Warnings: 18+ (it's my blog so fuck off that's why) Cursing
Word Count: 984 (i can only write so much you guys)
A/N: okayyy this has been sitting with me for the absolute longest time ever! it's currently after 1am here, and ive been completely mia for way too long, sooo I'm deciding to post this right now😭 there is no way in hell I could be doing any of this without any of my sweet friends on here but I want to especially shout out @sweetdreamsbuck and @writing-for-marvel for inspiring me and encouraging me through this🥹 i love you guys so much and I can never thank you enough for all you've done for me since i joined this place<3 (yall already know the moodboard was made by me)
God you hate time. You hate looking at the clock, what feels like every five minutes, only to find it's been maybe two at the most. Especially on days like today; the days Bucky fought.
Bucky.
Your stomach aches thinking about him being in the ring later.
He is such an incredible boxer, one of the best in the city actually. But that knowledge did very little to ease your nerves about his hobby.
You've seen what he can do, and you love watching him practice. The way every muscle in his body flexes when he throws a hit, sweat running down every inch and crevice, flying off him like rain drops. The sounds he makes when he lifts weights and the pants he lets out when he hits a punching bag—everything about it - about him is mesmerizing.
You loved it just as much as you hated it. You knew Bucky could handle himself, especially in the ring, but you worried anyway. You always worry. Anything could happen up there and you couldn't stand the thought of him being seriously injured. Your over-thinking got the better of you and nothing could make you feel better. Nothing except seeing him yourself after the fight.
Most fight days, you're torn–constant anxiety looming over you. You think only the worst first, every little (and not so little) way he could be hurt. The bad outcomes are endless if you really let yourself think about them. Bucky never lets you get too far down that rabbit hole though, always reminding you he loves what he does and that helps him to be the best.
Interrupting your thoughts, Bucky starts coming down a hallway–which you know leads to the locker room. Where he's been hiding and getting himself ready for tonight; doing some warm-ups and wrapping his knuckles, and whatever else his pre-fight routine entails.
When he steps in the light of the gym people immediately start to cheer for him and he breaks out in a grin, his nose scrunching up in the most adorable way, raising his gloved fist in the air.
He really does love this. And you'd never underestimate how much he does again. You only had the one time, you were just upset really, but after a broken nose, mild concussion and many scrapes and bruises, you'd say you were allowed to be. Even after all that you'll never forget what he had told you when you asked him why he chooses to do this to himself.
"Well.. I like it. I like the way it makes me feel, you know? It's freeing in a sense, like how some people meditate? When I'm up there, it's like nothing out of that ring matters just for a moment, and I don't have anything to worry or think about. It's just me, and it feels good. It's exhilarating. It's like this good insane feeling I can't really describe, but I love it. I can't imagine not doing it." He spoke with so much emotion that you almost forgot about his many injuries that night.
You can't help but smile at the sight of him, no matter how many times you see his introduction. He's wearing his robe, a livid blue-gray color with 'Barnes' in black across his upper back. It's a shiny material–not a glittery one, and he's got his hood up on his head.
He hoists himself up on the platform and splits some of the ropes to duck between and step over, and finally he's on the canvas mat.
His hood is off now and you can tell he's scanning the room for you. A smile of endearment is on your face and it only grows bigger when he finds you and shoots you a wink.
Buckys opponent for todays match enters as he did previously. Once they're introduced to the gym, they bump gloved fists for a show of good sportsmanship before they start.
When Bucky's up on the platform he’s the only thing in the world that matters. Your eyes never leave him for a moment. He's enchanting.
Once the fight begins though, a slight grimace stays on your face. Your brows are furrowed and your lips are parted the smallest bit, hands grasping and fidgeting with his dog tags that dangle from around your neck. You wear them for Bucky on fight days, "safe keeping," he said once.
When he fights, you don't watch quite the same way as when he's practicing. Your focus is on holding your breath every time a hit is thrown his way. It's a sigh of relief when he dodges or blocks but a distressed sigh when he takes the hit with all the force it's been given to him.
Bucky is damn good at what he does but you can't help but fret. You're not always sitting but you're at the edge of your seat for the whole match watching Bucky and whoever he's fighting dance around the ring. You can never tell how long the matches last, supposedly it's different each fight with each opponent, but to you they were all the same.
You felt like time wasn't moving and like it was speeding around you at the same time. This could be torture if Bucky didn't look so good. Truthfully though, sometimes you didn't even pay attention. You only found yourself thinking about what nasty cuts you'd be cleaning up and how many bruises he would have later, staining his skin for weeks at a time.
You shiver at your own thoughts and blink your focus back on Bucky in time to see him land a punch on his opponent. A soft smile makes its way onto your face as you admire the pure and genuine excitement on Bucky’s beautiful face when he's announced the winner of the match. And come on, how could you argue with that?
