The Domestic Life of Living with a Runaway Assassin [CHP. Three]
Pairings: Bucky Barnes x soulmate!reader
Summary: You hate many things in life. You hate soulmates. You hate the avengers. You hate guns, louder snorers, and complicated relationships.
Bucky Barnes is associated with all of those things, yet you can't find yourself hating him.
Author note: no one: …. The reader: okay but what if I domesticated him? Thank you to @i-l-y-3000 for beta reading this :)
Series Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | playlist
Bucky Barnes' new favorite day of the week is Friday. Fridays were the day you would come home from work, tired legs and bags of snacks from the convenience store a block down from your apartment. And soon enough Bucky learned you were a movie freak, and a music freak.
Doesn’t matter, it helped Bucky get adjusted with the time and also a great excuse to get close to you. You’d excitedly introduce a new revolutionary and iconic (your words, not his) movie or show. Going on a ramble of the plot and meaning before even pressing play, barely avoiding spoilers with how you ranted.
Though, he didn’t care much for the movie part - at least not as much as you.
“I don’t get it,” Bucky said, Eyebrows knotted as he watched Frank-n-Further chase around Eddie.
“He’s jealous, obviously.” You groaned. Head resting on Bucky's thigh and feet hanging over the edge of your couch. The soldier fought back a blush and more on movie nights, Bucky never understood if it was the movie ambiance or that you used this as an excuse, but you were always so much more comfortable with touch then. He wasn’t complaining.
Last week you had fallen asleep on his chest halfway through tangled, Bucky woke up first that time and tried not to explode from the closeness. Even when you’re starting to get tired, dropping your head onto his shoulder gently, it causes a weird feeling in his stomach that made him feel a little more alive. More human, like he was worthy of these soft and gentle touches. Filled with only innocence instead of malice. It was liberating.
“I really think killing him is a little over dramatic.” Bucky deadpanned. You laughed, it sounded so sweet. Bucky fought back a smile.
You tap at his knee to the song's melody, drawing shapes on his leg while you rest your head on his lap. “That’s Frank’s entire character, Buck.”
Yeah, Bucky really likes movie nights.
Though he was never sure if the tug and intense burn in his body when you touched him was because of the universe or his true feelings. He was struggling with his feelings, his trust towards you since staying. Hell, he was still trying to find his own mind, find himself. Maybe he was too blinded by the mere concept of a soulmate, meeting you was an entirely new things. A good thing at least, especially for the time in which he met you. Many, many things could have gone wrong when you met. This was the best thing to happen to Bucky since before the war.
Bucky wasn’t sure how long I’d last, if you wanted this to be permanent, I’d be hard. They’d come for him eventually, or he’d have to leave. Something would go wrong, it always did. So Bucky forced himself to live in this moment, don’t forget - don’t you ever forget the way her skin feels grazing across yours, he would tell himself.
You raised your head, cold enveloped Bucky and his gaze flicked to you. You sat on your knees and shooed him, “move over, my legs are going numb hanging off the side.”
Bucky nodded, though unsure of what you meant by ‘move’. He was already at the edge of the couch and there was no way you’d fit —
Your knees caged his right leg, one hand on his chest and the other drifting to the side of his waist and at the edge of the couch. Dear gods, this is what dying must feel like. Your head laid on his chest and Bucky was praying you didn’t feel how fast his heart was beating for you. The new position, the closeness - it didn’t seem to affect you. You paid no mind as you watch the television, watching them perform ‘I can make you a man’, a small smile on your face. Bucky knew it was the movie, but he wondered if it could be because of him.
As the movie went on, and Janet snuck into Rocky’s bed, Bucky grew flustered. The weird feeling that often lingered in his stomach traveled lower and lower until he was met with a feeling he hasn’t felt since before his time as the winter soldier. Panic rose to his head fast, eyes darting towards you, checking if you noticed the dent in his pants. Where you were laying.
Bucky was quite convinced he was incapable of getting hard after so much time in the freezer. Guess not, he watched Rocky’s hands travel over Janet’s body, her waist and breast. Bucky thought of you. Was that wrong? To think of you in such a way, despite the way you felt towards him and putting aside the soul mark. Bucky wasn’t sure, he just knew he was incredibly hard and aching. Hoping you didn’t notice.
Whatever gods must have answered his prayers, because as the ending credit rolled. You fell asleep. Bucky felt the nudge of your nose into his neck, he could smell your shampoo, lavender - like your tea. He grew accustomed to the smell by now, he would understand that it was you from anywhere. you melted closer into Bucky and if he were any other man, his heart would have stopped.
