#bucky barnes mutual pining

[lovelybarnes]

Sadistic- B. Barnes

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader, other characters make an appearance but it’s mainly natasha romanoff Warnings: mean bucky kind of, mutual pining, teasing, reader being flustered, super projection of my obsession with peanuts right now About: request! Bucky and reader didn’t get along and then bucky discovers she has a sensitive neck and basically uses it against her.

​​Bucky notices you before he sees you.

You’re hidden behind the kitchen island with your legs crossed beneath you and your fingertips grazing the tiles, the few stray strands of hair peeking past the granite of the counter giving you away.

He contemplates turning back nearly immediately, your presence pushing him out of a room as much as it is pulling him in, but it’s sheer greed that makes him lean on his feet, standing at a subtle angle to get even a brief look at you.

Your eyes are glassy and unfocused when he meets them, puckering aimlessly with the arrival of a crease between your brows. He shifts awkwardly in the entrance of the common room, watching you cautiously.

You don’t seem to notice his attention at all, eerily still and uncharacteristically distracted. Bucky should clear his throat, ask if you’re okay, but he hasn’t said something so kind to you in a while, and he’s unwilling to do so now.

What he should do, grounded in stupid values and teenage pride, is set his shoulders, stop squinting to see the outline of your lashes, and push past you to get to the fridge. You’re the one on the ground. He’s an innocent, thirsty bystander who has been looking forward to the cucumber water in the fridge all day.

He pauses, moves his limbs a little to see if you notice. If you do, maybe you’ll push yourself away from smack-dab middle, or maybe your eyes will widen in that sweet, apologetic way they do, where your lashes pinch at the corners in guilt, voice starting in an excuse he’ll scowl at, forcing yours to twist down wrongly at his reaction.

He can admit he’s selfish when you don’t waver and he stays put. Crassly, he leans against the wall and lets his pupils drag down your profile. He flushes immediately with heat and wishes you would rise to your feet and scold him for staring. He isn’t sure what sick part of him would like that most.

But you stay like that for a while, and when you do notice him, it’s an entirely underwhelming consequence. Your shoulders jump only barely and you offer him a vacant blink.

“Hey, Bucky.”

Your voice is quieter than usual but just as sordidly kind.

He grunts in response, setting his attention away from you and pretending like it was never there to start. You shift away when he steps in front of you, narrowly missing your nail. You frown down at your hands, glancing up at Bucky’s back.

He hears you stand, the soft sound your fingers make against the cupboard and the inhale you take. You twist your mouth and squeeze your fingers, eyes on him from your distance. He doesn’t turn to you.

“What’re you looking for?” you ask after a few seconds.

“Water.”

“Water,” you repeat. “The cucumber one? I’m so sorry, I just grabbed the last bit.”

He makes a low noise, shutting the refrigerator. “It’s fine.”

“No, no,” you argue, turning around to pull a mug from behind the fruit bowl. It’s chipped at the rim, with a pale yellow handle and thin vertical indents around its body. A bumpy orange mushroom is embossed over green blades of grass. You hook your middle and index fingers through the handle and hold it out to him expectantly. “You can have it.”

Bucky shifts on his feet, hands down at his sides. He wants to start kindly. “No.”

You blink at him. “Are… are you sure? I don’t think you’ve had very much. I haven’t drank from it at all, I promise. I just poured it before I…”

Bucky thinks he should ask. “‘M sure.”

You nod slowly, setting the mug down. There’s something hesitant and wanting over your features, a small crease back between your brows. “Okay then.” You offer him a smile, a little awkward but nonetheless pretty. He needs to go. “I can bring you some more? I usually buy it from this little vendor on Saturday, but I can make an early stop.”

“That’s okay.”

You chew on your cheek. “Maybe you want to go with me?”

He freezes. “What?”

You take in a big gulp of air, shoulders pushed back gently. “I feel like…” You chew your lip, mulling. Your eyes twinkle sadly. “We don’t really spend too much time together. And I’d like to.”

Bucky can feel heat creep awfully up his neck, a stabbing warmth in his chest. He needs to reject you right now.

You seem to read his mind, stepping backward and bumping into the counter. “You don’t have to—” You stumble over your feet in your efforts to give him space.

His hands shoot out to wrap around your forearms, pulling you upright. Your eyes are rounded, mouth still caught in an assurance, warm fingers twisted below his wrists to hook loosely on the hill of his pisiform.

He swallows, stepping back like your touch burned him. “No thanks.”

You frown, not wanting to push but feeling like you need to. You swallow the step he’d put between you. “Please? I promise I’ll make it fun. There are a lot of things there, maybe you could find Steve’s birthday gift.”

Bucky inhales shortly. “I got it already.”

He begins to sidestep you, a scorching buzzing he never realized was prickling beneath his skin finally beginning to ease. You grasp his arm and it peaks so high, he stops breathing for a second. The twinkle has come back, more melancholy than he remembered. Your lips pucker, eyebrows edging down. “Do you not like me?”

Bucky pauses, overwhelmed by the heat of your fingers. “What?”

Your teeth dig into your lip, thumb beginning to rap against the flat edge of his palm. He blinks. “You don’t seem to like me very much. Which is fine—I just… did I do something wrong?” Your voice closes on a mournful crest, features already sorry as your fingers continue their frantic dance on his skin. “I didn’t mean to.”

“No. Why would you think that?”

You frown. “You never talk to me unless you have to, you leave the room the moment I come in.”

“That’s not true.”

You cock your head at him, a little exasperated. “Bucky.”

“Fine.” He sighs, meeting eyes with your concern again. A beat passes. “Let’s go,” he says.

Your face lights up, although hesitant. “Really? Honest, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Really. Maybe I’ll get something else for Steve.”

You bounce gently on the balls of your feet, fingers looping tightly around his wrist. “Thank you. We’ll have fun, I promise.”

“Sure,” he says, rubbing the slope of his nose when you finally step back with a pretty smile. His wrist burns delightfully; he has to hold himself back from prodding at it with his fingers.

You stare at him for another second, eyes crinkling at their edges. “I’ll be right back. We’ll leave in ten minutes, is that okay?”

“Sure,” he repeats, watching you bound toward the elevator. Your lips are pinched tightly when you turn around, the bubbled highs of your cheeks betraying what you try to smother. 

When the elevator doors shut, he lets his eyes fall closed, dropping his head onto one hand. His pointer finger brushes against the skin you’d held, eliciting a lovely glittering where you’d rubbed the pads of your fingers.

His elbow bumps into something cold and fragile, which he looks down to see is your mug, quietly inched closer to him. Hesitantly, he loops a finger around the handle, lifting the smooth edge up to his mouth. You were right, the water is fresh and sweet.

He falls into the couch disappointedly to wait for you, letting his head tilt back and attention rest on the ceiling. His index strokes the handle with wobbly, hesitant lines, running over the movements of your own fingers in the bumps and ridges of the mug. Your ownership is painfully present, predictably foreign on Bucky’s tongue, yet not at all wrong where he has felt it most.

It’s not what Bucky expected.

He puts it down on the table, hoping the delicate circular teetering grounds him. It doesn’t.

-

You’re frantic when you push the door to your room open, entirely crammed with worries.

Your hair has refused to cooperate all morning, the shirt you’d pulled on has a tiny hole you hope Bucky didn’t notice, and your pants are a size too big, the stretchy bottom part of the left leg pulled up to the thick of your calf.

You try to remember whether or not you washed your nice jeans the day before, fingers deftly pushing away hangers and leaving only an ugly screeching sound that you can’t bother to notice. 

You don’t think Bucky likes you. In the decent amount of time you’d known him—a fraction of it with a word count—you had, at the very least, been reassured that he didn’t hate you. Bucky doesn’t seem to spend too much time hating in the icky, false sense of the word, not when he has so many possible receptors with real and raw reasoning.

You hold a shirt up to the light like it’ll help determine Bucky’s thoughts about it. Would he have any?

You shove the shirt back inside your closet and pull another off the hanger, stretching out the collar irresponsibly. Bucky seems to wear a lot of red. Is it because he likes it or has someone commented on how much it brings out his eyes?

You don’t think Bucky likes you. You’re determined to get him to.

He was wearing something red today. You pull on a pretty vermillion blouse with wide sleeves and a high neckline and try not to feel silly. Your foot taps nervously against the floor as you try to decide on earrings, taking a glance along the rows you have before you crouch down to pull on your shoes, browsing the image you’d caught in your mind. 

When you straighten, it feels as if entirely too much time has passed by, your head leady, vision thinned briefly. You decide on the Snoopy earrings you’d bought last week. Tiny, crescent-eyed Woodstock goes on your left ear and tiny, lovesick Snoopy goes on your right. He must know them, right?

You don’t look in the mirror before you leave, too confident that your reflection would send you tumbling back into your closet, slipping your choice off your earlobes. Your forefinger hooks on the bottom of your shirt, tugging down as you watch yourself in the closed doors of the elevator.

Slowly, you inhale. Exhale. Realize you’d closed your eyes and the doors are now open.

The pads of your fingers meet Snoopy’s small clay-lump-legs and you remember that you’re being ridiculous.

Calmer now, you prance over to Bucky, blinking at his shut eyes, body leant against the couch.

“Bucky?” you call. You bend at the waist, searching for a sign of life until your nose is very, very close to his. “Are you okay?” you whisper, unsure why.

Bucky startles anyway, meeting your fresher face. He has thoughts on the shirt.

He clears his throat. “Fine.”

You pull back, crossing your arms. “Did I make you wait long?” you stress, watching him get to his feet.

“No.”

You want to make a joke. You know what Sam would do—poke at his age, ask if the century was finally catching up. You contemplate it too long.

Bucky eyes the bag hanging from the crook of your elbow. You tilt it inconspicuously, flashing stupid buttons and silly pins. Bucky clears his throat. “Should we go?”

“Yes,” you say hurriedly, following after him as he heads to the elevator. It’s silent inside and all the way to the car, where you exchange a stilted smile for a glance when you plug in your phone with the address.

Your thigh shakes the entire ride, slowing momentarily for awkward, brief conversations when the silence gets too unbearable. You think about comfortable silence and how this is not it, icky regret crawling up your throat. You feel sticky and stupid.

“I like your earrings,” Bucky says unprompted. You’re too surprised to do much else than stare, thanking him after too long.

“You like Snoopy?”

He nods. You contemplate more questions, but he seems satisfied with his contribution.

You stare down at your bag the rest of the time, a finger tracing a big, glittery button from a goose race you never went to.

Bucky’s presence is too professional at the stands. He handles himself overly bodyguard-like around you, watching you pick things up with care and interact with vendors from just next to the tents. Rarely does he touch something himself.

You fiddle with a small notebook, catching his eye. You smile when he reads your mind, stepping over to your side to see over your shoulder. Half of his body is close enough to pull sparks from your opposite side. You try your best to concentrate.

“Steve,” you explain, twisting the little sketchbook around. He hums, the noise accompanied by a warm puff of air against the thin skin of your neck. You still completely, goosebumps rising immediately. You pray he doesn’t notice.

Of course Bucky does. He watches your chest still and can’t help the rise of the left edge of his lip. Experimentally, he blows a soft line along your neck.

You flinch, fingers going slack. Bucky reaches for the book before it can thump on the table, his eyes crinkled. You’re too distracted to notice the amusement on his face.

He hums. “That’s a good choice for Stevie.”

“Y-yeah.” You clear your throat, taking a step back but bumping into him. Your skin is delightfully warm even through his jacket, sharp tingles only tendered by your sweet chagrin.

Graciously, he steps aside, meeting your eyes and raising the book between his index and middle fingers. The buttons of the bag hanging off his wrist sparkle in the sunlight. He smiles, suddenly a lot less hesitant than this morning. “Found my present.”

You nod, leaving him to pay as you raise your hand to your collarbone, the pads of your fingers brushing over the goosebumps above the collar of your shirt.

You shiver again and wonder.

-

You’re anxious for more.

Bucky’s interactions with you are usually dismally brief. He says hi when you prompt him, returns tight smiles, and indulges your questions using as few words as possible. Last time, it was ten. The time before, five. Your peak is sixteen.

On the next movie night, you come downstairs half an hour before and claim a doughy two-person couch, sprawling a silky blanket over one side. You pop two bags of popcorn and stress that you made them too early, overcompensating with a variety of candy. It’s spread out with great care, the cushions adjusted, the furniture itself repositioned.

You sit on your side and pretend you’ve only just come when Sam heads into the living room, raising an eyebrow at you.

“What’s all this?” he asks, stealing a handful of popcorn. 

“Nothing,” you say, shifting as he pokes around your stash. Footsteps. “Go over there,”

“What?”

“Bucky won’t come over here if you’re standing there.”

Sam cocks his head. “Ohh, Bucky huh?”

“Go!” you urge, heat up to your ears when he satiates you, hands up in surrender as he walks away.

More Avengers filter in, at the very end Bucky. Your friends have decided to appease you today, occupying every space except the one by your side. Your leg bounces with anticipation.

Bucky looks at you, noticing everything you’ve done, and blinks away when you smile at him. Your shoulders sag, lips pursed achingly.

“You can sit here. If you want,” you say. “I got you some candy. I’ve seen you eating it before, and I thought you… you might like it.”

It’s a slim moment—but a moment nonetheless—before he answers. “Okay. Thank you. I’m gonna get a drink before the movie.”

“I’ll go with you,” you pipe up, a few of the others joining you to pour sodas and chips into bowls.

You’re reaching for a glass when you feel him behind you, stretching for another.

You shiver when you feel air against the nape of your neck, knee knocking loudly into the counter.

He’s away from you before you can process it was him, innocuously pulling open a drawer.

Everyone meets your eye questioningly. “You okay?” Natasha asks.

You nod, pupils flickering to Bucky, who would seem entirely innocent if his irises weren’t so glittered with mirth.

You frown at him, confused when he’s completely unchanged, simply walking beside you back to his seat.

You split your attention between the movie and Bucky’s face for the first hour, realizing you should never have let it stray when he reaches for his glass of water and brushes a very warm finger right below your jaw.

You stare at him perplexedly, his features outlined by the flickering light of the television.

“Butter,” he lies, shrugging. Then, he turns back to the movie and ignores you for the rest of the night. You can’t remember the name of the movie by the next day.

-

The round tip of your little finger aches with a small papercut.

The paperwork piled up at the edge of your desk mocks your wound, edged paper corners peeking out as if a warning.

You watch wine bubble, a fat drop beginning to edge closer to the crevice between nail and skin. Holding back an urge to shove your finger into your mouth, you clasp a tissue with your other hand, wrapping it tightly around your wounded finger.

You blow a gentle raspberry and lean back in your seat; a silent resignation: the paperwork wins.

Natasha meets your eye from the couch across the hall, appearing to read your mind in the sharp way she can do. She frowns, an exaggerated pull to her lips, falsely thinned eyes glaring. She crosses her arms and puffs her chest out, shaking her head in a distinct disappointment.

You stifle a laugh and present your injury to her.

Her lips part in overt understanding, nodding slowly. Poor baby, she mouths.

Poor baby, you agree, cradling your hand.

She laughs, standing up to walk toward you. When she gets to you, she picks up a pen off your desk, squinting at the words peeking out beneath the covers.

“This is from two months ago,” she says unhelpfully, tapping it with your pen.

“That’s not even the oldest one there,” you deplore, letting your head drop on your desk with a mournful sigh.

“Why do you insist on falling behind?” she tuts.

“I’m hurt!” you insist, pushing your finger toward her. She cocks her head at you but cradles your hand. “Every time I try, it’s like it fights back!”

“If you need help…” Natasha mutters something in Russian and brushes her lips against your pinky, making you smile.

You simper. “Did you just heal me?”

“No. I cursed you for being lazy.”

You frown, taking back your hand to hold it against your chest. “I’m good,” you say, responding to her earlier offer. You heave a big sigh. “Thank you, though. Evil woman.”

She smiles at you, shaking her head when she sees your opposite fingers wrapping around your injured one. “You like to suffer.”

“How dare you,” you mumble, urging another bloody bead to form.

“Deviant,” she claims, walking away.

You don’t look up to blow a raspberry at her, dragging your nail up your skin until a thicker drop forms.

It’s a fairly challenging game you have going on, making your bead grow while trying to keep it plump and steady on the tip of your little finger.

If you breathe a little too hard, it wobbles, and you clamp your lips closed, holding your breath and freezing entirely for a few seconds until it’s still again.

It’s a concentration game. And Bucky takes advantage of it.

You press the indent between your bones gently, immersed enough to only recognize his presence when he begins to speak.

“Don’t do that,” he condemns, suddenly right behind you. He must be bent over, lips a millimeter away from the curve of your neck for you to feel every intricate vibration of each word he says. You flinch immediately, an already hot cheekbone bumping against his chin.

When you catch sight of him, he’s already straightened, perfectly calm.

“What?” you croak, warm fingers against the warmer skin below your earlobe.

“You cut yourself,” he says.

“Uh huh.”

“Why are you making it worse?”

“I… I’m not.”

His face stains only lightly in dissent, dissolving like a single droplet of color in an ocean of clear.

He doesn’t respond audibly, only shrugging and walking away. You only realize he’d pressed a clean, colorful band-aid on your desk after he’s out of the office.

There’s a streak of cherry red along your finger when you finally look down, only observing its head create a fat scarlet stain on your sleeve. You curse Bucky and the goosebumps still high on your skin.

-

You suspect Bucky to be somewhat of a sadist.

He doesn’t seem to mind the effect he’s carved into you, nearly reveling in it as if your embarrassment were some sort of thrill. You find yourself shivering prematurely the moment he steps foot in a room, the sight of him accompanied by the imminent line of ice along sensitive skin.

He’ll embarrass you wherever. Make you choke on your tea right before a meeting, burn yourself on a fresh tray of cookies, trip over shoes, and crash into walls. And he’ll watch you, lousily stifling a smile before tending to whatever he’d caused as if he wasn’t at fault for it.

Guiltily, you yearn for the roles to reverse. Or for yours to lessen. 

Slumped on the couch in the living room with a bowl of oily popcorn, you contemplate your situation with Snoopy.

All you had wanted was a sign further than acknowledgement. Something realer than his bitter, thin smile, maybe one of the laughs you’d been so eager to hear in real life. At the most, a purposeful touch; still kind, still real, probably brief. But what you’ve gotten surpasses what you’d initially desired in delightfully awful ways.

When you think about it, your situation doesn’t seem too fat with issue. You can’t recall a substantial conversation with Bucky, but you can remember with perfect clarity how warm his lips are from a millimeter away. It brings up the contemplation on whether or not it’s an actual issue to begin with.

You’re tempted to ignore it. You’re very, very tempted to let him continue his cruel attentions and let yourself become further putty in his presence.

What would you even do? You can’t see yourself pulling him forward by the collar—to make a point, of course, not to brush your fingers against his own neck to see him shudder—to look him in the eyes while telling him that you know what he’s doing. Especially when you don’t. Primarily when you aren’t sure what the point of the conversation would be—to tell him to stop? You aren’t sure you want him to.

It’s easier to push it aside and let him torture you. Maybe you’ll become impervious to Bucky Barnes’ bullying.

You push yourself straighter and let your head fall back, listening to Charlie Brown’s mournful voiceover.

“What if everyone was like you? What if we all ran away from our problems? Huh? What then? What if everyone in the whole world suddenly decided to run away from his problems?”

Your eyes pop open with a startled frown, watching his cartoon throw his little arms up and sigh.

Linus appears, but you don’t listen to his words, letting the fleshy part of your palm support your chin. The pads of your fingers float up to the space behind your ears, and you feel yourself flush immediately with recognition. Bucky is a sadist, sure. But you’re a masochist. 

With a dejected huff, you let your hands drop to the popcorn. 

It’s not even a full episode past when something shifts. You frown, covertly examining your surroundings with edged brows.

Two hands form deep clefts in cushions on either side of you, body heat sticky against the skin it can touch.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asks quietly, lips so close to your ear you can feel the echo of their movements. His breath prickles your neck.

“Um…” You struggle to respond, your tongue suddenly too dry. In the background, Lucy shouts something. It sends the dumbest feeling into your chest. Charlie Brown is right.

You gather up all the courage inside of you, rolling it up into the tightest and biggest little ball you can, and snap your neck to the side, catching his gaze before he can move in surprise.

You’re closer than you thought you’d be. You can see all the pretty little details of his face, the way his pupils eat the lovely blue of his irises and how high his Adam's apple bobs.

“What’s wrong?” you echo gently, sweetly mocking.

He stammers, charcoal lashes fluttering.

You hum, examining his face one last time before hopping off the couch to go to the kitchen, leaving him slumped over the couch, dazed.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes ff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction fluff #bucky barnes fanfic fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic fluffy #bucky barnes fic fluff #bucky barnes request #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes idiots in love #bucky barnes mutual pining #bucky barnes imagine angst #bucky barnes imagine fluff #bucky barnes teasing

[ghostlyfleur]

♡ modern!bucky x tennis instructor

modern!bucky bumps into the most beautiful — and stoic — girl he’s ever seen on the way out of his gym, and after pleading and whining with one of his buddies working the reception desk he is told where to find her.

and so is the reason he signed up for private tennis classes.

she’s hard to crack, set on only interacting with him in a professional manner and ignores all of his attempts at flirting; guarded and lacking trust, the young woman who believes no romantic relationship is worth it, works hard to ignore the butterflies in her stomach whenever her saturday morning appointment comes in… flirty, full of sweet pet names and a charming smile as he does his best to tear her walls down. she can only resist for so long when he is this relentless and caring and funny. “what exactly do you want?” is her exasperated response one day after the daily texts he sends to make her smile and that she usually ignores, “you.” is his answer, “for a really fucking long time.” and so her walls colapse.

#fleur museum™ #moodboards #fairy writes #bucky barnes (harmo’s version) #modern!bucky barnes #flirty!bucky barnes #dorky!bucky barnes #bucky barnes friends to lovers #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x shy!reader #bucky barnes x quiet!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes mutual pining #enemies to lovers? #buchy barnes blurb #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes thoughts #bucky barnes au #modern au #tennis instructor #mcu x reader #mcu x you #modern au mcu

[mediocre-daydreams]

Hey 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

Can I request

“Do you trust me?” “No”

“You flinched”

“because i’m in love with you, isn’t that obvious?”

i've been wanting to write a taylor fic for a while and rep is my all-time favorite album; thus, this mess. i'm not sure how i feel about it tbh i wrote it in two parts and both times i was multitasking so,,, i think the ridiculousness of it all will make up for it

𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞

bucky barnes x avenger! reader

inspired by delicate (not taylor's version, unfortunately)

notes: reader dumb asf, friends to lovers/mutual pining but x10 idiocy factor, literally just crack with a side of *stupid* angst, swearing, brief suggestive language, bucky's actually the worst communicator EVER, natasha and wanda mean well but don't give the best advice (but we love 'em always)

w/c: 4.1k

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

this ain't for the best my reputation's never been worse, so you must like me for me

“this is useless,” bucky complained, flopping himself onto the couch, next to you—which was a bad idea, because the man was 6’3 and nearly 250 pounds. you felt yourself bounce as the cushions sunk under his weight.

“holy- watch where you’re sitting, barnes!” you scrambled back into your previous position, trying to regain your dignity as if you hadn’t just been catapulted simply because of a super soldier sitting down.

