âYou know⌠it hasnât been the same,â he said quietly, eyes lifting to meet yours. âIt really hasnât.â
You chewed the inside of your cheek, mulling over his words as your thoughts went a mile a minute. Your focus fell onto the black and gold peeking under his sleeve, reflecting the sunlight as he fidgeted with his fingers.Â
âI know,â you finally whispered. âI donât think itâll ever be the same again. Not when I feel homesick without you.â
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader
Word count: 3k
Warnings: Just angst, heartbreak, hurt/comfort, happy ending though, yes I was listening to Lanaâs song while I wrote, sue me
summary: life seemed a little strange in westview, but bucky was all you needed to feel at home. unfortunately, your life with him was not all it appeared to be.
cw: contains spoilers for wandavision. based on this tiktok. fem!reader.
tw: angst? mentions of sexual intimacy, injury, panic attacks, and sickness.
âLove at first sight, eh?â James smiles, his arms wrapped around you as you both lay in bed, though he preferred you called him Bucky.
Whyâd you pick me? he had asked you a minute before. There were other people in town, other people you could have chosen to be with, but you chose him. The thought never really crossed your mind. When you had first met himâwell, itâs a bit foggy, but somehow you knew he was the one. You wanted to be with him, it was just instinctual. It was almost... too good to be true.
âYeah,â you murmur, nuzzling in closer to his warmth. A warmth you had grown used to, attached to; the stability in what felt like an unstable life. âLove at first sight.â
It was the quietest truth you believed, not because you were laying in his arms, but because it felt real. The world you lived in always seemed a bit plastic, manufactured. Some things were almost too convenient, but not Bucky. He was the only one who stood out. When time seemed to buzz around you, he was the one standing still.
You doze off quickly to the feel of his smiling lips pressed to your temple, then awake the next morning to an empty bed and the sound of the radio playing from the kitchen downstairs. Buckyâs hat from his days as a sergeant is hanging off the ear of one of the wooden chairs as you step into the room, smelling the eggs frying in the pan he had on the stove, the normal morning routine. He sways side to side to the rhythm of the song, a melody he had played more than once beforeâa memoir of his life during the war. He didnât talk about it much.
Bucky jumps a little when your arms wrap around his waist from behind, a chuckle leaving your lips as you press a soft kiss to his shoulder. âDid I startle you, Sergeant Barnes?â
His hand rubs up and down your arms around him, warm and solid, whilst the other continues to toss the eggs with a spatula. âYouâre a quiet one,â he smiles, turning slightly to kiss your forehead. âYouâd think Iâd be used to that by now.â
By now. Your eyebrows furrow as he keeps swaying, though you stay attached to him. âBucky...â he hums in reply, something far cheerier than how youâre feeling. Or rather, thinking. âHow long have we been together?â
âWhat?â he chuckles, flipping the eggs over and turning in your arms. âYou telling me you donât remember, doll? Itâs been a long time.â
âHow long?â
He mimics your expression as he pauses, that serious look on his face when he thinks too hard about something. Youâve come to know his expressions by now, but by now when? You never questioned him, not even once, but some things felt wrong. Your life felt wrong. It was the buzzing, the movement. Though he stood still, the world kept moving.
You speak his name when he remains silent, then he shakes his head and reaches over to turn the stove off and grab the glass bottle of milk on the counter, moving out of your arms, out of the warmth.
âI canât remember,â you tell him when he doesnât say a word. âWas it before the war? Itâs all foggy. I canât put my finger on it.â
âHow did I get back?â Bucky suddenly asks, but itâs a question more so to the air than to you. âI donât remember coming back. I just remember... snow.â
He never speaks about the war and youâve always respected that. It was probably too frightening to say aloud, but this is the first time heâs mentioned it so honestly. It shudders him, you can see it. His brows stay furrowed, harsh on his usual gentle features. You convince yourself that you can hear the question ticking against his brain, a noise to disrupt the ponderable silence.
Bucky looks down at his arm and gasps, something so sudden it takes you by surprise, dropping the glass bottle of milk and it shatters on the floor. Itâs enough to draw you out of your thoughts, your eyes scanning for all the scattered shards and noticing his bare feet. Yet you donât notice the way the music stops playing from the radio, as if on cue to the smash.
âDonât move until I can get that swept up.â itâs an urgent order, then you turn out of the kitchen.
But Bucky stares down at his arm that was holding the glass bottle, his left arm. âI thought I sawââ
âWhere did you put the broom?â comes your voice from the other room, interrupting Buckyâs question to himself.
He clears his throat once and seemingly forgets the vision of metal in replace of his skin. âThe broom closet.â
When you come hurrying back with a broom in hand, you notice something you hadnât before; the radio, which turns back on and continues its tune as soon as you step into the kitchen. You can feel the look Bucky sends you, though your eyes stay on the radio. No matter how strange, yet how normal it feels, you sweep up the glass and mutter to yourself: âNow I need another bottle.â
Itâs the first thing you leave the house to get after Bucky and you finish breakfast, though it was a little cold by the time you both sat down to eat it. You just reach the street at the end of the driveway when you see a familiar face, relief apparent in your voice as you call her name. She turns to look at you, her eyes squinted in a way that sheâs mulling over something in her head before she calls your name in reply.
âJust who I need to see,â you smile, giving her a brief hug. You always greet her this way, but it felt almost obligatory. âI donât even remember how it happened this morning, but James dropped our last bottle of milk. Would you have a spare?â
âOf course,â she smiles, then just like that, she hands you a fresh glass bottle of milk, seemingly out of thin air.
âWow, what a saint you are!â your cheeks feel pressed too tight when you smile. âDo you carry these wherever you go?â
âOh, you never know when you might need one.â
You swear you hear laughter after she speaks, something distant like it was behind you. Muffled. You try to shake it out of your ears. âThanks, Wanda. I donât know what I would do without you here.â
âââââââ ⯠âââââââ
âI thought this was supposed to be funny.â you say beside Bucky, who is sitting with you at the cinema and watching the screen with about as much excitement as you, which was zero.
He chuckles, turning to look at you and nuzzle his nose against your ear, making you laugh. The noise causes a couple sitting a row behind you, a little to your left, to shush you both. Bucky apologies to them with an overexaggerated mouth, which has you hitting his arm and grabbing another piece of popcorn from the bag held in the middle of you two, despite the look on his face.
âStop eating all the popcorn.â he whispers, diving a hand into the bag and scooping out a handful.
âHey!â you exclaim as quietly as possible, but it spurs Bucky on to throw what heâs collected of the popcorn at you.
It doesnât take long for the noise to get rowdy again and the couple shushes you even louder, but they neednât worry when the security guard makes his way to your row and asks you both to leave. He looks stocky, square shoulders, with a plump mustache above his lip. You have to pull Bucky away when he tries to tell the couple to have a good night in that silly voice of his, where he canât hold back the laughter that bubbles in his throat.
âYouâre such a child,â you tell him once outside, under the moonlit sky. The streets were empty, like they were nearly every night, unless there was an event. âI swear you havenât changed since the day I met you.â
âAnd I swear,â he starts, reaching out with his hand, holding you close to him. âYou still owe me a dance.â
His smile is so contagious, you reflect back as much giddiness that heâs exuding in your own smile. With a nod from you, Bucky holds you in his arms, hands placed in yours and on your back, as he sways you with him in the middle of the street, humming the song he played on the radio. It felt like that was only just yesterday, but it was much longer than that. Something told you it was in a different era. With Bucky, it almost felt like a different life.
âWas this how you were going to dance with me?â you ask him after a moment of content swaying. âThat night on our first date?â
He nods, so focused on you as if nothing else were real. âYou told me maybe next time, but I never got that dance.â
You smile at him, leaning forward to brush your nose against his. âAnd do you remember what happened next?â
You see his smile shine along his lips now, his eyes fluttering down to stare at yours. âYou asked if I were too scared to kiss you.â
Nodding, you hum at him. It was the clearest memory you have of him in your mind, and the earliest, seeing as the first meeting is still foggy. He had told you he wasnât scared at all, but you teased him by walking away before he had the chance. You didnât really think much of the date at first, seeing as he was this handsome sergeant who smiled at every girl he saw, and thought he mustnât have thought much of you either with the amount of dates you were sure he had already been on. But he had put a hand on your shoulder before you could get too far from him and when you turned around, he kissed you. It was like fireworks. Bucky had kissed you better than anyone else ever had, and you fell for him.
âWhat about now, Sergeant Barnes?â you whisper. âAre you too scared to kiss me now?â
âYou bet Iâm not.â he replies, the same he had the first time.
Then he leans forward and kisses you deeply, still swaying you in his arms like the music could still be heard from his lips.
âââââââ ⯠âââââââ
Buckyâs hair was longer when you woke up the next morning, and although for a moment it was strange, you accepted it pretty quickly. There was something so comforting about playing with his hair and youâre sure he agrees, especially when his lips curl up into a sleepy smile and he hums gently, slowly waking up. The reaction has you feeling that heâs always responded this way. When his eyes meet yours, youâre greeted with blue. Theyâre dazzling, swimmable. You feel as if you had only seen him in grey before. But now... now you see him in color.
âIt suits you,â you whisper, admiring him from where he lays.
He smiles, inching closer to wrap an arm around you. âGood morning to you as well.â he chuckles, pressing a warm kiss to the top of your head. âWhat suits me?â
âYour eyes, theyâre blue.â
âTheyâve always been blue.â
You know that. Deep down, you know that. It just seemedâno, it doesnât matter. You were probably just dreaming. Besides, you could look into them all day, that hasnât changed.
âYou okay?â he asks, brushing a hand along your cheek.
His touch is cold, a little colder than youâve felt him be before. Worried that you hogged up all the blankets, like you so often do, you put your hand on top of his and gaze down the moment you feel something hard, instead of the soft skin you were expecting.
âYour arm...â you almost gasp, but your body doesnât react like your eyes do.
âI know, I know. Iâll wrap it up during winter. It gets cold.â
Right. No, of course. Bucky has a metal arm. How did you forget that? Heâs always had the arm. Or at least, heâs always had it for as long as youâve known him for. How long was that, again? It seems longer, but shorter. Days. How many days?
His eyes stay on you, waiting for your answer to his prior question. âIâm hungry,â you say as casually as you can.
âWant me to make you some eggs?â he asks, and itâs so sweet that you feel guilty for ever questioning this life.
Nodding at him, he presses another kiss to the top of your head and then slides out from under the covers, shaking the mattress like a rocky wave, that you chuckle at the sudden movement. You join him downstairs after a moment, watching him flip the eggs in the pan over the stove, that normal morning routine settling you.
âCoffee?â you ask him, gently combing your fingers through his shoulder length hair.
He nods in reply and you grab the carton of milk from the counter, stilling the moment your fingers meet the cardboard. And you press them into it.
âWhatâs wrong?â Bucky asks. âIs the milk bad?â
âNo, no. Itâs justââ wasnât it a glass bottle? âI donât know. I mustâve slept bad.â
Buckyâs hands find your shoulders, gently rubbing into the skin. Itâs soothing for the time being, allowing the stress that was beginning to build up inside you slowly ebb away to the floor. Youâre completely forgetting about the milk when you feel his lips press onto your neck, causing you to chuckle.
âHow aboutââ he says between another kissââwe stay in bed all day?â
âThat doesnât sound very productive.â you smile, turning in his arms to gaze back into those deep, blue eyes of his. So colorful. So new.
âI can think of a few productive things we could do.â
âA few?â a raised eyebrow has Bucky biting down on his lip to suppress the huge grin thatâs poking against his cheeks. âWhat about breakfast?â
His hand reaches over to turn off the stove. âWe have a microwave.â
Since when?
âââââââ ⯠âââââââ
Sometimes it felt like the kitchen changed overnight. The once grey dĂŠcor had turned colorful a few days ago, vibrant with splashes of turquoise and oranges, a fruit basket on top of the fridge. Today it was less vibrant, but still colorful. The benches you remember being granite were now a dark oak, ceramic tile on top. You donât even want to open the fridge to check the milk. Somehow you know it would be different too.
Buckyâs hair was still long, but not styled like it had first been. You would poke fun at him for saying he cared more about his hair than yourself, but he always assured you that you came first, even though that Brylcreem hair cream was within armâs reach in the bathroom.
âYouâve got everything, doll?â his voice calls from the front door.
You stand still in the kitchen, the basket full of food and drinks hanging on your arm. âYou still calling me that, sergeant?â at least that hadnât changed.
His chuckle reaches you, despite the distance, knocking on the door you had closed whilst deep in thought, and youâre making your way over to him before you can think on the renovation for too long, his arm reaching for your farthest shoulder as he leads you outside. As per usual, there werenât many people around. It almost seemed a bit of a cheat that you and Bucky would walk the streets so often and so casually, like you both had a hall pass no one else could get their hands on. You never mentioned it, and neither did Bucky. It was better to just accept things instead of question them, like you always had. Youâve stopped voicing them. They always seem to rattle Bucky more than you.
For now, youâre letting the questions sit and wait for you at home. Youâre not going to pay them any mind, give them any thought, as you walk with Buckyâs arm wrapped around you over to the hilltop he had always wanted to sit on, just once, and watch the sunset. The plastic containers drum against the inside of the basket as you climb the hill with him, reaching the top when the sky begins to taint itself orange. Bucky lays the picnic blanket he was carrying down on the grass, helping you unpack the food and sit with you comfortably as you both eat in a peaceful silence, watching the sun lower slowly. It was beautiful. If your pondering worries were right, then this was the best thing created in this town, in this moment. Whether that were true or not, youâre thankful for the scenery and having the opportunity to enjoy it, with Bucky by your side.
Itâs when the pinks melt into the oranges, casting a simmering red, with half of the sun left peeking on the horizon do you let the silence go, rolling down the hill. âYou picked the perfect night for us to do this.â
âYeah?â Bucky asks, and you notice the way his thumb pushes into the palm of his hand. A nervous tick.
