A/N: Please… please forgive any shitty writing/typos! I still have a cold… recovering from a tattoo. My god it never ends!
You know, it takes a lot to feel ready to love again. I just want you to know I’m really proud of you.
Content includes!! Shower fluff, shower smut, implied trauma/PTSD, Mirio is a big ol softie but also he’s loving what he seeees, overall this is just a soft loving post but as always tell me if I miss something!, fingering, soft sex implied after
Song for your mood?
He could hear the shower as soon as he walked through your apartment door. Chances are you poorly timed it for his arrival, that’s okay! He smiles, striding over to the bathroom door. He can hear music playing but…
A knock.
“Mirio?!” He hears you call out, clearly you definitely didn’t realise what time it is… he can’t help but chuckle in response.
“Sure is! Mind if I come in? Or do you want privacy today?”
“…Come on in!”
He can’t help but smile softly, of course he wants you to know when those boundaries are set but it does always make it more fun when he can appreciate the natural state of your body. He gets himself all hyped up just thinking about it as he runs back out to the hallway, knowing EXACTLY which wall leads into your shower. He grins, letting his head phase through slowly.
Though, what he didn’t expect was for you to be totally ready for that, giving him a wet kiss on the forehead.
And my…
The view is impeccable.
“Haha… hey sunshine!” He calls out, glancing around. “I’m gonna come through, back up a little for me?”
You take a step back as Mirio phases through, his clothes obviously already off as he lets out a soft sigh at the hot water against both of you.
“I needed this…”
He looks a little surprised as he feels you press up against him, not in a… sexual way but it’s clear you needed some love right now. Mirio chuckles, pressing a soft kiss against your wet hair.
“And this. Is everything ok?”
“Rough day.” Is muttered out, your face smushed up against his chest. “…Memories is all.”
His smile flattens a little as he hears this, pulling you in more for a tight embrace. Mirio’s hand messing with your hair as he thinks on what he should say…
“You’ve come to trust me a lot more, haven’t you honey?” He asks softly, feeling you nod against his chest. “And I think… I really do think that’s incredible. I can’t imagine how it even feels but I can only imagine how incredible you are to be strong enough to keep going.”
You feel his chest let out a long huff, struggling to speak. He knows you don’t need words but he really wants you to know just how he feels. It’s incredible to watch from his perspective, and maybe it’s a little biased but Mirio truly, truly loves you for your strength. Even if he’s physically stronger, ehe.
He takes a step back, making you look at him as he smiles. “I really couldn’t be luckier to have met you, and to have your trust. I hope you know that.”
Planting a soft kiss on your wet skin again, he chuckles, noticing your wandering eyes. Maybe you hadn’t intended to look… there, but he knows sometimes you get embarrassed by these softer moments.
“Hey, hey, eyes up here sunshine.” He chuckles, leaning in ever so slightly. “Unless you…” He trails off, wondering if this is badly timed. “Hey, if I’m ever being a pig, tell me, okay?”
“You’re not.” Is all you can respond, fingers… ever so lightly trailing his abdomen. “I’m really glad you found the patience to love me.”
He smiles brightly again, his hair completely flattened by the water at this point as his hands wrap around your butt. He’s careful, pressing you up against the shower wall.
“Honey… I would have waited years for you if you needed it.” He chuckles. “Of course… I am glad to be here. Right now. With you.”
There’s a long pause.
“…Can I-“
“Yes.”
He smiles softly, pulling you into a gentle kiss. His fingers are careful, feeling around your hole before a single digit slips in. The small gasp and whine as he presses in is enough to already start making him go crazy but today… today he’s going to make sure you feel nothing but loved. His movements are slow, precise as he feels your body respond oh so positively to him. And his body aches for you.
Every day was cold up north, but today was particularly chilly. Cold like this meant waking up early, shivering, even under three layers of blankets. It meant putting extra wood on the stove for a quicker kettle to boil, and a warmer house. It meant double checking the pantry, hoping there was enough food to last the week, and more importantly, enough hot chocolate.
Cold like this meant two extra layers of clothes, wrapping the scarf around her head, pulling it up like a hood. It meant the metal prosthetic would be colder than ice, and feel heavier than a bag of bricks. It meant dragging herself out of the house to check the farm if the water froze over. It meant spending ten minutes (at the very least) breaking that ice with a pole. It meant taking time to catch her breath while she fed the salmon in the pond.