“this whole amends thing is bullshit,” he groaned, waving his hands in the air out of frustration. “i mean, i go up to people all sunshine and smiles and i’m like, ‘hi, i’m bucky, i’m here to make amends,’ and then they’re all like, ‘fuck you, asshole!’” he threw his face into his hands and groaned.

you stifled a laugh. “you look like an overgrown toddler right now.” it was true—his bottom lip was jutting out, he was slumped in his seat, and every once in a while he’d sigh or mutter something negative audibly like he was throwing a mini temper tantrum.

“who looks like an overgrown toddler?” natasha rounded the corner and smirked when she saw bucky and his pity party. “oh yeah, i see it.”

bucky rolled his eyes. “this is ridiculous. do you know how sore my cheeks are? i’m trying my fucking best here, and all i got today was glares, a cup of coffee thrown at me, and the middle finger from two grandmas.”

“your own people, turning against you.” you patted bucky’s shoulder reassuringly. “there, there. we’re still here for you.”

“gee, thanks,” he grumbled.

natasha covered her mouth to hide the knowing smile on her face. she was the best spy in the world, but the only thing that could make her break was watching you and bucky interact. neither of you was aware that you were very obviously teetering the line between teammate and soulmate. there was no in between, just a precarious tightrope walk.

“alright, you bums. tony’s hosting another one of his galas-”

“actually, it’s an extravaganza,” tony corrected, sauntering in with his yellow sunglasses perched at the tip of his nose as he checked off items on his holographic pad. “and attendance is mandatory. i will be marking lates and absences.”

tony didn’t even look up from his device when he said, “and yes, barnes, that includes you. consider this a part of your whole… making amends thing.” tony finally looked up from his screen to make intense eye contact with the three of you. “fabulous! i’m glad we’re all on the same page. 7:45 sharp; dress nice.”

with a snap of his fingers and a call for JARVIS, tony was gone as quickly as he had butted in.

natasha grimaced. “right. what i was going to suggest was that bucky takes a plus one. you know. breaking news: winter soldier has a heart! winter soldier, the secret romantic! bucky barnes, giving tony stark a run for his money as the womanizer of the decade?”

bucky looked uncomfortable. “sure…” he dragged out. “yeah, i’ll think about it. thanks a lot, natasha.”

we can’t make any promises now can we, babe? but you can make me a drink

your eyes flickered between the two of them and the thick tension laced in their glares. was this Sexual Tension™? you jumped up from your spot and excused yourself hurriedly, speedwalking to your room at an awkward mid-speed gait.

natasha had basically asked bucky out right in front of your face. great. what were you supposed to do, tell her to fuck off and let you make a fool of yourself in front of bucky? tony’s parties were never your scene anyway; natasha had much more grace and composure. bucky and natasha made sense. they had similar backgrounds, were equally sharp-minded, and admittedly, the both of them were very, very beautiful.

you buried your face into a pillow and screamed. technically, the rooms were soundproof, but it was more dramatic that way. at some point during your toddler-esque fit (bucky was rubbing off on you), you were struck with a brilliant idea. what you needed was a movie-style makeover montage.

you and wanda had always worked together perfectly. it was like you could read each others’ minds. well, wanda literally could, but you could do it…hypothetically? she was more than thrilled to help you get dolled up.

“i have snacks!” wanda squealed, running into your room with bags of gummies and packets of chocolate-covered pomegranate seeds floating behind her. (you had a unique taste in candy, so what?) she wiggled in place as she examined your setup with nothing but pure delight in her eyes.

wanda came up behind you while you were fiddling with your laptop and her enthusiastic but sudden exclamation made you jump. “ohmigosh, are we going to watch the bootleg version of legally blonde the musical? you know me so well,” she swooned, “that’s my favorite broadway production!” 

wanda flitted between the various products you’d laid out in your bathroom. you’d prepared it all—an army of nail polish bottles, mountains of glittering jewelry, and heaps and heaps of makeup products that you’d probably never finish in a lifetime.

“bucky is gonna freak when he sees you!” wanda said decisively as she brushed your hair. you examined yourself in the mirror with a frown.

“wan, i’m pretty sure he and natasha are going as a couple.” you fidgeted with a stray piece of hair and wanda grabbed your hand before you could do any more damage to her styling.

“don’t fidget. you only do that when you’re really upset.” wanda sighed, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “i’m sorry, babe. i really thought- well, i’ll just say this is a surprising development for me too. i can’t really promise you anything without totally invading bucky’s bodily autonomy and forcefully and very immorally looking through his private and most intimate thoughts, but i really did- do think you have something there.”

you smiled sadly, unconvinced. “thanks. it doesn’t matter anymore, though. what’s done is done and i’m not going to cry over spilled juice.” you pursed your lips. “even if i really like orange juice…” you huffed.

wanda didn’t correct you. you were already pretty upset.

“hey, chin up a bit! you still get to go to the party with the hottest date ever, me,” she gestured to her body. “and, i mix a mean drink. none of that bartender nonsense. i’ll whip up something way better for us. what d’you say? wanna get totally trashed and embarrass ourselves in front of stuffy businessmen?”

you cracked a smile and looked up at wanda mischievously. “hell yeah. and let’s crack out the kazoos.”

is it cool that i said all that? is it chill that you’re in my head? ‘cause i know that it’s delicate

you were hopping around on one foot, still trying to put on a shoe, as you left your room and crashed into the most delicious-smelling wall you’d ever crashed into.

“bucky?” you squeaked, feeling your face heat up.

“hi, doll.” he smiled down at you fondly and helped you steady yourself before he got on one knee to help you with your shoe. you knew bucky ran warm, but you swore there was a heat in his cheeks too.

“you look b- you are beautiful,” he muttered, just loud enough so you were the only one who could hear it. you gulped, feeling like bucky had suddenly adopted wanda’s abilities to mind read from the way his blue eyes searched your face as if he was admiring art.

“you look okay, i guess.” you poked him in the chest. “c’mon, i’m sure nat’s waiting for us.” you ignored the pang in your chest as you said natasha’s name, but it was totally because you were just hungry.

“i’m hungry,” wanda whined, able to sense your distress and quickly changing the subject. “do you think tony got a fondue machine?” her strides had widened as she lauded on and on about the potential food options, picking up her pace at each mention of a different dish.

soon, there was good distance between bucky and you and a very distracted wanda. your eyes were fixed on wanda’s back, but you weren’t oblivious to the way bucky’s gaze was glued to the side of your face.

“doll, can i talk to you real quick?” he placed a gentle hand on your arm and you froze, whipping around to finally look at him with wide, doe-like eyes. you snatched your arm out of his grasp only moments after, walking down the hallway faster than before.

bucky’s face fell. he’d opted not to cover his metal arm that night, but he was beginning to regret that decision. he couldn’t tell how much of your avoidance was due to his arm or from some other unknown reason, and he wasn’t sure which was worse.

“no, wait-” bucky jogged to catch up to you, but you only threw an anxious glance over your shoulder. when you locked eyes, you stiffened. bucky was perplexed. he couldn’t think of anything he’d done wrong.

“sweetheart, why are you running from me?” he cooed, giving you distance but wary that you’d run from him again.

“it’s nothing, buck. i’m just… menstruating,” you lied.

“no you’re not.” bucky looked at you pointedly. “i know because we always do movies and chocolate on the 20th, and it’s the 5th. so… ‘fess up.”

“i-” you smiled weakly. “seriously, it’s fine. c’mon, you heard tony. i’m not getting marked late and ruining my perfect attendance record.”

--

bucky watched as you dashed off, throwing open the doors to the center of the party, leaving him alone and dejected in the hallway. well, not for long. natasha, in a slinky silver dress, snuck behind him silently and coughed. bucky shrieked yelped.

“you’re actually so pathetic.” natasha crossed her arms. “i literally asked her out for you and you’ve somehow managed to make her run away from you?”

bucky shriveled under her piercing disappointment. “what are you even talking about?” he grumbled, kicking an imaginary stone.

“you were supposed to ask her to be your plus one, idiot.” at this point, natasha seemed more upset than bucky, who had already resigned to the fact that he’d be forever alone.

“but you said that was a suggestion,” bucky retorted.

“you should know by now that anything i say, whether it be phrased as a suggestion or not, is mandatory. do better, barnes.” natasha puched bucky in his [flesh] arm before quirking her head thoughtfully.

“i think there’s still a way to salvage this. all you have to do is ignore her, so that she’ll wonder where you are, and then-”

“natasha, that is entirely a contradiction,” bucky interjected.

“buchanan, don’t you trust me?” natasha snapped.

“absolutely not. and don’t call me that.” bucky tried to stand taller and puff out his chest to assert dominance (to hide the fact that he was absolutely clueless on modern courting strategies), but natasha was unimpressed.

“i’m going to pretend i didn’t hear that, because i’d quite like for you to show up to the party in one piece. and don’t think it’s because i’m soft on you. i just think you’d make a good couple and i’m bored,

“so, like i was saying. you disappear, all mysterious and broody. that should be easy enough for you. then, she’ll think, ‘where are you?’ so she’s either going to text you or call you, and that’s when you invite her over. make sure you’re somewhere in the back… preferably dark and a bit secluded.”

bucky was incredulous. “you do realize i’m trying to get her to like me, not tyring to kill her, right?” his trust in natasha, which was already nonexistent, was somehow continuing to deteriorate.

“gramps, i’ve gotten more action in the past year than you’ve had in your entire life.” natasha flipped her hair. “anyways, she already likes you, dingus. i don’t know why…”

natasha stole a look towards the glass doors, which revealed tony’s extravaganza in full swing. she patted bucky’s arm patronizingly. “you’re not trying to get her to like you, alright? you have to show her that you feel the same, because full offense, you’ve been absolutely shit at expressing your feelings. have you always been like this? or did 40s girls just have low standards?”

natasha sauntered off, leaving bucky alone and confused in a hallway once again. he steeled himself, pushing back his shoulders, before stepping through the doors and into the party scene with determination.

he immediately deflated when he caught sight of you, hand resting delicately on top of some shmoozing billionaire (or so he figured), laughing gracefully at something the man had said which probably wasn’t even that funny anyways.

natasha’s step one suddenly became much easier. he had no inclination to chat up some new money assholes who’d probably end up badmouthing him to the press the next day, even if it meant being by your side. he stealthily (or as stealthily as one could for a hulking serum-enhanced man) maneuvered through the excessive crowd to the open bar that he was planning on living off of to survive the night.

third floor on the west side, me and you handsome, you’re a mansion with a view do the girls back home touch you like i do?

“a whiskey, neat,” bucky said, absolutely emotionless, as he slid into a booth. the bartender, who was horrible at hiding their expressions, seemed to cower in bucky’s presence. bucky took advantage of that. 

“and make it fast,” he glowered. it was only when the bartender gave bucky a little salute, addressing him by his military title, that bucky smiled for the first time that night. maybe this party wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

“buck!” you screamed into his ear. you were kneeling on the seat from the booth behind him, leaning over the divider so you could make sure you were close enough to shatter his eardrums. he let out a high pitched squeal very masculine sound of being startled. 

“aw, did i scare you?” you hopped the booth divider and slid in next to him. the booths were unusually small and bucky was unusually large, so you were essentially halfway on his lap. bucky didn’t know how you could be so nonchalant about it. he felt like he was going to throw up. or that other parts of his body were going to go up.

“n-no,” he insisted; his chin was pressed against his neck.

“that’s such a lie, bucky. you flinched.” bucky tried to protest, but you wouldn’t have any of it. “no, you definitely did! admit it, i surprised you.”

reluctantly, bucky conceded. “okay, maybe i was caught off guard. but i was busy looking for my girl, so whose fault is it really?” he was proud of his answer until he remember what natasha had advised him. 

“make sure you disappear, all mysterious and broody.” well, great. it’d been less than 10 minutes. “she’ll think, ‘where are you?’ and that’s when you invite her over.” you’d found him before he could even make a move. the step which he anticipated would be the easiest had already been blown.

“your gi- oh, that reminds me, where’s nat?” your golden demeanor seemed to dampen for just a moment before you perked up again, looking up at bucky with those infinitely deep eyes. he gulped. wasn’t he supposed to be the one with the mesmerizing “steel blue” eyes? you were completely unfazed. this was not going his way, not at all.

“she’s in the bathroom… menstruating, “ he lied, regurgitating your excuse from earlier. you narrowed your eyes at him disbelievingly.

“oo…kay. well, that sucks. she’s gonna miss out on the caviar gun.” you nodded your head towards a man in a bright, coral-colored suit, who was indeed holding a bedazzled sniper rifle (whether it was real or a prop, bucky was too far away to tell) and shooting caviar like bullets into an eagerly waiting crowd. bucky wanted to say that he was surprised, but he wasn’t. this was a stark event, after all.

bucky’s attention was broken as you gasped animatedly. “you used to be a sniper in the 40s, right? we should ask the man if you can try it out!” bucky blushed as he felt your soft hand take his large, calloused one in his. 

(he’d once asked you how you kept your hands so well maintained. you’d recommended him some obscure brand of floral lotion. he was wearing it today.)

bucky tried thinking back to what natasha had advised him. “make sure you’re somewhere in the back, preferably dark and bit secluded.” he glanced over at the steadily growing crowd at the caviar-fest. that was literally the opposite of what he’d been told to do. c’mon bucky, you already fucked up step one. you have to pull through with step two.

“actually, i think natasha, uh, wanted me to get her a drink,” bucky blurted. your lips twitched enticingly for a brief moment as if getting a drink was personally offensive to you or something, but you nodded anyways.

“you’re, um, a good date,” you stammered, looking anywhere but at him. bucky blushed. was he winning you over? “natasha’s lucky to have you.”

bucky wanted to die. this was worse than when he fell off the train.

“oh doll, i keep meaning to tell you that-”

“here’s your whiskey, sergeant bucky barnes- shit, james- seargent buchanan barnes. sir.” the bartender pushed the glass towards bucky hastily, their face pale and sweaty. you eyed bucky with suspicion.

“what did you do now, huh? always getting into trouble without me,” you joked, with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. he sighed, tapping his fingers against his drink, leaving nervous fingerprints in the condensation. it was rare to see you so… guarded. you were the person who’d taught him how to feel freely and embrace vulnerability. now, you were the one putting up a front.

“i’ll admit, you are a good influence on me.” bucky waved the bartender over once more, who scurried up to the two of you instantaneously.

long nights with your hands up in my hair echoes of your footsteps on the stairs stay here, honey, i don’t want to share ‘cause i like you

“w-what can i do for you today?” the bartender forced the words through their teeth, mouth locked in a fake smile.

“what do you want, sweetheart?” bucky’s tone took a complete 180 as he looked down at you fondly, though you weren’t paying attention. you were more concerned about the bartender who looked like they were on the verge of a heart attack, swaying back and forth.

“i’ll have a… um, i’ll have whatever he’s having,” you smiled sweetly at the flustered bartender, who’d regained color in their cheeks at your comfortable tone. 

bucky wrapped an arm around your shoulder, sending you into a dizzying haze of his cologne. “why are you still here? you heard m’girl,” bucky glowered. 

you shot him a disapproving glare. “first of all, you’re supposed to be here working on bettering your reputation. second of all, you really should stop calling me ‘your girl’ if you’re out here with nat, i don’t think she’d be comfortable with-”

“can you just shut up for a second?” bucky removed his hand from your shoulder and slapped his forehead. then he realized how rude he looked.

bucky had been worried about you earlier because you’d clearly been hiding your emotions. but it seems like he’d only exacerbated the issue, because now there you were, biting your bottom lip in an unsuccessful attempt to stop it from wobbling. you were unblinking and bucky knew the glassiness in your eyes wasn’t because they’d been open for too long; rather, that you were tearing up and didn’t want to release them.

he really was good at fucking things up, wasn’t he?

“oh, doll, i didn’t mean- shit, i’m so sorry, are you crying? i didn’t mean to make you cry, i must’ve sounded like such an asshole just then,” he prattled, holding his hands up in surrender as he tried to undo all the damage of the night.

“no, no, it’s fine!” you laughed fakely. (thank god you were an avenger. you’d be a horrible actor.) “i didn’t mean to cling on to you the entire evening, i imagine nat’s wondering where you’ve been. how inconsiderate of me! i hope everything’s still okay between us?” your voice was almost an octave higher than normal.

“listen, i-”

“and i’m totally going to get out of your hair now—your hair looks really good by the way, really soft—and you can go have a super fantastic time with nat! um, let her know i have tampons if she needs any. okay, bye!” 

the bartender had perfect timing. well, perfect for bucky, and unfortunate for you.

“here you are, ma’am! i wish the beautiful couple a beautiful night.”

that only made you more upset. bucky was very bad with crying people.

“you know what? let’s go. we need to talk.” bucky stood and grabbed your forearm, marching towards the dark, secluded place in the back that he should’ve gone to from the start. 

you trailed behind him without protest, quickening your footsteps to keep up with his steady, determined pace. “hey, watch it! these are louboutins!”

bucky all but shoved you into a seat. he stood over you for a few loud heartbeats before he sank into a chair of his own, massaging his temples with exhaustion. “alright. you are not allowed to leave that chair until you hear me out,” he growled. the soft tone he only reserved for you was gone.

“you really piss me off sometimes.” that was a rough start for bucky. it was pretty apparent that he wasn’t the most feely-feel of a guy. “yeah, you do. and y’know why? because you’re so- you’re so you.”

you looked at bucky like he’d gone insane. that was a fair assessment. bucky felt like he’d gone insane too, with the way he’d stopped having any control of what came out of his mouth.

“you do this- this thing, where you’re so optimistic about everything except for when it comes to yourself. you see the best in people—even me, for fuck’s sake—but you can’t see it in yourself. the whole fucking night, i’ve been trying to tell you that i’m not with natasha—don’t give me that look—but you keep running away from me because- because why? ‘cause you don’t believe that in any universe, i’d want to be with you? because you’re wrong!” bucky was flushed and his voice had gotten much louder since the start of his impassioned declaration.

“and you pretended to be happy for me, even though you clearly weren’t happy—yeah, that’s right. i could tell. you’re a shitty liar—because you’re just the kindest, most selfless, the most deserving person i’ve ever known. and i’m one hundred-fucking-six years old. you deserve the world, doll, but it’s like you’d rather give yourself up for the world. nothing could replace you.”

bucky slipped out of his seat to come sit on his knees before you. he took your hands in his, resting your intertwined fingers on your thighs. “nothing could make me feel the same way i feel about you,” he whispered. 

neither of you said anything. in the dimness of the corner the two of you were tucked into, he could vaguely make out the fluttering of your lashes, clumped together from the tears that’d soaked into your makeup. he could see your parted lips, swollen from having been bitten and chewed at this entire time. he could even feel your breath on his face, and at that moment, it was as if the air of your soft exhales that tickled his cheeks was the only air left in the world—like you were his only source of oxygen, and that he couldn’t survive without you.

sometimes i wonder, when you sleep are you ever dreaming of me? sometimes when i look into your eyes i pretend you’re mine, all the damn time

“that was a lot of swearing,” you hiccuped, eyes wide and brows furrowed. you shook your head in perplexion as your eyes flickered between his, like some possessive marking of a predator who knows they had their prey entirely under their control. “i don’t- i don’t get it.”

bucky wanted to choke you out. (not in a literal, violent manner! or in a sexual one, for that matter! at least, not in this context.) you were so stupid. how did you still now understand?

“isn’t it obvious?” he chuckled humorlessly. “i’m in love with you, idiot.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

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#bucky and reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes crackfic #bucky barnes x avenger! reader #bucky barnes friends to lovers #bucky barnes mutual pining #bucky fic #bucky barnes x you

[hazywrites]

Bucky I’m In Love With My Best Friend

Chapter 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You are hopelessly in love with your best friend, James Buchanan Barnes, and it's clear he feels something for you, too. So between stolen kisses and hookups, drunken calls and flirty banter, why can't you talk about it? What even is "it"?

Warnings: Light angst, an argument, all is resolved

Words: 5,090

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48220744/chapters/121858312

Chapter 3

Chapter Notes: Hi, my loves! This chapter is a little longer than the last one, and a little angstier, though I always try to wrap things up on a happy note. Please let me know what you all think! I love you and thank you for reading!

“Did you tell Bucky?” Were the first words to spill out of Nat’s mouth as she came rushing into your room. Wanda shot you a sympathetic look from where she was sat, cross-legged, at the end of your bed.

“No,” you replied with a resolved pout. “He didn’t text me all day. He doesn’t get to know. He can find out when he sees me next and wonder why he was left out of the loop.”

“Nice to know we’re being mature about this.” Wanda’s words were drowned out as Nat spoke over her.

“Let’s sign your cast.” You nodded towards your desk where a pencil case brimming with art supplies sat unzipped. An assortment of colored Sharpies overflowed from it. Nat went for classic black, tossing Wanda a red one. After they finished, Nat sat next to you, leaning in conspiratorially. “If you really want to make him jealous, get another guy to sign it first.”

“Another guy?” You blinked. “I don’t know any other guys. I mean, I do, but my guy friends are nerds; Bucky won’t be jealous of them.”

“Get Loki to do it,” Nat squealed delightedly. You couldn’t help but raise your eyebrows at her turpitude. Bucky was close with Thor but he absolutely despised his younger brother. But you couldn’t go that far. Bucky never talked to people you hated; you wanted to reciprocate that respect. He was your friend, first, after all. You were about to protest the idea when Wanda spoke up.

“And Erik downstairs. Bucky definitely noticed the way he eyes you up. He’s always calling the guy a cornball and looking for reasons to dislike him,” she added.

“Wanda!” You scolded, not at all surprised to hear Nat talking like this but very shocked indeed to hear it coming from your most rational friend. She simply grinned bashfully in response.

“He hasn’t texted you all day,” Wanda reminded you. “Nothing wrong with reminding him how steep the competition is out here.

“I wouldn’t want him to remind me how steep the competition is,” you argued. Nat waved her hand dismissively.

“But if he does it, he’s a douchebag because he knows you two would’ve been in a relationship already if it were up to you. He’s the one who ‘needs time’, so you can show him that if he doesn’t step up, another guy will!”

“Somehow, I don’t think Bucky is that insecure. He’d just say something like ‘if that’s what you want, then that’s that’ and never talk to me again.”

“Oh, I forgot you two love playing the emotionally mature game.” Nat wrinkled her nose in disapproval. “But if we go out tonight and you just happen to run into Erik and Loki before Bucky texts you, he’ll have no one to blame but himself.” You groaned in response.

“I just ate shit on the way home from class and spent the last three hours in an emergency room. I do not feel like going out tonight.”

“And is the alternative sitting in bed, eating peanut butter cups and complaining about how much your arm hurts and how Bucky hasn’t texted you back?” Wanda asked pointedly. You shot her a death glare.

“Maybe the peanut butter cups will keep him at bay. He is allergic,” you mused.

“Yeah, no, I’m sorry; I do not want to deal with pouty Y/N right now. Get dressed and put on your best sad, wounded puppy look,” Nat said. She eyed you for a second. “Yeah, just like that.” You groaned loudly in response, only growing louder as she stood up and made her way to your closet, flipping through your dresses.

You’d settled on a strapless emerald green mini dress and black boots, which Wanda helped you into as Nat did your hair and makeup. Since you couldn’t exactly put anything on over your sling, your jacket hung over your shoulders. You wanted to complain more, but the girls were right. You’d be in pain either way. Might as well distract yourself from it, both physically and emotionally.

You were heading downstairs when Nat slowed you all to a stop in the hallway.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Y/N?” She asked, louder than necessary. You hid your face behind your hand as you realized what she was doing. “Oh, Y/N, you poor thing. Wanda, will you help Y/N with her jacket?” Her speaking volume raised each time she said your name, making your face flush in humiliation, especially as the door to the apartment you’d stopped in front of slowly swung open, revealing a curious-looking Erik.

