#as good a reason bucky barnes

[gaysindistress]

As Good a Reason - masterlist

pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x reader

summary: when Brock Rumlow picks a fight he can’t win with the White Wolf, he drags his Snake back. Six years after she ran away, Y/N Rumlow is faced with a choice to make; do as she’s told and kill the White Wolf or overtake her father instead because spite’s as good a reason to take his power?

status: complete

warnings: mob!Bucky, cursing, gangs/crime, death, smutty moments, violence, angst, fluff, mentions of sex, murder, slow burn, smut, violence, weapons. Each chapter will have its own warnings as well and please read at your own risk!

gaysindistress masterlist

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT OR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest. The women in the banners are not how Y/N is supposed to look. They are merely for aesthetic purposes and Y/N is written for anyone to see themselves in her.

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[5ummit]

Source: 缭乱阁 | Weibo

[bromcommie]

ok but we. we should’ve gotten thunderbolts bucky after the winter soldier movie.

like. the whole extremely done but grimly efficient + borderline-vengeful brutal thing? the in-between getting adjusted look? shouldn’t have come AFTER they gave him (admittedly very shoddy) closure and more importantly soft lil shirts and smiles and role as big softie weirdo uncle in his fucking adopted family in Louisiana

[buckydeservesthebest]

OK SO HEAR ME F*CKING OUT!!!

Bucky Barnes, the Bucky Barnes we know would NEVER, EVER agree to try to murder anyone, not even bad guys, WILLINGLY.

Bucky didn't even want to kill the bad guys he faced like the Flag Smashers, not even Zemo, even when he had plenty of reasons to do so.

Bucky has made it clear time and time again that the last thing he wants to do is hurt others.

To make him act like the Winter Soldier voluntarily is horrifyingly out of character! Proving that he is not the Winter Soldier is literally the crux of his story in TFATWS!!!!

His suit in Thunderbolts has virtually the same components that HYDRA used to outfit him as the Winter Soldier.

Besides it is obvious that this scene is identical to that of CA:TWS.

The only explanation for this is that Bucky is being mind controlled again... There is no other way...

My theory is that whoever is mind controlling Bucky is using a different method than HYDRA's trigger words.

We know that something similar will happen to Isaiah Bradley in Cap4. That means the government has access to mind control methods. And Bucky "works" for Congress/Government. The new Ross government! The pin that Bucky wears is the same one that can be seen on the Ross Funko. Of course there is a connection there.

Also, we know from the book The Wakanda Files, that Bucky's brain has irreparable damage that even Shuri couldn't heal... So maybe Marvel is building on that...

Another possible explanation is Loki's scepter, suspiciously shown in the same scene as Bucky. Maybe some of the power of the mind stone is still there and that's what they're using to control him!

I strictly refuse to believe that Marvel made our Bucky become a ruthless bad guy voluntarily! THAT'S NOT THE BUCKY WE'VE SEEN FOR 13 YEARS!!!!!

Besides, if Bucky were really the kind of person to accept those kinds of missions, he would have already been recruited by Val to do her dirty work like the rest of the TBs.

Precisely, according to an insider, Congress assigns Bucky the task of investigating Val and exposing her dirt.

And if that wasn't enough, even when Bucky pretended to be the Winter Soldier in TFATWS, HE NEVER CARRIED WEAPONS!

So my complete theory is:

Bucky is being blackmailed by Ross' government to work for them, in exchange for not pursuing charges against what he "did" as the Winter Soldier, and that explains the court scene.

He is assigned the task of investigating Val.

He discovers what she is doing along with the TBs, and reports it.

At some point they (or perhaps Val herself from the shadows) assign him the task of tracking down and/or eliminating the TBs, but he refuses which causes them to resort to some sort of mind control to force him.

Bucky eventually breaks free of the mind control and ends up having to work alongside the TBs to overthrow Val.

And as a bonus, Bucky is the voice of reason and the leader who inspires the TBs to improve and be better people, as Seb said: "A guy coming into this group that was chaotic and degenerate, and somehow finding a way to unite them."

Bucky is and always has been a good man who has never enjoyed having to fight. I SWEAR IF MARVEL CHANGES THAT, WHICH IS ALL WE'VE SEEN FOR 13 YEARS, I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M GOING TO DO.

Whatever the truth is, I HATE with all my heart that our poor boy is going through this horrifying situation as if he hasn't already suffered enough!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 😭😭😭 😭

[stucky-headcanon-bot]

🎂

[s0fter-sin]

they really 50/50’d the thunderbolts with characters i like and characters i couldn’t give less of a shit about

[sagaduwyrm]

I just rewatched The Winter Soldier for the nth time and it's just such an amazing movie. The perfection of the weapons designed to 'stop threats before they can happen' shooting themselves down because they, and the philosophy they symbolize, are the real threat, and that Captain America, who uses a shield instead of a weapon, leads the charge against them. It messes me up every time.

[slashtakemylife]

Me: *writes a fic piece where Bucky confronts his feelings for Steve post-Endgame and let's go and moves on while still keeping a fond memory of him*

My salty self: Now write that salty snippet of Steve coming back crawling like the fxking bastard he is but Bucky kicks him out his house and life for good.

Me: But I thought we said we would get over it in a nice note for both characters

My salty self: You can get over it too by making him regret that last fxking choice he did for life

[buckydeservesthebest]

My beautiful precious babyboy always so supportive with his friends 🥺😭

SEBASTIAN STAN

as Bucky Barnes - The Falcon and The Winter Soldier (2021)

[gaysindistress]

As Good a Reason - seven

pairing: ⚠️Dark!Mob!Bucky⚠️ x reader

summary: when Brock Rumlow picks a fight he can’t win with the White Wolf, he drags his Snake back. Six years after she ran away, Y/N Rumlow is faced with a choice to make; do as she’s told and kill the White Wolf or overtake her father instead because spite’s as good a reason to take his power?

warnings: ⚠️Dark!Mob!Bucky⚠️, cursing, blood, more character deaths, smutty moments but not full spice

word count: 2.6k

Tag list @kandis-mom @casa-boiardi @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @cakesandtom @unaxv @hidden-treasures21 @vonalyn @emerald-writes

a/n: AHHHH HERE'S THE FINAL PART OF AS GOOD A REASON!!!! I know I went MIA for a minute but I'm back. I started a new job and moved states so it's been an absolutely crazy week for me. Going forward, I'm going to be slower with updating and fics will probably only come out once a week. I've been focusing on editing Divine Violence and catching up on my reading stack (my poor kindle is overloaded) but I promise I won't forget about all of you on tumblr <3 <3 <3

six | series masterlist

Victoria is silent during the drive, keeping her stare ahead and out the front window without so much as a single glance to her sister or brother. Y/N keeps shooting glances at Niklaus for explanation but he offers nothing. 

“Vic,” she says softly, touching her sister’s shoulder and she flinches at the touch, “Vic what’s wrong?”

She doesn’t answer at first but the second time that her sister asks, she briefly looks back at her and whispers something. 

