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#40s!bucky x reader
buckrecs · 1 year
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2023 𝙗𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙮 𝙗𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙨 𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙧𝙚𝙘 2
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masterlist | ✨- fav fics | status - complete
All of them are COMPLETE Series.
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1. Chicken by @delusionalwriterr
Bucky x Reader
You and Bucky Barnes shared a strange relationship with each other and the team was getting tired of it. When a mission goes wrong, will you be forced to admit your feelings for each other or will they remain buried?
2. sweet reverie by @demxters
College!Bucky x Reader
bucky asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for the weekend but after what you thought was sweeter than a dream has you facing a harsher reality.
3. The Time of the Prey by @subwaysurf45 ✨
Knight!Bucky x Princess!Reader
The younger sister of the most talked about princess in the kingdoms really can’t do much except smile and nod. When Natasha, your sister, finally goes to moves all of you to Shieldshire to marry her beloved Prince Steve you are left with your art, all alone. But one Knight took it upon himself to keep you company, and that company was all you needed to get through wedding season. Will that company last or will it be ripped away from the both of you? A war is starting and it seems targets are being made. 
4. super rich kids by @traitorjoelite
College!Bucky x Reader
kids with too much money, parties every night, and an incident with your best friend’s brother is just the norm on the upper east side.
5. Bring You Home by @sunflowersoldat ✨
Bucky x Reader
Y/N travels back in time to get Steve’s help for one last mission, but not everything goes as planned.
6. The Colour of Rain by @delaber
Bucky x Reader
On the run from his violent past, Bucky has sought refuge in a small town in Mexico where he enjoys the peace and quiet of not understanding a word of Spanish. A peace that is violently disturbed when he runs into the most annoying woman he has ever met.
7. All The King’s Men by @nastybuckybarnes ✨
Alpha!King!Bucky x Omega!Reader
Your father always said that if it weren’t for your presentation, he’d think you were an Alpha. There’s a reason for that. Growing up in a world where Omegas are treated like garbage, you’ve fought for the respect that you have. Until you’re sold off to an old King desperate for a bride. But you will not lay down and present for your new husband. No, you will fight back.
8. Peaches by @noctumbra
DBF!Bucky x Reader
what they were doing was wrong, both of them knew that. it had to be kept as a secret. not everyone would understand what they have, she knew that much. they’d look at them and see an older man misleading a girl so much younger than him. it wasn’t the thing, though. that had never been the thing. it wasn’t misleading, taking advantage ─whatever they called their situation. it was love. forbidden, not-society-friendly, but love. 
9. Sweet Dreams by @abovethesmokestacks ✨
Bucky x Baker!Reader
Sometimes you start talking with someone, and you realize you share an interest and a wish for a certain supersoldier to be cut som slack. Enter cupcakes.
10. Fuck Up The Friendship by @summerofsnowflakes
Bucky x Reader College AU
Fed up with having your feelings played with you decide to have some fun with a with your friend Steve.
11. A Sweet Old Fashioned Notion by @sidepartskinnyjeans
Bucky x Reader
As the dust settles on the second 'snap' Bucky has been getting to know Brooklyn again. His neighbourhood has changed a lot, but it's changed for you too since you got blipped back. Bucky is still pretty old fashiond at heart, there were things he expected from life, to get married, to have a family. Simple things that seem far away now especially when online dating is so hard. Maybe something more traditional would be good for both of you.
12. Soldier, My Soldier by @cryptidcasanova
Winter Soldier!Bucky x Reader
“I am the writing on the wall, the whisper in the air. Without these things I am nothing. So now, I must shed blood.” He lulled at the base of your throat. “Sweetheart, come with me.”
13. Homesick at space camp by @atlaese
Bucky x Avenger!Reader
dying on a cold spaceship lightyears away from home wasn't what you expected
14. Spirits in the House by @redgillan
Detective!Bucky x Reader
Reader is in a coma after a car accident. Bucky moves into your apartment and find your spirit still hanging around.
15. Sugary Sweet by @all1e23
Sugar Daddy!Bucky x Reader
Is it all just sugar or something more? 
16. Missing Piece by @likeahorribledream
Bucky x Reader
When Bucky first arrived to the compound, Steve was his only friend and the only person he trusted himself around. That is until Steve introduces him to you, his best friend. Bucky was fascinated by how often you and Steve would hug each other. It had been a very long time since anyone had touched him in such a loving way and it didn’t take long before Bucky found himself craving your touch, but whenever you’d get too close he would flinch as if someone had hit him. His trauma still too fresh a wound for him to be comfortable with someone touching him. Then one day, he finally fights his instincts and let you touch him. He hadn’t realized how truly touch starved he was until he feels the warmth of your skin against his. Something clicks for the both of you in that moment, you had found your missing piece. As long as you were with each other, you were home. You both tried to fool yourselves into thinking you were just friends, really close friends. Friends that needed to be together almost every minute of every day and who needed to hold each other to be able to sleep at night.
17. Metal Arm and Short Skirts by @buckyarchives
Bucky x Doctor!Reader
waltzing in as the new head of the Avenger's medical division, impressing everyone, and... scaring Bucky with your incredibly short skirts. Bucky's having a hard time looking at his arm as anything other than a deadly weapon, and you're more than happy to help him.
18. Scars by @chickenfics ✨
Bucky x Reader Western AU
Running from a past that haunts you and a future that is unsure, the last thing you wanted was to take up with a stranger. Strangers, you'd learned, are almost always more trouble than they're worth. But when dangers from the life you're trying to leave behind get too close for comfort, drastic times call for drastic measures, and the stranger you'd once feared becomes the only person you can trust -- and perhaps the only person you'd call your friend. Now you both just have to make it out alive... 
19. The Color of Blood by @theidiotwhowritesthings
Bucky x Agent!Reader Soulmate AU
In this world, a person didn’t discover color until they locked eyes with their soulmate. As an agent of SHIELD, finding your soulmate was hardly a priority. Especially since you were currently dealing with the shocking discovery that HYDRA had been pulling the strings behind SHIELD actions this entire time. Life was all about timing, and you were about to find out that your timing was absolute shit.
20. Everybody’s Watching Him (But He’s Looking At Her) by @writing-for-marvel
Actor!Bucky x Assistant!Reader
The entire world’s eyes are on movie star Bucky Barnes, what he’s wearing, who he’s dating, even the mystery behind why he needs a prosthetic arm - but Bucky doesn’t care about all that, he’s only got one thing on his mind, you.
21. 27 Dresses by @beccaanne814
Bucky x Reader Modern AU
You are the epitome of “always a bridesmaid, never a bride.” You think you know what love is, but sometimes you can’t see what’s right in front of you.
22. Heal by @chucksfavouriteprophet
Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader
For months you managed to distance yourself from Bucky Barnes, the alpha you long for. But one night you have no choice but to comfort him, something which brings out emotions in both of you. Except it also brings out emotions in the Winter Solider, which results in a devastating turn of events that neither of you might be able to come back from.
23. Dangerous Woman by @samthemarvelfan
Bucky x Reader
You know he blames you, but you never thought he’d hate you.
24. Witness Protection by @mymoonagedaydream
Bucky x Reader
You'd only been living in New York for a few weeks when Natasha introduced you to James Barnes, the man who’d change your life forever.
25. Everything’s Better in Westview by @espinosaurusrexex ✨
Bucky x Reader
Bucky and Y/N sneak into Westview to have the perfect life. Away from late Steve and Tony, Vision and Natasha, they let themselves be consumed by suburban magic. To their surprise, however, some of these people aren’t so dead in the town. And there are some other weird things happening that make them question their sanity. But that’s okay, right? ‘Cause everything’s better in Westview.
26. Trying by @moonlight-prose
Bucky x Reader
Bucky Barnes was a new person. He survived a war with Thanos, finally getting rid of his triggers, and losing his best friend. He didn’t think there was anything else to survive. That is until he meets you in a bookstore and you become something he is scared of losing. An old villain has shown himself and suddenly you are the target of a new ploy to bring the Winter Soldier back.
27. unconventional methods by @marvelouslizzie
Bucky x Adult Content Creator!Reader
Bucky Barnes has a big problem: he is too anxious to date and too old school to enjoy porn. But he needs some kind of relief, and he needs it right now. After getting an accidental boner during a mission, Natasha suggests him an application that seems to be exactly what he needs. Will your content solve the problem for him? Or will it create new problems?
28. ephemeral by @aescapisms
Professor!Bucky x Reader
Bucky Barnes fell in love with you, but the universe isn’t all that forgiving.
29. Bulletproof by @amandaoftherosemire ✨
Bucky x Reader College AU
You, Steve Rogers, and Bucky Barnes have been the best of friends since middle school. On top of that, you’ve been in love with Bucky pretty much the whole time. Everything changed after the three of you got to college, however. Over the past couple of years you and Steve have become even closer but things between you and Bucky have been strained since the night he broke your heart. Can anything bring you back together?
30. The Heart is a Deep Ocean by @dreamlessinparis
Bucky x Reader Titanic AU
Titanic was known as the ship of dreams. For you, it was the dream of getting home, or so you thought. From the moment you locked eyes with James Buchanan Barnes, all those dreams changed and your life was never the same.
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buckyysdoll · 8 months
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— 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 —
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જ⁀➴ 18+ MDNI — • summary: even bucky’s parents in the bedroom next door won’t stop him from getting you off; • cw: smut, no direct p in v but it’s referenced at the end, hand riding through clothes, implied hj/bj; • pairing: 40s! bucky x f! reader
MAIN MASTERLIST
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Your moan was abruptly cut off with a hand at your mouth, so it came out as muffled. Even still, though, there was nothing that could silence your desperate sounds.
Not even Bucky.
Especially not even Bucky considering it was his fingers that were inside you.
“Shh doll, you gotta keep quiet.” There was something like pride in that sly little laugh. Pride for how you were a mess on his hand while his parents slept soundly next door.
Next door — as in the very next room with only one wall between you, and thin. Any second now they could open that door, and in truth the thrill just made it even better.
“You don’t want anyone to hear us, now do you?” Bucky’s smile was clear in his voice. And beyond that was something much deeper, much softer. It was a whisper smooth as velvet in the dark.
There was a challenge, too, in the words, and you would’ve swatted at him had you had your coherence. But as it was you couldn’t think beyond the sweet ache between your legs, and your steadily rising need that only Bucky could help relieve.
He wasn’t even touching your skin, for God’s sake, but working you up through your panties; you sat with your thighs parted on him, against him, straddling his waist with his hand up your skirt.
For all that you cried out, though, it may as well have been his cock; may as well have been both of you stripped fully bare, and not only heavy petting through clothes.
“Please,” was all you could say, and you fought to keep your eyes on his own. With your hands braced on his shoulders like this, every curl of his fingers had your own on him tightening, clutching at your boyfriend as he touched you through the fabric and your wetness soaked through to his hand.
It didn’t escape his notice and dear God, you could see he was hard — but as he had said, this was your time now, and he wouldn’t stop until you were coming.
Until he could raise his hand to his lips and taste what you’d done for him, given.
And by God, if there was one thing at all you didn’t want — it was for that boy to even think of stopping.
You wanted — needed — to come, felt like you couldn’t breathe as Bucky’s touch took you higher. He removed the hand from your mouth when convinced you wouldn’t expose yourselves with a cry, and instead held you by the hip to guide your soft, undulating movements.
But as you ground against him, so wet and aching, your urgency grew; enough to make him feral at the sight of you like this, so plain and obvious in the tent of his trousers.
And yet still, he made no move to help it. Instead he just watched and watched —
And spoke.
“What would they think if they knew what you were letting me do to you, hm? You know they think you’re so sweet and pure, but I personally need some convincing.”
It was just like Bucky to choose the absolute worst time at all for the tease, his movements building and coiling the threat of release up inside you, but then slowing with speech.
You bucked your hips into his hand with your own clutching steady to his biceps and whined. “Bucky,” you got out with your face buried in the crook of his neck, breathing him in with the feel of his fingers inside you almost being too much.
You were gonna come soon, and you knew it — so did he. It was both too much and not enough.
Not even nearly enough.
The words cut through you like a death knell and all the room around you was a barely-there haze. There wasn’t the window, or the curtains you’d drawn; not the radio so quiet on the table by the bed.
Indeed, even that beneath both of your bodies seemed redundant when compared to his touch, and so there was him, just him, and how close you were; your thighs soaked, his fingers more so, with arousal.
And so indeed no, it damn well wasn’t enough. You needed more of him, all of him, all you could have —
You needed to do something, anything, to ease the sure ache between your parted legs.
And so that was when you started to kiss him, starting firstly at his jaw, smooth and recently shaved. You tracked it down to the curve of his neck and left a little trail to his ear; a series of open-mouthed kisses that had Bucky cursing under uneven breaths.
Thinking, Oh now how the tables had turned, you claimed him in the only way you could.
All the while you carried on rocking your hips, building pace as you chased your own high; and by the time you’d kissed at his temple, working down to the corner of his mouth — he was gone.
You didn’t even know where you were but Bucky’s mouth parted against your own lips, his tongue an eager thrust as he sought out your own until you were just hands and fire and teeth.
With each roll of your hips, your blouse revealed itself as much too thin. You were rocking against Bucky’s chest and the friction was too much, it felt too good; your nipples peaked hard against goose flesh as shivers overtook you, still brushing up on him —
And his taste, dear god, his taste —
He would take you right now, right here in this bed if he could, and you’d let him, but now —
His fingers curled deeper until the telltale signs of your legs softly shaking began.
You hadn’t gone further than this, not yet, hadn’t ventured beyond underwear. And as you thought it, you couldn’t help imagining how it would be —
Skin on skin, panting breaths. The weight of Bucky’s body on you, between your legs, inside you —
The tremors in your legs — now much more violent, urgent, desperate — ran straight to your bones, and your sex clenched empty around the lack of more of him inside you.
Release threatened to spill, and spill hard, as you clutched and just rode him, moaning softly, breaths hitching —
As all the while your Bucky kissed and loved you.
Worshipped his girl.
For now it was his turn to trail wet kisses down the length of your neck, and you held fast to his hair — drove your fingers into the mass of dark silk and cried out.
You couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe beyond him, and it very nearly hurt to feel this good and sore. It felt if the whole damn world was in you.
And he was it.
And knowing he marked you with his mouth even as you came hard on his hand, you clutched tight to him and tighter even still, nails scrabbling for purchase as the precipice came near.
Came near as you free fell right down from it with a cry, with a plea. You barely heard the soft muttered praises he said as you shuddered apart from atop him.
“Bucky, Bucky,” was the mantra on your breath, but it was what you said next that undid him. Until now, he’d fought fucking hard to keep his painful erection in the background of his mind, counting up numbers with his focus on you, every part he could reach, just to keep it at bay.
Now though, your aching desperation was his saving grace. It was his own confession.
And so the groan he let out was obscene when you cried out, “James, please, I need you.”
And of course, you needn’t have to say the words twice. He was right there with you every single time.
Bucky guided you through each convulsion and urged you to take all he could give, to take anything he could offer you now, no longer caring how loud you were or became.
He didn’t care for anything beyond you, in this moment. Anything but you looking like this:
On him with your cheeks flushed, mouth in a silent, open ‘O’. You gone weak against his front, bloused chest to his own, still now from the friction of before. Foreheads together and hearts pounding fast, he held you through the slight aftershocks.
Your hair was damp at your temples, curling slightly, and your skin was slick with sweat. Even his was hot and held that familiar post-release sheen you so loved.
And though you hadn’t even touched him anywhere below the belt, you saw his eyes blown wide with arousal as he raised those two fingers to his mouth, and then sucked.
You might’ve come again right there and then, just seeing that. Would’ve were it not for the fact you wanted to pleasure him now, in return.
The hard-on so apparent in his trousers would no longer be ignored for the sake of your need.
And so you didn’t take your eyes of Bucky as you let him brush your hair back from your face, allowed him to press one last kiss to your mouth and murmur softly, “That’s it, doll. That’s it.”
But the answer you gave was spoken in just subtle movements as you shifted position, edging backwards down the bed on your hands and knees until you came to where you wished to be most. You didn’t even bother to pull your skirt back down to pool at your ankles; you felt no need to fix the buttons of your blouse that had since come undone.
You just met his gaze from where he rested at the headboard while you lowered your head to his lap.
The look in his eyes was unhinged, and just one glance at his face spelt sex. He hadn’t even gotten inside you, not yet, and still his cheeks were flushed, eyes blown wide.
It was so plain what you’d been doing with his lips full and glistening, wet; swollen red. But if anyone had walked in that room right then, no love nor money would’ve made any difference.
And as you lightly tugged on a button of his pants — a request, to which he eagerly nodded — you resolved to make him feel as good as you had in the place he’d just made in his arms.
Resolved it as you bared him from his trousers to the boxers beneath, already worshipping the sight that met you and the sense that it would be a much longer night than you’d both planned.
✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪
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littlelioncub43 · 2 years
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Just a Taste
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Summary: You and Bucky have a nice routine down: he takes you out to dinner, some dancing, then you lure him upstairs to make you both cum in your pants. But this time, you want a little taste of something new. 
Pairing: 40s!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader
Warnings: smut (18+ ONLY, minors DNI), making out, dry humping, hand job, blow job, Bucky isn’t a virgin but he’s never gotten a bj before, switch!Bucky, switch!Reader, Reader is a menace but in a good way, mention of fingering and pussy eating, vocal Bucky (he’s a screamer), pet names (I avoid the term ‘doll’ like the plague), fluffy times, and cutie patooties in love. 
Word Count: 3,000
A/N: This was supposed to be shorter than it was. But oh well! I was in a dick sucking mood again, and I thought that since I did 40s!Steve, I might as well do 40s!Bucky. Let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Send me some horny 40s Bucky thots too, please! Ok! I love you guys! 
Kisses💋
—K
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It was a routine at this point: Buck would take you out to dinner, some dancing, a stroll through the park on the way home, then you’d lure him upstairs to your apartment to grind on him until you both came in your underwear. So, when you whispered between mind-numbing kisses that Clara and Margaret weren’t home, Bucky immediately knew what you were implying— his dick did too. 
The moment the door to your apartment was shut, you were on each other. Your hands in his hair to angle his lips just the right way, his hand on your waist to hold you as close as humanly possible, and one hand holding your leg hiked up around his waist. He had you against the wall, your back pressed into the light floral wallpaper while you devoured his lips just how he likes it. And the hard, throbbing bulge pressing into your core told you that he likes it a lot. 
You quiver in his arms when he gently rolls his erection into you, he was still so shy, scared to go too far or move too fast with you. You reward him with a soft moan, and tug his hair teasingly. Bucky grunts at the gentle sting at his scalp, his cock twitching happily, his lips breaking from yours to gasp for air. 
“Jesus, Sweetheart,” he rasps out, “you keep that up, this’ll be over sooner than I’d like,” he chuckles and reclaims your lips, sneaking his tongue into your mouth to try and fight for dominance of the kiss. You let him lead for a moment before rolling your hips into his, the sensual grinding of your clothed core against his never failed to leave you both gasping. “Oh fuck, that’s it—so fucking good…”
“My, what a filthy mouth you have, Mr. Barnes,” you tease, “what would your mother think?”
“Please, do not mention my mother right now,” he begs, making you both laugh. 
“I’m sorry, Buck, I can take your mind off it,” you smirk and push off the wall, guiding him towards the couch. Bucky eagerly leans into the cushions and pulls you into his lap, sighing contently when you take your place on top of him. Your mouth attaches to his again, this time sloppier. You let your tongue slide against his slowly while your hips begin to move against his. Bucky purrs when you kiss him, the way your tongue swirls around his mouth and the sweet taste of your spit sends his head spinning every time, and he fucking loves it. 
The sound of his belt being undone has Bucky’s brain short-circuiting, you were still humping him, his own pace stuttering as his mind tries to catch up with what’s going on. He breaks the kiss to grab your hands gently. 
“W-What are you doing?” He practically moans into your mouth. You smirk and bite your lip. 
“Nothing you won’t like,” you whisper before kissing his lips and trailing kisses along his jaw and neck, his grip on your hands loosening with each messy kiss. When you find the spot on his neck that makes him shiver, you sink your teeth into it. The action has Bucky’s body jolting with electricity and a desperate need to cum that he can’t ignore any longer. You pull his zipper down, slowly peeling back the layers that separate you from his aching cock. His hands paw at your hips to help ground himself—Bucky wasn’t a virgin, but something about you made it feel like his first time. Each touch, each kiss, each loving word had his stomach filling with butterflies and left him shaking for more. 
You trail your kisses lower, dipping your lips down to suck a hickey into his collarbone (just low enough for him to hide behind his shirts). A wicked smirk paints your face when you hear Bucky whimper for you, but you hide it in a sloppy kiss, your hands messing his hair up even more. Bucky smiles and suckles at your tongue, savoring the taste of your mouth like it was his favorite flavor. He feels one of your hands leave their refuge in his hair to slide down his neck, your touch was teasing and feather light as it went lower and lower. His heartbeat quickens when your fingers graze along his chest and abdomen, then your soft hand is slipping into his pants, sneaking under the cotton fabric of his boxers. 
“A-Ah!” He shakily gasps, his eyes blown wide as his head tips back to look for God. The feeling of his heavy cock resting in the palm of your hand has you moaning while you watch him. You can’t resist giving his thick girth a gentle squeeze, the action has Bucky twitching and groaning your name in a lusty growl you’d never heard before. He makes the mistake of looking back to you and sees your hand stuffed down his pants, the sight is almost too good to be true. 
“Oh fuck,” his voice was breathy and strained as you kiss along his sharp jawline, focusing on his sensitive spot like it was your reason for living. Each throb of his cock in your hand and throaty groan had your neglected pussy weeping for attention. But you could wait until later, you had other plans for tonight. 
Carefully, you free his dick from the confines of his black dress pants, noting the relieved sigh that Bucky lets out in your ear. Giving his neck one last peck, you meet Bucky’s dazed eyes with a gentle smile. He curses under his breath, your plump lips were too good for him to resist. You squeak in surprise when he surges forward and smashes your mouths together once more. It was a passionate, feverous kiss, you both moved as if the world existed solely in this kiss. 
When the burn in your lungs got too much, you pulled back for air, foreheads resting together as you breathed each other in. You gave him no time to rest as you slowly stroked his cock, dragging your hand across the silky skin of his shaft. 
“O-Oh…Oh my god,” Bucky gasps before chuckling at himself. He was wrecked. And this was only from your hand. The power you hold over him should scare him, but the sensual way your hand caresses his manhood has his mind going blank. He cradles you to him, his hips driving upwards into your hand, matching your leisurely pace. There’s a glint in your eye that tells him you were up to something, and fuck, right now, he’d let you do anything you wanted to him. 
