grey-bucket

[grey-bucket]

Folded, faded, hidden

Simon “Ghost” Riley x You

He carries your picture. Carries you in silence.

You’d never seen it.

Not once.

Not taped to the wall of his bunk, not tucked inside his wallet, not swiped through on his phone. You used to wonder – just briefly – if he even kept something of you when he left for missions.

But you never asked. Not because you didn’t want to know. But because he didn’t want to say.

So when he tells you – months later, after coming home with bruised ribs and a stitched-up shoulder – it’s not during a moment of vulnerability.

It’s when you’re folding laundry. Quiet, routine, domestic. That’s when he says it.

“I carry your photo,” he murmurs, like it’s an afterthought.

You pause, hands still on the fabric.

“What?”

“Printed. Small. Folded. Sewn into the inside of my vest, right over my heart.”

A beat. Then, “So no one could find it. No one could use it against me.”

There’s no softness in his voice. Just steel.

You realize then – he’s kept you close, closer than you ever imagined.

Not as a comfort token, but as something sacred.

Something worth hiding. Something worth surviving for.

────⊱♡⊰────

Then another night, somewhere miles away —

The mission goes bad.

Extraction late.

Too fast. Too many. Blood seeps down his side, thick and hot. Leaking through the tactical fabric like black water. He’s behind cover, vision graying at the edges. No one’s answering comms. He knows he’s alone.

He doesn’t panic.

Simon Riley doesn’t panic.

But he does press one trembling hand against his chest – right over the hidden seam, the tiny flap of cloth hand-stitched shut by his own needle and thread.

And beneath it: a small picture.

Crinkled from wear. The ink faded. Folded into fourths until your face is barely visible, but it’s you all the same.

You, smiling. Head tilted. Unaware he ever took the shot.

He presses his palm harder. Breathes deep.

“Still with me.”

That’s what he thinks, right before the darkness takes him.

────⊱♡⊰────

When he wakes in the med bay, broken but alive, the first thing he checks is that vest. That hidden seam.

It’s still there.

You’re still there.

Always. First and last.

────⊱♡⊰────

Later on, you find the vest. He doesn’t let anyone else patch it.

You stumble upon the pocket by accident – fingers brushing a seam that feels thicker than the others.

And when you tug the thread free and unfold the tiny square, the photo slips into your hand. Your face. Smudged. The colors faded to warm sepia. Corners worn nearly to tissue.

It’s been kissed. Or clutched. Maybe both.

Simon doesn’t say anything when he sees you holding it.

But he watches you like you’re the only anchor in a storm-ripped sea. Like if he speaks, the weight of that tenderness might crush him.

And still — no “I love you.”

Just this,

“You don’t go in my phone. You go with me.”

────⊹⊱⊱♡⊰⊰⊹────

“The first thing that steadies his breath.

The last thing he thinks about before the dark close in.

It's you.”

[grey-bucket]

simon riley who kisses you for the first time and is immediately done for.

warnings : making out (?)

──────────୨ৎ───────────

the dim lights of the pub softened everything—the tipsy laughter of patrons, the droplets of condensation shimmering down tinted beer bottles, the polished shine of the mahogany walls.

that fond awareness of the cozy and warm atmosphere had appeared when you’d first walked in, flanked by the four soldiers you called family.

the sticky floors dulled the clicks of your heels and squeaked under the heaviness of the guys’ boots, yet even that didn't take from the charm of Morrey's.

though right now, the place could've been bathed in the sickening, crystal white glow of hospital neons and you would've barely noticed. the rest of the 141 could’ve been yelling your name and not a single synapse would respond.

in fact, the instant simon's mouth had found yours, the rest of the world blurred. its existence secondary to the magnitude of him.

the air stalled in your lungs. that fragile, trembling thing hugged beneath the cage of your ribs must've missed three consecutive beats when he cradled your jaw and brought your mouth to his.

finally, one, two, three full breaths passed.

when his lips gentled with uncertainty against yours, reality slammed back into you with the full force of a thirty-foot tall wave breaking against shore. any rational thought you'd ever had disintegrated into tiny grains of sand, before washing away into the ocean of simon riley.

desperately, your mouth chased his—lips parting around the warmth of his, fingers curling into the cotton of his long-sleeved shirt to pull him even closer.

he pressed your back flat to the dark walls of the pub's bathroom hallway, a groan vibrating through him when your tongue shyly explored his in belated response.

his touch, his low noises, his corded muscles rippling under your fingertips—it all blanked your mind more effectively than any form of torture ever could.

nothing remained except this. except him—the knock of his nose against yours, born from pure urgency; the warmth of his palm cradling the back of your skull while long fingers threaded through the silk of your hair.

when the hand pressing into the side of your waist drifted, lower and lower until it splayed against the curve of your rear, your nerves fried in an explosion of colour.

and when those calloused fingers squeezed the malleable flesh, a whimper pulled your spine taunter than a drawn bowstring. heat bloomed across your cheeks at the broken sound that had slipped free from you.

simon cussed then, voice rough and low as he dragged himself back from you. just a little; just enough to breathe.

just enough for your unsteady gaze to lift and catch sight of the faint lipstick stains painting his swollen mouth.

just enough for the embers in your stomach to burn stronger—red-hot and sizzling.

"m'sorry luv. bloke was lookin' at y'wrong and i..." he cleared his throat, rough and unpracticed, as a subtly shaking hand tucked a wisp of hair behind your ear. his heart tugged at the subconscious way you leaned into his palm.

"m'sorry swee'heart. i shouldn't 've grabbed you like tha’." he rasped once more, brows drawing as if in pain.

your slim fingers curled around the tender skin of his wrist, folding above precise lines of ink as you shook your head, almost fervently.

"please don't apologize, si," you croaked in reassurance. "i've… god, i’ve wanted you for so long." the confession slipped free before you could even attempt to swallow it back.

it sent bolts of liquid lightning down simon’s spine. the whiskey of his eyes clouding over so fast it sent a tremble of weakness through your knees. his mouth hunted down the sweetness of yours once more, slotting together so easily it felt like breathing.

and when making out with you for not even ten minutes had him harder than he'd been in his entire life? his mind was already imagining what diamond would look best glinting on your pretty little ring finger the first time he'd fuck you.

[grey-bucket]

cw: smoking

“Mommy,” Your seven year old daughter looks at you. “Why does daddy smoke?”

You pause your movements. Why does Simon smoke? That’s a loaded question with many answers.

It calms him down, settles his aches, makes him feel in control, or maybe because it’s a nasty addiction he can’t break. These might be a little too complicated for your daughter's young mind.

You never were the person to get Simon to stop smoking, nor was it your daughter. He slowed it down though. Sometimes he can handle not smoking a single cigarette, while other days one or two would suffice.

“Daddy smokes because it makes him feel good.” You settle for that. An almost truth. Something to satisfy her.

“My teacher says smoking is bad and it will hurt you. I don’t want daddy to die.” She looks up at you innocently.

You can’t control the strangled sound that escapes your lips. She can’t possibly believe that Simon will die from smoking. Right?

That’s when it hits you, like a punch right to the gut. You’ve seen her throw away his cigarettes, you’ve seen her hide them, asking him if he’s ok after a coughing fit. She worried her daddy is going to die.

“Oh baby, oh no.” You can’t control the tears falling down your cheeks.

“Daddy isn’t going to die. Daddy loves you too much for something that silly to kill him.”

You see a foot in the doorway. You know Simon heard the whole conversation.

[grey-bucket]

:(

“Hi! Probably I’m busy right now, or maybe I’m just sleeping. Anyway, leave your message! I’ll call you back as soon as I can!”

Followed by your voice a small beep sounded, giving the space to leave a voice message. However, Simon didn’t say a word, instead he hung up the call and called you again.

Five seconds, two beeps.

“Please answer…” He murmured, almost inaudible, his voice so broken it physically hurt to hear it.

Almost a minute passed, and you didn’t answer his call, so the line immediately went to voicemail. Your cheerful voice was a balm to his broken soul, and at the same time it was the knife that was destroying him.

“Hey, luv…” He spoke once the line gave him time to leave a message. “I just… ‘m just wanted ya to know that I miss you, so fuckin’ much…” At that point he couldn’t hold back anymore, and tears sprang from his eyes, a lump formed inside his throat, and despite of how much it hurt, he continued. He told you about the team and their most recent experiences. Kyle’s newborn, John and his well-deserved vacations, and Johnny’s birdie.

“Ya should see him.” Amid his crying, he let out a small, soft chuckle. “He’s like a stupid puppy around her.” Before he could say something more the call ended. The intense beep of the line made a knot in his stomach, but he didn’t complain and just hung up.

For what felt like hours he just remained there in the floor, still as a statue and looking at the ceiling with so much in mind and nothing at once. Even in the darkness, his baggy eyes could be seen, as well as his messy hair and unkempt beard, which had begun to grow several days ago without him caring about.

