Sooooo I've been working on and off on a little something that's part of a writing challenge and I thought i'd give you guys a teensy teaser.
Unsure If this is gonna be a looong one shot or multiple parts but lemme know what you think!
******
You know he’s finally arrived from the screams. The crescendo of wild wails lined Bucky Barnes’ path towards the step and repeat. The hottest name (and face) in Hollywood rode the wave like a master, the slick sharpie sliding over each and every glossy paper in front of him, a beaming smile left on every fan’s face, content knowing they had held his attention for a precious moment.
You knew exactly how they felt. Too well. Having flown far too close to the sun you melted away as soon as you caught sight of him from a distance. His unavoidable heat began creeping up your skin, even from this far. No one here knew him like you did. Had. A year had passed, after all.
Suddenly, a shadow appeared, and you wilted. You saw her. Waiting to the side for him, all grace and patience. Sharon Carter slid her arm into Bucky Barnes’ as he was shepherded away from his red-faced fans. Just like the Instagram photos, they were perfectly in tune, a choreographed romance made for the screen. Maybe they should’ve casted her instead.
The panging in your chest was harder to ignore tonight, viciously reminding you that time doesn't work for every wound. If absence had the audacity made your heart grow fonder you were about to scream bloody murder and rip it out of you yourself.
It was embarrassing, you knew he would be here. At the premiere of the movie you had starred in together, of course he would be. There was sadly no divine intervention, no fault line gaping open or no sudden tsunami to conveniently erase him from existence, or your mind. He was only in major disasters in the movies, and there wasn’t going to be anywhere to run when you ended up in that cinema together. Oh, god-
“Over here, sweetheart!”
A flock of men brandishing black cameras squawked directions at you as you shuffled into the firing line. Chin down, shoulders back, hand on hip, one foot in front of the other and try not to bolt without looking back.
Bulbs flashed and blinded without mercy. Maybe losing temporary sight of him might do you some good as you tried to grasp at the composure that was slipping through your fingers.
*****
Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged when I finally start putting out the full thing :)
( MASTERPOST | AO3 | SPOTIFY )
summary: torn from time yet again, it's thursday. six months pass. while you grapple with a newfound uncanny ability to premeditate, loki grapples with the fact he's slipping back into his old self without you. enter brad wolfe.
now playing: a whole lots gonna change by weyes blood
word count: 3.3k
pairing: loki / f!reader, established in from the void, with love
tags: enemies to friends to lovers, soulmates, we-are-in-love-in-the-future but how did that even happen, angst & comfort, redemption arc, lots of time travel, loki season 2 (2020) spoilers
a/n: finally, they return in "beyond the void". i can't thank everyone enough for the unending enthusiasm for this little project of mine. it's fitting to have the first chapter release with an eclipse. this is for all of you :) the beautiful gif for this chapter is from this set by @tomshiddles.
"Okay."
"Okay."
There's a long stretch of silence between Darcy Lewis and Jane Foster.
In the liminal stretch of the apartment building's hall, there's little sound except the loud drone of some horribly, desperately sad song beyond the door of Unit 1131. The two women share a long look with one another, and then Darcy gestures urgently to the door.
"Go ahead," she nudges her colleague.
"What?" Jane asks in a harsh whisper, "No, you knock."
"You were the one that said we needed to do an intervention—" Darcy argues back in an equally low tone.
"Oh, so now this is on me?" Jane fires back, "She's our friend—"
"Our friend who has been babbling nonsense about things that have not happened and has been seriously obsessing with that Low-key dude—" Darcy rushes out, bringing her face closer to Jane's, "I don't even know what we're walking into here!"
Jane inhales. She pinches her brow. With a long rub of her face, she exhales. Then, she knocks.
She gives Darcy a 'happy?' look before stepping back and crossing her arms.
Almost immediately, the music stops. There's the sound of a shuffle. A meow. And then, the door opens only wide enough that one exhausted eye can peak through the chained gap.
"Heeeeeeeeeey, girl!" Darcy chides, waggling her hands in the air, "Surprise!"
On the other side of the door, your heart clenches.
It feels a little bit like a cruel joke, y'know?
All that wishing, begging, clawing to go home and — well... you are. You're home. You've been home. For six months, you've been home in New York City. You're back in that little studio apartment, with Sigurd, with your research, with your doctorate.
ALL I WANT
TO DO IS
GO HOME.
You try your best to give both Darcy and Jane a smile, but it comes out mangled and exhausted and not quite right. You've been crying. Sort of par for the course these days.
"Oh, uh... Hi guys."
Sigurd meows.
"You got a sec?" Jane asks, raising a folder in her hands, "We, uh... Erik gave us some new anomaly data to look over and we figured... you're the one for the job! Y'know? It's... kinda... your thing... have you been crying?"
Your eyes dart between them both. You wet your lips.
"No. Nooo, no. It's..." your mouth hangs open as you search for a reason, "...Allergies."
There's a beat of embarrassing silence, and then Darcy moves fast as lightning. She wriggles her arm through the gap and unlocks the chain — almost as if this is definitely something she's mastered before — before pushing her way through the doorway of your apartment. Jane follows close behind, and Sigard squawks as he scurries away from underfoot.
The infiltration is almost immediately regretted because... woah.
Like, big woah.
Darcy has seen crazy. Like, she has an Uncle on her Dad's side who is totally in on the whole "they're coming for our thoughts" thing and does not leave the house without at least six layers of Great Value tinfoil stuffed under his baseball cap. She knows crazy. She works for Erik Selvig.
But this?
This is, like, soooooo above her pay grade.
Jane's jaw is slack. The folder is immediately forgotten on the kitchen island in favor of the wall-to-wall documentation of... whatever the hell this was.
LOKI MISSING? in the center of it all, with string and equations and runes and news articles and tabloid pages. There's an alarming amount of photos of the God in question pinned up beside ramblings on... Time? And... Quantum mechanics...?
There's another loooooong stretch of silence. And then, Darcy and Jane both turn slowly to look at you pressed against the door.
You swallow.
Your face is set in horror.
"It's not what it looks like—"
"Uh, dude, it totally is what it looks like—" Darcy starts, stepping closer to the board and pointing a black, manicured finger at a paparazzi photo of Loki being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower, "What's with all the Loki paraphernalia?! Need I post a lil' throwback Thursday to when he tried to kill us all?"
IT'S
THURSDAY
AGAIN.
You wince. "You wouldn't understand—"
Then, it happens.
The same thing you've experienced dozens upon dozens of times these last six months happens again: A rush of chatter in your mind, a cacophony of whispers that claw at your thoughts and flood them with has-beens and will-be's. A million things all at once, a little bit of everything from all of time, and then— one thread. One thread that stands out against them all.
"Jane, don't."
Across the room, Jane's fingers pause on the contact number for that pretty S.H.I.E.L.D. agent they've met once or twice now — the one who is managing the Asgardian anomaly cases. With Loki missing, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been desperate to track him down. If this is a lead... If you know where he is...
Jane's face freezes.
Her brows knit.
Your face is split in panic. "I know you think calling Agent Hill is the right thing to do, but—"
"...How did you know I was...?" Jane's voice falls off, her eyes searching your face.
Your voice splinters as you step forward. "If you call Agent Hill, she is going to section our entire division within the week. Thor will be exiled from Earth on conspiracy four days later. We will sit in a cell for five years until they decide we have nothing to do with Loki's disappearance from Asgard."
Darcy's eyes bounce between you and Jane.
"Why are you saying all that like you know it's going to happen?" Jane asks slowly, putting her phone down and closing the gap between you. "Doc, what's going on?"
Your eyes flicker with fear.
And then exhaustion. The walls you've built to keep this away from the others crumble with one worried look from Darcy, and you crumple against the kitchen counter.
Your voice is far away.
"It all started that Thursday."
You thought it would be better now that someone knows.
Truth be told it might be more trouble than it's worth if not to soothe the burden of secrecy — because Darcy keeps treating you like a Magic 8 Ball that, when shaken, is going to spit out readings on the future.
It isn't that easy. I mean, if it was, you would have definitely done everything in your power to avoid the commute traffic this morning.
You don't know why it happens. Or how. You have a theory it has something to do with Alioth, but... without any sort of control, there's no way of knowing. All you know is that in those moments, you're presented with a weave of potential sequences. And in those moments, you can choose to act. Or not.
So far, acting seems to be the best course of action.
But, yea, no. No fortune-cookie-level stuff. No crystal ball, no tarot cards. Just... weird time-whispers. And a migraine that seems to never go away. And dreams. Really vivid dreams. Dreams that happen? And dreams that don't.
If it was a horoscope sort of thing, maybe you wouldn't have missed your morning bus after waiting in line at that coffee shop three blocks down. They always make your coffee a little too bitter, but the girl behind the counter is an NYU grad student you recognized from a mechanical engineering lecture you sat in on three months ago. You've got a soft spot for her. She's always nice to that guy in the baseball cap who seems unhoused.
You hope it all works out for her in the end.
But, Christ this coffee is bitter.
You buzz into Stark Labs at 9:37 am, and you're setting your stuff down at R&D by 9:43 am.
Bruce Banner looks up briefly from his work to slide you a welcoming smile. You return it gently as you settle down on your stool and reacclimate yourself to last week's work.
Mondays, man.
Tony is, as always, later than anyone else. His entrance is followed by the usual boisterous chatter meant as a morale booster. More often than not it's a genius-level comedy routine built on absolutely torturing Dr. Banner. You opt, more often than not, to refuse to enable the bad behavior.
Any laughter is buried deep into these readings from the Tesseract.
And so this has been home for the last four months.
Avengers Tower. R&D. Erik Selvig's Research Team. Theoretical Physics and Quantum Mechanics. Day in, day out.
No TVA, no TemPads, no Sylvie, no Mobius, no Capybaras.
...No Loki.
But, plenty of whispers.
It rocks you out of your focus, iced latte halfway to your lips as you're rooted in this little pocket of voices and threads and whisps of time. There's a thousand, then a hundred, then one.
Your voice is soft.
"Bruce, try the equation again."
From across the room, Tony's voice dies down and Bruce's eyes rise to meet yours. He points to himself, with a questioning raise of the brows.
You nod, then continue to take a sip of your coffee.
And so Bruce does. Wordlessly. And, after a minute, he looks up with a grin.
"So it was right."
"Woulda never known if Iron Dick over here didn't shut up for one second."
Tony's grin is bigger than Bruce's as he meanders over to your lab table and throws an arm around your shoulder. He squeezes you gently. You avoid his eye contact — and in doing so, you miss the momentary grace of concern.
(Tony has known you for a few months now. He knows you adequately enough to gauge that your triple-shot espresso should have been a sextuple. The bags beneath your eyes are dark. There's an edge there. Something jumpy. You're exhausted.)
"Now, that was mean."
"You're torturing him," you fire back lightly, non-the-wiser to his scrutiny.
"It's called exposure therapy—" Tony croons, leaning back and thumbing through some of the notes on your desk. You allow it.
Good. Still sharp. Still better than anyone else at what you do.
"Exposure to workplace terrorism?" You rib back with one cocked brow, "No offense, Bruce, but I like you better not green. Okay, Tony?"
