sj-ficrecs - Tumblr blog

sj-ficrecs · 25 days ago

Text

𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮, 𝐊𝐢𝐝.

—boxer!bucky x reader

—summary: bucky hated his job just as much, if not more, than you did. but if you wanted to live the remainder of your lives together comfortably, you'd both have to stick it out. which included him having to fight your ex husband.

—word count: 7.2k

—tw: swearing, alcohol, violence, blood, guns, hospitals, abuse (not from Bucky), Br*ck R*mlow, grammar mistakes, unedited lol

—a/n: my first Bucky pic! Yay! this is kind of a heavy one, as all of my fics are, lol, so if any of the triggers bother you pls don't read any further! I wanna write more blurbs based on this so keep an eye out for those. also Steve and nat are married in this, and sam's wife is an OC named Sonya, I picture her as Kiki Layne but feel free to use imagination! enjoy!

It was never fucking easy.

He had promised. He had always promised that it would get easier.

Of course, you’d believed him at first. When the love of your life whispers sweet promises into your ear with his hands grasped at your waist, your knees turn to jello and you believe him.

But as time went on, how could watching your fiance get his face smashed in repeatedly by his opponent wearing a red boxing glove ever get fucking easier?

“It’ll get easier, baby. Promise.”

Bullshit.

The tremor in your fingers never eased, the clamminess of your hands never dried, the tunnel vision barring you from seeing or hearing anything that wasn’t Bucky in that goddamn ring never let up.

“What if it doesn’t?” You whispered.

If there was anything in this God forsaken universe that Bucky Barnes loved, it was you. And he hated himself for making that promise, because it never got easier for him either. The last thing he could ever want was to see his girl shaking in panic, a panic that he caused. But, this was all he knew. His father was a boxer, and he’d been training since he was a teenager. There was no other life for him now, he just needed her to hold on a little bit longer. Just a little bit longer until his contract is up and he can retire forever, having made enough money for the both of them to live comfortably for the rest of their lives and raise a family.

He hoped and prayed that it would get easier, that the pain both of them felt would subside until it was over. But of course, nothing ever seems to work out that way.

—

“Well if you aren’t as beautiful as the day I first met you!”

“That was only 5 years ago Tony. You gonna break my husband’s contract or what?”

Tony Stark, the loveable yet completely tiresome man who managed your fiance, along with multiple other well known boxers under SBA.

“You know that’s out of my control, gorgeous.”

You sighed. Of course you knew. Tony owned the company when you first started dating Bucky, but things changed, and Tony ran out of money. He was eventually bought out by Nick Fury, a good man who let Tony keep a high up enough job at the company, but he played by the rules. He refused to let Bucky end his contract and keep his money.

“I know it.” You rolled your eyes and patted him on the back as you made your way into the gym.

“Visitors pass!” Tony called after you and you flipped him off, causing him to chuckle. You made your way to the far corner of the gym, knowing it was exactly where Bucky and his friends would be on a Thursday.

“Afternoon, boys! Your voice sang through the gym as you raised a hand in the air, catching the attention of the 3 more so men than boys huddled in a circle with their arms folded across their puffed up chests.

You scoffed. Men.

Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers, and Bucky Barnes. Or, “The Big Three” as most of their fans called them fondly.

Steve and Bucky both trained under the infamous Sam Wilson, originally the heavyweight champion for the PBA before a debilitating head injury left him and his wife fearful for their future and the future of his newborn daughter. Sam was lucky enough to break his contract with PBA, with the help from his lawyer who found multiple legal loopholes, at the fault of the CEO, Alexander Pierce, who Sam describes as “an asshole on a stick”.

You always thought it was so funny, these 3 big men that just turned to absolute putty in the presence of their girls. Just 3 soft teddy bears that only a select few got to see the sweet, carefree and fun side of.

Just last weekend, you and Bucky hosted a dinner party for all your friends at your new penthouse in New York.

–

“Steve, for the love of all things good, feet off of the sofa!” You scolded from your seat at the bar where you were accompanied by Sam’s wife, Sonya, and Steve’s wife, Natasha, along with Tony’s assistant, Wanda. Sam’s youngest girl, Thalia, was on your lap, head rested on your chest and playing with your hair.

Steve groaned, yanking them off and planting them on the ground before hoisting himself up and making his way towards the bar for a drink for himself, but not before plucking Thalia from your grip.

You were extremely proud of yours and Bucky’s home, it was exactly like you’d always dreamed. A kitchen with the most gorgeous island and oak cabinets, a beautiful dining room with a sparkling vintage chandelier and a table big enough to fit your dysfunctional family, a full functioning bar in the living room and the most stunning view of New York a small town girl like you could never dream of. Bucky wanted to give you everything and more.

“She sent me the link to that sofa when she first ordered it, and for that price you better keep those nasty ass feet off of those cushions.” Natasha berated, pointing a finger in her husband’s face, who responded by playfully biting the end of it before kissing her nose, causing the woman to scrunch her face, and earning a giggle from Thalia.

“Ever so charming.” Sonya taunted, rolling her eyes before taking a sip from her martini, only to make a sour face. “Tony this is the worst martini that’s ever made its way past my lips!”

“I make men fight, Mrs. Wilson, not martinis, be thankful you got anything at all.”

You shook your head, though a smile still played upon your lips as you felt your fiance’s well built arms wrap around your waist, his lips grazing your shoulder.

“Well, hello handsome.” You greeted, turning your head so he could give you a kiss on the lips.

“Hi, my love.” He said ever so gently, pressing a kiss to your brow before letting his lips linger there.

“When are you two lovebirds finally gonna get married?” Sam asked, breaking the silence as he reached over Wanda to grab a piece of cheese from the assortment of snacks you’d set out before dinner. His comment earned a smack on the arm from Sonya.

“If you don’t wife her, Barnes, I might. Because this amaretto sour she made me is kind of to die for.” Wanda joked, sipping from her drink.

“And that sauce just smells heavenly.” Tony remarked, popping a grape into his mouth.

“And this decor…” Steve said, looking around the apartment, wrapping an arm around Natasha. “Honey, do we need a third?

“I think we might-”

“Alright, alright.” Bucky said, tightening his grip around your giggling frame. “Everyone back off of my girl before things get ugly.”

–

Bucky turned to you, his face lighting up as he saw his girl, beautiful as ever, walking through his gym with a cooler bag in hand, lunch for him, no doubt. He met you halfway, picking you up by your waist, spinning you around and dipping you before kissing you in front of all the men who liked to stare a bit too long as you walked past them in your tight jeans and small tank top.

“Bucky!” You squealed, “Don’t make me drop the food I slaved away making for you all this morning.”

Bucky froze, raising an eyebrow, “All?”

Steve and Sam’s ears perked up, “All?!”

You smiled, wiggling out of Bucky’s grip, but keeping one hand wrapped in his. “Thought it’d be a fun surprise!” You set down the cooler bag and let the 2 men rifle through what you had to offer. Salmon, rice, steamed vegetables, your special sauce that you refused to share the recipe to, and multiple bags of your boxer diet- friendly chocolate chip cookies that the boys went crazy over.

“Mrs. Barnes you are quite literally a saint.” Steve said, gripping your small head in his hands and planting a kiss right in the middle of your forehead.

You and Bucky weren’t married, he hadn’t even proposed yet. But you both had a habit of calling each other ‘husband’, ‘wife’, ‘fiance’, and everyone else’s favorite ‘Mrs. Barnes’.

You laughed and wiped the remnants of Steve’s kiss before turning to Bucky, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“How are you today, doll?” He asked, a serious tone on his face as well as settled in his eyes.

You grimaced. Bucky had a fight today, and you weren’t exactly ecstatic over it. Well, you were never exactly ecstatic when Bucky had to fight. But, that was the only way to bring in money, and the only way to end his contract faster.

“Quentin Beck, right?” You smiled while Bucky ran a hand along your spine. “Easy money.”

“I know that’s right!” Sam whooped, cookie crumbles falling from his mouth. “Gonna need all the practice you can get before you fight Rumlow!”

Brock Rumlow.

One of the meanest, most vicious fighters of the PBA, heavyweight champion the past two years. He gave Wilson the head injury that put him out. He nearly killed Steve 3 years ago.

Infamously known as “The Hydra”.

Cut off one head, two more grow back.

And much to your dismay, your ex husband.

You had married extremely young. After running away from your small town in Georgia at 18, you met Brock Rumlow at a fancy party you snuck your way into with some girls you met at your job. He promised security, safety, wealth, love.

You got maybe two of those things.

You met Sam through Brock, he helped you through all of the legalities of divorce after you showed up on him and Sonya’s doorstep in the rain, soaked, bruised, and shaking.

It’s how you met the love of your life.

“Bucky…”

He hadn’t told you he was fighting Rumlow.

Sam regretted his words as they barely even tumbled past his cookie stuffed mouth as Steve shook his head, pity evident on his features as he looked at you.

“Doll…”

His voice was so achingly gentle, his eyes so painfully soft as he continued to hold you, letting you work through every emotion that seemed to be hitting you like a semi truck.

“Please say somethin’, honey. Anything.”

“Um- when, when is this happening?” You asked, trying your best to keep your cool amongst the many other men and women in the gym.

The three exchanged looks. Bucky had a world of time to tell you, but he was so damn afraid of the exact reaction painted across your face at that moment.

Everyone threatened to tell you multiple times, but Bucky insisted it needed to come from him, and he’d get around to it. Wanda even went so far as to dial your number one day.

You had picked up with your signature cheery hello and Bucky made a pleading gesture with his hands, desperation evident on his face as he wordlessly begged Wanda to keep her mouth shut.

“Hello?”

‘Please’ Bucky had mouthed.

“Wanda?”

Wanda shook her head before answering you, “Hey girl! Just making sure we’re still on for drinks this weekend.”

Bucky wanted to cry as he held you in his arms, not that he’d think you would be angry with him. You just had been through so much, you didn’t deserve to go through this too.

“Two weeks.” Bucky choked the words out.

You were stoic, staring at Bucky as if you were just staring straight at the weight machine behind him.

The three men held their breaths, terrified for the reaction you might give.

“Okay.” You said. Your voice suspiciously even. “Let’s beat this motherfucker.”

–

You never liked the private rooms at the arena.

They were nice, perfectly clean with comfortable couches and working restrooms. The mini fridges were stocked with sodas and snacks, the good kinds like cheez-its and coca-cola. They even had air fresheners in the corner of each room, making all of them smell like fresh laundry and flowers.

But that wasn’t your qualm.

You hated the rooms because all they brought were anxiety and pain.

The moments before a fight were filled with unshed tears you struggled to keep inside and Bucky’s arms around you, whispering the sweetest of words that seemed to drip like honey and stick to your ears.

The moments after were filled with panicked breaths that you tried so hard to conceal as you watched your husband's unrecognizable face get cleaned and bandaged by his medical team while he held your hands in his own, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs and occasionally bringing them to his lips to press sweet kisses to your wrists.

Today was no different.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay to be nervous.” Bucky said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

His med team just finished checking him before the fight, so he was sat on a temporary medical stretcher, his large arms wrapped around your waist, you had your arms around his neck.

He tried to pull away to look at you but you just shook your head and held him closer, allowing a few stray tears to slip.

“Okay.” He whispered, running his hands up and down your back. “Okay, doll. I’m here. Right here, okay?”

There was a moment of complete quiet. Just you and Bucky, the only sound being the whirring of the air conditioner in the corner. You didn’t want to ruin it.

“Don’t fight him.”

Yet, you did.

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. “Beck? Baby, that guy’s barely even-”

“Rumlow.”

“Doll, you know I wish I could…”

“Bucky, please.” You pulled away from him then, feeling the ache in your bones of no longer being in his hold.

Bucky’s heart severed at the look on your face, cheeks puffy and eyes swollen, fat tears rolling down your skin but ever so beautiful.

“He’s doing this to get back at me.” You were sobbing now, not even fully pronouncing your words.

Bucky wanted nothing more than to give in. To say ‘Okay’ and tell Tony he wasn’t doing the fight. Hell, he’d march straight into Fury’s office if he could.

Bucky held your face in his hands, firm, yet gentle enough for you to want to just melt into him. He pulled you closer, settling your legs in between his knees.

“Tony did everything he could all these years to keep me from fighting him. We need this money, baby. We’re one step closer. We’re so close.”

You let yourself lean into Bucky’s touch, bringing your hands up to grip onto his wrists as you continued to cry. “I don’t want him to hurt you like he hurt me.”

Bucky hated thinking about what Rumlow did to you before you found the courage to leave. It took everything in him not to beat that sick son of a bitch every time their paths crossed. Which wasn’t often, but enough to get Bucky to think about it.

Luckily, Brock knew to steer clear of anybody from the Big Three. He wasn’t stupid. One wrong move and he could completely lose his contract. Though, it didn’t stop him from taunting Rogers or Wilson anytime he saw them, a disgusting grin splattered on his face, beaming with pride that he almost killed one of them and completely ruined the career of the other.

“I got this, babydoll. Then it’ll be one step closer to me and you.”

–

“Bucky ‘The Winter Soldier’ Barnes!”

The announcer’s voice pierced through the stadium, causing you to cringe. He hated that name, it was chosen for him by his father, whom Bucky resented throughout the entirety of the man’s life, until quite literally the day he died. He tried to change it, but everyone refused. He couldn’t change his brand this late in the game.

“And aren’t we lucky to have the infamous Big Three in the arena with us tonight!” The other announcer exclaimed as Bucky walked up to the ring with Steve and Sam in tow, his walk up song blaring through the speakers.

“And all three wives in the stands, it’s a family affair!” The screens lit up with the view of you, Natasha and Sonya sitting side by side in the stands, all adorned in T-shirts with Bucky’s face on them, and you did what all 3 of you were trained to do.

Smile and wave.

It was rare that all 6 of you were there at the same time. There was usually a straggler or two in the mix. Either someone had to stay home with the kids, a relative was in town, work came up, or you stayed backstage to sneak away from the fanfare.

“And don’t they all look stunning as ever!”

“Get this camera off of me so I can take a sip of my damn margarita.” Sonya mumbled, though continued to smile and point to her Bucky shirt.

You couldn’t help but cover your mouth as you laughed, trying to remain composed for the camera so nobody would speculate later. You could already see the fans on twitter spewing lies about Sonya having an attitude and being ungrateful.

The camera changed to Bucky, who seemed to be looking right at you so you turned, making eye contact with your man.

He broke into the most gorgeous smile you’d ever seen and your heart burst just before he blew you a kiss, causing the arena to erupt in cheers. You caught the kiss and pressed it to your cheek.

“What a sweet moment, but it’s time to move on.” The announcer’s voice rang in your ears once more.

“I love you.” You mouthed.

“I love you more.” Bucky mouthed back.

–

The fight with Beck went as everyone predicted. Bucky won, of course, but not without a fight from Beck. Which left him bruised and bleeding, but nothing nearly as bad as you some of the times you had seen him before, which was a thought you hated but it was a relief for now.

Bucky could feel the ache down to his bones.

Not of pain, or exhaustion, or anger.

The ache of how much he loved and completely adored you as he looked down at you, your head in his lap, completely enthralled by the movie playing in front of you as if the two of you hadn’t seen it countless times. Bucky could recite it beginning to finish.

“Here’s looking at you, kid.”

Bucky spoke along with Humphrey Bogart on the screen and you smiled, slightly turning your head to look at your husband, and he was already looking at you.

“Sap.”

Bucky smirked and leaned down to place his lips on your temple, lingering there for a moment before sitting back up and letting his eyes return to the movie, his fingers mindlessly running up and down your torso.

You stayed that way for a while, positions switched, Bucky’s eyes glued to the TV, and yours glued to him.

The purples and blues on his face made you frown, and you could just cry at how beautiful he looked, face illuminated by the black and white of Casablanca, his perfect lips unconsciously mouthing the words.

You yearned for this life forever with him. Everyday he promised you were one step, a couple thousand dollars closer to living up to his contract and getting all of the money he was owed. He could be a trainer with Sam. Still bring home consistent money, but be safe,

Safe.

The word rang in your ears until you winced.

Safe. Safe. Safe. Safe.

Nothing about your life, except for Bucky, felt safe.

It felt completely out of control, unpredictable, scary.

Bucky knew that and it broke his heart to know you went through everyday life being scared out of your mind. He’d break his contract now if he wasn’t completely certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that the two of you were going to come out the other side of this happier and more secure than ever.

“We’ll always have Paris.”

You’ll always have me.

