gift giving - bucky barnes
silly little bucky fic ive had sitting in my drafts for months
My melody. Hello Kitty. kuromi. pochacoco?
Bucky reads over the names of the small cartoon characters searching for the familiar yet wholly indistinguishable character that adorns every single item you own: phone case, train card holder, laptop case, water bottle. All covered in images of that weird little bunny that you swear is a dog, but Bucky is unconvinced. The floppy years are too reminiscent of a rabbit to be anything but the aforementioned animal, but you are the super fan, and who is he but a mere mortal in your world?
“What are you looking for?” Yelena asks as she leans in towards Bucky, who is basically nose deep in the display, still trying to locate his target.
“That dog thing with the ears.” Bucky's answer is gruff, upset at the realisation that maybe this small store doesn't stock the little guy. “You know the one Honey likes?”
At the mention of you, Yelena pulls back, smirk twitching at the corner of her lips, but she is smart enough not to anger her unofficial/official leader, so instead she schools her expression into bored neutrality, but even with years of training, she cannot hide the amusement that slips into her question.
“Since when were you the souvenir-buying type?" Yelena picks up a small Hello Kitty figure and flips it, thumb gliding over the little red bow. "I thought we were only given enough cash for board and food?"
She poses the question as genuine interest, maybe even confusion at the sudden expense, but she knows the answer, knows that he has been collecting little items for you on each mission, that there is a steadily growing collection on your desk at work.
Bucky doesn't pay Yelena any mind but instead moves to the next table of the stall, kicking at her feet as a signal to move.
"It's my own money," he continues to scan the display.
"We don't get paid." Yelena scoffs, turning back in search of Bob or Ava, hell, even Alexei for back up, because since when have they been getting paid!?
"We don't. It's mine from back then. Ah!" Bucky's excited exclamation at success is far too out of character for the young blonde to handle. "Got it."
Gloved fingers reach out to wrap around the small figurine.
Cinnamoroll.
The little bunny sits stark against his leather-covered palm, a ridiculous juxtaposition at the innocent, squeaky clean toy in a worn-in, dirty glove, but Bucky hands it to the saleswoman, charming smile thrown her way as he asks for the gift-wrapped option, no matter the extra charge. Yelena observes as her teammate carefully tucks the wrapped box into his backpack, closing the zipper ever so slowly as not to catch any part of the ribbon or paper.
"Is there something going on between you and honey that you want to share?" Yelena squints as if she could see the truth if she just looked a little harder.
Bucky shakes his head, mouth set in a downturned smile. "Nothing that I'm willing to share with you guys."
"But there is something!"
Bucky has outpaced Yelena before she can ask any questions, his hand raised in the air to collect the group's attention before heading to the next checkpoint. She watches as the soldier walks away, backpack strapped tightly so as not to lose it and the precious cargo inside.
----
Bucky's latest gift sits in the centre of your desk. Cute little Cinnamoroll sitting on a cloud, big ears raised high as if he were trying to fly away from his soft perch. It was too cute!
But you're cuter. The small squeal of surprise that escaped you as Bucky handed you the wrapped gift, the giant smile that spread across your face as you opened the wrapping, and the ferocity with which you launched yourself at him in a hug in gratitude. It was all too much for the soldier to handle. He couldn't stop himself as he cupped your face and pulled you into a kiss, couldn't help the sigh that escaped his mouth as yours slotted perfectly against his. His heart hammered in his chest as you gripped his waist tighter, holding him against you, unwilling to let him part for a single second.
"You know you don't need to buy me gifts every time you leave for a mission, right?" you murmur against his mouth.
Bucky hums, thumb stroking over your cheek as he nips at your lower lip. "I know, but I want to." Another kiss, his tongue flicking against the plush flesh.
"You spoil me." You tug tighter, the blush in Bucky's cheeks growing despite his best efforts to keep his swooning in check.
