Heart First, Sanity Later
Heart First, Sanity Later
Summary: You, a dangerously chaotic genius with the common sense of a soggy spoon, somehow captures the heart of Bucky Barnes. Despite the constant emotional whiplash, raccoon-related injuries, and deeply cursed inventions, Bucky finds himself falling hard… somewhere between a Capri Sun intervention robot and a vent-related rescue. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)
Disclaimer: This was based on this post I came across from @ghouljams earlier. Please let me know if you want me to remove any of the information you listed here.
Word Count: 3.4k+
A/N: I had a blast writing this and I am begging on my hands and knees that other people like this as well so I can write more of unhinged reader. Happy reading!
Main Masterlist
Bucky didn’t mean to get attached. In fact, he very specifically meant not to get attached to you.
You, with your wide smile and increasingly concerning decision-making skills. You, who walked into a briefing ten minutes late with a Slurpee, claimed you got “time-displaced,” and then flawlessly identified the year, model, and VIN of a car from a blurry photo Tony handed out. “That’s a 1972 Chevelle SS,” You’d said casually. “But the rims are from a later model. 1976, I think.”
He stared at you. Everyone did.
You slurped. “What?”
Later, Bucky watched you put your phone in the fridge, forget about it, then ask him if he’d “seen a text from 7-Eleven recently.” You didn’t even seem high. That was the worst part. You just… existed like that. All the time.
A living contradiction. A walking cosmic joke. The human version of a browser with 72 tabs open, one playing music, none labeled, and all of them about wildly different topics ranging from “theoretical wormhole stability” to “can ducks feel shame.”
And the worst part? You were insanely good at your job.
When it came to the field, you moved like you’d choreographed every punch in advance. Like your brain hit a switch and rerouted all the loose marbles into sheer precision.
But outside of that? Absolute chaos.
One time you asked if the word “colonel” was a typo because you’d only ever read it.
"Why is it spelled like 'colon-el'?” You’d asked Bucky, eating popcorn with a throwing knife for apparently no reason. “Like. You’re telling me we all just agreed to ignore the 'L'?”
He blinked slowly. “Yes.”
“Sounds fake but okay.”
He wanted to strangle you. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to wrap you in a blanket and take you to a doctor because no one should eat four bananas and not know why their stomach hurts. (“I thought they were like… nature’s snack bars!” You’d wailed from the floor. “Why does nature lie?”)
Still, there was something undeniably magnetic about you. Something that made Bucky keep finding excuses to be around you. Something that made him bite back a smile when you declared, with utter confidence, that “Citizen Kane” was a man’s full name and you “felt bad for him growing up with that.”
Sam had to leave the room. Steve looked like he aged five years. Bucky? He just leaned back in his chair and muttered, “You’re so lucky you’re pretty.”
You beamed. “I know, right?”
And that was just the beginning.
-
Bucky knew it the moment you turned to him in the middle of a high-stakes infiltration and whispered:
“Hey. Do you think raccoons ever get embarrassed?”
He froze mid-step, crouched beside you behind a cluster of storage crates, both of you watching a Hydra compound patrol pace along the wall ahead. Guns primed. Comms live. Two minutes to breach.
You blinked at him, eyes wide and totally serious about the question in the entirely inappropriate setting.
“What?” He hissed.
You frowned thoughtfully, like he was the weird one. “They have those little hands, right? Like… what if one drops its snack in front of another raccoon. Is that, like, raccoon shame? Do they feel judged?”
Bucky stared. He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating. It had been a long week after all.
Then you added, “Anyway, two guards approaching. They’ll pass each other in about four seconds. I can take the left. You want the one with the scar?”
You didn’t even wait for an answer. Your body vanished into the shadows, clean and calculated. Three seconds later, both guards were unconscious and being gently rolled into the bushes like unwanted pizza boxes.
Bucky just stood there, breathing. You terrified him but not in the way enemies did. No, that would be too simple. Because he could fight Hydra, take a bullet, disarm a bomb, but you?
You were something else. A walking contradiction.
You once tripped over your own shoelaces while explaining quantum theory, then beat four highly trained operatives unconscious with a clipboard. You called a Glock a “grippy lil’ pew stick” but recited the Geneva Convention word-for-word because you “liked bedtime reading.”
And tonight was no different.
By the time the mission was done, the intel recovered, and the building cleared, Bucky was sore, bruised, and fully convinced that he was doomed. Because somewhere between the absurd commentary, the flawless fighting, and the way you wiped blood from your brow and grinned at him like you weren’t covered in chaos, he felt it.
That thing. The awful, nauseating, heart-clutching feeling.
Affection.
It hit him in the middle of your post-mission debrief, which mostly consisted of you sitting on the quinjet floor, drinking chocolate milk out of a thermos and recounting the entire op like it was a cute story you were telling children.
“And then I was like, Bam! right to the neck, and he just went down like a sack of sad potatoes. Did you see that? You saw that, right, Buck? I did the thing with the kick!”
He didn’t answer. He was looking at you like you’d grown a second head or like how you were the only thing stuck in his head these days. God, you were awful.
You had two blood on your elbow and half your gear undone. You were sprawled out on the floor like a sleep-deprived gremlin, and when you looked up at him and smiled, like he was the only person in the world who mattered… He was done. Gone.
“You okay there, Grumpypants?” You asked.
“I think I might hate you,” He muttered, sitting down beside you.
You grinned, bumping his shoulder with yours. “That’s fair. I’m an acquired taste. Like oysters. Or war crimes.”
He barked a laugh before he could stop it. You looked so proud.
“I’m serious,” He said, sobering. “You’re gonna get yourself killed one day. You don’t take anything seriously.”
You just stared at him for a moment, and then, quietly, you said, “I take you seriously.”
The jet went quiet.
And Bucky sat very, very still because somehow, that hit harder than any mission ever had.
You weren’t just funny. Or weird. Or brilliant in a way that made his head hurt.
You were kind. Kind in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Like you saw through the Winter Soldier and the scowl and the kill count, and you still chose to sit beside him, sipping chocolate milk and talking about raccoon shame.
And Bucky Barnes, world-weary assassin, trauma-laden super-soldier, turned to you and realized:
He was fucked.
In love with a person who once confidently said “quinoa” was pronounced “kin-oh-ah” and didn’t believe him when he corrected you.
You looked up from your thermos. “You’re doing the staring thing again. Am I bleeding from the ear?”
“No,” Bucky said, voice low. “You’re just…”
“Sexy?” You offered helpfully.
“…Terrifying.”
You winked. “Same difference.”
And Bucky Barnes, against all logic, reason, and survival instinct, knew he was already in too deep.
-
The next mission had gone off without a hitch… at least, for everyone except Bucky.
A few cuts here, a couple of bruises there, but nothing too serious. At least, that’s what he told himself as he sat on the edge of the quinjet, feeling the burn in his shoulder from a bullet graze. But the moment you walked into the medbay with a roll of bandages in your hand, it was like everything inside him twisted in a way he couldn’t explain.
“Okay, Bucky. Time to let the master do her magic,” you said, flashing that grin of yours, the one that always made his heart do weird, involuntary things.
Bucky blinked, trying to shake the disoriented feeling. “You’re the one who got shot today. Why am I the one getting patched up?”
“Because I’m immortal,” You said matter-of-factly. “Also, I’m not bleeding anywhere you can see, so that’s a bonus.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You’re immortal?”
You sat down beside him, rolling your sleeves up. “No, but I like to pretend I am. You know, like a cooler superhero.”
He winced slightly as you poked at his side. “That’s what I’m dealing with, huh?”
“You love it,” You teased, squeezing out some antiseptic onto a cotton pad.
“You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out of a plane for this,” Bucky muttered, though he couldn’t stop the faint grin from tugging at his lips.
“Not gonna lie, I’d be mad if you did,” You admitted, gently dabbing at his side. “Also, I’d haunt you. I know how to haunt people. I’ve read a lot of books about ghosts.”
He chuckled, despite himself. “Of course you have.”
“Oh, absolutely. I even have a theory about why the Titanic sank, and it’s completely different from the official one. But I’m telling you right now, it’s not what they say.”
Bucky glanced over at you, eyebrow raised. “This I gotta hear.”
You leaned closer, lowering your voice dramatically as if revealing state secrets. “Okay, so. It wasn’t an iceberg that caused the sinking. It was actually the government trying to erase all evidence of the giant squid they were experimenting on, and they blamed it on the iceberg to cover up the real cause.”
Bucky blinked, unsure whether you were serious or not. “Wait, what?” He asked slowly.
You looked at him deadpan. “You didn’t hear the rumors? They found footage, you know. The squid was huge. It even had tentacles.”
He stared at you, speechless.
"Anyway," You continued, as if you hadn’t just suggested the world’s greatest conspiracy, "What we do know is that my bandage technique is flawless. See this?" You lifted a corner of the bandage to show him a perfect wrap around his side.
Bucky blinked. "Did you just distract me with a giant squid theory while you patched me up?"
“Absolutely.” You beamed at him. “Works every time. Just don’t tell anyone you’re in love with me because I’m not responsible for any heart attacks.”
Bucky froze, his heartbeat suddenly in his throat.
You were still so nonchalant. Still so you, so damn confident and so sure of yourself. It took everything in him not to lean in and kiss you right there.
But then, you looked up at him, and for the briefest moment, that smile of yours softened. “You’re good, Bucky,” You said quietly. “You’ve been through more shit than any of us. But you’re still here. That’s something, you know?”
His chest tightened.
“And you know what?” You continued, your voice so much softer now, like a quiet reassurance. “You don’t have to be a soldier all the time. Sometimes, you can just be Bucky.”
He swallowed, looking at you. “And what about you?”
“Oh, me? I’m a mess,” You shrugged, finally looking away, as if it was no big deal. “I’m just here to make the chaos look cute.”
Your eyes flicked back to him, that familiar teasing glint in them. “That’s my secret. You like it.”
Bucky chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He wanted to say something, wanted to admit something. That little voice in his head kept screaming at him to just say it already, but he was scared. He was scared of how deep you had burrowed under his skin, of how easy it was to forget everything else when you were around.
Instead, he just leaned forward and cupped your face, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “You’re… something else, you know that?”
You blinked at him in surprise, your lips parted, as if trying to process the sudden shift in the air. For a moment, there was a palpable tension between the two of you, like the universe was holding its breath, waiting for one of you to do something.
But then, in your usual way, you broke it, shrugging with a grin. “I know. You’re welcome.”
Bucky’s heart did a weird flip, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to truly relax, just a little. He didn’t want to admit it. Not yet. Not even to himself.
But as you leaned in to finish wrapping his side, your hand brushing his skin lightly, he knew he was already in way too deep.
-
The next incident started with a toaster. Not even a cool toaster. Just a boring, silver Stark-issued kitchen appliance that you were suspiciously proud of. I You’d taken it apart and rebuilt it but “better.” No one asked you to. No one gave you permission. You just did it.
“Now it sings the SpongeBob theme when your toast is done,” You explained, beaming as you held up a slice of whole wheat like it was a golden ticket.
Bucky stared at you. “You tampered with government property.”
“Enhanced.” You corrected. “And before you ask, no, I will not apologize. This is the future.”
Then it sang. “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?” BWEEEEEP - Toast done.
Bucky looked like he was praying for divine intervention. “You’re gonna get us all court-martialed over this.”
Two hours later, you were banned from the kitchen, which didn’t stop you from relocating to the common area with your newest project: building what you claimed was a “mousetrap but for anxiety.”
It was made of pipe cleaners, glow sticks, and what might’ve been a dismantled Roomba.
“I call her Deborah,” You said, gently stroking it. “She senses emotional instability and gives you a juice box.”
As if on cue, it whirred over to Bucky, bumped into his leg, and slowly offered him a Capri Sun.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “I’m not drinking that.”
“Then she thinks you’re too far gone. She’s very wise.”
Steve walked in, surveyed the scene, and simply turned around without speaking. He didn’t even ask anymore.
Later that night, Bucky caught you in the hallway attempting to climb into the ceiling with a flashlight between your teeth and a jar of pickles under your arm.
“Do I want to know?” He asked, exhausted.
You paused halfway into a vent, dropping the flashlight briefly. “Depends. Do you believe in ceiling gremlins?”
“No.”
“Then I’m doing taxes.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Please. I’m begging you. Come down.”
You stared at him for a long moment, then slowly slid back out like a raccoon emerging from a trash can. “Okay. But only because you asked nicely and not because I got stuck.”
You had absolutely gotten stuck. And the worst part? He was smitten.
Every time you did something completely absurd, which was always, he found himself watching you a little too long, smiling a little too much, wondering what the hell you were going to do next and why it made his chest ache in a weirdly pleasant way.
Even now, covered in ceiling dust and holding a pickle jar, you looked up at him with that infuriatingly endearing grin.
“You’re in love with me,” You stated confidently.
Bucky blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” You popped a pickle in your mouth. “You’ve got that look. Like a grumpy cat who accidentally cuddled someone and doesn’t want to admit it.”
“I do not look like-“
“It's okay. You don’t have to say it.” You patted his chest affectionately. “Your body language screams ‘emotionally unavailable man finds chaotic cryptid and feels things.’”
“I am not emotionally unavailable.”
“You have a go bag, Bucky.”
“…That’s standard protocol.”
“Your toothbrush is still in the packaging.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. You’d won. Again.
“You’re gonna kiss me one day,” You said as you walked past him, pickle jar under one arm, flashlight in your other hand. “And when you do, I’m gonna be so smug you’ll try to throw yourself off the building.”
Bucky stood there in the hall, alone, heart doing its dumb little thudding thing. He hated you. He adored you. And he was never getting that toothbrush insult out of his head.
-
When the big moment happened, It wasn’t a big mission. It wasn’t even a real mission. It was just supposed to be recon.
And yet somehow, you were sitting on the floor of a dusty, abandoned warehouse with a concussion, holding a broken walkie-talkie like it personally betrayed you.
“Okay, but in my defense,” You slurred slightly, “I didn’t know the raccoon had a knife.”
Bucky stared at you, expression unreadable, as blood dripped slowly from your temple.
“You ran into an unmarked building alone, set off three alarms, fell through a skylight, and got jumped by wildlife.”
You held up a finger. “Armed wildlife.”
He ran a hand down his face.
“I swear to God, you are one poorly timed pun away from getting locked in a broom closet until the end of time.”
You blinked up at him. “Kinky.”
He turned away so fast you could almost hear his brain blue-screen. “Jesus Christ.”
But when he looked back at you: your lip bloodied, eyes dazed, hair full of insulation from where you’d crashed through the ceiling like a chaotic Christmas angel, something in his chest snapped.
You were always like this. Impossible. Endearing. Brilliant in the most horrifying ways. A human Wikipedia article with a death wish and a spark in your eyes that made him forget, just for a second, that the world was awful.
And that spark was flickering. Just a little. And he hated it.
“You can’t keep doing this,” He began, voice tight. “You can’t keep treating your life like it’s expendable.”
You blinked slowly. “That sounds fake. I’m clearly immortal.”
“I’m serious.” He crouched in front of you, fists clenched. “You run into every situation like you’re bulletproof, and you’re not. One day, I’m not gonna be there to drag your dumbass out of a flaming building or disarm a guy who has a bazooka made of forks or- or whatever the hell today was!”
“It was a raccoon with a grudge.”
“That’s not a thing!”
You stared at him in silence for a beat, then said, very softly, “You’re worried about me.”
He froze.
“I’m always worried about you,” He said, almost too quiet to hear. “You think I wake up every day wondering what country I’ll have to fly to because you thought jumping off a roof would ‘probably be fine’ if you landed in a bush?!”
You tilted your head. “It was a very fluffy bush.”
”I love you, you absolute menace!”
Silence. You blinked. Then he blinked. Somewhere in the warehouse, a raccoon chittered menacingly.
“…You love me?” You echoed, like he’d just said he wanted to marry a zucchini.
Bucky looked like he might actually combust. “I didn’t mean to say it like that.”
“Say it like what?”
“Like I love you. Which I do. But I was gonna do it after, like… dinner. Or when you weren’t bleeding.”
“Is this why you made me tea every time I electrocuted myself?”
“Yes!”
“And why you punched that guy who called me a liability?”
“Also yes!”
“And why you didn’t kill me when I installed motion sensors in the hallway and forgot to tell anyone?”
“I almost killed you.”
You were quiet for a long moment. Then: “Okay.”
He blinked. “Okay?”
You nodded, still loopy but smiling now. “Okay. I love you too.”
He stared. “You do?”
“Yeah. I mean, why else would I let you eat the last cookie that one time? Or give Deborah full permission to follow you around and scan your emotional damage like a clingy Roomba?”
He laughed, just once, short and stunned.
You leaned forward and poked his chest with one finger. “Also, I have a very deep fondness for emotionally repressed war criminals. It’s kind of my thing.”
Bucky groaned. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet. You’re in love with me.”
“I’m regretting it deeply.”
“No you’re not.” You smiled that crooked, chaotic smile that had ruined his life in the best way.
And despite everything, the dust, the blood, the deeply traumatized raccoon now watching you both from the shadows, he leaned in and kissed you.
It was gentle. Just for a second. As if to say, Yes. You’re chaos incarnate. But you’re mine.
When he pulled back, it was silent for a moment. Both of you looking in each other’s eyes before you whispered, “Did you just kiss me in front of a knife raccoon?”
Bucky exhaled slowly, already regretting all his life choices. “God help me. I did.”
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You turn approximately seven shades of red.
i wish lmao
SEVEN SHADES OF DOOMED | Eddie Munson
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader | Eddie Munson x Y/N
Summary: You, a flustered classmate, get roped into Hellfire—and Eddie Munson’s full attention—whether you're ready or not.
-
It happens in the middle of the cafeteria.
Of course it does.
You're minding your business—eating your sad excuse for a sandwich, making occasional eye contact with your best friend who’s halfway through reenacting her latest dream about marrying one of the Duffer twins (the hot one, not the weird one), when it happens.
"Eyyyyyyy, look who’s sitting all alone."