“What did you say?”

Clearing her throat, she says the unthinkable, “Brock made me do it.”

“What did he make you do?” Niklaus says as he leans towards the front seat. 

“I didn’t have a choice. He….he said if I loved him, I would do it.”

Steve glances over in concern from the driver’s seat, “What is she going on about?”

“I know just as much as you,” Y/N scoffs before turning to her sister, “Vic what did he make you do?” “He said that if I was a good daughter, I would do it,” she mumbles to herself as she pulls something from under her loose sweatshirt. Steve looks over at her again and slams on the breaks in efforts to stop her from pulling out the weapon. The sudden stop sends everyone flying forward as well the knife Victoria had started to pull out. Steve snatches it up before she can with one hand and has a gun pointed at with the other. The car behind them, the one that Sam and James are in, slams to a halt as well as the two men clamor out. 

“What the fuck?” James hisses when he approaches the driver’s side. He narrows his eyes at everyone inside the car and lets out a disappointed sigh when he sees the knife and a shaking Victoria. 

“I expected more of you, Victoria Marie,” he scolds her as if she is a child and nods to Sam and Steve. Sam rips the backseat door open and pulls the other two triplets out as Steve hands him the knife. 

“What are you doing?” Niklaus sneers at Sam and James but neither of them answer. Y/N tries her hand at getting an answer but again gets nothing aside from a stern look from James. Steve exits the vehicle next as the two are dragged back to the second car. He grabs hold of Y/N who fights him tooth and nail to get out of his hold but it’s useless. 

As they’re shoved into the car, they hear a gunshot. Both gasp and let out cries of anger, rage, pain, sadness, anything at all that they’ve felt in the last six years. James joins them in the car, cleaning the barrel of Steve’s gun off on his pant leg. He says nothing as Sam drives off. 

The car where Victoria should be in is starting to smoke as flames try to lick up the sides. Y/N looks at him in horror but no reaction. 

Two Rumlows gone in the span of two hours. 

Who is next?

Five days pass before Y/N leaves her room. 

She guarded the door with any piece of furniture she could find and refused to open it unless absolutely necessary. Niklaus, of course, had been the only expectation however he too rarely left his room. 

That was until Steve pounded on their doors, demanding that they be downstairs in 15 minutes for a reunion dinner. Y/N scoffs at the idea of having a reunion dinner when all her and her brother want to do is grieve. 

Another pound on the door brings her attention back and she takes a sharp breath in before opening it. A black box sits on the ground in front of the door and it takes everything in her to not stomp on the fragile lid. She picks it up and tosses it onto her bed, staring at it as she sits on the floor. It’s similar to the box she got that first night days ago. 

Weeks ago. 

Months ago?

Honestly at this point, Y/N couldn’t remember how long it had been since she was dragged back to this hell hole of a city and had her life turned upside down. All she knows is that the grip that James had on her is growing tighter everyday. It’s becoming suffocating, squeezing out any breath that she tries to take and that box on her bed is a physical reminder of the hand that’s always wrapped around her throat. 

She climbs to her feet and hesitantly takes a seat next to the box, contemplating whether or not she should let the hand control her even more. A thought crosses her mind, one that chills her to the bone. 

What would James do to Klaus?

Her fingers quickly flick open the box and the lid slides back to reveal a gold necklace sitting on black tissue paper. She lets out a deep sigh at the theatrics that James puts into everything that he does. Picking up the necklace, Y/N scoffs as she looks it over. Of course, he would ask…command her to wear a necklace with his name on it. 

However as her fingers pick it up, they catch on the paper to show a bundle of black gleaming fabric. She pulls the paper back even more and takes out the dress he’s also silently demanding that she wears. It’s a mid length square neck dress that will no doubt show off everything she wants to hide from men like James. 

Sneering at both disgusting gifts, she throws them back into the box and shoves it off her bed. It clatters to the floor as she stares at it in anger, a deep feral anger that needs to be released. This anger accepts only one payment though and that is blood. More specifically that of the White Wolf’s. 

Only the sounds of clanking silverware and the occasional conversation between James and his men. Niklaus and Y/N stayed silent from the moment they saw each other in the hall. He glared at the dress and necklace she wore and she wanted desperately to tell him it was all a facade but she couldn’t without tipping off the men around them. She could see the palpable anger in his eyes, the hurt that flashed when he read the name that claimed her throat. She tried to convey with her eyes that it would all end tonight but he looked away too quickly and went back to eating. 

The dining room is much like the rest of the house, black and devoid of any emotion. She wants to make a remark about it mirroring the inside of the owner’s heart but one quick glance to the head of the table keeps it locked behind her painted lips. 

James, ever the regal mafia leader, is leaning back in his chair as he watches over his subjects. Surprisingly he’s only wearing a half buttoned black short sleeve and black slacks. Y/N pretends to trail her eyes over the tanned skin that is on display and when she lands on his face, there is a smirk welcoming her heated gaze. He takes a swallow of his favored amber liquid without breaking eye contact with her. A shiver of disgust wants to wash over her body but she suppresses it as Sam speaks. He drones on about whatever useless business he and Steve dealt with today, no doubt so insignificant that if Klaus or Y/N tried to use it against them, it would do nothing. She knew this routine well; dangle pieces of information before their enemies in efforts to get them to strike. Brock had done it time and time again to the point that the remaining Triplets knew it well. Well enough to not take the bait. 

Dinner slowly comes to an end as servants take away the empty places, leaving all of the guests to glare at each other. Y/N’s fingers tap lightly on the steak knife that remains, drawing attention to it and Steve motions for it to be taken away. James chuckles under his breath as he watches the interaction but says nothing. Y/N smirks on the inside but puts on a face of frustration. 

Both her and the White Wolf knew that if she was going to try something, she wouldn’t have been so obvious as to grab a steak knife. No, James knows that it’s a distraction but he wants to watch her plan unfold before stopping her. 

His sharp eyes meet hers again and they pin her to her seat. She sees his mouth move but she can’t hear the words that come out. She guesses that he dismissed everyone from the way that everyone clears out of the room , leaving them alone. Niklaus shoots her a glance before Sam pushes him out and she gives her brother a small nod. 

I’ll be okay.

Niklaus doesn’t fight Sam because he knows that she will be but it does little to calm the rising fear. He nods back. 

Be careful. 

She smiles at him, covering her sinister plan with sibling love. 

Once the door is closed and they are finally alone, Y/N settles her gaze back on James who had been watching the interaction. He sits his glass on the arm of his chair as he looks her over. A twinkle of something positively feral flashes in his eye when he takes in the necklace and dress she is wearing. 

“I figured it better to comply,” she offers as she takes a sip of her wine. 

“Comply?” he questions, “You make it sound like I’m a tyrant.”

“You’re far worse.”

James lets out a deep laugh that’s more animal like than human, “If I were then your brother’s head would’ve been served for dinner.”

Y/N takes another slow sip of her wine to hide her seething anger at the suggestion. 

