I Hate The Panthers I Hate The Panthers I Hate The Panthers I Hate The Panthers I Hate The Panthers I

not in that way (part one)

bucky barnes x fwb!reader

content: steve rogers is your best friend, which means that inherently bucky should be yours too. somewhere along the way, it became more than that for you. for bucky, it's just tolerance. he likes you, but not like that. not in that way.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, protected sex (yeah wrap that up), rough, choking, fwb, mean bucky, mutual pining, not proofread

notes: thank you guys for the support on the snippet as well as for waiting for me as i got this done! i just finished finals so i plan on locking in on this one and circuit breaker bc i cannot stop thinking about them.

ps. i swear bucky and reader are friends, just had to hit the angst and give some background but there will be cute moments along with smut probably every chapter...I'm hoeing out.

series master list

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“Steve?” You called out to him, steps pounding behind you as you hurriedly moved toward his pinged location. “Steve, oh my god.” Your voice trailed off, shock evident. 

People brushed by you and pushed toward Steve’s figure on the ground. You’d never seen him like this. Sure, Steve Rogers was a super soldier and the most physically strong man you knew—but this was different. Mentally, he seemed destroyed. 

He called your phone, short of breath and muttering for help. It immediately sent you into action. You were normal—the most civilian anyone could be. There was no other option but to call someone, plead with them to find and help your friend. He’d been washed up on the shore, lying in the dirt and clearly out of it. 

You watched him get worked on, staring into the distance. 

“What happened?” You kneeled next to him,  “Who did this?” 

Steve turned to you, eyes glossed over in disbelief. “Bucky.” He shook his head, “It was Bucky.” He kept repeating it to himself, attempting to convince his own mind that it was true. “It was him. It was Bucky. He was here.” 

“I don’t understand,” you grasped his shoulder. “I thought he was gone—you saw.” You gulped, searching his face for any hesitance. “You said he fell, that he-“

“It was him.” 

“Okay.” You nodded, “Okay, I believe you. He was here.” 

It was true. The man you’d heard so many stories about had returned. He wasn’t like the anecdotes Steve recalled; this Bucky was darker, more quiet, resigned. 

He was an observer. You often caught him staring at you, eyes lingering between your figure and Steve’s. Bucky would always stand, tucked into a corner. He didn’t feel deserving of the warmth Steve offered—the humanity that remained present in you. There were times, then, that you would offer a welcoming hand. A slight wave of motion offered him a seat, acknowledging that he did deserve to be there. He felt human with you. 

That’s what initially drew Bucky to you and inevitably why you became friends, too. There was a way that you loved everyone, insisted on not leaving them out and nourished their insides. 

The hurt came when he realized it would never be that way for him.

You could never love him, not a monster. Not when the shining emblem of a perfect man sat beside you every day. Steve had so much time with you—he was your best friend. Bucky couldn’t replace him, not if he tried. So he always kept you at arms length, hoping to be more than friends but settling for something less. 

The first time it happened, when Bucky had been so lucky to have a moment with you—he swore that he was dreaming. He never gave you a reason to like him, in fact, it was the opposite. He’d gone out of his way every day to push you further from him, make it known that he’d never be as good as Steve. 

He could tell you saw something different; he hated it. 

The three of you had tried small talk often, Steve facilitating some sort of discussion to break the ice. It almost always ended with you and Bucky exactly where you started, friends who were forced to be so because of a mutual one.

“Well, I’m headed out—you two should talk.”

“Steve, no-“ 

“Buck, you two are my favorite people in the world. I would love it if you gave this a chance.” Steve patted his friend’s shoulder, “For me. Please.” 

Bucky turned to look at Steve, a solid expression on his face. He didn’t speak, just gave him a small nod and let Steve step around him and out of your place. 

It was common that Steve would find solace in your home. It was far from the city, neatly tucked away in a residential area. There was a sense of normalcy and he was proud to introduce that to Bucky—he needed that, deserved it after everything. 

The room was silent, violently so. You sat across from Bucky—him lingering in your peripheral and you nestled softly into your couch. He didn’t move, standing still near a wall which offered him the sight of every possible window and exit. 

“Do you wanna sit?” 