Cold like this meant checking on Manic, and making sure that his water trough hadn’t frozen over either. It meant pumping the water system and getting it to flow so it wouldn’t freeze again that night. It meant feeding Manic just a little bit extra hay, and adjusting the stable blanket that she paid some absurd amount for, but was worth every diamond, just for the fact that no matter how hard he tried, Manic couldn’t wriggle it off like he could the others. It meant moving all the riding equipment from the stable to the cabin, and spending to much time giving it a cleaning job that it probably didn’t need.
Cold like this meant seeing the clock, and realizing she hadn’t restocked on firewood. It meant dragging herself out of the house again, and grabbing the old iron axe that always leaned against the wall. It meant chopping up the wood she had stockpiled and hoping she wouldn’t have look for more. It meant realizing that she did, and running out and grabbing a few logs before the storm that she’d been eyeing all day blew in. It meant chopping up those final logs in a rush, and swearing to herself that she’d properly restock when the weather cleared.
Cold like this meant a small dinner. Preserved meats and poorly baked potatoes that made her mind drift. It meant trying to figure out how he used to cook them, and shake her head angrily and affirm that she didn’t need his stupid potato recipe anyway. It meant staring off into space, the meal half eaten. It meant staring off, not into space, but to a small chest in the corner of the small house. It meant a box that she didn’t really want to unlock, and she swore she lost the key anyway.
But cold like this meant looking under her pillow. It meant finding that key, because she always knew where it was, and unlocking that box. It meant letting out a sigh of relief when all she found was some dusty old papers and clothes. It meant closing that box, but opening it up again after a moment of hesitation. It meant digging around all that old junk to find at the bottom what she always knew was there. It meant pulling out a mass of thick cloth, tossed aside and forgotten, a large cloth with black, white, blue and red, and just the smallest bit of yellow. It meant tracing those three Xs on its face with her finger, not sure if she should be smiling or crying. It meant catching a hint of purple out of the corner of her eye, and pulling out a blue scarf, much like the purple one she now wears. It meant turning that scarf over in her hands before bringing it up to her face and breathing in. It meant flashes of darkness, an echoing scream, and the smell of blood. It meant ripping the scarf away and throwing back into the chest, and the flag with it. It meant locking up the chest and throwing the key across the floor. It meant not climbing into bed so much as falling into it, and wrapping the covers around her until the chills in her spine and the pain in her chest went away. It meant nightmares, visions of rocks falling from the ceiling, and muffled explosions and accompanying laughter overhead. It meant a tear stained pillow she’d have to wash in the morning, and a key she’d find another place to hide.
Bucky stared at his phone and felt a little light-headed from the speed at which blood had poured into his erection when he opened your message. It was a picture, one that he had asked for on his “To-Do List” that he made.
He knew you liked to torment him, however sweetly. You’d embraced flirting with him quickly and had just as quickly embraced sending him flirty pictures. This one though. It was filthy. One of the things he had put on there that would take you some prep time if you decided to take it for him. A way for you to stay distracted if you got overwhelmed. Or sad. Or any of the other feelings that tended to exacerbate your symptoms.
It made his mouth go dry and his fingers trembled as he tried to type a response. It was a pin-up photo. Artful but undeniably sexy. You were kneeling in front of a mirror in the middle of putting makeup on. Nude but for a pair of heels and the choker he’d bought you. The one with the blue jewel set in gold on a piece of black velvet ribbon. You’d fallen in love with it and protested him buying it. But, it was worth it. You’d changed the jewelry in your nipple piercings to match it. Your thighs were slightly parted and he could just barely see the pink of your folds. But the thing that made him throb was when his eye was drawn down to your plush bottom. He could see the wink of a jewel. Of a toy he’d told you to use. It was beautiful. It made him feel like he was standing behind you, waiting for you to get ready. Watching you. Admiring you from afar.
“Barnes,” Clint said snatching his phone, “Quit lookin’ at porn. You’ll be home tomorrow.”
Clint glanced down at his phone and recoiled, “Oh shit,” he tossed the phone back at Bucky like he’d been shocked, “God. What? Fuck. How do you get a girl to do that?”
“Ask nicely,” Bucky said blushing a little.
“Do you think Nat would do that for me?” Clint asked
“Do what? Nat asked sitting across from them.
“Take dirty pictures and send them to me,” Clint said.
Nat shot Bucky a look, “Bucky!”
“I didn’t show him,” Bucky protested, “Clint took my fucking phone.”
