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#and cedarwood is just warm and cozy and makes you feel like you're in front of a crackling fire in the winter
jynzandtonic · 3 years
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you talking about fragrances is so confusing to me,,, like as someone who has only worn a tocca 'maya' sample i got from sephora and then my mums clinique 'happy' when i was in middle school
i genuinely have no clue what bergamot is or what a woodsy scent means so like reading the a/b/o fic i'm just like "shit, sounds good enough for me"
You know what it really boils down to?
Mmmm. Big man smell good. Want to lick.
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cunaeparker · 3 years
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fluorescent gaze | b. barnes
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pairing: bucky barnes x reader
genre: fluff | university!au | roommate!au 
note: inspired by this ask ! its not exactly what was requested but i put my own lil twist on it :) this wok was initially called ‘lightbulbs’ so thats why it alludes to them a lot (personally i LOVE dull yellow lights they make me feel so cozy) so i hope its not too confusing . it also gets a lil spicy at the end :’) i made this work an x reader not fem!reader like i usually do bc i think that garners more attention and i feed off of that LMAO . enjoy loves !!!
— you’re fed up, bucky’s too smug for his own good, your shared apartment is in dire need of a renovation, and there’s no better way to cope with copious amounts of schoolwork than your favourite cinnamon whisky
-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-
The light that emanated from the old lamps in your flat were dull and yellow but in the months you had lived there you had learned to love it.
They were boring and emitted something like a greasy radiance—perhaps something you'd find in a hole-in-the-wall bar in rural Texas—but you really didn't mind; they were warm and comfortable, and even though they were a little gross it reminded you of a warm winter night cuddled up in front of a large window with your favourite blanket as snow fell softly from outside.
Again, you didn't mind, but your roommate, Bucky, hated it. He always made a point to change the light bulbs at some point during the day but because you were two busy college students, that was virtually impossible thanks to the piles of homework and PowerPoints you had to put together basically every night.
Bucky always made plans to fix up the old flat, but it never got done. You've been sitting on nearly three months of his promises.
And as you walked into your flat, brandishing an empty cup of coffee and a tired smile, just thankful to be home, that's the one thing Bucky brought up again. Those goddamn lightbulbs.
Bucky perked up from the couch at the sound of your entrance, wearing a large grey sweater with the university's logo and a black pair of plaid pajama pants. His eyes were tired and weary and you could see the tiredness carve out the contours of his cheeks, but the smile that beamed from this face at the sight of you was enough to put your concern to rest.
"Hey, Y/N," Bucky greeted brightly as he got off the couch, hurrying over to you and taking your bag from your hand. Enveloping you in a warm hug, you could smell him—a lovely cedarwood and spearmint combination—and couldn't help the small smile forming on your lips. "I missed you today," he mumbled, digging his face into your neck and eliciting a chuckle from you, "it's been so boring without someone to talk to about those lights."
"Why are you so infatuated with those damn lightbulbs?" you laughed, feeling Bucky frown into the crook of your neck, making a disapproving grunting noise. You smirked and wrapped your arms tighter around him. "Of course, how could I forget? I missed you too, Barnes. You're such a child," you teased.
You could feel him beam and your heart purred.
He pushed himself away from you and made sure to flick your forehead for good measure before taking your bag and tossing it to the other side of the room. He winced when he heard something shatter from the inside as he sat on the couch, but when he looked to you, you just smirked and shook your head, walking to sit down beside him.
"You didn't break anything," you assured, words laced with amusement, making sure to tell him before he had the chance to start apologizing rapid-fire. "There was just a tumbler in there, don't worry about it. Those things sound like glass when they're thrown around."
A relieved smile broke across his features. "Great," he said, running a hand through his dark hair.
You had always loved his hair. Ever since high school, you had always taken the chance to run your fingers through it, braid it when it got too long, or wash it when he was too bloodied and bruised to do it himself.
You guessed that Bucky noticed your longing gaze, and him, knowing that playing with his hair was like a stress reliever to you, smiled gently and tilted his head towards you.
"Go ahead."
Your reaction was immediate: a grateful softening of your previously tense expression, a beaming smile, and a small little noise of happiness echoing from your throat.