"None taken!" Dr. Banner calls lightly from across the room. He's working on the second part of that equation now.
"Sure, sure, alright, Doc," Tony heads your words, raising both hands and stepping back, "I guess someone hates fun."
"Absolutely," you say blankly, chewing your straw; you point at him, "No laughter."
"None," Tony waggles a finger.
"Not a peep," you remark causally as you spin in your stool and snag your pen from the drawer behind you.
"Any news on the other green guy we hate?" Bruce asks slowly, eyes bouncing between you and Stark.
Your blood goes a little cold. Just like always. It's hard not to react — especially when that other green guy is all you think about day and night.
WHEN YOU LOSE HIM
YOU WILL DO ANYTHING
TO GET HIM BACK.
You wordlessly shake your head. You shrug. Bruce turns to Stark. Tony is hunched over his bench. His words are a bit muffled by the soldering project he's turned his attention to.
"None. According to Thor he just up and poofed. He was in the middle of atoning before the Buckingham of Asgard and... just warped on out."
So you've heard.
"Hill has been working every lead she can but... the Asgardians are a little touchy-feely on the whole 'earthlings in the domain of the Gods' thing."
"Understandable," you mutter absently.
Tony sits up. "Only time will tell."
...Indeed.
Home.
Unit 1131.
Lonely.
It wasn't before all this... It was full to the brim with contentment. It was comfort, it was bliss. It was indulgent mornings slept beneath the covers and bright music in the kitchen. Cheap wine from the liquor shop on the corner and homemade meals. It was "I finally made it".
Now, it's none of that.
Because he's out there — and you know that you don't belong here anymore.
You drop your bag by the door.
Your boots follow in a trail.
Sigurd mews expectantly, and you scoop him wordlessly into your arms as you weave through the chaos of papers and books. Your carpet is hidden beneath a layer of obsession masquerading as research.
But, there's one thing that pulls you back in each time.
It's that photo.
The one Darcy had pointed at earlier.
Loki is being carted off from the now-Avengers Tower. He's looking back at something, and his expression is broken.
It's you.
You know he's pleading with Thor at that moment through a muzzle, desperate to call your name. He's looking at you, being whisked away by S.H.I.E.L.D. as they clear the area, and your voice is silenced by grief.
You wish you had called out to him then — told him you'd find him again.
Regret is a hell of a thing.
Grief, too.
How do you mourn something you never really had? Not here, not in this timeline.
So you stand there, in the dim lights of your apartment, staring at the photo. And you cry. Just like every night, for the last six months.
In your desk, that magical little daisy made of grass waits.
If they find Sylvie, they find you.
That's the mission.
Mobius M. Mobius thinks it's funny — back then, man if only he would have known that lil' hunch of his was right. Maybe a part of him did. And... Now? Things are different. I mean, everything is different. The TVA is different.
Loki is different.
They say to be loved is to be changed an' all that.
The first thing out of Loki's mouth was your name when Mobius finally saw him again — and then a word vomit of panic, induced by the death of He Who Remains and... time-slippage as OB called it. Lotsa moving parts. Lots to keep track of. But, ultimately, they're in a better spot than they were yesterday.
1.) Loki is no longer falling through the metaphorical cracks in time.
2.) Mobius did not get toasted alive when standing before The Loom.
3.) He never, ever, ever has to do that again.
And now!
They're in London.
1977, huh. Zaniac.
If they find Sylvie, they find you.
...Unless you find him first.
Loki isn't exactly thrilled.
No, Loki knows better than to get his hopes up. Sylvie isn't here. He already told Mobius that. It's too safe. It's a damned movie premiere. There are no radiation burns, no falling stars, and no rampant gunfire. It's too quiet.
It's a movie premiere and you're out there, somewhere, alone. You're... you're lost. He can't protect you here. He can't protect anything. You... You're all he has and you're gone.
And he's here, wasting his damn time.
Brad Wolfe is about to waste more of his time.
Loki's gaze is sharp. His strides are long, and as they approach the fray, the God stands amongst the tallest of guests. He cuts a mean profile. It's times like these that Mobius remembers he is a God.
(It's times like these that Mobius can also see the ever-increasing edge in his partner-in-time. It's a little... worrisome. But understandable. I mean, rip a God's soulmate from his hands and see what happens, right?)
"So, he's an actor now?" Loki comments off-handedly, his irritation grating his heartstrings in a way that reminds him of who he was before all this. He hates it. But, he's angry. He will get you back. Without you...
Without you, he doesn't know what he'll do.
"Or he's undercover."
As they weave, Loki's brows knot in distrust. "Looks pretty real to me."
It smells like cigarettes and perfume, and the flashbulbs bite sharply into Loki's peripherals. The raven-haired trickster winces, tucking his hands into his slacks.
On the red carpet, X-5 moves from interview to interview. Occasionally his laughter rises above the clamor. Each time, Loki's nostrils flare and he rolls his eyes.
It's when he reaches the end of the line that Mobius moves in.
"Will there be a Zaniac Two?"
The look on Brad's face says enough for Mobius to know there's more going on here than just an undercover bit. Brad's laugh, as equally pained as his smile, just cements the fact.
"Mobius! Woah!" A clap on the shoulder, a big hug. "I used to work with this guy!"
Still a show. Still a weasel trying to survive on his little slice of time.
"We're going to need to catch up," he begins, backing up slowly, "You know, why don't we chat after the show?"
"How about now, maybe?" Mobius counters just as Brad turns on his heel and comes face to face with Loki.
The God sneers.
"Woah. Okay, ha, whole gangs here!" he chirps, "Isn't that... great? Wow. I mean, you look — you look great, Loki."
"Why thank you, Brad."
Brad's eyes are manic, and he's searching the crowd quickly — no doubt looking for an exit. Then, they catch something. When Brad claps his hands together and pats them on both Loki and Mobius' shoulders, the two TVA agents pause.
"Everything alright?" Loki asks, head tilting in faux concern.
"Everything is great, actually, because when I was here," he begins, words quick and anxious as he tries to weave some sort of story, "I met a mutual friend!"
"Sylvie?" Mobius asks tightly.
"No, no, uh, better—"
Loki's jaw tightens. Enough of this. "We have some mutual friends back at the TVA who would like a word, as well—"
"Doc!" calls Brad after finally finding her in the sea of people, turning on his heel and calling out over his shoulder, "I got people I need you to meet!"
And just like that, it's like Loki's whole world splits wide open again.
In the fray of photographers and journalists, in the fray of drinks and the haze of smoke, there's you. You're smiling at Brad, positively beaming. You're bright as a star and Gods, there's no one in the room when you step forward with a laugh.
Your dress is green. Your hair is different.
There's a beauty mark on your left cheek. His version of you has a scar that lies there. A mistimed gift from Sylvie before their period on Lamentis.
"Doc, these are some of my friends from work," Brad points, his hand falling along your waist in a way that makes Loki's blood boil; the ex-TVA Hunter leans close to your cheek, "They're the real deal."
You laugh into your drink, then extend your hand to Mobius. He's trying his best to hide his growing dread. "It's a pleasure."
Mobius takes it and shakes it gently. "And how do you have the pleasure of knowing our starlet, Brad?"
Damn it. He's losing Loki in real time here.
"Doc here did all the practical effects on set for Zaniac," Brad's eyes connect with Loki's — but the God is focused on only you... Her. Until Wolfe digs in with a low murmur meant to do just what it does, "She's a real wiz with her hands."
The God's face snaps. He will kill Brad, he decides. But, then this other-you moves to offer her hand and he can't help but melt.
His fingers are trembling when he touches her skin.
"Have we met before?" comes the soft lilt of her voice — this Variant's eyes are brown. They search Loki's face for a shred of recognition but all that's there between the two of them is raw attraction. A law of time and space unhindered by meddling hands. No matter where, no matter when, you will find one another.
Loki's mouth is dry. Your lipstick shade is a dark rogue. He thinks about that kiss back in the Void. He's stuck there, with your hand in his, when Brad bolts.
Her face contorts in confusion. She pulls away. But, Loki lingers.
a compilation of fics ive been reading the past couple weeks, multiple from the same authors but i figured i would include my faves and you can check the rest of their works out :))
they’re all fluff or angst fics :)
————————————————
close call and bad puns - @skaye44
flirty!bucky | fluff
metal arm brrr - @bombsonboard
grumpy!bucky | fluff
off limits - @ellemj
mafia!bucky | fluff + implied smut
a touch of softness - @rookthorne
nurse!bucky | fluff
damnit steve - @skaye44
idiots in love | fluff
home is where the heart is - @rookthorne
cute farmer!bucky | fluff + implied smut
lead us to temptation @asphalt-cocktail
religious reader ! | fluff + smut
happy birthday, jamie - @kittybeansbarnes
birthday boy bucky :’) | FLUFF
hypothetically speaking -@littleseasiren
fluff.
someone’s calling my name (it sounds like you) -@mellowsaturns
ׂ╰┈➤18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all bucky barnes stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some with have summaries if provided <3
╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮
𓇼 video games by @twoghostsfromeden
𓆉Sam Wilson attempts to teach Bucky how to play video games, but you have a different idea
𓇼 just like dad by @ladyfallonavenger
𓆉 The Reader loses Bucky in the snap and life presents a whole new challenge.
𓇼 coming in hot by @nexusnyx (ao3 link)
𓆉When your best friend Sarah recommends you a mechanic of her brother’s trust, all you can think about and pray to is that he doesn’t rip you off. Your car is your prized possession and amidst all the worry and concern of your medical studies, drowning in even more debt sounds as suffocating as it would be.
Of course, you never thought of the possibility of the mechanic being the problem. A hot, polite, gentle, and silent-type of problem.
Drowning in debt would be easier to navigate than the blue of Bucky Barnes’s eyes.
𓇼wallpaper by @cosmicbucky
𓆉 bucky finds out how to change the wallpaper on your phone, and takes every opportunity he can to do so. until one day he doesn't have the heart to.
𓇼 consequences by @duuhrayliegh
𓇼@ellemj
𓆉 letters to santa pt2
𓆉 need and wants
𓇼 trust by @kgficz
𓆉Set during the end of ‘Captain America: The Winter Soldier’. You had been forced to work as a nurse for Hydra’s soldiers, you never expected The Winter Soldier to be one of them. What happens when he starts to care about you?
𓇼 glitter and goo by @welldonebeca
𓆉 When you have to go on a mission to a different planet together, Bucky is hit by a mating ritual flower, and some feelings you two have been hiding come up
𓇼 accidental pic by @mostlymarvelsstuff
𓆉Reader recives Buckys nudes accidentally
𓇼 just friends by @cadaverousnight
𓆉A night of drinking makes Bucky bold and a harmless text makes him bolder
𓇼 @espinosaurusrexex
𓆉Worlds Collide
🫧 The world is ending. And there are two types of people: The ones that embrace the last pieces of happiness left, and the ones that just don’t bother anymore. When those two clash, there’s no way of knowing what will happen. But maybe, some hopes and dreams aren’t so different after all and the both of them get a chance at becoming more than just acquaintances.
