Made the Cut
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader Word Count: 2k Genre: fluff, purely self indulgent Warnings: slightly graphic description of cow hoofs? Summary: How you wind down after a long day, and how it lowkey freaks your boyfriend out.
May be the dumbest thing I've ever written. Will anyone understand? You know what, I have faith that this will find the right people. Unbetad, to the two wonderful people who offered to beta read for me I still very much will ask you to when it is not dumb shit like this lmao.
It has been a long, long day.
First, your alarm didn’t go off, then your boss decided today was the day to triple your workload, and somewhere between the spilled coffee, the missed lunch, and the printer jamming for the third time in a row, you started wondering if the universe was testing you on purpose. By the time you finally make it home, you’re running on fumes—shoulders tense, brain fried, and one minor inconvenience away from absolutely losing it.
You toss your things to the side and go to the bathroom, messily removing your makeup because you can’t even be bothered anymore before washing your face and applying a face cream—much less than your normal skincare routine, but right now all you want is to curl up in bed. You throw on a soft pair of pajamas, grab your laptop, and prop it up next to you to pull up youtube. It’s time for your favorite part of the night.
The screen loads slowly—of course it does, because today isn’t done testing you—but then your subscription page finally appears, and there he is. Your comfort creator. The one person on the internet whose voice can unknot the tension in your spine better than any overpriced massage ever could. You click on the newest video, the scottish accent greeting you warmly, and snuggle deeper into the comfort of your bed. Finally.
You barely hear the door open when Bucky gets home—too focused on watching the cow’s hoof on your screen being peeled back to reveal the lesion underneath, the scott narrating in that soothing, matter-of-fact tone that somehow makes even pus sound comforting.
Bucky pauses in the doorway. You don’t see him, but you feel him—his presence settling into the room like warm weight.
“…Doll,” he says slowly, cautiously, like he’s approaching a wild animal. “What the hell is on your screen?”
You don’t take your eyes off the video, too invested in watching the trimmer gently probe around the abscess. “Hoof trimming,” you answer, like it’s the most normal sentence in the world. “It’s relaxing.”
There’s a beat of silence as he processes, you can practically hear the gears in his head turning.
“Relaxing?” he repeats, stepping further into the room like he’s afraid the laptop might lunge at him. “Honey, that cow’s foot is—” he gestures vaguely, searching for words “—peeling.”
“It’s therapeutic,” you insist.
A wet squelch sounds from the speakers. Bucky visibly flinches. “You are so…”
You finally glance over your shoulder, and the look on his face is priceless—brows pulled together, lips parted in stunned horror, eyes locked on the screen like he’s witnessing a war crime. You let your eyes take in his form, the way the suit is slightly wrinkled, tie loosened and hanging, hair slightly mused from all the times he’s run his hand through it. He looks tired, but that’s expected from a congressman. Either way, you don’t mind, he looks perfect.
He points. “Why is there… stuff… coming out of— oh my god.”
“It’s an abscess,” you supply helpfully.
“Doll, that doesn’t make it better,” he says, voice cracking slightly.
You laugh under your breath, settling back into your pillows. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I fought aliens,” he says, stepping closer to the bed like he’s giving a testimony. “Actual aliens. And this—” he points at the screen again “—this is the most disturbing thing I’ve seen in months.”
You just shrug, turning back to the screen, “Well it helps me. You don’t gotta watch it then.”
The pout in your voice is clear, and his sigh screams why do I put up with this? You hear him move, taking off his suit and stripping to his boxers, how you know he likes to sleep, before you feel the mattress dip behind you. His warmth settles at your back, an arm bracing on either side of you as he tucks his chin over your neck, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
You can’t help the little flutter in your chest when he does that—comes home exhausted, muttering about the insanity of your viewing choices, but still crawls right into your space like it’s where he belongs.
His voice is warm against your skin when he murmurs, “Move over, sweetheart.”
You scoot, and he molds himself to you instantly—bare chest pressed to your back, legs tangled with yours, his flesh arm sliding beneath your head like it’s a second pillow. He smells like the day he had—faint cologne, office paper, and the city clinging to him—but underneath it all is just Bucky. Familiar. Safe.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t gonna watch,” he grumbles, kissing the corner of your jaw again.
You smile, because of course he didn’t. For all his dramatics, all his groaning and muttering and full-body winces, Bucky Barnes has never once left you to unwind alone.
“You sure?” you tease, tilting your head just enough that his lips brush your cheekbone. “You looked pretty traumatized back there.”
He snorts softly against your skin. “Yeah, well. If you’re watchin’ horror movies for cows, I’m morally obligated to be here.” Another kiss, lazy and soft, right beneath your ear. “Can’t have you facin’ that kind of darkness alone.”
On the screen, the man peels back another layer, pus shooting out as he comments on the release of pressure.
Bucky’s whole body jolts behind you—abs tensing, legs stiffening, breath catching like he’s been jump-scared in a haunted house. He buries his face in your neck. “Oh god—nope. No. What the—baby—sweetheart—why is it chunky? Why is it—"
You laugh so hard your shoulders shake. He immediately tightens his arm around your waist so you don’t jostle too much.
He peeks at the screen again—hesitant, suspicious—like the hoof might sense weakness. “Is he… is he pokin’ it on purpose?”
“Yes.”
“Why,” he whispers, as if afraid the laptop will answer.