You lean back a little and still your hand, your head tilted down as you gather the saliva in your mouth to pool on your tongue. Bucky watches as you let a thick string of spit fall from your devious mouth and land on his weeping tip. His jaw flies open as he moans your name in shock, the hot spit coats his shaft as you work it into him, moving your fingers across the sensitive skin to get him nice and wet. You chuckle throatily at his reaction. 
“Feel good, Buck?” You bite your lip and look up at him like you didn’t just spit on his cock. He wants to glare at you and say something smart, but then your hand speeds up and his mind is once again wiped clean. 
“F-Fucking hell,” he grunts instead, his eyes flutter a little as he basks in the pleasure you graciously give him, listening to the slick sounds of your fist stroking his shaft. 
“Take that as a ‘yes,’” you tease and kiss his neck once more, your kisses more aggressive than before, each one accented with a nip of your teeth. Bucky shivers when your lips descend his throat and to his collar bones, but when he feels you sliding out of his lap, his eyes open in confusion. 
“What are you doing?” He asks through breathy moans, his hands trying to hold you in place on his lap, but you managed to placate him with a teasing bite to jaw. When you land on your knees in front of him, he can barely contain the excited curse that falls from his lips. “Shit—W-what are you doing?”
“Shhhh, Bucky, it’s ok,” you coo, your free hand stroking his inner thigh to calm him down. You tug at his undone trousers and look up at him through your lashes (you always knew how to get what you wanted from him), “can you take these off for me, baby?”
Bucky has never moved faster in his life. He pushes his trousers and boxers down even lower, letting them pool at his ankles as he waits for your next move. You hum and lick your lips. Slowly, you drag your hand up his inner thigh, your fingertips just grazing his skin. You’d never done this before, but you’d heard a few (graphic) stories from Clara about it and ever since then you couldn’t help but dream about trying it with Bucky. He was always such a gentleman, so kind and loving—you just want to make him feel good. 
You feel a lump of nerves catch in your throat but when Bucky’s larger frame shuddered as your thumb swiped over his leaking head any and all worries disappeared. You can feel his icy blue eyes burning holes into your skin, watching and waiting for your next move. With a soft sigh, you bring your lips to his knee, pressing a soft kiss to the warm skin. You move higher and higher, kissing his inner thigh as slow as you could. You could feel the thick muscle tense each time you kissed him, small little whimpers flowed freely from his mouth, his breathing was erratic, and his cock throbbed wildly in your hand. 
“Jesuschristjesuschristjesuschrist,” he chanted over and over, his eyes were locked on yours the second you looked up at him, your pretty mouth was dangerously close to his aching dick that was making a mess in your hand. You wink at him and Bucky can’t help but smile bashfully. The smile doesn’t last very long when your hot tongue slides up his inner thigh. “Oh god!”
His hands instinctively clutch your hair and neck, his grip firm but not forcing you anywhere you don’t want to go. You giggle at his reaction and snuggle closer to him, your hand on his cock stopping as you hold eye contact with your lover. Bucky’s legs shake gently as you lean in, your lips getting closer to his leaking tip. Tenderly, you plant a kiss to his head. 
“Fuck!” He curses in a whiny voice, fighting to keep his eyes on the scene in front of him. He wanted to burn the image of you between his legs into his eyelids. He never felt anything quite like this. Sure, he’s gotten a hand job from a date or two but no one’s ever used their mouth on him before. He’d heard stories from some of his friends about it, but he was never lucky enough to be on the receiving end of it—until now. 
 The feeling of his velvety skin on your lips is enchanting, and nearly as intoxicating as the taste of his precum you get when you lick it from your bottom lip. You moan at the taste and immediately swipe your tongue across his tip to collect the pearly beads eagerly. Bucky tosses his head back, his eyes squeezed shut as you lapped at his dick like a kitten. His hips twitched with excitement each time your wet tongue slithered across him, it was turning him into a mess. “Aahh! Ah-hah! Ohhhhh shit!” 
“Oh, Bucky, you taste so good,” you mutter softly before wrapping your lips around him, finally taking him into you. Bucky’s jaw drops wide when he feels your hot mouth surround him, his eyes snapping open as his face crumples in euphoria. 
“Fucking Jesus Christ!” He bellows, his eyes trained on you as you begin to move, bobbing your head up and down at an eager pace. With each stroke you take more and more of his length into your mouth, mentally reciting the notes that Clara gave you: 
Breathe through your nose. You take a deep breath through your nostrils and sink down his shaft even more, his tip breeching your throat. You hear Bucky whimper your name and feel his length flex in your throat. 
Suck harder when you pull back. As you lift your head, you hollow your cheeks, sucking as hard as you could around his tip. The reaction you get from him is exactly what you hoped—his eyes roll back in his head and his grip on your hair tightens. “P-Princess!”
Take a break when you need to, but jack him off while you do it. You release him with a slick ‘pop’, gazing up at his wrecked form. You smirked to yourself as you took him in; his skin was dewey with sweat, his hair was a mess, face was flushed and pinched with pleasure, his shirt unbuttoned and his pants around his ankles— God, you wanted to marry this man. 
Play with his balls. You sneak your free hand down his shaft, cupping his balls in your palm. The moment Bucky feels your soft hand cradle his sack, he wants to cry. A zap of lightning shoots up his spine when you roll them in your palm, your moments were gentle and tender—which made it all the more sinful. He ruts into your hands, trying to gain more friction as his high begins to build. 
“Feelin’ good, Bucky?” You ask sweetly and press a series of kisses to his shaft, starting at the base and going upwards. 
“F-Fuck yes! So fucking good, babydoll, makin’ me feel so good,” he growls out as you suckle at his tip again, his hands gripping your hair tightly. Your tongue swirling around the mushroom head has his toes curling and his back arching. “M’close! Gonna cum! Gonna make me cum, Sweetheart!”
At his announcement, you engulf his member once more. Wasting no time, you bob your head as fast as you can, your tongue licking at the veins along his skin while your hands fondled his balls eagerly. Bucky couldn’t resist it any longer, his hips began to thrust, matching your pace stroke for stroke. His thigh muscles shake beside your head, his legs spreading wider in a bid to be deeper inside your hot, wet, throat. The room was filled with the sounds of Bucky’s unending moans and his cock fucking into your mouth in a heated rhythm, the sloppy noises were like music to him. 
Moan around him. You draw in a deep breath and take him as deep as you possibly could, your eyes water and spill over but you absolutely love it. With your nose pressing into the patch of dark hair at his groin, you moan as loud as you could around him. The sudden vibrations rattled through his entire body, catching him off guard. With a surprised gasp, he finally releases. 
“Fucking—Jesus Christ!” He doubles over as you swallow his load, each contraction of your throat pulls a whimper from the pit of his chest. You feel his cock twitching as each rope fills your mouth, his balls are tense in your hand as you pet him gently, encouraging him to give you more and more. 
Swallowing was like second nature to you, and the moment you got a taste of his seed on your tongue, you were hooked on it. Bucky gasped for breath, his eyesight was spotty as his head spun like a top. He collapsed back into the couch with a whiny groan, his hands releasing your head from their death grip. You suckled at his softening cock until he whimpered your name. You opened your watery eyes and slowly pulled off of him, he sighed in relief, his spent cock thudding against his stomach with a wet ‘thwack’. 
“Holyyyyy shiiiiiiiit,” he sighed with a dazed chuckle, the dopey smile he wore made you giggle with him. Wiping your mouth clean with the back of your hand, you beam up at your loving boyfriend as he stares back. “Come here, Princess.” 
He hauls you into his lap, his arms around your waist to hold you as tightly as his trembling arms could let him. You giggle as he peppers kiss after kiss to any part of your skin he can reach, he mutters ‘I love you’ in between each loving peck. When his lips attach to your swollen ones, he slows down, this kiss is much more loving and meaningful than the rest. 
“Thank you,” he whispers against your lips, still a little breathless. 
“Was it good?” You ask gently and play with his hair idly, you couldn’t help but wonder. He looks at you in astonishment—his chest rumbling with a deep, oddly possessive groan. 
“‘Was it good?’ Are you kidding me? It was fucking amazing, Sweetheart,” he whispers in a husky voice, his hands petting your bare thigh, sneaking up the skirt of your dress. “You’re gonna give me a minute to catch my breath,” he suddenly cups your sopping wet cunt through your ruined panties, his eyes darkening and his voice deepening into a dominant growl, “then I’m gonna eat your pretty pussy until you’re crying. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” you whimper into his ear as you cling to him, his fingers rubbing your weeping entrance through your underwear. “Bucky…”
“Until then,” he pulls your panties to the side and slowly caresses your wet folds, his deep groan matching your high pitched whimper as he feels your bare pussy for the first time, “I’m gonna see how many times I can make you cum on my fingers.”
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nexusnyx · 1 year
Text
s.w.a.l.k.
40s!bucky barnes x f!reader; [3.4k] summary: No one at his battalion knows about her, but they all see Sgt. Barnes writing the letters. Everyone wonders what does he have to say—how can so many words fit in him when he has so few to spare most of the time, but at the end of the day, all that matters is that when he receives his replies, Barnes looks happy. Glowing. 📝: this was based on this post. if you like it, reblogs and comments make all the difference. talk to me about it and i’ll adore ya. 🏷️: established relationship, letters, angst, longing.
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masterlist | series masterlist
ㅤㅤㅤJune, 1943.
If there was one thing Bucky learned during his first weeks on duty, it was how to write.
Who would've thought?
Not Steve, that's for sure. As a matter of fact, Steve's first letter replying to Bucky involved the words 'damn Buck, didn't even know you could write' and while that was hilarious — like, really, very funny, Stevie, you're oh, so hilarious, Bucky wrote back — it was nothing compared to the gift he received from you.
The first letter you sent back to him proved to him why it was important that he wrote. It was crucial that Bucky learned how to verbalize all those feelings and thoughts pent up inside his mind because here, stuck between trenches, men, gunpowder, and the smell of death, he learned the truth about how ephemeral and fragile everything was.
Bucky needed you to know that amongst the rocky current of the waters of life, you were a lifeline.
His sweetheart.
+++++++ +++++++
The first time he wrote, it was short, objective, but sweet.
You'd been his girl for five months before he was shipped out, and Bucky had never been head over heels before.
The unfairness of it all didn't go unregistered.
Of course Bucky would find the one person he wanted to spend all of his time with just before everything everywhere went to shit. Of course he'd find the gal who he enjoys talking to for hours, with no end in sight—the girl who not only can keep up with him but makes him speed up sometimes to catch up. The girl who likes Steve.
(That one had been a big one. Nothing turned Bucky off more than when one of his dates met his best friend and treated him like dirt underneath their shoe, or grimaced, or sighed as if talking to Steve was a chore they had to put up with in order to be on his good side.
Not you.
Bucky introduced you to Steve, went to get a drink, and came back to the two of you laughing like you'd been best friends since childhood. He'd been so fucking happy to see Steve getting along with a girl of his that for a moment, he'd forgot you were his girl.
Between the two of them, you were not just his date. Those last few months, whenever Bucky left the docks to meet you or after he picked up Steve from the mass and the art classes he taught the children, they went to your neighborhood to share a beer and talk to you. All three, together.
Good friends.
Bucky had, many times, joked that you and Steve were an item on your own—the nerdy duo, the smarty pants, the firecrackers. If Steve alone was trouble, Bucky was now damned because his dame was trouble too, and she took none of it home. No—when trouble knocked on your door or his, you faced it with your chin held up high and your hands ready to throw fists.
He'd seen it first hand; the day someone called Steve a fairy and you became part woman, part beast.
That's when he knew he was in love.
That was also a couple of weeks before he was shipped off.)
Regardless of how everything was just not right, Bucky tried seeing the good amidst the bad.
You had asked — no, demanded — he wrote to you as soon as he had a pen and paper in hand, and Bucky could only obey.
The first time was tentative. Fragile, and uncertain.
The letter had been small, and filled with apologies, words scratched out at the last minute, not even a full page long. What could he say? He didn't want to fill your days with the gloom and darkness that loomed over the battalion.
Then, your reply arrived, and Bucky's feelings grew roots inside of him.
Like vines that catch on a wall and become something alive; his ribcages were now filled with words of yours, and they grew, green and vast, as quick as weed, and watered by the memories of you alone.
When he opened the first letter and read the words,
to my Bucky,
he knew there was no turning back.
It must've been the first paragraph that did him in.
The way you spoke to him through paper was so similar to the way you spoke in person that for a few moments, just for a few precious minutes, Bucky could swear you were sitting right next to him, talking in his ear.
Call him crazy or not, but in the breeze, Bucky sensed your warmth. Your perfume.
He knew that was impossible—uncountable miles separated you two, and it was cold in there, colder than he expected.
Nothing but the smell of men, dirty mud and metal hung in the air, but—
he sensed it.
The words carried you in them:
ㅤㅤㅤto my Bucky,
You wrote! Thank you, thank you, thank you. Threefold I thank, so that three times the words come back. Good gods, how I missed you, Jay. I miss you in the mornings, and I miss seeing your frame walking out of the docks coming my way—call me crazy if you want to, but even the smell of your body when you hugged me just to make me yell in spite because the stickiness would cling to my clothes; I miss all of that, too. Don't you dare hold back anything that crosses your mind, ya hear me? I wanna know it all. I don't give a damn if it's ugly, if it's red, if it's horrible and nothing that you would one day say to a dame—I'm yours, James, and nothing about this world is okay or right anymore, so don't you dare hold back the things you'd want me to know. I'm here to listen to everything you're willing to tell me, the same way I'm about to spill my guts about these days here without you, as if you were here sitting on the edge of my bed and not many miles away, somewhere I don't even know, surrounded by people I'm not sure are being good to you like they should.
He read that paragraph so many fucking times that he remembered the words by heart.
'I don't give a damn if it's ugly, if it's red, if it's horrible.'
How had he found you?
He hugged the paper that day.
With eyes searching sideways to see if anyone was paying close attention to him and his silliness, Bucky sniffed the paper and was gifted with a surprise—there was the lingering scent of your perfume there.
That day, he learned the mistake of hugging a letter so close to your heart, where he wished he could keep it: his tears would stain the words, and his longing for you in his arms instead of a piece of paper would make the thing crease, which is the last thing he wanted.
He later found a good metal box, and that's where he decided he would keep your letters.
With a sticker seal from Brooklyn on the lid, Bucky secured the box within his possessions and picked up a pen and paper.
He'd tell you everything. Not because he had much to say or because he was letting the dark thoughts creep around the corners of his mind, but because he wanted to.
If it came out a little woozy, it was alright.
You understood him even when he didn't understand himself.
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ㅤㅤㅤMy sweetheart,
I'm a fool for thinking I'd have no words to say to you. Ever since I got your letter, I feel like I should be walking around with a pen and paper with me at all times, 'cause all I wanna do is tell you all the stupid and important things that happen around here.
The words I'll probably use the most and that you'll see in every letter, I should leave out in the open right at first: I miss you. Goddamn it, I do. I didn't know I could miss someone this much—maybe Steve, 'cause I'm used to having him by my side, and my family, but other than that, I only hoped. And now I do. I'm gonna say this many more times, but I can't wait for all of this to be over so I can not miss you.
Speaking of my ma and the girls—have you found the address I gave you easily? I hope you did. I told Ma in my letter that she should be expecting a visit from someone important to me soon, and that I was devastated that I had to be fucking here instead of there in a moment like this, but I want her to have someone intelligent and important to talk to when I'm here. The girls are young. Kids. These are times too dark for children, and you're exactly the type of gal Ma would hope I brought home—does it count if I'm bringing you home, but from afar? Sending you home. I like the sound of that.
I met a couple of cool guys around here. I'm keeping this paper with me to tell you about their stupid ass jokes, but most of them are too dirty. Don't frown at me—I'm not keeping anything from you, sweetheart, they're just crude and stupid. The shit that man says, y'know? You'd roll your eyes at most of them. I smile to myself every time I think about that.
The Lt. around here told me he likes the way I work. Apparently my aim's good not only in the kitchen flippin' pancakes or throwing darts to impress ya. I'm good with a rifle. I dunno if you wanna know about these gritty details too — tell me to shut the hell up like you always did if not — but since you told me to loosen my tongue, I'm telling you that: I'm a sniper. That means I'm usually in the shadows with my eyes squinting in the direction of the enemy, just looking for a breach. I do my job well. Apparently, they're thinking of upping my rank. I also don't know how to feel about that, but one of the guys here — one of the cool ones, don't worry sweetheart, I'm not hanging around the 'bad influences' (and I write this thinking of you and Steve with your judging ass looks, just so you know) — his name's Morita, and he said that when the battalion is formed and everyone has their Sargeant, we can go back home for a weekend before we're shipped off somewhere else.
A lot of shit is 'classified'.
I know. I can hear you snorting, rolling your eyes. Ya hear that, beautiful? I'll be telling you a lot of 'classified' shit. Tell no one, 'cause I don't know how much they know or not.
Do they have ears and eyes everywhere? Probably. I get the sense they do. Everything you learn, pretend you don't. If Ma asks you something that you know and she doesn't, put on that pretty face of yours that fools Mr. Hirako from the store into giving you any information and tell her "ah, Miss Winnie" (I bet she'll ask you to call her that, she's gonna fuckin' love ya) "I don't know, but we should always pray for the best, right?" She'll buy it, 'cause most people buy anything you say. All they see is that angel face.
I adore that angel face so much. I wish you could fool the entire world into being less idiotic and behave like grown people who can solve their shit with words instead of using something so animalistic like these weapons.
Around here all I think about is our late-night conversations about humanity. I hope you're studying a lot, 'cause one day, you're gonna make this world a little better. 'm not sure where I stand on hopes for the future or not, but if this war ends, there might be some.
Ah! I learned something fun today by overhearing one of the conversations: apparently, when soldiers have someone to write to, they use special little acronyms. Like a secret, y'know? I'll be teaching you the ones I learn, 'kay? You're my special agent, now. You tell me all the info you got on the people over there, I tell you everything I know from the people over here, and together, we keep each other sane.
I'll be finishing this one off with Sealing With A Lot of Kisses. Do you miss my kisses? 'Cause I sure miss yours.
I know not every letter's gonna be light and fun like this one, but I hold your first letter close to my chest every night. It reminds me that you're the one who makes things shine for me. There at home, and here in the darkness, too.
It's dark in here, sweetheart.
I learned to close my eyes and think about the starry sky we loved looking at when we were on our dates at the fair, or walking home late at night. Remember the cinema walks with Stevie and I? That's where I go to when it's too dark, too stinky, too ugly. The things people say around here make the hair on the back of my neck rise, sometimes. Talks of experiments, and the messed up from from over there using humans in all sorts of shit... I'm glad that only men are stupid enough to think that fighting to the death is a solution. I'd hate to see you walking around here more than I hate seeing the sight of blood or still bodies. You don't belong here. I think no one does.
Please, can you do me a favor? Send me another picture of yours? I only have one. I can't risk losing this one and not having another picture of you to stare at. If you leave me with nothing but my fellas' ugly mugs to stare at, I'm gonna have to come back disowned.
I hear a lot of talk around the camp about shipping, so I'll leave you for now. I hope my words find you at peace, and that they bring you some comfort. I carried the papers with me everywhere so they musn't smell nice, but at least it smells like me. I'm sorry if my scent is different now. If it's bad, lemme know. I liked the thing you did with the perfume. My box smells of you. I open it only once a day, to make sure it doesn't go to waste. It's keepin' me sane, and it puts a smile on my face every time I get a whiff of it.
With a lot of adoration in my heart, goodbye for now, sweetheart;
S.W.A.L.K.
yours, J.B.B.
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"Congratulations."
It says a lot about how much Bucky pays attention to the folk around here that he recognizes the voice of Morita. He looks up and is met with black hair and slim eyes. "Thanks, Jim."
Morita points at the log that Bucky's sitting on. "Mind if I join ya?"
"Not at all."
"Thanks." Morita sits with a grunt. Everyone around the base is tired—living on the edge with the minimum only makes a human being gruff and annoyed, but Morita still has that aura of someone whose head is right on their shoulders. "I was terrified there for a moment."
"Of what?"
"That they'd make me Sargeant."
Bucky chuckles. "With that aim of yours? Nah."
"Not my thing, Sarge. But I already told the Lt. that I wanna be under your watch. My aim might not be the best, but I've seen yours."
"Have ya?"
"Sure did. I'm good with explosives, though. If you need someone to blow some shit up, I'm your guy."
Bucky puts down his rifle, glad about the cleaning job, and shifts his focus to Jim. "I'll definitely remember that."
"Good, good." The silence that stretches for the next moments proves to Bucky what he already knew—Morita's one of the good folk. He rolls a tobacco, lights it up, and offers it to Bucky.
'Those things smell nasty, Buck. Put that shit out.'
'Oh, c'mon, sweetheart. It makes me light and loose.'
'It'll also make your gums black, your teeth yellow, and your breath stinky. D'you want me to kiss you forever?'
'That shouldn't even be a question'.
'Then lose that.'
He loves when things spark a memory of yours. Bucky shakes his head with a smile on. "Nasty things. Thanks, Jim."
Morita smokes a few puffs with his eyes glued on Bucky, who feels watched and analyzed.
"Who told ya to quit?" Morita asks through clouds of smoke.
Unlike most people, his questions don't come lidded with annoying prodding. Morita's older than Bucky—at least five, or maybe ten years on him, and Bucky liked his presence from the get-go because it was always like this; easy conversation without that feeling of someone snooping around in your life with nothing to offer back. "No one told me to quit, specifically..."
"But they told ya it was nasty, hm?"
Bucky chuckles. "It is a nasty habit."
"Can't argue with that."
They sit in silence as the cigarette's tip burns orange every now and then. The sky is the only thing they have to watch, and Bucky relaxes his back against the three.
Eventually, Morita speaks up again. "You think we're going somewhere cold? Hot?"
Something tells Bucky it'll be cold. He shivers at the feeling that sweeps through him like an omen. "I wanna say hot. My body says cold."
"Ah, fuck me." Morita stubs the tip on his boots' sole, and rests his back on the tree too with a big sigh. "If there ain't a single opportunity to drink 'till the cold is forgotten, 'm gonna find a way to blow that mustache motherfucker myself."
That makes Bucky laugh. "I wouldn't say no to that." I wanna go home. "Blow all of 'em up and we'll go home faster."