You placed your hand on Bucky's bicep before gratefully snuggling into his side, running your fingers through his hair. Bucky seemed to sink into your touch at that, because you could feel his chest release a deep breath of air he had probably been holding in all day.
That poor boy worked himself to death.
Though you knew all of his hobbies and had all of his interests at heart, whenever you tried to offer something to help relieve some of that tension, he always declined. Of course it was politely, and usually with a gentle press of his lips to your forehead, but honestly, you didn't know what to do.
Even now, as he sank into your side and closed his eyes in bliss, you could still feel how tense his muscles were. He was always so tense, and you longed to help him out. You even resorted to booking him a massage as a birthday present one year, but he looked so mortified when you told him you had to say it was a joke and cancel.
Bucky needed stress relief, and as much as you hated to admit it, it probably wasn't you. Or anything you could offer.
Your content expression faltered for a moment and your hands combing through his tangles slowed. Are you really not worth anything to him? Were all of those days spent looking for things to cease his constant state of stress for nothing...?
The abrupt pause caused Bucky to notice your distress.
He lifted his head from your shoulder and frowned, gently gripping your forearms.
"Are you okay?" he asked, gaze calculated as he peered deeply into your face, "You seem upset about something."
You bit back a rueful smile. Damn him, he could tell just about everything you're feeling.
"I'm fine, Buck." You tried a smile. "Just... thinking, s'all."
Bucky didn't buy that excuse for a minute.
He looked at you knowingly and tightened his grip on your hands. "Are you sure?"
His gaze was so concerned that it nearly had you swooning. His eyes were staring into yours with such conviction you had to hold back the urge to surge forward and kiss him.
You finally sighed and smiled softly, blowing out a stream of air between your lips.
"I'm good. Don't worry," you repeated, leaning forward to press a reassuring kiss to the top of his head. "It'll be fine."
Bucky hummed from underneath. "Okay, Y/N/N. You know, if there's anything on your mind that you need to talk about, I'm always here."
"I know."
Bucky grinned. "Great. Love you, Y/N."
Your heart clenched at how easily he threw that word around. Your expression shifted ever so slightly, but he didn't seem to notice.
You attempted another smile and dug your face into the crook of his neck, pressing a quick kiss to his warm skin.
"Love you too, Buck," you said, words muffled by his skin.
A small silence passed before Bucky punctured it.
"When do you want to change those lightbulbs?" he asked, voice dripping in mirth, "I know you've made plans to do that for awhile—"
"Oh my God," you snorted, pulling away and swatting his arm as your eyes crinkled, "You've said you were going to do it for the past three months! I'm not going to be the one to do it!"
Bucky laughed, "What? You're always so pissy when I don't—"
You put your hands over your face. "Bucky." You took your hands away from your face and looked him fiercely in the eye, suppressing the urge to smack him across the face when you saw the big smirk he was wearing. "Please, I beg of you, shut the fuck up."
Bucky tilted his head to the side, bringing his hands up to grab the side of your arms. "Awe, why?" he fake-empathized, "I haven't done anything."
"You annoy me."
His eyes twinkled and his nose scrunched. "You look pretty amused to me."
You're silent for a moment.
"God I hate you," you mumbled, letting out a sharp laugh before getting up and smacking him across the back of his head.
"Hey!" he frowned, rubbing the spot where you hit him, "What gives?"
You ignored him. Walking towards the small kitchen, you reached into a small cabinet and pulled out two ceramic mugs Bucky had made in high school. His mug was navy blue, and it would be nice if it wasn't for the fact that it was brandishing a big dick on the bottom of the inside.
The art teacher failed him for that one.
But your mug, the one that he created ever-so selflessly, was doused in an ugly pink with a messy heart on the side. It looked extremely elementary and childish, but the gesture still made you smile.
"What are you doing?" Bucky asked from the couch, frown on his face as he draped his body over the back of it. "I thought you hated tea."
You only shook your head, an enigmatic smirk twitching up the corners of your lips.
"I don't like tea," you said, raising a brow as you grabbed a bottle of Fireball, "and at this moment we don't have any clean cups because I don't feel like doing dishes, so we're using the mugs."
