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tuiccim · 10 months ago

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We're Gonna Burn

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Smut, Sex Pollen, Non/DubCon (because sex pollen), enemies to lovers.

Summary: When an exposure to a strange powder makes you feel as if you're burning to death, your only relief is in the person you hate the most.

A/N: Special thanks to my beta reader @whisperlullaby

We're Gonna Burn Masterlist

“What the hell was that, Barnes?” You practically yell as you push open the front door of the safe house you’d been directed to.

“I don’t know! I’ve never seen anything like it. God, the smell!” He shakes his head.

“It’s burned into my nostrils. All I can smell is that sweet flower smell. You’ve never seen that pink powder?” You throw your things to the floor, looking around the small, remote house.

“No, I’d tell you if I did, damnit! Why do you keep asking?” Bucky growls.

“You’re not the most forthcoming person! Shit, I think you’ve spoken more in the last two minutes than in the three months I’ve known you! Jesus, fuck, I’ve gotta get rid of this smell. I’m so fucking hot,” your voice gets smaller as you speak. You can’t think straight but head towards the bathroom, unzipping your tac suit and pulling it from your arms as you go. You slam the door and lock it. You turn the cold water on full blast and nearly fall over in your haste to get your suit off. The frigid spray helps for a few moments and you revel in it, but soon another type of heat begins to take over. Your clit throbs and when you place your hand between your legs, your wetness coats your fingers. The shower stops bringing relief and instead, the water coursing down your body seems to only make you hornier. You give in to the need that takes hold and circle your clit. It feels amazing and it takes only a couple of minutes for your orgasm to break over you. You bite your lip to hold in the moans, not wanting the asshat on the other side of the door to hear you.

Your body has a moment of relief but then the heat builds again, even quicker this time. You dip your fingers inside of you in a desperate attempt to stop it. The second orgasm you managed to pull did little to help your body and your fingers keep working furiously to bring another in hope of relief. Your moans are spilling from your lips without a care now. You just need to get this to stop. You’re disturbed when the door rattles and a fist bangs loudly.

“Open the door! I need to get in there,” Bucky bellows.

You wanted to scream at him to go away but you could barely form words. You hated the stupid supersoldier from the moment you met him. He questioned your every turn. Whether it was about your skill, experience, or motives. He never lets you get through a single conversation without making you feel like a lesser part of the team.

“Goddamnit, let me in!” He yells more loudly.

Nothing your hand was doing was helping any longer. You couldn’t think straight and, before you can make a move or form a thought, the door splinters open from a kick. A very naked Bucky comes through the door and your eyes widen as you see his cock standing at attention. He steps into the spray of the cold shower and growls. His hand works his cock furiously while his other rests on the tiles. His head falls forward as he lets the cold water fall down his back. You stand behind him, your hand still between your legs.

“Fuck, what’s happening to us?” you whimper as you lean your feverish forehead onto his back. The cool water does nothing to help but where your skin touches his tingles with relief. Abandoning all pride, you press your entire body to his and the fever seems to cool wherever you touch but your clit throbs even harder. Your cunt weeps, begging for attention.You rub yourself against him, your nipples pebbling at the contact with his back.

With a growl, Bucky turns around and you quickly back up to press your back against the wall of the shower. He stares at you, breathing hard.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble in your haze, “I don’t know what’s happening. I’m so hot and-”

You gasp as Bucky bends down, grabs your legs, and drags you up the tiles. You squeal and reach for any handhold as he puts your legs over his shoulders and attacks your clit with his tongue.

“Oh, fuck!” You scream as one hand lands on the ceiling to help you balance and the other buries in his hair. His tongue swirls over your clit expertly. His hands squeeze your ass as he gorges himself on you. It doesn’t take long for you to buck your hips as you come all over his face. As he sets you down, you squeeze your thighs together but your body simply screams that it wants more. You stare at each other, breathing heavily. “It’s not working. Nothing helps,” you whimper, tears forming. It’s obvious by watching him that this is affecting him almost as much as you. His supersoldier serum must be helping him but he was burning just the same.

Bucky sighs as he steps closer to you. He presses his forehead to yours with his eyes closed and whispers, “I think there’s only one thing that’s going to help.”

You put your arms around his neck, “Just do it!” You wrap a leg around his to encourage him and he lifts you up. He presses your back into the wall as he lines himself up with your entrance. He paused there for a second as if he was fighting himself. “Please, Barnes, please! I need it!” You can’t believe you’re begging the man you hate to fuck you but your body was demanding it and if he didn’t you were sure you would burn to death. If you had been thinking straight, you would probably prefer to burn but, at this moment, you wanted nothing more than to be filled.

“Goddamnit,” he whispers as he presses in. Your body bows with pleasure.

“Yes! Yes!” Your voice reverberates off the tile walls as you shout with relief. He begins to pump and your body trembles with each motion of his cock. He grabs your ass as he pounds into you and you know he’s as lost in the meeting of your bodies as you are. Your cunt flutters around him, pulling him in, begging for him to come inside of you. Your rational mind has gone completely silent and you are filled with only carnal lust. Every motion of his hips takes you higher and it’s all you want. “Don’t stop,” you grip his shoulders harder.

“Fuck,” Bucky grunts. He couldn’t stop if he wanted to and, truth was, this was the best thing he’d felt in a long time.

“Oh, God, oh, God, I’m- yes!” You release a long, high-pitched moan as you come. Your pussy grips his cock as his hips stutter. He comes with a long moan that makes you clench around him more firmly. You stay there for a few moments, catching your breath, and blessedly your body finally starts to cool. You release your legs from around his waist and he gently sets you down. You can’t look at him and instead maneuver yourself back under the cold spray. You rinse off quickly and step out of the shower. Wrapping yourself in a towel, you exit the bathroom to find your pack and some clothes. While you rifle through your pack, you feel your temperature creeping up again and then you double over from the intense wave that rolls over you. “No, no, not again,” you whisper to yourself. You look over to the broken bathroom door where Bucky still is and consider your options. Sex had given you the relief you needed but it was short lived. Your mind runs amuck with questions. What the hell was that powder? What was it doing to you? How long would this last? How many times would it take to stop this heat from trying to burn you alive? Was sex really the only relief you would find? Another pang hit and knocked the breath from your body. You were gasping in pain when an arm picked you up around your middle.

He was still wet from the shower and hadn’t bothered to dry off. The pains had hit him and he went to the only place he knew he could find relief. He carried you to the small bed in the house and set you down on your hands and knees. He grips your hips tightly and pauses for a moment as another rush of heat spreads over him, “I need-”

“Just do it,” your words come out in a rush, pressing back into him.

He enters you without preamble. Pulling you back to meet each motion of his hips, his moans give evidence of the pleasure and relief that the connection brings. You reach under you to play with your clit, trying to bring your orgasm on more quickly. Each of Bucky’s swift thrusts has you crying out with pleasure and he moves your hand away to bring you to orgasm himself. He wanted to feel you clench around him as you had before.

“Oh, fuck, just like that,” you whine, “Just like that, don’t- don’t stop, oh, fuck.”

Bucky moans as he feels your cunt flutter around his cock with your orgasm. The sounds you release are a hit straight to his cock and he comes hard, thrusting with each spurt into you. Breathing heavily, you both collapse on the bed. You lay on your side facing away from him while taking stock of your body. The relief you felt with your orgasm was short lived as heat began to build again after only a few minutes.

You feel like crying as your body radiates waves of heat. You turn over to face Bucky. He is lying on his back, his metal arm slung over his eyes, and his right hand fisting his hard cock. You make your decision quickly. Pulling his hand away, you straddle him and guide his cock inside of you. You move your hips slowly, hoping that perhaps if you stretched out the sex, it would keep the pain at bay longer. His hands grip your thighs as you rock slowly, his head is thrown back with eyes tightly closed. You looked at him for a moment and still couldn't believe that of all the teammates this could happen with, it had to be this asshole. When you first met him, you thought he was hot as fuck but as his personality (or lack there of) reared it’s ugly head you found him less and less attractive. Your anger at the situation grew as you rode him and you found yourself leaning forward, chasing your orgasm to just get this over with.

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky bucks up into you, causing you to cry out. He repeats the motion over and over again until your body spasms around him. He comes with a grunt as he watches your face contort with pleasure. You collapse on his chest without looking at him. You wondered if keeping your bodies connected would keep the heat from returning.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks softly.

You sigh weakly as you felt the now familiar warmth beginning to spread, “I was hoping…” You let out a frustrated grunt, “I was hoping if we stayed touching it would be enough. But it’s starting again.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Bucky acknowledges his own heat building. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“You don’t know that. You can’t know that,” you grouse.

“I think… I think this might be a pheromone or something Hydra created to force procreation. I heard of the experiments but they abandoned it when it didn’t produce the results they wanted.”

“Which was?” You ask as your hips make slow circles. You can feel his cock quickly hardening inside of you.

“Naturally born supersoldiers,” Bucky strains out the words.

“So, we’re gonna have sex until we die or what?”

“Usually wore off in a few hours but until then…” he trails off as he gots lost in the sensations.

“Fuck,” you groan, partially out of frustration, partially from the pleasure his thick cock was producing.

“Basically,” Bucky says and you surprise yourself by laughing at the droll comment. You are even more surprised a second later when Bucky rolls you under him. He buries his face in your neck as he pulls your leg up higher and thrusts. You throw your head back as the pleasure begins to build again.

“Harder,” you whimper.

Bucky complies immediately and you whimper with each stroke. Grabbing onto him, you get lost in the feeling of his cock pounding into you sharply. You were glad that he at least was decent at this. Or was it that whatever the damn contaminant was made everything feel amazing? You were getting close with the steady way he fucked you and words started to pour out of your mouth. You were usually quite vocal in bed but hadn’t wanted to give Bucky the satisfaction. Now, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Oh, god, it’s so good. Don’t stop, right there. It’s so fucking good. Oh, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna- fuck!” You let out a loud moan as you come hard and Bucky’s hips work even faster as he nears his own end. When he comes on a broken cry, your body revels in the feeling of him emptying himself in you.

The rational side of your brain sounded far away but was still screaming at the situation. In a moment of it managing to take hold, you push Bucky off of you and roll away from him. Breathing heavily, you pray that this is over. Surely, this was enough to satisfy anything. You will yourself to stay cool, to not allow the heat to return, to hold onto any shred of sanity you can find, but despite it all, the heat built again. You felt like screaming but you knew that nothing you did would help. You turn back to Bucky and say frustratedly, “Ready for another round?” You can’t meet his eyes but you knew neither of you could handle the pain and heat. You needed each other.

Bucky turns to you, “Hey.” He waits, wanting you to look him in the eyes but you just stare at his chest. “Hey.”

“What?” You say waspishly, still refusing to meet his gaze.

“Never mind,” he says as he grabs you and pulls your back against his chest. His cock nudges you from behind and you maneuver your hips to allow him entry. His thrusts are quick and sharp but his fingers on your clit are pure magic. He’s learned your body quickly but instead of leading you straight to orgasm this time, he works you to the precipice and then backs off repeatedly. You understood what he was trying to do. He was trying to prolong the sex in hopes of not having to come inside you any more than he already had but it was as if your body only got angrier with each denial.

“It’s not working! Just let me come!” You finally cry out, your frustration having reached its breaking point.

“Say it,” Bucky growls.

You wrack your muddled brain trying to grasp what he wants and latch on to the only word you can find, “Please!”

“No, say my name.”

You would normally reel angrily at a command from him but the effects this powder had on you makes you compliant from need. You stutter as your tongue tries to cooperate, “B- Barnes.”

“No,” he says darkly, “Say it.”

“Bucky,” you grind the word out through your teeth. You had never once called him that. It had always been some variant of his last name. You felt even more vulnerable now.

Bucky doesn’t utter a word but he moves his hips faster and his fingers do their job. When you finally come, your whole body spasms and you scream. The sound was foreign to your ears but the orgasm just kept going. You fluttered around Bucky’s cock, milking him of cum. You stay in that position for the next two rounds of sex. Then you got on top again to give Bucky a break but this time you faced away from him. You couldn’t look at him. When you had rode him to two orgasms and yourself to utter exhaustion, he turned you on your stomach to fuck you again. You lost count of the number of times you had sex. More orgasms than you’d ever had in your life were accomplished and you didn’t have any clue how many times he came. You fucked until you both passed out.

Waking up fourteen hours later, you felt as if you had the worst hangover you’d ever experienced. You glance at the spot Bucky had been in but he was gone. On the table by the bed was a couple of bottles of water, a protein bar, and a bottle of pain reliever. You raised your eyebrow at the items but just shrugged as you tore into all of them. You notice your pack is by the bed and you get up to put clothes on. The first thing you notice is the soreness between your legs but really your whole body hurts. You listen for a moment but don’t hear anything in the house. Peeking out the door, you see the empty living room and slip into the bathroom. You shower quickly, trying not to remember what happened in the small space just yesterday.

You jump when a knock sounds while you are dressing. You call out, “Yes?”

“Exfil will be here in five minutes,” Bucky says through the broken door.

“I’ll be right out,” you say. Your stomach is in knots. You can’t imagine facing him after everything. Would he act like nothing happened or gloat like the asshole he is? You wonder if you will ever be able to look him in the face again. You look at yourself, surprised that you still look the same as you did yesterday because you know you’ll never be the same again. But you didn’t have time to dwell on that. Now, you had a jet to catch.

Part 2

Updates and taglist: Due to the unreliable nature of tags, I no longer keep a taglist. Updates for series will be made on Sundays Central Time Zone. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 10 months ago

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Desperate | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello hello hello! I’ve got some good, old-fashioned angst here for ya.

Word Count: 8.4k

Warnings: hella angst. Touch starved Bucky and reader. Some slight NSFW vibes, but nothing graphic.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice when you told him you had to step away for a moment. He remained focused on his clean up duties in the kitchen; he didn’t raise his head or look your way. In fact, he didn’t seem to be noticing you much at all, lately. But as you eyed your ensemble in the full-length mirror in your bedroom, you knew you’d win back his attention.

This was his absolute favorite lingerie of yours. The set that made him so feral, drove him so insane with lust, that he’d broken the headboard last time you wore it. After that, the two of you agreed you’d save it for special occasions only; otherwise, the apartment you shared would need to be entirely refurnished. And though tonight was just a normal, run of the mill Friday night, you needed to pull out the big guns.

The black leather bustier- the one that made Bucky destroy furniture- hugged your figure perfectly. It’s plunging V-neck ended just above your navel. And the lacy details perfectly mirrored the cheeky black underwear Bucky gifted you last Valentine’s Day. A matching garter belt was the piece de resistance, and it held in place the thigh high stockings that drove Bucky wild.

You gave yourself one final look before slipping on a pair of black stilettos and stalking out of the room. This was it- the perfect formula for recapturing Bucky’s gaze.

He’d been distant lately. Almost cold. He hadn’t touched you- in even the most innocent sense- in nineteen days. It had been even longer since you were last able to steal a kiss. And the two of you hadn’t had sex in three weeks, which was unheard of.

Usually, Bucky gave his physical affections freely. He loved touching you, kissing you, holding you. He wanted to play with your hair, hold your hand, kiss your forehead- anything- as long as it meant he got to touch you. To feel you. When he had a rough day, your arms provided him with safety and comfort. And when a mission stole you from his side, your lips welcomed him home. He poured his love for you into every touch, leaving his fingerprints all over your soul.

To him, any moment spent without your skin pressed against his was a moment wasted.

And your sex life was mind-blowing, to say the least. Bucky’s stamina and eagerness to please you left you breathless and seeing stars almost every night of the week. After a few rounds with him, you found yourself unable to speak, unable to think. The only thing that had the power to permeate your hazy, lust-filled mind was him. Your hunger, your need for him could never be sated, and fucking him only made you want him more. But he was more than happy to give himself over to you. He could pull two or seven orgasms from you before you even knew what hit you. And that was just his warmup.

But the last three weeks had been completely void of any debauchery. Bucky didn’t slip into your shower or slide his hand up your skirt. He didn’t even grab your ass when you walked by wearing leggings. It was a startling difference that filled the apartment with a biting, bitter cold, chilling you to the bone. But Bucky said- he swore- he was fine. That he was just tired. Or stressed. Or busy with work. And while you knew his work-life was intense, it never before stopped him from jumping at the chance to make you scream.

And it wasn’t just the lack of erotic touches that gnawed at you. It was the loss of all physical affections. He didn’t reach for your hand in the store. Didn’t pull you into his chest at night. Didn’t kiss you goodbye in the morning. It left you agonized. Miserable. Empty.

Every day, you wondered what could’ve possibly caused Bucky to pull away. What could make him withdraw from you so suddenly. Worry ate away at you, slowly devouring you whole. He seemed to work late almost every night these past few weeks. And when he was home, your attempts to talk to him about the issue went nowhere.

You thought he’d gotten past his urge to hide his troubles from you. It took time, but he learned to be honest. To communicate. And when you were finally confident that he’d stopped hiding his struggles, you learned to stop reading into his every mannerism. His every muscle twitch. His every vocal change. If he said he was okay, he was okay. And after working together- he trusted you to listen, and you trusted him to tell you the truth.

And over the last few weeks, he did, indeed, say that he was okay. That there was nothing lurking beneath his surface. And so, you did as he asked, and you believed him.

But after three weeks of nothing- no roaming hands, no bite marks, no early morning quickies- you were hungry for him. Aching for him. You feared that your bottled-up lust would actually drive you crazy. And so, you decided reach for your secret weapon.

You found Bucky right where you’d left him: leaning over the kitchen sink, taking care of the dishes from dinner.

You kept your tone light, innocent, casual. “Hey, Buck.”

“Hey, baby.” He didn’t look up.

“Um, do you think you could help me with something real quick, Sergeant?” Sergeant. It was devious. Wicked, really. The sound of his title coming out of your mouth always got his heart racing, always made the blood drain from his brain and travel elsewhere.

But he didn’t fall for it.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Just give me one second, I’m-” Finally, he looked up.

His words died in throat, his mind went blank. The pan he’d been scrubbing fell into the sink with a loud crash. Want filled his eyes. He could’ve sworn his mouth started watering.

“What do you think, Sarge? You wanna come over here and,” you ran a few fingers up your thigh, “help me out?”

You braced yourself, knowing Bucky was about to pounce. You figured you had less than five seconds before he swept you off your feet and hoisted up over his shoulder. He’d fireman-carried you to bed that way more times than you could count, and you knew this would be one of those nights.

But five seconds became ten. And then fifteen. And then twenty. And all he’d done was stare at you.

“Buck?” you took a few steps in his direction. “I thought we could have some dessert.”

He struggled to form coherent thoughts or piece sentences together. “Um, well, I was-” he gestured to the mess in the sink, “I was gonna do the dishes.”

“I know, baby,” you placed a light hand on his shoulder. “But I think you can finish them after- I mean, later.”

Bucky should’ve jumped at the opportunity. He should’ve taken you apart right there on the kitchen counter. But he didn’t. He didn’t even touch you.

He cleared his throat, “I’m- I’m just gonna do ‘em now.”

Without a word, you turned on your stiletto and retreated to the bedroom.

Humiliation flared in your chest. Tears gathered in your eyes. And your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out the rest of the world. Suddenly, you felt stupid. Foolish. Part of you wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment.

Bucky had every right to refuse your advances- that wasn’t the issue. It was his complete and utter lack of affection for you. If he didn’t want to have sex with you ever again, you’d (probably) survive. But the harsh and sudden halt of any and all physical affection was eating you alive.

You kicked off your heels the moment you entered the bedroom and found yourself stomping toward the bathroom. You needed to get away. To hide. To protect yourself from any further mortification. The bathroom door slammed shut behind you, and you leaned against the cool wood, hoping to find some peace. But the bathroom mirror only doubled your shame. And as you stared at yourself, clad in what you thought to be Bucky’s favorite lingerie, your breathing hitched in your chest.

This whole venture was so idiotic. So thoroughly and excruciatingly mortifying. It felt like the final nail in the coffin. If Bucky didn’t want you in your best lingerie, he must not want you at all.

The hoodie you’d slipped out of only minutes ago sat crumpled in a pile on the counter, and eagerly you shimmied into it. Anything to cover up your failed attempt at seduction.

What was wrong with Bucky? Was he not interested in you anymore? Did he find you unattractive? If he wasn’t seeking sex with you, he had to be getting it from someone else, didn’t he? Who was it? Who-

A gentle knock yanked you out of your spiral.

“Sweetheart…” Bucky called through the door. He tried the handle and found it locked. “Can you come out, baby? Please?”

No part of you wanted to leave the safety of the bathroom. Something deep within you feared that this would be it- the tipping point, the moment of truth. If you did as Bucky asked and ventured out of the bathroom, there was a chance that Bucky would drop some major, soul-crushing truth on you.

Maybe he’d spent the last three weeks trying to figure out how to break up with you, and this was his perfect opportunity. Maybe he’d break your heart and ruin your life the second you opened the bathroom door. If you could just stay in here- forever- maybe he wouldn’t dump you. Maybe you could delay your heartbreak and extend whatever feelings he once had for you, just for a little while.

But if he didn’t want you anymore, what was the point of prolonging the inevitable?

With a huff, you dabbed at your eyes with your sleeve and opened the door.

There stood Bucky, looking hopeless. Lost. Miserable. He was propped against the door frame with slumped shoulders and a downtrodden expression- but perked up a bit when you opened the door. A sad smile stretched across his face, and he stood up straight, but his frown returned as you brushed right past him.

“Baby, can we please talk about this?” He almost begged.

There was a heavy desperation in his voice. Panic blazed through his chest. Something told him he might be losing you.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you!” You removed your garter belt and slipped off one of your stockings. “I’ve been trying to talk to you about this for weeks! And you just keep saying you’re 'fine'. Or that you’re tired. Or that there’s 'nothing to talk about'- when there clearly is!”

Normally, Bucky could always make you feel better with a hug. Anytime the two of you got into a fight, a long, warm embrace helped ease both of you into open, honest communication. But Bucky didn't reach for you. He opted to keep his distance. To allow you some space.

But space was the last thing you wanted.

“Look, if there’s something going on and you’re not interested in having sex, that’s fine,” you told him. “I get it. It happens sometimes. But the-” you yanked your other thigh high off and tossed it to the side. “The total embargo on physical touch is really fucking with my head.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, your hands shook with wrath. “Buck, you’re never home anymore- you’re always ‘working late’.” You let out a sharp exhale, “and when you are home, it’s like you’re on another planet. You keep your distance from me- you won’t even sit next to me on the couch.”

All Bucky could do was nod. Everything you said was true; there wasn’t a point in arguing.

And as the weight of Bucky’s sudden frigidity finally hit you, your fury was snuffed out. Rage no longer pulsed through your veins with each beat of your heart. Grief took its place. It forced its way into your heart, into your bones. You could’ve sworn you felt fractures spider-webbing their way through your ribs.

Tears trickled slowly down your cheeks at first, but a downpour followed soon after. “Are you- are you not attracted to me anymore?” You asked between heaving sobs. “Do you not want me? Did I do something?”

“Sweetheart, I-”

“Is there…” your voice cracked. Saying it was too much; part of you feared that vocalizing your fear would make it come true. As though another woman would materialize simply because you asked whether she existed. “Is there someone else?”

The question sucked all of the oxygen out of the room. Bucky stared at you with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape. You did your best to get a handle on your shaky breaths and pained wails; if Bucky was about to reveal an affair, you didn’t want to seem so broken. So hopeless. So pathetic. You didn’t want to give him any ammo to take back to his side piece. Any dramatic tales that would make her howl with laughter.

But he didn’t admit to having a mistress. He, instead, let loose a few tears himself. Knowing that he’d made you question his loyalties, that you’d actually feared he’d been unfaithful, made him want to die.

“Oh my god,” His voice wavered under the hefty weight of his pain,“Baby-”

“Is there someone better?”

“No.” He couldn’t fathom the suggestion that there was someone- anyone- out there better than you. “There is no one better.”

He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to be near you. In three quick strides, he arrived in your vicinity. But he remained just out of your reach. Everything in him begged - screamed- to hold you close. To kiss you. To take your hand, at the very least. His fingers twitched with the need to touch you. But he refrained.

“There’s no one else- of course, there’s not. There will never be anyone else. I still want you, I will always want you. I love you.”

The overwhelming urge to remove himself from your space barked at him. It screamed and hollered from the deep recesses of his mind. And he knew he should listen. But he couldn’t- not when you were falling apart in front of him. Not when he’d made you feel unwanted, unattractive, and unloved.

“You didn’t do anything, doll,” he hated himself for doing this to you. For making you doubt his love. For reducing you to a sobbing, heaving shell of yourself. “I’m still attracted to you- I’m so attracted to you. You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”

His reassurances helped assuage some of the fear, some of the worry. But only a small portion. Because even though he’d refuted all of your hypotheses and accusations, he still hadn’t given you a reason. And he still hadn’t touched you.

“Then what’s-” you forced yourself to take a moment to think. To breathe. To get your head on straight. “What’s the problem? What’s going on with you?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He didn’t make eye contact. He simply stared at the area rug, tracing its border with his eyes. And though he knew you needed his touch, needed his affection, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Couldn’t bring himself to slip his hand into yours or cradle your face in his hands.

His silence sliced through you and tore you open. You could’ve sworn you were bleeding out.

“Buck, I miss you-” It was needy. Ugly. But you didn’t care. “Please, just be honest with me. I’m worried about you. And this isn’t normal for us, so-”

His words came out so low, so hushed, that you struggled to hear him. “I just haven’t been able to shake what happened last time.”

He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. He gave a small shake of his head. His hands balled into tight fists. He’d thought about what happened over and over and over again. He thought about it every day for the last three weeks. Relived the panic, the fear. And every night when he tried to fall asleep, the scene played out on an endless loop inside his mind. Horrifying nightmares plagued him each time he closed his eyes. He woke up shaking, covered in a cold sweat. There was no escaping it.

---Three weeks ago---

Things started around 8pm. It was all innocent enough, with Bucky spooning you as the two of you rewatched New Girl. But Bucky let his hands roam, as he so often did. And after only one episode, his hand had snaked up your shirt. His warm palm rested against your breast as his fingers swept over your skin. He teased your nipple once, twice. It was all the motivation you needed.

At his prompting, you pushed your body back against his, allowing your ass to grind against him. A low, animalistic moan vibrated deep within his chest. All bets were off after that.

Before you could even blink, Bucky had you in his arms. He palmed your ass and positioned your legs around his waist as he set off down the hall toward the bedroom. His lips hungrily devoured yours. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging on the strands every now and again. He let more depraved sounds loose and you happily swallowed them all.

Time lost all meaning after Bucky laid you out on the bed. The world outside of your bedroom ceased to exist- only Bucky remained. The two of you were a frantic, needy tangle of pounding hearts and sweat-slick skin. Teeth marks adorned his chest. Scratches adorned his back and shoulders. And Bucky devoted all of his time, all of his energy, all of him to pleasing you.

He took his time, slowly working you over as though it were his job. He loved teasing you, love watching you squirm. And when he had you absolutely begging, he gave you exactly what you wanted. In fact, he kept giving it to you- and had no intention to stop.

He’d lost track of time. Lost count of how many times he made you come. All he knew was that double digits had been reached- and that was a long time ago. Was it an hour ago? Or three? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he had his best girl falling apart at the seams. Over and over and over again.

He made sure to check in with you after every bout of world-shattering ecstasy, and you always gave him the green light. As time passed, your sentences turned into solitary words, which devolved into incoherent, needy sounds. But you always gave him a fervent nod, ensuring that you absolutely wanted- needed- him to continue.

Even as sweat dampened the hair around your face, even as your lips grew swollen- you wanted more. More Bucky- there was never enough of him. It didn’t matter that he’d carried you to bed hours ago, you were insatiable. If he fucked you for a full twenty-four hours, it still wouldn’t have been enough.

At one point, you ended up in his lap, riding him like your life depended on it. He was seated upright on the edge of the bed, his chest pressed to yours. And by the depraved sounds and shaky breaths that fell from your lips, he knew you were close to yet another heart-stopping moment of bliss. His right arm snaked around your back, holding you firmly in place. He forced his vibranium fist down into the mattress; it gave him the extra leverage he needed to fuck into you even deeper. To push you over the edge.

With a strangled scream, your orgasm crested over you. Your eyes squeezed shut. Sharp inhales filled your chest. Your mouth hung open. Every muscle in your body went rigid. Tense. Slight tremors rocked you every few moments- it was exactly what Bucky wanted.

“Oh, that’s my girl,” praises dripped from his lips like honey. A debauched moan vibrated out of his chest. “So good for me, always so good for me, baby.”

He watched as your eyes rolled back in your head. And with a final exhale, your limp body slumped forward, your face landing against Bucky’s chest. He put his movements on pause and allowed you to recover. To catch your breath. To rest.

He smoothed his cold, metallic hand up and down your spine. “You doing okay, sweetheart? You tired?” He dotted a kiss to your hair, “We can call it a night.”

You didn’t say a word.

“Baby,” he scratched gently at your shoulder blade. “Can you answer me?”

But you remained silent.

Concern coursed through his veins. He feared he’d gone too far. That he’d pushed you past your limits. And if you were upset, he needed to do whatever he could to help you through. As gently as he could, he used both of his hands to lift your head from his chest.

What he found sent a wave of chills rushing over his skin.

You were out cold. Completely unconscious.

Bucky found himself operating on autopilot. He removed you from his lap and laid you flat on the bed. His fingers searched your neck for a pulse. Your name fell from his lips in a horrified, desperate prayer.

A breakdown loomed on the horizon, darkening everything around him. His hands shook, his chest tightened. The copper-penny taste of blood exploded across his tongue as he sunk his teeth into his cheek. But he couldn’t fall apart- not when your life depended on it.

And massive sigh of relief left his chest when he felt your strong, steady pulse beating beneath his fingertips.

And once he knew that you were, indeed, alive, he allowed himself to fall apart- but only for a moment. Tears dripped down his face and splashed against your chest as he loomed over you. He breathlessly told you he was sorry. That he loved you. That he didn’t mean to hurt you.

But that was all he permitted. You still needed him, even if you weren’t in dire straits. And so, he forced his emotion behind a wall and pressed on.

No part of him wanted to leave your side, but it was a necessary evil. He sped through the apartment and into the kitchen, digging in the freezer for ice packs. And when he found the two you required, he snagged a couple dish towels from the drawer by the sink and raced back to the bedroom.

“Hey, I’m- I’m back, baby,” he said to your unconscious body. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I just had to get-” he held up the icepacks. Even if you couldn’t hear him, he wanted you to know that he’d never- under any circumstances- abandon you when you needed him.

He wrapped each ice pack in a towel and tucked one behind your neck while the other rested on your chest. And then, all he could do was wait.