"Fuck, I wanna go home," the whisper is so soft that Bucky looks to the side, and finds Morita looking at him. "You ever thought we'd have to live through this bullshit?"
"Never."
"Me neither." Morita looks up at the sky. "My partner says humanity's clinging to the wrong shit and that's why we're losing our way."
Bucky heard Steve and his friends for long enough to recognize a cue when he sees one, and answers with, "They sound smart," before sighing deeply. "Mine says it was the break between the idea of 'technology' and separating that from nature that fucked us up."
It's the first time he talks about you with someone, and he feels that the information is stored safely.
"They sound smart, too," says Morita. "D'you think we'll get to go home for a bit?"
That's what they were told, but Bucky's learning not to trust people's words too much. "It's what they told us. I've been told not to trust bosses too much, though."
"Your partner said that?"
"Yup. She claims everyone who's in charge of others lies to some degree."
Morita's laugh is loud, and nasally. Bucky fucking adores it. "As someone with two kids, she sure knows what she's talking about."
"You lie to your kids a lot?"
Morita cackles. "Sarge—wait 'till you and your babe have kids, and then we'll exchange letters. There's either lying or losing our minds. Or losing the kid. So lying it is."
"I'll send you letters when it happens to ask for advice."
"I'll spare some for you."
Bucky likes the sound of that. "Tell me about your kids?"
The request is met with a smile, and Bucky forgets all about the wrongs and the dark sitting there with Morita.
In the back of his mind, all he thinks about is telling you all the good bits of this conversation later on.
He'll share everything with you.
And then, when the time comes, he'll come home.
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srgntjamesbuckybarnes · 4 months
Text
Slipping Through my Fingers (2)
Summary: When a married woman catches the eye of Bucky Barnes, he is determined to stop at nothing to get to know her better.
Rating: Mature
Pairing: 40s Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: None
Word Count: 4.5k
A/N: Not Beta’d. Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.
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Chapter 2
Summer 1941
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Steve groaned, massaging the sleep from his eyes. He had always been an early riser, so without checking the time, he knew it had to be before sunrise. The knocking became more insistent. Steve would have worried about the noise angering his neighbors had he not thought the person on the other side of the door was in danger. Shoving the thin sheet to his feet, Steve raced to the door. His drowsy state was long gone, adrenaline taking over. The second Steve opened the door, his eyes rolled, taking whatever adrenaline he had built up with them.
“You can't keep randomly showing up here whenever you think Y/N is going to drop by,” Steve complained.
Pillow in hand, Bucky pushed past his shorter friend, entering Steve’s space. The younger man sighed, shutting the door behind him. It had been nearly a year since Bucky met Y/N. Despite his claim to be friends that day, Bucky hardly saw her. Annoyed with Bucky’s constant nagging, Steve accidentally let it slip that her husband was shipped overseas during the colder months. He only had himself to blame for his best friend showing up at all hours of the day.
Bucky fluffed his pillow, tossing it on the worn-in couch across from the door. “Yeah, but this time, I have it on good authority that she will be here,” Bucky casually defended his invasion. Lying on the couch with his arms propped behind his head, he smiled at Steve who was leaning his back against the door. It was the perfect spot to watch the door if she showed up.
Steve crossed his arms, watching his friend get comfortable in his home. If there was one word Steve could use to describe Bucky, it was dedicated. Pushing himself off the door with a backward kick, Steve crossed the room. Stopping at the end of the couch, he asked, “How do you know?”
Bucky’s smile turned into a devilish grin. “I checked your cabinets last time I was here. You’re due for a refill on your medication.”
Steve rolled his eyes. He wasn’t surprised. Bucky always looked after him. If Y/N didn’t bring his medicine, he knew Bucky would find a way to get it.
“Well, if you’re gonna be a watchdog in my home, I expect breakfast when I wake up,” Steve teased, heading the short distance to his bedroom.
When Bucky woke that morning, he started on breakfast. With the war on the rise, prices had been on a steady increase with no signs of stopping anytime soon. Regardless, Steve needed all of the protein he could get. Bucky decided he would work a double shift and replace the eggs he was cooking.
Bucky frowned as he nearly finished breakfast. Steve’s home was small enough to hear any noise inside the house. Steve had yet to make a sound from his bedroom and the thought startled Bucky. Sure, Steve was low on medicine, but he wasn’t empty. Setting the pan on the unlit stove, Bucky stalked toward the bedroom stopping in his tracks when the blonde’s laughter sounded in the opposite direction.
Yanking the front door open, Bucky’s lips parted. Standing next to his best friend was the very woman he had been dreaming of for the past year. Both sets of eyes on the other side of the door were wide, staring back at Bucky. One hand held the door handle; the other caressed the back of his neck as he spoke, “I uh, thought you were still sleeping.”
Steve shrugged. “I woke up early. Walked to get a paper.” He waved the newspaper in his hand. “I ran into Y/N on the way back.” He then waved the brown paper bag filled with his medication in his other hand. He turned to Y/N. “You remember Bucky don’t you.”
Her eyes skimmed Bucky from head to toe before meeting his gaze. “The baseball player, of course. Nice to see you again, Bucky.”
The brunette’s chest puffed up, satisfied she had remembered his performance. Before he could respond, Steve spoke, “Bucky’s just made us breakfast, you’ll join us, won’t you?”
Surprise crossed Y/N’s face. “Oh, I don’t know. I have a lot of things to do.”
“You still have to eat,” Bucky insisted, but he knew she wasn’t convinced. Bucky stepped outside, still towering over the two, but closer. “Look, the truth is, Steve’s not all that great at keeping the conversation going in the morning. He gets crabby in the heat. Sasses me around to the point where he’s got me cooking him breakfast in his home. I'm a hostage here, doll. You’d be doing me a big favor staying for breakfast. He remembers his manners around a pretty face.”
Y/N blushed, staring down at her feet. Had she been staring at either man, she would have noticed the intense stare-off going on, a silent argument.
“I’ll stay, but I really have to leave after we eat.”
Bucky grinned, stepping aside. His left hand extended to the open front door, his right hand froze palm up, an invitation to help Y/N up the small step into the house. She accepted it, missing the tongue Bucky poked out at Steve behind her back.
“No funny business, Buck. I mean it. She’s still married.” Steve warned lowly.
Without saying a word, Bucky waltzed into the house, pulling out a chair for Y/N.
“Oh, thank you,” she squeaked.
Bucky smiled, rushing to plate the food.
Steve deposited his medication in the bathroom cabinet before finding Y/N. Steve slumped into the chair beside her, wasting no time to catch up with his friend. He was also interested in learning about the war overseas. “How’s Harry?”
Her hands folded in her lap. “He’s about as good as any soldier preparing for a war, but he’s right where he wants to be. He’s doing the right thing. He’s protecting his country. Us.”
Her vacant stare told Steve she didn’t believe that. He wondered how much time she spent curating an answer to that question.
Bucky snorted, setting the plates down on the table. “Sounds like a fool to me.” He couldn’t keep the comment from slipping from his lips as he sat across from the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. He couldn’t comprehend how a man could willingly leave his new wife behind, especially alone. A yelp escaped Bucky bringing him back to the conversation. Steve’s glare was enough to know who had kicked him. Ignoring Steve, Bucky explained, “All I’m saying is, a man’s duty is to his wife first. Ya’ know? If I was married to someone as gorgeous as you, they’d have to drag me out of here kicking and screaming before I left my wife behind.”
Y/N wanted to scream. She wished Harry felt the way Bucky did.
Noticing Y/N’s fork had been playing with her food, Steve asked, “Are you okay? With Harry being gone this long?” He was genuinely concerned for the woman. He knew what it was like to be alone. He didn’t have any family, and he could count all of his friends by the number of seats occupied at his dinner table. Even when he had no one, he had Bucky.
She sent Steve a soft smile. “I manage. We write to each other, but it can take weeks, sometimes months to get a response. I started to keep a copy of the letters I’ve sent him just so I can remember what we talked about.” Now that she was saying it out loud, she realized how lonely it sounded, how lonely she was. “The girls at the volunteer center are kind, but there’s a lot going on. A lot of people need medicine, and with the war heading this way, resources are going to be harder to get.” She eyes Steve warily. She prayed it wouldn’t come down to that. “We’re all so busy, there isn’t much time to talk. I miss having someone to greet at home.” Her longing stare didn’t go unnoticed by either man.
Steve chewed slowly as the gears turned in his head. Bucky on the other hand was quick to respond. “What about taking care of the house?”
Y/N brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Harry makes sure the bills are paid every month. The neighbor's boy comes by sometimes and gives me a hand around the house, but he’s heading to his grandparents’ house for the summer. I was actually hoping to catch him today before he leaves.”
“Let the kid have his summer. I’ll help you.” Bucky offered, taking the last bite of his eggs.
Y/N cracked a smile in between bites of her food. “Are you sure? I missed the usual spring cleaning. It’s a lot of work. Surely, you’d rather spend your summer playing baseball or hanging out with Steve.”
“And leave a dame to clean her house alone? Absolutely not.” He pointed his fork at her. “You know you have to move the furniture to actually clean, you can’t just clean around it.”
She chuckled, “I’m well aware that you have to move the furniture.”
Bucky grinned leaning forward. “Well believe me when I say I’ll be much more help than a kid.” 
He playfully flexed his bicep. “I’m also great company.”
Steve rolled his eyes hard. “You’re also a pain in the-”
“Wow,” Bucky held his hands up. “Forgetting your manners already, Steve?”
“I was going to say neck, but now I’m thinking something else,” Steve grumbled.
Y/N smirked at the banter. “Okay, Bucky. I accept your offer.”
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Bucky lost count of how long he had been visiting Y/N. Some days they cleaned, just as Bucky had offered. Other days they became too distracted, laughing over lunch, sometimes even dinner. Those were Bucky’s favorite days. Not that he minded cleaning; he just enjoyed her. Cleaning left too many distractions and talking to Y/N allowed him to focus on her and only her.
Bucky huffed, slamming a cardboard box on the floor. Using the end of his once-white t-shirt, he wiped the sweat from his brow. He had spent most of the afternoon bringing boxes up and down from the attic. It was nearly lunchtime, and he was exhausted. When the shirt slipped from his fingers, he panted, his hands finding a home on his slim hips. His eyes trailed along the window beside him where Y/N stood on the other side staring back at him. Bucky smirked, waving a single hand. She returned his wave with a bright smile. Her other hand clutched an envelope to her chest. Her feet then slammed on the concrete steps as she raced into the house as if she were a child returning home from school to catch the latest program on the radio. Bucky not so gently, despite his best efforts, shut the attic door just in time. Y/N swiftly pushed past him, nearly knocking him on his rear.
“What’s got you all excited?” Bucky asked with a teasing tone. He couldn’t help but quirk an eyebrow as she slammed her hands on the kitchen table.
“I’ve got a letter from Harry!”
Her nimble fingers made quick work at tearing the letter open, but before she could get far, a large hand covered her own. Y/N’s eyes shot to the man standing beside her, ready to give him a piece of her mind. Bucky retracted his hand with a chuckle, revealing a sleek letter opener in his other hand.
“Wouldn’t want to give yourself a papercut. Those things can be nasty.”
Y/N gently took the letter opener from his grasp with a sharp nod. She could feel Bucky’s presence hovering over her shoulder, but she didn’t dwell on it. It’s not every day someone receives a letter from someone overseas. Chalking it up to curiosity, she sliced the letter open.
Bucky grimaced as he watched her eyes scan the letter. Steve was right, she did seem happily married, in love even, but he willingly left her behind. He left her alone. That wasn’t love.
Pinched between her manicured fingers alongside the letter was a black and white photograph. Y/N smiled, showing the photograph to Bucky. “This is Harry.” Bucky studied the man in the picture as Y/N observed Bucky. “I wish you two had met before he left. I think the two of you would have gotten along well.”
Bucky snorted, glaring daggers at the other man’s picture. “Oh yeah, how’s that doll?”
Y/N twirled away from him, reaching for a pen to write her husband back. “I just know.” She sat at the table pen in hand, but her response wasn’t good enough for the brunette. The table pressed into the back of his thighs as he slammed his spread palm on top of the paper.
He peered down at her beside him. “You think or you know?”
Y/N’s forehead creased, her hands attempting to pluck Bucky’s hand off the parchment. “You just remind me of him sometimes. Now can I write to my husband?” Bucky eyed her for a moment, analyzing her words. Silently, he pushed off the table allowing her some privacy.
He found himself wandering to the last box he had brought down from the attic. If she was busy, he’d entertain himself. He dragged the box along the wooden floor into the kitchen. Y/N perked up at the sound of the cardboard grinding against the wood. Bucky could feel her eyes on him as he slumped into the chair across from her, but remained occupied popping the flaps of the box open. Shaking her head, Y/N returned her attention to the letter before her as Bucky rummaged through the box. She didn’t mind. He had gone through nearly all of her stuff at this point.
“You’re a photographer?” he asked, waving a camera around.
Y/N shook her head. “It was a wedding gift. Harry used it mostly. Do you take pictures?”
Bucky nodded. “Occasionally. My parents had one.” He pointed the camera at Y/N. “Steve was the artist, but technology was always fascinating to me. I’m better at pressing buttons.”
Y/N palmed the lens, hiding her face. He was skilled in pressing more buttons than the ones on a camera. Bucky pulled the camera back. Y/N wrinkled her nose. “Harry was always taking pictures of me. Not you too,” she whined.
Bucky laughed, setting the camera on the table. “Anyone with a camera would want to capture your beauty. They’d have to be blind not to.”
Y/N felt heat crawl up her neck at the compliment. Rather than replying, she dipped her head back to the letter she had yet to write. Before the pen could touch the sheet, Bucky let out a low whistle. Her interest shifted back to the man across from her as he pulled a dress from the box. It wasn’t an everyday dress like the ones he’d seen Y/N wearing.
“That’s for dancing,” Y/N offered.
Bucky hummed. “Your husband takes you dancing?”
Y/N twirled the pen in her hand. “He used to.” She paused. “Do you dance Bucky?”
A wolfish grin spread along his face. “You want to find out?” When Y/N didn’t respond, Bucky whispered, “Put on the dress.”
Y/N gasped, the pen slipping from her fingers. “Bucky I-”
Setting the dress on the table between them, he leaned forward. His voice laced with honey, “Let me take you dancing.”
Caught in the sticky sweetness of his voice, Y/N’s own was shaky, “Harry.”
Bucky frowned. “You’re always busy, always volunteering, bringing Steve his medicine, or taking care of the house. When was the last time you did something for yourself? You can’t stop living your life just because Harry isn’t around.”
With a shake of her head, she wanted to protest, but what was she protesting? A dance? A night out with a friend? Fun?
Sensing her hesitation, Bucky added, “It’s just dancing, doll. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Okay.”
Bucky would have leaped out of his chair if she hadn’t been watching him. He flashed her one of his charming smiles, poking the dress. “But you have to wear this dress.”
Releasing a shaky breath, she replied, “You better be a damn good dancer, James Barnes.”
“You’re taking her dancing?” Steve exclaimed, choking on his milkshake.
Bucky passed him a napkin pinched between his index and middle finger. When Steve gathered himself, Bucky rationalized, “It’s just dancing. No need to get your feathers ruffled.”
Dancing was never just dancing when it came to Bucky. Steve watched as Bucky swept a new woman off her feet while dancing night after night. It didn’t help that his friend was charming. Young or old, it didn’t matter. They all swooned after James Barnes. Steve doubted Y/N would be the exception.
“I know you Bucky. It’s never just dancing.”
Bucky snorted, grabbing a fist full of frenchfries from the basket between them. “Y/N’s different.”
“She is. She’s married. She’s also my only other friend. If you ruin her marriage, I won't have a friend left.” Steve’s mouth was set in a hard line.
The threat in Steve’s tone was loud and clear. Still, Bucky refused to back down. With a hand over his heart, he asked, “What if I’m different?”
Steve let out a loud laugh. “You’re my friend, Buck. I won’t lie to you to stroke your ego.”
Bucky sipped his milkshake with a shrug. “So come with us and see for yourself.”
“You’re inviting me to third wheel on your date? You are different. Maybe I should ask a dame out and see if I’ve changed too,” Steve sassed.
“Come or don’t, it won’t make a difference. It never did before.” It was a low blow, but Bucky was tired of Steve’s lack of faith in him. Just because Steve struggled when it came to the opposite sex, didn’t make Bucky a womanizer. He liked Y/N. She just happened to be married.
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The weekend came too soon for Y/N. She hadn’t been dancing since Harry was home. It felt strange to get dressed up to dance with another man. She hadn’t danced with a man since Harry. She pondered if he was dancing with the women overseas. Her eyes drifted to the photograph lodged in the side of the mirror on her dresser.
“Y/N?”
Y/N hurriedly emerged from her bedroom and made her way to the living room where Bucky was waiting. He looked dashing in his well-tailored suit and his hair was neatly slicked back. Despite being a married woman, Y/N couldn't help but notice Bucky's striking good looks. She couldn't deny the fact that he was an attractive man.
“Well, don't you clean up nice,” she teased.
Bucky smirked, circling a pointed finger. “Give me a spin. I wanna get a good look at this dress you kept hidden away.”
Y/N whirled around, her skirt fluffing out in the process. When she stopped facing Bucky, he shook his head. Grasping her hand to turn her slowly. When he let go, he released an appreciative sigh. “Looks even better on you.”
Y/N’s hands fumbled with the skirt as she avoided Bucky’s eyes. Noticing her embarrassment, Bucky announced, “Steve is picking up a date. They’re going to meet us there.”
“Oh.” The surprise in her voice was evident. It was just dancing, she reminded herself. Steve wouldn’t be joining them if it was a date. Steve had a date though. Y/N’s mind whirled wondering if she had unknowingly agreed to a date. “I didn’t know Steve dated.”
Bucky led Y/N onto the street where they walked side by side to the dance hall down the street. He didn’t want to embarrass Steve in front of Y/N. He had found Steve a date, but Y/N didn’t need to know that. “Steve doesn’t mind dancing with a pretty face after a long week. Can’t find a man around who would complain about that.”
A laugh escaped Y/N. She knew his statement to be true after many nights dancing with Harry. It didn’t matter if she arrived with a gentleman, they all wanted to dance.
A poster in one of the shops caught her eye. Bucky slowed to a stop, allowing her time to look.
“She’s gorgeous,” Y/N breathed.
Bucky eyed the scantily clad pin-up model. He enjoyed the image as much as the next guy, but he wouldn't express that to the woman he was pursuing. So, he did the only other thing he could think of, he rationalized it. “They’re putting all kinds of pictures up like this. Men have been buying them up like crazy before joining the war.”
Y/N flinched; her eyes trained on the model. Did Harry buy one? She cocked her head, “Would you buy her picture, Bucky?”
He bit his lip, rapidly shaking his head, “Don’t need to. I’m going dancing with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
Y/N faced him with her hands on her hips. “Don’t give me that. I want an honest answer.”
Bucky made an imaginary cross with his pointer finger over his heart. “Honest, I swear.”
Y/N bit her lip peeking back at the model. “You really think I’m prettier than her?” If she was more attractive, then perhaps her husband hadn't bought the stranger's picture.
Bucky bent his knees and threw his head back dramatically. “Any man would kill to have a poster of you on their wall.” Then he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, tugging her toward the dance hall.
Bucky’s words danced around her head. If men were buying up pictures of a woman they’d only ever seen through a camera lens, then why couldn’t she send her husband one? He had sent her a picture of himself.
“Bucky,” Y/N called, catching his attention, “How good are you with a camera?”
Bucky shrugged, “Good enough. I used to-”
That was good enough for Y/N. She interrupted him, “I want you to take my picture.”
He side-eyed her, “You didn't want me taking your picture the other day.”
Y/N shook her head, pointing her finger to the poster behind them. “I want you to take my picture like that.”
Bucky almost tripped over his own feet. They stopped outside of the dance hall. Steve stood along the wall with a short redhead. One look at Steve and Bucky knew he had spotted them. Steve frantically waved them over, his date uninterested.
Bucky grabbed Y/N’s bicep as she inched toward Steve. “Hold on.” He didn’t question her motive, but he needed her to be sure. “Are you sure?”
Y/N grinned up at Bucky. “I thought you said any man would kill to have my picture on their wall?”
He did say that, but he hadn’t expected the outcome. “Yes, but-” A finger pressed to his lips silencing him.
“Let’s have a nice night and we’ll talk about it later. You have yet to prove you can dance.”
Bucky laced his hand with the hand she had pressed to his lips seconds ago. “Well, what are we waiting for?”
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Y/N and Bucky had a great night at the dance hall. Even though Steve’s date left with another man, he had fun as well. Bucky had been an exceptional dancer. Steve, not so much. He had stepped on Y/N’s feet all night, even when they weren’t dancing. Steve was a good sport and laughed it off.
Bucky hadn’t forgotten Y/N’s request before the dance and neither had Y/N. Over the week, Y/N explained she wanted to take pictures for her husband. By the end of the week, Bucky stood awkwardly in Y/N’s living room, camera in hand.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Bucky asked, “So, where do you want to do this?”
Y/N’s bare feet padded along the floor, leading Bucky to her bedroom. Taking in her robe-covered figure, Bucky cursed Harry for meeting her first.
Y/N plopped on the bed. “Is this good?”
Bucky bit his lip and sent her a nod. Y/N unknotted her robe letting it pool on the bed behind her. Bucky averted his eyes to check the film. “There's only enough film for 8 shots.”
“Do you want to take a test shot?” Y/N asked.
Wordlessly, he pointed the camera at her catching her off guard as he took the picture.
Y/N’s eyes widened as the flash went off, blinding her momentarily. She quickly regained her composure and scowled at Bucky. “You were supposed to tell me when you were ready,” she said, her frustration evident in her voice.
Bucky shrugged, “It was just a test shot. The camera still works.”
Y/N huffed falling back on her elbows. “You’re a guy, what should I do?”
Filthy thoughts invaded his head, but he pushed them away. “I don’t know. You’re already beautiful; the camera will pick it up. Just be yourself.”
Y/N kneeled on the bed to be level with Bucky. The flash went off. Y/N pouted. “I wasn’t ready.”
Bucky mentally disagreed. She trusted him to take her pictures. He hadn’t lied when he said she was beautiful. It was the candid shots that were alluring to him. Caught in action, turned the photo from a picture to a video. If Steve knew what he was doing, he would lose his mind.
Y/N crossed her legs, letting them dangle off the edge of the bed as she shoved the skirt of her silk nightgown to her ankles.
“Up.”
Y/N wavered, eyeing Bucky. “What?”