Finally, when he dared to move, he looked at his phone again. The wallpaper was a photo of you both that you’d taken a while ago, so he looked at the screen for about two minutes, scanning your face. Then, he opened your chat, full of messages he’d sent but you hadn’t responded to any of them in the last year. Although that didn’t stop him to send you a new one.

“Don’t worry about the bill, I’ll pay it tomorrow. Love you.”

As punctual as always. He’d paid your phone bill the last year, every first of the month. In that way he could keep sending you messages, and above all, keep calling you so he can hear your beautiful voice in that voicemail.

That was his ritual for a year, since the day you died. You weren’t there anymore, and the only thing left of you was your voice. He was aware that holding into your voicemail wasn’t healthy, it was killing him slowly. But at that point he didn’t care.

He loved you to the bone, a burning fire impossible to put out, and if that little recording was all that was left of you, then he would hold on until the day his heart stopped beating too and his soul finally reunited with yours once more.

[grey-bucket]

simon doesn’t know the first thing about jewelry. doesn’t like it, doesn’t wear it, doesn’t trust it not to glint and give away position in the dark. but he finds himself here anyway— bent beneath fluorescent lighting that makes his scars itch, staring down at a velvet box like it’s a loaded gun.

he thinks of your hands, soft and small against the callused map of his. thinks of the way you tuck your fingers beneath his when you sleep, like you’re hiding there. thinks of the pink polish you wear in spring, the way it chips at the edges when you’re nervous, the way you doodled a tiny skull on your ring finger once, just to make him laugh.

(it did. it broke something open in him, that laugh.)

the jeweler says something—clarity, cut, carat, whatever—but it doesn’t register. simon’s lost in the thought of your hands wearing him. of something shining on your finger that says 'this one’s mine'. not in words, no. not in threats or bullets or bone-deep oaths. just in gold. au and awe.

he picks the one that reminds him of the curve of your smile. simple. clean. a little old-fashioned, like you still believe in fairy tales.

he cups it in his palm like it’s fragile. like it’s you.

for a long moment, the lieutenant doesn’t move. just stands there, big and out of place, a war machine in a room built for benevolence.

his thumb brushes over the band, slow, reverent.

he can almost feel your laugh ghosting over his shoulder. the one you give him when he’s being too serious, too still. the one that pulls him from the dark every damn time. simon wonders if you’ll cry.

wonders if your hands will shake when he slides it on, or if they’ll be steady, like they always are when you touch him.

steady enough to carry the weight of him—of this. of all he can’t say, and all he’s been too afraid to hope for.

[grey-bucket]

Overprotective!Simon my HUSBAND.

He's never been worried. Not at home, not when he could fight any assailants off himself. Hell, they'd be fucking loose in the head to think they could take him on. It's not like he had much to show either--he didn't have much in the ways of luxury, simply because he chose not to purchase it.

Until he met you. He was nervous then, suddenly fixing shit around the house he'd let slip by him--the broken security system, the hole in the ceiling where he'd ripped out the smoke alarm because of its incessant 'low battery' beeping. Sure it was dangerous, but he hadn't cared before.

What never changed was the fact he'd had guns all over the house. You told him before that you'd feel sorry for whatever poor bloke thought he could grab a quick check off of your home, and he'd laughed in response, told you not to worry about it. He'd deal with it, after all, should push come to shove.

So he's prepared when he hears rustling from downstairs, and the beeping of the security system he'd had installed beeping away beside his ear--quiet enough for you to never notice, loud enough for him to wake up. He slips out of bed, sooths the crease that forms between your brows when his warmth leaves from beside yours, and grabs the pistol under the bed.

Whoever's broken in is about to feel bloody sorry for even trying.

He's efficient. Makes quick work of checking upstairs, deems it all clear before he's creeping down the stairs--the perpetrator's back in immediate sight. He's rifling through the desk in the study, thumbing through cabinets for cash, or anything expensive.

He only notices Simon when Simon wants him to. It's a firm press of the gun to the guy's head, causing him to jump, flinching under the touch. "What the hell--"

“I’d shoot y’point blank right ‘ere if I could, but the missus is sleepin’ upstairs. So y’ve got thirty seconds t’fuck off before I turn y’into a stain on the carpet," Simon interjects, checking the clock on the wall absently. Like it's just an average weekday to him.

"Hey, hey man, I'm just--" he raises his hands placatingly, dropping the papers he had been holding.

"Aye. Don't give a fuck. Would rather not stain the carpet, though, missus really likes this one. Said it's real soft n' nice on 'er feet."

Simon catches the door as he practically sprints from the home, only to avoid it slamming--he wouldn't want to alarm you, of course. He hums, shuts it quietly, and goes to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

When he's back upstairs, shuffling into the bedroom, your wide eyes looking at him and quietly asking him where he went--how dare he leave you when you were cuddling, he smiles, places the glass on the nightstand and sneakily slips the gun right where he'd first gotten it.

“Nothing, luv, was thirsty, needed t’grab some water.”

[grey-bucket]

I will no longer be able to listen to Hozier's cover of Do I Wanna Know without this drabble crossing my mind.

Genuinely beautiful writing, Kathie.🫶

Crawling Back to You

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You broke up with Bucky months ago, but you can't stop calling him. He always picks up. He always comes to get you.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: Some angst, exes to lovers, umm terrible men

a/n: Obviously inspired by the Hozier cover of Crawling Back to You so maybe listen to that while you read (do it actually I'm commanding). Thank you for reading ily!! <3

Masterlist

~~

The sound of tires rounded out the weak remainder of sobs wracking your chest. You wiped at your cheeks with the back of your hands as rubber crackled against the heated asphalt, but the action was pointless. The dampness only returned, tracking stickiness from your cheeks to your neck. 

The engine remained on as the car door opened and shut in quick succession. You kept your gaze downturned, catching the small rocks that probably got stuck in the soles of Bucky’s shoes as he crouched before you. The stairs you sat on whined in defiance as you shifted slightly, still too embarrassed to face him. 

“What happened?” he softly asked. 

A humorless laugh fell past your lips, tears salty on your tongue. “It’s so stupid.” 

“‘S not stupid,” Bucky refuted. He took your chin between two of his fingers and searched the planes of your face, his lips pulling back in short grimaces as he went. “Not when you’re crying like that.” 

You bit into your bottom lip as you faced him, tears continuing to fall even though the ache in your chest eased some. It shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have called Bucky. 

The sun was escaping from the horizon behind him, casting an orange-hued blaze reflected in the tall grass beyond decaying gas pumps. It was windy and so hot that the wind didn’t matter, dirt flying up and twirling by his puffing exhaust. 

“I shouldn’t have called,” you finally choked out, taking no action against the slide of his hand against your cheek. “You were busy. I know you were.” 

Bucky only glided his fingers along your skin in gentle shapes, tutted, and tried to catch the tears that met his skin. “Never too busy for you.” 

“This is crazy.” 

“It’s not.” 

“I’m the one who broke up with you.” 

“Aware of that. Unfortunately.” 

You let out a sort of disgruntled moan, mortification mingling with relief inside of you. You leaned into his palm and huffed a sigh, using the lone car traveling on the road as a distraction. With your hands in your lap, it was easy to pick at your cuticles and hide it, a habit Bucky had never gotten you to kick. 

“Tell me what happened,” Bucky tried again. “How’d you get out here?” 

The deteriorating gas station seemed to creak in response to his question, the old building minutes away from collapsing. You’d been surprised to find an older man actually working at the counter when you got dropped here. He’d let you use the phone, and, of course, you had Bucky’s number memorized. You’d had to hand the phone to the old man to get the coordinates of this place straight, and then Bucky had been on his way. 

At the memory of everything that had happened before that phone call, your mouth puckered in a fruitless attempt to keep tears at bay. You brushed Bucky’s hand away in favor of pressing your face into your palms and tucking forward. 

“Aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” Bucky urged, moving his touch to the back of your head. “Couldn’t be that bad.” 

He spoke with a gentleness that you didn’t need—one that would only make you cry harder. 

There was a long pause, and then, “Someone hurt you?” 

You shot your head up at that, the several octaves his voice had lowered warning you of nothing good. “No,” you hurried. “No. Not… physically. Do you remember Josh?” 

Bucky’s hand ran back over your hair and landed on the juncture of your neck. His jaw flexed, and his eyebrow jumped, obviously unimpressed. “Idiot with the bike? The one with the tiny shorts?”

Your lips curled softly despite yourself. “Yeah, that one.” 

“How could I forget?” he smiled back, tucking his hands away from you and clasping them between his bent knees. You tried not to care about the loss. 

“Right, well, we were supposed to go on a road trip. We were going to visit his parents. But… well, he got a text while we were driving, and…” You stared up at the cloudless sky, the sun beating down on your misery. “And he’s been cheating on me. For a few weeks, maybe longer. When I brought it up—started getting angry—he pulled over and just… told me to get out.” 

