning in your pussy. Which, honestly, Bucky wouldn’t mind it if that’s how he was going to go. His mouth is filled with remnants of your arousal, to which he swallows easily. There’s even some in his nostrils. Jesus. How fucking grotesque.

“You’re gonna kill me, darling.” Bucky laughs out. “You’re gonna kill me first.” You breathe out.

Bucky grins as he grabs you and flips you on your stomach with ease. He takes off his boxers as quickly as he can, eager to feel you. The cold feel of the blankets and pillows is a nice contrast to how hot your body feels against Bucky. Bucky grabs your ass, lifting it up as his erection springs out his boxers.

The first thrust into you feels like heaven. Bucky fills you up, and your pussy stretches around him. Bucky swears this is heaven. Bucky pounds into you with ease, the bed shakes under the two of you.

“So good. Oh my god—” You manage to say out loud. Bucky leans over you, reaching his fingers to your sensitive clit. The sensation is nearly too much. Your eyes roll back into your head, and you’re only a little glad that Bucky can’t see just how much of a mess he’s making you.

“Jesus, baby. You’re being so good for me.” Bucky mumbles lazily. He’s becoming nearly undone. He feels as though he could cum any moment now. “Taking it so well, yeah?” Bucky asks. 

The only answer you could give him was a nearly inaudible, “Mm-hm.”

Bucky laughs. He slowly envelops his hands with fistfuls of your hair. He pulls your head back to look at him. You have one hand on the bed, one hand on the headboard. Your eyes peered all the way back at Bucky. “Tell me, tell me how good you’re being for me.”

“I’m.. fuck, I’m being good for you, Bucky.” You mumble out, mindlessly. Bucky loved seeing you come undone by him. Made him feel good. You feel tears prick up in your eyes from the overwhelming sensation. You can’t keep holding on for much longer, your high was near. Pathetic moans exit your mouth repeatedly. You were gasping for air, and you bit on your bottom lip to help you deal with the pleasure consuming you. Bucky thrusts get sloppier and more inconsistent, the closer he gets to his own release.

Bucky continued pounding into you. “Do you even remember that fucking loser’s name?” He groans out, mentioning Dex. To be fair, you weren’t far from forgetting your own name. You shake your head no rapidly. “I don’t— I don’t remember his name.” You babble out.

“Good. God, you’re so good under me.”

“Oh my— gonna, gonna cum, Bucky.”

“Cum, please— oh my god.” Bucky begs you, his mind getting too clouded by his own pleasure.

You do what he asks of you. You cum around his cock, and he revels in the sensation. He fucks you through the high, which nearly makes you scream out. Bucky had already planned on leaving this stupid politician shit behind him. But seeing you like this, all fucked out for him, was the icing on the cake. He could have you like this all the time, with no shitty and pointless job to hold him back.

“Cum inside of me.” You beg, desperate. Bucky bites back a guttural moan from that. His thrusts are becoming incredibly sloppy. He does as you ask of him, and cums inside of you. The feeling drives you insane. Bucky falls on top of you, the weight of him crushing you. Bucky rolls off of you, his breath shaky and uneven. Bucky presses hot kisses on your back and neck.

After a moment of recovery, you turn to Bucky, giggling. You felt safe with Bucky. Bucky wrapped his arms around you, kissing your head softly.

“Still think I’m gonna leave you?” Bucky asks, his tone light.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Bucky— Shut the fuck up.”

[grave-rose-reblogs]

Boulevard Confessions

Pairing: 1940s!Bucky Barnes x Nurse!Reader 

Summary: Being a third wheel to Peggy and Steve wasn't your ideal Thursday night fun. However, when they tell you Bucky is tagging along you eagerly decide to join them. That is until a third party makes its presence known.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warning(s): drinking / fluff / jealousy / divergent from canon timeline / suggestive language / tipsy symptoms / mentions of war + the hardships that came with it

a/n:  Here’s a little piece that’s been sitting unfinished in my drafts for ages. For context, this timeline is one where Steve and Bucky both made it back from the war safe and sound and are enjoying their lives now that the war is over. Thank you for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ As a little psa my writing challenge is still ongoing!! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!! ♡

for ambiance 🎶

“ I am about to spew my dinner all over this table,” you grimace, downing the rest of your martini. The bitterness of the spirits was lost on you as your consumption grew in time with your sour mood.