“Was it at least pretty?” Nat asked clint, smirking.
“Very artistic. She put some effort in. I mean. In another life she woulda made a good alt model.” he said, cheeks coloring a little.
Bucky can’t look at either one of them right now. He feels a little like he might have betrayed your trust by Clint getting a peek at you. He promised they’d only be for him.
“I’m not tellin’ her I saw shit though,” Clint said, “I just thought Bucky was watching porn hub. I didn’t know he was doing some freaky shit with his girl.”
Nat snorted, “Oh,” she said, “So you did make a list.”
Bucky nodded, smiling a little, “Yeah,” he said, “thanks for putting that idea in her head.”
Nat grinned, “You’re welcome... We were talking about her doing makeup to distract herself... I was kinda kidding when I suggested dirty pictures but it worked. She likes making you happy. Or teasing you. I’m not sure which.”
“Yes,” Bucky answered nodding. Still blushing. But, it was nice knowing that you and Nat did girl things. Nat didn’t spend much time around women. They irritated her. At least. Most of the women in the bar did. They were pretend tough girls. Bitches. They might ride bikes and drink but they were really boring to her. She liked women that were smart and individual. Not mean girls. She had enough of those in High School.
Nat snorted, “Nice,” she said, “I knew she was a keeper.”
Bucky picked up his phone to message you back, saving the picture for later in the secret file on his phone
He lavishes praise on you. You’re beautiful and perfect. That picture is hot. It’s so sexy he doesn’t know how he’s gonna sleep tonight looking at it. And thank you so much for showing him.
_______
Bucky is glad to be home. It’s chilly outside but it’s warm inside the clubhouse. He’s missed you and he wanted to go straight to White Rabbit to see you but you made him promise not to. You had something you were working on for him, apparently in a back room and didn’t want him to see it. He was itching to see you. It had been three days and he hadn’t slept well the whole time. He’d not realized how used to you he’d gotten. How much better he slept next to you. He sipped his beer and watched the clock, counting seconds until you’d wander through the door.
You were always welcome, even when Bucky wasn’t there just by virtue of being a sweetheart who always paid her tab in full. And by being friendly to Nat and generally patient when waiting for a drink. They all liked you. Even the ones that didn’t remember you from school. If only because you did what they couldn’t do and got Bucky out of a bad relationship. He finished his beer and ordered his second, going to join Steve and Sam at the pool table, trying to kill time until you would be there. It worked. He’d hardly looked at the clock.
He was honestly surprised when you burst through the door, wearing a green pleated skirt and white blouse. Hair up in a bun behind your head and pretty red lips. Knee socks and cute little heeled oxfords. You look like a librarian. Out of place in the bar. Still, when you bolt into his arms and wrap your legs around his waist easily, he chuckles against your lips as you tangle your hands in his hair. He can’t stop you and he doesn’t want to. He hefts you up and ignores the jeers and whoops. There’s nothing but you. Your perfume. The feel of your eager, hungry lips against his. When you come up for air he grins, “Miss me?” he asked, teasing.
“So much,” you say smiling, a little breathless.
“Is this outfit for me?” he asks, kissing your nose.
“Do you like it? I did some shopping when I was up in Red Key.” you look uncertain and he smiles. You have an aesthetic. One you never had enough money to dress for. He really likes watching you build your dream closet a little at a time. Even if he has to threaten to punish you if you don’t buy whatever you’re drooling over occasionally. You deserve it and he likes knowing you feel pretty. He also likes wrapping his leather jacket around you when you’re chilly. He likes how big it is on you and the way it clashes with your neat, pretty style.
“I love it,” he rumbles, “You look real good baby girl. I’m a lucky man, coming home to such a beautiful girl.”
You flush at the praise and he kisses your nose again, “Did you buy yourself anything else?”
“Some pretties and I got my nails done,” you tell him.
He whistles softly and smiles, “Good to know the money I gave you to run around with went to good use, Princess,” he praised. You hadn’t asked but he’d made sure to give you a little something just to entertain yourself with. He’d left it on your dresser in the jar you kept to save up for this or that.
You tilt your head, “Oh no. I used that to get you something,” you say smiling, kissing his cheek. “I had a ton of money in my Princess fund so I used what you left me for something else.”
“Y/N,” he scolded, “You were supposed to use that on something for you.”
“I did. It made me happy buying you something,” you murmur, cheeks coloring.