“And then I would’ve taken you in front of the others.”

She turns to narrow her eyes at him, “What if I said no?”

“You won’t have.”

“How can you be so sure?” The glass of his cup clinks on the table as he sits it on the table before him, “Look at what you’re wearing. I’d say that is a pretty good indication that you wouldn’t say that to me.”

She rolls her eyes at him and sits her own glass on the table. Taking a deep breath, she prepares herself for her next move. Before James can say another vile thing, she quickly stands and walks to the head of the table. Perching herself on the table just beside him, Y/N gently pushes at the arm of James’ chair. Taking the hint, he moves back an inch and takes her by the hips to pull her in front of him. She had only been this close to him a handful of times but every time it’s just as terrifying as the last. His cold attitude extends to the air that circles him and now her. His scent of leather, guns, and blood engulf her and caress the sides of her face as he watches her every move. 

In another life, she knew that she would’ve fallen for him. She could see the charm and confidence that he would use on her to get her into bed. She could see the way that he would shower her with gifts to the point where she would have to beg him to stop. She could see how he would laugh when he kissed up her neck, claiming that she would never have enough and would never stop giving her the world. 

However now with the predatory look in his eye, she’s not sure that he would ever be the James that she pictured in her head. This man, the White Wolf, is the image of pure evil down to the way that he lazily smiles up at her, a dark look swimming in his equally darkening eyes. 

“Don’t pull anything stupid, little snake,” he murmurs to her as he drinks in the way his name lays on her breasts. 

“Who said I was going to do anything?” she murmurs back as she leans down into his space.

“I know that look.” 

She bats her lashes at him, fiending innocence and he laughs again, that deep rumble in his chest squeezing the air from her lungs. His right hand makes a slow climb up her arm as she leans down and finds its place on her throat, just above where his name sits on its golden chain. His thumb rubs her jaw, tipping her face down by her chin so he can look at her better. His tongue swipes his bottom lip as he appreciates the red painted on hers. 

“We both know you’re not some stupid innocent doll,” he whispers to her, “You’re my little snake, clever and deadly.”

“Are you my White Wolf then?”

James smirks at her question and draws her closer, “That depends.”

“On?”

“If you plan to keep trying to kill me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she whispers against his lips before kissing him. His soft lips move against hers in a slow but domineering way, control every slide and move they make. The hand around her neck slips into her loose hair while his other hand pulls her by the hips onto his lap and slips up on her lower back. Under her, she can feel the hardness forming in his pants and she stifled a moan at the feeling of him moving against her. One of her hands tangles into her hair, pulling at it so his head falls back and she descends upon his neck. 

Y/N leaves wet kisses on his jaw and down his neck as they move against each other, gasps and moans leaving both of them. In their desperation to devour each other, James didn’t notice that her other hand was nowhere to be felt on his body nor did he see the flash of silver in the fire light. 

“Fuck,” he chokes out when that flash of silver hides a place in between his sixth and seventh rib. Y/N quickly pulls the small dinner knife out and plunges back into the same area. The shock of her attack and the pain that is growing hot in his side stop him from pushing her off or defending himself in other ways. 

She pulls away, still sitting on top of him with the bloody knife in her hand and gives him a small smile. He breathlessly chuckles at the sight, “Wouldn’t dream of it?”

“It’s not a dream anymore,” she offers with a small shrug. 

James drops his hands from her body as she slides off and lets her knife on the table just out of his reach. The attack on his spleen will cause him to bleed out slowly enough that he will feel every moment of it but fast enough that there would be nothing anyone could do to help him. They both know it and he wants to laugh again at the situation but the pain prevents him from doing so. 

“Why?” he asks, almost too quiet for her to hear but she does. She pauses at the door to answer him. 

“Spite.”

[bromcommie]

finally watched that trailer and bucky’s hair is...fine y’all. the real reason why everyone is getting into a tizzy over it is actually because of fandom’s unfortunately misplaced and overblown expectations and the utter, godawful failure of the mcu to address—

no you know what. not today. let’s talk about the actual hilarious part of this whole thing which is that in the 1.5 seconds he's in there they have him once again go “what’s the plan” james!!! bitch give it a REST already if god wanted you to have it all figured out with sane&careful teammates he wouldn’t have used up all his fucking red string to tie you off with Mr. I Can Do This All Day at birth and then with the Knockoff Inglorious Basterds Who Like Blowing Shit Up A Little Too Much and then with Mr. I Never Said Pilot Also I Free Fall Out of Planes To Feel Alive. the plan is Go In There and Fuck Shit Up you know this. “what’s the plan”. christ almighty barnes

[buckydeservesthebest]

Bucky is always the real star of the show 🥺❤️

bucky in the captain america: civil war super bowl tv spot

[actualbuckybames]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers (ू•‧̫•ू⑅)♡

A good story

A good song

A pretty piece of art

An engaging video game

A well-told joke

[navybrat817]

Knock You Down a Peg or Two

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Someone learns the hard way that it's a bad idea to upset Bucky's wife.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Established relationship, violent threats (not against the reader), protective vibes, implied sexy times, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I'm in a mood, lovelies. We can consider this in the same universe as Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and Handsome and Beautiful. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky was no longer the Winter Soldier. He told himself every day he wasn't a cold killer anymore. He did his best to make amends and worked hard to clear his name. From time to time though, people pushed his buttons and got under his skin. You helped him brush it off. Their opinions didn't matter at the end of the day, only yours.

You mattered to him more than anything else. So, if someone bothers him, yeah, he could let it go. Someone upsetting you? He wouldn't stand for it.

Bucky's eyes narrowed as he spotted the little weasel sitting at the table in the break room alone. A few hours ago, you called him to vent about how this guy repeatedly tried to make you look bad in front of your superior during a meeting. It wasn’t the first time either. Your tears of frustration were obvious by your tone on the other end, though you tried to hide them. You worked hard, harder than anyone else he knew, and you took your job seriously.

He saw red when he heard you sniffle and it was the only color he had seen since then.

“Give me his name.”

“Bucky, no,” you had argued. “The guy’s a prick and I just needed to vent, so you don’t-”

“Please, baby,” he whispered, knowing full well you could handle yourself, but you were his wife and someone took joy out of your day. Not just that, they made you cry. He took this personally and he wanted to defend you. “Just give me his name so I can take care of it.”

You softly gave him the name, and he made it a priority to find the asshole. It didn’t take him long. No one even questioned why he was asking. It must’ve been his “murder strut” and glare. You once said it could break even the strongest of people.

He headed toward the empty chair beside the agent, careful not to make a sound. His stealth assisted with that. Once he reached the chair though, he made it a point to scrap the chair across the floor to get the prick's attention. The annoyance in his eyes quickly shifted to fear when he realized who he was looking at.

Good. He hoped he pissed his pants.

He made a show of slipping off his leather jacket before taking a seat, making sure the agent got a good look at his metal arm. He also made a show of getting one of his knives out, one you gifted him. “I think we can skip the introductions since you know who I am and I really don't give a shit who you are,” he began, his voice low as he twirled the knife between his fingers. “But I understand you know my wife and, well, she’s the reason I’m here.”