Peggy eyed you from across the table, holding back her amusement, “ If you keep stuffing your face with martinis you will.” You reach out to grab another unclaimed drink, but before you could, Peggy slid the rest of them away from you. You crossed your arms, blowing out a resigned sigh. Even in your inhibited state, you knew better than to argue with an SSR agent. 

Peggy shook her head at you, “ As your best friend I have an obligation to put a stop to this. Don’t you have a shift tomorrow at the clinic?” Your eyes went wide at the reminder. 

You slump in the booth, dreading the bad hangover awaiting you in the morning. “ I do, but thankfully it's in the afternoon. I won’t feel it by then. . .” You trailed off, failing to convince Peggy, or yourself, you wouldn’t be miserable at work tomorrow. Peggy turned to look at the dance floor before returning her attention to you, “ You know, maybe you should dance the dizzy away. It might help you sober up.” Your lips purse at her suggestion, noticing a certain blonde-haired blue-eyed super soldier returning from the bathroom.

 “ It's easy for you to say. You have a dance partner,” you motioned over to Steve. 

“ You would too if you would only go up and ask him,” she pointed out. 

You glanced at the dancing couples, “ No way. With the way that leech is clinging on to him—I’d never get one word in.”

She shrugged, “ You’ll never know until you try.” These were her parting words before Steve arrived at the table and escorted her onto the dance floor. You watched them, your head bopping along tiredly to the swing music. 

Maybe you should have stayed home. 

You almost didn’t come to the outing—being the third wheel to Peggy and Steve wasn’t exactly your ideal Thursday night fun. However, Peggy had mentioned Bucky would come along, and seeing as you hadn’t seen him in a few weeks due to conflicting schedules, you thought this would be the perfect opportunity to catch up. 

That was until the leech—a woman named Darla—decided to hog Bucky all night. Darla had been trying to get with Bucky for over a month now. You found this out tonight when Steve made a comment about it. Bucky hadn’t paid it much importance, so you thought it must have not been anything serious. However, right about the time you and Bucky were starting to catch up, Darla came over and dragged him away. 

Since then you’ve been inhaling martinis like your lungs preferred them over air. 

You couldn’t help the way your eyes drifted over to Bucky’s figure. Handsome as ever in his navy suit—your favorite color on him—and hair neatly combed. Watching as Darla threw herself at him with the courage that you lacked. Pulling him every which way on the dance floor, holding his hands to her hips in a tight grip. 

Your stomach contents were threatening to come up again. 

When did things get so complicated? You scratched at your brain for an answer. Spending time with Bucky had been so easy back at the military base where you met. You were stationed there in the medical unit caring for wounded and ill soldiers. During that time, you became great friends with Peggy and everyone on the Howling Commandos team. Bucky would frequently visit the medical unit even when he wasn’t sick or wounded. Sometimes you swore he would fake injuries or aches just to come and see you. Anytime he came in with something new he would refuse to see any other nurse but you.

It made you feel special. While other women were smitten with his charms and stumbled over seizing his attention—you had it without effort. You had so much more than just his attention without even trying. On hopeless nights he shared his fears, on days where the war seemed endless you eased his worries, and when he felt like the world was crashing down on him his heart spilled all vulnerabilities to you. 

You found refuge from the horrors of war in each other—a balm to each other’s wounds that went beyond the physical. In no time, something deeper for him bloomed within your heart. 

Ever since the war was over, however, things have been different. It’s been a couple of years and Steve and Bucky work alongside Peggy for the Strategic Scientific Reserve. Going on missions has become their norm, so seeing your friends is a rarity nowadays. 

You on the other hand were given a job at a children’s clinic in Brooklyn. You were grateful for this small piece of normality coming back to you. Treating smaller wounds on smaller bodies instead of lethal wounds during a relentless battle. Your senses are permanently burned with sights, sounds, and smells horrific enough to induce nightmares—and they do—managing to steal precious hours of sleep from you almost every night.

It was something you and Bucky especially bonded over.

“ May I have the honor of a dance, gorgeous?” A voice interrupted your thoughts. You looked up to meet a pair of unrecognizable hazel eyes. A handsome stranger stood in front of you, his hand outstretched for you to take. If you had but only one percentage less of alcohol in your system you would have declined his offer. This of course wasn’t the case, and not wanting to reminisce on more melancholy thoughts, you decided to listen to Peggy’s advice and dance the dizzy away.

