#so i assumed it was part of a HUGE clock at first (hot) (like tardis hot)

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

looking for this now

[itsbuckysworld]

Late Night Bangers

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Guest Appearance: None. World: AU Genre: Fluff. Neighbours AU Warnings: none really. Buck can be considered a jerk if you’re easily annoyed with annoying neighbours then, there’s that.  Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: Your cute neighbour keeps blasting music in the worst of times. It’s great music, but annoying nonetheless. 

Prompt:   It’s 3 AM and you’re blasting off classic rock at full volume and your music taste might be awesome but soME PEOPLE are trying to sLEEP - for @sebashtiansatan​‘s writing challenge. Thanks Elif for hosting this and sorry for the tardiness I hope you enjoy this one I quite liked writing it!​

Smooches! xoxo L

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Song List:

Burnin’ For You - Blue Öyster Cult

Space Station #5 - Montrose

I Wanna Be With You - The Raspberries

Rock Bottom - UFO

This Time - UFO

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Time everlasting Time to play b-sides Time ain't on my side Time I'll never know

You find yourself kicking and punching the sheets off your body angrily, they keep tangling around your shins. Huffing and puffing as you wrap your night robe around you and brush your hair from your face, you look at the clock by your bedside table. 3:12AM

Un-fucking-believable.

The guitar solo is just beginning when you find yourself stomping down the hall to the other person who lives in your floor. Your fists bang against their white door, almost knocking the 6 on the apartment sign.

The chorus fades a little as your neighbour lowers the volume after what you assume is them realising there’s someone at the door. Soon the door is being pulled open. You come face to face with your neighbour’s piercing blue eyes and disheveled brown hair, almost black against the red-ish lights he has going on the living room and he leaned casually against the doorframe.

You hadn’t really met your neighbour before. You shared smiles and waves when he first moved in, and if you were correct his name was James Barnes or something, at least that’s what you saw when one of his letters was delivered to you by mistake. He came and went whenever, often times you wouldn’t see him for days, but his nonchalant demeanor never made you worry. He seemed like the type to just go about his life without interacting much with people and by the look of his apartment over his shoulder, he probably didn’t spend much time there, or didn’t care for having his place all tidy and worthy of an interior decor magazine cover.

Your eyes ran him over. His boots had little metal accents that went with his many bracelets and tatted left arm. He looked tired but maybe that was part of the look, and it made his blue irises pop, as if they were alight, shining over you. Messy hair, ends kissing the nape of his neck. The deep V-neck shirt so casual and contrasting against the black ripped jeans and dark accents of his tattoos.  The red outline that the lights in the back cast around him made him look…

You shook your head rid of thoughts of him and his appearance when you noticed his eyebrow lift in confusion at your staring.

“Uh, hi,” you stammered before clearing your throat and putting your best ‘dealing with annoying neighbours’ face. You know, the one that is kind yet authoritative, definitely a little mean, but soft. “So, Blue Öyster Cult, great band” his eyebrows lifted in surprise at your sentence and you forced out a casual giggle, a cover up for the grin you could feel creeping up at the sight of his half smirk. “It’s just… you know, 3:00AM? Would it be too much to ask you to, maybe, tone it down?”

At this, he turns his head back and stands up straight. “Oh” is his only response, as if he hadn’t noticed the time. “Sorry, sure thing… Bucky, by the way” he introduces himself cheekily and all you can do is nod your head, worried your voice won’t come out.

“Y/N” you chirp.

His smile is apologetic and kind as he points behind himself as if saying ‘I’ll do that now’ and it almost leaves you breathless. He looks so tough and rough, like the cool biker guys in movies, like he doesn’t care what anyone else thinks about him and he isn’t afraid to break the rules and get in trouble – all kinds of good, fun, naughty, tongue in cheek trouble – and charm his way out of it. The last thing you’d pair him with is that kind and warm of a smile, and it takes your brain for a spin. His hands rest on the door, motioning that he’s going to close it soon, but you just have to interject.

“Cool” you sway on the balls of your feet for a few seconds, before saying goodnight and rushing back to your apartment.

As you lay in bed you hear the very distant beginning of Don’t Fear The Reaper, but before you can groan, it fades and you can finally rest, not before images of your Bucky flash across your mind. Now that’s a way to meet your neighbour.

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Oh, what a time we had Livin' underground I move to station number five See you next time around

You slam your book closed, the force of the bang sending your pens tumbling to the ground. There’s a strangled scream in your throat as you clench your fists to your sides and stand up.

This fucking–

You catch yourself mid sentence, annoyed beyond repair. Is he for real? For a moment you wished he lived under you so you could stomp out your anger right on the spot, instead of having to slip on some sandals and shuffle across the hall like a headless woman on a mission.

