Professor!Barnes

Professor!Barnes 📚

moodboard masterlist

affair with lawyer!neighbour!bucky - sneaking around, age gap, car sex, not so gentle touch 🤎

bucky moodboards list

Aching

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: After Reader gives Bucky a massage, he realizes how much he likes her touch. // Or a friends to lovers story.

A/N - I’ve been working on this for like 3 months now lmao. This is wayyyy different than I originally sat out for it to be but that’s okay. I’m really proud of it and absolutely love it and I hope you guys do too. It’s really just a fluffy lil love story.

Warnings: language, sexual references, Bucky’s shoulder and phantom pain, touch starved!Bucky, grumpy!Bucky, but he has a soft spot for reader, some PTSD stuff, Bucky’s also anxious, and he’s dumb and doesn’t realize reader loves him too, teasing, drinking, takes place during and after TFATWS

—————————

It all started with his shoulder. Because of course it would. Of course, amongst all the other shitty cards life dealt Bucky, chronic pain had to be in the deck. Unexpectedly, shoulder pain was apparently the rain that preceded a rainbow.

It felt like hell decided to take home there. An overall soreness, a dragging weight that felt like a boulder sat in his skin, along with an pricking sensation that was comparable to a hundred needles driving into his non-existent arm; which was a feeling he still couldn’t wrap his head around.

His spine felt twisted, convoluted by the 65 pounds of metal it upheld. He felt as if all the damn muscles in his back and neck were on the verge of giving out. This oh so common feeling resulted in a bad day. Bucky cursed the goddamn universe for giving him this daily predicament when painkillers were ineffective on him.

Also, the pain wasn’t ideal to endure in the midst of the chaos he’d gotten himself into. Between the flagsmashers and doing anything, any work he could to get a lead; Zemo being an conniving instigator, always trying to prod at Bucky’s head or give some kind of twisted sentiment to purposely offend someone; amongst many other undesirable circumstances from the past few weeks that he’d been repressing, Bucky’s threshold for irritation had been passed. He was just glad to finally take a seat and possibly bring his pain to a minimum.

You trotted into the open room, your attention falling upon the large figure slouched into the couch cushions. Your attention was on him most of the time anyways but your curiosity peaked at this particular moment.

Bucky wilted into the sofa, head flung backwards, eyes tightened shut and lips pursed into a thin line. His position looked like a poor attempt at alleviating discomfort. You could practically feel this stiffness of his body from where you where standing, as if he was the epitome of rigidity.

Bucky was utterly still besides the frequent expansion and collapse of his chest and the flaring of his nostrils each time air passed through. You watched his brows crease as he attempted to shift a bit, he shook his arm and rolled it in the air before letting it plop down on his stomach.

After your observation, you plodded past him, making a detour from your original route into the kitchen instead. You rustled through the cabinets to find what you needed, or more so what you thought would possibly cheer your friend up a bit.

You half way debated on wether you should actually bother Bucky or not. He’d been rather snappy the whole day. Words few and far in between, yet each one was laced with annoyance, leaving a sour punch to whom ever they were directed towards. There was a lack of his usual playfulness in his grouchy attitude.

However, you had a gut feeling about the cause of his increased moodiness, and felt that you could be of help. With that reasoning, you poured two glasses of Zemo’s whisky, then carried them towards the couch.

The sudden feeling of cool condensation touching his palm alerted the man to your presence. Bucky’s forehead crinkled. His nystagmic eyes followed your movements inquisitively, as settled to his right.

“What’s this?” He mumbled, staring down at the cup as if it were an oddity.

“A drink.” You stated the obvious and he gave you a peculiar look. “It’s not fuckin poisoned.”

“Oh good, I was so fuckin worried about that, you gave me a real scare.” Bucky sneered. “Not like any poison could hurt me anyways.”

You grinned at that and watched him take a mouthful. “You good?” You quieted your voice and provided a more caring, worried tone.

“I’m fine?” He shrugged, saying it as a question rather than a statement.

You rolled your eyes immediately, then took a sip of your own drink. “That’s a load of bullshit. You’ve been bitchy all day.”

Bucky screwed up his face, squinting his eyes at you as if you’d just offended him deeply. “No I haven’t.”