You turn to face him, offering him a kind smile that you hope will ease whatever has him fiddling on the spot. âYeah. Itâs beautiful, Buck.â
His smile twitches, but doesnât reach his eyes. âIâm glad. I wanted this to be perfect.â
âWhyâs that?â
âIâve got this question on my mind, for a while now.â heâs facing the sunset again, his fidgeting still there, tentatively. âIâve been asking it in my head over and over, but I was too scared to say anything.â
âA question?â was it perhaps the same as the ones you asked yourself, of this life? If it was, you donât want to scare him off, like you had been too scared to admit in days prior. Reaching over, you comb your fingers through his hair like you do, earning a blissful sigh that finally gives you a genuine smile on those love-stained lips of his.
âAbout our life here. What it means.â
So it was, then. He was also curious, also puzzled on what this really was, or how you even got here to begin with. Itâs more of a relief for you knowing that he feels the same way than if your hunch is right.
âThis town... thereâs more to it.â he continues. âMore that I want from it.â he faces the sunset again, now at its brightest just before itâll dip under the edge. âWe should get married here.â
Bucky feels it, the way you freeze, how your fingers pause in his hair, by the way he turns to look at you so suddenly as if you had yanked at the strands. He watches you with worried brows above those blue eyes that you love so much, the colors that would always outmatch the sunset, much more vibrant and lovely than anything you had ever seen.
âYou want to marry me?â it comes out in a whisper, so soft, on the precipice of becoming a sob if you let your heart sink into it deeper. âWhy?â
His chuckle grounds you, helps you not to float away with the happiness that rises like helium in your chest. âBecause I love you, since the day I met you and everyday thatâs passed after that, and for all the days still ahead of us.â
Itâs impossible, you tell yourself. Impossible that Bucky could love you, could want to marry you, could want to start a real life with you. Itâs impossible because youâre living an impossible life, youâre sure of it, but you donât even want to take one step into doubting if this right now is realâthis man who you love, who loves you back, wants to put a ring on your finger to match his, and to match his heart as well. You never want to think it anything other than real.
âBucky,â his name comes out teary, happy in surges like a tide. Your hands find his cheeks, softly, with a laugh that spills from your lips. âYes. Yes, please!â
His face lights up, standing out amongst the sky now turning dark, as he reaches forward and collides into you, knocking over a glass that spills a drink on the picnic blanket, but who could care in this moment? All you care about is Bucky with his warmth that seeps into you as he holds you against him, his face buried in your neck and making you laugh with the vibration of his voice against your skin. All you care about is that one day soon, youâre going to marry Bucky Barnes.
âââââââ ⯠âââââââ
The town was buzzing with life tonight, unlike most nights here. For once, you had knocks on your door and people to say hello to, other than the usual red-head that you would see on occasion. Bucky and yourself had gone shopping, filling plastic buckets in the shape of pumpkins to the brim with candy and chocolates. You had to swat at his hand every time he tried to steal one when you werenât looking, telling him that they were for the children and not a child like himself.
He looked adorable dressed up in his best version of Aragorn to match your Arwenâsomething he had insisted upon, seeing as he loved the books so much. His hair definitely was the right length for it. Besides, he looked at you way too happy for you to even suggest a different costume. Do you think we could have a wedding like theirs? he had asked you when you went to re-fill one of the buckets, and you had turned to him to speak a very polite and stern no.
From the days that passed since he asked for you to marry him, you stopped looking for holes in your life, things for you to question. When you went to pour yourself some milk, you didnât focus on how it was being stored. When Bucky would mention a memory from your past, you didnât ask him the details that you couldnât remember. You simply lived day to day with him, trying to push back your worries and your doubts, like a dam blocking a river stream, but you feel like youâre one stick away before itâll break and flood your daydream. If you donât pay attention to it, you try to convince yourself, then maybe it will go away.
Tonight was the perfect distraction. It was the one shred of normalcy outside of Bucky himself that you got, like a special privilege just for one night only; the whole town are celebrating, walking the streets, and talking to each other. You hadnât known there were so many children living here, not even hearing a school bell once. At first you had concluded you had quiet neighbors, but a whole town? No. No, stop it. Tonight youâre having fun with Bucky, your fiancĂŠ. No more questions. Theyâre off-limits for tonight, and if youâre lucky, youâll be able to keep them behind the dam for a long, long time.
Your hand was clasped with Buckyâs as you both walk down the street, a single plastic bucket full of sweets in your free hands, giving out as much as the children wanted when they asked for some. You had wanted to get out of the house, so the candy-giving has become a sort of meal-on-wheels kind of deal, but Bucky assured you that he liked this better than waiting by the door. It let you see the town lit up in spooky decorations and multi-colored lights, blending into all the costumes everyone wore. Not a single one of them looked handmade. They all looked bought, in good condition, no wrinkles as if they hadnât been worn once. Push the questions back, you remind yourself.
âTrick or Treat!â comes the excited call of one child, followed by three of his friends behind him, all wearing matching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costumes. He wore orange.
âCowabunga, dude!â Bucky laughs, forcing you to press your hand to your mouth to silent the hysteria that was about to come rattling out.
With your hand free from his, now scooping some candy up in them and handing it to the children, they see the shine of the metal.
âWoah!â they all collectively coo, stepping as close as possible to get a good look at it. âIs it real?â
Bucky shakes his head, smiling to himself at how interested they all are with their eyes fixated on nothing else. âItâs just a costume.â
Theyâre happier now to take the candy, thanking you both distractedly as theyâre already ripping the wrappers off to shove a few in their mouth and run back down the street from where they came. Buckyâs chuckle beside you causes you to look at him, linking your hand with his again, showing him that you donât mind the metal at all. You have grown used to it, anyway.
âWhyâd you tell them it was a costume?â you find yourself asking, now curious to the answer after itâs been asked.
âI donât need the whole town knowing thereâs some guy with a metal arm walking about.â
âThey didnât seem to mind.â
âFor tonight, because itâs okay to be scary, but what about tomorrow when itâs no longer just a Halloween trick?â
You shake your head, intertwining your fingers with his metal ones, and you can feel them tighten. âYouâre not scary, Buck.â
âIâll never know why you donât see me that way.â he mutters, pressing a kiss to your temple and ushering you with him further down the street to hand out more candy.
You were getting closer to the centre of town, somewhere you havenât been much despite the usual late-night strolls. It always felt off-limits, unless something festive was happening, like tonight, and like that time you had watched the magic show. Itâs too foggy a memory to recall the tricks specifically, but thereâs a heavy feeling in your chest at the thought of it. You brush it off, focusing back on the present, your eyes scanning over the assortment of haybales and pumpkins arranged in the middle, almost in a neat pile. Youâre too far to make out any facesânot that you would recognize them, anywayâbut a family in the middle stands out; two kids, two adults. Bucky seems to notice them too with the way you feel him stiffen, his hand tightening a bit too much for your comfort.
âBuckyââ
âTrick or Treat!â a tiny voice interrupts you, and you look down to see a young girl with a bag open and offering to you, but you see the tears streaming down her cheeks too, even with a smile on her face.
âAre you alright?â you ask, managing to slip your hand out of Buckyâs grip-tight hold, kneeling down to match her height.
âSome candy, please.â she says, but her lip is quivering too much that her voice comes out unsteady.
Before you can ask her another question, a crash from down the way almost about rattles the ground, and you look up in time to see a red glimmer dissipating in the air and the fake tombstones that are broken and crumbled on the ground, two legs belonging to a person just in sight.
âWanda,â you hear Bucky suddenly say, and when you look up at him heâs already got his eyes on you and opening his mouth to say your name.
âââââââ ⯠âââââââ
âWhat?â you ask, eyes on blue ones, waiting.
His creased brows ease, returning his face back to neutral, a little head shake being the only indicator that he heard you.
âWhat?â he shrugs.
âYou said my name.â
âNo, I didnât.â
âYes, you did. Just then.â
He scratches a finger on his jaw, squinting his eyes only slightly. âI donât think so. Are you sure?â
âYes!â itâs frustrated now, burning out of your mouth brashly. âYou said my name just asââ just as what? What even happened? Why are you back in the kitchen? You couldâve sworn you were outside. âI canât remember.â
âAre you feeling okay?â Bucky steps over to you, his hands outstretched to hold your shoulders, thumbs rubbing gently to calm down whatever spiked your emotions.
You can see images, moments of the past in spots, like a Pollock painting in your mind. Moments of candy, of the night, of a red glow that seems so hauntingly familiar, but a piercing ache wipes the slate clean. âMy head,â you clutch ahold of it, shutting your eyes tightly when thinking back on what you saw becomes too painful.
âYou need to lie down.â
Bucky only moves you a fraction before youâre shaking your head. âNo, I need...â itâs changed again, the town, the house, the kitchen. Since when did you have an electric mixer? Who put the cereal box on the counter? âMilk.â
âYou need milk?â Bucky asks, his eyes curiously set on you and confused just as much.
âYes. I want milk.â youâre out of his arms even though he was ready to get it for you, rushing over to the fridge and swinging it open to see the plastic milk container with a handle, hooking it with your fingers and holding it up for Bucky to see. âWhy is it like this?â
âWhat do you mean?â
âThe milk! Itâs changed. It always changes!â
The pain thunders against your scalp again and youâre knocking backward into the dining table, hands back to the sore spot, the milk container now discarded on the floor with the lid twisted open and milk spreading along the tiles. Bucky rushes to your side, his knees pressed down and pants beginning to soak. His hands are placed on either side of your face, tilting upward for you to look him in the eyes.
âI canât remember.â you say weakly, feeling hot tears you hadnât realized were there now running down your cheeks. Buckyâs fingers brush them away, soothing you with a hush and pulling you into his chest to wrap his arms around you. âI canât remember anything but you.â
âItâs okay,â he says, rubbing his hands against your back. âTake a deep breath. Itâs okay.â
His nose nuzzles above your ear while he speaks comforting words, helping you to calm down from what you can only assume was a miniature panic attack. The reason behind it is lost to you, spilt on the floor like the milk, waiting to curdle with the question. Itâs as sickening as the scent, but you take deep breaths like he had told you to, gripping onto his shirt and wishing to forget. Rid the questions, rid the pain, just keep Bucky. Heâs standing still, the world is buzzing, his warmth is a comfort amongst the instability. Remember that. Remember. Forget.
âIâll cook you some eggs.â he says, muffled with how tightly youâre both wrapped around each other.
You nod silently, still holding onto his shirt when he pulls back from you, showing him a trying smile when he wipes the rest of the tears away. He asks you again if youâre okay and you nod more firmly this time, already forgetting why you had gotten so mad in the first place. The feeling of his lips against your forehead settles you back to the moment, and youâre apologizing as you look over the mess on the kitchen floor.
âNo use crying over spilt milk.â he says, earning a breathless chuckle from you as he helps you to stand, then telling you to go have a shower while he cleans everything.
When youâre washed and calmer from the heat of the water, youâre padding back into the kitchen with a comfy bath robe over your clothes that you didnât know you even owned, smelling the eggs Bucky is cooking, and arriving just as heâs scooping them from the pan onto the plate. When he notices you from the corner of his eye, he smiles brightly at you, making you wrinkle your nose in a smile as a reply and sit down on the chair he pulls out for you, him sitting next to you a moment later.
He doesnât say a word, merely lets you sit beside him and eat in silence, giving you time to catch your breath from the events of the morning. Youâre thankful for it, how heâs so understanding and loving. Again, he seems too good to be true.
When youâre finished your eggs, youâre intertwining your fingers with his and resting your chin on his shoulder. It feels familiar. âWhat colors are we gonna have?â
âWhat?â he questions with a chuckle, looking at you as best he can.
âFor our wedding, what colors?â
âHow about red?â
âRed?â youâre smiling widely, sitting up. âWhat kind of red?â
âSomething dark, like a burgundy.â
âBurgundy red, huh? I guess I can make an exception.â when you reach for his hair, content to run your fingers through those long strands, youâre met with nothing. Your hand goes past air and you notice that his hair is shorter, like from the start. Or as far back as you can remember.
No questions. Itâs unsettling, but itâs normal. It has to be. You want this life to be normal, more than anything youâve ever wished for before, even if that means lying to yourself in order to believe it. You love him. Youâre going to marry him. Things will be okay because you have each other. This is your life, your real life, and itâs shared withâ
Him. The man sitting beside you, with your fingers locked with his, is a stranger. Itâs like a veil lifts from your face, showing you the reality, and a cruel one at that; you donât know this man. His face speaks of the same realization as you, the two of you slowly pulling away from each other and taking in your surroundings. Then, just as quick as you notice the change, the dam breaks. Now youâre flooded with the answers to your questions, and youâre frightened that the weight is going to drown you.
âItâs fake,â you whisper, the strength of the truth knocking the voice out of you until youâre swallowing a lump in your throat, like an air bubble under water. âIt was all fake.â
His faceâBucky, you remember the name Buckyâpinches in itself, turning stern, nothing of the warmth that you had been made to believe. He looks at you with cold eyes, not the deep blue ones you remember getting lost in so often. It makes you sick to your stomach thinking back on mornings laid beside him, skin and hands you grew to know. You stare at him a moment more until itâs too much, and youâre stumbling out of the chair and running for the door, breaking out of the prison you were forced into. The relationship that wasnât willing, theâoh gosh, the marriage. You were going to marry him!
Everything becomes too much, swirling around your head like the buzzing you likened to the town, thundering down so harshly on your shoulders that youâre knocked down to your knees, hands flat on the concrete and scraped, but the pain means nothing compared to what youâve discovered, now retching the eggs from breakfast onto the front lawn. Tears prickle your eyes as you suck a rigid breath in, steadying yourself as you grip onto the grass. As soon as you feel hands on your shoulders, youâre scampering to the side and out of the hold that belongs to Bucky.
Heâs crouched on the driveway, right beside where you had been, his hands still outstretched in the air like your shoulders were still under them, a wide and apologetic look in his eye. His face looks softer, not like the cold front you were met with the moment whatever sick spell Wanda had you under was broken. For a second, you see the Bucky you knew in your fake life. The Bucky you had loved.
âThis is so messed up.â you breathe out, bringing your hands up to hold onto your head but noticing the cuts from the concrete before they can make it there.
âLet me help with that.â he says, a voice so familiar and yet so chilling at the same time.