He hovered over you, watching for any signs of waking, any signs of distress. His hands smoothed over your hair and drifted across your cheek. His fingers monitored your pulse every few seconds. His lips left kisses against your forehead. And though he knew that your life wasn’t in danger, it didn’t quell the shaking in his hands. Didn’t stop the waves of nausea cresting over him.

And he didn’t take a full inhale until your eyelids finally began to flutter open.

He watched closely as you finally blinked your way back into consciousness. Everything was kind of fuzzy, a bit hazy around the edges. A quiet ringing filled your ears. A slight tremor rendered your hands unsteady. And the world around you seemed to tilt and twist without warning.

But Bucky was right there, anchoring you to the earth. He let a gentle hand rest against your cheek.

“Hi, baby,” his voice was soft, sweet, comforting.

But you couldn’t respond even if you wanted to, as your synapses refused to get their shit together. Words collided and melted together, dripping into amorphous puddles inside your mind. You swore someone had stuffed your head full of cotton. Everything felt far away; the entire world was muffled somehow, as though you were trapped behind fifty feet of glass.

Concern bled into Bucky’s words, “Sweetheart, are you alright?”

And it wasn’t easy, but you finally remembered how to think. How to speak. You chipped away at the thick pane of glass separating you from Bucky, and finally answered.

“’m okay…” You reached for Bucky’s face and allowed your fingers to gently trace down his jawline. His stubble pricked at your skin. His warm breath fanned your face.

And without warning, tears slipped from your eyes. Rivulets coursed down the sides of your face and dripped into your hair. It was a sudden, jarring shift that sent Bucky’s heart leaping into his throat.

“Oh, no- oh, sweetheart,” he gently cradled your face in his hands. “Baby, you’re okay- everything’s okay. You’re fine. You’re safe.”

He did everything in his power to bring you some sense of peace, but the tears refused to stop. And he found himself desperately, hopelessly, trying to comfort you. He tripped over himself again and again, apologizing endlessly. And when that didn’t work, he changed tactics. He spelled out what happened for you in clear, easy to understand terms, ridding you of the dreaded unknown. He promised that you were only out for a minute or two. That you were perfectly safe.

He left gentle touches against your skin and dotted kisses to your cheeks and hairline- just like you always did for him when he fell to pieces. And if it worked for him, he hoped it might work for you.

He wasn’t sure what brought an end to your waterworks- his reassurances or his touch- but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that you’d finally stopped crying. That your breathing was returning to normal. The sharp pain radiating through his chest dulled a little bit as he dried your last few tears. Finally, your hands stopped trembling. And your heartrate slowly regressed to its mean. He thanked a startling number of deities that you were alive and seemed to be improving.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “How do you feel, baby? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Um…” you dried your damp lashes on the backs of your hands. “I’m cold.”

“Shit- sorry,” Bucky snatched your icepacks from their respective positions and threw them to the floor.

Guilt bloomed in his chest; he should’ve removed the ice the second you woke up. Should’ve covered you with a blanket. Should’ve used his body to keep yours warm. Should’ve-

He didn’t have time to spiral into guilt and shame and ‘should haves’.

He leaned over the side of the bed and located his discarded hoodie, the one you’d yanked over his head only a few hours ago in your insatiable pursuit of his body.

“Hey, here you go, doll,” he gently helped you wriggle into the soft fabric and covered you with the bedspread. And once he was confident that you were comfortable, he slid under the blanket with you and vowed to give you all of his body heat.

The second he laid down next to you, you rolled onto your side and buried your face in his chest. He curled his body protectively around yours; he wasn’t going to let anything else happen to you tonight. Or ever. His hand swept up and down the length of your spine on a seemingly endless loop. He whispered ‘I love yous’ and “I’m sorrys” until he thought he might go hoarse.

And when your world fell properly into place and you finally felt like yourself again, you plucked your head from his chest.

“Hi,” you reached upward and let your fingers slowly drift across his cheek bones. The slope of his nose. His lips.

“Hi, baby.” He couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at his features. This was the version of you he knew. The version that, only a few minutes ago, hungrily egged him on in his pursuit of your pleasure. “You doing okay?”

You gave him a confident nod, “Yeah, I’m okay now.” Your lips drifted across his, “Sorry, it kinda took me a minute to come back to myself, you know?”

“That’s okay, doll,” he let he tips of his fingers ghost over your spine. “Don’t apologize.”

“And I really didn’t mean for there to be any,” you gave Bucky some unenthusiastic jazz hands, “any theatrics tonight. Sorry about the drama.”

Bucky gave a shake of his head, “No, baby, it’s okay. I’m…” he traced your features with his cold, gentle fingers. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah, I’m totally fine,” you shrugged. “It was weird though, right? This has never happened to me before- I’ve never passed out during sex.” You gazed at him with a spark of lust in your eyes, “You know, I’m actually impressed. You made me come so many times that I actually blacked out. None of my ex-boyfriends can say that.”

You let out a quiet laugh that Bucky didn’t return. He didn’t find it funny- he didn’t find any of this funny. But he put on a smile for your benefit.

“Oh, and sorry about all the crying,” you sighed. “I don’t know what that was about.”

“That’s alright- it happens,” he shrugged. “You went from really high highs and then fell to some pretty low lows. It’s just got to do with the chemicals in your brain, nothing to apologize for.” He trailed kisses across your forehead and down your nose, “Plus, you were probably scared. Or freaked out, at least.”

The guilt sunk its teeth into every fiber of Bucky’s being. And as you nestled closer to him, a tidal wave of revulsion nearly dragged him from the bed. He should’ve known better. Should’ve exercised better judgment. You weren’t like him; you didn’t have the enhanced energy and stamina to match his. He shouldn’t have pushed you to the edge like that. Shouldn’t have carried you past your limits.

Normally, he’d do anything to be near you. He wanted- needed- to touch you as much as possible. And if he couldn’t touch you, he at least had to be close to you. But the voice in his head screamed at him, telling him to vacate your vicinity. And the overwhelming, urgent need to put some space between his body and yours yanked him out of bed.

“Baby, I’m gonna go get you some water, okay? And a snack,” he headed for the door, “you stay there, I’ll be right back.”

It was the perfect excuse. He really did need to provide you with sustenance and hydration after your black out- but a trip to the kitchen also provided him with a reason to remove himself from your side. He counted it as a win-win.

And from that moment on, he did his best- his very best- to keep his hands off of you. To stay as far away as possible. To ensure that you would be safe.

He couldn’t risk your well-being, not again.

------

It wasn’t quite what you expected him to say. And though it was a far better reason than the affair you concocted for him during your downward spiral, it still didn’t make much sense.

“Last time?”

What exactly happened last time? You wracked your brain, searching your memories for some terrible event- but you came up empty. And just as you were about to call bullshit on Bucky’s reasoning, you stumbled upon the memory of your innocuous, minute-long black out.

“Oh, the thing with me passing out?”

Bucky gave a solemn nod. At the thought of it, his face lost all color, all warmth. A sickly shade of gray tainted his skin.

“Buck, I know that was kind of weird and not at all ideal, but it was fine,” you shrugged, “It wasn’t a big deal.”

You took a cautious step toward him, and much to your dismay, he countered with a step back.

“If anything, it was a fluke.” Again, you took a step in his direction. And again, he backed away.

Bucky feared what might happen when you backed him into a corner, when his spine hit the wall. He knew he’d have to slip from your grasp and vacate the room. That he’d have to find an escape. But he knew it would hurt you. After weeks of no warmth, no touching, no physical intimacy, you were barely hanging on by a thread. And if he ran from the room, it would surely cause that thread to snap. But wasn’t that better than the snapping of your neck? Or your spine? Wasn’t it better for you to hurt emotionally, rather than physically?

“Buck, it’s never happened before, and I highly doubt it will ever happen again,” you said. “I didn’t sleep well the night before, and I had a long day leading up to that. I didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, I was dehydrated, and I’d been sick the week prior. It was a perfect storm of circumstances that made me pass out. Not you.”

You intertwined your fingers, locking them together in search of any kind of touch. Any physical reassurance. “Seriously, Buck, that will never happen again. I promise.”

Bucky knew of one surefire way to ensure it would never, ever happen again. All he had to do was keep his distance. If he could refrain from touching you, if he could keep his hands to himself, you’d be safe.

But you’d be miserable- he knew you would. And as he gave you a long once-over, a sharp pain shot through him like lightning. Tear tracks trailed down your cheeks. Your eyes were red and puffy. Dark circles stained your under eyes- you hadn’t been sleeping, had you? No, you’d been staying up all night, worrying about Bucky. About the state of your relationship.

And when he noticed the way you’d tangled your hands together, the way your right thumb stroked against the back of your left hand, he could’ve sworn he’d been stabbed through the chest. You were so desperate for affection, so robbed of touch, that you were trying- and failing- to self-soothe.

“I know it was scary for you,” he finally said. “And I know you’re the one who passed out, so I’m not trying to make this about me- I swear. But it was…” He, too, found himself absentmindedly searching for physical comforts. He slowly raked a hand through his hair a few times, but it didn’t have the same effect; only your hands could bring him peace. “It was scary for me, too.”

A pang of anxiety rocketed through you. How could you have been so selfish? So heartless toward Bucky’s plight? Of course, he’d been scared. Of course, the events of that night affected him, too. And you knew that if the situation were reversed, you would’ve been paralyzed with fear. With worry.

You’d just gotten so swept up, so overwhelmed by the loss of his hands. His lips. His arms. It darkened your periphery and gave you tunnel-vision. All you could see- all you could feel- was the cold. The emptiness. The fear of losing him.

“Shit, baby, I’m-” you reached for Bucky but recoiled. “I’m so sorry. You just- you said you were fine. Every time I asked, you swore everything was okay. So I thought-”

“I know…” Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek. He let his head droop, allowed his gaze to drop to the floor. And he stayed that way. For a while.

His hands dug deep into his pockets and his shoulders fell forward ever so slightly. He found himself awash in regret. Longing. Loneliness. He knew it was his fault; he’d done this to himself. He’d chosen to isolate, to pull away. But it was the safest option for you, wasn’t it? And your safety came before anything and everything else- full stop.

“It took me a long time,” he finally said, “it took me a long time to be able to touch you. I couldn’t bring myself to do it for…” He silently thought back on that time, adding up the days where he kept his hands to himself- but they were far too numerous. “For a while. Do you remember that?”

You nodded. “Yeah, but I- I guess I always figured it was just some old-fashioned, chivalrous, nineteen-forties type of thing…”

“Well, that was,” a small smile flickered across his face, “that was part of it. But the real reason is that I was too scared. To touch you, I mean.” His smile disappeared. His features suddenly fell. His eyes darkened. “Sometimes, I don’t know my own strength, you know? And I was too- I was so afraid that I’d hurt you, baby.”

“Oh…” You hadn’t thought of it that way.

“I had to kind of overcome that fear, and it took time. I think it took me over a month just to hold your hand- and even then, it was only for a second.”

Bucky’s words had an endless darkness to them- a darkness you were well acquainted with by now. When he was really down, when he was going through a particularly miserable time, his voice took on the pitch-black tone of the abyss. And when he found himself drowning in the obsidian sea, it was your hands that guided him out. You’d hold him close to your body, wrapping him in the safety of your embrace- and slowly, he’d wade out of his agony.

But this time was different.

No matter desperately you longed to touch him, to comfort him, to save him- you couldn’t. He didn’t want your hands, your body anywhere near him. Of course, he did want you close- he just wouldn’t allow it.

“But you know I’ve never been afraid of you, right?” Your arm twitched with want. Almost on autopilot, your hand tried to reach out and touch him, but you forbade it. “I’ve never thought that you’d hurt me-”

“I know.” He couldn’t stop himself from smiling. You never saw him as a monster or a threat- you never saw him the way he saw himself. “But when we first started dating, I was having these nightmares. I actually had them for the first year of our relationship- at the least…”

Your heart sank. He had enough nightmares as it was; and to know that you’d somehow delivered him a fresh crop of terror made you nauseous.

“Every night when I went to sleep, I’d have these awful dreams…” His eyes took on a hollow quality as he hurdled backward and fell into his memories. “They always started out okay- they seemed like normal dreams. In some of them, we were hugging. In others, we were having sex. And everything was fine. But then, you’d start-” He dragged a few fingers across his bottom lip and down his chin, “you’d start bleeding out of your mouth. Your eyes would roll back in your head. And you’d collapse. You’d die in my arms. Every time.”

A small gasp filled your lungs, “Buck…” It was your most basic, most intrinsic instinct to comfort Bucky with soft, gentle touches. Your hands were his homing signal, and when he got lost in the dark labyrinth of his past, you automatically guided him to safety. You couldn’t remember a time when you’d ever caged that reflex- until now. He stood in front of you, completely despondent, and you couldn’t do a damn thing to help him.

“And the other night- it was exactly like one of my nightmares. You went completely limp, baby, and your eyes rolled back in your head. You were unresponsive. I was so scared, I…” He almost didn’t want to say the words. Didn’t want to tempt the universe by voicing his greatest fear. “I thought I killed you. I thought I’d held you too tight and crushed your spine, or something. I had to-” He cleared his throat, forcing the oncoming emotion away, “I actually had to feel for a pulse to make sure you were still alive.”

“Baby, I- I didn’t know that.” He’d conveniently left that out when he walked you through what happened. He’d sidestepped his horror and his trauma and put you first, as he always did. “But you’d never hurt me- you couldn’t.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not on purpose. But I thought I’d gone too far in the heat of the moment, and…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. “Even though you didn’t pass out because of me, I’m still- I can’t get over it. I can’t stop thinking about it. It was like one of my nightmares had come to life- it hit way too close to home.” He pressed his palms to his eyes for a moment and forced himself to catch his breath. Only when he felt his heartrate return to normal did he speak again. “So, I’ve been scared- too scared to touch you.”

It shattered you. All Bucky did- all he’d ever wanted to do- was protect you. And though he’d spent the last three weeks aching for his best girl, he didn’t dare lay a finger on you- all in the name of your safety. Sure, his execution wasn’t the best, but his intentions were pure and kind, as they always were.

“But I know I didn’t… I didn’t handle this the right way. And I’m sorry- I’m so sorry I pulled away,” he tripped over himself again and again, desperately begging for your understanding. For your forgiveness. “I know you’re not happy- believe me, I’m not happy either. I’ve been miserable this whole time- I miss you so much, sweetheart. And I never wanted to hurt you like this. I just didn’t…” He gave a small shake of his head, “I didn’t want to hurt you physically, either. And I didn’t know what to do. So, I figured that keeping my hands off of you was safest. But I didn’t mean to upset you.”

All the work he’d done, all the effort he’d put into fixing his self-image had crumbled in one fell swoop- all because you didn’t have the wherewithal to eat breakfast and stay hydrated three weeks ago. Bucky’s normally upright posture was sloped, his shoulders curved forward. He had the same hollow look in his eye that he had when you’d first met him. And now that he’d spent more than five minutes with you, you noticed all of the fingernails on his right hand were bitten down to the quick.

“Shit. Buck, I’m- I’m so sorry, baby.” You dried your cheeks on the sleeve of your hoodie. “I fucked up…”

“No, no. This is all on me- I fucked up. I basically abandoned you.” His voice took on a harsh, sharp edge he only ever reserved for use against himself. You knew the inside of his head was a horror scene, full of admonishing comments and self-flagellation. You wished you could rescue him from his own mind.

But his tone softened when he spoke about you, “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart-”

“Buck, I accused you of cheating,” you nearly scoffed. It was ridiculous. Completely absurd. That you believed for even a moment that Bucky could actually have a mistress proved just how out of your mind you were. But grief, you figured, was capable of making people believe crazy things. “That was absolutely wrong of me. And I didn’t even-” you shook your head. “I didn’t even think that the other night might have affected you-”

“You were upset, and rightfully so.” He absolved you of any blame, any guilt. “Plus, you were the one who blacked out, not me. My feelings on the subject aren’t nearly as important as yours.”

“But you witnessed it. And it scared you. A lot.” You hated knowing that he’d been too horrified, too paralyzed with fear to even hold your hand. And the fact that he’d dealt with all of it alone was enough to force you to your knees. “I should’ve known better- I should’ve known you were upset. I’m so sorry, Buck. This was so unfair to you, I-”

He held up a hand, halting your words. “You can’t read my mind, sweetheart. And I could’ve communicated better.” He flashed you a sad smile, “That’s something I said I’d work on- communication. And I’m getting better at it, but I’m not perfect yet.”

“I’m not either, so… I guess we both have some stuff to work on. I probably shouldn’t go around alleging that you had an affair out of the blue.” You crossed your arms over your chest, hugging them tight to your body. Even if Bucky wasn’t sleeping with someone else, he still hadn’t allowed himself to touch you. And you were no match for the bone-chilling cold that had settled into the apartment.

“Um, okay, you know what? We can actually- let’s completely forget I said anything about this. Just put it out of your mind, alright?” This time, it was you who retreated. You who stepped away.

“Sweetheart, wait-” Bucky adopted your role as the pursuer. He took a few strides in your direction, anxious to close the gap between you. He felt you slipping through his fingers, like he may never regain what the two of you used to have.

“No, Buck, it’s okay. We’re okay. I just want you to do whatever works for you. I don’t want you to be hurting all the time, I don’t want you to be scared.” Again and again, you stroked your thumbs over your upper arms, but it didn’t bring you a hint of comfort. “And if that- if that means you can never touch me again, I’ll understand-”

“That’s not what I want- that’s absolutely not what I want,” Bucky’s eyes were wide. Almost crazed. It was as though the thought of never touching you again threatened to push him to the brink of madness. “I just need to… I need to take it slow. I have to start back at square one, like I did when I first met you. Is that okay? Can you- ”

“Whatever you need, I’m on board.” It was an automatic, instinctual response. Your voice was steady and even, free from any breaks or signs of uncertainty. You’d do anything for him, anything to ease his mind. “We can move as slowly as you need- there’s no rush.”

“But are you… are you sure?” His words dripped with anxiety, with fear. “Cause I can- I can try to get over it. I don’t want you to be miserable, doll. I can-”

“Buck, it’s okay.”

“Baby, I feel like I might…” He nearly doubled over, “I’m afraid I’m gonna lose you over this.”

“You won’t- I promise, you won’t.” Another surge of need coursed through you, begging you to wrap Bucky in an embrace, but you kept your hands to yourself. You’d never push him, would never dream of making him uncomfortable. “You will never lose me. I’m here for you, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care how long it takes.”

And you meant it. Now that Bucky let you in on his secret, you understood that there had to be some distance. Some space. Of course, you’d still miss the physical intimacy. The sleepy mornings spent with your body draped across his chest. The late nights full of depravity and lust. But with the looming darkness of a possible affair banished, you could wait.

Though, you didn’t have to wait long at all.

Because Bucky vanquished space remaining between your body and his. He strode eagerly, anxiously across the room and raised his right hand, desperate to feel you again. But just as his palm grew close to your cheek, he faltered. His brain struggled to reign him in, to put a pause on his possibly dangerous plan. Only millimeters remained between his skin and yours, but he couldn’t find it in him to close the final gap.

“It’s okay,” you said. “Take your time.”

It was the final push he needed. And finally, he touched you again. His palm lightly ghosted over your cheek, and tears instantly crested over your lash line. The feeling of relief, of home, was almost intoxicating. It was the lightest, softest touch- almost imperceptible. But to you- to Bucky- it was like a fireworks show.

And after testing the waters with his feather-light touch, he found himself nearly begging for more.

He allowed his palm to actually rest against your face, to cup your cheek the way he always did. And it acted like an instant pain reliever. The excruciating ache in your chest relented, and your muscles slackened as they released their knots. An all-encompassing warmth wrapped around your entire body, finally ridding you of the vicious cold you’d suffered through all these weeks. This was the warmth you knew you couldn’t live without, the warmth only Bucky could provide.

His knees almost buckled beneath him, but he wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t allow anything to take this moment from either of you. All this time, he’d felt unmoored, adrift, lost in a dark, endless sea. And no matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t seem to find his way back to shore. But with his skin pressed against yours, he finally felt steady. Stable. You provided him with a guiding light. An anchor. He felt more like himself than he had in the last three weeks, all because of you.

Your tears dampened Bucky’s skin, but he didn’t mind. He brushed them gently away with a light sweep of his thumb.

“Can I?” you motioned to the tears trailing down his cheek.

And after a moment of thought, he gave you a nod. Your hand drifted lightly over his skin to mop up his tears, but your touch only brought on more waterworks. He was so starved of your affection that even the lightest touch made him whimper. He let out a soft, grateful sound that knocked the breath from your chest.

The two of you remained there a while, soaking in the sensation of the other. Bucky didn’t dare to hug you, and kissing you was still off limits. But his palm remained flush with your cheek for as long as you allowed- and you had no urge to ever remove it.

You knew there was a long road ahead for him, but you didn’t mind. Starting back at square one with him was something you could handle. Something the two of you could handle together.

“It’s kind of a bummer that I didn’t get to make good use of your…” Bucky gestured to your discarded garter belt and thigh-highs, “outfit.”

You let loose a laugh that vibrated under his palm- the sensation sent a wave of warmth cresting over him.

“It’s alright, Buck. I’ll wear it again, I promise.” You leaned into his touch, greedily searching for more of him. “You can take as much time as you need, okay? I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

———————————

@beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @juvellian @samanthacookieone @frombkjar @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat @anything-more-than-human

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imagine-docx · 2 months ago

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sugar on the night shift.

Summary: You've been stress baking because you've been stressed over work. Because you have so many desserts, you started leaving treats for the night shift security guard.

Warnings: None.

A/N: it's been almost 4 years since i've last posted something, and i deeply apologize. and i also deeply apologize if my work is rusty, i actually haven't wrote ANYTHING (other than research papers) since my last post. please accept this as an apology. - amanda

Remember when you were a kid and you always wanted to hurry up and grow up? If you could go back in time, you would definitely have smacked yourself or at least told yourself to cherish your youth.

Now, here you were, back aching, cookies baking, and your nails tapping against your computer keyboard attempting to finish a PowerPoint presentation on your newest marketing research findings due in the morning.

For the past nine months you were tasked with finding out how to sell nostalgia for your company. Those nine months were absolutely brutal. Everyday you would come home and just work until 4 am. But everyday for the past 9 months you had the same hobby while working, baking.

For some reason your brain knew it couldn’t turn off if there was something in the oven. Because of this project, you managed to produce pies, cookies, cakes, the whole nine yards.

The first three baking expeditions, you kept the baked goods. But everyday there was something new being baked and you couldn’t consume the desserts fast enough. You were offering it to neighbours, coworkers, friends; if someone had a stomach, you were offering them your baked goods.

Somewhere around the four month mark, you started leaving baked goods for the night security staff. They were awake at ungodly hours protecting your building, they deserve something sweet.

You were so entranced with finishing this PowerPoint, the only thing that broke your concentration was the kitchen timer blaring, indicating that your cookies were done.

You hopped off the chair and navigated towards the kitchen, you pulled the cookies out of the oven and let them cool on the wire rack you set up when you were done cleaning.

You knew they had to cool for a few more minutes before taking it downstairs to the security guard. You picked up the sticky note and grabbed the pen that was next to your computer, and scribbled a quick note.

“Sorry for torturing you with all of these baked goods, I promise this is the last one.”

You went back to work for a little bit before another timer broke your concentration, you packed the cookies into a small takeout box and stuck the sticky note to the top of the lid.

While in the elevator, you took a look at the time and winced. 3:17 am. You knew that you had to finish the PowerPoint by 4:30 am to even be able to get up and be able to present it to upper management.

You were practically racing against the clock at this point. You walked to the front desk and saw that the night security guard was not there. This was not new. Everytime you came down, he was not there. You assumed that he was doing his rounds, or he was watching the cameras in the back, or maybe he went for a smoke break.

You left the box on the front desk and practically ran back up to your apartment to finish your presentation.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The presentation was a success and upper management took your findings seriously. That was the only win you got for the day. Everything else was sleep deprived losses. Since you got off the train, your body was absolutely screaming at you to hurry up and get home and rest.

You buzzed into your apartment complex and waved at the evening shift worker. You normally would hold a conversation but your eyes were so heavy that you might fall asleep mid-conversation.

You got into your apartment, grabbed a cookie from the counter and made a beeline to the shower to wash the gunk of the office off you.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

That night you slept like an absolute baby. Nine months of no sleep made you sleep almost a full thirteen hours.

You were walking to the front door, phone in hand, cookie in mouth, checking up on the texts you missed while you were practically in a coma. Still oblivious to the world, you pull a pair of heels out and put them on. You finally broke contact with your phone to grab your keys when you noticed a white envelope on your floor.

You questioned if you dropped your mail walking in, but you were so tired yesterday that you didn’t even grab your mail. You shoved your phone in your bag and the remainder of your cookie in your mouth before picking up the envelope and inspecting it.

You thought maybe your mail went elsewhere and someone returned it. But there was nothing on the front with your name. You opened the envelope and there was a note inside.

If your company is even half as sweet as your pastries, I’m in trouble. Coffee sometime? - Bucky

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reidrum · 2 months ago

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safety net | b.b.

A/N: screaming nervously into the void bc this is my first bucky fic!!! i am literally on my knees please tell me what u think of it!!!!!! also i'm taking requests for bucky and spencer now <333

summary: in which bucky barnes needs a favor from his favorite senator

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, senator!reader, fingering in the blind spot we are so back baby, pet names, reader gets in her feels at the end sorry

wc: 2.2k

Bucky stands at the top of the stairs of Valentina’s mansion, vibranium hand holding a champagne flute as he surveys the span of the party. He takes slow enough sips to look busy but approachable, waiting for his moment to strike on the target.

It still feels odd for him to play into politics as a congressman, he’s used to fighting fist and bone to get his way and now he’s reduced to his own vocal devices to enact change. It’s harder some days when he has to advocate to a bunch of old senators who are decades beyond their retirement age. Oftentimes he has to dig into his 40’s trivia to be able to make small talk comeplling enough for them to listen.

Other times he can get away with using his reputation as the Winter Soldier—pardoned for being involved in the defeat of Thanos, there are times he finds it lucky to be considered a hero instead of the war criminal narrative he was used to.

Tonight, however, is his most preferred way to play the game of politics.

His eyes finally catch your figure, your silk gown hugging your body in ways he can only be envious of. You’re standing in the middle of the main room, a matching champagne flute in your hand as you charm the policymakers around you.

You are Bucky’s target tonight. You, the senator residing over Valentina’s impeachment case.

Nothing too extreme, just a little convincing on his end. A push in the right direction.

Your laugh carries all the way up the stairs straight into his chest, a warmth blooming through his heart. He tries to convince himself it’s the champagne working through him, but there’s a reason he made sure to get his suit tailored for tonight and put on enough cologne to drown you in it.

He watches you excuse yourself and set your empty glass on a nearby table, lifting the bottom of your dress while you head towards the stairs. He quickly jumps into action and walks a few steps down closer to you, holding out a hand. “It’s good to see you, Senator.”

“Congressman,” your eyes light up in recognition, “likewise. Are you typically waiting for women to struggle their way up the stairs or am I special?”

“You want the diplomatic answer or the truth?” he retorts, letting his hand fall to the small of your back as he guides you up the stairs.

You smirk, “What’s the diplomatic answer?”

“That I’m a good samaritan who didn’t want a colleague to fall over.”

“And the truth?”

Bucky pinches your hip, “Needed to get my hands on you somehow.”

You gasp as you reach the top step, abruptly letting your dress go, “Is that so? You couldn’t just, you know, talk to me?”

“Now what fun would that be, doll?” his arm curls around your hips as soon as you’re both out of sight from the main ballroom. “We do need to talk about something.”

A sigh leaves you before you can help it, “Bucky, I told you there’s nothing more I can do about Valentina’s impeachment. There is no evidence, without anything she’s not getting nailed for this.”

“I know, I know,” he says softly, “I just need a bit more time. Few days, and there’ll be damning evidence to put her away.”

“You know I can’t do anything to change it.”

Vibranium rests on your other hip, pulling you square with his, “See that’s why I needed to talk to you alone, because I know you can. You’ve done it before.”

“No I haven’t.”

His fingers curl slightly into your dress and raise the hem off the floor. A gentleman above all before he starts walking you back slowly. “I beg to differ, doll. I watched you delay that arms safety bill by five days last week.”

You think back, all the days you spent lobbying and pushing against the opposition. It took a lot of arguing, canvassing, and damn near begging on your part for them to delay as much as you did. If they had voted five days prior, you knew the government would have more blood on their hands than they anticipated, or cared for. You knew it was a worthy cause, and without your efforts a lot of people would be dead because of it.

You could delay Valentina’s case, if you wanted to. It would be easier than the bill. You could read Bucky’s intentions from the millisecond you laid eyes on him. But from the second Bucky found your hand to lead you up the stairs you’ve watched his eyes grow wider and darker in sensation as he talks to you. Like he knows what his end goal is, and he’s hoping you catch on soon too. Lucky for you, you caught on the moment you stepped foot into the mansion at the start of the night.

It’s always a means to an end with Bucky Barnes, the same cat and mouse game you both play that you inherently know is silly but you’re both too wrapped up in the chase of it all to say anything.

“I think someone just needs to prove to you that it’s worth your time.”

“And that’s supposed to be you?”

“I’m whatever you need me to be. Let me show you.”

Your eyes widen and dart across the ceiling as your back meets the wall, “Someone’s going to see us!”

“This is a blind spot, baby don’t worry. I won’t let anyone see anyone see you come, for my eyes only right?” He mouths your ear and works downward, “Will you let me do that? Can I prove it to you?”

“I—I…” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut as his lips latch down onto your neck, “I’m listening.”

He grins into your skin and kisses back up your jaw, landing soundly on your lips capturing them in a hurried yet gentle kiss. He guides your hands to wrap around his neck and lets his own slide down to the swell of your ass.

You feel Bucky imprint his fingers into your flesh and you silently pray there’s proof of it in the morning. Your hips roll on their own accord towards his, desperate for any friction it can find.

“Patience, doll. I got you, I'm gonna take good care of you.” he whispers. You suppress a shiver as you feel his finger trail to the front of your dress, dipping behind the high slit and traveling to the fabric of your panties. A single digit traces a path along the edges of the fabric left to right, ghosting over where you need him the most. He lets his finger press into the center of your core, relishing in the sharp gasp that leaves you.

“Bucky,” you breathe, “please.”

His lips return to the sensitive spot on your neck and the feeling overwhelms you so much that you don’t realize he’s pulled your panties to the side and swiped a finger through your folds.

You moan brokenly at the feeling and Bucky quickly stills his movement, “Shh, don’t want anyone to come find us right? Gotta stay quiet.”

You nod rapidly, willing to agree to the most heinous of crimes if it meant he didn’t stop. You slap a hand over your mouth for emphasis, and the bastard has the audacity to laugh at your efforts to stay quiet.