“Y/N? I thought I heard your name,” he said.

“A wonder how that came to be,” you mumbled under your breath. His eyes fell on your cast.

“What happened to you? Are you okay?” Concern laced his voice.

“I’m just clumsy,” you conceded with a tight smile. “I tripped reading on my way out of the library. Should’ve watched where I was going.”

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he said, his fingers ghosting your arm as he stared down at you intensely. “I thought someone hurt you; I’d have to teach them a lesson.” He gave you a crooked smile as he said it, gazing into your eyes. Out of the corner of your eyes, you spotted Nat’s triumphant grin, as Wanda had the decency to pretend to be reading a job posting stapled to the community corkboard. Jesus, Bucky was right, you couldn’t help but think. This guy really is a cornball. “Oh, hey, they signed your cast. Why don’t I add my name to it?”

“Luckily,” Nat interjected, “I happen to have brought some Sharpies. What color would you like?”

“How about gold?” Erik asked, flashing his bright, picture perfect smile. You watched Nat grow a little flustered as she handed him the marker. Of course he would pick gold, you thought to yourself. “Where are you guys headed?” Erik asked as he finished signing your cast, finally taking in your outfits. Nat’s eyes sparkled.

“We’re just—“

“Late, we are running late,” you interrupted, ushering her away with your good hand. “Nice seeing you Erik, see you around!” You called as Wanda held the door open for you all to step outside, leaving a confused Erik still standing in his doorway.

“If you don’t want him, I’ll take him,” Nat said into the evening air as the door shut behind you.

“Take away,” you sighed as you began walking to the bar where Wanda swore she’d seen Loki on Snap Map. “You know this is borderline stalking,” you reminded her.

“It is public information,” she clarified. “And we got to speak to my bachelor, so we’re doing Nat’s next!”

“It’s like the world’s shittiest game show,” you lamented. “All the douchebags and no cash prize.”

“The prize,” Wanda reminded you, “will be Bucky seeing how many men will happily take his place and be your shoulder to cry on if he ever pulls a disappearing act like he did today.” You couldn’t help but smirk at her overprotectiveness. You knew Bucky most likely got caught up in a game of pick-up basketball or was busy with schoolwork, but you couldn’t help the chip on your shoulder that you’d broken your arm and he wasn’t around to help you. So much for best friends, you thought bitterly.

You spotted Loki almost immediately after entering the bar. He was leaning against a pool table, laughing at something his friends were saying when he caught your eye. You turned to notice that Nat and Wanda had already made themselves scarce, heading to the bar to get you drinks.

“Y/N,” Loki greeted as he strutted towards you, his eyes flitting down briefly to take in the sling. “Don’t you look worse for wear.”

“Gee, thanks, Loki,” you rolled your eyes. He laughed.

“You look beautiful as ever, darling, I was merely referring to the little nylon accessory you’re currently sporting.” You sighed.

“I may be beauty but I am not grace. I tripped coming out of the library.” Unlike Erik’s concerned reaction, Loki merely tilted his head back in a roaring laugh, a sound that irritated you to your core like proverbial nails on a chalkboard.

“Perhaps not grace, but the phrase ‘beauty and brains’ does come to mind,” he conceded. He gestured towards the pool table. “I’d offer for you to join me but it seems you are out of commission for the time being.”

“I’ll watch,” you said, resignedly, leaning on a nearby pool table. You watched him play for a minute before Nat and Wanda returned, Malibu bay breeze in hand. You smiled gratefully as you sipped the drink down. Loki greeted them both in turn as he made his shot before finally looking up from his game and leaning on the table next to you. For a moment neither of you said anything.

“So,” he finally spoke. “No Buckley today?”

“Bucky,” you corrected him, his answering shrug confirming your suspicion that he already knew your best friend’s name. “And no. We haven’t spoken today.” Loki hummed in response, his expression calculating as he took in the defeated slump of your shoulders.

“Despite your recent injury,” he noted.

“I mean, I didn’t exactly text him about it,” you admitted.

“You’re still upset. Why is that, if you haven’t even given him a chance to show up for you?”

“Because,” you sighed. “I shouldn’t have to. He doesn’t ask me to show up for him, I just do it. A little reciprocity would be nice.” He hummed in response.

“You know, Y/N, not everyone shows their affection the same way you do. Just because Bucky doesn’t speak your love language, doesn’t mean he isn’t speaking his own.”

“He doesn’t speak any love language,” you scoffed. Loki’s index finger and thumb touched your chin, just for a moment, as he tilted your face up to look into his eyes. His fingers were off you just as quickly as he chose his next words.

“Listen, love. You know I think I could make you much happier than that joker ever could.” You opened your mouth to protest, but he shot you a silencing look before continuing. “And I know that there is no room in your heart for anyone besides him. But ask yourself. When is the last time he spoke to someone for this long? His reputation precedes him, you know. But with you, it’s different. You’re not a fling. Maybe he’s taking his time with you because he thinks you’re worth taking things slowly with. And maybe each time he distances himself, he’s trying to stop this from burning out too soon because he’s decided he wants you around for a long time.” You stared at him in stunned silence for a moment as he stood up and stretched, cue stick in hand. “I mean, what do I know? The guy’s an idiot. If you were my girl, I’d show you off to the entire city. And take you on a date that isn’t sneaking into AMC to see The Batman for free for the tenth time.” He shot you a smirk. “Though I suspect you enjoy that. So how about you hand me a Sharpie and I can sign that cast of yours to make him jealous, and you can head over to his apartment?”

“How did you know?” You laughed.

“Your two best friends and Erik Killmonger? Please, darling. Discreet is not your strong suit. Seeing as gold has been taken, why don’t you hand me the green one to match that pretty little dress of yours?”

The walk back to Bucky’s apartment was contemplative for you. You ran into Peter and MJ coming out of a restaurant with Tony and Pepper along the way, so you were grateful for a few more signatures from your friends to hide your stupid, embarrassing scheme. Wanda and Nat finally left you at the door to the brownstone Bucky and his roommates shared. With your good hand, you knocked shakily. It was Steve who answered.

“Y/N? What happened to you?” He asked as he took in your arm.

“Being clumsy, as usual,” you replied, peeking past him. “Is Bucky home?”

“Yeah, he’s in his room, come on in,” he said, stepping aside to let you in first before closing the door behind you. You greeted Thor and Sam playing 2K on the living room floor, brushing off their concern. Before you could make it to Bucky’s room, he came out. His hair was wet from a shower and he was wearing plaid pajama pants and the Christmas t-shirt he always wore to bed. His already plump pink lips were settled in a confused pout.

“Y/N?” He asked, his eyes dancing over your frame before making their way back to your face.

“Hey, Buck.”

“You tried to breathe and walk at the same time again?” He asked teasingly. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, though.

“Oh, this? I fell off a cellphone tower. I thought perhaps I wasn’t getting any bars since you haven’t texted me all day.” You shot back. It was semi-playful but laced with something else.

“Phone works both ways,” he reminded you in his smart-ass tone. Oh, he was upset. But why? You wondered. He hadn’t even seen the signatures yet. “I’ve been waiting for a text from you,” he confessed, opening the door to his bedroom and leaning back against it as you walked in. He joined you in sitting at the edge of his bed and brushed your jacket off your shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me as soon as it happened?” He asked as he touched your arm gently, inspecting the injury. His eyebrows shot up as he read the signatures and you felt your face flush. “Looks like you’ve been in good hands, at least.” It was hard to miss the iciness in his tone.

“Not like you care,” you grumbled. A look flashed across his face that you couldn’t mistake for anything but anger.

“I don’t care?” He asked disbelievingly.

“I didn’t mean that, I…” you trailed off unsurely.

“So what did you mean, Y/N? Besides putting words in my mouth?”

“I don’t know, I… You didn’t text me all day.”

“Yeah, because I was busy with shit. And you didn’t text me either. But you had time to have half of New York sign your cast,” he scoffed. Shit. This was a bad idea, jealousy was such a negative emotion. Why did you let Nat and Wanda talk you into this?

“Half of New York would’ve signed my cast whether you showed up for me or not, Bucky,” you cried. “I have friends, you know. I don’t just sit around waiting for you all day.” Such a lie. Yes, you did.

“I never said you did,” Bucky raised his voice to match yours. “Where is this coming from?”

“I just,” you sighed. “I just want you to show up for me.”

“All this because I didn’t text you for one day? The phone works both ways, Y/N.”

“No, not just today. I mean. Like, you ice me out. We spend the night together and you get all cold and distant after. We’re friends and then we’re more than friends but it’s always on your terms. Anytime we get too close, you push me away again.” You felt tears welling up in your eyes as you spoke despite how much you willed yourself not to cry.

“I need time, Y/N, I told you this,” he replied. His tone was even but his eyebrows were knotted together in frustration.

“Yeah, I know, but what about what I need? Reassurance. Affection. I’m not a sex doll, you know.”

“I never said you are.”

“I know you didn’t. But I feel like one. You hate when I say we’re just friends but the only time you’re intimate with me outside of that is sex.”

“So you don’t want to have sex anymore,” he concluded, the corners of his pouty lips twitching into a frown.

“No, Bucky, I want to have sex but I want more than that, don’t you get it?”

“And I’m telling you I need time. Y/N, please. I would’ve showed up for you today if you asked. I would’ve taken you to the E.R. I would’ve signed your cast first. If you texted me.”

“I…” you started, cutting yourself off with a sigh after a moment. “I know. I don’t know what I was trying to prove,” you admitted quietly.

“C’mere. Let me get you out of that dress. Which shirt do you want to wear?” He asked.

“That one,” you nodded towards the one he was wearing.

“Of course. Couldn’t make it easy for me,” he shook his head with a slight smile and pulled the shirt over his head in one swift motion. You couldn’t help but blush at the sight of his naked torso and look away even though it was nothing you hadn’t seen before. His motions were gentle and slow, his eyebrows pulled together in concentration as he helped you dress. Soon you were laid up in nothing but his Christmas tee and your panties, and Bucky remained shirtless in his pajama pants at your side.

“Where is it?” He finally asked.

“Where is what?” You replied in question, confusion lacing your tone. He quirked an eyebrow at you.

“My Sharpie,” he answered. You felt your face flush as he shot you a triumphant smirk.

“It’s in my jacket pocket,” you admitted. He fished it out, signing the available spot on your hand in bright orange. His favorite color. The signature was unnecessarily big, and he finished with a heart. You shot him a smile and he rolled his eyes at you.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it before I turn it into a butt,” he warned. You giggled and nodded your agreement, your mind racing with things to say but none of them seeming like enough.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you breathed into the dark room after a while.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” his sleepy voice mumbled in reply. His soft snores filled the room only moments after.

#best friend!bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes friends to lovers #bucky barnes situationship #bucky barnes mutual pining #bucky barnes college au #bucky barnes light angst #bucky barnes fluff #friends to lovers #situationship #mutual pining #college au #light angst #fluff #feels

[wintermischief]

Bucky x Reader Friends To Lovers/Mutual Pining Trope Fic Recs (part one)

18+ ONLY. Writing may contain mature content. Mostly Bucky Barnes x F! and GN!Reader. Please show support to these amazing writers!!

❗️ PLEASE MESSAGE ME IF YOU’D LIKE ME TO REMOVE YOUR FIC OR IF I MADE A MISTAKE❗️

The Apprentice @chrisevansredbelt

Grilled Cheese And Other Love Languages @bucky-bucket-barnes

B.B Boy @bucky-bucket-barnes

A Half Naked Nurse And Wrong Ideas | Part 2 @urimaginespimp

Do I Even Have A Chance? @noceurous

I Need You To Have Me | As Long As You Have Me @noceurous

One Simple Touch @likeahorribledream

Hearsay @jadedvibes

Listen To Me, Not Just My Words @lilacletter

Water Bottle @cloudybarnes

You @lovelybarnes

Baby @lovelybarnes

Truth @lovelybarnes

Juxtaposition @lovelybarnes

Honey, Dumpling @sparklefics

Silent Girl + The Winter Soldier @kinanabinks

Ponytails @bbyboybucket

Aching @bbyboybucket

Admit It @ghostofskywalker

Dear January @writing-for-marvel

Hush, Baby @noctumbra

Tap @/houseravenclaws

Worth The Wait @littleredwolf

What Took You So Long? @bowersbubbles

Perfect For Me @buckyswintersoldiermask

It’s Always Been You @sunshinebuckybarnes

Always Been Yours @sunshinebuckybarnes

Sugar @sunshinebuckybarnes

Guys Night @/teamcap4bucky

Wrong Number @/teamcap4bucky

Aisle 4 @buckyhoney

How Bucky Falls In Love With You (headcanon) @chennqingg

Massage @namorsinta

Just Maybe @namorsinta

Make A Move @beefybuckrrito

Who Are You? @bxcketbarnes

Five Sweaters To Make Me Want You @sebbytrash

A Shore Thing @buckymorelikefuckme

Cry Baby @buckymorelikefuckme

My Everyday @pellucid-constellations

Starry Starry Night @jobean12-blog

Cosmic Love | Part 2 @jobean12-blog

Been Here All Along @jobean12-blog

Here (In Your Arms) @sleepypanda27

Like I Want You | Part 2 @tmpestuous

Some Other Guy @espinosaurusrexex

Nightmares @ro-is-struggling

Getting Close @rogerswifesblog

Open Your Heart @vibraniumarm06-bucket

To Be Seen @tarithenurse

Make It Reality @buckybarnesandmarvel

Three Hundred @adrinktostopyourthirst

She’s Not Mad @subwaysurf45

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #bestfriend!bucky #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader friends to lovers #bucky barnes x reader mutual pining

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 3: Honey Trap

From: You Catch More Bees With Honey Series

Pairing: Mob! Bucky x Farmer! Reader

Summary: A Farmer’s Market and Pouring out your heart over a beer leads to Bucky learning more about his favorite mysterious farmer

Content/warnings: mentions of previous heartbreak and descriptions, a surprising amount of crying/near-crying, soft mobster Bucky, Heartless Jake, Creepy Cole, mentions of blood/period (not graphic and should be normalized because this happens to me all the time and I know I’m not alone in that), excessive drinking and lowkey alcoholism, cowboy hat rule, mutual pining and reluctance towards that, y/n used like three times

Word Count: 5,295

A/N: I didn’t mean for this chapter to be this long, but also, I definitely meant for it to be this long. Sorry for making dear, wonderful, Jake Jensen out to be a bad guy, and NOT sorry for making Cole Turner a creep. Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks are SUPER appreciated. Thank you for reading, I love you *gives forehead kiss*

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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Bucky knew lots of languages. Country was not one of them. You would think it would be, with how many arms purchasers were from the south, but he kept his dealings with those folk as short and formal as possible. It was better for his sanity and everyone else that way.

He’d been running into a lot of country folk today, helping you run this farmer’s market out of one of your barns. Half of his conversations with people were full of twangy words and phrases he didn’t understand, so he just lightly laughed, hoping that was the right response. The other half were children, asking him what the bump was on the side of his head, the result of the bee incident earlier this week. Before, it was slightly swollen and red, but it was nearly back to normal. Darn kids have keen eyes, though, and no shame. He’d just about had enough. These people were too polite, besides their annoying children. Lucky for him, though, he’d sold off the last of the turnip greens, and his cash box was full, so he made his way over to you at the stand holding the freshly jarred honey you’d successfully, and he’d not-so-successfully harvested earlier in the week. It was just in time to catch the tail end of a conversation he saw you were having with a slightly older woman.

“You’re like our very own honeybee”

“Oh please, Mrs. Jensen, you know the bees do all the work. I just put it in a jar”

“You’re too modest, dear. My Jakey says no one makes sweeter honey than you. I always tell him to come back and help if he loves it that much, but it seems he’s too late now. Looks like you’ve got yourself a new farm hand who’s easy on the eyes”

Bucky glanced up at her through his eyelashes with his signature smirk, raising to a stand from setting the empty turnip green crate at your feet. “Well you know what they say, honeybees don’t work alone. And their hard work makes the world go round.”

For some reason unbeknownst to him, Bucky slung his hand over your shoulder. Was it jealousy he was feeling? Possessiveness? Why, he didn’t own you and he promised himself he wouldn’t fall, physically or metaphorically (although it was far too late physically, and he didn’t want to think about how close he truly was metaphorically). Plus, it’s not like he was having the best time right now. This whole week was a nightmare, and the only reason he was in a decent mood was from seeing your smile as you interacted with the town’s folk today. You were a person of the people, in juxtaposition to how Bucky was often only looking out for himself. So why did the mention of Jakey make this feel necessary and why did it feel so right? Either way, he was proud of you and your hard work and the way it made people beam as bright as Mrs. Jensen. But he’d never say that. Where he’s from, hard work is expected and definitely not praised, although not nearly as manual. But seeing all the effort for that couple jars of honey made him question if the work he was even doing was that hard. Maybe he’d been away from the city too long and was losing perspective. Yeah. That had to be it.

“Well, either way, bless y’all’s heart for putting in the work. I’ll tell Jake you say hello.”

You and Bucky both waved goodbye.

“Well how about it Honeybee, Jakey appreciates all your hard work” he smirked, but watched the smile slide off your face.

“Try telling me that with our awful breakup years ago” you shrugged off with a small chuckle, but Bucky could see the light drain out of your eyes a little. He had obviously struck a nerve, but didn’t want to push farther, at least not now when there were still a few customers aimlessly shopping around for the last bits of produce left. Maybe he’d catch you once the two of you were alone.

You turned away from him to hide your grimace. Thinking back to that whole situation with Jake, on top of serving others all morning had completely drained you and it was quickly catching up.

“Um, why don’t you finish cleaning up the rest of the empty crates after you ask those last few people how you can help them with anything” you waved off Bucky back towards the other end of the barn, head down, starting to look through the cash box he had handed you. You waited until you could hear his receding footsteps on the hay floor to sniffle and take a deep breath. Bucky had keen ears, though, and hesitated hearing your sigh, before he continued on, giving you your chance to regroup. He had never seen you like this before, you were normally chipper and full of energy, often a little too much for his liking, but luckily it was Friday, and after he closed these deals, you both were home free.

Bucky quickly helped the last few stragglers take their rather large haul back to their car. An older man and woman who owned the bar in town had come to get some fresh vegetables for their salads, and Bucky convinced them to take the lot with his charm. That, and he wanted to make sure he didn’t have to carry them all the way back to storage. That was a long way, and you made him walk it. He rolled his eyes when you had told him about the task, too, handing him the handle to a little red wagon with a beaming smile on your face, insisting “that’s how Pappy did it before his first tractor” and “what did you think, I like wasting diesel for food that’s supposed to have a low carbon footprint? That’s why I’ve got you, Bucket.” So Bucky grumbled under his breath at first light, angry, yet amused that the nickname stuck, but still too tired to react any differently when he started the first of his dozen trips to move the produce from storage into the farmer’s market barn. And there was no way he was gonna do that again, so he convinced the couple to take the lot, even offering to carry it out to the car for them, because that was better than the quarter mile walk both ways through the tall grass of your fallow fields to return them.

“Thank you so much for your help, Jamie. You’ve taken such good care of us, you should come by the bar later if you can get some free time from Miss Y/L/N over there. She’s quite the hard worker, maybe bring her along. Drinks on us.” The older lady looked at Bucky with a soft smile.

Jamie, no one had called him that since his mom. Country folk and their want for instant closeness. He hardly knew this lady and already she was trying to be endearing, but her forced charm was nothing compared yours even when you weren’t trying. She looked over Bucky’s shoulder at you carrying a stack of heavy wooden crates out of the barn, hardly struggling, but very determined before sliding them back into the truck. Bucky’s eyes followed hers, a small grin of admiration creeping onto his face at your independence and mastery at everything you do, no matter how simple.

“Yeah, hardest worker out there. I’ll see if I can convince her to take a break.” He turned back and walked the lady to her door, opening it for her to get in.

“Drive safely. Hope to see you later Mr. and Mrs. Carter.” He shut the door and made his way back over to your truck. You had already gotten in and started it with the windows down. Bucky slid into the bench seat to be met by you with your forehead resting on the wheel in between your hands. You took a sharp inhale and shot up, putting on a fake smile, albeit less forced than earlier.

“Ready to go meet Curtis? We’ve just gotta touch base with him and then we’re good to be done for the day.”

“Um, yeah. Sounds good.”

Bucky wasn’t sure how to continue with you in that mood. Should be keep talking? Did you prefer the silence to think? The radio was low on the dash, but not silent, so he decided to speak up.

“Did you see who I was helping? They said they own the bar in town. Maybe we can go for a drink tonight? Celebrate a long week done?”

You sighed. Again. “Um, yeah. I actually think that sounds really good. We both need the decompression. TGIF, ya know?” You forced out a small laugh which Bucky returned and he turned forward as you continued the drive back toward your house.

When the two of you entered the farmhouse, your were greeted by Curtis, your weekend farmhand, sitting at the dining room table. He had already helped himself to a glass of sweet tea you kept in the fridge, mainly for him, which was made from your Aunt’s recipe he loved so much.

“Oh, good, you’re back from chores already.” Curtis had been kind enough to come in today to work on some tasks since you and Bucky had your hands full with the market. He usually only worked Saturday and Sunday since this was his second job, but he’d sometimes come in to help extra, like today.

“Bucket, this is Curty b—oh sorry, Curtis. He’s the one that makes sure things run smoothly when I’m not. He’s a whiz at fixing the machinery, perks of him also being the best mechanic in town.”

Bucky warily stepped forward, eyes narrowed, barely noticeable, and shook Curtis’s hand. Who is this guy who let himself into your house? “Bucky is fine, really.”

Curtis let out a chuckle, “nice to meet you, Bucket. It’s ok, I talked to Y/N about making cheese curds once, and she’s called me ‘Curty boi’ ever since.”

Bucky laughed and shook his head, looking over his shoulder. You just shrugged with a small smile on your face, already more relaxed and relieved to be inside your home with someone you didn’t feel like you had to put up a front for, that was reassuring. Bucky went into the kitchen to get you both a glass of water as you sat next to Curtis at the table, joined by Bucky sitting across after he handed you your glass. The three of you briefly talked about the chores Curtis had done that day, how the farmer’s market went, and what all needed done that weekend.

Curtis seemed nice, not threatening. The visceral tinge of jealousy left Bucky’s body as the conversation went on. If Curtis was going to make a move, he would’ve done it by now, surely. But the two of you were clearly just close friends. Why did Bucky keep feeling like this?

As you wrapped up, Curtis slapped his knees with both his hands and went to stand. “Well, I better get going, sun’s starting to get pretty low.”

Curtis and Bucky had been getting along pretty well, so you spoke up. “Well actually, Bucky and I were gonna go to the bar in town tonight. Care to join?”

“Yeah, I’d love to. There are just a few things I’ve gotta check on in the shop first, but I can drop by after. Does that work?”

“For sure. We’ll see you then” You and Bucky shared a small smile before you closed the door behind Curtis and turned back to the mob boss standing in your foyer.

“Ok, Cowboy. Good job today. Go take a shower, we’re going out.” Bucky beamed, which you returned, and he felt a warmth bloom in his chest at your praise.

“Yes, ma’am, Miss Honeybee” you smiled and rolled your eyes as he ran up the steps, following behind to get ready, yourself. He was really glad your mood was starting to turn around.