Heâs trying, you can see that. Itâs not just in the way heâs looking at you, like a lost puppy looking for their owner, but the way his voice is steady, gentle. Still trying to be a lover to you, even though you both know the truth. The effort is reassuring enough, after all, you did know him. Maybe not this Bucky, not the real him, but the Bucky who danced with you in the street and took you to the hilltop to watch the sunset. That Bucky was what brought you to nodding your head, letting him help you up and back inside the house. Your house. You had forgotten, you bought this house with your own money, with the intention to start a new life here. How ironic.
You take it all in when he leads you back into the kitchen, sitting you down and fetching the first-aid kit from under the sink. He moves effortlessly around the room, grabbing a fresh tea towel from the drawer and mindlessly placing a cup back into the cupboard over the stove, before sitting down beside you.
âYou know your way around.â you comment, voice still a bit rough, watching as he takes out the antiseptic and bandages.
He looks up at you like a deer caught in headlights, a faint dusting of pink growing on his cheeks. âIâve gotten used to it. This place is...?â
You know what heâs asking. âYeah, my house. Thatâs probably why I noticed the changes more than you.â
It looks like heâs going to say something, but changes his mind. Opening the bottle of antiseptic, he asks for your hands, laying the tea towel on his knees under them, counting you down before pouring it over the cuts. You hiss, watching it drip onto the tea towel, feeling the sting burning into your blood, but also feeling Buckyâs thumb rubbing against the back of your hand, soothing you as best he can as he cleans the cuts. When heâs done with that, heâs ripping the bandages open and placing them delicately on your skin, wrapping it around snuggly and tying it off.
âThank you.â you cut your sentence short of his name, not sure how it would feel in your mouth now.
Bucky nods, packing the first-aid kit up, folding the tea towel, no longer looking at you. He used to seek out your eyes, hold their gaze because he would be so lost in them, or simply to show you that he cared, but heâs avoiding them now at all costs. Heâs paid his due, youâre thinking, and now itâs over. As it should be.
âSo,â breaking the silence, your voice firmer. Why you want to keep talking to him, to keep him here longer, is beyond you. âWanda messed with our feelings. They werenât real. Right?â
He nods again, this time accompanied by a curt hum. You want more, you want him to talk to you. Strangers you are, thatâs for sure, but he doesnât need to treat you like one, like he hasnât kissed you breathless more than once before. How could you just forget that? It happens before you can stop yourself, your foot knocking into his to tell him, hey, say something! He blinks at you and you can see the cogs turning. You hate how you can read him.
âLooks like we can cancel the wedding.â
Out of all the things he could have said, he chose that? Thereâs no hope for this now, whatever this is. You gave it a shot, thatâs the least you can say. You tried. Maybe if he fought a bit, said no, my feelings for you are real, then maybe you would be prepared to let him stick around, give him the couch to sleep on, and see where things go from there. Any spark of that happening is long gone.
Shifting awkwardly in your chair, you look to the side. âYeah, I guess so. Good thing we didnât buy anything red.â
âBurgundy red.â he agrees, pressing his thumb into his palm. Thatâs one thing you know is real, his nervous tick. âIâm sorry.â
âI wasnât ready to get married.â
âRight,â he clears his throat. âBut for everything, I mean. Iâm sorry.â
A nervous tick of yours starts up, fiddling with your hands, drawing a finger down the bandages. âYou didnât know.â
The guilt is clear on his face, his jaw set in a way you havenât seen before. Heâs had no reason to look that way until now.
âWhat happens now?â you ask. âSurely others have realized. Can we...?â
Thereâs his eyes, looking at you with raised brows, prompting you to continue your sentence. But you stay silent, so he finishes it for you. âCan we leave?â he nods. âYou mean me.â
âBucky,â itâs the first time youâve said his name outside of the illusion, feeling heavy on your tongue. Your fingers touch his knee, quietly asking him to stay. Why? Because, you realize, fake or not, you need him.
He stands abruptly before you can say anything else, chair pushed back, moving away from your touch like it burned him. Heâs on the other side of the kitchen in seconds, running a hand through his short hair. Itâs now that you notice his left arm, the metal arm, is covered with a glove.
âLook, we donât need anything from each other. Weâre strangers. What happened wasnât real.â his words cut you deep, though you know the truth of it already. Theyâre acid in your veins. He pauses a moment, not meeting your eyes, before setting his mind on the very next words he speaks. âIâll see whatâs going on, then Iâll leave. You wonât ever see me again. I promise.â
âWait,â the urgency fizzles in the air when Bucky is already sprinting to the front door, halfway down the driveway when you make it there after him. âBucky!â
He doesnât turn around, doesnât stop to let you speak. Heâs down the street, too far for your voice to reach him, and it shatters you that he did that to you; he just walked out of your life as if you hadnât spent more than one with each other already, as if you hadnât planned for more. And what did he leave you with? Consolation? A mutual decision? No. He didnât even include you in it. All Bucky has left you with is an empty house, filled with ghosts of him.
You could cast them out with how loudly you scream once youâre back inside, standing with a view to the kitchen thatâs too big for one person anymore. Thereâs nowhere you can step that he hasnât been. The house wasnât just yours anymore, it was his as well. The only thing you managed to have that you wanted for yourself, a real want, was a life in between these walls. You moved here for it and you got it, but now itâs gone. It ran away with Bucky down the street. How could he do that to you? If he happens to come back, to let you know what he finds out, then youâre going to wring his neck the moment he steps through that door.
Yet, the anger subsides as soon as you hear the door open later in the day, having been sitting on the couch, biting your nails, and waiting for an answer, either from him or Wanda, or somebody. Youâre meeting him in the hall, his boots skidding on the floor when he sees your face, stopping like he was surprised you were still here. As if you would be anywhere else. You wait for him, watching as he blinks at you, giving him time to gather himself. He takes one step forward, then stops. You wait. He takes another step.
âSheâs letting everyone go.â he starts, and you can feel that this is building up to something. âThe town. Sheâs leaving.â
âAre you leaving too?â the question jabs him, just forcibly enough that you see his face react.
âYeah, Iâm leaving too.â
You were worried he was going to say that. The honesty pricks you, hearing it so blunt like that, already feeling the tears building up again, but youâre fighting them not to fall.
âYou can go back to your normal life, just like everyone else. Things will go back to how they used to be.â thatâs not what you want, though. He swallows thickly, adverting your gaze for a moment. âI was never a part of that life. Thereâs no room for me here anymore.â
Yes, there is! You want to scream it at him. He lived here with you, he loved you. Of course thereâs room for him. But itâs what he says next that settles his decision deep into your chest, like a knife. âI have my own life to get back to.â without you, youâre sure he was going to add.
âWell,â itâs quick, forcing away the sadness, as you step forward and offer your hand. âGoodbye, then.â
Itâs silent as he stands there, but he doesnât keep you waiting, no matter if it seemingly knocked him back a few ranks, shaking your hand with his right one; the hand that had traced patterns on your arm, that held your cheeks, that led you through midnight dances when neither of you could sleep. Now itâs just skin.
âWill I remember?â you ask, hoping for one good thing.
âYeah,â he nods. âWe all will.â
Somehow you donât know if that is good or not, but you try to make it work. âIâm going to find the song.â
The change in topic obviously confuses him. âWhat?â
âThe song you would play on the radio, the one we danced to. I want to listen to it again.â he watches, waits, thinks on what you said, and there comes the damn tears again. âIt wasnât all bad.â you whisper.
Finally, heâs stepping toward you, shaking his head. âNo,â his hands place on your cheeks, so familiar, so perfectly fit to be there. âIt was good.â
Youâre nodding with him, smiling through the few tears that fall, leaning into his hand when his fingers brush them away. So gentle. Heâs always been gentle with you. Youâll remember that most of all, amongst the laughter, the kisses, the touches. Bucky isnât a stranger, heâs the man you love. Even with this life on the tether of collapse, ready to crumble into dust, you fear that youâll always love him.
Thereâs a light coming from outside, you can see it nearing the house through the window, but your eyes stay on him. You see the way his jaw clenches, knowing that itâs coming too. You donât have to ask, you already know itâs whatever was keeping this place caged, now inching itâs way to let you go. Itâll let Bucky go, too.
âI need you to know,â he says, getting closer still. Your hands go to the base of his neck, fingers playing with what hair you can reach, wanting to feel them one last time. âYouâre the best thing thatâs ever happened to me.â
âAnd you for me.â you tell him, truthfully. âIt was love at first sight.â
There comes his smile, the one that brightens the room. It pushes past the tears heâs crying too, creasing his face in one last picture that you will always carry with you, a memory you want to frame on the wall because itâs honest.
âRight?â you ask, knowing it for yourself but needing to hear his voice affirm it before the light can reach you both and take him away from you for good.
His eyes flicker down to your mouth, but he presses his forehead against yours, knowing the boundary. âYeah,â he whispers, a final brush of his finger against your cheek to assure you that it was real; all of it, and all of him. âLove at first sight.â
language of flowers (Florist!Bucky x Reader) one-shot
Title: language of flowers (Florist!Bucky) (AO3 Link) part of the âBucky Barnes AsâŚâ series
Pairing: Florist!Bucky x Reader
Rating: General Audience, 1K
Tags/Warnings: PURE FLUFF AND NOTHING ELSE
Summary/Authorâs Notes: Just a short, sweet treat, so you're not all going to die when I post the next ones in this series because they're all smutty as hell LOL
SERIES: Professor (nswf) | Gym Trainer (nsfw)
The last thing you expected when you walked into the flower shop was to see a lumbering tower of a man behind the counter. His brows were furrowed as he stared down at something on his desk, making him look disgruntled.
The door had been propped open so as you stepped inside, he didnât immediately look up. You felt bad for interrupting, but you were on your way to work, where your best friend would be returning for her first day back since being in the hospital. You decided to take a look around first, to see if maybe you could get inspired.
âHi, can I help you with anything?â A manâs voice startles you as you stare at the endless colours in the shop.
âOh, um, hi! I didnât want to bother you, so I started peeking around,â you smile. The man was definitely taller than you by a long shot, with broad shoulders and his hair tied back in a messy bun. His eyes were gorgeous now that you could see them, and he looked quite serene when his face wasnât screwed up in concentration.
âYear end,â he explains. âMath makes me angry.â You laughed out loud and his abruptness, and before you could feel bad, he smiled back.
âMath makes me angry too, because Iâm an accountant,â you offer.
âOh God, math everyday? Youâre looking for black roses, then.â You tilt your head, curious.
âBlack roses?â
âThey stand for sorrow and despair,â he tells you. âAmong other things, but I think itâs fitting for your suffering.â You canât help but laugh.
âWell lucky for me, Iâm not here to buy sorrow flowers for myself! My friendâs first day back to work is today. What flowers would best say âHappy first day back from breaking your leg, donât do it again, you idiotâ or, you know, something along those lines.â
His eyes shine and crinkle when he laughs, and itâs a beautiful sound.
âUnfortunately, thereâs no flower that just carries the meaning of âyou idiot â, otherwise Iâd fill my best friendâs apartment with them daily. But, we can go with daffodils? They symbolize hope or rebirth, but most people use them as a sign of resilience. Theyâre strong little guys that survive long winter storms, you know? We can throw in some heathers and baptisia, which stand for protection. Donât want them breaking their leg again, and all. The purple will look nice with the white and yellow.â
âThat sounds great!â You agree automatically, in awe of his expertise and how easily he tells you these facts that you never knew. âSo, every flower has a meaning behind it?â He smiles at you and nods.
âFlowers are a language all on their own,â he states as he gathers the flowers needed for your bouquet. It comes together in his hands so easily that you canât help but watch. For such large hands, they move delicately with practiced ease.
âHow did you get to learning all this?â You ask curiously.
âMy best friend? The idiot that I mentioned? His mother was a florist. I helped around her shop since he was allergic to just about everything, and he had asthma. I didnât mind, she was basically my mother too.â
âThatâs so sweet!â
âSarah Rogers was one hell of a woman,â he agrees. You pick up on the was part - and also pick up on the fact that her name was the same as the sign outside. Obviously not a coincidence.
âIâm sorry,â you respond, but he shook his head, a few loose strands of his hair dancing in his face.
âSheâd been sick for a while, but she always seemed more alive in her shop. When she passed⌠Well, it was devastating, but we wanted to carry on her dream, so here I am.â
âThatâs really incredible.â He smiles at you before ringing you up, handing you the beautiful arrangement. âThank you so much, this is perfect.â
âMy pleasure. Hope to see you around,â he salutes before going back to his finances.
The next day, you get a surprise on your desk - looking around, it seems youâre the only one with a small box on your desk. In a neat, wooden square with a purple ribbon, are a few beautiful white flowers. Thankfully, thereâs a note:
Calla Lilies - Magnificence & Beauty
Itâs not signed, but you have a pretty good idea who sent them - and that made you giddy. Unfortunately, the shop was closed before you could get off work, but you vowed to stop in tomorrow.
The next day at work, thereâs a tall, slender vase with two bright sunflowers on your desk.
Sunflowers - Adoration
You make it a point to rush over after work, and wait for him to finish up with the other customers before talking to him. He looks just as relaxed and confident as he did last time, his easy smile and kind eyes pulling you toward him.
âHi again,â you greet him, watching in delight as his face lights up.
âHi again,â he mirrors.
âHow did you find me?â You ask him. His cheeks pink as he rubs the back of his neck, and you watch the flex of his arm, the strip of skin that shows above his jeans when his shirt rises.
âNot too many accounting firms nearby and, uh, only one [y/n] at them.â
âMy credit card?â
âYour credit card," he confirms. "Sorry, if that's, uh, a bit strong. I didnât mean anything by it, just thought you could use some flowers in the office and all, itâs - I -â
âThank you,â you interrupt, with a big smile. âThey were beautiful.â
âYeah?â His eyes light up again before he asks with a wink, âdoes that mean I can keep sending them?â
âActually, I have something for you this time,â you bite your lip nervously. âSince, you know, flowers have their language and all.â He looks amused as you reach into your pocket and hand him a perfectly folded origami rose, ruby red. His eyes widen slightly as he takes the delicate paper in his large hands and beams at it, like itâs the best thing heâs ever been given.
