pazories

[pazories]

what are your headcanons on bucky/John walker

Oookay I've been sitting on this for a bit because the horrifying ordeal of being perceived got me good but I started this at 2am this morning so I'm finally gonna answer it.

General caveat of how this is all headcanon and I might not be the most articulate because again, started at 2am and thus I'm working onnnn less than ideal sleep.

So!! Here we go. Maybe I'll make a series of this if it gets too long (Note: It got too long 😔)

Affection and touch

John isn't big on pda and Bucky respects that. It's an insecurity thing--John has a lot of internalized homophobia to unlearn in the early days and it's easier to take it one step at a time. Avoid rocking the boat.

Bucky is subtle affection incarnate. Not overt gestures, just quiet reminders. Like a hand pressed to the small of John's back for a second or so when no one's looking, or standing shoulder-to-shoulder during a mission debriefing.

John actively seeks out affection more than Bucky does, but Bucky is a certified yearner with the puppy eyed awe to match.

John's affection does trend towards the more overt. Offering to cuddle with an open arm when they're both on the couch, coming up behind Bucky when he's in the middle of something to press a kiss to the back of his neck.

(John almost got decked once during the early days for doing that. He learned quickly to make his presence in the room stick before going for affection. Or coming up behind him.)

That being said, they both have a complex relationship with affection. It doesn't come natural to them--tenderness doesn't fit to the size of John's hands and he's very touch starved by the time they actually get together and regardless of what headcanons you have of Bucky's time as the winter soldier, I believe he probably has a weird relationship with touch because of it. (Might write more on this later but the post is getting long)

The most public affection they ever really take part in is when they're patching each other up after missions or sparring sessions. John kind of loves it. Makes him feel doted on, even if Bucky does it with dry wit and a half-serious frown, and he gives lip as good as he gets it.

Love languages

They don't really use the L-word. Bucky's lost too much to take that risk, and John actually wants to use it, there's just a million reasons why he doesn't. He doesn't feel like he's allowed to.

John might blurt it out in an argument one day. A bad one, maybe after doing something stupid or dangerous (both?). He wouldn't realise that he's said the quiet part out loud until Bucky's entirely stopped just to stare. (And if there's a bit of fear in the way Bucky looks at him, then, that's just something they'll both choose to ignore. If John regards him with fear of his own? Also ignored. At least, verbally.)

Bucky might say it. Once. If he thinks they might be dying or John really needs to hear it. It's an incredibly rare privilege. (Nevermind that the first time he says it it basically gives John ammo to give him shit about it later. Affectionately, of course.)

Both of their main love languages is Acts of Service, but John in particular needs words of affirmation to like. function. He needs to be told he's doing well, he needs to know he isn't just going to fuck it all up again.

Bucky struggles with this at first, the sharing. The gentle comfort without coddling. He's used to butting heads with John, he doesn't immediately realise how much it actually stings when John's at his worst and really just needs to be told it's okay. (They fight a lot early on because of this. John's just too proud to admit when he really needs something.)

Bucky on the other hand actually likes when John does things for him and hangs out. It's comforting when the man cooks, or helps clean up after training, or any number of things that aren't obvious. And John just. does it. Not because he knows what it does to Bucky, but because that's just how he is.

They don't really kiss much early on. Bucky doesn't like people getting that close to his face and John has to unpack a lot of things internally related to kissing a man now so it doesn't come natural to the relationship.

Pet names

They don't do pet names. Bucky keeps calling John by his last name and it drives him nuts. (Secretly, that's partially why Bucky still does it.)

John kind of does like the idea of pet names but nothing really sticks. 'Buck' feels reserved for someone else even if he does use it when he's being an ass, and traditional terms of endearment like 'Babe' don't feel right, either. 'Asshole' doesn't count.

When Bucky actually uses the name 'John' it's either an emergency or it makes him melt on the spot. No in-between. Either way, it's a private thing. Special. Reserved for those quiet moments between fights or when John needs reassurance the most.

One time Bucky called him 'Johnny' (maybe to rile him up or tease him) and Walker just about combusted. John won't ask Bucky to call him that, mainly because that means being vulnerable, but Bucky knows. He knows.

Aaaanyway, that's all I have for now. But I'll probs end up posting more in the future because these are really fun actually. Hope this answers at least some of the question.