Bucky’s fingers move through your folds with a guided ease, your core practically dripping in invitation for him to enter. “Did you get this wet just from us talking? If I had known I had that kind of effect on you, I’d have done this to get my way ages ago.”

“That’s all I am to you, right?” your voice raising in octave slightly at the end as he finally sinks a finger into you, “An obstacle to remove? Or use?”

“You wound me doll,” his finger goes about setting a rhythm before another slips in and joins, “but I know you’re smart. And I know that’s not what you think of me.”

The slide of his fingers is enough to set you on the course for delirium, rendering any and every responsibility or obligation that isn’t him obsolete. The pace he sets is downright ridiculous, addicting. His thick fingers leave you wondering and yearning for what it could feel like to be stretched out by him instead.

“And what do I think of you, Barnes?” you try to brave.

He chuckles, his thumb landing and circling your clit, “Well darling, I think you do hate me. I just think you hate that I can get you like this. That I can make that pretty brain of yours turn to mush the second I get my hands on you.”

You let out a soft whimper and roll your eyes, although it’s counterintuitive because they roll in pleasure for him and not your poorly conceived disdain for him.

Because you know he’s right, god he’s so right it makes you see red. This isn’t the first time you’ve bent your morals for Bucky Barnes, and you know it won’t be the last.

“That’s why you let me have my way with you in the middle of this mansion, where anyone can walk by. You love the thrill of it. You love risking it all, but you love risking it all with me.”

His fingers speed up, “I…Bucky no, I—“ you feign.

“No? So you’d let anyone do this to you?”

Never, you think, there’s not a single person you would let this happen with. Only him, always him.

Vibranium snakes up your throat and cinches around it, forcing your eyes to make contact with his icy blue ones. His other hand continues to pump relentlessly in and out of you, brushing against your clit every few strokes and causing you to break a sweat. “Answer me, sweetheart. You lettin’ anyone touch you like this?”

You languishly shake your head, “No! No, no one. I swear.”

Bucky doesn’t let up on his pace, “Who gets to have you like this, baby?”

The building pleasure imbeds into every neuron in your body, clouding any and every sense in existence until you’re a mess of whimpers and broken moans.

“Y—You.” you whisper.

His metal hand squeezes around your neck, “Can’t hear you, doll.”

“Buck,” you whimper.

He relishes in your feeble gaze, “This gone on my fingers, makes me wonder how you’ll be cockdrunk on me.”

His thumb circles your clit fervently, adding a third finger and stretching you out with a pain that hurts too good. Your head falls back against the wall as you let him take over, his hand laying firm against your throat to ensure you don’t lose his eyes.

Not that you’d ever want to, for as long as Bucky is willing to play this game or for as long as he’s willing to have you, you would never dare be the one to tap out first. If you could have him in any capacity you would, and you’d let him take as much as he wants if he kept him right between your legs.

You hope he mistakes the budding tears in your eyes for proof of his overwhelming ministrations and not for the vulnerability he threatens to expose with every thrust of his fingers. “ ‘m close.” you pant.

Bucky hums, “Want you to come all over my fingers, doll. Wanna feel you give me everything, can you do that?”

There’s no voice left in you to give him a response, your body speaking for itself in deep heaves and your arching back. Bucky groans into your neck feeling you clamp down onto his fingers as you reach your peak, working you through the pleasure as it consumes you entirely.

He whispers coos and praises into your ear, “Did so good f’me baby. It’s okay, I got you. Shh, I’m here.” as he anchors you back down to this realm.

Bucky pulls out a handkerchief from his back pocket, because of course he has one, and dabs at your eyes delicately. “Was it too much? I’m sorry if I got carried away, you can always tell me to stop, you know that.” he whispers with worry.

You sniffle and swallow your emotion down, “It was okay, I’m fine don’t worry.”

He doesn’t look convinced, “You sure?”

“Promise.”

“Okay,” he goes about fixing your dress and hair, hands resting at your hips again as he leans in and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, “will you talk to the council, please?

Right, you think, the trial. That’s all this was.

You nod automatically and smile solemnly, “I’ll see what I can do, Buck.”

He doesn’t pick up on your sullen smile, “Thank you, doll. I have to go make some calls, but I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?”

The lump in your throat thickens, “Sure, I’ll be in touch. Good to see you, Congressman.”

“Likewise, Senator.” he gives your cheek one last kiss before disappearing into the night.

Maybe one day you’ll tell him how you really feel, that one day you’ll feel like it’s worth telling him how much he really means to you.

But so long as Bucky Barnes has an agenda, you are simply not the priority.

Just an item to tick off.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x senator!reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes thunderbolts #thunderbolts #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #avengers

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soulgazingwithbucky · 20 days ago

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why bucky has a blowout

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Summary: bucky would never take advice from valentina or any of the thunderbolts, let alone hair advice. but the love of his life? a different story

Warnings: fluffy ig?

Word count: 750

A/N: i never thought i would miss the unbearable itch to write, and yet!!! so happy i was able to make something, so i hope ya enjoy! If you find yourself enjoying this, feel free to check out my other works here <3

"Stay still, Buck," you murmur softly.

Bucky stifles a huff. He could stay still for hours--if he wasn't in front of the bathroom mirror, forced to stare at his reflection. Behind him, you cup a strand of his hair in your hand.

You release the strand, pleased at the slight curl that has formed.

"I'm not doin' anymore of these things, doll," Bucky says. "M'telling Valentina she can put Walker up there from now on."

"You tell her, love," you encourage, though you're a bit distracted wrapping the next strand of hair around the thermal brush. You've never met your husband's "boss," but you've heard enough to get a sense of her character. You doubted Bucky was going to be able to get himself out of press conferences.

"After this hairstyle, though? You'll be first in line for any media coverage," you tease.

This time, Bucky can't hold back a grumble at the thought. You giggle, but it's quickly stifled by a yawn. Bucky softens at the sight of your sleepiness.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he says sheepishly.

Valentina is a blur as she rushes past Bucky. But she pauses abruptly, taking a few steps back until she's planted in front of him. Bucky does his best to ignore her, staring straight ahead, but he eventually puts down his sandwich and slowly meets her eyes.

"This won't do," Valentina says, gesturing at his head. Bucky doesn't care much about what "won't do," but he has a meeting with Agent Taylor in twenty minutes. He very much likes the idea of enjoying his sandwich on the couch, sans the Contessa.

"What, Valentina?" Bucky says slowly.

"This hair," she responds, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I have been telling him that!" Alexei declares. Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose as the Red Guardian emerges from the kitchen. "I told him, my sponsorship with Drybar is at risk if--"

"Oh, Drybar? That's pretty good. Listen, Bucky, if there's one thing I know, it's hair. Wish you could ask that guy, am I right?" Valentina gestures in Bob's general direction in the next room.

"No," Bucky responds.

"I tell him, so flat," Alexei continues, "so lifeless! Bucky, hair care is so important--"

"Great talk, everybody," Bucky declares, scooping up his sandwich and taking it into the other room.

When Bucky recalled the conversation to you, he thought you'd laugh it off with him. Instead, he saw a glint in your eye that made him worried. Afterwards, he came home one too many times to you binge watching hair tutorials. Foolishly, he held out hope that you would lose interest, but then packages of hair tools started arriving at your door.

"You know," you said, holding back another yawn, "if we lived closer to the Tower, we wouldn't have to wake up so early."

"Not yet, doll," is Bucky's gruff response. Living far away meant that it would be harder for people to link you two. It wasn't that he would get relentlessly teased by his coworkers about being married--that was a given. But if they were on a mission, and one of them became compromised? He couldn't imagine what would happen if the wrong people found out about his life. About you. He already had to live with the fact that Sam helped you both find this house, and now--

"He's our friend, Buck." You recognize the distraught look on your husband's face, and you place a gentle hand on his shoulder, breaking him out of his spell. "He would never do anything to hurt us."

Bucky moves to place a kiss on your hand, grateful that he doesn't always have to talk for you to understand him. He opens his mouth to express his appreciation, but you interrupt him.

"All done," you say proudly. The wide grin on your face is almost enough to make Bucky forget that he is going to be sitting in a room full of journalists in a few hours. You comb your fingers through his hair to loosen the curls, then apply hairspray. Bucky makes a show of sputtering. He never makes a show of anything, but he loves the way you giggle at his antics.

He turns to face you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You wrap your hands around his neck, trying your best to avoid your hard work.

"My wife," he says, a phrase he will never get tired of saying. He plants a kiss on your lips before you respond:

"My hero."

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insidekatmind · 6 months ago

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Mission- Bucky Barnes

Wearning: +18,smut

Request: yes!

The jet lands with a jolt on the deserted runway of a private island. Outside the window, palm trees sway in the breeze, and a pink sunset paints the horizon. There’s no time to appreciate it, though. You’re here for a mission, and it’s already off to a bad start.

“I can’t believe I have to do this with you,” scoffs Bucky Barnes, throwing you a look of pure disgust.

“The feeling is mutual,old man,” you reply through gritted teeth. Your name, Y/N, is printed on the fake passport you’re holding, but your real task is far more complicated than maintaining a false identity. The mission requires you and Bucky to pose as a happily married couple to infiltrate an exclusive gala hosted by an international arms dealer.

“Wasn’t there literally anyone else available?” he asks, shaking his head.

“We’re not here for sympathy, Barnes. You’re the only one with a shady enough past to avoid suspicion.”

He laughs, but without a shred of humor. “And you’re the only one who speaks enough languages to keep up with a crooked diplomat. Just don’t expect me to pretend I enjoy being here.”

“And don’t expect a hug from me,” you reply with an icy smile.

---

The villa assigned to the two of you is luxurious: white marble, designer furniture, and an ocean view that takes your breath away. Too bad the tension in the room is heavy enough to crush any promise of relaxation.

“There’s only one bed,” you say, pointing to the massive king-sized bed in the middle of the room.

“Perfect,” Bucky replies, dropping his bag on the armchair nearby. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Not a chance. I need proper sleep for tomorrow night’s gala.”

“Don’t worry, princess,” he says with a smirk. “I wouldn’t come near you even by accident.”

You finally decided to share a bed. You were wearing shorts and a tank top as you stared at the ceiling.

Bucky lies next to you, tense and unmoving. Even without looking at him, you can feel the distance between you both, like a chasm that can’t be crossed. Your eyes wander to the ceiling, tracing the pattern of shadows in the dim light. Finally, he breaks the silence.“Do you expect me to believe that you actually need sleep?” he mutters under his breath.

"What?" You ask, turning to him.Bucky doesn't turn to you, but his voice is still laced with sarcasm. "You heard me. I know you're used to pulling all-nighters for missions. You don't exactly act like the type to need a full eight hours to feel refreshed."

You look at him with a twinkle of sarcasm. "Well this time it's different, I'm on a mission with you and I have to put up with you, so I need sleep".

Bucky rolls over onto his side, finally facing you. “Oh, so I’m such a pain that I keep you awake now?” he says with a smirk. “Is this how you treat all the people you’ve ever worked with?”

"not just old men who think they are better than others" you reply looking at him.“Old man?” He repeats, sitting up on the bed. “You’re really calling me an old man? Aren’t you supposed to flatter your partner on these missions? Or is that just reserved for the men you actually like?” he jokes.

You roll your eyes ignoring him.Bucky doesn’t get ignored easily, though. He scoots his way towards you in the bed, his prosthetic arm brushing against your arm. “What, no smartass reply? I can’t believe I’ve finally managed to shut you up,” he teases, his voice low and quiet.

“Keep your hands or I'll turn your other arm into vibranium too,” you threaten.

Bucky holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Easy, sweetheart. I’m just trying to get a reaction out of you.” He scoots even closer, so that you can feel the heat of his body next to you. “And I think I’ve succeeded.”

“Very funny arm wrestling,” you say sarcastically.“You got plenty of jokes, huh?” Bucky replies, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He leans in a little closer, the distance between you almost vanishing. “You know, I can think of a better way to occupy that smart mouth of yours, princess.”

You turn and find yourself a little too close to him. "Oh really?" you say sarcastically.Bucky takes advantage of your proximity, invading your personal space even further. His face is inches from yours now, his breath dancing across your skin. “You’d be surprised,” he murmurs, a hint of danger in his voice. “I’ve got some ideas….”

Bucky’s fingertips graze your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. “I wonder if you’d be this sarcastic if I took away that smart mouth of yours.”He shifts his weight on the bed, pinning you against the sheets as he leans over you. He’s so close now that you can feel the heat of his breath on your face.

"What the hell are you doing?" You murmur, looking at him above you.Bucky smirks, relishing your surprise. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks, his voice a low growl. His head dips down, his lips brushing against your neck. “I’m testing a theory….”

Bucky's hands roam over your body, the metal one surprisingly gentle. “Tell me your theory,” you manage to gasp as his fingers tease the edge of your tank top.Bucky's lips find your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “My theory is that your smart-ass mouth isn’t as tough as you think it is,” he whispers, his teeth grazing your earlobe. “And I bet I could find a more entertaining use for it.”

“Your theory is wrong old men” you say.Bucky laughs at that, his chest rumbling against yours. “Oh, we’ll see about that,” he says, his hand sneaking under the hem of your shirt. “I’ve yet to see you speechless. I bet I could make you speechless. I bet I could make you forget every smartass comment you’ve ever thought and make you begging for more.”

“get your hands off me” you say looking at him.Bucky's hand stills, pressed flat against your stomach. “Is that what you really want?” he asks, his voice a low murmur. “Or are you just saying that because you’re too stubborn to admit you like my hands on you?”

"Why would I like it, hm?" You murmur, looking at him.Bucky grins above you, his eyes flicking down to your lips. “Oh, I think you do. I think you like me this close to you. I think you like the way my hand feels on your skin….”

His prosthetic hand travels up, pushing under your top until you can feel the cool metal against the skin of your stomach. “I think you’re just too stubborn to admit it,” he says, his voice a sultry whisper.

His fingers trace the edge of your bra through your shirt, a light touch that sends a shiver down your spine. “I think you’re struggling to keep hold of all those smartass comments, aren’t you?” he murmurs. “I think you’re about to lose your words completely.”

“fuck you” you blurt out looking at him.Bucky laughs, his voice a deep rumble. “Now that’s exactly the kind of dirty talk I like to hear,” he replies, enjoying your reaction. His hand slips down, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. “You know, you really should watch that mouth of yours, princess.”

You could feel his hardness touching you and you looked up at him. "You like this kinky game, yes?" you murmur.

Bucky’s smirk turns into a grin, his eyes darkening with want. “I like anything that gets a reaction out of you,” he replies, his hand roaming across your hip and up your thigh. “And you’ve been giving me quite the reaction.”

His hand slips under your top, his fingers splaying across your back. He pulls you closer to him, his hips grinding against yours. “But I have a feeling we could both have some more fun…”

You hold back a moan feeling his hardness more towards you.Bucky’s smirk only widens as he hears your stifled moan. “That’s more like it,” he says, his hand moving to the back of your neck. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to make a noise for me.”

"you won't get anything from me" he murmured not with the same certainty that characterizes you.Bucky laughs, his breath hot against your skin. “Oh, princess, I think you underestimate me,” he replies. “I’ll get you to make all sorts of pretty noises for me before the night is over.”

His lips find your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin. “And you can’t fool me,” he murmurs. “I can feel you shivering, I can hear your breathing getting rougher. You like this, don’t you? You like the way I’m touching you….”

His hand is roaming over your body, pushing your shirt higher over your stomach and your chest. “Go on,” he urges, his voice husky. “Say it. Tell me you like it when I touch you like this….”

“No, I don’t,” you say even as your sighs grow heavy.

Bucky laughs at your stubbornness, but there’s an edge to it. “Oh, princess, you’re a terrible liar,” he says, his hand moving to your waist. “I know you want this. I can feel it in the way you arch your back when I touch you. And I’m not going to stop until you stop pretending.”

His mouth is on your neck now, his teeth scraping against your skin. “Stop playing games, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Tell me you want me. Tell me you need me.”

You moan at the contact. “no, I don’t” you say in a tense voice.

Bucky’s smirk widens, his hand sliding up your leg. “Your moans don’t seem to agree with your words,” he murmurs. “I know you can’t resist me. I know you’re just as much of a mess under my touch as I am under yours….”

His hand moves farther north, slipping under the hem of your shorts. “Give in, princess,” he whispers, his voice a low growl. “Just say the words and I’m all yours….”

You closed your eyes trying not to give in but you could feel Bucky's hand playing with your thong.Bucky lets out a low chuckle as he feels you react to his touch. “There you go,” he murmurs, his fingers playing with the lace of your lingerie. “I know you’re close to breaking, isn’t that right? I know you’re just moments away from giving in…”

His thumb brushes against your most sensitive spot through the thin fabric, drawing a gasp from your lips. “Come on, princess, I want to hear you say it,” he says, his voice dripping with want. “I want to hear you admit that you want this as badly as I do…”

You moan at the touch and arch. “I hate you so much” you murmur.Bucky laughs huskily, feeling your body respond to his touch. “No, you don’t,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “You don’t hate me at all. You hate how much you want me…. How much you need me….”

His fingers toy with the waistband of your shorts, his hand edging them down your hips. “Admit it, princess,” he whispers, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. “Admit that you want me as badly as I want you….” His hand moves to your inner thigh, his touch light and teasing. “Say the words,” he urges, his voice low and rough. “Say you want me, princess. Say you need me just as badly as I need you….”

You bit your lip to keep from giving in but it was very difficult, you were wavering and you just wanted him to give you pleasure.Bucky lets out a low curse as he feels you resist him. “You’re such a stubborn little thing,” he grumbles, his hand tightening on your thigh. “But I won’t let you keep up this act, princess. I’ll break you, it’s only a matter of time…. Just say the words, sweetheart….”

His fingers slide further up your thigh, edging up under your shorts. “Just a few words, princess,” he urges, his voice rough with want. “Just tell me you want me, and then I’ll give you what you need…”

You moan again but you don't want to give in. "No".Bucky curses again, his fingers tightening on your thigh. “You’re so damn stubborn, princess,” he mutters, his voice tight with want. “But you’re also lying to yourself….”

Bucky finally leans down and kisses you passionately and hungrily.The kiss is almost violent, a clash of need and desperation. Bucky’s lips are hot against yours, his tongue seeking yours as he presses you into the sheets. He bites at your bottom lip, then leans back, his eyes dark with desire. “Say it, princess,” he growls, his hand still on your thigh. “Just say you want me….”

You moan and kiss him. Bucky laughs huskily, his hand moving up your body. “There we go, princess,” he murmurs against your lips. “That’s what I’ve been waiting for…”His lips move down to your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there and causing you to gasp again. “Say it, princess,” he repeats, his hand finally moving up to cup your core. “Just tell me you want me….”

You moan at his words and surrender to him. "I want you".Bucky lets out a low growl of satisfaction as he hears your words. “That’s what I thought,” he mutters, his fingers trailing against your skin. “I knew you couldn’t resist me for long.”

He takes your wrists in his hand, pinning them above your head. His body presses against yours, his weight holding you in place. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it, princess?” he whispers in your ear, his breath hot and heavy.His hand slides down your body, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “But now that you’ve given in, I’m going to have some fun with you…” he murmurs, his voice dark with promise. “I’m going to make you scream for me…”

He kissed you again and put two fingers inside your panties and into your core making you moan into the kiss.Bucky lets out a low chuckle as he feels you arch against him. “That’s it, princess,” he murmurs against your lips. “Let it out. Let me hear how good I make you feel…”He moves his fingers slowly, finding a rhythm that makes you moan again. “I knew you’d feel good,” he whispers, his eyes dark with want. “

His fingers move a little faster, the pressure inside of you increasing. “But I bet I could make you feel even better…” he murmurs, his mouth moving down to your neck. “I bet I could make you scream for me".

“Bucky” you moan and arch once more.Bucky’s smirk is almost feral as he hears you moan his name. “There it is,” he mutters, his fingers working faster as they press deeper into you. “I knew you’d sound like that when you finally let yourself go…”

He bites at your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin. “And I know I can make you moan louder, sweetheart… if you beg me right…”

His fingers move again, finding a place inside you that makes you gasp. “Beg me, princess,” he murmurs, his voice rough with lust. “Beg me to make you feel good. Beg me to give you what you need…”

You felt his fingers go faster and faster inside you and you could feel yourself getting close. “Please Bucky,” you murmur.Bucky grins at your words, his fingers moving even faster. “Please, what, princess?” he murmurs, his mouth moving to your ear. “Say it. Tell me what you want me to do…”

“let me come please” You murmur moving your hips on his fingers.

Bucky grins at your pleading tone, his fingers finally getting the reaction he wanted. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “You sound so pretty when you beg for me like that… so pretty when you ask for what you want…”

His fingers move a little faster, going deeper. “You’re so close, princess,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. “I can feel it. I can feel your body tensing up… begging for release…"

He moves his mouth back to your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin as he presses his forehead against yours. “But you have to ask me nicely if you want it…” he mutters, his voice raw with need. “You have to beg me for what you need, princess…”

You whimper at his words. “please Bucky, I’m so close” you murmur.Bucky’s grin widens at your words, his fingers finally giving you what you’ve been craving. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he mutters, his touch rough yet still gentle with you. “You like it when I make you beg for it…”

“please” you murmur moaning feeling yourself getting closer and closer.Bucky’s fingers move a little faster at your words, his touch more insistent as he moves against you. “Almost there, princess, you’re so close,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl. “But I need you to say those magic words. I need you to beg me one more time…”

"Bucky please" you scream.Bucky grins at your scream, his fingers moving faster than ever inside you. “There it is, princess,” he mutters, breathing hard. “You sound so pretty when you scream my name… now let go for me, sweetheart."

You moan at his words and come on his fingers. “fuck” you murmur, closing your eyes in pleasure.Bucky let out a low growl as he feels you come on his fingers. “That’s it,” he mutters, his voice rough with satisfaction. “That’s my good girl…”

He withdraws his fingers and brings them to his mouth, licking them clean. “You taste so sweet,” he murmurs, his eyes dark with lust. “I knew you’d be sweet"

Bucky leans down, his body pressing against yours. “But I’m not done with you yet, princess,” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. “Not even close…”

You look at him knowing you were in for a long night.

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pellucid-constellations · 2 years ago

Text

Faking It

Pairing: College Athlete!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes was in love with his girl—disgustingly, annoyingly so. Enough to start fights on the ice just to make sure he saw her after a game.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: This is FLUFF!! With HOCKEY MAN

a/n: This was originally something completely different but then I hated it so now it's all fluff and now I do not hate it. Pleaseeeee let me know what you think and if you enjoy it!! I love you thanks for reading ❤️❤️❤️

Masterlist

“Jesus Christ, Buck. Again?”

Bucky grinned, split lip tightening uncomfortably. When he turned to his captain, he had the gall to act oblivious. “What do you mean, captain?”

Steve gave him a disapproving look. “Give it up, pal. There was no need to pick a fight with that guy and you know it.”

“He was talking shit about the team!”

“They’ll always be a player talking shit about the team.”

“Then why’re you breathing down my neck right now, huh? We won. Be happy, Cap,” Bucky encouraged, slinging an arm over his shoulder. Steve raised a brow back at him but was clearly fighting back a smirk. Bucky could tell by the way his eyes lifted, contrasting his deep—albeit fake—frown.

In truth, Bucky had been looking for a fight. He’d been looking for a plethora of fights since the start of the season, and was usually quite successful with his venture. It had garnered him quite the reputation, but where the crowd saw it as a short-fuse on a large man, Steve saw it for what it really was.

An opportunity to see you.

And while Steve could appreciate the dedication, it made one of his best players ride out unnecessary time in the penalty box.

“I am happy. Just not with you,” Steve clarified, knocking Bucky’s arm away.

Bucky let out a sound close to a scoff. “Even with my extra time in the sin bin I still helped carry. It’s just part of the game, Steve. Gotta protect the team’s pride.”

“Yeah,” Steve drawled sarcastically, stopping in front of the locker room doors. “I’m sure that was your reasoning. What was it last game? Someone said something about your ma?”

“Hey, he did.”

“They always do.”

Heavy footsteps created a commotion in the hall, the rest of the team finally catching up with the pair. They funneled their way into the room for showers and a fresh change of clothes, and Steve stood with his crossed arms leaning against the wall, somehow still directing an admonishing look towards Bucky amidst the crowd. Bucky did his best to look baffled by the unspoken accusation, but then Sam Wilson passed by and Bucky’s ploy was disintegrated.

“Hey man,” Sam greeted, slapping a friendly hand against Bucky’s arm as he passed. “You let someone beat the shit out of you again so you could go see your girl?”

Bucky’s scoff returned, but this time Steve was having none of it. He kicked off of the wall and went to follow the rest of the team into the locker room. Bucky watched with a grimace, not only caught, but put on display.

“You know,” Steve called over his shoulder, not expecting Bucky to follow. “You’re dating the girl now. You don’t gotta keep up with this whole schtick.”

“I don’t have a schtick,” he called back. At the responding laugh from Steve, Bucky yelled, “I don’t!” but no one was listening to him. Or believing him.

But fine. If his schtick involved you, in any capacity, Bucky would admit to having one.

Some of what Steve said was right. Bucky was dating you now. You were his girl and that would imply total access to you all the time, whenever he wanted. He didn’t need to pick fights or feign injuries anymore (the latter never really worked anyways), because he had a key to your apartment. And you were in his bed more weekends than not.

But, damn, were you busy right now.

Bucky had never really considered how much schooling went into becoming a physical therapist until he met you. You were typically swamped with papers and tests and requests from Dr. Cho, but this past month had been exponentially worse thanks to finals. He had seen you about once a week if he was lucky, and that was a generous estimation. Add your crazy schedule to the alarming amount of away games he had over the past few weeks and he was champing at the bit to see you.

Bucky just prayed it was you in the training room today and not Dr. Cho. His odds were pretty favorable considering the team’s main trainer didn’t usually stick around after games if there were no major injuries, but there was always the off chance she let her interns go home early. But, knowing you, you would be in that room until the rink lights went off.

God, he loved you. Every overworked, high-strung bit of you.

He even loved the scolding look you shot him as he pushed open the training room doors, his bruises and cuts on full display. You dropped the pen you were tapping against an overflowing notebook and rocketed out of your rolling stool, and Bucky adored the way you stomped over to him, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the curse you clearly wanted to let free.

“Hey, baby,” Bucky smiled, this time ignoring the sting in his lip. “Funny seeing you here.”

You huffed, bringing careful fingers up to his chin. “Not very funny,” you mumbled. “Not when you look like someone hit you with their car.”

Bucky let you fuss for a moment, following your touch as you turned his head back and forth and examined his split knuckles. This was your job, so obviously he let you do it, but he enjoyed watching you. So he didn’t stop you from lifting his jersey up to inspect his middle, because how else would he catch the cute way you scrunch your nose up in concentration? If he pulled his hands away when you started testing the range of motion in his wrists, when else would he be able to track your lips as you softly counted and mouthed gentle confirmations?

Never. Because you were so damn busy.

“Missed you,” Bucky said after sneaking a kiss on your forehead while you were prodding at the bruise on his collarbone. “I’ve been missing you a lot.”

You let a small smile interrupt the disgruntlement on your face. Bucky grinned at the change, pressing another kiss to your hair while he still could.

“Did you miss me enough to send a right hook into that guy’s jaw?”

“Yes.”

Your smile was gone again. Now you looked aghast. “Bucky.”

“What?” he exclaimed, sliding his torn hands from your healing ones to wrap you in his embrace. “You want me to lie instead? Okay, fine. No, sweetheart, I didn’t start a fight just to have an excuse to see you. That guy got all these punches in on me because I’m out of practice, is all. I don’t think about you every waking second of my life, and while we’re at it, no I did not use your shampoo this morning because I miss how—”

“Okay, okay,” you laughed, resting your forehead on the divot in his chest. “I get it. Thanks for being truthful.”

Bucky relished in the feel of you. He had been slightly worried that his state would cause you to be more upset than anything. If you weren’t so tired right now, there was a high chance you’d be yelling at him because of his recklessness instead of resting against his chest. So Bucky jumped at the opportunity, trailing one of his hands up to cup the back of your head. He craned his neck down, burying his face into the juncture of your neck.

He hadn’t been lying about the shampoo.

“I miss you too. Even if you act like an idiot sometimes,” you mumbled against his jersey.

Something in Bucky felt lighter, warm. “Acting like an idiot’s the only way I get to see my girl.”

You hummed. “Sorry ‘m so busy.”

You had to be exhausted. Not even a single reprimand had tumbled from your mouth. Bucky had expected at least three.

“When’s the last time you slept, baby?” Bucky kept his voice low, his thumb making unconscious circles against your hair.

“I don’t know. In the night.”

“Okay, thanks smart ass.” Bucky jostled you a bit until your eyes met his. “I meant when did you last take a break? Get a good night’s sleep?”

You sighed, gaze trailing over his face. “Let me fix you up. Then we can play twenty questions.”

“Baby—”

“No, Buck, this is the training room, if you haven’t noticed,” you quipped, stepping back and rifling through a few drawers. “Take a seat and I’ll fix you. That’s my job.”

“Well, what about my job?” he grumbled back.

“You have failed at your job. Your job is hockey and you instead played human punching bag.”

“Not that job. My other job. The one where I take care of you.”

You spun on your heel, a basket of supplies resting on your hip. The sweater that engulfed your frame had the university’s logo stamped across the front, but instead of jeans or slacks—the usual uniform for PT interns—you wore leggings. Your hair was pulled back in the most endearing, pretty mess, and Bucky’s chest hurt as he looked at you.

“My tired girl,” he hummed, bringing his hand up to your cheek as you pushed him down on the exam chair. He sat if only to appease you, his feet still flat on the floor even with the tall seat.

“I’m only a little tired,” you weakly fought. Bucky chuckled in response, sanitary paper crinkling beneath him. “Now let me clean you up.”

You snapped gloves onto your hands and Bucky fought back a petulant whine. If he had been any other member of the team, those gloves would have been on the second they walked in the door. He should be grateful, then, that you only put them on when it was time to tend to his wounds, but he wasn’t. He missed you too much to feel latex instead of your skin.

Bucky’s lip stung as you cleaned it, but he hardly flinched. If he moved, he would miss the pretty way you bit into your lip as you stared at him.

“Remember when I’d be in here all the time?” he asked when you turned back down to grab antibiotic cream.

You let out a tired laugh. “How could I forget? You picked a fight every game. If that didn't work you’d come stumbling in here complaining about a torn ACL or whatever. Big liar.”

“I wouldn’t call it lying.”

The smile you gave him was replicated on his own face.

“You were literally lying.” You dabbed the cream on his lip, and then moved to the cut on his cheek. “You would come limping in here and then I’d see you an hour later running out to the parking lot.”