Next Friday came, and Bucky kept his distance more than last week. Your head still ended up on his shoulder and eventually on his chest, you stayed off of him though and did end up going to your respective rooms later that night. You moved on from movies and clicked on Netflix, squealing about a new season of the walking dead, yet you still started from the beginning for bucky. Through the tough and sarcastic exterior, you were crazy considerate and Bucky forgot what being on the other end of that felt like.
The television flashes and the light hits your features in a way that makes you look sculpted and beautiful. You are beautiful. His eyes flicked back to the screen, you moved farther into Bucky and he carefully put his arm over your shoulder and around the back of the couch. It was so easy to forget who he was, his history, and why he was here.
“You remind me of Daryl.” you commented.
Bucky's face dropped, as the next scene showed the man pointing a gun in the face of another man, a cold and hard look in his eyes. Is that what you thought of him? If he were still the asset, is that what Bucky would be to you?
You already sensed him tense up, the quietness in his voice. “Because you’re all quiet and reserved, sneaky. His protectiveness reminds me of you. He's smart and caring under all the leather and frowns.”
“Is that what it is?” Bucky teases, feeling a little lighter in his chest.
“And the long hair.” you comment, tugging at the overground strands that grazed against your face when you nuzzled into him close enough. “I'm gonna buy you some nice shampoo. Deep condition this shit.”
A deep chuckle left his lips, you felt the vibration from his chest and a sweet laugh left your lips. Bucky's eyes flickered to you again, it doesn't matter if you never came along to the soul mark, as long as you'll have him anyway. He’ll be happy. No matter your feelings.
The next day Bucky found a few bottles of olaplex in the bathroom, a note for Bucky that gave extra instructions on how to use it.
Steam left the bathroom door as he opened it and instantly found you with an excited grin, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. A sheepish grin grew on Bucky's face as he leaned down to let you inspect his head of hair. Rustling it and noticing the small natural blonde highlights that even Bucky didn't remember having.
You were looking at him as if he was everything, and for a moment, he felt it. Bucky couldn't stop smiling and he wondered if this is what love feels like.
You sat on the window sill, watching the snow fall with a peaceful face and peaceful mind. You'd been a little busy at work, the ER was always busy during the holidays, and never for good reasons. Too many sledding accidents and family fights after people who should not be around each other are suddenly forced to, especially with the pressure to be happy.
This is the exact reason why you were spending your Christmas Eve morning watching the snow fall, waiting for Bucky to get up and anxiously looking at the two large boxes shoved in the corner. They started collecting dust in your closet. You didn't care much for seeing your family, you made sure to call your favorite cousins and grandpa, send a nice text and money to your mother and father. Not like they should be together for the holidays. Your family wasn’t… great, by any means. You only ever saw the holiday as a way for everyone to be forced together, only ending in arguments, kids crying after being put in the middle of adult feuds and people leaving early or hitting up their old childhood friends for a place to stay until they could get out of dodge.
Once you got old enough to realize you didn't need to force yourself through that, the holidays felt a lot better. Less burden on your shoulder when you saw the days counting down to the 25th. Though, you didn't expect to be spending your days with a runaway assassin of a soulmate, whom you're not even sure you have real feelings toward yet. But life is weird like that, right?
You heard the faint sound of shuffling from the hallway, in came walking a sleepy Bucky with a major case of bedhead. What a sight, huh? His eyes were still squinted as he adjusted to the light, sleep was a good look on him. You were beyond proud he was actually getting it, those 100mg melatonin pills you snatched from the hospital have been doing wonders, even if it only works for a couple of hours. You'd still hear him gasp awake with heavy pants at night, you started to leave alpine in his room at night. That seemed to help more often than not.
Sometimes you think about slipping into bed with him, just to hold him and brush the hair away from his face, lull him to sleep, and reassure him that nobody is going to come after him. The bad guys were gone and he just had you and a fluffy snow-white cat to worry about it. You never mustered up the courage to do so, maybe someday, if he will let you.
“Coffees in the pot.” you hummed, watching him nod and continue shuffling into the kitchen. A small smile graces your lips and you turn back to the window, mumbling under your lips, “what a big dork.”
You forget supersoldier hearing sometimes, a small and moody grunt came from Bucky as he poured his coffee. “I heard that.”