𓆉 refuge
🫧 You had a track record of cracking tough cases, but this one proved to be your breaking point. The Winter Soldier was out there, thirsting for blood, operating in total anonymity, and leaving a trail of bodies in the cold Colorado snow. Then, just as a snowstorm was about to paralyse the town, Bucky Barnes appeared on your doorstep – lost, sweet, and in dire need of help. It all seems too good to be true, but what happens when his secrets come to haunt him and Bucky’s blurred past reveals a predicament neither of you saw coming?
𓆉happy little accidents
🫧 In a world after the war, Bucky tries to get pieces of his old self back by joining an art class. He meets you and instantly falls head over heels. Now he just has to work up the courage to ask you out.
𓆉serious questions
🫧 Bucky agrees to go on a date to make his colleagues shut up. Now, he just feels sorry for the poor woman that has to spend an entire evening with him. He really tries to make it work, though, because he actually enjoys her company.
𓆉 bad boys don’t buy flowers
🫧 Bucky would have never thought, he’d be chasing after a girl. Not when all of them usually fell at his feet. But when he finds himself entangled in a deal born out of a desperate argument with his assistant, he realizes there is nothing he wouldn't do for you: The independent florist who is adamantly dragging him to the homeless shelter every chance she gets. There is just one problem: Bucky doesn't know how to tell you. And the teasing from his friends is certainly not making things easier for him...
𓆉request oneshot
𓇼 @pellucid-constellations
𓆉 unexpected
🫧 With all of his rough edges and impassive glances, Bucky Barnes looked to be the last person you’d find at an elementary school bake sale. Too bad Steve couldn’t make it, and dealing with a class hopped up on sugar wasn’t a feat you could manage alone
𓆉 i need him like water
🫧 You think Bucky’s having an affair. He thinks… well you aren’t sure what he thinks. But he must notice the living room light is left on. Every night.
𓆉 flowers in the compound
🫧 That girl from the flower shop seems to be taking up a lot of Bucky’s time.
𓆉 request one shot
🫧 You knew Bucky didn't like his arm. You just didn't know how much until he accidentally hurt you with it.
𓆉 counting
🫧 Time heals all wounds. Bucky’d been holding onto that proverb ever since blip. But time had never been particularly kind to him, so he opted to keep track of the sweet girl’s in his apartment building instead, the one that made him banana bread and took him to diners at two in the morning. Sometimes, you didn’t keep the same schedule. That made Bucky panic.
𓇼 everybody talks by @nickfowlerrr
𓇼 @buckyalpine
𓆉come back to you
🫧 What happens when a time travel mission ends up with a version of Bucky from the 40′s standing on the time travel platform.
𓆉 did you hear
𓆉 40s bucky w/ nurse!reader
𓆉 sunshine
𓆉 spiral
𓆉 pick me
𓆉 untouched
𓆉 tongue twister
𓆉 wait what pt2 pt3 pt4
𓆉 can you not pt2 pt3
𓆉 choices pt2
𓇼 aching by @bbyboybucket
𓆉After Reader gives Bucky a massage, he realizes how much he likes her touch
𓇼 tiny match maker by @jamdoughnutmagician
𓆉 Adjusting to his new life outside of the superhero business, Bucky makes the acquaintance of a very young, inquisitive girl.
𓇼 metal arm brrr by @bombsonboard
𓆉 Every problem needs a solution. Bucky just isn't the biggest fan of yours.
𓇼 the cards were dealt by @bucky-fricking-barnes
𓆉Bucky and Y/N are the children of the two most prominent mob bosses in New York. When their parents use them as part of a deal, they’re left to figure out how their lives fit together.
𓇼 @holylulusworld
𓆉 a different kind of valentine pt2
🫧 Your fiancé breaks your heart on Valentine’s Day out of all days.
𓆉 happy birthday big grump
🫧 Your new neighbor is a professional grump. No reason to not be nice to him on his birthday.
𓇼 siren be bound to me by @darkdemeter
𓆉He is your captain. There is no place you'd rather be than by his side, nothing you could ever want for that is not him. You owe everything, your entire self, to him.
And yet overboard and on the tide you set sail across in search for a great and ancient treasure, a song continues to seep through the cracks of your heart and soul... a song so familiar yet unknown.
Forgotten. And Bucky reminds you yet again that there no place else for you that isn't beside him, that there is nothing out there
𓇼 to have and to hold harm by @queers-gambit
𓆉after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become
𓇼 @thighs-of-betrayal-blog
𓆉 jealous bucky
𓆉 request oneshot
𓆉 hold the door
🫧 You’ve never met your new neighbor, not until an incident happens involving the apartments elevator.
𓇼 out of practice by @drabbles-mc
𓆉 reader is a mom, bucky hasn't dated in like 70 years
𓇼 @jobean12-blog
𓆉 next door to love
🫧 When you made the move to the city you never expected your new neighbor to be so sweet and helpful...or hot.
𓆉 this spells love
🫧 Bucky is your best friend and he really is the best but he wants more, he wants everything, but the idea that it could ruin your friendship and he could lose you is too much...
𓇼 meet my family by @skaye44
𓆉Your parents want to meet your boyfriend Bucky which you agree, but the whole family invites itself along for the meeting.
𓇼 my sun my star pt2 pt3 by @cosmos-coma
𓆉 You wait up late for your boyfriend Bucky to return from his mission, but it isn't Bucky who finds you
𓇼 @mrsbarnesblog
𓆉 my everything
🫧 The last thing that Bucky ever expected to see was the love of his life from the past trapped in one of the Hydra bunkers in the cryofreeze chamber. Yet here he was almost two days later, staring at your still unconscious body through the window at the medical wing, imagining the horror and disgust on your face when you found out that he was no longer the innocent and happy boy you knew before
𓆉 i trust you
🫧 when Bucky comes back from a mission with a knife wound there is only one person who can convince him to get help
𓇼 5+1 by @mrs-illyrian-baby
𓆉 Whether it's on a mission, a work event or a holiday, your sleeping arrangements never seem to work out as planned. It doesn't really bother you until...it does. Confronted with a night sleeping apart, you and Bucky finally talk
𓇼 just like that by @navybrat817
𓆉Bucky suggests staying in a hotel together before an undercover mission, which would be fine if you didn't have a massive crush on the super soldier.
𓇼 @sergeantbuckybarnes
𓆉 begin again everything i wanted
🫧 When you go to meet your friend at her work you see a cute guy had been stood up, so you’re going to be the best date of his life.
𓆉 amnesia
🫧 During a fight in Madripoor you get hit in the head resulting in forgetting the last ten years of your life. And most important, your boyfriend.
𓇼 diamonds by @angrythingstarlight
𓇼 @literaryavenger
𓆉 not so bad
🫧 It's Bucky's birthday, but doesn't want to make a big deal out of it.
𓆉 happy birthday
🫧 It's your birthday and the only person who doesn't seem to be excited about it is you
𓇼 body and soul by @theladybarnes
𓆉 Reader has a conversation with Sam that leaves her a little confused before her date with Bucky. Includes probably the best romance movie quote to ever grace films.
𓇼 you’re my desire pt2 by @marvelouslizzie
𓆉Your best friend drags you out on a double date. You were supposed to be Steve Rogers' date, but plans change pretty quickly and you end up in Bucky Barnes' arms.
𓇼 she chose me by @notafunkiller
𓆉Steve's hopes get crushed when he wrongly assumes you'd choose him over Bucky.
Summary: Every problem needs a solution. Bucky just isn't the biggest fan of yours.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 1k
Tags: Fluff in the highest degree, old married couple, Swearing (It's Bucky, duh)
A/N: I just needed to give you guys something, it's been too long since i've written on here and you guys are the best :) I've barely checked this over so I apologize for any typos.
*****
“Can you stop moving, please?”
Bucky Barnes half asleep is not someone you want to mess with. The first time you shuffled he had hardly made a sound, the second you were met with a low grumble (a warning you knew well) and the third strike, he was thirty seconds from kicking you out of the bed.
When Bucky had finally learnt to sleep in a bed again, mostly thanks to you, he steadily became a big fan of his beauty sleep and god help anyone who ended up disturbing him. He had a lot to catch up on. Once, you had violently shaken him awake because his phone was ringing and when he heard Sam on the other line, you were deemed a ‘sleep thief’ for a week and a half after. Bucky Barnes was a bitch when it came to his sleep.
You usually wouldn't have any complaints about being in his vice grip but it was January and the nights were still cold and having a boyfriend with a metal arm meant that you were held to him with an ice cold grip around your waist. When the Summer came, it was a life saver, your own personal refrigerator but you still had a good few months to go before you were hanging off his arm everyday.
“Sorry.” You mumbled and tried to convince yourself you were comfortable without another word.
Nope, can’t do it. You shift again.
“You’re kidding- what is it?” He pulls away from you and sits up on his elbow, glaring, he dares you. “Go on.”
With the most innocent doe eyes you could muster you slip your bottom lip between your teeth and debate the argument you could spark when your gaze slips to his vibranium arm in the semi darkness.
He doesn’t miss a thing, you’ve come to realize.
“I swear if you say-”
“-It’s cold! I’m cold! It’s just too much cold!” You burst, arms flailing in desperation.
“It’s my arm! You said you wanted to sleep on my left, this is my left arm, nothing I can do. Okay?”
“There has to be something.” You search the room for solutions, briefly lingering on the sock drawer.
“Oh yeah, sorry, let me just take it off.” Bucky grunts, dripping with sarcasm.
“...If you could?”
“Seriously, fuck you.”
Bucky falls back into his beloved pillow, eyes shut and wishing he has chosen a partner that let him sleep peacefully, then again, why would he want that when you exist?
“Look, either come to the other side or deal with it.”
Silence finally reaches your bedroom and Bucky is deeply in dreamland while you lie awake, scheming away.
In the early hours, you slip out of bed without a sound and make a beeline for the sock drawer, knowing you had some old pairs of slipper socks stuffed at the back. Scissors in hand, you snipped off the toes and smiled at the D.I.Y leg warmers. Oh, he was gonna be mad.
With nearly medical precision, you held out the slumbering Bucky’s arm in front of you and one by one, slid the fluffy socks up the freezing metal until it was sufficiently covered. Thanking the universe, he was a pretty heavy sleeper, you shuffled back under the covers and happily wrapped the soft arm back around your waist.
You slept like a lamb after that.
*****
When the morning came, you woke up before him like usual and briefly left him to his own devices as you made coffee, two mugs sitting on the counter beside each other.
Through the wall, you faintly hear the rising of the soldier before heavy footsteps quickly storm in your direction.
“The fuck is this?”
You look up to see him in the doorway, and find yourself the subject of a stare that would send millions running. Not you. The multicolored socks lined up his arm kind of softened his hoped effect and you had to stifle your laughter.
“A solution?” You shrug.
“No.” He points at you with his flesh arm accusingly “Nu-uh. This? This is not how we solve things.”
“Is it not? I’m really digging the rainbow on you.” The giggle you had tried to push down had spilled over.
“You’re a fucking menace.”