“You wouldn’t look at me if I wasn’t injured.”

“It was my job, Bucky!” you laughed, eyes giving away your amusement. “I wasn’t supposed to be fraternizing with the players. I’m pretty sure Cho only lets us be together because you wouldn’t leave her alone otherwise.”

Bucky moved his hands from his thighs to your waist, tugging you closer as you worked. “Hey, sometimes drastic measures are needed.”

“You called her multiple times a day… bought her an edible arrangement. Wait, didn’t you offer to drive her kids to school a few times?”

“It worked, didn’t it,” he posed, nudging his nose against your cheek. You giggled, lightly slapping his arm to get away.

“The edible arrangement was a good touch,” you relented.

Bucky released you as you wiggled from his grip, flitting around the training room to put supplies back. He spotted your backpack in the corner of the room, unzipped with the water bottle tipping out. When you sat down at the computer to document his care, which he found a bit ridiculous (you only put a bandaid on his face), Bucky walked over and gathered your things. He did so slowly so you wouldn’t notice; you probably had plans to stay at the rink for another few hours, and that was not okay with him.

With a final zip and your water bottle now standing upright, Bucky meandered over to your seated position. He hooked his chin over your shoulder as you worked, leaning over and tapping your phone screen for the time. His heart twisted warmly in his chest when he saw a picture of himself smiling under the 8:00 pm displayed on the homescreen.

After all the pining and work it took to get you, Bucky often felt this wasn’t real.

God, he loved you.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” you whispered, clicking away at the computer. “I still have some charting to do. Peter hit his head yesterday and I have to do the follow up work.”

Still in his uniform, Bucky wrapped you up from behind. Now you would both need a shower and he could get you to leave. He kissed the back of your head, and then your temple, and then your cheek as he craned his neck to watch you work. You smelled like fresh laundry and books and the subtle hint of your perfume.

“Parker’s fine. He was up and playing today. Let’s go home, baby,” Bucky murmured, most of his words spoken against your skin.

“I know he’s okay. But head injuries are a completely different protocol and I have to—”

“I miss you,” he reiterated. “And you’re working too hard. All the lights are off in the rink ‘cept for this one. Come back to my place. Let me take care of you.”

“Why don’t you shower and change first? I’ll leave with you once you finish.”

Bucky spun your stool around suddenly, one hand on your waist, the other reaching back to steady himself on the desk now at your back. “Oh no, don’t try to pull that on me. I get back in here, you’re gonna tell me you started something new you can only finish on the PT computer and you can’t leave for another hour. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

You let out a quick sigh, caught. “Well, what about—”

“Nope,” Bucky interrupted. He used his far hand to shut the facility computer and then guided you up. “You’re coming home with me. You’re gonna sit in the car while I drive you to my apartment and then we’re gonna take a shower together and I’m gonna make you feel so good you don’t even remember what a concussion is.”

“Bucky,” you chastised, hiding your face in his shoulder.

His laugh shook your head. “Still so damn shy.” He reached down to grab your bag, slinging it over his shoulder and placing a hand on the back of your neck, meeting your averted gaze. “Just me in here, baby.”

“I know. But you don’t have to be so vulgar.”

“Vulgar? Sweetheart, if you want vulgar I’ll tell you exactly what I’m gonna do to you the second we—”

You slapped your hand over his mouth, careful for the delicate skin there. Still, Bucky was sure you could feel his smile against your skin, and he fought back an even bigger one when he saw the embarrassed twist of your brow.

Slowly, he pried your wrist down, kissing the palm of your hand on the way. “Sorry,” he whispered, not sorry in the slightest.

You pursed your lips, flustered. “You’re such an antagonizer.”

Bucky could do this every day and never grow tired of it. It had been months now and he found himself only wanting you more.

“Can’t help it. I love you.”

Your faux annoyance morphed into a bashful smile, the kind Bucky remembered from his time faking injuries. It was reminiscent of when you were trying not to laugh at his jokes, or smile at his flirting, or give him any reaction he was looking for.

But he always got what he wanted in the end.

And, more than anything, he wanted you.

“That one do the trick?” Bucky asked. “Am I finally getting my girl to come home with me?”

When you looked up at him with raised brows and a smile twisted up at the corners, he knew you’d given up. Perfect timing, too, because—in all honesty—Bucky had been punched in the side during his on-ice tussle, and his ribs were starting to hurt. You were going to be pissed when you saw the bruise form tomorrow morning, but you would be pissed in his bed, so it was worth it to Bucky.

“I have to get a little bit of homework done when we get there,” you reasoned, pointing an accusing finger at your boyfriend.

He threw his hands up in surrender, dropping one down over your shoulders as you both walked out. “Okay, okay. Homework at my place, I got it.”

“That comes first, Bucky. Before anything else. Shower, then homework, and then… other things.”

“I know what first means, baby.”

“Good.”

But Bucky had other plans, and they did not involve homework. He was pretty sure you were ahead, anyways. Like, weeks ahead, actually.

“You eat dinner yet?” he asked, fishing his keys from his pocket.

You looked up at him, incredulous. “What did I just say?”

“What?” he defended, tugging you closer as the wind in the parking lot whipped at your clothes. “I can’t make sure my girl’s had dinner? What am I allowed to do?”

You only scoffed, tucking yourself further into his side. “Keep me warm.”

“Always, baby.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes au #college!bucky #athlete!bucky #bucky barnes

6K notes · View notes

heytheredelulu · 1 year ago

Text

Anon request: “could you do something enemies/rivals where bucky accidentally finds out that you have a mirror kink during a training session?”

Yes, absofuckinglutely yes.

Watch Me

Rival!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count 2.4k

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+

C/W: Language, fingering, size kink, mirror kink, choking, degradation (Bucky calls reader a slut once), hate sex (p-in-v unprotected), one lil spank, no aftercare and Bucky’s kind of an asshole.

“You’re distracted!” Bucky grunts, landing another painful blow to your gut, causing you to stumble backwards as he effectively knocks the wind out of you again.

“Just shut up, Barnes!” You snap back, resting your hands on your knees as you hunch over and work to catch your breath.

He wasn’t wrong, you were completely distracted. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from the wall of mirrors behind him and it only made it that much easier for him to land hit after fucking hit.

You may absolutely loathed the man but it didn’t change the fact that the way his muscles flexed in his back and biceps in the reflection of the mirror behind him as he pummeled you with his fists sent your mind reeling with thoughts of how those toned muscles would feel under your hands, your lips, your tongue.

Why couldn’t this man wear a goddamned shir-

He strikes you hard in the chest despite you being bent over and at rest and you stagger back in shock, the force of it having you struggling to maintain your balance and remain upright. Your temporary disorientation allows him the opportunity to wrap his right arm around your neck and pull you into a sleeper hold.

“Wanna tell me why you keep lookin’ in that mirror?” He breathes against your ear, his tone assuring you that there’s a smirk creeping across his stupid fucking face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You pant through gritted teeth, jerking your shoulders against his arm, working to free yourself from his chokehold.

He shakes his head, a sardonic laugh rumbling up from his chest as his forearm tightens across your windpipe. “Tap out.” He orders. “You can’t fucking handle me, princess. You don’t belong in the field. You’re weak. It’s pathetic.” His voice is low and cruel as you continue to struggle. “You’re gonna get yourself killed, or worse- get one of us killed.”

Rage simmers in your belly at his comment but the shame you feel from the truth of it is evident in the crimson blush creeping across your face.

He was right again.

You were weak.

That’s exactly why Tony had scheduled you to spar with him. Had you not been explicitly instructed to have training sessions by Tony Stark himself, you wouldn’t be caught dead alone in a room Bucky fucking Barnes and his smug ass attitude. It was no secret that this man was the bane of your existence, taking every opportunity to pick a fight and belittle you in front of everyone regardless of the time, place or context.

Unfortunately when it came to hand to hand combat, he was the most skilled out of anyone else on the team. so it made sense to pair you with him for training despite how much you had protested the idea. As you spent the last hour getting taunted and insulted while simultaneously having your ass handed to you, you couldn’t help but feel like Tony was just putting you in a room with him for his own amusement.

The anger overtakes the shame and you grit your teeth, bringing your head forward before slamming it back into his face with all the strength you could muster, pain erupting across the crown of your head. Bucky releases you, stunned and furious, bringing his fingertips up to swipe away the trickle of blood that trailed from his nostril. He lifts his gaze to meet yours, his cerulean eyes narrowing.

“A fucking headbutt? Are you kidding me?” He shouts, advancing on you. “You’re supposed to grab onto your opponent’s arm, bend your knees, sidestep and roll me off your back! Have you paid attention to anything I’ve told you?” He asks, leaning over you with a menacing glare. “You could’ve given yourself a goddamn concussion, you idiot!”

You scoff, stepping up on your tiptoes in an attempt to to make yourself appear taller, more confident but you nearly shrink right back down when the scent of his cologne mingled with the musk of his sweat hits your nostrils.

Goddamnit, he smells like cedarwood and sin.

“I was paying attention! Do you really expect me to be able to roll your big ass over my back? That’s impossible!” You argue.

“Bullshit. You’re distracted. You’ve been distracted this entire time.” He growls, prodding a finger into your chest.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You threaten, moving to swat his hand away but he’s quicker and snatches your wrist.

“Don’t touch you?”

Bucky leans down further and you stiffen at his sudden closeness.

“I think you like when I touch you.” He taunts, tightening his metal hand around your wrist and spinning you away from him to face the line of mirrors across the wall.

“Fuck you, Barnes.”

“You want to, don’t you?” He asks in a low voice as he leans in behind you, trailing his flesh hand up your abdomen and closing it around your throat. You don’t reply, unable to form a coherent thought when his body dwarfs yours, towering over you from behind. He closes in, pressing his bare, sweat slicked chest against your upper back, drawing a sharp breath from your lungs when the length of his hard cock in his gym shorts settles against the curve of your ass.

“I think you forget.” He whispers, the light stubble across his jaw brushing against the shell of your ear as he speaks.

“Super soldier. I’m enhanced. My senses are enhanced.”

His hand tightens around your throat, your pulse fluttering against his palm.

“I can hear your heartbeat, princess.” He taunts, his breathy chuckle fanning against your skin before he nips at your earlobe and goosebumps prickle across your skin.

“I can smell how badly your cunt is aching for me.”

Your eyes widen in response to his brazen statement and you make a move to step out of his hold but he splays his large hand across your stomach and tuts at you.

“Don’t try to deny it.” He whispers, his metal hand slowly working its way down your body. “You know, it’s funny. You say you hate me, but your body’s betraying you.” His cool fingers tease at the waistband of your leggings and your breath hitches, your eyes slipping shut.

“I bet if I were to just-“

Your hand catches his wrist before his fingers can trek any further and you shake your head. “No.” You mumble, opening your eyes and connecting your gaze with his in the mirror.

“Why?” He asks, brushing his lips against your neck. You tilt your chin up, granting him further access and he chuckles against your skin when you avoid answering his question.

“Because you don’t want to? Or because you hate me so much you don’t want me to be right?” He asks quietly.

You open your mouth to reply but the only sound that slips out is a moan when he proceeds to dip his fingers beneath your waist band, ghosting a finger across your slick folds.

“That’s what I thought.” He whispers, gathering your arousal on your fingers and tracing them along your clit in slow, deliberate circles.

“Jesus, Princess. You’re so fucking wet.”

You groan, trying desperately to remind yourself just how much you loathe this man but every brush of his fingers against your clit pulls you further and further away from logic.

Fuck it.

You arch your back against him and hook your thumbs in your waistband, tugging your leggings and panties down and kicking them aside in a hurry. Your eyes are completely fixed on the mirror, staring at his hand cupping your cunt and you place your hand atop his, guiding his metal fingers towards your entrance.

“Oh, is that right?” He teases, his finger poised at your weeping hole but denying you of what you so desperately want.

“I had a hunch when you couldn’t take your eyes off my reflection earlier but now I know for sure.”

You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You whisper harshly, grinding your backside against his erection.

“I know.”

He sinks a single metal finger into your wet heat and you gasp at the sensation, keeping your eyes locked on your reflection as he pumps into you, his breath growing heavy against your neck as he adds a second finger, letting out a low groan when he’s met with resistance.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He murmurs, grazing his teeth along the tender flesh of your neck.

“I'm gonna have to open you up, princess.”

You whimper, your head falling back to rest against his shoulder as he scissors his fingers inside your cunt, massaging your inner walls and working to add a third finger. A cry escapes your throat at the intrusion, your hand flying up and carding in his hair to steady yourself.

“I’m gonna bury my cock in this tight little cunt.” He purrs, rocking his fingers into you, his palm grinding against your clit and your impending orgasm causing your pussy to flutter around his fingers. He grips your jaw and roughly tilts your head back down to look in the mirror. “You're gonna watch me when I make you come.” He growls, fucking his fingers into you at a steady pace, your arousal creating an obscene squelch with every pump of his hand.

Your eyes trail up the reflection of your body as it writhes in pleasure under his touch and your eyes connect with his. Your mouth falls open, a broken cry falling from your lips as your walls clench around his fingers and you break under the gaze of his blue, lust-blown eyes. He hums, his grip on your jaw loosening and he turns your head, capturing your mouth in a deep and passionate kiss as he withdraws his fingers from inside you. “Take my cock out.” He murmurs against your lips, his low voice carrying demand while grasping your wrist and guiding your hand to palm the aching erection tented in his gym shorts.

You don’t hesitate to follow his instruction, reaching under his waistband and curling your hand around him, letting out whine when you realize you can’t close your hand completely around his girth.

“I told you.” He whispers, peppering kisses across your jaw. “I needed to open you up for me.”

You release a shuddered breath and he pushes down on the small of your back to urge you to lean forward, his metal fingers tracing along your shoulder and down your arm to settle atop your hand. He brings it to the mirror, interlocking your fingers with his and pressing it against the glass.

“I’m not gonna be gentle. You know that, right?” He asks in a low voice, dragging the head of his cock along your slick folds. You catch your bottom lip between your teeth and choke back a moan as he releases your hand and widens his stance.

You watch as his eyes drop to your ass, his large palm resting flat against it to hold you steady while he grasps the base of his cock and presses himself against your entrance. You raise your other hand to the mirror, leaning forward with a bowed head and brace yourself against it as the sweet sting of him stretching you steals the air from your lungs.

“I don’t want you to be.” You breathe out, lifting your head weakly and connecting your gaze with his as he settles his hands on your waist.

No sooner than the words leave your mouth, he’s drawing his hips back, withdrawing almost completely before he slams back into you with bruising force. You let out a strangled cry, your eyes rolling back as he thrusts into you at a merciless pace.

A harsh slap to your ass directs your attention back up to his reflection where his hungry eyes are still fixated on you.

“I thought I told you to watch me when I make you come.” He grunts, pulling a sharp breath from you as he snaps his hips forward and kisses your cervix with the tip of his weeping cock. He slides his hand down across your pubic bone and slips it down between your folds to tease your throbbing clit. His fingers work quick, tight circles across your sensitive bud, igniting a fire low in your belly and spreading heat under your skin.

“You like that, huh?” He taunts, his voice low and husky as he fucks into you with unrelenting tempo. “You like to watch yourself when you’re getting fucked, don’t you? Kinky little slut.”

“Bucky, I-”

You lose your words in a choked sob, arching your back as your cunt spasms and contracts around his cock, your knees threatening to buckle under the wave of euphoria crashing over your body.

“That’s right Princess, come all over my cock.” He moans, his hips stuttering as he trails his fingers away from your swollen clit.

He digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your waist, chasing his orgasm in deep, brutal thrusts, his heavy sack slick with your release, slapping against your skin with every jerk of his hips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come.” He grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense.

He pulls out abruptly and you lock eyes in the mirror one last time, his brows knitting and his lips parting as he curses your name, frantically fucking his fist and painting your ass with thick ropes of cum.

You press your forehead against the cool glass before you as you work to catch your breath and it’s silent for several long, uncomfortable minutes before you hear the faint rustle of him tugging up his shorts.

You straighten up and turn around to see him moving towards you with his gym bag slung over his shoulder and his t-shirt in his hand.

“Good session.” He says flatly, tossing his t-shirt at you and you catch it, your brows furrowing in confusion. The corners of his mouth twitch up into a smug smirk and he gestures towards your sticky ass.

“I hate you.” You mutter, shame rising up your cheeks in a deep blush as you wipe yourself angrily with his t-shirt.

“I know.” He replies, not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice while he turns to leave.

“Same time tomorrow!” He shouts over his shoulder, leaving you alone, ashamed and naked in the gym.

Goddamnit, you fucking hate him.

Taglist (Taglist is open):

@littleone2001 @suz7days @truthfulliarr @lilacka @writtingrose @samsgoddess @loveisallyouneed1125 @vicmc624 @millercontracting @wildernessflora @mydorkyboys @blackhawkfanatic @honestlywork @ladyvenera @cavity-exe @ihavetwoholesforareason @km-ffluv @22rhianna2006 @fanfictionreaderfan @misshale21 @wintrsoldrluvr

A/N: Thank you anon for this request, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

💋Sj

#bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes smut #avengers smut #marvel smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes request #bucky barnes reader insert #smut requests #bucky barnes x reader requests #marvel fanfiction #smutty one shot

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bartxnhood · 2 months ago

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god given solace | bucky barnes

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: in which bucky realizes just how in love he is with you.

w/c: 1k

a/n: hey guys!! i know you must get tired of me saying the same thing lol but i decided to write again. i have been sooo busy these past few months. trying to navigate adult life with graduation and my new job, plus i had a surgery that knocked me off my feet but i have been ITCHING to write. so, even though this is small, i hope you all enjoy!!!

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧

bucky never knew he could love until he met you. all of those sleepless nights, begging, praying to any gods out there just to make them stop. he just wanted peace, no more war, no hydra, no night terrors, and no more fighting.

he wasn’t aware that love is what he so desperately needed. someone to soothe those nightmares, to hold him close and hush him during the worst moments of his life.

but, bucky was convinced he was not capable of being loved. because, who in their right mind would love someone as tortured and damaged as him?

after all, that’s what he was. damaged goods.

but you? god, you were the purest things he had ever seen. you were like an angel that came before him, cascading in white light and warmth every time your gaze lingers on the super soldier.

even now, watching you from the doorway of your shared balcony, bucky finds himself unable to take his eyes off your frame. sometimes, he felt pathetic for the life he harbored for you. trapped in the memory of your first encounter.

relishing in the memories that he looked back on so fondly.

you, the angel, being the only person who could see through bucky. through the “i’m fine” and the “don’t worries” he’d spill, you never put up with his lies.

“you can’t fool me, barnes” you’d say while wrapping your arms around his midsection. bucky sighed as he rubbed his temples, “i know..” there was absolutely no fooling you.

“you can tell me anything, buck..” you pressed a kiss on his shoulder, just above where the metal began.

“does it hurt?”

bucky shakes his head, “no, not right now.”

he’d find himself leaning against the glass door, his eyes trained on your figure as you lean against the metal railing. the skyline of brooklyn in the distance, the moonlight shining on your skin, which only convinced him further into believing you were some sort of angel that was meant for him.

you could do no wrong in his eyes, you could commit a thousand crimes and bucky would still look at you like you hung the moon and stars for him. still, in the end, he felt satisfied knowing that you were his. his to shower with affection, to whisper sweet words in the middle of the night as your bodies lie tangled beneath the sheets of the dark bedroom. not even death could pry you from him.

in the beginning, he tried his hardest not to succumb to his feelings for you. he didn’t want to get attached because attachments always lead to heartbreak, and bucky didn’t know if he could handle another heartbreak.

but you were incredibly persistent, and ultimately it worked.

“i love you..” the words would spill from his lips like honey; the words came so naturally for him, easy as breathing.

the worst left a sweet taste in his mouth.

you turn on your heels just as those words left his lips.

“what?” you laugh, not at him though, but because it was random and very rarely did he. not that he doesn’t love you, but because he doesn’t want the words to lose their meaning.

“i love you,” he repeats as he walks towards you. his hand finds home on your lower back, his fingertips memorizing the texture of your skin that peeked from your sleep shirt.

you smile, hands coming to rest on both of his forearms, and for just a moment, bucky swore he could feel the warmth of your touch against his bionic arm. if he closed his eyes, he could picture it.

“i love you too, james.” you called him every nickname in the book, but sometimes it felt better calling him by his real name. especially in an intimate moment like this.

your brows furrow, his fingers digging into your skin like he’s afraid you’ll slip from his grip. like you’re a figment of his imagination. “what’s wrong..?” you inquire, hands moving from his arms to the base of his neck. fingers entangling with his hair.

bucky shakes his head, “nothing, i just..i just love you s’all”.

you smile, looking into his baby blues that held so much affection when looking at you. like you were the only thing in the universe.

he loved spending his time with you, being in your presence, wrapping his arms around you, and finding peace. no nightmares, no flashbacks, no regrets, just you. just your soothing voice, the stillness of your breathing as you lie next to him. he was so in love with you.

“you are so..beautiful..” bucky found it hard to find a word to describe you. you weren’t just beautiful, you were so much more. you carried this gentleness about you that made him feel at home. home. you were his home.

a smile spreads on your face, a quiet giggle stuck in your throat as you watch his eyes rake over your figure. “bucky..”

“m’serious,” he mumbles. he pulls you closer against his frame, his lips pressing fleeting kisses just below your earlobe.

“you sure you’re okay?” you ask again, your hands still resting at the base of his neck.

“mhm,” he’s still pressing kisses to your flesh, relishing in your signature scent. a gentle reminder that you’re real.

“buck,” your words cut him off, hands finding either side of his face. “cmon..what’s goin on?”

“i don’t say it enough.” he was reluctant to pull away, but he was looking in your eyes again. his hands moved from your lower back to your waist, now. thumbs massaging circles absentmindedly.

you press your lips into a thin smile, tilting your head to the side while your fingers push some hair from his eyes. “oh..bucky..”

“no,” he shakes his head.

“you are my god given solace, y/n. you know that?”

you’re a bit taken aback by his sudden words, your hands pausing their movements. “what?”

“i know it hasn’t been easy to love me, but you’ve been there for me” he’s rambling now, wanting to get his words out while he still has it on his mind. “you’ve shown me love, doll” he presses a kiss to the top of your head, letting it linger for a moment.

“you saved me.”

#bartxnhood writes #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes drabble #bucky imagine #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky fluff #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #marvel x gender neutral reader #marvel x female reader #marvel x reader #marvel fluff

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tuiccim · 4 months ago

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A Little Jelly(fish)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1768

Warnings: Fluff

Summary: Your hobby attracts the attention of a handsome super soldier.

A/N: Special thanks to my hype princess & beta reader @whisperlullaby.

Sitting in the common room, you were so close to finishing the crochet project you had undertaken. It would hopefully turn into a large, stuffed jellyfish for a friend's baby shower gift. The baby's bedroom was under the sea themed, and you hoped your homemade creation would be a fun addition. Now, you were working on crocheting the frilly tentacles and attaching them. It was a quiet day and you were enjoying a bit of calm with just some quiet piano music playing as you moved the hook.

"Whatcha got there?"

You jump at the sound and then turn with an embarrassed little laugh to face Bucky, "You startled me. I was in my own little world."

"Sorry, doll," he smiles with just a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"Mm-hm," you smirk. "It's a gift for a friend's baby shower. It'll hopefully turn into a jellyfish. Their room is ocean themed." You felt a little sheepish as you explained. You don't know Bucky well and try to hide your surprise when he sits next to you.

"That's really cool of you to make a gift. I'd be curious to see it when it's done," he says.

"Thanks for saying that. I was kinda wondering if it might seem cheap or stupid to make the gift. I'll make sure to show it to you before I wrap it up,"

"When's the party?" Bucky fiddles with the end of the tentacle you're working on.

"Two weeks," you answer before laughing, "I actually have this baby shower, another one a few weeks after, and two weddings in the next two months. I'm gonna go broke if I don't make at least one of the gifts."

"Are you going to make another one for the other baby shower?" Bucky asks as he watches your hands.

"No, it's more of a sprinkle than a shower. It's their third baby so we're just doing diapers and wipes for gifts," you explain.

"Wow, three," Bucky's eyebrows rise.

"Yeah, it's a lot but they're great parents. Do you have any hobbies?" You feel inexplicably self-conscious talking about babies and attempt to change the subject.

"Yeah. I like to read, work on my bike. I build models sometimes," he shrugs.

"What kind of models? Like cars or planes?" You ask.

"Uh, sometimes," he scratches his neck as if embarrassed, "Spaceships more often." His cheeks tint a little pink.

"That's cool. I love space. I'm always so interested when NASA releases new photos and information about the universe. I especially like the pictures of the nebulas. There's an abstract beauty to them," you smile at him.

"Exactly. I'm always interested when they find new planets or stars. Black holes," Bucky says excitedly.

"It's so vast. I wonder if one day we’ll see a planet with satellites and space debris. A world similar to ours. I mean, we know there’s life out there now but I’m still curious to see if we ever find one. I’m sorry. I sound crazy.”

“Not at all. I agree with you,” Bucky launches into some of the things he got to see in Wakanda that fascinated him and you ended up talking with him for over an hour before it was time for you to go. With another promise to show him the finished product, you head out to your meeting.

–

Several days later, you timidly knock on Bucky’s door. You had the crocheted jellyfish in hand to show him. You heard what sounded like a minor tussle behind the door and leaned closer to listen.

“Oh, no, you don’t! You can’t get away from me that easily,” Bucky’s voice can be heard before a sudden bump against the door had you jumping back. “Damn cat!” He growls aggravatedly before opening the door while rubbing his chest as if injured. When he looks up, surprise registers and he straightens quickly, “Oh, hi.”

“Uh, hey. Is- is this a bad time?” You ask with concern.

“Fine. Great. What, uh, brings you by?” He smiles nervously.

You hold up the jellyfish awkwardly, “I finished it. Um…”

“Oh my god, it’s so cute! Look at it,” Bucky smiles brightly as he holds his hands out. You readily hand over the stuffed animal, “I made it so it can be hung up until the baby is a little older.”

“That’s such a good idea. I’m so impressed,” he enthuses.

“Oh, thank you,” you smile pleased but slightly embarrassed. “It really wasn’t that difficult-Ow!” You look down to find a beautiful cat swatting at the jellyfish’s dangly legs. Unfortunately, her last swipe went right across your leg leaving three thin lines of blood.

“No! Alpine, no!” Bucky swoops down to pick up the cat but then ends up comically holding the jellyfish as far as possible from the flailing cat determined to capture the legs.

You bite your lip to keep from laughing as you retrieve the jellyfish and quickly stuff it into your bag. The cat, apparently named Alpine, calmed as it realized playtime was over. Though she did look aggrieved at losing the new toy. “Well, hello, I usually request that drawing blood waits until the second meeting but I guess you’re more of a draw blood first, ask questions later, cat, huh?”

“I’m so sorry! I was just trying to clip her nails before you knocked. Let me get you a bandage,” he turns away and you can hear him whisper to the cat, “You are in SO much trouble.”

You giggle to yourself at the adorable display and then straighten your face quickly as he makes his way back with a cloth and bandage in hand. You reach for them but he pulls back.

“Here, let me,” he reaches down.

“Really, it’s nothing. I can do it. Thank you,” you reassure him.

“I’m sorry. Do you want to come in?” Bucky gestures to the interior.

“No, thank you. I was just stopping by to show you now that I’m finished. I should be going,” you smile as you take the bandage from his hand. “See you later.”

“Thanks for showing me, doll. Bye,” Bucky watches as you leave but then shakes himself and closes the door quickly.

–

You berate yourself with each stitch you make of the silly project you had set for yourself. As the hook moves quickly in your hand, you tell yourself how pathetic this little crush on Bucky is and that making a stupid crocheted present for his cat is an act of desperation he would immediately see through. But your hands just kept making the necessary loops.

After your little encounter with Alpine you had decided that making her a catnip stuffed jellyfish would be a great way to use up some of your scrap yarn. It would be a smaller version of the one you had made and wonky looking from all the different yarns but you were sure it would make the cat happy. Even if it made you look like an idiot.

When it was finished, it sat on your desk and mocked you for not dropping it off. You were nervous and felt stupid for even making it. What if he hated it? Worse, what if Alpine hated it? What if he figured out your motive? Did he already know about your schoolgirl crush? He would probably see right through this gesture and you’d never be able to face him again.

You should just take it to him and say ‘Here is my desperate attempt to get you to talk to me because I think you’re amazing’ and then you could just die from the embarrassment and not have to worry about it anymore. You shake your head at the stupid thought. You considered finding a gift bag but felt that was too formal for the simple gift. Instead you grabbed it so it’s very presence would no longer send you into your own head. You doggedly march to Bucky’s door and then knock gently. As soon as the door opens, your mind goes completely blank and you just stare at him.

“Hi. What’s going on, doll?” Bucky’s brow furrows as he studies you.

“Uh, I, um, hi. I’m sorry. I, um, I,” clamping your mouth shut, you close your eyes, take a deep breath and start again, “I made this for Alpine.” You hold out the crocheted jellyfish with a smile pasted on. You felt like an idiot.

Bucky looks down at the colorful cat-sized toy and smiles broadly, “This is amazing, doll! Let’s find her.”

Before you realize what’s happening, Bucky grabs your hand and pulls you along behind him until he locates the cat. She was laid in a sliver of sunlight on the floor making her white fur look luminous. At his approach, Alpine lifts her head and within seconds of him jiggling the toy above her, is on her feet and batting at it. As soon as she catches it and manages to wrestle it away from Bucky, she takes a long sniff at the toy and then rolls her body over and around it.

“I think she likes it,” Bucky smiles at you.

“I’m so glad. I thought she might be a little jelly that the first one wasn’t for her, so I…” you shrug.

“Alpine, were you a little jelly you didn’t have a jelly?” He laughs. “That was really sweet of you to do that for her. Thanks,” he gives the hand he’s still holding a squeeze.

“Of course. I figured it would be a good way to use up some old yarn,” you nod and wonder if you should keep holding his hand or let go.

“Yeah. Sorry,” he says sheepishly as he lets go of your hand.

“Oh, I didn’t mind. Anyway, I just thought I’d bring it by,” you fidget with your hands and turn for the door, “So-”

“Would you like to go out to dinner?” Bucky interrupts.

“Wh-what?” You stammer.

“Like on a date? With me?” Bucky raises his brows hopefully.

“Um, yeah, I’d like that,” you smile, trying to hold in the surge of giddiness that washes over you.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you that for weeks,” he confesses with a sigh of relief.

“Really?” You ask.

“You didn’t know? I figured I’d made an idiot of myself trying to get opportunities to talk to you. I was worried you’d think I was a menace,” he blushes.

“I’d never think that of you.”

“Are you free tonight? I admit, I’ll be a little jelly if you’re not,” Bucky grins.