[pazories]

Fic: Bleed Me Honest (Ch 2 - Steve)

Five times John learns about the men who changed Bucky’s life, and one time he realizes he’s one of them.” Or: the story of how this unlikely pair come together. Featuring all of my headcanons about Bucky’s relationships, a jealous, insecure Walker constantly trying to be enough, and a Bucky who’s not quite broken anymore… But sometimes the demons slip out.

AO3

(A line from this was unabashedly stolen from one of @pazories's posts and honestly was the inspiration for this whole fic.

Do I want you in my bed or am I just dying to know what it would feel like to be fucked by Captain America?)

Things with Bucky have been good. Better than John ever let himself hope. 

Their relationship (yes, that’s what John calls it in his head) has settled into something almost easy. Comfortable, even. To the point where John can almost forget everything they don’t talk about.

They train together, bicker like old friends, and even laugh more than John thought Bucky was capable of. He doesn’t need to know all the dark corners of the Winter Soldier’s past to enjoy the version of Bucky that stands before him now. Whatever ghosts Bucky keeps locked away, they don’t matter. Not when Bucky doesn’t let them out to see the light of day. 

Not when everything else is going so well. 

But slowly, so slowly that if John blinked, he might have missed it… Bucky starts pulling back.

It’s subtle at first. 

Carefully avoided questions, texts that go unanswered, a casual excuse not to stay the night, or fall into bed at all. 

Bucky is still there. He still shows up when it counts. But something between them shifts. The space between them grows, invisible but undeniable. Like Bucky had quietly started building his walls back up again. 

John feels that slow, familiar ache of someone slipping through his fingers.

The sex becomes cold, emotionless. Almost mechanical.

John tries not to take it personally. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just how Bucky is wired. But still, there’s a part of him that can’t help but wonder what had changed. What slipped through the cracks while he wasn’t paying attention?

He’s not the only one who notices the change.

They’re halfway through pizza night, minus Bucky, of course. Not hungry , he said. Again.

John leans back on the couch, eyes drifting to the others. 

“Have you guys noticed… Bucky acting weird lately?” He tries for casual, but it doesn’t quite land. “I mean, weirder than usual.”

The looks that Yelena and Ava exchange speak volumes.

“Trouble in paradise?” Yelena asks through a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese. “Yeah, we noticed.”

“I don’t get it.” John shakes his head, frustration bleeding into his voice. “One minute we’re solid. Then out of nowhere, he’s avoiding me, pulling away, acting like I’m radioactive. What the hell did I do?”

Yelena shrugs, casually picking at a loose thread on her jacket. “Maybe he just got bored of your face. It happens.”

Ava snorts behind her hand. “Charming,” she drawls.

Yelena grins, “I try.”

Alexei grunts and waves a hand in the air. “He is just brooding. That one always broods. Like a little birdie with trauma. Don’t worry, he’ll come back around again. Your bed will not be empty for long.”

John sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “No, seriously, it just feels like something is different. Something is wrong and he won’t to talk to me about it.”

Bob, who had been lounging on the sofa and quietly sipping his tea, finally sets down his mug. “It might be the holiday.”

Everyone turns to look at him.

“Holiday?” John scrunches his face.

Bob raises an eyebrow and stares. “Fourth of July. Fireworks. American Flags. Red, white, and blue.” He pauses, waiting for a reaction. When he doesn’t get any: “Steve Rogers’ literal birthday.”

A unison of “Ohhh” ripples through the room. 

“You think it’s about you,” Bob continues. “It’s not. It’s about Steve.”

John doesn’t speak. His jaw ticks, and he stares down at the floor. 

“There’s a lot of history there, almost a hundred years of history.” Bob shrugs and turns back to his mug. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the ghosts get louder every year when this time rolls around.” 

“Can’t be easy,” Ava chimes in quietly. “With you going around in that uniform, looking like a dead ringer for his dead best friend.”

Yelena picks at a piece of pepperoni on her plate. “Honestly, it’s impressive he’s put up with you for this long.”

John lets out a slow breath, his shoulders tight. He forces the bile down that threatens to come up his throat. 

“You think… maybe I should like, get him something?”

He ducks to narrowly avoid the plate that Yelena throws at his head. 