–

Bucky had been at the gym for nearly 6 hours.

Sam put him on a strict “No visitors” rule, and “Yes, Mrs. Barnes that applies to you.”

And an “Especially, you!” From Tony.

Bucky didn’t have his phone on him, and you understood, he really did need to focus, the fight was in 5 days. Steve assured you that his phone would be on and close to him in case of emergencies, same went for Tony, Sam and Wanda.

So, you decided the best way to spend your time was with Sonya and Nat, using them as a distraction while the three of you holed up in your apartment, sipping seltzers and playing drinking games like you were teenagers again. Sonya left the girls with their Aunt for the day.

“Okay, if you could marry anyone in the big three, not including your own husband, who would it be?” Sonya asked, a smug look on her face before she added, “If you refuse to answer you take a shot.”

“Barnes. Without a doubt.” Nat said without hesitation and Sonya laughed at her transparency, covering her mouth with her hand.

“What?!” Natasha asked as you laughed as well, clutching your stomach.

“Have you seen where you live? Not only is it gorgeous but Bucky lets you decorate it however the fuck you want! And I’ve never once seen you have to ask him to do anything. He even cleans! Cleans!!!”

You and Sonya continued to cackle as Natasha continued to ramble, tears streaming down your cheeks while you clutched onto each other’s hands.

“Nat, baby, if you were so unhappy with Steve you shoulda said something!” Sonya joked, still holding back chuckles.

“I’m not unhappy with Steve! Wouldn’t trade him for the world! But, gun to his head, I had to trade him or else he’d die, I’d pick Bucky!”

You laughed, shrugging in agreement. You couldn’t blame her.

“You know what, I think I’d go with Mr. Barnes too. Y’all know I love Sam and I love our girls and don’t slap me for saying this either but he is entirely too easy on the eyes.”

The three of you burst out laughing again. You didn’t feel the slightest bit annoyed or jealous. These were your best friends, your sisters, who loved their husbands, and you, and each other’s husbands, and Bucky like family, and protected and fought for you like family. You thought it was kind of endearing actually, that they could see how yours and Bucky’s love was something special.

“You never said your answer, babe.” Nat said, gesturing to you with her can.

You pondered for a moment. Both men had been so good to you on so many different levels.

“Sam, but only because he was so good to me with the whole Brock thing, I don’t know if I could ever repay him. And you, Son.”

The vibe changed after that, your friends’ faces softened and the air felt heavy.

Sonya shook her head, exhaling through her nose, mumbling your name as if she were scolding you.

She wasn’t.

“Nothing can compare to that fear I felt. Nothing. It still keeps Sam up at night too.”

You frowned.

“But we’d do it again a million times if you needed us to. We would.”

She leaned forward, taking your hand, “Don’t ever, ever, insinuate that you owe us a damn thing. We fucking love you.”

You smiled, not realizing you were crying until the tears were wetting your lips. You were quick to wipe them.

Natasha had stayed silent for the most part, letting the two of you have your moment, she hadn’t been around then.

“And even though I wasn’t there I also fucking love you and would probably die for you.”

The moment was over almost as quickly as it began, the three of you going back to drinking and asking each other outlandish questions, until your phone rang.

“It’s m’ husbandd!” You sang, holding the phone up to your ear and smiling, your cheeks burning from intoxication.

“Hi, gorgeous. I’ve been tryin’ to open the door for ages. Did you lock the top?”

You gasped and slapped a hand to your mouth before hurriedly running to the front door, fumbling with the lock only for a moment before swinging it open to reveal a tired and amused Bucky, followed by Steve and Sam, lazy smiles pulling at their lips.

“Oh, my handsome boys! I locked you out! However, will you forgive me?!” You threw your arms around Bucky, falling into his embrace and he responded by peppering your face with kisses.

“Make me a double jack and coke and I might consider it.” Sam said, sauntering into the room and into the dining room, to sweep Sonya off of her feet no doubt. Steve did the same, before muttering, “I’ll show myself to the refrigerator.”

“Good man.” Bucky responded as he walked you into your home, shutting the door behind him with his foot.

“I missed you.” You mumbled against his lips while he kissed you again.

“Oh, my doll, my soul ached for you.”

“You watch too many 50’s movies, Barnes.”

“Are you complaining, darling?”

“Not at all.”

“Well then, here’s looking at you, kid.”

–

Bucky was stressed.

So incredibly stressed he felt like he might throw up.

He was fighting Brock Rumlow today.

He knew he could take him, that’s not what Bucky was worried about. He was worried about you. The thought of you in the private room, tears rolling down your face and shaky breaths filling the air, with him unable to hold you made him feel sick. He wanted you to stay home, in fact he practically begged you to stay home with Natasha and Sonya to keep you from turning on the TV but you completely refused. You’d be there, sporting a T-shirt with his name and face on it, and you’d look Rumlow dead in the eye while you celebrated victory with Bucky.

You would not hide.

And Bucky was so incredibly proud of you. His brave girl. But that didn’t change the fact that he was worried out of his mind.

“It isn’t too late to change your mind, doll.”

You were applying last minute makeup in the bathroom of your private room in the arena, Bucky behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“I’m only leaving this arena when you do.”

“Okay.” He said softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Whatever you do, baby, block him out. Don’t listen to his taunting. He’s trying to get in your head.”

Bucky nodded, wrapping his arms around your waist and lightly squeezing.

“Any chance you wanna back out together?” You asked, a sad smile on your face, knowing the answer.

Bucky only sighed and kissed your cheek.

It wasn’t long before Steve and Sam came to collect Bucky, or maybe it was. You could’ve stayed in that bathroom forever if it meant Bucky wouldn’t get hurt.

You followed behind him as he exited the room, his large hand engulfing yours. You had to get to your seat and he had to get to his place to talk and warm up before his walk out.

You connected your forehead to his and looked into his eyes, giving him a nod and a kiss before you separated, going to find Tony and Wanda, who would take you to your seats with Nat and Sonya.

You weren’t as high up in the stands as you usually were, requesting to be right next to the ring for this fight.

Everyone questioned the decision but you put your foot down. You wanted to be in Bucky’s eyeline, wanted him to easily see you.

You wanted to reach him easily if anything went south.

You didn’t pay attention as Tony patted your shoulder, or as Nat and Sonya squeezed your arms when Brock’s walk out song began, or the sympathetic glance Wanda shot your way when Brock looked at you with a nasty grin.

Bucky entered the ring and your heart stopped.

His eyes were glued to you.

You nodded.

He nodded.

“Lookin’ at you.” He mouthed.

“Always.” You mouthed back.

You don’t know where that became your thing in the past two weeks, or how it just now blossomed even though the two of you had been watching that movie for ages, but you adored it and thought it to be incredibly sweet.

The moment was short lived before Brock started mouthing off, but Bucky kept his cool, his hands clasped behind his back and his head held high.

You couldn’t hear what he was saying, though you were sure you didn’t want to.

Bucky was thanking God you couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“You take pride in the fact that you stole what was mine, Barnes?!”

Bucky said nothing.

“I wouldn’t think sloppy seconds were your style.”

Nothing.

“I see you’ve got your bitch sitting in the front row. Tight leash, huh?”

His blood was boiling but he didn’t flinch.

“Does she scream for you like she did for me?”

Bucky was just waiting for the ref to blow the whistle, he was itching to slam his face into the mat.

“She’s a good fuck, isn’t she Barnes?”

The whistle blew, and it was Bucky who was face down on the mat in seconds.

You wanted to gasp when Bucky went down but you held your composure, not only for him but also for the thousands of eyes on you, no doubt just waiting for a hysterical reaction.

But Bucky was quick, and regained himself quickly, taking his turn to pin Rumlow to the mat, holding his arm behind his back so he could not get back up.

It was brutal. The entire fight was vicious, blood and sweat ran down both men’s faces, drenching their necks and chests and you wanted to cry at the sight of Bucky’s already swelling bruises on his knees and face. His chest was heaving, and the look in his eyes was something you had never seen, even in all his years of fighting some of his toughest opponents in the ring. It was dark.

He was angry.

For Bucky, this was the best way for him to take out his anger on Rumlow for what that man had done to you. The years of nightmares and overthinking and tears and anguish.

“Damnit, I said no!” Bucky’s voice thundered across the kitchen, in perfect timing with his hand flying through the air to run through his hair and you flinched.

Your Bucky.

Your lovely Bucky who danced with you as the moonlight pooled into the room through your curtains on nights where you couldn’t sleep.

Your gentle Bucky who wiped your tears and washed your hair when your days were just too much.

Your patient Bucky who sat with you and instructed you to breathe with him, your hand to his chest when he’d come home to you panicking.

Your Bucky.

And you fucking flinched.

“Bucky I- I’m sorry. I just-”

He shook his head, his angry demeanor had completely vanished, his pretty blue eyes soft and beginning to fill with tears.

“Sweetheart, please don’t apologize. God, please don’t.

And just like that you were in his arms, a complete weeping mess because of what that man had put you through.

What Brock Rumlow had put you through.

That sick son of a bitch that was in front of Bucky now, a disgusting smirk on his face, blood seeping from his gums and smearing onto his teeth.

Bucky was certain he could kill him if it wouldn’t land him in prison.

“Come on, Buck.” You muttered, your knee rapidly bouncing up and down. You hadn’t noticed, but you were gripping Nat and Sonya’s hands.

You were trying your best to pay attention. Really, you were. But you kept going in and out of focus and flashbacks. You were sure people had caught multiple photos and videos of you spacing out, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to care.

Wanda has asked you multiple times if you wanted to go back and sit in the room, take a breather and maybe drink some water but you refused. You’d be right here.

And when the fight was finally over, when Bucky finally stood victorious over Rumlow while the ref held his red glove covered hand in the air and the crowd cheered, you could breathe again.

He was drenched in blood and bruises but you couldn’t feel anything except relief.

Bucky looked at you and you couldn’t help the tears that began to gather in your eyes and spill down your cheeks as you smiled at him. Nat and Sonya were cheering and hollering, jostling your shoulders and jumping up and down, planting kisses on your cheeks and the side of your head and you could barely notice.

Because Bucky was looking at you.

The ref let go of his hand and he made a dash to get out of the ring and to you, shoving past Sam and Steve trying to congratulate him, completely ignoring the med team trying to lead him away to check his injuries.

You. You. You.

You met him halfway even though your knees felt like jello and your hands were shaking, you took his face into those shaky hands and pressed your forehead to his as his hands rested on your waist.

“You did it.”

“I did it.”

–

Luckily, Bucky didn’t have any major injuries. After some stitches and some compression wrap on his ribs and wrists, he was cleared to leave.

You just couldn’t believe it. One of his biggest fights to date and he was walking away almost unscathed.

It almost felt too good to be true.

Despite how tired everyone felt, this was cause for celebration. You all decided to retreat to your respective homes and get ready for a nice dinner, just the 8 of you.

“Bucky this place has a coconut blood orange margarita!” You said from the bedroom as Bucky continued to get ready in the ensuite bathroom. You were putting on your shoes while browsing the menu on Yelp. You could never visit a restaurant without checking the menu first.

“That sounds right up your alley, doll!”

“I know!”

Bucky emerged from the bathroom, looking as handsome as ever in his white button down and black slacks.

“Have as many of those as you want, sweetheart. Long as I get to take this” Bucky’s fingers ran along the fabric of your black dress, just simple cotton with a long slit coming up to almost your hip, “Pretty thing off of you when we get home.”

“You can do whatever you want to me when we get home, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky smiled, his large hands grabbing at your waist as his bottom lip made its way between his teeth.

“God, you are so beautiful, Mrs. Barnes.” He hummed.

“As are you, my love.”

“Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.”

“Always.”

–

Dinner was completely perfect. Nothing but laughter and jokes, bread being thrown across the table while the waiters weren’t looking and you and Wanda taking secret sips of Tony’s $200 champagne when he was in the bathroom or on a call.

Bucky was never not touching you. Whether it was a hand gripping your thigh or his arm around the back of your chair, his fingers gently tracing the length of your arm, or your hand in his.

And, God, was he radiant.

His smile was ear to ear. His top buttons on his shirt were undone, showing off his chest and you could absolutely just eat him up. It was like heaven hearing him laugh at some stupid joke Sam had made or when Steve would get flustered at Natasha’s flirting after she’d had a couple glasses of wine, or Sonya scolding Sam after an inappropriate joke. He even took a couple photos with fans who had just watched the fight, all of them ecstatic to take a photo with the Bucky Barnes with the scars from the fight still fresh on him.

You were both so happy even once you decided to get the check and wrap up dinner. You’d had 4 coconut blood orange margaritas, a celebratory shot of tequila and Tony had even been kind enough to let you have a glass of his fancy champagne.

“You deserve it after these past two weeks, gorgeous.”

Bucky had agreed. You stuck by him ferociously and put on the bravest face, even in the presence of Brock Rumlow, you stood tall. He was so proud of you.

You were trying not to trip over your own feet in your much too tall heels on the way out to the valet. You felt fuzzy and drunk but you still couldn’t shake the feeling of the valet watching you entirely too closely.

“Bucky that guy keeps staring.” You whispered and Bucky’s head whipped around, the valet turned his head immediately.

“You’re a diamond, sweetheart. People can’t take their eyes off of ya.”

You nodded and smiled, though you were still entirely too uneasy, and Bucky could tell.

“Car’s comin’ around soon, baby. I gotcha.” His grip tightened around your waist and he moved in front of you so his body was blocking yours, but you could still see him. He wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at Bucky.

Steve’s car had barely pulled up to the restaurant when it happened.

It was like everything happened in slow motion.

You saw the gun first, Bucky’s eyes were still on you.

“What were you thinking?” He sobbed.

But that’s just the thing, you weren’t thinking. There wasn’t one thought in your head besides Bucky as you ripped yourself from his arms and shielded his body with yours, and gave him not even a second to react before the sound of a gun rang.

The valet was tackled to the ground in seconds.

An angry fan of Rumlow’s, no doubt.

How Bucky’s security team didn’t catch on sooner was beyond you. He had security with him everywhere, though they stuck to the sidelines so as to not disturb. There were a lot of wild fans out there who got very angry very easily about the outcome of fights, and it just wasn’t safe to go out alone.

You were in shock, your hands clutched your stomach but you didn’t even register you had been shot as scarlet red liquid thick as syrup seeped through your black dress and into your fingers.

Bucky’s arms were around you in an instant as he lowered you to the ground. You could hear the commotion and panic of other restaurant patrons around you.

Blood was seeping into his white shirt. Your blood was seeping into his white shirt. He didn’t care. He couldn’t fucking care, not when the life was trickling out of you right before his eyes.

“Baby. Oh my god, oh my god.” Bucky was shaking, his voice thick with tears as he held you as close to him as he could.

“Somebody call 911!” Sam.

“I’m on it!” Tony.

Bucky wiped the hair from your face as his tears began to splotch on your face, he couldn’t bother wiping them.

Not when this could be his last time holding you.

You tried to close your eyes but Bucky tapped your cheek firmly. “Ya gotta keep your eyes open, sweetheart. Gotta stay with me, come on.”

You nodded, your head lulling to rest comfortably on Bucky’s chest as his body shook with the most vicious cries that had ever ripped through him. You continued to look at him, those pretty eyes that he adored so much looking up at him, but there was barely anything there.

“Bucky-”

“Save your energy, doll. Please. Ya gotta stay with me, okay?”

Your hand felt like heavy stone as you brought it up to hold Bucky’s face, weakly wiping his tears. “I love you.”

“No, no, no. Keep looking at me, baby. Keep lookin’ at me. Please.”

“So much.”

Bucky planted a kiss on your forehead as he continued to sob.

“I love you, doll. I love you so goddamn much that’s why you gotta stay, alright?”

He pulled away. “Here’s looking at you, kid. Remember? You remember, doll? Always.”

You didn’t respond.

Bucky screamed.

–

Hospitals are so fucking gross.

It was something you firmly believed in since you watched your great grandfather die in one when you were 14.

Full of dead, sick and dying people. Full of weeping family members and friends.

“Don’t let me fucking die in a hospital, Bucky, I swear to God.” You had said.

Bucky always laughed when you went on your rants about how much you hated hospitals. Talking loudly and waving your hands around in the air.

“I’ll never let you die in a hospital, sweetheart. Promise.”

And now here you were, lying in a hospital bed after 12 hours of surgery, hooked up to a heart monitor and Bucky thought how do you still look so impossibly beautiful?