The giggle now a full bodied laugh that had you clutching at your chest as you were overcome with the image of your big, scary, ‘world’s most deadly assassin’ boyfriend glaring daggers at you while donning the most fluffy and most colorful socks up his arm.
Bucky was fighting a grin with all his might, your laughter was like an ugly disease, incredibly contagious, hard to avoid, and annoying.
Something soft hits you in the face and you halt your hysterics as you peer at the slipper sock now at your feet. Lifting your gaze, Bucky is smiling smugly, and working a second sock off his arm.
“Bucky!” You yelp and duck under the counter as the rainbow sock flies in slow motion over your head.
You probably shouldn’t poke the bear but-
“Y’know, for the best shot the United States army had ever seen you sure do miss a lot.” You taunt from your hiding spot.
When there's no response, you make a break for the couch and get shot squarely in the forehead.
“Say that again.” He dares with narrowed eyes.
“Okay, truce. Truce!” You raise your hands in surrender.
“Say sorry for last night.” The pink ball of fluff in his hands, a deadly fate, and you’re consigned to concede
“I apologize for last night.” You sigh, approaching him with caution “Now, it’s been ten whole minutes and you still haven’t subjected me to your obscene morning breath.”
He beckons you with his head and you happily plod over, throwing your arms around his neck. The kiss is sweet, and full of promised mornings to come.
It’s welcomed by you. Until you feel the coldest thing known to man, his left arm, writhing under your shirt and sending immediate shivers down your back.
“Bucky!” You screech and his strong laughter descends on your morning with malice.
Desperately wiggling out of his hold, you escape to the bedroom and yell from your stronghold:
i LOVE this fic bc it’s funny and cute but what sticks out to me the most is how he’s not afraid to stand up for himself and talk shit- i feel like in most fics his character is very apologetic and i like how here it’s implied he’s further on his healing journey where he feels more like himself and can be a bit of a dickhead
Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)
Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, hauntings, a bit of the paranormal
A/N: i am surprised i posted today quite frankly. anyway, hope u like <3
Previous part || Series masterlist
Bucky wakes up bright and early, eyes full of wonder on how he isn't dead yet, and already ready to go back to sleep before he steps foot out of bed.
Still, he puts on his big boy pants and only for a few minutes curses the fact that his phone has not ceased blowing up since the video released.
With a heart overflowing with misplaced hope that he will not run into anyone before noon time, he enters the shared kitchen.
It is regretted almost immediately.
Clint’s perched on the counter, knees tucked under him like the Spider-child Bucky sees hanging around the compound occasionally.
You stand across the kitchen, on a chair, one hand holding a bowl and another holding an egg. The egg hand is stretched back, like you’re ready to throw it.
He stares at the both of you, chest rising and falling steadily.
“Clint says he can catch an egg in his mouth without cracking it,” you inform him.
Bucky turns around and walks out.
“What about breakfast?” you call out behind him
“Just plug him into the wall and charge him for a while. He'll be grand.”
Without so much as turning around, Bucky flips Clint a middle finger.
A second later he hears something splatter against the wall and a “oh shit” follow immediately after.
By the time you slide into the seat beside him at the studio, he can smell the faint smell of egg permeating off your fingertips.
“Did you end up getting something to eat?” you query while the crew buzzes around you, working on your face.
Bucky gives you a curt nod, arms crossed over his chest.
“In case you were wondering–” he most definitely was not– “he can catch an egg with his mouth, but it cracked every single time.”
He did not want the image of Clint perched on the counter, egg yolk running down his stupid face, in his head.
Alas, you had made it your mission to ruin his mental peace for the day.
The camera man yells a countdown.
You spin in your chair with a devilish grin. Bucky sits unmoving, like the unhip, uncool man that he was.
He finds it hard to stop his eyes from rolling.
“Before we get into this week’s episode, I thought we owe it to the people to answer a few of their questions,” you pipe up, piquing his attention.
Bucky notices the camera crew looking at each other in brief surprise.
Good Lord, you were going to go off script.
“Now, Barnes, here are a few of the most asked questions we’ve been getting this last week,” you read out from your own notes. “Number 1, have you heard of the concept of sunscreen?”
Bucky stares at you.
“Number two, will you ever wear sunscreen?”
His eyebrows pull together.
“Number 3, when will you wear sunscreen?” you continue, only then pausing a moment to look at him for a response.
Admittedly, he isn't sure what to say.
“I'll see,” he says slowly.
“Awesome. You can’t hide behind regenerative healing forever. That pretty face needs some SPF,” you comment, before tossing the card onto the table. “Next question–”
“This is from Twitter user sk8rboy02, who has been tweeting at us all week a fuckin’ ton– like truly, an unhinged number of times.” You eye the camera suspiciously. “They ask, ‘Have you heard of REM-POD? If you haven’t, you should get one for the next hunt’.”
“What’s a REM-POD?” Bucky asks, voice low.
“It’s short for Radiating Electro-Magnetic Pod. It detects fluctuations in electromagnetic fields,” you read off the same card, like you were prepared. “It’s to see if ghosts are around by noting changes in the temperature.”
“What if the ghost is just room temperature?” Bucky interjects.
You glare at him, as if to send a warning not to get on his bullshit again, but he’s locked and loaded, baby!
“It produces its own electromagnetic field, so any kind of intrusion sets it off,” you continue, “so even if a room-temp ghost is hanging around, it’ll catch it.”
“Okay,” Bucky says, “and why would a ghost walk into the field?”
“Well-”
“What if it just stays on the other side of the room? Then what?”
“I’ll buy two. For each side of the room.”
“What if it’s a small ghost?”
“I’ll buy fifteen and keep it around the room like a minefield, what about that?” you challenge. “Your infant, lukewarm ghost has no chance when I surveillance state this bitch.”
He scoffs.
“Moving on,” you digress, ignoring him. “Back to the point of this episode.”
Bucky exhales heavily through his nose.
“It’s very fitting that you brought up small ghosts actually,” you tell him as you swap out your cards for the file given to you by the team. “Have you ever played with dolls?”
A crease forms between his brows unconsciously. “My sister had ‘em.”
“Becca?” you enquire.
He’s honestly a little surprised you remember.
“Yeah.” Bucky's voice comes back a bit distant.
He remembers the look on her face the day he found one, cleaned it up and handed it off to her. Blue pinafore, face split in a wide grin and brown, messy curls framing a thin face. It’s one of the few faint memories he has of her.
He forces himself to continue, “Didn’t play with them m’self, but they were around.”
“Great.” You grin wide. “Now’s your chance.”
“No,” Bucky replies immediately, but it’s too late.
You’ve already reached under the table, dragged out a moderately large rag doll and dropped it ungracefully on the table.
“Behold,” you announce, “haunted doll.”
Bucky stares at the raggedy thing. It stares back at him with one button eye and a shit eating grin.
He wants to… burn it.
“Where the fuck did you get this?”
“I stole it.” Your eyes shine.
“No, you didn’t.”
“You’re right, I got it off Craigslist,” you admit quickly, and only because Maya shook her head at you from behind the camera. An Avenger committing crime and admitting it on video did not have great optics.
“So it’s just an ugly doll,” Bucky comments.
“First of all, how dare you.” You spin it around to look at him. It does nothing to help your point. “Second of all, she’s haunted, so be nice.”
The fabric had gone brown and faded over the years. Insects had eaten away at the threads of hair, leaving the pigtails fairly uneven.
It was atrocious.
“So here’s the deal. The previous owner sent me a note along with her,” you explain, pulling out a sheet from the pile, with neat handwriting stretched along the page. “In the quiet village of Eldridge, a doll that has passed through the hands of countless individuals, each left with tales too eerie to dismiss as mere coincidence.”
Bucky shuts up, but there’s a strange sort of smugness shimmering under his face.
He drops the smile.
“Accounts of Amelie's haunting began when the toymaker noticed peculiar occurrences around his home. Objects would move on their own, whispers filled the air at night, and a cold presence would often linger beside him. Despite these, he never felt threatened, believing his daughter's spirit was simply residing within the doll.”
That was nice, he supposes.
“However, after his passing, Amelie found her way into the wider world. Those who possess her report disturbing phenomena. Most unnervingly, owners would wake in the dead of night to find Amelie's position changed, often facing them, as if watching over their sleep. Accounts of her levitating or giggling were frequent. Electronic devices malfunction inexplicably. Those who disrespect or attempt to rid themselves of Amelie experience heightened hauntings.”
You shoot him a pointed look. Bucky rolls his eyes.
“Many report even seeing a little girl in the room with them at night, who they believe to be Amelie's spirit. Despite the eerie occurrences that accompany her, many believe that she is simply forever wandering in search of the love and life she once knew,” you conclude, turning to him for a comment.
“What about her?” he asks. “Is that the end of the episode?”
You put your papers down and look at him. He can see excitement barely held together on your face.
“What?” he questions immediately.
“You’ve heard of those school assignments where they give you an egg to take care of for a week? Like a child?” you enquire. “So, I was thinki–”
Bucky recoils. “Absolutely the fuck not.”
“Sissy."
"What are you? Twelve?"
"Just keep her with you for a week,” you argue.
“You keep her. You’re the one who believes in this shit.”
“Which is why I’m biased,” you emphasize. “You’d be objective. It’s just a week.”
“I’m not taking that thing around with me.”
“She has a name. And fine, just leave her in your bedroom.”
“No.”
“Three nights,” you compromise. “You’re a light sleeper. If she giggled or burnt down the compound or some shit, I’d sleep right through it. You want that, Bucky? You want the doll to burn down the compound?”
Bucky nurses his forehead in his palm.
“Fine,” he mumbles, anything to get you to leave him alone.
“That took a lot less effort than I thought," you purse your bottom lip, impressed.
He narrows his eyes at you.
“Anyway, see you guys later. If Bucky dies, you’ll see it first on our Twitter.”
Night one.
There’s a godforsaken camera set up in his room.
Bucky is unfortunately forced to sleep with a shirt on.
The stupid doll sits on his cupboard, staring at him with its dumb smile. It gets uglier the more he looks at it.
He stares back for a while. Daring it to do something.
It does not.
After ten minutes of this nonsense, his head drops back down onto his pillow.
Light from the REM-POD paints the room in faint green from where it sits next to her, waiting to capture whatever it was supposed to.
His phone buzzes. It was unnatural. Not that someone was texting him that late, but that someone was texting him at all.
From: cohost (tgs)
are u still alive
From: bucky
i blocked you. how are you still texting me.
From: cohost (tgs)
i worked in cyber security for a while lol
His nose twitches. He makes a mental note to ask Nat what exactly the fuck was up with your life.
From: cohost (tgs)
did u die now
From: cohost (tgs)
rip in peace
From: bucky
fuck off
From: cohost (tgs)
bitch
From: cohost (tgs)
i will check back in 15 minutes
Bucky closes his eyes and lets his phone drop onto his chest.
There’s faint buzzing in the walls from FRIDAY’s circuits.
The night is warm, and he’d open the window but he’s not sure if the ugly doll would be able to withstand the wind, or whether that would be the last straw for her decomposing self.
He turns onto his side, staring at her from the corner of his eye.
She still does not blink. Nor does Bucky.