“Bastard,” Bucky breathed out. “Leaving you here like this? I’ll kill him.” 

“You won’t,” you chastised, wiping your tears once more, sounding congested and sad and over it all. “It doesn’t matter, really. It never matters.” 

“S’that supposed to mean?” 

Another sigh. You edged forward on the stairs, slotting both legs between his crouched ones, creating space where there hadn’t been. More dirt kicked up behind him, and the old man inside was screaming at the TV, banging plastic against old batteries, or something of the sort. 

It hurt to look at him. His eyes were asking so many questions, so much concern etched into the blues, but you never had the answers. Never had the right ones. 

“It was stupid to call you,” you reaffirmed, face inches from his. 

“It wasn’t—” 

“I always call you. It’s always you.” 

Bucky wet his drying lips. 

“And you always come,” you continued. “Do you remember when we broke up?” 

His brows came together, his eyes never leaving yours. “Of course I do.” 

“What’d I say?” 

“That I can’t put you first. That I try, but I need to heal first.” 

“Right,” you whispered, dirt whisking the word from the air. “Then—” you blinked as more tears coated your throat “—why can’t I stop thinking about you? Why does it never work?” 

Bucky’s expression fractured. He brought a knee down and captured your face in his hands, metal and warm skin overwhelming your senses. His eyes flitted between both of yours, brows furrowed impossibly tight. 

“I’m trying,” you stressed. “I’m trying to move on. To see other people. To give you space and time to heal. But it never works. I always—it always comes back to you.” 

“I don’t want you to move on,” Bucky said, desperate hands conveying his words. “The day you walked out the door was the worst day of my life.” 

You shot your gaze down in a plea for any of this to make sense. You had broken up for a reason, but right now, no reason seemed to take form. 

“But—”

“But you were right,” he interrupted, bringing your eyes back up to meet his. He looked so earnest, brows raised and eyes slightly wider to catch your attention. “Okay? You were right. ‘Course, I knew that. My girl’s right about everything, but I didn’t want you to be right.” 

Defeat made your muscles feel weak, deflating your shoulders and sending a new wave of uncomfortable sadness through you. Of course, you knew you were right. All those months ago, you had been so obviously right, but Bucky had fought so hard for you to be wrong. He never admitted to anything—until now. 

He had come to terms with it, then. 

You had dug your own grave. 

“Then why can’t I stop loving you?” you cried, the sound so aching it sent a crack through Bucky’s chest. He shook his head, but the motion was lost behind your blurred vision. You were so tired of crying. “I want to move on. I’ve been trying to but—” 

“Hey, baby, look at me, yeah?” Bucky hushed, repositioning his hands on your face if only to catch your attention. “I said you were right then. I needed the time. I needed to do right by you. I—I’ve been seeing people to help. I’ve been—making friends. The apartment’s got a bedframe now,” he added, tilting his head to offer you a smile. “I’ve been trying to be the man you need. I don’t want you to move on. Honestly, it’s been tearing my heart out to pick you up all these times.” 

Your chin trembled, but tears began to dry on your face. Bucky didn’t say more, but he continued to wipe the wetness from your cheeks and chin and jaw, searching your expression as he went. He looked pained, stressed. His car continued to run behind him and you were vaguely aware that this gas station might not actually have gas. 

“You got a bed frame?” you shakily asked. You grabbed his hands from your face, holding them in your lap instead. 

“Yeah, baby,” Bucky breathed out, looking down at your joined hands. 

“I didn’t know you even had a mattress.” 

“Needed one for when I got you back.” 

Your throat was dry, the wind a vicious attack against your quiet words. “Why haven’t you said anything?” 

“I was just happy you were calling. I didn’t care if it was to get you from these—” He paused, looking down to the divots his shoes made in the dirt before finding you once more. “Baby, I would’ve picked you up from bad dates for the rest of my life if it meant you were talking to me. Don’t stop loving me. Don’t move on.” 

An array of emotions were displayed on your face. You squeezed Bucky’s hands in your lap and leaned forward until your forehead was against his, eyes closing in contentment that didn’t match the scenario. A sign above you buzzed with low voltage electricity that would surely give out soon, the weak neon flickering in a violent sun. 

“Give me a chance,” Bucky pleaded. “Let me show you.” 

You fought the urge to laugh. “Bucky, I would have given you another chance months ago. You never asked.” 

You stayed there for a few more minutes, calming your racing heart in the stifling heat. This felt like starting over, but it also felt like comfort and familiarity and home. Bucky didn’t move until you did, only prying himself away when you leaned back and sniffed, eyeing the car behind him with puffy eyes. 

He looked upon you with a sickening adoration, cupping the side of your head as he placed a quick kiss to your temple. “Let’s get you home, yeah?” 

You breathed out an okay as you stood and nodded your head, the motion dizzying with how much you had cried and how long you had sat on those splintering steps. He noticed—he always noticed, even when things weren’t great. 

Bucky held your face in his hands once more, but it felt different now. He kept you at a distance and stared at your face as he instructed, “I’m gonna run in and get you a water. Wait in the car with the air on.” 

“Hope you have cash,” you briefly smiled. “I don’t think he has a working cash register. Couldn’t buy water earlier.” 

Bucky shook his head slightly, a rueful smile in return. “Give me Josh’s address.”

[grey-bucket]

A question, in the form of a picture, for @pellucid-constellations / @pastrycounter

[grey-bucket]

never again

pairing: bucky barnes x enhanced!reader

summary: natasha likes to touch bucky's dog tags and bucky, well, he just wants to know why his favorite girl isn't talking to him.

They aren’t talking.

Bucky’s not sure why though because you guys were good. Great even. Always talking, laughing, and touching. A few things Bucky thought he wouldn’t be good at anymore, scared of more like, but he was good at it with you.

So why were you so distant? It wasn’t like you to shut him out.

“Did you drink all the coffee again, Barton? Have a death wish or something?” Tony commented.

Bucky ignored him — him and the team as they bickered over breakfast as usual. Instead, he sat on the couch, waited for you to come out and have breakfast with him.

Natasha came over and sat beside him. They made small talk until you emerged from your room.

Your hair was still messy, smile still soft, and you were drowning in clothes. Bucky’s heart skipped a few beats. He might of looked too excited to see you or had some look on his face because you ignored him and took a seat at the table instead.

“Wanna sit on my lap, Y/N? I know you must be tired of Barnes over there,” Sam flirted.

You laughed, shaking your head. Bucky wanted to punch the wall because sitting on his lap was your thing. Your morning, having breakfast, and sitting on his lap thing. His favorite part of the day thing.

It didn’t help that later that day when he walked into the training room, you walked out.

You took one glance at him and walked out.

Bucky was getting frustrated.

And it didn’t seem to stop. When the team came together for their usual hike, you took a spot next to Sam and walked next to him until you reached the top. Bucky stayed close behind and clenched his fists when Sam made a stupid joke to make you laugh.

Bucky was getting really, really frustrated.

He thought maybe when he leaned down to tie your shoelaces that some of the tension would go away, that he would feel better.

“Bucky...”

“Got it, sweetheart. Lift your foot up for me.”

You did.

“I can tie it myself; you know?”

He didn’t say anything.

“James.”

“Y/N,” he mocked.

You rolled your eyes.

“Keep your hand on my shoulder or you’ll fall.”

“I’m fine.”

“Y/N,” he sternly said. “I know you’re mad at me, but you can’t walk around like this. Just hold on to me.”

“You’re taking a long time and I can heal if…,” you mumbled. “and I’m not mad at you.”

“Really?”

You glared at him, “I’m not, Buck.”

Bucky sighed. “Seems like you are, and I know you are because I know you. Came to your room last night and it was locked. F.R.I.D.A.Y said you didn’t want to see anyone.”

“Had a nightmare?”

“Couldn’t sleep without you.”

You almost responded, almost, but Natasha came, and you didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t in fact, so you pulled away and walked away.

Bucky thinks he’s finally figured it out.

It was movie night the next time Bucky saw you and he’s wondered if you’ve asked F.R.I.D.A.Y for new routes so you could avoid him. Bucky was slowly losing his mind and he couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t, so when you walked out of the room and headed to kitchen, he decided to follow.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m getting popcorn.”

“Y/N,” Bucky breathed out. “I’m being serious.”

“Bucky, I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Well, I want to talk about— where are you going? Can you just stop — “

Bucky lifted you up and placed you on the kitchen counter. Placed himself right between your legs so you couldn’t move.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he placed his forehead on yours. “We haven’t talked in weeks. Did I do something wrong? Is it Natasha?”

“No. No, why would you think that?”