He swatted your backside affectionately, “Why’re you so sweet, huh?”
“I dunno,” you answer, wiggling to be put down.
“Nuh-uh,” he said, shifting you onto his shoulder and carrying you over to the bar to sit with you on his lap, “Have a glass of wine with me?” he asked.
You sigh, “Not today,,” you say shaking your head. Bucky kisses your head and signals to Nat to put it on his tab as she pours a coke for you. She kept a four-pack of Mini bottles and one wine glass. You were the only one that drank wine, when you did drink and it tickled her.
“Thank you,” you tell her, smiling and raising your glass in toast. “I still don’t understand how the fuck you walked into a biker bar and ordered wine,” she teased.
“Well, you stock it now don’t you?” you answer.
“Only because it’s you and we feel bad making fun of you.”
You shrug, “Much like the sloth, my plan for survival seems to be being as pathetic as possible so that bigger badder people leave me alone.”
Natasha snorted. She could appreciate that you were yourself. You didn’t like beer and wouldn’t pretend to fit in. You’d sip your glass of wine and crack quiet jokes.
“Pathetic?” Sam gasped scandalized, teaching across the bar to grab another bottle, “You’ve successfully whipped the most unrepentant man whore I have ever met AND you get to talk back to Natasha and live.”
“He wasn’t a man whore,” you say leaning against Bucky’s side, “He just didn’t know better.”
“And I’m pretty sure she’s the one that’s whipped,” Steve snickered.
Your cheeks burn and Natasha winces sympathetically, “Steve,” she says, spraying him with seltzer, “You’re fucking Stark so you should probably let the two of them just have their French vanilla sex and enjoy it.”
Bucky tilts your chin up and kisses you softly, cuddling you close and casually flipping off the guys that are D’aww-ing loudly. He’s never understood why guys act like assholes to their girls in public. You deserved soft all the time. You deserved to be able to look to him to feel safe whether or not his friends could see him.
“Shut up, ya animals,” Nat sighed.
______________________
Bucky walked into the house and set his bag down by the door then set you down on the table, standing between your legs and putting his chilled hands on your thighs, rubbing tenderly to warm them up. You shiver and he chuckles, “I missed you, Princess,” he murmurs, kissing your nose.
“I missed you too, daddy,” you answer, hiding your face in his abs.
“You were a handful while I was gone,” he chuckles, “I loved all the pretty pictures you sent me.”
“You did?”
“I did,” he praised, “Lost a lot of sleep wishing I was here to admire how perfect you are in person.”
You beam up at him and he takes the pins out of your hair carefully, letting it fall down to your shoulders. “You’re so perfect,” he hummed, kissing your nose.
Your cheeks color and you nuzzle his abs again, “Can I give you your present now?”
He chucks you under the chin, “You mean the present I told you not to buy?”
“But-” Your face falls and he tickles your side, making you giggle.
“No, no being sad,” he tuts, “Of course you can Princess.” He helps you off the table and listens to your shoes hit the floor outside the door and then listens to you scamper up the stairs. You’re excited. Thrilled about whatever this is and Bucky braces himself. Even if he hates whatever it is, he’s not gonna tell you. Not ever. You’re too sweet and he knows that whatever it is you saw it and thought it was perfect for him. That’s enough.
He helps himself to a beer and waits, listening to the rustling coming from upstairs. He shakes his head and settles into a kitchen chair waiting. When you come back downstairs with a black gift bag in your hand he smirks. You always tried so hard not to make things too feminine for him. He appreciated it but honestly, he wasn’t phased. He’d carry your purse and not even blink. He was a big scary biker. Ain’t no one saying shit.
“What’s this, huh?” he said pulling you onto his knee and taking tissue paper out of the bag and tossing it aside.
You’re practically vibrating with excitement and he pulls the gift out of the bag. It’s a leather jacket. A tiny leather jacket. Like baby-sized. Bucky stops and looks at you. Your hands are over your mouth and you’re watching him waiting on his reaction. “Princess,” he said, not quite able to breathe, “I don’t think this is my size.”
He definitely can’t breathe. He can’t think. If you’re telling him what he thinks you’re saying he has to protect you. He has to keep you safe.
“Bucky I-” you start and he can hear the anxiety in your voice and that hurts. He forces himself to smile and wipes a stray happy tear off your cheek.
“I thought you were on birth control,” he said, feeling like his lips are numb.