“Pull the nightgown up,” Bucky suggested.
Her hands hesitantly dragged the bottom of the nightgown up, exposing her calves. “Like this?” She peeked at Bucky when the skirt passed her knee.
Flash.
Bucky couldn’t deny the thrill that rushed through him. He had seen her legs plenty of times in dresses she wore, but there was something more intimate in her revealing her legs to him. The intimacy of the two of them alone in her bedroom only added fuel to the fire. 
“What would you like to receive from your wife if you were in the war?”
Bucky shoved her bare shoulder gently, propelling her back to hit the mattress. The strap of her nightgown slipped. Her hand moved to fix it. Bucky hovered over her to grab her wrist. His large hand glided her hand between her breasts. “Leave it.”
Flash.
Y/N imagined the images would be lewder than the pin-up poster she saw, but she preened under Bucky’s attention. Maybe she was starved for attention since Harry left, but she did this for her husband. She just hoped Bucky was right and her husband would appreciate the photos.
Chapter 3
Taglist: @yeahright0h @buckysouvenir @cloudykoookie
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rosepetalsinwinter · 1 year
Text
Look At Me — Bucky Barnes
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Pairing: 40s!bucky x nurse!reader
Word count: 11,951
Summary: She never expected to fall so deeply for Sergeant James "Bucky" Barnes, what with his skirt-chasing tendencies and cocky personality. Except how was she to know war would change everything she thought she wanted? Suddenly, she wanted him.
Warnings: angst, violence, WW2, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, death, torture, whump, HYDRA, post-serum Steve Rodgers, kissing, angst with happy ending. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK
Note: I got a little carried away... oops. Anyway, happy reading!
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Enjoy!
"We'll set up camp here. The sun's getting low, and it's not safe to travel at night. We'll freeze to death if we try." James "Bucky" Barnes flung his pack to the ground and stretched his aching limbs over his head, sore from walking all day.
The infantry had left camp early that morning, just before dawn. They were to travel across the Eastern Italian border and meet the British battalion just south of Azzano. General McGinnis planned to march with a regiment of his own a week after news of the 107th's safe arrival reached camp.
"Should I start a fire, Sergeant?" Private Andrew Eaton asked, rubbing his hands together. The sun was setting, spreading a soft glow over the snow-ridden forest. "Warm us up?" His eyes flicked toward the girl, and she stiffened under his gaze.
She was a nurse, travelling with the soldiers because of her immaculate record. She had never lost a man before; one could be on the brink of death and would survive if she got her hands on them. Her expertise was unmatched and desperately needed on the Eastern Front, where the allies were losing men at an alarming rate.
Bucky shook his head. "We're too close to enemy lines. The smoke will draw attention, and we can't risk that."
Multiple eyes drifted to the nurse's shivering form, some filled with pity, others with concern. She had not once complained about the walk nor the temperature, but she was no soldier. Everyone knew her body was at risk of collapse; unaccustomed to the harsh terrain of the Dolomite Mountains, her back hunched with the weight of her pack, her eyes drooped with fatigue, cheeks crimson with cold and body trembling.
Mimicking Bucky, she, too, flung her bag on the frozen soil and dropped unceremoniously on it, finally giving in to her exhaustion.
"You sure about that, Sergeant Barnes?" Eaton questioned. The girl widened her eyes in alarm. It was one thing to hold the soldiers back with her slow pace and decreased stamina, another to put them all in danger. "Maybe we should risk it."
Typically, questioning a superior officer was inappropriate and inexcusable, but not one person reacted negatively to the Private's question. Murmurs of approval spread through the men.
Bucky turned toward the nurse, taking in her form. Like the rest of his soldiers, he also worried for the girl—more than he should have. She did not have any endurance training. She had not even left the relative safety of the camp until now, and it took everything in Bucky to stop himself from carrying her back to base camp, where she would be safe from the threat of gunfire and death.
He opened his mouth—to either agree with Eaton or disagree with him—no one could know. The girl chose that moment to let go of her hesitations. "I once spent an entire night out in the streets of France with just a pair of gloves and a tattered jacket," she rushed out. At the confused looks, she clarified, "in the middle of December." More looks. "In negative twenty-five-degree weather..." her voice was slowly tapering into shyness. "I am alive, am I not?"
"How much is that in Fahrenheit, Miss?" And the conversation moved forward.
The soldiers insisted on lighting at least a small fire for the girl's sake, igniting one under the cover of the dense coniferous trees. While the men began to set up camp for the night, Bucky stood there with a puckered brow and a frown marring his features, before shaking his head and helping them.
The nurse decided she would not be the one to risk them all. After another twenty minutes or so of bickering, she finally lost her temper. "You might as well know by now; I'm inherently stubborn, and nothing any of you say or do will change my mind."
After that, a perimeter was established, lookouts were posted, and tents were begrudgingly set up. Some soldiers retired to rest while others passed down alcohol, huddled against each other to conserve heat.
"It'll warm you up." Bucky sat down next to the shivering girl on a collapsed, decaying tree. He thrust a flask toward her mouth, urging her to drink from it. He took a sip when she made no move, clearing his throat and asking her again. "Will you drink some?"
His voice was sweet and kind, and she despised it. She pursed her lips in response and leaned away. "No, thank you," she replied while her teeth chattered.
Bucky frowned in annoyance. Her stubbornness, which he usually found amusing, was turning out to be somewhat of a hindrance.
"Sorry, doll, but it wasn't a question." He thrust the flask toward her once more, belligerent in his attempt.
She leaned farther away, and Bucky followed her, trapping her against the tree. "No, thank you. You know I don't drink alcohol—."
"Yes!" he suddenly grew frustrated and ran a trembling hand through his brown locks. Somehow the girl always managed to get on his nerve. "I know you don't drink, alright? And I know you hate cursing, that you're stubborn as hell, and that you talk funny because 'proper use of language is important.' I also know that you'll die of hypothermia if you don't warm yourself up, and I rather not have to explain to Colonel Phillips that we lost our only good nurse to stubbornness."
The girl inhaled sharply, her emotions in overdrive. She didn't realize how much he noticed her little quirks.
"I'd rather not have to explain to Colonel Phillips that we lost our only good nurse to stubbornness."
"Now, your whining might've worked in Brooklyn," Bucky continued. "Especially with Steve backing you up; but it won't work here. If you haven't noticed, we're not in New York anymore."
"I have eyes," the girl snapped, convinced she was nothing but a burden to him and the soldiers. She wondered again why Colonel Philips sent her, of all people, with the 107th. She didn't think she was that good. "You won't have to explain a thing. Don't worry. I won't die so easily."
Her words were laced with contempt and a hint of something else. Remorse, Bucky realized with a start, though before he could ponder on it any longer, she began to rise, seemingly done with their conversation.
"Damn it, woman!" Bucky's loud voice caught the entire camp's attention. He grabbed her forearm and yanked her back down. She winced when her bottom landed on the trunk a bit too hard. "I'll force this down your throat if I have to."
The girl blanched, shocked by Bucky's authoritative tone. "N-no, you will not!" She made an effort to appear commanding, but her stutter betrayed her. She was scared he would make good on his promise.
"You do not want to test me," he seethed. There was a look in Bucky's eyes she had not seen before. A crazed, almost feral glint in his pupils.
Her heartbeat quickened, and her insides warmed. She chalked it up to adrenaline. "I'm not that cold anymore."
Bucky said nothing, just continued to stare at her with the feral look still in his eyes.
Seconds passed—seconds that felt like minutes—before he spoke. "We're sleeping in one tent tonight." She didn't know why he was telling her that. "Together. To preserve body heat." She was still confused. "You either drink this, girl," he thrust the flask toward her lips once more. "or I'll make you sleep between my men. God knows they haven't touched a woman in months. So they won't have any complaints."
She argued with him, calling him petty names, and stuttering through excuses. "Y-you—you're."
"What?" he taunted. "Say it. Am I an asshole? A fucking idiot? Go on, don't be shy."
"You're an incompetent Sergeant. The most incompetent I've ever met!"
"I'm the only Sergeant you've ever met," Bucky deadpanned. "Seriously? That the best you can do?"
It was. "You're not that cruel! You're bluffing, like you bluffed about throwing me in the East River last year when I went out with that doctor."
"That doctor was a fucking creep with a criminal record," Bucky seethed. The girl's refusal went unheard. "And I wasn't bluffing. If Steve didn't stop me, you would have been swimming with the fish."
She muttered her annoyance under her breath, but Bucky caught it.
"God as my witness, I'll take you over my shoulder and lie on top of you if I have to!" One look into his eyes, and she could tell he was not lying.
When again he thrust the flask toward her mouth, she begrudgingly took it from him, bringing the cool metal to her lips. When the alcohol's bitter smell reached her, she almost gagged at the potent stench.
"I can't!" the girl choked on a sob, shoving the flask back into Bucky's hands.
A smirk adorned his pink lips, so unlike the anger she had been expecting. "Don't say I didn't warn ya." And before she could react, her world had been turned upside down.
Her legs went up, and her head went down. For a few moments, she froze, unable to understand what had happened. When a hand landed on her bottom, she gasped, realizing that Bucky had indeed made good on his promise—taken her over his shoulder.
When she screamed out of frustration, he shushed her. "Don't make me gag you."
The girl felt red, hot embarrassment at being treated like a child in front of all the soldiers. She scratched fruitlessly at Bucky's back, only to end up clutching his fatigues with numb fingers as he carried her across the clearing. At least the men had half a mind to keep their gaze averted when she was thrown unceremoniously inside one of the tents.
"You act like a caveman," she hissed, looking up at his scrunched brow.
Bucky's eyes softened, and all previous frustration and anger left him. Her insult amused him, and he plopped down next to her with a silent huff. "And you act like a brat."
The girl's answering words died on her tongue at Andrew Eaton's voice. "Lose the frown, Miss. There's not a single man here who wouldn't take a bullet for you, Barnes included."
A couple more soldiers entered the small tent, taking up the rest of the space. The girl ignored them, inhaling deeply. "I was perfectly fine outside, Andrew. Not cold at all."
A quick laugh from Bucky. "Is that why your lips are blue, and you're shaking like a leaf? 'Cause, you're not cold at all?"
"—He's just tryna keep you alive," Andrew interrupted before another argument could ensue.
A laugh bubbled up in the girl's throat before she could stop it. For some reason, the suggestion that Bucky Barnes was keeping her alive made her hysterical. Bucky Barnes, the man who couldn't keep a plant alive. She laughed until her stomach hurt, then she took a deep breath, clutched her middle while she fell backwards, and continued laughing.
"Fucking hell? She's crazy," the girl heard Bucky curse under his breath, but she was so far gone in delirium she could not be bothered to scold him for it.
"At least she's not frownin' anymore," Andrew offered.
The girl laughed harder, curling in on herself. Bucky stared at her with confused amusement, barely concealed, and chuckled softly. She was the most bizarre person he had ever met. So odd. Lately, he caught himself smiling more in her presence than ever before, finding it harder to resist her contagious delights. She was a constant amusement for the rest of the soldiers as well. Entertaining, though stressful.
She was still very clumsy, tripping on rocks and slipping down declines. A soldier needed to be watching her all the time, and that soldier, unbeknownst to her, was generally Bucky. He had grown eyes in the back of his head, trying to ensure she did not hurt herself. The girl had touched the hearts of all the men, his most of all, though he tried to conceal the fact by being curt and severe with her. Despite that, he did find pleasure in being able to tame her.
Ludovic Fournier, the Frenchman, muttered a phrase in his native tongue, and Andrew translated for him. "Women go a bit crazy before starting their courses. It's best to indulge them and not question it."
The entire tent went crazy, laughing and hollering almost as hard as the girl had been. Though she was not laughing anymore, and she was not amused. Her laughter died as quickly as it started—jarringly abrupt.
"I'm right here, you know!" She turned to the Frenchman. "Dis-moi, monsieur," the girl turned to him with a sarcastic and slightly intimidating curl of her lips. "Comment avez-vous appris tant de choses sur les femmes?"
The Frenchman swallowed thickly, and from behind him, Andrew translated his words to the small group. "She's asking how he got so damn smart."
"Ma femme."
"Ah! Idiote moi. Mais bien sûr. Ta femme doit être folle si elle tá épousé. Rien à voir avec se scours. Accune femme saine désprit ne portrait passer plus d'une journee avec toi sans avoir besoin d'être admis dans en établissement mental par la suite."
"She says, don't blame that time of the month, or your poor wife, when it's you're the reason she's like that." He guffawed out loud, drawing the girl's attention, before continuing. "Anyone would go crazy after spending more than a minute with you. Jesus Christ! Man, oh, man!"
The girl went warm all over. That was precisely why she tended to keep quiet. Her temper would rise if she did not keep her emotions in check. She had only ever lost it with Bucky before, never in front of a crowd. "Excuse me, gentlemen," she mustered what remaining dignity she had left, "but it's time for me to rest. I will see you all in the morning, bright and early. Good night."
Amidst all the hysterical laughing and the rampant rambling, the girl had forgotten Bucky's promise. He yanked her down before she could leave. He had indulged her long enough.
"I'm not letting you kill yourself—don't," he started, when he noticed her lips curl, "start laughing again. It was traumatizing enough the first time."
What he meant: "Please don't laugh again, because if you do, I wouldn't want you to stop. Ever." Except he did not know he felt such a thing. So, he annoyed her instead, undermining his affection for her.
The girl huffed loudly, voicing her frustration. The rest of the men settled inside the tent, pressed against each other for heat, hoping for at least a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. "I'm not cold anymore. I told you before."
"You're the worst liar I have ever met. Seriously! Worse than Steve." That was true. Steve was a horrible liar. "I can see you shivering. Hell! I can hear you!"
Bucky decided to give her a choice. A poor one, yes, but a choice, nonetheless. "Where do you wanna sleep? In between Fournier and Ward or next to Eaton?" He leaned in close, putting a hand next to his mouth as if indulging her with a secret. "I gotta warn you, though. He snores like a pig."
The girl simmered. She did not want to spend the night in the middle of men, and Bucky knew that. He was intimately aware of her reservation toward the opposite sex."Over here is fine." She was referring to the front of the tent where she was already seated.
"Perfect! This way, I'll be able to keep an eye on you."
"Excuse me?"
"You did choose the coldest spot, but I won't complain. Promise." He shrugged out of his jacket.
"What are you doing?"
"—as long as you wear this."
By now, it was a sort of ritual for Bucky to demand something of the girl and for her to deny him. No matter how helpful or minuscule the command, she could hardly help it anymore, even though it always ended with her compliance—sometimes forced.
"No, thank you." She was nothing if not stubborn.
Bucky scoffed. Grabbing her wrists, he pulled her down until she was in his lap. The girl stifled her scream and gasped instead.
The rest of the men were almost all asleep, exhausted from the long day. So was the girl, though she would not admit it. She was tired and cold—more than usual—and scared; of what was to come and of what was currently taking place. Her ancient promise of staying away from James Buchanan Barnes was becoming harder to uphold.
Bucky knew this—not of her promise, of course, but of her crumbling resolve—So he pushed. He flustered and confused her. "Only because it's amusing," he told himself—her reaction to his teasing. "Only because it's amusing,"
"You should stick with red. Purple is not a good colour on you, and that's what you'll become if you don't listen to me." He placed his jacket over her shoulders, and she was instantly warmed.
"What about you?" Her voice was meek and hesitant, words honeyed in their delivery. "Will you not get cold?" But he only smirked and raised his brows in answer. "Oh. Right." She had forgotten his natural affinity for all things warm, so unlike her own, for all things cold.
"I've got both you and Eaton keeping me warm. I wouldn't worry about it." Bucky smirked when the girl said nothing and only blinked in surprise.
She lowered herself, letting her head touch the soft ground. Tarps had been placed neatly all over, offering protection from the snow surrounding them. She turned away from Bucky, putting a foot of space between him and herself, holding her breath when she felt him lie next to her. However, the second she relaxed, his arm wrapped around her midsection and pulled her flush against his front, not an inch separating them.
"Bucky!" she warned in a hushed whisper, struggling against his hold. "This is inappropriate!"
"No!" he huffed in her ear, hot breath warming her neck. "This is survival!" She continued her futile attempts, trying harder to elude his grasp. "Besides, I gave you my only jacket, and I need to—Damn it, woman! Stop moving," he groaned in her ear.
"Why?" she asked, squirming harder.
"Because—Damn it!" he groaned again. "Just stop, will ya?" A deep breath. "Please."
The girl went still. Bucky Barnes never said please, never begged. She had not thought it possible. So, to hear him beg her... she decided she could never let Bucky Barnes use that word ever again. It was dangerous when uttered by his lips. An irresistible, compelling word that she could never deny, gladly giving in to any request.
"Please."
"Sorry," she muttered quietly, quickly settling down, unsure if he was listening. He was. "I'm sorry."
The girl let the tiredness of the day wash over her. She let Bucky's arms hold her, keep her safe and warm, and protect her. Her eyes closed, and she entered the state before sleep where the body was still aware and preparing for rest.
"You drive me crazy," Bucky's whispered in her ear, so quiet she convinced herself she imagined it.
"You drive me crazy too," was her last thought before she let deep slumber overtake her. Except the girl knew Bucky did not mean it with the same intention as hers. "So crazy."
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At a steep decline, her foot swept away from under her on an icy patch of grass. From behind her, Bucky dropped his copy of "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn," extending his arm to grab her. He was not fast enough, and she fell on her back, sliding down until she hit a mountain of fresh snow.
"Jesus Christ, Darling!" Bucky reached under her arms to haul her up as if she weighed nothing. "You gotta watch where you're stepping."
"It's too dark," she sputtered, wiping snow off her face. "I couldn't see anything." From the east, the full moon was their only source of light, doing a poor job of illuminating the path through the dense forest around them.
"Fucking hell," Bucky swore, appraising the girl from head to toe. "You're soaked."
"I'm fine," she rasped, already beginning to shiver as the cold permeated her layers to settle in her skin. "I can keep going."
"Like hell you can," Bucky muttered, looking ahead to see everyone else's progress.
"There's no need to swear," the girl grumbled, pulling her hat farther down.
Bucky raised a brow at that. "At least the cold didn't get to your head."
She rolled her eyes, turning to leave, but Bucky grabbed her before she could take a single step, hauling her up in his arms. She shrieked, wrapping her hands around his neck for stability. "What are you doing?"
"You're going to trip again," he said by way of explanation. "It's just a little bit further. Then we'll set up camp."
Bucky ignored the girl's protests, quickly catching up with the rest of the battalion. They walked another mile in about half an hour, and Bucky ignored all of the girl's grumbling, only acknowledging her once they reached a small clearing and began setting up camp.
"Shut up," he grumbled, to which he received a smack on the back of his head.
"You shut up."
He lowered the girl next to the small smokeless fire Simon Ward lit, draping his jacket over her, "Dry up as much as you can. I'll be back."
Scooting closer to the small blaze, the girl pulled Bucky's jacket tighter around her shoulders, studying the flame with intensity as she recalled waking up the past few days.
The girl had gone to sleep slightly rigid and stiff, unused to resting next to another body, but she woke up in a tangle of limbs. Bucky's hands in her hair, her face tucked in the crook of his neck. Sometime in the middle of the night, she had turned over and gravitated closer to the heat his body was radiating. It was the best sleep either of them had ever had. Neither was willing to acknowledge it.
The night after was a repeat of the night before. Bucky threatened alcohol down the girl's throat, and she responded with a litany of insults which he laughed away. They wrestled while everyone watched—Bucky won, and the girl awoke the next day surrounded by a familiar warmth and a musky scent one could only describe as Bucky Barnes.
A week later, the moon was low in the sky, marking the beginning of winter. Neither the girl nor Bucky brought up their temporary sleeping arrangements, choosing to ignore the feelings festering inside them. The girl felt her resolve slowly crumbling. What was that promise she made to herself regarding Bucky Barnes? She couldn't quite recall.
The girl busied herself with unpleasant memories of his. She remembered when she first moved into the apartment across from Bucky. She was carrying a box full of books up the fifth floor of a six-story building. She had to take a break every few minutes to rest her arms, or they would've fallen off. Just outside her door, she collided with a brick wall. Her books went flying—so did she—and Bucky Barnes ran past her without so much as an "excuse me," muttering profanity under his breath. From then on, she started hating him.
That's how she met Steve. The slender young man popped a blonde head out of his friend's door and asked if he could help. She said, "no thanks," but he didn't listen, insisting on bringing the rest of her things up. That night, over a cup of hot tea, she learned about James Buchanan Barnes and his skirt-chasing tendencies. She began to hate him a bit more.
She recalled all his jabs of how she dressed, the way she looked, mocking her insecurities by sarcastically complimenting her. The ruined date with that doctor—never mind the potential criminal record. His threat to drown her.
He broke her friend's heart, told her he would call the next day and didn't. She was married now with a baby on the way, but it was the principle of the thing that irked her.
One by one, all of Bucky's wrongdoings came to the forefront of the girl's mind. When he argued with her, undermined her, and treated her like porcelain. When he called her "doll," "darling," and "sweetheart."
She hated that most of all.
Still, she could not ignore the tiny flutter in her heart whenever she thought of the blue-eyed sergeant. Despite all the bad, she now only remembered his warm smile and comforting embrace.
The girl brought her hand dangerously close to the fire, letting the flame irritate her skin before pulling away. She still felt cold.
Bucky returned a few moments later, rubbing his bare hands together in front of his face. "You tired?"
The girl ignored his question, asking one of her own. "Where are your gloves?"
Bucky's frosty breath momentarily covered his face. "Bradshaw lost his."
"Jeremy?"
Bucky nodded with a smile, unsurprised the girl knew most of the soldiers' names. "Wait, what are you doing?"
She fished her gloves from her coat, thrusting them toward him. "They're dry now. Here, take them."
"Don't be stupid," Bucky scoffed, "you'll get cold." Still, she persevered, leaving her hand dangling. "I'm not taking your gloves," Bucky said with finality.
"Alright," she nodded, dropping her hand and taking off his jacket instead.
Bucky seized her by the shoulders, stopping her and giving her a little shake. "What the fucking hell, woman! Keep your jacket on. It's freezing."
"Don't swear. It's yours, not mine. Take it." She tried prying his fingers off, but he wouldn't budge. "The gloves or the jacket, Bucky. Your choice."
"So goddamn stubborn. Every day you find something new to argue with me about, don't you?"
"Pick one," she warned, "or I'm giving both to Jeremy."
With a mumbled curse, Bucky snatched the gloves from her lap, putting them on like a petulant child.