“It’s not his birthday, you moron.”

_____

As the date creeps closer, John doesn’t get a chance to figure out how to make Bucky open up to him.

A mission to take down five hostile targets and one runaway freightliner with a hot core headed for Capitol Hill brings it all to a head for him. 

John thinks what he did to save the day was heroic. Some others would call it reckless and stupid. 

Mel’s voice barks through their comms: “Detonation has been triggered! That truck is going to blow in thirty seconds!”

Bucky: “Everyone fall back NOW!”

But John was already moving, sprinting full spead toward the truck. 

“John, NO—”

Bucky, the only one fast enough to keep up with him and a freightliner barreling down the highway at 120 mph, followed—  

But John was faster and had a head start. He vaulted onto the rig and ripped open the cargo door. The timer was beeping, beeping red, and counting down. He let his training take over, hands working automatic. There were too many wires–the world shrank down to just him and the bomb and time stood still until… 

Blessed silence. 

The timer had stopped. 

John turned, a wild breathless grin on his face like he’d just cheated death—to see Bucky standing by the open door.

“You want to buy me dinner?” He jokes. 

His smile faltered only when Bucky stormed forward, fury radiating off of him like a furnace, and he grabbed John by the suit to slam him back against the side of the truck so hard that the metal rattled behind him.

His rage was molten, violent, and barely leashed.

“I did what had to be done!” John shouts at Bucky’s back. 

They had yelled at each other (over each other) the entire ride home. Now, back at the Watchtower, their voices echo off the walls while the others keep a careful distance. Silent, but unable to look away like spectators of a burning train wreck. 

“You could have died, you absolute fucking idiot,” Bucky seethes.

“Relax. It worked. Mission accomplished.”

Bucky whips around, eyes flashing. “You didn’t know it would work. We didn’t have enough intel on the bomb’s make, you had no idea what kind of trigger it used, you had no clue what kind of tech you were even looking at! You went in blind and hoped for a miracle.”

John scoffs but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes… because Bucky is right. But he doesn’t want to admit that. “But I got lucky.”

“You got lucky,” Bucky echoes, his voice low and dangerous. “That’s not strategy. That is not a plan. That is a coin flip with your life.”

“He did save the day, technically.” Ava jumps in, in John’s defence. “There weren’t even any casualties—”

“I’m not talking to you,” Bucky cuts her off, his eyes never leaving John’s. 

Ava falls silent. 

“You didn’t know you could disarm it.”

“Yeah, but I did,” John says quietly with a shrug, trying to keep it light. “That’s what matters, right?”

And then, Bucky’s voice breaks, “I don’t want to follow your idiot star-spangled ass into war again!”

The silence is deafening.

Alexei breaks first. “Oh, shit.”

Bucky stares at John, pale and stunned into silence by the words that had slipped out. Something flickers behind his eyes, fractured and far away.

“Wh-what?” John stutters. He stares, because he must have heard wrong. He must’ve. 

The words echo, raw and too loud.

Everyone else is frozen in place.

Bucky steps back like he’s trying to shake something off. Then another step, before he turns and walks off, shoulders rigid with something too old to name.

John doesn’t follow. He just stands there, silent as the adrenaline gives way to a cold, unfamiliar weight in his chest. A quiet, broken “Bucky—” slips out. 

But Bucky’s already gone. 

And John, for once, has nothing to say.

The door to his room shuts behind him with a muted click. Bucky leans against it for a moment, breathing hard, trembling.

He peels off his gloves first. Then the tactical vest. Drops them to the floor like dead weight. Then he just stands there, staring at nothing.

His hands won’t stop shaking.

Bucky crosses the room and sits heavily on the edge of his bed. Metal fingers rub at his temple, then trail down the side of his face like he’s trying to scrub out a memory.

Because for a second, one goddamn second, he thought it was Steve out there.

Charging toward danger like an idiot. Acting like the laws of physics didn’t apply to him and saving the day with no regard for his own life. 

But it was John.

Of course, it was John.

Bucky closes his eyes and drags a hand down his face. His voice is barely a whisper in the empty room. “Why did you leave me, you bastard?”

Left him like a ghost in the ruins–half there, half memory.