You knock on his door, so damn hard your fist throbs and you can feel your heartbeat in your hand – definitely faster than the Montrose song playing, and probably louder, whatever to knock some sense into him. Barnes, as you have turned to call him in your head since the last time you so gleefully interacted, is clad in a tank top, and his blue jeans that hang way too low on his hips to not give you chills, have grease stains all over – is he going for some type of troubled rocker from the 70’s aesthetic? Because he’s really giving it his all… and it suits him goddamn – his hair is pushed back from his eyes, a lone strand curls over his forehead and rests almost on the tip of his long eyelashes. His breathing is jagged and you picture him dancing to the tune, if anything to keep your brain from picturing any other… Reasons for his panting.

The door isn’t fully opened yet by the time you’re leaning a little to the left and catching his eyes.

“Hi Barnes!” the overly chipper and very annoyed greeting comes almost out of gritted teeth. “Montrose yeah? Very underrated band, real good sound –”

“They definitely don’t get the credit they deserve –”

“It’s eleven pm on a Thursday though, and some of us have assignments to power through? So it’d be really, really helpful if you could just… Kick it down a notch?– or two.”

His eyes do you once over, then one more time, a slight smirk appearing on his face, much like the one he gave you that night at 3:00AM. Does he always smirk this way? And since when is it hot that he does so?

“Sure thing, smooth legs”

His door is slammed to your face before you can react to the nickname, and you’re left in front of his apartment, mouth agape and hand frozen mid air, dismayed. The song fades down as he lowers the volume behind his entryway. You can’t run any faster back into your humble abode, resting your forehead against your door when it’s closed. Your cheeks are red in your reflection in the mirror, and you’re suddenly hyper aware of your pajama shorts.

There’s not much progress made to your assignment, as you decide to just dive into bed and will yourself to sleep.

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Well tonight (tonight) The night (the night) We always knew it would feel so right So come on baby, I just want to be with you

The TV won’t go any louder, and neither do you want to be that neighbour. Funny. If only a certain someone would think the same way as you. You sigh in exasperation. Is it ever going to end?

It isn’t even very late, you’re aware of that, but watching this documentary is too important for your class and Barnes blasting Raspberries isn’t really going to help. Although truth be told, it was one of your favourite songs by them, so you weren’t that mad. Still, this couldn’t be happening again.

You stop short in front of his door when you notice something different in the familiar tune. It doesn’t take you long to realise it’s him. It’s Bucky singing at the top of his lungs.

‘Baby oh, I want to be with you. So baaaad, I want to be with you.’

You can’t help but smile and giggle at the realization. He’s so off tune, but he sounds like he’s having a blast, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t want to sing along. It was the power of that song, there was no way you could just not jam out to it. This time around your knocks are firm, but not as angry as previous instances. Bucky opens the door and you almost die of laughter at the sight, covering your huge grin with your hand once more. 

His hair is pulled back in a bun, however tiny since it’s not long enough, and he’s donned a bright blue apron that just ties the whole ripped jeans, dark tattoos and combat boots look together. He’s still holding onto the spoon when he gives you a wide grin.

“Hey there sweet cheeks!” you clear your throat, trying to put on your best mean face, except the whole combination of factors – Bucky looking adorable and this song being too damn catchy – made it impossible.

“Ok so, this is probably my favourite Raspberries song so I’m going to let it slide– just this once! –” you add quickly with a raise of your hand as you see his face light up. This didn’t mean he had permission to blast your ears off, no siree. “But after that, I really have to focus on this documentary for my class so, if you could please?”

“Say no more!” He rushes back into his house, leaving you right outside his entrance, you can still see him as he reaches over to the radio and turns up the volume, using his huge spoon as a microphone as he sings along and shakes his hips to the tune. Your head falls back in laughter at the sight, hands coming up to decline his offer to join him. He continues to shake his shoulders your way as he returns back to the door frame, and you roll your eyes faking annoyance. You sway your hips to the beat of the song on your way back to your apartment and you can hear him holler and edge you on before closing the door behind you.

Another quick glimpse to the mirror by your entrance way and the red cheeks are there again, this time accompanied by a huge grin. You can’t help but hide your face in your hands before skipping to the couch and letting your body fall on it. 

When the song’s over, Bucky keeps his promise and you resume your documentary with peace and quiet.

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Now you look so peaceful, lyin' there asleep With the wings of God above you Before the spirits meet Rock bottom, rock bottom, rock bottom

You’re going to murder him. You let him play one song and he takes advantage of the whole damn thing. Whatever nice moment was shared, definitely gone down the drain. Lasted a week. The bastard.

“Barnes!” you yell, slamming your hand on his door. He had to go back to disturbing your sleep, hadn’t he? Bloody 2:30AM and you’ve got your ultimatum on the tip of your tongue. Next time you’re calling the cops on his rock-punk ass.

“Hey” he says, nonchalant, like he doesn’t know what he’s doing, except the smirk, the god forsaken smirk, on his face screams he enjoys pushing your buttons this way.