You watched his body for any reaction, dissatisfied when there was none. It was awkward, him avoiding eye contact and you not sure of what else to say. 

You sighed, “I’ll be back.” You announced your departure, not that it mattered to him. 

You beelined to the bathroom, desperately needing to escape him. He was always like this, closed off and so obviously annoyed by your presence. Splashing your face with water did little to temper you and your body seemed to overheat at the thought of having to see him again. 

You didn’t let yourself think—couldn’t. You stepped out and kept your head down before looking toward Bucky’s signature spot on the wall. He wasn’t there. 

You tilted your head down, seeing Bucky now sitting on the couch, two cushions away from where you’d been prior. He watched you smile softly, moving to sit in your spot.

Bucky made a habit of keeping his hands in his lap. He would sit stoically at all times. It was the same now. 

He avoided eye contact but muttered, “Hi.” 

Your breath hitched, surprised he’d started conversation. Keeping your tone even so as not to overwhelm him, you replied, “Hi, Bucky.” 

The both of you nodded, letting the weight of your forced proximity surround you. As much as he tried, he couldn’t ignore you. The faint smell of your hair products, the way you tapped your own leg rhythmically, how nervous you were—he noticed it all. 

“Do you, um,” you swallowed. “Do you want something to drink, maybe?” 

It’d been over a year since Bucky showed up. You, of course, shared small talk with him in that time. He’d grown to know the story of you and Steve—how you met. It would suffice to say that Bucky grew to be an acquaintance of yours—a long lost friend of a friend…one that would never truly like you. Accepting that was hard; you wanted Bucky to be comfortable at the very least. If not like you, he would at bare minimum be able to sit down for once. 

So today was a win. 

Bucky didn’t reply to your question but instead asked his own, “How was Steve? Without me, I mean?” 

His voice was gruff, and you hadn’t expected that question, let alone more than a single syllable from him. 

“Well,” you readjusted to face Bucky, “He’s always the most positive guy in the room—which I’m sure you know.”

Bucky let a smirk slip, recounting the optimism his friend had at all times. 

“He’s better than me that way, than a lot of us.” 

“I don’t think that’s true. He’s just Steve, you know that.” 

He didn’t know that. Bucky was living in his body but observing from outside his own mind. He was witnessing his friend after so much time had escaped him. Everything he thought was true wasn’t anymore. 

He wanted to get to know you, offer you the same grace that was given to him. But he couldn’t. Before it even begun Bucky was overwhelmed. He pushed himself to be kinder, to do this for Steve. It was simply futile. 

He stood suddenly and looked down at you, “I should go.” 

“Okay,” you stood, nodding. “I guess I’ll be seeing you.” 

He hummed, rolling his shoulders back and tightening his posture again. He didn’t respond. 

“I’ll tell Steve you tried today,” you whispered to him. “I know he’ll appreciate it. I do.” 

The tension was palpable. Your eyes stayed locked on each other until you heard a sound and looked down. The mechanical whirring of his metal arm was clear, only slightly suppressed by the gloves he always wore. He watched you noticing his hand twitch as if he wanted to move it. There was a restraint there, like he was pushing down something that was second nature. As if he meant to do something that he’d always done. 

You swallowed hard enough to hear it in your ears. Looking at Bucky, you arched your brow in a subtle defiance—daring him to do what he intended. You wanted to know him and his habits, to understand even a modicum of what was in his brain. 

Without thinking a second more, he let his left arm lift a bit. He reached toward your face but paused at you flinching, leaning away from him. 

Just barely audible, you spoke, “Sorry.” 

Bucky blinked and furrowed his brows, unable to stop himself. He let his fingers wrap around your face, a single hand pressing just under your chin and at the top of your throat. Slightly wide eyed, you watched him watching you. Most of his hand rested on your cheek, his thumb pressing into the other side of your face. 

Despite no longer being the Winter Soldier, his habits lingered. When in that state he remembered being like this so vividly—a hand around someone’s throat and crushing the life out of them. He hissed at the thought, not at all intending for that with you. He craned your head, though, observing the quizzical look on your face. 