And then John shows up in his life. Big, brave, stubborn idiot John. And for a while, it was easy to pretend this has nothing to do with Steve. Easy to ignore their similarities, and focus on the good stuff—like how John makes him feel when their bodies slot together like they were meant for it. And he relished how John knows almost nothing about his past life.

It’s cleaner, this way. Better. 

But then the moments of doubt creep in. 

(And he can’t help but think: Do I want you in my bed or am I just dying to know what it would feel like to be fucked by Captain America?)

The thought makes him want to crawl out of his own skin.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands buried in his hair.

A soft knock sounds at the door.

“Can I come in?”

Bucky says nothing.

A beat.

The door creaks open anyway and John steps cautiously inside.

“Hey,” John says quietly. “You disappeared. I… I figured you weren’t okay.”

Silence. The door clicks shut behind him.

“I don’t know what just happened… but if you need to yell at me again, I’m here.”

Bucky lets out a low, humorless breath. “I don’t want to yell at you.”

John steps further into the room. “Are you sure?” He asks, uncertain.

Bucky’s voice drops to a whisper. “I’m sorry… Back there, when you ran toward that bomb like a jackass… I saw him. And then… it felt like I was right back there with him, and I couldn’t breathe.”

John stays quiet, the weight of uncertainly settling heavy in his chest. 

“I’ve spent years trying to be okay. But I’m fucking this up.” Bucky breaks off, swallows hard, and shakes his head. “You wear the uniform. You make the same dumb calls. You even talk like him sometimes. And I—” His voice cracks, and he doesn’t say anymore. 

For a moment, John says nothing. And then the unfairness of it all wells up and spills over. He’d spent his whole life idolizing Steve Rogers, trying to be the best, acing every test, saving everyone he could—but he could never be enough. 

Not for a man with haunted eyes and a memory of someone John could never replace. 

It’s not fair. 

“I’m not him,” John finally says, his voice biting. 

“I know.”

(You’ll never be him.)

“Do you have any idea what it’s like, to always be compared to a dead icon? To know that you can be twice as fast, twice as strong, jump on every grenade, and it’ll never be enough?”

Bucky stays silent, unmoving. 

“I bled for this country. I gave everything . And yeah—I’ve made mistakes. I’m not perfect. But all anyone ever sees, are all the ways that I’m not Steve Rogers.” 

Bucky finally stands, facing him. He shakes his head and fixes John with a weary look. “You really think this is about you feeling overshadowed?”

“No, I think this is about you trying to fuck a memory.”

Bucky flinches like he’s been slapped.

John regrets it the second it leaves his mouth—but he can’t take it back. The damage is done. 

He’s thrown the first punch, and Barnes is ready to hit back.

Bucky’s jaw tightens. “What do you want from me, John? You want me to fall into your arms like a damsel? You want a thank you fuck for playing hero today?” His face twists into an ugly sneer as he steps closer to John. “You think just because you look good in that suit and you throw yourself on top of bombs like it's foreplay that I’m supposed to feel something for you?”

John doesn’t answer. He simmers and seethes, jaw tight, eyes burning with stunned silence.

Bucky leans closer, closing the distance between them with an expression colder than it has any right to be. “You want to know what I see when I look at you? I see a knockoff shield and a walking pile of good intentions wrapped in insecurity. So congratulations, John. You’re a warm body with the right jawline. And I’m a goddamn mess who can’t tell the difference between grief and need.”

Bucky hovers close, not touching, but close enough to burn. His dead eyes giving nothing away. 

John’s expression hardens.

“So…” Bucky’s breathing is shallow. His eyes lock on John’s like a challenge. “Do you want to fuck or fight?”

John’s answer is to crash their mouths together. They move like a blur, hands clawing at gear and belts, desperation masquerading as dominance. 

John pushes them back hard, and shoves the other man against the wall. Bucky lets him, not fighting the pained gasp that gets out, swallowed by John’s mouth. The drywall behind him fractures and cracks like a gunshot. 

But Bucky can take it. 

After the serum, John was always afraid of hurting Olivia. He knows his own strength, but he was always afraid of losing himself… of losing control. They barely touched each other after the kid was born. He could never forgive himself if he hurt her like that. 

And so the space between them stretched wider and wider with each passing day. Until… they were just strangers with history. 

He doesn’t need to be afraid with Bucky.