âSo⌠Does this mean I get to take you to dinner?â
âHowâs right now?â You shrug. He grabs his jacket, and your hand, in haste, switching the OPEN sign to CLOSED as an answer.
Authorâs Note: I was looking through the kiss prompt list I reblogged a while back and found this- One person tracing the otherâs lips with a fingertip until they canât resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss- and instantly thought of biker!bucky, which Iâve never done before, so I hope Iâve done justice cause goddAMN. Let me know what yall think! xox
warnings: roommate!bucky; alcohol; swearing; ANGST; injuries; use of she/her pronouns; allusions to sex; i think thatâs it?
a/n: i worked so hard on this i will actually cry if this flops-
also i was listening to that way and traitor while writing this so do what you will with that information i guess
dedicated to @buckyshairography âfor being literally my favorite person on here and also for letting me use the name Diana. youâre an angel and iâm so thankful for you every day.
Pretending to love Bucky was easy.
The hand-holding, the soft brush of his lips on your forehead. His arm around your waist, pressing you closer to his chest. Watching the football game with the warmth of his weight next to you, Steve and Sam slumped on the armchairs that sat on the hardwood floor of your living room.
Pretending to love Bucky was easy. Pretending not to love him was harder.
Summary: It's not often someone challenges your place as Steve's queen but they only make that mistake once. And Steve knows better than to let anyone think they can take your place.
Pairing: Beefy Biker!Steve Rogers x Reader
Word Count: 2.5K
Warnings: Smut, minors DNI, 18+only, possessive behavior (Steve and reader), exhibitionism, mild implied violence (not towards reader) pussy slapping, choking, belly bulge, size kink, power kink, mirror sex, praise kink.
A/N: This got away from me. Still calling it a sinday drabble. Don't copy, repost, rewrite or translate my work. I love comments, likes and reblogs. Beta'd by the amazing @wakingbeauty but all mistakes are my own.
Biker Masterlist
There are perks to being Steve's queen. The town fears him and respects you. You haven't had to open a car door or carry anything heavier than a loaf of bread since you started dating him.
And you get to ride him whenever you want.
So many perks.
The only downside is the parties you have to attend whenever they come home from a run or have an event to celebrate.
Youâre bored, waiting for the latest clubhouse party to die down so you can go home. The things you put up with for your man.
Thick clouds of smoke linger in the air mingling with the fragrant scents of barbeque, music blasting from somewhere in the corner. The sharp clatter of pool balls and cue sticks ring out under the loud raucous conversations filling the room.
Steveâs across the room, lounging in one of the tall armchairs. He's a masculine display of power and strength as he surveys the room. His long legs splayed open, his ringed covered fingers tapping the side of his beer as he listens to Bucky and Torres argue over who won some stupid bet last week.
You nurse your own beer, cringing at the taste of the now warm alcohol, wondering if you have the energy to get up and find a fresh cold one. You glance over at the fridge behind the bar and decide you don't.
Instead, you lazily watch a few girls dance in the middle of the room, they're practically crawling over each other to get someone's attention. You almost roll your eyes at their antics wavering between finding it cute and desperate. Every party, they show up trying to snag a biker for themselves, wanting that patch on their jackets, like the one youâre wearing, that symbolizes that they belong to one of the guys.
They never bothered you until now. You donât care if they run through every guy in the club trying to snag one of them as their own as long as they stay away from Steve. Because everyone knows that Steve Rogers is off-limits.
The club president is your man. And no one touches your man. Except for the redheaded chick, Maddie, Macie, something you honestly donât give a fuck what her name is, currently running her cheap press on nails down your manâs chest. She knows better, they all do.
You canât hear him over the loud thump of the music, but you see his plump lips form a firm no as he pushes her hand away. Thatâs right, baby. You settle back in your chair, a smug grin creeping across your lips.
It quickly falls away when she presses both hands to his chest, her lips going to his ear as she pushes her tits into his face. Steve shakes his head, pulling away, but she follows his movements, almost in his lap at this point.
No. One. Touches. Your. Man. The thought ticks off in your brain as rage clouds your vision.
You toss your beer over her head, the dark green glass exploding when it hits the wall. The music cuts off sharply, leaving the room in rapt silence.
All eyes on you as you stand up.
The slow click of your heels resounding in the thick silence as you saunter to your biker, hips swaying with each step. Steve chuckles under his breath, his eyes bouncing between you and Mia. Torres scoots back while Bucky discreetly pulls out his phone, hitting record.
You stop in front of her and shrug off your jacket. She cocks her head back and with an audacity that part of you canât help but admire, smiles up at you. âLook, honey-â
A darkly amused giggle falls from your lips as you wind her greasy hair around your fist so quickly her words cut off in a startled gasp.
âDo not speak to my man.â Yanking her back, she flies off his lap and lands in a pile of limbs at your feet, you bend your elbow, keeping her neck at an awkward angle. âDo not touch my man,â you snarl, snapping her head back. She struggles to get up, her arms swinging wildly. You twist your wrist, tightening your grip on her stringy hair. âDo not look at my man.â Raising your fist, you pause when you hear your name.
Tilting your head at Steve, you narrow your gaze at him. âRogers,â you spit between your clenched teeth. He puts his hands up, the deep-seated pride shimmering in his smokey blue eyes sending a jolt straight to your clit.
âDarlinâ,â he starts, leaning forward, placing his elbows on his knees. âShe was being friendly-â
You know exactly whatâs heâs doing, the smug bastard. His eyebrow quirking as he tamps down his grin.
You scoff, pulling harder on her hair. âDid I say you could speak?â
Steve leans back, both brows lift in astonishment. Only you dare to talk to him like that, the sheer disrespect in your tone takes him off guard. Thereâs a reason he made you his queen. He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, fuck he likes when you get aggressive.
Bucky snorts, his laugh spluttering to a fake cough when you glare at him. Turning your attention back to Steve. âIâm going to deal with you in a minute,â you promise. Steve lets out a shuddery breath, mumbling yes, you will.
You lean over the simpering woman and slowly whisper in her ear everything youâll do to her if she even breathes in his direction again, her eyes slowly widening with each blatant threat, by the time you get to all the ways youâre going to maim her, sheâs trembling in your grasp. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Steve palming his crotch as he listens to you.
Dropping her on the ground, you wait until she scampers away before standing between Steveâs legs. You grab the collar of his jacket, balling the leather in your fist, pulling him upward until his lips are below yours. âYouâre mine Rogers.â
Steve was hard the second you threw the bottle across the room, his dick twitching as it breezed by his head close enough to ruffle his hair. But this display of possessiveness has him about to cum in his pants. âAll yours darlinâ,â he swears, his large hands gripping your waist.
âThen prove it,â you retort, biting down on his bottom lip, watching his pupils dilate as your teeth sink into his skin.
Shoving him back into his seat, you stroll away. âYou better hurry before I find a man who doesnât forget his place, be a shame to have to break a new one in.â A litany of oohs and you better get her follows you out of the room.
Your heart skips a beat when you hear the heavy thud of his boots behind you. You can feel the lust-tinged anger rolling off him with each loud stomp, getting closer and closer to you. He's hunting you down. You feel his breath on your neck and you shiver when he growls your name. A confident smirk curls your lips up when his hand wraps around your waist and youâre shoved into the bathroom.
âAnd where is my place, Darlin?ââ Steve challenges. You take a step back, placing your hands on your hips. The door slams shut as he glares down at you with a withering look that would have grown men flinching.
He may be 6â4â of pure tatted muscle, carved like a Greek statue with hands that can rip a manâs throat out, but youâve never let him intimidate you before and youâre not about to start today.
âYour place-â you start, ripping open his jacket, pulling at his shirt until he yanks it over his head, you place your hands on his warm, solid pecs and shove him into the wall with a loud thud. You scrape your nails down his abs. â-is in me.â
Thereâs a pause.
All you hear is his slow, even breathing as the sounds of the party fade away. His dark gaze scours over your body, the heat in his blue eyes sears your skin.
Steve grabs the nape of your neck and tugs it back, his lips attaching to the skin below your ear, sucking a deep bruise on your throat. He walks you back to the sink, the edge of the marble biting into your ass as he leaves more wet bruises on your skin. He pulls away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Steve lowers himself to the ground, kneeling before you. The look in his eyes has your heart hammering in your chest. Without saying a word he lets you know how much you mean to him, how gorgeous you are. Gazing up at you, he hooks his thumbs into the band of your shorts and pulls them down over your legs. Your panties following, tossed on the tiled floor.
âDamn you have a pretty pussy, swear she was made just for my cock,â he mutters reverently as he slides a finger through your soft, drenched folds, his cold ring on your heated flesh making you shiver.
Steve spins you around, the unexpected movement has you squealing as you try to balance yourself. Your hands clutch the end of the counter, he slides his hands up and down your calves before grabbing your heel. He lifts your leg up as he rises, pushing it on the counter. Itâs obscene the way he has you opened up before him. You feel more slick drip out of you at the sound of his belt clanking and his jeans falling to his feet with a soft rustle.
The only warning you get is when he winks at you in the mirror seconds before he slams into your pussy with one smooth thrust, the sharp sting as he stretches your walls with his thick veiny cock is breathtaking.
Your hands hit the mirror as you keen, god you love that first thrust, youâll never get used to it. He slowly drags his cock out of you, making sure you feel each inch until only his swollen tip is resting in your aching core. âWhy donât you remind me where I belong,â he smirks.
Your eyes flicker up to his, and you match his expression. This is your cock, every last inch of it belongs to you.
You push back on his thick length, making him grunt out a low fuck Darlin, thatâs it. You flatten your hands on the mirror, bracing yourself as you fuck yourself on his cock, heady sensations swirling in you. The door slips open and you meet a set of familiar eyes. The nerve of this bitch. You donât stop, let her see what sheâll never have you think.
Steve glances over, sneering at Mia. âIs this mine?â he grunts, his voice deepening to a near growl. He slaps your pussy, making you cry out over the wet sticky sound filling the room, your mouth going slack as pleasure sparks through you.
Youâre taking too long to answer, his impatience bleeding through as he strikes your swollen bud with his palm. He wants you and her to know that your pussy is the only one he wants to stretch out.
âIs. It. Mine.?â he demands, three more sharp slaps to your clit has you screaming out yesyesyes Steve fuck yes. You donât even know what youâre saying yes to, you only know that youâll give him whatever he wants if he keeps fucking you like this.
She squeaks when he smacks you again, pulling you against his chest, he slaps his slick coated hand on your belly, smearing your juices across your skin as his long fingers push into you.
âDo I belong in here?" His lips move over the shell of your ear. Oh fuck, oh fuck fuck fuck yes-
âSo deep in your tight little cunt, fuck I can feel me right here.â He angles his hips up, going deeper inside you, the head of his cock stroking your soft spongy spot so good you wail, hitting your fist on the glass. âYou feel me, Darlin?â
âGod yes I can feel you, I feel you, Steve,â you chant, almost whimpering, you feel yourself losing control, god itâs good, your hand sliding down the mirror, leaving streaks as you brace yourself.
Thereâs just one thing you have to do before you can succumb to the pleasure cresting inside you.
You lock eyes with the redhead, mouthing âmine bitchâ as you clench down on Steveâs cock, his pace faltering as you grip his length with your drenched velvety walls. You feel him throb inside you and you clench down again, harder this time until Steve struggles to pull out of your pussy.
Heâs using all his willpower to not cum inside you, pleasure wrapping around his cock as you circle your hips. He tilts his head to the side, baring his teeth as he grunts your name. Damn, you feel powerful knowing you can make him feral and needy for you. You smirk at her, the jealousy in her eyes making you grind harder.
âFuck, youâre tight,â he groans, his hands moving to your hips. âCanât believe she thought I was going to risk your perfect tight pussy for some random bitch.â You preen at his praise, smiling brightly at her. âYour pretty pussy doing so good for me, making me feel so good.â
âBest. Pussy. I-fuckâ Steve snaps into you so hard your elbows buckle and your face almost hits the glass. Neither of you notices the door clicking shut. Sensation after sensation pulsing through you in heady waves, his face becoming flushed with each deep thrust. His cock pistons in and out of you, vulgar wet sucking sounds of your cunt resonating in the room.
You drop your head down, crying out as the pleasure surges in your belly, the knot unraveling as your walls flutter around him. âOh, no you donât,â he chides, his fingers wrapping around your throat, he drags your head back. âYou look at me when you cum on my cock, wanna see your face when you make a mess of my cock. â
His filthy praise has you dripping around him. âSteve,â you mewl, you grab his wrist, digging your nails into his tatted skin. âPlease, Iâm gonna-â
He applies pressure to your throat, his rings pressing into your skin. His deep blue eyes capture your glossy ones in the reflection, he drops his head to your shoulder, nipping your skin. âGo on, cum for me wanna feel you cum, pretty girl, go on Darlinââ he encourages, his fingers rolling your clit as you clamp down.
âThere ya go,â he half laughs, half groans in your ear. âThatâs it, cum for me.â
Itâs as if heâs speaking right to your pussy, ripping the knot apart with his next thrust. And you sob his name. Pleasure pulsing through in waves as he fucks you harder and deeper, lifting your leg off the counter to bury himself in your cunt.
Fuckfuckfuck, you rasp out as he hits every sweet spot inside you. Sultry white-hot pleasure burns through as you fall apart, your slick dripping down his cock as your walls spasm. Your orgasm spiraling higher and higher through your body until you feel it in your fingertips, sensations curling down your spine, your back arching painfully as his strokes become erratic.
You slump down, breathing heavily through your mouth, his arm winding around your stomach to keep you from hitting the floor. âThatâs my girl,â he sighs, pressing a kiss on your skin.
He takes your chin in his fingers, turning your face up, his soft lips brushing over yours. âBut you know I have to punish you for disrespecting me in front of my men, right?â His hard cock twitching inside your sensitive pussy as he repeats himself. "Right?"
Blinking slowly you ponder his words. Sounds like you need to remind him why youâre his queen.