You don't even need to look up. The voice is unmistakable—equal parts gremlin and rockstar, loud enough to turn heads, dramatic enough to make your stomach drop like an elevator.
Eddie Munson, crown prince of chaos, Hellfire overlord, and undisputed reason you’re currently forgetting how to breathe.
He slides into the seat across from you like he owns the place. Hair wild, rings clinking against your table, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. He's got that look—the one that spells trouble in all caps.
"What’s up, heartbreaker?" he says, leaning forward like you're sharing secrets instead of a juice box and a bag of chips.
You blink.
Then, you turn red.
Not a little red. Not a "just jogged up the stairs" pink. You turn seven shades of red, exactly.
Like a cursed Pantone palette: bashful blush, humiliated hibiscus, mortified maroon—you name it, you’re wearing it.
And Eddie? Oh, he notices.
"Oooohhh shit," he cackles, eyes lighting up. "You are blushing. This is incredible. I didn’t know people could actually turn that color."
“Shut up,” you mutter, covering your face with your hands like that’s gonna do anything. Your fingers are on fire. Your ears are boiling. You’re fully convinced you’re going to pass away in the cafeteria.
Death by Eddie Munson.
"Don’t be shyyyy," he teases, leaning in even closer. You can smell his cologne—cheap, but somehow perfectly, utterly Eddie—and see the way his eyes crinkle when he’s laughing. "I came over here to ask if you wanted to come to Hellfire tonight. We need someone to play the elf ranger ‘cause Gareth rolled a nat 1 and got his character cursed into a tree."
You peek between your fingers.
“You’re inviting me?”
Eddie shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Why not? You’ve got elf energy. Also…” He lowers his voice to a fake whisper. “I like when you get all flustered like this. It’s very entertaining.”
Your soul leaves your body. You are now astral projecting. Floating above the cafeteria in shame.
“Eddie—”
“I mean it,” he says, interrupting your spiral. “Come by. You can sit next to me. I’ll even let you borrow one of my dice. The sparkly ones. Only for special people.”
You open your mouth to respond—something witty, something cool, something even vaguely coherent—but instead, you make a noise that sounds suspiciously like a kettle boiling over. Steam included.
Eddie just laughs again, softer this time. “You’re cute when you’re panicking, y’know that?”
He winks—winks—and before you can combust or throw yourself into the nearest trash can, he’s already on his feet.
“See you at seven, elf ranger,” he says, tossing you a grape from your fruit cup. “Don’t be late.”
You catch it, stunned. Still red. Still stupid. Still completely doomed.
You turn to your friend.
She’s already halfway across the cafeteria, speed-walking toward the table where the rest of your friends are sitting. You can hear her stage-whispering before she even gets there:
“YOU GUYS. IT HAPPENED.”
Four heads whip around to stare at you in perfect unison. One of them shrieks.
You consider crawling under the table and staying there forever.
Eddie? He just grins at you over his shoulder as he walks away, smug as hell.
And you—seven shades of red and counting—cannot wait for 7PM.
--
Since there wasn't a character included, I assumed you wanted an Eddie story. If not, feel free to DM again :)
I call him Joey, just to feel something
so there we go.
Eddie Munson fanfiction (updated 29 December 2024)
Only Now - 18+ angst, lil smutty Summary: Eddie needs time off from fame, touring, fans, groupies - it all eats him alive and makes him something else if he’s not careful. He needs Hawkins, needs his old friends, needs you to ground him, so he visits every couple of months. It’s the middle of December when he stops by for a few days and lets all of you pretend you’re momentarily back in ’88, and it’s beautiful, but it hurts. A lot. Wordcount: 9.5K
Over Now - 18+ angst, lil smutty Summary: A sequel to “Only Now” in which you have moved away from Hawkins which, you find out fast enough, is something you should have done much sooner. When Eddie comes to visit Hawkins once more, and you're not there? Oof. Wordcount: 9.6K
Then Again - 18+ angst, lil smutty Summary: This part follows “Only Now” and “Over Now”. Since your last visit, Eddie spiraled, and Eddie spiraled hard. An exciting event brings all of you, the whole gang, back into a room together and even though time has passed, and everyone seems to have moved on… have you? Wordcount: 9.8K
Never Over - 18+ angst Summary: This is the fourth installment of this story, following “Only Now”, “Over Now” and “Then Again”. You agreed to have coffee with Eddie, because Eddie needs to speak to you. Sure, he wrote that letter, but he needs to have an actual conversation. You do, and then, afterwards, it sort of… all just, goes to shit. Wordcount: 10.7K
--- Not Enough - 18+ angst Summary: Eddie’s hauled you off to LA because, turns out, when you’re not throwing your life away on booze and drugs, opportunities tend to lead to more opportunities. LA’s amazing, and Eddie’s amazing, and suddenly life is all about sun-freckles and exciting accomplishments but… something’s missing. Wordcount: 5.2K
One More - 18+ angst Summary: Steve’s there, in LA, and something’s terribly wrong. Instead of being the adults that you are, you decide it’s more fun to pretend to be twenty-one again, but… Eddie’s not as amused. Wordcount: 5.3K
That's It - 18+ fluff mostly, mentions of smut Summary: Steve is there to stay, and you fall into a new routine together, the three of you, old buddies back to their old ways. Except, no, this is actually nothing like your old ways, is it? Wordcount: 6.2K
No Regrets - 18+ angsty, fluffy, lil smutty Summary: Steve’s figuring it out, and Eddie flies Robin in to help. To speak some sense into the ether, to be the true voice of reason that you all need. Some things just come in threes, don’t they? Wordcount: 4.7K
---
Let's Go Home - angsty, hurt/comfort Summary: It's getting close to Christmas, and Eddie finds himself in a seasonal depression that feels different. Worse. Unfixable. You do what you can to help, some measures more drastic than others. Wordcount: 6.2K
-> full masterlist ♥ -> back to home ♥
Crazy Wild
Pairing: Josh Kiszka x (F) Reader
Word Count: 1928
Warnings: smut alert!! public, oral sex, swallowing. 18+ read at your own discretion.
I love getting requests from you guys for a lot of reasons, one of which being I get to explore things I have never even thought about. A blowjob in a movie theater is one of them, so thank you so much to this anon for allowing me to explore that fantasy with none other than our favorite little wild man! I hope you enjoy.
Thank you to Resident Angel @myownparadise96 for the gif!
—
“This one is the best,” you said to Josh, both of you fanning out the snapshots from within the photobooth in your hands. You were both giggling and snickering over the mess of photos, clearly neither of you meant to be models.
“I’m halfway out of the frame!” Josh replied shrilly, laughing and bringing the picture closer to his face. “It also got me while I was blinking. What a mess!”
“You wouldn’t sit still,” you said, gently pinching his ear. “Look at this one though–I don’t remember making that face.”
He inspected that photo as well, giggling again and knocking his shoulder into yours. “You still look better than me.”
“Oh please,” you replied, smirking and rolling your eyes. “So what movie do you wanna see?”
Josh turned and looked at the board of options, none of them jumping out at either one of you. Superhero movies–boring; romantic comedy–boring; historical drama–even more boring, though you were worried for a moment that he would propose that you go see that one.
“What about that one?” you asked, pointing to the movie poster with shimmering teal fish springing out of a black lake, the splashes of water gleaming silver underneath the plastic frame.
“‘Killer Fish?’” Josh quoted, squinting at the poster. “Really?”
“Maybe it’s so bad, it’s good,” you replied. “You want to?”
“Sure,” he said, poking your side. “Perhaps no swimming for a while after this.”
Keep reading
Heartwood
Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.
Summary: After Sam’s party, Bucky begins to navigate uncharted territory as he works to balance his growing feelings and lingering insecurities in his blooming relationship.
Word Count: 11k
notes: Follow-up of Roots and Branches.
Bucky stirred first, blinking against the pale light filtering through the curtains. It was a strange sensation, waking without the shadow of a dream, or worse, the weight of a memory. Instead, there was only the quiet of the room, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and the warmth of her body tucked into his side.
He shifted carefully, with slow and deliberate movements, unsure if he’d disturbed her. She murmured something unintelligible, with her face half-hidden against the crook of his arm, but she didn’t wake.
For a moment, he allowed himself to simply look at her. Something was soothing about seeing her this way, soft, peaceful, and completely at ease. Her fingers brushed faintly against his chest, the contact so light it felt almost subconscious, like even asleep, she couldn’t quite let go of him. He leaned his head back against the pillow, releasing a slow breath of contentment.
She stirred then, brushing her nose against his collarbone, and let out the smallest sigh. Her lashes fluttered, and her sleepy gaze lifted to meet his.
“Good morning,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep, and a soft smile tugging at her lips as she tucked herself closer.
“Morning,” he rumbled softly, and before he could second-guess, he bent to kiss her forehead. He hesitated just enough to wonder if he should’ve rinsed his mouth first, but her sleepy smile disarmed him completely.
Her hand reached up lazily, brushing the curve of his jaw. “You’re up early.”
“Didn’t want to miss this,” he said quietly, as if speaking too loudly might break the moment.
She hummed, nuzzling closer into his chest. “I could stay here forever.”
He wrapped his arms around her instinctively, tightening the space between them. “Nobody’s stopping us.”
And that was when the doorbell rang, three sharp chimes that shattered the peace.
Her body tensed briefly before she tilted her head back to look at him. He met her gaze with a scowl that was equal parts annoyance and resolve. “Ignore it.”
“But-”
He hugged her tighter, the words almost a growl in her ear. “Nobody’s home.”
The doorbell rang again, sharper this time, cutting through the morning like an unwelcome guest.
She froze, as the realization dawned upon her. “Oh no,” she murmured, sitting up abruptly.
“What?” Bucky’s voice was a gruff rumble, and his arms tightened briefly as if to pull her back before she escaped entirely.
Her face flushed with mild panic. “Sam! He’s supposed to fix the cabinets this morning.”
Bucky groaned, rolling onto his back, and shot her an exasperated look. “Really?” His hand raked through his hair, the messy strands falling into his eyes as he scowled at the ceiling.
She scrambled for her sweatpants, hopping slightly as she pulled them on. Despite the rush, she bit her lip to stifle a laugh when she glanced at him again. He looked like a picture of grumpiness, his brow furrowed and a tight jaw, the image of a man who wanted nothing more than to barricade the door and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.
“So, uh...” she ventured awkwardly, slipping a loose shirt over her head. “What do you want to do? Stay here in secrecy? I can sneak you some breakfast if you want.”
His gaze slid toward her, unamused.
“Or, I don’t know... sneak out the back door like some kind of criminal?” She half-grinned, watching for his reaction as she tugged the hem of her shirt into place.
Bucky grunted, leaning up on one elbow. “What are the other options?”
The doorbell rang a third time, louder and more insistent.
“None!” she hissed, darting toward the door, her bare feet padding against the floor. She paused briefly, shooting him an apologetic glance over her shoulder.
“I’ll be quiet,” he muttered with a resigned sigh, lying back and draping his arm over his face.
Suppressing a laugh, she opened the door with the best attempt at nonchalance. “Sorry, overslept,” she said, offering Sam a sheepish smile.
Sam raised an eyebrow, looking past her toward the faint creak of floorboards inside. “You sure about that?”
Her heart skipped a beat, but she kept her face composed, stepping slightly to the side to block his view. “Positive.”
As they entered the house, Sam glanced around and didn’t say anything, but his brow lifted ever so slightly before he turned back to her. “Didn’t see you stick around long at the grill last night,” he commented casually, taking a seat at the small kitchen table.
“Oh,” she began, busying herself with tidying up the counter. “I had a headache, so I didn’t want to overstay. Besides, you looked pretty engaged with those guys, and I didn’t want to interrupt.”
Sam leaned back in his chair, muttering, “Uh-huh...”
They made small talk, mostly about the cabinets and how long the repairs would take. He occasionally shot her a curious glance, but she managed to deflect most of his subtle prodding.
Bucky, meanwhile, slipped out of the bedroom and padded to the bathroom, his bare feet making the wooden floors creak faintly. Sam’s ears perked up slightly at the sound, but he didn’t let on, instead continuing the conversation about varnish options and hardware.
The bathroom door creaked open again, and Bucky’s steps echoed softly as he made his way back toward the room. Sam’s lips twitched with a smirk he barely managed to suppress.
“You know,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “it’s a shame you left early. There was someone I wanted to introduce you to last night.”
She quirked a brow, her curiosity piqued. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” Sam continued, tapping his fingers on the table. “Since you’re still alone and, y’know, apparently still with no prospects.” His grin widened, barely containing the mischief lighting up his expression.
She rolled her eyes, though the corners of her mouth twitched with amusement. “And who, exactly, were you going to introduce me to?”
“John Walker,” Sam said, drawing the name out like it was some grand revelation. “Another wood supplier of mine. He bought blueberry pie in your booth at the festival and chatted with you for a bit. Tall, blonde, lopsided grin?”
She tilted her head, vaguely recalling the man in question. “Oh, yes. I think I remember him.”
“Well,” he said, dripping his tone with exaggerated lament, “he asked me to introduce you, but you’d already left. Such a shame.”
The sound of Bucky’s steps abruptly halted somewhere across the hallway. John Fucking Walker? That asshole?
Sam, pretending to be oblivious, leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. “But hey, no worries. This weekend, I’ll be grilling again. Maybe then-”
Before he could finish, heavy steps thudded purposefully down the hall. Bucky appeared in the doorway, his broad frame filling the space, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. The look he gave Sam was pointed, sharp, and entirely unamused.
Sam, the traitorous weasel, had the decency to feign surprise, though the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth betrayed him. “Well, well,” he drawled, crossing his arms with exaggerated ease. “Seems like someone else caught that contagious headache last night.”
Her head whipped around to find Bucky, standing in all his glory. Heat rushed to her cheeks as her gaze flickered instinctively downward, then back up. The situation felt like a slow-motion car crash she couldn’t look away from.
There was a beat of awkward silence, her flustered reaction contrasting with Sam’s calm, almost unimpressed observation.
He arched a brow and leaned forward slightly, his tone casual but laced with mischief. “You know,” he said, “you two might’ve thought you slipped out unnoticed last night, but let me tell you, your absence didn’t exactly go under the radar.”
Bucky’s gaze narrowed, and his irritation mingled with the dawning realization that Sam wasn’t just here to fix cabinets. He’d fallen right into his childish trap. He’d exposed himself confirming exactly what he had been baiting him for.
She scrambled for words. “Well, you see...”
Sam, entirely unperturbed, waved her off. “The most exciting thing happening at that grill was the talk about the town festival, the weather messing up gardens, and the rock slide on the north road.” He leaned forward, his grin widening. “You didn’t think people would notice when the newest addition to the town and the hard-to-get collection figure of social events both disappeared at the same time?” Bucky’s eyes narrowed further, his annoyance deepening at Sam’s playful but undeniably pointed observation. “Oh, come on,” Sam added, gesturing broadly. “Small town, Buck. We’re starved for drama. Of course people noticed.”
She felt heat creep up her neck and settle in her cheeks. Meanwhile, Bucky grunted, his irritation simmering just beneath the surface. The thought of being a topic of conversation for the town sent a fresh wave of unease rolling through his body.
“It’s not that bad,” Sam said breezily, clearly enjoying himself. “I give your story a week before it gets old and a new topic arrives.” His gaze appraised Bucky, broadening his grin. “Speaking of which, aren’t you cold?” He gestured pointedly to his state of undress.
Bucky crossed his arms over his chest, his scarred arm brushing against his side as he gave Sam a deadpan stare. “Aren’t you supposed to be fixing those cabinets?”
Sam snorted, shaking his head. “Look at you,” he teased. “Already the man of the house, bossing people around. Real domestic.”
Bucky’s lips twitched, just a hint of a smirk threatening to break through his otherwise stoic expression. “Keep talking, Wilson, and you’re gonna find yourself out on the porch with your toolbox.”
“Relax, big guy,” Sam shot back, grabbing his toolbox with an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll leave you to play house in peace.”
“We’ll let you do your thing,” she called after him, with a light tone.
She placed a gentle hand on Bucky’s chest and gave him a little push out of the kitchen doorway. He went without resistance, though his brow remained furrowed. Without a word, she took his hand and led him down the hallway to the bedroom, closing the door softly behind them. When she turned, his expression hadn’t shifted. His jaw was tight, and his gaze lingered somewhere on the floor.
“Are you okay?” she asked, softly but tinged with concern.
“Yeah,” he replied, but the lack of conviction in his tone was unmistakable.
She stepped closer, brushing lightly his forearm with her hand. “Bucky,” she pressed gently, “you don’t sound okay. What’s on your mind?”
He exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t like the idea of feeling... watched,” he admitted after a pause. “This whole thing with Sam stirring the pot... people noticing stuff, making it their business.”
Her heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. She reached for his hand, lifting it to her lips and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “I get that. But I don’t think the people here would give you trouble. They’re probably just curious. It’ll pass.”
He glanced at her, hesitant. Then, with a slight shift of his shoulders, he added, “It’s not just that.”
Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
He hesitated again, looking anywhere but at her, with a palpable unease. “I just... I don’t know what you want people to know. About... us.” He cleared his throat, awkwardly running a hand through his hair. “Or if there even is an ‘us.’”
Her stomach flipped. “Bucky-”
“I mean, people say stuff in the heat of the moment,” he continued quickly, tumbling his words over each other. “Things feel... different in the light of day. And if you- if this-” He stopped, swallowing hard, still avoiding her gaze. “I don’t know if that’s what you want.”
His shyness was endearing and heartbreaking all at once, and it took her a moment to gather her thoughts.
“Wait,” she said, “You’re not saying you’re the one who wants a situationship, are you?”
His head snapped up, alarm flashing in his blue eyes. “No,” he said firmly, “That’s not- God, no.”
“Good,” she said softly, stepping closer until there was almost no space between them. “We’re on the same page then.”