Bucky came shuffling back in, the blue pajama pants you bought him, a size too big as they dragged at his heel. A black v-neck shirt, the metal of his arm showed at the hem and shined from the sun. He sipped his coffee and plopped down onto the couch, “Merry Christmas eve.”
It goes silent for a moment, like most mornings. But the look on Bucky's face showed something else than just not speaking because of drowsiness. His eyebrows knotted, in deep thought, or emotional turmoil. Bucky did this thing when stuff got awkward, or when he had too many emotions and nothing to do with it. He pursed his lips quickly and dramatically, breathed in deep, and slightly flared his nostrils. He was doing it right now, staring off into the distance.
“What's going on in your cyborg brain?”
His eyes stayed unfocused and on the wall in front of him, “it's computing.”
“And what's it saying.” you asked innocently, stepping down from the window sill and taking your place next to him. Pressing your cheek to his forearm as you leaned into Bucky.
“It’s saying this is my first Christmas since… since I was, well, myself.” Bucky stuttered out like he was still trying to find the correct words. Bucky's eye flick to the window, and the snow as it fell onto the balcony. And then you, who was already looking up him with so much care in your eyes.
“Well, Merry first Christmas in 70 years.” you smiled at him, “speaking of!” you shot up, shuffling to your corner and picking up the two surprisingly heavy boxes and setting them in front of the supersoldier. “My wrapping job is pretty bad, but I got you something.”
Bucky stared in awe at the boxes, his eyes going between you and the bright green wrapping paper. “W- what?”
“Merry Christmas, here is your present.” you said plainly, gesturing to him and back to the boxes. “Open it before I give it away.”
Hesitantly, Bucky pulled it onto his lap, surprised by the weight of it. Wondering what the hell you could even get for a 100-year-old ex-brainwashed assassin. He didn't have many interests or hobbies, not that he can remember, or ones you'd know of. Bucky’s fingers carefully unwrapped the paper, pulling back to see a cardboard box. Tearing back the tape, inside was a good stack of records. All were a little frayed and dusty, some of the corners torn and a few had some water damage from old age.
“You mentioned dancing a few times, so I assume you liked music back then.” You watched his fingers trace over each record, reading familiar names like Benny Goodman, Harry James, and Glenn Miller. “There was a lady on eBay selling a huge box of 40s music, I haven't gone through them so tell me if some of them are from different eras but –”
“Thank you.” Bucky turned to you, tears welling in his waterline. “Thank you, so much.”
You didn't know what to do, he was just staring at you with shaky hands as he grasped at the record. You smiled, nodding, “you’re welcome, but you're not done.”
Bucky turned back, choking down any tears and brushing them away. Feeling the other box, which was even heavier, mumbling under his breath about how this was too much and he wasn’t worth it. You chose to ignore the comments, and let him be in his own world as he tore back the wrapping once again, running his finger over the much nicer cardboard box. The words sony are written on the side in white letters.
“Got to have something to listen to your songs on.” you teased, helping him take the record player from the box. Along with it a few other stray records, one he didn’t recognize. Showing them to you with a curious smile. “And my music. You're gonna listen to Lana del Ray and Florence + the Machine if you like it or not.”
Bucky chuckled, setting the records aside and beginning to take the player out of the box. A dopey grin on his face and warmth in his chest.
That's how you spent your Christmas morning. Bucky had not smiled this much in decades, you cleared off a tray coffee table and dedicated it to the player, a small area to store the records. Bucky went through the music, nostalgia heavy on his mind as new memories were brought back at every song. Girls in long skirts and red lips, soda, and fries in busy diners, attempting to drag a young Steve Rogers onto dance floors despite having two left feet. It didn't hurt as much as Bucky expected it to when he thought about the glory days, before the war – before HYDRA. How could he wish to go back when you were standing in front of him?
You had put on home alone, another iconic movie he needed to be knowledgeable on. You switched between Frank Sinatra and Faye Webster, a mix of both. You were humming to my funny valentine, whispering the lyrics under your breath as you made your second cup of coffee.
“I'm going to be working tomorrow night, so you're stuck spending Christmas day with Alpine.” you mention, pouring your creamer into the mug.
Buckys tilted his head in confusion, “not going to see your family?”
You almost winced at the mere question of it, staring down into your coffee for a few seconds too long. You nervously nipped at your lips, Bucky almost reached out to stop you but you began to speak. “My family is a little dysfunctional, to put it lightly,” you exhaled a heavy breath. “Every Christmas ends in some large argument, I'd rather spare myself from it and stay home.”
