summary: bucky falls asleep on your shoulder after an exhausting mission
word count: 1.8K
author’s note: hello! welcome to my fifth fic😊 I wrote this for @blackberrybucky’s writing challenge with the prompt “knowing my fate is to be with you” from abba’s waterloo. I’m eager to share this with you all! here's the playlist I made based on this fic. likes, reblogs, messages, replies, and comments are cherished! I hope you like it! 💖
Finally back from his mission, exhaustion consumes Bucky like the night: all-encompassing and endlessly devouring. His head is heavy; it stings to keep his eyes open and burns when he tries to shut them. Tiredness envelops him like a weighted blanket—it takes more energy than usual to move underneath its ponderosity. He mindlessly stumbles to his room, anxious to strip the remnants of the mission away. He thoughtlessly throws his clothes into the corner of his room, bumbling toward the shower.
He’s desperate to remove this mission from himself, roughly scouring the grime off his skin, unsatisfied with his scrubbing until his skin reddens and prickles. He welcomes the discomfort—anything to distract from the pelting thoughts that ravage his psyche whole. Every little thing that went wrong loops in his mind. The chaotic rubber balls of thoughts slam around his skull, continuous and unyielding. Even the soothing pulse of the showerhead does little to relax him. He reluctantly redresses in a fitted black t-shirt and gray joggers. The ordinarily comforting cotton aggravates his skin; nothing feels right when he’s trapped in a state like this.
He grabs a beer from the fridge, the smooth alcohol trickling down his throat; its bittersweet silk does nothing to soothe his aching mind. He downs the entire bottle before remembering to shut the refrigerator door. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before heading back to his room, ready to crash for the night. His thoughts are an anchor, entangling his legs, pulling him deeper and deeper into the darkness. Nothing can haul him from the depths of himself.
Yet something does—you.
Muffled singing breaks the chains of his wretched state. Your voice brings a smile to his face—he instinctively knows you’ll pull him from the depths of his mind.
The irresistible gravitational pull of your soul draws him in like no other; resistance is futile. He fell into your gravity the day he met you. Since your introduction, he’s been inexplicably drawn to you, tugged towards your glowing spirit, like a moth to a flame, desperate for a glimpse of your fluorescence.
You’re the sun to his moon, the light to his dark, the joy to his pain—the two of you form a delicate dichotomy. His world changed for the better the day you met; you quickly became the luminescence of his life. He’s grateful for even a single ray of your sunshine.
Your effervescent glow, like sunshine on the ocean, makes him want nothing more than to dive into the depths of you. He hopes you can spare a bit of your light with him tonight.
He’s gently knocking at your door before he realizes what he’s doing, your melodies like a siren’s call. He pushes it open once he hears a muffled reply, taking a moment to admire you from the threshold.
You sit cross-legged on your bed, hugging a pillow as you stare engrossed at the movie playing on the television. A smile trickles across your cheeks as you look towards him.
“Hey blossom, can I join you?”
“Of course, Bucky,” you answer, scooting yourself over to make more room on the bed. You throw your lap pillow aside and pat the spot next to you. “There’s plenty of room.”
Bucky sits beside you, his arm lightly brushing against yours. Of course, you don’t mind the contact, but you feign ignorance, unsure how he feels about it.
“What are we watching?”
“Mamma Mia 2! It’s the best musical movie. The first one is great too, but something about the sequel really gets me. You haven’t missed much. Ooh, here comes the best part of this song!” you exclaim, straightening yourself as you prepare for the chorus. “Waterloo, I was defeated; you won the war. Waterloo, promise to love you forever more. Waterloo, couldn’t escape if I wanted to. Waterloo, knowing my fate is to be with you. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, Waterloo, finally facing my Waterloo,” you softly sing, slightly embarrassed now that you have company. You glance to see Bucky’s reaction, noticing him smiling and shaking his head. You look at him quizzically. “What?”
He loves to watch you in your element: happy, bubbly, sincere. Your adorable heart passionately sings along to the movie. He’s never met someone so unapologetically themselves; he admires that quality about you. Your kaleidoscope eyes glimmer as a smile tugs at your lips. He’s never known someone more perfect than you. These ideas swirl around his mind at a million miles per hour. Of course, he voices none of this; instead, he smiles and says, “you have a lovely voice, blossom.”
You can’t help but blush, “Thank you.”
You continue to sing along, your gentle melody carrying throughout your bedroom. As enjoyable as the movie is, Bucky can’t help but watch you instead. A particular lyric sticks with him, an echo of his feelings: he couldn’t escape you even if he wanted to. He’s sure it’s destiny the two of you met; he’s so appreciative of your kindness and friendship.