The guy blinked when Bucky made eye contact, the blade still expertly weaving in his hand. “S-Sure. Everyone knows your wife.”

Bucky smiled softly, taking a second to glance at his wedding band. “I’m usually not one to brag, but I can’t help it when it comes to her. She works hard and deserves all the praise she gets, but she’s still humble. Appreciative. Loyal,” he boasted, still smiling before he glared again. “She’d never throw anyone under the bus, especially in front of a superior.”

The little weasel cleared his throat, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. He seemed to notice for the first time that they were the only two people there. “Look, I don’t know what your wife said, but-”

Bucky pointed the blade at him. “I would think very carefully about what comes out of your mouth next,” he snarled, his eyes as cold as ice.

There was a beat of silence as the guy squirmed in his seat and averted his gaze. Bucky wished you were there to see it. And Steve and Sam. “I may have run my mouth a bit. I just wanted to knock her down a peg or two, you know? She keeps getting promoted and…” he swallowed when Bucky’s eyes narrowed to slits. If this fucker even thought about implying that you slept your way to get where you were today, he may actually cut his throat. “Please, don't kill me.”

The silence after that statement may have been uncomfortable for some, but Bucky didn’t break a sweat. No, he was just thinking of all the different ways he could put him in the hospital for even thinking he had a right to put you down. Putting the knife away, he slowly got to his feet. “Get up,” he said quietly, flexing his hands in intimidation.

“Fuck.” The man nearly knocked his chair over as he stood. “Listen, I’m sorry,” he blurted out, putting his hands out in front of him. “I’ll apologize to her first thing tomorrow, I swear.”

“You think that makes up for it? And are you sorry for trying to make her look bad or are you sorry that you’re under my radar now?” Bucky’s stare remained steady as he knocked his chair out of the way, the piece of furniture nearly splintering when it hit the wall. “Everyone knows what I'm capable of, but do you know what happens to people who upset. My. Wife?”

Bucky refused to say that you cried. The asshole might take that as a sign of victory and he wouldn’t give him any sort of win. He didn’t deserve it. He didn't deserve to be in the same space as you.

The guy’s mouth parted as he took a few steps back on shaky legs. “I-It won’t happen again! I swear!”

“No, it won't, but how about I cut your tongue out so you can’t run your mouth again? Maybe pull out your teeth, too?” Bucky knocked the table away next as he advanced. “Or how about your eyes so you won’t look at her either. Hell, I’ll settle for taking your arm. We’ll match.”

The man let out what sounded like a whimper, his teeth nearly chattering from his fear. Scaring people had given him nightmares, haunted him, but it fueled his fire when he terrified anyone in your honor. “I won’t bother her ever again! I’ll tell my boss she deserves another promotion! I'll transfer! You have my word! I’m sorry!”

Bucky laughed after a moment, a bitter, chilling sound before he held up a hand. “I’m just fucking with you.”

His eyes were still wide with fear. “W… What?”

“I was just trying to scare you a little. You should see the look on your face,” Bucky chuckled again, lightly smacking the guy’s cheek. “Listen, you don’t have to transfer and I’m not going to torture you. Just apologize to my girl and we’re good, okay?”

“Okay.” He let out a breath and chuckled, too. “You really won’t torture me?”

“No, I won’t,” he grinned, grabbing his shoulders. “But I will knock you down a peg or two.”

The prick didn’t see the headbutt coming, but he felt it before he hit the ground. Bucky knew he’d feel it in the morning, too. He got off lucky.

“You know, after you apologize to my wife, I hope you do stay so you can see her continue to thrive,” Bucky toed the guy’s body with his boot. “And speaking of, I need to go buy her some flowers, chocolate, and wine. She deserves it.”

Grabbing his jacket from the broken chair across the room and brushing it off, he whistled as he left the room. He waited until he was a good distance away to call. You picked up on the second ring.

“Hey.” You sounded much better than you did earlier. “So, what’s the damage?”

“Hey, baby,” he smiled. “I headbutted the prick. And before you ask, my head feels great.”

The former assassin may get suspended for that and damaging the table and chair, but he doubted the asshole would have the balls to speak up about what happened.

“Bucky…” you sighed. You were probably pinching the bridge of your nose. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“You’re gonna let me eat you for dessert when I get home,” he smirked. Not that he needed an excuse to dive between your legs, but he'd take any chance he had. “Figure I'll give you at least two orgasms before dinner.”

“Is that right, Mr. Barnes?”

“That is right, Mrs. Barnes.”

The sound of your giggle spread warmth through his chest. Your happiness was his happiness. “Better not keep me waiting,” you teased, pausing for a beat. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he said. You always stuck up for him without question.

“Love you.”

His heart swelled more. “Love you, too.”

He’d have some more explaining to do once he got home and would probably have to pay for the damage he caused. He was also sure that you were plotting the demise of the man’s career and would tell him that he didn’t need to do anything, but he wanted to. He was no longer the Winter Soldier.

But he was your husband and he’d defend you with his life, no matter what.

Violence isn't the answer, but this is fanfiction and we all deserve a loving Bucky. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[brunchable]

𝗠𝘆 𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿

Pairings: PornStar!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Sexual Innuendo/humour,Guy next door, situational comedy? If you're not up for a few second-hand embarrassment sit this one out lol. Summary: Your coworker peer pressured you to look up SergeantBarnes in Pornhub, reason? Because apparently you're missing out. A/N: This would make a good mini series. . .but we'll see. I had a dream. . .that he was a guy next door, just wanted to-of course-add a twist to it asdfghjkl.

It was all Amy’s fault. And Trish’s. And okay, maybe you shared a little bit of the blame for caving to the intense peer pressure at work. But still.

You’d been minding your own business in the break room, scrolling through lunch menus, when Amy had sidled up, leaned in with that conspiratorial look on her face, and whispered, “Have you seen him yet?”

“Seen who?” your eyebrows creased as you asked, confused.

Trish popped up out of nowhere, clutching her latte in her hand. “Girl, SeargentBarnes. The guy is legendary—I mean, a literal internet icon.”

You shrugged, feigning indifference while they exchanged a look that practically screamed, amateur. They started talking all at once, dropping cryptic phrases like “too hot to handle,” “you’re gonna die,” and, “you’ll never look at men the same way again.”

So there you were that night, alone with your laptop, curled up in bed and biting your lip as you debated whether to type it in. It’s just curiosity, you reasoned. Research purposes.

Your eyes widened as the screen filled with… well, humanity, in all its naked, unfiltered glory. Your face heated up so fast you could’ve sworn it was the same shade as your throw pillow. Videos lined up like some weird buffet, titles more scandalous than anything you’d ever whispered in confession, and… was that a whole category devoted to delivery men? You slapped a hand over your mouth to stop from yelping, mortified at the intensity of it all. 