Even if it wasn’t with the man you wanted to dance with.

“ You may,” you smiled at him, taking hold of his hand. Swiftly you were swept into the sea of couples on the dance floor. The handsome stranger—who you soon learn was named Thomas—was an impeccable dancer. With one hand holding yours, and the other holding you gently at your lower back, he spun you around the dance floor in rhythmic kicks and slides. Thomas’ energy was infectious and you couldn’t help but match his enthusiasm. 

After two dances your footwork and Thomas’ were practically synchronized. Thomas twirled you, causing a giggle to escape your lips. It seemed the alcohol was stubborn about staying in your system as the twirl caused the dizziness to come back—for a split second—making you trip over your own foot. Thomas caught you and steadied you, both of you laughing at your clumsiness. The carefreeness of it all lulled the ache in your heart.

Behind Thomas, you caught a glimpse of Peggy who was dancing as joyfully with Steve. Her eyes met yours and she sent you an encouraging smile. Soon after, her eyes drifted to something behind you, turning her smile into a smirk. You went back to dancing with Thomas, but manoeuvered around to get a look at what caused Peggy to smirk. Your heart did a little jump when you discovered she had been looking at Bucky and Darla, dancing a few feet from where you were. 

Correction. She had been staring at a Bucky you barely recognized. His jaw clenched and body rigid as he glared daggers at the back of Thomas’ head. Darla beside him looked snubbed, tugging on Bucky’s arm to get his attention. His tense demeanor didn’t move an inch no matter how much she protested. The pair were no longer dancing, merely standing in the sea of all the couples. This piqued your curiosity. 

Why had he stopped dancing? And to glare at Thomas of all things?

You didn’t have much time to think about it as Darla, clearly fed up by Bucky’s lack of attention, grabbed him by his arm and pulled him away from the dance floor. You swayed to and fro with Thomas, controlling the direction you were swinging in to try and not lose Bucky from your line of sight. 

Where was Darla taking him?

Your heart stopped when you realized where they were going. Darla was making a beeline for the back of the bar where the honey hallway was. The spot where all the couples went to have a little more privacy and fool around without having to leave the bar. If he was going there with Darla, then maybe things were more serious between them than you previously believed.

Your heart dropped to your stomach when reality sank in. 

You excused yourself from Thomas, scurrying away in need of some fresh air. He offered to follow along, but you declined wanting to be alone. You threw the entrance door open into the Brooklyn night as a sickly feeling spread throughout your body. 

You stepped into the street, the swing music fading into the background as the door closed behind you. You took in a deep breath, once again regretting the amount of alcohol you had consumed.

If you weren’t drunk seeing Bucky with someone else wouldn’t have hurt so much. It wouldn’t have knocked the air out of your lungs like it's doing now.

You know that’s a lie. That’s a damn lie you’re telling yourself to get you through the night. To give you the strength to focus on your surroundings and trudge home. 

You’d eventually do that. First, however, your body seemed to want to cling to a street lamp to bring the world back to you. The cold metal underneath your palms grounding you for a moment. The breeze blowing past you threading through your hair as if to comfort you.

“ Doll, everything alright?” Your heart stuttered when you heard his voice, the thud of the bar door closing following it. You shut your eyes and bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from saying or doing anything the liquid courage in your system was trying to wrestle out of you. 

You knew you needed to make a quick getaway. 

“ I’m fine. Just heading home,” you were straight to the point before turning to walk away. Not looking at him as you put one foot in front of the other—and then stumbled. 

Bucky caught you, his arms offering a strong support,“ Woah, Y/n, how much did you drink?” There was a slight annoyance in his tone. As if the mere thought of you having fun was preposterous. 

Or at least that’s how your tipsy state interpreted it.

“ Doesn’t matter. I can have a drink or two if I want to. I get to have fun too,” you retort, trying to push his arms away from your body. Your arms are no match for his, as he doesn’t budge an inch—on the contrary, his hold gets more firm. The world started to spin more, but at this point, whether it was because of the martinis or his proximity—you wouldn’t know. 

Bucky huffed and rolled his eyes,“ This isn’t having fun. This is going overboard,” he counters. His constant need to hold you steady and scold you for drinking irked the part of you that was already upset with him—fueling it more. Especially when you had the image of him heading to the honey hallway with Darla ingrained in your brain. And his arms, the ones around you now, swinging her around on the dancefloor. 

