#modern au bucky

[pellucid-constellations]

On the Ice

Pairing: College Athlete!Bucky x Figure Skater! Reader

Summary: Sometimes, training gets intense. That's fine, though—Bucky'll be there to take care of his girl.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Reader is shorter than Bucky (but I'm imagining him like 6'7 in this 😉)

a/n:​​​ Happy one-bucky-fic-a-year to this blog <3 Seriously though this was fun to write!! I missed college athlete Bucky sm 🫶 Thank you for the suggestion @itsswritten :)

Masterlist

~~

Coming to a stop in the middle of the ice, you bent with a heaving chest and placed your hands on your thighs. The cold air of the rink was biting in your lungs but you greedily gulped the air down, anyway, light beaming you in the eye as it reflected off the carved ice beneath your skates. You fought the urge to collapse into the pools of fluorescence. 

Soft, melodic program music faded away until the only sound in the building was your labored breath. You’d been going at it for a few hours and only felt the repercussions now that you were stopped. The burning in your legs was an extra push towards sprawling out on the ice, and you were a moment away from giving in to that urge when the floor disappeared from beneath your blades.

You let out a startled scream, the sound traveling across the ice as your body was whipped around. You spun, making three rotations before the arms around your middle loosened and you felt breath at your ear. 

“Ice time’s over, sweetheart.” 

Bucky placed you back down but his arms never moved from around you. That was a good thing, in all honesty, because you weren’t sure if your shaking legs would hold you up. 

You spun in his arms, gripping his uniform jacket between your fingers as you stared up at him. “Bucky,” you greeted, a breathless smile lighting up your face. 

“Hi,” he grinned back, bringing a hand up to your cheek to steady you as he kissed your forehead. “How’s my girl?” 

“Good! Although, I might’ve overdone it.” 

Bucky shook his head fondly, eyes soft as he held your gaze. “I know you overdid it. You haven’t texted me in two hours. Figured you’d stay up until our practice, but not even a break? You know better than that, baby.”

You scoffed. “I don’t have time for a break. Championships are—”

“Coming up and I have to be at my best, Bucky,” your boyfriend mocked with a playful smile. He lifted you by your waist, your skates barely hovering above the ice, and started making his way to the rink's edge. “I’ve heard it a million times. Doesn’t mean you gotta kill yourself out here.” 

“I’m not going that hard. And I take breaks!” 

“Right, sure. You wanna tell me why your water is completely full then?” 

You stared up at Bucky, your head at his chin as he carried you. “Um, I just refilled it.”

“You suck at lying. You always bite your lip and you can’t even look me in the eye.” 

“Yeah? Well, you’re nosey and a weirdo for checking my water bottle.” 

Bucky only laughed, the material of his jacket rustling against the softness of your workout clothes. He made it to the edge and kept you in his hold, only releasing you once he reached the benches by the lockers. In a series of quick motions, he held your backpack in his hands and was kneeling at your feet. 

“Drink,” he commanded, holding out your water bottle. He patted the side of your calf before drying off your blades and covering them. “You get the axel?” Bucky asked as you obediently followed his command. 

You wiped the water from your lips before groaning. “Almost. I don’t know why I’m blocked right now. I fell on my knee too—that hurt.” 

Bucky tsked and started untying your laces. “The bad one?” 

“Unfortunately. I guess I actually did take a break because I had to lay on the ice for a little while after that one.” 

Bucky tugged your leggings from the confines of your skates and rolled the left leg up to reveal the dark bruise etched on your skin. It seemed to linger there at all times, getting darker or lighter depending on your week. It wasn’t broken, however, and that was considered a win. 

Bucky ran his fingers over the skin gently. It matched the fading bruise on his cheek, in a way, and you considered the ridiculousness of the sports your chose as your boyfriend kissed your knee and pulled your the leg of you pants back down to your ankle. 

“Y/n,” Bucky chastised, slipping the skates from your feet. He set them aside and pressed his side against yours as he sat on the bench. He took your chin between his thumb and finger. “This is why I don’t like you at the rink alone. I don’t want to show up to practice and find you passed out on the ice.”

You knocked your head to the side, a small smile seemingly permanent on your lips. Bucky was so pretty to look at. “That won’t happen, Buck. I’m a professional.”

“Professional pain in my ass,” he grumbled, but the sound was muffled at the end because you had your lips pressed against his. 

He met your touch with mirrored enthusiasm, sliding his hand from your chin to the back of your neck. You broke apart far too soon for Bucky’s liking, an accusatory glare in your eyes letting him know you had only kissed him to distract him while you formulate a response. 

“You’ve got some nerve, Barnes, you know that? What about when I watch you on the ice and you’re provoking people into smashing your face in, huh? Talk about a professional pain in the ass—you’re the poster boy of pain in the ass.” 

Bucky kept your face in his hand, brushing his thumb along your cheek as you went on your tirade. He was only retaining about half of the words that came out of your mouth, but that was your fault; you should know better than to kiss him into shutting up. 

“Last month you had a bloody nose that wouldn’t stop bleeding for an hour! I was next to the penalty box and I couldn’t even do anything. At least when I get hurt it’s possible for you to—are you even listening to me?” 

Bucky's smile lifted at the corner and he shook his head with a lovesick expression. 

You let out an affronted gasp. “You’re the one that started all of this and now you’re not even—” 

Your words were cut off by Bucky pulling your face forward and smashing his lips against yours. A strangled sound left the back of your throat, but you kissed him back just as quickly. A small smile was shared between lips, and you could feel a lingering sense of urgency in the pace he set; clearly, he was expecting the rest of his team to come in at any moment. 

You pulled back but he followed your lips as they attempted retreat. 

“Bucky,” you mumbled against him. “I was talking to you.” 

He hummed. “I know, baby.” He stayed close enough for you to still felt his words as he spoke them. “But you started it. You know I can’t help myself when it comes to kissing you.” 

You held his gaze, your playful glare matching the smile you struggled to hold back. You went to kiss him again, but the sound of the rink’s double doors smacking against the wall echoed in the space and your incoming kiss turned into you pushing away from Bucky and rising from the bench in one too-quick motion. 

Your knees (and the rest of you) weren’t entirely prepared for the movement. Your body shook and parts of you gave out as your feet began to soak up the chill from the concrete beside the rink. Bucky was there though—as he always was. He jolted up and mimicked his hold on the ice, his chest at your back as he wrapped his arms around your middle. 

“Whoa, y/n. Careful, baby. Saw your knee start to give out.” 

“Bucky, you can’t—” 

But it was too late. The sound of whistles and taunting jabs filtered past the locker room door, the rest of Bucky’s team entering with sly smiles and raised brows.

You knew the team and knew that their teasing was harmless, but you weren’t completely used to the way men showed each other affection just yet. Especially not when there was twenty of them all the size of small bears. 

“Hey, Miss Olympics,” Sam winked. “You and Buck look awfully comfortable over there. Don’t steal him for too long—we need him on the ice.”

You laughed but cringed internally, pushing against Bucky’s hold that refused to relent. 

“Shut up, Wilson,” Bucky called over your head. “I’ll get on the ice when I want.” 

A few other players greeted you with teasing smiles and you felt your face burn brighter with each passing moment that Bucky didn’t let up. You glanced over your shoulder, expecting him to look similarly mortified, but Bucky only looked back with a wide grin and pressed a loud kiss to the side of your temple. 

“What, you embarrassed of me, baby?” 

“What—no! But aren’t you sort of, I don’t know—aren’t you embarrassed? To be like this in front of the rest of the team? Other guys I’ve dated—” 

“I don’t know what other guys you’ve been with, sweetheart, but they’re a bunch of idiots. I’ll show you off whenever I get the chance.” He pressed you back down on the bench with a smile and brushed away the flyaways around your face. “And I talk about you enough to where it doesn’t really matter if they see us. They expect it.” 

“Barnes, get the hell on the ice!” came a call from the rink. 

Bucky hooked his chin over his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah! Got it!” He turned back to you and crouched before your seated position, gathering your face in his hands to plant a loud, dizzying kiss to lips. “You’ll get back to the dorms okay?” 

“Um, yeah,” you replied, disoriented by the onslaught of affection. 

“Perfect. See you later then.” 

“Barnes!” 

Bucky rolled his eyes and gave your face a soft pat before sliding onto the ice. “I was clearly busy.” 

[artficlly]

hi !! i love ur work <3

ok i had an idea for a one shot but it’s totally fine if u don’t want to do it!

so reader and bucky break up (bucky dumps her) bc he thinks she can do better or whatevs and instead of feeling sad, reader is kind of getting off to how bad bucky is doing without her 😜😜 this is obviously inspired by my kink is karma from chappell lmao. anyways ends in fluff or smut and a lot of how much bucky missed her 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️😛😛

thank uuu !!

BITTER [one-shot]

modern marvel au vet!bartender!bucky x reader Bucky doesn't do relationships, but maybe you'll be the one to change him

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, sexual themes, angst, hurt/comfort, major character death, ptsd, bucky barnes needs a hug, bucky barnes has issues, bar fights, alcohol, smoking, swearing, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.2k

A/N: heya nonnie. this isn't exactlyyy what you asked for but i hope you like it anyway. i'm technically on hiatus rn but i felt bad leaving your ask unanswered for so long. i've been working on this between classes, i'm not super happy with it but i thought i'd post it anyway, it got a bit longer than i was expecting. i have like 5 million things due at the end of the month so i might be gone for a bit so here is a treat in the meantime! much love! ! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

permanent taglist: @civilbucky @globetrotter28 (i swear there was someone else who wanted to be added, pls let me know if that was you i lost your comment)

main masterlist

The first thing Wanda had told you about Bucky Barnes was to beware. 

Proceed with caution.