As Bucky went to his room to gather his clothing, his mind started to drift towards why he cared how you felt. He was just here for business, right? So why did it bother him if you were sad? If anything, he should want you vulnerable to help him come out on top of your business, but something deep inside of him felt more satisfaction when you were winning. He shook the thoughts from his head. Maybe a cold shower could help him sort this out.

Bucky came down the stairs and sat on the couch just as he heard your hair dryer start up. He had gotten ready quickly, throwing on one of his henleys, his nicer jeans, and a pair of boots Sam had sent him this week when he had heard about the whole ‘borrowing clothes situation.’

He shot Steve a text, telling him that the two of you were going out to the bar with Curtis, to which he replied Have fun, Bucket😉.

Ugh, why did he have to tell Steve about that, it was never gonna go away now. Bucky had gotten a call from Steve each evening giving updates on the business, with Bucky doing the same on his end, keeping it short, only noting the highlights and trying to keep his emotions in check and out of the updates. His best friend knew better, though, even if Bucky wasn’t fully aware of the extent of his feelings yet.

Bucky got up and walked around, looking through the photos and knick knacks in your living room, before stopping by the mirror behind your front door and checking his appearance. This look wasn’t what he was used to. He was extremely dressed down compared to the designer suit he’d likely be sporting in one of his clubs if he were back in the city. He hadn’t even bothered to gel his hair because it seemed you didn’t care when he did, plus, he wanted to save that valuable product for a real occasion, no use in wasting it to go slum with a bunch of hillbillies. He looked to the coatrack next to the mirror to see a hat that matched his boots perfectly and plopped it on his head, swaying side to side to see how it looked.

Just then, you started to make your way down the stairs but stopped in your tracks seeing Bucky in that hat. His head snapped up to look at you.

“What? Does this hat make me look dumb?”

You smiled and shook your head.

“No, not at all” Bucky could see tears well up in your eyes, accompanied by sparkles of fondness and, sadness?

“That was my uncle’s hat. He taught me everything I know”

“Oh, I’m so sorry” Bucky went to take the hat off but you stopped him.

“No- it’s okay. It looks good on you. Go ahead and wear it out tonight.”

Bucky looked back at you with a somber nod as you continued back down the stairs, taking a deep breath to settle the emotions that had nearly breached the surface.

Even in this state, you looked gorgeous. Hair flouncing in the breeze that was created as you drifted down the steps, wearing makeup he hadn’t seen since the first time you two had met and a sundress that blew him away. You were gorgeous in all states because you were you. Bucky looked down, kicking his feet, to pull his magnetic glance from you. He’s really gotta switch up the power dynamic here, and if there was one place Bucky could feel at home after a week of embarrassing himself, it was a bar. He grabbed the keys and you followed with an eye roll, getting into the passenger seat of your own truck. He didn’t even know where he was going, but he looked at you with a sly grin. Like for the first time, he had the upper hand, and that would only come from being anywhere but on your farm.

Bucky was a good driver, despite his statements about some guy named ‘Gio’ and grumbles about Sam, who you had met once before. Besides that, the drive was filled with laughs reminiscing all the mishaps he went through that week, well, mostly you laughing, and Bucky doing his best to hold a smirk from showing too obviously, his eyes narrowed at you in contrast.

The two of you pulled into town as you pointed Bucky towards a decent-sized building which housed the bar, still nothing compared to what he was used to. The two of you hopped down from the truck and walked through the front door, which jingled, signaling your entrance.

Bucky was greeted by the smell of old wood and stale beer, the dim atmosphere lit with old neon beer signs and fluorescent lights which hung over the pool tables. You looked back at Bucky as you crossed the threshold where he held the door for you.

“Hey, all I’m saying is, I bet you wouldn’t last a week in my world the way I did in yours.”

You rolled your eyes as you sauntered up to the bar, taking a seat at the corner, Bucky next to you, and a few more empty seats to the other side of him that would hopefully stay that way until Curtis came. As the two of you had walked up to the bar, you had seen a bunch of girls groups whose heads turned, seeing the stranger that was Bucky make his way across the floor. Why couldn’t he be ugly? And why did you let him wear that hat? Bucky didn’t even notice. His eyes were only on you, besides his trained peripheral vision catching the eyes of men whose heads turned towards, doing the same.

“Oh please, Bucket, you hardly made it through this week. I’ve never seen anyone cut their finger on wheat before. How did you even do that? You were literally up on the tractor… wheat should not have been anywhere near your hands, yet you came to me with several paper cut-looking marks. And what do you even do all day? Your hands have calluses but a totally different kind. You can hardly toss a hay bale a story high into the barn loft. I’m sure it wouldn’t be that hard for me to just sit at a desk, bark orders, and sign paperwork all day.”

Bucky’s mouth gaped open as he feigned offense and put his hand on his chest.

You flashed a fleeting smile at him in satisfaction as you waved down the

bartender ordering two shots of whiskey and two beers.

“Now just because that’s all you’ve seen me do for work, doesn’t mean that’s all there is to it.”

“Oh really? Please, Bucket, then be my guest…indulge me.”

“Well, if I told you, I’d have to kill you, so take that as one of the common requisites.”

He smirked at you, obviously more comfortable in this bar environment before your phone dinged and it was a message from Curtis.

Hey Y/N. So sorry, something came up at the shop. Rain check?

Yeah, no problem. Hope all is good, see you tomorrow?

Yep! Ty

“Well, looks like Curty boi isn’t joining us, so it’s just you and me, Bucko”

At that moment, the bartender set down the drinks in front of you and you and Bucky took a shot together, ordering an appetizer sampler platter to go with your drinks.

As the two of you nursed your beers, you joked more about Bucky’s farm mishaps and talked about all the men you had turned down from Bucky’s organization to get him out here.

“I’ve gotta be honest, I don’t know how you turned down both Sam and Steve. I’m hardly immune to their charms some days”

You laughed and threw your head back. “It’s not easy. They’ve both got these puppy dog eyes they make when I say ‘no’ to them, but they seemed pretty satisfied with the fact I wanted to see you in person.”

“And why exactly was that? You never quite said”

“Well, at first, it started as a way to delay the deal, but then I realized, if I’m going to be making some major changes to somewhere I consider a sanctuary, I wanna make sure it’s with the right partner” you nudged him with your elbow playfully and Bucky gave you a small grin. “But honestly, if I’m going to do something these days, I wanna do it at the source. I hate hearing important news from third parties, I mean, you’ve seen how I do business. It’s all me at the end of the day. Sure, Curtis helps out, but otherwise, it’s better to deal with things on my own and a few trusted people” you finished that statement breathless from your heated ramble. This didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky at all. Where did that come from? At first, to him, you were just another bug to be squashed in order to get more control over his industry, but did he care now? Did he truly care about what was upsetting you? What caused that hurt you were obviously tampering down? Does this have to do with Jakey?

Bucky hadn’t realized he said that last part out loud until you responded.

“No! Well, maybe? Like, sort of?”

“Can I ask? Can I ask what happened there? Only if you want to share”

“Um… yeah, sure, I guess. You’ve embarrassed yourself enough this week so I think you’ve earned this a little bit.”

You took a deep breath and began. “Jake and I grew up together. We met in kindergarten in school and were instantly close. We were the only two gifted kids in class, so the teacher sent us to the side for extra lessons while the rest of the class learned with her. From that point on, we were inseparable. Two smart little twerps who took on the world together, but our lives were so different. In middle school, I started to take on more responsibility on the farm and he started getting into computers, but we’d still see each other. In high school we started officially dating, and I was so happy to be with someone who I felt like intellectually got me. I think it was the same way for him, too. He’d crack such nerdy jokes, and no one got them but me”

You smiled nostalgically at the memory. “When our senior year came along and my uncle wasn’t doing that well, I applied to more local schools, but he didn’t. We had always talked about going off to college and living together, but he wanted that life to be far away from here, and I had obligations. I got into the local college on a full ride for agriculture and civil engineering, and he decided he’d rather go to MIT for computer science. I asked if he’d be willing to stay since he got into college around here, too, but he said he wanted to be around people who were ‘more like-minded to him.’ As if we hadn’t been the only ones who had understood each other for over a decade.”

Bucky gave you a sullen look as your head fell and you looked down at your hands. He signaled to the bartender for a water and two more rounds of shots.

“I just, I just didn’t understand how he could act like that after so long. So I asked him when he was leaving so I could see him off. We were still friends, after all, but he left without a word. When I saw him again over Christmas break that winter, I felt like he had turned into some overweening, highfalutin, jerkwad. I didn’t really know him anymore, and I had enough to focus on already, so I just kinda stopped talking to him. As you could see today, his mom still comes around, but it’s not really the same. I don’t think she ever really truly saw the way he changed, she’s too caught up in having a son who lives in Silicon Valley now, but apparently he still asks for stuff from the farmers markets.” You shrugged and thanked the bartender for the shots, pounding all four before you excused yourself to the restroom, leaving Bucky to sit there shocked.

He had known where you went to college and how smart you are, but things like what happened with Jake don’t show up on paper. However he clocked you before, you were even stronger than that, because despite how you were hurt, you still wore your heart in your sleeve and showed compassion to everyone around.

You washed your face and looked in the mirror. Sure, that experience with Jake sucked, but it’s been years and you were over it now. Didn’t mean it was fun to relive it all. You decided to go into one of the stalls, the alcohol already kicking in and making you have to pee. You sat down and that’s when you saw it: blood. So that’s the reason for the waterworks all day today. That’s why you felt so tired and couldn’t help tearing up at the slightest things. Luckily the girl in the stall next to you had some products. You cleaned up and washed your hands, forcing a smile in the mirror until it became real, honestly relieved at having a reason for your out-of-character behavior. You headed back out to Bucky in a much more chipper mood and he looked up at you with a quirked brow. He figured you’d taken the time you needed. He was appreciative of you being so open with him, and wasn’t going to question the switch-up since he was just so happy to see you being yourself again after a long day.

“Up for a game of pool, cowboy?”

“Oh, you’re signing up to lose, Honeybee”

“Ok, ok, best four out of seven” Bucky whined as you giggled, whiskey shots catching up to you as you held another beer bottle in your hand. Bucky was hardly affected, he essentially rocked this much alcohol in his system by noon on a daily basis. Just then, his phone rang, and he motioned to show you it was Steve. You gave him a thumbs up and started to rack the balls to set up for the next game.

You watched Bucky walk out the door as you felt a presence looming behind you. You turned around and stood up, eyes tracing up a body dressed in brown hues until you reached a set of blue eyes shaded by a cowboy hat brim.

“Oh, howdy, can I help you?”

“I sure hope so. Can I get you a drink? Two whiskey sours” the stranger yelled over to the bar.

“Oh, uh, thanks.”

“My name’s Cole, Cole Turner. What’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?”

He was handsome, there was no denying that, but something seemed off. You plastered your best fake smile on your face. You didn’t need a confrontation tonight, not in your favorite dress. You didn’t want to taint the memory of it because of some rando. Wait. Was he a rando? Where have you heard the name ‘Turner’ before? Before you could continue your train of thought, a waiter came over with your drinks. They were very sweet compared to what you’d had all night, just like his demeanor, which seemed like a thin veil over the surface. You tried to channel your drink’s energy into your words to sweetly reply until you could properly remember who he was through your alcohol-fogged mind.

“Oh, I’m not here alone. I’m here with a friend”

“Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but I don’t see anyone around. You up for a game?”

Before you could even open your mouth to respond, he grabbed a pool cue and made a move to break. After that, he was keeping a little too close to you constantly. You did your best to stay kind, but must’ve been sending the wrong signals as he asked you “You wanna get out of here? I’ve got a hotel room down the road.”

In an attempt to change the subject you asked “Oh, so you’re not from around here? What are you doing in town?” Looking towards the door hoping Bucky would be done with his update any minute now.

“Ah, I used to live around here. My family owns a string of dairy farms. I’m here to try and convince these small-town farmers to give up the land.”

Your eyes went wide. Luckily you were facing away from him. He was that Cole Turner. The one whose family ran a packaged beverage empire and prided themselves on squashing the little guy. You were lucky he didn’t seem to recognize you yet, as the last remaining competitor in town. The one he had probably come in to squash. Just then, lost in thought, you felt a hand snake around your waist and you flinched.

“Relax, Honeybee, it’s just me” Bucky whispered in your ear. Your shoulders visibly relaxed as you turned around and threw your arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. You pulled away, but not enough for Bucky’s hand to leave your waist, and looked between the two men, grabbing Bucky’s hat and placing it on your head immediately.

“Uh, James, this is Cole. He’s visiting town.”

Bucky reached out his hand Cole shook it. Cole took a large step back after, respecting the hat on your head, and, was he intimidated by Bucky’s stature? Sensing your discomfort, Bucky spoke up. “Nice to meet you. Shame we’re heading out now.”

You grabbed Bucky’s hand, not looking back, and headed straight to the door as quickly as your numb, wobbly legs would take you. Once you were met by the cool, crisp night air, you sighed in relief and rested your forehead on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Thank you for helping me get out of there”

He shuddered at your proximity and the comfort you felt in this type of contact. It felt natural and he never wanted it to stop. With a soft smile and a glance at the top of the hat, he said, “No problem, Honeybee. Let’s get home.”

He helped you get up into the cab of the truck, sliding you across the bench seat before he got in and started it up.

“So what was the deal with the hat? And that guy?”

You yawned and stretched, settling in against Bucky’s shoulder.

“Uh, when a girl takes a guy’s hat and puts it on her head, it means she’s going home with him. And don’t worry, I didn’t mean it like that, I just wanted that guy to get off my back. We can talk more about that later.”

You wiggled to get more comfortable, your hand still in Bucky’s as he used the other to steer the truck down the old country roads. Your eyes fluttered shut as you fell asleep on him. His eyes flickered between you and the road in the headlights ahead. He luckily had a good sense of direction and was able to remember how to get home from your instructions earlier.

When he pulled into your gravel driveway, your were sound asleep, softly snoring, drool having dripped onto his Henley, but he didn’t mind at all. He lifted you out of the truck and carried you up the steps, taking off your boots before tucking you into bed for the night.

Next >

Bonus A/N: so where I’m from, “Turner’s” really is a beverage empire and they make really good products. I just figured I can’t make a farm AU without putting Cole in it, no matter how inaccurate to character.

Series taglist:

@scuzmunkie

@openup-yourmind

#bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes fluff #Bucky Barnes x reader #you catch more bees with honey series #chapter 3: honey trap #mob bucky x farmer reader #mob! bucky x farmer! reader #mafia! bucky x farmer! reader #mafia bucky x farmer reader #mob bucky x reader #mafia! bucky x reader #mafia bucky x reader #mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky #farmer! reader #farmer reader #Curty boi #Jake Jensen #Steve rogers #crying at a bar #farmers market #mutual pining #bucky Barnes cowboy hat rule

[musicalbl00m]

Imagine #2: Confessing your love to them.

wordcount: 590

Love confession to your friend while he gets ready for a date

not beta-read

“You sure I look alright, sweetheart?” he asks, running his fingers through his hair again. “It’s been so long since I’ve been on a date.” He mumbles.

Instead of replying, you are contemplating your whole existence. You’ve been in love with him for as long as you’ve known him, and for a while you thought the feeling was mutual. But alas, you didn’t have the balls to confess, and he hasn’t done so either. So, here you are, giving the boy you loved with your whole heart advice for his date with another girl.

Being so lost in thought, you didn’t notice his confusion at your silence. He knew you’ve been having a little rough time lately, but you haven’t been yourself for a few days. For a second he contemplates if its because of his date, but he quickly dismisses that thought.

“You know, if you’re not feeling well you don’t have to stay here. Its late and I know that you usually like to go to bed early. I don’t want to keep you up. I’m a big boy, I can handle myself.” He says earnestly.

You sigh softly, before looking up at him. He spots the pained look in your eyes and walks over to where you are sitting on his bed. Carefully, he cups your cheeks and looks at you with a gentle gaze.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, sweetheart? You’ve been awfully quiet.” He asks softly, his thumb caressing your skin.

“I just…” you say hesitantly, looking into his mesmerizing eyes. “Are you sure you want to go on that date? She just… doesn’t seem like your type.”

“I don’t know, I just thought it was time for me to get out there you know. Is the date really what’s bothering you? Do you know her from something? Did she hurt you?” He asks, worried at the thought of someone hurting you.

“No not at all! She seems lovely.” You say hurriedly. “I guess I just always hoped… that I had a chance or something. I know its silly but…” You don’t finish your sentence immediately, trying to see his reaction, only to see him patiently waiting for you to finish. “I always hoped that at the end of the day it would be me you came home to, you know. That I’d be the one you kissed. And for a while I had hope that you felt the same, but I just got too insecure I guess.” You confess, closing your eyes as if to shield yourself from the possible rejection.

He lets out a soft chuckle, before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You know, you have nothing to be insecure about sweetheart.” He says softly. “You are so incredibly kind, and creative. You are smart and helpful. You are beautiful and so incredibly fashionable.” He tells you with a cheeky grin as he tugs on the hello kitty sweatpants you are wearing. “You are everything a guy could want and much more. And I’ll be yours in a heartbeat, sweetheart. I just need you to say the words.” He confesses to you, looking into your eyes with a soft gaze.

“I am so incredibly in love with you. I have been forever and ever. Please let me be yours.” You tell him, almost begging.

“Took you long enough.” He teases, before connecting your lips in a soft kiss.

“I am so utterly in love with you too, sweetheart.” He mumbles, before continuing to press soft kisses to your lips.

#imagine #fluff #friends to lovers #mutual pining #marauders #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #marvel #peter parker #loki laufeyson #bucky barnes #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #amateur writer #writers on tumblr #x reader #harry potter #frank castle #spencer reid #criminal minds #slytherin boys #fem reader

[punkyarabella]

His Shirt

Summary: Bucky comes to your rescue in the middle of the night.

Warnings: none

490 words

Masterlist

You

are you awake?

Bucky

yes

You

I need help don't make fun of me

Bucky

I won't what's wrong?

You

I'm in the gym showers, my shirt fell on the floor and it's all wet now can you bring me another one?

Bucky

on my way

A small smile on his lips, Bucky gets out of bed and puts some sweatpants on. He picks a shirt from his dresser and leaves the room.

"Kiddo?" he asks when he enters the showers room.

"I'm in here," your small hand appear above one of the cabins door, and he can see your naked feet on the ground.

He steps closer and gives you the shirt over the door.

"Thank you so much, Bucky," you chuckle. "I'm so clumsy."

Bucky smiles, the sound of your laughter floating in his head, and waits, leaned against the sink in front of your door, while you put on his shirt. When you eventually step out, he can't help his eyes from roaming over your small figure, his shirt covering almost completely the shorts you are wearing underneath, leaving your legs bare.

"I hope I didn't wake you up," you bite your lip, playing with the hem of his red shirt.

"It's okay, I couldn't sleep anyway," Bucky shrugs. But even if you did wake him up, he wouldn't hold it against you. He is simply glad that you trust him enough to call him for help. "What are you doing in the gym at this hour?"

"Couldn't sleep either."

He nods without a word, but breathes out a chuckle when you raise your wet shirt between two fingers. You twist it with a sigh to drain out the water, before taking the rest of your stuff and leaving the room. Bucky follows you to the elevator and presses the button for the floor you both share, along with Natasha, Steve and Sam.

During the short descent, the silence is thick. Bucky has to physically stop himself from staring at your legs again, while you struggle to not wet the carpeted floor with your shirt. Once you reach your bedroom, Bucky waits for you to open the door.

"Give me a second to change and I'll give you your shirt back," you hurry, but he dismisses it with his hand raised.

"Keep it," he smiles softly as he lets his eyes roam your body once again. "I have plenty of shirts, and it looks better on you, anyway."

"Thank you," you give him a bashful smile, and your cheeks turn pink.

His heart stutters for a second, because of how adorable you look in his shirt, because of how sweet you smell. He'd give everything to see you again in his shirt, and nothing else, every single night.

"Anytime," he breathes out once the oxygen manages to reach his brain. "Good night, kiddo."

"Good night, Bucky," you smile again and close the door behind you.

#soft bucky barnes #fluff #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #clumsy #fluffy #cute #short #bucky's shirt #mutual pining #love

[steevbuckk]

FAVORITE STUCKY FICS | 55/100

Introduction to Fake Dating Your Best Friend 101 by @spacerenegades

[Fake relationship, 24 627 words, Teen And Up Audiences]

Summary:

Bucky stares at his best friend as though he’s absolutely lost what’s left of his dumbass mind.

“Excuse me?” he asks dumbly.

Steve sighs and sags back onto the couch, covering his face dramatically with one large, well-manicured hand.

“Dean Coulson thinks we’re dating. And gay. But like, for each other. And now I need you to fake date me so I can convince the Chancellor to fund my research.”

or;

Steve and Bucky are a pair of professors who have to fake date for academic purposes and are real dumb along the way. It's not so much a forest of pine as a whole landscape of it. It turns out fine, probably.

more fics

#100stucky #stucky #stevebucky #stucky fic #fic rec #my recs #steve rogers #bucky barnes #marvel #stucky fic rec #fake relationship #fake dating #professors au #modern au #university au #mutual pining #friends to lovers #steve/bucky #steve and bucky #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction #fluff #mcu #steve x bucky #steve rogers/bucky barnes #steve rogers x bucky barnes #moodboard #marvel fic #stucky moodboard

[thatmexisaurusrex]

that’s not gonna make it (most of this isn’t gonna make – )

Hey! First fic in a little while. I made it more for me than anything because a lot of it just makes me giggle 😂 But it's also for @sambuckylibrary's SamBucky Valentine's Bingo 2024 for the prompt on Creator Card #2 - "Mutual Pining". Enjoy! 🥰

that’s not gonna make it (most of this isn’t gonna make – )

|Pairing: SamBucky | Rated: T | WC: 4.8K |

Summary: Sam and Bucky are a couple of dorks.

Excerpt:

“I saw you walk into the woods alone, so…” Bucky started, suspiciously not making eye contact with Sam. “So, you’re stalking me?” asked Sam as he tried to hide a smile. Which was when Bucky’s face went crimson. “No – I. No. Not – stalking. I’d walk into the woods for anyone,” Bucky stumbled through some sort of explanation for this. “Oh. Anyone?” asked Sam, putting on a frown. “Not anyone – just – I didn’t want you to be alone. With the. Bears. Weasels. Meese,” said Bucky as Sam laughed. “Meese, eh?” giggled Sam, “The moose are out to get me?” “You don’t know what they’re thinking. With those. Big adorable eyes. Eating grass,” said Bucky, somehow turning redder, “What, moose haven’t attacked before?”

READ THE REST ON AO3!

#sbvday2024 #sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sambucky fic #mutual pining #dorks in love #tooth rotting fluff #light angst #5 + 1 fic #crack treated seriously #my fic #that’s not gonna make it (most of this isn’t gonna make – )

[lovelybarnes]

Flirting and Football- B. Barnes

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader Warnings: past assault of reader, as slow burn as i can, au so bucky is different although i tried to not make him so ooc, sort of enemies to lovers?, genuinely can’t remember anymore, crappy writing in the beginning because i started writing this a year ago but i swear it gets better i promise About: request!! Bucky barnes and a college au where reader is the only one who isn’t interested in him basically

The end of your pen rests between your lips, unused as you scan the textbook page in front of you, your eyes thinning occasionally as you read. Your study partner’s book lays open in front of her, ten pages behind, and notebook adorned with two sole words.

She’s reciting the events of a date she went on yesterday or the day before, although admittedly, you’d only caught detached words for the past double-digit minutes. Your careful attention had dwindled down to nods as you subtly tapped at your notebook, then not-so-subtly and finally disappeared altogether as you made miscellaneous noises. 