“No need to be jelly. I’m all yours,” you smile.

Updates and taglist: Due to the unreliable nature of tags, I no longer keep a taglist. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

Tags: @badassbaker @rebekahdawkins@learisa @liebs82 @blackkflamecandle @saiyanprincessswanie @thejemersoninfernoo @thehumanistsdiary @supraveng @chrisevansbaby @randomfandompenguin@hiddles-rose @jbbarnesgirl@late-to-the-party-81 @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky @ysmmsy @looking-for-another-world @colereads @happypopcornprincess@mrsbarnes107th @sebsgirl71479@palaiasaurus64@winterwitch-trash

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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 11 months ago

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Mercy Kill | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello! This was the fic that got the most votes in the poll I ran recently, so here it is. I'm glad yall picked this one, cause I was really excited to write it!

Also, there is something wrong and I cannot tag people properly right now for some reason. So, if you are on my tallest and happen upon this fic, I'm sorry! I don't know what the fuck is going on 😭

Word count: 10.6k

Warnings: PTSD, Hydra, blood, violence, minor reader injury, Bucky injury, angsty shit

“But if I could talk to him, if I could just see him-” you pled, “just for a minute! Please, he needs me and-”

But Bucky’s doctor remained steadfast. He crossed his arms over his chest and refused to move out of your way. Behind him sat the door to Bucky’s room, the door you hadn’t been allowed to enter for hours now. Bucky was only feet away, but you couldn’t get to him. Couldn’t check on him. Couldn’t hold his hand.

Anxiety rendered your hands completely numb. The urgent need to see him, to take care of him, to reassure him vibrated inside your chest. Every second that passed, every second that Bucky sat alone in his room in the medbay filled you with dread. Bucky needed you. You always swore you’d be there for him no matter what. But no amount of begging could get you through that door.

The mental image of him lying in his hospital bed all by himself threatened to make your throat close. Bucky didn’t like the medbay; his PTSD reared its ugly head each time he stepped foot in the white, sterile environment. He just couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom, of pain and suffering and agony. And he didn’t like doctors, didn’t trust them. Not after he suffered so severely at the hands of Hydra’s “medical” team.

Every time he required treatment after a mission, he refused. He fought and clawed against the gloved hands that tried to guide him onto a gurney. And only when you calmly and kindly begged him to allow the doctors to take a look at him did he relent. But he held you tight as a vice grip the entire time. The sensation of your hand in his was the only thing that kept him grounded, kept him from spiraling. With you there by his side, he found a sliver of safety amongst the white coats that poked and prodded him.

Today, however, was different.

Things didn’t go as smoothly as you or Bucky had hoped. And your many calls for backup went unanswered. It looked like this would be the last mission for you and Bucky. Like you’d return home in matching body bags.

But just as he was overwhelmed by Hydra operatives, completely swarmed and swallowed by their agents- the backup team arrived. Hope bloomed anew as you heard their leader’s voice in your comm, announcing that they’d breach the door in the next few seconds. And they did. They helped you take down every last Hydra agent, freeing Bucky from their clutches.

But before you could rush to his bloodied side, a few members of the backup team whisked him away. They loaded Bucky onto their jet and set off toward the compound, leaving you and the rest of their team behind. No one listened to your pleas, your desperate insistence. They assured you that Bucky would be fine, that they’d get him the medical care he needed. But he needed you, too. He needed you to sit with him, to hold his hand.

No such luck.

As you boarded the jet that brought you and Bucky to the mission site, you kicked yourself for not demanding that you accompany him. It felt like you failed him, like you couldn’t keep your word. He deserved better from you. He deserved to have his anchor there by his side when the flashbacks gripped him by the throat. But you swore to yourself that you’d visit him in the medbay as soon as you landed. That you’d sit by his bedside and hold his hand.

But you didn’t- you couldn’t.

“Our new policy says no visitors,” Bucky’s doctor said.

“I’ll do whatever I have to do,” you insisted. “I’ll sign forms, I’ll wear a visitor’s badge, I’ll-”

“No exceptions.”

Even if Bucky’s hearing hadn’t gotten a boost from the serum, you were certain he ‘d be able to hear you fighting with his doctor.

“This is ridiculous- since when?” Passersby gave you judgmental sideways looks, but you paid them no mind. “Every doctor and nurse here knows that he needs me. That he isn’t comfortable around doctors- he has PTSD. Please, I always sit with him-”

“Not anymore.” The doctor nodded at a security guard who took you gruffly by the arm and escorted you out.

It didn’t make any sense. Every hospital allowed visitors. And even though the medbay wasn’t exactly your standard general hospital, they operated by most of the same rules. The always allowed visitors- sometimes two at a time. Their patients needed to see family and friends- needed a support system. And you were Bucky’s. But they stole you from his side for something as insignificant as a policy change.

With your hopes of being there for Bucky dashed, you pulled out your phone; the screen blurred as tears welled in your eyes. Bucky’s number sat the very top of your ‘favorites’ list, just as it had since you became friends. With a shaking hand, you pressed ‘call’ and held the phone to your ear. It rang. And rang and rang and rang. Until finally, Bucky’s voicemail answered.

“You’ve reached James Barnes. Leave a message.”

“Hey, Buck,” you sniffled. “I guess you might be sleeping. Um, I had it out with your doctor in the hall, but he wouldn’t let me see you. Something about a-” you rolled your eyes, “a policy change or something. So, just… just let them take care of you, okay? I know how you feel about doctors, I know you’re probably scared- but you need to let them treat you. You’re safe. I promise you, you’re safe here. And you can call or text me any time- we can facetime. Whatever you need. I’ll see you when you get out, okay? Call me.”

But he didn’t.

Without Bucky around, your world didn’t fall into place the way it was supposed to. Everything around you felt off kilter. Disjointed. Like you’d been dropped into a universe in which you didn’t belong. Part of you was used to this feeling by now. Every time Bucky went off on a mission that didn’t include you, you found yourself in this same, fragmented reality.

But this version was far worse. Because Bucky wasn’t away, he was here; he was only a few floors away from you. But you couldn’t see him. And you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, just how uncomfortable he was. How scared and alone and miserable. He was hurt- he needed rest. But you were certain he wouldn’t get a wink of sleep in the medbay. Not with his near-pathological fear of medical treatment.

Two days passed without you taking notice. Meetings came and went without your attendance. You missed training sessions and team dinners. None of it mattered, not without Bucky. He was all you thought about. All you cared about. Every absent thought, every passing notion revolved around him. He was in good hands in the medbay, you knew he was. But you couldn’t stop yourself from worrying about him. From spiraling.

Was he getting enough sleep? Was he allowing the doctors and nurses to care for him? Was he eating? Was he having panic attacks? You found yourself afflicted by the not knowing. By the unanswered questions. On any normal day, you knew about everything going on in Bucky’s life, every thought populating his mind. But now, you were adrift in a dark see of uncertainty.

It didn’t help that your every attempt at contact with Bucky came up empty. Hundreds of texts went unanswered. A myriad of voicemails garnered no response. He was radio silent; it made you nauseous. He should’ve been able to text back, right? To, at the very least, give your messages a thumbs up or a heart? It was out of character- completelyunheard of- for him to not answer you.

What if he was worse off than you thought? Was he physically incapable of even using his phone? Was he comatose? Was he dying? The possibilities were endless. Nauseating. Horrifying. Each scenario you imagined was far worse than the last. Far scarier. Far deadlier. And calls to the medbay offered no insight. You urged them to give you an update on his condition, to provide you with proof of life. But they refused.

You supposed that went against their new policy, too.

The anxiety, the worry, kept you wide awake. But even if you could sleep, you wouldn’t dare. Closing your eyes brought with it the possibility that you could miss correspondence from Bucky. Or his doctor. And you weren’t going to risk it. Hell, you even brought your phone with you into the shower. Just in case. It had been two days since you last saw Bucky. Since you last heard his voice. You wouldn’t dream of missing a call from him.

Twice a day, you cleaned and redressed the stitches holding your side closed and appraised the butterfly stitches above your brow. Everything inside of you ached to trade places with Bucky. To swap your minor injuries for his.

He’d gotten the large brunt of the onslaught when the ambush descended on the two of you. He’d drowned in a sea of Hydra operatives as they stole his weapons and beat him within an inch of his life. He was strong, yes, but he was still only one man. And taking on throngs of Hydra’s mercenaries without a single weapon was difficult- even for him. You did your best to provide support from the sidelines, to take out as many of his attackers as you could. But it wasn’t enough. Not until the backup team arrived did the horde of Hydra agents fall.

And now, Bucky was lying in a hospital bed. Without you.

He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to hurt anymore. To bleed. He didn’t deserve to be in this line of work. Every other week, his assignments involved Hydra. And every other week, he was forced to retraumatize himself. Forced to see things he never wanted to see again. Forced to come face to face with people who hurt him, tortured him, treated him like an object.

For him, you wished nothing but ease. Warmth. A soft, slow life filled with love and gentle hands and safety. He never should’ve been forced to continue this kind of work. To put himself in harm’s way. To sacrifice his mental health over and over again. Hadn’t he given enough? Hadn’t he suffered enough? He did everything he could to build back his body and mind. To recover from the horrors he endured. And yet, here he was, being forced to risk his progress and peace of mind, all for a world that hated him.

On the third day of Bucky’s absence, your body begged for sleep. For a respite from the worry. For a meal that didn’t consist of Doritos and Gatorade. But you didn’t have the energy or the attention required to assemble a decent lunch. When Bucky got out of the medbay, you told yourself, the two of you would have a nice dinner together. You’d share his bed with him as you often did. And you’d both find solace in the arms of the other.

“I’m guessing we’re not going to spin class?”

Nat’s voice yanked you out of your spiral, scaring you half to death. She leaned against the wall nearest your bed, her arms crossed over her chest. How long had she been standing there?

Nat took in the scene before her. You laid sprawled out on your bed, resembling roadkill. Your head rested where your feet should’ve been, and your feet leaned against the headboard. Your arms were stretched wide against the bedspread like a dead starfish. And your gaze rested firmly on your phone, as though you were waiting for a call.

“What?” You eyed her for a moment before dropping your head back to your mattress. “I forgot about that. Sorry.”

“You need to get out of this room,” Nat gave your shoulder a gentle shake. “And you need to stop moping. Your life can’t come to a screeching halt because Bucky’s hurt.”

“I know…” But Bucky was your life- or at least, a very, very big part of it.

She was right, though. You knew she was right.

But it wasn’t just that he was hurt. It wasn’t just that he was alone. Of course, those were both massive, contributing factors. But it was the missing him. It was the not seeing him, the not talking to him. The not knowing if he was scared and panicked and lonely. The two of you were inseparable; being without him felt like losing a part of yourself. Like half of your heart was missing.

An unsettling cold seemed to worm its way under your skin without Bucky around. The world was a darker, utterly freezing place. No number of sweatshirts or blankets could keep the chill from biting at your skin. No heating pad could stop the frequent shivers. Somehow, your insides fell to subzero, Siberian temperatures. But after a while, you didn’t care anymore. You stopped trying to rid your body of the piercing, bitter cold. Only Bucky could do that. And he wasn’t coming back to you any time soon.

“It just sucks,” you groaned. A small shiver rocketed up your spine.

“I know. But it’s not like he’s dead.”

“I’m talking about the whole policy change thing in the medbay. It’s bullshit. Bucky needs me,” you let out a frustrated huff. “I mean, when did they put that in place? And why? It doesn’t even make sense.”

Nat furrowed her brow, “policy change?”

“Yeah, the new rule that doesn’t allow any visitors,”

“Oh. Right. That.” Nat threw her gaze to the window. Cleared her throat. “Well, I don’t know why they’d do that. But yeah, it sucks. Anyway,” she took a seat on your bed, “if you get changed, we can still make it to cycle. Maybe it’ll make you feel better?”

You shook your head against the mattress. “You should go without me. I haven’t slept at all the last few nights- I barely have the energy to breathe. I can’t even fathom taking a spin class right now.”

It was the truth. You didn’t have it in you to spend an hour burning calories you desperately needed. To waste your limited energy on something so trivial. But if you were completely honest with Nat, you’d tell her that the class would force you to focus on something other than your phone. And if you missed a call or text from Bucky because of something as stupid as a workout class, you’d lose your mind.

“Okay, that’s fine,” Nat sighed. “We can-”

“Hey!” Hill leaned against your doorframe, dressed in her workout clothes. “Are you guys ready for class?”

Nat stood and took a few steps in maria’s direction. “Well, I am. But she’s not coming with us.”

A frown pulled Maria’s features downward, “What? Why not?”

“She wants to stay here and wallow about Barnes,” Nat told her.

“They’re not letting me visit him in the medbay,” you groaned in Maria’s direction. “And I haven’t heard from him at all. So, I’m just-”

Confusion pulled Maria’s brows together. “But he got out of the medbay,” she said. “Yesterday.”

The energy you claimed not to have sprung forth all at once. In a matter of seconds, you were standing upright and crossing the room toward Maria; the quick nature of it all made you a little dizzy.

“What do you mean he got out?”

She was shocked by your intensity, “Um, I mean, he was released-”

“Released to where?” you demanded. “Like, they transferred him to another hospital? Or-”

“No, released as in discharged,” she said. “They let him leave around six-thirty last night.”

Last night? If Bucky was released last night, why hadn’t he called? Why hadn’t he sent you a text or dropped by your room? Was he that depleted? That worse for wear? The suffocating worry rushed back in full force. But you didn’t care about the crushing weight on your chest or the restriction of your windpipe. Bucky was back. He was healed enough to be released. And he was right down the hall.

Before Nat and Maria could stop you, you took off like a bat out of hell. Clumsy steps carried you down the hall and sent you careening into passersby every few feet. They mumbled curses under their breath and told you watch where you were going, but you didn’t have it in you to care. Stopping wasn’t an option, not when Bucky was finally within reach once again.

As you screeched to a halt outside his door, you raised your fist to knock frantically against the wood. But before your knuckles could strike the door’s surface, you recoiled. There was a very substantial possibility that he was sleeping. He was hurt, after all. And he needed his rest. Instead of a boisterous, borderline-obnoxious knock, you opted to lightly tap the wood with your knuckles. If Bucky was awake, he’d hear it.

But no answer came. After a few moments, you gave the door another gentle knock. Again, nothing. If he was asleep, there was no telling when you’d see him. He could be asleep for half the day, and you’d have to wait as long to reunite with him. Would it be too pushy to just let yourself in? Bucky was used to it by now- you both were. If one of you was already asleep, the other would often let themselves in and crawl into bed. It was just what you did; it was commonplace within your friendship.

And though you didn’t want to disturb him, your selfish side won out. Your hand found the doorknob and gave it a slow turn- but it didn’t fully give way. It stopped after twisting only a few millimeters. Locked.

“He needs to rest,” Nat called from down the hall. “I don’t think you should bother him- just let him sleep it off.”

Again, she was right.

And so, with slumped shoulders and shattered hopes, you dragged yourself back to your room. Once you’d collapsed onto your bed, you snagged your phone from its resting place and fired off a few quick messages to Bucky.

“Hey, Hill said they released you from the medbay!”

“I just dropped by your room but got no answer. Call me when you wake up :)”

“I don’t wanna disturb you or anything, but I miss you, Buck.”

The hours inched by with no response from Bucky. You did your best to avoid staring at your phone, reminding yourself that a watched pot never boils. But you couldn’t help yourself. Every few seconds, you had to sneak a peek at the screen in search of Bucky’s name. And every time, you found yourself disappointed. Broken-hearted, really.

Of course, this wasn’t the longest you’d ever gone without seeing Bucky. Many past missions stole him from your side for weeks at a time- sometimes even months. But the complete and utter lack of communication was new. No matter how dangerous a mission got, not matter how risky it was- you both still found a way to contact the other. Whether it was a short “I’m okay” text or a seconds-long phone call, a quick correspondence from the battlefield provided a reassurance that was desperately, desperately needed.

Sitting at home while your best friend faced life-threatening danger was never easy. When Bucky was away, you tore off every fingernail, biting them down until they bled. And anytime it was you on the frontlines while Bucky rode the bench, he started climbing the walls; he didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, until you got home.

The two of you simply weren’t meant to be apart.

Without those reassuring texts, you felt yourself losing your mind. You did your best to hook your nails in, to fight and claw to retain your grip on your sanity. But you didn’t have it in you. And so, your nails fell by the wayside. In only a matter of minutes, your fingers were reduced to a bloody horror scene. Every cuticle was in tatters, every quick exposed. Your hands throbbed and stung, but you didn’t care. It didn’t matter.

Four more days passed without word from Bucky. You texted. You knocked on his door. You called. You even slipped a note or two under his door. And still, nothing.

The worry slowly devoured you, one piece at a time. With your sanity long gone and your optimism dashed, nothing remained but pure, undiluted panic. And though you already decimated your nails, you gnawed at them anyway, digging your teeth into any free piece of flesh you could find. You wondered if this was how things were going to be forever. Would Bucky ever return to you? Or would you always feel this empty, aching void?

On the seventh night without Bucky, you didn’t have it in you to even lay on your bed. You knew it would take what little life you had left to heave yourself up onto the mattress. And the effort simply wasn’t worth it. Had there ever before been anyone this pathetic? This broken and utterly hopeless?

“What are you doing?” Nat loomed over you, taking in the scene. She found you lying face down on your bedroom floor, utterly despondent. “You didn’t want to lay in your bed? It’s almost midnight, you should-”

“I still haven’t heard from him,” you muttered into the carpet. “Why haven’t I heard from him?’

Nat knelt down next to you and gave your shoulder a tug, rolling you onto your back.

“Hi,” she gave you a wave.

“Hi.” You didn’t wave back- you didn’t have the energy.

Nat gave you a long look. She noted your messy hair, your limp body, the dark circles under your eyes. “I’m not trying to be a dick here, but you don’t look so good.”

“I don’t feel so good, either,” you shrugged. “I think I might be dying.”

Nat eyed you with pity. She knew how deeply you cared about Bucky. How much he meant to you. And she knew just how hard you were taking his injury and subsequent absence. For the past week, she hadn’t seen you eat anything other than a few chips here and there. She knew for certain you hadn’t gotten even a wink of sleep. And the bloody splotches where your nails used to be sent up a litany of red flags.

“I’m so… I’m so worried about him, Nat,” tears trailed down your face. “This is so unlike him- we never go this long without speaking.”

Nat stoked your arm a bit, “I know.”

“What if he’s not okay? He could be dying, and we wouldn’t have any idea.”

She gave your hand a squeeze, “Come on, don’t think like that. I’m sure he’s alright-”

You shook your head, “I keep calling down to the medbay. I keep telling them that there’s something wrong- that they need to check on Bucky. But his doctor is…” you gave a frustrated huff. “He’s being weird. It’s like he’s being evasive, or something. I don’t know why he isn’t more worried- I don’t have any idea what’s going on.”

Nat let out a long, heavy sigh. She squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose for a long moment. This was the moment she’d hoped to avoid, the moment she dreaded all week.

“Alright, um, I wasn’t supposed to say anything- I wasn’t supposed to tell you this. But…” She gave you another long, sympathetic look. “You’re very obviously not okay. And I think that, if I don’t tell you the truth, you might actually die-”

Suddenly, you bolted upright. “Tell me what?”

“Bucky’s fine.”

Your shoulder’s slumped forward and you ran a hand down your face. Nat had no proof to back up her claim. No evidence. “But how do you know-”

“Because I’ve gone to see him,” Nat said, just above a whisper. “Multiple times.”

The world came to a screeching halt. Nat was allowed to see him? But you weren’t? Of course, Nat and Bucky were friends. But they weren’t nearly as close and you and Bucky- hell, you didn’t think anyone had ever been as close as you and Bucky.

Nat continued. “He’s a little banged up, but he’s alright. He’s just been hanging out in his room. Reading. Watching tv. That kind of stuff.”

The confirmation that Bucky was, in fact, okay helped you breathe a little easier. The pounding headache pulsating behind your eyes relented a bit, the knots in your stomach loosened ever so slightly. But you didn’t find ease. Not yet.

“But why didn’t he-”

Nat didn’t want to say it. She didn’t wanna tear you apart and burn your world. She didn’t want to be your personal messenger of destruction. But one look at you and your pitiful, heartbroken form gave her the resolve to be honest. You deserved honesty.

“Because he’s mad at you.”

It was the most preposterous thing Nat could’ve said. Not once over the course of your entire friendship had Bucky ever been mad at you. Sure, he pretended to be mad when you snuck a bite of his dessert or beat him at cards. But he never got mad at you for real.

But, you told yourself, there’s a first time for everything.

You knew you were capable of fucking up. Of committing transgressions against others. But for the life of you, you couldn’t think of a single thing that would make Bucky angry enough to completely ignore you like this. You racked your brain, shaking loose its contents in search of anything that might warrant the coldest shoulder you’d ever experienced. But you found nothing.

It didn’t matter, though. If Bucky felt slighted, if he felt like you hurt him in some way- who were you to say that you hadn’t? Who were you to claim innocence?

“What? Why?” You looked to Nat for help. “What did I do?”

“Something about a broken promise,” Nat shrugged. “But that’s all I’ll say. This isn’t any of my business. And I-”

A long silence filled the room as you thought about this new revelation. Nat’s words allowed you to look back on the past week with a new perspective. You saw things in a new light, a new context.

“So, there wasn’t a policy change-”

Nat gave a somber shake of her head. “He just… he didn’t want to see you.”

And just like that, Nat gutted you. You could’ve sworn she ripped out your still-beating heart with her bare hands and splattered the carpet with your blood.

He didn’t want to see you.

The words reverberated inside your inside your skull. Their razor-sharp edges sliced into you time and time again, leaving you breathless and aching. Over the course of the last week, you thought you’d reached the deepest pit of despair, the darkest possible recesses of agony. But you were wrong. There were deeper and darker, more excruciating places- and you found yourself in the depths of the most miserable, agonizing one of all.

“I was able to visit him in the medbay. So was Sam,” she told you. “He wasn’t all alone like you thought. He had us there with him to make sure he was doing okay. I mean he still struggled- you’re definitely better at giving him peace of mind than I am- but…”

Nat gave a shake of her head, clearing from her mind the image of Bucky having a massive panic attack in the medbay. His raspy inhales, his shaking hands, his wide, vacant eyes. Flashbacks plagued him each and every day down in the medbay. Medication didn’t touch his violent, soul-crushing episodes of PTSD. And Sam and Nat found themselves at a loss.

They did their best to be there for him, to help him find ease and comfort. But there was something missing. And that something was you. Nat even suggested to Sam that they sneak you into Bucky’s room. She proposed that, just maybe, Bucky’s need for your reassurances would outweigh his anger. And maybe upon seeing you, he’d drop his grievances and allow you to help him wade through the dark, choppy waters.

But super soldier senses be damned, Bucky overheard her idea; he vetoed it immediately.

“And his doctor seemed so unconcerned on the phone because he knows that Bucky’s fine- he checks on Bucky every day.” Nat let out a sigh of relief, as though she’d been holding her breath for days. “So, at the very least, you know Bucky’s okay. And now, you kind of know what’s going on. Do you want me to-”

Nat didn’t get to finish her sentence. Or maybe she did. You weren’t sure. Because before she could get the rest of the words out, you were gone. The panic coursing through your veins reinvigorated your depleted body, carrying you frantically in the direction of Bucky’s room.

Your knuckles struck his door before your feet came to a stop.

“Buck. Buck, it’s me-” you pounded on his door. “Can we please talk? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Silence.

Your knuckles stung against the wood, but you paid them no mind. “Please! I just want to- please, let me apologize.”

No answer.

“Buck, I’m…” Tears flowed freely down your cheeks. Your lungs burned from lack of oxygen. A crushing ache settled into every fiber of your being. And your strong knocks deflated into weak, pitiful pats. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so…”

He wasn’t going to answer. You knew he wasn’t. But some part of you didn’t want to accept it. Didn’t want to acknowledge that you’d lost Bucky- possibly forever. A tidal wave of weakness launched itself at you, robbing your body of the faux strength granted by the adrenaline.

Your hands found purchase against the opposite wall and guided you clumsily to the floor. With your back propped against the wall and your knees tucked into your chest, you stared at Bucky’s door. Waiting. He couldn’t stay in his room forever. Eventually, he’d have to return to work or visit the kitchen. And when he did, you’d be ready.

Because no matter how grim it all seemed-no matter how soul-crushingly hopeless your situation- you had to try. Bucky was worth it. Your friendship was worth it. Of course, if he told you to fuck off and never speak to him again, it would hurt. It would destroy you. But at least you’d never have to wonder. If you didn’t try, the not-knowing, the what-ifs wouldn’t haunt you in the middle of the night.

You didn’t care if the odds were egregiously stacked against you. If there was any chance at reconciliation, you were going to do everything in your power to make it happen.

It didn’t matter if you had to wait hours, days, weeks- you’d be there. You’d sleep in the hall, eat in the hall. Whatever it took. You’d wait a lifetime.

Lucky for you, a lifetime wasn’t required. Because after only four and a half hours, Bucky’s door opened. And for the first time in a week, you caught a glimpse of your best friend.

He was unshaven, his facial hair a little longer than normal. The gash on his forehead was almost completely healed. And the bruises that used to stain his cheek and jaw were nowhere to be seen. The knuckles of his right hand, though, retained their dark purples and inky blues. And the skin under his eyes matched; you knew instantly he hadn’t been sleeping.

But he looked so good, so beautiful. They way his hair fell in his eyes. The worn sweatshirt- the sweatshirt you gave him. Had he always been this perfect? This breathtaking? Of course, he had. It was stupid of you to even ask.

Seeing him again was like being saved from drowning. Like the first gulp of air after being swept away by a rogue riptide. Your lungs filled to capacity for the first time in a week. Your muscles released their hardened knots. And the ever-encroaching sense of biting cold vanished. In its place grew the warmest, most comforting summer.

Somehow, he didn’t even notice you sitting across hall. You knew he must’ve thought he’d waited you out. That you were long gone by now. But he clearly underestimated your stubbornness. Your determination. Your love for him.

The door was only open wide enough to allow him to place a tray of used dishes on the floor. And in the few seconds it took for him to do so, you launched into action.

“Hey!”

Bucky’s head snapped up. He locked eyes with you for a moment. And in that moment, you could’ve sworn he looked happy to see you. Relieved to see you.

His momentary pause gave you just enough time to rush to his door. You placed your hand along the frame, curling your fingers inside the jamb. If Bucky wanted to slam the door and shut you out, he’d have to crush your hand in the process. And no matter how angry he was with you, he’d never hurt you.

He let out an exasperated huff at the site of your strategically place hand. This was exactly the kind of thing he used to applaud you for. The quick wit and sharp thinking that he so admired about you.

“Buck, can we please talk?” you pled. “Whatever I did, whatever promise I broke-”

A sigh deflated his chest, “You talked to Nat.”

“I’m sorry, Buck. I’m so sorry,” the words fell frantically, wildly out of your mouth. “I’ve never been sorrier in my life. I’d never, ever want to hurt you-”

“That’s the problem.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, as though it made perfect sense. As though it made any sense at all.

You wiped a few stray tears from your cheek, “What does that mean?”

With a huff, Bucky encircled your wrist with his fingers and pulled you inside. He didn’t like the looks the passersby shot your direction. The way they ogled and whispered as though witnessing a car wreck on the highway.

Finally, after the longest week of your life, Bucky granted you entry to your favorite place. He did so begrudgingly, but you didn’t care. This room felt more like home than anywhere else in the world. It wasn’t the furnishings or the design that you loved so much; both were rather sparse. It was the memories. The countless nights spent watching movies in Bucky’s bed. The laughter, the tears, the deep heart to heart talks.

When Bucky first moved in, he didn’t leave this room for quite some time- not even for meals. And that was how you first got him to trust you. Every day, you gently knocked on his door and delivered breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert, and snacks. It was your way of welcoming him to the building, of making him feel comfortable in a new place with new people. And of course, you couldn’t let the soft-spoken man with the kind blue eyes starve to death.

It took him weeks- maybe months- to finally invite you in. And once he finally did, all bets were off. The two of you became inseparable from that moment on, spending nearly every night in this room, seeking the comforts of one another.

But this moment was nothing like those of the past. This was awkward. Cold. Quiet. The tension hanging in the air grew so thick, so heavy that you wondered if your lungs might actually collapse. You waited for Bucky to speak first. And waited. And waited. And waited. But he didn’t say a word. He simply leaned against the wall, avoiding your eyeline.

Finally, the uncomfortable, permeating silence pushed you to speak.

“I’m- I don’t understand what’s going on. I just know that I fucked up somehow. And I know-” you rolled your eyes at yourself. “I know I said this a million times already, but I’m sorry. Whatever I can do to fix this and make it up to you, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”

Bucky considered your words for a while, letting the silence drag on as he mulled over your sentiment. He knew you were serious, knew you meant what you said. But it was too late.

“You made me a promise,” he said. “And you broke it.”

Truth be told, you’d made him a lot of promises over the course of your friendship. Promises to give him the pickle spear that came with your sandwich at the deli. To watch all of Game of Thrones with him without spoiling anything. To listen, to be open-minded, to never judge him for his past. You promised to always be there when the nightmares tore him to shreds and to be honest with him when he needed to hear the truth. You promised to be kind to him, to protect him. To remind him of his goodness when his demons called him a monster.

And above all else, you promised to never, ever hurt him. You took these promises upon yourself without Bucky even asking. And as far as you knew, you’d kept them all.

“Which promise? I don’t-”

“What’s my worst fear?” Bucky asked. His tone calm, like he was asking you trivia questions about himself. “The thing that scares me more than anything else? The thing that keeps me up at night and makes me sick to my stomach every time I think about it?”

And without skipping a beat, you answered, “Being taken by Hydra again.”

Your eyes opened wide. It was then that the puzzle pieces fell into place.

A guttural sound burst from your lips. It was haunted and broken, like a wounded animal’s final cry of pain before surrender. It ripped through the room and echoed off the walls; Bucky flinched as the sound barreled into him. Your nose burned, warning you of oncoming tears. Both of your hands clapped firmly over your mouth in an attempt to muffle the sounds of sorrow and shame. The attempt was unsuccessful.

And the deepest, darkest pit of guilt opened inside your stomach.

The promise. That promise.

“When I told you about that fear- my greatest fear,” Bucky continued. “I asked you to make me a promise. Do you-” his voice wavered ever so slightly. He did his damnedest to fight it, to build a blockade against the oncoming emotion. But his eyes grew glassy with tears, anyway. “Do you remember what that promise was?”

Even with his enhanced senses, Bucky struggled to hear your thin, hollow whisper.

“That I’d kill you…” you rasped. “If you were ever at risk of being taken by Hydra again, I’d kill you.”