You were the type to fall in love easily, it was one of the first things you had confessed to Wanda, wine-drunk only a week after moving into her dodgy shoebox of an apartment, where the previous tenant's mail still showed up—and so did their debt collector. You were new in the city, bright-eyed and overly romantic about all you encountered, including the suspicious stains on the carpet courtesy of Wanda’s old roommate, who she only referred to as ‘that nightmarish cunt’. Wanda was cool, chic yet edgy, her voice dripping a Slavic accent and always armed with a dangerous look in her eye. She worked downtown as a sous chef at one of those mid-tier restaurants that you considered fancy, but anyone even marginally higher than your pay grade wouldn’t look twice. 

Her boyfriend, Sam, worked at a bar across the road. Howling Commandos. He co-owned it with his buddy, the infamous Bucky Barnes. They had met while serving in the army, both retiring early from service. Sam was discharged after an injury that rendered him ‘useless’, and Bucky was discharged shortly after on grounds of mental health. 

And maybe that was the allure—the myth of Bucky Barnes. 

He was handsome, dark-haired, blue-eyed, the usual fairy-tale rom-com affair. He was brooding, damaged goods, and had a real chip on his shoulder since his discharge. He poured a good drink, kept the bar running smoothly, and was big enough to intimidate drunk frat boys who occasionally wandered in looking for a fight. But apparently, he didn’t do relationships. He would fuck anything that moved if it caught his fleeting attention for long enough, but that was it. 

Wanda had confessed it all to you on that dreaded wine-drunk night, hummus and carrot sticks forgotten as the TV blared Wanda’s Spotify playlist on loop. She’d had a friend, one who had moved away now, but that friend had slept with Bucky. Said it was the best lay of her life. 

So, Wanda had said, voice dipped as she gave you a drunken, sloppy grin over her Pinot Gris, the two bottles she had pinched from work now empty. If you want the night of your life, go for it, but don’t expect anything more. 

That was the rule with Bucky Barnes:

Don’t get attached. 

So, maybe foolishly, when Wanda had roused you from a hangover-induced nap the following day by asking if you wanted to join her at the Howling Commandos and continue your bender from the night before, you had taken the leap. 

–

Howling Commandos didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat.

It had the look of a place that had seen one too many late nights and even more bad decisions. Exposed brick walls, low-hanging lights that shrouded the room in a dim orange glow, and a row of pool tables tucked in the back behind a collection of stained wood tables and chairs.  It was edgy, kind of dark and mysterious, much like the infamous bartender who now stood before you in the flesh. 

You and Wanda had descended upon the bar at half-past nine, arms linked, laughter spilling between you. You’d gelled quickly—your soft, unguarded friendliness balancing out her wicked smirks and razor-edged sarcasm.

She swung into a barstool with the ease of someone who belonged here, peeling off her winter coat and tossing it onto the counter, shaking the snow from her auburn hair. Across from her, Bucky barely spared her a glance, his mouth set in a line that could have been annoyance or indifference.

“Wanda.” His voice was low, unimpressed.

That was all he said. No hello, no warmth. Just her name, like it was something to be tolerated.

Wanda only grinned, leaning her elbows onto the bar like she had all the time in the world.

“Sam’s out back,” Bucky added, eyes flicking toward the door before sliding right past her, landing on you instead. “Still picking up strays, I see.”

You grinned before you could help yourself, slipping into the seat next to Wanda. As you shrugged off your coat, neatly sliding it into your lap, Wanda let out a mock-horrified gasp on your behalf. 

“So rude, this is my new roommate.” Wanda’s eyes slid over to you, head tilting as she gestured towards the scowling Bucky. “And this dickhead is Bucky. He’s co-owner with Sam.”

“I remember.” You replied with ease, your gaze and smile unwavering even as Bucky gave a noncommittal grunt, turning away to continue polishing the glass in his palm. 

Wanda, unbothered by his callousness, leant in. “I’m going to be honest, I need a drink ASAP. I’ve got an awful headache, and you know what I always say! Best way to beat a hangover? Drink even more.”

“Does Sam know you’re an alcoholic?” Bucky cut back, not even bothering to turn around. 

“Awwh, Buck, is that genuine care?”

“Not for you.” Bucky snipped.

Wanda made a mock pout face, fingers drumming across the bar. “But seriously, put me out of my misery here—”

“Your usual?” He cut over her.

Wanda didn’t skip a beat. 

“Pretty please,” she purred, her tone sweet and syrupy, dripping with exaggerated charm. As she settled more comfortably into the stool, her gaze flicked to you with a knowing gleam. “What do you want? On the house.”

Before you could respond, Sam’s voice rang out, thick with amused exasperation. “Baby, you can’t go offering drinks on the house to everyone—” He appeared from the back, a box of bottled spirits cradled in his arms,

“She’s my roommate—” Wanda began, but Sam cut her off, raising an eyebrow as he set the box down with a thud.

“Oh yeah? I haven’t forgotten the last one that you also insisted could have free drinks, and she turned out to be—”

“Don’t! Don’t bring up that cunt—”

You tuned out the conversation as Wanda slipped from her seat, weaving around the bar with the kind of effortless grace that came with knowing she belonged. She leaned into Sam’s space without hesitation, her laughter slipping through the low hum of the bar, threading between the murmur of voices and the scratchy tune spilling from the jukebox in the corner.

It wasn’t until Bucky slid a glass of dark liquor across the bar—precisely where Wanda had been sitting—that you finally tore your gaze away from them.

His eyes found yours, expectant, unmoving.

“It’s okay, I can pay,” you assured him, reaching for your wallet, but his unimpressed stare didn’t waver. His silence stretched, almost as if he were waiting for you to back down first.

You didn’t. “Gin and tonic.”

No acknowledgement, not even a nod. He simply turned, reaching for the bottle of gin without a word.

Wanda reappeared beside you, collapsing back into her seat with a dramatic sigh, a sound that quickly dissolved into a giggle as Sam pressed a quick kiss to her cheek on his way past. The small moment of affection made you smile, your gaze trailing after him as he made his way toward the pool tables. He moved with familiarity, exchanging greetings with the patrons, his presence met with easy grins and back pats.

“He’s cute,” you hummed, watching him settle into the space like he owned it.

“I know, right?” Wanda smirked, pulling her drink closer.

You propped an elbow on the bar, your curiosity piqued. “How’d you meet?”

She took a slow sip, savouring the taste before setting the glass down. It looked like rum and coke. Smelt like it too. “He used to come to my work all the time when they were fixing up this place. We just got to talking one day and—”

Bucky set your drink in front of you with the same quiet precision as before, cutting off Wanda’s sentence mid-thought. You turned your attention back to him, offering a bright smile that didn’t falter, even as he met it with a frown.

“I’ve never liked those,” Wanda barely spared him a glance, instead eyeing your drink with mild disdain. “Not sweet enough for me.”

“Well, I like my drinks how I like my men,” you replied, the words coming with a smirk that you directed toward Bucky, holding his gaze longer than you probably should have. “Bitter.”

—

Shivering in the back alley by the dumpsters probably wasn’t your brightest idea, but at this point, you were committed.

You and Wanda had knocked back one too many drinks—again. It was becoming a habit, one that Sam was starting to take personally, considering he was the one who had to cut Wanda off after she got a little too liberal with her chatting and nearly convinced a stranger to let her wear his coat home. You, on the other hand, had managed to slip out gracefully, settling your tab before Wanda was carted out back to be babysat and force-fed water.

Neither of them had been thrilled at the idea of you walking home alone. Buzzed, barely dressed for the weather, and just reckless enough to make poor decisions, you’d assured them you were fine. Which, technically, was true. What you had failed to mention was that you hadn’t actually made it more than a few feet out the door before deciding to truly test the limits of your dignity.

The cigarette hanging from your lips wobbled slightly as you tried—unsuccessfully—to light it with numb fingers. You swore under your breath, stuffing the useless lighter back into your pocket just as the back door of Howling Commandos swung open.

And as fate—or some cruel, all-seeing god—would have it, it wasn’t Sam or Wanda who stepped outside.

Bucky emerged, a black trash bag slung over one shoulder, his usual scowl fixed in place. His stride slowed slightly when he caught sight of you, his expression unreadable.

“Thought you went home,” he muttered. “Sam and Wanda already left. If you need a ride, I can call you a cab.”

You tilted your head, watching as he moved, efficient, mechanical. The back door groaned shut behind him, its echo swallowed by the muffled city noise beyond the alley. Dumpster lid up, bag tossed in, blue eyes flicking back to you, waiting.

“I don’t need a ride.”

His gaze swept over you, unimpressed. “Sure about that? You look outta your damn mind right now.”

You exhaled, breath clouding the frigid air as you shoved your hands deeper into your coat pockets. The wind bit through the alleyway, slithering beneath the fur-trimmed collar and creeping up your spine.

“Well, when I had this brilliant idea, I was still drunk,” you admitted, shifting your weight on unsteady legs. “Now that alcohol’s worn off and it’s cold as shit, I can’t even fuckin’ light a smoke ‘cause my hands are shaking so bad.”

You lifted your fingers to prove your point, stiff and trembling from the cold, flashing him a lazy grin. He did not look impressed.

“This a cry for help? I don’t know what it is with Wanda and picking up crazy fuckin’ roommates—”

“I wanted to get your number.” You shrugged, unbothered by the scepticism in his tone. “Didn’t want to do it in the bar, figured you’re a private kinda guy, don’t like putting your business out for the world. I can respect that.”

He blinked, once. Then, slowly, “So you thought the next best option was to wait in a back alley in the snow—?”

“Hey,” you cut him off with a laugh, shifting your weight against the wall. “I said I was drunk when I came up with it… never said it was a good plan.”

Something flickered across his expression. Dry amusement, maybe. Then, to your surprise, he huffed out a short laugh, his breath visible in the cold air curling between you.

You smirked. “C’mon, I’ve been out here for like… an hour. Least you can do is give me your number.”

He took his time looking you over, slow and assessing. Despite the heavy winter coat hanging off your shoulders, you were still grossly underdressed for the weather. The short, tight-fitting dress clung to you like a second skin, courtesy of Wanda’s slut-shaming is sooo 2016 speech. A poor choice in hindsight, considering the temperature was bordering on unbearable.