He relaxed marginally, dropping his shoulders as he met her gaze. The corner of his mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly, and he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers with a tentative softness that quickly gave way as his uncertainty melted. The kiss deepened, and his hands slid to her waist, pressing her against him as hers wove into his hair. The heat between them grew, his grip got firmer as a soft sigh escaped her lips, drawn into the intensity of the moment… until the sharp, rhythmic crack of hammering shattered the haze like a stone tossed into still water.
Bucky groaned, pulling back just enough to press the back of his head against the bedroom door. He closed his eyes and tightened his jaw, as he opened them again to stare at the ceiling in frustration. “I hate him,” he muttered, growling the words.
She stifled a laugh, brushing her fingers lightly over his chest. “He’s just doing his job,” she replied softly.
Reluctantly, he let her go, running a hand through his hair. “I gotta go anyway,” he admitted with a resigned sigh. “Got a quota to fill. Need to deliver it by closing time.”
Her lips curved into a small pout. “You didn’t even have breakfast,” she pointed out, crossing her arms.
He shrugged, grabbing his jeans from the floor. “I’ll sort it out,” he said dismissively, but the way he avoided her gaze told her he didn’t have a plan.
She clicked her tongue in mild exasperation. “Yeah, no.” Before he could argue, she slipped out of the room, leaving him to dress while she headed to the kitchen.
In one swift motion, she grabbed a big tupperware from the cabinet and set it on the counter. Without hesitation, she got to work, spreading jam on slices of bread, stacking three sandwiches neatly inside. On the side, she crammed in four cookies and a few slices of freshly cut apple, tucking the lid into place with satisfaction.
Sam, hammer still in hand, peeked over from the corner of his eye and grinned. “Oh, you’re gonna spoil him rotten, aren’t ya?”
She quirked a brow, unbothered. “I intend to, yes.”
Sam laughed, leaning against the counter briefly. “Good,” he said with an approving nod. “Someone has to, baking queen. He deserves it.”
Her expression softened slightly, and she gave a small, conspiratorial smile before putting the tupperware in a cloth bag and heading back toward the hallway.
Bucky was buttoning his flannel shirt when she returned, with the bag in her hands. He glanced up at the sound of her footsteps, “What’s that?” he asked, nodding toward the flowery sack as he reached for his boots.
“Breakfast,” she said simply, holding it out to him.
He stared at it for a moment, then back at her, knitting his brows together. “I told you I’d figure it out.”
“And I decided I’d save you the trouble,” she countered, unfazed, stepping closer and pressing the container into his hands. “It’s just some jam sandwiches, cookies, and an apple. Nothing fancy.”
His fingers wrapped around the handles reluctantly, flicking his gaze down to it. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and she wondered if she’d overstepped.
Then, with a small, almost imperceptible sigh, he muttered, “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know,” she said softly. “That’s why I did it.”
Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin line, but his grip on the bag tightened slightly. “Thanks,” he said finally, low and a little rough.
Her smile widened, and she reached out to adjust the collar of his flannel. “Just eat it, okay? And no excuses about being too busy.”
He huffed a soft laugh, relaxing his shoulders as he shook his head. “Yes ma'am." he conceded. "You’re something else, you know that?”
“Good to know,” she replied with a playful smirk, giving his chest a gentle pat before stepping back.
As he turned to leave, he paused hesitantly in the doorway, furrowing his brow slightly as if caught in a thought. Then, without a word, he turned back and crossed the distance between them.
Before she could react, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. It was brief but gentle. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Really.” He straightened and, without making eye contact, turned and exited the bedroom. The door clicked softly behind him, leaving her standing there with a flutter in her chest and a faint smile on her lips.
After Bucky left, she busied herself tidying up the kitchen and glanced at Sam, who was still diligently hammering away at the cabinets. “Want something to drink?” she offered casually.
Sam paused mid-swing and turned to her with a grateful smile. “Sure, whatever you’ve got.” She poured him a glass of orange juice, setting it on the counter where he could grab it easily before retreating to the living room.
-----
The morning light filtered through the curtains as she settled on the couch, with her laptop balancing on her knees. With a sigh, she opened the highlander’s document which made her roll her eyes every other sentence. She got through four chapters when Sam’s voice broke the quiet.
“All done for today,” he called from the kitchen doorway.
She glanced up, giving him a surprised smile. “That was quick.”
He grinned, wiping his hands on a rag as he stepped into the living room. “So, what’re you working on over here?”
Her stomach sank slightly. Oh no. Not this conversation again.
“Uh, just a manuscript,” she said vaguely, hoping he’d let it go.
But Sam, ever curious, tilted his head and leaned against the doorframe. “What kind of manuscript?”
“A romance novel,” she admitted reluctantly.
Sam’s grin widened. “Romance, huh? What kind? Cowboys? Pirates?”
She sighed, knowing resistance was futile. “It’s a Highlander one.”
That seemed to delight him even more. “Oh, like with the kilts and the swords and all that ‘My bonnie lass’ stuff?”
“Something like that,” she muttered.
Sam laughed, shaking his head. “My mom had a ton of those books, and my sister Sarah used to sneak them off the shelf when we were teenagers.” His grin turned devilish. “Boy, mom whipped her pervy ass when she found out. Thought she was scandalizing herself reading all those heaving bosom scenes.”
Despite herself, she let out a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. “Poor Sarah.”
“Poor Sarah, my ass,” Sam said with a chuckle. “She’s still a sucker for those books. Says it’s the ‘only time she has to herself.’” He made air quotes, clearly still amused by the memory.
She shook her head, laughing softly as she accompanied him to the door. “Well, let’s hope she never gets her hands on this one.”
------
By the time lunch rolled around, she had advanced a lot on her scheduled work for the day and couldn’t stop herself from glancing at her phone. She typed out a quick message to Bucky.
Hey, what are you up to?
Minutes passed with no response. Then, about an hour later, her phone buzzed in her hand, his name flashing across the screen. She picked up immediately.
“Hey,” she greeted warmly, leaning back on the couch.
“Hey,” he replied, with a gruffy tone. She could hear the faint hum of machinery in the background. “Sorry for not answering. Still working.”
“Yeah? How’s it going?”
A long sigh crackled through the line. “The chainsaw broke. Had to switch to one of the old ones. Slower, heavier, and louder. Pretty much the worst.”
Her brow furrowed at his tired voice.. “Sounds like a pain. Did you eat anything?”
“Yeah,” he muttered, though it didn’t sound convincing.
She hesitated, then offered, “I can bring you something. A sandwich or-”
“Nah, I’m good,” he said quickly, though his voice softened just enough to take the edge off the refusal. “Appreciate it, but I’ll figure it out.”
She frowned but didn’t push. “Okay... What time do you think you’ll be done?”
There was a brief pause as he considered. “About seven. Maybe a little after.”
Her lips quirked into a small smile as she decided to push just a little. “Mind if I come by your place when you’re done?”
The line went quiet, the faint buzz of the machinery and distant thudding the only sounds between them. She held her breath, wondering if she’d gone too far.
Finally, his voice came through, quieter and tinged with something shy. “Yeah, sure. If you want. Can’t promise I’ll be much of a host, though.”
Her smile widened, and warmth bloomed in her chest. “That’s okay. I’m not expecting a five-star experience. Just... you.”
His exhale was soft but audible as if her words had taken some weight off his shoulders. “All right,” he said simply. “See you then.”
“See you,” she replied, “and take care.” she added before the line clicked off.
She stared at the phone for a moment, with a lingering smile. No matter how grumpy or tired he sounded, he was still Bucky, the guy who cared enough to try.
He looked briefly at the old phone in his hand, before tucking it back into his pocket and exhaling sharply.
Rolling his shoulder for what felt like the hundredth time that day, he muttered a curse under his breath. The heavier chainsaw and the damp air weren’t doing his arm joints any favors. He flexed his fingers, trying to shake off the stiffness, but it did little to help. As he set the chainsaw down for a moment’s reprieve, his mind wandered back to her words. Mind if I come by your place?
He snorted softly, half-amused, half-bewildered. She wanted to come over after a day like this, to his place of all places. His gaze flicked toward the cabin in the distance, and the thought of her seeing it exactly as it was sent a twinge of discomfort through his system.
He started to mentally tick through the list of things he’d have to deal with before she arrived.
The plates in the sink. Take out the trash. Definitely need to dismantle the makeshift bed on the living room floor. His brow furrowed. Putting a few empty bottles of scotch out of sight wouldn’t hurt either.
The thought of her stepping into his world, even for a little while, made him pause. He couldn’t help to let the doubt creep in, the same gnawing thought that had been with him for as long as he could remember.
How someone like her could bother with someone like me?
He shook his head sharply, as if to dispel the thought, and grabbed the chainsaw again. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, not with the sun dipping lower and more work to finish.
----
The sound of her pen clicking filled the quiet room as she glanced at the clock and mentally sketched out her plan. Bucky was clearly having a rough day, and if he wasn’t going to let her help during the daytime, she’d make sure his evening was better.
Her eyes scanned the kitchen counter before settling on the tenderloin she’d defrosted earlier. Perfect. A baked tenderloin, creamed potatoes, and maybe a good wine, it was simple but comforting, exactly what he’d need after a day like this.
She pulled out her apron and got to work, trimming the meat, seasoning it with rosemary and garlic, and sliding it into the oven. While that baked, she started on the potatoes, peeling and boiling them before whipping them with cream and butter until they were perfectly smooth.
As she worked, her gaze drifted to the wine sitting on the counter, a thoughtful gift from a friend she hadn’t yet opened. Tonight’s the perfect occasion, she thought, setting it aside with a smile.
By the time everything was ready, the kitchen smelled warm and inviting, and she felt a sense of satisfaction at having put the plan together. With the tenderloin resting on a cutting board and the potatoes cooling in their pot, she finished her workload for the day and headed to shower.
Steam filled the bathroom as she rinsed away the day, her thoughts lingering on Bucky, on how tired he must be, on how much he tried to shoulder everything himself. She couldn’t erase the day’s frustrations, but she could lighten the load, even if only for a few hours.
After her shower, she picked through her closet, brushing her fingers over fabrics until they landed on a paneled skirt. It was soft and simple, and it paired well with a blouse she liked. Totally practical, she told herself. Absolutely no ulterior motives.
By the time the food was packed into containers and loaded into the trunk, the sun was beginning to set, painting the horizon in soft hues of pink and orange. She double-checked the tupperwares, the wine, and even threw in a small bag of cookies for good measure.
Satisfied, she slid into the driver’s seat with determination. Tonight, she was going to make sure Bucky felt better, even if he didn’t realize how much he needed it.
By the time she reached the cabin, the evening light was fading, casting long shadows through the trees that lined the narrow road. Her car bumped along the uneven path, the crunch of gravel under her tires breaking the quiet stillness of the woods.
As she pulled up, her headlights swept across the clearing in front of his cabin, illuminating a lone figure by the side of the house. There he was, hauling a bag of trash toward a bin, moving slower than usual.
Caught in the beam of her headlights, he froze momentarily, squinting against the brightness like a deer on the road. His workwear was rumpled, his shirt clinging to his broad frame from a long day’s labor. Dirt streaked his forearms and smudged his face, his hair slightly damp and pushed back haphazardly.
She turned off the engine and got out. His eyes flicked immediately to the bags in her arms, and he moved toward her with purposeful strides, leaving the trash bag forgotten by the bin.
Before she could say anything, he reached for the bags. “Here,” he muttered, brushing her fingers as he took them.
She tilted her head with a playful pout on her lips. “No kiss?”
He paused, slightly furrowing his brow, as though he were genuinely considering it. The truth was, he felt grimy and sweaty, dirt likely smudged across his face, while she looked effortlessly put together. The soft fabric of her skirt swayed gently in the evening breeze, and her fresh, clean scent drifted toward his nose, a stark contrast to his own disheveled state.
“I didn’t have time to… I don’t wanna stain you,” he admitted, as his gaze flicked down to the bags in his hands.
Her expression softened, and a warm smile curved her lips as she stepped closer. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his waist, ignoring the startled grunt he made at the contact. Rising onto her toes, she pressed a quick, tender kiss to his lips. She pulled back before he could fully react, with her eyes bright and affectionate.
“What kind of person would I be if I didn’t greet my man after a rough day at work?” she teased.
His grip on the bags tightened slightly as he registered the words, and a faint blush crept over his cheeks, visible even through the dirt smudged on his face. Her man. The thought settled warm in his chest, a sensation he didn’t know how to process.
He cleared his throat, darting his gaze away as he mumbled, “I guess you’re right.” Turning toward the cabin, he gestured for her to follow. “Come on in.”
As she stepped into the cabin, she paused to take it all in. The space was clean and warm, but undeniably spartan: bare walls, minimal furniture, and everything in its place. It was practical and functional, yet there was something distinctly Bucky about it.
Her gaze lingered on the small stack of books on the coffee table, a worn flannel jacket draped over the back of a chair, and a neatly folded blanket on the couch. Despite the lack of frills, it felt lived-in, quiet, and steady, just like him.
Bucky set the bags down on the small kitchen counter and turned to her, slightly furrowing his brows. “What’s all this?” he asked, gesturing at the containers with a slight tilt of his head.
“Dinner,” she replied, smiling as she stepped closer.
His eyebrows shot up, and he opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get a word out, she cut him off.
“What,” she interjected, playful but firm, “did you think I’d come all the way out here after the day you’ve had just for you to take care of me? Maybe I didn’t make myself clear.” She stepped closer, softening her voice as her gaze met his. “I came to take care of you.”
His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Instead, he blinked at her, furrowing his brow again as though he wasn’t quite sure how to process what she’d said.
“Come on,” she coaxed gently, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “You’ve been working your ass off all day, and I thought you could use a little help. That’s okay, right?”
He looked down at her hand on his arm, tensing his muscles slightly under her touch before relaxing. After a moment, he exhaled, and the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice quiet and a little rough. “Yeah, that’s... okay.”
Bucky stared at the bags on the counter. Of course she’d bring food. He slapped himself mentally for not anticipating it, given her nurturing nature. It wasn’t just something she did, it was who she was.
Still, a pang of guilt settled in his chest. He hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t even hinted at it, and yet here she was, going out of her way after what had probably been a long day for her, too. He felt, in some small way, like he was taking advantage of her kindness, even if unintentionally. Lost in thought, he barely registered her stepping closer until she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. His first instinct was to tense, the feel of her against his sweaty shirt making him self-conscious. But her warmth broke through the unease, and he found himself relaxing and reciprocating the embrace. Inhaling the faint, sweet scent of her hair, he felt something in him soften.
“A penny for your thoughts?” she asked gently, her voice muffled against his chest.
He hesitated for a moment, then bit his lip before murmuring, “Just... not used to being cared for like this.”
Her hold on him tightened slightly, and she leaned back just enough to look up at him with a soft smile. “Well, it’s better for you if you start getting used to it.”
He let out a soft, almost reluctant chuckle, as the tension eased further from his shoulders.
“Go wash your hands,” she ordered, stepping back and gesturing toward the small bathroom. “I’ll set the table if that’s okay with you.”
“Maybe I should take a shower first,” he muttered, glancing down at himself, but she waved him off.
“You look starved,” she replied matter-of-factly. “You can shower after. Go on, wash up.”
Bucky arched a brow at her. “What’s in the containers, anyway?”
“Baked tenderloin, creamed potatoes, and a little wine,” she said as she started unpacking the food.
After her words, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Tenderloin?”
She nodded, and her smile widened at his reaction.
“I’ll be right back,” he said quickly with unexpected excitement as he disappeared into the bathroom.
A little while later, Bucky reappeared, with his hands clean and his face freshly washed. His long damp locks were pushed back, though a few stubborn strands refused to stay in place, giving him a slightly tousled look. He’d clearly made an effort, even if it wasn’t much, and she smiled at the sight.
The table was already set, the food neatly arranged in the middle, with mismatched enamel plates waiting. As he stepped closer, his eyes widened slightly at the spread before him. The tenderloin, perfectly sliced, the creamy potatoes beside it, it all looked like something out of a dream after the rough day he’d had. The smell hit him next, warm and comforting, and his stomach growled loudly, reminding him of just how little he’d eaten that day.
“It’s still hot,” she said, breaking his awed silence with a smile. “I used insulating containers.”
He nodded, still a bit dazed, and took his seat as she filled his plate. The first bite hit like a revelation, the flavors melting in his mouth. For a moment, he just sat there, savoring it, before digging in with gusto.
She watched with amusement the way he seemed to focus entirely on his plate. When he finished the first serving, he hesitated, glancing at the platter but not quite making a move. “Go on, you know you want more,” she said with a playful shake of her head, adding another helping to his plate before he could protest.
Bucky grumbled something under his breath, though the small, grateful smile tugging at his lips gave him away. He didn’t hesitate with that second helping, and by the time that plate was empty, he finally gave in and asked for the third himself.
“All right,” she teased as she served him again, “better than dino mac and cheese?”
His fork paused mid-air, and a gruff and warm laugh escaped him. “By a mile,” he admitted, shaking his head. “No contest.” The meal continued with more appreciative noises from him, low hums of approval and muttered compliments that only grew as he polished off every bite.
When his plate was finally clean, he leaned back slightly in his chair, resting his hand on his stomach. “I could get used to this,” he said softly, almost to himself, before his eyes widened slightly, and his ears turned faintly pink. “I mean... if you, uh, want to do this again. Another day. No pressure.”
She bit back a laugh, leaning her chin on her hand as she looked at him. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied warmly.
Bucky glanced down, and his blush deepened, but the small smile lingering on his face betrayed how much her answer meant to him.
“So... how’s your arm?” she asked gently as she began clearing the plates, glancing at him with a mix of curiosity and concern. “You rotated your shoulder earlier, and you seemed a little stiff.”
Bucky froze, and his eyes snapped to hers. He hadn’t realized she’d been paying that much attention. His first instinct was to brush it off, to tell her he was fine, no big deal. The words hovered on the tip of his tongue… but he’d promised himself not to shut her out. With a sigh, he leaned on the table, running a hand through his hair. “Using the old chainsaw today didn’t help. Heavy as hell, and the weather’s been a pain. Humidity makes it worse. Arm’s been bitching all day.”