“I get it! UFO is finally on spotify. Yay the hype, but for fuck’s sake–” “Wait, you know UFO?” he interrupts you, and it both shocks you and makes your blood boil that out of everything, he’s more interested in the fact that you know the band? They weren’t that obscure, your dad loved them and – NOT THE POINT.

“Yes” you say matter-of-factly “Misdemeanor is probably their best album– Now that doesn’t mean you can go about blasting it at two in the morning!” your arms are raised above your head and you hate that you’re getting so heated but it’s all his fault. Him and his bright eyes that look at you a little surprised, a little confused, and his great music taste that disturbed you more often than not. You point an accusatory finger at him “I’m free tomorrow but I swear to god, that does not mean I want to go to sleep at freaking 4AM because of you! I don’t want to call the cops on you Barnes, I don’t. But I’m real tired of this. Please, keep it down”

And you don’t let him say anything else or reply to your threat. He hears your feet stomping back and the slam of your door, and that’s all he gets from you after that scolding.

You settle into your pillow as the guitar solo fades in the distance, hopefully proof that he’s going to heed your words and keep his noise to a minimum. At least for a while.

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There’s an unexpected knock to your door the following day. It’s a lazy afternoon, free from work or class, and all for you to catch up on some movies. You place down the bowl of popcorn and groan – you didn’t really want to move from your couch today.

Opening the door there’s no disguising the shock that paints your features. For a moment you wonder if your movie was too loud because that’d be ironic and quite possibly the only reason you could think of as to why Bucky Barnes is at your door. Bucky Barnes and his typical black boots, ripped jeans and band t-shirt. The leather jacket over his shoulders gives him a little extra charm, and you’re reminded in a nano-second that he’s probably the most annoying neighbour you’ve had, and his very good looks don’t exempt him of all the noise complaints you could have filled out since he’s moved in.

“Hey” his voice is soft and calm, almost apologetic, as if he knows he’s interrupted your day once more, this time not with his loud music. 

“Hi?”

Suddenly there’s two slips of paper in front of your face. UFO Live in Concert, you read, and are immediately left in confusion. Bucky blinks, long lashes kissing the apples of his cheeks and he clears his throat.

“They’re playing this very underground gig at a small venue downtown… Tonight. I know the guy who manages it” There’s a sway to his frame and you realise he’s nervously dancing on the balls of his feet and his cheeks are rosy in the freezing AC of the hallway. “Do you maybe… want to?”

“Go to the show?” Bucky nods, like an excited child, and it’s adorable to say the least, that bastard. “Together?”

“Yeah I- uhm...” another clear of his throat and he’s taking a step back, as if he’s assumed he’s stepped over some line. “You like them too, and you said you were free so, I thought… We could go and you can… You can tell me more about how you knew of an album by them I didn’t even know existed”

You almost fall to your knees, but not because of any romantic movie swoon moment or anything like that, but because all of the strength in your body is suddenly being directed towards trying to keep a silly grin off your face. Ok, maybe a swooning moment then. You reach out and grab one ticket from his hand, your fingertips grazing his slowly and causing your cheeks to feel warm.

“If I go, will you promise to keep your music down?”

“Will try my best. Or... Maybe I don’t have to blast it if you just… Come over and listen with me?” There’s that smirk of his again, whatever nerves he was showing before have seemed to completely dissipate, giving way to his charming dorky self. Gosh, you hate him, and you hate that he makes you laugh with that face he pulls.

“Hmm, we’ll see” you give him a coy grin and walk away, leaving him at the doorstep, hopeful and confused, as you venture deep into your apartment and over to where your stereo sits. Your fingers delicately run over your music collection. “What are you waiting for?” you look over your shoulder back at him, signalling him to come in with your head “If we’re going to this, I have to get ready and you –” you point at him with the vinyl in hand, before swiftly turning around and letting it drop on the record player – “have to listen to Misdemeanor”

Bucky lets out a chuckle, his nervous hands fix his leather jacket before sinking them deep into his pockets. He lets himself in and closes the door as the first few notes of the first song play out. He takes in the guitar riff, the drums, the synths, everything making him want to tap his foot. He reads over the song list on the vinyl cover with a wide smirk on his face, his eyes sneakily looking up, teeth poking out to bite his lip as he looks you up and down, he catches a glimpse of you swaying into your room to the beat of the song before you close your door slightly, and Bucky can already tell this is going to be his favourite album by UFO as well.

This time, let it be me I'll be the one that you can see This time I'll be your man I'm right here baby, here in your hand.

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hope you enjoyed this I had fun imagining this and tried my best to write something decent. Give the songs in this piece a listen they are so good! 

FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED! HERES MY ASK, HERE’S MY MASTERLIST

Have a wonderful day! Stay safe!

Smooches, L xo <3