“I’ll do you one better.”

You arched a brow. “Yeah?”

His voice dipped lower, something rougher curling at the edges. “How about I lock up, and you sit your pretty little ass in my car? I’ll drive you back to mine.” A beat. “Sound good?”

Now, this was the Bucky Barnes Wanda had described—the dangerous one, the elusive ladykiller. The shift had been minuscule, yet you already found your panties were wet.

You smiled. “Well, now you’re talking my language.”

—

"We should stop seeing each other."

Bucky sat hunched on the edge of his bed, forearms braced against his knees, fingers laced tightly together as if he were holding himself back. He didn’t look at you. His jaw was set, his mouth a firm line, but that wasn’t what unsettled you—it was the tension in his shoulders, the restless bounce of his leg, the way he exhaled through his nose like he was already regretting this conversation.

That first night had been the spark, but the fire never quite burned out. It carried on in flickering embers, nights tangled in his sheets, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress, bodies moving in time with the city’s restless heartbeat. If you had to put a name to it, fuck buddies was the closest fit, though even that felt too familiar, too warm. There were no tender morning-afters, no texts outside of arranging the next meeting. You met him in the alley after closing and let him drive you back to his place. Though sometimes, you never made it that far. Sometimes, it was the backseat of his car, windows fogged, streetlights streaking across his skin as you clawed at his shoulders. Other times, it was rushed and desperate, your palms braced against crates in the storeroom, breath hitching between half-suppressed moans before either of you had the sense to lock the damn door.

But as winter thawed into spring, something shifted.

The first crack in the foundation came when Bucky, against all odds, accepted your half-hearted invite to grab a bite to eat. You’d won a cheap voucher for a hole-in-the-wall Mexican place around the corner from the bar, fully expecting him to wave you off. But he hadn’t. And somehow, the two of you had ended up crammed into a booth, sharing a pile of nachos, snickering into your drinks as you watched a group of college kids make absolute fools of themselves. You wouldn’t have called it a date—Bucky sure as hell didn’t—but something about it felt different. Easier. The way he’d nudged his plate toward you when he noticed you eyeing his last taco. The way he leaned just a little too close, voice dropping low in your ear, murmuring some dry remark that made you snort into your margarita.

You weren’t sure when the line blurred. Maybe it was when your not-date nights became just as routine as your hookups. Or maybe it was at Wanda’s birthday dinner when Bucky—without thinking, without hesitation—draped his arm across the back of your chair, fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against the bare skin of your shoulder. You hadn’t even noticed at first, too caught up in conversation, but Wanda and Sam sure as hell had. They shared a look, one of those wordless exchanges, tight-lipped and knowing. Like they were bracing for the inevitable. Like they could already see the fallout creeping on the horizon.

And they were right.

Because after a year of effortless, reckless bliss, Bucky finally reached his limit.

You should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve known that letting Wanda rope you into planning his surprise birthday party was a mistake. That something so personal, so full of effort, would make him withdraw. It was all too much. Too close. Too intimate for someone who spent his life keeping people at arm’s length.

And just like that, the fire snuffed out.

Your grip tightened around the box in your hands, the crinkling of the wrapping paper comically loud in the quiet room. The laughter and chatter from the party outside felt like a world away, muffled through the walls of his bedroom. You had pulled him aside to give him his present in private, and now it sat between you like a hand grenade, pin already pulled, waiting for the explosion.

“Are you going to open your present? Hand-picked by yours truly, I made sure not to let Sam meddle with those prank gifts of his—” You ignored his words, shoving the brightly wrapped box towards him. He barely glanced at it before waving it off, his scowl deepening.

“Did you even hear what I said?” Bucky interrupted you, expression nowhere near impressed

“Jesus, Bucky. Are you serious?” The sigh that left you was excessive, the once bubbly and sweet aura you wrapped yourself up in so tightly melting away in an instant. 

You should have known.

He had been off all week. Distant, restless. He’d stopped waiting for you in the back alley after his shifts ended, ignored your texts, and let your calls go to voicemail. Hell, he hadn’t even invited you over to fuck in two weeks, and that was the foundation of whatever this was between you. You’d told yourself it was the late winter blues—snow had been falling thick for weeks now even with spring looming closer by the day. Maybe, you had told yourself, it was some kind of early mid-life crisis with his birthday looming.

But deep down, you’d known better. You’d felt it in the way he couldn’t meet your eyes anymore, how his touch had cooled from burning to indifferent. It was like a switch had flipped, turning lust into something close to disgust.

“I’m serious,” Bucky said, exhaling like the conversation had already exhausted him. He rubbed a hand down his face, eyes fixed somewhere past your shoulder as if looking at you would make this harder. Or maybe easier. “We should stop… whatever this is.”

The present now sat on the bed, abandoned between you. You placed it down with deliberate care, fingers smoothing over the edges as you mulled over his words. Beyond the walls, the party raged on, voices rising in drunken harmony as Sweet Caroline blared over the speakers. A chorus of shouts—touchin’ me, touchin’ you—mocked the silence stretching between you.

You knew there was no point in arguing, not when Bucky had already made up his mind, disillusioned or not. But the question still burned its way up your throat before you could stop it, raw and sharp as you met his gaze.

“Why?”

His brows furrowed. “Why?”

However he had expected you to react, this clearly wasn’t it. Maybe he thought you’d cry. Maybe he thought you’d yell. But you had never been the type for tears or begging. You just wanted the truth. The cold, ruthless reason why this wasn’t working anymore.

“Yes. Why? What’s changed?”

Bucky hesitated, something flickering across his face. Hesitation, regret, guilt, maybe all three. Then, his jaw tensed, and he forced the words out like they tasted bitter on his tongue.

“You’re… You’re just too much. You’re too much for me.”

Your head tilted slightly, observing him. He still wouldn’t meet your eye.

“Too much, huh?” You echoed, voice steady despite the way your stomach twisted. “And how exactly am I too much?”

He sighed, exasperated. “You’re just… overbearing. You always want to text or call, or stop by the bar. You’re always asking after me with Sam and Wanda. It’s all just a little too much, doll. This was supposed to be a casual thing.” His fingers flexed at his sides, his frustration palpable. “You’re just—”

“So, you’re punishing me because I care?”

“That’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying, Bucky?” Your voice sharpened, and your patience unravelling. “That I’m clingy? That I’m suffocating you? Is it such a crime that I want to spend time with you—”

“You’re just—fuckin’ everywhere.” His voice rose, and you arched a brow, arms folding over your chest. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I swear to God. Every thought I have, everything I do—you’re there. I dream about you. And sometimes, I swear I smell that goddamn perfume of yours even when you’re not around—”

“Bucky.” You took a step forward, searching his face for something, anything. “Have you ever considered that maybe this is happening because you like me? Not because I’m some overbearing burden in your life—”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his entire body stiff.

“I don’t do relationships.”

You let out a dry, humourless laugh, shaking your head. “So, what then? You’re just gonna cut me off? I got too close, didn’t I? Too close to you—to the real you, the one you hide under all that brooding, tough-guy bullshit—so now you’re pushing me away?”

Bucky’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing.

You exhaled sharply, your patience splintering under the weight of his silence. “You know, Wanda warned me this would happen. Sam too. Hell, just about everyone out there did.” You gestured vaguely toward the door, toward the muffled chaos of the party beyond his bedroom. Laughter and music seeped through the walls. “Your friends, your colleagues. They all warned me. Guess I’m the idiot for thinking it’d be different, huh?”

His gaze flickered. A barely-there flinch. You pressed on.

“They told me you throw people away when they get too attached.” Your voice softened, but not with kindness, with something hollow, something resigned. “Or worse, when you do.”

His breath hitched, so quick and so subtle that if you hadn’t been watching him so closely, you would’ve missed it. But you saw it: the crack, the hesitation, the battle waging behind those sharp blue eyes.

For a second, it almost looked like he might break. Like he might finally say what he was really thinking.

But then, just as quickly as it appeared, the moment was gone. His expression hardened, every ounce of warmth draining from his face.

“I don’t need you.”

And just like that, the last ember of hope inside you burned out.

You swallowed against the ache in your throat, but your voice came steady, unwavering. “Is that the truth?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “Or are you just telling yourself that to feel better?”

His eyes darkened, and this time, there was no hesitation.

“Get out.”

—

You weren’t sure why you came back to the Howling Commandos.

You were beginning to suspect that Wanda and Sam were scheming something. She was constantly begging you to visit the bar every night off she had with the promise of free liquor. It had taken a few weeks after Bucky’s birthday meltdown for you to finally budge. Maybe it was the way Wanda had pulled you along, her arm hooked through yours like she could drag you away from the weight of it all. Maybe it was the way she made you laugh, tipping her head back, auburn hair catching in the bar’s dim light, her wicked look as she shrugged off her coat and flung it onto the counter. Maybe it was because you knew he would be here.

And, maybe, just maybe, you wanted that.

Bucky stood behind the bar, sleeves rolled to his forearms, jaw tight as he poured a whiskey neat without looking up. He must’ve heard you come in like he always did, but his eyes never once lifted from his work.

You perched upon one of the barstools beside Wanda, the wood sticky beneath your elbows, the orange glow from the bar’s lights catching in the condensation on your glass. A gin and tonic. No words exchanged, no request needed, just Bucky’s hand sliding it across the table without so much as a glance in your direction.

It was almost funny, the way he refused to look at you, wouldn’t acknowledge you beyond the ghost of a touch as his fingers brushed the glass. And yet, he still remembered your drink. Still took the time to slice a bit of lemon for the rim, just the way you liked it. Never mind that he’d once grumbled about how much he hated customers who ordered anything that meant extra cleanup at the end of the night.

“You gonna sulk all night or actually have fun?” Wanda teased, knocking her knee against yours.

You took a slow sip, letting the cool burn of gin settle on your tongue before answering. “I am having fun.”

“Sure you are,” she drawled, not buying it for a second.