“I need to go to church after this,” you muttered, squinting like that would somehow censor the thorough dedication people were showing in their, uh, procreation endeavors.

“SergeantBarnes,” you muttered to yourself as you typed, fingers hovering uncertainly over the Enter key. Then, with a sigh, you hit search, and… oh.

You nearly choked on oxygen. Because there he was, in HD glory, right on Pornhub, with that cocky grin and those blue eyes that looked like they’d been crafted in a lab. And he wasn’t just standing there looking smug—oh, no, he was on a mission, shirtless, flexing, and smirking at the camera like he was the world’s best-kept secret. The scene panned to him sitting on the edge of a bed, peeling off his belt with one hand, a glint in his eyes that seemed to say, this is what you came for.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, equal parts horrified and morbidly fascinated, as he proceeded to… well, get very familiar with his costar. SergeantBarnes was apparently an expert at multitasking, using every muscle, every inch of his well-equipped arsenal. And the way he was delivering lines? He was clearly treating the camera like it was his soulmate.

By minute two, your jaw had dropped. By minute five, you’d set the laptop on your nightstand to “watch responsibly.” By minute ten, you were convinced Amy and Trish had permanently ruined your life.

And the costar—she was practically putting on an Oscar-worthy performance, her reactions so intense you half expected her to start speaking in tongues. Every time SergeantBarnes’s… rod of justice plunges deep inside, she gasps like she was witnessing a miracle. You scoffed, rolling your eyes. Come on, is that really necessary?

As you watched, he gave a low, rumbling sound—half growl, half sigh—that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. His gaze burned through the screen with a confidence that was practically magnetic, and suddenly, you understood exactly why the costar was gasping. A new, unbidden heat pooled between your legs, making you shift uncomfortably, instinctively pressing your thighs together as if that could somehow stop the flush creeping up your face. Oh no, now I wish I were her, you thought, immediately cringing at yourself.

With a mix of half-laughter and half-horror, you reached over and slammed the laptop shut so fast it was like you were trying to save yourself from spontaneous combustion. 

“Holy—oh, wow,” you whispered, pressing a hand to your face. “Okay. That was a one-time thing.”

Or so you thought.

Except now, every time you even glanced at your laptop, SergeantBarnes was right there in your mind, reminding you exactly why he was internet-famous. It was becoming a bit of a problem.

× × × ×

The next morning, you stumbled out of your apartment, looking like something that had been left out in the rain and dragged through a blender, mentally cursing last night’s “research” session. The world had no right to be this bright, and your regret levels were at an all-time high as you lugged the world’s heaviest box down the hallway.

You were so absorbed in avoiding a complete breakdown that you barely registered the deep, too-familiar voice beside you.

“Need help with that?”

“Thanks, but I got it,” you muttered automatically, barely sparing him a glance.

Except...then you did.

You looked up, squinting in confusion. Because, standing in front of you, in the perfectly mundane hallway of your perfectly mundane building, was him.

You froze, your brain spinning like a buffering screen. Okay, this guy’s insanely handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, stubbled jaw, eyes so blue they should have a health warning on them. You stared, mentally cataloging each feature, when—wait a minute... WAIT. A. MINUTE.

Your eyes narrowed, suspicion prickling as your brain finally fired up. Is that…? No, it can’t be.

But it was. Oh, it absolutely was. 

SergeantBarnes, the very star of last night’s “educational” viewing, right here in the flesh. And suddenly, like a tractor beam had locked onto you, your gaze dropped right to his crotch, where you’d witnessed things you could never un-see.

This, of course, did not go unnoticed. His brows shot up as he followed your very obvious, very treacherous line of sight, glancing down at his jeans before looking back up at you with an infuriatingly smug grin.

“Uh… nice shoes?” you blurted out, your face feeling like it was on fire. You vaguely gestured to his boots, wishing you could vanish right into the walls.

“Thanks,” he replied smoothly, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They’re pretty sturdy. But, you know…” He paused, his voice dropping just a hair. “I don’t think they’re what you were looking at.”

Your heart sank as you forced yourself to look up, his amused blue eyes practically laughing at you. Abort. Abort mission. Oh God, we are way past mission failure.

“Uh—no, I just… um…” You floundered, desperately trying to think of something, anything, that might save you from the hole you’d dug. But no words came. Not even the faintest semblance of a coherent thought. Just one long, silent scream echoing in your brain.

“Bucky,” he offered helpfully, sticking out his hand like he wasn’t SergeantBarnes from Pornhub, but just some guy offering to help with a box. “New neighbor, by the way.”

You stared at his hand like it was a booby trap, your brain short-circuiting as it reminded you exactly where those fingers had been. That hand had gripped… things. It had been places you’d only dreamed of, doing things you’d probably need a core workout just to survive. You could practically see the “viewer discretion advised” warning flashing in your head as you hesitated, still staring at his hand as if it might explode.

But, against your better judgment—and every shred of dignity—you slowly reached out and shook it, feeling your own fingers betray you by sweating as they made contact with his very… experienced ones.

“Uh… hi… I’m… yep.” you blurted, mentally cringing.

“‘Yep’? That’s a good name,” he said, smirking as he let go. “You sure you don’t need help? You seem… a little flustered.”

Flustered? Understatement of the century. If your dignity had been a cup, it was empty, bone-dry, and cracked. You forced yourself to focus, eyes straight forward, pointedly ignoring the very tempting crotch-level view. 

“I’m fine! Totally fine!” you squeaked, cringing at your own voice. Oh God, calm down!

But he just chuckled, that same dangerously cocky smile from last night plastered all over his face. “Alright, Yep. Guess I’ll see you around.”

As he turned to leave, you stood there in the hallway, clutching the box like it was a life raft, heart racing a mile a minute. You’d just had a very public staring incident with SergeantBarnes, your new neighbor, and all you’d managed to say was nice shoes.

I’m gonna need new coworkers, you thought, practically burying your face in the box as you scurried to your apartment.

The door slammed shut with a bang that could probably be heard across state lines. You dropped the box unceremoniously, ignoring the loud thunk as it hit the floor, and whipped your phone out, fingers flying across the screen like you were composing a manifesto.

Guys, you’re NEVER gonna guess who my neighbor is—

You paused, staring at the screen as the rest of the text formed in your mind: THE SergeantBarnes. LIVE. IN. THE. FLESH.

But then another thought stopped you dead in your tracks. Oh no.

You could already picture it: Amy and Trish showing up like rabid fangirls in their “I Heart SergeantBarnes” merch, carrying suspiciously flimsy plates of brownies. Trish would have binoculars. Amy would be taking notes, probably trying to “accidentally” leave her phone number under his door. You shuddered, imagining them cornering him by the mailboxes, all of them acting like they were definitely not the type of women who had his entire catalog bookmarked on their phones.

A horrible realization hit you. If I tell them, this man’s gonna be living a nightmare right next door to me. Not just a nightmare, a Trish-and-Amy-sponsored fan club nightmare, where they might even break into song—probably chanting, “SergeantBarnes! SergeantBarnes!” while he tries to get his groceries.