"You deserve it," the reply comes out gruffer than he had intended, throat a little too tight as he tries his best to tamp down his racing heart. "You're my girl, and I've got every right to spoil you."
It's your turn to hum, pressing up on your toes to initiate another kiss. "I'm gonna spoil you later for all these gifts you keep buying me." The words are muffled, but the sentiment is evident as you bite down on his lower lip, fingers hooking into the belt loops on his trousers.
For a second, Bucky's mind blanks. Is this how he made you feel each time he flirted a little too hard? The times you blanked on a response as he crossed the line from sweet nothings into risque promises? It's still early in the relationship, and you two have not crossed that milestone just yet despite coming very, very close far too many times, but this is new, and you are important, and he wants to make sure everything is perfect because you deserve nothing but perfect. Bucky's cheeks continue to heat, heart slamming against his ribs, stomach fluttering at your brazen flirting, and he tries to respond, but it's just half-stuttered words.
"I-do you-we..." he pulls back, palms cupping your cheeks and holding you close. Your grin grows at his stammering. Bucky blinks a few times before gathering himself enough to string together a sentence. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, you knocked the words right outta me with that one."
Stunned Bucky is not a usual sight, so for that moment, you revel in the beauty that is blushing and kinda stupid Bucky because there really isn't a better gift than that.
Hiii please tag me when you post the next chapter for ot will come back. I have just gotten back to fanfic after YEARS and I'm dying to read this one <3
heeeyyy queen, i would love to tag you in the next chapter, unfortunately, that wont be for a while because im rewriting the whole thing and putting it out as a complete fic because ik i won't be able to do chapter by chapter
but yes message me and ill lyk when i finish it!!! xx
contrary to popular fandom belief, you have to BEG bucky to be rough with you. the amount of bargaining, convincing, borderline pleading you have to do to get bucky to be even a modicum of rough with you could possibly be considered unhinged. you don’t want him to be terrifying rough, to slap you around and choke you out but just to hold you and little firmer, bite a little harder, take what he wants without stopping every two seconds to check if you’re okay (you love him for that, more than he will know, but sometimes you need to be fucked dumb, to feel a little worthless beneath your partners hulking frame)
“buck, i promise i’m going to be okay. please”
“if i couldn’t handle it, i wouldn’t ask.”
it’s not as if bucky doesn’t want to give you what you want. hell, that’s all the wants, that’s what he live and breathes for but he’s apprehensive, not at the fear of losing control but accidentally hurting you. of having you think you can handle him and his strength and being proven wrong in hazardous ways. of marring your skin with his fingerprints, his teeth biting just that fraction too hard, of pressing his full weight into you and tearing muscle and breaking bones (okay the last one is a bit of an exaggeration but when he has spent more time as a soviet killing machine than regular human man, the worst of the worst outcome tends to always happen)
“sweetheart, i know you think can handle it but what if you can’t.”
“i’m a lot stronger than you think; heavier too. i just dont want to hurt you.”
bucky’s fear is valid. the doubts and anxiety of giving in to your wishes and having it go awry scrambling his thinking. that the worst case scenario besides you dead or physically injured would be that you get hurt and pull back entirely. break off the relationship and move across the world in fear of him, of the soldier that will always be apart of him.
but that doesn’t happen.
the progression starts off slow: the hand on your hip gripping tighter as you kiss, teeth scraping over your neck sharper and with less apprehension, the light taps against your ass as you ride him, hands pinned up over your head in a tighter yet still escapable grip, hips slamming into yours harsher, rougher. each action, each step taken rewarded with a kiss, each inch out of his comfort zone showered with praise and reminders of how much you love and trust him, each check in for your safety and comfortability answered without annoyance and complete honesty. and after when you are both a mess of flushed cheeks and huffed breaths, you remind bucky how much you love him, how safe you feel within his arms, how good and kind he is. bucky knows he has a while to go until he’ll feel comfortable enough to grip your waist tightly without the wave of guilt washing over him in ice cold waves but each time you kiss his cheek and whisper those words, he knows he can do it.