You take a deep breath in, gazing into his deep blue eyes, they widen as you suddenly fist your hand in his hair, viciously yanking his head down to you, kissing him passionately, your tongue sweeping across his as you deepen the kiss until he moans in your mouth.
Breaking away, you stare him in his eyes. âLike to see you try, Rogers.â
this fic has 18+ content! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. this is for your safety and mine! please respect that.Â
by continuing to read you are stating that you are over eighteen and understand this content is not meant for minors.
summary // bucky doesnât do love, you love bucky. being friends with benefits makes sense, right? [bucky barnes x female!reader]
words // 19.0k (BUCKLE UP ITâS A LONG ONE)
warnings // modern!bucky, fwb! trope, brief love triangle (steve x reader x bucky), overall toxicity, cursing, daddy issues (buckyâs dad left), drinking, excessive use of nicknames (sweetheart/sweets/baby), oral sex (f! receiving), penetrative sex, unsafe sex (do not have unprotected sex!), spitting, thigh riding, bucky has a metal arm but itâs not explained why (it was a car accident & that is already known by reader)
notes // title from willow by taylor swift (this fic was originally titled heartbeat and inspired by childish gambinoâs song of the same name) i just could not get modern bucky not knowing how to deal with feelings out of my head & it became this catastrophe [ive never written 18+ before so pls be gentle in your judgement of those scenes omg] happy reading!Â
if you enjoy this, reblogs & replies are greatly appreciated (especially when pieces take this much work)
âTo Bucky Barnes, my now forever lawyer.â You hold out your wine glass and he meets you halfway in a cheers. Bucky laughs brightly as you praise him. âAnd now my sugar daddy, since he makes an insane amount of money as senior associate.âÂ
The two of you are halfway through your second bottle of wine. âIâve been a lawyer for four years. Iâm just now becoming your go-to?â He holds a hand to his chest in faux hurt.Â
You lean towards him as you laugh. âI needed to make sure you were a good lawyer. Get me off murder charges good.â It feels like the two of you have been scooting closer to each other all night.Â
â Whatâs the difference?â I asked him. âBetween the love of your life, and your soulmate?â
âOne is a choice, and one is not. â
â Tarryn Fisher, Mud Vein.
âIf a clock could count down to the exact moment youâll meet your soulmate, would you want to know?â
Thatâs the claim of manufacturers of a revolutionary device called the TiMER. For a reasonable installation fee and a moderate monthly charge, a TiMER is implanted in the wrist and promises to accurately display the number of days, hours, minutes and seconds until the ownerâs date with destiny.
However, things arenât so easy for the reader. She faces the rare dilemma of a blank TiMER; her soul mateâwhoever and wherever he isâdoesnât have a TiMER. Following the advice from her step sister, Monica, she decides to have some fun on her own, without worrying about a nonexistent countdown.
Queue Bucky Barnes, the new bartender at their favorite bar, whose TiMER indicates heâll meet his soulmate in a matter of months. Neither one of them can deny the electrifying attraction they feel towards the other since the moment they meet, but what will happen once Buckyâs device finally zeros out?
Status: Complete.
Word Count: 18k.
Series Warnings; SOULMATE AU. Swearing (because itâs me), implied smut, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of depression and PTSD. Each chapter will have its own warnings. Based on the movie TiMER (2009), but the plot will differ a little.
Summary: That time when you wanted to go skydiving and Bucky didnât love the idea.Â
Characters: Bucky x Reader
Warnings: None, this is absolute fluff
A/N: Needed a bit of happy after a long week at work, so hereâs some snarky Bucky with a side of fluff.
MASTERLIST
âIâm not kidding, it feels like flying, itâs so amazing.â
Steveâs voice is exuberant, blue eyes bright, while he visualises the experience for you, his enthusiasm painting a colourful verbal picture. The longer he talks, the more he fidgets, his inability to stay still a direct correlation to his excitement, and his eagerness to tell the story puts a smile on your face.
He talks and talks about every jump heâs ever tried, a shocking number in actuality, and you indulge him as the early sunlight slides across the kitchen floor.Â
Itâs late morning before you hear the slow, quiet steps shuffle behind you, and you feel his arms curl tightly around your waist for a sleepy hug. The minty smell of toothpaste floats under your nose when he presses a light kiss to your neck, nuzzling his face into your hair.Â
âMorning,â Bucky murmurs, eyes still half-closed when he breathes deep, letting the scent of coffee and your freshly scrubbed skin roll over him.Â
Warnings: ListenâŚâŚ..I wrote this in 34 minutes. That in itself should be a warning. But yeah other than that? Diddly squat
So. This birthday, I decided to a) write a drabble b) based on a moodboard I made last week c) in 34 minutes
I present to you, the prosaic stylings of one 34-year-old nerdma, who got so enamoured with the idea of Pirate King!Bucky and siren!reader that my brain has refused to shut up about it. Decided to go with the original Greek depictions of sirens as having wings, in some sources described as the handmaidens of Persephone who were given wings by her mother Demeter in order to help search for her daughter after she was taken to the underworld.Â
My work is not to be copied and reposted anywhere else. I would love to know what you thought, though.
She comes on a storm.
His lookout signals flotsam in the distance a day after a storm ravaged their corner of the sea. Itâs a shipwreck by the looks of it, and hey, he never says no to easy pickings. Bucky orders his ship to set sail, to find it before someone else does in case it has not yet been looted.
What he finds is more precious than they could have imagined.
Summary â Monsters live in humans, demons within man, haunted with despicable desires. A past never forgotten comes back to haunt Bucky Barnes and Y/N succumbs to her despicable desires.
Beta â the wonderful @princessmisery666ââ // all mistakes are my own.
A/N â I woke up in the middle of the night and couldnât get back to sleep and this came into my head so made a couple of notes in a doc and here we are! Oh and it took @fandomfic-galoreâ, @kalesrebellionâ & @daydream3r-xoâ not even a minute to convince me to post this nowâŚ
Undisclosed Location, Italy - 1943
Moonlight cast an eerie blue-grey around the now quiet campsite. The tall trees that had long ago shed their leaves, expelled frightful shadows as their bodies swayed in the cold icy breeze. Roots like skeletal fingers scratching at the earth, clawing their way to the depths, and clinging to their life source.
Y/N pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders, clenching the meeting parts in her fist. The tears had long frozen to her face in the two-minute walk across the camp. Her scrunched expression stretching the icy remnants of her pain, now physical in the breeze pin pricking her cheeks and distracting her momentarily from the ache in her heart.
Characters â Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, other Marvel characters are mentioned.
Summary â Last nights party was a bit of a mad one, what do you do when you wake up in someone else's bed?
Word Count â 3k
Warnings â Alcohol consumption, hangover, waking up in a stranger's bed, memory loss due to drinking but its fun and fluffy in the end :) mischievous AlpineâŚ
Betas â @bccky & @kalesrebellion // all mistakes are my own.
Prompts â Lost shoe at a party - @tarithenurse for their 1k follower celebration writing challenge thingy!!
SSB2021 Square Fill â Pulling a blanket over them when they sleep @star-spangled-bingo
A/N â Hope you like this one - I've written a fair amount of angst lately so have something that's a bit more fun! & a huge shoutout to Vee @bccky for bouncing ideas around and helping me getting the story on the right track!
As always, comments and reblogs are appreciatedđ
Fireflyâs Masterlist
The thumping motion in your head made you wince, and the light streaming through the haphazardly thrown curtains had your eyes scrunching in an instant. The dryness in your throat had you reach out blindly to your side for water and only finding an empty nightstand. You groaned as you hauled yourself up, the hangover churning in your stomach.
A glance to your other side showed a dark-haired man lying away from you on his front, fast asleep. Luckily for you, even though you had scrambled to get out of the sheets, you were clothed. Well, partially, you only had a shirt and a pair of boxers on.
Wait, boxers?
You frowned at the suddenly offensive item of clothing and inspected them. They were a decent pair of Calvin Kleinâs. They must belong to the stranger, right?
Your fuzzy brain screamed at you as you tried to recall the events of the previous night, but it was just a drunken blur, and thinking back was causing too much strain.
Looking around the room, you spotted your jeans on the floor, and as you slipped out from the cover, they caught on your foot. You dropped with a thud and grimaced at the pain shooting through your knees. A quick glance at the man in the bed showed him to be still settled and undisturbed. You audibly sighed in relief, then clamped a hand over your mouth when he turned over onto his back, but thankfully, he remained asleep.
That was when you looked at his face for the first time, his body no longer concealed.
It was James Barnes, your best friendâs boyfriendâs roommate. And there he was, lying on the bed that you had only been in just a few minutes prior. The next thing you saw was the mouth-watering abs that peeked from his top that had accidentally raised during his sleepy movement.
Your eyes involuntarily went wide.
Oh no, oh no no no no!
You internally berated yourself as you tried to remember, how could you have been that drunk? To not even remember how you ended up here, at all?
A wave of nausea roused the memory of tequila and many, many other shots that were well past the count you had tried to keep. That was all on Natasha and Sam.
But this whole situation was a completely inaccessible memory and more than likely your fault. Of course, you had a crush on him, but this was most definitely nothow you wanted to go about it. You wished that youâd at least be able to remember 'the deed' if anything did happen.
Finally, you succeeded in untangling yourself from the sheets and were able to gather up your clothes from various parts of the room. You ducked out of the bedroom, slowly pulling the door close to not make any noise.
It felt comical trying to tiptoe from the bedroom to the bathroom, you knew the route easily enough from your many visits with Natasha to see her now-boyfriend Steve, but with the unconscious bodies sprawled out everywhere in the hallway randomly, it was a little more difficult.
Luckily enough, the people who were crashing on the couch and floor werenât anyone you recognised, but you couldn't be too careful when you were doing the walk of shame.
You spotted your satchel next to the TV and grabbed it before you dived into the bathroom, locking the door. A wave of relief washed over you.
Youâd made it to a place that could be considered neutral. Nobody had seen you sneak out of Jamesâ room, so it was as if you had never been in there⌠if you didn't tell anyone, of course.
Once you pulled on your outfit from the night before, you shoved the borrowed top and boxers into your bag. Fortunately, it had been a casual party, so simple jeans and a t-shirt were appropriate. You had the decency to wash his clothes before you returned them, but youâd have to think of a way to bring it back, maybe Natasha or Steve would help.
All of that you'd think about later because right now, all you wanted was some painkillers, a gallon of water and your own warm, comfy bed.
Unfortunately, there was only one issue, and it was the shape of your converse. You groaned and glared at the solo sneaker on the bathroom floor, swearing to yourself that you had grabbed both.
Even though you tried to think of a way to get home without your second shoe, you knew it was difficult, if not impossible to walk through New York with nothing on your feet. You had a little more dignity than that, not that you were showing it with how youâd woken up in a manâs bed with no recollection of how it happened.
With a quick splash of cold water on your face and a deep breath later, you were ready to find the missing item as quickly as possible. You twisted the lock with a soft click and slowly walked out of the room, your socks muffling the sound of your footsteps. If anyone could see you now, you looked exactly like a creeping villain in the Scooby-Doo cartoons.
After a few minutes of looking around the living room and kitchen, you realised that the only logical place it could be was in Jamesâ room... and it was the last place you wanted to go back to.
The embarrassment of not remembering and dealing with the whole 'morning after' talk, just wasnât something you wanted to deal with in your current fragile condition.
You tip-toed to his door and gently pushed it open, peering in ever so slightly and noticing James was still fast asleep on the bed, rolled back over with the sheets wrapped around him like a burrito. Your stomach sank with disappointment - you wouldnât mind seeing his face and that little delicious sliver of torso again, but you reminded yourself that now was not the time to whine, you had a mission at hand.
One - Get the converse.
Two - Get out.
Three - Hope that James doesn't remember anything... or at the very least, has the decency to not bring it up the next time you see each other.
You snuck around the room, which was a lot cleaner now that the sheets had been moved back onto the bed and around him. Youâd find the shoe in no time, for sure.
Which, of course, wouldn't happen. Luck was not on your side today.
You huffed as you dropped to your knees once more to check under the bed. A glimmer of hope came in the familiar silhouette of your shoe just out of reach, so you flattened down and stretched out your arm. A blur of white fluff whizzed past you with the laces between her teeth, dragging the converse to the other side of the bed.
You instantly straightened up and hit your head on the edge of the bed frame, making you wince. The pain made the thumping in your head ten times worse, and you decided that now was as good a time as any for the floor to split open and swallow you whole. You rolled onto your back and stayed there with your eyes closed, waiting for the inevitability of James waking up.
âAlpine, give Y/N her shoe back.â A deep gravelly voice came from the bed, it was stern but gentle for a scolding.
You stealthily peeked an eye open and saw that James was sitting up against the headboard, a soft smile on his lips. His hair was in an adorable fluffy mess, sticking down on one side from where he'd slept on it. The sheets were pooling at his waist, and you couldnât help but ogle at the cotton top that was tightening across his chest and biceps before you forced yourself to look away.
âLooking for this?â James asked huskily pointing to the converse being held protectively by Alpine.
âSorry, I didnât mean to wake you up.â You reached over and grabbed the converse before Alpine could get her claws on it again, âand yeah, I was looking for this. Um, about last night-â
"-Don't worry about it,â James interrupted.
You shook your head, âplease let me finish. I just want you to know that this,â - you gestured between you two with your index - âwasn't something I thought would happen, and erm, I'm not really sure what this means.â
You looked away, the embarrassment heating up your cheeks as you tried to ignore the nerves causing your stomach to flip instead of the alcohol.
âNothing happened,â James commented, supposedly agreeing without much concern.
You twisted around to look at him with a raised eyebrow, not sure if you had heard correctly, âWhat do you mean?â
James smiled, a dimple forming on his cheek as he recalled the previous nightâs events.
Bucky couldnât believe his eyes, it was only the third time he had met you but there you were with Alpine on the sofa, the cat neatly snuggled in your lap.
He wasnât sure what to think or do, or who he was more jealous of.
Was he jealous of you? The way his cat had made a connection with you quicker than any of his friends, apart from Steve but he lived in the apartment too, it was a given.
Or was he jealous of Alpine? The way the cat had so easily wormed her way into your heart, and how your fingers gently stroked through the white fur.
