Kestrel| 21+| They/Them|Fic Writer| Local Bucky and Rio Vidal Stan| Favorite ships include AgathaRio and Bucky x getting a *good* therapist| In order to love the MCU you have to really hate the MCU tbh ๐คทโโ๏ธ **SIDE BLOG, FOLLOWS/REPLIES FROM THE-KESTRELS-FEATHER**
pairing: inexperienced!new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader
warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, soft smut, praise kink (sorta), slow first time, unprotected sex, creampie, a tinge of angst if you squint, the fluff makes up for it
summary: bucky wants you, but he just doesnโt know how to let himself have you. but youโll spend every second showing him how it feels to be wanted.
word count: 4.5k
author's note: hi my sweethearts! i'd like to think that after bucky returns, he would need a lot of reassurance and tlc, especially after all he has went through. i feel that he would love to be guided and to know he is loved. so i hope this fic encapsulates that ๐ love ya guys and stay safe out there!
requests are open!
so in love with soft!bucky
It starts with his hands. Or rather, what they donโt do.
They hold yours when youโre walking down quiet halls in the compound, fingers interlocked, the brush of calloused skin a comfort more than anything else.ย
They linger at the small of your back when no oneโs lookingโfirm, steady, grounding you when the world gets too loud.
They cradle your face when youโre scared, trembling, coming down from the edge of something violent. Missions gone wrong, intel turned sour, blood on your skin. In those moments, his hands are everything you ever needed. Steady and safe.
But when your lips are on his?
When your body presses into his in the quiet dark of your shared bedroom, heat blooming between the both of you like something long-restrained finally breaking free?
Thatโs when they stop.
Always.
Justโฆ stop.
Bucky, your boyfriend, your partner, the man who has grown to be your person. He kisses you like heโs starving, like youโre the only thing anchoring him to this world, but somehow, he never touches you when it matters most.
And itโs not like you havenโt tried.
You have, god you tried.
More than once, lying against his chest at night, your fingers ghosting beneath the hem of his shirt, tracing the hard lines of his abdomen. Kissing along the sharp cut of his jaw, whispering how much you want him. How much you need him.
Each time, his breath hitches, his body goes rigid. Then, slowly, carefully, almost apologetically, he pulls away from your touch.ย
Not with disgust, not with rejection. Thereโs no coldness in the way he moves. No sharp recoil.
But there is something worse that you have come to realise. Fear.
The first time it happened, you brushed it off.
Heโd had a long day. The mission briefing with Val had been rough, all sharp orders, bad intel, and barely contained frustration within the team, Walker had quite literally stormed out of the meeting room.
Bucky had come back tense, shoulders tight, jaw set, that look in his eyes that meant he was still somewhere else. Still halfway in a fight.
So when you leaned in that night, pressing soft kisses under his jaw, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, and he stilled beneath you, gently shifting away with a quiet murmur of your name, you let it go.
You curled into his side instead. Told yourself he was tired. Told yourself you were tired too. You ran your fingers lightly along his arm until his breathing evened out, steady and slow.
And when sleep finally took him, you whispered a kiss to his shoulder and closed your eyes, thinking, hoping, maybe next time.
The second time, you wondered.
It was a few nights later. He wasnโt tense then, he wasnโt distracted or moody or freshly back from some dark place.. He was relaxed, even, the kind of rare, quiet ease you didnโt always get from him.
You both had laughed over dinner, some home cooked lasagna you had whipped up after finding the recipe online. You had teased him until he smiled into his fork and shook his head, muttering about how much trouble you were.
Heโd watched you like he always did, like you hung the moon and the stars, like he didnโt know what heโd done to deserve this, to deserve you.
And when you kissed him that night, slow and lingering, your hands soft on his jaw, you felt that same warmth in him. The way he kissed you back, like he meant it.
So you tried again. Slid your hand beneath his shirt, fingers brushing the firm lines of his stomach.
He flinched.
Not much. But enough.
And then, just like the first time, he shifted away. Pressed a kiss to your forehead and murmured, โGet some sleep, sweetheart.โ
You froze. Pulled your hand back like you had touched something sharp.
And then you nodded, smiling just a little too quickly.
โYeah. Okay.โ
You turned onto your side, curled up with your back to him.
Tried your hardest to not let the sting behind your eyes show.
His arm came around you a few moments later, his chest pressed to your back like nothing had changed. Like everything was still okay.
You didnโt say a word.
But that night, long after you were sure he was asleep, your eyes stayed open. Staring at the shadowed wall. Wondering what it was about you that made him pull away.
The third time, you couldnโt hold it in anymore.
It had been an easy day, all things considered. No missions. No debriefs. No emergencies. Just the two of you, and the rare kind of quiet that settled into the compound like a blanket.
You ate dinner in bed, greasy takeout balanced precariously on Buckyโs lap while some forgettable movie played low in the background.
You stole bites from his container; he rolled his eyes but let you. Laughed when you misquoted a line. Kissed your cheek. Brushed rice off your shirt with the softest smile.
And maybe that was what made it worse.
Because everything had felt right. Comfortable. Easy. The kind of night that warmed you from the inside out.
It was late when the movie finally dwindled into credits. You stacked the empty containers on the nightstand, slid back under the covers, and curled against his chest with a sigh. His arm came around you like it always did, instinctive, easy. Protective.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The glow of the screen lit the room in soft, flickering blue. Your legs were tangled with his. Your cheek rested against the cotton of his t-shirt. He felt steady beneath you. Safe.
So when you tilted your head up and kissed him, it wasnโt with expectation. It wasnโt about sex, or hunger, or even want.
It was soft. Familiar. The kind of kiss you gave someone when you were in love.
He kissed you back, of course he did. That part was never the problem. He always kissed you like you were the only thing in the world that could anchor him.
But the moment your hand slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, everything changed.
Just the pad of your fingers brushing lightly over his stomach. Just a touch.
And still, he tensed.
You felt it the way someone feels a tide turning, quiet, sure, inevitable.
He didnโt flinch. He didnโt recoil. He just went still. Careful. Measured. One hand lifted to catch your wrist and gently moved it away from his skin, like it wasnโt a rejection. Like it didnโt mean something.
But it did.
He turned slightly, as if he meant to settle back into bed like nothing had happened. Like you could pretend this wasnโt the third time in a row.
But you didnโt follow.
Instead, you sat up slowly, drawing your knees to your chest, the sheet falling across your thighs. You stared at the far wall, lips pressed into a thin line, throat tight.
You heard the shift in his voice before he even finished asking.
โHey,โ he said softly, already sensing the change. โWhatโs wrong?โ
You didnโt answer right away.
The silence that followed wasnโt loud. It was thick. Still. The kind of quiet that feels like the moment before something breaks.
When you finally spoke, your voice came out low, shaky.
โDo you want me?โ
He didnโt move.
You didnโt look at him. You couldnโt. You kept your eyes on your hands, twisting your fingers in the blanket like it might keep the rest of you from unraveling.
