—— dumb, sweet, post-first-date-fluff for bucky x reader! enjoy!
You can’t say no to him.
Really, you can’t.
Bucky toes the cement floor of the foyer outside your quarters; the hallway of the forty-fifth floor of Stark Tower is empty save for you and him.
He looks so out of place.
He’s bulky in the doorway. His vibranium shoulder is whirring quietly beneath his dark sweater – and, when he moves from foot to foot, eyes swimming around your face, you have to hide a smile with a bashful duck of your head. You nudge his steel-toed boot with your kicks, enjoying the closeness of the moment. He’s handsome and you think so and you don’t hide it anymore.
“I had fun.”
“Me too.”
There’s a beat of a moment where his Adam’s apple bobs and cold fingers twitch in his pockets. He’s thinking about reaching out and touching you – but, years of terror-formed habits keeps him back.
Your fingers breach the space between you both, fingers looping into the front of his sweater as you try and anchor yourself in the glow of the post-date haze. He meets the touch with cold fingers.
“We should do it again,” you suggest, “I’ll pay.”
“Only if we get milkshakes again.”
“Deal.”
You smile and it’s dizzying; he feels like a wolf howling at the moon in the moment, rooted to his spot and devoted. The moment feels like home and Bucky hasn’t thought about anything terrible in hours and his bones don’t ache and he isn’t that other half of him. He’s himself, and he’s happy.
And you’re beautiful.
“So…” Bucky says, finally, words dripping like honey, “Do I get a goodnight kiss?”
You’re hung on the sound of the question. Your eyes are stuck on the way he says the words, the way his lips move. You have to drag yourself out of his orbit for a moment and remind yourself to breathe.
If he was the sun, you’d fling yourself in screaming Icarus.
“How could I say no to that?”
You’re not sure, and Bucky’s glad you don’t.
He steps, posture bending to catch you in a tentative pull of the lips – he smells like cologne and wine and motorcycle oil and it’s intoxicating enough to drag you in farther. You press your fingers into his sweater, hands finding his, and your back finds the door frame.
The kiss carries itself away quickly. Noses brush and tongues touch and his beard scratches your cheek as he nips and tugs kisses along your bottom lip. His hands, one ice and one fire, are rooted along your jaw – his hips brush yours and you grin.
Bucky, for the first time in what feels like forever, isn’t afraid he’s going to break you or hurt you or kill you because you’re so suddenly everything. Your touch is gentle, and you coax him back down to Earth with a smile pressed to his mouth.
He laughs – breathless and nervous – before righting himself and stepping back. The kiss leaves him needing to readjust. He pushes a hand through his hair.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” you say with a cheeky smirk, “It was a good kiss.”
Toad's Cave 