It didn’t make sense to him, the need to maintain this routine. But he did. Beyond the haze of what was once his signature way of taking life—he saw a new one. Bucky could envision his future so clearly, yet he couldn’t let himself have it. 

He went to drop his hand but stopped at the feeling of yours on his wrist. It was inexplicable. Glove or not, you craved the contact from him. 

The room stayed silent except for the slight creak of the floorboards beneath you. While Bucky stayed steady, you teetered on the balls of your feet—this moment feeling fleeting. 

He inched forward, watching your eyes fall closed. 

Your lips were right there, the ones he’d openly been ogling at for months. It was torture, but all he knew. He couldn't allow himself the satisfaction of the feeling. He wasn’t deserving. 

Instead, he latched onto your neck. Bucky kissed and nibbled there with an urgency you hadn’t expected—hell, you didn’t even think today would’ve progressed to this at all. 

The feeling of him on you was intoxicating, and it was so minuscule. His hands were all over you, and yours on him. Your breath came out ragged, “We shouldn’t.” 

“You’re right.” He paused on your neck briefly, directly in your ear now. “We shouldn’t.” 

“We’re friends.” You nodded, letting your hands trail up his back and into his hair. 

“Are we?”

You weren’t sure. It was complicated. You couldn’t let yourself think about that now and neither could he. 

He pushed you down onto the couch and stood above you, allowing you to finally look him over. He was casually in jeans and a t-shirt, the rest of his body entirely covered. The only skin that showed besides his face was just below at his neck. Around it lied his dog tags that he was so adamant about wearing. The glint of them always caught your eye and alerted you of his presence. Even when he showed up silent, you’d see him and those damn tags. Just always out of your eyeline but in the room—that was who Bucky had always been. In his stoicism he was still consistently there.

Watching Bucky undo his pants already had you eager for him, too. There was always something there for you, an intrigue simply at the way he carried himself. You stayed seated, leaning back a bit in an attempt to slide down your sweatpants. Both of you watched the other discarding the bottom half of their clothes with little thought, tossing them aside. 

He leaned, then, ruffling into his dark jacket’s interior. 

“I got it,” he mumbled, ripping into the condom wrapper with his teeth. He slid the latex over himself just before pushing the jacket off his back. 

He kneeled into the couch, the angle awkward but enough that he was able to slide into you like he wanted. It was tight—rough. You expected the burn but still sucked in a breath at it, the lack of prep. Bucky didn’t mean to make it this way but just wanted it to be over—the insatiable need to pump in and out of you. Only you.

Slowly and deliberately he continued to kiss around your neck, collarbone, and ears. He snapped into you, purposely moving at a speed that allowed him to chase a high rather than savor the moment with you. He wanted to, truly…to acknowledge the way you looked up at him. It was his dream to let the sounds of you falling apart actually hit his ears and mean something—but he couldn’t. 

The couch creaked and rocked. You were now slightly bent into the back of the cushions, your chest moving up and down alongside Bucky’s. He pulled back, stabilizing himself behind you. The new angle allowed you to see his dog tags again, them hitting you with every movement into you. Without thinking you grabbed them, hooking them under one of your fingers. 

He finally allowed himself some relief, his voice dragging out the moans he’d himself been holding in. “Fuck...” 

You watched him intently, pulling him closer by the chain on his neck. He shifted his angle a bit at that and watched your jaw drop open. Your brows furrowed, whines choking out of you at the new sensation. It made you let go of his tags, grasping at the fabric of his shirt. This made him pound into you faster—realizing a tether of intimacy was gone. 

He was subconsciously glad for that, happy that he could pinpoint and force that sweet look in your eyes away. There was no longer an adoration in your gaze but simply one of pleasure. This was for the best. He could appreciate you from a distance despite the line of friendship being crossed so carelessly now. 

“Shit,” you groaned out suddenly. “Buck-“ 

He hushed you softly, quelling the harsh sound in your throat. It only spurred him on though, truly ruthless about this. He only slowed at the feeling of your fingers gliding over his face, pushing the stray piece of hair out of view. His pace stuttered, faltering as he really looked at you. 

A second later, he started in on you again. A clothed hand found its way into your shirt and pinched at your nipples. His grip was rough, kneading your chest. You were already so close; every additional sensation only pushing you further.