“And they put me on antibiotics for my sinus infection- I- I’m sorry. I didn’t- I’m sorry.” You’re starting to cry in earnest now, springing off of his lap and covering your face with your hands.
“Sweetheart,” he soothed, holding his hands out for you to take, “I just- I’m surprised. I think- I think I might have gone into shock for a second.” It’s breaking his heart to see you cry. He hates it. He can’t. It makes him think about all the times you cried and he wasn’t there to dry your tears. “Please, baby girl,” he coaxes, “Please don’t cry. Not like this. I’m sorry. I’m happy I promise.”
“No, you’re not,” you sniffle, wiping your eyes on the back of your hand and wrapping your arms around yourself.
He crosses the floor to you and passes you a clean handkerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket. You take it and he kisses your head while you bow your head and try to rein in all your emotions. Something Bucky still appreciates about your crying. It’s always real. He gives you the time you need before he starts talking again. Taking just a second to decide what to say. And rein in his own panic. His own irrational fear. His dad left. He didn’t know how to be a dad. He could barely take care of himself. How would he teach his son? And oh god, what if it was a girl? What would he do?
When you look up at him though, he can’t think about that. All he knows is he has to fix this for you. You’re his. This baby is his. And this isn’t about him. Not really. You’re trusting him. Giving him this. You could have had an abortion and not told him and he’d never know. You’re looking up at him, uncertain and scared and he realizes with a jolt that he wasn’t the only one that was scared, you’d just had some time to adjust to it. Some time to decide you could do this. With him.
“You’re right,” he says softly, “I’m not happy. I’m terrified.” He kneels in front of you and nuzzles your belly, kissing gently. You pet his hair, waiting. “I don’t- I don’t really know what to do with kids ya know? My dad left- a bunch of times. I don’t really know how to be a dad. I mean. Until recently I was drunk every night and fucking a bunch of different girls.” He looks up at you and smiles a little, “But if I can do this with anyone, Y/N, I can do it with you.”
“Really?” you whimper, tucking hair behind his ear.
“Really.”
“Promise?” you hold out your pinky and he links his pinky through yours, pressing his lips to your thumb and pressing his thumb against it to lock it.
“I promise, Princess,” he said getting to his feet slowly and wrapping his arms around you, “I only get one chance. I’m not gonna fuck this up. Not now that I fooled you into thinking I’m a nice guy.”
You roll your eyes but giggle, making him swat your bottom affectionately. “When did you find out?” he asks softly, setting you on the counter and taking a cool cloth to your face gently.
“About 15 minutes before the girls showed up with pizza for our sleepover,” you murmur.
He kisses your nose, “Have you seen a doctor?”
“Not yet but. Three tests on three different days seemed pretty definitive... I wanted to tell you first before I did anything.”
“We need to get you an appointment, Princess,” he murmured, kissing you softly, “We just got you healthy. I wanna keep you that way. Both of you.” He swipes at your nose gently with the cloth and you smile.
“You’re gonna keep me?”
“Of course I am,” he murmured, “You’re my Princess, and this is for both of us to handle, okay? Just give me some time to process it all. I promise. I’m okay. It was just a shock, baby.”
“Can we have a cuddle?” you ask, needing some comfort.
Bucky nods and helps you gently off the counter, “And snacks. I’m hungry.”
You nod and bucky Listens to your little white socked feet on the wood floors as he glances towards the tiny jacket on the table, “Ma is gonna kill me,” he murmurs rubbing the back of his neck.
What is terrible for people who mostly live in and around Battery City is understanding when medication is needed and when medication is the unnecessary default. Medication is not the enemy, unlike what many people from the Zones will suggest.
The popularization and normalization of medication came as a response to mental illness being treated on a wide scale after the Helium Wars. Initially, medication was just administered to those who were prescribed specific things by their doctors. The demand grew as what looked like an entire generation of war and disaster survivors needed similar kinds of medical care. The campaign was eventually warped, and many of the well-marketed medical supplements became well-known and recommended by BL/I payroll doctors and nurse practitioners.
Those who agree with killjoy ideologies tend to struggle with the idea of medication. Some people run away into the Zones to find independent practitioners who will assess patients’ individual needs for various kinds of drugs. Doctors and experts in the Zones are seen as more trustworthy than those in the city because they rely on good patient reviews (spread only by word of mouth) and are, therefore, more motivated to do a good job.