The memory of your latest mission with Bucky barreled into you like a train.

He was overwhelmed- buried- by the deluge of Hydra operatives. They came at him from every possible angle, swarming him before he even had a chance to react. Even with his super-human strength, he was no match for the volume, the sheer barrage of assailants. Seconds after they descended upon him, his weapons were lost, ripped from his hands and thrown far out of reach. He didn’t have enough room to breathe, let alone fight. Knives plunged into his flesh, setting loose a river of crimson. And heavy batons pummeled his face and head, leaving him dizzy. No matter how hard he tried to resist, he felt them pulling him, dragging him toward a doorway. Toward an unknown, and certainly horrific, fate. But through it all, he managed to call to you- to scream to you- one phrase.

“Do it!” he begged. “Do it! DO IT!”

The pain, the sheer terror in his voice, sent a flurry of goosebumps rushing over your skin. The head trauma you received only moments before left you dazed, and the knife wound in your side made breathing almost impossible. Blood oozed down the side of your face and painted your vision red. But you found the wherewithal to aim and shoot- at everyone except Bucky.

“Oh, Buck, I’m…” you stumbled back a few paces, the sheer weight of your guilt knocking you off balance. Your back crashed against the nearest wall with a thud. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” Hot bile rose in the back of your throat, saliva coated the inside of your mouth. You forced greedy inhales through your nose, hoping to stave off the nausea. “I don’t know what to say…”

Bucky didn’t say a word. He didn’t move. You wondered if he was even breathing. He just stood there with a broken, tormented look on his face. He didn’t allow himself to blink, didn’t allow the tears gathering along his lash line to fall. He simply curled his metal fingers into a tight fist before spreading them wide again. Over and over and over again. It was a subconscious act, an anxious tendency he often displayed when his mind grew dark and uninhabitable. And, more often than not, it was your cue to step in. To rush to his side and save him from the torment.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You were the last person he wanted to see- he’d made that abundantly clear. And even if he wanted to you hold his hand as you always did, you couldn’t move. The guilt weighed you down, turning your feet into blocks of cement.

“I know- I know I said that I’d do it, but I…” A fresh wave of tears crested over your lash line and flooded your cheeks. “I couldn’t.”

“You promised,” Bucky’s voice was so anguished, so despondent. “You swore to me that you could- that you would.”

“The backup team was in my ear,” your words dripped with deperation. “I heard them in my comm- I knew they were there, I knew they were only a few feet away-”

“But I didn’t!” he erupted. “My comm fell out- I had no idea they were there! I thought-” His voice splintered; his rage shattered, setting free a tsunami of despair. “I thought I was going back!”

And finally, his tears broke through. They saturated his skin in seconds as they rolled down his cheeks and dripped into his beard. Shivers rippled up and down his body. Goosebumps covered his skin. The hair at the nape of his neck stood on end. Just the thought of being dragged back to Hydra doused him in a cold sweat.

His shaking hand swiped at the tear tracks dripping down his cheeks. He would’ve given anything for a hug from you. For your reassuring, comforting words. But he couldn’t find it in him to ask. Couldn’t find it in him to allow you so close. And so, he forced the tightness in his chest to relent, to accept the voracious inhales he pulled into his lungs. He couldn’t surrender to the panic attack looming on the horizon- not yet.

It was confusing, his need to touch you. His craving for your comforts. You’d betrayed him, hadn’t you? You’d broken your promise to him and almost fed him to Hydra’s meat grinder. But it wasn’t that black and white- he wasn’t sure it ever was. No, this situation lived deep in a gray area, never giving Bucky a cut and dry solution. And deep down, he knew it. He knew you never would have allowed him to be taken. He knew you had your reasons for leaving him alive. But anger was easier. Betrayal was easier.

“I’m sorry, Buck. I know- I know for sure it’s not enough”, the shame dragged your eyes down to the floor. “But I’m so sorry.”

What could you do, what could you possibly say to fix this? Nothing could ever make it okay. Nothing could ever heal what you did- or didn’t do.

“It was… it was selfish of me,” you admitted. “I just hoped you could hang on for a few more seconds until backup came in. Cause I- I wanted you to come home with me. That’s all I could think about. Just getting you home safe. I didn’t even consider k-” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the word. “Doing that to you. But it’s- I was wrong. I made you a promise. And I broke it. And if you ended up back at Hydra,” you took a deep breath. The truth was ugly, hard to swallow. It poked at your throat like a mouthful of push pins. “If you ended up back at Hydra, it would be my fault.”

Only silence followed.

Bucky hated the heartbreak in your voice, the tears streaming down your face. He hated seeing you in pain. The urge to wrap you in a bearhug yanked at his muscles, desperately trying to drag him in your direction. But he couldn’t, could he? He was mad at you- he was supposed to be mad at you. Once again, the strange, conflicting emotions needled at him. All week long, he forced the gray area behind a wall and chose, instead, to live in the black and white. To lean into anger. To side with the demons calling you a traitor and a liar.

But now that you were finally here, standing in front of him, the voices quieted. It was just the two of you, together. You weren’t the villain he’d painted you to be. You weren’t heartless. You weren’t evil. Hell, this whole thing would’ve been a lot easier if you were. And jus like that, Bucky found himself smack dab in the middle of the gray area he tried so desperately to fight.

“I understand why you’re mad, Buck. It’s-”

“I’m not. I- I was mad. Now, I’m just,,,” he gave a shake of his head. “I don’t know. There’s a lot going on inside my head.”

“I get it. And if you don’t,” you cleared your throat, fighting against the words that tasted so vile. “If you don’t want to be friends anymore, I get that, too. This was a- a really major breach of your trust. We always say that we have each other’s backs, but I didn’t…” You used the collar of your sweatshirt to wipe the tears running down your neck. “I didn’t have yours. So, if you want to be done with me after this, I-”

Bucky’s heart leapt into his throat. “No, that’s not what I want. I don’t want to cut you out of my life. I’m-” He gave a frustrated huff. “I’m just- I’m confused. Cause I genuinely wanted you to shoot me in the head back there. I wanted you to mercy kill me.”

The words tore through you.

“But now,” Bucky raked a hand through his hair, “I’m glad you didn’t. Because everything turned out okay. And I’m here. With you. But I…” He dragged a shaky breath into his lungs. “I almost wasn’t. I was almost there. With them. Again.”

All you could do was nod. What were you supposed to say to that? Nothing you had to offer could assuage his deep-seated, stomach-turning terror. You could never understand what he went through. Could never imagine the horrors. And it never even crossed your mind to put a contingency plan in place for yourself. To ask your closest friend to kill you in order to save you. You’d never understand that level of desperation.

“I don’t care about dying,” he shrugged. “I’m not scared of death anymore. I wished for- I prayed for death when I was-” he cleared his throat. “When I was there. I would’ve welcomed it.”

The mental image nearly brought you to your knees.

“I’m just scared of being their prisoner again. I’m scared of the torture, and the blood, and the-the…” His breathing grew shallow and erratic. His voice faltered. “The way they fucked with my mind.” Anxious tremors rendered his hands unsteady. And his attempts to wipe away the tears fell short. “And the killing, and the pain, and the-”

He was losing his battle against the fear. Against the spiral. It grabbed him by the ankles and yanked him downward, plunging him the darkest, most hopeless recesses of his mind. He found himself lost, adrift in the deepest, most sinister sea. The ice-cold waves crested over him endlessly, nearly drowning him with each thin breath he took.

But the sensation of your hand in his dragged him to shore. With the warmth of your touch, he found his way back. He returned to his body. He always knew you were his saving grace, his life preserver.

But holding Bucky’s hand didn’t feel quite right. Not after what you did. Especially because, deep down, you knew this was partly selfish. Knew that you enjoyed the feeling of his fingers braided with yours. But who were you to relish in it? Who were you to make this about you, and your needs?

And so, when he finally found his way back to the present, when he finally breathed evenly, you freed his hand from yours and gave him his space.

“Thanks for that…” he ran a hand down his face, still recovering from his trip to hell. Still needing you.

“Yeah. Of course- anytime.” You already missed his touch. But you refused to reach for him again- not unless he needed it. You pulled your sleeves over your hands and balled them into fists.

“I just- I’m never going back there. I can’t,” he said after a while. “And I get it- you didn’t want to kill me. I wouldn’t want to kill you, either. But I’d choose a bullet between the eyes over being their chew toy. Every single time. Cause it’s…” he absentmindedly let his hand drift to his face, to the scar the sat atop his cheek bone. The scar left behind by the device they used to wipe his mind over and over and over. “It’s worse than death.”

The vitriol burning in your chest smoldered and scalded your soul. You’d never hated anyone- never detested anyone- as much as you hated yourself. You were supposed to protect Bucky. You were supposed to be there for him. You were supposed to be the person he could trust no matter what. But you failed him. He was completely terrified. Retraumatized. All because of you.

Bucky rubbed at a hard, tense knot in his shoulder, “But you’re my best friend, and-”

“Exactly,” you scoffed. “You should be able to trust me. But you can’t. Cause I’m selfish.”

“I do trust you,” he said, almost immediately. There was something in his voice- offense, maybe? Like he took your self-flagellation personally. “You’re smart. You- you knew back up was down the hall. You knew I’d be okay. And now that I’m home, I know you made the right call. I was-” He pulled his vibranium hand into a right fist. “I was just really scared, you know?”

He flashed back to the moment the Hydra agents descended. To the moment the encapsulated him completely. He couldn’t fight, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Bodies swarmed his vision. Voices deafened him. And the coppery smell of blood- his blood- filled his nostrils. He felt his boots sliding across the concrete floor. And deep down, he knew they planned to drag him out. To make him theirs once again.

He shook his head, clearing the image from his mind.

“Um, what I was going to say,” he continued, “is that you’re my best friend, and I shouldn’t have iced you out. I shouldn’t have lied to you- I shouldn’t have made Nat lie to you.” He gave a heavy, remorseful sigh, “I should’ve talked to you. You deserved better from me.”

“No- no, you deserved better from me.” You couldn’t believe his ridiculous sentiment. “You shouldn’t be apologizing- you honestly should’ve kicked my ass for this.”

If he’d wanted to hurt you, to make you bleed, to show you even a fraction of the pain Hydra put him through, you’d let him. He deserved some revenge, some retribution, against you. And if he wanted to act on it, you wouldn’t fight back. You’d sit perfectly still and quiet, allowing him to beat you black and blue. To drag a knife through your flesh. To break your bones and steal your will to live.

But you knew he’d never do anything like that- and he’d never want to. He wouldn’t even slam your fingers in the door.

“I never want you to be scared like that ever again, Buck. I never want you to go through something like that- I should’ve…” Saying it didn’t seem right. The words had razor sharp edges that carved into your throat as you spoke. “I should’ve done what you asked. And if this ever happens again,” You paused, banishing the oncoming flood of emotion. “I’ll do- I’ll do what you asked me to do. What I promised you I’d do.”

The words kicked the floodgates wide open. Another wounded, rasping sound escaped from your throat. And the sheer volume of tears threatened to drown you. Promising to end Bucky’s life was hard, but something about this second round was worse. More painful, somehow. A weak, wobbling sensation made your knees unsteady. And your face fell into your hands.

But Bucky was at your side in the blink of an eye. He rested his hands on your shoulder, unsure of how much physical contact to make after a week of silence and hurt. He let his thumbs sweep over your clavicles every few seconds, waiting for the storm to pass. And when the clouds finally parted, he gently pulled your palms from your face.

He cradled one of your hands in both of his, ensuring that you couldn’t slip away this time. “I’m not asking that of you anymore- I can’t ask that of you.” He freed one of his hands for only a moment, and only to angle your chin upward. He needed your eyes to meet his, needed you to know that he was serious. “It’s not fair for me to put you in that position.”

“No, Buck, it’s- it’s fine,” your voice wavered. “I can-”

“I’ve been thinking a lot over the last week,” he shrugged, “cause I- I haven’t been sleeping…”

Of course, he hadn’t been sleeping. Of course, the nightmares returned in full force. He’d worked so hard to correct his sleep schedule, to find a way to get the rest he needed. It just so happened that the cure-all to his sleep-related woes was you. He trusted you. Knew he was safe with you. He felt at home with you. Sleep came easy with you by his side.

But his recent assault by Hydra’s forces left him almost irreparably shaken. And his misguided anger pushed you from his side. Together, it was a recipe for sleepless, tormented nights full of flashbacks and panic attacks.

“I realized that I never should’ve put that on you- I never should’ve asked you to make me that stupid promise.” Bucky wanted to go back in time and throttle his past self. “And I shouldn’t have been mad at you. But I- I had a lot going on, you know?” He squeezed your hand tighter, as though searching for an anchor. “All of my old wounds were ripped open again and I was so fucking miserable and scared and…” He wasn’t proud of how he’d treated you. Wasn’t proud of the way he handled things. And though he was working hard in his therapy sessions, his coping mechanisms were still scant. “I needed to feel something other than fear. So, I chose anger. And I directed it at you.”

“And that’s perfectly fine.” You tried to take a step in the opposite direction, to put some space between the two of you. You didn’t deserve to have him so close, to hold his hand. But he held firm. He wasn’t going to release your hand- not now, maybe not ever. “You asked me to make a promise- a big, important promise- and I broke it. You’re allowed to be upset with me-”

“But it wasn’t fair to you- none of this was fair to you.” He kicked himself for ever asking you for something so heavy. So burdensome. “I can’t imagine what it was like for you to make that promise. The way it must’ve hung over your head. If you asked that of me, I’d…” He squeezed your hand a little tighter, “It would eat me alive.”

And he was right- it had.

Promising to kill him, in turn, killed you. It devoured you from the inside out, feasting on every moment of joy, every restful Sunday, every waking moment. Your promise to him came with sharp, jagged teeth that dug into your soul day in and day out. And while Bucky found peace in knowing that you may end his life one day, it brought you nothing but pain. Torture. Endless heartache. The darkest, heaviest storm clouds sat just above your head, shielding you from all sunlight, all warmth.

While Bucky slept soundly next to you each night, you laid awake, wondering when it would happen. If it would happen. How it would happen. Your appetite vanished. Your stomach tied itself into knots. And on more than one occasion, your doctor had to increase the dosage of your anxiety medication. Because no matter how many pills you popped, the weight of your promise sat on your chest like lead.

Each time you and Bucky boarded the jet for a mission, you wondered if it would be the last time you ever saw him alive. If you’d be forced to kill him in only a few hours.

And you knew, deep down, that if it was your bullet that sent Bucky to his grave, you’d never be able to live with yourself. That your very next bullet would find a home in your chest.

This dark, heartbreaking promise directly contradicted the first- and most important promise- you’d ever made him. Late one night, back when the two of you first started spending time together, Bucky found himself at the bottom of a pit. His PTSD snatched the reigns and nearly drove him off a cliff.

Flashback after violent flashback rocked his mind and stripped his body of all strength. He was weak, hollow, completely spent. And just as you tried to smooth the hair out of his red-rimmed eyes, he flinched. He yanked himself backward, hoping to avoid whatever blow he thought you might strike against him. He forced his shoulders into a corner and tucked his face to the side, hiding from the pain he so often anticipated. And it broke you. It was then that you promised- that you swore to him- you’d never hurt him under any circumstance.

And killing him seemed to you like a violation of that promise.

“It makes sense, though,” you said, pushing back against his all too generous rationalizations. “It makes sense that you’d ask me to- to do that. And I don’t want you going back there, either. So, I guess if I…” A sharp pain twisted through your stomach. “If I knew that we were alone. And there was no back up. And you only had two options: Hydra’s prisoner or death- I guess I’d…” Hot tears streaked down your cheeks, “If it meant saving you from them, I’d choose death for you.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that, okay?” He wiped a stray tear from your chin. “I’m not holding you to that anymore. And I’m talking to Rhodes tomorrow. I’m gonna see if we can do away doing these two-person missions,” he said. “Cause they’re pretty impractical and risky, if you ask me. It’s safer when there’s a group of us, you know?”

You gave him a small nod, still too overcome by the anguish coursing through your veins.

Finally- mercifully- Bucky wrapped his arms around you and pulled you tight against his body. In an instant, your arms snaked their way around his back and pulled him ever closer. You’d missed him so intensely- so severely- it was like experiencing withdrawal. You could practically feel your body breaking down without him by your side. And he felt that same emptiness, that same aching void. He was convinced that he was never supposed to exist without you next to him. That he didn’t really live until he met you. The two of you were a package deal, two halves of a whole.

After witnessing Bucky’s attempted abduction by Hydra, spending a week without him was a living hell. You needed to see him, speak to him, touch him. You needed to know that he was there. That he was okay. That he was home. You needed the confirmation that he made it out alive. But he’d disappeared from your life. And part of you wondered if he really was safe and sound in his room down the hall. Or if your mind made it all up just to save you the pain of losing him.

Time seemed to stand still as the two of you held each other. This was what Bucky needed all week. You were what he needed. The residual fear and torment brought on by his latest Hydra encounter seemed to fizzle out as you buried your face in his chest. It didn’t vanish completely- he feared it never would- but you put it on mute. You helped him breathe easy again.

After was felt like half an hour, you unwillingly unwound yourself from Bucky’s battered body.

“It’s late. I should get out of your hair,” you couldn’t mask your disappointment. “I know you said you haven’t been sleeping. But you’re still healing. So, you should probably try and get some rest-”

He nodded, but didn’t even attempt to hide just how much he hated the idea of your absence.

And though you knew you should leave, you couldn’t find the will to move toward the door. Nor did Bucky try to show you out. The two of you just stood there, staring at each other. Leaving soft touches against the other’s skin. Relishing in the reunion.

“Um, you could stay,” Bucky finally said. “If you want.”

You hadn’t even considered it. He was going to need time to deal with everything. To sit with what happened to him. And you felt that your presence would only make it more difficult. Sure, he wasn’t mad at you. But did he really want you sleeping in his bed like you used to?

“Oh, okay. Yeah. Would it-” you pulled at the hem of your sweatshirt as uncertainty got the better of you. “Would that be okay?”

Bucky gave a fervent nod. “I want you to. So, if it’s okay with you, it’s okay with me.” He cupped your cheek in his massive hand, examining the dark circles under your tired eyes. “Plus, Nat said you haven’t slept all week. So, I thought we could both get some rest. Together.”

He took your hand and led you to his bed, the bed you’d shared with him so many times before. The bed you’d curled up in almost every night. The bed in which you’d watched countless black and white movies. The bed you’d tossed and turned in every night after promising to end Bucky’s life. But with the offending promise lifted from your tired shoulders, you crawled under the familiar covers and breathed a sigh of relief. Bucky took you in his arms, molding his body around yours as he so often did. And with him lying safely next to you, you thanked your lucky stars that you didn’t keep your promise.

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bucky-fricking-barnes · 2 months ago

Text

Several Hundred Lives

Title: Several Hundred Lives

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 10.86k

Warnings: Kissing, canonical violence, mentions of depression

Prompt: “How about a kiss before I go?” from this list

Summary: Almost 70 years after her husband’s disappearance, Y/N runs into an old friend at work, and her carefully constructed life starts to unravel.

A/N: This fic is almost entirely unedited, but it has been a labor of love since the beginning. If you notice any glaring mistakes, please send me a message. As always, thank you for reading and supporting me in all the ways you do. I hope you enjoy!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

You swallow back the lump in your throat and force a watery smile, looking up at him. Bucky has an eagle eye for when you’re even the slightest bit upset. He probably already knows that you’re upset, but you don’t want him to be able to see it on your face. Not now.

“You’ve got everything?” you ask, your voice breaking. You try to disguise it by clearing your throat and reaching out, patting down the flat collar of his uniform.

Bucky reaches up and takes your hand, then lifts it to his lips. The kiss he presses against your knuckles makes you inhale sharply. Tears flood your eyes.

“How about a kiss before I go?”

Holding in a sob, you close the distance and slot your lips against his. Your arms find your way around his neck and you cling to him, standing on your tiptoes in the cold Brooklyn street. Somewhere down the way, a shout comes from a window and a door slams. The city is waking up.

“Don’t go,” you whisper, your lips just a whisper away from his. Your breaths come out in white puffs, mingling and clouding the space between you. You duck your head, tucking it into the crook of his neck and clinging to him even tighter when his arms wind around your waist and pull you close. Heat radiates from the bare skin beneath his collar and it immediately warms your nose where it had begun to turn pink from the frigid December temperatures. If it were any other day, you and Bucky would be cozied up under the covers, but it’s not any other day. Today is the worst day.

“I have to, sweetheart,” he murmurs in your ear. “Someone’s got to.”

Sniffling, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to memorize the feel of him. The nightmare you’d had last night, sometime after he’d crawled into bed beside you, still lingers in your mind. Since the day you first set eyes on James Buchanan Barnes, you didn’t think you’d ever be able to imagine your life without him ever again. Apparently, you can, at least in your dreams.

Bucky gives you a squeeze and gently pries you off of him. He straightens his uniform and fixes his eyes on you. They’re just as teary as yours.

“It’s time. Promise me you’ll stay out of trouble while I’m gone? And that you’ll keep an eye on Steve for me?”

“He’ll hate that you’re asking,” you croak. You aim for a smile, but it’s more of a grimace than anything. “He’ll tell me he doesn’t need a babysitter.”

“Then don’t tell him.” You get a lopsided grin out of your husband, and then he’s backing away. He takes a few steps toward the bus stop down the road. You watch him in silence as he holds your gaze, then finally turns and stuffs one hand in his pocket, the other clinging to the strap of his canvas duffel.

You stand on the sidewalk in silence, arms dangling at your sides and coat wide open, staring at the back of his head and his broad shoulders. His figure had become blurry as he walked further away, and then he’d become a black smudge in the distance. Then, Bucky had turned the corner and disappeared completely.

Numb from both the cold and the sharp knife of loss that’s been plunged into your heart, you head back inside. You climb the three flights of stairs to Bucky’s apartment. It’s technically your apartment now as well—the courthouse wedding the afternoon of his enlistment made it so—but it’s still hard to think of it that way. The neighbors are starting to wake up now. You can hear them as you trudge down the fourth door on the left. Mrs. O’Reily will be by to check up on you soon, no doubt. Bucky had asked her and Mr. O’Reily to look out for you, just as he had you looking out for Steve.

You close yourself into the chilly apartment and try not to think about how empty it feels. He’d tried to convince you to get a pet before he left, hoping that it would make you feel less alone in his absence, but you’d brushed him off. A goldfish couldn’t fill the absence Bucky’s left in the bed at night, and not even the cutest of kittens would be able to bring him home safely. That’s all you wanted. You’re certain it will be all you want until he finally returns.

The job in historical records wasn’t one that you’d expected to find so enjoyable, but Tony Stark pays generously, and the benefits are great, too. It’s enough for you to move into a comfortable apartment in Manhattan, only a short subway ride away from Avengers Tower.

Your office is tucked away on the fourteen floor. It’s generally a quiet place, so when you hear Stark’s voice in the hallway, along with one that’s vaguely familiar, you’re a little surprised. Your supervisor had told you that Mr. Stark doesn’t visit the records department very much at all. It’s usually Pepper.

Grabbing the file you need to have signed by your supervisor, you stand up from your desk and head out into the hallway. If he’s passing by, you can get the signature and move onto the next task on your list. If you miss him, however, you’ll have to wait until he’s finished with whatever wild goose chase Tony is sending your department on. That could take hours, depending on how mundane the search topic is. It’s honestly surprising how many times he has you search the records, especially considering the Tower’s central intelligence system.

“Sir, if you have a second—” The words die on your lips and your mouth runs dry as soon as you look up. You’ve stepped out into the hallway, directly in front of Mr. Stark, but the man beside him isn’t your supervisor.

It’s Steve.

“Careful,” Steve warns as he’s pulling Tony out of your path to avoid a collision. You step backwards, into the closing door of your office, and the soft-shut door bumps you a half-step forward again.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark,” you blurt. “I didn’t think you’d be right outside, and I thought for sure I heard Mr. Conner’s voice. I just have some papers for him to sign, or I wouldn’t be out here.”

He gives you a tight smile. You force your eyes to remain on him and not drift to Steve. Does your old friend recognize you? It would be ridiculous if he didn’t—your cosmetic changes can only hide your true identity so much, and Steve’s always had a good eye.

You haven’t searched him out, even after all these years. You’ve been too afraid of what might happen if he blew your cover. Ever since you heard the news of his return, you’ve wondered what he would say if he saw you again. If he found out what you did, and how you’re still here. Of course, this was a scenario you never could have dreamed of. Never in a million years could you have predicted that Steve Rogers survived the crash into the Arctic. Never in a million years could you have predicted that you survived everything you’d been through.

“Y/N, is it?” Mr. Stark asks, and you blink, nodding after a second.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll be sure to send Mr. Conner your way.” He pauses, then gestures to Steve, glancing up at him and then back at you. “Steve, this is Y/N. She’s a whiz with historical records, so if you ever need help finding something about an old flame of yours, she’ll help you out.”

There’s a note of teasing in his voice, but Steve doesn’t respond to it. His eyes are fixed hard on your face. When you meet his gaze, you can’t look away. You feel trapped, like a bug pinned under a microscope.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Steve replies. His voice is polite as he holds out his hand for you to shake. When you do, you inhale sharply. It’s as if you were dreaming until you felt his skin against yours. Some small part of you had been convinced that this wasn’t real, but it very much is. Steve is alive.

“You too.”

With a polite, somewhat shaky smile, you turn and push your door open, then hurry back into the safety of the 10-foot by 10-foot office where you spend most of your days. You stand just inside the door and listen for them to continue moving. Your heart is pounding against the inside of your ribcage.

Finally, after what feels like a suspiciously long amount of time, Mr. Stark and Steve move on. You heave a sigh and close your eyes once you feel they’re far enough away to not hear you. For several long moments, you stand in place by the door, trying to catch your breath, but your laptop chimes with a message notification and you’re pulled back into the reality of your day-to-day life. Someone probably needs a record pulled from the physical archives, so you cross the room and sit back down at your desk to see what they need.

It isn’t until four hours later, close to the end of your workday, that you make it back to your office. Your pants have dust marks from where you’d wiped your hands on them after an unfortunate incident in the lesser-used portion of the physical archives, and your stomach is audibly growling after having missed your normal lunchtime.

A knock at your door as you’re pulling your lunch from your work bag makes you sigh.

“Come in,” you call. The door opens, but your spoon slips out of your hand before you can look up. You set the container of leftovers on your desk and reach down to dig out the spoon before it can make its way all the way to the bottom of your bag, grumbling to yourself. It’s been months since you’ve cleaned it, and the thought of what you might have to clean off before eating makes you cringe a little inside.

“You’re here.”

You freeze, bent over in your chair with one hand in your bag. You hold your breath, waiting for Steve to say something more.

“Y/N.”

Your fingers wrap around your prey and you slowly sit back up, but you don’t lift your head to look at him. There’s no dirt or lint on the spoon but you carefully clean it with the front of your shirt anyway. Steve is staring at you in silence and the feeling of his eyes focused solely on you makes you want to hide. Why does it feel like you’ve done something wrong?

“How?” he asks. There’s an edge to his voice—something you can’t decipher is worming its way into his tone, but you’re too busy scrambling to figure out what to say to decide if he’s more angry or upset with you.

You swallow the lump in your throat and stare down at your lunch. With just your fingertips, you inch the container sideways until it’s perfectly centered in front of you, with its square edge lined up with the edge of the desk. The spoon goes next to it.

“Y/N, please,” Steve pleads, and you realize then that the edge isn’t anger.

Looking up, you see the tears in his eyes. It makes your heart ache and you immediately look away again, your own eyes stinging. You stare blurry-eyed at the framed diplomas on your wall, right next to the mandatory emergency exit map.

“After…” Though it can’t change the past, you still refuse to speak of Bucky’s death. The day you found out about his death was one of the worst days of your life.

You swallow again and take a shaky breath. Your hands tremble as you open up your cold lunch and set aside the lid. Steve steps closer and you duck your head, shielding your face from his ever-prying eyes.

“Y/N.”

“I couldn’t do it,” you admit. It feels like you’re choking. “I couldn’t live without him.”

It was true. After you’d found out about Bucky’s death, you’d isolated yourself in the apartment. When you did open the front door, you never spoke to the people that came to check on you. Some of them would bring you food, but you never ate it. You’d put their dishes in the fridge until they went bad, and then you’d scrape the containers and return them after they’d been cleaned. Eventually, people stopped bringing you sympathy food, and then you didn’t even have to worry about cleaning the dishes. When you did eat, it was very little, and only out of necessity. You slept most of the day. You lost your job. You waited for yourself to waste away into nothingness.

A few months after the war ended, a woman appeared on your doorstep. She convinced you to invite her in for coffee, and you’d begrudgingly forced yourself to make two cups. It was the last of the coffee—Bucky’s favorite kind—and you’d silently loathed her for it. While she sipped hers in the armchair that hadn’t seen guests in over a year, you sat across from her on the couch, holding the cup between your hands. All you could do was try to absorb its warmth. The thought of drinking it made your stomach turn, though you hated the thought of wasting Bucky’s coffee even more.

“There was a woman that said she could help me feel better. She said she was a doctor, but that she had worked with Dr. Erskine. She said that she had known you and Bucky, and that she wanted to get to know me, too. To honor his memory.”

“Dr. Erskine didn’t have any partners,” Steve says, and you shake your head.

“She wasn’t his partner, not really. I found out later that she was one of his assistants. After he died and the war ended, she secretly wrote down all she could remember about his work. She was even able to find some of his research that he’d managed to keep hidden. She started reworking his formulas.”

You look up and Steve is staring at you in shock. The tears are gone now, and you can see him starting to connect the dots.

“They gave you a serum,” he concludes, and you nod, taking a deep breath and sighing heavily.

“Yes. I didn’t know it at the time, but they gave me a serum to help boost my… well, everything. It’s not the same as yours. It doesn’t make me faster or stronger or smarter, but it’s allowed me to age much, much slower than any person should. I heal quicker when I’m sick or injured, too.”

He nods and puts his hands on his hips, turning slightly to inspect the books on your floor-to-ceiling bookshelves as he processes the information. You wait in silence, watching him. It feels so strange to see him standing in your office in modern-day clothing. It’s like a fever dream.

“Does Stark know? Or Fury?” he finally asks.

“Nobody knows. Or at least, I haven’t told anybody. I move pretty frequently. I’ve been here about a year now, but I started drafting my resignation this morning. The past decade or so I’ve had to start moving more often than in the past. It’s getting harder to hide.”

A small smile makes the corner of Steve’s lips turn up, and he turns to face you again. “You won’t have to move this time.”

Frowning, you ask, “Why not?”

“Because I’m here. You won’t need to hide what happened.”

Steve’s a smart guy, but you stare at him for a moment, wondering if he’s actually serious. When he doesn’t continue, you sigh and sit back in your seat.