"And say thank you," she snapped, slightly perturbed he hadn't taken back his jacket.
Bucky squinted his eyes, dropping down next to her. "You're acting like a real brat today."
"You're acting like a caveman! Now leave me alone so I can sleep in peace." She had turned away from Bucky, but when he offered no reply, she swallowed uneasily and looked back. His eyes glinted with mischief, hinting at his next step. "Bucky, no!"
She tried to stop him but was no match for his strength. Her world spun, and she found herself on his shoulder once again. Thankfully she stayed quiet this time, not bringing any extra attention toward them.
"I'll show you caveman." Bucky plopped her down in one of the smaller tents with space just enough for two, closing the flap behind him.
She steamed in forced fury, trying to take comfort in the fact that, pretty soon, she wouldn't have to put up with the infuriating soldier at all. She failed.
After a moment, when Bucky still hadn't moved from his hunched-over position at the front of the tent, the girl snapped at him. "What are you waiting for, Bucky? Come to bed!"
They both paused, processing the girl's words. "Come to bed." It was the first time she willingly called for him. She looked down, embarrassment creeping up her neck, unable to see the smile on Bucky's face.
Carefully, Bucky settled in behind her, embracing her with both arms, fitting her against him. When she began to squirm, he only had to issue a single warning before she relaxed. He sighed gratefully, not wanting a repeat of the past week where she slept oblivious while he tried to tamp down his arousal.
"This is nice," Bucky thought the girl muttered, though he couldn't be sure because she was already asleep.
"Yeah, this is really nice," Bucky whispered against her temple as blissful sleep overtook him.
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From a distance, the Italian alps were quite breathtaking. She imagined a cabin in the forest, high on the Dolomite mountains; this would be her view. Maybe she would move here one day—once the war was over—and ask Steve to join her. Steve didn't have anyone stopping him from leaving other than Bucky. Maybe Bucky could join too? She shook that thought away.
The Dolomites were far behind them now, and as they passed town after town, destroyed and abandoned, an unsettling feeling grew vigorous in her gut. They were close to the Austrian border, hugging the small villages and settlements as they got closer to their destination: Azzano.
They made camp as the sun set, supplying the perfect backdrop to a most tiresome journey. The girl slung her pack to the ground and stretched her muscles while waiting for Bucky to finish ordering the men around.
He offered her water when he finished, which she took gratefully. "Lieutenant General Allan Montgomery should be here within the week. We'll travel the rest of the way to Azzano together." Then Bucky's eyes downturned. "We're only a few miles away from the front line. Do you remember your training?" he asked, looking for hesitation.
Of course, by training, he was referring to the hour-long lesson she was given on battlefield defence, not that any of it stuck. She tried schooling her features, failing miserably. "Yes, I do." Her voice was strong and confident, though she felt anything but. "If we spot the enemy, I'm supposed to set up a station at a safe spot and wait for the injured there. They will be sent back if they are fit to fight. If not..." she trailed off, unable to stomach the fact. "But I won't let that happen," she promised.
Bucky looked at her pityingly, as if he knew something she did not. "Let's hope so. The rest of the 107th should be here in a couple of days with General McGinnis. They were right behind us, so—"
Bucky paused, looking behind the girl at the soldiers setting up camp, before shaking his head and continuing. "Are you tired? The sun's beginning to set."
The girl wrapped her arms around her shoulders and shook her head.
"What's wrong?" Bucky asked, immediately picking up on the girl's discomfort.
"Bucky..." she began hesitantly. "How long will you make me sleep with you?"
Bucky frowned. "Do you feel uncomfortable? I know I came across as an asshole, but I didn't want you to freeze to death. Sorry, we can stop."
Unable to respond immediately, the girl looked at him with barely concealed bewilderment. Apologizing; is another thing Bucky Barnes did not do. "No, I don't want to stop. It's just..." she trailed off, looking for the right word. "inappropriate, especially with the General joining us soon."
"No, it's not," he said matter of factly. "We're friends."
"Friends don't sleep together," the girl responded, unsure of what she wanted to hear him say.
Bucky waited until she looked him in the eyes. "We're the exception. Hey, they've got bigger matters to worry about than us sharing body heat. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Well, good."
An awkward silence fell between the pair, and the girl cleared her throat before the feeling could consume her. "The men look ready to fight," she observed, watching her surroundings.
Bucky ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, uh... I mentioned we're near the front lines, right? So we need to set up a perimeter and plan the best line of attack. Make sure we have a solid line of defence in case something happens. Hey, don't worry. We've got this." Bucky gave her shoulder a tiny shove.
"Oh," she huffed, "I am not worried."
"Yeah?" a smile lit his eyes. "Your face is telling me a different story."
She pursed her lips in frustration. "I'm not worried about you, Bucky," she snapped, "I'm worried about Steve. He needs his friend to come back home—in one piece—and now, I know you normally have no regard for your safety, but you have to be careful if you don't want to leave our friend alone in Brooklyn."
Bucky saw red. He pulled at his hair in frustration. It was unbelievable how quickly she was able to rile him up. "Are you kidding me? I'm the one with no regard for safety? In the time I've known you, you've almost died over five times. You can't even cross the street without putting yourself in danger! Hell! I'm still confused about how they let you in this damn war in the first place." He rushed his words, voicing his anger and annoyance. He only registered the last part of the girl's sentence when he took a deep breath.
"Why would Steve be all alone in Brooklyn?" he asked in a more even tone. "You're going to be there, and a few months later, I'll join... he won't be alone. Why would you say that?"
He froze at the look on her face. Guilt—In her eyes, in the way she held herself, oozing from her pores. Bucky could smell it. Bucky could even taste it. "What did you do?"
"I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you both sooner, but I only just decided and—"
"What. Did. You. Do?" Bucky grit out.
The girl took a deep breath. "I'm leaving. Moving to Canada. I already asked for a transfer—"
"Canada? Fucking Canada?"
"—Don't swear, please," she pleaded.
"This is some sick joke, right? Tell me you're joking." Bucky grabbed her forearms, forcing her to look him in the eyes.
"I'm sorry, Bucky, but I already applied for the transfer. I'm supposed to be moved to a different regiment when we get back to base."
There were many things the girl expected Bucky to say. She expected him to be happy that he was finally rid of her. Relieved she would be gone. She did not expect him to be hurt.
"Were you ever gonna say goodbye?"
"Bucky, I—"
"To Steve, to me. Were you ever going to tell me if I hadn't asked?"
No, she would not have. "Please, Bucky," she pleaded. "I don't want to leave you angry. For the sake of our past, let it go. We won't see each other again for a long time. Not until the war is over."
Bucky scoffed. "Phillips would never let that happen; he wouldn't let you leave. You're his favourite nurse."
She furrowed her brows in response. "I'm not Colonel Phillips' favourite nurse. He has no favourites."
"You're everyone's favourite nurse," he replied as if stating a fact.
"Liar!" she wanted to scream at him. She knew she was not his favourite.
"Not yours," she whispered, staring at him for a moment. "Lila Bellamy told me about the date you took her on. She said you turned a war zone into the most romantic place she'd ever seen. You brought her flowers, danced with her, and kissed her on the cheek once the night was over." She felt wetness gathering in her eyes. "You were the perfect gentleman."
When the first tear dropped, she didn't bother wiping it away. "When you return to base camp, please give Lila my regard. She was quite worried for me. Will you let her know I'm safe? She would be glad to hear from you, and I won't get to talk to her before I leave."
Bucky's grip on her shoulder tightened almost painfully, making her flinch. Through the hurt coursing in her body, she managed a feeble smile. "Try not to break her heart? You two look good together."
"No!" Bucky had had enough; he could hold his words in no longer. "There's nothing between Lila and me."
The girl shook her head. "You don't have to lie."
"Stop it!" Bucky exploded, shaking her. "Stop pushing me away. I don't want Lila; I never wanted her. I've only ever wanted you!"
"Bucky," the girl gasped.
"There's no way I'm letting you leave me, doll," he started, and there was that word she hated. "I'll take you over my shoulder if I have to, but you're not going to fucking Canada; because I love—"
Bucky never got to finish his sentence, never got to tell the girl how he felt because one of his worst nightmares was suddenly realized.
A bullet whizzed past them both—so close that the girl could smell the gunpowder in the wind, could feel its displacement through air against her cheek before it found a home in the soldier behind her. She screamed as she fell, Bucky's heavy weight shielding her body, keeping her down. Her world turned upside down, and she found herself on the cold ground with Bucky's grip on her arms tightened painfully.
To her right, the unfortunate soldier lay dead, with an 8-millimeter-sized hole in his head oozing a steady stream of thick blood. A wound meant for her.
The girl touched a hand to her cheek, which had suddenly warmed. It came back painted as red as the poppy fields back in Provence, France.
She began to tremble as shock overtook her.
Bucky swore under his breath, eyes wide as he took in their surroundings. Beneath him, the girl's eyes darkened in fear. She smeared the splatter of blood on her cheeks and stared at her fingers in horror.
"Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God." She kept muttering under her breath, eyes wide and lips quivering. "N-No. No. No. No."
All around Bucky, the soldiers ran, grabbing artillery and readying defences. "What the hell happened!?" he screamed. "We had a perimeter set up!" Underneath him, she shivered—out of shock or fear, he determined, rather than the cold.
"Those Nazi bastards were waiting to ambush us!" a voice shouted from amidst the chaos. "They knew we were coming!"
Another bullet whizzed past Bucky's head, embedding itself in the ground next to the girl's head. He jerked her away and swore. "Fuck!" She still trembled under him, muttering nonsense. He took her face in his hands, urging her to look at him. " Hey, darlin'? Doll, look at me."
Her eyes were glued to her shaky hands. "Oh God, no. No, I can't. I can't. I can't."
For a few seconds, Bucky froze above her—a few seconds too many—before his training kicked in. He needed to get her out of there. Bucky yanked her hands to the side and held her face in a bruising grip, forcing her to look at him.
"We're in a war zone right now." He said her name with fierce assurance. "The enemy isn't going to stop until we're all dead. I need you to remember the promise you made me this morning. You promised you wouldn't let anyone die—Hey!"
The girl tried peeking at the dead soldier beside her, but Bucky blocked her view.
"Don't look at him. Why are you looking at him? Look at me," he said. The girl whimpered, her eyes misting. "Look at me. That's not your fault."
She shook her head.
"—Hey! It's not. Those German bastards killed him, not you."
"That bullet was meant for me," she sobbed between breaths, "it should have hit me." The desperation in her voice cut him like a knife. He felt her fear as if it were his own.
"Don't you dare! Don't you fucking dare!" Under normal circumstances, Bucky would be concerned at the girl's lack of reaction to his cursing, but he had already spent too much time coddling her, and the men needed him. "I'm gonna go and avenge that soldier's death, darlin'," Buck shouted over the sound of battle. "I'm going to burn those Germans to the ground. I'm going to do my job, and you have to do yours."
She looked at him then, and Bucky exhaled gratefully at the clarity he saw in her eyes, hidden behind adrenaline and fear. She gave him a little nod and stifled her sobs. "I feel a little sick."
"Me too," said Bucky, hauling them both to their feet.
The second they were upright, Bucky yanked her behind a tree for cover against the onslaught of bullets raining down on them. "You have to run." He grabbed his rifle from behind his back and checked the ammunition.
"Bucky—"
"When I tell you to, I want you to run toward those trees over there," he pointed to a slight decline, where the trees were thicker and provided more cover, "and I want you to keep on running."
"Wait! No!"
"No matter what happens!" He would not look her in the eyes—Could not look her in the eyes. "You run until you reach the last marker—" Bucky took off his helmet and placed it on the girl's head, fastening it over her hat. "—about a mile and a half out—"
"Bucky, listen to me!"
But he would not listen to her. The girl kept calling him, but he ignored her. He knew his eyes would betray his fear if he did. And he knew that the terrified look that had most likely taken up residence on her face, would force him to lose the last of his sanity and carry her back to base. This war zone was the last place he wanted her.
"You stay there until someone comes for you, and you don't—"
"James!"
And there it was, that damned name. So absolutely dangerous when uttered by her lips. Time slowed for both of them as if the war had pressed pause. Sound faded, colours brightened, and for a few minuscule seconds Bucky and her existed in their own little world, where the blood on her hands was paint, and the look in his eyes was love and not fear.
Bucky looked down, expecting to see the girl hysterical and weeping. Instead, he saw something completely different. Her eyes were clear, the most they had been in weeks, terribly similar to the look she would get in camp when the life of a soldier was in her hands.
And when she spoke, there was determination in her voice. A promise. "You better come back in one piece for Steve." And he knew she meant, "be careful."
He blinked at her, once, then twice, ensuring there were no other hidden messages behind her words. "You better run fast." And she knew he meant, "I will."
The world around them came back into focus, and with a final tightening of her helmet, Bucky pushed her away, sending her running toward safety.
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Thump. Thump. Thump.
How much time had passed? She couldn't be sure. Her boot-clad feet were numb from being buried in the snow, and her back was sore from chafing against the rough bark of a pine tree.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
How much time had passed? The sun had long since disappeared under the horizon. In its stead was the moon, still as big and beautiful as the night before. Was it privy to all the horrors the girl wasn't? Did it frown over the violence and brutality it witnessed, or did the inhumanity of the act make it shine brighter?
Thump. Thump. Thump.
How much time had passed? Above her, a bird chirped loudly, disturbed by the gunfire that seemed to grow closer as the moon rose higher in the sky. An hour? Two? It certainly felt like more.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The girl placed a hand over her rapidly beating heart, patting her chest as a means to settle it. "It's okay," she whispered, afraid to voice her thoughts any louder. "It's okay."
She twisted her body around the thick trunk, peeking at the darkness beyond her hiding spot. Another jarring explosion, fake sounding and unreal, before the world quieted. Eerily so.
The bird above her stopped its music. The leaves stopped their little dance. The girl twisted fully, staring intently at the spot she had come running from before finding a temporary home against her tree. All felt normal—well, as normal as could be.
What was it that prompted her forward and on her feet? Bucky's instructions rang clear in her head. "You stay there until someone comes for you." No one was there for her, yet her feet began to move of their own volition. Perhaps at the persuasion of a greater force. Fear; she could taste it on her tongue.
Fear that made her keep going despite the ache in her limbs. Fear that numbed her skin against the sharp tendrils of wind cutting her face. Fear of the quiet. Of being alone. Of being without him.
"Bucky," her whisper echoed against the draught. "James," her heart bled through the frozen ground.
The stench hit her first. Her nose picked up on what her eyes could not. Rotting flesh, putrid and burnt. Sweat and vomit mixed in with the minerally dirt. Her tongue flared up next as copper permeated the rest of her senses, overwhelmingly strong. And the fear; she caught herself against a tree as it engulfed her, making her lose the contents of her stomach.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The girl was at the edge of the clearing, with the gruesome scene of battle right in front of her. Her eyes moved fleetingly across everything, afraid of what she might find. What was once the site of a lively campsite was now demolished in a mess of guts and spoils.
The earth had turned over to create trenches and hiding spots. Dead bodies and dismembered limbs were scattered across the ground, decorating it with a gruesome excuse for peace.
It was quiet. Too quiet. The calm before the storm.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
She spotted movement from the corner of her eye, followed by a low groan of pain.
James. Her heart lurched.
A head of blonde curls bobbed from behind a mountain of dirt. The girl reached behind her for her pack, realizing it lay abandoned on the battlefield. She spotted it twenty-something meters away to her right.
Her eyes squeezed shut. The girl wasn't sure if it was safe to venture out, but it was so quiet, and still, she reasoned the worst of it had passed. She made up her mind; first, the pack, then the wounded soldier.
With her arms pumping rhythmically, she ran. Five, ten, fifteen meters out. The girl skid to a stop, bending to grab the pack. Instead, cold metal kissed her temple, and she stopped breathing.
Her terror-stricken eyes met dilated blue ones. Her pack perched on the edge of what resembled a small trench, hidden from the rest of the clearing. Several soldiers sat hunched over, brandishing various weapons. Bucky Barnes lowered his rifle as gut-wrenching fear overtook his face. He shook his head vigorously, reaching up to grab her, but she stumbled back on her arms, clutching the pack to her chest.
The girl swallowed the sob threatening to spill over. Bucky was alive and safe, though a bit roughed up. She looked to her left at the blonde soldier immobilized by his injury, and Bucky followed her gaze. She noticed the moment it clicked for him, and she made her decision on the spot. She only hoped her eyes accurately portrayed her feelings.
Bucky's mouth opened in a silent scream of her name, and he leapt from his spot, tossing his weapon to the side. Andrew Eaton grabbed Bucky by the shoulders and yanked him back to safety. The girl took that opportunity to scramble to her feet. Behind her, Bucky's muffled shout echoed in her ears.
"He's okay," she reassured herself. "Bucky's okay."
The wounded soldier was lying on his front, eyes closed and motionless. She fell to her knees, placing two fingers against his windpipe. There, faint and irregular, an indistinct pulse was striving to intensify.
The soldier was alive. Good, she thought, I can work with that. His dog tags peeked from under his coat: Matthew Miles Davidson. Frantic hands ran over his body, feeling for a wound. Her hand came away wet, and she discovered his pants soaked with blood. Bracing herself on her knees, the girl rolled Matthew over with a groan.
"Sorry," she whispered when he moaned in anguish. "I'm sorry." Producing a pocket knife, she cut the fabric away from his right thigh, displaying his injury. Puckered skin oozed a steady flow of red, painting her hands. She laced her fingers together and pressed against the opening, using her entire weight to stop the blood.
The girl's thoughts were in overdrive, swiftly taking in and storing information. No exit wound, meaning the bullet was still inside. Matthew was faintly moving, his chest rising and falling with every breath. The girl decided she would remove the bullet, bandaging the wound before dragging him past the trees for cover.
However, over the adrenaline rushing through her ears, she did not realize another fight had broken out. Someone shouted from a distance, and the girl pulled away, unbuckling Matthew's belt and folding it in half. She needed to clean his wound, and since the morphine was in a different pack, with the rest of the medicine, Matthew was going to feel everything.
He was slightly more lucid now, staring at her, so she grabbed his face and urged him to listen. "Bite down on this, Matthew." And he obediently followed her direction.
"Good, you're doing very good." She ran a hand over his hair, cooing with a sad smile. "Don't make any noise, okay?"
The girl retrieved a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a large roll of bandages. She had tweezers in her pack for removing the shell, needle and thread for the other gashes. Those she kept in the kit and moved out of the way. Uncapping the rubbing alcohol, she liberally poured some over her hands to sanitize them before positioning the bottle over the laceration.
"This is going to hurt," she warned Matthew before tipping the bottle over.
The second the ethanol breached his wound, Matthew let out an ear-splitting scream, despite the sound being muffled by his belt. He writhed on the ground, body spasming in pain.
His groans of agony cloaked the racket of the fight around her, making it so she couldn't hear the tank powering up.
"You're okay, Matthew!" she cried.
From her right, someone screamed, and a solid form collided with her, tackling her to the ground. The night sky turned a light blue, flashing white for a brief moment, and the girl raised her head. In her spot, where she sat just a second ago, tending to Matthew's wounds, was air. No supplies, no pack, and no Matthew. The only evidence that something, or someone, had been there was the roll of bandages in her hand and the blackened earth outlining the shape of a body.
Looking to her saviour, she didn't know if she should be grateful or ungrateful that her life was spared.
"You're okay!" Bucky cried, roaming his hands over her body, feeling if she was alive and well. "Fuck! I told you to fucking stay there!" He craned his neck to witness his men steadily losing ground, unmatched by the enemy and their technology.
When Bucky turned toward the girl, the fear in his eyes left her paralyzed. Panic-stricken hands ripped at her clothes, and at first, she was too shocked to react, but as the feeling returned to her limbs, she protested against him.
Bucky smeared a handful of dirt over her face, covering her eyes and lips. She clawed at his chest, trying to stop him, but he forced her back. They were still on the ground, him on top of her, leaving her immobilized.
Then he grabbed the bandages and lifted her undershirt to wrap her chest. "Stop," she whimpered. "Bucky, stop."
He didn't listen.
"James," she pleaded.
And there was that damned name again. Bucky stopped, looking into her eyes to see his terrified form reflected back. "We're losing," he rasped.
No further explanation was needed when Bucky looked at her like that. The girl heard all he wanted to say, saw all he wanted to do, and felt all he begged to show. She relaxed her body, giving him all her trust, and let him do what he did best.
That night the moon witnessed the girl surrendering to Bucky Barnes. That night, he saved her.
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The air reeked of secretion. The girl didn't know why she found that detail so surprising. What else was a prison supposed to smell like if not human feces, fear and hopelessness?
She didn't remember the ride over. Shortly after surrendering, they were herded, like cattle, into armoured trucks. Masked men pulled her away from Bucky and tied her hands behind her back, shoving her into a separate truck.
The drive wasn't long, and in a few hours, they were stopping. When a guard pushed her and nine others into a dark cell, she fell to her knees and cried. Fortunately, Andrew Eaton was in the same cell as her, and he pulled the girl to him, muffling her sobs against his chest. Her high-pitched wailing was sure to catch someone's attention.
War was not kind to men, even less to young women. If they caught her, what would they do? She remembered the fear in Bucky's eyes as he frantically concealed the weight of her breasts, flattening them to resemble a man's. She decided she didn't want to find out.
The girl fell asleep in Andrew's arms wishing she was in Bucky's embrace instead. But Andrew was cold, and no matter how hard she tried, her imagination could not do Bucky justice.
In the morning, guards came for them. A burly-looking German soldier explained to her group in broken English that they were going to be put to work. Weapons manufacturing. "How does it feel?" he asked, "that we'll be killing your brothers with the weapons you make for us." They laughed amongst themselves, then pointed their guns at her and the prisoners, putting them to work.
Nights passed miserably. Andrew assured the girl Bucky was somewhere in the facility, in one of the cells scattered across the vast space, though that did little to calm her. She cried herself to sleep, body aching from the laborious work forced upon them.
By morning, the news spread. Men were being taken away.
A foul-faced officer was picking soldiers at random, plucking them away. "Hitler's right-hand man," someone sneered. "The devil incarnate," another cowered.
Andrew kept the girl tucked away against him, shielding her from wandering eyes. The dirt on her face had washed away, her hair loosened from her braid, bindings slack. She finally looked like a woman.
She saw the proof of it etched on Andrew's face when the guards came near. It was yet another night, and she was resting her head against the thick bars of the metal prison when she heard them. Andrew tried to hide her, but space was limited, and the devil's keen eye landed on her before she could move.