A series of notifications start send his phone going haywire.
His face screws together tightly as he unlocks it quickly, only to see which app it was coming from.
He throws his phone across the bed and shoves his head under a pillow, mumbling profanities.
The night goes on undisturbed.
You accost him at breakfast.
It is too damn early to have a camera shoved in his face, especially when his eyes were still groggy and his filter was dangerously off.
Bucky picks up his cereal and leaves the kitchen. He will eat on the roof.
Night two.
Bucky sets the camera up again, squinting at it to make sure it was still working before turning off his room light and settling back into bed.
From: cohost (tgs)
maybe if u smiled at her she’d hate u less
From: cohost (tgs)
have u considered taking a shower
Bucky turns his phone on silent, and switches it right off just to really make sure.
He stares at his wall, still bare as the day he moved in.
He’s never really thought to fill it before. Having the doll on his dresser only makes him acutely aware of how boring his room really is, considering that was the most interesting thing there.
Maybe he’d consider putting up a photo. There’s a photo of Sam, Steve and him out there somewhere in which he doesn’t look half bad. Not a complete resting bitch face. Partial.
The clock, the only other decoration in the room, tells him it’s past midnight. He had to be up in less than five hours.
As a last chance, he turns to look at the doll before he shuts shop for the night.
And it’s floating.
Above his dresser.
He blinks once, and then twice.
It continues to hover, creepy smile pointed right towards him.
He sits up slightly, leaning on his elbows.
Bucky stares at the doll floating in his room.
“Okay,” he says.
Because what the fuck else is he supposed to do?
Throw a pillow at it? A army knife? At the doll that was probably pissed at him already and was flying in his fucking room?
The thing continues to float ominously.
“Fuck off,” he cribs, perhaps a little too annoyed, because it rises higher into the air.
The stupid REM-POD stays quiet and Bucky wonders for a brief second, as if there was not a haunted doll levitating in front of his very eyes, if he was supposed to charge it or something.
His attention switches back to the thing staring at him from near the ceiling.
Bucky stares right back, not even entirely sure he’s awake right now.
Right.
He accepts rather quickly that it was time.
He had finally gone insane. Lost his marbles. Entirely amiss in the noggin.
Then he hears it.
Unmistakably.
A giggle.
He sits up straight.
A series of footsteps so light, that if he wasn't as hyperaware as he was at that moment, he wouldn't have heard it.
It clicks a second later.
“Are you outside my fucking door?” he hisses, sitting upright.
The laugh gets louder and the stupid doll rises higher until it bumps into the ceiling and falters.
He rolls his eyes so hard it aches.
“Are you fuckin' serious right now?” he barks. “What is wrong with you?”
Bucky launches a pillow at his door and the doll drops to the ground.
“Fuckin'–” he mutters, shoving his head under a pillow and drowning out the remainder of your laughter.
Ridiculous.
“Hey, Buck.” You chirp at him over your cup the next morning. “Interesting night?”
Bucky doesn’t even acknowledge your presence.
“Wanna see Clint use his mouth to try to catch a jar of–”
Bucky turns and exits swiftly.
He continues with night 3, because Bucky is not a coward.
He is a dumbass with little to none self-preservation extinct, but that’s a conversation for another day.
This time he was fucking ready.
He instructs FRIDAY to put the whole floor on lockdown. No one getting in, no one getting out.
The camera stays blinking in the corner.
The REM-POD has fresh batteries in it. One sits outside his door in case you manage to hack your way in somehow.
He was prepared.
Bucky settles into bed, pulls the cover over his head and decides that no matter what happens, he would not get up.
The clock ticks.
Bucky sits there in silence for God knows how long, waiting for sleep to blanket him.
Twenty minutes go past with shuteye no where in sight, and his mind once again drifts towards thinking about his room decoration.
Maybe a succulent.
Wanda kept a lot in her room, and they never seemed to die. He could use a few tips. Offer her something he carved from wood as a return favour.
Maybe he could make himself something. Head back to the woodworking shop. It’d been a while—
And exactly at the same time as the night before, there’s a giggle.
His eyes snap open, and he groans extraordinarily loud.
“I will shoot you,” he says loudly into the pillow. “I got a gun. I got two guns.”
The giggle gets louder, but it’s away from the door, on the opposite end of the room.
There is no fucking way you’ve climbed outside his window.
His jaw tightens and sits up straight, convinced that he will indeed push you off his balcony with no regrets.
“Two nights is too fuckin’ mu–” he begins, eyes darting to the right where the window is.
Something along the way catches his sight.
His eyebrows pull together. Head tilts to the side, while his breath all but stops.
There’s something faint in the corner of his room. He’s not even sure it’s really there– he can still see the fold in the wall through it, and the figure is so small.
The same size the day he last saw her.
Blue pinafore, brown curls messy around a wild face. Fingers wringing in front of her, and the same mischievous grin he’s come to realise is a sure-shot sign of knowing she’d gotten herself into trouble.
“Becca?” he calls out, quiet and unsure.
She opens her mouth to say something.
His heart twists painfully in his ribs.
A loud screech tears his attention away, and towards the REM-POD going fucking haywire.
And then with the swiftness with which it started, it goes silent again.
Bucky’s head snaps back towards her.
But there’s no one there.
And it seems like no one ever was.
He doesn’t dare to exhale.
The REM-POD stays quiet for the rest of the night.
And Bucky keeps watching the corner of the room.
“Sorry,” he tells you the next morning, hoarse. “Forgot to turn the camera on last night.”
Your head cocks to the side.
There is a strain in his voice and he’s making too much eye contact. The irises were bloodshot.
“All right,” you tell him, a little confused. “No issues. We’ll work with what we got.”
He lets out a small exhale, and turns on his heel to leave.
“Buck,” you call behind him. “Y’okay?”
He gives you a weak thumbs up.
Your brows pull together. “Get some sleep. You look exhausted.”
He nods.
He doubts he’ll be getting much sleep for a while.
here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!
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Hiii just followed you I read all your Bucky one shots and your writing is really good can't wait to read more from you
omg hi!! i really kind of pulled a runner since i wrote those last one shots but hopefully HOPEFULLY i can tell myself to post stuff more steadily so you guys get consistent content. i have something to post tonight as well! (fingers crossed)
thank you for the follow, and the compliment on my writing means more than you know :)
Hiii just followed you I read all your Bucky one shots and your writing is really good can't wait to read more from you
omg hi!! i really kind of pulled a runner since i wrote those last one shots but hopefully HOPEFULLY i can tell myself to post stuff more steadily so you guys get consistent content. i have something to post tonight as well! (fingers crossed)
thank you for the follow, and the compliment on my writing means more than you know :)
Summary: Every problem needs a solution. Bucky just isn't the biggest fan of yours.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 1k
Tags: Fluff in the highest degree, old married couple, Swearing (It's Bucky, duh)
A/N: I just needed to give you guys something, it's been too long since i've written on here and you guys are the best :) I've barely checked this over so I apologize for any typos.
*****
“Can you stop moving, please?”
Bucky Barnes half asleep is not someone you want to mess with. The first time you shuffled he had hardly made a sound, the second you were met with a low grumble (a warning you knew well) and the third strike, he was thirty seconds from kicking you out of the bed.
When Bucky had finally learnt to sleep in a bed again, mostly thanks to you, he steadily became a big fan of his beauty sleep and god help anyone who ended up disturbing him. He had a lot to catch up on. Once, you had violently shaken him awake because his phone was ringing and when he heard Sam on the other line, you were deemed a ‘sleep thief’ for a week and a half after. Bucky Barnes was a bitch when it came to his sleep.
You usually wouldn't have any complaints about being in his vice grip but it was January and the nights were still cold and having a boyfriend with a metal arm meant that you were held to him with an ice cold grip around your waist. When the Summer came, it was a life saver, your own personal refrigerator but you still had a good few months to go before you were hanging off his arm everyday.
“Sorry.” You mumbled and tried to convince yourself you were comfortable without another word.
Nope, can’t do it. You shift again.
“You’re kidding- what is it?” He pulls away from you and sits up on his elbow, glaring, he dares you. “Go on.”
With the most innocent doe eyes you could muster you slip your bottom lip between your teeth and debate the argument you could spark when your gaze slips to his vibranium arm in the semi darkness.
He doesn’t miss a thing, you’ve come to realize.
“I swear if you say-”
“-It’s cold! I’m cold! It’s just too much cold!” You burst, arms flailing in desperation.
“It’s my arm! You said you wanted to sleep on my left, this is my left arm, nothing I can do. Okay?”
“There has to be something.” You search the room for solutions, briefly lingering on the sock drawer.
“Oh yeah, sorry, let me just take it off.” Bucky grunts, dripping with sarcasm.
“...If you could?”
“Seriously, fuck you.”
Bucky falls back into his beloved pillow, eyes shut and wishing he has chosen a partner that let him sleep peacefully, then again, why would he want that when you exist?
“Look, either come to the other side or deal with it.”
Silence finally reaches your bedroom and Bucky is deeply in dreamland while you lie awake, scheming away.
In the early hours, you slip out of bed without a sound and make a beeline for the sock drawer, knowing you had some old pairs of slipper socks stuffed at the back. Scissors in hand, you snipped off the toes and smiled at the D.I.Y leg warmers. Oh, he was gonna be mad.
With nearly medical precision, you held out the slumbering Bucky’s arm in front of you and one by one, slid the fluffy socks up the freezing metal until it was sufficiently covered. Thanking the universe, he was a pretty heavy sleeper, you shuffled back under the covers and happily wrapped the soft arm back around your waist.
You slept like a lamb after that.
*****
When the morning came, you woke up before him like usual and briefly left him to his own devices as you made coffee, two mugs sitting on the counter beside each other.
Through the wall, you faintly hear the rising of the soldier before heavy footsteps quickly storm in your direction.
“The fuck is this?”
You look up to see him in the doorway, and find yourself the subject of a stare that would send millions running. Not you. The multicolored socks lined up his arm kind of softened his hoped effect and you had to stifle your laughter.
“A solution?” You shrug.
“No.” He points at you with his flesh arm accusingly “Nu-uh. This? This is not how we solve things.”
“Is it not? I’m really digging the rainbow on you.” The giggle you had tried to push down had spilled over.
“You’re a fucking menace.”
The giggle now a full bodied laugh that had you clutching at your chest as you were overcome with the image of your big, scary, ‘world’s most deadly assassin’ boyfriend glaring daggers at you while donning the most fluffy and most colorful socks up his arm.
Bucky was fighting a grin with all his might, your laughter was like an ugly disease, incredibly contagious, hard to avoid, and annoying.
Something soft hits you in the face and you halt your hysterics as you peer at the slipper sock now at your feet. Lifting your gaze, Bucky is smiling smugly, and working a second sock off his arm.
“Bucky!” You yelp and duck under the counter as the rainbow sock flies in slow motion over your head.
You probably shouldn’t poke the bear but-
“Y’know, for the best shot the United States army had ever seen you sure do miss a lot.” You taunt from your hiding spot.
When there's no response, you make a break for the couch and get shot squarely in the forehead.
“Say that again.” He dares with narrowed eyes.