It was just you and Bucky in the room. Tony, Wanda, Steve, Natasha, Sam, Sonya and their girls were all squished together in the waiting room. None of them had it in them to sit even an inch apart.

Not when they could lose you.

Bucky hadn’t cried in an hour. His eyes dry but still red and heavy, a headache that he was waiting to go away after a nurse gave him Tylenol booming in his temples. His blood stained shirt was discarded as soon as they wheeled you in for surgery. Steve gave him an extra T shirt stashed in his car.

He threw up in the bathroom while he was changing.

“You gotta wake up so you don’t die in a hospital, honey. Can’t have ya kickin’ my ass when I get to heaven for lettin’ that happen.”

The thought made his lip quiver. The doctors were hopeful after the surgery, but things don’t always go as planned. And he was fucking terrified.

“I’m gonna kick your ass for even letting them bring me to this awful place.” You mumbled.

The sound that came from Bucky had to have been embarrassing. Somewhere between a laugh and a sob as he stood up and immediately started fawning over you and pressed the nurse button to alert them you were awake.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He cried, his hands cupping your face and placing kisses all over your cheeks.

“I’m okay, Buck.”

“What were you thinking?” He sobbed, his face buried into your hair and you broke, wrapping your arms around his neck. The pain in your stomach didn’t even register because you just needed him closer.

“I wasn’t. I wasn’t thinking. I just- I saw the gun and he was gonna kill you Bucky.” “Don’t ever do that doll, not for me. God, please not for me.”

“I was so scared, Bucky. I didn’t wanna scare you but, I had- I had to tell you I loved you. I couldn’t leave this earth without telling you I loved you.”

“I know, baby. Just please, I can’t lose you. I can’t fuckin’ lose you.”

His whole body was shaking as he continued to hug you when the nurse came in. He awkwardly separated himself from you, his large body pushing itself off of the tiny bed.

She checked you over and ran a couple tests, and afterwards promised to go and alert your friends and allow them to come in.

While you waited to be bombarded by the people you called your family, Bucky had situated himself next to you in the bed, his arm around you, allowing you to put your weight onto him, and careful not to disturb your wound.

“Hey.” You whispered, bringing your hand up to hold his.

He looked down at you to find you already looking at him fondly.

“Here’s looking at you, kid.”

Bucky smiled, the most beautiful, genuine, sincere and heartstopping smile. He kissed you.

“Always.”

#boxer!bucky #athlete!bucky #bucky au

740 notes · View notes

sj-ficrecs · 25 days ago

Text

call it what you want series masterlist

pairing: neighbor!bucky x curvy!reader

warnings: 18+ only. friends to lovers. fluffy, smutty, and a bit angsty here and there.

updated: january 14th, 2024

call it what you want to

when plans fall through

so inviting, i almost jump in.

it’s a love story, baby, just say yes.

#to read #bucky x reader

1K notes · View notes

sj-ficrecs · 25 days ago

Text

Still In the Frame

Pairing: Hockey Player!Bucky x Sports Photographer!Reader

Warning: a pinch of fluff, pinch of angst, a hefty dose of Bucky Barnes.

Author's Note: It's been such a long time since I've written and I fear i may be in over my head here. But alas I will not back down I am getting this story out! i hope you all enjoy this first part, back to my dark cave i goooo!

The doors to TD Garden had opened nearly two hours ago, but you had been here long before that mentally preparing yourself for the adrenaline the night would bring.

Hoisting your gear bag over your shoulder you move through the arena, tapping your badge against the security scanner, weaving your way through the tunnels that once upon a time had felt too big, too loud, too unreal for a dreamer like yourself. But you had fought to build your name in this industry, long nights of hard work finally earning you a place with the Boston Bruins as their official sports photographer.

A second home.

Dropping your bag behind the rink side media table you unzipped it with practiced ease, laying out your lenses, checking your batteries, running through the quiet rhythm of getting ready.

Your own pre-game ritual.

“Hey y/n, I know this is your thing by now but you know you get here early right, you could at least wait until the players are out on the ice warming it up before you show up.” Mark one of the newer videographers was tangled in a cable of wires behind the media table a crooked grin on his lips as he paused his work to watch you set up. “Are you really that afraid you’ll miss the puck drop if you don’t check every setting seven times? It’s you, you never miss”

You shake your head, smile pulling at your lips as you adjust the strap of your camera around your neck. “While you’re right that I never miss, I also can’t help that I’m thorough Mark, I am a professional. Unlike some people.” you tease.

He mock-gasps, eyes rolling, Mark was as professional as they came when it came to the wiring of the media board, but if he was going to dish it, he could certainly take it. “Rude,” he huffs, “you just happened to catch me at a bad moment.”

You didn’t answer, instead lifting your camera and aiming it right at him. Click. He groaned head thrown back. “Now I caught you,” you grin flashing him the display.

“Oh God y/n delete that, save that film for the players,” he murmurs ducking out of frame to tend to his tangled wires before you can get another shot of him.

Chuckling to yourself you turn to the ice surveying what will be the background of many of your shots tonight. The arena is glimmering in the warmth of a dozen overhead lights, a Zamboni humming in the distance, stands beginning to fill with anxious fans. While you loved the game, this was the part you loved the most, the calm before the chaos, the quiet just before the thunder of the crowd.

The calm however was short lived as players began to file onto the ice, like the fans filled the stands.

Warmup.

Warmups passed as they always do; in a blur of skates and sticks, high-speed passes, and the clang of a puck against the post. And you captured it all without a second thought tracking the motion through your viewfinder, framing the pre-game like a dance you knew by heart, and you knew it well. But it was when the players cleared the ice, the lights falling dim for the player introductions that something in the atmosphere began to shift as it always did.

The announcer’s voice was loud, matching the energy of the arena as his voice boomed over the speakers, the crowd swelling with anticipation as the players' names echoed off the crowded walls.

“Number 88, Steve Rogers!”

“Number 63, Sam Wilson!”

“And now, making his official debut with the Boston Bruins -”

Your camera slipped from your fingers, breath catching in your throat as you took in the image that flashed on the screen above the ice. It couldn't be.

“Number 14 - Bucky Barnes!”

Time didn’t just slow - it shattered.

Your ears rang, your heart skipping a beat in your chest. The roar of the crowd turning hollow, as if your head had been dunked in a tank of ice water, his name spinning in your head, once, twice, like a puck skimming ice - then sinking deep and fast.

Bucky.

You hadn’t heard his name aloud in over four years. Not in person. Not like this.

Your stomach dropped as you gripped the camera like it might anchor you, like the weight of it could hold you still while your world suddenly tipped.

Four years had apparently not been long enough to convince yourself it hadn’t meant a thing.

And then he was there; in person stepping onto the ice like he owned it, his stride smooth and familiar. Your brain refused to catch up. It can't be.

And just then, like something cosmic twisted the moment tighter, his eyes found yours.

Bucky Barnes, four years gone, looked across the rink and found you like he’d known exactly where you’d be.

The world vanished in a moment.

Only the ice that separated the two of you remained.

You should’ve looked away then. Should’ve focused on your job, the game, literally anything else. But you didn’t. Couldn’t. Bucky’s gaze was locked on yours, steady and unflinching, and for the first time in years you forgot how to breathe. The arena came to life around you; players skating, music pounding, lights flashing, but in that single breath of time, none of it mattered. It was just him, you, and the ghost of a promise that still echoed louder than the roar of the crowd.

Don’t forget me when it happens.

I couldn’t if I tried.

You took this time to study him, he looked different now than he did all those years ago. He was sharper around the edges, jaw more defined, shoulders bulked from years in the league. But his eyes, his eyes were the same; ice blue and intense, soft around the corners like he still carried pieces of a boy who used to skate backwards just to make you laugh.

Click.

Turning as quickly as you had snapped the photo, you let the camera drop to your chest pretending to mess with your gear, pretending you weren’t on the verge of losing yourself over him again. Your pulse pounded through your fingertips as you toggled with your camera, you could feel it in your throat, your ribs, it was disarming. You exhaled heavily pressing your palm flat against your chest like that would calm it. It didn’t.

“Y/n,” Mark called over the boards concern in his voice. “You good?”

You forced a tight smile nodding your head. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

“You sure? You look -”

“I said I’m fine Mark.”

He held up his hands in surrender as he ducked away, though you could sense his lingering curiosity, he had never seen you waver, not like this. Not wanting to give him more to worry about you turned your back to him, to the ice and took a few grounding breaths.

Bucky Barnes.

Here.

You hadn't seen his name in the pre-game media emails. Hadn’t caught a single whisper about a last-minute roster change. How could you have missed this? Digging your phone out of your coat pocket you unlocked the device to do a quick scan through the league’s news alerts and sure enough, there it was:

TRADE CONFIRMED: Star winger Bucky Barnes heads to Boston in surprise move just days before season opener.

How had you missed this?

The article was dated two days ago. Two days, and no one had uttered a single word. Had the team kept it quiet on purpose? Or had you just been so deep in prep mode that you missed it? You swallowed hard, fingers hovering over the article, but you didn’t tap it open. You didn’t need to read it. You already knew the stats. You knew how good he was. You knew the numbers, the accolades, the goals. The reason behind why he was here, why he had been traded.

What you didn’t know - what you hadn’t dared to think about - was why he hadn' tried harder. Why didn't he try harder to reach you. You’d given him space when he made it, telling yourself he needed time to adjust to the big leagues that you didn’t want to be the one to distract him. That when the time was right for him, and he found himself that he would find you.

But he never did.

And now he’s here.

You curl and uncurl your fingers shaking the digits out as you will yourself not to fall apart. This wasn’t high school. This wasn’t the night you stood outside the rink and watched him drive away with everything he’d ever wanted.

This was your dream, the one you had chased without him in it.

And you weren’t going to let a single look crack you open.

Even if it already had.

The buzzer pierced the air tearing you from your reverie, the first period beginning in a flash of movement. Stepping into your role like a second skin you moved with it, slipping down the edge of the boards, crouching into position, camera poised and ready.

It was easier once the puck dropped. The motion, the rhythm, the muscle memory, you let it carry you as you focused on the angles, light, shutter speeds. You caught clean shots of face-offs, passes, hard checks against the glass. And through it all, Bucky moved like a storm just waiting to break. Controlled. Calculated. Focused in a way that pulled your gaze again and again, even when you didn’t mean to follow him.

Halfway through the period, he stole the puck mid-zone, spun off a defender, and passed it clean to his line mate. The crowd roared. The shot missed, but it didn’t matter. The energy shifted. He was electric.

And then, he caught your eye again.

Just a flick of his eyes, right before the play reset. Almost like he wanted to be sure you were still there. Watching.

Your fingers curled around your camera, you didn’t know what that look meant.

But you felt it down to your bones.

And by the end of the first period, your entire body was buzzing with something other than adrenaline.

In the nearly short time, you’d manage to capture nearly three hundred frames already, clean, crisp shots of first-game adrenaline, a few hard hits, and a couple of near-misses that would look perfect on the team’s social media page. You worked through the intermission, head down as you sorted through previews, selecting the best for upload. Your fingers moving, dragging files to folders, checking lighting, adjusting contrast—but none of it felt real. None of it felt normal to you. And you knew why.

No matter how busy you tried to keep yourself you could feel his eyes on you.

And he looked at you like he knew. As if no time had passed at all.

But time had passed. Four years of it. Four years of silence. Four years of building a life without him. And still, despite the time that passed, you remembered everything about him.

The curve of his mouth when he smiled. The sound of his laugh when you tried to take his picture mid-fall. The way he laced his fingers through yours when the two of you skated alone that night, his cheeks flushed from cold and something sweeter.

“Just… don’t forget me when you do.”

“I promise, no matter how loud it gets out there you’re the only part I’ll never forget.”

Your throat tightend as you shoved the memory down like it burned.

“Yo Y/n, you catch that last play?” Benji from the team’s social video crew dropped onto the folding chair beside you, holding a hot dog in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

“Of course I did Benj,” you said, without looking up from your work “Great puck control. Good chemistry it was a good play.”

“He’s something, huh?” Benji mumbled around a bite his head tilted towards the ice. “Barnes, I mean. Hell of a pickup.” he said around a mouthful.

You didn’t answer.

“He’s gonna be a fan favorite. Like, immediately. We’ve already got two new merch drops planned with his name.”

“That so?” you questioned voice flat, neutral.

“Yeah. Honestly surprised you didn’t know he got traded.” Benji nudged your arm. “You’re usually on top of this stuff.”

“Yeah, well I’ve been busy,” is all you can muster.

Benji snorts drawing your gaze to him, “well, prepare to be busy with him. Word is the front office wants a full feature – I’m talking photos, interviews, maybe a docuseries down the line. That guy’s a gold mine.”

You looked down at your camera. The screen still displaying the last photo you’d taken—Bucky mid-turn, looking over his shoulder, eyes aimed squarely at you. You clicked the shutter closed and tucked it into your lap.

“Hey,” Benji said, noticing your shift. “You, okay?”

“M’fine Benj.”

“You sure, you don't like fine.” he tried

“I said I’m fine.” you repeated as you got to your feet slinging your gear over your shoulder.

“Alright. Sorry.” He held up both hands, backing off. “Didn’t mean to upset you.”

You sighed not answering as you moved to walk down the tunnel toward the photo bay, ignoring the nerves spiking beneath your ribs. Your boots echoed along the concrete, each step louder than the last.

You needed air. Or silence. Or both.

Instead, you slipped into the Bruins’ media room and sank into your work. It was your safest space; rows of monitors, quiet keystrokes, and the hum of image processors. You worked in silence as you transferred the files to your editing station and let yourself go still for the first time all night.

And then - you hesitated.

There it was again.

That photo.

Bucky’s face on the screen, sharp and real and heartbreakingly familiar. His expression unreadable, but his eyes.

His eyes saw you.

You reached out touching the edge of the screen like it might offer clarity, like it might tell you something you didn’t already know.

“Why now?” you whisper.

You didn’t expect an answer. The screen stayed silent. The room stayed still.

And in the quiet, something old and aching surfaced, something you’d buried for your own good.

You had loved him.

That wasn’t the hard part.

The hard part was knowing you might still.

The Bruins won their season opener in overtime.

The locker room was chaos; shouts and laughter, music blaring, the thud of backs being slapped, skates being kicked off and gloves tossed aside. You stayed in the shadows like you always did, ducking through the edges of celebration to capture the aftermath. The triumph. The sweat. The fire burning in their eyes.

Your lens stayed steady.

Your pulse did not.

You caught a shot of the team crowded around Bucky, slamming hands into his shoulders, shouting praise and calling him a beast. He smiled; wide and unguarded. For a second, it looked like he belonged here.

And maybe he did.

But he used to belong to you.

You take the photo and back away before he could see you. He hadn’t looked in your direction since the third period. Maybe you could still fade out of this night without being -

“Hey hotshot.”

His voice stopped you cold.

You turned slowly, heart thudding.

Bucky stood their in the hallway just outside of the media room, dressed in Bruin's warmups and damp from the post-game shower. A towel slung around his neck. His hair was a little longer than you remembered, curling slightly at the ends. His face held the same structure, only harder. More carved. But his eyes?

Same.

Too much.

Blue and full of something unspoken.

For a second, neither of you say anything. The world narrowed to the space between the two of you - four years wide, but shrinking fast.

“Hi Bucky,” you say, voice coming out quieter then you meant.

“Y/n,” he breathes, like it's the first time he’d been allowed to say your name again.

Your breath hitches.

You hated how easily he made you feel sixteen again. Awkward and hopeful and afraid of your own heart. But you weren’t that girl anymore. You had lines now. Boundaries. You had built yourself back from the pieces he left behind.

You didn’t smile, didn’t move.

“I didn’t know you were with the team,” he said after a pause, voice gentle, like anything louder might make you run. “I mean, I should’ve figured. Your work’s all over the site. You’ve gotten really good.”

You blinked. “You didn’t recognize my name?”

“I did,” he said. “But I didn’t believe it. Thought it might’ve been someone else.”

His words hang between you. It hurt. It wasn’t fair, but it did.

“Well,” you said, stepping back. “Now you know.”

“Y/n - ”

“Congratulations on the win Bucky.” You turned to go, but his voice stops you.

“Wait. Please.” You freeze.

“I didn’t forget you,” he whispers, and the words knock the breath right out of your chest.

Slowly, you will yourself to face him again.

His face is earnest. Raw. “That night - before I left, I meant what I said. About not forgetting. I tried to call you. A few times actually. But you never picked up. And then the season started, and things got crazy and I thought, I thought maybe you moved on.”