Bucky stared at you. God, he’s missed you — your eyes, your hands and your touch. Why wouldn’t you touch him? You always did and now…now it had been so long since he felt it, you, and he missed it. He missed how good it felt, how you felt against him.

You started playing with his dog tags.

Bucky swears his heart stops beating for a second. Swears he’s stopped breathing too because you weren’t touching him, no, but you were touching a part of him that meant a whole deal to him.

“Y/N, I — "

“Buck, you’re missing the movie. Steve’s about to have a oh— "Natasha interrupted.

You released your hand from the chain, “We should go.”

“Y/N.”

“Bucky, we need to go. Please let me go.”

He did.

He hated that he did, and he thought about it for the next week, till he was on his next mission. Maybe that’s why he was so distant with the team, why he didn’t pay attention to the briefing and Steve’s speech. He didn’t care, he didn’t.

It showed on the field.

Steve was mad.

“Why did Steve just tell me that you didn’t listen to the plan? That you ran into open fire? Let some guy punch you?”

Bucky didn’t respond to you. Just took a spot on the empty clinic chair.

“Is that what we’re doing now, Buck? Letting people punch us?”

Us.

Bucky shut his eyes and opened them back up to look at you. My God, you looked so angry. His girl was so angry at him.

Us.

Your hands were on his wounds in seconds and in seconds, Bucky was healed and, in more places, than just the parts that were beaten or bruised. You always reached more places than anyone else could, healed more parts of him than anyone else could.

“Are you going to talk to me?” You muttered, pressing your hand against his chest. “Buck?”

You slowly removed your hand, but Bucky grabbed it and placed right back on his chest.

“Just keep touching me, Y/N.”

You paused. Bucky watched as you got more red.

“Keep touching you? I thought you never wanted me to use my powers on you, thought the serum could heal it all. Are you even going to tell me what happened?" your voice was strong. "Did you really let this guy punch you? Beat you purple? Are you kidding, James? How could you let him?”

“How could you not talk to me?”

That shut you up. Bucky didn’t know if you understood what he was trying to say, hoped that you did because he really didn’t want to explain it — didn’t want to explain that he let himself get punched and beaten to have your hands on him.

“Never again, Buck. Never let anyone hurt you like this again.”

“Never not talk to me,” he admitted and pulled you onto his lap. His hands stayed on your hips, while your legs dangled off his lap.

You continued to place your hands on his wounded parts.

“She’s always near you.”

“Natasha?”

“Yeah…yeah and she’s always touching you,” you placed your hands on his dog tags. “Touching these and I know — I know how much they mean to you. How important they are, and you’ve never let anyone but....but”

“But you,” he finished, moving some strands of your hair away from your face. “Never let anyone but you touch them.”

“She has.”

“Never noticed. Too busy focusing on you.”

You shook your head.

“Sweetheart…”

Then you heard footsteps and out of corner of your eye, you saw that bright red hair and black bodysuit approach you and you almost got up — almost, but Bucky held your hips. Kept you in place and you heard him tell Natasha that he was busy, that he was doing something important.

You heard her walk out.

Then you wanted to say something, anything. Anything to get out of this situation, anything to fix all those red and purple spots on his body. Just anything, but you couldn’t. Walking away would’ve been so much easier.

“She’s nothing compared to you, sweetheart,” he confessed. “Nothing, okay? You’re everything.”

“Yeah, but — “

Then Bucky slipped off his dog tags and placed them around your neck.

“Everything,” he repeated.

You’re sure your world stopped. He was so good at making you speechless, always had been. Sometimes you wondered if he was made just to make you speechless. His lip was still a little busted and you reached up and ran your thumb across it, healed it in seconds.

“Promise you won’t do this again?”

“Promise you’ll talk to me?”

“Yeah,” you looked up at him, ran your hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’ll talk to you.”

No, he was made to be loved by you.

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Cold. You felt cold.

Your toes were basically freezing cold. Your body was trembling all over and you could feel your teeth chattering. The blanket was no use to a room like this, you thought to yourself.

The past few days have been hard. There were a bunch of paperworks scattered on your desk and there were still…three or four more events awaiting you. The last few weeks before summer had always been hell, and if it weren’t for Simon, you’d be dead to the core.

“Love?” Simon murmured, feeling you shift here and there. “Cold?”

You let out a muffled sigh, too lazy to give him a proper reply. But even with no words, he could read you like an open book. The shuffling of sheets could be heard from beside you before the AC beeped. Simon turned off the AC, placing the remote aside before crawling back to you.

“There ya go,” he sighed comfortably as he snuggled closer to you, arms wrapping around your waist. He breathed in your scent, nose nuzzling against the pulse on your neck. You could feel yourself heating up.

“Simon…”

He hummed in reply before pressing a few kisses down from your jaw to your shoulder. You felt your breath hitch as he sucked on the skin, leaving a few, pretty bruises on your skin. His eyes fluttered shut as he listened to your noises, enjoying it just as much as you do.

“Missed feelin’ ya ‘round me,” he practically whined against your shoulder. “Will you let me take care of ya?”

And, God, how could you refuse?

kruegerspillow © 2024 — reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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SEBASTIAN STAN as James "Bucky" Barnes THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER | 2021

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Posting an edit here just to see how Tumblr likes them

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deadweight

leave what’s heavy, what’s heavy behind • one

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 12.6K (I know, I’m sorry)

Summary:

His heart dropped clear through his stomach when he saw her. Strapped to a chair in the far corner of the room that hadn’t quite been visible from his spot on the wall, head lolling to the side, a small pool of blood forming at her feet. Bloodied wrists and ankles held fast with shackles to the arms and legs of the chair. Her face so ghostly pale it was almost translucent.

Warnings: 18+, graphic descriptions of violence and torture (like seriously, very graphic stuff), whump, language, angst, sexual innuendo, playing around a bit with the mechanics of Bucky’s arm (is that worth a warning?), my limited medical knowledge, fluff

Minors–this is not for you. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Please be discerning. Do not interact.

Prompt: I chose this prompt from @wkemeup ‘s #kas9kwc 9K Celebration. Angst #1 - Character A cleans Character B’s wounds after a rough mission. [A]’s fingers linger over scarred muscle as they finish wrapping the bandage.

A/N: A little bit later than I’d hoped, but here it is! This is the first fic I’ve shared, on this platform or otherwise. Hope y’all enjoy! Feedback is welcome and appreciated. Special thanks to @wkemeup for providing the occasion, and to @wkemeup-fics / @tuiccim / @revengingbarnes / @mareli-carter / @gogolucky13 / @buckysbabygorl / @constantwriter85 (in no particular order) for inspiring me to take the leap.

Edit: This reader is white-coded in both this piece and it’s sequel, in that she blushes pink or red when flustered or embarrassed. This trait is mentioned multiple times by both the reader and other characters. This was an oversight on my part when writing, and I’ve done my best to ensure that all fics written since have avoided traits like this.

“How much longer?”

You huffed a bit, fingers tapping intermittently over the keys of the computer in front of you. You bit back a couple of choice words as you addressed the impatient super soldier standing watch behind you.

“Buck, do you have any idea how many layers of programming I’m working through right now?”

“No,” he challenged, which was true.

“Well, grandpa. Let’s just say this amounts to Olympic levels of badassery.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky muttered, bristling at the nickname.

“Fuck me, yourself,” you whispered under your breath.

You heard the super soldier choke behind you.

Fuck. You’d forgotten about that pesky enhanced hearing. You resisted the urge to turn and see his full reaction, knowing that the flush that had painted its way across your cheeks would quickly betray how little you were joking.

Keep reading

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Harmless Masterlist

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, series)

Keep reading

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𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮, 𝐊𝐢𝐝.

—boxer!bucky x reader

—summary: bucky hated his job just as much, if not more, than you did. but if you wanted to live the remainder of your lives together comfortably, you'd both have to stick it out. which included him having to fight your ex husband.

—word count: 7.2k

—tw: swearing, alcohol, violence, blood, guns, hospitals, abuse (not from Bucky), Br*ck R*mlow, grammar mistakes, unedited lol

—a/n: my first Bucky pic! Yay! this is kind of a heavy one, as all of my fics are, lol, so if any of the triggers bother you pls don't read any further! I wanna write more blurbs based on this so keep an eye out for those. also Steve and nat are married in this, and sam's wife is an OC named Sonya, I picture her as Kiki Layne but feel free to use imagination! enjoy!

It was never fucking easy.

He had promised. He had always promised that it would get easier. 

Of course, you’d believed him at first. When the love of your life whispers sweet promises into your ear with his hands grasped at your waist, your knees turn to jello and you believe him.

But as time went on, how could watching your fiance get his face smashed in repeatedly by his opponent wearing a red boxing glove ever get fucking easier?

“It’ll get easier, baby. Promise.”

Bullshit. 

The tremor in your fingers never eased, the clamminess of your hands never dried, the tunnel vision barring you from seeing or hearing anything that wasn’t Bucky in that goddamn ring never let up.