She nodded thoughtfully, setting the plates aside before returning to her seat. “How about a massage?”
The question caught him off guard, and he just stared at her. He didn’t quite know how to respond, so he fell silent, mulling it over. It wasn’t like he’d ever been the type to ask for -or accept- things like that. But the idea of her hands working out the knots in his shoulder and biceps sounded almost too good to pass up after the day he’d had. “That’d be... really good,” he finally admitted, “but I should take a bath first.”
She tilted her head, and her expression turned stubborn. “Nonsense.” His brow furrowed as he started to protest, but she cut him off with a shy smile. “I like how you smell, okay?”
He blinked at her, taken aback by her words. His gaze softened, and the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly. He didn’t know what to say to that, how could he argue when she looked at him like that?
“Okay,” he said finally, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest of smiles. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” she replied, with a warm tone. “Now, take off your shirt and go sit on that stool over there,” she instructed, nodding toward the wooden stool tucked near the fireplace in the living room.
Bucky arched a brow but complied, standing slowly and pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. As the fabric cleared his torso, she couldn’t help but stare. His muscled frame was on full display, and the scars etched across his skin like unfinished stories. He hadn’t spoken of them yet, and she was determined to wait until he was ready to share those chapters himself. Her gaze lingered on the sharp cut of his shoulders, the way his muscles flexed with each subtle movement. Her hands twitched slightly at her sides, eager to touch him, to ease the tension she could see in every line of his body.
He turned and caught her staring, his lips quirked into a knowing smirk. “Did you plot this to take advantage of a tired and wounded man?” he teased dryly. “You stuff me full of food so I can’t move, and then you attack?”
She blinked and felt her cheeks warming up, but a mischievous grin spread across her face. “Maybe,” she admitted with a playful shrug, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small bottle of lotion.
His eyes narrowed slightly, though there was a glint of humor in his gaze. “You planned this, didn’t you?”
“Perhaps it was a little premeditated,” she conceded, shaking the bottle as she stepped toward him. “Now sit.”
Bucky chuckled softly, shaking his head as he lowered himself onto the stool. “Remind me never to underestimate you.”
“Oh, you have no idea,” she quipped, uncapping the bottle and squeezing a small amount into her hands, flickering her gaze briefly to his bare skin.
As she stepped behind him, her heart beat a little faster. She placed her hands on his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers, and began to work the lotion into the tight muscles.
The moment her hands touched his shoulders, Bucky tensed, his first thought was the sweat still clinging to his skin. As her fingers pressed firmly into the tight muscles at the top of his shoulders, the tension in his neck began to ease almost immediately, but his mind stubbornly clung to his unease. He shifted slightly, the thought of her hands on his clammy skin making him self-conscious.
She seemed to sense his hesitation, leaning closer until her lips brushed against his pulse point. The kiss was soft but deliberate, and he stilled completely at the unexpected touch. Her fingers pressed deeper into his shoulders as she murmured “I’m not feeling any relaxation, Buck.” Then, her lips trailed a warm, wet line to his earlobe, and he groaned, a deep, gravelly sound that rumbled in his chest. The tension in his body began to dissolve, his shoulders sagging as he exhaled a long breath.
“There we go,” she said softly, with a satisfied smile as her hands resumed their soothing rhythm.
She worked her thumbs firmly along the base of his neck, coaxing the tight knots free, before moving down to his shoulders. Her fingers dug into the thick muscles with just the right amount of pressure, and he let out a low hiss that melted into a sigh. His scarred arm caught her attention next, the touch becoming gentler as she kneaded the firm swell of his bicep. Her fingers traced over the ridges of the scars, not hesitating but mindfully.
Bucky didn’t say a word, but his body told the story, how his shoulders slumped further under her touch, how his breathing slowed, and how the stiffness in his arm seemed to melt away. With each stroke, he let go just a little more, slightly dipping his head forward, parting his lips as another sound escaped from them, a softer, more relieved groan this time, like unburdening himself of a long-held weight.
By the time she finished, moving her hands back up to smooth over his shoulders one last time, Bucky’s body was practically putty under her touch. The knots in his muscles had vanished, leaving him loose and blissfully relaxed. Yet, beneath the calm she’d so carefully drawn out, simmered a different tension. Her warm breath against his neck, the soft brush of her chest against his back, and the intimacy of her touch stirred something deeper, and despite his best efforts to stay still, a very interested part of him was paying close attention to her ministrations.
She stepped back slightly, wiping her palms on a towel she’d grabbed from her bag. “All done,” she announced lightly, “How are you feeling?”
Bucky straightened slightly, forcing himself to keep his breathing even as he glanced back at her. “So good,” he said honestly, in a low and husky tone. “Thank you.”
Before she could respond, he moved with intent, and his hands found her waist pulling her gently into his lap.
Her eyes widened as she settled sideways on his thighs, his hands holding her tightly in place as though she belonged there.
“What kind of host would I be,” he murmured, in a thick and velvety tone, sending a delicious shiver down her spine, “if I didn’t thank you properly?”
Then his lips were on hers, warm and insistent, and she let out a soft moan as she shifted in his lap, the movement drawing her attention to the unmistakable hardness pressing against her rear. Her breath hitched, and her heart pounded as the heat rushed through her body.
When they finally parted, her gaze met his, taking in the tired lines around his eyes. She quirked a brow, with a playful smile. “Weren’t you exhausted?”
Bucky leaned in, brushing his lips against her pulse point before nipping at it lightly. “Never for you,” he murmured.
“You know,” he continued, softly but teasing as his hand traveled under the hem of her skirt, brushing his rough fingers against her bare thigh, “last night I told you why I liked you in dresses and skirts.”
Her breath caught as his hand moved higher. “Oh, I took note,” she answered playfully, kissing his cheek as her fingers traced idle patterns over his chest. She held his gaze with a spark of anticipation. “What are you going to do about it?”
Bucky’s eyes darkened, and the corners of his mouth twitched as his hand slid higher, in a firm and coaxing grip. “Guess you’ll find out,” his voice was barely more than a growl as he kissed her again, deeper and more insistent this time. She gasped softly against his mouth, threading her fingers into his hair and pulling him closer.
His touch became more insistent, sliding one hand up her side, bunching the fabric of her blouse under his fingers. Without breaking the kiss, he unbuttoned it promptly and removed it in two smooth motions. He leaned back just enough to take her in, trailing his eyes over the curves of her body with open appreciation. His lips parted slightly, and a low, almost reverent hum rumbled from his chest. “You’re so damn beautiful,” he muttered, his voice rough with need as his hands moved to unhook her bra.
The straps fell away, and he cupped her breasts, brushing his thumbs over her sensitive nipples. She let out a soft whimper, slightly arching her body into his touch. “Perfect,” he murmured, leaning down to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the swell of her breast. His lips trailed down, and when his mouth closed around her nipple, sucking gently, a sharp moan escaped from her lips. Her hand flew to his nape, tangling her fingers in his hair as she arched again, pressing him harder against her chest. The pressure of his mouth and the flick of his tongue were enough to send her mind spinning.
He growled softly against her skin, and his other hand slid down from her waist, hooking his arm under her knee, spreading her leg with ease, and angling her body to fit perfectly against his, with her back against his chest. His free hand trailed down, teasing the edge of her panties before pressing against the damp fabric. Her hips bucked instinctively at the contact, and a sharp gasp escaped her lips as he traced slow, deliberate circles over her clothed pussy.
“Today was a shitty day,” he said huskily as his fingers pressed a little harder, drawing another moan from her lips. He leaned forward, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. “I appreciate it a lot what you did here, sweetheart.”
His hand slipped under the waistband of her panties, his rough fingers finding her slick folds with ease. A strangled sound escaped her mouth, as her hand flew to the back of his neck.
“I’m not very good with words,” he murmured. As he spoke, he pushed two fingers inside her, slow and deliberate, the stretch sending a wave of pleasure through her entire body. “But I’m happy. Really.” His confession was soft, almost vulnerable, as his thumb began circling her clit.
Her head fell back, and a moan spilled from her lips as her body arched against him. “Well, I can’t argue,” she panted, words broken by pleasure, “this is a... a nice way of appreciation.”
His lips curved into a small smile against her neck as his fingers moved inside her with a slow, steady rhythm. Each motion drew soft gasps and moans from her lips. “Such a good girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing her skin. “You take care of me, and this is how I take care of you.” His voice was husky, laced with affection, and something darker, rougher.
Her breath hitched as he adjusted his angle slightly, curling his fingers inside her, hitting a spot that made her cry out. He chuckled softly, a low and rough sound in her ear. “There it is,” he growled, his pace quickening just enough to keep her teetering on the edge.
Her hands clutched at his thigh and neck, digging her nails slightly as her hips moved instinctively against his hand. “B-Bucky,” she panted, with a shaky voice, tipping back her head as she lost herself in the sensation.
When he shifted his arm slightly, he chuckled dryly. “Fuck, I smell,” he muttered, half to himself, his self-consciousness creeping back into his mind despite the situation
She turned her head sharply, meeting his gaze. “My God, James,” she said firmly, and her voice was a mix of exasperation and arousal. “I told you, I’m okay with it.”
His brow quirked, and his lips twitched into a faint smirk. “So I’m James when you scold me?” he teased, pushing his fingers deeper, harder, making her gasp and stutter.
“T-That’s right,” she managed, as his pace picked up. “I don’t mind you sweaty after a day of work... I think it’s hot, okay?” she confessed.
His hand stilled for just a second, his gaze lifting to hers in surprise before a wide, wicked grin spread across his face. “You think it’s hot,” he repeated, in a low, teasing drawl. “Well, sweetheart, I think you’re hot when you’re like this.”
Without another word, his fingers moved faster, curling and pressing in ways that made her moan loudly, her head fell back as the pressure built to an unbearable peak. He trailed open-mouthed kisses along her throat, his stubble scraping lightly against her skin as his pace became relentless.
“Maybe,” he murmured between kisses, his voice a husky whisper. “I could be Jamie when you cum. What do you say, darlin’?”
Her moans turned into breathless cries, her body trembling as his words pushed her closer to the edge. His thumb pressed harder against her clit, and with one final, precise movement, she shattered, the orgasm crashing over her in a wave of heat and pleasure.
She called out his name, and her body arched as her walls clenched around his fingers. He didn’t stop, coaxing her through every aftershock, brushing his lips on her ear as he whispered, “That’s it, good girl. Let go for me.”
When she finally slumped back against him with ragged breathing, he pulled his hand back, cradling her against his chest with a satisfied smirk. “So,” he said softly, but with playful arrogance, “Jamie it is, huh?”
She swatted his shoulder weakly, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.
“And now,” he murmured between kisses at the back of her neck, “I’m going to show you exactly what I’m going to do about this skirt of yours,” he stated, his voice dark and laced with promise.
Before she could respond, his hands gripped her hips firmly as he shifted them both to the floor in one fluid motion. Her knees hit the soft rug beneath them, and he pressed himself against her back, slowly grinding his erection against her rear. One of his hands slid up to her waist, holding her firmly in place as his other hand moved to the nape of her neck, pressing her down gently but firmly against the coffee table.
The rough wood met her forearms as her body bent at just the right angle to have her completely at his mercy. Her breath hitched as she felt his hand leave her nape briefly, and the sound of his belt unbuckling and the zipper of his jeans being drawn down made her pulse race.
With one hand still firm on her hip, Bucky gathered the fabric of her skirt and lifted it, baring her ass to him. His large, rough palm cupped one cheek, squeezing it firmly. “Seems to me,” he said, his voice dripping with lust, “you came here intending to be taken advantage of.”
A low chuckle escaped her lips as she arched her back and parted her thighs slightly, lifting her hips toward him. “Can you blame me?” she teased, with a breathy voice, the words laced with anticipation.
His lips curled into a grin as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and tugged them down in one swift motion, leaving them tangled around her knees. “Who am I,” he murmured, in a dark and teasing tone, “to deny you what you want, especially after you pampered me, hm?” His pupils were blown as he stared at her pussy, slick and glistening with arousal. A low groan rumbled from his chest as he wrapped a hand around his cock, thick and heavy, precum already beading at the tip. He ran the swollen head through her folds, spreading her wetness over his length. The sensation made her gasp, and press her hips back against him instinctively.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, savoring how wet and ready she was for him. Gripping her hip tightly, he lined himself up and began to press into her slowly, stretching her open inch by inch with the blunt head of his cock.
She mewled as he split her inner walls, the fullness of his cock making her fingers clutch the edge of the coffee table for support. As he slid deeper, a low moan spilled from her lips, as her body adjusted to take him to the hilt. He paused there, pressing his chest against her back as he leaned forward. “Are you alright, sweetheart?” he murmured roughly but tinged with genuine care, though he already knew the answer. The feel of her walls clenching around him, pulling him in even tighter, made it clear she was more than alright.
Her breath hitched again, and her body shuddered under him. She nodded quickly.
Satisfied, he let out a low, satisfied hum, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck before rolling his hips experimentally, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips.
Bucky pulled back almost completely before thrusting forward again, setting a slow but deliberate pace, letting her feel every inch of his cock stretching and filling her. The low, guttural groan that escaped his lips was unrestrained, a sound that vibrated deep in his chest as he rolled his hips again, savoring the way her pussy clenched around him.
It was like something unlocked inside him, the tension he carried in every interaction, every moment of his day, dissolving as he lost himself in her heat. Here, he didn’t have to hold back or second-guess. There was no space for hesitation, no room for what ifs, just her body arching beneath him and her soft moans urging him on.
“You feel so fucking good,” he muttered with a rough voice, the words falling from his lips without filter or pretense. He pulled back to watch the way his cock disappeared into her, tightening his grip as he snapped his hips harder, a sharp slap of skin meeting skin filling the air. “Made for me, aren’t you?”
Her whimper in response only spurred him on, and his hand slid up her back to press between her shoulder blades, bending her further over the coffee table as his thrusts picked up a relentless rhythm.
Her cries grew louder and her fingers clutched at the table for stability as she pushed back against him, meeting his movements with desperation. “Bucky!” she cried out, her voice breaking as his relentless thrusts sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body.
“That’s it,” he growled, brushing his lips against her shoulder as he drove into her harder, deeper. “Say it again, sweetheart.”
“Bucky,” she gasped, as his fingers worked her clit with precision with her body trembling beneath him.
A grin spread across his lips as he leaned closer, his voice rough and teasing. “What about… Jamie? Hmm? Can I be your Jamie when you fall apart for me?”
Her head tipped back, and a flush crept up her neck as the name fell from her lips, breathless and needy. “J-Jamie...”
His groan was low and guttural, and his hips stuttered for a moment before he caught his rhythm again. The way her voice carried his name sent a thrill through his body.
“Fuck,” he muttered, quickening his pace as his free hand slid up her back, holding her steady. “Say it again, darling. Let me hear it.”
“Jamie!” she cried with a trembling voice as the pressure in her pussy built to a breaking point.
“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of her neck. “You’re so good for me. Taking all I give you.”
Her walls clenched around him, and she shuddered beneath his body, her voice breaking as she gasped his name.
That was his undoing. His thrusts became harder, more erratic as he chased his release, her pleasure pulling him closer to the edge. “That’s it,” he growled, strained but commanding. “Come for me, sweetheart. Come on my cock.”
She shattered, and her cries echoed through the room as her climax ripped through her body, arching and trembling under his hands.
Hearing her call his diminutive over and over as her body convulsed around him was enough to send him spiraling. With a guttural groan, he followed her over the edge, driving his hips into her one last time as he spilled inside her.
As the intensity ebbed, she slumped forward, over the coffee table, with ragging and shallow breathing. Bucky followed her, pressing his chest against her back as they both came down from the high with their bodies still connected.
For a moment, neither of them moved, and the only sound in the room was their uneven breaths. Then, with a soft grunt, Bucky wrapped his arms around her waist, firmly but gently as he pulled her upright. “C’mere,” he murmured. He shifted, sitting back on the thick rug, and dragged her with him, settling her in his lap. Her back rested against his broad chest, and his arms enveloped her in a warm, protective hug.
She melted into his embrace, tipping back her head to rest on his shoulder as his chin came to rest at her crown. One of his arms enveloped her below her breasts holding her securely against him, while the other traced slow, idle patterns on her thigh.
“You’re amazing,” she said softly, as she reached back with her hand and caressed his stubbed cheek.
Bucky stilled for a moment, her words catching him off guard. He swallowed hard, tightening his arms around her slightly. “I think that’s my line,” he muttered, brushing his lips against her hair. “You’re the one who...” He trailed off, shaking his head with a small, self-deprecating chuckle. “You’re just amazing.”
She turned her head slightly to look up at him, curving her lips into a tender smile. “I like this,” she said, full of affection.
“Hmm?” he tilted his head slightly to glance down at her.
“This,” she repeated, gesturing to the way his arms were wrapped around her. “You. Holding me like this. Feels like home.”
His breath hitched, and he kissed the top of her head gently, tightening his embrace even further. “You… feel like home too.” he admitted, with a softer voice.
After a few minutes of quiet, she broke the silence, “So,” she said, glancing up at him with a teasing smile, “Will I get this treatment every time I cook you a hearty meal?”
Bucky froze for a moment, as her question pulled him from the comfortable haze of their embrace. His body tensed slightly, and his usual awkwardness crept back in as his brain finally caught up with what she was saying.
“... maybe,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible as his fingers fidgeted against her waist.
She blinked, and her smile widened as she tried, and failed, not to laugh. “What was that?” she teased, twisting in his lap just enough to catch the faint pink creeping up his neck. “I didn’t hear you, Jamie.”
At the sound of the name, his eyes widened briefly, and a groan rumbled from his chest as he pressed his face into the crook of her neck, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Don’t...” he started, but she cut him off with a laugh, brushing her fingers through his hair.
“You are so cute, you know that?”
He let out a dry chuckle, tinged with disbelief as he leaned back slightly to meet her gaze. “I’ve been called a lot of things in my life,” he muttered with a wry tone, “but it’s a first time for cute.”