"What have we here?" A man with a drooping face and quizzical brow bent down to look at the girl. He grabbed her jaw in a rough grip through the bars when she attempted to crawl away. "Ah!" he exclaimed fervently, digging his nails into her skin until she whimpered. "A girl?"
His free hand went to her neck, dropping lower and lower until she protested, pushing him away. "No!"
The man raised a brow. "How did you manage to slip through, Mäuschen?" He gestured to the guards behind him, who marched forward to open the bars. "Let's find out, shall we?"
"Don't touch her, bastards!" Andrew shouted, pulling her back.
The girl wanted to stop him, but she became paralyzed with fear. The men had guns and long sticks—Andrew had nothing but his wits about him and a pair of worn fists.
The next few events happened in quick succession. A muscle in the devil's face twitched, his smile momentarily dropping, which he swiftly schooled. "Das Mäuschen has a protector? What a waste." He shrugged carelessly. "No matter. Always more where he came from."
A bang resounded, and Andrew fell backwards, eyes wide and unmoving. Someone screamed, loud and shrill. It wasn't until a guard whisked the girl away that she realized it was her screaming.
The prisoners shouted in protest as she passed by them. From amongst the hoard of fury, a pair of blue eyes met hers, two hands grasped cool metal, and two lips parted to call out her name. The girl craned her neck to look, but heavyset doors closed behind her before the voice could reach her ears.
She closed her eyes to block out her surroundings, and when she finally reopened them, it was the next day.
His name was Arnim Zola—Dr. Arnim Zola—and he was a scientist working for HYDRA. That's where they were held captive, the Doctor divulged, at one of the many facilities HYDRA owned across the continent.
The Doctor passionately described the importance of the work done at HYDRA while the girl was bound to an exam table. "How lucky that you will not only be alive to see HYDRA shine, but you will also take part in it." He checked the girl's pulse, jotting something down on a clipboard. "We lost many of the men. They all fight the effects. It will be interesting to see how a woman fares, don't you think?"
She was too tired to struggle, and when the Doctor injected a burning liquid in her veins, she found she was too tired to scream.
The world turned black.
When she came to, however long later, Dr. Zola was hunched over his desk, shuffling through papers while muttering under his breath. "How is this possible? I gave her a larger dose."
The burning had turned to ice in her veins, and she shook violently against her restraints as she shivered. "Please..."
"I don't understand. Are you sweating it off?" Then he hummed. "I will need more tests." And her world turned black once again.
How much time had passed? Days? Weeks? Months? The girl could not be sure of anything other than that the cold in her veins had found a home in her heart.
"Immune," she heard the Doctor repeat. "Nothing is working."
She was counting the marks on the wall of the tiny room she was locked in when Dr. Zola approached her one day. "Herr Schmidt wants me to dispose of you," he told her. "But I think you can serve us yet."
She turned away from him and closed her eyes, trying to ignore him.
"That prisoner. What was his name? The one who died protecting you?"
Andrew. The girl opened her eyes and looked at Dr. Zola with distrust.
"He made me wonder if the others would do the same."
"They won't," she told him, trying to hide her desperation. "I'm only a nurse."
Dr. Zola snickered mischievously, slowly backing out of the small room. "We will see about that."
That night they brought the first prisoner. Someone she did not recognize. "Do as I say, and the girl will remain unharmed."
He spat on Arnim Zola's face. "Go to hell, you son of a bitch!"
The Doctor wiped away the drool with a wry smile, gesturing to the soldiers holding the girl still. "No!" she managed to shout before they plunged her face into a bucket of ice water.
She held her breath at first, hoping to bide some time before they pulled her out, but as her heart raced and the grip on her arms tightened, she couldn't help it any longer. She began to thrash, shaking and sputtering as the water invaded her lungs.
After what felt like an eternity, she tasted fresh air, heaping lungfuls to ease the burn in her throat.
The prisoner thrashed against his restraints, screaming profanities into the air as Dr. Zola injected him with a blue substance.
"Stop resisting!" the Doctor demanded. "You'll ruin the transformation!" He turned toward the girl. "Do you want her to die?" he asked the prisoner. "They'll kill her."
The prisoner screamed louder.
"Again!" Dr. Zola ordered.
The girl managed to take a deep breath before they plunged her into the water again, not that it helped. The torture went on for the rest of the night. By the last hour, the prisoner had died, lying in a pool of vomit.
The next night they brought the second prisoner. Someone she did recognize. "Do as I say, and the girl will remain unharmed."
"Jeremy? No!" the girl began to cry. "No, not him!"
"Miss?" Jeremy looked at Dr. Zola with indignation. "Let her go."
"Do as I say," Zola repeated, "and I will."
"Go to hell."
And so it began.
Though, It did not last very long. When the girl screamed for the first time, Jeremy Bradshaw gave in. "I'll do it. I'll do anything. Just let the lady go."
Zola smiled victoriously. "Now, that wasn't so hard. Was it?"
A few hours later, Jeremey's heart gave out.
"He was weak," Zola proclaimed. "We need someone stronger."
The next night they brought the third prisoner. Someone she knew.
The girl had prepared herself this time. She wouldn't cry or scream out; she would fight! But none of it mattered when she saw the person standing before her.
War was not kind to men, and this one was proof of it. His hair was longer, touching the tips of his ears, and a light beard covered most of his face, making him almost unrecognizable. Almost. His piercing blue eyes stayed the same.
"James," she whispered. Tears gathered in her eyes, waiting for the moment he saw her.
"Do as I say, and the girl will remain unharmed."
Bucky screamed the moment he did, mouth open in rage. The girl wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Was she as haggard in appearance as him? She sure felt it.
Bucky threw the soldiers off him, shouting her name as he ran toward her. He came to a halt when someone put a gun to her head, and the soldiers took the opportunity to restrain him once again.
"Yes, you are strong, indeed. Now, will you do as I say?" Zola asked.
"Eat shit, cocksucker."
Bucky was being so strong. So could she.
When the soldiers grabbed the girl, she was ready. She kicked one of them between the legs, and when he loosened his hold, she bit the hand on her shoulder. She must have made it two steps before they restrained her again.
She heard the buzz before she could feel it, and an unbridled scream left her. Electricity travelled up her spine, burning a pathway through her nerves. Her muscles went lax, and she fell, convulsing on the cold floor.
"No," she whimpered as they administered another shock through a small black device. But they were unrelenting, kicking her half-conscious form while she was down.
Bucky roared in rage while they abused her, but he could do nothing but watch as they gave her another electric shock.
"I'll kill you sons of bitches! I'll fucking kill you!"
Zola injected Bucky with the blue liquid. "Relax your muscles! Let the transformation take over."
"Fuck. You!" Bucky seethed.
The girl crawled toward him from her position on the ground, dragging herself by her nails. The soldiers followed leisurely, laughing at her pathetic attempt. The next shock made her throw up. Bile and stomach acid; since she hadn't been able to keep anything else down.
"She'll die, Soldier," Zola warned Bucky. "There's only so much a person can take."
Bucky stopped thrashing, briefly looking at the girl before addressing the Doctor. "What will you do to her?" he asked, unconcerned for himself.
"Bucky, no."
"Will you hurt her?"
Zola smiled, knowing he had won. "As long as you do as I say, I promise she will remain unharmed."
The girl began to cry. "Don't give up, Bucky. I can take it."
"—No, she can't," Zola interrupted.
"James!"
Their eyes met, and the girl knew Bucky had made up his mind. "I'll do anything." He slumped against his restraints, giving over his control. Before the Soldiers dragged her away, Bucky mouthed three words that shattered her completely. "I love you."
The doors closed before she could mouth it back.
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Bucky Barnes was in shock. He had to be. That was the only reason he was on his feet after a week of hell, feeling only slightly bruised and fatigued. Yes, it was the shock that kept him moving, and not whatever it was the Doctor injected in him.
"Did it hurt?" Bucky asked, only slightly stumbling.
"A little," replied Steve Rogers. The same Steve Rogers Bucky remembered being at least two heads shorter.
"Is this permanent?" Bucky took in the striped shield, the muscles hidden by leather.
"So far."
Bucky chuckled, pressing his chest to feel his heart beating wildly within.
"The exit's through here," Steve gestured.
Bucky pulled him back. "Wait. I have to find someone first."
"Who?"
Bucky stared at his friend for a moment, hesitating. Steve didn't know the girl was with him. She never told anyone where she was deployed. Bucky whispered her name before clearing his throat and saying it louder.
He saw the surprise on Steve's face slowly morph into determination. "What are we waiting for, then? Let's get her."
They found her quickly. She was in an unmarked room on the second floor, hiding underneath a small blanket. Steve stayed behind, and Bucky entered the dark space with careful steps.
He heard the girl whimper in protest and scurry closer to the wall. "Not again. Please!"
Bucky bent down, and what he saw made him pause. He almost didn't recognize the girl with her sunken face and pale skin. She had lost weight, and her clothes were hanging off of her, but her eyes were what broke him. Wide and distrustful. Lifeless.
Bucky wiped his tears away, determined to stay strong. "Come here. I've got you."
The girl crawled farther away as if trying to embed herself in the wall. Bucky grabbed her face with both hands. "Look at me. Hey! Look at me, doll. It's Bucky."
She finally met his eyes, and Bucky saw the moment she recognized him. "James?" she sobbed, clutching his shirt in a weak grip. "You're here!"
Bucky lifted the girl in his arms, keeping her close to his chest. The first thing he noticed was how cold she was; the second was that she weighed almost nothing. When Bucky stumbled out, unsteady on his feet, Steve grabbed her from him, exchanging the shield for her. "Reserve your energy. We've got a long way to go."
"Steven? Am I dreaming?"
Steve laughed sadly. "No."
"You're big now," she sighed. "What happened?"
Steve shrugged. "I joined the army."
"I always knew you would."
They all laughed, happy for a moment that they were reunited. But danger was near, Bucky could feel it, and his smile dropped. Around them, parts of the building exploded, making the ground shake.
"Quick! Through here!" Steve shouted, taking two steps at a time, and Bucky tried his best to keep up. They were so close. He could feel it.
"Captain America!" A voice shouted, stopping them. "How exciting!"
Steve lowered the girl to her feet, grabbing his shield from Bucky and taking a fighting stance.
When Bucky realized who the strange voice belonged to, he pulled the girl behind him, shielding her from view. It was him, the man who dragged her away all those days ago. Bucky couldn't tell then, but it was apparent now that he was a high-ranking officer. Perhaps the mastermind behind this whole operation. Zola stood next to him, cowering behind a large briefcase.
"I am a great fan of your films!" mocked Johann Schmidt. "So, Dr. Erskine managed it after all. Not exactly an improvement, but still, impressive."
Steve and Schmidt were at arm's length, and the Captain did not hesitate to swing at Schmidt. The man stumbled back, clutching his face in surprise.
"You've got no idea," Steve huffed.
"Haven't I?" And Schmidt took a swing of his own, putting a fist-sized dent in Captain America's shield.
"Steve!" The girl screamed from behind Bucky.
The two began to fight, and Bucky had to keep her from running toward their friend. "He's got it," he told her; and he did.
Steve kicked Schmidt, sending him back a few feet, and Zola stepped forward. He pressed a button that collapsed the bridge Steve was on.
"No matter what lies Erskine told you," Schmidt exclaimed. "You see, I was his greatest success!" He peeled the skin off his face, revealing red flesh underneath.
"You don't have one of those, do you?" Bucky found himself asking, a bit dizzy from the incident. He held the girl tighter against him when she started shaking like a leaf.
Schmidt made a closing remark that went over Bucky's head, and he and Zola left. An explosion caused the trio to stumble, forcing Steve into action. "Come on, let's go. Up."
Bucky pulled the girl along, and they went up a floor, stopping in front of a metal beam.
"Let's go. One at a time," Steve urged, helping Bucky over the railing.
"What are you doing?" the girl shouted over the loud explosions.
"There's no other way!" Bucky told her. "Stay behind me."
Steve helped her over the railing next, and Bucky grabbed her.
"I can't!" she shook. "I'll fall."
Bucky pulled her close. "Don't look down. Why are you looking down? Look at me."
"No!"
"Yes! One step at a time, alright? Steve's right behind you." The beam quaked with every step, but Bucky did not slow down. He tossed the girl over the railing and leaped the rest of the way; right before the beam fell from underneath him.
Bucky's stomach dropped. There was no way for Steve to cross. "There's gotta be a rope or something!"
"Just go!" Steve cried. "Get out of here!"
"No! Not without you!"
Steve hesitated before backing up as far as he could and making a run for it. Bucky's stomach dropped, thinking Steve wouldn't make it, but then he emerged from the smoke and landed safely on his feet. The trio ran.
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The half-moon was low in the sky when they made camp after two day's journey. It was late, and the prisoners were tired. Bucky made his rounds, checking the perimeter and the tents for anything suspicious.
The Battle of Azzanno was still fresh in his mind, and despite Steve's reassurances, Bucky could not let down his guard.
"How is she?" Steve asked Bucky.
Bucky didn't know the answer. "She won't talk to me," he said frustratedly. "She says she's fine, but I can see she isn't."
Steve sighed, having expected that answer. "And how are you?"
"Me?"
"Yeah. You both went through something traumatic." Steve grabbed Bucky's shoulder. "Talk it out, why don't you?" and left with a reassuring smile.
Bucky found the girl in one of the smaller tents, huddled in the corner for warmth.
"I was waiting for you," she admitted.
Bucky let a small smile grace his lips. They had come a long way. "Not too long, I hope."
"Very long," she rebutted. "I'm all cold."
Something in the girl's expression hinted at something deeper, something permanent. A rawness that she couldn't hide. It made Bucky's eyes burn. "Let me warm you up then." He fell to his knees and embraced her, holding her trembling body as tightly as he could.
The girl craned her neck and looked at Bucky with teary eyes. "Are you okay?"
Bucky took a second because he didn't know. Was he okay? He adjusted his hold until the girl was in his lap, snug against his front. "No, I'm not," he decided. "But as long as you're here, I will be."
Her hair was open, so Bucky put his forehead against the soft strands and closed his eyes. "Are you okay?"
The girl took a shuddering breath. "I—I was scared, and I—" She sobbed once, then twice. "No, I'm not okay!" And she began to weep. Agonizing sobs shook her entire body.
Bucky held on tight, whispering reassurances until, however long later, she eventually settled. "But I will be," she hiccuped.
The two sat silently for a while before she shifted to face him. Bucky wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her steady and caressed her face. "I love you," he whispered, leaning in until their noses brushed.
Her eyes pierced his, conveying all she felt, and she softened in his arms. "James."
And there was that damned name again. Bucky pulled her toward him, closing the small distance between their lips.
Oh, she was soft, putty under his skilled mouth. He groaned, pressing closer until the only thing separating them were clothes. "Sweetheart." He tasted her lips with his tongue, asking for permission which she swiftly granted.
"James," she whimpered against him, clawing at his jacket for purchase. They kissed until she became breathless, reluctantly pulling away with a moan to fill her lungs.
Bucky felt his heart beating out of his chest. "I'm here," he vowed, "I'm right here. Never leaving you again."
Her pleasure-stricken face met his with an intensity that left him more breathless than her lips had. "James, I love you."
And Bucky knew in his soul that all would be well. He took her lips once again, sealing his promise with a kiss.
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haravath0t · 4 months
Text
⸝⸝ ʚ ⛸ ! ⌗ °• ⎯ೃ༄
𝟺𝟶𝚜!𝚋𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚜
𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛
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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒊𝒌𝒂𝒏𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑨𝒅𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒓 - 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝟺
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"𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊𝚠𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚠,
𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍
𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚊 𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞
𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝."
𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : ̗̀➛ the most handsome man in brooklyn is here to take you to the rink.
☕🤍🌿 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗'𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 ! 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 ! ☕🤍🌿
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Neither of you could stop laughing, just like how no one could stop looking at you both in disbelief or in awe. The famously handsome Brooklyn man, James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, was holding someone. Not someone who everyone considered the “prettiest dame in town”, but you instead. Bucky didn’t give a damn about what they thought, frankly, for despite all the falls you’ve taken at his expense at the rink, all the desperate hand holding as you two glide on slippery ice, he was still very much seeing you as an angel that was sent from God himself.
He didn’t care whether your coat was slightly wet from falling on ice too much, or that your stockings were on the brink of being torn from hitting your knees, or that your once neatly styled hair began to become at its usual unkempt state. He just wished this moment was locked in his memory forever: having you in his arms, the two of you laying on the ice in the middle of the public skate rink after taking yet another fall for the umpteenth time.
“Oh my goodness!” You laugh. “I’m so sorry! I really thought I had it!”
How could he not smile from that genuine expression of glee? To him, your smile shines better than any damn tree topper on a christmas tree. Hell, it may light up all of Brooklyn if it were up to him.
“Oh don’t you worry now, doll. You know I’m going to catch ya every time.”
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barnesafterglow · 2 years
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a misunderstanding
summary: a misunderstanding and a revelation change the tide of your relationship with bucky
pairing: 40s!bucky x reader
word count: 1.4k
warnings: this got mildly angsty and i didn't mean to, bucky is lowkey a fuckboy (or is he?), happy ending, steve as comedic relief
a/n: here is day 1 of my sweet summer writing challenge! i know it's a little early but also i took several extra requests so i figured i'd go ahead and get started :) prompt for this one is “it must be hard with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line.”
main masterlist ─ challenge masterlist
i no longer have a taglist, but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary and turn on post notifications to get fic updates! 🤍
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The crackling sound of the record player filled the small apartment, accompanied by your soft steps to the beat along the kitchen tile.
You continued stirring the pot on the stove, cutting it down to simmer when a knock sounded at your front door. You wiped your hands off on the apron tied around your waist and cut the knob down in the tinkering jazz as you passed it, stepping towards the door and pulling it open.
“Hey there, doll,” said the man on the other side. Not the one you were expecting.
“Where’s Steve?” you asked, trying your best not to sound annoyed. It would only fuel his ego.
Bucky Barnes was, in no uncertain terms, an insufferable blockhead. But it just so happened that you shared a best friend, and it remained in your best interest not to chuck him in the East River. For now.
“Got caught up with Mrs. Johnson. She wanted a new mural painted on the front window and we ran into her on our way here. He shouldn’t be too long.”
Which, in Steve terms, meant dinner would probably be cold before his perfectionist ass had painted the perfect picture of bread or milk or whatever other sale the Johnsons wanted to advertise this week. It also meant that you were stuck in Bucky’s presence for the evening, because Steve would hand him his ass if he left you alone after you had spent the afternoon cooking.
Not to mention that, even though it was supposed to just be Steve tonight, you had already made extras for the very likely possibility that Bucky tagged along. He didn’t seem to be aware of the animosity between the two of you, though you couldn’t ever forget the harsh words that had changed your attitude towards him forever.
It had been a couple years, you had just gotten off your shift at the bar on the corner and you were supposed to meet Steve and Bucky for a late dinner. You hadn’t been friends with them long, only a couple of months, but it had been long enough that you were surprised to see that Bucky didn’t have a girl hanging off his arm.
That’s usually how your meetups went - Steve looking happy to see you and Bucky focusing solely on the unlucky dame who would wind up with a broken heart the morning after. But that night was different, with no one but your two friends in sight as you shuffled down the street, pulling your ragged coat tighter around you as the New York winter picked up. Bucky’s back was facing you, so he didn’t see you approach, and you caught the tail end of his rant.
“-always fucking everything up! I don’t see why you even bother with her anymore.” He sounded angry, nothing like the usual laid back and charming James Barnes, and you knew without a doubt that he was talking about you.
Instead of interrupting their conversation, you brushed past them on the sidewalk, practically shouldering Bucky out of your way. He called after you, but you kept walking without a word. You didn’t see either of them again for a week, and by then you were resigned to act like it never happened. You never spoke of it again, even when Steve asked you over and over again what had happened between you and Bucky.
You figured neither one of them thought you were close enough to have overheard Bucky’s insult, and that’s why their thick heads couldn’t figure what might have changed that night.
“-any help?” You were brought back to the present by Bucky’s voice, right in front of your face, and you realized you had no idea what he had said.
“Sorry, what?”
“I asked if you needed any help, doll. Can’t let my best girl do all the work herself.” He winked at you, and for the first time since that night, his casual flirting made you see red.
“It must be hard with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line.” Though your face carried a sickeningly sweet smile, the sharp tone in your voice must have thrown Bucky off. You didn’t dwell on it, though, simply brushing past him into the kitchen.
“Hey,” he caught your wrist as he passed, and you wrenched it from his grasp. He took a step back, obviously feeling the anger that was radiating from you. “What’s wrong, doll?”
“As if you don’t know,” you snapped, inhibitions down enough that you were ready to lay your grievances bare. “But that’s right, I just fuck everything up anyways! How could I ever think that the great James Barnes might be the problem for once?”
“Fuck everything up? I don’t understand. I don’t think you fuck anything up, Y/N.” The sincerity of which he said your name gave you pause, and when you looked at him, he seemed genuinely confused. Your anger waned enough for you to explain that night, and how badly it had hurt your feelings.
“I was talking about Dot. That night, she had cornered Steve at the dance hall again, acting all sweet on him. Just like she had done every other night in the few weeks before. And then she left him high and dry, trying to make moves on me when I went out back for a smoke. I thought she was using him - which she was, by the way - and I wanted him to cut it out.
“He got mad at me when he walked out and she was trying to shove her hand in my pants. Thought I was jealous he was gettin’ attention or somethin’.”
You weren’t angry anymore, not after the bomb Bucky had just dropped. Instead you just felt numb, and stupid, to have spent so long holding a grudge for no reason.
“I thought you really liked Dot, though, why wouldn’t you have taken your chance anyways?” It seemed like the most trivial thing in the world to ask, yet it was what your brain chose to focus on.
“Well besides the fact that tried to get to me by using my best friend, I’ve had my eye on one dame for a while now.” You tried not to let your heart constrict at the thought, and you tried to remember a girl he had talked about since then that may have caught his eye. But you couldn’t remember a single one in the years since that night.
You figured he had grown tired of your sarcastic comments about his promiscuous behavior, and kept the girls away from you, but maybe you were wrong. Maybe there hadn’t been any since then. You didn’t want to let yourself entertain the idea, so you threw out a random name.
“No, not Beth,” he responded. “It’s you, Y/N. I’ve been holdin’ out for ya, and I get now that I really hurt you, but I’ll keep holdin’ out until you kick me to the curb.”