You hum along now, eyes flickering from your notes to the material as you annotate pages with bright sticky notes.

She doesn’t seem to notice your disinterest, gushing about arms and hair, and the kiss that changed her life. The words don’t last too long in your mind, too cluttered with equations and vocabulary to make space for them.

“The girls told me he goes on a lot of dates but I can just tell I’m the one.”

You glance at your open computer, frowning at the slimming battery life, and purse your lips at the time. Sighing softly, you meet Quinn’s glazed eyes, offering her a tight smile you hope is somewhat believable.

“Is he in psychology too?” you ask, tapping on the notes the both of you were supposed to start when she began talking.

“Bucky? Oh no,” she laughs, the finger twirling her red hair pulling away to wave her hand dismissively. “He’s in sports or something. He's on the soccer team, you know.”

You nod. “Wow.”

“I know, oh my god.” She fans herself. “Did I tell you he basically won the last game?”

Probably. You duck your chin, highlighting a sentence. “Isn’t it a group effort?”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “Well, yeah, but he scored the winning goal.”

“Okay then,” you agree, deciding that you can finish your notes at your dorm. “I didn’t go to the last game, so what do I know?”

Quinn’s eyes go wide. “You didn’t go?” she exclaims, and you shush her, confirming. “Why?”

You shrug. “I had to do something.”

“You have to go to the next one tomorrow and see him in action. But don’t fall in love,” she warns with a giggle. “He’s mine.”

“Promise,” you reply hollowly, shutting your laptop. “Well, I have to go. This was helpful, though,” you lie.

“Oh, yeah, totally. I have to go too, rest up for the big game tomorrow. Gotta be there early to support Bucky,” Quinn informs. You stack your books to carry them back to your dorm.

“Right,” you respond, standing. “I hope everything goes well with him,” you say as you walk out.

She shoots you a big grin and a nod, her face bright as she agrees.

It’s cold when you step through the doors, bouncing on your feet and hugging your things closer to your chest as you begin to walk toward your dorm. You move to pull out your phone from your back pocket, quickly unlocking it to get to your contacts list. You press on Bruce’s contact and listen to the two beeps until he picks up.

“I hate you so much right now,” you greet, cutting his cheery hello off.

“What? What did I do?”

“‘I’ll be there!’ ‘How could I miss studying physics?’” you mock, imitating his voice. “You left me there, and I was stuck listening to Quinn's monologue about how the quarterback or whatever is the love of her life!”

“What quarterback?” Bruce asks.

“Does it matter? Honestly?” you rebut, taking care to watch your surroundings as you bully your friend. “Your quarterback wouldn’t cheat on you so I’m assuming it’s one that’s not Thor.”

“Okay, okay, I know. I’m sorry about ditching you. Thor and I just finished, we can come by and pick you up at the library. And Thor is a defender. Different sport entirely.”

“Whatever and ew,” you complain. “And I’m already on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“What? I told you to not walk home alone. Just wait for me.”

“Don’t worry. The dorm isn’t that far and you’re not exactly the most threatening anyway,” you remind. “I’ll be fine. ”

“Fine. Keep me on the line and be careful,” Bruce tells you.

“Of course,” you quip. A pause drapes over the two of you, the silence only interrupted by the steady sound of your footsteps on the concrete. You turn, leaves crunching underneath your shoes and you can practically hear Bruce relax somewhat, knowing that you’re nearby. You put him on speaker to hear better. “How’d it go with Thor today?”

“Really good.” The golden thread of happiness threaded through Bruce’s words comes through clear and clean. You can imagine him as he talks into the phone, glancing at Thor to make sure he can’t hear as he plays with his fingers. “I’m really sorry for leaving you there.”

“You’re not,” you amend. “But it’s fine. I’m glad you’re happy.”

“I am,” Bruce confirms.

“I don’t know how you find the time to juggle everything. It’s kind of terrifying,” you laugh, expecting him to tease you back, but his answer comes back honest.

“I know you think of boyfriends and whatever as distractions, but it’s the opposite. It’s not juggling if I have help carrying everything.”

You push your tongue against your cheek, listening to the rustling of the trees. You grab your keys as you arrive at your dorm door. “I’m here.”

“Finally.” You roll your eyes, opening the door to see your roommate and her brother inside.

“Hey Wanda, Piet.”

Wanda smiles at you and Pietro winks before greeting Bruce through your phone.

“Okay, Bruce, are we studying tomorrow?” you ask him, balancing your things in your arms. When Pietro notices, he stands, taking your books from you and setting them down on your table. You thank him and pat his arm.

“Before the game? Sure,” he replies. You take him off speaker, pulling your phone to your ear, not noticing that the mention of the game has caught Pietro and Wanda's attention.

“You’re going?” you question. “I thought Thor was benched.”

“He’s off!” There’s a whoop you recognize as Thor’s that makes you smile. “Which is why it’s an important game we need to go to.”

“We?” you echo.

“We as in you and I,” Bruce verifies.

“Wait, I have to go too? Why?” you whine.

Pietro cuts in, “You have to go! How will we win without our lucky charm?”

You purse your lips and squint at him. “Didn’t you guys win last game?”

“Still! Come on, please,” he insists. Wanda joins in, offering to bake you cookies.

You search your brain for excuses. “I have things to do.”

“If it’s not ‘stay home and binge a series,’ I'll let you skip,” Bruce chimes.

You frown as the siblings grin.

“Yeah, you’re going,” Bruce declares. “They’re not that bad and you know it. Besides, Thor wants you to braid his hair. You know my fingers always get tangled.”

“Fine,” you sigh dramatically. “But I want it noted that it’s only because I really like cookies.” You focus on Wanda, who nods enthusiastically. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Bruce repeats your words before you hang up, and at the click, you let yourself fall on your couch.

Wanda kisses your head and pats your shoulder comfortingly. “It’s going to be fun.”

“Standing in the middle of students I don’t know as they yell at a ball does not sound fun to me,” you disagree, but she ignores you.

“Even Vis is going,” she argues. “And you know how excited Thor gets when you braid his hair.”

You mutter incoherently.

“We’ll leave at three,” she instructs with a smile.

-

“I could be doing so many useful things right now,” you hiss at Bruce, remembering the half-written essay you have saved on your laptop, a string of frustratedly typed letters highlighted and waiting to be replaced with something coherent typed just beneath it.

Bruce had made you leave just as you began to taste the word you were looking for, assuring you that going out to see a game would somehow give your fried mind the jolt it needed. With little argument and the promise you’d committed to with a hook of your pinkie, you’d sighed and shut your laptop, leaving your apartment early to see the team before the game.

You could recognize some faces thanks to Pietro forcing you out to a few team celebrations and the occasional game you never paid much attention to. Although he’d laid off a while ago when Bruce and Thor started dating, your best friend had dragged you to every soccer-related event he didn’t want to go to alone. Pietro never minded your absence as much as Bruce did, always satisfied as long as you celebrated or consoled him afterward.

The word you’d been wracking your brain for suddenly comes to mind when you sit next to Bruce on a bench, pulling your phone out of your pocket to note it down, not noticing when the entire soccer team begins to leave the locker room, spilling into the hall where you’re slumped with your best friend.

Thor bellows your name excitedly when he spots you both, heading over. You glance up to give him a smile, quickly continuing to type the stray thoughts you’d been trying to catch when he turns, an extravagant arm extending as if to present you to the few guys with him. “This is the lovely lady I told you all about. She is very smart.”

You laugh at his introduction, tucking your phone back into your pocket. “Thank you, Thor.”

“Of course! And you all know Bruce, of course.”

There are chimes of agreement and greetings for your friend, a few of the players coming up to you. Pietro arrives first, as always, and pecks your forehead. “I, for one, am very glad you came to cheer us on.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” another says, huge and blonde, but his features are softened by an open grin. “I’m Steve.” He juts a finger at the brunet next to him, his hair tied up into a neat little bun at the nape of his neck, blue eyes shining as they observe you. “That’s Bucky.”

You smile at them, nodding. “Nice to meet you. I’ve actually heard a lot.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised. “Really?”

You stare at him blankly, opening and closing your mouth like a fish. “I meant Steve.” Steve looks startled. “I saw his work when I was volunteering at the art show last month. It was great, I actually bought the piece with the lilies!”

“Oh.” Bucky blinks blankly, tongue poking into his cheek before he clears his throat and manages a lift of the left edge of his lips. “‘Makes sense someone so pretty would have good taste.”

You stare silently at him for a second, relieved when Steve’s surprise takes a second to process.

“Wait, me?” Steve points stupidly at himself. “My art?”

“It was amazing, I couldn’t let it slip by!”

“I told you,” Bucky tells him, elbowing his arm. He, unlike the other players, wears a dark sleeve over the entirety of his left arm, all the way up to his fingers. His fingertips, jagged pink, peek out. “I wish you woulda let me go. I could’ve seen the art and met her sooner.”

His friend sends him a furtive glance. “Is this your first time coming to a game?” Steve wonders as he turns back to you. 

You shake your head. “Pietro is my roommate’s brother and Thor’s my best friend’s boyfriend. They drag me here when they feel like it, but it’s my first time being back here.” You gesture to the hall. “I’m usually a little late because Bruce drives like a grandmother.”

Bruce sighs, sending you a short glance that you respond to with a gentle nudge of his shoulder.

Blue eyes nods, careful to give you his full attention. “Well, I think you should come around more often.”

You scan him for a second. “Why?” you ask genuinely.

He pauses as he begins to explain, eyes pinched in confusion before Thor’s booming voice cuts him off, reminding you that you need to braid his hair. You give them a final smile before standing. “Duty calls, I guess.”

“So you’ll come around?” He calls after you, frowning when you respond with a transparent smile and ingenuine thumbs up. “Huh,” he says.

“What?” Steve responds, a little slowly, knowingly. He knows well what is making Bucky’s features crease in that way, but he’d prefer hearing it from his friend’s mouth.

“Just… wondering why I’d never seen her before. Pretty.”

“Uh huh.” Steve nods disbelievingly. Knowing he isn’t going to be able to push it out of his friend, he begins to walk toward the field, not waiting up for Bucky, the man caught up in his thoughts. “‘Thought it was because the line didn’t work,” he finally tells him, catching Bucky’s attention.

“What’re you talkin’ about, punk? What line?”

Steve snickers. “Any of ‘em.”

-

The next time Bucky sees you is across the courtyard, arms wrapped around books, your fingers curved protectively around the edges of your laptop. You struggle as you talk to someone he recognizes, bouncing lightly on the balls of your feet as you reach to brush strands of hair away from your eyes.

Why you don’t have a backpack like every other person is beyond him, but it’s the last thing on his mind when your eyes meet his and you smile and wave. Yeah, he knows how to handle this—the attention, the blushing, the flattery.

The hand he raises to wave back freezes awkwardly when he realizes your attention isn’t on him, but rather following something behind his shoulder. His hand lowers as he feels Pietro brush past him and over to you, Wanda following close by. She catches Bucky’s actions and sends him an amused look.

You accept the kiss Pietro drops on your forehead and greet Wanda excitedly, too busy chatting with her to notice the two pens that slip from your pile.

Bucky sniffs, tugging his varsity jacket tighter and deciding to embrace his mistake, walks over to you.

“Hey,” he greets, your name coming out like silk, shooting you a smile. He bends down to pick up your pens, handing them to you with a cajoling rise of his lips.

You return it a pause later. “Hey, um—thanks…” you struggle for a second before you’re cut off.

“Bucky!” the classmate that you were talking to exclaims, and Bucky realizes it’s Quinn, the girl he’d gone out on a date with a while ago. “I saw you on the field yesterday,” she tells him, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. “You were amazing.”

“I appreciate it,” he thanks her, his eyes flickering back to you for a second, spotting you beginning to step away with a short wave and an elbow to Wanda's side. “I should go, I needed to talk to her,” he starts, acting quickly. “But it was nice to see you again. You look great, I like your necklace.”

Quinn’s fingers reach to pinch at the pendant on her chain, tilting her head at Bucky as she beams. “Thank you!”

Bucky nods, turning to find you gone. He looks around, surprised, but finally catches sight of you turning a corner with your friends. Before he can head toward you, Quinn catches his arm.

“Aren’t you going to ask me out again?” She smiles at him, eyes wide and shiny.

He winces, forcing himself to not glance back at you. “You’re a really great girl, Quinn, but I don’t think we’d work out. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Quinn says quietly, not returning the apologetic smile he sends her. He twists his lips and apologizes again before jogging over to you, slowing to match your pace when he finally catches up.

“Hey again,” he quips, offering you a smile. You return it kindly, twirling your pens between your fingers.

“Hey, Bucky.” Probably accidentally, you enunciate his name in a way that makes him realize you didn’t remember it when he came up to you earlier, and he bites back an embarrassed blush. “It was a good game yesterday.”

“Thank you,” he replies easily. “How was I?”

You cock your head at him. “Fine? You… were a soccer player.”

Pietro laughs, pulling you closer. “He’s asking if he lived up to the stories,” he clarifies, shooting Bucky a look. “‘Does another pretty girl think I’m great too?’” he mocks, the imitation edged in his accent.

You hum in understanding, turning back to Bucky. “Stories?” you echo. Your features bear no likeness to the pull Bucky is used to with girls, nothing implying the agreement or validation he’s usually welcomed with.

“Oh, you know,” Bucky starts with a nonchalant shrug, “of the ‘insane stamina’ and ‘could totally carry a bus’ variety. You know, the ‘Winter Soldier’ name.”

Your eyebrows raise. “‘Winter Soldier?’” you repeat, words bolded in an unconscious drama.

“’S my nickname,” Bucky explains sheepishly. You continue to stare at him for a second before cracking a smile.

“Bucky Barnes, right?” you ask him. He pushes his tongue against his cheek at the blow to his ego and nods. “Which one were you again? All the uniforms are the same, I can only recognize Thor and Piet.”

Pietro hoots. “Fifteen, baby!”

Bucky eyes you, his cheeks pulling with an amused lilt. “You wound me, doll.”

“I wound you?” you giggle, unable to help it. “This is our first conversation and I have the power to wound you. I don’t know how I feel about having this power over a stranger.”

Bucky gasps, reaching out to grab your hand with his ungloved hand and wrap it around an invisible knife to plunge it into his chest. He chokes as he mimes nursing his wound. “Just digging it in deeper, aren’t you? Vixen.”

“Oh, come on, you expect me to have learned your number after knowing you for five minutes?” you exclaim with mild indignance, a whisper of amusement betraying it. You click your tongue. “You were fine, I’m sure,” you respond finally. Wanda jabs an elbow into your arm and whispers something to you. Your eyes light up. “Oh, you’re seventeen! The ball hogger! You do realize you’re in a team, right?”

Pietro claps, nodding approvingly at you. “And me, little flower?”

You roll your eyes. “You were fast. Like always.”

“That’s code for ‘the best out there,’” Pietro tells Bucky.

“I think the code for that is Bucky Barnes,” Bucky retorts, turning back to you. “‘Got a favorite player yet?” He asks you.

You tilt a brow at him. “On the soccer team?”

“Yeah,” Bucky confirms.

“Based off of what?” You counter.

“Anything.”

“Oh.” You think. “Then no.”

Pietro clears his throat loudly.

“What if I get you the best seat possible next game?” Bucky offers.

You laugh, shaking your head. “I’m good where I am.”

“She barely pays attention anyway,” Wanda informs. “All she does is complain.”

You nod. “And I can do that in any seat.”

“Alright… what if you wear my jersey at the next game?” Bucky continues.

You raise an eyebrow. “And you’re convincing me, right?”

“You should be swooning right now,” Bucky argues accusingly, but his words are tinged with a grin.

“Oh, my bad,” you deadpan, placing a hand on your chest and rocking on your heels. You flutter your lashes at him and melt your lips into a watery smile. “Oh my, golly! Benson’s sweaty jersey!”

“Bucky,” Bucky grumbles. “Bucky’s sweaty jersey.”

“Right,” you reply with an attentive nod, laughing quietly. Your attention is drawn by another building and you turn. “I gotta go, but please keep the jersey far away from me.” You point at Bucky and then wave at Wanda and Pietro. “I’ll see you guys around.”

“Me too!” Bucky shouts after you. You only reply with a thumbs up Bucky can tell is sarcastic even if he can’t see your face, slipping past a closing door. Bucky purses his lips, looking after you. “Huh.”

A hand slaps down on his shoulder, and Pietro's laughter bubbles from behind him. “Nice work,” he lies.

-

Entirely suddenly, your mind feels vignetted with inky stress. You suppose it was predictable, having ignored the weight your responsibilities had lain on your shoulders for as long as you had, but it’s exhausting nonetheless. You blink slowly at your document in a lousy attempt to soothe yourself, feeling as though you were staring at it through a tunnel.

You yawn as you splay yourself out on your bed, stretching your legs out as far as you can. Your fingertips brush your pillows as you let your eyelids fall closed for just a second, thoughts and reminders of the rest of the things you need to do lining your entrance to sleep, but the door is so inviting, the red tape of your to-do list blurring.

Your ringtone cuts in when you begin to reason with yourself, back straightening fast enough to give you whiplash when you open your eyes again. Your hand slams around your phone, blinking fast as you read Bruce’s contact name.

“The thing,” you mumble, remembering Bruce’s insistence that you went to something. You answer his call and fight to not let yourself fall back on your bed, free fingers moving to rub at your temple.

“Hey, are you ready?” Bruce asks, the sounds of conversation in the background.

“Sure,” you answer tiredly, looking down at yourself. Whoever it is you’re going out with can’t be too picky. “Ready for what again?”

“The team’s win? We’re going out to eat at an actual restaurant and everything.”

You purse your lips. “Are we going to a bar?”

There’s a moment of silence on his end, only highlighted by the muffled voices that converse. “...No.”

Nodding earnestly, you stand, stretching and shaking your limbs out in an attempt to wake yourself up, but the attempt is mocked when you yawn once again. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and wince, tilting your chin up to get another angle. “Then, yes, I’m ready. I guess.”

“That's great!” Bruce praises. “Because we are outside.”

You frown, grabbing a hair tie from your dresser before walking out of your room, surprised to see your apartment empty. “We?” you repeat as you look around, confused. “Are Wan and Pietro with you?”

“They’re probably already there. And ‘we’ as in I picked up Thor, Steve, and Bucky.”

You grunt in response, shutting off the lights and plucking your keys from the counter before locking up.

“You know Bucky. He’s not that bad.”

There are sounds of protest and you catch an offended ‘that bad?’ before you hang up, waving to Bruce’s car. The door to the back opens before you can touch the handle, a grinning face and shiny blue eyes welcoming you. “Hey, doll, you look great.”

“Bunny,” you greet, ducking your chin in a nod. Bucky gets out of the car, extending a hand to invite you inside.

“I don’t mind that one.” Bucky winks.

You shake your head, crawling inside and saying hi to Steve, nose wrinkling when you realize you’ll be sandwiched between the two guys, and turning when you notice Bucky getting in again. You tug on your seatbelt with a polite smile to Steve, bumping into hard muscle when you aim for the buckle.

“You tryna cop a feel? Could’ve just asked,” Bucky tells you, bumping you gently.

“Oh please,” you scoff, poking him with the metal thing. “Excuse me, seatbelt. Bruce isn’t that great of a driver. He’s in his twenties and gets night blindness.”

Bucky pats your hand gently and takes the belt from you, clicking it into place for you.

“Nice and safe, don’t worry, doll.”

You set your lips into a thin line and look straight ahead, pushing your phone into the space between your thighs so you don’t lose it. “How’d you do on your Norse mythology exam, Thor?” you ask, recalling the nerves with which he’d told you about it a couple of days ago.

“Wonderful! I really enjoy the subject. Thank you for helping me study,” Thor replies cheerily.

“You didn’t even need to,” you assure, stifling a yawn. Bucky frowns.

“Did you get some sleep?” Bruce wonders, eyeing you at a red light.

“Yeah, I drank some coffee,” you respond.

“Not the same thing. Not even close.”

You laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you promise. “Stop worrying.”

“I’m always worried,” Bruce grumbles.

“Hey, how was art today?” you ask Steve, nudging his arm gently. Bucky’s brows furrow, urging Steve to look at him and read his mind with an intense stare. Steve does not.

“You were right. I was being too judgemental,” Steve sighs. “I should’ve listened to you.”

“Listened to who?” Bucky buts in. “How did you know Stevie had art today?” he continues, trying to keep his tone light.

“We talk.” You shrug. 

“Oh,” Bucky starts, glaring at Steve. “Do you?”

“Yes.” You nod before actually yawning that time. “I’m sorry.”

“You should sleep more,” Bucky comments, watching you shake your head wearily.

“I have things to do,” you defend. “I sleep enough, it’s the stupid car ride, I always fall asleep in cars,” you defend. “But if it pleases you, I’ll sleep the entirety of tomorrow.” Your voice lacks the thick sleeve of satire you tend to use with him, more vulnerable in your exhaustion. Although your request is still sarcastic, Bucky can tell you know you need it.

“It will,” Bucky says.

For the most part, the conversation ends there, the group splitting into their own things during the car ride. After a few minutes, Bucky feels your head fall softly on his shoulder.

He stops paying attention to what Thor is saying, instead focusing on the way you edge toward him in your sleep, nudging your nose into his shoulder. He can see the way your lashes lay on your cheeks when you’re so close and the pretty bridge of your nose.

You’re more open than he’s ever seen you, eyes shut and lips parted with gentle breaths, and he can’t stop staring at you.

Then the car goes over a harsh bump, and Bucky wants to do everything he can to hold you still, but your eyes flutter open and you sit up, meeting his eyes for a second. “Sorry.”

“It's no problem,” Bucky assures, wanting to keep examining the lines of your face, but you clear your throat, looking forward, and Bucky has no choice but to do so too.

-

The surprise Bucky feels when he spots you at the celebration party is no match for the sweet excitement at the bottom of his stomach, immediately pulling his sleeve further down over his arm and brushing away loose strands of his hair. It would be embarrassing how much he cares about what you think of him if it weren’t so ridiculously important to him.

He busies himself with getting a drink for you, finding himself wondering if you’d come before, only to go unnoticed by him. There’s a startling burst of anger at himself with the thought, and Bucky blinks, eyes continuing to drift to you. Resolute, he moves toward you but pauses as he observes you.

The look on your face is one Bucky has never seen before—though he hasn’t seen many looks on your face before—but it settles so naturally on your features that it is difficult to argue that it’s unfamiliar. You look intense, but the way your eyes scan Wanda's boyfriend—who’s been dubbed Vision—is dangerous. Cocky.

You say something and your entire face relaxes resolutely, but your eyes remain expectant and arrogant, unamused with your companion’s reply.

Vision—who Bucky has heard is never wrong—sure seems wrong in whatever argument he’s just lost against you, and you know it.

“How’re my favorite geniuses?” Wanda pipes up suddenly, forcing Bucky’s daze away, appearing from an unknown place to sling an arm around you. You snap out of the look, your face softening, but the pleasure of being right dances across your features. Bucky clears his throat and takes a sip from his beer, stepping toward you.

“Oh, you know, out-geniusing the other,” you reply, glancing at Bucky as he walks up behind Vision.

“Hey Dolly,” he smiles. “I thought you had too many books to read to go out.”

“I finished them all,” you respond. “And ‘Dolly’? How old are you?”

Bucky clicks his tongue. “What would you prefer, sweetheart?”