โBecause I want you,โ you continued, quieter now. โAnd every time I try, you pull away. I know you care about me, I know you do, but I canโt help wondering if maybe Iโm wrong about all of it.โ
He went very, very still.
Then, โStop.โ
His voice was sharp, and the suddenness of it made you blink.
You turned, startled.
He was sitting up now, scrubbing a hand over his face. His jaw was tight. His shoulders tense. Like your words had opened something he hadnโt meant to expose.
โFuck,โ he muttered under his breath. โI didnโt mean toโjust. Iโm sorry. Donโt say that. Ever.โ
You stared at him.
โThen talk to me,โ you said softly. โBecause itโs getting harder not to take it personally.โ
He didnโt look at you.
His gaze dropped to the sheets. His fists were clenched in his lap. The vibranium hand trembled slightly. The other, human and scarred, looked like it was holding on to something invisible.
You sat beside him again. Close, but not touching.
Your voice was quiet. Measured, ounded, but not accusatory.
โYou think I donโt see the way you look at me?โ you asked. โLike youโre in love with me?โ
You swallowed hard.
โBecause you do. Every day.โ
He still didnโt say anything.
โAnd then I touch you, and you freeze. Like Iโve crossed a line I didnโt know was there. Like Iโve done something wrong.โ
There was something in your chest pulling tighter with every second of silence. Something raw and anxious and aching.
His hands stayed clenched.
You reached for him, carefully, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. The human one. His skin was warm. His pulse jumped beneath your touch.
โBucky,โ you whispered. โWhat is it? You can tell me.โ
He exhaled. Rough. Uneven.
For a second, you thought he might deflect. That he might dodge this like he had before โ with a soft kiss or a change of subject. But then he swallowed hard, eyes flicking to yours for just a moment before dropping again.
โI havenโtโฆโ he started, then paused. Cleared his throat. โI havenโt done anything since before the war.โ
The breath caught in your chest.
He laughed, but it wasnโt amused. It was hollow. Embarrassed.
โNot just sex,โ he said. โAnything. After HYDRAโฆ after everything. I didnโtโI couldnโt.โ
He rubbed the back of his neck, visibly ashamed. Smaller, somehow. Like admitting it out loud took more from him than heโd expected.
โItโs been over eighty years.โ
You didnโt speak. Didnโt move. Just watched him.
โI know it doesnโt make sense,โ he said, still not meeting your eyes. โYouโre here, and youโre kind, and youโve never pushed. But I get so far and then itโs likeโlike my body just shuts down. Like some part of me still thinks Iโm not allowed to want things.โ
Your heart twisted.
Not from pity. But from the weight of it. The quiet devastation he carried like a second skin.
Then, more quietly:
โYou think I donโt want you?โ His voice dropped. โFuck, sweetheart. I want you so bad it hurts. Every night I lie here hard as a fucking rock just thinking about you.โ
His jaw clenched. His eyes squeezed shut.
โBut Iโmโโ He shook his head. โIโm scared.โ
You moved then.
Not away. But forward.
You reach for his wrist again, let your fingers slide gently down to his hand. His pulse was racing. His breath shallow.
โScared of what?โ you asked, softer now.
He looked at you. Finally. Really looked. And what you saw in his eyes made your chest ache, something wide and raw and terrified.
โThat Iโll disappoint you,โ he said. โThat I wonโt know what Iโm doing. That youโll want someone whoโs not stuck in the goddamn 40s when it comes to this stuff.โ
Your face softened. A small, aching smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, even through the tightness in your chest.
โBucky,โ you whispered.
You climbed into his lap carefully, like you were afraid youโd spook him. You framed his face with your hands, your thumbs brushing along the curve of his cheekbones.
โYouโre already everything I want and more,โ you said, steady and sure. โBut I need you to believe that.โ
His breath hitched.
โAnd if you let me,โ you continued, voice barely above a whisper now, โIโll show you everything. Iโll go slow. Iโll take care of you.โ
He didnโt answer right away.
His eyes searched yours. Guarded, hopeful. Terrified. Like part of him still thought this might not be real.
But then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.
And when he did, something in you finally, quietly exhaled.
You donโt rush him.
After everything heโs said,ย every word laced with fear and heartbreak and hope, the last thing he needs is haste. Or pressure. Or you moving too fast for him to feel safe.
So you just breathe for a moment.
You stay in his lap, arms curled gently around his neck, your forehead resting against his. And you breathe.
His chest rises beneath yours, shaky and tight. His hands are still in his lap, fists curled like he doesnโt know what to do with them,ย like he doesnโt quite believe this is real, like one wrong move will send the whole thing crumbling to pieces.
So you start small.
You tilt your head and kiss the corner of his mouth. Once. Then again, slower this time, letting your lips linger against his skin.
His breath stutters. His lips part.
You kiss him properly next, slow, deep, but gentle, your mouth moving against his with no urgency, no push, just quiet devotion. Like heโs something sacred.
His hands twitch in his lap. He doesnโt lift them yet, but he doesnโt pull away either.
You murmur against his mouth, โCan I touch you?โ
He swallows thickly. Nods.
You kiss him one more time, a promise, before you shift in his lap, your thighs bracketing his, and reach for the hem of his shirt.
The moment your fingers graze the fabric, he tenses.
You pause. You meet his eyes.
โIโll stop any time you need me to,โ you whisper, your voice soft but sure.
He holds your gaze. His throat bobs with a hard swallow. Then he nods again, slower this time. โI want you to.โ
You offer a gentle smile. โOkay.โ
You lift his shirt carefully, baring him inch by inch. You donโt rush. You kiss every strip of skin you uncover, the ridges of his ribs, the warm slope of his sternum, the sharp cut of his collarbone.
You take your time with it, as if mapping him out with your mouth, like youโre memorising every inch with intention.
When the shirt is high enough, he lifts his arms, stiffly, hesitantly and lets you pull it over his head. You toss it aside and look at him.
Heโs bare from the waist up. All muscle and scar tissue, strength and survival. The roomโs low light catches on the vibranium, glints over old wounds, highlights the long-healed lines across his chest and side.
You let your gaze roam.
He doesnโt meet your eyes.
He looks away, jaw tight, breathing shallow.
You reach out, slow, deliberate, and place your palm against his chest. Right over his heart.
He flinches.
Just a little. A twitch in his shoulder. A held breath.
But he doesnโt pull away.
You lean in and kiss the skin just beside your hand.
โIs this okay?โ
His voice is low and rough. โYeah. Feels nice.โ
You smile against his skin, then keep going.
Your mouth trails lower, painting a path down the plane of his chest. You kiss over his heart again, then rest your cheek there for a moment.
โStill beating,โ you whisper, a soft marvel.ย
You feel it stutter beneath your lips.
Your hands slide lower, down his abdomen, his skin warm, twitching under your fingers. You follow the faint trail of hair that disappears beneath his waistband, fingertips brushing gently, not demanding. Just exploring.
He exhales shakily, stomach tensing, hips shifting just slightly.
โThereโs not a single part of you I donโt want to touch,โ you murmur, kissing along his ribs.