bucky begins to view you as a godly being because you are the nurse that comes in after his missions, always in a blinding light as his eyes adjust to the brightness of the examination room and you were always kind, always gentle with the soldier and in comparison to the torture be experiences at the hands of others, so what else was he meant to do? after constantly being preached at, the compulsory masses attended and prayers cast over him as he went under and came out, what else was he meant to do with the kind woman he treated him the way he imagined god would treat a child. what else did he have to lose?
full fic eventually? i kinda want to play with religious themes and deal with that but idk if yall would be interested? pls talk back to me and tell me! also lorde’s new album is KILLING me
i need soft bucky. I need bucky, who is so enamoured with you he is terrified to hold your hand. I need a bucky who is so freaking careful with you. not because he is scared he will hurt you or that you're terrified of him, but because he is so fucking nervous of making the wrong move and looking stupid. I need ridiculous, clumsy, head over heels bucky who stumbles over his words when you ask him how his day was, or how he all but jumps over the couch to help you with the groceries as you bring them in, I need bucky who holds doors and pulls out your chair, a bucky who kisses your forehead goodnight as he leaves you at your bedroom door, despite the vice like grip you have on his hand and doe eyes you've been giving him for the last forty five minutes BEGGING him to come inside, but because its not the right time. i need a bucky who is so fucking in love, so stupidly and deliriously infatuated that he can't think about anything but you, can't speak about anything but you, can't breathe without thinking that you're breathing the same air. i just need sappy, goofy, love dumb bucky to heal my aching soul.
im obsessed with everything of yours ive come across in the last ten minutes. the way you write bucky actually has me shaking on the floor with tears streaming down my face and my legs OML
ahhh omg thank you!!! i’ve been writing for bucky for like 11 years now so i feel as though i’ve crafted his perfect version of the character that i want to have hahahah thank you for taking the time to read my stuff ♥️♥️
okay but why does everyone make bucky so mean during sex? like why is he slapping me in the face? why is he calling me a whore in every single fic? what happened to feelings? to love?
You are like. The only writer i have found so far who actually takes into account that Bucky is probably dating for the first time in literally a century and would not be so easily ready to jump into the daddy dom super confident sex persona that I go a little insane scrolling past, sometimes. I appreciate your writing so much, man
Thank you so much!! Im going to go on a bit of a spiel with this answer but honestly, thank you for appreciating that because I grew up with Bucky, like he was my comfort character throughout high school and into my early twenties so I carry a lot of love for him completely separate from the whole desire for his character to be this sexy man, like this is a character I've used to get through my first break up/heartache, big changes in my life so seeing him reduced to this daddy dom kinda makes me sad cause he is a properly fleshed out character with a lot of backstory and heart and I want to write that and what it would be like to love/live with him
Basically, this is my long-winded thank you note for this lovely message because I do get a little sad thinking that people only want him because he's hot. (Don't get me wrong, I do love a bit of Bucky smut, but he really do be my baby and I love him as much as I've loved a character who doesn't exist)
i absolutely loved body wash, would you consider making a part two for it?
AHH yay!! thank you for the kind message! i’m not sure yet, i’m kinda just getting back into the swing of things in terms of writing but i’ll put it on the list !! thank you for reading my stuff 💞💞
body wash- bucky barnes
avenger!fem reader x bucky ft bestie sam -honey is a replacement for y/n
A sweetness washes over you as you side up to Bucky and Sam, the familiar scent catching you off guard because it is not you who smells like that you are far from smelling pleasant. Dirt and blood cake your skin, tight braid holds your filthy hair back from your equally muddy face, but when Fury calls from a debrief, there is very little time to clean yourself up beyond a quick spray of the deodorant left behind on the quinjet and the canned summer floral breeze does little to mask the stench of earth and gore.
You file in between the two men. Sam equipped with his wings and Bucky's hulking shoulders do little to give you room to walk between the two of them but you manage, pushing back against your shoulders to keep pace.