“Yes you have.” You mocked teasingly. “You’ve been in a shit mood, what’s wrong?”

He paused to glare at you, then spoke without breaking his interrogative stare. “Is that why you brought me a drink?”

“Maybe.”

“So if I agree, will you feel bad for me and keep ‘em comin? Or better yet, bring me snack, I’m kinda hungry.” He propositioned with a mini smirk. You playfully punched his leg at the request. “Ow!”

“I’m not your fuckin servant.” You gritted with faux anger but failed to restrain the smile that grew. “Seriously what’s up with you?”

“Nothing.” He broke his eye contact with you and shook his head.

“You’re a shitty liar, ya know. And you keep makin that one face.” You pointed out blandly.

“What face?”

“I don’t know, the one you make when somethin’s bothering you.”

He grunted, then rolled his eyes and swallowed the last of his liquor. “You’re dellusional.”

“And you’re a liar.” You shot back.

“Will you let me sit in peace?”

“If you tell me what’s wrong.” You counter offered.

Bucky sighed and licked his lips. “My shoulder and back hurt. Now will you quit fucking gripping at me?” He reluctantly revealed with a semi-nonchalant tone despite the highly contrasting body language.

Your lips set into a slight frown, him confirming what you thought the issue was. “Arm?”

“The one and only.” Bucky grumbled.

“Phantom pain too or just muscle?”

“Both.” His voice was now hushed, embarrassed more with every moment of this conversation.

“Set up a bit.” You commanded with the wave of your hand, you then stood up yourself and began to walk.

“What are you doing?” His features knitted together forming a scowl.

“Chill out.”

Your response only made him more skeptical of your seemingly spontaneous behavior. “No, what are you doing?”

“My god, Bucky relax. You’re gettin all defensive for nothing, ya big idiot.” You laughed as you strolled to the back of the sofa, right behind where he was seated.

You trailed across his back to find where metal ended through the fabric of his shirt. You then placed your hands onto the taut muscles of his shoulder and lower neck. There was no give to them, you’d merely rested your fingers there for a few seconds but could already feel the knots.

“You’re touching me, I have every right to-oh, oh fuck.” Bucky haulted his complaints with a blissful noise when you pressed your thumbs into the most strained area and began to move them in circular, forceful motions while your other fingers worked more lightly in surrounding.

“See? Not so bad. Figured it’d make you feel better.” You hummed.

You forced your digits deep into the knots, grinding at them to loosen up his body. You payed attention to multiple spots, all along the rugged path of where his arm began as well as his spine and middle back, even his other shoulder. You massaged each gently and took your time.

Throughout, he’d relaxed into your touch. The man released a few soft moans but when you reached a particularly tight spot around his ribs, he moaned rather deeply, sounding guttural.

“Woah Barnes, I think you’re likin this a little too much.” You laughed, still working into him.

“Fuck you.” He bit, almost breathlessly.

“Kinda sounds like you are fucking me.” You teased boldly, with a flirtatious undertone.

“Maybe I’m daydreaming it.” Bucky deadpanned.

“Oh good, how hot is dream-me naked, scale of 1-10?” You played along, trying to remain as blank as he did but amusement still poked through.

“Negative 20.” He bit his lower lip and exhaled through his nose, attempting to hold back the tiny laugh that almost escaped him.

“So hateful, I’m hurt.”

“Mm.” He grunted, the pushed his body further into finger tips, causing the entirety of your palms and forearms to linger on him.

It was an action he’d done sparsely throughout the massage. You’d readjust yourself and a few moments later, his back would press right into you once again, as if your fingers weren’t enough and the inch of air between your bodies was unacceptable.

At first it wasn’t on purpose, it was rather instinctual. The pure ecstasy your touch brought was subconscious but it grew into a forefront, hungry, craving for more. He was intoxicated on the way your gentle, warm hands took care of him. Touching him with a kindness and special affection that he hadn’t felt on his body since Steve, and even then very sparingly.

Bucky didn’t realize how dazed he’d become on the feeling until you pulled away. Until you ruffled his hair, in one final moment of contact and then said goodnight. Your sudden stop and disappearance left him inexplicably disappointed. His shoulder felt much nicer, much more relaxed, yet there was something in him that felt unattended to.