He turns his face, like heโs trying to hide, like the intimacy of your words is too much.
โHey,โ you say softly. You reach up, cupping his jaw, gently guiding his gaze back to yours. โLet me say it. Let me mean it.โ
His lips part like he might argue, but he doesnโt.
You rest your forehead against his.
โYouโre beautiful,โ you whisper. โSo strong, Youโve been through hell and still came of it.โ
His eyes flutter shut. His breath catches.
Your lips brush his softly, like reassurance. Then again.
And this time, when your hands slide down to the waistband of his sweats, he doesnโt flinch.
You look up at him. โCan I take these off?โ
His voice is strained. โYeah.โ
You move slowly, tugging them down inch by inch, watching his face the entire time. He lifts his hips to help, barely, and you kiss the inside of his knee as you go. Then the other.
By the time youโve got them off, heโs flushed all over, from his chest to his ears to the very tips of his fingers. And trembling.
His cock is hard and leaking, resting against his stomach. Big. Heavy. Throbbing.
He tries to close his legs out of instinct. Reflex.
But you shift forward between them and place your hands gently on the outside of his thighs.
โYouโre doing so good,โ you say softly. โAre you okay?โ
His nod is jerky. โJustโdonโt look too long.โ
You blink. โWhy not?โ
He swallows hard. โโCause youโll know I donโt have a damn clue what Iโm doing.โ
You smile, warm, never mocking.
โBaby,โ you say gently, โI already know.โ
You lean in, kissing the inside of his thigh, slowly, gently..
โBut itโs not a problem,โ you murmur, lips brushing his skin again. โItโs a privilege.โ
His head drops back, his fists clench the blanket. You trail your mouth up his thigh, closer and closer, and then wrap your fingers around the base of his cock.
He jerks under your touch, breath catching sharp in his throat.
โFuckโโ His hips twitch. His mouth opens, like heโs trying to say something and canโt find the words.
You stroke him once, slow, deliberate, and his entire body shudders.
Heโs flushed dark at the tip, leaking already.
โNobodyโs everโฆโ he starts, but doesnโt finish.
You look up. โEver?โ
He nods, barely. โNot like this.โ
You smile. โGood.โ
You stroke again, firmer now, and his jaw clenches, breath ragged.
Your thumb brushes over the tip, collecting the slick, and he whines, high, desperate, like heโs trying to hold everything in and failing miserably.
You kiss just below the head and he moans, low and broken.
โHoly shitโsweetheart, Iโm not gonnaโfuck, Iโm not gonna lastโโ
You press a kiss to his hip. โThatโs okay. Thatโs why weโll take our time.โ
You climb back into his lap, hand still wrapped around him, your other resting at his cheek to keep him grounded. He looks dazed, overwhelmed, like he doesnโt know whether to hold you or fall apart in your arms.
โCan I ride you?โ you whisper.
His hands shoot to your hips like a lifeline. โPlease,โ he breathes. โI want you to. So bad.โ
You guide him to your entrance, your slick soaking him already, and ease down, slow, careful, inch by inch โ until heโs fully seated inside you.
Buckyโs head drops back, a strangled moan caught in his throat.
โF-fuck, babyโโ he gasps. โToo much. Feels tooโโ
You donโt move.
You stay still in his lap, your hands on his chest, letting him feel you. Letting his body adjust. Letting the moment settle between you like something holy.
โYou okay?โ you whisper.
He nods, frantic. โYeah. Iโjust give me a second.โ
You wait.
When his eyes open again, theyโre soaked with emotion. Glassy and bare.
โYou okay?โ you ask.
โI think youโre killing me,โ he says hoarsely. โBut I donโt wanna stop.โ
You smile.
Then you start to move.
Slow, gentle, rocking your hips, letting him feel everything, every squeeze, every inch, every slow drag of your walls around him.
His mouth falls open. He moans your name like a prayer.
โFeels too good,โ he pants. โIโm notโfuck, Iโm not gonnaโโ
You lean in, your forehead pressed to his.
โThen donโt,โ you whisper.
And he does.
With a choked cry, he spills inside you, body tensing, arms wrapping tight around you, hips bucking helplessly. His hands shake against your back as his breath catches in your hair.
He clings to you like he would fall apart without you.
And even after itโs over,ย even after heโs finished, breathless and wrecked, he doesnโt let go.
He just holds you.
And for the first time in years, he lets himself be held, too.
Heโs still trembling.
You donโt move. You donโt shift or speak right away. You just stay where you are, wrapped around him, your body cradling his, the last aftershocks of his orgasm still echoing in the taut lines of his body.
His cock is still inside you, softening slowly. The stretch of him, the heat of him, the slick, overwhelming closeness of it allโit makes your heart ache in the gentlest way.
Your fingers stroke through his hair, trailing through the sweat-damp strands at the nape of his neck. Then down his spine. Slow, comforting passes, like youโre coaxing his body back into itself.
He clutches you tighter.
His arms are around your waist, strong and firmโnot bruising, not panicked. But desperate. Like heโs afraid that if he lets go, this will all vanish. Like maybe none of this was real, and holding on to you is the only thing keeping him grounded.
You donโt pull away.
You let him hold you. Let him shake. Let his breath shudder against your neck while your hand keeps moving slowly down his back.
His face is buried against your throat, and when he finally speaks, itโs muffledโbarely audible. Raw.
โI didnโt mean to finish so fast.โ
Your heart breaks for him a little, even as your lips tilt into a soft smile.
You press a kiss to his templeโtender, grounding.
โI know.โ
His voice is barely there. โI justโfuck, I couldnโt stop it. You felt so good. I couldnโt think."
You hum softly, stroking his hair again. โThatโs kind of the point, baby.โ
He lifts his head, just a little, pulling back enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are wide, glassy, dazed, those perfect cerulean eyes soft and unguarded, boyish, almost.
His cheeks are flushed. His hairโs a mess. His lips are kiss-swollen.
He looks completely ruined.
Completely beautiful.
Yours.
โBut you didnโtโโ he starts, then hesitates. His gaze drops. โYou didnโt finish.โ
You donโt stop smiling.
Thereโs no hurt in it, no impatience, just quiet warmth.
โI wasnโt trying to,โ you whisper, brushing his damp hair from his forehead. โTonight was about you.โ
His brows pull together, like he doesnโt quite know how to process that.
โThatโs not fair,โ he mumbles. โI want to make you feel good too.โ
โYou already do,โ you murmur, your nose brushing his. โBut if you really want to keep goingโฆโ
You pause deliberately, shifting your hips slightly.
Just enough for him to feel the movement, just enough to tease.
He gasps, high and sharp, his body jolting.
โโฆwe can.โ
His hands flex at your waist. His eyes flutter. His lips part like heโs trying to speak but canโt form a single thought.
โIโm stillโ,โ he whispers, like itโs a warning. But thereโs no hesitation in his tone. Only want.
โBut I want it,โ he adds. โI want you.โ
You kiss him again, slow and deep, and begin to move. Barely. Just a gentle roll of your hips, enough to stir friction between your bodies again.
He moans into your mouth, soft and aching.