“Okay, truce. Truce!” You raise your hands in surrender.
“Say sorry for last night.” The pink ball of fluff in his hands, a deadly fate, and you’re consigned to concede
“I apologize for last night.” You sigh, approaching him with caution “Now, it’s been ten whole minutes and you still haven’t subjected me to your obscene morning breath.”
He beckons you with his head and you happily plod over, throwing your arms around his neck. The kiss is sweet, and full of promised mornings to come.
It’s welcomed by you. Until you feel the coldest thing known to man, his left arm, writhing under your shirt and sending immediate shivers down your back.
“Bucky!” You screech and his strong laughter descends on your morning with malice.
Desperately wiggling out of his hold, you escape to the bedroom and yell from your stronghold:
Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)
Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, obnoxious reader, cryptids, graveyards
A/N: good evening. i am fighting demons (tummy ache). comments and feedback are always appreciated thank u for the love on the series so far i adore u guys sm <;33
Previous part || Series masterlist
A few days after the first video goes up, Bucky returns from his run to a SHIELD file taped to his door.
He opens to a black and white photo of him from back in the day, and a page full of his details. Full name, blood group, previous addresses, aliases, best colours to match his undertone, favourite Gilmore Girl boyfriend.
He flips the page to the section on his known connections, only for a sheet of paper to fall out. Sharpie sprawled haphazardly across it, in big red letters.
NO AUNT.
BITCH.
He bites back a grin.
The video does reasonably well. Not record breaking numbers or anything, but for once there aren’t TikToks of people counting how many times he blinks to make sure he’s an actual human.
Always a man of his word, though he has regretted it every single time, he agrees to a second video. It follows after a disgraceful bout of bitching and even pleading, but a few hours later, he resigns himself to his fate silently.
That is until the schedule for the next video shoot is posted to the server, and he sees it’s at night.
The night he uses to sleep. The night.
Before he can even type out his rejection, his door receives four sharp knocks. He doesn’t even need to open it to know who it was.
It’s like you could read his thoughts. Probably could. He doesn’t know the extent of your telekinesis.
In your hands is a large cardboard box and on your face is a stupidly big grin.
“Good evening,” you greet.
“Tell me the show’s getting cancelled,” he says.
“Nope. We–” you announce, reaching into the box and shoving something onto his chest, “--are going on a trip. Demon hunting.”
“Demon hunting?”
“To Westley Cemetery,” you add, letting the box tumble onto the floor as you grip its contents. “To catch the Westley Cemetery Cryptid.”
“What the hell is the Westley Cemetery Cryptid?” Bucky demands.
“Creature that lives in the cemetery, watches people from the trees and runs after you if you’re there too long. No known kills, but a couple of scratches and spooks,” you list off.
His face twists. “That’s not a real thing.”
“Uh, yes it is.” You rest a hand on your hip. “My sources told me so.”
“Who are your sources?”
“Twitter.”
Bucky stares at you without a word.
“It’s totally real. It’s got a Wikia page and everything,” you argue against his complete silence. “I believe in it.”
“That means nothing.”
“Rude.” You glare pointedly. “Anyway, point is, we’re going out tonight to the cemetery and we’re gonna catch this thing on tape.”
Bucky tracks your gaze to finally look down at what you’ve shoved into his hands. It’s a headband, with two cameras attached to it, one facing your face and the other outward. Night vision, he guesses.
He sighs. “How long? An hour?”
“Was Hamlet written in an hour? Was Sharknado filmed in an hour?” you exclaim. “Great art takes time. We’re staying out there as long as we need to. So help me, we will emerge victorious.”
Bucky stares at you. “Two hours.”
“Seven.”
“Thirty minutes.”
“Your will is weak and your spirit is cowardly.” You return his fixed look with equal intensity, if not more, which he didn't think was possible. “Three hours.”
“Deal.”
“Great.” You stick your hand out, and he grabs on firmly. “See you at 1am.”
“1am?!”
It is 1am, it is cold and Bucky is miserable.
But he’s there. In the cemetery. With the stupid camera rig on his head.
You offer him whiskey to warm him up, and he agrees.
You then tell him you don’t actually have any because you didn’t think he’d accept.
He hates it here.
The wind whistles around the both of you. The eerie silence is only compounded by the fact that he can’t see anything beyond a certain point. The night is especially dark and there is no moonlight.
He trudges through the patchy grass, dry leaves crunching under his boots.
The camera being so close to his face along with the fact that you wouldn’t stop singing the same three fucking lines of the song over and over again, makes him want to tear his hair out.
“That thing’s not gonna get near us if you don’t shut up,” he grumbles.
“Nonsense,” you hum. “I’m a goddamn delight. He’s gonna be trippin’ over himself to get to me.”
“He doesn’t exist.”
“He definitely does, and you know what? I bet your shit vibes are gonna attract him. Moth to flame and all that. Karmic justice.”
Bucky stares straight ahead, swerving to avoid running into cracked tombstones.
You go back to singing, but worse this time.
“What if we don’t get anything?” he interrupts, to protect his sanity. “No one wants to watch a bunch of people just walk around the dark for 20 minutes.”
There’s no response.
It takes a second for Bucky to realise the singing’s stopped too.
He stops in his tracks, head swivelling to look for you.
“The fuck…” he mutters.
In the cemetery, he is truly alone for a moment. Silent, other than wrought iron gates creaking in the far distance.
The leaves of the tree above him rustle.
Bucky looks up, squinting against the darkness.
Against the stillness of the night, he sees it. A figure stands tall on the branches of the tree, silhouette obscured by the leaves.
It leers down at him, unmoving.
Bucky doesn’t even flinch.
“Very funny,” he says. “Hilarious.”
“We’ll fake it,” the figure calls from above. “If we don’t get any footage, I’ll just get on up there and fuck around and you record.”
“Get down,” he demands. “We’re not faking footage.”
If this show had to die this way, so be it.
“Bore,” you boo, lowering yourself to the ground with ease. “If I didn't know any better, I’d say you don’t want to be a part of this series.”
“I don’t.”
“Anyway,” you say obnoxiously, “we won’t have to. There is definitely a cryptid here. I can feel it in my bones.”
“We’re halfway through the graveyard and there’s nothing here,” he shoots back. “We should call it quits.”
“You’re right,” you say, to his surprise. “We need to cover more ground. Let’s split up.”
That is most definitely not what he was saying.
But you start singing again and so Bucky agrees faster than you finish the same stupid third line for the hundredth time that hour.
Bucky is a man of dignity.
Less than five minutes later, he gives up.
He takes a seat against the trunk of a tall tree, in a relatively open clearing.
He figures if he just takes a nap then the two hours would pass by quicker.
Bucky has no idea where you’ve gone. The lack of light doesn’t help, even with his advanced vision.
He crosses his arms behind his head and settles back, eyes closing.
Not even a second later, he wants to rip his hair out when the stupid song you were singing reintroduces itself in his head.
“For fuck’s sake,” he groans.
The tree he’s leaning against shifts ever so slightly.
His eyes fly open, but he doesn’t move an inch.
Instinctually, his breathing slows and his ears tune in to pick up even the faintest sounds.
The draft whispers, and he knows for a fact that something is above him.
A branch cracks.
“Go away,” Bucky says loudly.
A second passes.
And then another.
“You’re supposed to be looking for the thing,” you shout.
“It’ll find me if it wants to.” He shifts to make himself more comfortable. “I’m givin’ him a real shot here.”
“You didn’t even look up.”
“Didn’t have to.”
“He could have been above you.”
“But he wasn’t.” Bucky’s eyes close again.
“You’re terrible.” It comes back muffled, and branches shift. “I’m headin’ that way. One of us has to put some effort into this.”
“Joy. Knock yourself out.”
The trunk moves under his muscles again and Bucky lets out a small exhale, settling back into the position he was in.
Until he hears you singing in the distance. Same three lines, same off-key tune.
Bucky drags his palm across his face.
An hour passes.
Unlike his original plan, he does not sleep.
He instead recounts every element he remembers from the periodic table.
Replays every Dodgers game from his childhood, and then gets mad at their shift.
Then he tries to recollect every fact he knows about you so far. Mutant, captured and experimented on, broke free several years before him. Met Nat along the way and befriended her. Telekinesis, slowed aging. Escape artist. Wedding videographer. Allegedly.
He just doesn’t get how you’re so goddamn chirpy all the time, given that he’d been through something similar and come out the way he had.
It had taken him a month to say anything to anyone other than Steve. You went out for brunch with Sam the same weekend you showed up at the compound.
He doesn’t get you.
Speaking of which, he hasn’t actually seen you in a while.
He checks the time on his watch. Nearly 3am.
He had a fucking workout in the morning and no lizard-man was going to be the cause for Steve outrunning him.
He pushes himself off the ground with a groan, and stretches out his sore limbs. Definitely too old for lying around a cemetery beyond midnight.
He calls out your name loudly, and then again, before waiting.
He hears bells ringing in the distance.
Bucky looks up.
In the shadows of the trees, he comes face to face with the same sight as before. A figure, standing on the branches.
“There’s nothing here,” he calls out, sighing. “Can we just leave?”
The twigs creek, and for a second he thinks you’re going to fall.
“Already told you I’m not faking footage, get down from there,” he repeats. “I’m leaving. I’ll see you at the gate.”
The leaves shuffle around before he hears branches break.
Something you say gets obscured by your movement, but you disappear again. He thinks that maybe you were cursing him out, and deservedly so. He just couldn’t find it in himself to care.
He rolls his eyes, but starts making his way to the entrance of the graveyard.
The walk back is faster, and he holds back a yawn as the gates start creeping up on the horizon.
There’s no sign of you. He half thinks you ditched him here and went back to the compound. Or fell off the tree and were just laying there.
But he decides to wait, leaning against the exposed concrete wall.
Eyes closed, he rubs his temples and decides that if you’re not here in the next thirty seconds, he’ll just–
“Hey,” you greeet from right in front of him.
“Where the hell did you go?” he demands.
You blink at him, before holding up a wrapper.
“Got a sandwich. I was hungry. The diner was real nice too, I spent like half an hour talkin’ to the owner.”
He stares at you. “You just left to get a sandwich?”
“Yeah, and I got you one, too,” you reply, tossing him a paper bag. “You’re welcome. God bless that man, but those things aren’t cheap.”
“You’ve not been here for the last half hour?”
“I mean, I spent like ten minutes looking.” You shrug, taking another bite. “All I got was a bunch of grass.”
Ten minutes. Bucky had sat under the stupid tree for an hour.
“So you just left,” he says dryly.
“Yes,” you reply like it’s not even worth debating. “Besides, if anyone could find a cryptid it’d be you. A fellow cryptid.”
Bucky spins on his heel to leave.
“You’re welcome for dinner,” you call out, and he can hear you laugh.
He flips you the finger, and regrets it a second later when your singing resumes.
The sandwich is good. He appreciates it.
He even manages to keep pace with Steve the next morning.
What he doesn’t appreciate is coming back to fifteen missed calls and four video calls from you.
From: co-host (TGS)
can you pick up
From: co-host (TGS)
i know you have nothing going on in your life you are bitchless
Bucky switches off his phone for the next three hours.