There was something dark bubbling an envious brew within you. 

“ Why do you give a damn?” you snap out harshly. He stills at your tone and it's enough to shake his hold off of you. You force yourself to look at him. Intending to shoot him an annoyed glare. Something to convey what your heart felt when your words failed to—but when your eyes met his you froze. 

They were dark—virtually stormy—and yet, there was a hint of pain in them. Almost as if you had kicked him, but he was toughing it out.

“ What was that about?” He finally spoke after what seemed like too long. 

“ What was what about?” You feigned innocence. 

His eyes got darker, a disapproving half smile on his face,“ Don’t play coy. I come out here to check on you. You’re stumbling like a drunk fool. I try to help and you snap at me?” 

“ I didn’t ask you to,” you’re quick with your dismissal.

“ You…unbelievable…” Bucky lets out a scoff, not knowing how to respond. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into you. In his mind, you’re simply too drunk to regulate yourself. He doesn’t know the vile jealousy that bubbles in the pit of your stomach and gnaws at your heart. He doesn’t know the intense battle your emotions are having with your brain—right in front of him—to stay silent before you truly say something you cannot take back. 

“ Go back inside. I’m heading home,” you say simply, not wanting to dwell on this conversation any longer. You feared what might come of it if you didn’t.

“ No. I'm walking you home,” he shakes his head firmly, his tone matching in conviction. 

“ No, you're not,” you reply, turning to make your way down the boulevard. Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose, “ Like hell I'm not, doll. I'm not letting you walk home alone.” 

“I'm not letting you walk me home. I don't want you to,” you say adamantly as your feet start moving. Bucky is right beside you as they do, not letting you get away,“ I don't care what you want or don't want. I'm walking you home and that's final.” His voice leaves no room for argument. 

The martinis in your system don’t particularly give a damn, but it is enough to quiet you for the time being. Your speed increases slightly, but Bucky can match it easily. For a moment you consider running—as ridiculous as an idea that may be. 

The sharp patter of your footsteps against the pavement synchronizes with the thudding of his as they mingle down the boulevard. The city sounds around you are an otherwise low hum of the occasional car and distant conversation. The city still whispering its signs of life at this time of night.

The walk to your place isn’t too far. And you know if you don’t shake him off soon there would be an unpleasant conversation awaiting you when you arrive.  

“ Don’t you have someone waiting on you at the bar?” You remind him with a little sting to your heart. Secretly hoping this wasn’t the reason he’d walk away from you.

Bucky frowns, thinking for a moment before speaking,“ What? You mean Darla?” The sound of her name on his lips bristles you. 

“ Yeah, her,” the word her spills from your lips as if it was venomous. Bucky catches that and is taken aback for a second. His footsteps coming to a stop. You push yourself to keep walking. Taking this as a sign to ignore the tiny part of your brain that begs you to stop moving.

Not a minute later Bucky strides to your side,“ Doll…are you jealous?” He asks with the tiniest bit of doubt, his small smile overshadowing it. 

“ Me? Ha! No,” your denial is quick—too quick. His small smile turns into a wide grin. You’ve just confirmed his conjecture,“ Yes, you are.” 

“ No. Go ahead and marry her for all I care. I won’t be at the wedding anyway,” you don’t mean what you say and yet you said it anyway. Playing up the indifference act you’ve dawned. 

“ You won’t be at my wedding?” He’s not upset when he responds, he's amused. He has to hold back his laughter at your train of thought. This gets under your skin and you grumble a snippy no before picking up your pace. You’re now imagining Darla in a wedding dress next to Bucky in his suit and it does devastating things to you. 

“ That’s impossible.”

“ How so? I just won’t go.”

His tone takes a more serious turn when he replies, “ It’ll be hard to have a wedding without the bride there.” You come to a halt, your head whipping so fast to look at him you almost gave yourself whiplash.

“ What?” You manage to find your voice. His gaze softens,“ You heard me, doll.” He’s being completely sincere—you know this deep down. However, there’s still a part of you that doesn’t believe this is happening. That believes this to be a dream.

“ You don’t mean that.”

“ I do. If you were to ask me where I see forever—I see it with you.”