You looked back at your unsent message and deleted it in one go, feeling weirdly proud of yourself. Yeah, no. I’m not letting them anywhere near him.

Totally altruistic, of course. It had nothing to do with keeping the eye candy to yourself.

You took a deep breath, looking around your empty apartment like you were expecting the FBI to burst through the door at any second. Sure, you’d just been in the hallway with the actual SergeantBarnes, but maybe… maybe you were imagining things. It had been a long day. Moving was stressful. Stranger things had happened, right?

With a surge of resolve (and denial), you dashed to your bedroom, practically sliding across the floor as you went. Your laptop was waiting innocently on the nightstand, and with a quick glance over your shoulder to ensure you were still alone, you opened it up, clicked incognito mode like you were hiding state secrets, and went straight to the website you’d sworn off only hours ago.

“Alright… just to confirm,” you muttered to yourself, feeling your cheeks burn as you typed SergeantBarnes into the search bar, mentally bracing yourself for the flood of results.

And there he was. The whole page filled with him, in various… positions. You swallowed, scrolling until one video caught your eye: “Sergeant Disciplines the Bratty Recruit.”

You snorted, almost slamming the laptop shut. “Oh, for heaven’s sake…”

But curiosity was a dangerous beast, and before you could talk yourself out of it, your finger had already clicked play.

The video started, with SergeantBarnes in all his glory, wearing what looked like the world’s tightest military uniform. His face was as smug as ever, that telltale glint of mischief in his eyes as he muttered something absurd like, “Think you can handle me, recruit?”

“Oh my god,” you whispered, cringing as you half-covered your eyes but peeked through your fingers anyway.

But there was no denying it—the face, the voice, the ridiculous, smoldering look into the camera. There was no escaping it now. It was 100% him. The same guy who was now living approximately ten feet away from your own front door.

As the video continued, your disbelief only grew. This man… this man is next door, could eating cereal right now, you thought, torn between horrified fascination and the urge to laugh. Because there he was, in full “disciplinary action” mode, doing things you could barely process, and here you were, watching it again, just to make sure it was really him.

“Oh, I’m doomed,” you muttered, slapping the laptop shut. You weren’t even sure if you were embarrassed, impressed, or maybe just a little terrified of your own neighbor.

× × × ×

Over the next few days, it was like living in a twisted sitcom. Everywhere you went, he was there, lurking like some kind of sexy, mildly inconvenient specter. It was uncanny. You’d turn a corner, and bam—there he’d be, giving you that polite nod and a smirk that clearly said, I know exactly what you’ve seen.

It started small. You’d step into the elevator, praying for a peaceful ride, and ding! in he’d stroll, flashing that devastating grin. Instantly, you’d stiffen, gluing yourself to the opposite wall, practically trying to meld with the buttons, heart pounding like you were about to pass out. You couldn’t even look him in the eye without flashes of his, uh, “filmography” playing in your mind. Every single time, without fail, you found yourself studying the very clean floor of the elevator as he leaned casually against the wall, the corners of his mouth tugging up.

“Nice day, isn’t it?” he’d ask, all smooth, innocent charm. Meanwhile, you were there like, Oh, totally, perfect day to run into my favorite Pornhub star.

You were in the laundry room, blissfully alone, humming to yourself as you separated your clothes like a responsible adult. Whites here, colors there, delicates—well, you were kind of just tossing them wherever at this point. Then, suddenly, you felt it: a shift in the air, a presence. You froze, the hair on the back of your neck standing up, a sock suspended mid-toss in your hand. Why do I feel like the music should be getting dramatic right about now?

Slowly, as if sensing his approach, you turned. And there he was—Bucky, striding in with a laundry basket filled with a suspiciously pristine pile of perfectly folded, incredibly manly clothing. It was as if he’d just stepped out of some kind of… laundry commercial. Or worse… one of his own videos.

You blinked, eyes widening as a thousand clichés suddenly flashed through your mind. Oh no, why does this feel like the start of a porn? you thought, biting your lip as you realized the two of you were, in fact, very alone, surrounded by washing machines and suspiciously warm lighting. You mentally kicked yourself. Snap out of it! This is laundry. Regular, boring laundry.

Bucky caught your eye, giving you an amused once-over. “Doing some laundry?” he asked, his voice low and casual, but somehow it felt like the most suggestive question in the world.

You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Uh-huh,” you managed, trying to sound like a normal human being. “Just, uh… laundry.”

Your face felt like it was on fire as you realized half of your load was underwear, strewn everywhere. Panties, bras, socks—they were all there in their mismatched glory, practically screaming, We’re personal items! Pay extra attention! You yanked your gaze away from the pile, mortified, and flung the sock into the washer like you were trying to disarm a bomb.

You slammed the washer lid down, feeling like you’d just revealed way too much. But Bucky only grinned, strolling over with that maddening swagger. He tossed a shirt into the washer beside you, leaning against it with a smirk.

“Nice sorting skills,” he commented, eyes flicking down to the very obvious pile of bras and lace that you’d tried to hide. “Very… thorough.”

“Yep!” you squeaked, feeling like you might explode. You fumbled with the detergent bottle, struggling to open it as your brain went into full-blown panic mode. Why does this feel like one of those videos? Don’t look at him. Just don’t look. Pretend you’re alone. Pretend this is fine.

But of course, he wasn’t making it any easier. He folded his arms, watching you with a raised brow, the picture of calm while you were desperately trying to load underwear without dying of embarrassment. 

“You know,” he said, clearly holding back a laugh, “usually people try to separate colors from whites.”

“Oh, I do! I mean, I… it’s a system,” you stammered, feeling like you were caught in a lie by the laundry police. “Sometimes it’s… it’s an artistic choice.”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with that insufferable amusement. “Artistic laundry, huh? Didn’t take you for the experimental type.”

“Yep,” you said, forcing a laugh as you stuffed in the last sock, your hands moving at lightning speed, desperate to finish and escape.

But as you turned to leave, he held up a stray bra that had somehow escaped your grasp, dangling it between two fingers with a raised eyebrow. 

“You forgot this,” he said, voice dripping with that same mischievous humor.

You stared at the bra in horror, feeling your face go molten. 

“Uh… thanks,” you mumbled, practically ripping it out of his hand and stuffing it into the washer, slamming the lid down one last time before you spun on your heel and speed-walked out of there.

Behind you, you heard him chuckle softly, his voice echoing in the hallway. “See you around, neighbor.”

Yep, you thought, already halfway down the hall, never doing laundry again.

By day three, it got ridiculous. You’d ducked into the mailroom, hoping he was out doing normal human things—maybe mowing a lawn or whatever. But no, as soon as you opened your mailbox, there he was, standing by his own, sorting through a stack of letters. You froze, briefly considering whether you could just flee and come back later for your electric bill.

And then… the grocery bag incident.