"So which one of you two used my body wash?" you question as you turn the corner, eyeing Bucky, who is already staring at you, eyes narrowing before schooling his expression back into neutrality.
"Don't know what you're talking about, sweetheart." He quirks a smile at you before flicking his eyes to Sam. "But Bird Boy over there smells an awful lot like you."
"How do you know what she smells like, Barnes?" Sam is quick with his retort, knocking against your shoulders with his and on any other given day, you would have pushed him back but after the mission you had just been off, your body gave into the shove. Ricochetting into Bucky who is already holding his hands up and out to steady you as your sway on your aching feet.
Fingers slide over the small of your back, the other wrapping around your arm to hold you upright and just as quickly as you're knocked off balance, you're pushed back into equilibrium with the help of the super solider.
"You right, hon?" Bucky asks, voice softer than earlier, hands lingering on you as he waits for an answer.
For a moment the only thing you can focus on is the gentleness with which he holds you, never having experienced for yourself before only witnessing it on the battlefield and missions as he cared for women and children, soft hands and even softer tone guiding them to safety under his protection. It stirs something within you, something deep in your chest and even deeper in your gut, heat blooming where it should not. He is your teammate, your mission partner, maybe a friend on your good days so why were you feeling like you wanted him to hold you forever, to never move his hand from the small of your back, to grip you a little tighter, to... no.
"Yeah, I'm fine," you shake the thoughts away, the world swaying a little as your head moves in rapid succession. "Just a little tired."
Bucky does not remove his hands but the pressure on your arm lessens.
"Need me to carry you?" he teases, lips quirking in a smirk.
You debate taking him up on his offer not just because you are beyond exhausted but because you want to have him close. Find out if the muscles that fill out his shirt work, to feel the cold of his arm, his heartbeat, stubble on your forehead as he presses a kiss to your hairline. What would he kiss like? Is he someone who rushes with heavy breaths and lots of tongue or is he soft and slow pulling moans and gasps from you like honey from a jar? Would he hold your cheeks, stroking his thumb over your skin or keep you close with a hand on the back of your neck? Is he the type to savour the feel of your mouth on his or does he explore, tasting the skin of your neck and collarbones, following the line of your shoulder, then back and down and down and-
"Hey, kid! You alright?" You're shaken out of your thoughts, body swaying as Bucky tries to get your attention. "Do you need to go to the medic?"
"I... no....I'm..." your stuttering does nothing to ease the growing tension radiating from Bucky. "I'm okay, I just got a little distracted. I'm okay." You pull your body out of his grip, bumping into Sam as you wretch yourself free.
Another pair of hands grip your shoulders and hold you upright but even as Sam holds you with the same gentleness Bucky did, there is no fire, no static beginning to buzz in your fingertips, it's just Sam.
"Are you sure? Did you hit your head or something?" Concern creases Bucky's forehead as he ducks his head to get a better look at you. He clasps your chin between his thumb and forefinger, bringing your gaze up as he scans your eyes for concussion. Blue eyes frantically search yours and you feel the heat blooming again.
"Buck, I'm fine." you shake your face free, pushing against his shoulders to create distance in an effort to smother the fire building under your skin. "I've just finished a week-long mission, I'm tired and I stink and I just want to get this over with."
Sam's hands loosen on your shoulders as you step forward out from between them. "Honey-" Bucky tries again but you hold up a hand to cut him off.
"James, I'm fine. I just got distracted for a second thinking about which one you stole my body wash." the attempt to change the subject is weak but it's better than standing there with him so close. "I'm gonna see if I can get his meeting over and done with-" you jab your thumb towards the end of the hall. "and then if you don't hear from me by tonight, then you can come and check on me but let me shower and get back to being a human, yeah?"
Step by step you inch away from the two until you are far enough away you can turn and head to the door with heated cheeks and a racing heart. Fuck.
----
"What did you do to her, man?" Sam accuses, shoving Bucky's arm.