You didn’t let your mind make any decisions as you lurched toward him, instead letting your heart take the lead. Because up until that winter night, you had been pining for Bucky just like every other girl in a 50 block radius, but you kept it to yourself, knowing his dating habits - or lack thereof - and your friendship with him and Steve both was more important to you.
You could have never let yourself hope he might feel the same, that he might want you beyond a single night. But that hope was reignited as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him and slotting his mouth against yours.
The two of you were so lost in each other, so lost in the moment that had unknowingly been building for years, that you didn’t hear the knock at the door, or the creak of the hinges as it opened. It wasn’t until a heavy thud sounded against the floorboards that your sprung apart, both turning to see Steve, shocked, in the doorway.
“I’m thirty minutes late for dinner, and this is what I miss?”
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venusfalling · 1 year
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Little Soldiers in the Trenches - Prologue
fic summary: In 1939, you leave Bucky for school in England. By 1942, with the war at its peak, Bucky thinks you’re dead, but the war brings you back together in the worst way possible.
prologue summary: You’re about to leave New York, so Bucky takes you dancing.
warnings: talk of war
notes: Fluff/Angst, Bucky says goodbye. This is just a short prologue to the rest of the fic. I hope you enjoy!
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New York City, June 1939
      “How does it feel to be free, Doll?” Bucky asks, putting an arm around you. It’s the first day of summer, classes are over and Barnard College would be closing its dorms for the next few months. Steve and Bucky had been waiting for you outside the old, white brick building, falling in step next to you when you walk outside. Steve takes the short stack of textbooks from your arms while Bucky grabs your suitcase.       “Feels good.” You smile up at the sun, skin glowing in the warm light. Scandalized mothers look on with their daughters as you loop your arm through both Steve and Bucky’s elbows.       “Well, what do you want to do first?” Steve asks as he stuffs your books in his bag. “We’ve only got you until August, we’ve gotta make the most of it.” Bucky’s smile falters at the reminder that you’ll be leaving for a year before long.       “Don’t worry, Buck,” you say when you notice. “I’ll write you both so much, you’ll get tired of reading.”       “As long as you don’t come back with a British accent, we’ll survive,” Steve jokes, but you can see the worry behind his eyes, as well.       At the end of the summer, you would board a plane bound for England. A study abroad fellowship to finish your mathematics undergraduate degree, a rare opportunity for a woman, but you managed it. Bucky and Steve were proud when you told them, if worried. The geopolitics of Europe made for increasing tensions at the time, and the continent was still recovering from the Great War.       But the quickly fading time left no room for worry or sadness.       “Well, it’s a lovely day, and I’m wearing my favorite skirt, so I think we should head out to the pier for some ice cream after we drop my stuff off at my sister’s apartment.” So, the three of you board the train at the nearest stop, laughing easily with each other as was always the case when you were together.       Your sister was still at work when you arrive home. It was just the two of you since you had both moved to the city. When you received your acceptance letter in the mail, your sister decided you wouldn’t be moving to New York alone and found herself a job as a secretary at a law firm. When you weren’t living in the Barnard dorms, you stayed with her, so her tiny apartment would be home for now. Not that you would be spending too much time there. Between your job as a secretary at Stark Industries and Bucky’s promise to give you the best summer ever with evenings at the movies and Coney Island and your favorite dance halls, it would be a busy few months.       “Jesus, Sunshine, what do you have in here?” Bucky teases as he lifts your heavy suitcase onto your bed.       “Careful, Buck, that has my whole life in there,” you chastise as Steve helps you place your books on a small shelf. He crouches near the base and hands them up to you, pulling the books from his bag and making faces at the titles: Fundamentals of Statistical Analysis, Advanced Applied Calculus, Linear Algebra for the Mathematician, and a series of other books for your studies.       “Well damn, I thought we were your whole life,” he says, gesturing to himself and Steve. You mock a laugh at Bucky’s words, then you stop. They are your whole life.       “You alright?” Steve asks when he notices.       “Yeah,” you sigh, wiping away a stray tear. “I’m just gonna miss y’all when I’m away.”       “We know you will, Sunshine,” Bucky says and places a chaste kiss to the side of your head. He pulls Steve up from the floor, “Come on. Let’s go get that ice cream.” — August 1939, Richard’s Dance Hall
      “Come on, Steve,” you laugh, pulling him to the dance floor. “It’s my last night, you owe me a dance.”       “Fine, fine. Just don’t complain when I step on your toes,” Steve agrees and let’s you lead him to the center of the room. It’s a fast song, but you take it slow, for Steve’s sake. He spins you, your skirt flowing around you in a near perfect circle. You laugh and it brings a smile to his face.       The song is over too soon in your opinion, and is replaced by a slow couple’s song. The melody rings in so softly, it’s almost sad, but it’s one of your favorites — Again by Doris Day and The Mellowmen.       Steve takes your hand in his and puts the other on your waist, but before you can take more than a couple of steps, Bucky walks up.       “Can I cut in?” he asks, holding his hand out. You and Steve nod, but before he disappears you give him a quick peck on the cheek.       “Thanks for the dance, Steve.”       Then it’s Bucky who’s leading you around the dance floor — a simple slow dance, swaying to the music.       The two of you don’t have to say anything, or rather don’t know what to say. You have been dancing around the topic all summer, and, if you’re being honest, all the time you’ve known each other. You like him, might even love him, and you think he loves you too.       You are two glasses of wine in and feeling brave, so you lean up and kiss one of your oldest and best friends. He kisses back and you can feel him smiling against your lips.       “Wait for me?” you ask of Bucky when you pull away.       “I will.” —       The next day, you find yourself waving bye to Bucky, Steve, and your sister at the airport. Luggage in hand, you board the plane, but what was supposed to be a year abroad with letters and photos sent back home quickly becomes a nightmare for you and everyone you love.
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Does anyone have any good 40s!bucky fics?
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buckrecs · 1 year
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40s AU
masterlist | req masterlist
I don’t read a lot of 40s Bucky oneshot because I’m afraid it’ll be sad😭 so here are some series recommendations!
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Just One Kiss by @sarahwroteathing
Bucky Barnes has been chasing after you since he was ten years old, but you’re determined not to give in. How long can you hold out when all he’s asking for is just one kiss?
Bucky Barnes x Rogers!Reader by @itsapeterthing
You’ve known your brother’s best friend Bucky Barnes since before you can even remember. As the two of you get older, your relationship grows from one of teasing friendship to an everlasting love. Despite all odds and decades apart, you never fail to find each other every time.
We’ll Meet Again by @coffeecatsandcandles
You fell in love with Bucky Barnes in 1940. He was your everything, until he was taken from you. You’ll meet him again, just not in the way either of you expected…
Untouchable by @dreamwritesimagines
What happens when Bucky Barnes falls in love with someone he shouldn’t have?
The Contingency Plan by @dilemmaontwolegs
Bucky had promised he would find you after the war ended but you were planning on keeping your own promises to him, for better or for worse, so you were heading to Italy and to the front lines. Life in the war was fast, it was living moment to moment because you didn’t know how much time you had together. Then Bucky went missing and for a moment you had him back, all thanks to Steve, and despite your pleas Bucky went straight back into the fray of the war never to be seen again. When Bucky got his mind and body back in the 21st century he finds your name on a memorial for women who lost their lives or were missing in action during the war. He never had any idea you were still waiting for him.
Tinman by @indyluckycharlie
Bucky survives the fall from the train and comes home, hoping to return to his old life. But he’s not the man he was before. He’s not sure he’ll ever be. 
Spin You Around by @the-winter-spider
Bucky was your world and you were his, but that was before he was ripped away by Hydra, he promised he’d always come back to you, despite all odds and more importantly time, will he keep that promise?
Careful Soldier by @wxntersoldiers
bucky is off to war but someone catches his eye just before he leaves
Sugar by @softlybarnes
By a miracle of fate, Bucky Barnes does not fall off of the train. He does not spend decades as a brainwashed assassin. Instead, he goes home to Brooklyn to spend his life with a girl he adores, a snarky nurse that he met during the war. 
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Ask for a Rec <3
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buckyysdoll · 8 months
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— 𝐰𝐞’𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 —
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જ⁀➴ — summary: {based on request} -> “DANCING WITH BUCKY IN THE KITCHEN BEFORE HE GETS DEPLOYED. babe I’m in the trenches rn”; a/n: honey, me too <3 song choice: “we’ll meet again” — vera lynn; cw: implied death risk for your husband, angst, general theme of wartime suffering; pairing: 40s! bucky x f! reader
MAIN MASTERLIST
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With your head to his chest like this, you could quite clearly feel each strong beat of his heart. Even down through the stiff starch of his army fatigues, you could feel it — coming up to your ear.
His heartbeat was the safest rhythm you knew and yet you couldn’t help but wonder when you would next hear it; wondered if, in days or weeks from now, it would be stopped by artillery shells.
You tried, dear god you tried, to shut those thoughts out but they stayed — it was an effort to focus on your joint, soft swaying movements, and allow the dance to overtake despair.
There could only now be the boy in your arms and the tears that you hoped he didn’t see, even as they bled out into the darkening green fabric, where they slipped down from your cheeks and onto him.
But of course he saw.
“I’m gonna be coming home just as soon as I can, doll.” He spoke in a whisper, one hand at your waist and the other in yours cradled close to his chest. “It won’t be long and then we’re gonna have so much time, I promise.”
So much time. Enough to walk through life together, still; to start your own family as you’d both always dreamed, with beautiful children, a daughter or son —
That is, if he lived through this war. If your Bucky ever came home.
Just like that, fresh terror took your words before you spoke them, and you could only hold him tighter, clutch your fingers tighter to the curve of his arm. You didn’t know how to voice this, didn’t want to put him in this position — such was the nature of a war draft that he didn’t have a choice, and you both knew that he wished not to go.
After all, how could he willingly leave his wife, his girl, with gladness?
“I know,” was all you could say — all that you could think to say beyond the music and surrounding quiet.
For the music still played on unknowing, coming softly from the little brown radio on the counter. Your shared home was modest, a small place in the city, and this kitchen where you danced was where you had done so many times.
Done it just simply because you loved him and he loved you, too — just to be in his arms and have you in his on a date night, or any ordinary Tuesday.
And if now your dances were numbered there was no song on earth that could ever mean more.
Indeed, you suspected that it truly was the most poignant song of the time you were in, one that all of your country, your great generation, all couples divided by war did share in.
And yet still, the only person who mattered to your heart in this moment was your husband. Your very best friend.
Bucky felt the change — the shift — in you holding tighter to him, and pulled you in closer, closer still, with the hand from your waist moving to the small of your back. Turning his cheek just so, he pressed his lips to the crown of your hair, and you didn’t miss his subtle inhalation of your scent.
Now was perhaps the only time he’d ever have left to memorise you — and though he knew your face more thoroughly than he even did his own, he couldn’t help but look and look and look.
And so you did, for him.
For once he’d breathed you in enough to keep his fear at a temporary bay, he raised his head from your hair and you were left cold in that absence of warmth.
So gently, he instead took your chin between his thumb and index finger.
Now that you could look in his eyes, then, you saw that he too was crying right with you; the smooth skin around them was upset and red, his expression so tender it wrenched at your chest.
You couldn’t help it, you just couldn’t bear to see that pain in the face you so loved, and so you closed your worn eyes against it, against the truth of what you both knew was coming by morning.
God, this war would tear you apart and all you could do was watch.
By now, you both had stopped swaying, though the music played on, faint and warbled from the radio. And as you stood there you kept your hands braced at his shoulders, and he cradled your face in his hands.
No longer did he hold any hand to his chest — even that was now not close enough. He did just all he could think to do then, all he ever even wanted to do.
And gently, oh so gently, Bucky pressed little kisses to each part of your face, one to each of your eyelids, the tip of your nose; one more each to both of your temples.
Everywhere you felt him was a place that warmth then bloomed, up to your forehead, and down to the curve of your jaw —
To the corner of your mouth, and then lips.
And all the while those silent tears still slipped fast from your closed eyes, each touch of his skin against yours going straight to your bones, and settling there.
You could not meet his eyes.
Never in your life had you loved anything so much as you loved him, and holding him now was your only sure tether to life.
He was your husband, your James.
“Look at me, doll. ‘Cmon,” he urged you so softly that you almost didn’t hear it. So softly that you almost missed it beneath the closing notes of Vera Lynn’s voice.
You did as he pleaded and opened your eyes to regret and barely checked agony. The look in them, mirroring his, sliced clean through skin and bone to Bucky’s heart, and he said nothing and just waited for your brewing words to come.
When they did, they almost brought him to his knees at your stocking-clad feet.
“I can’t learn to live without you, James. I simply will not do it.” That last part, you said with conviction.
Or whatever of it you could muster with that shake in your voice.
Now it was Bucky’s turn to only say a broken, “I know”; any resolve he’d mustered for your sake had frayed with the devastated look on your face.
It was 1943, and still the height of World War Two. You both were by now twenty six, but still felt like the kids you’d been.
In the quiet there was just his forehead steady against your own, those hands still cradling your face as though parted around you, for you, in worship.
There was nothing in the room, in the whole damn city but for you two — but for the end of the song and the end of this night —
And his kiss and his kiss and his kiss.
✪ ✪ ✪ ✪ ✪
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exquisitepluviophile · 5 months
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MISS AMERICA | CHAPTER III
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pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader
series summary: you're steve's sister, and bucky barnes' girlfriend. and maybe also a supersoldier from the 40s
chapter summary: you say goodbye to bucky before he's shipped off to England, and you receive some news.
chapter warnings: little bit of joking about the possibility of stucky,
A/N: actually finished writing this because I got a 4.0 and felt like I should celebrate
series masterlist ♡ masterlist ♡ next chapter
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Steve dejectedly stepped down from the platform in the army recruitment centre. Every guy that stood on it could actually envision themselves joining the army. Not Steve though; he wasn't even tall enough to see himself in the reflection of a soldier.
"Come on, you're kinda missing the point of a double date," Bucky said as he pushed Steve from behind. "I don't think you can call it a double date anymore, since Ruth ran off," you said pointedly. "We're going to get some drinks at the bar nearby, y'know to celebrate me leaving," Bucky told Steve.
"We're not celebrating that you're leaving James," you scolded. "Okay, doll, 'commemorating'. Is that better? Jeez, you sound like Ma," Bucky responded while you shook your head in annoyance.
"You guys go ahead, I'll catch up with you," Steve said, with his hands in his pocket.
"You really gonna do this again?"
"Well it's a fair; I'm gonna try my luck,"
"As who, Steve from Ohio?" You asked, the sarcasm evident. "They'll catch you." You took on a more caring tone.
"Or worse, they'll actually take you," Bucky stated, unabashedly showing his concern and worry for his friend.
"Who needs parents when they have you two..." Steve muttered, his words unheard by the pair. "Look, I know you two don't think I can do this-"
"This isn't a back alley Steve." Bucky said, his annoyance with Steve's stubbornness rising. "It's war!"
"I know it's a war-"
"Why are you so keen to fight?" You asked him, not understanding why someone would put themselves in so much danger willingly. "There are so many important jobs!"
"What do you want me to do? Collect scrap metal in my little red wagon?" Steve asked sarcastically.
"Yes! Why not?!"
"I'm not going to sit in a factory Bucky-"
"I don't-"
"Bucky! Come on, there are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them," Steve argued.
"But-" you tried to reason with Steve.
"You get to help people like Ma, you're a nurse. The least I could do is help the country by fighting for it like Pa," Steve continued." That's what you don't understand. This isn't about me."
"Right, cause you've got nothing to prove."
"We should go, your Ma asked us to be back for dessert," you said while you tugged on Bucky's sleeve, not willing to see them so hostile towards each other.
Bucky relented as he started stepping backwards. "Don't do anything stupid until I get back."
"How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you," Steve joked.
That put a smile on Bucky's face. "You're a punk," he said as he went in for a hug. "Jerk."
Most weren't as lucky as you were, to have a brother who didn't want to fight who they were dating (at least most of the time). You were frankly glad that they were best friends.
"Take care of my girl while I'm gone would ya?" Bucky said as he walked over to you and fit his hand around your waist. "Hey, she was my sister first before she was your girlfriend," Steve challenged.
You all snickered at that. "Steve make sure you don't stay up too late missing Bucky after he's gone; he's my boyfriend not yours," you smiled.
"Don't win the war until I get there!"
Bucky did a salute to Steve as he turned around to walk with you to his house. You loved going to his house, and his parents loved you. Winifred, or Winnie as she asked you to call her, treated you and Steve like her own children, being Steve's secondary pillar of support after your mother's death. Bucky had three younger sisters, but he was closest to Rebecca, the youngest. Becca idolised Bucky, and wanted to be just like her big brother. Her and Bucky's age gap of 16 years was never a problem when she wanted him to play dolls with him when she was younger. Becca adored you too, Bucky joking that she liked you more than she liked him. With Bucky's two other younger sisters, Marjorie and Betty, busy with high school, you were the most available to talk to her or braid her hair.
Bucky knocked at the door, the smell of freshly baked mock cherry pie wafting through the door. "Looks like she made your favourite dessert," you smiled as Becca opened the door.
"Look what the cat dragged in," she said as she stepped to the side to let you two in. "So excited to see me," Bucky laughed as he ruffled her hair. As you walked through the hallway that led to the main living room, memories of Steve chasing you through them flooded through your mind. With your mother busy at the hospital trying to make ends meet, Winnie always made sure you two had food to eat and a roof over your heads. Literally. When the roof of your cheap rental house collapsed, she was the one to offer the three of you the spare room. You remembered having dinner here the day before you left to Connecticut to stay with your aunt and Winnie barely let you go the whole evening.
"Dessert's almost ready. You two have fun at the expo?" George Barnes asked his son as he closed the book he was reading. "I'd spend eternity watching paint dry if she was next to me," Bucky replied as he sat down on the plush couch. Mr Barnes chuckled. "Young love... Your Ma and I were like this too." A scarlet blush formed on you cheeks. "I'll go inside to see if Winnie needs help with anything." you walked away and into the kitchen, beckoning Becca to join you.
"Are you going to marry Jamie?" Becca asked, her innocent eyes sparkling right up at you. You choked on air. Indeed, you two had brought up the idea some time before, but with him leaving for England, you hadn't put any thought into it. "Maybe once the war's over."
"There you are! I haven't seen you in ages. James is always keeping you for himself and never bringing you over," Winnie said as she gave you a hug that could have made up for all those years you hadn't seen her after going to Connecticut. She handed you two plates of mock cherry pie and asked if you could bring them out to the living room.
You mostly ate in silence as Winnie asked Bucky if he had packed everything.
"I'll really miss you Jamie."
"I'll miss you too Beck," Bucky said, or at least you thought he did. He was busy stuffing his mouth with Mock Cherry Pie. "Bucky, nobody's going to take the plate away from you. Slow down," You said with a laugh.
These moments were so domestic. Ones that you'd look back on if Bucky ever- no, that wouldn't happen. Bucky would return home after the war and you would get married and get a nice house far away from busy New York. With a cat maybe. Bucky had always wanted a cat; a white fluffy one.
While these thoughts occupied your mind all the way home, you saw a crinkled letter outside you and Steve's tiny apartment. "I'm not even gone yet and you're already getting love letters," Bucky, who had offered to walk you home because "It's too dangerous for a pretty girl to be walking the streets alone at night", joked.
After scoffing at his comment and playfully punching him in the stomach, you skimmed through the letter. "They've stationed me at Camp Lehigh. Y'know, as a nurse for those poor people training."
"That's great doll. At least I can send my letters there to make sure everyone knows you're taken," Bucky teased.
Letters.
L-e-t-t-e-r-s, you mentally tried to spell out.
The simplest thing that every soldier wrote to whoever they were in love with while they were off at war. You couldn't have that same pleasure.
"Bucky, why bother sending me letters when you know I can't read them."
"Then I'll paint you the most beautiful paintings and send them to you if that's what it takes for you to see how much I'll miss you."
"What are you going to paint them with? You won't have paint where you're going."
"I'll paint 'em with my blood."
"You're so dramatic."
"You love it," Bucky said as he pushed open the door of your apartment.
"Finally, you decided to open the door. I was getting bored of listening to Mr Barnes being all sappy with his girlfriend," Steve said from the frayed couch.
"It's Sergeant Barnes to you, punk,"
"Yeah yeah, I'll miss you too Bucky,"
"I'll miss you James," You said as you put your hand to his cheek. "Don't call me that. I'm Bucky. Your Bucky. Always."
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tagged: @your-local-questioning-agender
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nexusnyx · 1 year
Text
to my sweetheart
40s!bucky barnes x f!reader [8.2k] summary: The promise of a weekend home hangs over Bucky's head like the sun used to shine on sweet summer days, illuminating everything in life. It's all planned out in his head: the place he'll take you to, the things he wants to talk about, the hundreds of ways he needs to touch you. It's all planned. A taste of how it'll be when the storm passes—he's ready for it. 📝 this was based on this post. if you like it, reblogs and comments make all the difference. i hope you enjoy this sweetheart saturday, 'cause this will be the sweetest one. 🏷️ established relationship, letters, angst, longing, love delcarations, Steve x Reader (platonic) ⚠️Smut. Minors, DNI. Unprotected sex, body worship, slow fuck.
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ㅤㅤㅤJuly, 1943.
My sweetheart,
You're a menace even from far away. How can that be? If I hadn't met you exactly like this, I'd dare say I'm surprised. But I'm not. Little minx. Do you know the lengths of what I had to do to finish your last letter? The effects you have on me, even from far away?
I bet you do. Good god, I can bet you're fuckin' smiling, right now. Sittin' there all pretty with your knees pulled high, so giddy and proud of yourself for what you've done to me. Well—let it be known that this here... this is payback.
First things first, thank you for the pictures.
You're more than I could ever ask for, every single time. One of them is safely tucked inside my uniform. I placed the other one inside my pocket watch. Morita's already laughed under his breath as if I can't fuckin' hear him sayin "you don't let a single hour pass by, huh, Sarge?", so you should be happy to know that, as well. My guys are giggling because of me. Because I'm whipped for you.
Second of all... thank you.
From the bottom of my heart which belongs to you entirely, I'm thankful for you. Knowing Ma has a friend in someone soothes my soul. I got a letter from her a few days ago—she's mad at me for dating you "for almost half of an entire year, James Buchanan. almost half a year and you didn't think to bring her here yourself! You'll count yourself lucky if you go back to the base camp with your ears still intact because when I see you..." and this is a direct quote, by the way. I have her letter right next to me—Ma's mad, and I'm glad that she is. It means she loved ya. As I knew she would.