But the night wasn’t all bad. You were feeling good, maybe a little too good, laughing at Sam’s exaggerated retelling of a story you’d already heard a dozen times, Wanda snorting into her rum, the buzz settling in like a second skin.

But the uneasy peace did not last long, as chaos had a way of following Bucky Barnes like his own shadow.

Two guys, a little too confident, a little too eager. You felt them before you even turned, whiskey on their breath, a practiced smirk tugging at the lips. The kind of men who smelled like cheap aftershave and overconfidence, sliding into your space with easy grins and empty compliments. One leaned in too close. “Didn’t think someone like you would be drinking alone.”

You arched a brow. “Who says I’m alone?”

He took the bait, smirking. “That right? Where’s your boyfriend, then?”

“Don’t have one.” You replied, tone disinterested.

He grasped your arm, and you yanked it away, nearly elbowing Wanda beside you in the process. “Oh yeah? I could change that for you sweetheart—” 

You didn’t have time to answer before you saw the bar flap shoot up in your peripherals. 

“Hey, man,” Sam warned, barely getting the words out before Bucky was there, a cloud at the edge of your vision, muscles wound tight beneath his shirt. He wasn’t looking at you, not really, but you could feel the storm rolling off him in waves, the tension singing through his frame.

The guy didn’t even have time to react before Bucky shoved him back—hard enough to knock him off balance, sending his drink sloshing onto the floor.

“The fuck?” Whiskey-breath scowled, stumbling forward like he thought he had a chance.

Bucky stepped in, jaw clenched, fist already curled like a promise. His voice was smooth, even. “Out. Now.”

The guy scoffed, straightening. “Oh yeah? What are you, the bouncer?”

“Nah.” Bucky tilted his head. “I fuckin’ own the place.”

Sam was rounding the bar, slipping beneath the bar flap. “One rule, Bucky! We have one rule!”

“No assholes in the bar?” Bucky deadpanned, flexing his fingers.

“No. No punching customers—hey!”

Too late.

The first punch landed with a sickening crack, sharp enough to slice through the low hum of conversation. A brief, stunned silence settled over the bar, glasses paused mid-air, a cue ball rolling to a stop on the felt. Then, a gasp. A sharp inhale. Someone let out a bark of laughter.

The guy staggered back, clutching his jaw, blinking like he couldn’t quite process what had just happened. But instead of learning his lesson, he surged forward, swinging blindly in a desperate attempt to save face.

The impact came from the right. A solid hit, knuckles cutting against Bucky’s brow. His head snapped slightly to the side, strands of dark hair falling loose from where they’d been tucked behind his ears. The second punch followed fast—less precise, more frantic—but it clipped him along the cheekbone, just enough to split the skin.

A thin trail of red welled up, tracking down the sharp line of his face.

Bucky stilled.

A slow, dangerous exhale. Then, before the guy could so much as blink, Bucky struck. A brutal, efficient one-two, fist slamming into ribs, then an upward cut that sent the man sprawling. His friend hesitated, torn between pride and self-preservation, before grabbing a fistful of his collar and dragging him toward the door.

Bucky flexed his fingers, shaking out his hand like he was testing for damage, like he barely felt it. The cut above his brow was bleeding, a slow trickle of crimson trailing towards his temple, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

You took a sip of your drink, eyes flicking lazily towards him, your pulse not even kicking up. Beside you, Wanda didn’t so much as blink; she just swirled the last of her rum and coke, watching the scene unfold like it was a rerun of a show she’d seen too many times before.

Finally, with a knowing smirk, she leaned in, voice low and honey-smooth. “You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?”

You swirled your gin and tonic, ice clinking against the glass, lips curling around the rim as you took another sip.

“Maybe.”

—

The back room was cold, the kind of cold that settled deep in the bones, seeping through the exposed brick walls. A single bulb hung overhead, casting a dim, yellow glow over the stacked crates of liquor and the metal shelves lined with bottles. You’d been in here many times, though usually under much more pleasurable circumstances. Bucky sat on an overturned crate, elbows on his knees, blood drying along the ridge of his knuckles. His head was tipped slightly forward, shoulders hunched as he rolled one of his split knuckles between his fingers, like he was testing if it still hurt. 

You shut the door behind you.

His jaw tightened. “Don’t.”

You ignored him, stepping past the crates and grabbing the first aid kit off the nearest shelf. “Sit up straight.”

He didn’t move.

So, with a sigh, you pressed a firm hand to his shoulder and shoved him upright. He let it happen, though he shot you an unamused look as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Jesus, you’re pushy.”

You crouched in front of him, flipping open the first aid kit, the sharp scent of antiseptic filling the air. He watched as you poured alcohol onto a clean cloth, soaking it through before pressing it against the cut above his brow.

Bucky flinched, fingers twitching like he wanted to grab your wrist, to stop you. But he didn’t.

“Hold still,” you murmured, dabbing at the wound.

His lip curled slightly, but he stayed put, letting you clean the blood away. His fists clenched on his thighs, shoulders wound tight like he was waiting for something worse.

“You know,” you said, voice light despite the weight in the air, “I heard from Wanda you’ve been losing it lately.”

Bucky huffed. “Yeah?”

“She said you’ve been missing shifts, and when you do turn up, you’re, uh…” You smirked, twisting the cloth to clean the edge of his jaw. “Well, these are her words, not mine—a miserable old cunt. Keep picking fights with customers.” You paused, waiting to see his response. His lips remained sown shut, his gaze cold, and he did not quite meet your eye. With an arch of your brow, you continued.

“Apparently, someone broke into your car, and you’re getting kicked out of your apartment because your landlord wants to sell it to some construction assholes.” You tilted your head, studying him. “I mean, some of that isn’t your fault, but it sounds like karma to me.”

Bucky’s fingers flexed. “Why do you care, doll?”

“I don’t,” you said easily, wringing out the cloth before pressing it against his brow again. “It’s like… watching a car wreck. Kind of captivating in a way.”

He let out a short, humourless laugh. “You’re fucked up.”

“Yeah, maybe I am.” You shrugged, barely glancing at him as you grabbed another clean cloth. “But I think, deep down, maybe I just pity you.”

Bucky’s expression darkened. “Why are you so normal about all of this? Aren’t you the one that’s supposed to be, I don’t know, freaking out? I was the one who dropped you, not the other way around.”

You paused, the cloth still pressed to his skin. You considered his words, then slowly and calmly, you replied. “It’s your own heart that you’re breaking, baby.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “You don’t know that.”

“I think I do.”

His lips parted like he was about to argue, but instead, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You don’t know shit about me.”

You sat back on your heels, observing him. The bruises were darkening across his cheekbones, his knuckles still raw, and his body shuddering from the aftermath. But beneath it all—under the cold defiance and the sharp edges—you saw it. The weight of something unspoken, something he wouldn’t admit to himself.

You hummed, tilting your head. “I know a lot.”

Bucky’s gaze flickered to you, wary.

“I know that you take your coffee black, your whiskey neat,” you said, voice soft. “That you always make your bed because it’s a habit from when you served. You prefer to drive stick. You’re a cat person.” 

You held his gaze, watching the way his fingers curled. “I know that you wear two sets of dog tags. That there are ghosts following you that you don’t talk about. I know that you realised you were getting attached to me. That it scared you so badly you dropped me the moment it clicked.”

“I know that you still ask after me,” you finished, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know that deep down, you care about me.”

Silence settled between you. 

Bucky stared at his hands, dried blood caking along the ridges of his knuckles. He was still for a long time, so long you thought maybe he wasn’t going to respond at all. 

“This… this thing between us.” His voice was rough. “It was a fling. Nothing more. A moment in time, not to be repeated.”

You inhaled slowly, disappointment evident, then stood.

With an easy motion, you tossed the bloodied rag onto a nearby crate.

“Keep telling yourself that,” you murmured, stepping back.

Bucky looked up at you, something flickering behind his eyes, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

You just smiled.

“Because I know,” you said simply, turning toward the door, “that in the end, you’ll come crawling back to me.”

“I won’t.”

You glanced over your shoulder, the corners of your lips curling.

“Okay.”

—

The cemetery was quiet, save for the whisper of wind through bare branches and the distant hum of traffic beyond the iron gates. The last bite of winter still clung to the air, spring struggling to take hold, leaving the sky an endless stretch of pale grey.

You pulled your coat tighter around yourself as you stepped out of Sam’s car, boots crunching against the gravel path. Wanda climbed out from the passenger side, rubbing her arms against the cold, while Sam exhaled sharply, tilting his head towards the small gathering of headstones up ahead.

“He’s already here,” he murmured.

Bucky stood with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, his back to you, his head slightly bowed toward the grave. Even from a distance, there was a tension in the way he held himself—like he was bracing for impact or maybe just trying to keep from unravelling.

You tightened your grip on the flowers in your hand and followed Sam and Wanda towards him.

Bucky didn’t turn when you approached, but you saw his shoulders shift, the slight tensing of his jaw when he realised there was one more person than expected. He still didn’t say anything, though, just kept his eyes on the headstone.

Steve Rogers.

The name was carved deep into the stone, clean and straightforward. No rank, no medals, no accolades. Just a name. A man who had meant something to them.

You hadn’t even known Steve existed until Sam mentioned him offhand a few days ago, his voice softer than usual, the usual humour dimmed. He hadn’t given many details—just that Steve was an old friend, someone he and Bucky had served with, and that the anniversary of his death was coming up. It hadn’t been an invitation, just a passing remark, but something about it stuck with you. Maybe it was the way Sam glanced at Bucky afterwards, concern hidden beneath his easygoing demeanour or the way Wanda’s expression darkened slightly like she’d been expecting it. You didn’t know anything about the man they were mourning, but you knew Bucky, and you knew the kind of grief that sat heavily on a person’s shoulders. Maybe you wanted to pay your respects. Perhaps you just wanted an excuse to get eyes on him, to see how bad the damage was. Either way, when Wanda and Sam left for the cemetery, you were in the car with them.