The following morning, that odd feeling still resided in him but grew in intensity when he saw you. Something about it made his heart pang, almost as if he missed you, like he craved you.

You’d called him out for staring, for standing in the middle of the floor still as a statue, watching creepily. Bucky just shook his head defeatedly and claimed to be tired. Once brought back to his senses, he also didn’t understand how his tiny crush had grown in intensity over night. How it went from liking you normally, to what he could only assume was yearning for your company.

Oddly, he suddenly wanted to be by your side at all times but was admittedly rather terrible at hiding it. He tentatively followed you around and always stood next to you on the day’s mission work. Sam even questioned Bucky privately about why he was trailing behind you like a lost puppy, which earned a him death stare.

Something in his head was pestering him to get closer, to find an excuse to spend time with you and it wasn’t letting him rest. So Bucky found himself in the doorway of your guest room, his hands frantically wriggling, sweat starting to form on the right one. You laid, sprawled out on the bed, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. You hadn’t realized he was there, so it wasn’t too late for him to back out, but fuck he couldn’t resist.

“Are you busy?” He asked, causing you to look up from your phone.

“Nah, what’s up?”

“My shoulder hurts.” Bucky stated awkwardly, but at least it was true, his shoulder did always hurt.

You smirked, knowing what he wanted. “My hands are magic, huh?”

“You’re mildly okay.” He scoffed.

“No, no. I’ve gotta be a real good masseuse to have mr James Barnes begging for more.”

Bucky shrugged. “Well, I’d rather ask you than Sam. Or psycho.”

“So I’m your favorite, is what I’m hearing?” You questioned playfully.

“Hell no, I hate you all equally.”

“Really? You like me and Zemo equally?”

“Good point….I like him better.”

You dramatically gasped and feigned offense. “I hope your shoulder hurts like a bitch.”

“It does.” Bucky stated, his tone not even sarcastic this time.

You laughed as you sat up and patted the bed. “Come here.”

Bucky felt the nervousness wash out of his body and internally cheered at your notion. He sat on the bed side and you positioned yourself on your knees behind him. You silently began to work your magic on his body, relieving tension every second and placing him in a quiet paradise.

He liked that about you, about spending time with you…the fact that you didn’t have to talk. Chatting wasn’t necessary to enjoy his company and he appreciated it, because if Bucky was honest with himself, conversing wasn’t a strength he possessed. Anything beyond mission talk or teasing, and his brain would shut down, taking it seemingly 1-3 business days to reboot.

You never pressured him into opening up more nor were you like everyone else, who made off handed comments about how he should be more social. You just understood and accepted, which graciously provided Bucky with a sense of comfort.

After a while, your hands slipped away and returned back to towards your own body. Bucky turned to look at you and you flashed him a tiny smile to indicate you were done.

He nodded in understanding and shifted a bit as if he was going to leave, however you spoke up. “Thinkin bout watchin a movie, you can stay and watch it with me if you want.”

“Yeah, uh, sure.” His agreement was quiet and monotonous.

When you adjusted yourself on the bed and leaned against the headboard, your bicep brushed against his. You settled close enough to his body that your arm remained lightly touching him and your thigh was about to ghost him. Any time you moved slightly, you’d somehow unintentionally touch him.

You seemed rather unbothered by the lack of personal space, your eyes were glued to the screen. Bucky’s were glued to you, a pounding startled his chest from the faint contact. So minimal but to him it felt so intimate.

Soaking in that tiny bit of shared space made a light bulb turn on in his brain. He

realized then what he was wanting so badly…to feel you.

He felt ashamed, he bit down his lip and a crimson color creeped over his face, but you didn’t notice due to your attention being elsewhere. His own head was screaming at him though, berating him for being a creep who wanted to touch his coworker.

It was like a craving though, something that wouldn’t die. Sure, he couldn’t ask without it being the awkwardest thing in the world and result in an upfront rejection. He certainly couldn’t just hold you without permission. But he could give himself a little taste right? It wouldn’t be so wrong to ‘unknowingly’ let his thigh skim yours if he shifted a bit to ‘get comfortable’.