“Steve… Don’t you think they’ll notice when I’m not aging like the rest of the normal people around here? Don’t you think there’ll come a time when some sort of facial recognition software outs me? I mean, I work in the historical records department! Someone’s bound to find a photo or a record of me, especially now that you’re around. Imagine how many photos there are of you and Bucky. You don’t think I’m in some of them, too?”

He goes silent for a second, before his smile is gone and he fixes you with a serious expression. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, Y/N. I promised Buck that I’d keep an eye on his girl. I intend to keep my promise.”

A wave of fresh tears come back at the mention of Bucky and you look upward, blinking a few times before you have to wipe them away.

“You what?”

“Before the train,” clarifies Steve, “He and I promised each other to take care of the other’s family if one of us didn’t make it back. You were his family. He loved you more than anything, Y/N.”

“I loved him too,” you reply, your voice breaking, and you start to cry. Steve steps forward, but then stops himself, hesitating until you look at him. It’s only then that he comes around the side of your desk. Once he’s within reach you find yourself standing and throwing your arms around him, hugging him tightly as you cry. The reality of his presence has truly hit you.

Once your tears have dried, Steve takes your leftovers from your desk and puts them in the microwave you keep on the small table to the left of your desk. He presses one of the buttons with his thumb and the turntable inside starts rotating. Satisfied, he turns back to you with a box of tissues in hand.

“I still can’t stay,” you tell him, taking one and dabbing at your eyes. “If anyone finds out how old I am, they’ll do all kinds of experiments on me. They’ll expect me to do what you do, and I’m not a soldier. I don’t have the same abilities that you do.”

“No one will expect that from you, and I wouldn’t let anyone experiment on you. I’ll keep you safe.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“If they tried anything, you and I would leave,” Steve argues. “I won’t let them do anything to you, Y/N. I promise.”

The microwave beeps and he opens the door, then takes your food and sets it in front of you. You stare at it for a second before he says,

“Think about it, but don’t stay away. If you need someone to talk to, I’m here. I don’t sleep much.”

“I don’t either,” you quietly admit. “You’d think that I would have adjusted to all the noise and lights after all these years.”

“Come find me next time.”

You nod. “I will.” Looking back up at him, you smile and let out a quiet laugh. “It’s good to see you.”

He smiles back. “You too, Y/N.”

Later that night, you lay in bed awake, staring at the ceiling. Steve had texted you shortly after he left your office—you don't want to know how he got your cell phone number, considering you purposefully had a landline number for your job at the Tower—and you couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d sent.

I meant what I said, he’d texted. I made a promise.

You roll over in bed and grab your phone from the nightstand. It lights up obediently and you squint at it as you jab your thumb against the screen until the call connects.

“You called.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He hums and you hear rustling on the other end. As quietly as possible, you reach over and turn on the lamp beside your bed, then sit up against the headboard. You pull the blankets up to your chest, still holding the phone against your ear.

“Y/N?” Steve asks.

“I’m here,” you tell him. You take a deep breath, then let it out, bracing yourself. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come find you once they announced you were alive,” you clarify. “I’m sure it must have been terrifying to wake up in a completely different world.”

“It’s not so bad,” he replies, but his tone is sad, and you know what he’s thinking.

“But it’s not the same, and I should’ve been there. I promised Bucky I’d look out for you too, you know.”

He chuckles a little. “I gave you a run for your money.”

You grin. His laugh is infectious, and the feeling of being with a friend again is starting to settle your nerves. “Yeah, running off to enlist and then turning into a jacked-up superhero,” you tease.

“Buck chewed me out for that.”

“He did?”

“Yeah.”

There’s silence for a few moments and you adjust the blanket over your legs, then wiggle your feet a little until it’s back where it was.

“I miss him,” Steve finally says, and you close your eyes against the sudden tears that sting them.

“Me too.” Sniffling, you open your eyes and smooth out the blanket, looking at the dim light outlining the blinds in your window. “I should try and sleep again.”

“Me too, but I’ve… I’ve been meaning to ask you a question.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think they gave the serum to anyone else? Dr. Erskine’s assistant, I mean?”

You pause. You’d thought about it a lot yourself. If she had, there could be others like you. You could have a community, even though finding them could be difficult and dangerous.

It takes you a second to formulate a response. “No,” you finally say. “I don’t think so. I think… it’s just us.”

Steve inhales deeply, then sighs. He says, “I’ll let you get some rest.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Two years pass, and Steve convinces you to stay. Your secret somehow stays a secret. It’s a miracle, really, and it’s one that you try not to question. There’s probably more to it than that, but for now, you enjoy being with an old friend.

Steve has an apartment in the capital. A year after he convinces you to stay, you move into the same building as him. You live down the hall, and you silently root for him when a pretty nurse named Kate moves in beside him. There’s an empty unit between you and Kate, but it never lists and it never sells. You tend to ignore it. Kate tends to ignore you.

You’re coming home from work one day when there’s a commotion in Steve’s apartment. You pause to listen at the top of the stairs, one hand on the wall and the other holding your keys.

Gunshots.

Before your fight or flight has even truly kicked in, the door to Kate’s apartment flies open and she stalks down the hall with a gun drawn. She sees you, and the gun is pointed in your direction for a split-second before she turns and heads to Steve’s apartment. She shoves open the door, revealing a dark apartment.

Steve.

Your chapstick and hand sanitizer roll down the stairs when you drop your bag, but you’re already halfway down the hallway. There’s no regard for your own personal safety as you step through the front door.

“Tell them I’m in pursuit,” you hear Steve say, and then there’s a crash of glass. Light pours in through the broken window and you gasp.

“Steve!” You run across the apartment, pushing past a crouching Kate, and stop only when the sea of broken glass threatens to poke through your thin shoes. “Steve!”

He’s long gone by the time you’re at the window. The sound of a gun cocking makes you freeze.

“Turn around slowly, Y/N,” Kate orders. Her tone makes your blood run cold and you do as she says, raising your hands as well. You still have your keys and the silver Statue of Liberty keychain Steve bought you before you followed him to D.C. swings in midair.

“Are you armed?” she questions.

You realize then that she’s crouching beside Nick Fury, who isn’t moving. You stare at him with wide eyes. You’d only seen the Director of SHIELD a few times, and only from a distance, but he’s recognizable.

“Are you armed?”

“No,” you tell her, and you swallow the lump in your throat. “Is he— Is he dead?”

She glances down at him without lowering her gun. “Yes. An ambulance is on the way.” When she looks back up, she glances at the window first, then you. “I suggest you make yourself scarce. You have a go bag?”

Shocked, you nod. “How do you know my—”

“My name is Sharon Carter, SHIELD Agent 13.”

“Carter? As in—?”

“Yes.”

You stare at her for a second, dumbfounded at the realization that your neighbor isn’t the sweet, flirty nurse you’ve known her to be since she moved in. Then again, you’re not who she thinks you are, either.

“Go, Y/N,” she presses. “They’ll want to question you, and they can’t find out who you are.”

You were starting to move when she repeated the command, but now you freeze, gripping your car keys hard enough that Lady Liberty’s torch might actually break skin.

“What?” you ask, and you feel cold. Surely she can’t mean what you think she does.

“Y/N Barnes, born in 1917 in Kansas with the maiden name Smith. Married to James Buchanan Barnes on December 10th, 1943. Injected with Elizabeth Robinson’s makeshift super serum in January 1946.”

Softly, you say the only thing you can think of, which is, “You knew?”

“Only a few of us did. You’re one of SHIELD’s most carefully guarded secrets, but you won’t be for long if you don’t go,” Kate answers. “Don’t trust anyone except Steve.”

“Not even you?”

She pauses, her eyes sad. “Not after this.”

Sirens down the street make you flinch and you nod, then hurry back to your own apartment. You gather up what you can from your fallen purse on the way, but decide you’ll have to go without the chapstick and hand sanitizer. Your hands are trembling as you unlock the door, then close it behind you. Your go bag is tucked underneath the couch. It’s fully packed and stocked, and you’re clicking the chest strap when the sirens stop outside.

Steve has drilled the emergency exit plan into your head so many times that it’s second nature to push open the window and climb out onto the fire escape. The sirens are coming from the north side of the building, so once you hit the ground, you pull up the hood of the rain jacket you’ve put on over your work clothes and start walking south.

You manage to get on a plane out of D.C. that night, and you sleep through most of the flight. After getting out of the airport, you find a hostel and check in just long enough to shower and ditch your phone. A quick trip to the store stocks your backpack with three burners, all equipped for international texting and calling. Steve had also written a list of other things you should buy after landing, since they wouldn’t have made it through customs, and you purchase as many of those things as you can.

When your stomach starts growling, you find a local coffee bar and settle yourself onto one of the few empty stools. The woman behind the counter gives you a polite, albeit tight, smile when you ask if she speaks English, and then she takes your order almost indifferently. Within a few minutes, you have coffee and a pastry, and someone has switched the TV behind her to an Italian newscast about the fight on the SHIELD helicarriers.

You’re getting up to leave when a familiar name catches your attention, and you freeze with one hand on the bartop. On the screen, the news station has put up a blurry photo of a man beside a photo of a young man in an army uniform. You’d recognize the photo anywhere—you’d kept it in your wallet until it was too deteriorated to carry, and then you’d printed yourself a new one once you figured out it was public record. The photo was of your husband.

“Are you okay, signorina?” asks the worker, and you force yourself to look away from the broadcast to nod at her.

“Sì, um… Can you— What are they saying on TV about that man?” you ask her.

She glances behind her when you point at the TV, then listens for a moment before she replies, “They are saying that he is a… fuggitivo? A bad person hiding?”

“He’s alive?”

She nods again. “Sì. Can I get you something else to drink?” The young Italian woman gestures to the empty cup and plate you were about to leave.

“No, grazie.”

You leave the coffee bar almost in a daze. Logically, you know you should be moving to the next step of Steve’s emergency exit plan for you—a safe house near the southern border of Hungary—but it felt wrong to go into hiding when your husband was out there.

Bucky… A fugitive? He would never do anything bad of his own volition, which means something’s wrong, you think, heading back toward the hostel. You could get a ride back to the airport, and then travel back to D.C. from there. If Bucky was in trouble, he would need your help.

Your phone chimes and you pull it from the pocket of your shorts. You’d connected a junk email account and a new message has just come in. After a brief moment of hesitation, you open it to find a series of coordinates. There’s no subject line, no greeting, and no signature. It’s from Steve.

The map app on the phone tells you that the coordinates are to a hotel in Bucharest. There are no SHIELD safe houses in Romania, but deep down, you trust Steve. If anyone knows anything about Bucky, he will, and if he’s sending you the coordinates, then he could be meeting you there.

A quick stop back at the hostel gets you set up with a rental car, and soon you’re on your way to Romania. You’re jittery the whole way, stopping only for gas, food, and caffeine. It’s a long drive—almost a full day—so by the time you reach the coordinates, your eyelids are heavy and your whole body aches from sitting.

The coordinates lead you to an apartment building. Most of the windows are dark, but there’s a light on in the small entryway. Once inside, you find a small white envelope with your name on it tucked halfway into the mail slot for apartment five. You carefully pull it out and a key slides from the open flap into your hand. There’s a note tucked inside the envelope too, and the familiar handwriting is a sight for sore eyes.

Dorothy - Stay here until I come for you. Could be awhile.

At the bottom of the flimsy yellow paper, the author had scrawled the name “Lionheart”. It takes your addled brain a second to make the connection, but then you remember the nickname you’d given Steve shortly after meeting him and Bucky. You’d just moved to Brooklyn and Bucky had teasingly compared you to Dorothy from “The Wizard of Oz” once he’d learned you’d come from Kansas. You’d shot back, calling him the Tin Man that didn’t have a heart. It had stuck, and soon you started calling Steve “Lionheart”, claiming that he had more bravery than any lion ever could. It was a nickname you used less and less as you grew, and you hadn’t used it since meeting him again in this century, but it was his nickname nonetheless.

You tuck the note back into the envelope, then shove it into the pocket of your shorts. Apartment five is up two flights of stairs, which you begrudgingly climb, but once the door is open, you’re relieved to find that the studio apartment, while old and out of date, is clean and furnished. Whoever’s been keeping this place on standby for Steve is clearly paid well. You’ve heard horror stories from Steve about some of the SHIELD safehouses he’s had to stay in.

After making sure there’s nobody hiding in any of the closets or under the bed in the corner, you dump your bag on the floor beside the nightstand and lock the front door. For good measure, you shove a chair underneath the dull metal doorknob, remembering that Steve had warned you to be extra cautious if you ever had to go on the run. If Sharon Carter had known your secret, there could be plenty more people that do. You do the same for the door leading to the exterior balcony, then collapse onto the bed in search of a good night’s sleep.

Two years go by, and Steve never comes. You’ve resigned yourself to the fact that he never might, despite the fact that you know he’s still out there. He and the rest of his team have a major battle in Sokovia, which is heavily disputed in the news. You want to stand up for your friend and tell everyone you know that he would never do anything he didn’t think was the best course of action, but you keep your head down. It’s the only thing you can do to keep yourself safe.

All the while, you try to research and find Bucky’s whereabouts. When you’re not working your job at a local coffee bar or as a delivery driver for the small florist’s shop down the street from your apartment, you’re driving from town to town and listening to the gossip at the cafes and street markets. You’re not exactly sure what to listen for, but you listen anyway. You find a cheap laptop a few months after moving to Bucharest and you read through the declassified SHIELD files. There’s nothing on you, thankfully, but there’s a file on Steve and one on Bucky. You read them over and over again, combing through the information in hopes of something new that might help you find your husband.

It’s after one of these trips to a town a few hours away that you’re lingering at the bottom of the stairs, too exhausted to think. Between weird dreams, a bug that kept you up all night coughing, and pulling extra shifts at the coffee bar to fund your expeditions, you haven’t slept right in days. You’re considering plopping yourself down on the bottom step, leaning against the concrete wall, and sleeping there for as long as you can.

“Scuzați-mă,” someone says, and you turn.

Bucky stares back at you, a deer caught in the headlights, and you stare back. Your mouth feels dry and your heart is pounding, and you’re sure that you’re imagining things.

“It’s you,” he finally says. He stares at you from underneath the bill of his baseball cap.

You try to swallow, but your mouth feels like sandpaper. “Bucky,” you croak.

He drops his head and looks at the floor. After a moment, he turns to walk up the stairs.

Panicked at the thought of him leaving, you reach out and grab his wrist. Your fingers wrap around leather. He immediately twists it from your grip and shoves you backward into the cement, hard enough that it cracks around you. Your head smacks against the wall and blinding white pain shoots through you. Your vision swims and the air is knocked from your lungs, leaving you wheezing as you try and stay upright.

He’s disappeared by the time you get your bearings, and you spend the night on the floor at the foot of the stairs, the back of your head sticky with blood. Your whole body aches. Just the thought of getting up makes you want to cry, and everything is blurry. Eventually you give in to sleep as it creeps up on you, mercifully shielding you from the pain as your head throbs.

When you open your eyes, you’re not on the floor of the apartment lobby anymore, but you’re also not at home. You’re laying on your side on an old mattress, staring at the dusty wooden floor of someone else’s home. The layout of the apartment seems similar to your own, but it's in a state of disrepair that makes your skin crawl a little bit. You lay there in silence as your brain catches up with you, and then you sit up, suddenly aware of the fact that someone has moved you while you were unconscious. The world around you spins and you shut your eyes again, gripping the bare mattress to try and keep yourself grounded. Your stomach lurches.

“Don’t sit up too fast,” Bucky says, and you feel like crying. It’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice. It sounds different now—colder, harsher, and less familiar. He sounds like he hasn’t talked in a long time, though you know that’s unlikely. People are too friendly in your little town for anyone to go too long without saying at least a hello.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. It’s the only thing you can think of to say.

The sound of his footsteps coming closer makes you open your eyes, and it takes you a second to focus them on something. You pick the metal legs of a small table and stare at them until his boots come into view. Then, slowly, you tilt your head back to look up at him.

Though fundamentally he’s the same, Bucky looks just different enough that you would have needed more than a glance to know it was really him if you’d been standing across the room. His upper body is bulky, but you can’t tell if it’s truly him or if it’s from the thick canvas jacket he wears. It’s worn and brown, matching his boots that are scuffed on the toes. Underneath the jacket, his red shirt is faded, but it looks clean. The baseball cap he’d been wearing earlier is gone now, revealing blue eyes that are colder than you remember. They’re not the same eyes as your husband’s, though logically you know they are.

“Your hair is long,” you tell him. “Longer than it ever was.”

He stares down at you, seemingly unshaken by your presence. “You were in the museum.”

You frown. “Museum?”

“In Washington,” Bucky answers. He sets a water bottle down on the floor beside the mattress.

“The Smithsonian? I haven’t been to the Smithsonian in years.”

“In the pictures.”

“In the pi—” You stop, remembering the exhibit. You’d gone to see it only once, shortly after Steve had been recovered from the ice. There were artifacts and photos of him with the Howling Commandos, Peggy Carter, Howard Stark, and other soldiers and officers. There was also a special section dedicated to Steve’s friendship with Bucky, and at the very end, in a small area tucked away from the main part of the exhibit, there had been a display of photos of you and Bucky. There were a few letters that you had sent him while he was overseas, too, and your stomach had soured at the thought of millions of strangers reading your private correspondence with him. They were letters that hadn’t been delivered to him for one reason or another. The thought of all those people reading things that he never got the chance to was infuriating, and yet there was nothing you could do without revealing your identity.

The photo of you that he’d kept in his uniform pocket was in a glass case, torn in half. Anyone looking at it could only see your head and neck. If the photo had been intact, they would have seen the floral dress Bucky had ruined on your wedding night. You hadn’t been able to get a proper wedding dress, not that you’d minded. He hadn’t either.

A small sign had explained that the photo had fallen out on the train before he fell, and Steve had retrieved it. He’d kept it with his personal belongings, clearly intent on keeping it safe. The army had never returned it to you since it hadn’t been with Bucky’s things. You’d thought it had been lost forever until the day you’d stepped foot into the exhibit. It was the only photo you’d had from your wedding day. After seeing it, you’d left the exhibit quickly. You’d barely made it back to your apartment before you’d broken down.

“Yes,” you reply after a second, softer now. “I’m in the pictures with you. Do you… Do you not remember me?”

There’s a tension in the air, the kind that makes you shift uneasily on the mattress, and then Bucky shakes his head. You inhale sharply as tears sting your eyes.

“I see.” It’s all you can manage without actually crying.

“You’re Y/N.”

You nod and sniffle, wiping at your eyes and then grabbing the water bottle with shaking hands. The cap is stuck and you twist at it until the skin of your palm is red. Frustrated, you set it back down with more force than necessary. It falls on its side and rolls away from you, stopping against Bucky’s muddied boot.

“We were married.”

He’s only listing off facts that he’s learned, and your heart aches.

How does he not remember me?

Bucky reaches down and picks up the bottle. He twists off the cap and steps forward to hold it within reach. Gingerly, you take it from him. Your fingers brush against his glove but you don’t meet his eyes.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“And you were friends with Steve.”

You look up at him then. “You remember Steve?”

When he shakes his head again, you feel defeated.

Does he remember anything?

“He’s in the museum, too.” Bucky pauses. “I pulled him out of the river.”

“What?” You squint a little. You don’t remember anything about a river in the museum, and you had no memory of Bucky pulling Steve out of any rivers when you were kids.

“We fell from the plane to the river. I pulled him out.”

Your head is still throbbing and you feel a little nauseous. There’s no doubt you have a concussion. Closing your eyes, you try to make sense of what he’s telling you. It feels like your brain is full of soup.

“You and… and Steve fell into a river? What river?”

“The Potomac.”

The Potomac. Washington. The picture of him from the newscast.

Puzzle pieces are fitting together, and you start to understand. You open your eyes and look up at him, shifting slightly until your legs are in a more comfortable position.

“You fought Steve,” you prompt, “and then what? You went to the Smithsonian?”

Hesitantly, Bucky shakes his head. “No.”

“What did you do after you pulled him from the Potomac?”

He doesn’t answer, and there’s a bang in the hallway. His whole body tenses and you flinch at the noise, staring wide-eyed at the door. Water sloshes out from the bottle in your hand and onto your jeans. It feels like you’ve been caught red-handed, but when nothing happens after a few moments, you relax. Your brain catches up.

“What time is it?” you murmur, almost afraid to speak.

“Two.”

“That was the mail carrier,” you sigh, closing your eyes. You scoot back on the mattress after a minute, leaning your back against the wall and keep your legs out in front of you. “We’re okay.”

Bucky nods, clearly still on edge, and you screw the cap back on the water.

“Before you fought Steve,” you begin, hoping that telling him some of your story will help him loosen up, “I was living in the same building as him. Someone came in and shot a man, and I went on the run. I was afraid that they would figure out who I am—how old I am.” You laugh a little at that. “I’m almost a hundred years old. So are you. We were born the same year.”

He stares at you. Some of the tension in his body is beginning to disappear, and you try not to stare.

“I got on a plane that night. Steve got me a fake passport right after he found me, and he helped me get a go bag ready. He had a whole list of things I should buy once I landed, so I did, and then he emailed me the coordinates to this apartment building. I’m assuming we’re in the same building as before?”

Bucky nods a little and you continue,

“I drove almost a whole day to get here. I was exhausted. Whoever kept this place ready for Steve put the key in an envelope for me, along with a note telling me to hunker down and stay put until he came and got me. He signed it “Lionheart” and everything, just in case anyone read it.”

There’s a flash of something in your husband’s eyes when you mention Steve’s nickname, but he doesn’t speak.

“Anyway, I moved in to apartment five—”

“Do you like it here?” asks Bucky, quiet enough that you almost keep talking over him.

“Here? Wait, are we still in my building?”

He nods and you watch him for a moment, waiting to see if he’ll elaborate. Then, when he’s gathered that you won’t say anything more until he does, he tells you,

“This is apartment six.”

“Six? Do you live here?” A nod. “When did you move in?”

“Six months ago.”

You scramble to your feet and he takes a defensive step back. “We’ve been neighbors for six months and I—” The lump in your throat is back and you choke on it, coughing once. “How have I never seen you? Did you know who I was?”

“Yes.”

Tears sting your eyes and you cross your arms over your chest. Now that you know it’s the same building, you recognize all the similarities to your own unit. This one isn’t in as nice of condition, but it has the door leading to the outside in addition to the hallway. Unlike yours, however, Bucky’s covered the large glass panes in the door with newspaper. You stare at the light filtering in through the thin paper while he stares at you.

“So all this time,” you choke out, “I’ve been going out in search of my husband, when he’s really been less than a few yards away?”

Bucky doesn’t answer and you bring your hands up to your face, pressing the heel of each hand against your eyes. A sob escapes, but it’s bordering on the edge of laughter—not out of humor, but out of the ridiculousness of the whole situation.

“God, I’m so stupid. If I’d just looked—”

You’re too wrapped up in your own frustration and grief to notice the edge of hurt in his voice when he asks, “Your husband?”

You drop your hands back down to your sides with another laugh-turned-sob. “Yes! My husband! The man I’ve been married to since 1943!”

Bucky stares at you, seemingly unmoved by your display of emotion, but the way his fingers twitch at his side and the way he shuffles forward an infinitesimal amount makes you burst into tears.

“I’ve been looking for you,” you sob. You want nothing more than to reach out for him, but the fear of scaring him away has wrapped itself around your heart. It squeezes, tightening little by little the more you learn about the man your husband has become. “I saw your picture on TV and I thought that we could finally be happy together, but then when I couldn’t find you… I was so worried!”

A crease forms between Bucky’s eyebrows. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand? Bucky, I love you! More than anything in the world, I love you!”

“How are you alive? The museum said…”

You’re sobering up quickly at the realization that you have to come clean. For decades you’ve had this conversation with an imaginary Bucky, and he leaves disappointed in you every time. Your stomach slowly deepens until there’s a gaping pit inside of it and you swipe at your eyes, wiping the tears onto the backs of your hands.

“The museum only knows what I want them to know.”

He searches your face for further explanation and you sniffle. Your head is throbbing again, the wound exasperated by the crying.

“I was given a serum, similar to Steve’s, but—”

His fists clench and you snap your mouth shut at the sudden anger on Bucky’s face. “What did they give you?”

When you don’t immediately reply, he repeats the question, this time so insistently that you stammer,

“I don’t know, they never told me.”

He stares at you and you shrink back a little, then glance behind you before sitting down on the mattress. You sit against the wall with your legs pulled in, making yourself as small as possible in his already tiny apartment.

“What do you mean they never told you? Who?”

Softly, you answer, “Her name was Elizabeth, but I called her Liza. She was Dr. Erskine’s assistant.” You sniffle and wipe the tears from your eyes, feeling completely out of orbit. Your head is throbbing again.

“Dr. Erskine,” repeats Bucky, and you nod. You wait for a moment, wondering if he’ll place the name. He doesn’t seem to connect the dots, so you briefly explain Erskine’s connection to Steve, and therefore to him… and to you.

The sun is setting, sending golden light streaming through the paper covering apartment six’s exterior door. You stare at it as he processes the new information, and you realize after some time that you’ve watched until the light has grown impossibly dim. It’s likely that you’ve fallen asleep sitting up. Neither one of you has said anything for some time now, and yet it has been comfortable. You feel just at home around Bucky as you used to, even if he doesn’t feel the same around you.

“I should get going,” you say, climbing to your feet and looking toward where he’d been standing. Bucky’s moved without you realizing it, and he’s now seated at the small metal table, writing something in a small red journal.

He doesn’t reply and you move two steps closer. Bucky doesn’t even look up.

“Bucky?”

No response. He continues to write. The pen scratches black ink across the page in almost frantic scrawls, and you realize after a second that you can’t read it. The language is a mix of English and Russian, and the handwriting seems altogether unfamiliar.

“James?” you hesitantly ask.

The pen slows, then stops and a blot of ink smudges on the page. He lifts his hand to look up at you.

“I should get going,” you repeat, gentler than the first time. You don’t want to startle him—he’d clearly been absorbed in whatever he’d been writing. “Home, I mean.”

He caps the pen and sets it down. Bucky stays silent as he pushes the chair back from the table and stands almost robotically. You have to force yourself to stand still and not take a step back to give him space. The only thing that keeps you from moving is a silent reminder that no matter what happened to him over the past few decades, he’s still your husband. You took a vow on your wedding day and you refuse to break it now.

“You can’t stay here,” says Bucky, so bluntly that you blink in surprise.

“What?”

“It’s not safe for you.”

You scoff a little. “What are you talking about? It’s perfectly safe.”

“It’s not safe for you to be with me,” he clarifies and you’re even more stunned.

“Bucky… What are you talking about? You’re not dangerous.” You step forward and reach for his hands, but he turns away, though he doesn’t step back. “Bucky…”

“They’ll come for me, and when they do, they’ll realize who you are. They’ll use you to get to me, and I can’t let them do that.”

“What? Who? Bucky, who are you talking about?”

His jaw is tight as he turns away, grabbing the notebook from the table. He shoves it into the pocket of his jacket, then lowers himself onto one knee a few feet away. With one deft hand, Bucky pries up a floorboard and pulls out a black backpack. It’s already packed with his supplies or belongings, or both, and he slings it over his shoulders before buckling the strap over his chest.

“You need to go,” he tells you, and you shake your head.

“Absolutely not,” you defiantly answer. “I’m not leaving you, not now that I’ve finally found you.”

“Y/N.”

It’s only the second time he’s said your name aloud since you’ve been reunited, and it stops you in your tracks. Your hand, which had been reaching out to stop him, drops back down to your side in defeat.

“Don’t go,” you plead, opting for a gentler approach.

Something flickers in his eyes and he glances at the door to the hallway. After a second, he looks back at you.

“Do you need anything?”

You shake your head. There’s nothing of value in your apartment. The only sentimental item you have is the keychain from Steve, and your keys are still in your pocket from the night before.

“Let’s go.”

He turns and opens the exterior door, then steps out into the afternoon sunshine onto the concrete terrace. You follow him in silence. There’s a bang from behind you as you reach the edge of the terrace and the short wall separating you from the three-story drop. Turning, you spot an armed officer bursting through the door to apartment six. You hadn’t even heard them coming up the stairs.

With a gasp, you grab Bucky’s arm. He doesn’t look back when he pulls you in front of him. You’re facing him and you have just enough time to see the officer lifting their gun. It’s pointed in your direction. In an instant, Bucky lifts you off the ground. Your legs wrap around his midsection instinctively, and your arms around his neck. You grab hold of the top handle on the backpack and squeeze your eyes shut. You can feel Bucky moving, his muscles flexing and tensing, and the wind blows cold against your back as he runs. Gunshots ring out all around you and you let out a squeak as you duck your head against his chest. His hands are gripping your thighs so tightly that it hurts, but you don’t dare speak up, especially when he grunts and you open your eyes just enough to see the world sailing by.

You and Bucky land on hard concrete with a hard jolt. You release him, your entire body screaming out in pain, and you echo the cry. You don’t have any time to think about what truly hurts and why before Bucky’s grabbing your hand and yanking you up off the ground. He pulls you alongside him until you’re running too, across the roof of a neighboring building as bullets rain down.

“Where are we going?” you shout, and something whizzes past so close to your ear that you can feel the heat radiating from it. You angle your path closer to Bucky’s, your chest heaving and your lungs burning for air.

He barely seems out of breath as he yells back something you don’t understand, but he’s still gripping your hand and pulling you with him. You hear shouts from behind you, and you glance over your shoulder just long enough to see that there are more officers now, and they’ve also made it to the rooftop. Overhead, a helicopter ominously sails closer and closer.

“Here. Go!” Bucky orders, and you duck through an open door into the utility stairwell of the building. You rush down the stairs, head pounding, until he ushers you through another door and onto the fifth floor. It’s another apartment complex and you let him take the lead, following him down hall after hall. He leads you to the main stairwell, where a woman carrying a large vase of flowers sends you a scathing look, muttering something in Romanian about men taking up too much space when they walk.

Once you’re outside the building, you can hear the chaos of the officers on rooftops and in helicopters up above. Two cop cars are blocking the road outside your building, and they spot you almost immediately. You don’t have time to think about it, however, because Bucky is pulling you onto a motorcycle. Just like before, your arms instinctively wrap around his waist, and you rest your head against his back, squeezing your eyes shut as the motorcycle roars to life, then takes off. Wind whips past you, blowing your hair back and making your cheeks sting.

“Where are we going?” you shout.

“Someplace safe!”