You were in the hallway, arms overloaded with bags because, naturally, you’d ignored the cart right by the entrance and had instead decided to carry it all in one go. You were so close to your door when you heard footsteps behind you.

“Need help?” he asked, that voice making you nearly fumble every bag in your arms.

You turned, scrambling to say, “No, I’m good,” but of course, in your panic, one of your bags tipped, and a lone, horrifying item fell out and hit the floor. You watched, paralyzed, as the little bottle of lube rolled out with an audible clatter, spinning lazily to a stop right in front of him.

You could practically feel the heat exploding from your cheeks. No. Oh no. Not like this.

You looked up, meeting his amused, slightly raised eyebrows as his lips twitched, clearly fighting a smile. 

“Uh,” you choked out, unable to form a single coherent sentence. Think fast, make it sound normal, you told yourself, even though every possible explanation was racing out of your head.

He bent down, picking up the bottle with a glint of pure mischief in his eyes, inspecting it like he’d just found evidence of some grand crime.

“Hey, everyone’s got needs,” he said, deadpan, but that twinkle in his eye was anything but innocent. “Don’t worry.” He tossed you a wink, handing the bottle back like it was no big deal.

Your mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as your brain scrambled to form a sentence. Finally, the words tumbled out like a train wreck, your dignity left somewhere back at the grocery store.

“It’s… it’s for my friend,” you squeaked, clutching the lube bottle with both hands like it was a sacred artifact. He raised an eyebrow, looking entirely too entertained for your liking. “She’s, uh, she’s constipated.”

A moment of silence.

“She needs it to… you know, help with a suppository.” You forced a grin that you were sure looked more like a grimace. “She, uh… can’t get things moving. Really jammed up in there.”

Bucky’s face twisted in barely suppressed laughter, and his shoulders shook as he struggled to keep a straight face. 

“Right,” he drawled, nodding with an expression that was one part pity and two parts are you for real? “That’s… thoughtful of you.”

You felt like you were overheating, a human furnace on the verge of combustion. 

“She’s desperate!” you blurted, doubling down on your ridiculous story, even though every fiber of your being was screaming to stop talking. “I’m just being a good friend, you know? Supportive. I mean, she’s the one who’s backed up.”

He nodded again, still fighting a smile, the look in his eyes a mix of amusement and something else that made your pulse race. 

“Sure,” he said, “nothing like helping a friend in need.” He paused, that wicked smile growing as he added, “In my experience, though, there are plenty of other uses for it.”

Your soul left your body.

He held out his hands in mock innocence, chuckling as your eyes widened to saucers. 

“Just saying,” he winked. “Versatile stuff.” 

And with that, he turned, strolling down the hall with a casual wave, leaving you frozen and mortified, clutching the bottle to your chest like a lifeline.

“Gotta… go,” you managed, voice barely a whisper, stumbling the last few steps to your door as you fumbled with the keys, practically falling inside.

The second the door shut behind you, you pressed your back against it, staring at the ceiling and whispering, “I’m never leaving my apartment again.”

Just as you were about to bury your face in your hands and live in the sweet, silent embrace of shame, your phone buzzed. You pulled it out, still reeling from the lube disaster, and saw a text from your friend, Clara.

Clara: Hey!! Did you get the lube?? Need it ASAP, things are… not moving over here, if you catch my drift.

You groaned, staring at the message, letting it sink in that yes, this entire disaster had been real. 

You: Yes. Got it. Never speaking of this again.

Clara: Bless you, you lifesaver. My digestive system owes you a standing ovation.

You rolled your eyes, still red-faced. Clara had no idea you’d just had to explain the entire situation to your painfully attractive neighbor—who now likely thought you were a walking sitcom.

× × × ×

It started subtly—just a little teasing, or so you thought. But it quickly spiraled into a game you could only describe as Bucky Barnes: Merciless Teasing—Extended Cut. Every time you crossed paths, he managed to twist the knife just a little deeper, making you sweat, stumble, and practically choke on your own words.

The first time it happened, you were hauling a huge box out of your car, trying to look capable and independent, when he strolled up beside you, leaning against the car with a smirk.

“You act like I’m a celebrity,” he said, eyebrow cocked. “Every time you see me, you look ready to run.”

You fumbled, nearly dropping the box. 

“Nope! I’m just…uh, busy!” you squeaked, scrambling to walk away at top speed, box clutched to your chest like a shield. But you caught his laugh as you rushed off, making you want to evaporate on the spot.

The next time, you were in the stairwell, headphones in, desperately trying to avoid any more awkward run-ins. Naturally, the moment you looked up, there he was, lounging at the landing like some kind of paid actor in a commercial. You froze mid-step as he raised a brow.

“Look at that,” he said, giving you the once-over, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost every time you see me. Is it something I did?”

You stammered, turning pink. 

“No! Just, uh… headphones! Music! Loud music!” you blurted, before speed-walking up the stairs, praying he didn’t hear the Spice Girls song you’d been blasting. Behind you, his chuckle echoed up the stairwell like the final taunt of a villain.

But the absolute worst came at the coffee shop.

You were in line, looking at your phone, hoping you could just breeze in and out. The moment you placed your order and turned to leave, there he was, standing right behind you, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Hey, neighbor,” he drawled, eyeing your coffee cup like it was some incriminating evidence. “Funny running into you here. Or… do you keep running into me?”

Your face flushed, and you tried to think of something clever, but it was like all your brain cells had gone on vacation. 

“Nope! Definitely just getting coffee! I don’t even… live near here!” you babbled, immediately regretting everything.

“Oh, interesting,” he replied, his grin widening. “Because I could swear you live right next door. But hey, if you want to keep pretending you don’t know me, I’ll go along with it.” He handed you your coffee with a wink. “See you around… or not.”

But things took a turn for the mortifying when, one evening, you were pacing the hallway on the phone with Clara, trying to vent without actually collapsing in a pile of awkwardness.

“It’s him, Clara!” you hissed, oblivious to the fact that you were pacing right outside Bucky’s door. “I’m living next door to SergeantBarnes! Can you believe this? I’ve seen everything he has to offer! I’ve practically studied him!”

Clara was howling with laughter, but you were too wrapped up in your frustration to care.

“And he knows, Clara! He keeps showing up everywhere, saying stuff like, ‘You seem nervous’ and ‘You keep looking at me like you know something I don’t.’ I swear, he’s doing it on purpose!” You paused, sighing dramatically. “The man is basically torturing me!”

“Yeah?” Clara snorted. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing! I’m gonna hide in my apartment forever! I mean, the guy is—” You froze mid-sentence, sensing a presence that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Please, for the love of all that is holy, no.

You slowly turned, and there he was. Bucky. Leaning against his door, arms crossed, looking like he’d just won the freaking lottery.

“Oh… my god…” you whispered, feeling your soul leave your body. He was watching you with an expression of pure, unfiltered amusement, one eyebrow quirked, lips pulled into that infuriating, knowing smirk.

“Well,” he said, voice laced with mischief. “That makes one of us.” His eyes glinted with barely-contained laughter. “And here I thought you were just a fan of my boots.”