John growls softly, and lifts the shirt up and over Bucky’s head. Maybe he even needs this—something violent, something real. An outlet for all his pent up frustrations before it becomes too much for him to handle. 

Bucky’s skin is burning hot under his palms. John’s lips ghost over his neck, feeling the steady, strong beat of his pulse. “If we fight… at least I’ll know where I stand.”

“You sure?” Bucky whispers. “I hit harder than you think.”

John drags his tongue down to the tender area where vibranium meets flesh skin, he bites down hard enough to leave a mark and tastes copper on his tongue. 

Bucky lets out a sharp moan when he feels the teeth sink in. The pain feels good. But now he’s too impatient and John is moving too slow–he needs more. He shoves him just enough to yank John’s shirt off and throws it at their feet. 

Bucky’s got John’s zipper down already, and he pushes his tactical pants down over his hips as he drops to his knees, gracefully just like everything else he does. 

John watches as Bucky licks his bottom lip, stares up at him and makes eye contact. Fuck, John’s never seen anything so hot in his life. He’s already rock hard–“Jesus, Bucky” –as the other man takes him in hand. 

He chokes on a groan as Bucky takes his full length into his mouth and immediately takes up a relentless pace, letting out a pathetic little whimper as his throat swallows around his cock. 

John watches, entranced, as saliva dribbles down red lips. 

He thinks Bucky must’ve had a lot of practice to be this good at swallowing cock, especially someone of John’s size. Like his throat has been trained to take him deep. John curls his fingers tight in that soft brown hair that’s just begging to be yanked on–he wants to test the limits of how much Bucky can take. 

He slams his hips mercilessly into the wet heat of his mouth, but Bucky doesn’t even gag, he just takes it, again and again and again. 

“Fuck,” John curses, moaning as he watches his whole length practically disappearing into that tight throat. “You love that, don’t you? You love taking my cock, you can’t get enough of it.”

Did he do this with Rogers? How many times?

Then he looks at Bucky’s eyes and doesn’t like what he sees. A little too glassy. Unfocused.

“Hey, look at me,” John growls roughly, pulling out and giving him a hard shake with the grip he still has on his hair. “Don’t you disappear on me.”

“I’m not,” Bucky mumbles, his throat sounding so deliciously rough and sore. 

But his eyes are distant. Like he’s still halfway back in time. 

“Liar,” John whispers. 

Bucky blinks hard, his stare snapping up to meet John’s eyes with a glare that could cut steel as he comes back to himself.  

“Don’t keep me waiting, John. You don’t want me to think you’re all talk outside that uniform.”

The hand that’s not buried in Bucky’s hair curls into a fist at his side. Bucky knows what he’s doing, he knows just the right buttons to push, and John feels his restraint fraying at the edges as his pride gets dragged through the dirt. 

He slowly, harshly drags his thumb over Bucky’s wet bottom lip. “You like it when I fuck your mouth? You have such a pretty little mouth.”

“I’d rather you fuck my ass.”

John grips Bucky under the arms and lifts him like he’s nothing, spinning their bodies and slamming them both onto the bed hard enough to rattle the frame. 

Bucky’s gasps, a sharp breath leaving his lungs—but he doesn’t look startled. He looks satisfied. “Finally,” he breathes.

Their mouths crash together again, all teeth and fury. 

Bucky shivers under his weight. He can’t move much with John straddling him, his thighs unmovable around his hips like steel beams sunk in concrete. So Bucky’s hand slide to John’s sides instead, gripping his waist hard enough to bruise as he pulls him close. 

Their hips grind together, all heat and friction between them.

“You want to fuck Captain America?” John growls against his skin. “Or do you just want someone who can hurt you back?”

Bucky laughs, a dark, breathless sound, before he throws a punch with his right fist aimed straight for John’s temple. 

John ducks, just in time to miss the worst of the blow. He catches Bucky’s wrist and slams it down into the mattress beside his head, pinning it with a grip hard enough that it would have shattered bone if Bucky had not been enhanced. 

The vibranium arm stays unnervingly still at Bucky’s side. 

John grabs Bucky by the jaw with his other hand and kisses him again. Devouring. Angry. And Bucky groans against him like it hurts in all the right ways. 