She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. “Well, you are,” she said firmly, her eyes bright with affection. “And I dare anyone to say otherwise.”
His lips twitched, the faintest smile breaking through his usual reserve. “You’re something else,” he murmured, tightening his arms around her as he buried his face in her hair again.
He held her close for a moment longer, as her warmth made it harder to let go. Finally, he cleared his throat, breaking the comfortable silence. “You... wanna stay the night?” he asked, casually, but laced with a hint of hesitation.
Her lips curved into a soft smile as she leaned back just enough to meet his gaze. “I’d love to.”
“Good,” he said gruffly but filled with satisfaction. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “And no one’s gonna be ringing the doorbell early in the morning here,” he grumped.
She chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, that is definitely a bonus.”
Her laughter eased some of the tension in his chest, but it crept back just as quickly. For a moment he froze, a flicker of doubt crossed his features as his mind wandered to his unused bed. Do I even have sheets on that thing? The memory hit him almost instantly: yes, he did. A week ago, he’d tossed a spare set on there after doing laundry, figuring it was better than leaving the mattress bare. He sighed with relief, and his lips curved into a small grin.
Without warning, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her effortlessly, standing with her in his arms as if she weighed nothing, getting out of his pants with a little work of his legs.
“Bucky!” she squealed, laughing as she grabbed onto his shoulders for balance.
“You said yes,” he replied with a smirk, adjusting his hold as he headed toward the bathroom. “Now, come on. We both need a good scrubbing.”
Her laughter bubbled out as her hands slid up to cup his face. “You’re full of surprises tonight, Jamie” she teased with a playful tone.
Bucky’s brow quirked, a smirk tugging at his lips even as a faint flush crept up his cheeks. Tightening his hold on her, he leaned in. “Oh, Jamie’s gonna teach you a lesson about poking bears,” he muttered, teasing.
Before she could fire back, his hand shifted, delivering a swift smack to her ass.
She gasped in surprise, jerking slightly, then bit her lip with a playful grin. “Is the big bad bear planning to plunder a honeypot tonight?” she asked with mock innocence.
Bucky’s eyes went wide for a moment, and his steps faltered. His ears turned bright red as he stammered, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “What do you read in those novels?” he muttered, avoiding her gaze as his grip on her tightened slightly.
She grinned wickedly, undeterred. “It’s not like you haven’t already-”
Before she could finish, his hand came down with another sharp slap to her ass, making her squeal. “Enough outta you,” he growled, though the pink on his ears deepened.
“Oh, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?” she teased, still grinning as she tightened her arms around his shoulders.
He let out a low groan, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip, carrying her effortlessly into the bathroom. “You’re a menace,” he muttered.
“And you like it,” she countered, leaning in to kiss his cheek, brushing her lips against his flushed skin.
His stride slowed as he turned his head to look at her, his tired blue eyes with a softer glint now. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly, his voice low and raw. “I do.”
As they crossed into the bathroom, he leaned his forehead against hers. “You make it easy to forget everything else,” he murmured, his voice was barely audible but was weighed with a truth he rarely allowed himself to share.
Her arms tightened around him, as she pressed a kiss in the corner of his mouth. She could feel the unspoken weight behind his words, the burdens he carried in silence. But she didn’t push. She knew he would tell her when he was ready, about his struggles, his past, and the shadows that still lingered in his mind. “I’m glad Bucky, you deserve that.”
His chest rose and fell with a deep breath, tightening his arms around her as he held her close. For a moment, the world outside the bathroom, outside this cabin, ceased to exist. He dipped his head slightly, brushing her lips in a tender, unhurried kiss, filled with gratitude and unspoken promises, a glimpse of the feelings he couldn’t yet bring himself to express.
what love is; track one [e.m. x fem!reader]
![What Love Is; Track One [e.m. X Fem!reader]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/a2ea76634b9b89b089acc17bcdd7c030/89c367cf65c44aa1-54/s500x750/7b6b7ac02c5878edab83db695c3d60b3e8eec910.png)
summary: Everybody in Hawkins High knew Eddie "the freak" Munson, two-times-failed (so far) senior, proud metalhead, and dungeon master of the Hellfire club. Most knew the studious, sweet, good girl who probably had a full ride to any college she wanted to go to. But few people truly knew them, least of all, themselves. Now, in the summer of 1985, their paths cross again, intertwining to a point of no return. AKA, the trial and error of learning to love and be loved with Eddie Munson.
warnings/content notes( for this chapter): shitty parents, homophobic comments/slurs. suggestive content.
author's note: My bad habit is describing the reader in too much detail (clothing-wise, not appearance), so I apologize if the reader's style isn't yours, but I hope you can still enjoy the story. Also, I'm making Eddie a human disaster cause there's no way he's as smooth as I see in so many fics.
rating: 16+
word count: 6,543
taglist: @ratridingaskateboard (lmk if you want to be added!)
![What Love Is; Track One [e.m. X Fem!reader]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/8584e696a61b3dde3af9bb43de9dabae/89c367cf65c44aa1-1e/s500x750/f4297b54e538edc8af51ad4194155034ec0c274c.png)
◁◁͏͏ 1: More Than A Feeling ▷▷ 0:38 ━━❍─────── 4:06
—— July, 1985 ——
It’s an easy day at work- the customers are few and far between, most of them mindlessly browsing the aisles, flipping through each vinyl and tape with one finger, looking at one after the other, after the other, after the other, after the other, pop or rock or metal, classical or movie soundtracks or even Christmas albums even though it's the middle of July. With how slow it is, (Y/N) is stuck leaning her elbow on the counter, chin in her palm as the sound of Boston’s More Than A Feeling plays from the radio next to her.
Getting this job had been such a stroke of luck after she graduated high school. A music shop with records and tapes and players ranging from pop to soundtrack to even metal– which her parents hated– tucked in downtown Hawkins within biking distance of her house, so she could stay living at home while she saved money to move out, and it paid well enough that she wasn't too worried about living there much longer. Plus, most days were like this- slow, easy- and she spent most of her time scribbling in her journal and listening to rock music that wouldn’t be allowed in her parent’s “pure, Christian home” and meeting like-minded people whom she otherwise might not have come across. And though her straight-laced, puritan parents weren’t too keen on her “out-there” job exposing her to things like “satanic rock-and-roll and ungodly fantasy”, at least she was making money.
She’s humming along to the guitar in the pre-chorus, tapping a pen across the list titled ‘Coming To Store, July 1985!!!’ that her boss had left for her to stock later on. The chorus swells with emotion right when the bell above the entrance rings. She freezes as she looks up to greet a new customer, eyes catching someone familiar, and suddenly she’s back in the Hawkins High School cafeteria at the beginning of her junior year, 1983, quietly making heart eyes at a long-haired, loud-mouthed boy across the room, for whom her heart had decided to beat for.
Eddie Munson.
(Y/N) twirled the cord of her walkman’s headphones around her finger, barely poking at the lunch in front of her as her eyes focused on a senior boy at the head of the table a few rows down from hers. He’d been letting his wild hair grow out to his shoulders and looked like those rock stars in magazines that her mom never let her buy. He was the ‘leader’ of the Hellfire Club, who played a game called Dungeons and Dragons after school, about which she knew nothing except what she read about people trying to tie it to devil worship and satanism. With his long, messy hair and leather jackets and the denim jacket he had recently chopped the sleeves off of, he was loud and defiant, non-conforming, and everything her parents warmed her to be against.
He was Eddie Munson, the Freak of Hawkins, and he had been stuck on (Y/N)’s mind since sophomore year.
“Hey,” Her friend nudged her, tugging her headphones off and pulling her back into reality. The small group of awkward, acne-ridden high school kids who had yet to find their group giggled around her.
“Hey! I was listening to-!”
“You were ogling Munson again.” One interjected.
“You know someone said he performs rituals? Like sacrificing people and shit?” Someone said, a sarcastic smile in their voice.
“You don’t really believe that, do you?” She scoffed at the idea of devil worship. It was all scary stories to threaten kids into being safer. “C’mon, you sound like my parents.”
“I don’t believe it,” She cut in. “But he’s just… a freak.” Some kids around the table cut in, arguing that they were the weird kids too. The only difference was that he wasn’t ashamed of not fitting in. “Well devil-worship aside, he’s still probably going to end up like his dad, you know. Not really the best choice to be crushing on.”
(Y/N)’s friends continued to argue back and forth, but the girl’s eyes were fixed. Eddie had hopped up on the table, talking loudly to his table of misfit friends, taunting the popular groups of students, who jeered at him. The confidence, the pure lack of shame that radiated from him as he stuck his fingers up into devil horns and grinned wildly, it drove her insane. She’d never known someone as bold and unafraid as him, someone so true to themself and unbowing to the social pressure to change, despite the daily judgment and rumors and whispers behind his back. And a part of her-- a much larger part of her than she’d like to fully admit-- wanted to sneak her way into his group, be taken under his wing. Have some of that fearlessness rub off on her.
God knew she needed some bravery.
For a moment, as Eddie jumped down from the lunch table, she swore his eyes locked with hers. Just for a moment.
“Hey, kid,” Her boss, Bill, jolts her back to the present, Boston’s song still playing on the radio. “-I closed my eyes and she slipped away-” She looked up, slightly saddened that she lost sight of that familiar face before she even saw him. “I’m clocking out for the day, make sure you sort out all those new tapes tonight.”
She nodded, flustered, shaking away the embarrassing thoughts that had been plaguing her. “Oh, um, someone asked me earlier, are we getting the new Tears For Fears album soon?”
After only a moment, during which her eyes scanned the store, hoping to find that curly head, he spoke up. “Ah, that’s coming in next week. And while I’m thinking about it, we’re getting the new Dio album right after it comes out. Make a note of that so we don’t forget.”
She nodded jotting it down on her paper. “Thanks.”
“Stay outta trouble tonight.”
But (Y/N) didn’t hear his words, or see him leave, as her eyes focused on a wild mop of hair coming around the corner of one of the shelves. As he browsed through the tapes in the metal section, she couldn’t help feeling like a creep watching his every move. She was entranced at the way his fingers so gently brushed a curl back out of his face. This was the first time she’d seen him outside school in the three years she’d known of him, and it was strangely intimate to see him in a place he fit into so well. A place where he didn’t need to defend himself and his interests every waking moment. Here he was, flipping through albums with a gentle hand when most of her memories of him were of him standing on cafeteria tables egging on the jocks or sitting outside the principal’s office without care.
Eddie’s face turned towards hers, and it felt like a shock of electricity as she snapped her attention to the list of bands in front of her. Where were we… Bryan Adams… Duran Duran… Tears For Fears… New Dio album– In her peripherals, she could see him passing by the front counter.
She braved a glance up, telling herself that it was only to seem natural, to check if he was ready to check out. Instead, their eyes locked for half a second as he walked past to browse tapes on the other side of the store. Again, her eyes tore down to stare a hole through her paper, and the counter beneath it, and the floor beneath that, getting so hot in the face she thought she might pass out. Had he seen her watching him? Did he remember her from high school? No, why would he? They’d only spoken briefly in class in her senior year, nothing memorable.
She remembered the first day of her senior year when none other than Eddie Munson– who she had thought graduated the year before– sat down a couple of seats over from her in English class. She’d nearly lost her mind at seeing him again, having thought her crush was one of the past and she could live out her senior year in peace, without being distracted by a meaningless little crush. But no, instead, there he was for her to oggle all class, watching him doodle on his papers, or nearly fall asleep whenever the teacher was lecturing. Her face heated up at his gall when she watched him grin while getting scolded for being late.
(Y/N) couldn’t help but wonder if he’d graduated. She didn’t remember seeing him at the ceremony, but plenty of kids didn’t attend, and considering his reputation and rumored familial situation– or lack thereof– it would make sense if he wanted to graduate silently and get the hell out of town.
The song ended, and she held rewind on the tape, not caring what the customers thought and feeling like she would float away without something to ground her to the earth. Eddie Munson, here in the store, after she thought she was over her stupid crush.
“I lost myself in a familiar song, I closed my eyes and I slipped away”
She closed her eyes for a moment. This must be a dream. It had to be. She hadn’t seen him since last semester, and here he was in her store, his hair a little longer than the last time they’d seen each other. All throughout high school, she swore she’d never seen him in short sleeves and now here he was, the cut-off sleeves of his shirt and denim vest exposing the ink on his forearms to the sticky July air. If she looked hard enough, the long holes where he'd gone in with scissors exposed the sides of his slim torso, too. Not that she was staring.
Her mind was buzzing with all the little memories of him, the details about his presence, the way the chain on his jeans clattered against his chair in class, the way he sank in his seat and sat low, uninterested, and confident, and the way he would get scolded by the teachers every time. The way he cast a quick glance at her before tests because she had given him a copy of her notes, a glance that she’d always been too shy to hold when she caught him looking. She remembered going home every night and sinking into her bed under the covers, flipping through her secret journal for the cut-out and glued-down magazine pictures of rock stars on stage with long curls and dark clothes like his. Some might think she was crushing on him because he looked like the men in her magazines, but really, she liked them because they looked like Eddie.
Ding!
A sharp trill on the ‘ring-for-service’ bell in front of her yanked her back into the present. Her eyes shot open, embarrassed to be daydreaming on the job, and there he was, standing in front of her with a dizzying smile, hand hovering over the bell.
“Boston?”
Oh shit. Oh shit. He’s talking to me. Is he actually talking to me? (Y/N) looked up, meeting the eyes of Eddie Munson himself, pointing at the tape player next to them. Doe eyes, she suddenly realized he had. She’d never been this close before, even when they had math class together. Wait, what did he just ask? Oh, the band. "Y-yeah. Hahah. I like them."
"Cool, cool. Slow day?"
“Um- uh, yeah!” Smooth, she thought, really fucking smooth. “Just… keeping busy I guess, ha.” She motioned to the list in front of her. He leaned over the counter, eyes glanced through the list briefly. (Y/N)’s eye got stuck on the rings that adorned three of his fingers on the hand that rested next to the paper. All too soon, he retreated, stepping back, looking lightheartedly apologetic, and holding his hands up with a little smile. He smiled from the corner of his mouth.
“Sorry, is it supposed to be secret?”
That brought a small laugh bubbling to her lips, the way he seemed so genuinely hesitant to offend her or the ‘secrets of the business’. “Um, no, it doesn’t matter.” She cleared her throat, embarrassed by the way she was giggling in front of him. Her face was burning. “It’s just the albums that we just got. I have to stock them tonight.”
His eyebrows raised, a smile spreading across his face. “Oh, yeah? Fill me in?”
She glanced at the pins on his denim vest– bands he likes– then looked at the list, running her finger down. “Um, we have the album… Metal Heart? That was from back in February, we’re just getting it. Or we’re getting a restock.”
“Accept?”
“Yeah.” She nodded in confirmation of the band. “And a new Megadeth album.”
“This is one of the only places I’ve found in this shithole town that has metal.” He smiled and pointed at a Megadeth patch sewn at the bottom of his vest. It looked a bit messy, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him sewing them on himself. This man in front of her was nothing like the loud, scary boy she saw in high school. “I, uh, guess I’ll be coming back, then? For that. When you get it?” He said it like a question, each sentence getting more and more unsure.
She felt dizzy. Was he flirting? No, just being kind. A customer. The thought of seeing him again was making her head spin, and only after a moment did she remember where they were. “Oh, did you have something? To buy? For me to– did you need to pay for something?”
“Oh, shit. Yeah.” He fumbled for a moment before setting down a single tape. Dio, The Last in Line.
“Dio!” She exclaimed, maybe a bit too excited for a band she didn’t even listen to. She pointed at it, flustered at her outburst. “You listen to Dio.”
His face seemed to light up with some sort of emotion she couldn’t pin down. He turned and jutted his thumb out at the back of his vest, a homage to the album he was buying. He had that wild grin on his face like he was so proud to show her. “They’re my favorite. Put this on right after I heard their last album. My last tape got all messed up. Unwound and shit, must have listened too much.”
She rang him up with a smile, trying not to stare at his biceps. She’d never seen him so wholesomely enthusiastic about something so mundane. And this is the ‘Freak’ they say worships the devil. How could they see him as anything but endearing and brave? She shook her thoughts away quickly, remembering why she exclaimed about his purchase in the first place. “They, um, they have a new album coming out. In August, I think? Did you hear?”
He was nodding his head enthusiastically before her question was even finished. “Of course, I heard.” He twisted his rings around each finger, grinning. “Do… uh, do you listen? To them, I mean.” (Y/N) hesitated, torn between telling the truth like she knew she should like she was raised to, and lying to sound cooler, for just the chance he’d think the awkward bookworm in English class was cool like he was. While she was caught in her own struggle, Eddie had seemed to grow nervous himself. “It’s just, you seemed really excited–”
“Yeah.”
Silence hung in the air between them, nothing but the sound of the guitar solo as background music, neither of them quite sure what she was saying ‘yes’ to. After a moment, Eddie tilted his head towards her in question. “...Yeah? You listen to them?”
(Y/N) was nodding before she even understood what she was saying. A grin split across his face, so stunning and unlike anything she’d seen from him, that it wiped away the guilt of her bluff. A soft laugh rumbled out of him, and his pretty, dark eyes were on her in a way that had her stomach doing flips. “Wow, you don’t seem like the type.” Heat flooded her face. She prayed to anything out there that she wasn’t about to hurl in the trash can in front of him. “It’s just… Look at you, usually someone who looks like you isn’t cool like that, you know?” He seemed to notice her expression and motioned vaguely to her. With her colorful polo shirt and the ribbons tied in her hair, she was the picture of a ‘good girl’. Of course, she doesn’t listen to metal like he does. But he didn’t seem to notice. That, or he was challenging her. That would be stupid. “What’s your favorite song?” The simple question broke her down. She felt like he could see through her, transparent yet fully on display in front of him. Surely he’d seen through her lie. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed by the whole interaction.
She lifted the tape to draw his attention back to it. “It’s, um, six dollars.”
