#it definitely feels like my creative juices are draining and im trying to keep a hold of them because i WANT TO WRITE

[marinerainbow]

How are you this week? Sending love 🫶🏻

Hnnnggggg.... I survived 😅 I got tomorrow off work, so I'm hoping I can recharge a little, but... We'll see 😅 but it's really sweet you wanted to ask! ^^

How was your week? ^^

[buckyskorpion]

“take a seat, we’re gonna be here a while” with bucky barnes? please and thanks! i love your writing btw xoxo

i know this was sent ages ago but i needed to get mi creative juices flowing so im filling this prompt now! thank you for sending this and thank u so much for enjoying my work!!

~~~~~~~~~

Bucky appears in the doorway look grumpy, lumpy, and thoroughly confused. He stuffs his hands in his oversized hoodie and glares at you from the shadows, frown deepening as you catch his eye and grin. 

“Good morning,” you sing-song. The stormcloud in the doorway grumbles like thunder. 

“It’s two-thirty,” he says, and you just shrug. 

Natasha whacks you on the side of the head which hurts like a bitch (not that you’d tell her) and says, “Stop moving.”

“What are you doing?” Bucky asks, sounding wary. He shuffles further into the room with a deeply suspicious squint, trying to see what Natasha is doing on your head. You sit cross-legged at her feet while she works - she’s already sectioned your hair so you’re sure you look a treat with the deformed buns littered over your head. Now she’s got the clippers and is carefully shaving the hair at the nape of your neck, moving up in careful strokes. 

“Shaving my head,” you tell Bucky, gesturing to your hair wildly which earns you another slap from Nat. “Duh.” 

“Why?” Bucky asks slowly, like you’re dumb, and maybe you are but honestly you’re just so bored. Quarantine sucks, your hair sucks, you’re sick of it getting in your face and in your mouth and being a general pain in your ass. Training is a nightmare with long hair, Steve always sits on it somehow during movie night, and Sam won’t stop bitching about it clogging the drain in the gym showers. This is what’s best for everyone. 

“My hair, my choice,” you say, and Nat hums in agreement. “I wanna see what my skull looks like. Don’t you ever wonder that? What if I’ve had a weird shaped head this whole time and never knew.”

“You do have a weird shaped head,” Bucky says, “Don’t need to shave it to figure that out.”

“Rude,” you huff. Under you breath, like an actual child, you mutter, “Your mum’s got a weird shaped head.”

“My mum’s dead,” Bucky says, deadpan. Nat snorts and you grab a chunk of your hair to throw at Bucky, but it just falls uselessly at his feet. 

A few beats of silence pass, save for the low buzz of Nat’s clippers. It feels really nice, like every stroke is ten pounds off your shoulders (or scalp, you suppose) and you can’t wait for Nat to be done. She moves onto the next section, kneeling in a ring of your hair on the ground, while Bucky just stands in front of you shuffling from foot to foot like an idiot.

“Take a seat,” you say, gesturing to the floor space in front of you. “We’re gonna be here a while.”

Bucky hesitates for a second. You can hear his metal hand whirring in the pocket of his hoodie like he’s wringing his hands together, but eventually he folds himself down to sit cross-legged in front of you. You smile at him, and he smiles back but it morphs into more of a laugh. His face scrunches up all cute as he looks at you and you can’t help but poke your tongue out at him. 

“You look funny,” he says, gesturing to the weird buns Nat’s put your hair in to hold it out of her way. 

“That’s rich,” you say, gesturing to his face. He rolls his eyes but he’s still smiling, so you know he’s not really offended. But you’re looking at him now and he does look funny - dark circles under his eyes, red rimmed like he’s been crying or up all night or maybe both. He must’ve been wandering around the compound at two in the morning for a reason, and unless it was to shave his head as well, it probably wasn’t a good one. 

He seems happy enough now, sitting on your bedroom floor with you and Nat and the soft hum of the clippers. She’s done one side of your head now, and it feels weird to not have the familiar curtain of hair tucked behind your ear. You reach up to move it only to find nothing there, your fingers brushing against fresh, cropped stubble instead. It feels so different - soft but rough at the same time, scratchy under your fingertips but so good on your scalp. You feel your eyes grow wide as you run your fingers over your new hair again, ignoring Nat’s annoyed huff at your movements. 