You felt the sting behind your eyes, but you blinked it back. “Forgot? I waited, Bucky. I waited for months and all I got was radio silence.”

“I know,” he said softly. “ I'm sorry, I should’ve tried harder.”

A beat of silence.

He looked like he wanted to close the space between the two of you but didn’t. “Can we talk? Not here. Just - sometime. Catch up.”

Your hands found your camera, gripping it like it might save you. “I - I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to say yes right now.” he rushes.

You shake your head, sad smile pulling at your lips, “I don’t know if I ever can.”

Your words silence him.

The hallway feels smaller.

He looks at you like he understands, like he knew what he’s broken.

And maybe he did.

Not waiting for his reply you turn on your feet to go, and this time, he doesn't stop you.

By the time you've made it home, your feet are sore, your back aches, and your head is too loud with everything you hadn’t said. You dropped your gear by the door and kicked off your boots as you padded through to your kitchen. Tea. You needed tea. Something warm to wrap your hands around while you pieced yourself back together.

Again.

The kettle hissed to life as it heated the water, doing little to block Bucky’s voice still echoing in your ears.

“I didn’t forget you.”

Too late.

You poured the water, letting the tea steep as you took it to the worn armchair in your living room. The walls were lined with framed shots from your last few seasons—mid-air slapshots, slow-motion goal celebrations, players locked in motion like dancers with blades.

But none of those photos rattled you.

Only one had.

You set the mug down as you grab your laptop, plugging in your memory card. The folders from tonight were still there, untouched since the arena. You opened the preview set and flipped through until you found it.

The shot.

Bucky turning mid-play, the crowd blurred behind him, eyes locked on the camera.

On you.

You stared at the image, heart clenched too tight to ignore. It was a perfect photo, technically flawless. But it wasn’t that that stopped your breath.

It was the expression on his face.

Not fierce, like during the rush. Not celebratory. Not focused.

Just open.

Like he was still trying to say something you hadn’t let him finish.

Your fingers hovered over the trackpad; you could delete it. Bury it in your archives. Pretend it didn’t feel like a bruise you hadn’t expected. Instead, you copy it into a private folder. One you hadn’t touched in a long time.

You name the file firstlook.jpg.

Then you shut the laptop pushing the device away from you.

Outside, the city is quiet. The streetlights bleeding soft gold into your apartment, catching on the glass frame above your mantle. One of the only personal photos you kept on display.

A boy and a girl on a frozen lake, four years ago. He's skating backward, holding her hand. She's laughing, scarf trailing behind her like a ribbon of light. The picture wasn’t perfect. The angle was off, the focus a little soft.

But the look on her face?

It said everything.

You took a long sip of tea, eyes on the past, and let the silence settle around you like snow.

Maybe Bucky Barnes was back in your life.

But that didn’t mean you had to let him stay.

Still.

That look.

That stupid, aching look.

It lingered.

#bucky x reader #bucky au #athlete!bucky #photographer!reader

224 notes · View notes

sj-ficrecs · 25 days ago

Text

Off The Boards

Pairing: Hockey Player!Bucky x Sports Photographer!Reader

Warning: More Angsty Dialogue. Still on that perhaps a turning point?

Author's Note: Chapter 4 is here and i apologize for the delay but life caught up and tripped me up on the ice friends! I hope you enjoy this one, part five is in the editing phase and should be released on saturday, thank you all for your patience.

Montreal greeted the staff and team with a brisk chill and dull skies, the kind that whispered winter but didn’t quite commit. You arrived early, as you always did during game days. You preferred the quiet before the chaos, it gave you time to check your lighting, frame your shots, and walk the empty rink with fresh eyes.

Camera in hand, Bruin's jacket zipped up, you moved through the bowels of the Bell Centre like you belonged there. You checked your list, adjusted your aperture, and lined up a few rink shots. You caught a reflection you liked off the plexiglass and moved closer to capture it.

Click.

The muffled thump of gear bags and voices echoed down the corridor next to where you stood working, the team bus had arrived. The players making their way in.

Your grip on the camera tightened for a second - only a second - and then you were moving again, rounding the corner toward the locker room hall as players filed in.

"Hey Y/n," Sam Wilson called as he passed, still in his sweats and beanie. “Lighting good here or do I need to stand in a flattering pose for your lens again?”

You snorted shaking your head with a smile pulling at your lips. “Please don’t. Last time I had to edit your smirk out of half the media reel, I get you're a fan favorite but c’mon Sammy Etsy sellers have enough of your face to last them over 2 years they don’t need anymore.”

“What can I say baby, the face sells.” he grins as he continues past you knocking his fist against yours.

The players start filtering through after Wilson, most of them used to your presence now; some pose, some ignore you and your camera choosing to be all business as they make their way to the locker room. They were game ready. You chatted briefly with two rookies that walked in towards the end promising to capture more of their time on the ice then giving a nod to the equipment manager as he passed you a smile on his face as he held you to a promise to kill it out there.

Bucky filtered through last.

He stepped into her frame without hesitation, helmet tucked under his arm bag hung on his shoulder, his head down in focus.

You barely blinked, seemingly unaffected as you lined yourself up adjusting the focus as you snapped two quick shots like you would with any other player that made their way into the arena.

“Morning Barnes,” you said, “good luck out there.”

His eyes flicker to you, the faintest pause as he takes you in, the smallest tilt of his lips kisses the corner of his mouth. “Thank’s y/n, you too.” The silence didn’t stretch between the two of you as you let your camera drop softly back to your chest, a nod of your head as you turned on your feet to head to the ice.

The arena lights blazed down in cold white rows as you crouched low by the boards, lens trained on the ice. Warm-ups were always her favorite part especially on games that took the team away from home. It was fast, chaotic, full of energy and unfiltered emotion as if they were warming up the ice to be made just for them. This was where she caught the good stuff: candid grins, effortless strides, players nudging each other into motion like a storm gathering force.

Your camera moved on it’s own, your hands simply holding it in place as it tracked the players, click, shift, adjust.

Sam Wilson flew past you first, carving the ice with a wide grin. He slowed just enough to flick a puck your way. It tapped the boards harmlessly beside your boot, you shook you head.

“You gettin’ my good side, Hot Shot?” he called out with a wink, flipping his stick up as he turned.

A grin pulls at your lips as you lower your camera. “Pretty sure that’s subjective Wilson.”

Sam laughed, skating backwards now. “That why you always cut me from the highlight reel?”

“Oh come on, I do not cut you, I only post the stuff that sells,” you shoot back.

Sam clutches his chest like you’ve wounded him. “I’m going to remember that hot shot, when you need the good i won’t be there.”

Laughter bubbles past your lips, the moment rolling past you, light and familiar. It was the kind of banter that kept you grounded.

Across the ice, Bucky was stretching near the center line, helmet off, eyes up.

You didn’t look at him for long, just long enough to note the tension in his shoulders, the way he moved a half-second behind the rhythm of the team.

You wondered if he had heard it.

Your camera rose again like a shield, fingers quick and practiced as you continued to document their warm-ups.

“Good pace today,” you said aloud, stepping toward the boards where Wilson and another forward were sprinting drills. “Watch that backlight off the glass, it’s flaring your helmet like a disco ball.”

“Noted,” Wilson said, grinning as he skated by again.

Behind you, a heavy presence hovered. Not close enough to touch, just enough for you to feel it. To feel him.

Bucky.

You didn’t turn, didn’t give him a moment, or a spared glance as you continued to work. You made you way around the rink edge, trading nods with the players as they skated through the remainder of their drills. Your camera caught the flick of blades, the spray of ice, a half-laugh between defensemen after a missed pass. You loved these moments; where skill and personality bled together on the ice.

You crouched for a lower angle, capturing the sharp lines of Sam’s stride as he cut across the neutral zone again. The perfect shot; for as much as you teased him his imaged were always clean, strong, and centered. You reviewed it for a moment, then gave a satisfied nod. This would make the reel.

“That the money shot?” Clint Barton, one of the coaching assistants, asked as he passed.

“Could be,” you said, eyes still on the viewfinder. “We’ll see what I get during faceoff.”

“Classic Y/L/N,” he grinned. “You always make us look better than we are you know that? Team would be lost without you.”

Pride fills your chest, heat slamming into your cheeks, “I do what I can coach.”

As you straightened, a flash of gold and black caught your eye. Bucky, skating a line near the far blue line, shoulders squared but his face unreadable. His movements were clean, disciplined—but something in the way he held himself gave him away.

He was aware of her.

Not in the obvious way; not staring, not watching.

But in the way his pass missed by an inch too far. The way his glove adjusted more than necessary.

You lifted your camera again, framing the team in a wide shot that included him, but didn’t center him.

Just as you were about to move on, Sam passed close again and nudged her foot with the edge of his stick. “Listen, If you ever need a new assistant, I got a good eye for angles.”

You laughed. “Your angles are half the problem Wilson.”

He barked a laugh, then nodded toward the far line. “Looks like you got someone trying to figure out your angles.”

Y/n didn’t follow his gaze, you didn’t have to. “I’ve already figured mine out.” you said returning to your work.

Behind you, Bucky looked away first.

The puck dropped with a resounding clack, echoing through the Bell Centre like a starting gun.

You were already in motion, eyes sharp behind the lens, fingers steady on the shutter. You moved along the edge of the rink, always a step ahead of the action. The energy in the building crackled with opening night tension; Bruins versus Canadiens, a rivalry steeped in blood, sweat, and grudges.

Perfect for photos.

You kept your focus broad during the first period, shooting wide frames of the full ice, catching the arcs of skates slicing through the surface, gloves flying mid-check, mouthguards flashing in shouts. The players were dialed in; fast, aggressive, alive.

You were, too.

Every time Bucky touched the puck, the crowd reacted. A swell of anticipation, of curiosity, he was new to the team, but the name Barnes carried weight. Especially here, where the fans knew their hockey and their headlines.

You tracked him like you would anyone else. Clean passes. Good positioning. A near miss on a one-timer in the first five minutes. Your camera caught it all but you never lingered on him longer than necessary. Once upon a time you might have followed him more, lingered a bit longer – but that was before, this was now. You refused to give him more frame time than he earned.

“Great pace tonight,” Wanda’s voice crackled through Emma’s earpiece during a pause in play. “You getting the hits on three?”

“Already sent to the cloud,” you replied, adjusting your position near the Bruins bench. “Just keep me updated on angles.”

You knelt down again, shifting her lens toward a pile-up near the Canadiens’ net. Two players slammed into the boards; one of them was Bucky. You winced, heart pitter pattering away but your lens stayed focused. The shutter clicked rapidly as you caught the impact, the shift in his expression, the flash of instinct as he pulled himself upright and skated back into the play.

He was in it now; you knew that look from the many times you had been in a position like this before.

Near the second half of the period, Sam Wilson skated toward the bench, helmet off, sweat streaking his brow. As he grabbed his water bottle, he looked your way flashing you a tired grin.

“Tell me you caught my assist on that last rush.”

“I did,” you grin. “But I was more impressed by your trip into the boards.”

“M’telling you y/l/n when you need footage you won’t find me,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Your camera’s got no mercy.”

Your grin grows. “Neither does the ice.”

The two of you exchange a familiar smile before Sam skates back out onto the ice.

Bucky glanced toward the bench in that moment, his eyes catching the tail end of your smile. He didn’t say anything, but the look tightened something in his jaw as he looked away and back into where his gaze should have been.

As the second period ticked down and Bucky picked up speed through the neutral zone, streaking past two defensemen with alarming ease, you felt it, that shift.

That undeniable magnetism that had once pulled you in so easily.

The way he skated like the ice answered to him. The way he passed; a flick of the wrist, precise and fluid. The way he read the game two steps ahead. It had always been like this.

It had always made you look harder, track him quicker with the lens of your camera.

You didn’t let your fingers falter.

Not even when the second period opened with a bang quite literally, as Bucky body-checked a Canadiens winger against the glass hard enough to rattle your lens. This time you didn’t flinch, instead adjusting your setting and continuing to capture the second period. You didn’t let your heart run wild with the moment, didn’t let yourself think about how you used to know what it felt like to see that intensity up close without plexiglass between them.

Still, your eyes flicked to the ice, narrowing in on #14.

Bucky skated away from the boards, expression unreadable beneath his helmet. Focused. He had always been like that game face on, eyes straight ahead, the weight of everything else tucked away behind those sharp, storm-blue eyes.

Once, he used to grin after a play like that.

Once, he used to glance toward the stands to find you.

You used to wave from the rails, camera lowered, mouth curled in that smile only he got.

Back in the early years, before scouts, before contracts, before the Boston spotlight they used to talk about moments like this. He used to tell you how he could feel the difference when you were there.

“It’s not luck,” he told you once. “It’s you. When you’re watching, I move better.”

You’d laughed and rolled your eyes back then, called him dramatic.

But he meant it.

And now here they were, sharing the same rink again.

Just not the same universe.

You caught yourself lingering in the memory and quickly snapped back to your settings, adjusting for low light as the puck was cleared down the ice. You moved to a new position just as a flurry of activity broke out in front of the Canadiens’ goal. Bucky was in the thick of it, jostling with a defenseman, stick down, fighting for position.

He didn’t score, but he looked good.

You tracked his next shift more carefully, not for him, you told yourself - but for the photo. The photo that would sell, the one the fans would want.

He was a story. You were just here to tell it.

Still, when he skated past your section of the boards and his eyes flicked toward the camera, just for a split second – like he knew you were there - your grip tightened.

You didn’t look away, but you didn't look too long either.

By the third period, the game had slowed. The score was tied. Both teams were tired, the hits heavier, the skating messier. You stood to stretch your back near the Zamboni entrance, one hand on your hip as you scrolled through a batch of burst shots.

Behind you, the Bruins bench buzzed with tension. Yells, stick taps, adrenaline high.

You lowered the camera to your side for a moment and watched the ice with you own eyes.

And there he was again.

Gliding across center ice, hair damp beneath his helmet, jaw set with that quiet fire he used to wear in parking lot arguments and post-practice confessions.

You used to love him like that; too much, too fast, too deep.

And he let you.

Until he left.

You exhaled slowly, shifting your weight as a fresh line change sent Bucky back to the bench. He didn’t look at you this time, didn’t need to, you could feel him. The memory of him tugged at the corners of your mind like a half-healed bruise.

You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t slip. Wouldn’t fall into nostalgia or let your professionalism crack under the pressure of proximity.

Still, it was hard not to remember what it felt like to skate with him late at night, just the two of you and a frozen pond.

Hard not to remember the first time he kissed you halfway through a snowball fight, laughing with frozen breath and wind-burned cheeks.

Hard not to remember the way he held you after he told you he was leaving.

I’ll find you again.

The memory was quicksand, and you shook it off fast

You didn’t need promises anymore, you needed consistency.

And so far, he hadn’t earned that, not yet.

You raised the camera again just in time to catch a near goal. The shutter clicked and clicked and clicked, and you locked Bucky in a frozen frame that would’ve made the cover of any magazine five years ago.

Now? It’d just be another file in the archive.

You were okay with that.

Mostly.

The final buzzer echoed through the arena, followed by the hollow thud of sticks on the boards and the low roar of the crowd. The Bruins had edged out the Canadiens in a gritty 3–2 win, and the energy walking off the ice was electric.

You moved with the team, camera already slung across your body, capturing quick moments as players headed down the tunnel. High fives. Sweat-soaked relief. The subtle exchange of glances between teammates who’d battled tooth and nail for sixty minutes.

You stayed back, keeping your distance, tucked into the shadows behind the media line. Your job wasn’t to be seen. It was to catch what others missed.

And still, he found you.

Bucky exited the ice last, helmet off, curls damp and curling at his temples, jaw clenched tight. His gaze scanned the corridor, sweeping past the line of reporters, past the assistant coaches until they landed on you.

Your fingers twitched on your camera.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t smile. Just met your eyes with something you couldn’t name; quiet, steady, heavy.

You didn’t flinch.

Didn’t look away.

Just lifted the camera and took the shot.

The shutter clicked once.

A clean, sharp frame.

And then you dropped your gaze and turned on your heel, heading down the hall without a word.

You were sorting through images backstage when Wanda appeared, arms crossed, a knowing look carved into her face.

“I saw the stare-off,” she said.

You didn’t look up. “There was no stare-off Wands.”

Wanda snorted. “Right. It was just two people communicating wordlessly in front of a live audience.”

“Exactly,” you replied, dry as ever. “Very professional I’d say.”

You flicked to the next image, and your breath caught. It was the one - that one - Bucky looking at you like nothing else existed.