His face fell, and the smile wiped away completely. “Right.” He pulled crumpled-up bills from his pocket and counted them quickly, his shaking fingers overlooked as she put it in the register. As she handed his receipt over, her eyes caught his, brows knitted together in deep concern, eyes wide and searching. She tore her gaze away.
“Treat this one nicer, please.”
She couldn’t bring herself to meet his dejected gaze, let alone watch him walk out the door. Instead, she stared at the paper in front of her with the note about the new Dio album, written in her pretty red ink until she heard the bell of the door opening and shutting behind him. Angered at herself for letting her meaningless crush get a hold of her, she stuffed the note in a drawer. Fuck Dio, fuck all these albums, fuck her boss, fuck herself for fucking up what could have been a cute moment with her crush.
‘It’s more than a fee-’
Fuck this song.
She slammed the radio off, content to sit and wallow in embarrassment for the rest of the day.
Raw, gnawing guilt ate away at her through the rest of her shift, through her stocking duties after closing, through her whole bike ride home, and all the way up the stairs to her bedroom. As soon as she stepped into her room, with her perfectly made bed and neatly organized desk, she was intruded by thoughts of the metalhead she had spoken to that day. How he was the exact opposite- rough around the edges and loud- and how he would stand out with his leather and denim and wild curls laying against her pretty pastel comforter. How he would probably take up space in here, not only physically but simply with his energy and presence and mannerisms as if everything in her universe was gravitationally pulled towards him.
She ripped those thoughts away and stored them for later. For now, there were other things to be done.
From her work backpack, she pulled the tapes she had grabbed from the store and snuck home with her. Holy Diver. The Last In Line. There were only two albums, which made it easy enough for her to fit them both in one night. In her oversized Hawkins High t-shirt, she sat cross-legged on the carpeted floor next to the cheap sticker-covered telecaster she had practically begged her parents to let her buy, and popped the first tape into her little pink radio, making sure to turn the volume down as low as she could. There’d be hell to pay if her parents caught her.
Come on, Dio, show me what you got.
There was something embarrassing to her about listening to this. It felt strangely intimate, even though she knew it wasn’t, to listen to his favorite band just because it was his favorite band and she wanted to be interesting to him. If her parents found her listening to this…
But she wasn’t thinking about them, too lost in the sound coming from her speakers. So this is what Eddie Munson liked to listen to. She jumped up to grab her senior yearbook from her bookshelf, flipping through to exactly the right page, as if the book remembered and had molded to open immediately to that picture. Eddie Munson, circled with a red sharpie heart, posing among the rest of the Hellfire Club for their obligatory yearbook photo. He had his tongue stuck out, a wild look to him, devilish and taunting. It matched, she decided, even though she knew it was silly. He looked like his favorite music sounded.
‘The Freak?’ Her friend had whispered junior year when she let a little secret slip about the crush she’d been harboring. ‘No way… you know what people say about him, right? You don’t want to get tangled up with that dirtbag. Your parents would kill you.’
I don’t care, (Y/N) thought in the present. Let them kill me. I want to get tangled up with him.
For three days, (Y/N) suffered through her eight-hour shifts. For three days her eyes shot up to check the opening door at every ring of the bell, hoping it was him. And for three days, it wasn’t. For three days, she thought over what she would say if one of these days it was him. Then, on the fourth day, as she was ringing someone up— they were buying Agent Provocateur, the Foreigner album from last December, one that she really enjoyed herself, and couldn’t help but wonder if Eddie would listen with her— when the man in question stepped through the door, another cut-off tank-top, the same denim vest, the same rockstar hair. At first, (Y/N) didn’t believe her own eyes. She’d tricked herself into thinking she’d seen him a few times now, but as she gave a quick “Have a nice day” in her best customer service voice, their eyes met across the store.
Neither tore their gaze away immediately like they had in their last interaction like lovesick fools caught staring across the classroom, but after a few moments, Eddie’s lips turned into an unsure smile, and (Y/N) finally set her gaze on the counter, guilt eating away at her over their parting.
“Hey.”
She jumped, not having noticed him approaching in her peripherals.
“Sorry.” He offered a gentle apology, a half smile on his lips. His tank top was printed with Metallica, the same pins in his vest as always. His appearance was comforting and familiar. Like she always did when he was around, (Y/N) became overly aware of her own appearance, wondering if he thought she was weird, sitting cross-legged on a stool behind the counter, oversized ABBA shirt tucked into flared shorts, frilly socks peeking out from her sneakers and colorful barrettes in her hair. She hoped despite her thoughts that he didn’t think she looked silly.
“It’s okay.” She cringed at how squeaky her voice came out.
“Okay.” He had a similar look of discomfort on his face. He played with his fingers again, twisting the rings around. There was a skull, what looked like a boar, and some other animals. She tried not to stare at the black ink on his forearms– the bats– or the dragon on his bicep. But her eyes gave her away, and as she met Eddie’s gaze, he was already watching. Watching her ogle him.
“I like your dragon.” She pointed at it.
“Thanks.” Eddie smiled, appreciative. “It’s actually a wyvern.” (Y/N)’s brows furrowed, confused. “It just… a dragon with only two legs, really. That’s all.” Wordlessly, the expression on her face changed to one of understanding. Then, Eddie pointed a finger out, poking her own sparkly painted ones resting on the counter. He was warm against the cool of the fan blowing at them, even to the tips of his fingers. Then, he withdrew his hand quickly, as if remembering pointing was rude. Not that (Y/N) would have cared. She craved his attention. "I– I like your nails. They’re cool.”
“Really?” She looked at them, the sparkly polish she’d applied the night before– while listening to that Dio album again, no less. The idea of him thinking they were cool was endearing to her. “Thank you.”
“Yeah.” Then, Eddie held up his own hands, an open invitation for her to stare at them. “I’ve thought of painting mine. People already call me plenty of names, so what’s another, right?” He chuckled.
(Y/N) frowned at the memory of what she’d heard people call him– to his face just as much as behind his back. Freak. Devil worshipper. No good dirtbag. Scum. Even queer. She winced as the word passed through her mind. He would look lovely with some black nail polish. It would suit him. She told him.
“You think?”
“Yeah.”
They smiled at each other before (Y/N) noticed a customer standing behind Eddie. The boy followed her gaze and stepped aside for a little old lady, gesturing kindly for her to go ahead of him. (Y/N) rung her up– some oldie band on vinyl.
“Oh, look at you, young man!” The woman fawned over him. “You look like a rockstar. Are you a rockstar?”
Eddie flushed, smiling at the woman’s kind compliments. He looked cute when he was flustered. “Not quite a star, no.”
“Well, you sure have the look for it, with all that hair!” Then, as (Y/N) handed her her purchase and receipt, she smiled fondly as she turned to leave. “You two are so lovely.”
After a shyly exchanged glance, Eddie responded. “Thank you, ma’am.”
When she was gone and Eddie stepped back to the counter, (Y/N) was suddenly more aware of their surroundings. She’d been getting lost in the pink-tinted haze of her crush standing in front of her for so long that she forgot she was still at work with customers around. “Did, um, did you have something to buy?”
“Oh.” His cheeks tinted pink again as if they’d even stopped. He was cute when he got all rosy, the same way he was cute when he was talking about his favorite bands or his tattoos, and at the thought of him painting his nails.
“Oh?”
“No. No, I– I don’t have anything to buy. I just… came for… to talk?”
(Y/N) froze, shocked. “Talk?” He came just to see me.
“Yeah– I, I guess.”
“You came just to talk to… me?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?” She didn't answer, just glancing at his attire and down to her own. He seemed to follow her eyes, understanding. “Do you think I’m scaryyyy?” He teased, dragging out the end of the word.
“N-no, just–” She faltered, and he waited patiently when she expected him to interrupt. “You’re you and I’m… me.”
His mouth opened. He hesitated. There was something he wanted to say. Again, he fidgeted with his rings. “I actually… wanted to apologize. About that.”
“For, for spooking me earlier?”
“No, no. About last time.”
(Y/N) frowned at his words, wondering what reason he had to apologize. He’d been nothing but a perfect gentleman, from her recollection, if a bit awkward and shy. He was watching her with truly regretful eyes, twisting the rings around his fingers. “What?”
“For, I- for assuming, I guess? What I said, that you didn’t look cool, it was totally dick-ish of me.” He stumbled over his words. When she still didn’t say anything, he dipped his head towards her, as if trying to grab her attention back to him. “I do think you look cool, really, just, I guess, not how I’d imagined. I mean, with you listening to Dio and- I just didn’t expect…”
“Eddie.” She stopped him with her hands held up, letting his name pass her lips for the first time- the first of many, as she’d later find out. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I was rude to you.”
He was silent for a bit, rocking back and forth on his feet as if he had something to say and couldn’t stand still. (Y/N) watched as a playful smile began to pull up at the corners of his pretty lips, obvious that he was trying to hide it, trying to push it down, and clear he was weighing the outcome of the words he could say. The Cars were playing on the radio next to them- “I don’t mind you coming here…”- and his ringed fingers were tapping along to the rhythm. Before she could ask, though, a full grin split across his face, all shame thrown to the wind. Softer, now, with mirth in his eyes, he mused. “You remember me?”
Eddie.
They stood in the silence of her little slip-up for a few moments longer, her cheeks growing hot while he grinned down with such an amused look on his face. How could she even respond? Her heart was pounding in her ears. Of course, she remembered him. She had spent two years admiring him from a distance. But surely someone who was the target of so many awful rumors and had gained such notoriety as the town pariah wouldn’t be forgotten so easily.
“Of course, I remember you. Who doesn’t?”
He pointed at her, that grin not leaving his pretty lips as he twirled a curly lock around his finger. “Ah, I guess you got me there, (Y/N).”
Time could have stopped, and (Y/N) never would have noticed, not with the sound of her name falling out of Eddie’s mouth like that. I was a given that she had remembered him, but what made her so special that he remembered her presence, let alone her name? She noticed, at that quiet moment, locked in his gaze, that her heartbeat was in tempo with the song. She gathered up all her courage.
“You… remember me?”
He scoffed, feigning offense. “You think I could forget you?”
Yes, of course, she thought, I was nobody important. “But– how? Our only class together was--”
“--Mrs. O’Donnell’s senior English class. First semester.” He finished, eyes twinkling with glee. “You helped me with notes when I forgot them… which was… just about every test.” He laughed.
She flustered at the memory. In O’Donnell’s class, students would group together and exchange notes on each night's reading before class began, and (Y/N) had always noticed no one went up to Eddie. Fitting, she’d thought, everyone thinks he’s awful. One day, before a particularly big test, as everyone partnered up, gathering their desks together into little groups, she decided to bite the bullet and approach him. He was doodling on the corner of his paper when she greeted him, and he’d looked up as if he’d never been spoken to before.
“Hi.”
“Um, hi?”
Her confidence was dripping away with every second of his eyes on her. Other students must have been watching too. Maybe he was mean and scary like everyone assumed. “I’m, um.” She lifted up her notes, gesturing to them. “Do you want to go over our notes together?”
His eyes widened, a deer caught in headlights, brows raising into his shaggy bangs. “I- I don’t- I didn’t take any notes.” His voice was quiet, so unlike the other times she’d seen him and his theatrics.
Her sneaking suspicion had been true, though she didn’t want to unfairly believe it. “We have a test today, you know? Open notes. Did you even read the assigned section?” He shook his head. Looking back, she cringed at how she sounded and hoped Eddie hadn’t thought she was stuck up. She was, ultimately, just concerned for him. He was already in his second attempt at senior year, and (Y/N) hated seeing people struggle with no help. “That’s okay. Here, quick, pull out a paper and write my notes down.”
“Well, yeah. No one else was helping you. I thought it was unfair.”
He nodded, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as if she’d hit the nail on the head. “And that’s why I remember you. You know, I think you’re the only reason I passed that class.” A shy smile fluttered onto her face, butterflies filling her up and making her dizzy on her feet. She leaned against the counter, and Eddie matched her pose with a smile, laying his forearms out towards her and leaning in. “Now that we’ve gotten these introductions out of the way, why were you apologizing?”
Flustered, though newly confident on the high that her high school crush remembered her as more than just a wallflower like most people in school thought of her, she opened her mouth and let her bluff fall out. “I lied to you.”
His eyebrows pinched together, the sudden confession confusing him.
“The other day, when you asked me if I listened to Dio.” She couldn’t stop the words from flowing. “I said yes. I lied. I didn’t listen to them. I wanted to sound cool–” Like you are, she meant, but she caught herself.
Eddie stayed frozen for a few moments, gears turning in his head as he sized her up with searching eyes. (Y/N) watched him, embarrassed, and sure this would be the end of their short-lived friendship. Now, he thought she was weird, a liar, not trustworthy. But instead, he nudged her arm with his own, laughing— a sound that erased all of her worries just like that. “I don’t think most people around here would call that cool. Different, definitely. Satanic, probably.” He chuckled, a bitter edge to it. “Take it from me. Don’t go around getting associated with my type of stuff. People will think I’ve corrupted you.”
I don’t care. I want to get tangled up with him.
“I think it’s cool.” She insisted. “It’s music. Loud, heavy music. But it’s music. And I think it– and you– are cool.”
His cheeks tinted pink, a smile sliding out the corner of his lips as he ducked his head a bit shyly, hair shielding his face. “Well, flattery sure does work on me, huh?”
(Y/N) sucked up all of her breath at that statement. She could sit down and flatter him for hours, compliment his bravery, his passion, the way he made her feel. But, instead, she could think of something else he might appreciate. “Rainbow In The Dark.”
“What?”
“Dio. It’s my favorite song… I think. They have a lot of good ones. But I like that one a lot.”
His mouth opened, then shut, then opened again, as if his words were stuck halfway out, eyes sparkling. “I thought you didn’t listen?”
“I… Well, I didn’t. But I did, then. That night.” She reached into her bag at her feet and pulled out the two tapes she had been sneaking home, setting them on the counter between them. Eddie huffed out of his nose, a lighthearted sound. Amused. She smiled, proud. She had flabbergasted Eddie Munson. He was smiling, and it was at something she had done in thinking about him. Her heart swelled. “So, yeah. I think it’s pretty cool.”
“Huh.”
“Huh?”
He was so close to her that she could see his dark eyes darting back and forth between hers. “Rainbow is pretty cool. It suits you, I think.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
A verbal tennis match. Eddie smiled. “I don’t know. Just does. Believe me.”
“Because it’s one of their more poppy-sounding ones? Do you think I’m poppy?”
“Do you think I’m scary?” He countered.
“Hey, I already said no to that!” When he cocked an eyebrow at her, she grinned. “I like the synth in it. It's cool sounding."
Now, he full-on laughed, leaning back from the counter they were leaning in together on. When he stopped, something softer came over his eyes, and he twisted his rings around. He was nervous. “Do you think... Um. Can, um, can I give you my number?”
(Y/N)’s heart thumped in her chest. She could barely hear the song anymore with how loud her heartbeat was pounding in her ears. Through the drumming broke Eddie’s voice, the lighthouse to her ship stuck out at stormy sea, asking if she’d heard him. Of course, she had. Her attention had been on him since the second he'd walked through that door. “Your number?”
“Yeah.” He let the word out in a breath, eyes searching yours, frantic. He lifted a hand to his head, scratching the back of his neck. She tried not to stare at his bicep. “I’d like to talk music more with you. Sometime. Catch up, maybe? It– I mean, if that’s okay with you. If you want to. I want… you’ll have to call me, first, so you can take your time–”
“Eddie.” The second time she said his name aloud, it was with a smile. Nervous, wide-eyed, with a dazed smile on her face. If she had known, mere days ago, that her high school crush would be giving her his number… If high school her could see this… She pushed her journal towards him, open to a blank page. “You can give me your number.”
A wide, toothy grin split across his face, squishing his cheeks up and crinkling his eyes. It was beautiful. He nodded, his hair bobbing. “Shit, cool. Okay. Cool.” His fingers were shaking visibly as he reached for the pen. In glittery red, he scribbled out ten digits, large fingers looking comical on the small pen. He signed his name below it, a mere scribble of capital letters. EDDIE. “Oh, um. If you call and… and I'm not there, if an older man answers who’s not me, don’t think I gave you the wrong number. I live with my uncle.”
“Good to know.”
“So, uh.” Eddie shifted on his feet, smiling. “I should… probably go, sadly.”
“Okay.” She was doing everything she could to keep composed, but her grin was eating her cheeks, her face burning hot to the touch, and she felt dizzy and delirious in this feeling. She had his number. His number. Were they friends now? What did this mean for them? They had spoken for the first time post-high school four days ago, and now she had his number?
He took a few steps back, taking all the time in the world before finally letting his hands slide off the counter. “So, um. Call me, I guess?” The words felt foreign on his tongue as he backed towards the door.
“I’ll call you.” They felt foreign on hers too.
He grinned one last time, waving his hand and not turning around fully until he was at the door. The bell began to ding as he cracked it open, turning over his shoulder as if he didn’t want to leave yet. Through a smile, he called, “See you later, (Y/N).” And then he was gone.
The second time Eddie Munson said her name aloud, her heart felt fuzzy and warm.
She had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time.
![What Love Is; Track One [e.m. X Fem!reader]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/fe0d8753d3c02b2d0eed1e8bbcc74b13/89c367cf65c44aa1-b5/s500x750/2eb6f8f3bb76932d651fbe357970f2dea83aa2b4.png)
Thank you for reading!!!!!!! I won't lie, the entire idea from this fic came from listening to this first song and imagining a 'looking up and seeing the one' moment at the chorus. it just fits. and then I imagined an entire relationship so here we go. The whole premise of the fic is gonna be about their friendship and relationship growing and them learning and being dorks together.
This is the first chapter of at least a few, so be sure to stick around for more!!! I hope you enjoy all the upcoming song references and blatant 80s tropes and awkward teen things in every chapter and check out the official playlist too!!!
REBLOGS AND COMMENTS AND ASKS ARE APPRECIATED!!