You rock slowly, dragging your walls against his still-sensitive cock. He twitches inside you, starting to thicken again already. Itโs slow, but unmistakable.
โOkay?โ you whisper.
He nods frantically, hands gripping your waist like heโs drowning in sensation. โYeah. Yeah, Iโm okay. Justโshit. Iโve neverโฆ I didnโt know it could feel like this.โ
You smile against his jaw. โYou wanna come again for me?โ
His moan is barely a sound. His eyes flutter shut.
โYes,โ he breathes. โFuck, yes. Pleaseโโ
You tighten your thighs and roll your hips again, drawing a sharp gasp from him.
โSuch good manners,โ you whisper, kissing his throat. โSo sweet for me.โ
Your hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with practiced ease. You start to circle, slow, wet, just enough pressure to build your own heat.
He watches you.
Like youโre made of stars, like heโs never seen anything so beautiful.
โTouch me,โ you murmur. โPlease, Bucky. I want your hands on me.โ
Itโs the only encouragement he needs.
His hands move slowly, softly, trembling,ย sliding up your sides, grazing your ribs, cupping your breasts. His thumbs brush over your nipples, and you moan, arching into his touch.
The sound makes him groan, deep and wrecked.
โYouโre so beautiful,โ he murmurs. โSo fuckinโ perfect, babyโcanโt believe I get to have you like this.โ
His voice breaks on the last word.
Youโre slick around him now, your arousal mixing with the mess from earlier. Every slow rock of your hips has him thickening more, twitching inside you, inch by inch.
His thighs are shaking. His jaw clenches.
โFeels so good,โ he whines. โI donโt wanna stop. Donโt wanna come yet. Wanna feel you forever.โ
You ride him harder now, the heat in your belly rising faster.
โYou feel that?โ you gasp. โHow close I am?โ
His hands tighten on your hips. His breath turns ragged.
โPleaseโplease come around me, sweetheartโneed to feel itโneed to feel youโโ
You bury your face in his neck.
And let go.
Your whole body seizes around him, a white-hot wave crashing through you, stealing your breath, your balance, your thoughts. Your moan is broken, helpless, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.
Your walls clamp down hard around him.
And thatโs all it takes.
He thrusts up once. Then again. Deep, desperate. A cry tearing from his throat as he comes again, shaking, gasping, flooding you with warmth.
His arms wrap tight around you.
He holds you close. Close enough to feel your heartbeat thunder against his. Close enough that the tremors in your bodies blur together, indistinguishable.
This time, his grip is softer. Still strong, but different.
Not desperate.
Tender.
His hand strokes up your spine. His lips press to your temple, then your hair, then your jaw. Like he canโt get close enough.
You stay there, wrapped around each other, skin to skin, breath mingled and unsteady and you donโt rush to move.
Not yet.
โJesus,โ he whispers eventually, voice raw. โWhat the fuck just happened?โ
You laugh softly, breathless, dazed. โThat was called good sex,.โ
He groans into your neck. โThat was more than good. That wasโfuck. That was divine.โ
You smile, pressing a kiss to his hair.
You collapse gently against his chest, boneless and warm, and he doesnโt let go. His arms stay around you, wrapped like a shield, like a promise.
Neither of you move for a long time.
Thereโs nothing left to prove. Nothing to say.
Just the slow hum of your heartbeats and the safe, sacred space youโve made between the two of you.
And for the first time in a long, long time, Bucky feels wanted.
And safe.
And home.
a/n: i hope you enjoyed it! if you did, drop a comment or a reblog! thank you my loves, your support means the world to me! <3333333
My brain is truly like a toddler that doesnโt want to put on pants. Anyway. Now that this thought is in my brain and I envisioned it, I must get it out. sorry
Warnings: angst, smut
Imagine emotionally repressed and touch starved Bucky.ย
He doesnโt really allow himself to cry. After a nightmare he tries to hurry away the sobs that wrack his body and pull himself together. He doesnโt think he deserve to feel sad after the things heโs done so he takes those nightmares like punishmentโs he deserves. He doesnโt talk about the pain heโs in because he doesnโt want to burden others with his problems.ย
Even with you. There have been so many moments where his eyes sting, his throat tightens, he wants to curl up like a baby on your chest and cry but he canโt bring himself to. Sometimes when you hug him for a second longer, his lip trembles and he lets go.ย
Heโs touch starved in a way he doesnโt tell others; itโs not about people being too close or hugging him. Heโs had plenty of bear hugs and drunken smooches on the cheek from nearly everyone on the team, especially after Tonyโs parties.ย
Thatโs different.ย
Heโs scared to let go. Scared to feel something so intense. He doesnโt even think he deserves that type of pleasure. He only has faint memories of what that type of intimacy felt like and he doesnโt feel ready to be vulnerable like that. His body looks different. His body is different; its pumped full of chemicals, all his senses are always dialed to a hundred.ย
It scares him so much, he doesnโt even do anything about it for himself.ย
Itโs not that he doesnโt want it. When he sees you, he wants to touch you. He wants to feel every bit of your soft skin. He wants to feel your hands caress him wherever you want. But he never lets it happen, pushing it away for as long as he can.ย
summary: Years had passed since you helped the Winter Soldier, providing him with comfort and food after escaping Hydra. Whilst finding something to occupy himself with for the weekend, Bucky spots a familiar face, and itโs time for him to repay the favour.
warnings/tags: Fluff, themes of anxiety, not really any warning for this but let me know if iโm mistaken :)
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Bucky wasnโt too pleased about the current state of his life, but it was better than prison, and it was much better than Hydra. He didnโt want to share what kept him up at night, or be honest about his nightmares. He especially didnโt want to face the people he hurt whilst he was the Winter Soldier and tell them the truth about what happened to their brother or mother or son. He was happy leaving the past in the past, trying his best to forget about what he did all those years.
Bucky thought that therapy was making him worseโ the nightmares were more frequent, he hadnโt slept in a bed in weeksโ but everyone told him it was just โpart of getting betterโ. He sure didnโt feel like he was getting better.
His therapist had suggested a routine to keep his mind from wandering to things thatโd keep him up at night, and so far, it was the only thing that helped him.
Mondayโs heโd do his laundry in his apartment blockโs shared laundromat and clean his place. Tuesdayโs heโd go on two walksโ one just after he woke up to go grab a coffee from the one coffee shop who could make it how he liked it, another in the evening before he planned to try sleeping to wear himself out and hopefully get a good nights sleep. Wednesdayโs heโd get lunch with Yori and occasionally chat to the girl who worked at the sushi place. Thursdayโs he tried to catch up on media, just like Steve did. Heโd sit and watch a movie or two, listen to an album and end up turning it off long before it finished, or sometimes pick up a book that claimed to be a โNew York Times Best Sellerโ.
Fridayโs were his least favourite because his therapist would always push him to talk through a traumatic memory and the session would run much longer, his therapist choosing to do it on Fridayโs so that he โhad the weekend to recoverโ, but every day was the weekend for Bucky. Saturdayโs and Sundayโs heโd look for the odd job posted up on a community board to keep himself occupied.