“Are your parents still together?” Bucky asked. You never talked about your family, always avoiding it like the plague. You mention your cousins on a few occasions, always short and sweet. “I don't want to push–”
“No, no, it’s okay,” you reassure him. “they are, but they shouldn't.”
You chewed on your cheek, and shook your head, “Another time.” you waved off Bucky's concerns, and he didn't push it any further and followed close behind you into the living room again.
“What about your parents, what were they like?” you asked, gaze on the screen for a moment before landing on bucks.
“My mom’s name was Winifred, everyone called her Winnie.'' Bucky smiled, eyes twinkling and proud of himself for even being able to remember.
Bucky nodded, “She would have liked you, she was strong.” Bucky continued, tapping his fingers on his knees, missing your touch already. “When I was young, my dad got into an accident in basic training at camp Lehigh. Probably was why my mother was so petrified when I got the draft letter." Bucky breathed out, wracking his brain for his own memories. The 40s jazz in the background was doing tremendous help. Thanks to you. “I had a young sister, Becca, she was amazing. She would have loved you, I used to be so paranoid that I couldn’t protect her from the boys when I left for the Army.”
Your head fell onto his shoulder like it always seems to do, a sadness cast over your face, one Bucky didn't recognize for a moment. “I’m sorry you had to miss out on that, I feel shitty for complaining about my parents now.”
“Don’t be, it’s okay, doll.” the nickname left his lips like it was meant for you, maybe it was. The whole universe thing, right? His hand brushed at a few flyaways on your head, his features were soft. “Now, what's the next Christmas movie on the list?”
You smiled so brightly, “thought you'd never ask.”
Midday came and went, and Christmas Eve was spent under blankets and holding hot mugs. You and Bucky went through the home alone movies, a Christmas story, and a few very shitty Netflix originals. It was still snowing out as the day started to darken.
The credits to love, actually rolled and you dropped your head by the back of the couch, a loud sigh leaving your chest. “Best. Christmas. Movie. Ever.”
Bucky hums in agreement, his eyes flickering to the mountain of dishes building from your constant snacking all day. Alpine's tail grazed his ankle as she trotted along, Bucky smiled softly for some reason. No reason, does there have to be a reason anymore? He rose to his feet, “it’s my day to do the dishes.”
You hummed in acknowledgment as Bucky started the facet, hot water running across the metal and flesh and Bucky once again reminded of the machine on his body. A sharp pain in his chest as his jaw clenches, he gulped down the bad thoughts and grabs a sponge.
Bucky zoned out for a while, on autopilot as he drys the ceramic plates. Missed the rustle of paper and your feet, the sound of the needle skipping on the record before ‘you made me love you’ echoes through your apartment. Bucky blinks and suddenly you're humming and swaying your shoulders and hips to Harry James as you put away the mugs. He smiles again.
“You made me happy sometimes, you made me glad, but there were times you made me feel so bad…” you whisper the lyrics under your breath, Bucky mesmerized. You’re so beautiful. He wonders for a moment if you see that too, do you look in the mirror and see your beauty the same way he did? Do you appreciate the curve of your lip as he does? Or see the kindness in your eyes. Do you hear the soft melody of your voice when you speak? Can you feel the way Bucky started to grow more and more fond of you over the months?
“You know you’ve got the brand of kisses that I’d die for,” you hum under your breath as you continue your chores, moving seamlessly around Bucky as if you were made to be beside him his entire life. Paying no mind to his affectionate stares. If he kissed you, would you find the songs come true? That the words you sing would become thoughts and you’d ache for him.
The record skips and you stop singing, a frown falls on your face and disappointment paints your features. “Shit, I’m sorry. She said some of them might be a little scratched.”
Bucky’s back on earth and you’re shuffling back to the record player, “you mind if I play Lana? I think you’d like Brooklyn baby.” You laugh to yourself, Bucky finds it quite endearing when a feminine voice starts to play and you're dancing and singing. And Bucky is just smiling like a doofus, a rag over his shoulder and still wet hands.
“Come one, sarge. Sway those hips.” You laugh, he’s standing there awkwardly for a moment with no idea what to do. You pull his left arm towards you, Bucky still flinches when you touch the weapon of a limb like it was a normal thing to have, like the thing attached to him that’s killed so many was just normal. The way you acted around him like he was normal.
You accepted him as he was and Bucky could not grasp it, how you put everything to the side. He was a dangerous man. Fear never filled your eyes when you looked at him, or disgust and shame.
Maybe that’s why the universe put you two together.
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