You met him suddenly, writhing into him and filling the living room with lewd slapping sounds. 

Bucky huffed breaths out at every push into you. You fought a squeak, pressing your own hand over your mouth. You gnawed at it as it allowed some relief from the burning inside of you. He was hitting that same spongey spot over and over. He was so good at picking up on the subtle changes in your face and body. 

Without warning he slipped out and nudged you, “Turn.” 

You did without questioning, a firm covered hand rubbing at the skin of your hips. Regardless of his gloves, you felt the difference in his hands—the slight shift of metal in one versus the pulse in the other. There was a contrast you enjoyed, a chill about his metal arm that grounded you. 

A knee pushed your legs open as he slid into you again, this time using you as leverage. Bucky pushed you down slowly, the side of your head finding the cushion. This angle was new, deeper. It wouldn’t be much longer at this point and he could tell. One hand slipped underneath you and up to your neck again, squeezing just enough for you to appreciate the loss of breath. In between gasps you nudged further into the couch, the sensation becoming too much for you. 

He couldn’t stop when you came, relishing the way your insides continued to pulse. It was as if he was meant to stay; his one true purpose was to be completely enveloped by you. When he finished a strained sound choked in his throat, one that you hadn’t expected. 

You were throbbing still, a cold feeling finally making you realize he pulled away. The feeling of him on you had gone away so quick. The sound of a different metal clanked—his belt buckle bouncing around as he slid his pants back on. 

“Should we…should I tell Steve about this?” 

Your question was sudden, but was filled with a weight that scared him. You didn’t want to be too forward—but it was only right. Steve was now caught in the middle of something complicated. Even if this was the first and only time…you weren’t sure you could keep this from him. 

Bucky thought differently. 

“Why would you wanna tell Steve?” 

“Because it’s-“ 

“Leave him out of this.”  

Bucky readjusted his clothes, smoothing them over as they’d been before. You watched him inch his way to the door—his back toward you. 

You ignored the pang in your chest, the confusion that now resonated in you. Pushing it away, you settled on changing the subject. “Steve wanted to do something tomorrow, you coming?” 

He didn’t turn as he grabbed the doorknob, merely craned his head to the side. You watched his profile for any sense of something but again he was so unreadable for you. 

“I’ll be there.” 

Then he left. 

part two

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Breaking: Isack Hadjar is retiring from F1 because his dick is too big to drive the car

fun fact for the lb, i live in florida. there will be more fucking annoying people in THESE FUCK ASS wife beater jerseys that the sell. i can’t i can’t.

rb to give a flower to the person you rb this from

You guys want to play a game? REBLOG and put in the tags why you follow this person

yk the stress is bad when i’m doing my homework to calm down

i opened tumblr.com again

i am alive

bye bye

hes so endearing i cant

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Pairing | Matt Boldy x afab!reader Summary | (Boston College, fluff) | Matt had been in her orbit since they were freshmen, all day, every day. Until one night, when three words shifted everything. Authors Note | First ever Matt Boldy piece, don’t hurt me, I’m learning the ropes of him <3 Thank you, Cappy for beta reading this!!

She leaned her back against his bedframe, listening to the muffled music from the party below but taking a long observation of Matt’s room. She’d never properly had a look, not noticing the photos on his wall, the abandoned clothes in his hamper, the friendship bracelets and trinkets she’d given him on his desk. It was peaceful, a hiding place. His place of solitude. 

But she was far from peaceful. Her eyes hung heavy and the dread of going back downstairs and through the crowds loomed over her shoulders like an anchor. Parties were only so much fun for a while until the energy started draining and all y/n felt like doing was curling up under the sheets and falling asleep. 

The door opened a crack, and she sat up straight but sunk back down upon seeing Matt’s head peek in, followed by his body and closing the door behind him. He kicked his shoes off and sat next to her, shoulder to shoulder, tilting his head down to meet her eyes and smiling warmly. His whole presence was inviting and comforting, her shoulders feeling lighter as their limbs pressed into one another. 