You stepped forward and crouched down, laying the flowers gently against the grave. The wind tugged at the petals as you stood, moving back beside Wanda, who sent you a glance but didn’t say a word.

Sam was the first to speak. “Damn, Steve. I hope you know we visit you even in the freezing fuckin’ cold.”

A small chuckle rumbled from Bucky’s chest, barely there. “Yeah.”

Sam exhaled, shaking his head. “You know, I think about that time in training when Bucky dared you to climb the roof of the barracks, and when you actually did it, Bucky nearly had a heart attack ‘cause you realised he’d have to go up there to get you down.”

Bucky huffed, shaking his head. “Idiot did a victory pose at the top. Almost fell straight off.”

Sam laughed. “Man, I wish we had taken a photo of you, dumbass.”

They fell into an easy rhythm, trading stories, some funny, some quiet and unspoken, shared only through small glances and nods. Wanda stood beside you, hands clasped in front of her, while you listened, letting them have their moment. She hadn’t known Steve either, just fragments of memories and stories Sam had told her over the years.

Eventually, the cold started to settle in deep, and Sam clapped his hands together. “Alright, I don’t know, but I think Steve would be personally offended if we froze our asses off standing here like idiots instead of heading home.”

Wanda nodded, already turning back toward the cars. You followed, but before you could take more than a few steps, Bucky spoke.

“I’ll take her home.”

The words were short, and clipped, but they made Wanda and Sam pause.

Sam lifted a brow, glancing between the two of you, then exchanged a look with Wanda, one of those unspoken conversations between lovers that didn’t need words.

But neither of them argued.

Sam just gave a small, knowing shrug and started toward his car. Wanda followed without a word, though you could’ve sworn the auburn gave you a subtle smirk.

You exhaled softly, then turned towards Bucky’s car.

The drive was quiet.

Outside, the world blurred past, fields and roads stretching under the grey sky. You kept your hands close to the vents, soaking in what little warmth the car offered, your fingers still stiff from the cold. Bucky’s grip on the wheel was tight, his knuckles pale. He was wound up, his shoulders rigid, and his jaw locked. The muscles in his forearms twitched as he shifted gears, and every so often, he exhaled sharply like he was biting back something sharp.

Minutes passed, the ghost of unspoken words swirling between you.

Then, suddenly—

“Fuck this.” Bucky muttered the words under his breath, his grip on the wheel tightening before he jerked the car off the highway. The tyres crunched over gravel as he turned onto a narrow backroad leading toward a small, empty picnic area near a river. The place was deserted, picnic tables dusted with half-melted frost. Too cold for anyone to be out.

You sat there, the hum of the engine the only sound between you. The sky outside had darkened, clouds pressing down low on the horizon as the river lazily wound its way through the mist. Bucky’s hands gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, his eyes fixed on the view outside. 

“How did you know about Steve?” The question left his lips quietly, almost like an afterthought, but it was sharp all the same.

“Sam.” You hesitated for a moment, gathering your thoughts. “I kind of put the pieces together. It’s his dog tags you wear, right?” Your voice came out soft but steady.

Bucky gave a single, sharp nod. “Yeah.”

You sighed, glancing out the window for a brief second. The weight in his voice, the way he carried it like an old wound, told you this was something fragile, something that had never quite healed.

“I didn’t mean to intrude. I just…” You trailed off, the words dying on your tongue, uncertain, too small for the grief that lingered between you. Your gaze flickered to his, but he wasn’t looking at you.

His voice, when it came again, was quieter than before. “Steve... Steve, he wasn’t just my friend. He was my partner.”

Something inside you stilled. The breath you’d been meaning to take got caught in your chest. “You were… together? Dating?”

“Yeah.” His voice wavered, unsteady in a way that made your stomach twist. “We were, uh, in love, I guess.”

The words hit you like a cold gust, Something in your mind clicked into place, pieces of him you hadn’t understood suddenly making sense. You stared at him, taking in the way his brows furrowed, the way the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes seemed more pronounced now, like he’d aged in the last few minutes.

“Did Sam know?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, jaw tight. “A few people did. His family, mine. A few friends.”

“I’m sorry.” You swallowed, trying to push past the lump forming in your throat. The words felt inadequate, almost meaningless. “I know my words don’t mean much or change anything, but I truly am sorry that you lost someone that important to you.”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, his grip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening, the leather creaking beneath his hold. His eyes stayed locked on the river, but he wasn’t really seeing it. He was somewhere else.

Then, barely above a whisper, “He stood on a landmine.”

Bucky’s voice was rough, worn thin. “He was dead before… before he would have even realised he’d stepped on it. They never really recovered all of his body. He just kinda… turned into mist.”

You felt your stomach drop. A slow, creeping horror curled around your ribs, sinking its claws in deep. “You saw it?”

“Yeah.”

“Bucky, that’s horrific, I—”  You felt your words die in your throat. What was there to say? There was no comfort for something like that. No words that could make it hurt less.

Then, slowly, his head turned, an empty, haunted gaze meeting yours. “That coffin out there, it’s empty. We do this every year, but it’s like talking to the wind.”

The words were like a punch to the gut. You swallowed hard, your throat tight with the rawness of it. Slowly, you reached across the console, your fingers brushing against his arm. “He didn’t suffer.”

“No.” Bucky's voice broke for the first time. “No, I suppose I should be thankful for that.” A tear slipped down his cheek, and he wiped it away with a rough, almost impatient hand. But he didn’t pull away from your touch. Didn’t move to hide the way his hands shook, fingers still locked in a vice grip around the wheel.

You didn’t comment on it.

You kept your hand on his arm, a steady presence against the tension coiled beneath his skin. There was nothing to say—at least, nothing that would make any of it easier. He had already said enough, and you weren’t going to insult him by pretending there were magic words to fix it. So you simply stayed, grounding him in the quiet, hoping that maybe, just maybe, letting even a sliver of it out might lighten the weight he carried.

The silence stretched, thick but not uncomfortable, the kind that settled in the space between two people who understood each other without needing to fill the gaps with empty words. A sharp gust of wind rattled against the window, slipping through unseen cracks and sending a shiver down your spine, but you didn’t move. Neither did he.

Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, Bucky turned his head, his gaze locking onto yours, raw, searching, like he was looking for something he wasn’t even sure existed. His throat bobbed, lips parting as he exhaled a slow, uneven breath. “I’m sorry.”

You blinked, taken aback. “For what?”

“How I’ve treated you these past few weeks.”

“Baby, you don’t need to apologise—”

“No, I do.” He interrupted tone tinged with frustration. “I… I realised that I cared for you. A lot. And it scared the shit out of me. After Steve, well, I swore I wouldn’t love again. I couldn’t… I couldn’t imagine going through that again. Or worse, if I died and left someone behind like that—”

You shook your head, cutting him off gently. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not though—” he began, but you interrupted him again, your voice calm, sure.

“I forgive you.”

Bucky went still, his expression unreadable for a moment as he processed your words. His jaw clenched, his eyes flicking between you and the river, as if weighing something in his mind.

A long, charged silence settled in. Then, just as you thought the moment would pass, he spoke, his voice quieter this time. “You’re sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure.” You smiled softly. “Listen. I didn’t know Steve, and I never will but… if he cared for you. If he loved you, he’d want you to be happy. He wouldn’t want you to shut yourself away from love, from feeling.”

“Honestly…” Bucky paused, sucking on his teeth. “Honestly, you’re probably right, doll.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, staring ahead like he was trying to gather his thoughts.

“I still don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice quiet. “Loving someone. Letting someone love me.”

You smiled softly, tilting your head. “Good thing I’m patient.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, that much is obvious.” Bucky glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, something unreadable flickering across his expression. Then, almost too softly to hear, “I want to try.”

You reached over, lacing your fingers through his. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

His grip tightened, just for a second like he was anchoring himself to you. And then, as if realising how ridiculous he sounded, he let out a low laugh, disbelief lacing his tone. “You’re too good for me, doll.”

“Hmm, maybe.” You giggled, leaning towards him, resting your forehead against his shoulder for a brief moment, letting the warmth between you settle. “I think I’ll stick around, though.”

“Yeah?” His voice held a tinge of uncertainty like he was testing the waters. His arm shifted, moving from the wheel to pull you closer to his side. “I haven’t scared you off?”

You tilted your head to look up at him, grinning. “I think you’d have to try a little harder to do that.”

He held you closer, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “So…” He paused, his breath hitching as if the words were caught in his throat. “Would you stick around… as my girlfriend?”

You jolted up, eyes widening in surprise. “Did the Bucky Barnes just ask me—”

“Shush, you.” He chuckled, cutting you off, his finger moving to gently press against your lips.

You smiled, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek, and he tugged you in closer, his grip firm but not demanding. His lips found yours, slow at first, testing—like he was still convincing himself this was okay, that he could have this. But as you melted into him, your fingers curling against the fabric of his jacket, something shifted. His hand slid up your back, anchoring you against him, his lips warm, sure, moving against yours with a quiet intensity.

You sighed into him, your breath mingling with his, the space between you disappearing until there was nothing but the press of his body, the soft scrape of his stubble against your skin. His fingers skimmed the nape of your neck, tilting your head slightly, and he kissed you again, slower this time, savouring it like he wanted to memorise the way you felt against him.

The world outside blurred, the hum of the car engine distant, unimportant. There was only this, only him, his warmth, the quiet, desperate way he held you like he was afraid to let go.

When you pulled away, Bucky let out a sharp sigh as if something inside him had finally relaxed. “Thank god, it would be kind of awkward if you didn’t—”

You silenced him with another kiss, and for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.

A spark reignited. 

[levanswrites]

In the Mood

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: He tells himself it’s fine. 

Gotta keep moving—bigger things to do, too many items on his list.  His libido doesn’t even crack the top ten. 

Until he met… you.

warnings: angst. aka the tortured mind™ of james buchanan barnes. sexual frustration, internalized guilt. mention of erectile dysfunction/anxiety around intimacy. eventual fluff.

word count: 1.5k

Bucky’s got… a list. 