His confession takes your breath away. The mere admission of him thinking of you as his eternity—as the one he wants beside him for life—your heart could burst at how delightfully overwhelmed it feels. 

“ But you—” you start and his pointer finger gently presses against your lips to shush you. He already knows what you’re about to bring up and he needs to nip it before your drunken mind jumps to wilder conclusions.

“ She’s just a friend. She’s a secretary at the SSR—nothing more. I was dancing with her to be nice. Honestly, I was trying to find a polite way to leave her and get back to you until I saw you dancing with that guy,” he removes his finger from your lips once he’s done explaining. At the mention of Thomas, his jaw clenches briefly and annoyance flashes in his eyes. 

It dawns on you why he was glaring at Thomas earlier. The realization of Bucky having felt as jealous as you did sends your heart ablaze. Your heart had gone through so much tonight, you were surprised it hadn’t gone into cardiac arrest already. 

“ Who’s the jealous one now?” you tease, an almost giddy smile on your face. 

Bucky rolls his eyes playfully,“ Yeah, doll. Unlike you, I’ll admit it. I was jealous. I don’t like seeing you with another man. Laughing and dancing—should've been me, not him,” he says stepping closer to you. His eyes reflected pure adoration.

“ Why didn’t you ask me?” your question comes out quieter than you’d like. Enamored with the way he’s looking at you. You can barely focus on anything else. 

“ Because when it comes to you I get all nervous and worked up. It's like I’m a punk again—a dumb kid with a crush. I don’t want to mess it up with you, Y/n. I would never want to do anything to lose you. Guess I got too caught up in doing things right I didn’t do anything at all,” Bucky opens up to you, his answer shedding away any last bit of hesitance in your body.

“ Bucky…I wish it would’ve been you instead too,” you say softly, stepping closer until you’re only a few inches away from him. His features match yours in fondness as he gently reaches out to grab hold of your waist, pulling you even closer, and closing the final bit of distance between you.

Your hands rest delicately at his chest. You can feel the way his heart races under your fingertips, drawing out a small gasp from you. Knowing you had this effect on him delighted you. It made you wonder how long you had been making him feel this way—and how long you had missed the signs.

“ Told you. I’m a dumb kid with a crush,” he reiterates with a soft chuckle. You giggle at his words, beaming dreamily at the way that all of this is real. That Bucky has feelings for you, and you two can only grow closer from here on out.

For a split second his eyes dart to your mouth. Having you so close like this tempts Bucky to no end. Everything he’s ever wanted to do with you crosses his mind and it drives him crazy. He has no idea where to start or if he’ll even let himself start anywhere. 

Your body thrums with anticipation as it waits for him to make a move.  

Bucky ends up tenderly kissing your forehead, “ Come on, doll. Let’s get you home.” Your lips form a light pout, disappointed his lips didn’t touch yours. He sees your reaction and he laughs, giving your hips a light squeeze, “ Doll, our first kiss will happen after you get that alcohol out of your system,” he says, one hand reaching up to lightly swipe at your nose—finding you endearing. 

“ We’ve already had our first kiss.” 

“ Doll we—oh, we have…” 

The memory of you two drunkenly kissing in the medical tent on one particularly lonely night during the war flashes through your minds. The already tension between you rising to a palpable form. 

There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes,“ Still. If I’m being honest, I’m not stopping at just one kiss. So let’s wait until you’re sober, alright?”

“ Not stopping?” Your tone is playful as you pry for further explanation. 

“ Oh no, doll. I'll be doing so much more than kissing you,” he smirks, his words laced with suggestion. His hand goes out to cup your face, caressing your cheek. It warms under his fingertips at his implication. The air around you buzzes with electricity. 

He can tell where your mind went and he’s enjoying every second of it,“ Yeah, doll. Like taking you out on a proper date,” he winks at you. A genuine laugh erupts from you at the way he side steps what he really meant. He joins you in the laughter, his eyes telling you the truth of what he really desires.

You. Every bit of you.

You interlace your fingers with his, knowing deep down he has a point. When you kiss Bucky you want to be all there. You want all your senses to be fully awake to drink in every bit of him. 

Especially if it goes farther than a kiss.

Bucky moves you over so he’s walking on the outermost part of the sidewalk, holding your interlaced hands to his waist so you’re pressed right up against his side as you walk. You tease and playfully banter all the way to your apartment. The unspoken promises and unmistakable yearning for one another dancing around you two. Assuring you there was so much more to come. 