"I didn't do anything!" Bucky shrugs as he starts to go over the last few minutes in his mind but nothing stands out as out of the ordinary.
"Well, you obviously did something. I've never seen her freaked out like that" Sam gestures towards your retreating figure.
"Do you think it was the body wash thing 'cause I only used it 'cause I had nothing left." Bucky's confession is whispered, afraid you might hear him and come back for revenge. He knows how pedantic you are about your bath and body products but he really did run out of his usual soap and he wasn't not going to wash himself. "Plus it smells nice, I like the way she smells."
Sam squints at Bucky, trying to connect the pieces as to whether or not his friends had something more than they were letting on.
"I'll buy her some more in the morning." Bucky nods, turning his attention the the sound of the door closing at the end of the hall.
Something doesn't feel right. A feeling of unease sits in your stomach, gnawing at the edges of your ribs. It's something small, maybe a misplaced item or an errand you had forgotten to do today. Did you put the washing out? Was it anyone’s birthday?
You run through a list of possible causes for the discomfort in your tummy, the turning in your gut calming as you continue down your mental checklist. It all but disappears as you reach the end, the breathing exercise calming your racing heart. But that peace is short-lived as you turn over, snuggling further into your sheets and spot it. Possibly the biggest spider in the history of mankind sitting comfortably on your pillow as if it also chipped in for the rent.
One would think that after years of training with the Avengers and having fought creatures with more than eight legs, you would have been able to handle a spider. They would be wrong.
A shrill scream leaves your lungs and you fling yourself off the bed, stumbling over the wired frame, smacking into the wrought iron hard enough to leave bruises, and catapult into the hallway.
“Bucky! Steve!” Your shout echoes through the apartment before the sound of pounding feet come running down the hall.
Steve reaches you first, arm winding around your waist to pull you behind the shield as Bucky follows closely behind, a kitchen knife gripped tight in his right hand.
"What's happening?" Steve asks frantically, looking down at you and checking your face for injuries.
You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut tight.
"There's a spider on the pillow." you gag, covering your mouth with your hand.
Steve's arm loosens.
"Seriously?" his tone defeated.
“Get rid of it, please.”
“Honey, we thought you were getting attacked” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he props the shield up against the wall. “Don’t scare us like that.”
“Steve, ease up. She hates spiders” Bucky reprimands his friend’s disapproving tone. “Go get a paper towel of somethin’ “
“You’re an Avenger, how do you not have your license?” Bucky’s tone is both accusatory and disbelieving as you slide into the driver’s seat of Sam’s car.
You oppose his question with a single digit held up before his face as you buckle yourself in with the other. “Correction, I am a part of the Avengers team, I am not an Avenger.”
Bucky rolls his eyes. “But you’re on the payroll?”
“Technically, however,” James opens his mouth to interrupt with vindication at your admission but the stare you give him has him closing his mouth. “If you look at the role I get paid for it is just as a team member, not as a superhero or whatever your official definition is.”
“But you're on the team?”
“Yes.”
A small chuckle comes from your driving instructor. “So you're an Avenger but don’t have your license?” he deadpans.
Your hands clench at the wheel, ready to unbuckle and leave the car in search of another supervisor.
“Are you even allowed to drive?” you accuse. “With you’re whole…thing? Is that even legal?”
“Hey, I’m not the one on trial here.” Bucky raises his hands in defence.
“No, but you were, so….”
“That’s harsh, doll.”
“Plus you don’t have an updated driver’s license so that’s two strikes for you.”
“That is a technicality-” Bucky holds a finger up as he makes his point.
“And, there weren't autos back in your day so that’s three strikes, Barnes” You reach across the console and open his door. “You’re out.”
Bucky stares back at you, jaw dropped in bewildered disbelief at your sudden dismissal.
“Out of the car, old man. Go get Sam or Steve.” you jab your thumb to the outside world. “Hell, get Tony he might not drive a real car but its better than whatever you used to drive back in the day.”