He was jealous of you both, he concluded to himself. He would never admit how he felt for you. His friends had already ridiculed him for his crush and Steve had consistently encouraged him to get to know you better, to do something about it. He always chickened out, you were way out of his league and probably didnât feel the same about him.
But tonight, had been different, he could feel your presence more than ever before.
It was in the way your eyes lingered on his face a few seconds longer or the way you sent him a sheepish smile when heâd catch you staring. Your laughter made him feel warm and the attempt to dance in the kitchen was a sight to behold, even if he could tease you about the terrible dance moves later.
Bucky noticed you were too drunk when you started stumbling around the living room and slurring your words. He signalled to Steve, and he came over instantly, âThink we need to put this one to bed.â
Steve nodded, âCome on, Y/N, itâs time for you to rest your little head. Your room okay, Buck? Iâd offer mine but Natâs staying over tonight.â
Bucky gulped inaudibly but nodded, helping Steve carry your out-of-balance body to his bedroom.
You were going to be in his bedroom, on his bed, sleeping? He didnât know if heâd be able to cope with you so close and he knew that the couch was off-limits. Sam lived on that thing whenever he dropped in saying it was the best part of the whole apartment.
Steve gently placed you onto Bucky's bed, and you attempted to remove your t-shirt, which Steve immediately stopped. The growl you gave him made Bucky chuckle and call your attention straight to him.
âI canât sleep in my clothes.â You whined, the blank look in your eyes making you look even more adorable with the little pout.
âWell, you can wear these, if you want.â Bucky pulled out a top and boxers and threw them your way and he swore that you grinned at him, but your face was hidden in an instant as you slumped onto Steveâs shoulder.
âOkay boys, let me sort her out.â Natasha appeared in the doorway, making a beeline for her best friend.
Steve and Bucky headed back into the party, the latter heading straight to the kitchen to get another beer, to hopefully help him forget about the beautiful woman lying in his bed and how, at some point tonight, heâd have to join her if he didn't want a backache from sleeping on the floor.
Upon his return to the lounge, Natasha was already sitting in Steveâs lap and with a quick glance down the hallway, Bucky saw that his bedroom door was closed. But another surprise was Alpine pawing at the wood panel.
Buckyâs heart melted at the sight of his cat pining for the person behind the door, and he decided what the harm would be in letting Alpine check in on you, for the former's sake of course. He slowly opened the door, hoping not to disturb you if you were asleep.
Alpine instantly rushed past him and jumped up onto the bed. She did a little walk around before settling by your feet at the end of the mattress. Buckyâs mouth went dry and was unable to move from his spot. If you had super hearing, youâd be able to hear his heart thumping in his chest at the sight of you hugging onto his pillow, wearing his clothes.
Looking like you were his.
Bucky pulled a blanket over your legs then shuffled back to look at you and Alpine. Maybe one day, heâll have the courage to ask you on a date. And maybe, just maybe, Alpine would be the catalyst to whatever might happen between you twoâŚ
Bucky clarified that there was no funny business and that you just went to sleep, âAnd thatâs what you get for mixing your drinks without proper supervision, I warned you that Sam could be a menace.â
You remained silent and chewed your lip, appreciating the way heâd looked out for you when most people wouldnât. It warmed your heart at the thought of him being the one to care, the uncertainty that painted your features was replaced with a smile, even if you were still mortified by your drunken antics.
âBut I see now that waking up in a stranger's bed might have made you panic.â James rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly then got off the bed, putting on a pair of jeans.
âYeah, sorry about that.â You muttered, the heat on your cheeks sizzling from your embarrassing behaviour, âbut thank you, for not letting me make a fool of myself, well, more than I already did.â
âSâall good.â James grinned.
You stood up, not quite sure what to do next. With your bag hung over your shoulder, you headed to the door, âWell, I guess Iâll be off then, goodbye James.â
âYou can call me, Bucky. Itâs what friends call me.â He commented.
âWell, if you consider me a friend,â You looked back at him with a small smile, âsee you around, Bucky.â
You did hope that youâd see him again because, even though you tried to fight it, your little crush on the man was growing with each second that you spent in his company.
A soft small body began weaving between your legs, âoh hey, Alpine.â
âShe does that when she's hungry, Iâll see you out.â Bucky motioned out into the hallway like a gentleman.
Bucky stopped abruptly and you almost collided into his side, your hand immediately grabbing his arm in surprise. You couldnât help admiring the thick muscle underneath and you subconsciously bit your lip.
âAbout time,â Steve sighed, sipping from a coffee mug, in his spot on the couch, âWe thought weâd have to send Thor in to wake you both.â
Natasha chuckled and put an arm around Steveâs waist, âIâve seen how Y/N is first thing in the morning, wouldnât risk sending him in. Heâd come back like a mewling quim.â
You dropped your hand from Buckyâs arm, but it wasn't long before he interlaced his fingers with yours. You looked up at him, heart thumping in your chest and he winked, legit winkedat you.
He headed straight for the kitchen and literally pulled you along with him. You caught Natashaâs mouth drop in surprise, which later turned into an impressed smirk as you shrugged in her direction with a grin.
Alpine remained at your ankles until Bucky placed the bowl on her designated mat, and she instantly nudged his hand out of the way and began eating, leaving you and Bucky in the kitchen in awkward silence. That was until your stomach began to grumble, very loudly, like it always did in situations like this.
Bucky gave you a lopsided smile, âDo you wanna grab some breakfast? Iâm starving too.â
His eyes looked so stunning that you could get lost in them. You already had done that, if you were being honest, on the rare occasion that you were close enough to see the brilliant blues, just like now.
You grinned back and nodded, a little too eagerly at first, then you laughed, âyeah, that would be nice.â
âItâs a date then,â Bucky winked, again, setting off the butterflies in your stomach, âthereâs a great diner a couple of blocks away.â
Steve shouted from the hallway, âTash, weâre going to Peggyâs Diner. You owe me ten bucks, he finally asked her!â
You both groaned and rolled your eyes at the intrusion, but really, you couldnât complain as you were still able to spend more time with Bucky.
He pulled you closer to him by your waist, whispering in your ear that caused a shiver to run up your spine, âIâll take you on a proper date later, just us. Promise.â
fin.
As always, comments and reblogs are appreciatedđ
a/n - I got a request from @anjhope1â and here it is! Hope you enjoy it. Betaâd by FRIEND and pervert extraordinaire @sweeterthanthisâ but all mistake belong to me myself and I. This is my first plus size reader fic so enjoy.
Putting the finishing touches to your makeup you watch your boyfriend in the mirror. He pulls on his jeans and mouths along to the playlist Sam made for him. You smile when he catches your eyes on him and walks over to plant a kiss on your head, âyou almost ready?â You nod and douse yourself in the setting spray, the watermelon scent calming your nerves.
You walk into the party room and scan the space for Monica immediately. She stands at the bar talking to someone you donât know and gives you a discreet nod before grabbing the two drinks in front of her and excusing herself. Walking over to you both she hands you a glass and kisses you on the cheek.
âYou look amazing, how are you feeling today?â She knew how nervous you were about the party, the meltdown you had on her earlier in the week when you couldnât find something you felt comfortable in. Bucky didnât help much, reassuring you that you could wear a burlap sack and heâd still think you were the sexiest woman in the world.
His words were welcome but they didnât make you feel much better about yourself, all the women you were surrounded by were stunning with perfect bodies. Their jeans didnât wear out from their thighs rubbing together as they walked, they didnât have to deal with not being able to find jeans that fit properly because the people who made them thought that if you werenât a size 2, then you shouldnât expect anything with much shape.
summary || You learn the hard way not to send nudes while distracted.Â
content || pet names and gendered language (sweets, pretty girl, etc..), oral sex (f receiving), praise kink, soft dom!Bucky, sweet rough sex (thatâs a thing, right?), multiple orgasms, BIG DICK BUCKY, fluff and snuggles, a moment of insecurityÂ
a/n || inspired entirely by some âaccidentally sending roommate!Bucky nudesâ talk over on @bucksfucksâ blog some time ago!Â
Main Masterlist | Join the taglist!
Oh no.
Oh no, no, no.
You stare at your phone with raised eyebrows, blinking uncomprehendingly at the massive mistake youâve just made. Surely your brain and eyes will reconnect any second and youâll see that your mind was just playing a trick on you to see how high your heart rate could get without killing you. Â
Thereâs nothing technologically inept about you - hell, you can text without even glancing at the screen sometimes - but in the midst of multi-tasking, youâve somehow managed to send pictures of yourself in the skimpiest fucking lingerie you own to your roommate, not to your other friend. The distressed groan you give echoes through the empty bathroom, your toothbrush clattering to the counter and splattering toothpaste all over in its wake. You re-read the contact name over and over, and yeah, it definitely said Bucky. Not Natasha. The question attached did little to help.
hi dani! idk if you're taking prompts but how about "whispering ''i love you'' to your ''lover'' while they're asleep because you're not sure if they feel the same way but you really needed to tell them that" with bucky?
hideouts.
Bucky Barnes || word count: 602
Âť thank you for the prompt, Maria. Hope this is not too terrible. I adore you so. â¨đ¤
warnings; poorly edited, cursing, Bucky realizes heâs in l o v e.
In the end, no one took the couch.
Thereâs always the same discussion, though â the same push and pull before settling in for the night, in the same bed of a dirty motel room, each one sticking to their corner and pretending itâs the most normal thing in the world.
After doing this so many times, it might as well be.
Sleep comes easy for Bucky on the nights spent with her. Itâs usually a dreamless sleep, which is a step up from the more than occasional nightmare. But when he gets to remember the good dreams â itâs fucking hard to let go of them, especially if they involve her.
Heâs usually the first to awake and itâs his favorite part of his day, mostly because he gets to watch her sleep for a while before sheâs stirring awake, unfocused eyes blinking up at him and a dopey smile stretches her lips.
Heâs lucky today too because sheâs laying on her side, facing him. He gets to watch the way her eyelashes rest delicately on her cheekbones and the way her lips part slightly to help her breathe better.
The morning sun creeps in through the dirty windows and falls on her face, and Bucky thinks maybe, just maybe heâs a little bit in love with her.
Heâs been thinking about it a lot lately â a lot of maybe and what if, and feeling embarrassed after getting caught staring (which is very often).
He loves to watch when sheâs in her element, too â the confident beauty she radiates when sheâs out on the field, focused on the task at hand, or when sheâs fighting, even if itâs during training, her movements precise and quick, yet always graceful.
He usually gets lightheaded when he thinks about her and her knives (which is very often, too).
The air gets stuck on his lungs when she moves a little, her arm reaching out towards him as if she was looking for something on the bed, and she sighs once her fingers curl around Buckyâs left arm.
Itâs not the first time she's reached for him at night, Bucky has woken up with her body tangled up around him countless times.
âBucky,â she mumbles after another sigh and that â thatâs new.
He blinks, waiting for her to say something else but she never does. Her heart rate is steady just like her breathing, her eyes never fluttering. Sheâs still asleep.
And the rush of endorphins on Buckyâs brain at the fact that she seems to be dreaming about him itâs so overwhelming, he feels tears prickling at the corner of his eyes.
I love you, he thinks.
And itâs not a maybe in his mind anymore, heâs completely sure of it now.
He bites his tongue before the words slip out. The darker side of his brain telling him that only because she seems to be dreaming about him, doesnât mean she might feel the same way he does.
The pit he feels in his stomach at the thought dissipates the second she breathes his name again.
âI love you,â he whispers back because he canât help himself, because he deserves to say it and she deserves to know.
His heart leaps to his throat when the corner of her mouth curves up the slightest bit as if she had heard him.
He stays perfectly still as time passes him by, the sun rising higher and higher in the sky, bathing the room with light and Bucky feels warm all over.
⏠Summary: You knew it was coming but you didnât know why. With a horrible weekend away ending early, you figured it was time for some answers. Even if it would hurt when itâs finally over.
⏠Warnings: Angst. Tons of angst. A break-up. Break-up smut. Unprotected sex. Very brief cheating mention. Mental health discussions. Please donât read if thatâs triggering in any way and take care of you first, darling. 18+ only.Â
⏠Word Count: 2477
⏠A/N: Iâm back! And with a request from the sweetest and nicest human ever @buckysbarnesâ! Iâm sooooo sorry this took so long babe, hope you enjoy the hurt and thank you for the song rec!! Itâs one of my favorite songs nowđ
The drive was quiet.Â
Not like the usual comforting quiet between two souls who have dated for the past few years. No, this was a stone cold silence. One that had thick tension swirling in the car, adding to the humidity from the incoming storm outside.Â
summary: While on a mission, Bucky becomes dissociated into the Winter Soldier. But instead of becoming a threat, his instinct is to protect.
pairing: bucky x reader
word count: 6.5k
warnings: dissociative episode, PTSD symptoms, winter soldier!bucky is clingy and protective af
a/n: this is based off a request I got ages ago from @visitneptune. It's not letting me tag you hun, so I hope you still see this!
Bucky stood at the mouth of the jet; the wind rustling violently around him, eager to knock him off his stance, to instill doubt into his body though it was made of stone. His left hand gripped to the handle on the wall; metal seared to metal, crystalline marble. Several hundred feet below laid the ruins of an old Hydra base; its walls coated in graffiti, the foundation left to weather, the hinges to rust. It held his empty stare.
âYou sure youâre up for this?â you asked him softly under the roar of the wind. A particularly grueling gust swept through the bridge and you gripped the strap on the back of Buckyâs jacket for support. He was unwavering in its path, though he seemed to soften at your touch. He turned to you then, pressed out a weak smile and nodded.
You released your hold on his jacket, smoothing down the harness with a quick brush against his spine. He shivered as your fingertips grazed over the dip in his back and you bit your lip between your teeth. When you looked up at him again, you tried to force out a smile for him in return, but found the light would not touch your eyes.
The rush of adrenaline was still spiked high in your veins from the last time you heard Bucky scream â the agonizing break in his voice as he desperately clawed himself from the edge of nightmares Hydra had left behind. You could still see the sweat on his forehead, the rapid breaths in his chest, the fresh reflective tracks on his cheeks. You could feel him trembling in your arms, his hands begging for purchase around your body, his repetitive whispers against your neck.