[grave-rose-reblogs]

Wife Speak

Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: You asked Bucky to install the security camera a month ago, and he still hasn’t done it. You take matters into your own hands, to his vexation.

Warnings: Bucky's been too busy to do what you asked, you put yourself in slight peril, worried!Bucky, gentle manhandling, protective!Bucky, mention of previous injury, my own lack of construction know-how so I apologize for any inaccuracies, no use of Y/N

This is my first time writing in second person so hopefully I did okay! This was inspired by this short I saw on YouTube.

You were good at a lot of things. The team’s go-to “girl in the chair,” there was no one better at intel, strategy, quick escape plans, and getting into just about any system you were presented with. You’d had the Avengers’ lives in your hands countless times, and never led them to put a foot wrong. Somehow, you, a girl with just a bachelor’s degree, a–perhaps excessive–perfectionist streak, and a mini fridge full of energy drinks to help you stay sharp on overnight missions, had become indispensable to the Earth’s mightiest heroes.

But you couldn’t install a security camera above your front door.

As smart as you were, you were probably equally as uncoordinated. All the bruises in odd places told the tale of your frequent misfortune. Walking by itself often presented a perilous challenge, so standing on a ladder, balancing precariously with expensive equipment and sharp objects in your hands seemed like a perfect recipe for a trip to the ER and a costly bill for tech replacements.

Which was why you’d asked your husband, a super soldier with a metal arm and a keen eye for home repairs, to do it.

A month ago.

And three weeks ago.

And two weeks ago.

And last week.

You were tired of waiting. Bucky, of course, was busy, and often away on missions, but you only ever asked him to do it when he had a moment to spare. He’d said he would, every time you’d asked, but there was still no camera above your front door. On top of it all, the camera had been Bucky’s idea, a little extra security for when he was away on missions; it was one of Stark’s smart cameras, which could differentiate between a mailman dropping off a package and a criminal about to break into the house. Bucky didn’t exactly know how all of that worked, but he was good with the installation, and you both knew better than to assign the job to you. But the camera had sat there for a month, collecting dust on the dining room table, and despite all his promises, you knew it was time to take matters into your own hands.

And maybe get a little payback while you were at it.

It was a warm spring day, and the front door was open to let the breeze in but the screen door was in place to keep the bugs out. Bucky was in the kitchen, making lunch, so he’d be able to hear everything easily, between his proximity, the open door, and his enhanced hearing. Smirking to yourself, you set up the ladder as quietly as possible, knowing that that alone would tip Bucky off and make him come rushing out before you were ready. If this was going to get done today, you needed to execute the full plan.

Picking up the electric drill and the mount for the camera, you put one foot up on the ladder, and held down the trigger of the drill for a few seconds, causing a loud whirring sound to tear through the quiet midday air. Just as you took another step up and held down the trigger again, Bucky’s voice carried out from the kitchen.

“Doll?” he questioned, and it took everything in you not to laugh. You gave no answer, instead only whirring the drill once more as you climbed to the top of the ladder. “What are you doing?”

You might have felt bad about the panic and concern in his voice, but if he’d done this a month ago when you’d asked, you wouldn’t have to go to such lengths to have it be done. Natasha had called it wife speak, when women use their sly little tricks to get their husbands to do what they need to. She used it with Banner, Pepper used it with Tony, Wanda used it with Vision; it was a universal language amongst women when requests and orders just weren’t cutting it.

Holding the mount up against the wall, you furrowed your brow in concentration as you tried to figure out how to hold the mount, place the screw, and drill it in all at the same time with only two hands. Judging by the purposeful footsteps pounding towards the front door, you knew you wouldn’t have to keep trying to figure it out for long. Still, you kept up the ruse, because he needed to think you were serious about doing it yourself if he was going to get it done right this minute.

“Baby, what are you doing?” Bucky asked, voice raising with alarm as he found you balancing precariously on top of the small ladder. Paying him no mind, you decided to just wing it and put the drill into the head of the screw, pulling the trigger to send the screw spinning into the wall. For extra effect, you added a little wobble, just enough to make Bucky worry more but not so much that your uncoordinated self would actually fall. “Honey! Stop! What are you doing?”

“What?” you responded innocently, still not turning around. “I’m putting up the camera.”