~ bucky barnes x fem!reader
~tags/cw: pre-civil war (bucky is in Romania and finds a friend in the local supermarket girl) they finally have their first coffee date! angst! bucky thinking about his past. honey is a replacement for y/n
~ wc: 2.4k
~ not proofread
For fifty years, the soldier had been the active mind in the body of James Buchanan Barnes. For that half a century, Bucky’s actions had not been his own, which in some aspects soothes the guilt that gnaws at his chest like a raven ravaging a corpse, picking at his decaying organs till his bones shine bright and clean, but in some other regards bolsters the powers of the monster made of shame and regret because he had been there, albeit locked in the deep, deep recesses of the soldier’s mind without any way of breaking free of the prison, but he was still there. James saw everything, felt every wound that tore at his skin, heard every cry and plea, the weight of the knife in his palm as he plunged into the neck of the soldier’s mission. He was there. Was. A key verb Bucky reminds himself of every morning as he spills the contents of his stomach into the sink after a new nightmare wretches him awake. Was. The word he writes in his journal over and over again until the script begins to look like chicken scratching. Was. Written in steam on the mirror as he dresses after a shower. A faint mark on his hand. The slip of paper in his wallet. A consistent reminder of his current reality. It has been working well this far, each time he feels that familiar pull of guilt's spindly fingers gripping his shoulders, he opens his journal or reads the slip of paper, a way to redirect his thoughts away from the feeling in the pit of his stomach that does not conjure any distinct memories, but fills his body with dread.
Was. Was. Was.
The slip of paper sits neatly in the second card slot in the tattered (and stolen) wallet. Beneath it is a metro card (also stolen) and another slip of paper.
If you ever get a phone x
0763 389 295
Your handwriting is neat, slanting slightly to the right as you quickly scrawled the message on a larger piece of paper before ripping it and slipping it into Bucky’s shopping bag. He hadn’t noticed the note until he had gotten home and began to unpack the groceries. Squished between two cans of fruit sat the delicate white piece, the black ink had leaked slightly due to the condensation off the fruit you had ‘sold’ him quickly before you shoved him out the door in case your manager caught on to the suspiciously low sale price and rectified the ‘mistake’.
“I don’t want you to get fired, I can pay for the fruit.” Bucky had whispered as you pushed him out the door, your hands on his backpack shoving him towards the automatic doors. He was letting you push him, allowing you the small victory of feeling as though you had power over him in this moment just because he liked the way you smiled when you noticed his lack of apprehension to the touch.
You shushed him and continued to press forward. “It’s not that expensive, I’ll just label it as a mistake.”
Bucky stopped, rooting his feet to the floor and preventing you from shoving him another inch. He felt your body slam into his back at the sudden halt, a small huff coming from you at the sudden bump. He turned to face you. You looked even cuter as you pouted.
“Exactly, so let me pay for them.” He began to reach for the wallet but your hand on his wrist stopped him.
Panic paralysed the ex-assassin for a moment as your fingers wrapped around his arm, your pinky dangerously low to the edge of his jacket sleeve, to the sliver of metal that sometimes peeked out from under the layers. Bucky’s heart began to race, thudding in his chest and filling his head with loud thumps, his breathing turned shallow, chest heaving rapidly. He should run. Wretch his arm away from you and run the entire way home, then get on a train and move.
Run, you moron! Run!
But he couldn’t. The grip on his wrist softened as you noticed his change in demeanour. You pulled back breaking all contact in a fraction of a second and stepping back, giving him a wide berth to move if need be.
“Are you-?” You asked, face softening in concern.
Bucky nodded, inhaled a short sharp breath and squared his shoulder. “Yeah.” he slipped the wallet into the plastic bag. “I’ve gotta go, see ya.”