This routine worked well for him. It was simple, reliable, and took hardly any effort to execute. Sure, his life was a little boring, but thereโs only so much you can do when youโre not allowed to work.
However, recently, his therapist had given him the task to make amends to the people heโd hurt in life and forgive the ones who hurt him. At first, he made a sarcastic comment asking โHow am I supposed to amend the dead? You want me to go see a shrink?โ, but eventually agreed to do his best and follow the three rules thatโd been set for him. Something about no violence, he canโt really remember.
Just like any other week, Saturday had rolled around and he could finally find some work to do. Usually Bucky got better sleep after helping people out with things they couldnโt figure out themselves. Maybe, in his mind, it cancelled out the horrible things heโd done under Hydraโs control. He really shouldโve been crossing names off the list of people he needed to make things right with like his therapist had asked, but it could wait until Monday.
He knew it would be easier to find work online, but he still didnโt fully understand then internet and he wasnโt about to accidentally sign himself up for morning hot yoga again. His eyes scanned the bulletin board: โPlumber needed.โ and a phone number written underneath itโ not his specialty, but heโd consider it. โLooking for a dog walker, two beagles. $15 for an hour walk.โ He took the tear-off strip with contact details on it for that one. โJust moved in, need help unpacking and assembling furniture. $60 for a dayโs help. Apartment 310, call this number if interested.โ
That did interest him.
He knew how to assemble furniture, and he could carry heavy items with just his metal arm. The apartment was just a few doors down from him, his being 304. Plus, sixty dollars in a day was more than heโd ever made from a day of helping out.
He opened his phone, typing in the digits listed on the flyer and let the number ring. Once. Twice.
โHello?โ You chimed, sounding a little out of breath. You were probably trying to move the furniture yourself and were obviously struggling.
โHi, is this uhh-โ Heโd already forgotten the apartment number, โthis the right number for apartment 310? I saw your flier, Iโm happy to helpโฆif you still need help.โ Bucky offered. He hated speaking to new people over the phone, it made him awkward. Well, more awkward than he already was.
โYes! Iโd love your help. When are you free?โ You asked, the smile on your face evident in your voice. Bucky couldnโt help but smile a little at your enthusiasm towards getting help.
โIโm free right now.โ He offered.
โOh, perfect. Come over whenever, Iโm currently piecing together an Ikea shelf.โ You laughed dryly, โSee you soon!โ Then you hung up.
Bucky stood in the stairwell for a minute or two, walking slowly back and forth from the elevator to the stairs. He hadnโt pressed the button yet; and it was only when someone walked past him he realised how strange he probably looked, but fear crowded his mind.
Once before, heโd done work like this for someone, and after they saw his left arm and realised who he used to be, he was kicked out immediately with no pay. He understood of course; sometimes he stared in the mirror and wished he could kick the Winter Soldier out of his home too. He didnโt want to make you feel unsafe or uncomfortable, assuming you were alone, which is why he hesitated to hit the elevator button.
Eventually, he did, of course. The walk to room 310 felt strange. For nearly five months, Bucky had only ever gone as far as 304, and never even knew there was a corner leading to 310โ secluded. As he rounded the corner, for a second he wasnโt sure if his eyes were playing a trick on him. He knew you, or at least used to.
Everything was still the same about youโ your hair maybe a little longer, or was it shorter now? He couldnโt tell. You looked happier, less exhausted than he remembered. Back then, youโd only just stopped working as an assassin, so he wasnโt surprised you seemed happier now.
Quietly, he called out your name, thinking you didnโt hear him and was about to call out to you again, but your head whipped around. Immediately, your brows furrowed, placing down the heavy box you were trying to move from the kitchen to what Bucky assumed youโd make the lounge. You stared at him for a moment, the expression on your face telling him you werenโt sure if you knew what you were seeing. Briefly, your gaze flicked to his left hand, and when you spotted the leather glove matched to the leather jacket, you knew what he was hiding.
โBucky.โ You sighed, a smile starting to creep across your face. For some reason, Bucky expected you to be mad at him. Sure, itโd been nearly ten years since he broke into your home, five for you if youโd been blipped, but he knew all too well about holding grudges. You treated him with kindness back then, he wasnโt sure why he expected any differently. โYouโฆ got a haircut.โ You laughed.
Bucky smiled, only just reaching his eyes, in response. โYeah. Court said I had to fix my life if I didnโt want to end up in jail for all theโฆ Hydra stuff. Figured a haircut was a good place to start.โ He explained, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets and walking into your apartment, dodging the boxes randomly strewn out.
โIt suits you. Are you doing better? Stopped stalking people?โ You asked, putting your hands on your hips as if you were an unimpressed teacher scolding a misbehaving kid, but you couldnโt fight the smile on your face.
Bucky huffed a laugh, โYeah. Justโฆ figuring out what to do with my life, I guess.โ He shrugged.
โWell, you could start with assembling the shelf Iโve definitely butchered.โ You offered, and Bucky gave a stern nod before wandering over to the shelf that had a tilt to it you werenโt sure was supposed to be there.
To you, Bucky had hardly changed. Of course, he was much less frightened to be in your apartment, but he was still just as talkative as he used to beโ which meant maximum two sentences at a time. He seemed calmer now, too, like less was plaguing him. You were sure he was still struggling, judging by the way he was wearing a leather jacket whilst it was midday and hot out just to cover his arm, but he seemed like heโd gotten used to the memories now.
Whilst Bucky got to work, you told him all about your life and he told you about hisโ or rather, what he could remember of it. You explained how you even ended up working for Alloy in the first place, and Bucky explained why he was stalking you all those years ago. You told him about your new job, your old job, and your even older job, and he let you ask about the army and what he missed from the fourtiesโ. You played your favourite albums for Bucky and he winced at some of the lyrics he heard, and in return he gave you some songs to listen to later on.
Amidst assembling furniture for you, Bucky occasionally moved the heavier boxes of things like: books you hadnโt read since you were thirteen but couldnโt bring yourself to get rid of, some kind of stone garden decor you spotted and liked despite not having a garden, and stacks of way too many pots and pans for someone who lived alone.
It was strange, being around you again. Of course, it was only one evening he really spent time with you before, but you were the first person to remind him what it was like to be treated like a person after being treated like an animal for so long. You werenโt someone heโd forgotten about, he just never expected to ever get the chance to really thank you.
โI neverโฆ thanked you properly before, did I?โ He brought up, slowly standing from the floor heโd been sat on trying to figure out how the hell to piece together a bed frame with storage underneath.