Your chest ached for a beat too long.

Wanda stepped closer. “You good?”

“Fine Wands,” you said quietly, but the lie was old and transparent between them.

Wanda didn’t push, her comforting hand falling to your shoulder as she squeezed gently “I’ll catch you back at the hotel, you owe me dinner.”

The hotel hallway was quieter now, the buzz of the game’s aftermath starting to settle into the usual travel routine. The distant hum of the elevator, muffled chatter from players still in the lounge, it all felt like background noise to you as you made your way back to your room.

Just as you reached for the door, a voice stopped you.

“Y/n.”

You turned, your breath catching slightly in your throat.

Bucky stood a few feet away, his broad frame leaning casually against the wall. His hair was still damp, and the faint scent of ice rink coldness lingered on him. He wasn’t looking for an argument, wasn’t bracing for anything. He simply looked at you, really looked at you for the first time since they’d reconnected. Though to be fair, he’d been looking since he first caught wind of you, but this time he saw what you had become, what you’d built without him at your side.

Your heartbeat skipped a little, but you fought it back. You couldn't afford to let your emotions rule. Not yet.

Bucky cleared his throat and stood a little straighter, his voice low but genuine. “I wanted to say something - something I should have said a long time ago.”

You raised an eyebrow, uncertain, as you stayed silent yet waiting.

“Your shots,” he continued, his eyes briefly dipping to the camera still slung across your body. “They’re incredible. Your work, y/n. I’ve seen it in the photos, but watching you tonight how you move, how you catch the moment, it’s different. It’s you now. I don’t think I ever told you how proud I am of you.”

Your heart skipped in your chest. You opened your mouth to say something, but your words were lost.

“You’ve built this life on your own. Even after everything. Even after I was gone, you found a way to make it work. I can’t imagine what it took to get here. But you did it. And you didn’t need me for that.”

He stepped closer, and for the first time, you didn’t step away. You simply stood there, taking in the sincerity in his voice. He wasn’t here to apologize. He wasn’t here to fix anything. This was something else. This was him acknowledging you.

You swallowed hard, your gaze softening just a fraction. “Thanks, Bucky.”

A long beat of silence followed. Neither of you knew what to say next, but there was an understanding that didn’t need to be spoken. You could hear the weight in his voice, the weight of regret, of missed opportunities but it was layered with something more.

He wasn’t asking for forgiveness, not yet. But he was trying.

“I see you, y/n,” Bucky said, his eyes still locked on yours. “I see how far you’ve come, and it makes me proud to see the woman you’ve become. Even if it took me too long to realize it.”

You let out a breath, your chest heavy, but you didn’t look away from him. Your voice was quieter than usual, but firm. “You’ve changed, too, Bucky. I see it too. But just because I see it doesn’t mean I’m ready to let go of what happened between us. You’ve got a lot of work to do if you want me to believe you’re not the same person.”

Bucky nodded, accepting your words with the same quiet understanding he had when they first met tonight. “I get it. I’ve got a long road ahead. I’m not asking for anything from you right now except maybe this.” He stepped even closer, his voice soft but determined. “Let me try. Let me prove that I’m not that guy anymore. That I can be who you need me to be. Even if we have to take it slow, even if we’re just strangers for a while.”

You blinked, taken aback by his honesty. You had expected the same thing: the need to rush forward, to fix everything in one moment. But this, this was different.

“I’m not going to make promises I can’t keep,” he added, his voice thick with sincerity. “But I will show you. One step at a time.”

You paused. “I’m not ready to forgive you. Not yet. But I can see that you’re trying, Bucky. And for that - thank you.”

He didn’t smile. He didn’t even nod. But there was something in his eyes, relief, maybe, or hope that softened the edges of the tension that had hung between the two of you for so long.

“Goodnight, y/n,” he said quietly, before turning to leave.

You watched him walk away, your heart feeling heavier than it had in hours. You weren’t sure where this would lead. But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were losing yourself.

Maybe…

You let the thought hang in the air, knowing it was too early to decide anything but giving yourself permission to wonder.

#bucky x reader #bucky au #athlete!bucky #photographer!reader

111 notes · View notes

sj-ficrecs · 2 months ago

Text

Hot Shot

Pairing: NHL!Photographer!Reader x Hockey Player!Bucky

Warnings: Bucky being a heartthrob.

A/N: I've been reading one to many hockey romances and well here we are scratching an itch. I know I would like to eventually come out with a bigger story for these two but for now this is just the start a taste if you will. I'd like to leave this open to suggestion of what y'all would like to see or know about these two if anything.. Hope you enjoy the first taste.

You barely had a chance to unlock your screen to reply to her message before her caller ID

was taking up your screen, a recent photo of her and Steve that she had made as her contact picture pulling a smile onto your lips.

“Tasha.” you answer.

“Y/n, listen I know you were just planning on watching the game from the comfort of your living room but I mean talk about an upgrade! From a television screen to being at the actual game on the floor behind the safety of the glass getting some wicked shots, and no one captures action shots like you do - I promise I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.” she tacks on her voice pleading.

You chuckle, you know had the circumstances been different she’d be one of the first ones at the arena, she hadn’t missed one of Steve’s games yet, not since you had been signed on. “Natasha relax, you know you don’t have to pull out the stops on me, I'll go - do you want me to send you the photos?”

The redhead turned blonde breathes a heavy sigh of relief, “oh god thank you! and if you don’t mind, but take your time, I’m sure a certain bruin's player is going to be demanding your attention after the game especially if they bag a win.” she teases seemingly mentioning the man in your DM’s.

Your cheeks warm, the unread notification from the player she speaks of appearing in your mind, “please Tasha,” you deflect, “it’s the game of the season he’ll have plenty of attention with all the puck bunnies sporting his name on their jersey throwing themselves at him for an inkling of his attention.” you murmur picking at an invisible speck of lint on your sweater as you stand from the couch, intent on getting your things packed to head out.

“And yet he only seems to want yours,” she sings, “you should totally wear the jersey I got you for your birthday.”

You roll your eyes smile pulling at your lips, “is your flight really delayed, do I have to text Steve?”

Your friend laughs, “unfortunately it is and hey thank you again for this, I owe you, love you, oh and send me a picture of Steve, one of you and Bucky too!”

You shake your head as your friend rushes out her farewell your screen now gone black as you look down at it “looks like pjs are out of the question for tonight” you murmur continuing on through your apartment to grab your things Bucky’s text still sitting in your messages unanswered.

He’d have his answer soon enough.

🏒🖤

The cool of the arena’s backstage floor seeps through your jeans, your tripod sitting off to the side, your camera nestled in your hands as you wait for the first few players of the bruins to make their arrival.

Your camera goes up; the first of the team to come through the backdoors is the Bruins coach Fury, he spots you smile on his face his hand coming up in a greeting as you get your first arrival shot of the day. Slowly players begin to trickle in, most of them spot you posing for you as they stride by, others walk by with a simple wave their heads already in the game.

Speaking of head in the game center Steve Rogers makes his way in, his suit pressed, duffle thrown over his shoulder as he owns the floor. “Looking good Rogers, say you wouldn’t have Natasha tucked away in that duffle by chance?” you tease grinning behind your camera. You laugh at the grin that breaks his lips, a shake of his head as he directs his gaze at you, “can assure you Natasha wouldn’t be packed in my bag, she’d be hanging on my arm.” You coo at the bearded blonde, “you think you can say that again I didn’t have my phone out.”

The two of you laugh as you capture a few more shots, “Come on Rogers leave some love for the rest of us, you already have your face glued on billboards!”

Left defenseman Sam Wilson is striding in next million dollar smile painted on his lips like the suit he wears on his skin. “But no one has their face printed on as many shirts like you do Wilson, now give me something new to look out for will ya, want to make sure these etsy sellers get only the best!” Wilson eats your words up, feeding the fans through your film. He comes closer kneeling to your level to pull you in for a hug, “it’s good to see you hot shot, thought you weren’t coming out tonight with how Barnes was moping.”

Your heart beats like a wild drum in your chest, “Tasha’s flight got delayed, cashed in her IOU, so here I am and surely your version of Barnes moping is different from mine.”

“Oh man you should of seen him, had to smack the phone out of his hands with how often he was checking it, you’re gonna join us tonight after the win right?”

“You Bruins are so sure about that win,” you laugh.

“That’s because it’s in the bag, hot shot.” It takes everything in you not to snap your eyes to the broad shoulder right defenseman sauntering into the building. “Here comes your boy.” Sam chuckles patting your shoulder as you find said man with your camera lens. You wanted to eat him up like he was eating at your film.

Like Sam Bucky strolls till he’s standing above you, grin pulling at his pink lips as he offers you his hand. You set your camera down gently against your chest before taking his offer, warmth seeping though you at your hand wrapped in his. “Thought you weren’t gonna show.” He murmurs watching you.

“Well as enticing as staying in my pjs on my couch with a glass of wine watching the game tonight sounded IOUs are a serious thing to cash in.” you say struggling to keep his gaze, you were certain you’d turn into a puddle of goo soon.

“More enticing then upgrading your lock screen?”

You let out a groan reaching out to smack his chest, but his hand captures yours instead keeping it there a teasing smile playing at his lips. “You’re never going to let that go are you?” you question recalling the night at the bar that he discovered himself as your lock screen. To be fair it was one of your favorite shots you had captured at the beginning of the seasons. It didn’t hurt that he was your favorite Bruin player to follow on and off the ice.

“Never, though I’m hoping by the end of the night ill see a photo of me after the win.” He chuckles thumb running over your hand.

“You’d have to secure a win first Barnes.”

Your breath catches in your chest as he closes the distance between the two of you, “I’ve already won though.”

Your reply is caught on your tongue, Fury voice breaking through the haze, “Barnes you’ll have time to catch up with y/n later get your ass in the lockers now!”

Bucky let’s your hand falling, chuckle brewing in his chest as he steps back, “hope you’re not watching Wilson or Rogers to closely tonight hotshot because this wins for you, and I’m going to be the one bringing it home.”

You watch him walk away, his gaze lingering on you till he disappears through the locker room.

And God how you hoped he would.

#bucky x reader #bucky au #athlete!bucky

653 notes · View notes

sj-ficrecs · 2 months ago

Text

This One's For You

Pairing: hockey player!bucky x NHL Photographer! Reader

Warning: Bucky barnes being a heartthrob

Authors Note: another snippet of Bucky and hotshot 🤭

The arena is a buzz of excitement; gold and black line one side, red and blue line the other, the two colors meeting and molding in the middle of each side. You’re at ice-level behind the protective barrier of Plexi-glass as you wait like the many fans for the game to start. Your equipment sits on your chair – a lone stool that has unfortunately seen better days. As you go to get your camera set up you feel your phone vibrate in the confines of your jean pocket.

Plucking your phone from your jeans you see an unread message from Natasha waiting to be opened. A picture of your jacketed back stares back at you, the message below reading,

‘You’d look so much better with your jacket off, a certain right defenseman would agree with me.’

‘It’s cold!’ you shoot back.

‘I left the apartment with you this morning, you have a long sleeve under, black one, remember?”

You curse your roommate under your breath, another message popping up below that one.

‘Take it Off or I’ll personally go take it off!’

‘Shouldn’t you be taking pre-game photos?’

A moment later a photo of Bucky walking in through the backstage of the arena is taking up your screen, he’s wearing a tailored suit, his hair lazily slicked back as he winks at the camera, his all too pink lips curled in a wicked smile. Your heart skips a beat in your chest, your teeth capturing the smile that threatens to break through.

‘Now take it off.’

‘So bossy’ you mutter under your breath as you take off your jacket, your jersey that she gifted you for your birthday now on full display.

‘Happy now?’

Her text takes a while to come in and only then do you realize why when her text comes in with Bucky’s contact attached. A picture of you adorning his jersey pops up a message appearing shortly after.

‘See now that looks so much better! Woops wrong chat..’

You whip your head around trying but failing miserably to find the blonde in question. Your phone vibrates in your hand.

‘Looking Good Hot Shot! Drinks on me after the win..”

‘At least take her to dinner first Barnes.. 😉’

Your cheeks are warm despite the cool air of the arena nipping at your skin as you read the messages transpiring between the two.

‘He didn’t mean it like that Tasha! Besides he’d need to secure a win against the Rangers first.’ is your odd lame of an attempt to dust away any feelings between the two of you your friend is trying to make appear out of thin air.

‘The win was in the bag the second you stepped foot into the arena Hot shot, you wearing my name was just an added bonus, oh I totally meant it like that but can the drinks be on you instead?’ 😉'

‘With all those puck bunnies sporting your last name throwing themselves at you I doubt you’ll remember, but given the chance you remember drinks can be on me.’

“Stop sabotaging yourself.” You jump slightly, hand on your racing chest as you look over your shoulder finding Natasha, her gear tossed over her shoulder, lanyard laid against her chest. She gives you a pointed stare, “you and Barnes have been doing this same old dance for some time now and it’s getting tiring y/n.” She shakes her head at you, “Not like that, this whole will they won’t they, we’re rooting for the two of you y/n. He’s not Brock,” she murmurs her hand reaching out for yours. “He’s reaching, barring his hand to you – you just need to meet him halfway and trust that he’ll catch you, we all know he will, we’re all just waiting for you – he’s waiting for you.”

You suck in a breath at her words, she knew where your uncertainty came from when allowing yourself to feel anything for the bruin's player, “but what if he doesn’t, you saw how -” you shake your head not willing yourself to go back there.

Both your phones vibrate in your hands but you only see yours,

‘Not letting you back out now hotshot because the only bunny I’ll be chasing is you tonight, hopefully the drinks taste as sweet as you.’

Natasha’s grin is evident as she closes in on you one arm going around you as she hooks he chin on your shoulder. “You see!” she points at the screen you still look at. “You’re not wrong about all the puck bunnies sporting his name wanting an inkling of his time, but he only has eyes for you, let him know you see him right back y/n.”

She’s grinning squeezing your arm as she reads your reply,

‘Hope you run just as good as you skate Barnes.’

Natasha throws her head back on a laugh as you pocket your phone reaching for your camera as you get into position the announcements popping up on the screen. “This game just got so much better!”

Red and blue lights flood the arena, the sea of Rangers fans standing tall, getting loud as their teams players flash across the screen. The players glide onto the ice from their opening, circling the arena as they hype their crowd. You’re quick to take notice of a few of the players lingering on your side egging the opposing teams' fans on. It’s short-lived as the screen changes, shades of black and gold flashing, the Bruins players coming onto the screen. The crowd behind you roars in excitement Natasha joining in as you lift your lens, they come in fast and hot as they circle the arena in the same manner. You’re quick to get shots in rapid succession, focusing in on a few personal shots at the player’s that are closest to you.

You spot Sam, the camera finding him easily as he does what he does best. He always gets a kick out of warming up the crowd, getting them riled up for the game. It puts him in the headspace he needs to ensure his team a win. Your camera spots Steve next, he’s gliding closer to where you and Natasha are, a grin pulls at your lips, heartwarming for your friend who gets herself closer to the glass. You capture the moment he comes to a stop in front of the Plexi-glass his gloved hand pressing against where her’s already rests waiting. You lean back a bit to get both of them in the shot you know Natasha would be requesting that photo by the end of the night.

“Kick some ass out there Rogers, give me something to celebrate tonight.”

The dirty blonde taps the glass throwing a wink her way, “Good luck out there Stevie!” you call out, as he turns to skate to where Sam is. A tap on the glass has you turning your head in the other direction, the crowd seemingly getting louder as Bucky approaches you from the opposite side of the glass. You bring your camera up to capture him, a breathtaking smile cutting his lips as he stares at you through the lens of your camera. You notice he doesn’t get as close as Steve does, but he only has eyes for you as he glides across, “this one's for you hotshot!”

“Good luck out there B!” You hide your smile behind the lens of your camera capturing the grin that splits his lips before he’s turning to the call of his name.

The referee's whistle kicks off the game, and its as good of a game as Natasha said it would be.

You don’t set your camera down for a single second of the game as you focus on the players on the ice and capturing ‘the shot’. You’ve managed to dodge a few pucks and players that have flown your way into the glass. It’s fast paced, brutal even as both teams fight to secure that win.