"For what?"
"Getting drunk."
With a big smile you turned, brandishing the bottle of cinnamon whisky as if it were treasure.
Bucky didn't miss a beat. His lips curved into a grin and he got up from the couch, walking over to you and taking his blue mug.
"Oh yeah?" he said smugly, tilting his head to the side, "And why is that?"
"Because it's Friday and this week sucked ass and I don't want to hear any more about those fuckin' lightbulbs, that's why."
His reaction was immediate: a sly quirk of his mouth, a quick lick of his lips, and blue eyes that began to gleam. Anticipation. You honestly had expected a bigger reaction from him, because the boy loved to drink and especially with you, but he only shrugged.
He snatched the bottle of whisky from your hand and began undoing the top.
"Sounds good to me."
-
Approximately two hours later, you were fucked.
And Bucky was even more so.
You were fucked from a mental standpoint thanks to your level of inebriation, fucked from the heat that began to take over your body when the alcohol entered your system, fucked from the look on Bucky's face as he took a deep drag of the cigarettes he only used for special occasions—one of them being when he got drunk because for some reason as soon as a drop of alcohol tainted his tongue he could smoke until the cows came home—but the only difference?
Bucky was relishing in his inebriation whereas you were a horny, smelling-like-cigarettes mess.
Watching him inhale the smoke with fascinated eyes, enamored by the way his lips wrapped around the filter, you decided to do something bold.
"Buck, you know in the movies where the character's smoking and then they share it with the other character? We should do that."
Bucky frowned and puckered his lips as he let out a stream of smoke.
"That makes no sense," he slurred.
You laughed, and perhaps if you were sober you would've realized that it was a little too loud, but you didn't care.
"You're funny," you said, grinning as you stumbled over to his heated form. "You know what I mean, Buckaroo."
"I hate that nickname."
"I hate you."
Bucky maintained coy eye contact as he took another drag. "I hate you."
"No, I hate you."
A lazy grin spread across his face. "I hate you more."
He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around your waist, touching his forehead to yours. The movement was messy and his forehead bounced right off yours for a moment, causing a small sting of pain to run through your head, but you didn't care to bring it up.
You laughed and cupped the side of his cheeks.
"Let's do the movie thing," you whispered, following his eyes with your own, "I want to do it."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Just do whatever."
"You're confusing me."
"Just do it, Barnes," you laughed.
He grinned. "D'ya mean this?" he asked, snaking his hand between your connected bodies to take another drag. His lips curled perfectly around the filter as he closed his eyes, relishing in it, and you had to stop yourself from sucking in a breath. Since when had your best friend become so... handsome?
Your eyes peered into his as they opened to reveal that brilliant bright blue.
He held the smoke in his mouth, unable to speak. Leaning forward slowly, too slowly, his eyes met yours again before his own fluttered shut.
"Buck," you whispered, closing your own eyes now as a hand reached to fist his hair.
The moment was slow.
His lips brushed against yours as he leaned close, impossibly close, hanging on to the sensual moment... he sighed and opened his mouth, opening his mouth and breathing the smoke into your own...
It tasted like cigarettes. But it also tasted like Bucky.
You suppressed a gasp of pleasure.
The movement wasn't even heady or extremely sexual, but the overwhelming familiarity of your best friend washed over you like a wave, dousing you in new realizations... you liked him. Liked Bucky. And now you wanted to taste him.
The smoke was still unfurling out of his nostrils and mouth when you opened your eyes.
And you didn't take any time before crashing your lips to his.
Usually, the moment before the kiss is tender and slow and oversaturated with love. But this? This wasn't necessarily love, but lust. Perhaps a crude mixture of both.
You could sense Bucky's eyes jolting open. You could feel him want to say something, but surprisingly, he didn't and didn't pull away either—and instead, he embraced the contact.
Wholly.
Cupping the side of your face, he let out a quiet moan that sent an electric shock to the apex of your thighs. You reciprocated with just as much fervor, and when you felt his tongue deepen the kiss, you were an absolute goner, feeling as if you could fade away into the night and his touch.
God, thank fuck for those lightbulbs.
-ˋˏ ༻✿༺ ˎˊ-
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