After a few more scenes of the movie pass, you feel Bucky’s weight shift on your side—he falls asleep with his head perched on your shoulder. Your heart flutters in your chest; this is the most vulnerable Bucky has ever been with you. This small gesture means the world; you’re in awe that he’s comfortable enough in your presence to let his guard down.
Bucky’s head slides down from your shoulder. You gently guide his head into your lap, praying you don’t wake him. He remains asleep, his legs curling into his stomach as you situate him on your thighs. You softly stroke his soft brown hair, letting it run between your fingers, resting your arm on his bicep. The heat of his torso warms both your legs and your heart.
When you first met, Bucky’s eyes, haunted by a subtle sadness, drew you in unlike anything you experienced before. The torment behind his eyes and the pained expressions he hides in the daylight finally dissipate; he’s relaxed, happy, and at ease asleep in your lap. You’re relieved to see his anguish melt away.
In his slumber, he pulls your arm between his, gently hugging it and intertwining his fingers in your hand. Without thinking, you softly kiss his temple. Your cheeks burn as his lips curl into a smile from your touch.
You hope Bucky can feel the love spiriting through your veins. It shatters your heart knowing how Bucky sees himself: damaged and broken. You see past the cracks in his mirror; the beautiful reflection of his soul is clear to you: his pure, sweet, wholesome essence. You could stay in this moment forever, content and at peace, even with your arms and legs fast asleep.
Waterloo’s catchy melody echoes through your mind. It’s destiny that Bucky is here with you, in your arms, at peace for once in his unnaturally long life. You know he went through hell and back—a super-soldier lost in time. You can’t help but be thankful that through all the dark twists and turns of his life, it’s led him to you. He’s a beautiful friend; you’re so grateful to know him.
He wakes up as the credits roll, confused at the sense of serenity rushing through his veins. His head rests in your lap; he feels the gentle caress of your fingers as they circle through his hair. He’s surprised at the placidity; it’s been a long time since he’s felt this way.
He lays unmoving, desperate to stay in this moment for as long as he can.
His internal monologue usually goes on forever: never stopping, never ceasing. Even in his dreams, his thoughts follow and haunt him. The black hole that is his consciousness destroys everything it touches—ravaging peace and light.
But at this moment, in your lap, arms, and presence, his thoughts mellow.
His usual turbulent, reckless current of thoughts are now calm, gentle waves that softly kiss the scorching shore. He bobs up and down in the wave pool of his cognizance rather than swimming against a fierce riptide.
The calmness is overwhelming; the floodgates of his feelings come crumbling down. Suppressed emotions bubble to the surface, the lava-like torrent erupts his tranquility. Even as he feels everything at once, he feels secure because he’s with you.
God, he loves you so much. He wants nothing more than to profess his love; his heart screams and yearns for you. He knows he’ll be okay, though. Even if your love for him is only platonic—basking in your light is enough. Like the song you sang earlier, he promises to love you forevermore.
He selfishly indulges in this moment, memorizing how your fingers feel in his hair, how your thigh feels against his cheek, how your arm feels wrapped between his before you eventually let him go. He wishes this moment could last forever. He wouldn’t mind spending eternity with you; paradise is in your arms. He doesn’t feel like he’s holding the weight of the world anymore, all he’s holding onto in this moment is your soft arm.
The moment ends as he sniffles, surprised at the tears slowly trickling down his cheeks and embarrassed at his unexpected, visible vulnerability. He shifts to sit back up beside you. “I’m sorry for intruding on your space,” he whispers.
“It’s what you needed; it’s no problem, truly,” you reply with a smile. You wait until he looks you in the eyes to continue. “My door is always open if you need me. Don’t hesitate, Bucky, I mean it.” You angle yourself towards him, cupping his cheek and brushing the tears away with your thumb.
The kindness and love in your eyes surprises Bucky. He has never grown complacent to the way you look at him, adoringly, with light and joy in each glance. You are incredibly patient with him; you never push him to open up. Yet here you are as he bares his soul to you, unjudging and gentle.
“Thank you, blossom,” he answers. He knows your words are truthful, but he can’t help the swarm of insecurity buzzing its way through his mind. Although his words sound confident, his eyes are stormy with doubt.
Without hesitation, you press a gentle kiss on his brow, resting your forehead on his as you whisper, “I’m always here for you, I promise.”
He presses his lips gently into yours before he can refrain—a quick, chaste, and soft peck. You feel the heat spreading across his cheeks as his lips leave yours. Before he can turn away, you pull him back, softly kissing his pillowy pink lips. It feels perfect and passionate—everything you could ever dream of.
The universe signs its blessing in the stars, unifying your souls, a match made in the heavens.
Wrapped in each other’s arms, you both finally face your Waterloo.