You looked over at him, putting down the salt lamp that a friend had gifted you which you didnโt actually want but couldnโt bring yourself to sell or donate, โYou donโt need to, Bucky. This is more than enoughโ I never wouldโve gotten this all done today if it wasnโt for you.โ
โYouโre the reason I managed to stay alive, you know.โ He continued, โI wore the clothes you gave me for months, I couldnโt really afford much else. Even after I got myself jeans and a new jacket, I still wore the henley. I probably wouldโve gotten hypothermia from my clothes that night if you didnโt give me dry ones. Helping you out with your apartment is the least I could do.โ
โIโm glad youโre still here. I wondered how you were all these yearsโ if you were even alive.โ You replied, wishing you could hug Bucky. You didnโt want to try and end up scaring him off, remembering how much he hated being touched all those years ago. โWhy donโt you stay for dinner? For old times sake, I could make you pasta.โ
Bucky agreed, sitting down on the couch he had earlier screwed the feet onto, looking around at the way everything was coming together. Heโd probably come over again and help you out some more, but for now he was happy with how much the pair of you had managed to pull together in just one afternoon.
Eventually, you managed to figure out how the stove worked and cooked enough pasta for about five people, but at least now you wouldnโt have to make lunch or dinner the next day.
You and Bucky sat on the couch, letting the music youโd both long forgotten about quietly hum in the background. You hadnโt sorted out any stools for the bar in your crammed kitchen, so dinner would probably be eaten on the couch for a few weeks.
โYโknow, this could be a real career for you.โ You spoke up, breaking the silence between you two.
โWhat could be?โ His brows furrowed.
โJust... this.โ You waved a hand around, gesturing at the apartment. Maybe you should get a job at a removal company. Or maybe thereโs a job assembling furniture.โ You explained.
โI build a shelf and attempt building a bed-frame and now Iโm supposed to be a carpenter?โ He asked rhetorically. Really, he found it endearing that you thought he was good enough at this to make a career out of it.
โJust throwing ideas into the wind here.โ You shrugged, taking another mouthful of pasta.
โMaybe Iโll keep it in mind.โ He smiled before going back to his food.
Bucky helped clear up after dinner, stalling for as long as he could by asking over and over again if you were sure you needed no more help tonight. The sun had set, and despite not wanting to leave, he knew heโd have to eventually.
He said goodbye and you thanked him for all the help, mentioning something about hopefully seeing him around. Just as he was about to shut the door behind him, you called out to him.
โHey Bucky?โ He hummed in response, reopening the door. โDo you maybe wanna grab a coffee sometime?โ
He thought for a second before replying.
โDoes Tuesday work?โ He offered, and you gave a smile and nod.
Idk who needs to hear this but Mcu buckys backstory is NOT based off of arnie roth. His backstory is based off his ultimate universe counterpart. A lot of the mcu is based of the ultimates: sam being military whil 616sam being a social worker, clint with laura barton and their 3 kid and is a shield operative while 616clint married bobbi morse and has no kid and never worked for shield, samuel l. jackson Nicky fury, etc. Ultimate universe bucky is steves childhood friend.
And secondly 616 bucky is caps kid sidekick, the mcu just didn't want to put a child soldier in their all American propaganda movie hence why rebel wasn't part of the howling commandos in the mcu either because he was a kid. As u can see in this tweet they changed it for that reason.
Thirdly even if he was based off of arnie, removing a gay character doesn't automatically make a different character gay. although i would love if bucky was canon queer but that's just not how it works.
Also what I realize about these bucky is arnie roth truthers is that a lot of u don't care about arnie or the fact he was erased from the mcu u guys just want "proof" for your headcanon/ship. Which there's no problem with having headcanons, if u hc bucky as gay and/or jewish that perfectly fine and valid but then ppl spread false info that he's suppose to be that when it's simply just not true. I don't ever see ppl bring up arnie unless it about bucky. Also steve and arnies dynamic itself never came off as anything other than friends or brothers
I don't ever see these bucky is arnie roth truthers ever talk about how thor:ragnarok replaced thors and lokis actual long lost older sister, angela, who is a canon lesbian and is dating a transwoman, with lokis daughter, hela, who has only shown attraction towards men in canon.(hela is currently married to a woman but they married out of business not out of love and it happened after the movie came out)
nor do I see them talk about in ca:tfa other than arnie roth there was also brian falsworth. In ca:tfa u can see James Montgomery falsworth, more commonly known as union jack, in the mcu he's part of the howling commandos. The thing is he's the union jack of ww1 while his son and daughter fights alongside captain America in ww2. His son Brian falsworth has been canonically gay since 2002 and was dating roger aubrey, destroyer, until he died. There's no reason why his dad was deaged and was part of the howling commandos instead of him for the reason other than he was gay because Brian shows up more in comics than his dad, u can't know about Monty falsworth without knowing about Brian
I feel like y'all don't actually care when an actual gay character gets replaced but instead make up lies about characters that u want to be gay instead. Like when eternals came out and phastos and his husband where said to be the first gay characters in the mcu and instead of complaining about loki, valkyrie, starlord, ayo, korg. Who were(at least at the time) not confirmed canon queer in the mcu despite being so in the comics, u guys complained about steve/bucky not being canon queer despite neither ever canonically showing interest in the same gender in mcu or comics because u mixed up canon and fanon/your headcanon.
Again headcanoning bucky and gay and/or jewish and shipping mcu stucky is completely fine, there's nothing wrong with it but bucky being based on arnie roth is just simply not true.
Bucky sometimes wakes up disoriented. Like his head is shrouded in fog, his surroundings briefly muddled and unfamiliar, threads of recognition refusing to connect. The walls are different. The bed is too soft. Heโs not entirely sure which decade it is, which century. Thereโs always this brief, ringing panic, creeping in quietly, dread settling in his gut as he blinks and blinks and tries to ground himself. He doesnโt know where he is, who he is. You feel it when he wakes up like thisโthe way he goes tense, then stock-still, as if trying to remember.
Then you take his hand. You say his name: James, first, quietlyโthen in full, James Buchanan Barnesโand his breath comes easier. Your voice is raspy and slow, sleep-soaked, soothing. Itโs six am, you tell him. Weโre in Brooklyn. Itโs Julyโitโs August, September, October, all the months of the yearโand he calms. His shoulders go loose again, the breath goes out of him in a rush, and he lets all the several hundred pounds of him, metal arm and all, be coaxed against your side. Your hand climbs up the side of his neck. Your fingers slide into his hair, gently scratching at his scalp, twisting and toying with the strands. Youโre home, you whisper into his forehead, and James buries his face deep into your arm, wherever he can reach, breathes in and feels the weight in his gut dissolving.
Loved your smutty Valentine! I'm kinda in the mood for something fluffy and intimate though!
Could you please write Bucky coming home super late from a mission covered in glowing green alien goo, apologizing for ruining your romantic Valentine's plans. You're sweet about it and then later you help clean/maintain his vibranium arm socket because it's sensitive and he trusts only you with it?๐ฅบ๐๐
Glow-in-the-dark Valentine
Warnings: light angst (mission-related guilt and exhaustion), mentions of scars/injuries from past trauma, implied romantic/sexual plans (no explicit content), domestic fluff and hurt/comfort, canon-typical superhero elements (e.g., alien slime monster fight referenced but not detailed).
Word count: 2.5k
Plans had been made. Romantic plans. Ones which involved strawberries and chocolate and sexy lingerie. Unfortunately, romantic plans with Bucky were like trying to herd cats while riding a unicycle on fireโ adorable in theory, chaotic disaster in practice.