“My name,” you state, then squint at him, cocking your head. “Do you remember it? I imagine it’s hard to keep track.”

“Of course I remember.” Bucky scoffs. “I don’t think I could forget.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Right, I’d imagine asking her out to swing dance without it would be pretty hard.”

“Are you asking me to swing dance with you?” Bucky retorts.

You snort. “Yeah, sure.”

Bucky holds out his hand expectantly, covered arm at his side.

Your eyes thin resolutely at him, scrutinizing the details of his face before you shake your head. “You’re ridiculous,” you criticise.

His hand drops and he pouts. “C’mon, pretty please.”

“Do you know what music you swing dance to?” you ask him, wagging a finger to refer to the booming music drowning most sounds inside the house. “Because this isn’t it.”

“I need to take advantage of the fact that you’re here, doll. You said so yourself you don’t go out much,” he complains. 

“Yeah, this is why!” you reply, your last words getting louder as the music impossibly gains volume.

“What?!” Bucky shouts, moving closer to hear you better, but you laugh and shake your head, telling him something he can’t make out. When you realize he can’t hear you, you give him a pout.

“And I was just about to say yes,” you say sadly.

“Wha—” Bucky’s cut off by the sharp shattering of glass. With a cringe, your eyes widen as you look behind him, eyes flickering back to him expectantly. He turns and groans. “I have to check that out. I’ll be right back!” he pledges, walking away to see a deadly amount of broken alcohol bottles on the floor, the stench of their contents burning his nose.

When he comes back, you’re gone.

The disappointment that blankets over his shoulders at the fact is just as surprising to him.

-

You’re in your bubble at the library, a little clueless to everything going on around you as you thumb the corner of a page, your pinky hovering below your book’s cover. You’re a few pages away from something exciting, teeth digging in with anticipation for it, when someone enters your field of vision, a large figure plopping down on a seat in front of you.

You spare them a glance and are surprised to find Bucky, sporting a large grin and his varsity jacket. You observe him suspiciously for a few moments, having never seen him even near the library, before returning your attention to what you’re reading.

“So, you’re actually here, huh?” he asks, and you shush him, shooting him a look to lower his voice. “Sorry.”

“Why are you here?” you question lowly instead, still not putting down your book.

“Anyone can come to the library.” Bucky points out, your name playfully scornful. You level a look at him.

“Yes. Why are you here? With me? You didn’t know my name until, like, two days ago.” You’re careful to keep your voice down.

“First of all,” Bucky starts, beginning to list off his fingers. “We met two weeks and three days ago.”

“Did we?” you drone, attempting to concentrate on the lines of your book once more.

“And, how do you know we don’t just have alternating study days?” Bucky points out.

“I am here every day,” you inform. “And if that were the case, why would you be here right now?” you rebut. “What would you be studying for? Coaching?”

“Maybe I wanted to switch things up,” Bucky defends. “And I’m not studying coaching. I’m studying biomedical engineering.”

You meet his eyes at the revelation, unable to keep the surprise off your face. You fold down the edge of the last page you read offhandedly and let your book flutter closed. “What? Quinn said you were in… sports.”

“Well,” Bucky sucks in a breath as if what he’s about to tell you is a revelation. “Soccer is a sport.”

“I know,” you affirm blandly. “But are you actually in biomedical?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. “What, do you not believe me?” he asks, raising a gloved hand to his chest. “I must say, I’m very disappointed in you perpetuating harmful stereotypes.”

“I’m just surprised. You’ve never talked about it before.”

“We’ve talked four times,” Bucky points out. “Although I want it clear that I have tried to make it more.”

“Yeah, what’s that about, by the wayt?” you wonder, setting your elbows on the table and dropping your face into your hands, cocking your head at him. “From what I’ve seen, you have your fair pick of girls and guys.”

“I wouldn’t say that—”

You laugh quietly. “Sure.”

“But I like you,” Bucky explains, shrugging. “You’re smart and pretty and you interest me.”

You scan his face, squinting. Astonishment tints your chuckle. “You are so much better at this than I thought you were.”

“Sorry?”

“At first, I was like ‘this guy? This is the Becky people won’t shut up about?’”

“Bucky,” he corrects swiftly.

“But I see it now. The charm. I’m not falling for it, but I see it.” You nod appreciatively and open your book once again to continue reading.

Bucky frowns in front of you, reaching over to insert an abrupt hand in between the pages. “What are you talking about?”

Sighing, you peel his fingers off the pages and meet his eyes, startled to see their intensity, crinkles at their edges, his lips pinched in a pout. You gasp. “Oh my god, you’re doing it now.”

“Sweetheart, it’s something that just happens naturally, I’m not doing anything.”

You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head, turning back to your book. “You are insufferable.”

“And you’re beautiful.”

“And you’re ridiculous.”

“Go out with me, c’mon,” Bucky urges, smiling now. It’s stupidly sweet.

You click your tongue. “Dates are a waste of time.”

“I’ll make it worth it. Promise.”

“I don’t have time to go out with guys I’ve talked to four times,” you explain.

“Alright, so if I talk to you more, you’ll go out with me?”

You wrinkle your nose. “I don’t… I’m not liking where this is going.”

“I will talk to you every single day from now on,” Bucky vows.

“Oh, I was right,” you groan. “I just mean you don’t know me. My favorite color, my favorite book, my order at my favorite restaurant, things like that.”

“I will know all of that,” he pledges.

You laugh disbelievingly. “Okay, Borky.”

A cocky little smirk plays on his lips as he winks. “Bucky,” he says archly.

-

You learn his name. Completely. Totally. Unmistakably. 

It’s hard not to, not when he becomes a constant in your life and not with a name like that.

James Buchanan Barnes. It rolls off your tongue too nicely all of a sudden.

He talks to you every day. Just like he said he would, even if it’s a two-minute conversation over text where he makes sure you get home safe and asks about your day. It would be overwhelming if it didn’t make you smile so much.

He doesn’t get upset when you answer two hours later because you were distracted with work, asking you how Linda the librarian was and if she liked the cookie he got her three days ago.

You relay her enthusiastic message, deciding to brush over the wink and coy smile she sent you at his mention. Then maybe, because you’re finished with your work for the day, you shove aside your notebook and bite back a small smile when he tells you how pretty he thought you looked in the glimpses he had of you today.

Organizing your books into a neat little pile, you message him and Bruce that you’re heading home. And you intend to, you really do, but then Bucky insists you call him the next time so he can walk you home, and you’ve suddenly been sitting at your table, uselessly leaning against your things for ten minutes.

You shoot up when you realize, lightly bewildered with yourself, gathering everything into your arms as quickly as possible, and shoving your phone into your back pocket. You hope Bruce isn’t getting too worried as you push open the library doors, hurrying down the steps and onto the path you usually take. You’re alert as always, careful to listen past the crunching of leaves beneath your feet and watch for shadows that edge past yours, digging your keys out of your pocket to hold them in the spaces between your fingers.

It’s three minutes in when you begin to feel unsettled. Your phone has vibrated three times in your back pocket in the past two minutes, but the darker section of your path is coming up, and chills rush up your neck as you imagine what the distraction could cost.

A shadow follows nearby, inching closer and closer until your hands are shaking and you’re on the verge of running.

Fingers wrap around your arm and you shriek, books slipping from your arms when they wane. Stumbling back, you tug yourself away from the intrusion, breaths coming out in big, wet gasps when you turn. Bucky’s wide blue eyes meet your glossy ones, hands up in surrender when he catches the tremble of your bottom lip.

A tear streaks down your cheek in profusing relief that it’s only him, the anger indistinguishable beneath it as you stumble into Bucky on wobbly knees, his name braided in a whimper. His arms settle around you hesitantly, guiltily.

“You scared me,” you whisper. “Don’t you know not to sneak up on people?”

“I'm sorry,” he replies sincerely. “I didn’t think—”

“I'm just relieved it’s you,” you interrupt, fingers fisting his shirt. You’re far away, stuck in a memory very far away, and yet it feels enough like you’re standing in it. Your grip is a vice, forcing him closer still until the pads of your fingers can feel the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt. 

Bucky murmurs your name, a large palm stroking up and down your back in comfort. His voice is mournful. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You snap out of it at the nickname, pulling away from his embrace as if you’d awoken. He doesn’t startle, only stares at the furrow of your brow and the light that reflects off of your cheeks. Swallowing hard, you blink away the rest of your daze, eyes falling on your things scattered on the ground.

“My computer,” you remember, frantically dropping to your knees to search for it.

Bucky doesn’t pry, kneeling next to you to help pick up your books, taking the ones you’d stacked up sloppily into his arms. You carry your laptop with a careful grip, relatively unharmed.

“I should get going,” you tell him, motioning to take your things from him but he refuses, ushering you into his car.

It’s silent for a while after you halfheartedly agree, obviously still embarrassed. Bucky’s hesitant to probe, but the guilt at what he could’ve reminded you of gnaws at his gut.

You can feel his stare each time he glances at you curiously; cautiously, as if you’ll burst into tears spontaneously. 

“I was attacked once.” Your voice is quiet, soft for the obvious teeth the words pierce you with. “Walking home from the library,” you explain. “It’s why Bruce doesn’t like me walking home alone.”

“You… someone…” Bucky pinches his lips into a tense line, fingers tightening around the wheel. “Why?” It’s painfully incredulous.

You look down at your lap, the left edge of your lips pulling into your cheek. “I was alone. It was easy.” What’s left to say seems painful for you to push out. “He didn’t like me very much.”

“I'm sorry,” Bucky offers after a tense second, unsure of what else to say and how angry he can be for you.

“For what? You didn’t have anything to do with it,” you retort, offering him a weak smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“For scaring you,” Bucky insists sincerely. “For the fact that it happened in the first place.” You don’t respond, watching as trees and lights flash past the window.

“It really wasn’t as bad as you think. The label makes it seem worse,” you palliate. “He hit me once and pushed me against a wall. A bruise was the worst of it. Both physically and to my bank account.”

Bucky’s frown stays, quiet blanketing the both of you.

“So, why’d you come get me? How’d you know I was only on my way?” you chime suddenly.

“I wanted to check up on you. You weren’t answering your phone.”

You pause, meeting his eyes with an inquisitive pinch to your features. “So you drove to find me?”

“Technically, I just wanted to drop by your apartment to make sure you got home safe, but that sounds better, so let’s go with it.” Bucky shoots you a grin. An olive branch.

You accept it as you mimic the sweet curve of his lips. “Ah, yes, and that’s how Barnacle gets ‘em. Being charming and funny and sweet—”

He lets a light chuckle slip past his lips, sparing you a delicate glance. You’re already looking at him, softer in your gaze than he’s ever seen you.

He hums inquisitively. “You think I'm charming and funny and sweet?”

You laugh openly, shaking your head but not negating his words. You hug your laptop closer to your chest, constellations reflected in your shadowed eyes as you look through the window. “I think—” you inhale in relief. “We’re here.”

Bucky slows to a stop when he reaches your dorm, shutting off the car and stepping out as you pack up. You only notice his actions when your fingers slip past the handle once you move to open your own door, huffing air out of your nose when he smirks wantonly at you.

“Thank you,” you grunt, climbing out and clutching your things.

You walk ahead, listening to the door slam and the subsequent sound of shoes quick against the pavement until he walks steadily beside you. “So, you wanna do that again soon?”

You laugh, motioning to grab your keys. “Do what again?”

He steals the jingling set from your fingers, moving hurriedly to the door when you make a noise hald surprise half indignation. He jams a silver one in, cringing when it doesn’t fit. You glower as you reach him, eyeing his hands as they continue to shove the wrong key in the lock. “It's the bronze one—no, the other one. How do you not—”

The door swings open, a satisfied smile parting Bucky’s face.

“Thanks,” you sigh, taking back your keys as you step inside. He stands outside awkwardly, kicking a pebble around with his foot. You squint doubtfully at him after you’ve set your things down and he’s not following behind you like you thought he would be. “What’re you doing?”

“You have to invite me in,” he explains.

“What, like a vampire?”

He blinks. “Yeah, like a vampire.”

You grin toothily. “Vucky…” It drips in an exaggerated accent.

“It's cold out here,” he reminds.

“Maybe you should go home then,” you suggest.

His face drops for a second and you find yourself feeling a tug of something sickening at your stomach. Like a reflex, the offer leaves your throat before you can help it.

“Or. Come inside.” At his hesitant posture, you suck in a bubble of air. “Do you want to come in? You’re welcome to.” I want you to.

He stares at you long enough for you to squirm before a smile breaks through his face. “Really?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, flimsy regret already churning in your gut. “Yeah. Just come on in already. It’s cold outside, dummy.”

-

It’s startling the first time you miss Bucky's ever-constant presence.

You’d rather not admit it, but it’s hard not to—not when he finds you between classes to carry your books, teasing you about your lack of a backpack but always leaving you with only your laptop and a pen in hand. You can’t help the smiles when he “coincidentally” bumps into you at your favorite coffee shop enough times to have your order ready when you arrive on your tea day.

His goofy jokes while you study at the library get less annoying and, annoyingly, more endearing. You suddenly know a whole lot about biomedical engineering and Bucky. You know his sister’s favorite color and can spout stories about Steve before he grew five times his size like you were there yourself.

It's infuriating, you think, but you don’t mind as much when Bucky's making you laugh with lovely crinkles at the edges of his eyes.

“I like the ocean,” you say sometime at the library, books spread on the table, ignored. He looks up from his notebook in surprise, putting down the pen you’d lent him two weeks ago. “It’s the reason why my favorite color is blue.”

His own blue glitters as he nods, listening. “‘Thought it was because of my eyes.”

You reward him a laugh and a roll of your eyes. “I really wanted Atlantis to be real when I was little,” you tell him. “And mermaids. Even if they were the ugly ones that murder you,” You confess in a rare moment of transparency, meeting his eyes before you clear your throat, bringing your attention back to your laptop.

“I like space,” Bucky offers. “It's endless.”

You nod in acceptance, clearing your throat as if to rid yourself of what you’ve given him.

“You collect those squished pennies, right?” Bucky asks. 

You’re startled that he remembers, and it takes a second for your brain to catch up. “Uh—yeah. Why?” 

Bucky turns to dig around in his bag, pulling out something small and bronze and shiny with a brilliant smile. ”I went to this little souvenir shop the other day and found one of those machines.” He extends it to you and flips it slowly between his index and middle. “It has a little fuzzy monster thing on it. I don’t get it, to be honest.”

It never crossed your mind that he would do that for you. A startling line of electricity runs up your arm when your fingers meet his, quick to take the penny from him. “Thank you,” you mutter, observing the coin in the light. The large eyes of the embossed little monster stare back at you. “This is really nice of you.”

“It’s not big deal,” Bucky shrugs. “I just thought you’d like it.”

Honey fills your throat. Gulping, you glance at the clock, nearly relieved to see it’s time for you to leave. “I gotta go,” you tell him, gathering your things. The smooth edges of the penny dig into your palm. He stands in tandem, rolling his shoulders.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to,” you begin.

“I want to. Besides, it would kind of feel weird not to after so long.”

You nod along. “Right.” 

He ducks his chin in affirmation, picking up his stuff too. Furtively, he lightens your own load.

You notice but know better than point it out and argue, remembering how you ended up bedrudgingly carrying only a pen last time.

“Does Sam still have your car?” you ask as you leave the library.

“Yup. One more week, he says.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Well, he’s been saying that for two, so…”

You laugh, staring up at a big tree vignetted orange.

Bucky nudges you lightly as you begin to drift away, preventing you from walking into the street. He guides you past a fissure in the sidewalk as you gasp at something in a boutique’s window. “There’s a sale at the bookstore!”

“Wanna go tomorrow?” Bucky asks.

You nod. “Can we?”

“Sure, we’ll just leave the library a little earlier,” Bucky suggests, balancing the books in his arms.

“Someone’s sure of themselves,” you tease. “You’re walking me home tomorrow, too?”

“Of course. I have been for months,” Bucky points out with a shrug.

Your jests die on your tongue as you realize he’s right, the discovery shocking when the memories of your solitary walks are further away than you had thought; suddenly, you remember that the dog you’d pointed out two weeks ago was more for his benefit than yours.

“Weeks,” you argue weakly, throat suddenly dry.

“Weeks could definitely be months,” Bucky reasons. 

You ignore him, stopping in your tracks. “Why?”

A frown tugs at his lips as he pauses as well. “Because weeks add up to months?”

“Why have you been walking me home every day for months?”

“‘Thought it was weeks?”

“Bucky,” you say, a little urgent.

He shrugs boyishly, near flippant but your things in his arms don’t let you believe that. “I don't want you to walk alone.” Then, “I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”

Shocked pupils dart around wildly and it’s difficult to swallow before you steady yourself, clearing your throat. Your features are pinched in a sort of raw determination—open, honest. “Thank you.”

He smiles and it’s soft as he shrugs lightly, nearly nonchalant.

Before you let yourself get too caught up in the curve of his lips and realize you’ve imitated it unconsciously, you look away, clearing your throat in relief when you spot your door.

“Right. Um, thanks again.” You take your things from him before he can think twice about it, speed walking to your door.

“Wait—” he stammers out, confused and too late when you give him a wave and a quick goodbye before slamming the door shut.

You swallow hard on the other side of the door, wide eyes staring aimlessly into the darkness. In the dreaded stillness, you can feel the heat that creeps up your neck and floods stickily into your face, the prickling static that needles into your palms. Shakily and illicitly, a hand drifts up to your chest, pressing to feel the thundering beating of your heart.

You curse to the silence, letting your eyes flutter shut in candied disappointment.

-

Bucky thinks you’re acting weird.

No—he’s sure you’re acting weird.

He knows you now, can recognize the sarcastic lines of your cheeks when you wrinkle your nose and poke fun at him. He’s memorized the genuine curve of your lips when he’s said something so cheesy it circles around to sweet. He knows you at your angry and at your happy, but he doesn’t know this.

You’re being nice to him. Sticky nice. Not you-nice.

He tries teasing first, poking a pencil into the flesh of your arm and asking if you’d fallen in love or something. You’d scoffed, blinked fast, and swatted him away. But you didn’t say no.

He’s aware he’s a fool to think so large of a lack of something, but he can’t pretend like it doesn’t inspire something in him, something like hope, like nectar, sticky in his throat.

He wonders if it clogs words up in yours—if it’s the reason you’re so quiet.

You stare through your computer, steam from your tea disappearing into the air as you blink. There’s a sweet indent in between your eyebrows, similar to the one you get when you study something you don’t completely understand, usually accompanied by the nail of your thumb between your teeth. But this one is lighter, more unintentional. You’re struggling with something but he can’t figure out what.

Your eyes flicker up to his, glinting in the light when you catch them on you.

“What?” you blurt. It’s louder than you intend, and you purse your lips in that embarrassed way that you do, shrinking down into your seat. “Why are you staring at me?”

“You’re pretty,” he says honestly.

He waits for your usual flustered reaction and you give it to him, but it’s vignetted with something, different in the quick blinks of your eyes and the thumb you brush over your nose. 

“I'm hungry,” you complain, ignoring his compliment.

“I'll buy you something,” Bucky responds immediately, already pulling out his wallet.

“You don’t have to,” you remind. “I wasn’t asking, I was just—”

“I know, it’s fine,” Bucky insists.

“I can pay. It’s my food.”

“It’s just a meal.” He squints at you. “You never pass up a chance of food on me.” He presses the back of his palm against your forehead and leans in closer. “Are you feeling okay?”

You heat up beneath his touch, shaking him off with a scowl. “You make me sound awful. Fine. Buy me my food then.”

Bucky raises his hands in surrender, wallet between his index and middle finger rising with his shoulders. “I will.” He squeezes your shoulder before he walks away, dipping down to your ear to whisper, “And you’re not awful.”

You huff, pinching your lips together as you watch him get in line, nudging his fingers into his wallet to take out money.

Arbitrarily, you’re annoyed. Bucky Barnes is infuriating, with his long charcoal lashes and lilting chuckle and nonchalance in giving things you want without your asking.

Your laptop screen darkens with your lack of attention, and you’re left staring at yourself, scrutinizing the thin lines around your eyes as you squint. You’re being ridiculous; you can’t be angry over Bucky being a sweet guy.

“They musta’ known you were coming,” Bucky whistles, balancing a bowl and a small bag already darkened with grease spots in his arms. You take the bowl from him, warmth seeping into your fingertips.

You furrow your brows at him when you pop the lid off, barely realizing you’d never told him what to get. “You got me cavatappi pasta,” you realize. You look upset.

“Yeah?”

Distressed, you snatch the bag from him, shoving your fingers inside to pull out two large chocolate chip cookies. “And chocolate chip cookies.” Your voice rises and falls with a slightly unhinged twinge, features pulling as you examine what Bucky got for you. Your comfort food; the token you’d never explained to him.

“Yeah. It’s what you always get. And I know you always want two cookies but only get one because you’re afraid you won’t finish it, but we can split it or you can save it, or—what are you doing?”

You sweep everything into your arms, holding the food tightly behind your books.

“I have to go.”

“What? We just got here.”

“I have an appointment.”

“For what?”

“For—things—it’s—” you huff. “I have to go.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a ride? I have my car back, you know,” Bucky offers, already beginning to get up, but you shake your head, his actions hitting something in your chest.

“I'll be fine, thanks for the…” you exhale sharply. “I'll see you later.”

You run off, ignoring his confused call of your name as you slam the door behind you.

Hot soup dribbles down your fingers as you speed walk back home, but you barely notice, struggling to remember why you’d rejected him before.

“I hate him,” you mumble, fully dishonest as you struggle with your keys. “I hate him so much.”

“Hate who?” Bruce asks from the table, sparing you a glance from his computer. His eyebrows join as he takes you in, every panting and crazed inch of you, mouth parting and head tilting. “Uh.”

“Bucky,” you reply, setting the a la carte box down hastily. You drop the cookies next to it.

Bruce stares at you.

You make a big gesture with your hands toward it, pursing your lips. “He bought me that. Just—insisted. He's so—” you sigh frustratedly. “I didn't even—he bought me cookies.”

“Okay.” It's long and hesitant. “And that’s bad because…” he begins to shake his head. “You don’t like cookies?”

Your shoulders drop.

“You hate cookies and pasta. You think they’re awful,” Bruce tries.

“No! I love soup and cavatappi and—he’s ruining everything! He's such an idiot!” you rub your face, nuzzling your nose into the crevice between your joined hands.

Bruce examines you for another second before: “Oh.”

“What?” you snap, meeting amused brown. “What?”

“Nothing,” Bruce muses, but his lips are set in a careful smile, amusement poorly hidden. “Just that you finally learned his name.”

His thoughts are pathetically obvious in his tone, lips in a thin line and eyes crinkled.

“Don’t,” you warn. “Bruce Banner—”

“I didn't say anything.”

“Do not think what you’re thinking,” you demand. “He’s a player and a distraction and—”

“Okay.” Bruce has never been one to argue, but his one word answer makes you more frustrated than anything else he could’ve said.

You puff and gather your food, striding to your room with a glare at your best friend. 

-

For the first time since you met Bucky, you follow through on an excuse to miss the game. It’s not a majorly important one—although Bucky pouts when you tell him either way, insisting that he needs you there for good luck—but you still feel a strange ache at the bottom of your stomach when the game begins and you’re too far away to cheer for him.

The edges of your lips are downturned, brows pinched as you stare at your phone before you realize what you’re doing and snap your attention away.

Scoffing, you shake away thoughts about soccer and the memory of Bucky's sweet blue eyes when he’d teased you, a strange tone of real sadness beneath his playful jests.