Steve’s the one who planted the idea in his head—ways to keep his feet moving, even when his mind couldn’t. Granted, Bucky’s list isn’t tucked into a literal pocket-sized notebook, but it's there.

Some parts are harder than others—debts, loose ends, reparations.

Others, more straightforward. Try sushi. Learn how to download that album Sam won’t shut up about. Figure out the whole ‘zodiac sign compatibility’ thing.

And then there’s the… in-between. Somewhere between the boring and the impossible.

Pieces of normalcy that don’t sit quite right. Loose shrapnel from the fallout of who he once was. 

Like learning how to smile at strangers without feeling like he’s giving something away. Or making small talk that doesn’t spiral into awkward silence.  

Some things feel closer to second nature, though he still needs the safety net of familiarity and trust, like that time he flirted with Sarah just to rile Sam.  

But then again, the prospect of anything with real stakes, like when that blonde barista slipped him her number, sends him running for the hills. 

And between all the tiger photos on Tinder and—again, what the fuck was the deal with all the zodiac signs?—he’s quickly discovered that ‘dating’ in the 21st-century isn’t quite like it used to be. 

You ever hook up with a girl?   

He had just stared at Sam, then, with a slow lift of his metal arm like it was explanation enough.

Of course, there was the whole other issue of… mechanics. 

Something so unspoken and personal he’s barely admitted it to himself.

And he’s tried just about everything short of pills to fix it.

Articles, advice columns. Porn. Even dug out an old magazine or two for nostalgia’s sake, half-hoping it’d jog something loose. 

But most nights he’d come up limp, staring down a bottle of cheap whiskey as restlessness swallowed him whole.

And he tells himself it’s fine. 

Gotta keep moving—bigger things to do, too many items on his list. 

His libido doesn’t even crack the top ten. 

Until he met… you.

Caught him off-guard one night, in the produce aisle of some corner bodega, when he was busy frowning at a peach that didn’t look like a peach.

Donut peaches. Crazy, right?

Cocked him an easy smile, a basket full of groceries by your hip as you plucked a different fruit off the stand, its skin leathery smooth and blush pink. 

They’re out of season, though. Might wanna try these nectarines. 

Your smile stayed with him longer than it should’ve. 

So did the sound of your laugh, bright and untroubled, when you apologized for what he could only assume was an irresistibly charming grimace on his part. 

Shoot, sorry, occupational hazard. 

I like your jacket, by the way. 

And just like that, you had him.

The next few weeks were a blur of excuses to visit your small bakery, down by 22nd street. Setting up his laptop like he actually had work to do, just so he’d feel less like a creep when you’d step out from behind the register and spark up easy conversation. 

And somehow, between testing all your newest bakes and staying back till closing to walk you home, he’s missed that fragile window where it felt appropriate to tell you who he is—was. Whatever.

That the gloves weren't some quirky fashion choice, or because he’s got poor circulation. 

But then again, maybe it wasn’t all that accidental.

Because you’re virtually the only person alive who knows him as Bucky—only Bucky—and he thought offering up the truth would change things.

The way you smile, call him handsome. Tug him closer by the lapels of his jacket. 

Kissed him outside that wine bar in Brooklyn, then fixed his hair and the corner of his mouth where your strawberry lip gloss smudged. 

Grabbed his hand and draped it deliberately over your thigh, that one time he took you to see a picture about aliens and space wars—though he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember a single plot point afterward. 

That memory is a warm thing that turns cold fast. A flicker of heat curling low in his stomach, his hand twitching instinctively toward the space between his legs. 

Then, the spark would fizzle out, like a bucket of ice water dumped over his thoughts.  

And that’s when the spiral would start, the endless rabbit hole that is sex advice by strangers on the internet. Hunched over a dim screen, browser history stacked a mile high with unanswered questions about modern dating, with one particular query searing into his thoughts:

How long should you wait before having sex with someone for the first time?

Because, supposedly, the internet says three dates. To see if you’re really compatible. 

After that point, why even bother? 

And he had to lean back and hold his breath at that, because, shit—tomorrow was date #3. 

So when he showed up to the jazz bar you’d been wanting to try, at exactly ten minutes to 8, the bouquet in his gloved hand was quivering. Like the time he asked out Lucy Ann from the 7th grade.

He'd sought temporary reprieve in the way you gasped, delighted, branding a smile on his cheek with a chaste kiss. Just like you had for the flowers on the first date, then again at the second.

(Because, apparently, no one does this kind of thing anymore, and he had scoffed because—jesus, did guys make it this easy to impress a date nowadays?)

Later, you’d pulled him close under the neon glow of a sidewalk marquee, kissing him soft and slow like you had all night.  

Taste of merlot and something sweeter on your lips when you'd muttered: my place?

And that brings him here, in the narrow hallway of your apartment, just a couple steps from the door because you couldn’t wait for the couch.  

He’s got you pressed against the wall, lost in the plush yield of your lips, the smooth curve of your cheek under his thumb. Because he loves this part, he really does—the way you arch into him, slide your hands under his jacket. Your breaths, shallow and sweet, mixed in with the heady scent of your perfume.

How you smile, for no apparent reason other than the fact that kissing him seems to make you happy. 

But then there’s that quiet thought, again.

And he desperately wishes he was holding your hips for a different reason than to pull away. 

“Maybe,” he pants, swallowing hard because your eyes were making it hard to focus, “maybe we shouldn't…”

Your gaze settles on him for a brief moment, hazy and heavy-lidded. From the wine or from something else, he’s not sure he wants to know. 

Then, you pull back promptly, slipping under his arm and disappearing somewhere behind him. 

Now, he’s blinking, staring at an empty wall. 

Convinced that he’s fucked this all up, heart leaping to his throat, something pounding in his head—

Until he realizes that the vibration drumming against his ears is music. 

The soft croon of a clarinet, the brassy blare of trumpets—a familiar melody sweeps over him, and it makes his brows pinch because he knows this one.

A tune he can recognize, for once, wedged somewhere between humid nights on Coney Island and crowded USO dance halls. 

“C’mon!”

Your high pitched laugh against his ear, a gentle tug at his wrist. 

It hits like whiplash, then, the realization of what you’re asking him to do.  

And he feels like an assuming jerk for all the scenarios he’s been playing through his mind since last night—because while he was busy coming up with excuses for why he couldn’t get hard, or why he’s got a metal arm, or why he wakes up in the middle of the night hearing screams that might be his own—you had wanted to… dance. 

He lets himself be drawn by your radiant smile, into the tiny pocket of space where your kitchen meets your living room.

His heart stutters when your hand slides to his back, the other lacing around his gloved fingers. He’s supposed to lead, isn’t he?

Yet, his steps flow in tune with yours, falling into place like they never strayed in the first place.

“Not too bad,” you tease, eyes sparkling, body swaying. 

“…I gotta be honest, I—oh!” A high, happy sound tickles your throat when he spins you, arms arching high over your head. “—didn’t peg you for a dancer!”

His fingers itch to hold you closer. Adoration humming under his skin, threaded with disbelief, because how the hell did he manage to find this? To find you?         

“Guess I’ve got a few surprises left.”

You hum, tilting your head. “Mm, I like that. I’ll have to see what else I can get out of you.”

And the way you say it—all innocent and just a hint too sweet—sends a sudden rush of heat through him.

His breaths halt, feet frozen to the floor.

Shit, is that…?

Heat licks at his nerves, sparks jumping under his skin, and before he can stop to question it, it’s there. 

And instead of running, he leans in. 

The next twirl is deliberate, his hand steady against your waist as you come spinning back to him. 

He grins, the thrill of something new rising to the top of his list.

“Just try to keep up, huh?”

a/n: my first bucky fic! was a bit nerve-wracking branching out into other characters, but this was a lot of fun :) lemme know what u think!

[buckrecs]

𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩 𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙧𝙚𝙘 : 𝙈𝙖𝙮

masterlist | monthly fic rec masterlist

FLUFF

Buchanan by @barnesmurdock

baby, it’s bad out there by @intrepidacious

set me free by @/intrepidacious (40s!bucky x nymph!reader)

When I’m With You by @phantomspiderr

You’re Worth It All by @/phantomspiderr

Scotty Doesn’t Know by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

cherry blossoms must be magic by @witchywithwhiskey

aisle 4 by @buckyhoney

Grump : The Musical by @itsapeterthing

Trough Sickness… Except Bucky’s by @teamcap4bucky

Wrong Number by @/teamcap4bucky

Alcohol You Later by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

Possible-Future-Girlfriend by @jurassicbarnes

Vegas, Baby! by @bxcketbarnes

Love in the Workplace by @bxcketbarnes

Too Hot, An Arm Cold by @t-lostinworlds

almond milk by @buckysblanket

After Words by @justsomebucky (Modern AU)

Once Upon A Dream by @abovethesmokestacks

cut my hair by @buckybarnesdiaries

Mind Reader by @espinosaurusrexex

Chain Around my Neck by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

Sweet and Strong by @navybrat817 (tattoo artist!bucky x baker!reader)

Charmed by @rookthorne (mechanic!bucky)

Rule Number One by @sidepartskinnyjeans

A Solid Foundation by @writing-for-marvel (fiancé!bucky)

It’s Not My Cup Of Tea by @malum-forev

The Weather by @saltsicklover

Silent Nights and Sorry Mornings by @veelacurse

In The Name Of Love by @moonbeambucky

Fallin’ For You by @/moonbeambucky

I’m Gunnin’ For You by @rookthorne (drifter!bucky)

Morning Workout by @sparklefics

ANGST

Call Me When You Get This by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

I’ll Wear Your Ring by @/bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

After by @wkemeup

Spiral by @buckyalpine

Until We Meet Again by @bucksangel

Try Anything Once by @/malum-forev (doctor!reader)

A Place by @/malum-forev

SMUT

Silent Screams in Wildest Dreams by @buckets-and-trees

Ring Ring by @adrinktostopyourthirst (roommate!bucky)