But taking medication is so stigmatized in some parts of the Zones because of how acceptable it is in the City. Killjoys might judge a person right off the bat if one of the first things they learn about them is what pills or syrup they purchase. Mentally ill (and even some disabled) killjoys might go without most kinds of medicinal treatments because they’re so sure any kind of medicine will turn them into a walking corpse.
People who live around the City are frequently in the grey area between “city folk” and the killjoys of the Zones. They might take medication for specific conditions, but they might not have the resources to find a reliable doctor or specialist, and self-diagnosis is a dangerous game when the main up-to-date medical resources all come from BL/I.
A/N: I know I said I wasn’t posting this weekend. I am a dirty fucking liar. I had a Biker!Bucky story kicking around in my head so... Merry Halloween?
In the cool fall morning, Bucky Barnes woke to two things. A splitting headache and the cacophony of move-in day. He gave up on sleep when the clatter of feet on a metal ramp echoed in his head. “Fucking fuck.” he groused through the haze of the hangover. In his head, he cursed Sam up one side and down the other. Him and that fucking mason jar of Moonshine he had brought back from his last trip to Virginia. He couldn’t think of anything other than coffee.
So that’s what he did. He made coffee and watched the show across the street. Big burly movers hefting boxes and a girl in the middle of it all directing traffic and keeping it all organized. Her hair is in a messy bun and she’s wearing jeans and a men’s flannel over a t-shirt. She’s cute. Petite. Even from across the street she looks like a hippie. She just has an air that says “I shop at farmers markets and burn incense.” He snorts to himself and takes a sip of coffee. He half wonders if your coffee table is made of crystals. Just a giant slab of quartz.
The coffee starts to kick in and he supposes he should go be neighborly. Introduce himself. But a knock on the door keeps him from examining that thought further. The knock is perfunctory. More the last vestige of a formality than a knock and is followed by Sam and Steve half stumbling through his door.
The blonde muscular asshole he’d known since they were kids on the same block. Steve hadn’t always been built like a brick shit house. He’d been a sickly little kid with asthma and a big mouth. It had taken joining the track team and then the Army to bulk him up like that. Steve might be able to take care of himself now but in the back of Bucky’s mind, he was still a scrawny little punk. The other asshole, the African American man with a cocky smile and an eye for a girl with black and grey tats was Sam. He’d been friends with Steve and Bucky since they all met at a support group for vets. That had been the origin of their little motorcycle shop. Working on Customs and doing charity rides for whatever legitimate cause they got hit up for.
“Hey,” he said over his coffee cup. Steve and Sam both had hangovers of their own to nurse. There wasn’t much more than grunts and nods as they helped themselves to coffee and raised the fridge for breakfast before they got to work on the new bike they were about to have to ship out.
Coffee and breakfast in their stomachs, the other two men were eager to get to work. It was Afternoon and the chaos across the street was a dull roar now that the moving van had left. A van pulled in behind the little Jeep in the drive and a woman and her kids got out. You were greeted with hugs and giggles as you swung kids up off their feet one at a time. It was a good time, looks like. 90′s alternative music played, bumping through speakers and on towards evening, pizza was ordered. The men worked on the bike, mostly ignoring the chaos across the street but, Bucky was a little glad to know you weren’t on your own. This wasn’t a rough neighborhood or anything but moving sucked. A lot. Even with Sam and Steve it had been a fucking miserable experience.
As the sunset and the guys celebrated another job done with a round of beers, you helped your unpacking party into the van with leftover pizza and hugs. You wave them off and blow kisses, waiting until the van has rounded the corner before turning and walking up the steps rubbing the back of your neck. Steve jerks his head your direction and smirks, “She’s cute, Buck. You gonna go say hi?” Bucky snorted, “Nah,” he said, “Not really into crystals and patchouli.” Sam rolled his eyes, “Mother fucker,” he said, “You’re not exactly drowning in pussy over here. Pretty sure Barton gets more ass than you do and he’s married with four kids. Shit. Natasha gets more pussy than you.” Bucky opened another beer and laughed, “Nat gets more girls than all of us combined. Don’t use that as a metric. Even girls can’t turn down a redhead. Even girls that don’t like girls.” Steve smirked, “He’s got a point, Sam.”