So Bucky did just that, and you didn’t mind, you didn’t bat an eye, you stayed like that for the rest of the movie. He let himself have that tiny win, that itty bitty taste of the most delectable dessert. It’d suffice and fufill his need.

Except it didn’t.

The desire for you ate away at him over the next few days, it clawed up through his chest and was desperate to break free. Your normal presence wasn’t enough for some reason. It wasn’t enough to just talk with you, or sit next to you for a meal, or stay by your side on the mission.

He wanted to feel you. Bucky couldn’t look at you without thinking about it, without imagining your hand in his or your arms around his waist. This escalated to when his mind was too overwhelmed with demons, it started to comfort itself with illusions of you. Fantasies of you being there to tell him it’s okay, as you bring your warmth up against his body, tenderly putting him at ease with your compassion.

In those passing days, he started to accidentally bump into you in the hall way, or reach for something at the same time so your fingers would brush. As the mission continued, Bucky started to give you pats on the back when you did well, or elbow you when teasing. If he was walking beside you, he occasionally would swing his hand a bit so it’d ‘mistakenly’ graze yours.

Each time was like a short high, his mind turned to mush and his heart skipped a beat. He’d never show that these little ‘accidents’ had an effect on him. He’d sometimes have to grimace to hold back his impending smiles, to keep himself collected and not seem like a complete fool.

He started asking you to go on walks with him when he was bored, and eventually would even come to your guest room before bed to hang out.

That’s when he realized despite wanting to touch you so badly, he was okay with just looking, just observing and admiring you. He thought you were so beautiful and took in every part, all the littlest things, the way your nose crinkled when you laughed, the curve of your lashes and the way your eyes popped when light hit your iris. He liked your hair, and the way you slightly parted your lips when you were in thought. He appreciated the outline of your figure and the skin that showed when your shirt rid up.

He liked listening to you talk, your voice was melodic to him and your words always captivated his entire attention, nothing else could be more interesting than what you had to say. Anything that came from your mind was golden in his opinion. He thought you were the damn funniest person and loved how often you joked with him, you were sure to always bring a smile to his face. Bucky was gone for you.

Your friendship blossomed further, your bond was stronger than before. Thanks to you and Sam’s joint effort in re-exposing Bucky to socialization, he’d learned to come out of his shell over those weeks. He stopped being so reclusive, even if he stayed on the quiet side, he attempted to be around others because in small amounts, it actually made him feel good. He started sharing more of himself with you and Sam, even Sarah, allowing you all to get closer and pushing his fears aside. He started to laugh more often, it didn’t feel so foreign in his mouth anymore.

Much to Bucky’s surprise, he didn’t have to move past his invisible attempts at tactility because with time, you were the one who made the leap to further intimacy, and hell, he was glad. Glad to finally know what it was like to feel your warm embrace and even more so to know that you wanted it, you wanted him.

The first time you actually hugged him was after leaving Sarah’s house and parting ways at the airport. You dropped your luggage, then wrapped your arms tightly around him and snuggled your body up against his. It had caught Bucky off guard, he initially froze at the unexpected gesture before he slowly returned it. He thought his whole heart, his entire being, was going to melt into a puddle. You stayed in his arms for a bit longer than necessary, like you were savoring it as much as he was.

“For being so moody all the time, you give really good hugs”, is what you mumbled against his collarbone.

After that, hugs became a common greeting and goodbye between you two. They then transformed into more, you’d lay your head on his shoulder if you were seated next to him or mess with his hair, you’d even playfully wrestle with him.

The more open you were, the more relaxed Bucky became with fulfilling that craving he had. He started to put his arm around you, you took that as a notion to start cuddling with him at any given chance. You’d always nuzzle your head into his chest or call dibs on the position of big spoon. You became incredibly tactile, always touching each other, in any platonic form.

Then there was the first time you held hands.

Oh god, did that do Bucky in. It was at a PR dinner, celebrating Sam’s title of Captain America and giving him a grand introduction to the world. Pictures, interviews, all the good stuff. Beyond supporting your friend though, the two of you along with Joaquin were asked to come for good press as well. Cap’s crew needed to make their formal debut.