“He’s checking how far up the cavity goes. If he leaves it there, the pressure will build back up in the hoof capsule and hurt the cow even more.” You explain, the hundreds of hours you’ve spent watching coming to fruition. “The cow bumped its foot and it caused a crack in the white line. This part right here.” You point to the screen, showing him as you speak. “That crack caused a separation in the hoof capsule, which caused an infection, and a build up of pressure. That's why it squirted out like that.” you finish, gesturing at the little hollow on-screen like you’re giving a TED Talk.
Bucky blinks at you like his brain is buffering.
“An infection,” he repeats, tone flat. “In the hoof capsule.”
“Exactly.” You beam, proud of your explanation.
He stares at the screen again, expression caught somewhere between awe and deep emotional damage. “And this guy just—” he flinches as the trimmer peels back another layer, revealing more of the cavity below “—digs around in there like he’s lookin’ for spare change.”
“He helps the cows get better.”
Bucky stares at you like you’ve just said the sky is green.
“Yeah,” he says slowly, nodding like he’s trying to convince himself. “Yeah, sure. Helps them get better. By—” he gestures toward the screen without looking “—spelunking in their hoof meat.”
You roll your eyes, settling further into your pillows. “It’s not spelunking, and it's not in the meat. He’s a trimmer, not a vet. He only deals with the hoof, not any live tissue. Actually it's important that he doesn’t touch the corium."
Bucky pulls back just enough to look at you directly—eyes wide, offended, and somehow personally attacked.
“The what now?”
“The corium,” you repeat, like it’s obvious. “It’s the actual foot, the tissue under the hoof wall. If he cuts into that, the cow bleeds. And that’s bad.”
Bucky blinks. Once. Twice.
Then he lifts a hand and taps your forehead with one finger, very gently, like he’s checking for a fever.
“You got… hoof facts in there,” he murmurs, baffled awe coloring his voice. “Like a lot of hoof facts.”
You straighten a little, proud. “I told you—this guy’s videos teach you things.”
Another layer of horn is pared off, revealing more of the cavity beneath.
Bucky inhales sharply. “That’s—there’s more? Why is there more?”
“Because the wallhorn separated along the white line,” you explain, gently rubbing his forearm where it’s banded across your middle. “The infection tracks upward. He has to open the cavity so it can drain properly, and peel away the detached hoofhorn so new, healthy hoof will grow.”
For a second he just looks at you, eyes incredibly soft. For a second, he’s not horrified, not dramatic, not rethinking every life choice that led him here. He’s just looking at you like you hung the moon.
The corners of his mouth lift, slow and warm. “It helps you relax that much, huh?”
You barely nod. “Yeah,” you admit quietly. “It shuts my brain off. Makes everything feel less heavy.”
Bucky’s expression softens even further, going almost molten. He shifts behind you, metal arm curling more securely around your waist, flesh hand splaying warm and big over your stomach.
“Then I love it,” he says simply.
You blink, startled. “You love watching hoof abscesses explode?”
He makes a face immediately. “Okay, let’s not get carried away.” His nose scrunches cutely, and you can’t resist pressing a kiss to it. You can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up—soft, genuine, easing something tight in your chest.
He presses his forehead between your shoulder blades, voice low and a little hoarse from honesty. “I like you being relaxed. Long as it makes your day better, I’m in. Even if it’s…” He peeks at the screen again, winces hard. “Even if it’s that.”
On the video, the trimmer starts flushing the cavity with iodine.
Bucky’s eyes widen. “Is he—why is it that color? Baby, is that supposed to be that color?”
“Iodine.” You say simply, “And that's a wrap with salicylic acid.”
Bucky nods like he definitely knows what salicylic acid is (he does not), lips pursed in a heroic attempt at comprehension. You press another soft kiss to his lips as the video ends, turning in his arms.
“I use it to relax when you’re not here.” You say quietly, shutting the laptop and placing it on your nightstand. “Now you are. You shut my brain off and love me. Pretty obvious winner there.”
His eyes lift to yours, slow, like he’s afraid he might spook you if he moves too fast. The metal arm tightens first—instinct, protectiveness, a reflex older than you are—and then his warm hand slides up your spine, spreading between your shoulder blades like he’s trying to hold all of you at once.
“You relax me too. More than anything.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
The kiss lingers—barely a second, barely a breath—but it lands somewhere deep, softening everything inside you that had been wound tight all day.
When he pulls back just enough to look at you, wearing an expression he only ever uses in private. Half-smile, half-ache, eyes warm enough to melt whatever’s left of the day off your shoulders.
“I mean it,” he adds, voice lower now, almost shy for a man who can bench-press a car. His thumb skims along your jaw, tracing the curve like he’s memorizing it. “When you’re here? When you’re in my arms like this?” He shakes his head a little, huffs out a breathy laugh. “Everything else just shuts off. Like my brain finally stops trying to fight me.”
You feel yourself soften into him without meaning to, your forehead brushing his.
“James…”
He leans in, nose nudging yours, metal arm curling tight around your waist as if he can pull you closer by sheer will alone. “You’re the only reason I look forward to coming home.” His hand lifts to cradle your cheek, gentle, grounding. “The part that makes me feel like the whole damn world isn’t trying to take a bite out of me.”
Your breath catches, your heart doing something embarrassingly dramatic in your chest.
He smiles—small, a little crooked, achingly sincere.
“So if it’s between some guy digging around in cow hooves and me?” His forehead rests against yours again, voice a warm rumble. “I’m real glad I made the cut, sweetheart.”
If you made it this far, thank you so much. This was purely out of no where because I wanted to write but didn't have any ideas, so I was watching the Hoof GP (shout out my boi) and was like i wonder how bucky would react to this. Does anyone gaf? no, but i felt like posting. Thanks again for reading, hope you enjoyed (at least a little bit)!