It’s down to the wire now, the crowd is tense as they watch their teams leave it all on the ice. Your cameras resting against your chest, Natasha gripping your hand in hers as your eyes follow the players. “C’mon c’mon, bring it home!” she pleads. You catch the moment Steve begins his move for the winning shot, your camera coming up to follow the game behind the lens of your camera. Bucky and Sam stay in Steve’s line of sight as he passes the puck to Sam, Sam then glides forward Bucky just a few feet off to his side to get the puck from the left defenseman. Capturing the moment Sam makes the pass, you hold your breath as Bucky swings, the buzzer sounds a split second after, the roar of the crowd loud behind you as Natasha jumps into your side her own yells of victory loud in your ear.

“He did it! Y/n he fucking did it!!” She screams shaking you.

You can’t find your voice as your camera shutters away, but the way your heart races, the smile parting your lips gives way to the emotion filling your chest.

“C’mon let’s go!” Natasha urges pulling you along to get the two of you out onto the ice.

You thought the excitement was palpable behind the glass, but it’s electric out on the ice with the celebrating team. You’re capturing as many images of the teams victory as you can before Natasha spots the guys urging you on. You let her go capturing the moment Steve gets her in his arms, the kiss the two share between them. You find Wilson next he’s all smiles at you and your camera as he glides towards you. You lower the lens momentarily to let him pull you in for a bone crushing hug, “you guys did it, I’m so proud of you Sammy!”

His lips press to your head, “it was all for you hotshot, I’ve got to say when your boys determined, he’s determined,” he grins as he pulls away to look down at you.

“It wasn’t just for me, it was for the fans, for the team.” You lamely argue.

His grin only grows, “yeah? Tell him that then.” And then he’s gliding off to the side towards where Natasha and Steve wait. Bucky stands feet away from you grin on his lips, his hair a sweaty mess, your camera comes up. Each shutter brings him closer to you till you have no other choice but to lower the device and take all of him in. He’s barely got his arms open enough before you’re eating up at the last foot between the two of you your arms going around him.

“You did it B, you won!”

His arms wrap tighter around you, his nose buried in your hair, “I told you hotshot, this one was for you and I meant it.”

You lean back taking in the right defenseman, there’s that smile, the one you always find directed at you. “You did, didn’t you,” you breathe unable to look away. “Guess the drinks really are on me tonight.”

He chuckles grin splitting his lips further, “don’t think that’ll be the only thing on you tonight,” he murmurs pulling you closer, his head lowering to yours, he stops just before his lips brush yours. “you gonna let me catch you hotshot?”

“Yeah B. I think I am.”

#bucky x reader #bucky au #athlete!bucky

472 notes · View notes

sj-ficrecs · 2 months ago

Text

I Like Looking at You

Pairing: NHL!Photographer!Reader x Hockey Player!Bucky

Warnings: None except for Bucky Barnes being a heart throb i fear. 😮‍💨

Authors Note: a little inside dip into the lockscreen fiasco 🤭 Enjoy! Back to the trenches i gooooo!

“Get your damn finger out of the way Barnes, I can’t see – oh wait go back, go back I want to see that one!”

You toggle with your camera flipping back to the previous photo, Sam let’s out a low whistle his hand coming down on your shoulder as he squeezes, “send me that one, I'm making it my lock screen.”

Laughter bubbles up around the booth, “What? Come on what – it’s a great photo, like y'all have never put a photo of yourselves as a lock screen?”

“We’re not all madly in love with ourselves like you are Wilson.” Bucky says from next to you. “Some of us prefer putting things we actually like to look at.” He adds lifting his phone to show a picture of a white fluffy cat spread out on its back across his chest, eyes peacefully closed. You coo over the screen before Sam’s dragging your attention back to him.

“We get it Al’s a cute cat, but I mean come on look at this!” Sam argues as he shows his now updated photo screen. You can’t help the snort that makes its way past your lips, Sam giving you a pointed look, “Really you too? Well come on then let’s see yours hot shot, what do you like to look at?”

Your shaking your head, pointing a finger at him, “hey now don’t drag me into this, this is between you and Barnes.”

Bucky chuckles, “What you got a shirtless guy you don’t want us to see hotshot?” he questions leaning into your side hand going for your phone that sits on the bar top.

You’re quicker as you snatch it up, “You do, don’t you!” Sam joins in also going for your phone now curled in your hand. You swat his hand away, “oh come on show us, show us! Is it me, it’s me isn’t it?” Sam teases as he continues his attempt. “Like who else would it be.”

It wasn’t but God how you were wishing it was. You were thinking your current might be worse if discovered, you were certain you wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“Why do I have to show mine, Natasha and Steve haven’t!” you argue trying to deflect the situation from you. Your tactics seems to work but only momentarily as Steve willingly shows his, a photo similar to Bucky’s stares back at your group you and Natasha cooing over the dog nestled on his lap. Natasha then follows, though begrudgingly she flashes her screen, the teasing coming almost immediately as she shares the photo you got of Steve last week, “oh fuck off,” she laughs brushing it off, “it's what I like to look at!”

You watch as Steve throws his arm around her shoulder pulling her close, “now that’s a great photo.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever,” Sam waves off, his attention now back on you, “it’s your turn hotshot come on let’s see it.”

You’re shaking your head smacking away at Sam’s hands, you knew if he got his hands on your phone you’d be placed in a situation similar to Natasha but seemingly worse. Because while Steve and Natasha were in the beginning of something flourishing between the two of them, you and Bucky were not, you’d barely started to call him a close friend.

“Oh come on now hotshot we showed you ours, now show us yours it’s only fair.” Bucky purrs.

“Fair? Fair?!”

With your attention on Bucky Sam is able to successfully get your phone from your weakened grasp. You can only stare in horror willing the ground to open up and swallow you whole as Sam lights up your lock screen, a photo of Bucky stares back at your group. A grin lights up his features after bringing his team to the first win of the season, you had captured it last year well before you had been signed on with the Bruins. A game Natasha had bought you tickets too after yet another failed rejection letter this one from the Rangers.

“Oh, Ew,” Sam pretends to gag, “I thought we were supposed to put something we liked to look at, do I need to get you some glasses hotshot.”

Sam’s reaction should have you laughing along with the group but all you can manage is a weak chuckle as you reach for your phone, though Bucky’s large hand grabs at it first. The smirk is unmistakable as he takes in your screen “I think her eye sights just fine Wilson, because this, this is a damn good photo, you should send this to me.” He teases, deflecting your hand by gripping it with his hand, his fingers curling around yours, warmth flooding you instantly.

“Man whatever, mines better!”

The table is off in laughter again your embarrassment short-lived as the group launches into a new conversation about grabbing more drinks the lock screens now seemingly forgotten. “You want the same y/n?” Natasha questions as she slides off her stool Steve following her actions, you nod trying to get your phone back, “What about you Barnes?” Sam questions following the duo. “Nah man, I’m good thank you.”

With the rest of your friends disappearing through the crowd, your attention is now solely on the brunette still holding your phone and your hand. “Barnes my phone, give. Me. My. Phone.”

He blocks any feeble attempt you make, “No I don’t think I will,” he grins lighting up your screen, “You like looking at me hotshot?” Bucky teases.

“I like looking at my work yeah.” You huff trying to pry the phone from his hand once more. He chuckles diving out of your reach once more. “Barnes,” you whine sliding off your stool to bring you impossibly closer to the man as you get into his space “my phone, give it back now.”

“Not until you admit you like looking at me hotshot.”

You roll your eyes, stomping your foot, “fine yes you’re nice to look at,” you grumbles as you finally get ahold of your phone, “but that’s not the only reason it’s my lock screen.”

The brunettes intrigued, the hand that’s holding yours not loosening it’s hold as he keeps you there. “Oh? What’s the other reason.”

“That picture gave me hope, it inspired me to keep going when I felt my lowest, showed me that despite what the odds might be, I two could come out on top a winner.”

His grin turns warm, fingers squeezing yours, “m’glad the Rangers dropped the puck then.”

“And why’s that Barnes?” you chuckle backing out of his space to reclaim your seat.

“Because I like looking at you too hotshot.”

#bucky x reader #bucky au #athlete!bucky

380 notes · View notes

sj-ficrecs · 3 months ago

Text

Midnight Zoomies

Summary : Your super soldier husband always gets a burst of energy after a mission.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x wife!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Fluff fluff FLUFF! Hyper/zoomies Bucky. Cursing.

Word count : 1.3k

Note : This is a queued post. Been so busy with work it’s hard to connect with anyone on here lately, but I’ll be back! Enjoy!

You were already at the window when Sam’s car pulled up outside, headlights cutting through the night. The second the passenger door swung open, you saw him—your husband, your Bucky—looking a little rough around the edges after a week of what you could only assume was a gruelling mission, but at least he was still standing, slinging his favourite duffel bag over one shoulder.

The moment he stepped out, Sam rolled down the window. He looked both amused and exhausted.

“Good luck,” he called out, waving to you. “He’s your problem now.”

Before you could even respond, Bucky was already bounding up the steps a little too quickly for someone who should be tired from a mission, supersoldier or not. The door barely clicked shut behind him before his arms were around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck like he’d been gone for months instead of days.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he murmured, burying his face in your neck, arms snug around your waist.

You melted against him, threading your fingers through his hair as he let out a content sigh.

“Missed you,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Missed you too,” you replied, peppering a little kiss on the side of his mouth, but then spitting out a bit of sand that he had stuck to there. “How was the mission?”

Bucky pulled back slightly, his hands still on your hips. “Oh, y’know. The usual. Bad guys, punching, explosions. Sam wouldn’t shut up about this damn sandwich shop that just opened in his neighbourhood, though.”

You blinked. “What?”

Bucky huffed, shaking his head playfully. “I swear, every five minutes, he’s talking about how the bread is perfect and the smoked ham is life-changing—like I’m supposed to care.”

You snorted. “I asked about the mission, not a sandwich shop.”

He shook his head, pulling you close again. “Hey, don’t look at me. Sam’s the one with his priorities outta order.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning in for another kiss when you…. oh God. You got a proper whiff of his undershirt.

You pulled back immediately, scrunching your nose. “Bucky, you reek,” you declared, “Shower. Now.”

Bucky tilted his head, eyes gleaming like he had the most insightful idea in the world. “Join me?”

You laughed, pushing at his chest. “Nice try, Sarge. I will—tomorrow. Right now, you are disgusting.”

He huffed, crossing his arms with a jokingly dramatic scowl. “I am holding you to that.”

“Bucky,” you scolded, giving him a little shove toward the bathroom. “Go.”

He grumbled something about not being dirty and you should have seen me in the mud yesterday but started walking away anyway.

You rolled your eyes, waiting until you heard the shower turn on before washing your hands, changing into comfy pajamas (his old shirt), and flopping onto the couch. Maybe—just maybe—Bucky would come out of the shower ready to sleep.

Oh, how wrong you were.

Because the moment he emerged—hair damp, wearing just sweatpants that sat way too low on his hips— you swore you could’ve seen it, that energy radiating off him.

Your super soldier boyfriend had the zoomies.

His eyes were too darting around the room, his movements too quick. He had a little furrow in his brow, and it wasn’t exhaustion— it was focus.

You knew the signs, so you braced yourself.

“I gotta fix the speakers.”

You blinked. “What?”

“The left one’s been buzzing.”

“How—” You stared at him, bewildered. “How do you even know that? You’ve been gone for a week.”

He shrugged, buzzing with energy, already crouching next to the speaker, pulling out a screwdriver from somewhere. “Not the point.”

Damn his super soldier hearing.

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “Bucky, it’s midnight.”

“I know, baby,” he said, his tone absurdly gentle despite the fact that he was preparing to rewire your sound system like it was a life or death mission. “It’ll just take a second.”

You sighed, shaking your head. This always happened. Post-mission energy had to go somewhere, and for some reason, it manifested in your husband needing to fix things. Or reorganise. Or rebuild furniture that didn’t even need fixing. Sometimes, he was bouncing off the wall like a rabid dog while cataloguing his knives.

One time, he even re-tiled the kitchen backsplash at two in the morning before promptly falling asleep on the kitchen floor.

You had zoomies too, sure—but yours burned out in five minutes, tops. Bucky’s lasted at least thirty. Most likely because of his super soldier stamina.

You had stopped fighting it long ago.

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself spectating as Bucky zipped around the living room in a whirlwind of energy as he set up the speakers for repair. His brows were set in concentration, lower lip slightly out as his vibranium fingers twisted wires with pure determination. Every few seconds, he'd zip across the room, rummaging through drawers and muttering under his breath.

"Where the hell did I put that adapter?" he said to himself, crouching to peer under the coffee table.

"You just had it," you giggled from your spot on the couch.

"I know," he huffed, running a hand through his still-damp hair. "But now it's vanished into thin air.”

"You mean," you started, leaning forward, "you forgot where you put them?"

Bucky shot you a half-hearted glare before turning back to his scavenger hunt, completely ignoring your harmless teasing.

You just shook your head and sat back as the chaos unfolded.

Because this was a tale as old as time. This was the infamous Bucky Barnes Zoomie Cycle™.

Step one: Sudden burst of energy. After a mission and right before bed, he’d get determination beyond reason to complete whatever random task he’d latched onto.

Step two: The slow decline of said energy.

Step three, however, was your favourite part.

And like clockwork, the exhaustion started creeping in.

At first, the decline was subtle. His movements started to lose momentum. His blinks started to last just a second too long. His shoulders started drooping slightly. He yawned twice and tried to hide it. He rubbed his eyes with his flesh hand like that would trick his own body into staying awake.

You smiled. He was so cute.

Bucky shook his head, straightened up, and squared his shoulders as if willpower alone could stop the inevitable energy crash.

It couldn’t.

His chin dipped. Once. Twice. His eyelids fluttered. Then, finally…

Thunk.

He slumped face-first into the arm of the couch.

He was out.

A small laugh escaped your lips as you stared at the supersoldier who had, once again, passed out post-zoomie.

Carefully, you grabbed the throw blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over him. You turned to step away— only to yelp as a vibranium arm curled lazily around your wrist, tugging you down.

"Stay," he mumbled half-awake, his face still smushed into the couch.

You rolled your eyes but tugged yourself under the blanket anyways, leaning against him as his arms warped around you. "You were literally just running around like a puppy two minutes ago,” you teased.

"Mmhm."

"And now you're dead to the world?"

He let out an adorably quiet grunt.

"You really need to work on your energy management, darling."

His arm tightened slightly around you. “Shhh,” he insisted, drifting off again, “Need… sleep…”

You glanced down at where his vibranium arm was locked firmly around your waist, trapping you against his body.

Well, I guess neither of us are going anywhere, you thought.

You sighed in defeat, pressing a kiss to his jaw as you shifted in search of comfort.

Before you knew it, he was already snoring.

Soon, your own eyelids grew heavy, and eventually, sleep pulled you under, too. But even as you drifted off, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself— because come morning, you were definitely going to tease him for passing out mid-project.

Again.

-end.

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

@shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

#bucky x reader

1K notes · View notes

sj-ficrecs · 3 months ago

Text

Home With You

Pairing: Rommate!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky and you visit the animal shelter to choose a kitten for adoption.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: lots of kittens; Bucky being a dork; pining

Author’s Note: Literally nobody asked for this but I needed it anyway. In my head this plays in the same universe as Soft spot, so we’ll get to find out what she feels for Bucky, but you can also read this as a stand alone. Hope you enjoy! ♡

Divider by @kodaswrld ♡

Masterlist

“Oh my god, Buck, look at this one,” you gush, for about the fifth time since stepping into the animal rescue shelter, voice pitched high with the delight you can’t contain.

Bucky, who’s been trailing beside you with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his worn leather jacket, watches with a smirk on his lips. “Y’know we’re only takin’ one, right?” His voice is that deep rumble, smooth but laced with enough teasing for you to shoot a look up at him over your shoulder from where you are crouched down to greet the next feline in the row.

The small tabby you’re pointing at lets out an exaggerated yawn before rolling onto its back, fluffy belly exposed like an invitation, making you forget all about Bucky’s remark by the cuteness of it all.

You press your fingers against the cage, wiggling them slightly, and the cat swipes playfully, its little paws batting at you.

“Don’t go gettin’ attached to every damn cat in here, doll. We ain’t got the space for a zoo,” Bucky speaks up again, an amused smirk still in his voice.

You huff, dramatically rolling your eyes as you reach into another cage, letting a fluffy gray cat sniff your fingers before it headbutts them affectionately. “I am not getting attached to all of them.”

Bucky snorts, but you ignore him, continuing to throw those sweet cats little heart eyes.

The shelter smells faintly of clean hay, warm fur, and just a hint of that industrial-strength cleaner they probably use to keep everything sanitized.