It was nice, the lavish food and elegant venue, the even gowns and tuxedos. It was an interesting change of pace for friends who typically hung out at home with some beers. It would’ve have been a perfectly nice time if wasn’t for three grueling reporters, who poisoned things with their nasty venom.

Comments and questions about the winter soldier went flying, the first were mild but they grew into much more vindictive words. It eventually was shut down, they got bored of hearing answers of how utterly normal Bucky was. He gave them no reaction, his demeanor was chillingly cool and unbothered.

On the inside he was writhing, a goddamn anxious mess, and with every question his head became more brutal of a place to be in. He was good at masking though, great, a talent even. The last thing he wanted was to make a scene, to give them a reaction, to be humiliated further by display how easily triggered he was.

You knew. He had no idea how but you did; you always did, you could read him like a book with merely a single glance. He swore you had some secret power or something, because logically you shouldn’t have been able to see how hurt and anxious he was; but you did.

You didn’t say a single word. You subtly reached under the table and took his hand. Your grasp was firm yet tender, your thumb soothed over his skin in circular ministrations. It was a private comfort, you reassured him without anyone else’s knowledge of it.

It brought him a sense of calm he couldn’t understand. There was no logic for how a simple hand on his could put him at such ease, more than that even. It was as if everything else just stopped, as if nothing mattered except the way your soft palm and delicate fingers transferred their affection and support to him, sending a bush of warmth to his heart and an explosion of dopamine in his brain.

He knew you had to feel something to in that moment. Anything. That was the only time he questioned if your touch was more than platonic, if he meant something more to you.

Bucky decided against that however. It was a silly little hope derived from the spindle of thread his own crush left behind. You wanting him just wasn’t viable, but a man could dream and also could take as much as he could get.

Bucky got as close to you as possible without pushing that boundary into romance that he knew you very much would not want.

He immersed in all little things, all the soft touches, heartfelt laughs, and allowed himself to pretend you loved him. Just for a moment each time, just to get that rush of serotonin that filled his brain and butterflies that filled his belly. It was nice to imagine even if it wasn’t true.

As the months started to pass by, you learned his soul, and he learned yours. Bucky hadn’t felt so open and free with a person in decades.

You were there on his good days. When he felt like going out in public, when he cracked lots of dry jokes and sparred with you. The days when he’d talk your ear off, ranting like crazy about how he hates rap music and how coke tasted better in the 40s.

But you were also there for the bad. The times when the missions were triggering, the times his nightmares got too bloody and his memories too violent. You were there for the panic attacks, the days he didn’t even feel like showering, the moments he got too angry and aggressive.

You’d seen it all and never judged, still stayed by his side. With tears running down his face, as his body quivered, you had cupped his jaw warmly and brushed your thumb over his teardrops. You cradled the back of his head and brought it into your chest, holding him tightly when he broke down more after your gentle gesture.

Being with you, even just talking to you over the phone, was equivalent to coming home after a long day of work. Bucky loved you with his whole being.

He never let himself be delusional though, he had to remember that you were just friends. He simply pushed down the detrimental thoughts that came along with that knowledge, he had too much negativity in that head of his already.

As long as you were in his life, it didn’t matter if you were his girl. You’d always be there either way and that’s all he needed.

Except Bucky didn’t take one thing into consideration.

He never thought about you getting a boyfriend, he never considered the idea of another man taking his spot in your life, taking you away from him. Until you told him you were going on a date that is.

Some random man you met in a coffee shop and he gave you his number. You’d apparently been texting for a week when he asked you out. Bucky was appalled at the idea of you being interested in a guy you’d met once. Appalled and green with envy, that is. However he’d told you over the phone, “that’s great”, and pretended as if he supported it.

But it ate at him. Nagged him to death, the idea of you sitting at dinner with someone else, finding him handsome and charming, the absolute nightmare it would be if you liked him. That random getting to learn about about you, to hear you talk about yourself, to admire your beauty, and god forbid, touch you in anyway.

The more Bucky imagined the possibilities, the more chill he lost. By the end of the week, he’d drove himself berserk, and Sam was the one to suffer a two hour phone call filled with Bucky’s confessions (which he was already well aware of) and dramatic ranting. All of which, he responded to with “Man, quit flipping your shit and just tell her you like her.”