Sam rolled his eyes but let the matter drop. Bucky was grateful. The two of them meant well. Blind dates, Tinder, getting Natasha to introduce him to pretty girls she knew but wasn’t fucking. The works. Hell. Once they’d even sent a dating resume around the bar to try and get him a girl. Bucky hated it. He was happy working. Happy adjusting to this life where there were no bullets flying. Lonely, but happy anyway. It wasn’t just that you probably weren’t his type personality-wise. He didn’t think he could take having a girl in his bed when the nightmares came out of nowhere and woke him up screaming. He didn’t want the pity and the trying to make it work for a hot minute before giving him the let's be friends speech. It was just better to leave you be.
__________________________
He watches you for a few weeks. Not in a creepy way, he tells himself. Just. Nosy. He’s curious. You stay to yourself, you don’t really have a ton of people in or out. And from what you leave the house in sometimes, you seem to work long shifts in some kind of medical thing. Maybe a paramedic or a nurse in a trauma ward or something. You wear dark scrubs. Maybe it helps hide blood. And prevent stains. It made sense he guessed. You only went to work three or four days a week and seemed to be off the rest of the week. You tinker on furniture and stuff in your garage and he isn’t sure what you’re doing but, as often as you bring stuff in, you load it up completely redone and take it somewhere. He figures you sell it to boutiques in the tourist trap stores downtown.
Nothing is really amiss. You potter around doing some groundwork for what’s probably going to be raised garden beds. You start a compost pile. It confirms his assessment of “Hippie” but at the very least you seem like a socially conscious hippie. One that actually walks the walk. It isn’t until a strange car pulls up in your driveway when you aren’t home that anything looks out of the ordinary. The man that gets out of the car sets Bucky on edge. He looks pissed. The guy bangs on your door and looks through windows. He yells for you, making Steve jerk his head up. He and Bucky trade looks, silently agreeing that they should probably tell you about this as the guy gets in his car and drives away.
By the time you get home, in the wee small hours of the morning, Bucky is waiting for you. He’s tinkering in the garage, killing time. He’d thought about waiting for you on your porch but figured coming home to a random man waiting for you in the dark would probably not be a good first impression to make. He doesn’t, contrary to what the realtor says, make a habit of scaring off neighbors. You get out of your jeep and stop for a moment, staring up at the sky like you’re looking for answers. Bucky crosses the street slowly, hands in his pockets to try and make himself smaller. He doesn’t know why. You’re half his size. But you look like your nerves are frayed. The careful efficient bun you had put your hair in the morning is a rats nest. Snarled and chaotic. You move slowly, like your joints ache or your balance is off and as he creeps closer, you smell of disinfectant. A sharp, sterile, hospital smell that doesn’t fit with you’re will o the whisp features and big eyes. “Hey,” he says, stopping a good distance away to avoid startling you. “Hey,” you say guardedly, turning slowly. Bucky clears his throat, “Bucky, I’m the big scary biker the realtor warned you about,” he says offering a hand. You smile a little, looking tired “Y/N,” you say, offering him a hand in return.
Your hands are clean. Your nails are short and pristine. The skin is dry and cracked from constant washing and sanitizing. The difference between your hands and his own startle him for a minute. Your hands don’t fit you either.
He half smiled, “Look. I don’t wanna be nosy of anything but there was a guy nosing around earlier. He seemed pretty pissed.” Bucky watches several emotions flit across your face until finally your head falls forward and your pinch the bridge of your nose. Feeling defeated. “Thanks for the heads up,” you tell him, standing up straight again. “I’ll get it taken care of,” you tell him, “I’m sorry if it disturbed you. Have a good night.” You turn to go and Bucky catches your arm gently, “Y/N?” he said, “Is there anything I can do? I mean... I’ll scare the hell out of a guy for some beer and a pizza.” You snort but shake your head, “It’s my ex-husband,” you tell him, “I guess moving halfway across the country wasn’t far enough.” Bucky lets go of your arm, nodding, “That’s rough. I’m sorry.” You sigh, “It’s fine. I knew he’d find me eventually... He never did like the idea of someone else playing with his toys. I’ll go talk to the cops tomorrow. Get them to do some drive-bys and take them a copy of all the court orders. You won’t have to listen to that again. I’m sorry.”
You turn and go back into the house and Bucky watches you go feeling about 3 feet tall. You had clearly had a bad day. There was blood on your shoes and you looked wrecked. He watched you take your shoes off in the garage and then turned to go into the house. He turned and to go back across the street. He could see the defeated look on your face even as he sprawled on his bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark. It bothered him. You were obviously sweet but he hadn’t realized you were brave. He figured you kept to yourself because of your work hours. Not because you were hiding. Or feeling vulnerable on your own without much of a support network. He wondered about your family. If they knew where you were or if you had anyone to care that you were gone. That worried him. It wouldn’t take long for this guy to get violent. Bucky was willing to bet that he’d put his hands on you before and that made his stomach turn. No one deserved that.