The air is filled with meows, distant yips, and you hear some dogs bark from the kennels further down.

But right now, all you care about is the row of metal enclosures filled with cats of every shape and size. Some are stretching their little paws through the bars, whiskers twitching as they observe you with differing levels of curiosity. Others lounge lazily on their beds, tails flicking idly.

Bucky steps closer, peering into a cage somewhere above you where a sleek black cat watches the two of you with eery intelligent green eyes. “This one’s got a whole attitude,” he mutters squinting as the cat swishes its tail, unimpressed.

You hum, looking up at it as well. “Seems to be a little broody. That means you’d definitely get along.”

Bucky throws you a look and you grin back at him before a tiny calico presses its body against the door of his cage, eager for attention.

You scratch behind the ears of the sweet fluffy baby who immediately starts purring like a motor. Bucky watches you for a moment, with something softened in his eyes as if he’s already resigned himself to the fact that whatever cat you fall in love with is the one you’re taking home.

And honestly, you think he’s just as excited as you are.

You have been living with him for nearly two years now and you talked about getting a cat for quite some time.

You work well together, found a great dynamic in sharing an apartment.

You go grocery shopping together a lot. You watch movies together, you cook together. It’s never a discussion, never an argument, except for when either of you is trying to get a rise out of the other.

It started as a practical decision. You were already friends before that and it was easier for you both to just go looking for an apartment to split rent, save money, without having someone who would leave passive-aggressive notes about unwashed dishes.

It was meant to be temporary, but things just clicked and worked out and you never talked about moving out. No awkward transition period, no frustrating quirks that made you want to strangle each other. It was easy. It still is.

You cook, he cleans. Or the other way around, depending on the day.

If you make a mess in the kitchen trying some new recipe, he’s there ten minutes later, exaggerating frustration by rolling his eyes but then gobbling down your food in a matter of minutes.

You do laundry together sometimes and you had to rescue a few of his shirts already since he doesn’t always bother with separating colors properly. Or perhaps that’s just his excuse to do it with you.

And when you catch him watching reruns of Friends - even though he swore he hated that show - you plop down next to him on the couch, steal a bite of whatever snack he’s got, and make fun of him.

Bucky used to be all grumbles in the morning before you moved in together, but now he grins at you with a sleepy smile when you come into the kitchen, two cups of coffee already done - one black for him, one with just a bit of cream for you. You even got him to start drinking tea.

So when you both decided to get a cat, it seemed to be another thing that just made sense. An agreement that you would take care of it together.

The apartment is already cat-proofed, the corner near the window cleared for a cat tree, food bowls sat up neatly in the kitchen. A small box of toys sits by the couch, next to a ridiculously soft bed that you both know the cat will ignore in favor of napping wherever it pleases.

You both know you should probably talk about the logistics. Who takes the cat if one of you moves out? But you don’t. Because neither of you plans to go anywhere.

When the cat starts to lose interest in you and moves further back into its cage, you turn back to Bucky.

He has his arms crossed, stance solid, with an expression of determination on his face. And directly in front of him is that black cat, staring back with an equal amount of intensity. Its emerald-green eyes are locked onto Bucky’s baby blues with an impressively unfaltering focus. A long tail flicks behind it as if it has all the time in the world to assert its dominance.

It takes you a second to process what exactly is happening here. But then Bucky is narrowing his eyes, leaning closer in.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, amusement bubbling up so quickly it nearly makes you laugh outright. “Are you having a staring contest with a cat?”

Bucky doesn’t move, he doesn’t blink. His jaw tenses just slightly, but otherwise, he stays frozen in place, eyes locked onto his opponent.

“This little guy thinks he’s got the upper hand,” Bucky mutters, tone flat, but the muscles in his cheek and jawline tick.

You step closer, tilting your head, hands on your hips. “Are you serious?”

“I ain’t about to let a cat punk me, alright?”

The cat narrows its eyes as well. Just slightly. Like it understands exactly what Bucky is saying and is challenging him even harder.

You bite your lip, trying and failing to contain your laughter. “You do realize this is literally what they do, right?” You gesture at the cat, who remains unmoved, tail swishing from one side to the other. Even that looks dangerously deliberate. “This is, like, their thing. Hate to break it to you, Buck, but you don’t stand a chance here.”

Bucky huffs. “Watch me.”

A full, delighted laugh spills out of you as you lean against the enclosure, shaking your head at your best friend.

And the second your laughter bursts out, Bucky’s head snaps toward you. As though he couldn’t help himself. As though it is just pure instinct.

His stare-off with the cat, which has been going strong for nearly a minute, is instantly abandoned. And his eyes are softer again when they fall on you, something fond hidden beneath the humor.

“Well, now you lost, Buck,” you exclaim, still giggling.

Bucky’s brows immediately knit together, looking back over to the black cat, who looks thoroughly unbothered. It’s already stretching itself into a position of absolute superiority, head resting on its paws like it never once doubted its victory.

“Shit,” Bucky mutters under his breath, only now realizing his mistake. Then, he straightens back, rolling his shoulders, as if shaking off the loss. He gestures vaguely at the enclosure and shakes his head almost petulantly. “Yeah, nah. We sure as hell are not gonna take this one. Too much attitude. He’s gonna hold this over me forever.”

You snort, crossing your arms over your chest, peering into the cage at the cat who just effortlessly bested your six-foot-something, broad-shouldered, best friend in a silent battle of wills. “Oh, now you don’t want him?”

Bucky huffs, jabbing a thumb at the feline. “Look at him! He’s judging me. I can feel it.”

The cat blinks at him slowly, almost intentionally, before closing his eyes entirely like it has officially decided Bucky’s not worth any more of its energy.

You laugh again and Bucky groans.

You’re having the time of your life.

“Aww, Buck, don’t be like that,” you coo, nudging him playfully as you both start to walk away from the cage. “You guys had a moment. I think deep down he liked you.”

Bucky scoffs, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Yeah? That why he looked at me like he was calculating how long he’d need to take me out in my sleep?”

You grin smugly. “Or maybe he just saw himself in you.”

Bucky gives you the flattest look and stops in his tracks. “You serious?”

You shrug. “I’m just saying, two grumpy boys with trust issues? Sounds like fate to me.”

Sighing profoundly, Bucky runs a hand down his face, tilting it backward a little. But you catch the slight tug at the corner of his mouth. You know he is actually enjoying your little banter. He always does.

And just as you are about to push a little further, Bucky glances back at the enclosure and exhales a sharp breath, shaking his head with a kind of amused disbelief.

“Oh, well, would you look at that,” he drones out, walking back a few steps to tap a sign with two fingers. A sign that says this very cat is already been adopted and is to be picked up shortly. “Guess someone else already called dibs.”

You lean in to read it yourself, eyebrows raising slightly. “Huh. Guess so.” Then, with a slow and knowing grin, you turn back to him. “Aw, Buck. You disappointed?”

His head snaps toward you, eyes narrowing. “What? No. Not even a little.”

You purse your lips, nodding like you definitely believe him. “Mhm.”

“I’m not disappointed, doll,” he emphasizes, but despite his words, his gaze moves back to the black cat for a brief second. “Little guy was too full of himself, anyway.”

You don’t argue. Just bite back another laugh and link your arm through his as you keep walking.

The two of you move further into the shelter, eventually arriving at what might be the most magical place on earth.

A kitten playroom.

The volunteer leading you here smiles knowingly as she opens the door. “You guys are welcome to go in and sit with them,” she says. “See if any of them take a liking to you.”

Bucky leans in slightly toward you, murmuring in your ear, his breath on your skin. “See if they like us?”

“Shh,” you whisper, barely containing your excitement. “This is how it works.”

He huffs but doesn’t say more, only watches as the woman steps aside to gesture for you both to go in.

The second you do, it’s like stepping into another world - a tiny, chaotic world made up of soft meows, little squeaky chirps, and the soft thump-thump of tiny paws hitting the floor as kittens dart around like hyper little gremlins.

The space itself is cozy, set up like a playroom with various cat trees, beds, and soft blankets scattered across the floor. Toys are everywhere - feathery wands, crinkly balls, and those little springy things that cats lose under furniture within minutes. There’s even a small bridge leading to a cubby system mounted on the walls, where a few sleepy kittens are already curled up, watching the room like tiny overlords.

You are in heaven.

Practically squealing and bouncing on the balls of your feet you drop to your knees without hesitation as a little orange kitten stumbles toward you. “Look at them.”

Bucky lingers near the entrance, eying the herd of kittens with cautious skepticism. “Jesus. It’s like a damn army of ‘em.”

You reach out and gently scoop up the orange one, who immediately starts purring, so little paws kneading at your sweater. Your heart melts on the spot.

You don’t see the way Bucky is staring. Not at the kittens. Not at any of them. At you. At the way you light up, completely glowing, giggling softly as a brown-white little ball of fluff bats at your fingers. At the way you coo at them all, speaking in that soft voice people only use when they are utterly smitten.

He is in heaven too. Just for a slightly different reason.

“Oh, we are absolutely taking one home,” you declare, beaming as another one - a fluffy gray sweetheart - climbs onto your lap and starts attacking the drawstrings of your hoodie. “Maybe two.”

Bucky clears his throat, exhales, and steps closer, careful of the small balls hopping around between his feet. “We’re not gettin’ two,” he states, but then crouches down beside you, just as a small, round tabby kitten ambles over to investigate his boots.

You watch, biting back a grin as the little thing lifts one paw and bonks it against the toe of Bucky’s boot. Just a soft little tap, like it’s testing to see if he’ll react.

Bucky tilts his head. “What’s this guy doin’?”

You rest your chin lightly on top of the orange kitten’s head, amused. “I think he’s trying to fight you.”

Bucky continues watching the not-even-remotely intimidating little cat lift its paws and bonk him again.

“Yeah?” Bucky muses, raising a brow. “That so?”

Bonk.

Bucky shifts slightly, considering this challenge, then reaches down with his index finger extended. The small tabby immediately latches onto it with both paws, kicking at him with its little back feet.

You see the grin slowly forming on Bucky’s face.

The kitten lets out the tiniest, most ridiculous little mrrp, still clinging to Bucky’s finger like it’s the most important battle of his short life.

Bucky sighs. “Jesus Christ.”

You nudge him fondly. “Come on, you love him.”

Bucky chuckles softly and pries his finger gently from the round tabby’s grasp.

“So,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You makin’ any decisions here, or we just movin’ in?”

You beam up at him, cradling the sleepy grey kitten in your hands. “This isn’t just my decision, you know.”

“I know, doll,” Bucky replies easily. “But I’m sure whoever chooses you is the right one for us.”

Heat wanders up and down your back and you avert your attention back to the little fluff balls in your arms.

You are giggling at a white kitten pawing at your sleeves when you feel something tugging at your hair.

But before the sharp claws of the cat that ambushed you from behind can loosen any strands of your hair, Bucky’s hands are there to save them.

“Alright, alright, relax there, tough guy,” Bucky says, voice low and amused.

You go still when Bucky’s fingers brush the nape of your neck, untangling a mischievous ball of orange-white fluff from your hair. He makes quick work of it, grumbling under his breath as he carefully pries the kitten’s tiny claws from where they’ve latched on.

His touch is light, but enough to send a sharp little shiver down your spine.

You can smell the familiar scent of clean laundry and cedar and something that is just undeniably Bucky and you are not sure why your senses are so adamant about picking it up instead of the smell of the room and the little cats.

Your breath stays lingering in your throat a second too long before finally coming up. Long enough that when he finally leans back, you are suddenly well aware of just how intently you’d been focusing on the sensation of his fingers brushing through your hair, his voice close to your ear.

You swallow, blinking as he gently sets the kitten down in front of you, its tiny tail waggling like it’s still considering another attack.

Bucky just scoffs, shaking his head. “Gotta watch your back in here, doll. They got no mercy.”

You exhale a breathy little laugh, trying to ignore the way your heart is pounding like you just ran a mile.

The feline blinks up at you and you narrow your eyes.

“You did that on purpose,” you chastise it lightly.

It chirps in response, tail flicking.

Bucky chuckles warmly and you fight the urge to look at him, to turn and watch him like you always do.

Until you acknowledge a tiny, fluffy white kitten with bright blue eyes hop down from a nearby cat tree, landing in a little pounce before trotting straight over to you.

Your eyes go wide at the confident stride of the little one, lips parting just slightly in surprise as the kitten reaches you, then immediately climbs you and settles right in your lap as if finding a new home.

Bright blue eyes stare up at you for a second, then she lets out a little meow, head tilting slightly.

You freeze, feeling Bucky’s eyes on you.

And then, without hesitation, the kitten curls itself into the perfect little ball right in the center of your lap.

Your breath catches.

Bucky watches the shift in your expression, the way your body goes soft, the way your hands hover, hesitant, before finally pressing gently into the little thing’s fur. The way your entire face seems to melt, something delicate and awed settling into your features.

“Well. Guess that’s that, huh?” Bucky says softly, a fond smile on his face.

The kitten lets out a tiny meow and rubs her cheek against your palm, then promptly starts purring loudly.

Your heart is a puddle.

Looking up at Bucky, your eyes are bright, but careful. “Like I said, Buck. This isn’t just my decision.”

You don’t want to rush this.

This moment, this decision - it matters.

Because despite all the playful teasing and the cooing over the tiny kittens crawling over your legs, this isn’t just some random choice. It’s not like picking out cereal at the grocery store or deciding which movie to watch on a Friday night.

Bucky looks at you, seeing the way you already seem to have made up your mind, but needing him to want it too.

This isn’t just your home. It’s his too. It’s both of yours.

This choice - this little life curled up in your lap, soft and warm and trusting - has to be made together.

Bucky exhales, long and slow, seeming even a little nervous, before reaching out.

It’s careful at first, cautious, like he doesn’t want to startle her. But as soon as his fingers brush over the soft fur at the top of her tiny head, she leans into him, unafraid.

His fingers graze yours as you continue to scratch her belly.

And you feel it everywhere.

It’s a sharp heat that sizzles up your arm, fizzles through your chest, and crackles along your spine.

You will yourself not to react.

But the warmth of his hand is right there, just the shiest touch against yours, and it takes everything in you to stay perfectly still, to pretend like you don’t feel your pulse quicken, and don’t suddenly forget how to breathe normally.

Bucky’s hand stays, fingers brushing yours in a way so soft, so casual, that it feels anything but.

You almost pull back, but you don’t. Because he doesn’t either.

You force yourself to focus on the kitten instead.

She tilts her little head, her hot, pink tongue darting out and then she licks at the tip of Bucky’s finger, the tiniest little sandpaper kiss.

You laugh softly, and Bucky does too. So low and bright and genuine. It shines in his eyes when he looks at you.

“She likes you.” You don’t know why you are whispering, but this feels almost intimate.

Bucky scoffs, shaking his head, but his mouth is pulling into a wide grin. The softness of his smile lingers in the lines around his eyes.

“Yeah, well, she likes you too. So she’s gotta have taste.”

It’s so simple, the way he says it. And you are glad that his eyes are on the kitten in your lap because he surely would have seen what it did to you.

You two keep stroking her white fur while she relishes in the feeling, hands continuing to graze since her body is still so small. Something electric hovers in the air between you, something neither of you has ever really acknowledged but you - for your part - have always felt.

“Seems like we’ve been chosen,” Bucky states, voice quiet, thoughtful.

You giggle softly, feeling his eyes move up to your face, hand stilling momentarily against the fur. The purring continues and you feel the weight of the little baby press further into your lap, into your warmth as if she already feels at home.

You grin at him before moving your attention back to her. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Seems like we have.”

For a moment, there really seems to be nothing else. You don’t acknowledge another kitten bumping against your shoe or one attacking the sleeve at your elbow. It’s just you, and Bucky, and this little white sweetness cradled between you both.

“Well, isn’t that just the sweetest thing.”

The voice comes from the doorway, warm and delighted, and you glance up to see the same volunteer who led you in earlier - a woman seeming to be in her late forties, smiling so fondly you can feel it in your chest.

Bucky leans back slightly, shifting to rest his arms on his knees, but he doesn’t move his hand away from the kitten. He keeps his fingers right where they are, lightly against yours, grazing her fur, as if he doesn’t want to let go just yet.

“She’s a lucky little thing,” the woman says, stepping further into the room. “She’s going to be so loved with you two.”

Something about the way she says it makes something pull at your gut - pleasant but dangerous.

And then she beams, hands coming together in a light clap.

“Oh, you make such a lovely couple.”