“What if it doesn’t?” You whispered.

If there was anything in this God forsaken universe that Bucky Barnes loved, it was you. And he hated himself for making that promise, because it never got easier for him either. The last thing he could ever want was to see his girl shaking in panic, a panic that he caused. But, this was all he knew. His father was a boxer, and he’d been training since he was a teenager. There was no other life for him now, he just needed her to hold on a little bit longer. Just a little bit longer until his contract is up and he can retire forever, having made enough money for the both of them to live comfortably for the rest of their lives and raise a family.

He hoped and prayed that it would get easier, that the pain both of them felt would subside until it was over. But of course, nothing ever seems to work out that way.

—

“Well if you aren’t as beautiful as the day I first met you!”

“That was only 5 years ago Tony. You gonna break my husband’s contract or what?”

Tony Stark, the loveable yet completely tiresome man who managed your fiance, along with multiple other well known boxers under SBA.

“You know that’s out of my control, gorgeous.”

You sighed. Of course you knew. Tony owned the company when you first started dating Bucky, but things changed, and Tony ran out of money. He was eventually bought out by Nick Fury, a good man who let Tony keep a high up enough job at the company, but he played by the rules. He refused to let Bucky end his contract and keep his money. 

“I know it.” You rolled your eyes and patted him on the back as you made your way into the gym.

“Visitors pass!” Tony called after you and you flipped him off, causing him to chuckle. You made your way to the far corner of the gym, knowing it was exactly where Bucky and his friends would be on a Thursday.

“Afternoon, boys! Your voice sang through the gym as you raised a hand in the air, catching the attention of the 3 more so men than boys huddled in a circle with their arms folded across their puffed up chests.

You scoffed. Men.

Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers, and Bucky Barnes. Or, “The Big Three” as most of their fans called them fondly. 

Steve and Bucky both trained under the infamous Sam Wilson, originally the heavyweight champion for the PBA before a debilitating head injury left him and his wife fearful for their future and the future of his newborn daughter. Sam was lucky enough to break his contract with PBA, with the help from his lawyer who found multiple legal loopholes, at the fault of the CEO, Alexander Pierce, who Sam describes as “an asshole on a stick”.

You always thought it was so funny, these 3 big men that just turned to absolute putty in the presence of their girls. Just 3 soft teddy bears that only a select few got to see the sweet, carefree and fun side of.

Just last weekend, you and Bucky hosted a dinner party for all your friends at your new penthouse in New York.

–

“Steve, for the love of all things good, feet off of the sofa!” You scolded from your seat at the bar where you were accompanied by Sam’s wife, Sonya, and Steve’s wife, Natasha, along with Tony’s assistant, Wanda. Sam’s youngest girl, Thalia, was on your lap, head rested on your chest and playing with your hair.

Steve groaned, yanking them off and planting them on the ground before hoisting himself up and making his way towards the bar for a drink for himself, but not before plucking Thalia from your grip.

You were extremely proud of yours and Bucky’s home, it was exactly like you’d always dreamed. A kitchen with the most gorgeous island and oak cabinets, a beautiful dining room with a sparkling vintage chandelier and a table big enough to fit your dysfunctional family, a full functioning bar in the living room and the most stunning view of New York a small town girl like you could never dream of. Bucky wanted to give you everything and more.

“She sent me the link to that sofa when she first ordered it, and for that price you better keep those nasty ass feet off of those cushions.” Natasha berated, pointing a finger in her husband’s face, who responded by playfully biting the end of it before kissing her nose, causing the woman to scrunch her face, and earning a giggle from Thalia.

“Ever so charming.” Sonya taunted, rolling her eyes before taking a sip from her martini, only to make a sour face. “Tony this is the worst martini that’s ever made its way past my lips!”

“I make men fight, Mrs. Wilson, not martinis, be thankful you got anything at all.”

You shook your head, though a smile still played upon your lips as you felt your fiance’s well built arms wrap around your waist, his lips grazing your shoulder.

“Well, hello handsome.” You greeted, turning your head so he could give you a kiss on the lips.

“Hi, my love.” He said ever so gently, pressing a kiss to your brow before letting his lips linger there.

“When are you two lovebirds finally gonna get married?” Sam asked, breaking the silence as he reached over Wanda to grab a piece of cheese from the assortment of snacks you’d set out before dinner. His comment earned a smack on the arm from Sonya.

“If you don’t wife her, Barnes, I might. Because this amaretto sour she made me is kind of to die for.” Wanda joked, sipping from her drink.

“And that sauce just smells heavenly.” Tony remarked, popping a grape into his mouth.

“And this decor…” Steve said, looking around the apartment, wrapping an arm around Natasha. “Honey, do we need a third?

“I think we might-”

“Alright, alright.” Bucky said, tightening his grip around your giggling frame. “Everyone back off of my girl before things get ugly.”

–

Bucky turned to you, his face lighting up as he saw his girl, beautiful as ever, walking through his gym with a cooler bag in hand, lunch for him, no doubt. He met you halfway, picking you up by your waist, spinning you around and dipping you before kissing you in front of all the men who liked to stare a bit too long as you walked past them in your tight jeans and small tank top.

“Bucky!” You squealed, “Don’t make me drop the food I slaved away making for you all this morning.”

Bucky froze, raising an eyebrow, “All?”

Steve and Sam’s ears perked up, “All?!”

You smiled, wiggling out of Bucky’s grip, but keeping one hand wrapped in his. “Thought it’d be a fun surprise!” You set down the cooler bag and let the 2 men rifle through what you had to offer. Salmon, rice, steamed vegetables, your special sauce that you refused to share the recipe to, and multiple bags of your boxer diet- friendly chocolate chip cookies that the boys went crazy over.

“Mrs. Barnes you are quite literally a saint.” Steve said, gripping your small head in his hands and planting a kiss right in the middle of your forehead.

You and Bucky weren’t married, he hadn’t even proposed yet. But you both had a habit of calling each other ‘husband’, ‘wife’, ‘fiance’, and everyone else’s favorite ‘Mrs. Barnes’.

You laughed and wiped the remnants of Steve’s kiss before turning to Bucky, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“How are you today, doll?” He asked, a serious tone on his face as well as settled in his eyes.

You grimaced. Bucky had a fight today, and you weren’t exactly ecstatic over it. Well, you were never exactly ecstatic when Bucky had to fight. But, that was the only way to bring in money, and the only way to end his contract faster.

“Quentin Beck, right?” You smiled while Bucky ran a hand along your spine. “Easy money.”

“I know that’s right!” Sam whooped, cookie crumbles falling from his mouth. “Gonna need all the practice you can get before you fight Rumlow!”

Brock Rumlow.

One of the meanest, most vicious fighters of the PBA, heavyweight champion the past two years. He gave Wilson the head injury that put him out. He nearly killed Steve 3 years ago.

Infamously known as “The Hydra”.

Cut off one head, two more grow back.

And much to your dismay, your ex husband.

You had married extremely young. After running away from your small town in Georgia at 18, you met Brock Rumlow at a fancy party you snuck your way into with some girls you met at your job. He promised security, safety, wealth, love.

You got maybe two of those things.

You met Sam through Brock, he helped you through all of the legalities of divorce after you showed up on him and Sonya’s doorstep in the rain, soaked, bruised, and shaking.

It’s how you met the love of your life.

“Bucky…”

He hadn’t told you he was fighting Rumlow.

Sam regretted his words as they barely even tumbled past his cookie stuffed mouth as Steve shook his head, pity evident on his features as he looked at you.

“Doll…” 

His voice was so achingly gentle, his eyes so painfully soft as he continued to hold you, letting you work through every emotion that seemed to be hitting you like a semi truck.

“Please say somethin’, honey. Anything.”

“Um- when, when is this happening?” You asked, trying your best to keep your cool amongst the many other men and women in the gym.

The three exchanged looks. Bucky had a world of time to tell you, but he was so damn afraid of the exact reaction painted across your face at that moment.

Everyone threatened to tell you multiple times, but Bucky insisted it needed to come from him, and he’d get around to it. Wanda even went so far as to dial your number one day. 

You had picked up with your signature cheery hello and Bucky made a pleading gesture with his hands, desperation evident on his face as he wordlessly begged Wanda to keep her mouth shut.

“Hello?”

‘Please’ Bucky had mouthed.

“Wanda?”

Wanda shook her head before answering you, “Hey girl! Just making sure we’re still on for drinks this weekend.”

Bucky wanted to cry as he held you in his arms, not that he’d think you would be angry with him. You just had been through so much, you didn’t deserve to go through this too.

“Two weeks.” Bucky choked the words out.

You were stoic, staring at Bucky as if you were just staring straight at the weight machine behind him.

The three men held their breaths, terrified for the reaction you might give.