Finally, it’s a threat that you will show up at his door again and Bucky finally video calls you back that evening.
“What,” he states.
“Took you long enough,” you huff, sitting up to adjust the camera. In the middle of the ordeal, Bucky sees your laptop open.
“What do you want?” he repeats.
“The team sent over the videos from last night,” you tell him. “At some point in the video you said ‘we’re not faking footage, get down from there.”
“Yeah.”
He hears you play the footage faintly in the background, almost to substantiate your point. He cringes at the sound of his own voice.
“Who were you talking to?”
Bucky rolls his eyes. “Heard you in the trees. Figured you climbed up there again.”
“Ah.” You click your tongue. “Interesting.”
“What.”
You hum. “See, that wasn’t me.”
Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Yes, it was.”
“No, it wasn’t,” you say calmly. “I’d left to get dinner way before all that.”
“Right.”
“I’m serious. Got the timestamp on my video to prove it.” You look up at him through the camera finally. “So who were you actually talking to, Barnes?”
Bucky’s nose twitches.
“Bye,” he says shortly.
“Dude,” he hears you laugh loudly through the phone. “I fuckin’ told you you’d attract these things, you–”
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Summary: Every problem needs a solution. Bucky just isn't the biggest fan of yours.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 1k
Tags: Fluff in the highest degree, old married couple, Swearing (It's Bucky, duh)
A/N: I just needed to give you guys something, it's been too long since i've written on here and you guys are the best :) I've barely checked this over so I apologize for any typos.
*****
“Can you stop moving, please?”
Bucky Barnes half asleep is not someone you want to mess with. The first time you shuffled he had hardly made a sound, the second you were met with a low grumble (a warning you knew well) and the third strike, he was thirty seconds from kicking you out of the bed.
When Bucky had finally learnt to sleep in a bed again, mostly thanks to you, he steadily became a big fan of his beauty sleep and god help anyone who ended up disturbing him. He had a lot to catch up on. Once, you had violently shaken him awake because his phone was ringing and when he heard Sam on the other line, you were deemed a ‘sleep thief’ for a week and a half after. Bucky Barnes was a bitch when it came to his sleep.
You usually wouldn't have any complaints about being in his vice grip but it was January and the nights were still cold and having a boyfriend with a metal arm meant that you were held to him with an ice cold grip around your waist. When the Summer came, it was a life saver, your own personal refrigerator but you still had a good few months to go before you were hanging off his arm everyday.
“Sorry.” You mumbled and tried to convince yourself you were comfortable without another word.
Nope, can’t do it. You shift again.
“You’re kidding- what is it?” He pulls away from you and sits up on his elbow, glaring, he dares you. “Go on.”
With the most innocent doe eyes you could muster you slip your bottom lip between your teeth and debate the argument you could spark when your gaze slips to his vibranium arm in the semi darkness.
He doesn’t miss a thing, you’ve come to realize.
“I swear if you say-”
“-It’s cold! I’m cold! It’s just too much cold!” You burst, arms flailing in desperation.
“It’s my arm! You said you wanted to sleep on my left, this is my left arm, nothing I can do. Okay?”
“There has to be something.” You search the room for solutions, briefly lingering on the sock drawer.
“Oh yeah, sorry, let me just take it off.” Bucky grunts, dripping with sarcasm.
“...If you could?”
“Seriously, fuck you.”
Bucky falls back into his beloved pillow, eyes shut and wishing he has chosen a partner that let him sleep peacefully, then again, why would he want that when you exist?
“Look, either come to the other side or deal with it.”
Silence finally reaches your bedroom and Bucky is deeply in dreamland while you lie awake, scheming away.
In the early hours, you slip out of bed without a sound and make a beeline for the sock drawer, knowing you had some old pairs of slipper socks stuffed at the back. Scissors in hand, you snipped off the toes and smiled at the D.I.Y leg warmers. Oh, he was gonna be mad.
With nearly medical precision, you held out the slumbering Bucky’s arm in front of you and one by one, slid the fluffy socks up the freezing metal until it was sufficiently covered. Thanking the universe, he was a pretty heavy sleeper, you shuffled back under the covers and happily wrapped the soft arm back around your waist.
You slept like a lamb after that.
*****
When the morning came, you woke up before him like usual and briefly left him to his own devices as you made coffee, two mugs sitting on the counter beside each other.
Through the wall, you faintly hear the rising of the soldier before heavy footsteps quickly storm in your direction.
“The fuck is this?”
You look up to see him in the doorway, and find yourself the subject of a stare that would send millions running. Not you. The multicolored socks lined up his arm kind of softened his hoped effect and you had to stifle your laughter.
“A solution?” You shrug.
“No.” He points at you with his flesh arm accusingly “Nu-uh. This? This is not how we solve things.”
“Is it not? I’m really digging the rainbow on you.” The giggle you had tried to push down had spilled over.
“You’re a fucking menace.”
The giggle now a full bodied laugh that had you clutching at your chest as you were overcome with the image of your big, scary, ‘world’s most deadly assassin’ boyfriend glaring daggers at you while donning the most fluffy and most colorful socks up his arm.
Bucky was fighting a grin with all his might, your laughter was like an ugly disease, incredibly contagious, hard to avoid, and annoying.
Something soft hits you in the face and you halt your hysterics as you peer at the slipper sock now at your feet. Lifting your gaze, Bucky is smiling smugly, and working a second sock off his arm.
“Bucky!” You yelp and duck under the counter as the rainbow sock flies in slow motion over your head.
You probably shouldn’t poke the bear but-
“Y’know, for the best shot the United States army had ever seen you sure do miss a lot.” You taunt from your hiding spot.
When there's no response, you make a break for the couch and get shot squarely in the forehead.
“Say that again.” He dares with narrowed eyes.
“Okay, truce. Truce!” You raise your hands in surrender.
“Say sorry for last night.” The pink ball of fluff in his hands, a deadly fate, and you’re consigned to concede
“I apologize for last night.” You sigh, approaching him with caution “Now, it’s been ten whole minutes and you still haven’t subjected me to your obscene morning breath.”
He beckons you with his head and you happily plod over, throwing your arms around his neck. The kiss is sweet, and full of promised mornings to come.
It’s welcomed by you. Until you feel the coldest thing known to man, his left arm, writhing under your shirt and sending immediate shivers down your back.
“Bucky!” You screech and his strong laughter descends on your morning with malice.
Desperately wiggling out of his hold, you escape to the bedroom and yell from your stronghold:
Summary: Every problem needs a solution. Bucky just isn't the biggest fan of yours.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 1k
Tags: Fluff in the highest degree, old married couple, Swearing (It's Bucky, duh)
A/N: I just needed to give you guys something, it's been too long since i've written on here and you guys are the best :) I've barely checked this over so I apologize for any typos.
*****
“Can you stop moving, please?”
Bucky Barnes half asleep is not someone you want to mess with. The first time you shuffled he had hardly made a sound, the second you were met with a low grumble (a warning you knew well) and the third strike, he was thirty seconds from kicking you out of the bed.
When Bucky had finally learnt to sleep in a bed again, mostly thanks to you, he steadily became a big fan of his beauty sleep and god help anyone who ended up disturbing him. He had a lot to catch up on. Once, you had violently shaken him awake because his phone was ringing and when he heard Sam on the other line, you were deemed a ‘sleep thief’ for a week and a half after. Bucky Barnes was a bitch when it came to his sleep.
You usually wouldn't have any complaints about being in his vice grip but it was January and the nights were still cold and having a boyfriend with a metal arm meant that you were held to him with an ice cold grip around your waist. When the Summer came, it was a life saver, your own personal refrigerator but you still had a good few months to go before you were hanging off his arm everyday.
“Sorry.” You mumbled and tried to convince yourself you were comfortable without another word.
Nope, can’t do it. You shift again.
“You’re kidding- what is it?” He pulls away from you and sits up on his elbow, glaring, he dares you. “Go on.”
With the most innocent doe eyes you could muster you slip your bottom lip between your teeth and debate the argument you could spark when your gaze slips to his vibranium arm in the semi darkness.
He doesn’t miss a thing, you’ve come to realize.
“I swear if you say-”
“-It’s cold! I’m cold! It’s just too much cold!” You burst, arms flailing in desperation.
“It’s my arm! You said you wanted to sleep on my left, this is my left arm, nothing I can do. Okay?”
“There has to be something.” You search the room for solutions, briefly lingering on the sock drawer.
“Oh yeah, sorry, let me just take it off.” Bucky grunts, dripping with sarcasm.
“...If you could?”
“Seriously, fuck you.”
Bucky falls back into his beloved pillow, eyes shut and wishing he has chosen a partner that let him sleep peacefully, then again, why would he want that when you exist?
“Look, either come to the other side or deal with it.”
Silence finally reaches your bedroom and Bucky is deeply in dreamland while you lie awake, scheming away.
In the early hours, you slip out of bed without a sound and make a beeline for the sock drawer, knowing you had some old pairs of slipper socks stuffed at the back. Scissors in hand, you snipped off the toes and smiled at the D.I.Y leg warmers. Oh, he was gonna be mad.
With nearly medical precision, you held out the slumbering Bucky’s arm in front of you and one by one, slid the fluffy socks up the freezing metal until it was sufficiently covered. Thanking the universe, he was a pretty heavy sleeper, you shuffled back under the covers and happily wrapped the soft arm back around your waist.
You slept like a lamb after that.
*****
When the morning came, you woke up before him like usual and briefly left him to his own devices as you made coffee, two mugs sitting on the counter beside each other.
Through the wall, you faintly hear the rising of the soldier before heavy footsteps quickly storm in your direction.
“The fuck is this?”
You look up to see him in the doorway, and find yourself the subject of a stare that would send millions running. Not you. The multicolored socks lined up his arm kind of softened his hoped effect and you had to stifle your laughter.
“A solution?” You shrug.
“No.” He points at you with his flesh arm accusingly “Nu-uh. This? This is not how we solve things.”
“Is it not? I’m really digging the rainbow on you.” The giggle you had tried to push down had spilled over.
“You’re a fucking menace.”
The giggle now a full bodied laugh that had you clutching at your chest as you were overcome with the image of your big, scary, ‘world’s most deadly assassin’ boyfriend glaring daggers at you while donning the most fluffy and most colorful socks up his arm.
Bucky was fighting a grin with all his might, your laughter was like an ugly disease, incredibly contagious, hard to avoid, and annoying.
Something soft hits you in the face and you halt your hysterics as you peer at the slipper sock now at your feet. Lifting your gaze, Bucky is smiling smugly, and working a second sock off his arm.
“Bucky!” You yelp and duck under the counter as the rainbow sock flies in slow motion over your head.
You probably shouldn’t poke the bear but-
“Y’know, for the best shot the United States army had ever seen you sure do miss a lot.” You taunt from your hiding spot.
When there's no response, you make a break for the couch and get shot squarely in the forehead.
“Say that again.” He dares with narrowed eyes.
“Okay, truce. Truce!” You raise your hands in surrender.