John’s breathing is rough now, as he stares down at Bucky, pinned and burning beneath him. He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t pause. Just takes a hand to Bucky’s belt and yanks it off with a sharp clang. 

Bucky doesn’t stop him. Doesn’t help, either. Just lies there, defiant and unblinking, like he’s daring John to flinch.

Pants and boots next. All tugged off with furious impatience. 

John doesn’t waste a second. With one brutal pull, he hauls Bucky up by the hips—like he weighs nothing—and drags him down toward him. He spreads his thighs and slots himself between them with a grunt.

Bucky doesn’t fight it. He could, if he wanted to.

John climbs over him, one hand splayed flat on Bucky’s chest, pinning him down. His body hums with heat and restraint, and his voice feels like gravel. He spits into his other hand. 

No lube this time.

Bucky’s gone quiet. A silent question lingers in his gaze. Because they never do it face to face. 

“I want to see your face when I make you come,” John mutters above him, voice ragged and hot. 

(I want you to see mine too. And no one else’s.)

Bucky’s fingers are unexpectedly tender against John’s hip. His nod is barely perceptible, but John sees it. 

In a single, unforgiving motion, John thrusts forward while pulling down on Bucky’s hips, burying himself deep. Bucky’s head snaps back from the force of it, all the breath punched out of his lungs. His spine arches, a strained sound caught in his throat.  

The bed groans beneath them. 

John pauses, chest heaving, his hands clutching hard at Bucky’s waist. He knows it must hurt. Without prep and far too little lube. He feels the tension slowly wind down, waits until Bucky’s gasps turn to hot little whimpers and he pulls John closer against him–before he starts a brutal pace with his hips. 

It’s not gentle. Not even close. 

Bucky moans sharply with every thrust. “Fuck—ah, John—”

John shuts him up with a rough kiss. His hand curls around the column of Bucky’s throat, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise around his pulse point. 

“Did Steve fuck you this good?” John whispers into his ear.

Bucky doesn’t answer, just makes little broken noises with every brutal drive forward. 

“That’s what I thought,” John growls. “Jesus, you’re fucking tight. I would have thought Rogers’ would have loosened you up for me.”

Bucky turns his head just enough to snarl, “Shut up and fuck me harder.”

Neither of them says his name again, but it hangs in the air between them like smoke from a dead fire.

They don’t last much longer. Not once John curls a hand around Bucky’s cock, tugs him once, twice, and he’s coming, his rough shouts muffled into John’s mouth. 

John soaks up every sound. His head spinning from how hard Bucky clenches around him. And then he’s pumping his come deep inside Bucky’s body, full of heat and ache and something broken underneath.

John collapses hard when it’s over. Bucky catches him with both arms wrapped tight, holding him up like his body doesn’t know how to let go. 

John pulls away first, rolling onto his back with a heavy exhale, sweat cooling on his skin, making him shiver.

Bucky doesn’t look at him. And for a moment, both men lie there, side by side, staring at the ceiling like it might have the answers. Their chests rise and fall in uneven rhythm, both of them still coming down from the high. 

“Did you get what you wanted?” Bucky asks, his voice unreadable.

John scoffs. “What is wrong with you?” He throws back.

Bucky doesn’t answer. 

With a tired sigh, John reaches down for one of their discarded shirts and starts cleaning them up. He’s not a complete asshole. 

The silence stretches long and heavy. Both of them lost in the static of whatever this was. 

Eventually, John starts to grow nervous, the weight of it all too heavy in his chest. He worries that he had crossed a line. That they wouldn’t be able to come back from this. 

“Are you okay?” He finally asks.

“I never slept with Steve.”

The words hang in the air, unexpected, and echo off the walls of Bucky’s room.

John blinks. “What?”

Bucky turns his head, meeting John’s gaze. “Steve and I were never like that. We were never together.” He pauses, then adds, flatly. “Just thought you should know… seeing as you’re so insecure about it.” 

John stares at him, stunned, that his judgment was so wrong. “So, you’re telling me, what—you guys were just… really good friends all that time?”

Bucky’s mouth twitches. “I know what people think. I know what they say.” He slowly shakes his head. “Steve never loved me like that.”

John hears the rest in the silence. 

He exhales, long and heavy. “But you did.”

Bucky looks away, not answering for a moment. 