“Okay.” You said. Your voice suspiciously even. “Let’s beat this motherfucker.”

–

You never liked the private rooms at the arena.

They were nice, perfectly clean with comfortable couches and working restrooms. The mini fridges were stocked with sodas and snacks, the good kinds like cheez-its and coca-cola. They even had air fresheners in the corner of each room, making all of them smell like fresh laundry and flowers.

But that wasn’t your qualm.

You hated the rooms because all they brought were anxiety and pain. 

The moments before a fight were filled with unshed tears you struggled to keep inside and Bucky’s arms around you, whispering the sweetest of words that seemed to drip like honey and stick to your ears.

The moments after were filled with panicked breaths that you tried so hard to conceal as you watched your husband's unrecognizable face get cleaned and bandaged by his medical team while he held your hands in his own, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs and occasionally bringing them to his lips to press sweet kisses to your wrists.

Today was no different.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay to be nervous.” Bucky said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. 

His med team just finished checking him before the fight, so he was sat on a temporary medical stretcher, his large arms wrapped around your waist, you had your arms around his neck.

He tried to pull away to look at you but you just shook your head and held him closer, allowing a few stray tears to slip.

“Okay.” He whispered, running his hands up and down your back. “Okay, doll. I’m here. Right here, okay?”

There was a moment of complete quiet. Just you and Bucky, the only sound being the whirring of the air conditioner in the corner. You didn’t want to ruin it.

“Don’t fight him.”

Yet, you did.

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. “Beck? Baby, that guy’s barely even-”

“Rumlow.”

“Doll, you know I wish I could…”

“Bucky, please.” You pulled away from him then, feeling the ache in your bones of no longer being in his hold.

Bucky’s heart severed at the look on your face, cheeks puffy and eyes swollen, fat tears rolling down your skin but ever so beautiful.

“He’s doing this to get back at me.” You were sobbing now, not even fully pronouncing your words.

Bucky wanted nothing more than to give in. To say ‘Okay’ and tell Tony he wasn’t doing the fight. Hell, he’d march straight into Fury’s office if he could.

Bucky held your face in his hands, firm, yet gentle enough for you to want to just melt into him. He pulled you closer, settling your legs in between his knees. 

“Tony did everything he could all these years to keep me from fighting him. We need this money, baby. We’re one step closer. We’re so close.”

You let yourself lean into Bucky’s touch, bringing your hands up to grip onto his wrists as you continued to cry. “I don’t want him to hurt you like he hurt me.”

Bucky hated thinking about what Rumlow did to you before you found the courage to leave. It took everything in him not to beat that sick son of a bitch every time their paths crossed. Which wasn’t often, but enough to get Bucky to think about it.

Luckily, Brock knew to steer clear of anybody from the Big Three. He wasn’t stupid. One wrong move and he could completely lose his contract. Though, it didn’t stop him from taunting Rogers or Wilson anytime he saw them, a disgusting grin splattered on his face, beaming with pride that he almost killed one of them and completely ruined the career of the other.

“I got this, babydoll. Then it’ll be one step closer to me and you.”

–

“Bucky ‘The Winter Soldier’ Barnes!”

The announcer’s voice pierced through the stadium, causing you to cringe. He hated that name, it was chosen for him by his father, whom Bucky resented throughout the entirety of the man’s life, until quite literally the day he died. He tried to change it, but everyone refused. He couldn’t change his brand this late in the game.

“And aren’t we lucky to have the infamous Big Three in the arena with us tonight!”  The other announcer exclaimed as Bucky walked up to the ring with Steve and Sam in tow, his walk up song blaring through the speakers.

“And all three wives in the stands, it’s a family affair!” The screens lit up with the view of you, Natasha and Sonya sitting side by side in the stands, all adorned in T-shirts with Bucky’s face on them, and you did what all 3 of you were trained to do. 

Smile and wave.

It was rare that all 6 of you were there at the same time. There was usually a straggler or two in the mix. Either someone had to stay home with the kids, a relative was in town, work came up, or you stayed backstage to sneak away from the fanfare.

“And don’t they all look stunning as ever!”

“Get this camera off of me so I can take a sip of my damn margarita.” Sonya mumbled, though continued to smile and point to her Bucky shirt.

You couldn’t help but cover your mouth as you laughed, trying to remain composed for the camera so nobody would speculate later. You could already see the fans on twitter spewing lies about Sonya having an attitude and being ungrateful.

The camera changed to Bucky, who seemed to be looking right at you so you turned, making eye contact with your man.

He broke into the most gorgeous smile you’d ever seen and your heart burst just before he blew you a kiss, causing the arena to erupt in cheers. You caught the kiss and pressed it to your cheek.

“What a sweet moment, but it’s time to move on.” The announcer’s voice rang in your ears once more.

“I love you.” You mouthed.

“I love you more.” Bucky mouthed back.

–

The fight with Beck went as everyone predicted. Bucky won, of course, but not without a fight from Beck. Which left him bruised and bleeding, but nothing nearly as bad as you some of the times you had seen him before, which was a thought you hated but it was a relief for now.

Bucky could feel the ache down to his bones. 

Not of pain, or exhaustion, or anger.

The ache of how much he loved and completely adored you as he looked down at you, your head in his lap, completely enthralled by the movie playing in front of you as if the two of you hadn’t seen it countless times. Bucky could recite it beginning to finish.

“Here’s looking at you, kid.”

Bucky spoke along with Humphrey Bogart on the screen and you smiled, slightly turning your head to look at your husband, and he was already looking at you.

“Sap.”

Bucky smirked and leaned down to place his lips on your temple, lingering there for a moment before sitting back up and letting his eyes return to the movie, his fingers mindlessly running up and down your torso.

You stayed that way for a while, positions switched, Bucky’s eyes glued to the TV, and yours glued to him.

The purples and blues on his face made you frown, and you could just cry at how beautiful he looked, face illuminated by the black and white of Casablanca, his perfect lips unconsciously mouthing the words.

You yearned for this life forever with him. Everyday he promised you were one step, a couple thousand dollars closer to living up to his contract and getting all of the money he was owed. He could be a trainer with Sam. Still bring home consistent money, but be safe,

Safe.

The word rang in your ears until you winced.

Safe. Safe. Safe. Safe.

Nothing about your life, except for Bucky, felt safe. 

It felt completely out of control, unpredictable, scary.

Bucky knew that and it broke his heart to know you went through everyday life being scared out of your mind. He’d break his contract now if he wasn’t completely certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that the two of you were going to come out the other side of this happier and more secure than ever.

“We’ll always have Paris.”

You’ll always have me.

–

Bucky had been at the gym for nearly 6 hours.

Sam put him on a strict “No visitors” rule, and “Yes, Mrs. Barnes that applies to you.”

And an “Especially, you!” From Tony.

Bucky didn’t have his phone on him, and you understood, he really did need to focus, the fight was in 5 days. Steve assured you that his phone would be on and close to him in case of emergencies, same went for Tony, Sam and Wanda.

So, you decided the best way to spend your time was with Sonya and Nat, using them as a distraction while the three of you holed up in your apartment, sipping seltzers and playing drinking games like you were teenagers again. Sonya left the girls with their Aunt for the day.

“Okay, if you could marry anyone in the big three, not including your own husband, who would it be?” Sonya asked, a smug look on her face before she added, “If you refuse to answer you take a shot.”

“Barnes. Without a doubt.” Nat said without hesitation and Sonya laughed at her transparency, covering her mouth with her hand.

“What?!” Natasha asked as you laughed as well, clutching your stomach.

“Have you seen where you live? Not only is it gorgeous but Bucky lets you decorate it however the fuck you want! And I’ve never once seen you have to ask him to do anything. He even cleans! Cleans!!!”

You and Sonya continued to cackle as Natasha continued to ramble, tears streaming down your cheeks while you clutched onto each other’s hands.

“Nat, baby, if you were so unhappy with Steve you shoulda said something!” Sonya joked, still holding back chuckles.

“I’m not unhappy with Steve! Wouldn’t trade him for the world! But, gun to his head, I had to trade him or else he’d die, I’d pick Bucky!”

You laughed, shrugging in agreement. You couldn’t blame her.

“You know what, I think I’d go with Mr. Barnes too. Y’all know I love Sam and I love our girls and don’t slap me for saying this either but he is entirely too easy on the eyes.”

The three of you burst out laughing again. You didn’t feel the slightest bit annoyed or jealous. These were your best friends, your sisters, who loved their husbands, and you, and each other’s husbands, and Bucky like family, and protected and fought for you like family. You thought it was kind of endearing actually, that they could see how yours and Bucky’s love was something special.

“You never said your answer, babe.” Nat said, gesturing to you with her can.

You pondered for a moment. Both men had been so good to you on so many different levels.

“Sam, but only because he was so good to me with the whole Brock thing, I don’t know if I could ever repay him. And you, Son.”