You pause, lifting your hands from your computer to eye the time once again. Furtively scanning the work you’re nearly done with, you allow yourself the distraction and grab your phone, fingers dancing in anticipation when your lock screen is littered with icons of messaging apps.

You click Bucky’s name first, smiling softly as you read a quickly typed summary of the game he probably sent after the first half was over. He sounds hopeful and excited, like he always does when he talks abouts soccer, but he signs off with a mispelled reminder that he misses you and a red heart. You check Wanda and Bruce's messages next, your face falling when you learn the second half hadn’t gone as well.

Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you glance at your work again and then at the clock, taking a quick breath before you force yourself to write a quick conclusion you promise yourself you’ll revise when you get home.

The game is over by the time you arrive, easily finding a parking spot in the midst of everyone’s departure. You hear disappointed grumbling as you make your way inside the stadium and cringe, striding toward the locker room.

Your name in Bruce’s voice makes you pause, turning to meet his pulled, bushy eyebrows and pinched lips. “What’re you doing here?”

“I finished early,” you explain. “And you said the game wasn’t going great so I thought I'd come and make sure the team’s okay.”

Bruce's features morph into something like realization and then into his poor poker face, lips pursed so tightly they’re edged white. “Right. The team.”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, since it’s the whole team, I should let you know most of them are in the locker room moping, but Bucky wanted to leave early.” Bruce looks pointedly to the right.

“What? Why?”

Bruce shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe he said something about seeing you, but since you’re here for the team—”

“Shut up, Bruce.” You squint meanly at him, making him swallow a laugh as you spin around and continue on your path. 

You bump into Bucky when you turn a corner, familiar hands coming to rest on your arms distractedly before his eyes brighten in recognition. He says your name in surprise, shaking you gently as if to check that you’re real. His hair is damp from the quick shower he’d just taken, dark spots from water droplets around the collar of his gray shirt. He smells like soap and Bucky and it makes you a little dizzy.

“Hey, I heard about the game,” you say. “I wanted to check up on you.”

“Oh. I was just coming to see you. I told you that you were our lucky charm.” Bucky laughs but it’s not completely honest, his disappointment about the loss shining through.

You frown, unsure of what to do. Suddenly, you shove your hands into your coat pockets, pulling out a crinkled baggie in each one. “I brought you something.”

Bucky steps back, eyebrows furrowed as he notices what you’re holding. “Are those orange slices?”

Nervous now, you let your arms drop. “Yeah. I, uh—figured they’d maybe give you a boost and—” You cut yourself off, laughing awkwardly. “It was dumb.”

“My mom used to bring me orange slices after soccer practice,” Bucky mumbles.

You perk up. “Yeah. You told me about that and I thought maybe you’d like them.” The end of your sentence lilts like a question, answered by the quick movements of Bucky's fingers when he takes a baggie from you and pulls it open, taking a slice out to grin happily at it.

He dips his fingers in again and hands another to you, bumping his own small slice against yours. “Cheers.”

As soon as he bites into it, the juice from the fruit runs down his fingers, eyelids falling closed in a delighted hum. You barely realize the sap has streaked sticky orange down your arm, too.

He breathes out your name as he opens his eyes, a dazzling blue in the fluorescent lights of the locker room hall. “I forgot how…” He shakes his head, drifting off, and takes the other bag from you, pulling you to him. He sighs big and warm, rumbling through his chest.

You rub your nose against his sweatshirt, breathing in deeply. There's the fresh scent of citrus and then the lavender body wash you’d bought for him faint beneath his own distinct smell. He thanks you blithely, a lot lighter.

You shrug it off and force yourself to pull away, shivering at the loss even if you initiated it. “Do you want to get something to eat and watch that new episode of The Great British Bake-Off we missed last week?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, hand drifting down to pull yours along. His skin is sticky and sweet against yours, orange juice smearing on your palm, but you can’t find it in you to care.

-

You feel sick when you step outside; a sticky, prickly rush that coats your throat in sap. It’s cold enough to make goosebumps rise on your skin, dark enough for the stars to drown in ink. Any appetite you had disappears, replaced with something clammier and painful, a twisting anxiety as a result of a bad day and a completely avoidable situation.

The bags with your food bump warmly against your knee, plastic handles pulling against the skin of your wrist. If you stay as you are, there will be indents of them once you finally put the bag down. 

Something like dumb, chest-puffed stubbornness tugs incessantly at you when you contemplate calling Bruce to come pick you up, a biting voice snapping pathetic for even thinking about it convincing you to shut the door behind you, locking away the choice of warmth and safety and shame.

It’s very silent when you begin to walk, the crinkling of your bag loud and in tandem with your steps. You let it slide down and hook on your fingers, carefully aware of shadows that might peek out behind yours and off-space footsteps.

Lonely fingers curl in on themselves, missing the comforting frigidity of the keys you’d forgotten at home. Your dying phone vibrates in the tight grip of your hand, spurring your steps faster. A dark lump appears on your shadow’s shoulder, and you freeze, spinning around violently to face the street, empty behind you.

You turn back around hesitantly, breath trembling. You could’ve sworn you felt someone else behind you.

Eyes rounded and wet, you begin to walk again, feeling an uncomfortable heat in the space where your ribs meet. Your required cognizance turns frantic, making your fingers shake and oxygen difficult to get into your lungs. There’s an echo to your footsteps. When you blink, there’s the ghost of an unforgiving hand on the back of your neck, the sharp slam of your jaw against brick. You gasp when you open your eyes again, a hand flying to the aching skin of your neck as you spin.

Your eyes promise that there’s no threat lurking behind darkness, but your mind blares with an assurance that there is. Ducking behind a wall, you scramble for your phone, cheeks cold with air-slapped tears as you press the call button for the first contact your fingers find.

Bucky’s voice is confused and comforting when he answers.

“I think—I think someone is following me,” you whimper, pulling your legs to your chest. Your food warms the side of your thigh. 

“What? Where are you?”

“I don’t know,” you cry. “I’m sorry, I should, it’s just—I was walking home from the restaurant and I heard something and I can’t concentrate, I can’t breathe—”

“Okay, it’s okay. Try to breathe, okay? Can you tell me what restaurant it was?”

You can picture the glowing sign, the faded wallpaper, the flowered curtains, but you can’t think, barrelling you deeper into panic. “I can’t remember—I—”

You can hear Bucky open his door. “Hey, it’s okay. Were you eating there or picking up to go?”

“To-go,” you answer tearfully, concentrating on the box pressing into your flesh.

“Okay. For you and Bruce or just you?”

“B-both of us.”

“You’re doing great, sweetheart. Try to take deep breaths, I think I—”

There’s a hollow click before it’s silent, the calm you’d been grasping at completely gone. “Bucky?” you plead. “Bucky?”

You pull your phone away from your ear, vision going blurry when you tap desperately at the screen and it doesn’t respond. Dead.

There’s a tremendous weight on your chest, your elbow knocking against the wall behind you with your attempts to draw in a breath. You shove your head in between your knees and try to remember Bucky’s voice, forget the cold fear that another clammy hand will reach for your hair and tug you up.

You need to get home. You can’t move.

You stifle your sobs with your leg, clawing at your shins and trying to think of anything else. You shove your hand in between your stomach and your legs, letting your phone fall to your thighs as the tips of your fingers reach the round hills of your collarbone. Your palm digs into your flesh until the beating of your heart pulses against your thumb, aching when you force it to stay put.

Thump, thump. “O-one,” you force, restraining your fingers from curling. Thump, thump. “Two.” A deep, shuddering breath that makes your mouth snap closed and your eyes flutter into darkness. Thump, thump. “Three…”

It’s how Bucky finds you, your nose deep between your knees, counting watery and muffled. He’s frantic when he sees you, panic like needles against his chest prickling to a pounding ache. He should be more cautious, stand still a few feet away for a few seconds, step slowly. If he were a little less in love, maybe he would; but he’s not, and the relief that you’re solid and no longer a tenuous voice on his phone is too much a relief.

He calls out your name and rushes forward, lowering himself down to his knees before he touches your arm. You flinch, shoving a strong hand against him, a horrible mix of anger and fear contorting your voice.

“It’s me. It’s Bucky.”

You still push yourself back against the wall, but your eyes finally meet his. “Bucky,” you test. “Bucky.”

It’s a silent, cold beat before you blink clearly, irises looking back a little less hazy. You murmur his name once more and promptly burst into tears, launching yourself into his chest. His arms wrap around you in tandem, pleasing the closeness your fisted fingers crave. He takes in your tears, steadily smoothing a hand over your back, desperation in the way he hooks his chin over the crown of your head.

“Are you okay?” he asks too soon.

You make a noise of which answer he can’t be sure of, so he gathers you up in his arms to push you away, only a little, only for a second to stare at you.

You grip at his shirt, cheeks shiny. And then, “I thought I was really gonna die this time.” Hearing your admittance causes a shift on your face, still crumpled and unready to deal with this. “Just for a second and—” Your lips twist to keep words back. 

Bucky pulls you back in.

“Will you take me home?”

His compliance is wordless and patient, hooking a finger through your takeout and grasping your hand with his free one, guiding you to his car. He helps you inside, setting the bag at your feet before he buckles your seatbelt and pushes strands of hair away from your sticky face.

Your breathing steadies while he drives, concentrating on the cool puffs of air hitting your collarbone, the lingering warmth from the food you’re suddenly starving for. But the wash of panic has left a shameful residue and a subsequent otiose apology on your tongue, making the once comforting silence expectant.

Your chest weighs when you finally spot your door, fighting to pull words from your mouth at the dimmed lights, but Bucky beats you to it, clearing his throat without unlocking the door. His left hand lays clothed on his lap, face stormed with uncertainty, but there’s a resolute edge that makes him look at you.

“I’m sorry,” you start, misunderstanding.

“Why?”

You aren’t sure, only certain of how guilty you feel. “For… bothering you. For making you comfort me. I’m sorry that you had to see me like that."

“Don’t apologize.” He clenches his jaw. “I don’t want you to…”

He shoves his sleeve up, taking a deep breath as he pinches the fingertips of the glove. “I know that wasn’t something you were ready to share with me. I understand, I…”

His gaze is heavy, flickering between your face and the fingers peeling away his glove. He swallows hard when it’s pulled off completely, looking away from the sight of his skin.

You can’t help the way your eyes track down his arm. It’s scarred with angry raised lines, ending at his fingertips and disappearing into his shirt sleeve. 

“I was in a fire once,” he says. “‘Got some scars too.”

“Is that why you wear—” You trail off at his nod. “Why are you… why are you telling me?” you ask, wincing at how the question sounds, but Bucky seems to understand what you mean.

He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he lies.

You blink at him, slipping a sure hand into his and squeezing. “Thank you.”

His eyes stay startled on your interlocked fingers, stubborn even beneath his gaze. He laughs hollowly then, squeezing back before he finally meets your eyes. “You, too.”

-

Your fingers are wound tightly around Wanda’s arm, the nails digging into her sweater giving away what your face is trying to hide. You’re zeroed in on Bucky's figure as he runs across green after blurry white.

The energy from the others who cheer in the stands makes you buzz, a rush of confidence urging you to jump to your feet when Bucky passes the ball to Pietro and then has it once again, close enough to the other team’s goal to make you clench a hand in anticipation.

With the flesh of your thumb between your teeth, you can’t help but lose your breath when it looks like Bucky's going to try to make it, only for it to be knocked out from your lungs when he crashes to the ground from the impact of another player.

Your mouth parts in a surprised o, tongue playing his name before you can stop it.

It's eerily silent in the stadium for a second as Bucky lies on the field, before it disappears into a fold of angry screams.

You’re not worried.

Bucky has never gotten hurt on the field before—”I’m too good,” he had promised you with an uneven grin, annoying in the way that he’s right—and the only times it’s seemed otherwise have been lies, a mere play he put on for the free kick. He had shaken his head disappointedly at you when you’d gotten worried, condemning you for not trusting him. He’s playful when he’s flustered.

So you’re not worried, because you know Bucky is fine.

Except he hasn’t moved in a little while too long and you don’t think it’s ever taken him this long to fake it. Although, maybe it feels longer because you can’t take your eyes off his figure.

You’re not worried.

Your fingers say otherwise, thumb tapping against your alternating fingers so frantically they get jumbled together, clumsily bumping into the crevices between them.

“Is he hurt?” Wanda asks.

“No,” you say automatically, stretching your fingers out like a starfish as if to rid evidence of your anxiety. “No, he’s fine.”

It's another moment that seems too long and the lines of Wanda’s worried face deepen, breaths a little faster. “He's not… he’s not getting up.”

“He’s fine,” you insist. “He has to milk it.” Glancing up at the timer, you nod definitively. “Yes, he has to milk it to get the penalty kick.”

“What?” Wanda asks, meeting your eyes in confusion.

“The hit didn’t seem that bad,” you lie unsteadily. “He has to milk it. He’s fine.”

Your panic escapes in the highs of your voice, something translucent hiding it when you clear your throat. He's still not getting up and it makes your breath comes out quickly. “He has to be,” you admit.

Wanda’s brows furrow, eyes searching your face once Bucky finally limps weakly to his feet, giving the ref a short nod. A sigh large enough to make you bend slips past your lips, caught in a relieved laugh as you gesture to him.

“I told you,” you tell her.

“He’s limping,” she points out.

“It’s fake,” you assure, fingers digging round shadows into your temples. “He’s doing his hero face, he’s completely fine.” It comes out more relieved than you thought it would.

He gets his penalty kick, makes it, of course, and it’s another few, a lot slower minutes before the game is over, but you’re making your way down thirty seconds before, too much attention on the game rather than your footing on the stairs.

You stumble over your feet, barely caring when the whistle blows to indicate the game is over, and turn in the direction of the hall to the locker room. Your anxiety nearly seems silly now, not as oppressive now that the soaked towel you’d been waterboarded with was dry. Yet, it still prickles at your fingertips, faint but enough to ache.

It's only a couple minutes before you can hear the pattering of feet, the stress that the outliers are Bucky, limping like he did on that field, nudging at your mind. The players wave at you, surprised, and your heart grows heavier and heavier with each passing team shirt that does not have “BARNES” on the back.

Then he’s there, completely fine and near the end of the line. He's grinning at the apparent win, letting Steve shove him proudly. His eyes widen in surprise when they catch sight of your own, saying something to his teammates without looking at them as he steps toward you.

“Hey, what’re you—”

Unable to help yourself, you throw your arms around his neck, the prickling disappearing the moment you touch him. He is hot and solid in your arms, but most importantly completely fine.

“Hey,” he coos, hugging you back.

You allow him a moment before you pull back abruptly and smack his arm.

“Ow!” he complains, grabbing your hand.

“You asshole! What’s up with the drama?”

“What, did I scare you?” Bucky teases, smirk dropping when your deadpan doesn’t glitter with playfulness. “Doll?”

“You took your sweet time getting back up,” you continue, ignoring his words. “You’ve never taken that long.” You’re alone in the hall now, eyes frenetic over his figure.

He softens then, chin pulling closer to his neck so his eyes can give you a reassuring smile. “Hey,” he says softly, tapping your wrist with his index, “‘m fine.”

“I know,” you contend, but it comes out a little relieved at hearing it in his voice. “I told Wanda that.”

His cheeks apple at your statement, amusement twinkling back in his eyes. “Of course. My girl knows I can't get hurt.”

You scoff at the term of endearment, nervous energy dissolving. “I'm not your girl.”

“Not yet!” he proclaims.

You wrinkle your nose, stepping away from him. “You stink. Go shower.” You pat his shoulder as a goodbye, beginning to head back out.

“Sure know how to charm a guy,” he mumbles, watching you walk away with a dopey smile.

-

You’re in your room, laying on your stomach with your computer in front of you and a drink Bucky had bought for you sitting on your bedside table.

He's sitting against your bed, scanning over a document. You should be doing something like it, but you can’t help but be distracted. He's quiet for once, features set in something not playful and not serious, a small knot between his brows indicating his concentration.

He looks pretty. You can’t be blamed.

If he notices your gaze, he’s kind enough to not point it out, although it’s unlikely. It’s undoubtedly heavy.

He’s staring down at his hand when he speaks up for what seems like the first time since hes arrived. His fingers dance nervously before he shoves them away from his view, edges of thick tissue peeking out as a bracelet on his wrist. “Do I make you uncomfortable when I flirt?”

You blink owlishly at him, unsure how to answer. He sounds so serious, guilty. “No.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I'll stop.”

“I know you would. But it doesn’t. Is something wrong?”

Bucky cringes. “You don’t really flirt back. I just want to make sure it’s not because I make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t! I just… don’t really flirt. I don’t really think there’s a point if I’m not dating.”

“You don’t date?” He’s known this. To a point, which he thinks is not completely accurate now that he hears the way you say it.

“No.”

“Not even guys you like?”

“Especially guys I like, ” you clarify, cringing with the difficulty of putting so many feelings into so insignificant words. “Things get messy. It’s just… distractions and it’s never worth it.”

“You think love isn’t worth it? That it’s a distraction?”

You shoot him a look, huffing a little disappointedly, as if you’d expected him to understand something and he didn’t. “Why do people always twist my words into something so cynical?

I didn’t say that. Not love. I never said love, I just—it never ends well. It’s always something you pour so much into and get so little back.”

Bukcy shifts. “That’s not true. A relationship is fair, or at least, it’s supposed to be.”

“Ah, but see, ‘supposed to be’ and ‘is’ are two different things. I’d rather just skip the entire thing.”

Bucky frowns. “I don’t think you should.”

“You don’t think I should?”

“I don’t… I’m not telling you what to do, but I really think you should try. Love can be really great. And you deserve that.”

Your nails pinch at your fingers. “But what if it isn’t?”

“Then it isn’t.” You move to rebut, but Bucky continues. “But what if it is?”

You refuse to answer, chewing on your bottom lip.

Bucky gazes at you, waiting for a response before he realizes he won’t get one. He doesn’t push, turning back to his work.

“Why do you care so much?” you ask.

He sucks in a breath before admitting, “Mainly because I think you would really enjoy being loved. And very partially because I’m selfish.”

You hum. “You’re a really good guy, Bucky.”

“I try.”

You scowl lightly. “Incorrigible. Annoying. But really good.”

Bucky laughs. “Don’t forget—what was it you said about me? Charming? Sweet? Hand-to-heart hilarious?”

You launch a pillow at his head. “Nuisance is what I should’ve said.”

“Mm, a little contradictory but what’s life without some juxtaposition? Maybe I’m a man of many talents.”

The tip of your index finger shoves into his arm.

You fall into a peaceful silence once again when the laughter dissolves, your fingers busy away at your keyboard. There's a moment where you’re thinking, staring intently just past your computer and Bucky is staring at you, a thoughtful expression on his face, stony and all.

“Will you?”

It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to you. “Will I what?”

“Give it a chance.”

You want a moment to ponder it, because you know the right answer but you aren’t sure if you want to pick it. “Give what a chance?” you play dumb, but he doesn’t buy it.

You look to your side, unfocused eyes lazy on an ugly painting.

“Yeah, maybe.” You want to tell him it depends who it is, that you have very strict rules mentioning annoying brunets with blue eyes who walk you home from the library and never shut up, but you don’t, eyes travelling back to him slowly. His silence when they finally meet his own tell you he knows anyway.

Quickly looking back down, you avoid his gaze and continue to work.

-

You melt into his side, delightfully prickling when you lean in a little closer to take a sip of your drink. Eyes shimmering in the lame lights of the bar, you’ve never looked so openly bright, hardly containing your delight and everything you can spilling past anyway.

There are enough people in the place for it to feel rightfully uncomfortable, sweat-sticky skin bumping into the arm he has around your chair and making the heat rise, but Bucky can’t seem to notice.

It would feel plain ignorant to do so—to not focus completely on the stitched pride in the dips of your smile or the warmth of your palms as they splay flat on his arm.

It’s not enough to just have your fingers tug at him during conversations with strangers, he feels he should imprint the feeling of your touch like a branding.

You say his name in conversation, cruelly dragging your hand down to bracelet around his wrist and squeezing. You make a little shimmy with your shoulders that can’t help but make him laugh. He zeroes in on your lips, trying to make sense of what you’re saying.

You’re cute. You’re too sweet to be in this stuffy bar with him.

You turn to him brightly in the midst of another exclamation and he feels himself transported.

He can feel the end buzzer vibrating up to his fingertips, the breeze on the heat of his skin when he’d looked up, eyes searching for you like a habit. 

Your features are shrunken into the memory, suddenly far away but still pulled into the biggest beam you could muster, hands clapping ecstatically.

“Bucky,” memory-you says liltingly, too clearly.

When he blinks, he’s back in the present, the tip of your index dimpling his bicep, your face close enough for him to count each individual eyelash. He grins without really thinking about it. “Bucky,” you repeat, a little harsher but still teasing.

“Yeah?” he responds finally.

“We’re complimenting you and you aren’t paying attention? Are you feeling okay?” you frown, lips downturned but the edges of your eyes still crinkled with happy lines. The back of your hand meets his forehead.

“Fantastic,” he says, his left hand vining up to hook around your fingers and lay them on his lap. “Just won a game, didn’t you hear? All by myself, too.”

You shake your head at him, turning back to who Bucky realizes is one of your friends. Carol, you’d said.

“See?” You say accusatorily. 

Carol grins. “Yeah. Kind of hard not to when you describe it so thoroughly.”

That catches Bucky’s fluttering attention, an eyebrow shooting up questioningly in your direction. Your lips part in betrayal at Carol, and you begin to take your hand back from Bucky, but he hooks your wrist before you can. 

“I think Maria is calling you,” you tell her. “You should go see what that’s about.”

“Now, now,” Bucky starts. “Actually, I think I want to know how thoroughly you talk about me, sweeheart.”

“That's my cue,” Carol laughs, dipping a beer at you both. “I'll see you guys later. Congrats on the game.”

She bounces to her feet and takes off, leaving the two of you alone. Bucky nudges a finger in between your ribs, making you jump and swat at him. “Hey!”

“You talk about me to your friends?”

You stare at him, bottom lip pushing out defensively in your tipsiness. “Well, the star football player is one of my best friends, shouldn’t I be allowed to brag?”

“Best friend, huh? Bruce gonna be jealous?”

You wave him off, making a small, stubborn sound. “He ought to get over it with how much he ditches me.”

“See, I would never.” Bucky presses his free hand to his heart in oath. “Star football players are very reliable. Scoring goals, keeping plans, etcetera.”

You grin at the reminder, something sparkling beneath your skin like static, jolting your fingers when it begins to brim. You splay an excited palm on his shoulder out of pure excitement, seeming to relive the night.

“I am so proud of you,” you say. Saccharine, words stout with a smile and pride. “You did so well today.”

You’re startlingly genuine, entirely proud. Bucky can’t bring himself to tease or flirt.

“Thank you.”

You smile prettily, the light in your irises shifting at his authenticity. “I am,” you insist.

You just want to tell him, for him to hear you and understand how much you mean it. Your pupils flicker to a spot above his shoulder, distant for a second as your face brightens more. You laugh disbelievingly.

“I don't know all that much about football but from what I do, you’re certifiably extraordinary.” You sound out the word, unwilling to mess it up when you mean it so much. You try again. “You made a really great play.”

“Impossible,” Bucky corrects completely unsubtly, but it’s soft, blurred by yellow light from above and buzz from you.

You observe him for a second. “I think you’re amazing,” you say thoughtfully, not in an effort to compliment but in a sort of realization. “What… type of person…” you start but don’t continue, tongue unable to keep up with everything running through your mind. The walks home, the paid lunches, the attention, the ability. 