Which was great advice. In theory, that is, because Bucky had decided that it was a set up for a soul-crushing rejection that he wouldn’t be able to withstand. So he said he’d do nothing. He’d just suck it up, let you have your date, and try to be happy for you.

He lied. Bucky changed his mind on a whim that Saturday night and found himself knocking at your door, which soon was opened hesitantly.

“Uh, hey?” You said, staring at him quizzically.

Bucky pushed past you and let himself in your apartment, while you stared in bewilderment.

Your eyes narrowed as they followed his form, you then shut the door behind him, still a bit surprised at his sudden appearance. “Why are you here?”

Bucky looked you up and down, real slow with his eyes taking their time on each part of you as if he was hypnotized by you. “You look nice.” He mumbled, still dazzled by how pretty you looked.

“Thanks, answer my question.” You insisted hastily and it brought him back to his right mind.

“Wanted to hang out with you.” Bucky blankly answered and shrugged before sitting on your couch.

“Okay, for one, I’ve told you a thousand times that you can’t just show up here and put me on the spot. And two, you know I have a date tonight.”

“And?”

Your eyebrows crumpled in half annoyance and half disbelief at his audacity. “And I gotta be at the restaurant in like 20 minutes. Get your ass out so I can lock up.” You demanded, gesturing at him then the door.

“Nah, I think I’m gonna stay right here.”

Getting impatient with his antics, your voice rose to a higher pitch. “Whatever, stay then. Don’t eat my whole fucking fridge again and if you leave before I get back, lock the door.” You told them proceeded to start gathering your belongings.

“You shouldn’t go, Y/N.”

“What?”

“Cancel your date.” Bucky suggested in a way that sound more like an order.

“Why?”

He stared at you for a moment, racking his brain for a reason. “Because…it’s not safe.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You sighed exasperatedly.

“It’s dangerous. That guy could be a creep, kidnap you or something.” Bucky suggested with loads of faux concern, evidence in his lack of eye contact.

You aggressively laughed and accompanied it with an incredulous head shake. “I’m a goddamn avenger and I’ve kicked your ass multiple times, I think I can hold my own. You do realize how absolutely absurd you sound, right?”

“What if he’s secretly some kinda super villain? Then what are you gonna do?” Bucky countered, eyes widened theatrically.

“Yep, Jacob the accountant is totally super villain material.” You sassed.

“I don’t trust him. Even his job is criminal cause it’s so boring. That’s why I’m not letting you go.” Bucky’s tone shifted to one more serious and angry, as did his facial expression.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about.” You spat then rolled your eyes and picked your purse up. “And I don’t know why you care about who I date so much but I’m gonna be late, goodbye Bucky.”

“Hold on a minute.”

“No!”

You slid past him through the door way and trotted towards the elevator. He failed so miserably in his attempt but he couldn’t just let you go. He’d rather lose you knowing he tried than to just give you away to another man. It was now or never.

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself and ran after you.

Bucky grabbed you by the arm and pulled you in, the his lips crashed quickly onto yours. His tongue dipped on to yours and they weaved together. He melted into you, It was rushed, passionate and also a bit messy, but most of all, full of pent up affection. It poured out of Bucky and onto you during every second his mouth was on yours.

There was a moment of silence afterwards, just the two of you becoming lost in each other’s soft, adoring gaze. Neither one knew what to say. You were too stunned to speak, Bucky was too afraid of the repercussions of his own impulsivity. He knew he had to explain himself though, so he put on his best brave face.

“Y/N, I can’t let you see another guy because I- god…I-I’m in love with you, okay?” He broke out anxiously, every little fear being evident in his eyes.

You looked at him through your lashes with a loose smile. “It’s about time.”

“What?”

“I didn’t actually like that dude, I just thought you weren’t interested and figured I should try to move on. Luckily, I was wrong.” You laughed and then said more tenderly, “I’m all yours, Bucky, I always have been.”

Tried these new markers... :3

Bestie I am the most mysterious, grumpy, shy person to grace this earth but also spills my heart the moment I feel the slightest sense of comfort when I'm with someone