The vibe changed after that, your friends’ faces softened and the air felt heavy.

Sonya shook her head, exhaling through her nose, mumbling your name as if she were scolding you.

She wasn’t.

“Nothing can compare to that fear I felt. Nothing. It still keeps Sam up at night too.”

You frowned.

“But we’d do it again a million times if you needed us to. We would.”

She leaned forward, taking your hand, “Don’t ever, ever, insinuate that you owe us a damn thing. We fucking love you.”

You smiled, not realizing you were crying until the tears were wetting your lips. You were quick to wipe them.

Natasha had stayed silent for the most part, letting the two of you have your moment, she hadn’t been around then.

“And even though I wasn’t there I also fucking love you and would probably die for you.”

The moment was over almost as quickly as it began, the three of you going back to drinking and asking each other outlandish questions, until your phone rang.

“It’s m’ husbandd!” You sang, holding the phone up to your ear and smiling, your cheeks burning from intoxication.

“Hi, gorgeous. I’ve been tryin’ to open the door for ages. Did you lock the top?”

You gasped and slapped a hand to your mouth before hurriedly running to the front door, fumbling with the lock only for a moment before swinging it open to reveal a tired and amused Bucky, followed by Steve and Sam, lazy smiles pulling at their lips.

“Oh, my handsome boys! I locked you out! However, will you forgive me?!” You threw your arms around Bucky, falling into his embrace and he responded by peppering your face with kisses.

“Make me a double jack and coke and I might consider it.” Sam said, sauntering into the room and into the dining room, to sweep Sonya off of her feet no doubt. Steve did the same, before muttering, “I’ll show myself to the refrigerator.”

“Good man.” Bucky responded as he walked you into your home, shutting the door behind him with his foot.

“I missed you.” You mumbled against his lips while he kissed you again.

“Oh, my doll, my soul ached for you.”

“You watch too many 50’s movies, Barnes.”

“Are you complaining, darling?”

“Not at all.”

“Well then, here’s looking at you, kid.”

–

Bucky was stressed.

So incredibly stressed he felt like he might throw up.

He was fighting Brock Rumlow today.

He knew he could take him, that’s not what Bucky was worried about. He was worried about you. The thought of you in the private room, tears rolling down your face and shaky breaths filling the air, with him unable to hold you made him feel sick. He wanted you to stay home, in fact he practically begged you to stay home with Natasha and Sonya to keep you from turning on the TV but you completely refused. You’d be there, sporting a T-shirt with his name and face on it, and you’d look Rumlow dead in the eye while you celebrated victory with Bucky.

You would not hide.

And Bucky was so incredibly proud of you. His brave girl. But that didn’t change the fact that he was worried out of his mind.

“It isn’t too late to change your mind, doll.”

You were applying last minute makeup in the bathroom of your private room in the arena, Bucky behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“I’m only leaving this arena when you do.”

“Okay.” He said softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Whatever you do, baby, block him out. Don’t listen to his taunting. He’s trying to get in your head.”

Bucky nodded, wrapping his arms around your waist and lightly squeezing.

“Any chance you wanna back out together?” You asked, a sad smile on your face, knowing the answer.

Bucky only sighed and kissed your cheek.

It wasn’t long before Steve and Sam came to collect Bucky, or maybe it was. You could’ve stayed in that bathroom forever if it meant Bucky wouldn’t get hurt.

You followed behind him as he exited the room, his large hand engulfing yours. You had to get to your seat and he had to get to his place to talk and warm up before his walk out.

You connected your forehead to his and looked into his eyes, giving him a nod and a kiss before you separated, going to find Tony and Wanda, who would take you to your seats with Nat and Sonya.

You weren’t as high up in the stands as you usually were, requesting to be right next to the ring for this fight.

Everyone questioned the decision but you put your foot down. You wanted to be in Bucky’s eyeline, wanted him to easily see you. 

You wanted to reach him easily if anything went south.

You didn’t pay attention as Tony patted your shoulder, or as Nat and Sonya squeezed your arms when Brock’s walk out song began, or the sympathetic glance Wanda shot your way when Brock looked at you with a nasty grin.

Bucky entered the ring and your heart stopped.

His eyes were glued to you.

You nodded.

He nodded.

“Lookin’ at you.” He mouthed.

“Always.” You mouthed back.

You don’t know where that became your thing in the past two weeks, or how it just now blossomed even though the two of you had been watching that movie for ages, but you adored it and thought it to be incredibly sweet.

The moment was short lived before Brock started mouthing off, but Bucky kept his cool, his hands clasped behind his back and his head held high.

You couldn’t hear what he was saying, though you were sure you didn’t want to.

Bucky was thanking God you couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“You take pride in the fact that you stole what was mine, Barnes?!”

Bucky said nothing.

“I wouldn’t think sloppy seconds were your style.”

Nothing.

“I see you’ve got your bitch sitting in the front row. Tight leash, huh?”

His blood was boiling but he didn’t flinch.

“Does she scream for you like she did for me?”

Bucky was just waiting for the ref to blow the whistle, he was itching to slam his face into the mat.

“She’s a good fuck, isn’t she Barnes?”

The whistle blew, and it was Bucky who was face down on the mat in seconds.

You wanted to gasp when Bucky went down but you held your composure, not only for him but also for the thousands of eyes on you, no doubt just waiting for a hysterical reaction.

But Bucky was quick, and regained himself quickly, taking his turn to pin Rumlow to the mat, holding his arm behind his back so he could not get back up.

It was brutal. The entire fight was vicious, blood and sweat ran down both men’s faces, drenching their necks and chests and you wanted to cry at the sight of Bucky’s already swelling bruises on his knees and face. His chest was heaving, and the look in his eyes was something you had never seen, even in all his years of fighting some of his toughest opponents in the ring. It was dark.

He was angry.

For Bucky, this was the best way for him to take out his anger on Rumlow for what that man had done to you. The years of nightmares and overthinking and tears and anguish.

“Damnit, I said no!” Bucky’s voice thundered across the kitchen, in perfect timing with his hand flying through the air to run through his hair and you flinched.

Your Bucky.

Your lovely Bucky who danced with you as the moonlight pooled into the room through your curtains on nights where you couldn’t sleep. 

Your gentle Bucky who wiped your tears and washed your hair when your days were just too much.

Your patient Bucky who sat with you and instructed you to breathe with him, your hand to his chest when he’d come home to you panicking.

Your Bucky.

And you fucking flinched.

“Bucky I- I’m sorry. I just-”

He shook his head, his angry demeanor had completely vanished, his pretty blue eyes soft and beginning to fill with tears.

“Sweetheart, please don’t apologize. God, please don’t.

And just like that you were in his arms, a complete weeping mess because of what that man had put you through.

What Brock Rumlow had put you through.

That sick son of a bitch that was in front of Bucky now, a disgusting smirk on his face, blood seeping from his gums and smearing onto his teeth.

Bucky was certain he could kill him if it wouldn’t land him in prison.

“Come on, Buck.” You muttered, your knee rapidly bouncing up and down. You hadn’t noticed, but you were gripping Nat and Sonya’s hands.

You were trying your best to pay attention. Really, you were. But you kept going in and out of focus and flashbacks. You were sure people had caught multiple photos and videos of you spacing out, but you couldn’t really bring yourself to care.

Wanda has asked you multiple times if you wanted to go back and sit in the room, take a breather and maybe drink some water but you refused. You’d be right here.

And when the fight was finally over, when Bucky finally stood victorious over Rumlow while the ref held his red glove covered hand in the air and the crowd cheered, you could breathe again.

He was drenched in blood and bruises but you couldn’t feel anything except relief.

Bucky looked at you and you couldn’t help the tears that began to gather in your eyes and spill down your cheeks as you smiled at him. Nat and Sonya were cheering and hollering, jostling your shoulders and jumping up and down, planting kisses on your cheeks and the side of your head and you could barely notice.

Because Bucky was looking at you.

The ref let go of his hand and he made a dash to get out of the ring and to you, shoving past Sam and Steve trying to congratulate him, completely ignoring the med team trying to lead him away to check his injuries.

You. You. You.

You met him halfway even though your knees felt like jello and your hands were shaking, you took his face into those shaky hands and pressed your forehead to his as his hands rested on your waist.

“You did it.”

“I did it.”

–

Luckily, Bucky didn’t have any major injuries. After some stitches and some compression wrap on his ribs and wrists, he was cleared to leave.

You just couldn’t believe it. One of his biggest fights to date and he was walking away almost unscathed.

It almost felt too good to be true.

Despite how tired everyone felt, this was cause for celebration. You all decided to retreat to your respective homes and get ready for a nice dinner, just the 8 of you.

“Bucky this place has a coconut blood orange margarita!” You said from the bedroom as Bucky continued to get ready in the ensuite bathroom. You were putting on your shoes while browsing the menu on Yelp. You could never visit a restaurant without checking the menu first.