“Yeah,” Bucky finally admits quietly. “I did. And I never acted on it. Should’ve. During the war. Before I fell off that damn train. After that… we never stood a chance. Too much happened… and we lost too much along the way.”

He pauses and drags the metal hand through his hair, suddenly look tired in a way that gives away his years. “I’ll never know if we could’ve been something more.”

John leans back slowly and lays on his side, resting his head on one arm. He studies Bucky’s face, the distant stare and the old, haunted eyes. The way his mouth tightens around the memories he hasn’t said out loud in years. 

“I’m sorry I’m not him,” John says quietly. 

Bucky looks at him. “You think I want you to be Steve? I don’t.” His voice is hard and rough around the edges. “Steve left me. After everything that happened, everything they did to me—” He breaks off and looks away.

John’s eyes widen, ever so slightly. 

“I was mindfucked by HYDRA for seventy years. They broke everything that I was. Steve saved me, he pulled me out. Saved me, protected me, defended me… again and again. But when the fight was over… I guess he didn’t feel like sticking around to pick up the pieces. He just…” Bucky scoffs and shrugs his shoulders. “Chose another life, with another person.” 

A dozen questions fly through John's head, but he files them away for later when Bucky says, “Sometimes I wish he hadn’t saved me at all.”

“Don’t say that, Bucky. Don’t go down that road.”

“Sometimes it feels like what he did was too little, too late,” Bucky whispers, face unreadable.

Something in John’s chest pulls tight. He shifts closer, reaching a hand out, hesitating for only a moment before placing it gently on Bucky’s bare shoulder.

Bucky doesn’t shrug it off. But he doesn’t lean into the touch either. 

Just stares past John, like he’s still halfway somewhere else. 

_____

July 4, 2028

The distant boom of fireworks rolls low across the water, a sound more like thunder than celebration. Red, white, and blue bursts across the dark sky, reflecting in Bucky’s eyes like fire on glass. 

Bucky lies back on the deck of a small yacht, alone. Just something he’d quietly taken from Valentina’s fleet. Ten miles out, adrift in warm, summer water. Just him, the bottle in his hand, and the hollow ache settled deep in his chest. 

The wind tousles his hair as he takes a slow sip. The liquor burns less than it should. It barely does anything these days. He swallows it down anyway. Like a promise.

On the horizon, the sky blooms in patriotic color. Crackling, vibrant explosions that ripple through the skies.

“Happy birthday, Steve,” he whispers, his voice soft enough to be swallowed by the roar of wind and open water.

He leans back, lets his head rest against the cold metal rail, eyes fixed on the fireworks.

The water sloshes gently against the hull—until it doesn’t. There’s a thump and a sharp gasp, and then the wet sound of someone pulling themselves up and over the edge of the boat.

Bucky knows who it is without even turning his head.

“Didn’t think to turn off your phone,” comes a breathless voice. John drags himself over the side, dripping, leaving a heavy trail of water behind him. “Real stealthy, Barnes.”

Bucky exhales through his nose, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I didn’t think you’d come looking for me out here.”

John shrugs, shaking the excess water off of him. “Well. I did.”

They watch each other for a moment, the unspoken weight between them. John sees, probably something close to adoration in Bucky’s eyes. Relief, maybe. 

“There’s towels over on that side,” Bucky says quietly, pointing a finger in the direction to John’s left.

The fireworks flare louder now, as they approach a crescendo. A brilliant blue explosion washes over Bucky’s face, and for a heartbeat, as he watches them, he feels twenty years old again. Then it fades.

John sits beside him, quiet, letting the towel soak through and he dries himself off.

“I hate this day,” Bucky mutters.

John says nothing. He doesn’t trust himself to speak without saying the wrong thing. 

“I hate feeling numb,” Bucky says suddenly, his voice cracking like thunder overhead. “Everyone thinks it’s the rage, or the guilt that gets you. They think that’s what eats you alive.”

He pauses, swallows hard, eyes locked on the color in the sky. “But it’s not. It’s the nothing. The silence inside your own head. It’s not feeling anything, just… the dull hum of existing.” 

His fingers tighten around the nearly empty bottle. “It creeps in, and then doesn’t want to let go. It pulls you in. Until you can’t claw your way out anymore.”