— lylia
TRACK ONE | NEXT TRACK >>>
oil & water
bucky barnes x reader
prompt - "If you wanted to take your pants off for me so badly, you could have just said so."
shout out to @ellemj for her encouragement with this ♡
warnings/tags: SMUT, vaginal penetration, oral sex (female receving), face sitting, mentions of violence, description of blood & wounds, no use of y/n, reader is afab, hurt/comfort trope, bickering & banter, friends to lovers, forced close proximity trope. 18 plus only!
word count: 5.8k
“Roll your window up,” Bucky snaps at you as he turns down the music you had just put on moments ago. “The last thing we need is someone noticing the blood caked all over the entire right side of your body.”
As if the lack of functioning AC in the twenty-something year old getaway car (an early 2000’s model Chevy Aveo is inconspicuous, according to Sam) wasn’t stifling enough in the south Georgia summer, the annoyance radiating from the brooding super soldier sitting next to you adds an extra ten degrees.
Sure, Sam. Inconspicuous is the right word to describe a six foot, two hundred plus pound man with a metal arm cramped behind the driver’s seat of the equivalent to a clown car. Bright fucking cherry red and all.
“It’s 103 degrees outside.” You glare at him from the passenger seat, where you’re using a tattered handkerchief found in the glove compartment to put pressure on the knife wound on your shoulder. “I’m going to have a heatstroke.”
“You’re not going to have a heatstroke,” he rolls his eyes at you. “That happening would indicate that I have any amount of good luck.”
“Ha-ha-ha,” you say under your breath, reluctantly rolling up the manual window with your still bleeding arm. “I got the fucking intel, did I not?”
You remove the USB drive from its secure location in the cup of your bra and flash it at Bucky. “Though we’ll be lucky if this thing still works after being drowned in boob sweat, since you won’t let me keep the window rolled down.”
“And nearly got yourself killed in the process.” He grabs the flashdrive from you and grimaces. “We’ll be at the safehouse in less than five minutes, if you can please just refrain from stroking out or bleeding out in the meantime.”
You glance down at the once white handkerchief clutched in your hand. “I’m not making you any guarantees.”
You're welcome for saving your ass, by the way, you resist adding.
Jokes aside, the energy exerted in bringing down over a dozen HYDRA agents in combination with the July heat and the substantial blood loss from your shoulder wound has you feeling woozier by the minute. Factor in a few potentially fractured ribs and a dislocated knee and you're in pretty rough shape.
As promised, just under five minutes later Bucky parks in front of a small trailer just outside the city limits of Valdosta. It's seen better days, but you don't mind as long as it has semi-functioning air conditioning.
Bucky is opening your car door and offering you a hand up before you can take in your surroundings. You force yourself out of your seat, ignoring his outstretched hand and attempting to stand on your own, doing your best to ignore the borderline blinding pain radiating from your right knee.
“Thanks, but I think I can–”
Your vision goes fuzzy as you stumble forward, right into Bucky's chest. Your hand instinctively clutches the fabric of his shirt as you attempt to regain your balance.
“Let me guess. You're capable of stitching up your own shoulder, too?”
He gently loops his arm around your waist, slowly walking the two of you to the front door of the trailer. You try to focus on keeping pressure on the gash on your shoulder and not the feeling of his toned body pressed against you. How does he smell so good after hand to hand combat and sitting in that sauna of a car? You're sure you probably smell like a wet diaper that's been left in the sun for–
Bucky opens the door and guides you inside. The interior of the safehouse is surprisingly homey and clean. It's still uncomfortably warm, but offers a nice reprieve from the violent mid-day sun.
Bucky leads you into the small living space before maneuvering you out of his hold, where you all but collapse onto a suede sofa.
“I guess you do have some amount of good luck, after all,” you mumble, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.
“What are you talking about?” Bucky glances at you from over his shoulder as he flicks on the AC.
“That happening would indicate that I have any amount of good luck,” you quote his sarcastic comment from the car ride.
“Ha-ha-ha,” he fake laughs just as you did. He rummages through a few cabinets and drawers of the small kitchen before finding everything he’s searching for, then makes his way back to where you are on the couch.
“Drink this.” He hands you a bottle of water that you hadn't even noticed him grab. For once you don't object to his instructions, uncapping the bottle and gulping down the contents as quickly as you can.
“You're not having a heatstroke,” he assures you. “But you are going to have to let me stitch up this crater on your shoulder and pop your knee back into place.”
You sit forward, removing the now fully soaked cloth that you've been holding to your shoulder for the last half hour.
Bucky winces at the sight of it, handing you a dishrag before opening a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “You might want to bite down on–”
“I know the drill.” You sigh before putting the rag between your teeth.
He hesitates for a moment before pouring the clear liquid over the wound. You groan against the rag, your eyes squint shut in pain. You've had your fair share of broken bones and black eyes working in this field, but you don't think you'll ever get used to the pain of getting stitches without the comforts of saline solution and anesthesia.
“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, dabbing the cut dry with a paper towel.
Your heart skips a beat at the nickname. “It's part of the job. I've come out of missions worse than this before,” you shrug, squeezing the dish rag he gave you until your knuckles go white as he makes the first incision.
“Never because of me.”
You glance at him, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone. His gaze doesn't leave the thread and needle that he's using to close up the gash on your arm - his normally plump pout set into a hard line.
“You know this isn't your fault, right?” You keep your eyes locked on him. “I saw that guy coming at you out of nowhere and I panicked. I wasn't watching my own back. That's my fault, not yours,” you say earnestly.
“If you say so.” He glances up for a split second, giving you a tight-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes.
“Is that why you've been such a grouch? You're blaming yourself for me not being careful enough?”
“Maybe,” he admits quietly. “Or maybe I just hate seeing you covered in blood for any reason.”
You freeze at the bluntness of his words. You and Bucky have been partners on more missions than you could count at this point - you know that he would have done the same for you if the situation had been reversed; in fact, there had been times where he had taken the brunt of the fight in order to protect you.
All of those instances suddenly flash through your mind.
The time he used himself as a human shield when there was a bomb set off during a recon mission at a warehouse in Tokyo. Or when he football tackled you out of the direct line of an incoming dagger during an operation in Portland. Not to mention the time he left a job all the way in Prague unfinished because he merely suspected you had a concussion.
You had always chalked it up to “that’s what partners do,” but the pained expression on his face as he refuses to meet your eyes has you questioning if there could possibly be more to it.
No. You’re his partner. He’d do the same for anyone else. He wouldn’t want to see anyone on his team covered in blood if he could prevent it.
The two of you sit in a thick silence while he finishes stitching you up.
“There,” he says at last, clipping the excess suture thread with scissors. “Not quite as good as your stitch work, but I think it’ll hold you together.” His voice isn’t as strained as it was moments ago, though you can't help but notice it sounds forced.
“Thank you,” you tell him, ignoring the way your cheeks warmed the tiniest bit at his compliment. “Now for the really fun part,” you add, staring at your throbbing knee.
“You’re in luck,” he says, perking up a bit. “I’ve popped my own knees back into place an embarrassing amount of times, so this should be a breeze.” He repositions himself to have better access to your leg, moving off the couch to perch on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. You attempt to pull the tight fabric of your tactical pants up enough to give him unhindered access to your knee, but it’s too restrictive, immediately causing you to wince in pain.
“Fuck,” you huff. “I’m going to have to take these off.” You pop the button at the top of your pants and begin to push them down your thighs before insecurity can get the better of you. You try not to think about the fact that Bucky's never seen you in such little clothing - pants now pushed down to your calves, only your underwear and the bra and thin tank top you wore underneath the tactical vest that you took off as soon as you were in the safety of the getaway car left to cover you.
Hesitation flashes across Bucky’s face for a brief moment before he scoots over slightly, moving directly in front of you so that he can position his hands on either side of your kneecap. You’re painfully aware of the polar opposite feeling of his right and left hand - his flesh hand is warm and so much softer than you’d expect, his metal one icy and smooth. You aren’t sure which causes the visible goosebumps that now litter your skin.
Maybe it’s not his touch at all. Maybe it’s the way his eyes haven’t left your thighs since you exposed them.
Maybe it’s the fact that if you parted your legs just a few inches, he’d be nestled between them.
Chill out, you berate yourself. He's just relocating your knee for Christ's sake.
“On the count of three,” he starts and you brace yourself. “One, two–”
“MOTHERFUCKER.” You yell out at the same moment your knee creates a loud cracking noise that echoes off the walls of the small trailer. “You said count of three!”
“Would that really have made it less painful?” He shrugs, but doesn't move from where his knees brush against yours. “I think what you mean to say is “thank you, Bucky, you're a lifesaver and I'm now in your debt.”
“In your fuckin’ dreams,” you scoff. “I'm going to wash all of this blood and sweat off of me.” You move to push yourself off of the couch, tugging your pants back up as you stand. You can feel his eyes trail up your body as you do, making you feel woozy all over again. You turn away from him, heading towards the hallway that the bathroom is likely located down.
“I could have done that through your pants, by the way.”
You freeze mid-step, glancing back at him over your shoulder. “What do you mean?” You snap at him.
“Your knee,” he clarifies, a hint of undeniable mischief in his expression. “I could have popped your knee back into place through your pants. If you wanted to take your pants off for me so badly, you could have just said so.”
Just when you thought the safehouse was starting to cool down, your entire body heats up a thousand degrees. You're racking your brain trying to think of a retort when Bucky's ringtone starts blaring from the kitchen countertop. He ignores it, his eyes not leaving yours for what feels like an eternity.
You finally break the silence. “That's most likely Sam wanting to make sure we're not dead. Should probably answer it.”
“Probably should,” he smirks, and at last gets up from the coffee table to answer the phone.
You scurry the rest of the way to the bathroom before he can look back at you again, ignoring the sharp pains that radiate from your ribcage and the now dull ache that spreads from your knee.
You turn the water to cold, and don't get out until you've started to shiver.
— — — — —
When you exit the bathroom and step back into the connected bedroom in only a towel, you see that Bucky has done you the kindness of bringing in the bags that had been stored in the backseat of the getaway car.
You dig through your backpack, pulling out a fresh t-shirt and pair of leggings. From the next room, you can smell the aroma of whatever non-perishable food that Bucky has scrounged together. Despite your growing hunger pains, you take your sweet time combing through your freshly rinsed hair. The thought of looking Bucky in the eye after your last interaction nearly makes you lose your appetite.
What was I thinking? Oh right, I wasn't thinking at all, otherwise I wouldn't have just pushed my fucking pants down right in front of–
“Your five course dinner is getting cold.” Bucky raps his fingers against the bedroom door, startling you from your thoughts.
“Be right there,” you call back to him, swiping some deodorant under your arms. You take a glance at yourself in the bedroom’s small vanity mirror and immediately wish that you hadn't – you're cleaner than you were by miles, at least no longer covered in your own blood as well as the blood of HYDRA agents – but your cheekbone is lightly bruised, there's a slit on your bottom lip, and the bags under your eyes make it look like you haven't had a decent night's sleep in a month.
You take a deep breath and then walk back to the one room that makes up the kitchen, dining area and living room.
“Beef or shrimp ramen?” Bucky asks as you climb onto one of the barstools on the opposite side of the counter from where he's standing.
“Hm,” you contemplate, not meeting his stare and instead occupying yourself with another bottle of water that he's placed where you now sit.
Fucker probably wouldn't fluster me so bad if he wasn't being so damn thoughtful.
“I'll go with shrimp,” you answer, remembering that beef is his favorite.
He slides the bowl across the counter and then hands you a fork. You finally get the nerve to look up and meet his stare that feels as if it weighs two tons.
“So, what did Sam say?” You try to go for light conversation, twisting the fork around your noodles. “Are we free to get out of here once it's dark out?”
“Not…quite,” he hesitates, now seeming particularly interested in his own food. “The car battery kind of died.”
“What do you mean the car battery kind of died?”
“While you were in the shower, I tried to move the car behind the house so that anyone driving by wouldn't immediately know that someone's here. It started fine, but as I was driving it around back it just.. stopped. Had to push it the rest of the way.”
You let out a dramatic groan as he continues.
“I called Sam again and he said the earliest they can send someone to get us is in the morning.”
“Well,” you exhale, blowing a raspberry with your lips. “We can flip a coin to see who gets the bed?” You ask lightheartedly. This isn’t the first time that you and Bucky have had an overnight mission together, but it is the first overnight mission where the two of you haven’t had your own motel rooms or at least a safehouse with two beds.
He looks at you quizzically, furrowing his eyebrows. “You really think there’s a chance of me making you sleep on the couch? In your condition?”
“My condition?” you laugh. “I’ve got a few stitches, I’m not dying of cancer.”
“You don’t think I’ve noticed the way it’s uncomfortable for you to inhale and exhale? You’ve probably got a couple fractured ribs with the way you landed on that cement. If not fractured, then at least heavily bruised. You’re not sleeping on the couch.”
Between his tone and the look on his face, you know it isn’t up for debate. You throw your hands up in faux surrender.
“Serving me instant ramen and letting me take the king sized bed?” you say teasingly. “Keep it up and I'm going to think that you're soft on me.”
His gaze on you is heavy as he takes a long sip of water from his own bottle. “Wouldn't that be a shame?”
— — — — —
The rest of the afternoon is spent with you lounging in bed, resting your injuries and reading some cheesy western romance novel that you found in the drawer of the bedside table.
Bucky keeps to the living room, where you hear a violent sounding movie playing from a TV that has to be as old as you are.
You tell yourself that you're staying in the bedroom because you need to take it easy and relax, but truthfully you feel suffocated by the tension that has been escalating between you and Bucky since you arrived here.
A certain level of tension had always been there, you knew deep down. From the first time the two of you met almost two years ago.
Bucky had been formally introduced to the team just a few weeks prior, and it was his first official mission. An undercover mission - just the two of you.
Posing as an engaged couple at a party thrown at the estate of a notorious crime boss in order to obtain intel. Pretty straight forward - it was far from your first undercover mission. And then it was sprung on you at the last minute that the man who you'd only met once, less than a month ago, was to be your fiancé for the evening.
The bastard even went as far as to slip the fake engagement ring on your finger himself.
“Natasha picked this out. She said it needed to be a princess cut, because that's what you like.”
You chuckled as he went to slide the rock onto your ring finger. “What? You're not going to get down on one knee?”
The mission went shockingly smooth, you and Bucky were in and out with the needed intel in just a few hours. But those few hours replayed in the back of your mind more often than you care to admit.
The way his arm stayed wrapped securely around your shoulder or waist the entire hour that you mingled as guests. How he pulled you into a slow dance to discuss the plan for sneaking into the study on an off-limits floor. The musky smell of his aftershave and the spearmint on his breath.
And especially the way he referred to you as his “bride” when introducing yourselves to people, on more than one occasion throughout the night.
“And who is this absolutely beautiful young woman on your arm?” an elderly man with eye boogers and booze on his breath asks Bucky.
“This is my bride,” Bucky introduces you, giving him your undercover name. “She is beautiful, isn’t she? Most beautiful woman here, if I do say so myself.”
Saying that Bucky played his part well that night would have been an understatement. Saying that he played his part scarily well would be a more accurate assertion.
After grabbing the intel and fleeing the scene, neither of you ever mentioned that mission again. Not the lingering touches, smoldering stares - not even the way he shoved you up against the wall of a corridor, cupped your face in his large hands, and kissed you senseless for half a minute when you came close to getting caught sneaking into the private office by security at the very end of the evening.
“Do you think that was believable?” he asks nervously, his hands still clutching your face as he looks around the hallway for any lingering guards.
“Ye-yeah,” you stutter breathily. “As believable as it possibly could be.”
There’s a light knock on the partially open bedroom door that draws you back to the reality of the safehouse. You realize that you’ve been staring at the same paragraph in your book for the last half hour.
"Yeah?” you answer, bringing yourself to a sitting position.
Bucky peaks his head around the door, opening it further so that you can see what he is carrying.
“I’m tired of watching old James Bond movies,” he sighs, glancing between you and the stack of board games in his arms. “I found these in the TV stand.”
“I kicked your ass in Battleship last time we played,” you remind him. “Do you really want a rematch of that?”
“How about we make a bet?”
— — — — —
Half an hour later, you've eaten your own words, now owing Bucky a large meat lovers pizza from his favorite parlor in Brooklyn and two weeks worth of laundry duty when you return to the compound.
“How'd you get so good?” you demand as he makes the winning attack. “You were so lame at this last time.”
“Maybe I just let you win last time,” he shrugs with a shit-eating grin.
You just shake your head in defeat, wincing as you stand up from where you had been playing on the shag area rug in the living room.
“No,” you declare firmly. “No, I don't believe that. There's no way you'd willingly let me win anything. I've learned that the hard way during hand to hand combat training way too many times.”
Bucky belly laughs from where he still sits on the floor, his gaze trailing after you.
You walk over to where he has piled the board games on the coffee table, trying to find something you were confident you could win.
Monopoly isn't fun with only two players, Risk takes too long —
Your eyes lock onto a card game peeking out from underneath the Sorry! box.
You pick it up, turning back to face him with a growing smile on your face.
“Absolutely not,” he says firmly. “I'm over a hundred years old–”
“What does age have to do with truth or dare?!” You exclaim, sitting back down on the floor once more.
“I haven't been roped into a game of truth or dare since the 1930's,” he groans.
“Scared of what you might have to do?” You tease, unboxing the cards. “Or what you might have to admit?”
He stares at you for a long moment, pursing his lips. The disapproval doesn't quite reach his eyes - you can tell by the way they gleam that he's going to cave.
“Maybe a bit of both,” he admits. He tousles his fingers through his hair and moves to cross his legs at the ankles. “Fine,” he relents. “One game.”
You squeal like a kid in a candy store as you shuffle the deck of cards and lay them in a stack between you.
“Elders first,” you motion to the pile.
He rolls his eyes, drawing one from the top – dare.
“Smell another player's armpit,” he deadpans. You're instantly thankful that you remembered to cram a stick of deodorant into your backpack when packing for the mission.
“Well?” You lift up your arm. “I'm the only other player here and it's not going to sniff itself.”