You and Bucky are on the run for hours. By the time he deems you safe, you’ve long outrun the assailants, and you’re exhausted. You’ve thrown up three times, and your head is pounding. He’s relatively unscathed, and for that, you’re thankful, because he leads you across a field of tall grass, away from where you’ve left your third motorcycle on the side of the road. How he keeps finding them is a mystery. You’re pretty sure the only reason you’re not stopping in a town and looking for a new ride is because this one ran out of gas, but he seems to have a destination in mind when he says,

“Just a little further.”

It’s the first thing he’s said to you since the bike. You nod in response, then close your eyes against a wave of dizziness. Your concussion has reared its ugly head.

Bucky grabs you when you stumble over something in the ground, and you heave a little bit, bending over at the waist. He keeps you from falling onto your knees as bile rises in your throat, but when the feeling subsides and your stomach settles again, he doesn’t let go.

“I’m okay,” you weakly tell him.

He still doesn’t release you. After a moment, you feel his arm move to the backs of your knees, and then you’re being slowly lifted into the air. Bucky cradles you against his chest and when you open your eyes, he’s watching you carefully.

“I can walk,” you protest, but it’s half-hearted. Truth be told, your legs are on fire and you’ve got blisters on both feet.

Silently, Bucky resumes walking. You let your head rest against his shoulder after a few minutes, and the swaying motion eventually lulls you to sleep.

You wake up in a bedroom. It’s clean and bright, with a blue-and-white patterned quilt over the bed and light-colored wooden furniture. White curtains flutter in the breeze coming through the open window. From the bed, you can see a three-drawer dresser, a nightstand, and a chair. The four-poster bed is warm and cozy despite the cool air, and you spy green grass and a deep green forest when one of the curtains falls back into place.

A knock at the door makes you sit up.

“Come in,” you say, and it opens.

“You’re awake,” Steve greets.

Your heart soars and you move to climb out of bed, but he stops you.

“You had a nasty concussion, one that would’ve taken most people months to recover from,” he says. He sits on the edge of the mattress and hugs you hard. You squeeze your eyes shut against a flood of relieved tears.

“I missed you so much,” you say as you pull away. Chuckling a little, you pat his cheek with one hand, scrunching your nose when his beard scratches your palm. “You look different.”

Steve chuckles. “So I’m told. How are you feeling?”

“Better. Good, actually. I’m hungry, and my head doesn’t hurt as much.”

He nods and reaches for a mug on the nightstand. It hadn’t been there a moment ago, but you hadn’t seen him bring it in. That’s when you notice Bucky standing in the doorway, clearly hesitant to come in. He’s watching you and Steve with a guarded expression, and you stare at him in silence.

“He’s real,” Steve says, and you nod.

“I know. He saved me.”

Bucky takes a careful step into the room. Steve moves out of the way, shifting to sit at the end of the bed with his back against one of the wooden posts. Bucky’s dressed in clean clothes and his hair is still long, but it’s been washed and trimmed. He looks healthier than when you’d been in the apartment.

“How long have I been asleep?” you ask him.

“A week.”

You look down at the mug Steve had handed you. It’s filled with soup and you inhale deeply, feeling the steam warm you from the outside in. It smells delicious.

“How are you feeling?” Bucky asks.

“Good. Better.” You pause. “Thank you.”

He nods, then goes back to staring at you in silence. After several long moments, Steve clears his throat, then stands.

“I’ve got to go check in with Nat. I’ll let you two… talk.”

Steve pats Bucky on the shoulder as he walks by. He ignores the way Bucky flinches at his touch. You take a sip of the soup, slurping a little as you lower the mug back down to your lap.

“You can sit, you know,” you say, when Bucky stays standing a foot away from the door. “I don’t bite.”

“I’m not safe for you to be around.”

We’re cutting right to the chase, I see, you think, staring back down at your soup.

“I have no control over anything, not even myself. If they ever find me—”

“They won’t,” you interrupt. “Not if Steve and I have anything to say about it.”

He shakes his head and opens his mouth to argue, but you glare at him, hard enough that he blinks and closes his mouth.

“Listen to me carefully, because I’m only going to say this once.”

Setting the mug back down on the nightstand, you slide out of bed and close the distance between you and Bucky. Someone has changed you into pajamas. They’re striped with buttons running up the front of the shirt, but they’re a little too big and you have to push the sleeves up so they don’t hang down and cover your hands. The pants aren’t too long that you’ll trip over them, but you know that you couldn’t run in them if it came down to it. Hopefully it won’t.

“You are my husband, and you are Steve’s best friend. You’re my best friend too, while we’re at it, and if you think for a single second that we’d let anyone take you or hurt you or harm you in any way, then you’ve got another thing coming. I have lived several hundred lives over the past seventy years because I couldn’t handle just a few of them without you, James, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone take away my chance to live the rest of this life by your side.”

Bucky stares down at you, and you continue before he can jump in,

“I did not make a vow promising to be your wife for better or for worse just to give up when the going gets tough. If you wanna give up, then fine, but I’d rather die.”

When he leans in and kisses you, you’re too shocked to react. At first, you think maybe you’re imagining it and that it’s just some weird concussion-induced daydream, but the heat of his lips and the crushing grip of his metal hand on your wrist is too real for you to cling to that theory for long. You soften, kissing him back, and then so does he. Bucky releases your wrist, then slides his hand over your hip. His metal thumb is cool against the bare skin of your hip just above the elastic waistband of the pajama pants.

“I love you,” you murmur, panting slightly when he pulls away, and then he’s kissing you again. You close your eyes and reach up one hand, resting it on the back of his neck as he pulls your front against him.

“I love you a thousand times over,” you murmur again, and this time you rest your forehead against him so you can catch your breath. With eyes still closed, you add, “I will love you no matter what, James Buchanan Barnes. Nothing you say or do could ever change that.”

“Nothing?” he asks.

You pull away and open your eyes so you can look at him properly. He’s watching you with a guilt-ridden expression, his eyes so full of pain that your heart aches until there’s a twinge in your chest. You cradle his face with one hand and rub your thumb over his cheekbone. Bucky leans into the touch.

“Nothing,” you affirm. “Absolutely nothing.”

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

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Forever: @aya-fay

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium @valhalla-kristin @buckymcbuckbarnes

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spaceycat · 3 months ago

Note

MORE CONGRESSMAN BUCKY PLS PLSPLSLSPSLSLS

YESS BABE!!!! YOU KNOW WHAT'S UP, ENJOY !! <3 (this is deprived from my congressman bucky barnes headcanons list !!)

⋆★⋆ hotel rooms & champagne ⋆★⋆

♫ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: its ok im ok by tate mcrae (2:37)

Bucky takes you on every campaign, every event - flying on his private jet and booking at the best hotels. Upon your arrival, you don't have to lift a single bag or ask for a single thing. Bottles of champagne and wine in an ice bucket, chocolates and strawberries on a platter. You think it's overkill, after all you and Bucky have been dating for years now and you dont understand why he still spoils you the way that you do.

But you can't deny that view, of course Bucky took the penthouse suite at the very top of the hotel - multiple windows looking out onto the city below.

You walked into the bedroom, looking at the king sized bed in the middle of the room - a canopy draped over it. You sat down, taking off your shoes, deciding to go take a bath and just relax before the event later that night. Not before helping yourself to a glass of champagne.

Your favourite parts of these hotels is the large bath that usually accompanies it, Bucky took note of that and only rents out hotel rooms that have bathrooms up to your standards.

As the bath slowly filled up with warm water and bubbles, you looked out at the view of the city lights - you soon shed off your clothes, tying up your hair as to not get it wet. Getting into the bath.

As the warm water enveloped your skin, you let out a soft sigh - the aches from travelling and walking dissipating. You took a sip of the champagne from the glass, settling further in - so much so you didnt hear the bathroom door open.

There was Bucky, watching you like a hawk. He knew he should be unpacking or getting his speech ready or something, but you completely drew him in.

He'd slip off his suit jacket, placing it on one of the chairs in the large bathroom. "I knew I'd find you in here."

You looked up at him, "You can join me, waters warm." "Is that so?" "Just get in here." "Don't have to tell me twice."

He took off the rest of his clothes, setting them aside - moving into the water behind you, his chest against your back. Hands gliding over your slick skin. "You look beautiful..." He'd place a hand under your jaw, directing you so he could place a kiss to your lips.

The kiss quickly turned heated, Bucky then turned you around in his lap - looking up at you. "We should get ready for the gala." "Fuck the gala. They wont start until I'm there, they can wait." He'd move foward whispering in your ear,"You wanted this bath, now I get to fuck you in it."

The sex was purely animalistic, Bucky pushed you onto your hands in knees into the bathtub - leaving you to grab onto the edge for support. His grip on your hips were bruising as he fucked into you, needing to let off a little steam. He'd place a hand on your neck, tilting your head back to look at you in the eyes as he ruined you. With that leverage he then pulled you back into his lap, the new position adding new pleasure. Safe to say you came at least 3 times, all the while he talked you through it.

But he wasn't done there, he then pulled you out off the bathtub, pulling your legs around his waist as he kissed you - he didn't bother to dry the either of you off, simply tossing you down on the bed.

There he kissed down your body, then lapped at your pussy like it was a meal from the gods themselves - placing a hand on your abdomen to keep you from squirming and bucking your hips into his hot mouth. Eating out the cum he put in you just minutes before, and as he kissed you afterwards you tasted the both of you on his tongue but you didn't complain.

And then you had to get dressed up, or more like Bucky was being needy afterwards and helped you get dressed - deciding which dress you'd wear with what heels, kissing your shoulder and slipping off your dress strap as he sat in the bed covers pooled at his waist as you placed on your heels, he wanted to go again.

You go to the even, Bucky having a hand on your lower back as you shake other congressman's hands as you know in the back of your mind that the man beside you ruined you only hours before.

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writingfics-passingtime · 6 days ago

Text

A You and Me Thing

pairing (romantic): MCU Bucky Barnes x reader (no pronouns used)

synopsis: Bucky loves seeing you laugh. But he doesn't love seeing other people tickle you.

words: ~4200

cw: tickling, swearing, kinda possessive!Bucky, protective!Bucky, Bucky verbally teases a lot. minors DNI (adult-aged character x reader).

note: thank you anon ~ for your beautiful headcannon message that sparked inspiration so profoundly unavoidable that i had to write this immediately <3

The Compound had its own rhythm.

Loud in the morning, chaotic by lunch. By late afternoon, it often softened into something unsettlingly domestic. But you'd grown used to the ebb and flow, the dynamics of it; the occasional crash from the training floor, the laugh from the living room, the bickering in the kitchen. The lives being lived loudly.

Somewhere in all that noise, Bucky Barnes had found you.

And you had found him.

Or, perhaps - you finally allowed yourselves to notice each other.

That’s how it felt, you thought: like a slow reveal, something waiting under the surface for permission to come up for air.

It wasn’t anything dramatic at first. Just looks across the gym. Passing comments in debriefs that made you laugh - followed by the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. The kind of smile that looked like it had to breach surface tension just to show itself.

Then it was a brush of your arms when you passed him a mug in the kitchen. A sharp, quiet joke that made him laugh that rough, rusty sound that always seemed to surprise even him, and nudge your arm with his own.

And now... you were something. Not exactly official. Not exactly casual. You weren’t sleeping in his bed every night - but when you were on the couch and he came in, he gravitated toward you like it was gravity.

He flirted - oh, how he flirted - and he was persistence. Present. Available. In a roomful of people, always choosing you.

And today, for the most part, had been like any other over the past several weeks and months.

Until Thor got a little handsy.

It was stupid, really. Some documentary on TV you were only half-watching, some awe-filled comment from Thor, some sly smirk and snappy retort from you, a pillow hitting your shoulder with force, an even-more-violent pillow missile whacking against his head, then a hand around your ankle - yanking you onto your back - and a reminder that he is an older brother.

Two massive hands struck - tickling with quick and careful squeezes beside your hips, and your reaction was instantaneous; you burst into laughter, trying to jerk sideways, trying to kick against his thigh for leverage to escape.

"No fair!" You squeaked, sniffling between laughter and jerking again when one hand slid down to grab at the muscle above your kneecap. "THOR!" You wanted to argue that his unwarranted attack was a violation of Earth's unilateral peace agreement with Asgard, but the words were garbled in laughter until Thor allowed you squirm your way off the couch, and land in a heap on the floor. "Ow," you whined, but didn't really mean it.

Thor chuckled and turned up the volume of the documentary, a smug smile on his face at his victory. You glowered, no malice behind it, and stood, straightening your clothes.

Across the room, you felt his stare before you saw it. Your smile softened as your gaze flicked past Thor’s shoulder - locking with storm-blue eyes that had gone a shade colder.

Bucky was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, face unreadable - but his jaw was tight. Not angry, exactly. But something darker simmered beneath the surface.

You could feel the weight of it. The shift in him.

You brushed your hands on your leggings, crossing the room toward Bucky, and you clocked Sam watching the exchange with a lifted brow - but he, wisely, said nothing.

Bucky didn’t move when you reached him.

He uncrossed his arms slowly as you approached, but his expression didn’t change.

You stopped just in front of him, close enough that you had to tilt your head to meet his eyes. "Hey."

His gaze flicked over your face, and you felt his eyes settle briefly on your mouth before he glanced away.

"Hey," he said shortly.

You cocked your head. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he said. Clipped. Too fast.

You paused, sighed through your nose. Then, you stepped in closer and leaned your shoulder into his chest, folding your arms as if settling in for comfort, but also calling his bluff. You didn’t push, didn’t ask again. You just settled, letting your body speak trust, even if he wasn’t ready to.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

Then, with a long exhale, he dipped his head and kissed the side of yours.

It was slow. Lingering. Just behind your ear.

Not performative. Not light.

Claiming.

Your breath caught - just a little.

And when he pulled back, you could feel the heat of his stare trailing down your cheek, your neck, the slope of your shoulder. His voice, when he spoke, was low.

"Didn’t know you were so ticklish."

You smiled, soft, eyes half-lidded now, aware of how close your mouth was to his. "You've never tried."

His lips curved - barely. "Maybe I should."

A pause. His fingers skimmed the hem of your sweatshirt, almost idly - but you weren’t fooled. His touch was precise. Curious. Possessive in the way he wasn’t quite letting himself show.

"What's wrong, Buck."

"I just…" he started, then stopped. Swallowed. Your eyes didn't leave him. He studied your face a moment. Then: "It’s stupid."

"Try me."

Another pause. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. "I like being the one makin' you laugh."

Your brows rose in question. In steady challenge.

"I don't mean..." you could see his breath trapped high up in his chest, "not that I've got a problem with you laughing with other people - that's not what I'm saying - but... that feels different." His eyes held yours. "Tickling feels personal." His voice dropped lower. "Intimate."

Your chest ached. Not in a bad way.

Softly. Warmly.

Gods, you adored this man.

He used the silence to wince at his own words, tick his jaw, shake his head, start to over-explain. "Shit. I'm not sayin' any of this right. The last thing I want is for you to feel... controlled or-"

"No, I get it," You smiled gently, leaning a little further into him. "You'd just... prefer if tickling was a you thing."

He tilted his head, eyes not wavering, a small grateful tug at the corner of his lips. "A you and me thing," he clarified.

You smiled, gave a single nod, and slipped your fingers through his metal hand, warm and easy, and you tipped your face up to his. "That's fine by me, Sergeant." You placed a quick kiss on the curve of his jaw. Then whispered: "and just you know for sure... it's a perfectly reasonable ask."

And that earned you a real smile. Small. Lopsided. Relieved, and real.

And even better - it reached his eyes.

You gave a flirtatious little smile and added, "especially since we're 'goin' steady' - isn't that how you said it?"

"Shut up," he murmured, hooking an arm around your shoulders to pull you back in. "Punk," he whispered in that playful way of his, but then smoothed a hand down the centre of your back, and placed a kiss on the top of your head.

Time continued as it usually did - long days, short weeks, even shorter months, and you’d mostly forgotten about that day in the lounge.

New rhythms were forming.

You and Bucky weren’t exactly a textbook couple - you still had separate suites, separate closets, and more trauma between you than one relationship should reasonably have - but fuck, you were good together.

Especially those quiet moments. In the in-between.

The evenings where he let you play with his hair with a distracted hum, or the mornings where he pressed his face into your shoulder, refusing to get up until you whispered something filthy just to make him chuckle.

He was still healing, and it wasn’t linear. Some days were heavier than others. Some nights he held you like he was trying to tether himself to reality. And some days, you gave him space because you knew he needed to figure it out in his own head first.

This day had started like any other.

You’d laced up your boots and headed to the gym. Steve was there, you decided to spar. Bucky came in just after you started, watching with a proud spark and approving nod of your form. Your fierceness.

You were halfway through a round when Steve really got the better of you, and your back hit the mat with a breathless OOF. Steve’s hand planted against your sternum, keeping you down.

You winced. "Jeez, Rogers. Doesn't the serum have an expiration date or something?"

He lifted a brow. "Not that I'm aware of. Guess you'll just have to do better."

You rolled your eyes and muttered something snarky about brittle old-man hips coming for him, and before you could react - Steve’s fingers dug in where they were planted, hitting several ticklish spots on the front of your ribcage.

Your squeak echoed through the gym.

"Shit!" you gasped, laughter bubbling up as you squirmed, curling in on yourself as his hand continued the onslaught for a few torturous seconds. "Cut it out," you wheezed, swatting as he finally pulled his hand away and you started to re-compose yourself.

He smiled and held out a hand. "C'mon. One more round."

You narrowed your eyes playfully, but took his help. "Clean this time."

He nodded once. "Scout's honour."

But as you moved back into your stance to reset the drill, your attention flicked - automatically, instinctively - to the space where Bucky had been standing earlier.

It was empty. And the doors were sliding shut.

You showered and dressed for the rest of the day before seeking Bucky out, deciding to check his room first. You didn’t knock right away - just rested your knuckles against the door and waited a beat. Long enough to hear the subtle sound of a page turning inside.

Then you knocked. In the same rhythm you always did.

"It's open," came Bucky’s voice. A little too calm.

You entered, seeing him freshly showered, legs stretched out on the mattress in front of him, a few pillows between his spine and the headboard, paperback in hand. His hair was messily-tied, loose strands half-dried and curling against his temples.

"Hey," you said softly, closing the door behind you.

He glanced up. His face warmed slightly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Hey."

He looked back at his book.

You flexed your hands and crossed the room, perching on the edge of the bed beside him. Not crowding. Just sitting there, quietly, letting the moment settle around you both.

After some silence, you spoke. "I'm... hoping you’re not upset at me for what happened in the gym today."

Bucky didn’t look up again. "I’m not upset at you."

You studied his profile. The tension in his jaw. The way his eyes wouldn’t meet yours.

"But you are upset."

He closed the book. Sighed. Scrubbed a hand down his face, voice low. "I'm not mad. I don’t blame you for anything. I just..."

"Didn’t like it," you finished gently.

He didn’t answer.

You pressed, voice soft but pointed. "It was Steve, Buck. And I didn't start it."

"I know. I know, it's-"

"Look... I know we agreed tickling would be and you and me thing, but it feels like you just want it off the table completely. I mean, you've never even tried. And if it's something you don't like, that's okay, you just need to-"

His laugh was dry. "What I don't like is wondering if I'd accidentally crack one of your ribs."

Your lips parted.

There it was. The vulnerability behind the sarcasm.

The muscle in his jaw flexed as he looked away. His shoulders had gone stiff, like he was bracing for battle. But a fight wasn’t coming.

You turned your body more fully toward him, knees bending to tuck under you beside his hip. You reached out, fingers curling lightly around his thigh.

"Buck."

He still didn't meet your eye, held up the metal hand with a little shake of his head. "It’s not exactly the most delicate tool in the shed."

You let a beat pass. Then slid your hand over his thigh more firmly - gentle, slow, grounding. "That doesn’t mean it would hurt me." You traced your fingers lightly over the seam of his sweats. "It's never hurt me before, has it?"

He gave a long exhale through his nose and closed his eyes. "'m sorry," he tilted his head back against the headboard. Your thumb brushed his thigh.

"I get where you're coming from. I do. And I don't wanna push you to do things you're not comfortable with, but I... I like a little roughhousing," a wry chuckle burst through your lips. Bucky's neck went upright again, eyes opening and finally finding yours. "I know we're not kids - I know who we are, I know what we do - but we can still... play. That's part of being human. Part of being together. We're supposed to have a little fun."

He let out another breath, and his eyes narrowed. Head tilted. It was an effort - you could see that; he was consciously trying to change his mood. And it was working. You could feel the shift. The warmth seeping back into his eyes.

He let his voice drop to that flirty tease he knew worked wonders against your composure. "Sounds like you're begging for a tickle fight."

You bit back a smile. "No - that’d be boring."

He lifted a brow. "Boring."

You shrugged one shoulder innocently. "It's not really fun to fight when I know I'd win."

His expression twitched. "Y'know, you can be a brat sometimes."

You smirked, whispered. "You’re just mad cause I’m better at it than you."

He blinked. "At what, exactly?"

You lunged at him.

Your hands landed at his ribs, fingers jabbing quickly, finding flesh over muscle - and Bucky jerked, letting out a startled sound that was halfway between a laugh and a scoff.

"Oh-ho," he said, voice dropping an octave. "Okay. That's it."

Before you could react further, his book hit the nightstand, and he twisted, grabbing you around the waist and hauling you over his thighs onto the centre of the bed.

You giggled and scrambled as you landed half-tangled in your own limbs, and Bucky followed. This was a chase. A mess of skin and clothes and laughter, your bodies rolling awkwardly across the mattress, twisting and dodging while he made exaggerated grabs for your sides.

You caught his wrist once, tried to twist, and he used the opening to finally get his fingers against your ribs - eliciting a squeal you barely bit back.

"Oh, sweetheart..." he chuckled, triumphant. "You’re doomed."

"Just you wait," you wheezed, pulling your leg away just as he made a grab for your ankle.

He grinned, ducking your flailing elbow. "You asked for this." His right hand slipped under your hoodie, fingers finding the edge of your hip.

"Wait!" You arched immediately, hands pushing against his wrist, laughter bubbling from your throat, wild and breathless.

"Oh, that’s a good spot," he murmured, delighting in the discovery. "I'm makin' a mental note of this one." He dug in again, making you kick your legs uselessly against the bedspread.

You shoved at his shoulder, half-laughing, half-wrestling. "You call this a tickle fight? This- ugh! This is weak!"

"Weak?"

He went for your ribs this time. You shrieked again, dissolving into laughter, twisting and squirming on the bed as his hands chased you across the mattress.

"Bucky! Wait- okay- let's reset!"

"We haven’t even started."

It turned into a tangle. A full-body scuffle - your limbs thrashing against his as he followed you wherever you rolled, one hand darting in to squeeze the side of your knee, another digging into your waist, drawing all sorts of laughter and flustered sounds from you. He broke your defences with each passing second.

He loved the sound of it all. Loved seeing you lose your cool. Your cheeks warmed, eyes gleaming as you tried to scramble up the bed.

"You're all talk, you know that?" he said, catching your ankle and dragging you back down with one hand. "All mouth."

"You love my mouth." You countered, twisting, trying to push up on your elbows.

"You’re not getting away that easy." He chuckled, catching the place above your knee and yanking you more fully into his reach. You landed on your side with your back to him, and couldn't get away before his arm hooked low around your stomach.

He pressed his thumb against your hip and you bucked, laughing uncontrollably as your hands tried to pry his free. He was laughing too now - the kind of warm, dark sound that made your stomach flip. And you were caught. Really caught. With every passing ticklish second, you lost more fine motor control, more tension seeped out of you, more fight evaporated.

Your mouth though... that kept going.

Kinda.

It tried.

"You- I- I swear I’m gonna-"

"Tell me," he leaned in, smiled against your ear. "Tell me what you're gonna do."

You craned your neck to look at him, giggling, breathless, still defiant. "Careful, old man. You’re sounding winded."

Bucky stilled.

Smiled and- oh, fuck. Not just smiled.

It was that rare grin. Full, and boyish, and wicked.

And suddenly you were flat on your back, his weight braced over you, knees straddling your hips. Your wrists were pulled against your chest, caught tightly between the two of you in one of his hands.

Your breath hitched.

He hadn't been letting you win...

But he had been letting you fight.

And it looked like you'd just lost that privilege.

"Repeat that?" he said, voice husky with mock offence.

You smirked, opened your mouth to do so-

You gasped at the cold as his metal hand slipped under your hoodie. Before you could protest the icy temperature, he dug in.

Right beside your hip, just on the side of your stomach. The spot you didn't even know was there to be found. But he pressed in fast, little circles, cold metal fingers expertly tormenting the exact right place to send you into chaos.

You threw your head back and laughed, deep and loud and hearty, unable to do anything else.

Bucky kept grinning, delighted, wisps of his hair falling forward as he leaned in close, not letting you escape any part of his attention.

"Mmm," he hummed, smug. "There's the goldmine."

He picked up his pace and you started squealing, legs kicking the bed as you bucked under him, laughter tearing out of your throat.

"I'm gonna die-" you gasped.

"No no. You’ll live. I'll make sure of it," he chuckled, hand still tormenting, switching up his rhythm just enough to keep you on edge. "... I'll make sure you feel every second of this."

You were shrieking now, helpless, because any movement sent you right back into him, his hands, his body, his laughter. The cold of his fingers under your shirt.

His touch stayed with you, devilish and steady and clawing at the softest part of your belly. And his grin only widened, his lips ducking to your neck. "You like my metal hand now, sweetheart?" he cooed, lips and stubble grazing the sensitive skin below your ear.

You arched between the bed and his body, crying out in a half-sob of laughter. "NO- NO- not my nnn- not there-!"

"You still wanna tell me what you're gonna do?"

"Oka- OKAY! You proved your point! You WIN!"

Blessedly - he stopped, watching as the air flooded your lungs, chuckling as you squeaked when he pressed a brief kiss to the side of your neck.

His metal hand stayed on your skin but slid to rest on your waist, idle and strong and now docile.

And you? You were completely undone, breathless, runner's high, chest rising fast under his hand still holding your wrists. And your dazed eyes met his.

His face had softened. That teasing glow still lingered behind his smile - but now it came with something gentler. Something warm.

"Y'alright?" he asked, voice quiet, eyes flicking to your lips for a brief second.

You took in a big breath. "I think my lungs collapsed."

He snorted. "Yeah. You're fine."

You tried to glare, but there was no sharpness behind it, only relief. Only fun. Only something heating up a little more. So you slipped one hand out of his hold, and hooked a finger around the chain poking out just above the side of his collar.

Thin metal slid against itself, and fabric. Your eyes locked on the shape of it beneath his shirt.

You pulled, gently, and watched the shape move. Up, towards his collar. More chain free. Then, his dog tags peaked out. Tipped free.

They tinked softly as they landed in your open palm.

Then your eyes flicked back up to his, winding the chain once more around your finger. Insistent.

He let you pull him down to meet you.

And he let you kiss him senseless.

And after all that... all of this really became a thing. A part of your rhythm, threading itself into your days like muscle memory.

Because it wasn’t just tickling. Or roughhousing. It was you.

Your laugh. Your joy.

The way he coaxed it free.

The sound of it.

The way your body shook against him when it hit, wild and unrestrained and helpless. The way your smile went crooked when you tried to talk through it. The way you always fought back and never won. The way you let him have that side of you.

All of it. He loved it.

And he got very good at it.

One time, you were curled up on the couch watching something dumb, your legs draped across his lap, tank top riding up slightly from how you'd twisted onto your side. You were deep into some half-witty analysis about the movie when Bucky’s hand slid, slowly and deliberately, beneath the hem of your top.

You barely registered the motion - just a subtle movement along your back, near your ribs, his thumb brushing soft skin.

Then he pinched right under your shoulder blade, and your whole spine jolted like you’d been shocked.

"Hey!"

He smirked, leaned back like the smug bastard he was, and repeated the quick, precise motion.

You tried to grab his hand, but he caught your wrist, chuckling low as you tried to twist away - only for him to push his hand in deeper, fingertips seeking that little pocket just under your back ribs.

"You didn’t tell me about this one," he murmured, with the gall to feign offence.

"I didn’t know!" you wheezed, giggling helpless, kicking at him. "You must've found a- a new spot, you- jerk!"

He hummed with faux-thoughtfulness, easing his touch there, drawing slow and light circles that made you shiver and curl your toes. "Hmm. It's on the list now."

Another time, he caught you in the kitchen, reaching for a bowl in a higher cabinet, stretched out in your sweats and socks, tank top riding up in the back. He came up behind you, bracing your hips between his hands.

You stilled. Warm. Neck heating. You turned your head slightly.

"Well are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna help me reach?"

And then-

He ducked, leaned in, and blew a raspberry against your lower back - right where your spine dipped and your skin was exposed.

You half-yelped, half-laughed, knees buckling, arms shooting down to brace yourself on the counter.

Too quickly, he stood, arms looping around your waist as you tried to stumble away, and he smiled against your neck. "I'll never get tired of that."

"Hmph," you tried, but couldn't feign annoyance. Especially when he reached up and brought the bowl down without another word.

But he didn't always have great timing. Like the one singular time he got you while you were brushing your teeth.

You were standing at the sink in your little black sleep shorts, thin-strapped tank, mouth full of minty foam, groggy, half-awake, and apparently something about you screamed: ah yes - this is the perfect target.

Because Bucky walked up behind you, wrapped his arms around your waist, kissed the curve of your shoulder... and then tickled your ribs. Not soft. Not gentle. Ruthless. Firm, deft, digs of his fingers.

Toothpaste foam erupted from your mouth, splattering the sink and mirror, toothbrush clicking against the floor as you doubled over and shrieked and squirmed, whacking your knees against vanity.

That time - you really did scowl at him. And he apologised. Profusely. Through his laughter, through his chuckling as you threw a towel at him to clean the place up.

You only eased your glare ten minutes when he placed a coffee in your hands and kissed you, slow and deep and languid, one hand still on the mug to make sure it didn't spill.

Apart from the one Toothpaste Incident, he was wise about it; he never played when you were upset. When you were anxious, closed off, in pain. When it was clear you only wanted to be touched carefully. Wanted to be grounded.

So it was when you were present. Close enough for him to read you, to feel it was okay. Only when he was sure you’d let yourself go for him.

Because your laughter - your real, wild laughter - wasn’t something everyone got. Not your deep kind. Not your body-shaking, wheezing kind that made your cheeks hurt and your voice go hoarse. Not the kind that made your body weak and vulnerable.

But he got it. Over and over again.

And every time you caught him grinning down at you while you gasped and laughed and shrieked for mercy - his hair falling into his face, eyes gleaming, voice rich with affection...

You could see it that same flash of joy. Like he couldn’t believe his luck. Like this was the sound he’d been waiting to hear on the other side of the ice.

So you gave it, played it, da capo, over and over, and over again.

#no y/n #ticklish!reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel reader insert #bucky tickle #bucky tickle fic #tickle fluff #marvel fluff #reader insert fluff #bucky barnes reader insert

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