“So, this is where you’re hiding, I’ve been looking for you. You okay?” He asked, his eyebrows raising with worry, face nervously close to hers. She never admitted it to anyone, but she loved the nasally undertones to his voice, something about how it was naturally rumbly and low managed to set little sparks in her chest alight.

“Sorry for intruding, I just needed somewhere quiet…” Her eyes searched his and she smiled. “I’m okay, just a bit tired and overwhelmed now.”

Matt took a deep breath and chuckled, unable to contain it when she made him feel so fluttery and giddy all the time. His heart found a slow pace again, only hammering when he thought he’d lost her downstairs, unable to find her hanging around their usual spots and he feared he’d been ditched. The relief to find her in his room was nothing hockey could ever compare to but all he wanted was to pull her close and cuddle until the sun came up. But he couldn’t risk that jump - they were friends first.

“Hey, it’s cool. Come here whenever you want, I don’t mind.” He nudged her shoulder with his lightly, cherishing the giggle she released as his chest swelled at how calming to his ears it was, the song he could listen to forever.

Matt always had this way to her heart. He had the right words, and the right thoughts and read her like a book. And she adored him. Painfully adored him to the extent that she was at his beckoning call, and she knew he was like her shadow too. Matt had enamoured her, to the pits of her heart and that’s what made her persistently nervous whenever he was in her proximity.  

“Sounds like you want me in your room more, Matty. Got those dirty fantasies going on, huh?” She smiled and poked his chest playfully, pushing aside her own fantasies for once and mirroring his grin.

“Well, no, that’s not what I meant- I mean I wouldn’t mind- Nevermind.” He fumbled over his words with rosy cheeks, his attempt to defend his honour ending in defeat when he hid his face in his hands. 

With the tenderness her fingers wrapped around his wrists, his muscles flinched upon the contact, y/n slowly pulled his hands away and tilted his head back to look at her.

She brushed strands of his hair away from his face and softly murmured. “I’m teasing, you’re just cute when you’re flustered. Thanks.” 

Her hands dropped to her lap, his following, but his hand edged closer to her thighs while never breaking eye contact. If her nerves weren’t raging as they were before, they stirred violently in her stomach at the sudden shift, her heart thrumming in her ears and the insatiable urge to grab him by the t-shirt and kiss him into the mattress more consuming than ever. Their faces inched closer, smiles dropping feeling their breaths tangled.

“I can take you home if you want…ooor you can…” Matt’s voice rumbled in his chest quietly, eyes flickering to her lap as his fingers crept closer and then back at her eyes. He hesitated, licking his lips and swallowing.

She only broke his gaze when his fingers laced with hers, warmth spreading through her palm and the heavy weight on her shoulders lifting completely, his affection giving her a floaty feeling that incited a fuzzy excitement in her stomach. 

He finished his sentence in a whisper, squeezing her hand with gentle pressure. “...stay with me?”

“I’d love to stay.” She gave a small smile. “Why were you looking for me? All your friends are down there.”

His hands felt sweaty, worryingly sweaty since she was holding it as well and a perfectly coherent sentence in his head blurted out in a flustered panic. “You’re also my friend, my best friend, actually. Why wouldn’t I wanna be with you? That’s what best friends do, they-”

It was an opportunity, an opening, and she exhaled deeply. The pink dusting over his cheeks and sweaty palms gave her all the motivation she needed to spit the words stuck on her tongue out. Adrenaline coursing and enough time between them to hold memories to support his intentions - the hand holding, the quality time, the adoration in his eyes and the bumbling nerves whenever they sat close - were not one of a friend.  

“Am I though?” She asked abruptly, his eyes widening slightly as his jaw faltered, finding the words.

“-No…no, you’re more than that.” He breathed, releasing her hand and cupping her cheeks, closing the small space between them with a long-awaited and yearning kiss. 

She threaded her fingers through the hairs on his nape, pressing herself close to his body letting the anxieties free from her, mind emptying into a bliss where she bathed in his soft hums vibrating against her lips as they moved with hers languidly. His hands glided from her face down her chest, stopping at her waist to pull her onto his lap, a hand on either of her thighs that straddled him before caressing their way back to the curves of her midriff. The feeling bursting between them felt ecstatic like pieces of their puzzle finally fell into place.

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