Your insides feel like they’ve flipped. It’s so sudden. A weightless drop that leaves you momentarily breathless. Your lashes flutter and your brain scrambles for literally anything.

But before you can get words out, Bucky lets out a short, breathy chuckle, shaking his head. You didn’t notice the way his hand froze between white fur. Because yours did, too.

“Nah, we’re not-” he starts, seeming a little awkward. A little nervous. He lifts his free hand, and gestures between you. “-Y’know. Together.”

The woman’s brows lift. “Oh?”

You clear your throat, shifting slightly, suddenly hyper-aware of everything - the heat of Bucky beside you, the way his knee nearly brushes yours, the bashful way he looks down at the kitten.

“Yeah,” you manage, forcing a smile. “We’re just- We’re roommates.”

“Friends,” Bucky tacks on, nodding as if that settles it.

The woman hums, clearly amused. “Huh.”

She doesn’t say anything else for a second, just looks between the two of you, smiling like she knows something you don’t. Maybe you should try harder to suck in the rosy color on your cheeks.

Then she crouches down in front of you both and reaches out to run a gentle hand along the kitten’s tiny back.

“Well, couple of not, I can tell she is going to be really happy with you two,” she says, her voice softer now, sincere.

You smile at this small life in your lap who somehow fits perfectly into the world you and Bucky have built together. She definitely is going to be loved. She already is.

Bucky exhales and when you glance up at him he is wearing a fond smile as well.

He watches how the kitten seems completely at ease in your lap, her tiny body rising and falling with deep breaths.

“We’ll take good care of her,” he assures, voice quiet but certain. He swallows.

You lift your head and your eyes lock.

Something tender passes between you before you avert your eyes again and you nod at his words. They do something to you, you can’t even explain. Because there is no doubt, no hesitation. It’s not even a simple promise, it’s a commitment.

A vow that whatever happens, this little baby girl will never know loneliness, will never go without warmth, without love.

“We’ll try our best,” he adds, voice a little rougher now.

You know that as sure as you know the feeling of his presence in your life, the way he’s always there, something solid and good, something grounding and doting.

You find yourself smiling so wide, you have to bite your lip.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” the woman in front of you says, watching the two of you with sparkling eyes.

She seems so confident.

Bucky huffs out a laugh, and there is something sheepish in the sound.

You glance down at the kitten, who lets out a yawn, stretching her small claws before rolling herself further into you.

This is really happening.

And for some reason, it feels right in a way you weren’t fully prepared for.

“Sometimes, the smallest things take up the most room in your heart.”

- A.A. Milne

#roommate!bucky #roommate bucky #roommate au #bucky x reader

1K notes · View notes

sj-ficrecs · 4 months ago

Text

Faking It

Pairing: College Athlete!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes was in love with his girl—disgustingly, annoyingly so. Enough to start fights on the ice just to make sure he saw her after a game.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: This is FLUFF!! With HOCKEY MAN

a/n: This was originally something completely different but then I hated it so now it's all fluff and now I do not hate it. Pleaseeeee let me know what you think and if you enjoy it!! I love you thanks for reading ❤️❤️❤️

Masterlist

“Jesus Christ, Buck. Again?”

Bucky grinned, split lip tightening uncomfortably. When he turned to his captain, he had the gall to act oblivious. “What do you mean, captain?”

Steve gave him a disapproving look. “Give it up, pal. There was no need to pick a fight with that guy and you know it.”

“He was talking shit about the team!”

“They’ll always be a player talking shit about the team.”

“Then why’re you breathing down my neck right now, huh? We won. Be happy, Cap,” Bucky encouraged, slinging an arm over his shoulder. Steve raised a brow back at him but was clearly fighting back a smirk. Bucky could tell by the way his eyes lifted, contrasting his deep—albeit fake—frown.

In truth, Bucky had been looking for a fight. He’d been looking for a plethora of fights since the start of the season, and was usually quite successful with his venture. It had garnered him quite the reputation, but where the crowd saw it as a short-fuse on a large man, Steve saw it for what it really was.

An opportunity to see you.

And while Steve could appreciate the dedication, it made one of his best players ride out unnecessary time in the penalty box.

“I am happy. Just not with you,” Steve clarified, knocking Bucky’s arm away.

Bucky let out a sound close to a scoff. “Even with my extra time in the sin bin I still helped carry. It’s just part of the game, Steve. Gotta protect the team’s pride.”

“Yeah,” Steve drawled sarcastically, stopping in front of the locker room doors. “I’m sure that was your reasoning. What was it last game? Someone said something about your ma?”

“Hey, he did.”

“They always do.”

Heavy footsteps created a commotion in the hall, the rest of the team finally catching up with the pair. They funneled their way into the room for showers and a fresh change of clothes, and Steve stood with his crossed arms leaning against the wall, somehow still directing an admonishing look towards Bucky amidst the crowd. Bucky did his best to look baffled by the unspoken accusation, but then Sam Wilson passed by and Bucky’s ploy was disintegrated.

“Hey man,” Sam greeted, slapping a friendly hand against Bucky’s arm as he passed. “You let someone beat the shit out of you again so you could go see your girl?”

Bucky’s scoff returned, but this time Steve was having none of it. He kicked off of the wall and went to follow the rest of the team into the locker room. Bucky watched with a grimace, not only caught, but put on display.

“You know,” Steve called over his shoulder, not expecting Bucky to follow. “You’re dating the girl now. You don’t gotta keep up with this whole schtick.”

“I don’t have a schtick,” he called back. At the responding laugh from Steve, Bucky yelled, “I don’t!” but no one was listening to him. Or believing him.

But fine. If his schtick involved you, in any capacity, Bucky would admit to having one.

Some of what Steve said was right. Bucky was dating you now. You were his girl and that would imply total access to you all the time, whenever he wanted. He didn’t need to pick fights or feign injuries anymore (the latter never really worked anyways), because he had a key to your apartment. And you were in his bed more weekends than not.

But, damn, were you busy right now.

Bucky had never really considered how much schooling went into becoming a physical therapist until he met you. You were typically swamped with papers and tests and requests from Dr. Cho, but this past month had been exponentially worse thanks to finals. He had seen you about once a week if he was lucky, and that was a generous estimation. Add your crazy schedule to the alarming amount of away games he had over the past few weeks and he was champing at the bit to see you.

Bucky just prayed it was you in the training room today and not Dr. Cho. His odds were pretty favorable considering the team’s main trainer didn’t usually stick around after games if there were no major injuries, but there was always the off chance she let her interns go home early. But, knowing you, you would be in that room until the rink lights went off.

God, he loved you. Every overworked, high-strung bit of you.

He even loved the scolding look you shot him as he pushed open the training room doors, his bruises and cuts on full display. You dropped the pen you were tapping against an overflowing notebook and rocketed out of your rolling stool, and Bucky adored the way you stomped over to him, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the curse you clearly wanted to let free.

“Hey, baby,” Bucky smiled, this time ignoring the sting in his lip. “Funny seeing you here.”

You huffed, bringing careful fingers up to his chin. “Not very funny,” you mumbled. “Not when you look like someone hit you with their car.”

Bucky let you fuss for a moment, following your touch as you turned his head back and forth and examined his split knuckles. This was your job, so obviously he let you do it, but he enjoyed watching you. So he didn’t stop you from lifting his jersey up to inspect his middle, because how else would he catch the cute way you scrunch your nose up in concentration? If he pulled his hands away when you started testing the range of motion in his wrists, when else would he be able to track your lips as you softly counted and mouthed gentle confirmations?

Never. Because you were so damn busy.

“Missed you,” Bucky said after sneaking a kiss on your forehead while you were prodding at the bruise on his collarbone. “I’ve been missing you a lot.”

You let a small smile interrupt the disgruntlement on your face. Bucky grinned at the change, pressing another kiss to your hair while he still could.

“Did you miss me enough to send a right hook into that guy’s jaw?”

“Yes.”

Your smile was gone again. Now you looked aghast. “Bucky.”

“What?” he exclaimed, sliding his torn hands from your healing ones to wrap you in his embrace. “You want me to lie instead? Okay, fine. No, sweetheart, I didn’t start a fight just to have an excuse to see you. That guy got all these punches in on me because I’m out of practice, is all. I don’t think about you every waking second of my life, and while we’re at it, no I did not use your shampoo this morning because I miss how—”

“Okay, okay,” you laughed, resting your forehead on the divot in his chest. “I get it. Thanks for being truthful.”

Bucky relished in the feel of you. He had been slightly worried that his state would cause you to be more upset than anything. If you weren’t so tired right now, there was a high chance you’d be yelling at him because of his recklessness instead of resting against his chest. So Bucky jumped at the opportunity, trailing one of his hands up to cup the back of your head. He craned his neck down, burying his face into the juncture of your neck.

He hadn’t been lying about the shampoo.

“I miss you too. Even if you act like an idiot sometimes,” you mumbled against his jersey.

Something in Bucky felt lighter, warm. “Acting like an idiot’s the only way I get to see my girl.”

You hummed. “Sorry ‘m so busy.”

You had to be exhausted. Not even a single reprimand had tumbled from your mouth. Bucky had expected at least three.

“When’s the last time you slept, baby?” Bucky kept his voice low, his thumb making unconscious circles against your hair.

“I don’t know. In the night.”

“Okay, thanks smart ass.” Bucky jostled you a bit until your eyes met his. “I meant when did you last take a break? Get a good night’s sleep?”

You sighed, gaze trailing over his face. “Let me fix you up. Then we can play twenty questions.”

“Baby—”

“No, Buck, this is the training room, if you haven’t noticed,” you quipped, stepping back and rifling through a few drawers. “Take a seat and I’ll fix you. That’s my job.”

“Well, what about my job?” he grumbled back.

“You have failed at your job. Your job is hockey and you instead played human punching bag.”

“Not that job. My other job. The one where I take care of you.”

You spun on your heel, a basket of supplies resting on your hip. The sweater that engulfed your frame had the university’s logo stamped across the front, but instead of jeans or slacks—the usual uniform for PT interns—you wore leggings. Your hair was pulled back in the most endearing, pretty mess, and Bucky’s chest hurt as he looked at you.

“My tired girl,” he hummed, bringing his hand up to your cheek as you pushed him down on the exam chair. He sat if only to appease you, his feet still flat on the floor even with the tall seat.

“I’m only a little tired,” you weakly fought. Bucky chuckled in response, sanitary paper crinkling beneath him. “Now let me clean you up.”

You snapped gloves onto your hands and Bucky fought back a petulant whine. If he had been any other member of the team, those gloves would have been on the second they walked in the door. He should be grateful, then, that you only put them on when it was time to tend to his wounds, but he wasn’t. He missed you too much to feel latex instead of your skin.

Bucky’s lip stung as you cleaned it, but he hardly flinched. If he moved, he would miss the pretty way you bit into your lip as you stared at him.

“Remember when I’d be in here all the time?” he asked when you turned back down to grab antibiotic cream.

You let out a tired laugh. “How could I forget? You picked a fight every game. If that didn't work you’d come stumbling in here complaining about a torn ACL or whatever. Big liar.”

“I wouldn’t call it lying.”

The smile you gave him was replicated on his own face.

“You were literally lying.” You dabbed the cream on his lip, and then moved to the cut on his cheek. “You would come limping in here and then I’d see you an hour later running out to the parking lot.”

“You wouldn’t look at me if I wasn’t injured.”

“It was my job, Bucky!” you laughed, eyes giving away your amusement. “I wasn’t supposed to be fraternizing with the players. I’m pretty sure Cho only lets us be together because you wouldn’t leave her alone otherwise.”

Bucky moved his hands from his thighs to your waist, tugging you closer as you worked. “Hey, sometimes drastic measures are needed.”

“You called her multiple times a day… bought her an edible arrangement. Wait, didn’t you offer to drive her kids to school a few times?”

“It worked, didn’t it,” he posed, nudging his nose against your cheek. You giggled, lightly slapping his arm to get away.

“The edible arrangement was a good touch,” you relented.

Bucky released you as you wiggled from his grip, flitting around the training room to put supplies back. He spotted your backpack in the corner of the room, unzipped with the water bottle tipping out. When you sat down at the computer to document his care, which he found a bit ridiculous (you only put a bandaid on his face), Bucky walked over and gathered your things. He did so slowly so you wouldn’t notice; you probably had plans to stay at the rink for another few hours, and that was not okay with him.

With a final zip and your water bottle now standing upright, Bucky meandered over to your seated position. He hooked his chin over your shoulder as you worked, leaning over and tapping your phone screen for the time. His heart twisted warmly in his chest when he saw a picture of himself smiling under the 8:00 pm displayed on the homescreen.

After all the pining and work it took to get you, Bucky often felt this wasn’t real.

God, he loved you.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” you whispered, clicking away at the computer. “I still have some charting to do. Peter hit his head yesterday and I have to do the follow up work.”

Still in his uniform, Bucky wrapped you up from behind. Now you would both need a shower and he could get you to leave. He kissed the back of your head, and then your temple, and then your cheek as he craned his neck to watch you work. You smelled like fresh laundry and books and the subtle hint of your perfume.

“Parker’s fine. He was up and playing today. Let’s go home, baby,” Bucky murmured, most of his words spoken against your skin.

“I know he’s okay. But head injuries are a completely different protocol and I have to—”

“I miss you,” he reiterated. “And you’re working too hard. All the lights are off in the rink ‘cept for this one. Come back to my place. Let me take care of you.”

“Why don’t you shower and change first? I’ll leave with you once you finish.”

Bucky spun your stool around suddenly, one hand on your waist, the other reaching back to steady himself on the desk now at your back. “Oh no, don’t try to pull that on me. I get back in here, you’re gonna tell me you started something new you can only finish on the PT computer and you can’t leave for another hour. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

You let out a quick sigh, caught. “Well, what about—”

“Nope,” Bucky interrupted. He used his far hand to shut the facility computer and then guided you up. “You’re coming home with me. You’re gonna sit in the car while I drive you to my apartment and then we’re gonna take a shower together and I’m gonna make you feel so good you don’t even remember what a concussion is.”

“Bucky,” you chastised, hiding your face in his shoulder.

His laugh shook your head. “Still so damn shy.” He reached down to grab your bag, slinging it over his shoulder and placing a hand on the back of your neck, meeting your averted gaze. “Just me in here, baby.”

“I know. But you don’t have to be so vulgar.”

“Vulgar? Sweetheart, if you want vulgar I’ll tell you exactly what I’m gonna do to you the second we—”

You slapped your hand over his mouth, careful for the delicate skin there. Still, Bucky was sure you could feel his smile against your skin, and he fought back an even bigger one when he saw the embarrassed twist of your brow.

Slowly, he pried your wrist down, kissing the palm of your hand on the way. “Sorry,” he whispered, not sorry in the slightest.

You pursed your lips, flustered. “You’re such an antagonizer.”

Bucky could do this every day and never grow tired of it. It had been months now and he found himself only wanting you more.

“Can’t help it. I love you.”

Your faux annoyance morphed into a bashful smile, the kind Bucky remembered from his time faking injuries. It was reminiscent of when you were trying not to laugh at his jokes, or smile at his flirting, or give him any reaction he was looking for.

But he always got what he wanted in the end.

And, more than anything, he wanted you.

“That one do the trick?” Bucky asked. “Am I finally getting my girl to come home with me?”

When you looked up at him with raised brows and a smile twisted up at the corners, he knew you’d given up. Perfect timing, too, because—in all honesty—Bucky had been punched in the side during his on-ice tussle, and his ribs were starting to hurt. You were going to be pissed when you saw the bruise form tomorrow morning, but you would be pissed in his bed, so it was worth it to Bucky.

“I have to get a little bit of homework done when we get there,” you reasoned, pointing an accusing finger at your boyfriend.

He threw his hands up in surrender, dropping one down over your shoulders as you both walked out. “Okay, okay. Homework at my place, I got it.”

“That comes first, Bucky. Before anything else. Shower, then homework, and then… other things.”

“I know what first means, baby.”

“Good.”

But Bucky had other plans, and they did not involve homework. He was pretty sure you were ahead, anyways. Like, weeks ahead, actually.

“You eat dinner yet?” he asked, fishing his keys from his pocket.

You looked up at him, incredulous. “What did I just say?”

“What?” he defended, tugging you closer as the wind in the parking lot whipped at your clothes. “I can’t make sure my girl’s had dinner? What am I allowed to do?”

You only scoffed, tucking yourself further into his side. “Keep me warm.”

“Always, baby.”

#bucky x reader #college!bucky #athlete!bucky #bucky au

5K notes · View notes