He stares down at the bottle in his hand. Stares at it like it personally betrayed him. Then tips it over in one fluid motion, spilling clear liquor onto the deck. The empty bottle falls and hits the floor with a dull thud. 

Fireworks continue to burst louder in the distance, approaching their finale. This time, they both look up. Gold ignites into white and red. For a moment, the water around them glows like daylight.

Bucky’s voice cuts through the noise, “You’re an idiot for swimming all the way out here.”

John huffs a soft laugh. “Takes one to know one.”

A small smile cracks Bucky’s lips as he watches the sky. He feels John’s gaze burning into him. A comforting weight. 

“You’re my idiot.”

It’s John’s turn to smile now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. His eyes trail across John’s face. “I guess I’ve got a type.”

“Reckless jackasses with a hero complex?”

Bucky grins with wry affection in his eyes. “Lucky me.”

The boat rocks gently beneath them. 

[pazories]

2024 --> 1942

[pazories]

[pazories]

okay i lied put your clothes back on we're not having sex i'm fundamentally evil and i need you to kill me

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supersoldiers do get tired 😴 insp.

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My take on WinterAgent is that Bucky is always questioning himself whether he sees Steve in Walker or not. I hc that Bucky has never acted upon his feelings towards Steve (the man is a professional yearner), but he loved him still, with all his heart.

And then there’s John Walker, offering himself on a plate—a thing that Steve would never have done. A thing Bucky had certainly have been hoping for until Steve was out of reach.

You remind me of him. You’re nothing like him. Do I genuinely feel something for you or am I just tripping? Do I want you in my bed or am I just dying to know what it would feel like—to be fucked by Captain America?

The yearning, the uncertainty, the angst. I need this two depressed dudes kiss and have violent desperate sex and never talk about it, just go with the flow, rotting from inside out.

[pazories]

anyways, ive been smutting about john walker and winteragent thingssss

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Laura: Oh my God Carmilla look, a portrait of a Karnstein Countess that looks just like you! So beautiful... So lovely... I am going to put it in my room to always be able to look at you even at night! Ah, the moon tonight looks enchanting like the night I met you... The most delightful night... How beautiful you are under the moonlight, when you confess your strange love to me... Are you seeing anyone? Are you sure you aren't? I'd hate it if you did. I'll let you kiss me now.

Also Laura: Why is she so affectionate with me as if we were lovers? How peculiar.

[pazories]

"can you explain this gap in your resume" i lay in dark and dreaming sleep while countless wars and ages passed; i woke still weak a year before i joined you

[pazories]

Cognitive dissonance is such an important trait for Durge to have, imo: 'I am and was proud and happy to be Bhaal's child, beloved and Chosen. I fully believe in my faith and purpose. I love my Father. I have no regrets. I am a superior being to these mere mortals around me. Totally coincidentally, my old room is full of alcohol, I might have a panic attack if my Father manifests, I am/was actively suicidal, and I mention how much I hate myself and the world at least once a day. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go talk Shadowheart and Astarion out of going down paths that will make them more like me.'

[pazories]

IDGAF if the women in my fiction are empowering or aspirational, I'm an adult, I don't need role models, I want the women in my fiction to be interesting, and if that involves being pathetic, hypocritical, amoral, or trapped in a delightfully dysfunctional relationship so be it

[pazories]

reading a fic and they have a canonically repressed character say something directly and proudly

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Me when a character starts experiencing an agonizingly, Horrifically, painful transformation :

[pazories]

Top-Tier Villain Motivations

They will be safe. It doesn't matter who else or what else burns as long as They will be safe.

I will be safe. The hunger and the cold will never touch me again.

Fuck any bitch who's prettier(/cooler/better-liked/better at making dumplings) than me.

Yes, Master

Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. LOVE ME!

I know the terrible things these so-called "heroes" will do if I don't stop them (<- is absolutely wrong)

I don't want a better future, I want a better past!

No other way to get performance art funded these days

[pazories]

some of you need to realize that your faves would be having unsafe bdsm sex because they don’t actually know what bdsm sex is, they just want to fuck and also kill each other. you must understand this.

[pazories]

Solas is Loki, Eros, the Last Unicorn, a damsel in distress, the beast husband in every fairytale, Oppenheimer, a loyal dog, and also god.