Convince Me by @teamcap4buciy

Roadside Assistance by @urvenicebtch (mechanic!bucky)

That’s The Way Love Goes by @dirtytomatoedwrites

Surrender by @barnesmurdock

i was made for lovin’ you by @buckycuddlebuddy (rockstar!bucky x bassist!reader)

On My Tongue by @angrythingstarlight (chubby!bucky)

Sweeter Than Sugar by @/angrythingstarlight (chubby!bucky)

Destined to be Yours by @buckyalpine

sinner by @writingsbychlo (demon!bucky x angel!reader)

[loverslodge]

please look at me like that

summery: your feelings got the best of you and you ended up emailing a lot of people to go out on a date with you. only the super soldiers responded and so you have a fake date with them. but was it really a fake date or was it just denial?

pairings: steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes (modern au)

warnings: ANGST CITY, LOADS OF FLUFF, lots of insecurity, clingy!bucky and jealous!steve (they are so much of a warning), implied smut but not really, lack of self-care

A/N: this is my first mini series. i am thrilled about this. i haven't been doing well with my love life which inspired this. i am not as bold as written so here's hoping for a positive love life outcome. i loved this idea and i was thinking of picking only one of them but i couldn't. i love them both equally.

this series is open for requests and may have future drabbles:

leading up to the date

the date

after the date

[capibuck]

My attempt to design fashion clothes 🤭

COMMISSIONS 🧡 || Ko fi ☕

[tremendouscreationperson]

Bucky Barnes x Chubby!Reader imagine

It had been really difficult to blow Bucky off each time he asked to hang out. In fact it had been really difficult to ignore the whole friendship group. If you went out with Steve, no doubt Bucky would be there. If you went out with Nat, no doubt Bucky would hear and ask you to meet him the following day. The same goes for Sam, Wanda and, fuck it, even Tony.

So you all but secluded yourself in your room. Which wasn't your choice really but your boyfriend Alex hadn't taken kindly to your close relationship with another man. He wasn't convinced that even though you two grew up together you could be 'just friends'. And to his credit he wasn't really wrong. You had harboured a fat crush on your closest friend for a while but it was unrequited and then Alex came into your life and he was the first guy who actually showed an interest in you. It wasn't something you were used to in the slightest. Being friends with beauties like Natasha and Wanda you were often looked over by those not in the friend group but Alex had sought you out.

So here you were, on a Saturday, missing out whatever fun shenanigans were going on. Scrolling through various apps in your pjs like a party animal.

A knock at your door startled you out of mindlessly scrolling.

You sat yourself up and hoped to god you weren't nose blind and the room smelt okay.

"I'm decent." You joked.

The door opened and the very person you were avoiding ducked his head in. Fuck Bruce. You had told him not to let anyone in.

"Oh my god. You're alive." He joked back shutting the door behind himself. Bucky sauntered into your room, with the same swagger he always had, plonking himself down on your bed.

Not sure what to say in response, you go to the diplomatic, "You okay?"

He gives you a half shrug and leans backwards. "Missing my partner in crime. Thought I'd visit you."

You merely nod in reply.

This is the first ever awkward silence you and Bucky had sat through. It spread out horribly, stretching until you gave a very fake cough. Hoping any noise would solve it. It didn't.

"Right, okay, just go straight to the point." Bucky muttered. "Look, why are you avoiding me, angel? What did I do?"

Bucky's gaze was always piercing but today the intensity winded you. Why were you avoiding him?

There was no use lying anymore. You'd used up all your excuses anyway. You couldn't be sick again or have work again you just needed to tell him. He deserves honesty. "Alex isn't our biggest fan."

"Yeah, I knew that." Bucky chuckled. "I just didn't realise his dick was worth all your friends." You tutted at his crude remark. "He told me off for piggybacking you at the fair. 'she doesn't let me carry her, why are you'." His impression was eerily good.

You chuckled a little at the idea of Alex confronting Bucky. "He was not pleased that evening."

"He doesn'-" Bucky shook his head.

"Doesn't what?"

"Nothing." He ran a hand through his locks. "Where is he anyway?"

"He's at a friend's birthday."

Bucky's eyebrows were in his hairline. "And he hasn't taken you?"

This was a sore topic. But you'd been honest so far... "I didn't fit into the dress."

Now he was frowning. "What dress?"

You motioned to your wardrobe. "He brought me a dress, I've been working to get into it but."

"Been wor-" Bucky's frown somehow got deeper. "Why would he buy you a dress that doesn't fit you?"

Your mouth opened and closed but you didn't have an answer.

Bucky stomped over to the wardrobe and opened it. There was a dress resting against the door, it was enclosed in plastic so he had to unzip it. The dress was tiny. It was a little strappy thing with far too many holes. What were the holes supposed to- oh they were going to expose your sides and back.

"This i-" He turned to you. "You'd never wear this. It's not even your colour."

You couldn't agree more. "I know, it's been a little arguement between us." That was an understatement.

"I still don't understand why he brought you something that didn't fit." You shrugged but before you could respond he continued, "what's this?"

Your eyes flicked down to the pile he was caught on. "Oh, those ar- those are your hoodies."

Bucky gave you a confused face. "Bu- these are yours, angel."

You smiled sweetly at him. "Alex wasn'-"

"I don't care about him. He buys you shit that doesn't fit, he goes to parties without you, he isolates you from your friends." Bucky sat back on the bed but much closer, just by your hip. "Why are you with him?"

You didn't know. You liked him. You think you love him. But when you really think of it, you don't know. You're not any happier with him than if you weren't. Sometimes he says things and you feel fat in a bad way. You'd be the first to say you weren't thin but the way he says it makes you feel wrong. "He's the first guy to actually show an interest in me, I suppose at first I enjoyed it but when you say it like that."

"He is not the first guy to show you an interest." Bucky shook his head in disbelief. "You're gorgeous."

You rolled your eyes. "Thanks. But when I'm out with the gang I'm not really being looked at."

"You are." Bucky vowed. "I- people do look at you. I-I sometimes don't like the way they look at you and maybe I dance with you and maybe I take you on the Ferris wheel."

Why wouldn't he like the way they looked at you? Your brows pulled. "The way they look at me?"

"Like you're just a quick fuck." He instantly regretted that. "No, they look at you with lust but I know they would leave. They wouldn't treat you right. They wouldn't care for you." His eyes were bright and honest. He wasn't embarrassed by his confession.

You had nothing. No response. What could you say that wouldn't betray the crush? You didn't still like him, no, well ... When he looked at you like that...

"Come on." He clapped a hand on your knee. "Get changed let's get pizza." The look on your face must've shown your obvious debate. "I don't care if you don't fit into that dress, you look like you haven't eaten anything good in ages."

[dontcallmebree]

Heartbreaker For Hire by dontcallmebree

Major Tags: Modern AU, Heartbreaker (2010) AU, Fluff and Light Angst A @marveltrumpshate fill for mepeters81! Hope you like this, Mel!

Summary: Of the many unexpected things that came with saying yes to Tony’s truly ostentatious proposal, a bodyguard never quite crossed his mind. Which is why it’s a complete surprise when an oversized, dark blond suit shows up at Tony’s equally oversized townhouse. Finding out the near stranger is his new bodyguard after taking in his ill-fitting jacket, kind blue eyes, and neat if overgrown facial hair, and blurting out an incredulous “Stevie Rogers?” was not on his wedding planning agenda. With the power of his pecs and a pair of baby blues, Steve Rogers is a pro at helping unhappy couples go their separate ways. Except—with a familiar face as his newest client, his own heart may now be the one at stake.

Treat yourself to some (mostly) fluffy shenanigans on Bucky’s birthday week. Read now on AO3!

[joeyalohadream]

Let your heart be light

Gale’s a tree farmer, living a lonely life. John changes that.

——

Solitude, interrupted for the sake of making a living. For the sake of helping others make their homes a little brighter, a little more festive, happier.

Marge tells him he’s too isolated. She worries and she frets and Gale takes it all in stride even as he disagrees with her.

Especially this time of year, he gets his fill of company. And after, when he unplugs the lights and closes the gates, he’s got the dogs and he’s got Bailey. It’s enough.

——

Chapter 1/5 on AO3

[metalbvcky]

There's No Cure for Love — A Stucky Medical AU with doctor Steve + patient Bucky

The hospital is Steve's life. He practically lives here, day in and day out. It's what he does best. Help people. Save people. Try to make a difference in someone else's world even when his own has been slowly crumbling. His Ma's health was declining, though things seemed to have stabilized for now. The entire reason Steve changed specialties all those years ago was because of his Ma's illness. Not because of the organized chaos of the ER, but the reality that an ER doctor like himself could not focus properly while grieving over a dying loved one. And well, there was something to be said about slower-paced work. "I have this patient," Steve tells his mother while nursing a weak vending machine coffee, relaxing in a rocking chair on the porch of the assisted living home. "Bucky."

Bucky hates his life. He hates switching majors. He hates the fact he hasn't kissed another boy. He hates the insanely large mansion he lives in. He hates his family— his mother's heavy involvement in politics, his father's billion-dollar real estate empire. his two out of three sisters for bending over their father's will. He hates everything.

But most importantly, he hates whatever the fuck illness or disease he seems to have been born with. He's gone through countless tests, treatments, and procedures throughout his entire life. Hospitals and clinics are his personal hell. Nurses don't understand. Doctors don't care. He's broken.

"They don’t believe me," Bucky says with a forlorn sigh. "No one ever does."

"I do."