And he was out the door. The whooshing in his brain didn’t stop until he was safely inside his apartment, the door barricaded with a plank of wood and the sound of the television playing softly in the background. The metal of his arm flashed in his peripheral vision, and god did he want to rip it from his body. To tear the faux appendage and throw it into a river, off a mountain, in the dump, anywhere that I would not be attached to him. Tears pricked at Bucky’s eyes as he felt his throat tighten with impending tears. He had already cried this morning and had hoped he would not again for the rest of the day but as he slid down the the door, the tears began to flow and Bucky was once again alone.
—---
Bucky’s apology for the abrupt exit came a day later. In the form of a letter left for you at the front desk. A coworker hands it to you, clearly very annoyed that he had been tasked with something other than work.
“Some guy left it for you.” he sighs, shoves his hands into jacket pockets and starts to walk down the aisle.
“Some guy? And you took it?” You shout at him in disbelief. “Did you even ask his name?”
Your co-worker shakes his head, still with his back to you and answers. “Didn’t care enough to.”
The envelope itself is clean. No weird marks or stains, nothing that could indicate that there would be anything creepy or dangerous inside. It isn’t heavy or bulky so no weird gift concealed in it, so maybe it’s safe? You slowly open the paper careful to avoid spilling any powder or whatever may be inside but as you open it and find a note, your fears begin to subside.
Inside there is a handwritten note addressed to you.
Honey,
I’m sorry that I left so quickly the other day. You did nothing wrong, I just got a bit overwhelmed and had to leave. I’ve left extra money in here to pay for the plums so please put it in the register or use it for something you want, I don’t mind, I just don't want you to get fired.
I might not be in for a few days (there is a big job coming up a town away) but I'll see you when I get back. I still don’t have a phone so I’ll come in and see you. I hope you still want to get coffee.
Bucky x
---
"So why are you in Bucharest?”
The question is simple enough that a non-detailed answer could be given, and neither one would be the wiser, Yet you both sit in the booth, eyes trained on the steaming cups of coffee, in complete silence.
You're the first to break the silence.
"Did you get the plums?”
Bucky looks up from his coffee, lines of worry melting. “I did.” he reaches into his backpack, the same one you had seen on him each time he came into the store, and pulls out two perfectly purple plums. His large, gloved hand dwarfs the small fruits, looking like tiny river stones in his palm.
For a moment he is no longer the man who had saved you from certain death. He is a boy you had met long ago in the village square with eyes of endless blue and a smile of summer sunshine, whose hand slipped in yours as you ran through fields of wheat and barley, hiding in empty fox holes and climbing the great oak trees. He is a child, unburdened and carefree, suffering and heartbreak unknown.
You sit straighter, leaning in to get a good look at the fruit before you and match the small smile on his face.
“You want one?” Bucky offers.
The action itself does nothing to shake the aura of innocence surrounding him at that moment. It was too kind, too well-intentioned to reignite that ember of apprehension that lives in each interaction you have, but there is something off about him, not sinister or unpleasant, just something that isn’t quite as obvious as it should be.
You shake your head at the generous act.
“Oh, it's okay. They must been expensive, not being in season. Thank you, though. You’re very sweet.”
Bucky nods and retracts his hand, the fruit disappearing back into the backpack. His cheeks are pinker than before, ears tinting red and you wonder if it's because of your compliment, though not at all your intention, but it has your heart racing a beat faster.
“Have you always lived in Bucharest?” he asks, gloved fingers picking up the mug of steaming coffee.
“Not always.” You trace the lip of your mug with a finger, taking the time to formulate a concise response without trauma dumping. “I lived in a few Yugoslavian countries until I was around five then moved to the US ‘till around a year ago. Travelled around for a bit before finally settling here.”
“Didn’t like any of the other places?” Bucky takes a sip of his coffee.
“London was good, Ireland even better but I missed the feeling of home. I wanted something that made me feel safe and ended up in Serbia for a bit before coming here.”
“What made you choose Romania?” his interest in your story seems sincere.
You look up from the foam of your cappuccino to find Bucky watching you intently.
“Wanna hear the dorky truth or a cooler answer?”