“That sounds right up your alley, doll!”

“I know!” 

Bucky emerged from the bathroom, looking as handsome as ever in his white button down and black slacks.

“Have as many of those as you want, sweetheart. Long as I get to take this” Bucky’s fingers ran along the fabric of your black dress, just simple cotton with a long slit coming up to almost your hip, “Pretty thing off of you when we get home.”

“You can do whatever you want to me when we get home, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky smiled, his large hands grabbing at your waist as his bottom lip made its way between his teeth.

“God, you are so beautiful, Mrs. Barnes.” He hummed.

“As are you, my love.”

“Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.”

“Always.”

–

Dinner was completely perfect. Nothing but laughter and jokes, bread being thrown across the table while the waiters weren’t looking and you and Wanda taking secret sips of Tony’s $200 champagne when he was in the bathroom or on a call.

Bucky was never not touching you. Whether it was a hand gripping your thigh or his arm around the back of your chair, his fingers gently tracing the length of your arm, or your hand in his.

And, God, was he radiant.

His smile was ear to ear. His top buttons on his shirt were undone, showing off his chest and you could absolutely just eat him up. It was like heaven hearing him laugh at some stupid joke Sam had made or when Steve would get flustered at Natasha’s flirting after she’d had a couple glasses of wine, or Sonya scolding Sam after an inappropriate joke. He even took a couple photos with fans who had just watched the fight, all of them ecstatic to take a photo with the Bucky Barnes with the scars from the fight still fresh on him.

You were both so happy even once you decided to get the check and wrap up dinner. You’d had 4 coconut blood orange margaritas, a celebratory shot of tequila and Tony had even been kind enough to let you have a glass of his fancy champagne.

“You deserve it after these past two weeks, gorgeous.”

Bucky had agreed. You stuck by him ferociously and put on the bravest face, even in the presence of Brock Rumlow, you stood tall. He was so proud of you.

You were trying not to trip over your own feet in your much too tall heels on the way out to the valet. You felt fuzzy and drunk but you still couldn’t shake the feeling of the valet watching you entirely too closely.

“Bucky that guy keeps staring.” You whispered and Bucky’s head whipped around, the valet turned his head immediately.

“You’re a diamond, sweetheart. People can’t take their eyes off of ya.”

You nodded and smiled, though you were still entirely too uneasy, and Bucky could tell.

“Car’s comin’ around soon, baby. I gotcha.” His grip tightened around your waist and he moved in front of you so his body was blocking yours, but you could still see him. He wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at Bucky.

Steve’s car had barely pulled up to the restaurant when it happened.

It was like everything happened in slow motion.

You saw the gun first, Bucky’s eyes were still on you.

“What were you thinking?” He sobbed.

But that’s just the thing, you weren’t thinking. There wasn’t one thought in your head besides Bucky as you ripped yourself from his arms and shielded his body with yours, and gave him not even a second to react before the sound of a gun rang.

The valet was tackled to the ground in seconds.

An angry fan of Rumlow’s, no doubt.

How Bucky’s security team didn’t catch on sooner was beyond you. He had security with him everywhere, though they stuck to the sidelines so as to not disturb. There were a lot of wild fans out there who got very angry very easily about the outcome of fights, and it just wasn’t safe to go out alone.

You were in shock, your hands clutched your stomach but you didn’t even register you had been shot as scarlet red liquid thick as syrup seeped through your black dress and into your fingers.

Bucky’s arms were around you in an instant as he lowered you to the ground. You could hear the commotion and panic of other restaurant patrons around you. 

Blood was seeping into his white shirt. Your blood was seeping into his white shirt. He didn’t care. He couldn’t fucking care, not when the life was trickling out of you right before his eyes.

“Baby. Oh my god, oh my god.” Bucky was shaking, his voice thick with tears as he held you as close to him as he could.

“Somebody call 911!” Sam.

“I’m on it!” Tony.

Bucky wiped the hair from your face as his tears began to splotch on your face, he couldn’t bother wiping them.

Not when this could be his last time holding you.

You tried to close your eyes but Bucky tapped your cheek firmly. “Ya gotta keep your eyes open, sweetheart. Gotta stay with me, come on.”

You nodded, your head lulling to rest comfortably on Bucky’s chest as his body shook with the most vicious cries that had ever ripped through him. You continued to look at him, those pretty eyes that he adored so much looking up at him, but there was barely anything there.

“Bucky-”

“Save your energy, doll. Please. Ya gotta stay with me, okay?”

Your hand felt like heavy stone as you brought it up to hold Bucky’s face, weakly wiping his tears. “I love you.”

“No, no, no. Keep looking at me, baby. Keep lookin’ at me. Please.”

“So much.”

Bucky planted a kiss on your forehead as he continued to sob.

“I love you, doll. I love you so goddamn much that’s why you gotta stay, alright?”

He pulled away. “Here’s looking at you, kid. Remember? You remember, doll? Always.” 

You didn’t respond.

Bucky screamed.

–

Hospitals are so fucking gross.

It was something you firmly believed in since you watched your great grandfather die in one when you were 14. 

Full of dead, sick and dying people. Full of weeping family members and friends. 

“Don’t let me fucking die in a hospital, Bucky, I swear to God.” You had said.

Bucky always laughed when you went on your rants about how much you hated hospitals. Talking loudly and waving your hands around in the air. 

“I’ll never let you die in a hospital, sweetheart. Promise.”

And now here you were, lying in a hospital bed after 12 hours of surgery, hooked up to a heart monitor and Bucky thought how do you still look so impossibly beautiful?

It was just you and Bucky in the room. Tony, Wanda, Steve, Natasha, Sam, Sonya and their girls were all squished together in the waiting room. None of them had it in them to sit even an inch apart.

Not when they could lose you.

Bucky hadn’t cried in an hour. His eyes dry but still red and heavy, a headache that he was waiting to go away after a nurse gave him Tylenol booming in his temples. His blood stained shirt was discarded as soon as they wheeled you in for surgery. Steve gave him an extra T shirt stashed in his car.

He threw up in the bathroom while he was changing.

“You gotta wake up so you don’t die in a hospital, honey. Can’t have ya kickin’ my ass when I get to heaven for lettin’ that happen.”

The thought made his lip quiver. The doctors were hopeful after the surgery, but things don’t always go as planned. And he was fucking terrified.

“I’m gonna kick your ass for even letting them bring me to this awful place.” You mumbled.

The sound that came from Bucky had to have been embarrassing. Somewhere between a laugh and a sob as he stood up and immediately started fawning over you and pressed the nurse button to alert them you were awake.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He cried, his hands cupping your face and placing kisses all over your cheeks.

“I’m okay, Buck.”

“What were you thinking?” He sobbed, his face buried into your hair and you broke, wrapping your arms around his neck. The pain in your stomach didn’t even register because you just needed him closer.

“I wasn’t. I wasn’t thinking. I just- I saw the gun and he was gonna kill you Bucky.” “Don’t ever do that doll, not for me. God, please not for me.”

“I was so scared, Bucky. I didn’t wanna scare you but, I had- I had to tell you I loved you. I couldn’t leave this earth without telling you I loved you.”

“I know, baby. Just please, I can’t lose you. I can’t fuckin’ lose you.”

His whole body was shaking as he continued to hug you when the nurse came in. He awkwardly separated himself from you, his large body pushing itself off of the tiny bed.

She checked you over and ran a couple tests, and afterwards promised to go and alert your friends and allow them to come in.

While you waited to be bombarded by the people you called your family, Bucky had situated himself next to you in the bed, his arm around you, allowing you to put your weight onto him, and careful not to disturb your wound.

“Hey.” You whispered, bringing your hand up to hold his.

He looked down at you to find you already looking at him fondly.

“Here’s looking at you, kid.”

Bucky smiled, the most beautiful, genuine, sincere and heartstopping smile. He kissed you.

“Always.”

[grey-bucket]

Southpaw Masterlist

Series summary: Tied up in the criminal world your godfather has built, you have no reason to leave, until you find one in the man they call Southpaw.

Pairing: boxer!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Warnings: Angst. Violence. Mentions of death. Some fluff. Eventual smut. Each part will have warnings. (18+ only).

Posting schedule: COMPLETE (total word count ~26k)

Parts below the cut

Contents

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

Part Ten

Series moodboard:

created by the amazing @mickey-henry

[grey-bucket]

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt-Mini-Series (Masterlist)

Mini-Series Summary: Two of the most stubborn people in the group partnered together for an undercover mission are also the two people with the most hatred for each other, so what could go wrong? Or is it, what COULDN’T go wrong?…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader (Enemies to Lovers) (Fake Marriage Trope)

A/N: This was a one-shot turned mini-series!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Bonus Chapter

Pool Olympics (Bonus Chapter)

(Finished: June 1st, 2024)