Captain America and Bucky Barnes Imagines

3. BUCKY: It's Just the Truth

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings: Mentions of sex, language

"I'm just saying, if anyone could do it—it'd be me. That's not cocky, it's just the truth."

I roll my eyes at Bucky's blatant and idiotically persistent demonstrability. "You're an idiot." I sit perched on the closed toilet seat lid while his huge, bulking body is stuffed beneath the sink. He's poking and prodding at things he doesn't understand in hopes to maybe fix the leaky faucet and impress me. "You're only going to make it worse."

"And how do you know that, Miss Pessimism?"

"Because you're not a plumber, Buck."

"I'm a skilled professional, babe."

"A professional ASSASIN, Bucky. Nowhere in your training did they teach you what a lug nut is or how to properly use a wrench." I gesture to the mess of unused tools he's gone out and bought just for this occasion.

"I've used a wrench before," Bucky grumbles grumpily.

I cross my arms. "Oh really?"

"Yeah."

"Was it to fix a sink? Or did you hit someone with it?"

Bucky glares at me. After a silent pause he states, "That's classified information."

I huff. "That's what I thought, Dumbo." I watch him fiddle with the drain for another minute before huffing. "That's it; I'm going to call a plumber." I jump up from the toilet and head out towards where I last left my phone. Meanwhile, I can hear Bucky desperately trying to get out from under the sink in order to race to stop me.

"No! No, Y/N wait! I promise I can fix it!"

I turn around just before nearing the kitchen. "Bucky, I don't have time for this..."

"No, I promise." He gives his head a proud little nod. "I can figure it out."

I pinch the bridge of my nose to avoid looking into those pleading baby blue puppy dog eyes. "Why the hell are you so stubborn?" I mutter, mainly to myself. "Okay, Bucky. I'll let you try to fix it. But there's got to be an ultimatum."

"Okay. What's the catch?"

"If you can't fix it by the time I get back from work, you've got to let me come stay at your house until it's fixed by the professionals."

Bucky nods easily. "No big deal. You come and stay two days out of the week anyway."

"BUT," I go on with a lifted finger. Bucky's eyes widen slightly, probably regretting sounding so lax about the first part of my deal. "There's to be no hanging out with any of your stupid superhero friends while I'm there—it's going to be twenty four hours of "spoil my perfect girlfriend" time and you're going to make those pumpkin pancakes you made for my birthday last year for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

Bucky smirks. His arms cross, mimicking the stance I'm in. "And if I fix it?"

"If you somehow miraculously manage to fix it," I begin before tapping my chin in a pondering display. "I'll give you a blow job every night that we're together for the next week."

"Two weeks," Bucky tests his luck.

I narrow my eyes.

Bucky decides he better throw something else onto the table to get me to agree to nearly eight blow jobs by the time you figure out how many nights we spend together. "I'll give you a two hour back massage, and I won't even try to fuck you afterwards." He shrugs. "Unless, ya know, you wanna." He chuckles a bit. "But I won't beg like I've been known to do in the past."