“Dorky truth.”
You sigh and square your shoulders. “Vampires.”
“Vampires?” Bucky laughs, covering his mouth with his hand to stifle the rest of his amusement.
“I know, it’s stupid. I just-” You can't help the laugh that escapes you as you begin to gush over the creatures you had obsessed over as a teen. “I was obsessed with vampires when I was a kid and promised myself I would visit Bran Castle when I got older, which I did see on my first week here, and then ended up finding a really nice apartment and a decent job so here I am.”
“You were obsessed with vampires as a kid?” Bucky fixes you with a look of pure astonishment.
You nod, taking another sip of your coffee to hide the blush creeping over your face.
“You, a child, were obsessed with a terrifying creature of the night?”
“I wasn’t a child. Okay, a kid is an exaggeration, I was, around fourteen, fifteen maybe. And I read this book and the vampire was attractive and it just spiralled from there.”
“The vampire was attractive?”
“Yes, as attractive as words on a page can be.” you shrug,
“Are you admitting to finding old bald men with creepy ears attractive?”
Old bald man? Creepy ears? Oh!
“Bucky no! Not Dracula!” the volume of your exclamation is a tad too loud for the small cafe.
“What other popular novel about vampires is there? He’s the only one I can think of.”
“You’ve never heard of Twilight?”
“As the time of day, yes.” he looks at you as though you're the stupid one for thinking that Twilight could be anything other than that.
“Not the vampire series with the mortal girl and vampire lover?”
Bucky shakes his head.
“You need to watch it.” you rub your temples in mock frustration. “We’re watching it, I’m going to force you to watch it so you can see the appeal that is the modern-day vampire.”
“I’m not going to-” he begins his protest.
“Why are you acting like you have a choice in any of this? As your friend, I must educate you on the wonders of the Twilight Saga, the fate of our friendship depends on it.”
“As my friend?” the corners of his mouth twitch downwards in a sad smile. “We’re friends?”
“Yeah. What other word would you use to describe two people who are gonna spend the next week watching the best and worst movie franchise in the history of mankind?”
“A kidnapping victim?”
You gasp in shock, hand pressing against your heart in offence. “How dare you? I was about to open my home to you but no longer, Bucky….” You trail off not realising you don’t know his last name.
“Rogers,” he answers and you continue your tirade.
“Bucky Rogers, you are no longer invited to my twilight marathon.” you can’t stop the smile from spreading over your face despite your futile attempts at mock anger.
Bucky just shakes his head and laughs, his eyes crinkling up as he smiles at you. “You’re a weird kid.”
“Kid?” You laugh and pick up the mug you had almost forgotten about. “How old are you?”
“Older than you think.” there is a hint of humour in his answer but you're not sure why. It had not been a funny question or any kind of innuendo yet the glimmer in his eyes alludes to a fact you are not yet privy to.
“That’s ominous,” the cup returns to the table but your fingers do not leave the mug. “Are you secretly a hundred-year-old vampire? Are you here to seduce me into joining your army of the undead?”
“I am but I’m not bald with long ears and creepy nails so I don’t think anything I do is gonna work on you?”
“It wasn’t Dracula!” you throw your hands up exasperated and sigh, your cheeks hurting from the constant smiling.
Bucky hums his refusals to accept your truth. He is prettier now, especially as he relaxes into the soft cushion beneath him, all tension eased as you both laughed at your ridiculous life choices. The blue in his eyes seems brighter and you like the way his lips look as you smile. Fuck, he is beautiful.
“Imagining me bald with pointy ears?” Bucky teases, tucking his hair behind human ears.
You cannot help the rolls of your eyes as you shake your head. “Nope, just thinking about how you don’t really look like a Rogers.”
i am going to be posting some drafts I have sitting in my computer because I don't know when I'm going to be able to upload again (new work schedule that has me working six days a week but I want to get some stuff out) plus it all silly, brain rot stuff that I don't think I would put in an actual fic