“Say sorry for last night.” The pink ball of fluff in his hands, a deadly fate, and you’re consigned to concede
“I apologize for last night.” You sigh, approaching him with caution “Now, it’s been ten whole minutes and you still haven’t subjected me to your obscene morning breath.”
He beckons you with his head and you happily plod over, throwing your arms around his neck. The kiss is sweet, and full of promised mornings to come.
It’s welcomed by you. Until you feel the coldest thing known to man, his left arm, writhing under your shirt and sending immediate shivers down your back.
“Bucky!” You screech and his strong laughter descends on your morning with malice.
Desperately wiggling out of his hold, you escape to the bedroom and yell from your stronghold:
Summary: Every problem needs a solution. Bucky just isn't the biggest fan of yours.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 1k
Tags: Fluff in the highest degree, old married couple, Swearing (It's Bucky, duh)
A/N: I just needed to give you guys something, it's been too long since i've written on here and you guys are the best :) I've barely checked this over so I apologize for any typos.
*****
“Can you stop moving, please?”
Bucky Barnes half asleep is not someone you want to mess with. The first time you shuffled he had hardly made a sound, the second you were met with a low grumble (a warning you knew well) and the third strike, he was thirty seconds from kicking you out of the bed.
When Bucky had finally learnt to sleep in a bed again, mostly thanks to you, he steadily became a big fan of his beauty sleep and god help anyone who ended up disturbing him. He had a lot to catch up on. Once, you had violently shaken him awake because his phone was ringing and when he heard Sam on the other line, you were deemed a ‘sleep thief’ for a week and a half after. Bucky Barnes was a bitch when it came to his sleep.
You usually wouldn't have any complaints about being in his vice grip but it was January and the nights were still cold and having a boyfriend with a metal arm meant that you were held to him with an ice cold grip around your waist. When the Summer came, it was a life saver, your own personal refrigerator but you still had a good few months to go before you were hanging off his arm everyday.
“Sorry.” You mumbled and tried to convince yourself you were comfortable without another word.
Nope, can’t do it. You shift again.
“You’re kidding- what is it?” He pulls away from you and sits up on his elbow, glaring, he dares you. “Go on.”
With the most innocent doe eyes you could muster you slip your bottom lip between your teeth and debate the argument you could spark when your gaze slips to his vibranium arm in the semi darkness.
He doesn’t miss a thing, you’ve come to realize.
“I swear if you say-”
“-It’s cold! I’m cold! It’s just too much cold!” You burst, arms flailing in desperation.
“It’s my arm! You said you wanted to sleep on my left, this is my left arm, nothing I can do. Okay?”
“There has to be something.” You search the room for solutions, briefly lingering on the sock drawer.
“Oh yeah, sorry, let me just take it off.” Bucky grunts, dripping with sarcasm.
“...If you could?”
“Seriously, fuck you.”
Bucky falls back into his beloved pillow, eyes shut and wishing he has chosen a partner that let him sleep peacefully, then again, why would he want that when you exist?
“Look, either come to the other side or deal with it.”
Silence finally reaches your bedroom and Bucky is deeply in dreamland while you lie awake, scheming away.
In the early hours, you slip out of bed without a sound and make a beeline for the sock drawer, knowing you had some old pairs of slipper socks stuffed at the back. Scissors in hand, you snipped off the toes and smiled at the D.I.Y leg warmers. Oh, he was gonna be mad.
With nearly medical precision, you held out the slumbering Bucky’s arm in front of you and one by one, slid the fluffy socks up the freezing metal until it was sufficiently covered. Thanking the universe, he was a pretty heavy sleeper, you shuffled back under the covers and happily wrapped the soft arm back around your waist.
You slept like a lamb after that.
*****
When the morning came, you woke up before him like usual and briefly left him to his own devices as you made coffee, two mugs sitting on the counter beside each other.
Through the wall, you faintly hear the rising of the soldier before heavy footsteps quickly storm in your direction.
“The fuck is this?”
You look up to see him in the doorway, and find yourself the subject of a stare that would send millions running. Not you. The multicolored socks lined up his arm kind of softened his hoped effect and you had to stifle your laughter.
“A solution?” You shrug.
“No.” He points at you with his flesh arm accusingly “Nu-uh. This? This is not how we solve things.”
“Is it not? I’m really digging the rainbow on you.” The giggle you had tried to push down had spilled over.
“You’re a fucking menace.”
The giggle now a full bodied laugh that had you clutching at your chest as you were overcome with the image of your big, scary, ‘world’s most deadly assassin’ boyfriend glaring daggers at you while donning the most fluffy and most colorful socks up his arm.
Bucky was fighting a grin with all his might, your laughter was like an ugly disease, incredibly contagious, hard to avoid, and annoying.
Something soft hits you in the face and you halt your hysterics as you peer at the slipper sock now at your feet. Lifting your gaze, Bucky is smiling smugly, and working a second sock off his arm.
“Bucky!” You yelp and duck under the counter as the rainbow sock flies in slow motion over your head.
You probably shouldn’t poke the bear but-
“Y’know, for the best shot the United States army had ever seen you sure do miss a lot.” You taunt from your hiding spot.
When there's no response, you make a break for the couch and get shot squarely in the forehead.
“Say that again.” He dares with narrowed eyes.
“Okay, truce. Truce!” You raise your hands in surrender.
“Say sorry for last night.” The pink ball of fluff in his hands, a deadly fate, and you’re consigned to concede
“I apologize for last night.” You sigh, approaching him with caution “Now, it’s been ten whole minutes and you still haven’t subjected me to your obscene morning breath.”
He beckons you with his head and you happily plod over, throwing your arms around his neck. The kiss is sweet, and full of promised mornings to come.
It’s welcomed by you. Until you feel the coldest thing known to man, his left arm, writhing under your shirt and sending immediate shivers down your back.
“Bucky!” You screech and his strong laughter descends on your morning with malice.
Desperately wiggling out of his hold, you escape to the bedroom and yell from your stronghold:
Summary: Every problem needs a solution. Bucky just isn't the biggest fan of yours.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Word Count: 1k
Tags: Fluff in the highest degree, old married couple, Swearing (It's Bucky, duh)
A/N: I just needed to give you guys something, it's been too long since i've written on here and you guys are the best :) I've barely checked this over so I apologize for any typos.
*****
“Can you stop moving, please?”
Bucky Barnes half asleep is not someone you want to mess with. The first time you shuffled he had hardly made a sound, the second you were met with a low grumble (a warning you knew well) and the third strike, he was thirty seconds from kicking you out of the bed.
When Bucky had finally learnt to sleep in a bed again, mostly thanks to you, he steadily became a big fan of his beauty sleep and god help anyone who ended up disturbing him. He had a lot to catch up on. Once, you had violently shaken him awake because his phone was ringing and when he heard Sam on the other line, you were deemed a ‘sleep thief’ for a week and a half after. Bucky Barnes was a bitch when it came to his sleep.
You usually wouldn't have any complaints about being in his vice grip but it was January and the nights were still cold and having a boyfriend with a metal arm meant that you were held to him with an ice cold grip around your waist. When the Summer came, it was a life saver, your own personal refrigerator but you still had a good few months to go before you were hanging off his arm everyday.
“Sorry.” You mumbled and tried to convince yourself you were comfortable without another word.
Nope, can’t do it. You shift again.
“You’re kidding- what is it?” He pulls away from you and sits up on his elbow, glaring, he dares you. “Go on.”
With the most innocent doe eyes you could muster you slip your bottom lip between your teeth and debate the argument you could spark when your gaze slips to his vibranium arm in the semi darkness.
He doesn’t miss a thing, you’ve come to realize.
“I swear if you say-”
“-It’s cold! I’m cold! It’s just too much cold!” You burst, arms flailing in desperation.
“It’s my arm! You said you wanted to sleep on my left, this is my left arm, nothing I can do. Okay?”
“There has to be something.” You search the room for solutions, briefly lingering on the sock drawer.
“Oh yeah, sorry, let me just take it off.” Bucky grunts, dripping with sarcasm.
“...If you could?”
“Seriously, fuck you.”
Bucky falls back into his beloved pillow, eyes shut and wishing he has chosen a partner that let him sleep peacefully, then again, why would he want that when you exist?
“Look, either come to the other side or deal with it.”
Silence finally reaches your bedroom and Bucky is deeply in dreamland while you lie awake, scheming away.
In the early hours, you slip out of bed without a sound and make a beeline for the sock drawer, knowing you had some old pairs of slipper socks stuffed at the back. Scissors in hand, you snipped off the toes and smiled at the D.I.Y leg warmers. Oh, he was gonna be mad.
With nearly medical precision, you held out the slumbering Bucky’s arm in front of you and one by one, slid the fluffy socks up the freezing metal until it was sufficiently covered. Thanking the universe, he was a pretty heavy sleeper, you shuffled back under the covers and happily wrapped the soft arm back around your waist.
You slept like a lamb after that.
*****
When the morning came, you woke up before him like usual and briefly left him to his own devices as you made coffee, two mugs sitting on the counter beside each other.
Through the wall, you faintly hear the rising of the soldier before heavy footsteps quickly storm in your direction.
“The fuck is this?”
You look up to see him in the doorway, and find yourself the subject of a stare that would send millions running. Not you. The multicolored socks lined up his arm kind of softened his hoped effect and you had to stifle your laughter.
“A solution?” You shrug.
“No.” He points at you with his flesh arm accusingly “Nu-uh. This? This is not how we solve things.”
“Is it not? I’m really digging the rainbow on you.” The giggle you had tried to push down had spilled over.
“You’re a fucking menace.”
The giggle now a full bodied laugh that had you clutching at your chest as you were overcome with the image of your big, scary, ‘world’s most deadly assassin’ boyfriend glaring daggers at you while donning the most fluffy and most colorful socks up his arm.
Bucky was fighting a grin with all his might, your laughter was like an ugly disease, incredibly contagious, hard to avoid, and annoying.
Something soft hits you in the face and you halt your hysterics as you peer at the slipper sock now at your feet. Lifting your gaze, Bucky is smiling smugly, and working a second sock off his arm.
“Bucky!” You yelp and duck under the counter as the rainbow sock flies in slow motion over your head.
You probably shouldn’t poke the bear but-
“Y’know, for the best shot the United States army had ever seen you sure do miss a lot.” You taunt from your hiding spot.
When there's no response, you make a break for the couch and get shot squarely in the forehead.
“Say that again.” He dares with narrowed eyes.
“Okay, truce. Truce!” You raise your hands in surrender.
“Say sorry for last night.” The pink ball of fluff in his hands, a deadly fate, and you’re consigned to concede
“I apologize for last night.” You sigh, approaching him with caution “Now, it’s been ten whole minutes and you still haven’t subjected me to your obscene morning breath.”
He beckons you with his head and you happily plod over, throwing your arms around his neck. The kiss is sweet, and full of promised mornings to come.
It’s welcomed by you. Until you feel the coldest thing known to man, his left arm, writhing under your shirt and sending immediate shivers down your back.
“Bucky!” You screech and his strong laughter descends on your morning with malice.
Desperately wiggling out of his hold, you escape to the bedroom and yell from your stronghold:
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