Bucky didn’t doubt that the cops were good guys. That they’d do their best. But, he wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. He’d talk to his crew tomorrow and have them keep tabs on you. Keep an eye on things and not so gently discourage him from coming around. He didn’t know why it was so important to him, but it was. There was something about the defeat on your face that broke his heart. He knew that look. He saw it in the mirror all the time.
________
“I’m telling you, Nat,” he said handing the redhead a beer, “He’s been here every day this week. Y/N doesn’t even come home. She’s been picking up shifts at the hospital left, right, and center. Just to avoid her own house.” The woman quirked an eyebrow, “And how exactly, James Buchanan Barnes, do you know that?” Bucky blushed and looked away, “I might check on her a couple nights a week when she gets home.” Nat smiled a little and swallowed the sip of her beer, “And what did you find out?”
Bucky shrugs, “It’s a story we’ve all heard. Sweet girl with a shit home life married the first scumball that was nice to her. She got pregnant, he didn’t want her to be and put her in ICU. After that he fucked around on her and took potshots at her from time to time. Once he started bringing girls to their house, she had enough and took a job over here. Left in the middle of the night and until she moved in here she was living out of hotels.” Nat shook her head, “Christ,” she said, “Poor kid.” Bucky snorted, “She’s not that much younger than us. She’s in her mid 20′s. She’s just baby faced.” Nat nodded, “So what does she do exactly?” Bucky stretched, “She’s a nurse in a level one ER... Explains all the scrubs. I figured it was something like that.” Nat sighed, “So pretty, smart, sweet girl, married an asshole and now you have white knight syndrome. Got it.” Bucky frowned, “I do not,” he said. “Yes you do,” Sam said strolling into the garage from the house. “ Bucky turned and mimed throwing a wrench at his friend, “Do you even know what we’re talking about?”
“No,” Sam snorted, “I just know Nat is probably right about whatever she said.” Nat snorted, “Bucky has white Knight syndrome. He loves him a damsel in distress.” Sam laughs, “Oh christ. Yeah, he does.” Bucky blushed and coughed, “I fucking don’t,” he said. He can’t look at either of them as you lope up the drive with a six-pack in your hand. You’re dressed in a hoodie, trying to stay warm in the chill outside. “Hey,” you say, hovering awkwardly just outside, “Saw this at the store. You didn’t seem like pumpkin spice flavored beer kinda guy but... I’ve heard this is pretty popular locally.” You hold out the six-pack with a wry smile. Bucky takes it and smiles a little, “Thanks,” he said, “Is this a bribe?”
You snort, “More of a thank you. I appreciate the help getting that dresser out of the back of my jeep.” Bucky chuckled at the memory, “If it hadn’t been twice your size you would have had it.” You’d been pretty close but Bucky had been a little afraid that you were about to drop it on yourself.
“Girl,” Sam said, “I know your house isn’t that big. What do you do with all the furniture you buy?” You grin, “I sell it to bitchy wine moms after I make it look bougie and expensive. The dresser I made into a changing table and I’ve got a piece of shit changing table that I’m making into a bar cart.” Sam whistled, “That’s a nice little racket.” You nod, “Works better out here than it does at home.” You yawn, “I better get back, I got super on the stove and I think the insurance company would get suspicious if my house burned down.” You turn and go, leaving Bucky to face the teasing from his friends alone. He can’t help it. He watches you go wishing he would have been a little smoother. Wishing he would have offered you a drink and asked you to stay for a minute.
“Damn,” Sam murmured to Natasha, “She’s got him fucked up.” The redhead nodded, “Yup... Wanna put money on it?”
ooooaaaaaaaggggfffffuuuucckk i'm still the same horrible person who caused all my other problems and these stupid fucking thingies keep sending me back as if it will oooohh i might have another problem i refuse to acknowledge on my hands
foreverdc-comics I like this. I like this WAY TOO MUCH. Lucifer whump is just [maniacal giggling] And of course he starts panicking over the fact that maybe he can't see Sam if it's dark, and maybe this is how Sam finds out that Lucifer tried to protect his soul after Castiel pulled his body out. Oh there's so much potential in this.