Itâs not real. Itâs not real. Itâs not real.
But Bucky was desperate for absolution. He had it in his mind that the only way to atone for the violence heâd done under Hydraâs thumb was to settle the score. To make amends. To undo the carnage heâd once created with every Hydra base he dismantled. He never allowed himself to acknowledge the steel toed boot that had been pressed to his neck, forcing his hand, controlling his mind, suffocating his will. He sought forgiveness for the crimes of his captors. He would not consider that his body was merely the weapon at their disposal.
He wasnât new to missions where Hydra was at play, but he was often only able to hold it together long enough to wash the blood down the drain before the weight of it split through the cracks. Youâd find him curled up on the floor of the shower, rubbing his skin raw in attempt to wash out the red stained to his hands. He wouldnât speak a word until morning came, wouldnât sleep for a second. But heâd allow you to hold him, to soothe a hand over his hair, to rest his head against your heart.
You never talked about it. Never named the lingering tension in the room when he crawled out from under your sheets, shamed seeped into his veins. This silent and impenetrable bond you shared. The knowledge that you could pull him from the darkest corners of his mind. That you were a safe place even when he felt the walls were crumbling around him. You never spoke of it, but it remained.
âNat and I will head to the control room while Sam keeps the jet in the air,â Steve said, a single hand on his hip. The other gripped at the ropes to keep himself steady in face of the wind. He clenched his jaw, a reluctant look upon his face as he turned to Bucky. âBuck, I need you on the lookout for their lab. Itâs not marked on the blueprints but if anyone can find it...â
Bucky nodded. No one knew for sure if this was one of the bases heâd been held in as the Winter Soldier, but you supposed it didnât matter. They all held the same trauma, the same reminders of the horrors heâd faced. The muscle memory alone to step foot in a building where heâd been conditioned down to his bones was an act of violence within itself.
âY/n, I want you with him,â Steve added, a knowing look shared between you. It wasnât that Steve didnât trust Bucky. He was afraid for him the way you were; wanting to protect him from a world that had caused him so much pain. It was a need the both of you shared.
âWhatâs in this lab anyway?â you asked, changing the subject as you watched Bucky avert his gaze, pink burning in his ears.
âSamples of a pathogen Bruce thinks he can make a vaccine for,â Natasha said as she clipped her gun into the holster on her thigh.
âAnd theyâre entrusting us to return it safely?â you raised an eyebrow.
âNat has experience with this stuff,â Steve explained. âSheâll take care of it. Just signal on the coms when you find it. The base is empty. Weâre not going to run into enemy fire.â
Your gaze flickered to Bucky. His back was to the group, his focus staring down at the abandoned Hydra base below. The metal handle had warped under his grip, outlining the shape of his fingers in smooth ridges along the surface.
You wondered then if it mattered whether the base was occupied at all; if the nightmares could still seep through the cracks in the walls and cause damage all on their own.
***
The door was lined with rust. Red and orange and oozing from the hinges. Bucky stared at the knob, his grip readjusting on his rifle. Steve and Natasha had already taken the north entrance, leaving Sam hovering above in the jet for a quick exit. You and Bucky remained at the south entrance. You watched him carefully, studying the tension in his shoulders, the reflection of gold weaving delicately along his left arm as the metal plates flexed. He was so still you wondered if he was even breathing.
âBucky?â you called, setting a hand on his forearm. You walked out ahead of him, trying to meet his eye. The contact usually grounded him when he could not hear your voice through the mess inside his head, the numbness. You brushed your thumb gingerly along the vibranium edges. âAre you with me?â
He nodded, shaking himself out of the trance he had fallen into. âSorry. Just need a moment.â
He looked as though he needed more than just a moment. A lifetime, perhaps, before he would ever be able to set foot in a Hydra base without some remnants of his own trauma clawing at the back of his neck, sinking talons into his muscle and yanking him to the depths.
âNo one would blame you if you wanted to sit this one out,â you told him sincerely, eyeing the quinjet hovering over your heads. âI could get Sam to come down andââ
âIâm fine,â Bucky snapped, yanking his arm away from your hold. It startled you enough to step back a few paces, your hands burning as heat rushed to your cheeks. But as quick as it came, the sudden hardness of his features washed away when he noticed the hurt upon your face. âIâm sorry. IâI didnât mean toââ Bucky sighed, dropping his head. âLetâs just get this over with, okay?â
âOkay,â you replied quietly, taking another step back to give him space. He glanced towards you, an unreadable expression in his features, though it made you wonder whether the space had been a relief for him at all. He clenched his jaw, turning back to the rusted door. He kicked hit boot to the weakest spot in the frame, near the hinges, and the door slammed to the ground. Broken entirely from the walls around it. Dust smoked up from the floor from where it crashed to the cement and exposed a dark, windowless hall behind it.
âMaybe we can watch that series youâve been wanting to show me when we get home?â Bucky offered softly, inching closer to you as if the space between you was too much to bear. He pushed out a smile; one you knew took most of his effort to produce in witness to the building that could have been the one to rip him to pieces. It touched his eyes, left lines in its wake. It was beautiful.
âDeal,â you grinned, nudging his side until he started to laugh. The meaning of such a sound amongst the horrors of these halls was not lost on you. It echoed through the corridors and touched the cobwebs hanging in the corner. Its ghosts may have been the ones to hear his screams once.
Bucky took the lead. Even amongst the baron halls, he positioned himself as a shield between you and the darkness ahead. His wide frame took up most of the narrow hallway, his stance cautious to keep you protected at his back. Every so often, his ear flexed at the sound of your steady breathing, the shuffle of your shoes over the debris upon the floors. It was like he was fighting the urge to turn over his shoulder once more to confirm with his own eyes that you were safe behind him. He continued on, deeper into the darkness as fingers flexed against his rifle; his steps undetectable.
You passed by dozens of emptied rooms with dark stains upon the concrete and shackles molded to the wall. Bucky didnât speak as his gaze trailed along the reinforced cells and the ghosts they carried. Tension etched into his muscle the further he walked.
A shiver burrowed into your spine as you kept your pace close to Buckyâs stride â close enough that you brushed against his shoulder blades every so often. It had been a comfort at first, drawing away the stone in his spine, but then after a while he began to bristle at the contact, almost as if heâd forgotten you were behind him, before he eased again, relaxing into your touch.
Youâd been walking through the maze of hallways for nearly ten minutes before either of you spoke.
âDo you recognize this place?â you asked cautiously when Bucky took a right turn down an adjoining hall. He hadnât even stopped to consider his path. It was as if he were following a memory.
He shook his head, a contemplative look on his face. Still, his attention turned down the corridor like he was being drawn towards it. He sighed. âI donât know. I donât think so. But somethingâs telling me to go this way.â
You didnât question whether it was the lab beckoning him or something else, something more dangerous. Instead, you set a comforting hand on his forearm and gave a short squeeze. A pained smile pressed on his lips as he stared down at your hand, how your thumb so sweetly ran along the thick material of his jacket. When you released him, he took in a heavy breath and continued on.
You followed him in silence until you neared the end of the hall. The lighting became progressively dimmer, the bulbs flickering in their disuse. Bugs scrawled along the edges of the walls, scampering through piles of dust and dirt. You held back a shiver as you kept as close to Bucky as you could.
It was as if the walls themselves were molding his body to marble with every step further into their maze. His back tightened, his spine straightened. His breathing became shallow to the point you could no longer hear his careful inhales. But something in him relaxed despite the tension in his body. You were about to call his name when suddenly, he turned sharply into an open room.
The door was lined in dozens of steel bolts and reinforced locks. It looked to be in pristine condition in comparison to the rest of the building. From a short glance inside, it was evident that this room was not the lab Steve sent you in search of. It was lined with cement, void of any furniture, let alone laboratory equipment. It was completely empty, save for the shackles fused into the furthest wall.
It was a cell.
You furrowed your brows as you followed Bucky into the baron room. He didnât look around, didnât so much as turn in your direction. Instead, he stilled at the center of the room, his back to you. You swallowed, though it tasted of copper.
âBucky?â you called nervously. âWhat are we doing in here?"
As you stepped further into the room, you noticed the dent on the inside of the door. Heart pounding violently in your chest, you reached out and touched the caved in metal, drawing your fingers along the perfect imprint of a fist. No one else could have had the strength to cause that kind of damage exceptâ
âBucky?â you tried again, panic starting to lace into your voice. He was standing too still, too quiet. He didnât so much as move a single muscle at the sound of his own name. His posture was too rigid, too formal. It reminded you ofâ oh God.
You took a single step towards him, the heel of your boot softly tapping to the concrete and suddenly, Bucky whipped around to face you. His expression was cold; void of the man you knew him to be; absent of the smile you drew out of him on the edge of this dreadful building. In one fluid movement, he raised the barrel of his rifle and unlatched the safety. There was no time to panic, no time to call his name, to so much as raise your hands in defense.
He fired.
Eyes screwed shut, lungs burning. There was a deafening ringing in your ears, pulsing deep into the back of your head, obstructing your balance. Slowly, you opened your eyes to find Bucky lowering his rifle to his side, the same vacant look in his expression staring at something beyond your shoulder.
â--company!â Steveâs voice suddenly cracked through the coms. âWeâve got company!â
You followed Buckyâs vacant stare to the body currently lying in the hallway. A man laid upon the threshold to the room, a shotgun in hand and a Hydra insignia affixed to his lapel. Blood pooled into the concrete, inching along the floor towards you. You hadnât even known he was there, that he was just seconds away from firing a shot to the back of your head. The manâs finger was still curled around the trigger. You inched closer to Bucky.
âY/n? Bucky? Someone report!â
Your gaze trailed over Buckyâs frame as he remained impossibly still. Not even his breaths seemed to rise against his chest. His stare was etched to the door, his eyes absent of the fear he once carried in these halls. They were coated in something darker â an oncoming of stormy skies masked under an ominous grey fog. Obstructing him. Confining him. A terrifying state of peace within the submission. Bite nestled to your tongue and you swallowed itâthe burn of acid dripping down your throat.
âBucky?â you begged, desperate to believe this place hadnât undone him down to his bones. He didnât so much as blink. You gritted your teeth, jaw clenched so tightly it began to ache and you forced out a name you swore you would never utter aloudâ
âSoldat...?â
It was barely a whisper, the most you could possibly manage, and stillâ Buckyâs gaze flickered to you. When vacant, blue eyes met yours, you bit down hard enough to draw blood, your hand trembling as you reached up and touched the warm coat of blood against your lip. He furrowed his brow, studying your reaction and the utter desolation painted over your features.
âIf you donât respond, Iâm coming to get you!â Steve warned through the coms. His voice pulled you away from the fog threatening to consume you whole as you stared at the shell Bucky had slipped into. Steve was panting, out of breath, a grunt through the speakers as a heavy thud fell to the floor.
Tears burned in your eyes as you cleared your throat, raising a finger to your coms.
âWeâre okay,â you said slowly, not daring to take your eyes off Bucky for even a second. âWeâre safe but... something happened, Steve. Buckyâs not himself.â
There was only a short pause. One where Buckyâs eyes centered on you, trailing over your frame as it were for the first time. They slid down the line of your suit, over your thighs to your boots, then back up along your hips to your arms. They lingered over a faded bruise on your cheekbone â one youâd sustained in a mission in the previous week against a rather unpleasant arms dealer in Slovakia. The muscle in his jaw flexed, his hands curled tight into fists.
Slowly, his eyes returned to yours. They didnât carry the weight you recognized, the years filled with shame and guilt and burden, but they held a heaviness nonetheless. Deep blue as the depths of the ocean, coated in such darkness the sunlight could not hope to reach. They were the eyes of a man who knew what it was to be punished for disobeying orders, who recognized those who had caused him harm, who could identify those who would keep him safe.
The Soldier was not an empty shell. He was not simply a weapon for Hydra to dispose. He was living and breathing and impossibly real. Stripped down to the very threads that kept him human. Removed of his memories, of his past. Tortured for his mistakes. Kept in a cage like an animal. Taught to be silent, to expect fear, to follow orders.
This was not the Winter Soldier as you remembered him on the bridge, in the sky above D.C., in Vienna. Humanity was slipping through; though it was small, subtle. It was only when his gaze flickered briefly back to the bruise on your cheek and his eyes narrowed in what appeared to be rage, that you realized what had happened.
The man before you was the broken shards of who Bucky had been inside this cell â somewhere between the Winter Soldier and the prisoner of war. Too far gone from the Sergeant who held out as long as he could and miles away from the Bucky who turned on the kettle for you in the morning before you woke up, who indulged your ridiculous list of must-watch movies, who curled against you in the middle of the night when the monsters plagued his dreams.
A purgatory within his own mind.
âY/n!â Steve called panicked through the coms. âGet out of there! We donât know what he could do if heââ
âI donât think heâll hurt me, Steve,â you replied evenly, holding Buckyâs gaze. âHe shot a Hydra agent before I even knew they were there. He saved my life.â
Buckyâs attention snapped to the door, his hand flexing against his rifle. You followed his eye line, unsure of what he must have heard, but with his advanced senses you knew better than to question him.
Slowly, he stepped out in front of you, holding an arm behind him to keep you centered behind his back. Your heart fractured as you realized he was shielding you. Even stripped down to basic instinct, muddled by the horrors of what Hydra had inflicted upon him, he still chose to protect you.
âGet him back to the jet,â Steve ordered, though you could hear the reluctance in his voice, even as he engaged in direct combat with enemy agents. âWeâll secure him there. Be careful.â
You nodded, trying to gather your courage though it felt impossibly far away. You were about to reach for Buckyâs forearm when you stopped yourself, quickly yanking your hand back against your chest and you had to remind yourself that this wasnât your Bucky. You had no idea how the Winter Soldier would react to such an intrusion, especially given what you remembered about how Bucky first responded to touch â how heâd flinch away from it as if heâd been expecting pain. The Soldier didnât know to expect anything less.