You inhale sharply, as if realizing you’re drifting off and trying to pull yourself back in.

Bucky knows what you expect—what he expects of himself—but he can’t bring himself to tease you, reiterate your words with an artful curve of his lips. He can’t concentrate enough to ignore the prickly warmth at the bottom of his stomach. He glances down at his watch.

“Should we go?” he says instead, casual but urgent. “It's late.”

He stands before you can process his offer, still a little drunk from stolen sips but only enough to make contrasts lighter. You blink up at him from your seat for a second before nodding, two short, stressed lines between your brows. He shouldn’t have been so abrupt.

Kinder, he helps you from your seat and guides you toward the door, keeping you away from stray elbows with benevolent redirection.

Your breath curls visibly in the air when you step outside, white and dissolving until it is replaced by another, longer exhale. You wrap your arms around your torso.

“C'mon,” he urges, guiding you to his car. “Let’s get you warm.”

“Should you be driving?” you ask as he searches his pockets for the keys, standing at the car door, watching him. “And what about the others?”

“Didn’t drink,” he answers, patting his coat pockets until he finds what he’s looking for.

You frown, slowly running through the night and realizing he’s right, recalling the sparkling water dripping moisture next to his jacket sleeve. The cold and the ennui knock a lot into focus.

He clicks open the car. “And this’ll force ‘em to call an uber. Worst comes to worst, I’ll drop by later to force them home. I just want to get you home first. No drunk footballers to puke on your feet.”

He rounds around to meet you, opening the door, and waiting patiently.

“Why didn’t you drink?” you ask. You’ve seen him drink before, tipsy in that breezy way where he’s a little flirtier with a little less filter. “You won a game. If you ever deserved it, it’s now.”

“I had to be able to drive you back.” He shrugs, cocking his head in the direction of the open car door. “Speak of the devil,” he starts pointedly, reminding you of your frigidity.

Still contemplating, you climb inside with furrowed brows, following Bucky's figure as he shuts your door, jogs back to his side, and settles into the driver’s seat. Rubbing his hands together, he turns to look at you. 

“You okay?” he asks.

“Uh huh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Look at that. I think you’re a little drunker than I thought.”

“I am not,” you argue, looking down at yourself and seeing nothing wrong until Bucky reaches over to pull your seatbelt over you. “Oh.”

Bucky breathes out a little laugh, amused.

“I'm just…” You contemplate for a second, sinking into the rumbling of the engine when Bucky turns the car on. Immediately, heat slaps your nose. The glass meets your temple bitingly, jolting your sentence back on track. You turn to see Bucky's attention already on you. “Happy.”

“You’re happy?” Bucky repeats pleasantly, shifting the gear into drive.

“Yes. It was a good day today.” 

You feel clearer now, the edges of reality crisper as you look out the window. “I know I already said it, but I'm really proud, Bucky. You win games and ace tests and don’t celebrate with a drink to drive me home. You’re kind of great.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs, glancing at you.

You hum an affirmation, inhaling deeply. At some point, Your few-sip buzz dissipated into something different.

Sober, but influenced on the darkness of the sky and the roundness of the moon. It feels safe suddenly, a rush of energy jolting you straight. You stare at Bucky's profile. “Yeah,” you confirm clearly. “It's kind of disappointing, you know.”

Bucky is caught off guard, sparing you a look when he stops at a stoplight. “What?”

“I just thought you’d be different.”

“How?” His brows are furrowed.

You take a moment to ponder. “Not so… you. More of the unforgivably arrogant and ignorant jock variety.”

“So you were expecting me to be one of those cartoon stereotypes?” he teases, looking back at the road with an easier smile.

“Kind of,” you laugh. “But you’re not and that’s really great.”

The red light from outside drapes over his features, pulled as he searches the crevices of your face. In response, it slackens slowly, from thoughtful to a little dazed as you stare back. Without meaning to, you’re leaning in at the same time he is.

His skin flips green.

You fall away from him with a surprised exhale, blinking in confusion.

It takes a second for Bucky to look away after you have, and you consider yourself lucky there’s no one else on the road during the long moment it takes for his attention to switch back to driving.

He doesn’t want to just forget what happened. He doesn’t want to move on from this yet. “What does that mean?” he asks, your compliment playing on repeat in his mind.

You stay silent, trying to figure it out yourself. “I don't… I don’t know.”

He tries to remain unbothered, glancing at you once more to catch your focus unmovingly on him. He pulls into your driveway and turns off the car.

“What about going on a date with me?” he requests, a little more serious that usual but glazed in his usual tone. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he continues.  “I'll dress up in that shade of blue you think I look so good in and we’ll go out to eat at that little hole-in-the-wall restaurant I'm still impressed you found. You’ll order that same thing you always do, and we can talk about that novel you’re reading—”

He doesn’t wait for the answer you’ve given before, stepping out of the car and striding over to your side.

You gaze up at him when he opens your door, your buckle unclasped in your hand. He's kind as he always is as he helps you out, hands settling on your shoulders to steady you when you nearly trip over a ridge in the sidewalk.

“Or… or we could go take a walk around the park. Or go to the movies, or the amusement park, or do laundry or taxes or—anything as long as it’s with you.”

And maybe it’s the easy smile, with the glitter of gold pride still sewn into his lips, or the genuine kindness he’s never failed to show you under the mask of the moon. Maybe it’s the proximity. Maybe you just can’t help yourself anymore. You kiss him.

He’s frozen for a solid moment, thick enough for you to start doubting yourself, beginning to pull away when he finally reacts, practically melting into you as his hands frantically pull you closer.

He pulls away hesitantly, torturously, a second later, eyes scrutinizing. “Wait, wait, wait, are you drunk?”

You shake your head, laughing gently at the thumb that pulls gently at the skin beneath your eye to make sure, urgently tugging you back into the kiss when he’s satisfied.

“‘Had to make sure,” he mumbles against your lips. “This can’t happen when you aren’t you.”

“It’s me,” you promise, pulling back. Before you can delve into your mind too deeply, you nod suddenly. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah, okay what?” he repeats, chasing after you to kiss you a few more times.

“I'll go out with you.”

His smile drops, fingers tightening around your hips. “Wait, really?”

You nod. “Yeah.” You grasp his arms tightly. “I should at least try, right?”ey

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes ff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader idiots in love #bucky barnes x reader mutual pining #bucky barnes x reader fluffy #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes college au #college!bucky barnes #college!bucky barnes x reader #best friend!bucky barnes x reader #best friend!bucky barnes #best friend!bucky #best friends to lovers #bucky barnes best friends to lovers #bucky barnes x reader best friends to lovers #friends to lovers #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes request

[plantswithme]

never forget that it’s canon that bucky has thought about moving in with sam and that he knows sam’s not good at sharing anything

#sambuckies keep winning #even a year later we keep winning somehow #sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #your ship could never i am just saying 😁 #and they were roommates… #roommates fics with friends to lovers and angst with happy ending oh that’s my drug throw in some cooking for eachother and i’m melting #oh and mutual pining and maybe friends with benefits👀 #dove posts stuff

[hazywrites]

Bucky I'm In Love With My Best Friend

Chapter 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You are hopelessly in love with your best friend, James Buchanan Barnes, and it's clear he feels something for you, too. So between stolen kisses and hookups, drunken calls and flirty banter, why can't you talk about it? What even is "it"?

Warnings: Nothing so far, maybe slight angst?

Words: 2,051

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48220744/chapters/121643431

Chapters 1 & 2

Chapter 4

Chapter Notes: I couldn't get him out of my head, you guys, so here is a short little chapter. I love you guys! I hope you like it; let me know what you think!

“Are we going to the Met again?” Bucky asked, his breath visible in the still-cool March air.

“Stop guessing,” you scolded. “I told you I won’t answer.”

“Yeah, but you’re easy to read so I can figure it out by your lack of response.”

“That’s just unsportsmanlike,” you huffed. Bucky’s answering laugh made your heart melt a little.

“Don’t pout.”

“I won’t pout if you don’t guess.” You eventually came to a stop in front of the steps of the Met, hesitantly turning to look at Bucky. He doubled over laughing at your defeated expression, the sight almost worth having your surprise ruined.

“You just want to listen to me info-dump about the Renaissance to you again, don’t you?” He teased. Yes, you thought.

“No,” you replied, shooting him a baleful look. “I came to eat the oil paintings.” He rolled his eyes but cracked a grin, following you up the steps where you flashed your Student IDs to the front desk. You led him upstairs and down corridors, ignoring his questions along the way. Your heart quickened in your chest as you wondered how he would feel about the surprise.

Finally, you happened upon the room you were looking for. You and Bucky had been here before, but it had been changed around to make space for the new display. Art of World War II. You watched nervously as Bucky looked around, his eyes drinking in the sight. Excitement sparkled in his eyes and he slowly broke into a wide grin.

“Happy birthday, Bucky,” you said softly.

“Y/N, seriously? This is amazing. I love it,” he breathed, unable to tear his eyes away from the art on display.

“I knew you’d like it! Your two hyper-fixations in one.” You wore a small, private smile at the victory. He turned and pulled you into a crushing hug, your heart swelling at the contact.

“You’re the best,” he breathed into your hair.

“I didn’t do anything,” you giggled. “The Met is free. I’m actually just being cheap like you now.”

“Shut up,” he laughed, pulling away slightly but not quite letting you go yet. “It’s still special. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied softly. He pulled away to admire the art, reading off the labels and throwing in his own knowledge as he explained each piece to you. It was his birthday, but it felt like you were the one receiving a gift.

#best friend!bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes friends to lovers #bucky barnes situationship #bucky barnes mutual pining #bucky barnes college au #bucky barnes light angst #bucky barnes fluff #friends to lovers #situationship #mutual pining #light angst #fluff #feels #college au

[42donotpanic]

not on mobile sorry but purple heart winterhawk? surprise kiss / impulsive kiss?

It took me a few days to find time to write this, but here it is: 💜 : surprise kiss / impulsive kiss for winterhawk

Clint was panting heavily, dodging a hit, and going over to the next attack in one fluid movement. It was good to train, even in the summer heat. The burning in his muscles was good compared to lying crammed into vents on endless stakeouts, like he had spent most of the last two weeks. He didn't know how long they had been going; he had noticed that the others had left at some point. But just like him, Bucky seemed like he had no intention to stop any time soon. At some point between the shooting range and the climbing part, the soldier had lost his shirt, his strong body shining with sweat, but his smile proved that he enjoyed it just as much. Clint had taken longer, but once they had started sparring, the insecurity about his scars could no longer win over the heat. They had sparred before; usually Bucky managed to bring Clint to the ground, the sheer power of his enhanced body and the metal arm winning, even over Clint's flexibility and almost a lifetime of training. But today, they were almost even. Clint's motivation and focus were on point, and for once, he didn't have any injuries he had to be mindful of. So, after a long match, he finally managed to surprise Bucky, throwing him into the mat and leaning over him triumphantly. Bucky was lying on his back, catching his breath and smirking. Clint couldn't resist; he had to kiss him for that. He had been pining over this man for way too long to not give in when the opportunity was right there. For a second, nothing happened. Clint's lips were touching Bucky's, but the soldier wasn't reacting. Then Bucky turned them over in one fluid movement, gaining control as Clint lowered his guard. Now he was looking down at the archer, and Clint was ready to wriggle out from under him and run. But instead of anger or rage, there was a sparkle of desire in Bucky's eyes, and he smirked again. "You could have just said something, doll." He breathed before crashing their mouths together in a long and heated kiss.

#winterhawk #clint barton #bucky barnes #hawkeye #winter soldier #ask game #ask me things #kisses #trans clint barton #ficlet #mutual pining #summer heat #shirtless superheroes #who could resist

[jen-with-a-pen]

Honeysuckle ❀ IV

SERIES ❀ PREVIOUS ❀ NEXT

summary: You and Bucky are getting ready for another one of Stark's Signature Events when Bucky finds out his outfit has been sabotaged. Accident or not, pink just might be his color after all.

pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

warnings: cursing, embarrassed Bucky, the color pink, sam didn't mean it he was just fucking around, outfit descriptions for reader but little to no mention of body description, fluff and closeness and light touching and slight ✨feelings✨

word count: 1.68k

original a/n: yes this was inspired by the pink met gala look. no i will not be taking further questions. also, just like the other parts of Honeysuckle, this is standalone in this lovely little universe i've managed to create. love u all as always ♥ edit a/n: going back through this one was a delight :3 i like seeing how my writing has grown exponentially since first writing these idiots ♥

a/n 04/2024: hi! i have gone through and rewritten and reformatted a few parts in the fic in order to make it flow better and to ensure it has all-inclusive language in it (this was one of my first fics in the fandom and was not as educated as i am now.) if there are any mistakes, please feel free to DM me and kindly let me know :)

divider by @firefly-graphics | gif by @itz-me-aggie | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist

Read this fic HERE on ao3! - coming soon to ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

“Bucky, we’re gonna be late!” You called from your perch on the couch. You finally secured the bracelet you’d been struggling with for five minutes when a loud groan answered from behind the cracked bathroom door, followed by a painful, “Goddamnit!” 

You jumped as Bucky’s voice shook his apartment. Cautiously, you rose from the couch and moved to the door, muttered cursing and muffled thuds coming from behind it, freezing when Bucky called your name before you could grab the door handle.

“Uh, yeah, Buck?” You swallowed, nervous, thinking of ways to navigate his tone. You’d never heard him talk like this before. Ever.

Bucky cursed again. “Gah–fuck me– could you go ‘n get Sam?” The icy undertones of his request sent a chill down your spine.

“Wh– Buck, we gotta get going, why would you want–”

“Now, Honey.” 

His demand came stronger than you expected, sending you reeling back from the door. You blinked. He sighed immediately after he checked himself, frustrated, uttering another curse under his breath before trying again.

“Now, Honey, please?” His voice softened, granted there was still an edge to it. You paused, even more confused as to why he wanted Sam, of all people, right this fucking second. The gala was starting in twenty minutes and you were already running behind.

“I– Yes.”

A quiet ‘thank you’ followed you out into the hallway as you made a bee-line for Sam’s quarters. Heel clicks echoed off the tile floor, bouncing off the walls as you quickened your pace, stopping abruptly at Sam’s quarters. You pounded on the door, calling out his name. No response.

“Sam Wilson, get out here, damnit!” You yelled, fists readied for another swing at the door. Just before making contact, the door flew open, revealing one Sam Wilson with a brow cocked and busy hands looping a wine-red tie around his popped collar.

“Damn, Honeysuckle, didn’t know you were capable of using such language,” he tisked. You rolled your eyes.

“Sam, Bucky needs you,” you spat out. Sam paused, brow dropping while a dismissive smirk plastered his face. He didn’t believe you. And, honestly, who would?

Sam scoffs a laugh. “Why? Does he need help oiling his gears?”

He stifled a chuckle but you weren’t in any mood to laugh. You instead lunged, yanking him out into the hallway with you, slamming the door shut. He instantly dropped the act.

“Will you just shut the fuck up and come with me?” You demanded through gritted teeth. For all you knew, Bucky could be suffering from another panic attack. Alone. The mere thought of that made your heart hammer harder. And if being late and Sam’s thick skull hadn’t already pissed you off, that sure as hell did.

“Okay, alright, I’m comin’.” Sam nodded, following you down the hallway, still fiddling with his tie. 

“He’s in there,” you said, pointing to the bathroom door as the two of you entered Bucky’s quarters. Sam led the way, gently knocking on the door.

“Bucky? It’s me, can I come in?”

Not a word was uttered as the door cracked open slowly and a metal-plated arm jutted out, yanking Sam into the bathroom before quickly slamming it closed. You flinched, the small living room settling into silence as you stood outside the bathroom, hands fidgeting with the glittery fabric of your dress. It felt like ages of nothing but incoherent, hushed conversation coming from the other side of the door. At your wit’s end, you were about to yell break the door down yourself when Sam started cackling at the top of his lungs. 

Now you were really confused.

“Honey!” He managed to call between howls. “Get in here!”

You hesitated. Gripping the handle, you cautiously pushed the door open to a scene that was the last thing you could have possibly imagined.

Sam stood by the sink, bent over in stitches while tears brimmed his eyes in futile attempts at trying– and failing– to stop laughing. His suit jacket wrinkled at the waist as he jutted an arm out from his stomach, bracing himself on the countertop. 

“Sam what the fuck–!” you began to scold him, turning your head to Bucky. 

Your jaw dropped.

The hulking ex-hitman stood against the opposite wall with his head bent to the floor, loose strands of hair falling from his slicked-back ponytail. His arms crossed over his chest, failing to cover the source of Sam’s outburst: his bright pink dress shirt. And it wasn’t like a typical white-shirt-got-in-with-the-reds-type pink. No, his shirt was as if a flamingo colored itself with a highlighter and then rolled in cotton candy. Bucky’s face was close to matching the hue perfectly as Sam continued to holler over the bathroom sink.

“Oh! Oh, Bucky,” you cooed, voice wavering as you bit back a smile. You stepped toward him, placing your hands on his sulking shoulders. He dared not to look up from his staring contest with the floor as his face became even more flushed at your touch.

“Hey, Buck,” you coaxed as you gently lifted his chin with a finger, “look at me will ya?”

He sighed, relenting, finally meeting your stare. Baby blues beamed right through you as he held your gaze with sad, puppy-dog eyes you couldn’t resist looking away from.

“How did this even happen?” You questioned him, and Sam, looking between them.

“I asked Sam for help doing my own laundry,” Bucky groaned, “and he told me to just throw everything in. Even the reds ‘n whites.” 

“Sam!” You whipped around, shooting daggers as your grip tightened on Bucky’s shoulders. 

“What? He asked, I helped!” he defended. “Didn’t think he’d actually take me seriously!”  Sam wiped away a tear as he caught his breath, smoothing out his suit. Utterly speechless at the minimal amount of brain cells Sam apparently possessed, and empathetic to Bucky’s situation and sweet, sweet naivety, you sighed as thoughts raced to think of ways to remedy the situation so you all could at least show up by the end of cocktail hour because you really fucking needed a drink.

You looked to Bucky, chewing your lip, searching his features for an answer. Then it hit you.

“Wait here,” you ordered, “both of you.” You pointed to Sam as you made way to the elevator in the hallway as fast as your heels could carry you. Once on your floor, you sprinted into your apartment, hurrying to your closet in search of the dress you remembered immediately dismissing when Wanda was helping you choose what to wear for that night. Something you’d never be caught wearing ever, especially at such a public event. With cameras. And strangers.

Do it for Bucky, do it for Bucky, do it for Bucky.

You stripped your old dress off, leaving it on the floor of your closet as you wiggled yourself into the 'eye sore of the century’– your words, in contrast to Wanda’s literal heart eyes when you’d tried it on– and prayed to anything holy that this would make Bucky feel better.

You raced out the door and back into the elevator, hoping F.R.I.D.A.Y. was the only one to see you. So far.

“Man, hey,” Sam nodded to Bucky, who still refused to look him in the eye. Sam rolled his eyes, heart filling with just a tad bit of guilt for messing with him. 

“Buck–”

“Don’t call me Buck.”

“Okay, you know what? I’m sorry. There, ya happy?”

Bucky grunted in response, shifting his weight as he continued to analyze the tiled flooring.

“Bucky, c’mon, I–” Sam stopped mid-sentence, interrupted as the bathroom door whipped open, revealing you standing in the threshold. Your arms crossed over your chest holding a black suit jacket. A bubblegum pink midi dress complete with a multitude of sequins hugged you as you waited for Bucky to notice. Sam sure as hell did.

“Bucky– Honey– Woah.” Sam straightened, adjusting his tie and buttoning his jacket.

Sam’s reaction snapped Bucky out of his trance. His eyes skimmed from the floor to your heels, eyes growing wider and wider as he made his way up to meet your sharp gaze. Without hesitation, you cocked a hip and threw the jacket at him. He caught it, confused, bewildered, utterly mesmerized. Still clueless, however, he looked down at it then back at you. If he didn’t know any better, he’d be drooling. 

“C’mon Buck, get dressed or we won’t make it in time for cocktail hour,” you huffed, tapping at an imaginary wristwatch. 

Bucky gulped. A deer in headlights. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of the biggest grin breaking out on Sam’s face. Without another word, he placed a quick peck on your cheek and snuck past you, closing the door. Finally, Bucky seemed to snap back to reality and did as you asked. He swung the jacket over his broad shoulders, adjusting the cuffs and moving to the mirror. You stepped behind him, observing him over his shoulder as he adjusted his tie. 

“You didn’t have to do this, ya know,” he muttered, his small smirk quickly growing across his lips.

“Yes, I did,” you replied, grabbing his waist and spinning him towards you. Manicured fingers reached for his collar, adjusting it as you locked eyes with him. You offered a soft, genuine smile as you tucked a loose lock of hair behind his ear. He returned with one of his own, a free hand finding its way to your waist while your own slid down to stay on his cheek. Your thumb softly stroked his cheek, smooth from when he shaved that morning. In that moment it was as if you were pulling each other closer and closer with each passing second, the air magnetizing as hands lingered for seconds longer than you both were used to. 

In this light, something inside of you screams at how handsome he is.

You ignore it, though, instead suddenly remembering you both had a gala to get to.“Now, let’s go,” you said, dragging him out of his apartment. “I need a damn drink.”

#jen writes #honeysuckle anthology #honeysuckle fic #buck n honey #bucky x y/n #sam wilson #fluff #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x f!reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fic #bucky fluff #mutual pining #sebastian stan #sebastian stan characters #the winter soldier #winter soldier x reader

[ashandkatiewrite]

FOUR WEDDINGS AND A FUNERAL (Chapter 19)

FIC SYNOPSIS: Maggie Hastings meets her dream man after a flight into New York City— Bucky Barnes, a pilot who seems to be everything she’s looking for. Except that she already has a boyfriend who never has time for her. After a near-tryst with her dream pilot, Maggie runs, only to find out he later meets her best friend and they’re now crazy about each other. Among their group of best friends, between Chicago and New York, and four weddings and a funeral, Maggie and Bucky struggle to keep their fiery chemistry a secret so they don’t hurt the ones they love.

WRITTEN BY: @if-you-onlyknew & @scherbatskybish

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/OFC

Rating: M (Mature) & E (Explicit)

READ FROM THE BEGINNING

chapter preview…

Bucky stepped off the plane he and Quill had just flown into JFK on and loosened his uniform necktie as he shouldered his backpack and headed down the concourse towards his and Maggie’s bar.

That was where he told her he’d find her for her surprise trip. Bucky didn’t tell Maggie where they were going, just that they had a date somewhere that required her passport.

He had another surprise for her as well. She likely thought he would be flying her — and the other passengers — over the ocean, but not this time. They had about twelve hours at their destination. It would be a quick date considering it was a hell of a commute to get there, but Maggie did challenge him to bring his A game for Valentine’s Day and he wasn’t about to start disappointing her now.

TAGLIST: @acabecca • @arrthurpendragon • @cas-verse • @cjand10 • @darkwolf76 • @darylandbethfanforever9 • @eddysocs • @julieelliewrites • @ocappreciationtag • @sassysophiabush • @scarletwidoww • @seb-soph • @starcrossedjedis • @victoriapedrcttis

#ocappreciation #oc: maggie hastings #fic: four weddings and a funeral #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #sophia bush #bucky barnes/oc #mcu oc #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel oc #ocapp #angst fluff and smut #idiots (affectionate) to lovers #mutual pining #so much angst