To his credit, he did communicate. He sent a text saying he would be late. Donโt wait up had been the message which made you blow out the dinner candles. At nine, you started munching on the strawberries to stop your stomachโs attempt to digest itself. Finally at eleven, youโd reluctantly taken off the one piece youโd bought for the occasion and slipped on a pair of booty shorts and one of his t-shirts which you had conveniently claimed.
He finally arrived just before midnight, the door opening with a creak and a strange wet squelch that made you look up. Bucky stood in the doorway, his profile lit by the hallway lightโ his hair plastered to his forehead, his tactical gear looked like heโd been dunked in radioactive Jell-O. His vibranium arm looked like it glowed as rivulets of the goo flowed over the gold plating and onto the floor. The scowl he was sporting was deep, brows furrowed so hard that it looked painful. His jaw was clenched like he was chewing on rocks. Worst of all, he looked exhausted, maybe mildly furious and somehow, amidst all the mess, he still looked unfairly handsome.
You sat up straighter, a chocolate coated strawberry frozen half way to your mouth. Bucky didnโt move. He stood at the threshold practically dripping, shoulders hunched over as though he was bracing for impact. He scanned the room, immediately locating you on the couch and his scowl softened a fraction into something that looked a little like sheepish guilt.
โHi, baby,โ he rasped, voice rough from whatever hell he'd crawled out of. โThought I told you not to wait up for me.โ
You rose from the couchโ strawberry still in handโ and sauntered over to him. โAnd miss the chance to see you look like you fought a Ghostbusters'-reject villain?โ
He huffed a laugh, only it sounded more like a sigh. โClose. Some kinda... symbiote knockoff. Or maybe just really pissed-off mutated slime mold with teeth. Sam called it 'the goo from hell.' Tried to eat my arm. Twice.โ He lifted the metal one slightlyโ green ooze clung stubbornly between the plates, glowing faintly. โIt didn't win, obviously. But it was... enthusiastic.โ
You padded over to him barefoot, picking a careful path to avoid slipping on the trail of ooze heโs already starting making on the floor. As you reached him, you sniffed cautiouslyโ he smelt like sweat and something sweet, like burnt sugar mixed with citrus. Real charming, you thought.
โShower?โ you asked, tilting your head.
He nodded miserably. โPlease. Before I ruin the carpet. Or you.โ
Before you stepped aside to let him pass, you reached up and brushed a glob of slime off his cheekโ it was warm and weirdly viscous. It clung to his skin slightly before finally coming away on your thumb. He watched as you played with it between your fingers before his eyes flicked to yoursโ blue-gray and tired.
โThis stuff's not dangerous, right?โ you asked with a scrunched up nose.
Bucky shook his head.
โGood,โ you smiled, wiping your fingers on the cleanest spot of his tactical vest.
โLook, Iโm sorry about tonight,โ he muttered. โSeems like you had something perfect planned. I wanted to be here. I really did,โ he insisted.
โI know, honey.โ You smiled, holding up your strawberry for him to take a bite. โWe can still have our evening. Just... delayed. And messier.โ
He blinked in surprise, the corner of his mouth twitching dangerously. The first real hint of amusement finally breaking through his grumpy facade.
โYou're gonna make me shower first, aren't you?โ
โDamn straight. You're not touching meโ or the bedโ until that glow-in-the-dark nightmare is gone.โ You poked his chest plate lightly, grimacing as it squelched under pressure. โGo. I'll heat up the last of the chocolate. And maybeโฆ just maybe, Iโll save you a strawberry. If you're nice.โ
Bucky leant in for a soft kiss before ambling to the bathroom while you went to re-heated dinner.
Dinner was a subdued affair. Buckyโs spirit was dampened by guilt over the ruined night, the adrenaline crash from the mission hitting him hard, and the quiet realization that he'd let you downโ yet again. You sat cross-legged on the worn couch watching him. He was freshly showered, hair still damp and tousled, falling in dark, wet strands across his forehead and curling slightly at the ends. The scent of his soap was mixing with the faint chocolate lingering in the air, making him look softer nowโ less like a battle-worn soldier and more like your Bucky. He was wearing a clean tee and he had placed his vibranium armโ fresh out of the dishwasherโ on the coffee table beside his finished dinner plate. It rested there like a center-piece of high tech sculpture from Wakanda.
You nudged him gently with your knee. โYou planning on sitting there brooding all night? Or we gonna try and salvage whatโs left of our Valentineโs date?โ
He smirked softly, resting his head on the back of the sofa. โBroodinโs my brand, babe.โ He tried to hide it, but you caught the way he subtly rolled shoulder.
โUh huh. And that little wince is just for what? Dramatic effect?โ
You got a low chuckle out of him. โBusted,โ he confessed, looking down at the vibranium prosthetic on the table. โHonestly though,โ he looked over at you sheepishly, โthe socketโs a little raw. That alien residue got into the gap and no arm to balance the feedbackโฆ itโs like pins and needles that wonโt quit. Usually I can ignore it, butโฆโ He looks at you with a small smile. โYou always make it better.โ
โMe?โ
โYeah, baby. Think you could work your magic? Warm cloth, that fancy Wakandan oil Shuri sent? I promise I'll behaveโ no squirming this time.โ
You grinned back at him. โYeahโฆ famous last words.โ
He holds up his flesh hand in surrender. โScout's honor. Just... need you.โ He finished quietly.
You retrieved the bottle of oil and some clean cotton fiber cloths from the bathroom and sat down beside him, closer this time. He had stripped off his t-shirt and moved to sit closer to the lamp behind the couch.
The vibranium plate socket gleamed under the lap light, but what got your attention was the scarred skin that spread out around his shoulder.
โAlright, Sergeant Barnes,โ you said with mock seriousness. You dipped the cloth in a bowl of warm water and covered your index finger with it. โTime for your tune-up. Do Not Squirm.โ
Bucky raised an eyebrow, his blue eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and affection that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. โBaby please, I fought Nazis and aliens. A little cleaning ain't gonna make me squirm.โ
A snort escaped before you had the chance to alter the inelegant sound. But you kept working, gently pressing the cloth against the edges of the socket. The skin there was made up of a patchwork of old and new scars from where Princess Shuri had made upgrades. Bucky tensed just a little as you started wiping away the grime at the edges of the metal, where the neural interfaces met flesh. He hated admitting how hypersensitive the area was, even to you.
โEasy there, angel,โ he murmured. He reached around with his hand, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face and tucked it behind your ear.
โSorry, honey.โ
โNo, you're good at this. But it kinda makes me feel like a damn car in the shop.โ
You grinned, leaning in closer to inspect your work. โWell, you are kinda like a classic muscle carโ vintageโฆ powerfulโฆ in need of regular maintenance to stop rusting.โ You paused, tongue between your teeth as you dabbed at a stubborn spot with careful and gentle precision. โOnly hotter. And with waaay better mileage.โ
He chuckled. You loved the way the sound rumbled through his chest and how you could feel his whole body vibrate when you sat close to him like this. It was moments like this that reminded you how far he had come. How much he had changed since you first met him. From the haunted veteran to this Bucky, your Bucky, the kindhearted man who let you see him vulnerable like this. No arm, no defenses, just him.