âSoldat,â you called firmly, mimicking the tone of the Soldierâs handlers. He straightened his spine, turning his head to you, awaiting orders. You inhaled a shaken breath, struggling to meet his eye. âI need you to get us out of here. Both of us. Do you understand?â
Bucky narrowed his eyes at your emphasis, though slowly he nodded. You had no idea how many Hydra agents crawled out from behind the woodwork or what to expect when you stepped into the hallway. But the Soldier needed a mission. He needed orders to follow. You werenât sure whether he would go willingly without them.
Bucky eased out into the hall, a cautious glance behind his shoulder as if to make sure you were following close behind. You gave him a short nod and he turned back to the end of the hall; his rifle gripped tight to his grasp. You attempted to peer around his shoulder to get better leverage and provide coverage, but thenâ
An arm snaked around your neck, clamped down against your windpipe and yanked you backwards. You gasped for breath â the strangled sound alerting Bucky to your distress as you desperately clawed at the arm around your neck, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.
Bucky whipped around, rage quickly burning as the blue in his eyes reduced in thin, cerulean rings. You met his gaze, air obstructed as you choked against the manâs grip, and still â you saw a world of panic breaking through the cold exterior of the Winter Soldier.
You quickly elbowed the assailant in the ribs and he released your throat, doubling over in pain. It was enough time for Bucky to fire a single shot once you ducked clear out of view, sinking to the ground as your hands darted at your throat in search of air. You only vaguely recognized the sound of the body thudding behind you as you began to cough violently, blood spilling from your lips.
âYouâre hurt,â Bucky murmured, so quiet you almost didnât catch it. He was kneeling at your eye line, his brows furrowed and drawing worry lines over his forehead. His voice didnât sound his like his own â too hesitant, too quiet. Longing and terrified and filled with unbridled rage all at once.
âMâokay,â you choked out, though your voice was rough, as if it has been tossed through a blender and dragged over sandpaper until it bled.
Buckyâs hand reached out to you, gently pushing the hair away from your eyes with the lightest feather of a touch. You stilled as the very tips of his fingers grazed gently over your skin, watching him as he studied the markings on your neck. An impossible moment amongst the chaos in the distance. The humanity of the Winter Soldier breaking through. His upper lip twitched as his fingers touched the discoloration on your neck. His jaw wired shut, a twitch in his upper lip, and suddenly, a weapon was in his hand again. He fired another four shots into the dead body on your right.
âItâs okay! Itâs okay!â you told him, gathering his face in your hands, urging him to meet your eye. You drew your thumbs along his cheekbones until he finally forced his gaze back to you. He was breathing heavy, the rage spilling through the cracks in his surface until you said again, âIâm okay.â
A wash of relief coated his features for only a moment. Then, he nodded, almost as if to shake himself of the emotion he was not allowed to express. The lines on his face faded into the façade, the stone cold expression returning and wiping away the traces of the man underneath. Without saying a word, he stood back to his feet and waited patiently for you to follow.
By the time you made it outside, Steve and Natasha were standing by the mouth of the quinjet, weapons at the ready. They were both covered in open cuts and bruises, red seeping into their uniforms and coloring their skin. Natasha was leaning against the edge of the ramp, barely holding herself up, though she started to relax upon spotting you.
Bucky froze at the sight of their weapons and you collided into his back. He pulled out his gun.
âNo! Stop!â You rushed out in front of him, holding your hands up defensively. âTheyâre friends! They wonât hurt us.â
You stared down the barrel of his rifle, counting each agonizing heartbeat as you waited for him to lower his weapon. You didn't know why, but the Soldier was drawn to you, connected to you in some way that he protected you without a second thought. It was his mission. His only directive. It wasnât one youâd given him, but stillâit remained.
His eyes flickered to you, unsure. You gave him a gentle reassuring nod and slowly, Bucky lowered the gun.
âY/n?â Steve called hesitantly.
âIâve got him, Steve,â you replied over your shoulder. âHeâs okay.â
âHeâsââ
âHeâs not triggered, not like you think,â you explained as calmly as you could manage. You could sense Bucky eyeing Steve, his hand flexing against his weapon, and you didnât want to give him any reason to believe Steve was someone you needed protection from. âI donât know what happened, but one minute heâs Bucky and the next heâs...â You sighed, glancing back at Buckyâs rigid posture. âSomething in that base fractured him; awoke this part of him again. Itâs a defense mechanism. Heâll come out of it, Steve. Give him time.â
Steve's gaze flickered to Bucky before returning to you. âLast time you met the Winter Soldier, he almost killed you.â
Triggered under Zemoâs twisted plan to draw a line between the Avengers, Bucky had once shot a bullet clean through your stomach. You could still picture the cold look in his eyes as he stood over you, readying for the kill shot as you laid frozen on the floor in a pool of your own blood. Youâd never felt fear quite like that â the certain knowledge that you would not survive. If it hadnât been for Tonyâs intervention, you would have been dead.
It was before you knew Bucky. Before you loved him.
Maybe you were naĂŻve, but something had changed in the Soldier since then. Perhaps, the same thing that changed in Bucky.
âIâll be alright, Steve. He wonât hurt me.â You eased your hand in Buckyâs direction, urging him to holster his weapon. He did and you hoped it was because he trusted you, not because he saw you as his handler. You sighed, turning to Steve. âIâll take care of him. Just trust me with this. Please.â
âOkay,â Steve sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. âBut I have to secure him. For everyoneâs safety, including his.â
"Let me,â you offered quickly, unsure of how Bucky would react to Steve trying to restrain him. âHeâll take it better if I do it.â
Steve raised an eyebrow. âYou sure?â
No. You werenât sure of anything; not with Bucky locked in this state. But you told him you were anyway.
âSoldat,â you called, turning away from the flash of surprise on Steveâs face as you turned to Bucky. âFollow me.â
You turned up the bridge of the jet, walking past Natasha and keeping your gaze straight ahead. You didnât want to see whether she was disappointed with you for feeding into Hydraâs conditioning to keep Bucky compliant. You were only trying to keep him safe, to get him through this in one piece. Heâd come out of it eventually. You kept telling yourself that, though you were never entirely convinced.
Bucky hovered behind you, keeping close despite the wide berth of the jet. You gestured to a seat along the side wall of the plane and Bucky sat down. You knelt down beside him, pulling a pair of reinforced handcuffs from under the seat. The team kept them on hand for the varying occasion when they needed to restrain enhanced individuals or Norse Gods. Theyâd work on Bucky, too.
âIâm going to put these on you, okay?â you told him, watching for any resistance. But Bucky didnât move. He only watched you, following the metallic flicker of the handcuffs as you gently fastened them to his wrists. The center affixed to a chain connected to the floor of the plane. He didnât move a single muscle.
You sighed, brushing at your eyes as you crawled up to sit in the seat beside him. You never wanted to see him in chains, never wanted to be the one to secure the metal around his wrists, but there was a trust within it. A trust that you would undo the locks, that you would protect him while he was vulnerable to attack the same way he protected you. But you couldnât read Bucky when he was like this. You had no idea what he was thinking. If he was thinking anything at all.
âWhat about the mask?â
You blinked, thrown by his voice. Rough, unused. Unsure. He was watching you curiously, studying the stunned look of disbelief on your face, and you quickly shook your head.
âNo mask,â you said simply, though you could feel the lump building in your throat. It was more of a muzzle than anything else â used to silence him, to humiliate him, to make him feel like a weapon of their own making and destroy any last thread of humanity he was clinging to. You could barely picture it without tears blurring your vision.
âJust try to relax, okay?â you told him. âWeâll be home soon.â
He raised an eyebrow at the mention of home, but your heart was too broken to explain any further. He didnât ask. You supposed he was trained not to.
***
By the time you landed hours later, Bucky still wasnât himself. Sam was the one to reluctantly suggest you bring Bucky to a holding cell until he came to again, but you feared that would only make it worse. It was a cell that triggered this state, you didnât expect a cell would bring him out of it.
Steve and Natasha landed the jet away from most of the crew so you could guide Bucky away from the crowd without anyone noticing the handcuffs on his wrists. Steve threw a jacket over Buckyâs hands to hide the restraints and gave you the key.
âYou call me the second it turns bad,â he ordered, a cautious look thrown in Buckyâs direction.
You nodded and reached out to squeeze Steveâs hand. He sighed at that, the tension coursing painfully through his body. âIt wonât, Steve. But I promise Iâll call if I need you.â
Steve didnât seem any more convinced but you could see the longing for hope in his eyes; how badly he wanted to believe you, how badly he wanted his friend back. He gave you a tight smile and nodded, stepping back.
âCome with me,â you told Bucky and he followed without question, trailing behind submissively and it left an awful pang in your stomach. As you stepped down onto the loading bay, you moved to walk in line with him. âI donât know how much you recognize but no one here is an enemy, okay? Weâre safe. I promise Iâll remove the cuffs once weâre out of sight.â
Bucky didnât say anything, but you could see his eyes flickering to the sparse agents he passed by as if he were sizing them up, deciding how best to engage with his hands bound. He watched your every move, flinched as a head popped up in your direction as you approached, winced as your name was called in greeting from across the hall, shivered under the steady blow of the air conditioning above. He was on constant edge.
âOh, hey guys!â Scott Lang jumped out from the elevator before you could press the button. Bucky jolted to step in front of you, blocking you from the perceived enemy who was likely the least dangerous man in the compound. Scott still had Cheeto dust on his fingers.
âAh, I get it, I get it,â Scott laughed, hands raised in the air playfully as he backed up. âIâm happily in a relationship, my man. Hope may be way out of my league but Iâm still in it, okay? You donât have to worry about me snatching up your girl.â
You smiled, setting a hand on Buckyâs shoulder blades and easing your fingers down his spine. It was something you did for him to help him calm down when you didnât want to draw attention to his distress. You hoped it might work on the Soldier, too. Sure enough, he began to relax. You stepped out from behind Bucky.
âDonât mind him,â you told Scott with a casual shrug. âHeâs just a bit on guard. Rough mission.â
Scott nodded in understanding, his lips pressing to thin line. âTotally get it. My bad, man. But hey! Iâll see you for poker on Saturday, right?â
âHeâll be there,â you replied, answering for Bucky whose gaze looked as though he could pierce daggers straight through Langâs chest. You guided Bucky in the elevator and quickly tapped on your floor, hitting the button several times until the doors eventually closed. Once you were alone, you slumped against the wall and released a heavy sigh.
When the floor dinged, you straightened to find Bucky watching you. You were sure whether it was curiosity or concern in his eyes as they followed you into the hall.
âThe team knows to leave this floor alone until I give them the okay,â you said, gesturing for Buckyâs hands. He held them up for you and you removed Steveâs jacket and tossed it to the couch. Then, you unlocked each of the cuffs and set them on the table.
Bucky rubbed his hand over the reddened skin on his right wrist. You winced at the burn mark.
âIâm sorry. I didnât think I closed them that tight.â You reached for him and you were surprised when he didnât pull away. He allowed you to take his hand in yours, soothing the cool press of your palms against the irritated skin. He closed his eyes, sighing at the touch.
âCome on.â You eased Bucky to the couch, though you did not lose contact with his wrist. You sat down, sinking into the cushions and gently tugged him down beside you. He was uncomfortable, a little out of place, but you hoped the familiarity might be enough to sink in.
His posture was rigid beside you as you turned on the television and began to search for one of his favorite movies. You were so used to Bucky sliding in next to you, closing the gaps between you without ever acknowledging the comfort of laying in each otherâs arms. Now, he sat with his back straight, his hands planted firmly in his lap. He looked as though he didnât know what to do with the deep-set cushions and the pillows surrounding him.
Bucky looked around, his eyes skirting over the furniture, the television, the window view of the lake down the way, and thenâto you. He paused, his features softening.
âI know you, donât I?â
You clenched your jaw, fighting tears. You nodded.
âI know this place,â he continued, his voice a quiet whisper, as if he was worried who might overhear. âThese people, too.â
âYes, you do,â you confirmed gently. Panic began to wash over his features and you inched closer to him, setting your hand on his forearm. âIt will come back to you, Bucky. I promise. Give it some time. Iâll be here when it does.â
His eyes drew down to where you touched him, where your hand gently squeezed his forearm, your thumb brushing tenderly over the lining of his jacket. He watched you as if youâd never done that before, like heâd never experience such kindness in a touch.
***
It wasnât until long after the sun had gone down and the room coated in the comforting tones of the stars and moonlight beyond the window, the flash of the television illuminating the kitchen behind you, that Bucky finally spoke again.
âIâm sorry.â
You jolted up from your position, your cheek imprinted with the lines of his jacket. You hadnât realized how close you were to nodding off, how much youâd leaned against his body and relied on his comfort, even in this state. But something was different as he wrung his hands in his lap, twisting around metal fingers and reddening the skin of his right hand.
Bucky swallowed nervously, lowering his head. âIâm sorry I scared you.â
He was expecting you to withdrawal, to be angry for the burden heâd placed upon you, but instead, all you could feel was relief. You threw yourself into his arms, burying your face to the crook of his neck. He held his arms out to the side, as if he were unsure if his own touch was wanted, until slowly, he allowed himself to hold you.
âAre you okay?â you asked against his collar, unable to pull away for even a moment.
Bucky sighed. âAs okay as I can be, I suppose.â
You swallowed nervously. âHow much do you remember?â
âAll of it.â
You stilled; breath caught in your chest. Memory of the dehumanizing name still present on your tongue. âIâm sorry that Iâthat I called youââ
âItâs okay,â Bucky eased, his breath warm to the crown of your head. âYou did what you had to. You got me out. I could have... I could have hurt you.â
âNo,â you shook your head, determined. âYou saved me, Bucky. Hell, you even tried to protect me from Scott. All you did was protect me.â
Bucky nodded, a flicker of realization in his eyes. âI guess even in that state I knew.â
âKnew what?â you asked, looking up at him.
Bucky smiled and pressed a kiss to your hairline. âThat I could trust you with my life. That I would always protect you with it, too.â
You smiled at him, easing your hand against his cheek. Your thumb brushed sweetly over his cheekbone, your palm against the stubble on his jaw. Even as darkness clouded over him, even when he was lost to the confines of his own mind â he would find he way back to you.
Heâd come home.
---
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