“You like it?” Bucky asks, smiling at you stupid. A rush of giddy excitement shoots through your chest, spurring you to reach out and grab Bucky’s arm without thinking. 

“Feel it,” you say, tugging his arm until his hand leaves his pocket. He looks wildly uncomfortable for a moment before he relents, letting you manoeuvre his flesh hand onto the side of your head. 

“Do you want me to cut you?” Nat asks, but she doesn’t sound pissed. In fact, she sounds amused, and that’s never a good sign for you. But you can’t really focus on that when Bucky is now entranced with the feeling of your buzzed head under his fingertips. 

He stares wide-eyed as he rubs the side of your head, and you let your eyes flutter closed at the feeling. It’s nice, alright? Bucky’s touch tingles all over your scalp and down your spine, little lightning bolts to follow his moody thunder from before. All trace of his bad mood is gone as he scratches at your buzz, now, making you shiver. 

That seems to be the final straw for Natasha, who finishes off the last chunk and clicks the clippers off. The silence startles Bucky and he lets his hand drop, looking up almost guiltily at Nat as she says, “I’m done, I’m going to bed. Have fun, idiots.”

“Thanks Tash,” you say, but you don’t even look at her as she leaves the room. You’re too busy looking at Bucky. 

“How’s it look?” you ask, all quiet in your now silent bedroom. Bucky snaps his gaze back from the empty space Nat once took up to you, eyes widening as he takes in the full picture of your middle-of-the-night-breakdown decision. 

He swallows, but his voice still sounds hoarse when he says, “Um, good. Looks neat.”

“Neat, huh?” you say, and run your hand over your head. That’s different, for sure. Gone is the length and weight around your shoulders, and when you shake your head like a wet dog you’ve never felt so unencumbered. Bucky laughs at your antics and you grin back, almost breathless, so enamoured with the cool waft of the aircon on your nearly exposed scalp and the absolute lack of anything to get in your way. You say, “Yeah, pretty fucking neat.”

“I liked your long hair,” Bucky says, and you almost frown until he adds, “But I like this, too. Maybe more. It feels nice.”

“Like a tennis ball,” you say, nodding solemnly. 

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Bucky says with an eyeroll, but you just grin. You rise onto your knees, crawling into Bucky’s lap before he can say anything and rubbing your head in his face like a deranged cat. He squawks and tries to lean away from you without also toppling over onto his back, and you just laugh. He grips your waist to stabilise you both and you settle a bit, letting your legs loop around his hips and your hands to rest on his shoulders.

“You think it feels nice,” you say, teasing lightly. Bucky makes to shove you off but you clench your thighs and hold on tight, all two-hundred pounds of Bucky no match for your stubborn idiot-streak. “You like it.”

“Said that, didn’t I? Turn your ears on,” Bucky says, but he’s blushing so you know you’ve won. 

“You like me,” you say, and you grin, because you finally push Bucky over the line you always love to toe. Teasing Bucky is a sport and you’re the Olympic champion, the Usain Bolt - you win every time. Bucky growls and snaps a hand up to grip the back of your skull. You’re delighted to find his giant hand spans the entirety of the back of your scalp as he holds you in place. He scritches into the short hairs and you’re even more delighted at the feeling that zings down your spine to your cunt almost instantaneously. 

“And you like that,” Bucky grins, all sharp teeth and dark eyes because he’s a devil and teasing you just so happens to be his Olympic gold as well. You make a sound almost like a groan, kind of like a purr, and nudge your head back into his hand some more so he keeps touching you like that. 

“Don’t like you, though,” you say, breathless now so it doesn’t quite have the same impact. Bucky rocks you backwards, lying you flat so he can crawl on top of you despite the absolute carnage of your old hair littering the carpet and now, probably, all of your clothes. Good thing you won’t be needing those much longer.

“We’ll see about that,” Bucky says, and see about that you most definitely do.