Bucky sighs, leaning across the game to put his nose directly next to the opening of your t-shirt sleeve. “Lavender,” he observes after inhaling, giving you an approving nod. “As far as dares go, I got lucky.”
“Lucky that I showered earlier,” you mumble as you draw your turn, your cheeks warming slightly.
Truth.
“Who was your last kiss with and what was it like?”
Your heart plummets to your stomach as you read the words aloud. Bucky waits impatiently as you fiddle with the piece of paper in your hands.
“Might I remind you, you are the one who wanted to play this game so desp–”
You hold up a finger and make a shushing sound, silencing him as he grins menacingly.
“My last kiss was almost two years ago,” you answer honestly, looking back down at the card to avoid his stare. He can always tell when you're lying, why even try?
“With a man I barely knew,” you continue. “We had to pretend to be in love for the evening. It was a shockingly easy thing to do. When he pushed me up against a wall and kissed me as a distraction to security guards, I had to remind myself that it was an act. We never spoke about it again. But now two years later, I'm telling him that I think of that kiss often.”
When you finally look up, you can't decipher the look on his face. Long gone is the mischievous grin from just moments ago, in its place is.. shock? Perplexity?
“And why exactly have you not kissed anyone else since then?” He asks quietly.
“Nope,” you say, popping your lips on the p. “That's not how the game works, you don't get to add sub-questions.”
His eyes don't leave yours as he draws his next card.
His turn for truth. He glances down to read his question.
“Have you ever wanted to have sex with any of the players?”
Forget your cheeks feeling warm - your entire body feels like it's on fire as you wait for him to answer.
He chuckles, tossing the card on top of the other two that had already been picked.
“Every goddamn day since I kissed her almost two years ago.”
You aren't sure which one of you snaps first. You lunge forward at the same moment that he's leaning across the splay of cards to grasp your face in his hands just like he did in that corridor two years ago. The same hint of spearmint on his breath, a bit more stubble on his jaw, and a sense of desperation that wasn't there before.
He moves his hands to your lower back, pulling you flush against him as you both sit on your knees. Your own hands find the hem of his shirt, your fingers dancing across the skin of his waistline.
“I asked you why you haven't kissed anyone since we last kissed,” he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away, both of you breathless. “You don't have to answer, but that..” his mouth moves to the side of your throat where he trails open-mouth kisses across the sensitive flesh of your pulse point.
“That's why I haven't kissed anyone else, either.”
A pathetic, small moan escapes past your lips at his admission. In a split second decision, you take control. You place your hands across his chest, pushing him down onto the shag rug that you'd been playing games on just moments ago. He lets himself fall back, pulling you with him.
You straddle him, positioning yourself directly on his already evident erection. You drag yourself forwards, and then backwards, desperate for friction - he groans beneath you, jutting upwards.
The fabric of your pants between you feels like a prison.
You scoot back a few inches - just far enough to give yourself enough room to unbutton his jeans.
“Wait, wait,” he stops you as you're about to begin pulling down his pants and underwear. You freeze, petrified that you've crossed a line–
“I haven't stopped thinking about having your thighs wrapped around my head since I saw them earlier,” he says as he hooks his hands around them and hauls you up to his chest. “Take these off and sit on my face.” He tugs on the waistline of your leggings.
“If you wanted me to take my pants off for you so badly, you could have just said so,” you echo his earlier teasing.
“I'm asking you now, sweetheart,” his voice has a strained edge to it. “Don't make me beg.”
Though the notion of him begging has wetness pooling down your thighs, you're too eager to entertain it.
You stand up, directly above him as he keeps his position on the floor. You shimmy your leggings down your thighs, this time completely removing them and tossing them somewhere behind you. He tugs his t-shirt over his head and throws it in the general direction of your discarded pants.
With you still standing above him, he leans forward so that his face brushes against the inside of your thighs. He brings his hands to the band of your underwear, hooking his fingers and slowly pulling them down until they're at your ankles.
You slip them off as he lays back down on the floor. A bit apprehensively, you sit so that your bare pussy is against his hard chest.
“Just stop me if it's too uncomfortable or if you can't breathe or any–”
He cuts you off by all but picking you up and hauling you up to his face.
“I wouldn't worry about that,” his voice vibrates against the flesh of your innermost thighs. He tugs you down just one more inch so that his mouth makes contact with your center.
You gasp out in pleasure as his tongue begins exploring your folds. There's no restraint about it - he sets a brutal pace, alternating between fucking his tongue into your cunt and sucking on your clit.
You're writhing above him, grinding your pussy against his mouth. You go to squeeze your breasts, pulling your t-shirt off when you realize it's the one clothing article you've yet to shed.
When he realizes that you're now completely naked above him, he lets out an animalistic groan as he laps a thick lick up your center.
The vibration, in addition to him now squeezing your ass with enough pressure that he's bound to leave behind fingertip shaped bruises, is enough to send you spiraling to your climax.
You involuntarily squeeze your thighs around his cheeks, riding out your orgasm as he continues to wrap his lips around your throbbing clitoris.
You go still for a moment, aside from your heaving chest, as you come back down to earth.
You climb off of him, your jellified legs nearly causing you to collapse onto the floor next to him.
He props himself up with one arm, looking down at you. His face is thoroughly glistening with your juices.
You can't help but think he's never looked hotter.
A proud grin begins to form across his features as you pull him down to you by the back of his neck.
You kiss him with as much feverency as you can muster in your post orgasm haze, tasting the semi-sweet tang of your come on his lips and tongue.
“It's your turn to get these off,” you demand, drawing back from the kiss to pull at the waistband of his pants.
“Can I at least take you to the comfy bed before this goes any further?” he bargains. “You are still recovering from multiple injuries, you know.”
“I can assure you that I've never felt better.” But you let him have his way. He stands before picking you up, lifting you so that you can wrap your legs securely around his midsection. His large hands planted firmly on your ass, he walks the short distance to the bedroom. Your nipples pebble as they press against his bare chest.
He gently places you on top of the comforter before standing back, at last removing his jeans and boxers. His cock springs forward, slapping against his lower belly.
Your mouth goes dry at the sight. If it had been a long time since you had been kissed, it had been even longer since you had been fucked.
He crawls onto the bed, hovering above where you lay. You automatically open your legs to allow him between them.
His eyes rake up and down your body, pausing on your breasts.
"You're goddamn stunning.”
Before you can respond, he's leaning down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth. Rolling it between his teeth, the sensation has you arching your back into his touch. You can feel the tip of his cock jutting against your core - teasing but not yet entering.
He starts to line himself up at your hole, his eyes locking onto yours as he pumps himself in his hand. He brings his lips down to yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth at the same moment he nudges his tip past your entrance.
There's a blissful burn as he cautiously buries himself inside you - you're simultaneously thankful that he's going slow and needing him balls deep. He pushes in, inch by inch, until you're filled to the hilt. When he can't get any deeper, he pulls back - and slams back into you all at once.
You swear you can feel him in your stomach. You look down at where your bodies connect, the sight of him sliding in and out of you enough to have you on the edge of climaxing again already.
He brings his metal hand to knead your breast.
"Do you have any idea how many times I've pictured having you under me like this?” He coos. You gyrate your hips to meet his thrusts, causing his eyes to roll back into his head.
“How many times I've thought about what your little moans would sound like?”
Your only answer is a gutteral moan of his name as you wrap your arms around him and dig your nails into the flesh of his back.
“Your pussy feels even more like heaven than I imagined it would.”
His praises send you over the edge - you're coming for a second time, clenching around him as his thrusts grow messy. He fucks you through your orgasm before he loses control himself, burying his face in the curve of your neck as he spills into you.
With you still panting and limp beneath him, his movements gradually come to a stop but he doesn't pull out - instead he flips you to your side and maneuvers himself into a spooning position behind you.
He peppers soft kisses along the skin of your shoulder, being careful to avoid your stitches, and relaxes beside you.
“Remind me to dislocate my knee more often,” you joke, processing everything that just happened.
He snorts, then tilts your head up to meet his gaze. “Remind me to play truth or dare with you more often.” He captures your lips in his, this kiss slower than any of the ones before.
“I guess it would be weird to make you do my laundry for two weeks now, huh?” He teases, earning a laugh from you.
“You do still owe me a pizza, but I'll be happy to share it with you.”
♡♡♡♡♡
18+ hoes (rough shiii)
Dom Eddie has a special place in my heart. Rough Eddie. Mean Eddie. His hand gripping your jaw so fucking tight it hurts. His fingers hooking over your bottom lip forcing your mouth open so he can spit right in it and make you swallow. His ringed fingers squeezing your throat until you see stars. Forceful and strong. Handprints across your ass. Yanking your hair back as he pounds your pussy. Welts and little bruises litter your skin. Because he knows that’s how you like it. It’s what you beg him for. But my favorite part is picturing Eddie after your ‘rough’ times. Goofy Eddie, sweet Eddie, always making sure to clean you up and take care of you. Making sure you know how good you were for him. How much you mean to him. It’s like a character he plays. I picture it almost like a switch. One second he can be fucking you until you can’t see straight and then it’s like normal Eddie is there and he’s just like “Holy fuck, sweetheart. Who was that in there? That guy’s a fucking freak.” while pouring you both a glass of chocolate milk.
Hi lovely! Here’s my ask: Bucky and reader have been pinning for each other nonchalantly for a while but reader says something that causes Bucky to throw them over his shoulder and threatens to tickle the shit out of them (and then does it after seeing how flustered they are). Feelings get confessed, weaknesses are exposed, it’s a whole plate of fluff. 🥰😘
hell. why not? This prompt is so fun - thanks, anon! hope you enjoy x
Predictable
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (no pronouns used)
Word count: ~1500
Content / warnings: swearing, kissing, tickle fic
minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a romantic and intimate storyline between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.
The hallway was quiet except for the sharp click of your boots and the heavy, measured steps of Bucky Barnes beside you. The mission briefing had ended, the others scattering to their own quarters, leaving you and him walking under the hum of fluorescent lights.
“You’re quieter than usual tonight,” you said, casting a sidelong glance at him. “Bored? Lost in thought? Don’t tell me you’re planning another dramatic brooding session. Maybe in front of a window, rain streaking down the glass?”
Bucky looked at you, one brow quirked, his lips curling faintly at the corner. “You done?”
“I gotta say, you’re really sticking to the dark soldier aesthetic,” you quipped, hands shoved in your pockets. “It’s impressive. Very consistent.”
His lips twitched in the ghost of a smirk. “Consistent, huh? That your way of saying I’m boring?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say boring.” You turned to him, letting your grin curl just sharp enough to bait him. “More… predictable.”
He stopped walking, his head tilting just slightly, and the gleam in his eye made something in your chest tighten.
“Predictable?” he repeated, his tone soft, like he was rolling the word around to test it.
You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek to suppress the grin threatening to spread. “It’s not a bad thing, Bucky. You’re… reliable. Steady. I can set my watch by your moods - glare, brood, occasional grunt of disapproval. It’s comforting, really.”
The words hung in the air for a beat too long, and you were suddenly hyperaware of the silence and tension stretching between you.
“What?” you asked, try to hold back a smirk. “Did I hit a nerve?”
His gaze sharpened on yours, glinting with something dark and teasing that made the hair on the back of your neck rise. “You really think I’m predictable?”
The air between you crackled with tension, each word a spark igniting the unspoken feelings lurking beneath the surface. You felt a flush creeping up your neck, but you held your ground, refusing to let him see how much his attention affected you.
“I’m just saying-”
Before you could finish, he moved. Quick as a snap, his hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you toward him. You stumbled, nearly cursing, before he bent low, braced his shoulder into your middle, and straightened, hoisting you up and over.
“Bucky!” Your voice came out an octave higher than usual, your palms pressing against his broad back as you flailed. “Put me down!” you hissed, your fists pounding helplessly at his shoulders as the world spun upside down.
He ignored you, his laughter low and dangerous as it rumbled through his chest. “Still think I’m predictable?”
“Yes! You’re-” Your voice caught, your brain short-circuiting when his palm splayed against the back of your thigh to keep you steady. The touch was firm, effortless, and it did unforgivable things to your ability to form coherent words. “Y-you’re shooting the messenger. This is completely unnecessary!”
“Unnecessary?” he echoed, his tone laced with a sinister amusement. “You sure about that? Because I think this is overdue.”
Your stomach flipped at the shift in his voice - low and teasing, laced with a playful edge you’d never heard before.
He turned a corner abruptly and nudged open a door with his boot, stepping into a small, dimly lit storage room.
“Wait, what- what are you doing?” you demanded, kicking your legs uselessly. “Bucky, I swear- ”
“I’d save your breath if I were you,” he said darkly, the door clicking shut behind him.
Your mind lurched. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
A slow, devilish chuckle rolled through him. “It means, smartass, that I’m about to tickle the shit outta you.”
Your brain flatlined.
You froze. Completely froze. For the first time, your mouth opened - but nothing came out. Heat flared across your entire body, and Bucky’s amused hum was like a spark to gasoline.
“Oh,” he hummed, patting your thigh like some cruel punctuation to your embarrassment, “that got your attention.”
“Shut up!” you finally spluttered, mortified, because now he knew. Now he knew, and you’d just handed him a weapon far more dangerous than any gun or blade.
His laughter was low, dark, and - gods help you - so unfairly attractive that it only made things worse. “What, did I hit a nerve?”
Your heart slammed against your ribs. Your squirming renewed tenfold, panic spiking through you as you tried to push yourself up off his shoulder. “Don’t you dare, Bucky Barnes! I swear-”
He unceremoniously let you drop back onto your feet, your balance faltering as you collided with his chest, still breathless. You shoved at him instinctively, trying to regain your footing, but he was already advancing, backing you toward the nearest wall.
Your face was on fire now, your usual sharp wit nowhere to be found. You’d never seen him like this - playful, teasing, free - and it was completely throwing you off.
You stammered, breath catching as your back hit the wall. “B-Bucky- no! Don’t-”
“You're really worked up about this,” he interrupted, his voice low and gravelly, a smirk tugging at his lips. The shadows softened the hard lines of his face, but his eyes… his eyes burned with something else.
He leaned in slightly, caging you in with his hands braced against the wall beside your head. “You’re nervous.”
“I am not,” you hissed, even as you felt your face go hotter.
The smirk grew. “I think you’re lying.”
“I’m not-”
"Predict this, sweetheart."
Before you could blink, his hands darted to your hips, fingers digging in with deliberate precision. Your reaction was immediate - a gasp, a choked laugh you couldn’t swallow back in time.
“No!” you shrieked, laughter already bubbling out of you as you squirmed violently. “I take it back, okay?! I take it back!”
“Too late,” Bucky replied, grinning like the devil himself as his hands squeezed your sides again. “Now I’m invested.”
"B-Bucky! Cut it out!"
“Cut it out?” he repeated, his tone mock-innocent as his fingers dugs across your ribs. “I thought you were tougher than this.”
“Shut up!” you managed between gasping laughs, your cheeks burning with humiliation and something dangerously close to exhilaration.
“Is this what you wanted?” he taunted, his voice dark and edged with amusement. “When you called me predictable? Did you want me to prove you wrong?”
Your response was lost in another fit of helpless laughter as his hands found a particularly sensitive spot just under your ribs. You twisted against him, but his grip was unrelenting, his body solid against you.
You let out a strangled laugh, pressing back against the wall as your knees started to give. “You’re- you’re cool! And- and spontaneous and - Bucky - fuck! You’re hot and mysterious and-”
He paused for a second, his grin sharpening as he processed your accidental confession. “Hot, huh?” he murmured, his voice low and entirely too smug.
Your face burned like the sun. “I didn’t mean- fuck, just forget I said-”
“Oh, no,” he said, his hands still firmly on your waist. “I think we’re gonna talk about that later.”
“Buck, I didn't-”
“Nope,” he interrupted, his fingers digging into your sides again, drawing another breathless shriek from you. “We’re not done yet.”
Your laughter filled the room, wild and unguarded, as you tried in vain to squirm away. He zeroed in on your lowest ribs, his fingers hitting angles that sent you reeling. You tried to hold on the desperate peal of laughter, but it echoed through the storage room as your knees weakened further.
“Bucky!” you gasped, your voice breaking as you gripped at his jacket to try and keep yourself upright, another shriek bursting through your lips when his fingers pressed into another susceptible spot. "Please! I can't breathe- BUCKY!"
His grin softened, and for a moment, the teasing melted into something quieter, something genuine. He caught your chin gently with one hand, lifting your gaze to meet his.
“Hot, huh?” he repeated, softer this time, his eyes searching yours.
The word hung in the air, a moment of suspended silence between frantic laughter and tension thick enough to choke on. You froze, still panting, your face burning with horror.
Bucky stilled too, his gaze locking onto yours. Then, slowly, his grin returned - this time sharper, hungrier.
His lips were on yours before you could think, a sudden, fiery kiss that stole the air from your lungs.
You melted immediately, fingers curling into the front of his shirt as he pressed you further into the wall, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck as he tilted your head back, the other gripping your hip. The heat of it was overwhelming, his lips firm and insistent. It was messy, unpracticed, and searingly real.
When he pulled back, you were breathless, still panting, cheeks aflame. His thumb brushed your temple, sending a shiver up your spine, and the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk as his lips grazed yours.
“Did you see that coming, too?”
You couldn’t help it - you grinned against his lips. “Yeah. From a mile away.”
Before he had the chance to retaliate, you kissed him again.
Foundations Masterlist
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Warnings: 18+. Slight Angst. Fluff. Slow Burn. Neurological Damage. Depiction of Symptoms. (Bucky). Smut.
Summary: Bucky is doing his best to build a stable life for his newfound son, rescued from the guts of a Hydra facility. As he struggles with unexpected fatherhood and his own circumstances, he meets someone who slowly becomes part of their lives, establishing a connection he never saw coming.
note: In this universe Steve didn't leave, Tony doesn't know that the Winter Soldier killed his parents, and everything is relatively ok. Let’s just pretend for a bit.
Status: Ended.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Dividers by: @/strangergraphics
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r, 25, a collection of fics I enjoyed - 18+ I follow from @spookysaturn
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