You could practically feel your brain cells going up in smoke. 

“I… uh… well… I…” you stammered, cheeks burning. “Boots… are great,” you managed, wanting to sink into the earth.

“Yeah? Because I seem to remember you looking… elsewhere last time,” he teased, stepping a little closer, enjoying every second of your embarrassment.

“Oh, no! Just… boots!” you squeaked, backing up, practically tripping over yourself. “I really should go… water my… uh… plants!”

He chuckled, savoring every second of your panic. “Good luck with that,” he said, throwing in one last wink as he slipped back into his apartment, leaving you in the hallway, feeling like you’d just gone through a slow-motion car crash.

Back in your apartment, you slid down the door, hands over your face as Clara’s laughter erupted over the phone.

“Boots?” she howled. “THAT’S what you went with? Boots?”

You groaned, banging your head back against the door. “Shut up, Clara.”

× × × ×

Determined to reclaim a shred of your dignity, you strode into the local coffee shop, praying for a quiet morning with zero embarrassing encounters. But, as if on cue, the universe had other plans.

There, right at the counter, was Bucky. He spotted you instantly, his face lighting up with that all-too-familiar grin that had haunted your dreams. There was no escape.

He waved you over, and before you could even think of pretending you hadn’t seen him, he was calling out, “Morning, neighbor! What’s your coffee order again?” His voice was loud enough that half the shop turned to look.

“Oh, um… it’s…” you stammered, but he’d already waved to the barista.

“Got it covered,” he said, leaning casually against the counter, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’ve got a feeling you like it with extra cream.”

You choked on your own saliva, feeling your face turn crimson as he handed you the cup with a wink. 

“Unless I’m wrong?” he added with a smirk, feigning innocence.

“N-Nope, that’s right!” you managed, grabbing the cup like it was a shield. “Extra cream… perfect.”

He chuckled, gesturing to an empty booth in the corner. “Great. Then you won’t mind sitting down with me for breakfast.”

“Oh no, really, I should—”

He raised an eyebrow. “What, got somewhere better to be?”

You froze, helplessly aware that the entire coffee shop was listening in. You managed a nervous laugh, mumbling, “Well… no, I guess not…”

Before you knew it, you were sitting across from him, desperately trying to keep your eyes anywhere but his face, your cheeks burning as he sipped his coffee and watched you with a smug smile.

“So,” he said, leaning forward, “what’s a girl like you doing watching a guy like me online, anyway?”

Your jaw dropped, coffee cup halfway to your mouth. “I—I wasn’t watching—It was research!” you spluttered, already kicking yourself for falling right into his trap.

He chuckled, clearly reveling in your embarrassment. 

“Oh, sure, ‘research,’” he said, nodding like he totally believed you. “I get it. You know, it’s important to be informed.”

You practically shrank into your seat, glancing around to see if anyone else had heard. “Could you not say that so loudly?”

He smirked, taking a long, deliberate sip of his coffee. 

“Relax, I’m just curious,” he said, leaning in close enough that you could smell his aftershave. “Gotta say, it’s a little flattering to have a fan right next door.”

Your brain completely short-circuited. “Fan? I—no! I mean, not like that… I… I barely even…” You could feel the lie crumbling in your throat as his smirk deepened.

“Uh-huh. Then why did you look like you were about to sprint every time you saw me?” He tilted his head, studying you, eyes twinkling. “And I swear you turned pink the second you walked in here.”

Your hands shot up, covering your cheeks. “I did not! You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” he said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. “Because it’s like clockwork. Every time I’m around, you look like you’ve been caught red-handed. I don’t mind, you know,” he added, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

You let out a strangled laugh, ready to crawl under the table. 

“That’s… obvious,” you muttered, feeling as though you might combust at any second.

“Okay, so since we’re having breakfast together, how about you tell me: any favorite scenes?” He laughed, looking entirely too amused as he stirred his coffee.

You practically choked on your coffee, face flaming as you tried to hide behind your cup. 

“I—I can’t believe you just asked that!” you squeaked, horrified and unable to meet his gaze.

“Oh, come on,” he grinned, clearly enjoying every second. “It’s just small talk. I mean, who better to ask than a neighbor?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Can we please pretend this conversation never happened?”

“Nope. Can’t do that,” he replied, laughing. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

Just as you were starting to pray for an earthquake to swallow you whole, you glanced up at him, cheeks still flaming. 

“Did you… did you know I recognized you this whole time?”

He leaned back, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. 

“Of course I did,” he said, laughing. “Figured it out the second I saw that look on your face. I just wanted to see if you’d ever bring it up.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, feeling mortification seep into your very bones. “And you kept messing with me?”

“Of course,” he said, raising an eyebrow with a wicked grin. “I was just waiting to see how long it would take for you to crack. Guess now the ice is broken, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re the worst.”

He winked, finishing his coffee. “Yeah, but I make breakfast interesting, don’t I?”

You laughed, feeling the last traces of embarrassment fade away—well, at least enough to breathe normally again. But just as you started to feel almost… comfortable, Bucky tilted his head, giving you a curious look.

“So, neighbor,” he said, smirking, “I’ve gotta ask… what’s your name?”

You blinked, realizing with a jolt that you’d never actually told him. In all your attempts to dodge, deflect, and survive the relentless teasing, you hadn’t even bothered to introduce yourself.

“Oh… right,” you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up again. “I, uh, guess I never actually said.”

“Nope,” he replied, leaning in with a grin. “I just assumed you wanted to keep a little mystery between us.”

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. “Trust me, I’m not that mysterious.”

“Really?” he replied, eyebrows raised. “Because all this time I’ve been calling you ‘Yep.’”

Your face went red as you remembered the first time you’d stammered a barely coherent “yep” instead of an introduction. “Oh my god. You haven’t been calling me that in your head this whole time, have you?”

He shrugged, smirking. “It’s kind of cute. Suits you, actually.”

You groaned, but laughed despite yourself, finally holding out your hand across the table. “Alright. I’m Y/N. Officially.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, taking your hand, his grip warm and firm. His smirk softened into something a little more genuine. “Good to meet you, Y/N. Officially.”

His hand lingered in yours for a beat longer than necessary, and for a moment, there was no teasing, no innuendos—just the two of you, sitting across the table, smiling like two normal people who’d just met under… semi-normal circumstances.

Then, just as you were starting to think maybe, just maybe, you could get used to this weirdly charming neighbor situation, he leaned back, that mischievous glint creeping back into his eyes.

“Now that we’re on a first-name basis,” he said, winking, “you can tell me all about your favorite scenes. You know, for professional feedback.”

You burst out laughing, face in your hands as he watched you with a triumphant grin. Yep, you thought, already regretting nothing and everything.

[cherry-pop-elf]

Fun fact…..I’m actually writing a fanfic about these two. It’s called “Snow Falkes On My Tongue”

Do I see people who wish to be part of the tag list? 👀

the way this gave me such insane brainrot it made me actually draw something shippy