As you worked, you felt him relax under your touch. The water was mixed with an unscented cleanser that Shuri had recommended and you soaked the cloth in it just enough for it to feel soothing. You traced the diamond shaped rivets, mindful of the purple crystals which powered the arm. Slowly you moved to the edge, massaging lightly to ease the phantom tension that often lingered. Bucky's eyes fluttered half-closed, his breathing steadying into a contented rhythm.
You kept working. Taking your time. Showing Bucky that he mattered in ways that weโre just related to the sexual intimacy you had planned for the evening. You didnโt complain, even though your fingers were starting the cramp from holding them up. You definitely werenโt going to stop until the task was complete.
After a few minutes of letting you work in complete silence, Bucky spoke up. โYou knowโฆ back in my day, dames really didnโt have to deal with this kinda thing.โ
โThis kinda thing? Needy men who come home late?โ you laughed. โIโm sure that women have been dealing with that since the dawn of time.โ
Bucky rolled his head so he was facing you, opening his eyes just to give you a playful glare. โNo, I mean things were simpler. You just had a guy with two armsโฆ maybe a bad haircut. None of thisโฆ technical maintenance.โ
โLucky for you then that Iโm not from โback in your dayโ. But Iโd take one-armed Bucky over any two-armed schmuck from the 40s.โ You leaned back to admire your work. The skin around the vibranium socket was looking slightly pink and irritated from the attention but otherwise the vibranium practically gleamed under the lampโs halo. โPlus, I like having a boyfriend with built-in tech supportโโ You smiled, then winked cheekily. โVibrates on command.
Bucky huffed quietly, lips curving up into a smirk for a moment before his eyes landed back on you with a softer gaze. โYou're somethin' else, you know that?โ He sat up, wincing as a twinge shot through the socketโ probably from the neural feedback without the arm to ground it.
Your sharp eyes caught the brief flicker in his expression. โHey, does that hurt? Be honest.โ
โNah,โ he lied smoothly, not giving in immediately, even after you shot him a look that said you weren't buying it. He sighed, slowly conceding, but only after you glared at him. โFine, maybe a little. Feels like pins and needles sometimes. But, your hands... they make it better.โ
The tenderness of his words made your heart melt. You set the cloth aside and cupped his face with one hand, your thumb stroking his stubbled jaw. โYou're such a tough guy until it comes to admitting you're human.โ Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, lingering just long enough to feel him melt into it.
When you pulled back, he was smiling. One of the real ones. One that crinkled the corners of his eyes. One that was reserved for you and you only. โHuman? With this setup?โ He nodded toward the detached arm. โMore like a cyborg. But yeah, your tough guy.โ
You rolled your eyes playfully but then picked up the moisturizing oil next. Bucky had brought it home after he had been having a lot of trouble with the lubrication of the joint. The instructions explained that it was designed to keep the interface supple and to prevent irritation. Squeezing a few drops onto your palm, you warmed it between your fingers before applying it in slow, circular motions to the edges of the disc. Bucky let out a low hum of approval, his head tipping back against the couch.
โGod, that feels good,โ he admitted, voice husky. โYou got magic hands, sweetheart.โ
โMagic? Nah, just practiced, mostly just from dealing with your stubborn ass.โ You teased, but your touch was feather-light, almost reverent. This was intimate in a way that went beyond the physical. He trusted you with the most vulnerable part of him. The thing that had once been weaponized, tortured, rebuilt. It was a privilege, and you treated it as such.
Halfway through the process, Bucky's hand sneaked around your waist, pulling you onto his lap with effortless strength. You gasped in surprise, nearly spilling the oil. โBuckyyyy! I'm not done yet!โ
He grinned mischievously, nuzzling his nose against your neck. โYou're takin' too long. Thought I'd speed things up.โ His lips brushed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.
You swatted his chest with the back of your hand, laughing along with him. โOh, sure, distract the mechanic in the middle of the job. Thatโฆ buddyโโ you prodded him in the chest with a clean fingerโ โis how you end up with a squeaky arm.โ
Despite your chastizing, you didn't pull away, instead settling against him, your fingers continuing to work even as he held you close.
โFine, fine,โ he relented, though his hand stayed splayed across your back, warm and possessive. โBut seriously, doll... thank you. For this. For being so patient. Forโฆ everything.โ
You leaned into his warmth until the oil application was complete. Then you wiped your hands on the damp cloth before wrapping your arms around his neck.
The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache in the best way. You finished applying the oil, wiping your hands on a towel before wrapping your arms around his neck. โYou don't have to thank me, Buck. I love youโ all of you. Metal arm or nothing at all.โ
He kissed you then, deep, unhurried, pouring all the words he sometimes struggled to say into the gesture. When you broke apart, your foreheads rested together and he murmured, โLove you too. More than you know.โ
Suddenlyโ without any warningโ Bucky slid his flesh hand under your thighs and with his thick bicep steady at your back, he lifted you effortlessly against his chest.
โBuckyโโ you shrieked in surprise.
โShh, baby. Mechanicโs orders are done. Time for bed.โ His voice was a low murmur. Warm and tired but content.
You looped your arms around his neck as he stood. With one arm, he carried you down the hall like you weighed nothing at all. The vibranium prosthetic stayed on the table. Tonight, it was just himโ human. And in your eyes: whole.
He slowly eased you down onto the mattress, crawling under the covers right after you. You pulled the covers over both of you once his feet were tangled with yours. There was no rushing, no heat, just his heartbeat against yours as he held you close. Your head lay beside his on his pillow, his damp hair tickling your cheek
โBest Valentineโs ever,โ he murmured into your ear.
You hummed softly in agreement. โBetter than perfect.โ
And for once, the chaos stayed outside. Just you, him, and sleep.
no dude it's so cool how attached you are to that character who is singled out and ostracized due to the external monstrousness that clashes with their internal spark of humanity. and i love how drawn you are to themes of horror and love, nature versus nurture, otherness, isolation, and the abject. i bet you have normal feelings about your own personhood
โnew study shows that 87% of all americans class superman as american citizen despite being born on a different planet, but only 49% avoided eye contact when asked about why martian manhunter doesnโt countโ
โarea woman thanking her lucky stars that batman and superman fell out on the same day she was due to go to bossโ nieceโs bat mitzvahโ
โarkham guard astonished by trip to iron heights, only now learning what locks are forโ
โarea man pretty sure he should be making more than $60k a year if his boss has 10 billion dollars to waste on robotic exosuitโ
โbreaking news: lex luthor sues superman for loss of earnings, claims that continually losing fights to him is negatively affecting his work ethicโ
My favorite TFA drawing is one some one did where Peggy is telling bucky about how steve jumped on a grenade during training and is like 'oh he was so brave he did it without a second thought' and then we hard cut and bucky is looking at Steve like
turnnoffyourmind
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