BBE BABB | May: Hurt/Comfort @buckybarnesevents BBE Juneiverse | Medical Stucky Bingo | O1: AU Medical Setting @stuckybingo

♥ this is an upcoming multi-chap WIP— I have not started it quite yet (currently finishing up my last WIP) but posting will be TBD sometime later this year ♥

[bittersweet-in-boston]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61974004/chapters/158477371#workskin

Welcome to my Sabrina AU!! That’s Sabrina, as in the 1995 romantic comedy/drama starring Harrison Ford, nothing to do with teenage witches. Come join me for a modern AU featuring CEO Steve Rogers, chauffeur’s son Bucky Barnes, and wayward party boy/black sheep of the Rogers family Sam Wilson. Work is complete, new chapters to be posted every couple of days. @steverogersbingo squares also feature. All the thanks and love to @dontcallmebree and @thisonesatellite for their support and encouragement — you are the best! ❤️

[crazyunsexycool]

You should see me in a crown

Coming soon… series taglist is open just comment. must be 18+ minors DNI

Prince!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Modern royalty AU

You were a princess.

At least that’s what your father had been telling you since the day you were born. In reality you lived in a two story house with your parents in a random neighborhood. It didn’t stop them from giving you everything you could ever want or need. From piano to dance classes, tea parties and dresses. When you grew up you were determined to go to law school and you did with their support. The one thing they never talked about was their homeland or your father’s family. They taught you all about traditions but whenever the subject was brought up they would quickly shut it down. So it wasn’t a surprise when you planned a vacation with your best friend that would take you to a few countries in Europe, including their homeland. You only wanted to have a life changing experience.

And you would.

James Buchanan Barnes was the crowned prince of his home country. He was next in line to become king. Every day that passed was a reminder of it. His parents’ words echoed in his head constantly. He needed to settle down and get married, start a family. All in the name of the crown. Bucky was more than ok doing that, he just wanted to do it with someone he loved. Yet love was the one thing royalty rarely found. His reputation of being a playboy didn’t help when it came time to settle down either. It came as no surprise that his parents became matchmakers.

Two worlds are turned completely upside down. Bucky wants a chance to find love. You desperately seek to connect to your roots. Hearts are broken and truths are revealed.

[queers-gambit]

Clingy Baby collection masterlist

a collection of varying Muses labeling Reader as "clingy".

featuring muses: Carmy Berzatto, mafia!Bucky Barnes, modern!Aemond Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen, and Joel Miller.

"The enemy uses those things you're insecure about. Free yourself and take your power back by being secure in who you are - flaws and all," — The Day My Soul Cried: A Memoir by American award-winning playwright, producer, screenwriter, podcaster, advocate, Yvonne Pierre

status: active

-> will be updated accordingly

requests OPEN requesting rules and masterlist

"Stab the body and it heals, but injure the heart and the wound lasts a lifetime," — Mineko Iwasaki, Japanese businesswoman, icon, and the most famous Geisha. author of Geisha, a Life

🍒 pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

God's Plan

your boyfriend carries the worst parts of his job home, bringing to life one of your deepest-seeded insecurities. -> or being called clingy [during a fight].

word count: 3.1k+

🎭 drama 🥺 hurt 🚫 no REAL comfort 🙊 general language and content warning 🍄 toxic relationship

read here

part two: Two to Tango

the aftermath of Carmy's words seem to rattle him more than you.

word count: 5.4k+

🎭 drama ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 💔 small angst 🧸 small fluff ☠️ discussion of deceased family member 🙊 general language and content warning 💣 relationship angst 🔏 barely edited

read here

🍒 pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader fandom masterlist: Marvel

Curiosity Killed The Cat

few weeks after rescuing you from a kidnapper, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become. -> or overhearing being called clingy.

word count: 5.1k+

🎭 drama ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🦋 modern AU 💸 mafia AU 🙊 general language and content warning 🥊 brief depiction of physical violence and / or aggression 🫠 description of self-destruction 🔏 barely edited

read here

🍒 pairing: modern!Aemond Targaryen x female!reader fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

You Might Think It's Foolish

meeting your boyfriend's family for the first time creates anxiety, so, you stick to his side. at dinner, his mother calls out your clinginess - and Aemond doesn't defend you. -> or when someone else calls you clingy and he doesn't defend you / agrees with them.

word count: 3.1k+

🎭 drama 💔 angst 🥺 hurt 🚫 no comfort 💣 relationship angst 🐝 stand alone 🙊 general language and content warning 🐍 toxic family 🍄 toxic relationship...? 🔏 barely edited

read here

Give Every Man Thy Ear, But Few Thy Voice

similar to Penelope Featherington, you overhear your best mate's choice words about you after dancing at a ball.

word count: 18.3k+

🎭 drama 💔 angst 🥀 unrequited love 🥺 hurt 🚫 NO comfort 💣 relationship angst 👯‍♀️ BFF trope 🍒 author's favorite 🐝 stand alone / oneshot 🙊 general language and content warning 🍄 toxic relationship 🥂 alcohol mentions 💛 requires maturity and caution 🚺 misogyny 😵‍💫 wonky brain go wonky 🫠 depiction of self-destruction 🍑 character with given nickname ⏳ AU timeline 🦻 eavesdropping trope ❗️ single, non-graphic line that alludes suicide as an unserious threat to convey displeasure 🚹 men 2️⃣ written after season two 🔏 not edited

read here

🍒 pairing: Daemon Targaryen x female!reader fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

Not All That Glitters is Gold

during your engagement dinner, you learn from your fiancé's niece that he holds choice words about you. -> or (publicly) discovering you're being called clingy by your man from someone else.

word count: 3.1k+

🎭 drama 💔 angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 💣 relationship angst ⏳ AU timeline 🙊 general language and content warning 🔏 barely edited

read here

🍒 pairing: Joel Miller x female!reader fandom masterlist: The Last of Us

Save Me From Myself

in a moment of unparalleled anger, you learn what Joel really thinks of you.

request: Can i request joel miller for the clingy baby series!! Maybe they were traveling together w ellie and she clings to him bc he always kept her safe until he calls her clingy one day.

word count: 1.9k+

⚠️ mild spoilers 🙊 general language warning 🥺 hurt 🚫 no comfort 💔 mild angst ❗️ short fic!

read here

🍒 pairing: Eddie Munson x female!reader fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

Pretty Boy Swag

your big ass family comes to town and hosts a town-wide family reunion. after they meet your boyfriend for the first time, your proximity is criticized, and when you try to fall back, Eddie's swift to your side again. -> or when someone else calls you clingy, you try to fall back but your man doesn't want that.

word count: 6.2k+

⏳ AU timeline 🐝 stand alone / oneshot 🙊 general language and content 🐍 toxic family 🎭 drama 🧠 depiction of mental health: insecurity, anxiety 💔 angst ❤️‍🩹 hurt and comfort 🧸 some fluff 🚬 drug use 🥂 depiction of alcohol use 💍 established relationship 🥰 romance 🛑 abrupt ending 🔏 not edited

read here

requesting rules and masterlist

[buckrecs]

𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩 𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙧𝙚𝙘 : 𝙅𝙪𝙣𝙚

masterlist | monthly fic rec masterlist

FLUFF

Exhausted by @moonvis

Uncle Bucky by @/moonvis

Trying To Study by @pitubea1910

Secure Your Back by @writingcroissant

poppies and babies’ breath by @lizzie-is-here

More than friends by @theeleggymeggy

Lovesick by @/theeleggymeggy

Protecting What’s His by @jobean12-blog (bodyguard!bucky)

Pieces of Us by @majestyeverlasting

As Many As You Want by @/majestyeverlasting

How I Met Your Father by @pomelo-villano

Nerd by @imgoingtofreakoutnow

Trouble Doubled by @certifiedskywalker

magnetic mishaps by @aneluvs

Angel Eyes by @killatravtramp

hint dropped by @rocketrhap3000

pre-mission blues by @buckysblanket (husband!bucky)

Nightmares by @waiting4inspiration

Safe and Sound by @talesofesther

voicemails by @lovelybarnes

Chicken Soup for the Soul by @sebbytrash

Baking (fails) with bucky by @winter-soldier-vibes

booked on a feeling by @intrepidacious (librarian!bucky)

Theater by @loving-barnes

Sleepyhead by @tom-holland-parker

A Good Man by @/tom-holland-parker

A New Uniform by @hopelessromantic423

Manicure by @itsapeterthing

Speechless by @/itsapeterthing

I’ll Stop The World And Melt With You by @shamevillain

Flustered 2 by @/lovelybarnes

Aroma by @navybrat817

The Animal Within by @/navybrat817

ending unplanned by @starryevermore (bookstore au)

only angel by @cherryrogers (40s!bucky)

IDGAF by @amandaoftherosemire

Sleepy by @sunflowers-and-bucky

Happy Beans by @/rookthorne (barista!bucky)

Imagine by @buckyalpine

Shy Boy by @hiddles-and-skittles

A Good Man by @beyondspaceandstars

Meet The Parents by @/navybrat817

before sunset, i fell by @atlaese (modern au)

Lemonade and shields by @/atlaese

Old Fashioned by @rookthorne

ANGST

Tip of the Tongue by @bucky-fricking-barnes

Who Did This To You? by @espinosaurusrexex

“Accidentally” by @/pomelo-villano

Just Tell Her by @girl-next-door-writes

New Love by @ro-is-struggling

jealousy, jealousy by @malum-forev

Jealous by @sweetbbarnes

A New Life? by @/waiting4inspiration (phoenix!reader)

We mend each other by @/talesofesther

Green by @/itsapeterthing

Smoke by @shurisneakers

The Ultimatum by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

feel me by @flordeamatista (siren!reader)

youngblood by @sebbies (boxer!bucky)

Safe Place To Land by @sunlightdances (modern au)

Too Much (Not Enough) by @touchstarvedirl

SMUT

Be it revenge or moving on by @writingsoftheloser

Cherry by @sweetdreamsbuck (camboy!bucky)

Your Daddy Did It Better by @princessbellecerise (billionaire!bucky)

Wrapped In Red by @/flordeamatista

[capibuck]

B: How did you know that I love plums?

Art professor Steve x Model Bucky (or student (?)

I have COMMISSIONS OPEN 🧡

Support my art on Ko fi ☕

[kurozawa46]

A very Stucky holiday season ☆ ⋆｡°✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