“Why?” His hands grasped at your waist, but you pushed him away as you continued your ruse and placed the next screw.

“Because it needs to go up?” you said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, because it was, hello, and you’d asked him to do it so many times. Once more, you placed the drill into the screw head and let it rip, watching it spin into place. Maybe you could do it yourself. Maybe impatience was all it took to overcome your incoordination. 

“Baby. Baby, baby, baby.” Bucky’s hands were on your waist again, this time with a firmer grip so you couldn’t brush him off so easily. “Come off the ladder.”

“It needs to go up, Bucky,” you insisted, milking your moment of acting for all it was worth.

“I know, so I’ll do it, okay? Just please, come off the ladder.”

“I’ve asked you a million times over the last month to do it and you still haven’t, so I’m gonna do it and then I’ll know it's done.”

The drill was slightly stuck in the screw head once it was screwed all the way in. You gave it a tug, and the force of it combined with the resistance of the drill to come loose caused you to tip backwards slightly; for a moment, you thought you might fall, but you regained your balance after a second or two. Still, it was a second or two too long for Bucky, who’d had enough of asking nicely and being patient. 

“Alright, that’s it,” he declared, using his strength and his grip on your waist to lift you off the ladder and set you on the wooden boards of the porch like you were little more than a doll. You almost grinned at the move, as being on the receiving end of his enhanced strength and fierce protectiveness always made your stomach do somersaults. By the time he spun you around to face him though, you had regained your self-control and regarded him with a displeased scowl. “What are you doing, huh, doll? You know I don’t like you up on that thing.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huffed, “Well, someone has to put the camera up, since you’ve proven yourself incapable.” You turned to step back onto the ladder, but Bucky grasped your arm gently and pulled you to him, maneuvering at the same time to take the drill and the remaining screws from you. You resisted, but even when he was diluting his strength, you couldn’t hope to best him, so instead you started to complain, “Bucky-”

“I know, doll, I know,” he said, voice soft as he pried the drill and screws out of your hands. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and then your nose for extra contrition. “I’m sorry. I should’ve done it when you asked me to, but I’ll do it right now, okay? Just…please stay off the ladder?”

“Why? ‘Cause I’m a girl?”

Bucky chuckled in amusement, his free hand rising to cup your cheek and pull you closer so he could press a sweet kiss to your lips. You melted against him instantly, as you always did, because Bucky always kissed you like he was trying to transfer his heart from his body to yours, deeply and wholly and with every ounce of love that he had. After a moment, he pulled away, though he kept his nose touching yours as his twinkling eyes gazed at you adoringly. “It’s not because you’re a girl, it’s because it’s you, doll. The last time I trusted you with a drill and screws, you drilled your sleeve into the wall and broke your finger trying to pull it free.”

Nose scrunching and lips pouting, you did your best to fight off a smile, trying to lay it on just a little thicker to make sure you would get what you wanted. “Promise you’ll do it right now?”

“Pinky promise.” Bucky held up his pinky finger between you, and you locked yours around it. “You can stay and watch if you want, just to be sure. I think you’ll like the view.”

Rolling your eyes, you gave him another quick peck before stepping back and nodding for him to climb up the ladder. Once his back was turned and he was on the top step, your mischievous smirk returned in full force, not only because of your triumph, but because you really did like the view.

[grave-rose-reblogs]

Water Bottle

Pairing: bucky barnes x reader

Summary: you’re the only person bucky likes to spend time with, and the team likes to tease you for it

Word Count: 1k +

Warnings: fluff, one curse word

Masterlist

✰  ✰  ✰

When you first met Bucky, you never thought you would like him as much as you do now. Not only is he your closest friend, but you’ve also developed a little bit of a crush of the guy.

You’d spend everyday with him. The two of you train together, cook together, and eat together. You’ve introduced him to your favorite shows, and the two of you binge them for hours on end. You even cuddle as if you were more than just friends.

As the team sat together for their weekly team bonding, a movie played. Bucky and you were curled up together in one of the smaller couches. No one really paid any attention to the movie; everyone was all caught up in their own conversations.

You leaned your head against Bucky’s shoulder, lightly trailing your fingers down the metal arm you held onto. Bucky leaned his head against the top of yours as he listened to whatever Steve was talking about. 

Bucky’s laugh from underneath you made you smile. He lifted his head off yours, which caused you to look up at him. 

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