What did you two talk about? Ma said you played with the girls, too. I think I dreamt of that scene. Did she show you my embarrassing baby pictures? I bet she did. My favorite one is the one that Stevie's got paint all over him; I love that one.
Now... as for the rest of your letter.
What should I do to you, hm?
You can't just tell me these things, you lil' witch. Can't just talk about the things you wished I was doing to you, 'cause I'm not there to do them, and it makes my chest tight, my heart beating faster.
I went to the showers at 2 something a.m. to finish that letter, 'cause I felt your words like caresses all over my skin. Here's a new acronym I learned from Gabe: V E N I C E. Wanna know what it means? I'll tell ya.
It means I think about it, too. Not often, unfortunately, not because I don't want to, but because in here I have very few moments to think about good things, but when I do, that's where my mind goes to—in the sweet minutes I have all to myself, my mind runs back to your presence like a puppy, wiggling its tail with its tongue out, so happy and so excited beyond words because of one single person.
My mind rushes to you, to memories of us, to moments we shared. Most of all, it seems to zoom in on the seconds where we were the closest. I save those memories for the stars, for when no one else's around, for when I can let my brain dive and swim in them.
You said that for you, what comes back when you're alone in the dark is the ghost of my hands.
For me, it's the fathom of your lips.
The way you kissed put a spell on me. Right now, as I write this, I'm sitting alone in a corner of the common showers with my neck sweating just a little bit and my heart beating in my throat, all because of that: the thought of your lips, so present and so sweet, making me ache all over. Should I be concerned, lil' witch? With the way you have control over my body even from far away? As if I were a puppet with strings only you can see, I'm aching for you and you're not even here. I'm hard, painfully so, because your picture and the distant echo of your giggles in my ear are enough to put me in a trance... the way you whisper my name when my hands are searching in menace ways the best path to get under your clothes and imprinted all over your skin... It's so difficult to write like this, sweetheart. Very Excited, Now I Caress Everywhere... d'you get it now? D'you see it?
I'm not there, but I can see you reading this. I can see your thighs clamping together in a pitiful attempt to not think about how I loved to tease the path to my favorite place, with my hands, my lips, my tongue. I'm gonna dream about it tonight, I can already see it. Gonna dream about your little whines, and how excited you got, while always being so good. Never asked for more. Never pushed for faster. Just took whatever I had to offer you, and asked in the sweetest way possible for what you wanted. "Jay." I miss that. The way you call me Jay when it's just us. No one's ever called me that before, and no one ever will again.
So do it, lil' witch. Touch yourself all you want when thinking about me. You had to ask for permission, didn't ya? (It's a rhetorical question. You never have to ask. I told ya long ago that from me, you can take and take without ever asking first, and yet you did, anyway.) I'm the luckiest bastard in this godforsaken and twisted world, all because of you.
I'll be there on the last weekend of this month, only for two days, but it'll be enough.
Just a taste of what'll come for us when all of this is over. A taste of you — that I miss so goddamn fuckin' much, Jesus Christ, sweetheart — and hours and hours of making you smile until it's imprinted in the walls of my brain, secured safe and sound in the labyrinth of my mind.
Wait for me, but never sadly. Keep up your studies, and focus on them just as I focus on work here whenever I have to. Talk to your friends, stay clear of those damn radios that only make you anxious and get you to bite your pretty nails, take Steve out for walks and keep that neighborhood in check, the two of you. I'll be back. I'll always come back to you.
With love in my heart (and because of your menace ways, my hand in my pants), I say goodbye for now,
V.E.N.I.C.E;
always yours, J.B.B.
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In a month and a half, Bucky has written and read more than in the past decade, at least.
You'd scold him for admitting such a thing so easily, but it was true.
There are a few letters exchanged by now—the U.S. Postal is doing their best, but can only do so much—but they're enough on their own. More than two, sometimes 3 pages long, filled with more post scrimptums than anyone else rather than you two would care to read and it's probably acceptable, and always signed with a lot of love.
It's a whole new world created between the two of you where childhood memories are shared, secret fears that neither Bucky nor you ever imagined talking about are laid on the table, and all of that written between paragraphs of gossip stories from home or the military base, and dirty dreams and wishes.
A mess. An entire conversation—one with topics that go back and forth since the first letter and short pieces of dialogue you two shared with important people; it's the best conversation he's ever had.
The longest. Deepest.
ㅤㅤㅤ"I love talking to you, Jay. If before I thought we were two peas in a pod, now I'm certified of it the same way I'm certain the Sun rises in the East to set in West. Can you see the same thing I do? Sometimes, it feels as if we're sittin' on our porch, on our living room armchairs, laughing to one another about the sweet memories or silly theories that only we find amusement in."
Through you, Bucky hears things his Ma is saying. Gets news from his two younger sisters, as well as realistic check-ups on Steve.
In one of your letters, you said, "you know, I'm starting to feel calluses. I dreamt of writing dark children's books for so long, and I think this is my punishment, in some sort of way. How in the hell am I having an argument with Steve and you through here? You two are wrong. We talked about this before and I'll say it as many times as needed: this whole 'trip to the future' thing is hiding something bigger, and it's cute that you two think that geniuses and billionaires are just giving us all of their biggest developments. Truly adorable," and it had sparked the favorite topic in his unit: the existence of aliens, or not.
You're there without being there.
Most of them don't even know about you, of course. Bucky's private, and likes to be that way.
Morita, Gabriel, and Dum Dum are exceptions—those tree men proved to be the exact type of company a fella needs when facing an untamed and suffocating darkness.
They teased Bucky about his alone 'poet' time. When the time in July finally came for the soldiers to be dismissed for a weekend home before being shipped to London, Morita bid him goodbye with, "and see if you do something else other than writing back home, eh, Sarge?"
Bucky would.
He barely gets any sleep, waiting for the time when he'll be sharing your presence and counting each minute of it, placing them in the same precious box he kept your words.
With his eyes closed, the smile sets in stone on his face.
To any onlookers that pass him by, Sgt. James Barnes looks at peace.
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Everything around him feels sharp and colorful.
Bucky almost feels surreal—his energy is humming underneath his skin, scorching as hot as the star that starts to rise.
He breathes in deeply as he steps out of the train, welcoming the smell of home.
Brooklyn is a hive of noise, so loud and different than anything he'd been used to these past weeks, and he strides in confidence towards his destinies.
For each of his people, Bucky told a story, but all for a good reason:
First, he has to visit his family. If he had told Steve about the time his train arrived, he'd be there without any regard for his sleep and comfort, and Bucky loved him too much to pull him out of bed before the sky had even lost its dark blue tones.
So first, he goes to the Barnes household.
Bringing bread, he steps inside his home almost feeling like the first rays of sunshine itself. Bucky's welcomed by the oldest feeling of attached to being safe and sound when Winnifred's arms wrap around him and she lets out a choked gasp at his name.
"James," is the first name he hears.
He's James during breakfast while he updates his mother to the best of his abilities, and fights the persistent sting in his eyes whenever the light illuminates her dark hairs, shining evidence in her new silver strands. He's James — but in a scolding tone — when his mother hears that he omitted from Steve his arrival time, and he's oh, James when his plans for later tonight are laid on the table in a soft, almost shy-spoken tone.
"I really like her, you know?" his mother tells him.
She's leaning against the sink with her ruby red robe, the soft slippers he bought for her as a present, and her hair held up in a bun. Bucky smiles at the approval, ignoring the heat in his cheeks that blossom at his mother's all-knowing gaze and the glint in her blue eyes. "I'm glad to hear that, ma."
Winnie does no effort to hide how pleased she is, and he has to admit that the teasing face he catches in reflections sometimes came from one person, and it wasn't his father. "Will I get to spend some time together with the two of you, at least?"
According to Bucky's plans, very little, because the time was as counted as their paychecks. "Well—today I'm gonna have lunch with Steve, then the three of us will meet up."
"Right."
"We'll probably hang around Stevie and I's apartment. Then we'll get ready to go to the Stark exhibition."
Winnie's are you serious look reminds Bucky that she never saw the three of you all hanging around together. "Really, James?"
"What?"
"You're gonna bring that poor, sweet boy to chaperone and be a third wheel at your date? Son," the title is another scolding and meant to serve as a tug in his ear.
He can't help it—Bucky laughs. "Mom," he teases right back. "That 'poor sweet boy' will be just fine." He snorted—there was nothing poor nor sweet about Steve. "The three of us are friends."
"And I'm not doubting that for a second. I'm just sayin'. Does he need to be there on the date? Does he even want to?"
"They already argued about this and the final conclusion was, apparently, that yes, he does." Bucky had to bite his lip at those bits in your last letter—even through ink and paper, he could see you and Steve as clear as daylight. "Steve and her are really good friends, Ma. She knows how much I miss him, and she claims that he's been even more annoyin' about stuff, mumbling shit—sorry, mumbling stuff about 'Bucky this' and 'Bucky that', so she ain't havin' it. Plus, it's not like the two of us can't behave. We never made Stevie feel left out."
His mother chuckled. "For some reason I find it hard to believe that you two are not the grossest thing together."
"What?!" his laughter intensifies. "You never saw us together."
"And whose fault is that, hm? Hm?" Winnie's look pierces through him as the last drops of her coffee seep to the cup, and she grabs her cup like a ninja, with eyes still glued on him and her head shaking, no need for a single glance to where her hands are going. His mother sips, and Bucky's laughter subsidies to a smile. "Well, I'm glad you she's generous enough to share ya." Her whole face softens. "Bubba's right. Steve's been missing ya a lot."
Bubba. Bucky forgets how to breathe for a single second. "Bubba?"
The name that his mother calls the girls—Bubs, Bubba, baby.
Winnie smiles behind the cup, and he's not sure if her happiness is directed at him because of how he looks, or at the whole situation. "Yes, James. The woman who's been comin' to my house for two months now, havin' almost daily cups of tea with me to talk about life and the perils of life is, to your surprise and delight, my Bubba. Are you really surprised?" Her next chuckle is as sweet as her coffee must be. "I like her. I told ya already."
"I can see that."
His mother moves to sit in the chair in front of him. "And you haven't answered my question yet, young man." She crosses her legs and offers her coffee for him to sip, which he does. Gods, this woman is a bee. He returns it with a grimace.
"Right, as I was sayin', today we're going to the Stark fair, the three of us. Eat a hot dog, be annoyin' at the square, drink a couple of beers. Then tomorrow, uh—"
"You two love birds will be together all day, yes, I can imagine."
He's thankful his mother saves him from saying the embarrassing bits, at least. "I have to go back on Monday."
"What time?"
"Thirteen hundred train."
"So there's time for breakfast?"
His smile returns. "Yeah, Ma. There's time for breakfast together."
Across the table, his smile seems to be reflected back at him. It looks a little older, with more crinkles around the corners and kissing the side of the eyes, but the same smile nonetheless. "Now I'm happy." She sips the coffee, humming in pleasure. "And what's so interesting at this fair?"
"Was that Bucky's voice?! Ma! Is Bucky here?!"
Ah, that screeching tone.
The second name he hears—Bucky.
Screamed at the top of her lungs by Rebecca, and later by a still sleepy Dorca, Bucky's greets with open arms his young rascals and spins them in the air, so lucky to have their laughter be the only sound he hears once again.
He does his best that whole morning to imprint every second spent with them like a tattoo in the malleable muscle of his brain. He wants Rebecca's slightly nasal and bossy tone to be of easy access when he's far away. He wants to not forget how long Dorca's hair is getting, or how much his mother still has control of this entire house at the tip of her fingers as if she's a powerful spider whose webs are invisible, but stronger than the eyes behold.
Before he leaves, he takes them for ice cream. Bucky asks all sorts of questions, trying to squeeze as much as he can in only a few hours, knowing that no amount of time feels enough nowadays.
Later, there's Buck.
"Hey, Buck."
It's a second homecoming.
This one, it tastes like a little bit of everything. "Hey, Stevie." The tiny frame that fits in his embrace as if it were a puzzle piece, it smells like childhood and teenage years all mushed together. "Glad to see you're in one piece."
It's a jab to the fact that his best friend and soulmate was about to get into a fight just seconds before Bucky finds him, and it was met with an ocean-cold stare. Blue meets blue, and Bucky can only laugh.
"Oh, shut up," Steve rolls his eyes. "I hate that I let them go—fucking bastards."
"Hey, hey; you can't fight 'em—"
"Can't fight 'em all, I know, punk, I know." Steve sighs, but when he looks at Bucky again, his gaze softens. Something clicks, and Steve seems to come back to himself. "You sound like Father Chase," his snorted laugh means it's Bucky's time to scoff.
"Maybe because he had a point?"
"Always did. Doesn't change the facts."
"And what are the facts?"
"The facts, Buck, are that you're a softie," before he can come up with an answer, Bucky's frame is pushed back by the force of it—Steve doesn't go for it, he lunges for another hug, body crashing against Bucky's. "'m glad you're back."
The facts must be true, if only when it came to Steve, at least. "Punk," he mutters against soft blond strands. Bucky hugs back just as hard, and they let go at the exact same time.
A single look is shared, and then they nod.
Secret conversations aren't only spilled in acronyms.
I'm glad to be back, his nod says.
While Steve's says, Now we're alright.
They were. For now, everything was alright.
"You get your orders?" Steve starts walking in the direction that Bucky's heart was tugging in—the direction of your apartment.
He follows, putting one arm around Steve's shoulders. "Sure did. The 107th. Sgt. James Barnes, shipping out on Monday for England."
"Sargeant, huh?"
Under Steve's appraising eyes, Bucky's always felt a little bit analyzed. "Yeah." No inch of him went unnoticed. "I'll do my best to take care of all of them." An artist's eye on you could be an unnerving thing.
It soothed when he smiled. "Of course you will, Buck." Often, Bucky wondered if Steve had any idea of how much power his opinion yielded. "You always do your best." A smile of his alone, and Bucky felt more approved than any superior's highest praise. "I—" he hut himself short, but Bucky knew what he swallowed down. I just wish I could help. "I'm happy for ya."
Always so good, "thank you, Steve." Not a day would go by when Bucky would let it pass the opportunity to thank god for gifting him with Steven Gran Rogers. "Now—" he looked up, seeing your building approach. "You sure she has no idea I'm here?"
Another roll of eyes—Steve could one day get cursed with the sight of his brain forever. "I'm starting to think you're spending too much time with your comrades. You forgot already who's had your six since forever?"
"Awn, Stevie—don't be jealous of my smelly, grumpy men. You'll always be my number one."
"You're ridiculous. Of course she doesn't know. Lady thinks you'll be here on the 4pm train, just like we talked about. She's probably still sleepin' 'cause of her late-night shift."
"Another one?!"
A scoff. "You try to tell Lady what to do and see how it goes. I already know my place of speakin', and it ain't that one."
"God, how on earth did I end up with the two more stubborn people to ever walk this goddamn planet? No, really—"
"Oh, because you're a beacon of flexibility."
"—you two are made from a single mold, and whoever used it on you first, and then her, saw their mistake two heartbeats too late, then broke the damn mold 'cause they knew if they made more, it'd mean world domination."
There's a single second of pause, and then Bucky turns to the amused gaze staring at him. Steve with a hand on his hip and a smirk on his face will always look the same. "You've gotten more dramatic. That's a fuckin' wonder." He turns around laughing to himself and shaking his head. "Go say 'morning' to her. I'm gonna go get tomato sauce, we ran out of it yesterday."
The implication that Steve's been hanging around more registers in all the happy places of Bucky's brain, but everything's washed away by the flood that it's the sight of it—
your window.
Bucky's entire world does the thing: it tunnels.
The same rounded, small rocks that he used on the first date still litter Mrs. Simyl's vase. He picks one, weights it in his hand, and with a heart-thumping loud in his chest, he throws it to your window.
A peck.
KNOCK
Bucky waits: one, two, three heartbeats.
He swallows the lump that rises in his throat.
The sun already rose, but it comes up again.
At least, for him.
When your head pops out in the window, Bucky swears it does.
Like a sniper's barrel, your eyes know exactly where it goes on instinct. They find him underneath your window pulled by the gravity that—with a quick check on his hummingbird of a heart, it's confirmed—still there.
North, meet South.
"Jay?"
"Hi, sweetheart."
Your face disappears, taking everything with you. The light, the warmth, the strenght in the gravitational hold of your beautiful eyes and gaze—as soon as they disappear, Bucky's spell is broken, and his feet gain life.
He knows you're rushing to your door the same way he rushes up the stairs.
He's glad the uniform stayed in his suitcase, safely tucked in his and Steve's apartment. He'd sweat from all the heat he's emmanating, and probably drench you in an ocean before he could get a single kiss.
Bucky's pulled by his North, and when he sees the familiar sight of your door, it's already swinging open.
"Oh, god." There's a breach in time. A break in the fabric of space. One moment, he's a few steps away from you, and the next thing he sees and knows, he has an arm full of you.
"Bucky."
That's him. James, Bucky, Buck, Jay. From all of his names, now's the only time when all of his cells feel slotted into place. Bucky's heard every one of his names, all the ones that matter, and now he is whole.
His voice evades him.
Inside his arms, he's aware that you're shaking, even if the notion takes a moment to register—as it should. He's shaking, too; vibrating, is more like it, because he's here, and now that he can breathe, his body seems incapable of doing so.
He inhales deeply, even if it's all trembling.
Your smell is different from any other. Bucky would recognize in a crowd of millions. He'd find it blindfolded, he was certain of it.
If they made him forget his name, Bucky would be Nobody, but even as Nobody, he would know that this is the scent of his person.
Citrine. Mint leaves. With a deeper inhale, he catches the underlying tone—vanilla. The purest and sweetest form, used in the lotion you put all over your body after showering sometimes, mixed with the unique and personal scent of just you. Vanilla has a taste on you. It's sweet, but not sticky.
It's summer.
Bucky is in love.
When the pull that holds you together seems to loosen its threads, you and Bucky pull back at the same time.
Not too far—neither one is able to go further than millimeters for now, and in the back of his mind, he's thankful that Steve gave the two of you the time you needed.
Just like he and Steve clung to each other like a lifeline for embarrassing minutes that neither one chose to talk about, you two are roped together, and going too far is impossible for now.
The only space is a breath of air separating your heads.
Bucky pulls an arm up, crowding your head inside his forearm. His palm spreads on the top of your head, holding you there.
His eyes find yours, swimming and spilling over.
Your lips tremble when you speak. "You told me you were getting here later," he feels your hand making fists out of his white shirt, resting on the curve of his lower back. After a sniffle, you add, "'m gonna kill you and Blondie," and then, you nuzzle your nose on his.
He laughs. Bucky truly is home. "He was just followin' my orders, lil' witch. No killing, please."
"You two planned behind my back," you go on, sounding small and choked still. His crybaby that never cried before.
Bucky's arm cage around your head got a little tighter, and his arm around your waist pulled you impossibly closer. "Don't cry," he pleaded in a whisper. "It was to surprise ya."
He thinks you're beautiful even with wet, rosy cheeks. "I'm surprised," your laugh came out choked, and you sniffled again. Bucky accepted the tears despite how much his hand itched to wipe them away, and clean your cheeks. Lower, and softer, so much softer than he was used to hearing any voice, you say, "You're actually here..."
The awe in your voice is a sentiment he can understand. "I am."
"I'm not dreaming."
His forehead stays touching yours as he shakes his head, and while it's an uncomfortable angle, but he likes it for now. "No. Seems neither am I." It's the closeness his heart aches for, and achieving it soothes the wrinkles in his soul.
You, on the other hand, seem to need a better angle—your head pulls back against his head, gaining a couple more inches of distance, and his body moves along with yours.
When you're far enough to look at his whole face, Bucky's breath is sucked out of his body.
He's here.
"I missed you, Jay."
And so are you.
Bucky smiles and dives.
Your eyes are closed, lips waiting for his.
If angels sing, this is it. Angels, a choir, or maybe just the white noise of his head subduing, opening up space for this—your lips on his are a single drop falling in a pond, creating ripples until the surface is a still mirror.
Neither one of you moves too much. There isn't back and forth, or any deepening of the kiss. On the contrary.
It is what it is.
A sweet sound of hello. A press of lips, two pieces meeting together, fitting in as one.
When the air he stored runs out and Bucky gasps in your lips, he hears your pleased hum.
You smile, breathing in through your nose. "'m so happy," you inform him.
Bucky laughs. He breathes out, and kisses you again, but messier this time. Rougher. He wants to taste your tongue, wants your oxygen in his veins. He nibbles, bites, sucks on your lips; Bucky finally gets his tongue intertwining with yours, walks you back inside your place, and closes the door with his foot even if somewhere in the back of his mind, he's aware that Steve will come passing by any minute now.
The kiss is enough for now.
A single taste—a sip of a galleon he'll drink whole later tonight, bathe himself, drown in; Bucky pulls back and is pleased to note how pink you look and the puffiness in your lips.
You two exist in silence for a moment, just breathing each other in, and then,
"You ready for a day with Stevie and I?" he asks.
Your smile is enough of an answer. "Where's Blondie?"
"Probably comin' right up."
"'Kay. Cool." You press your lips on his again, melting and humming softly; all the little sounds he's missed. The hums, and ahs you make when melting in his arms that he's taking back to the base with him. "'m gonna change."
"Cool. Let's go."
Your laughter as well—he's pocketing that, and keeping it close to his heart. "That wasn't an invite."
"Was it not? Damn, I could've sworn it was, miss. My bad."
"D'you think I can get any 'changing' done with you in the room?"
Although the question is asked amidst laughter, you seem okay with Bucky glued on your back and stepping where you do, channeling his inner cat. "I have no clue. We'll figure it out."
"And if Steve arrives?"
A cackle from him—you're the witch, but Bucky laughs like one at that joke. "I'm sure your new best friend can find himself just fine in your house. Wasn't he here last night?"
"How d'you know that?"
"He said you two ran out of tomato sauce. He went to get some to cook lunch for us."
"You mean for you to cook lunch for us. We're just sittin' there lookin' pretty and talking your ear off."
"Sweetheart, that sounds marvelous to me."
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True as he said to his mother, there is no third-wheeling or chaperoning.
In the same kitchen as his two favorite people, Bucky has one of the loveliest afternoons of his entire life. In fact, his Saturday is so good that Bucky marks the date in the calendar in his mind — the 24th of July — as some special daybreak.
He fits right in. Between the jokes that you and Steve now share and he has no idea what the roots of them are, next to your attentive, hawk-like eyes that never seem to leave him, snuggled by the much smaller frame of a friend who still looks up to him as someone good.
It's a pity that Bucky has no superpowers.
He would fit an entire month right there, in the afternoon reserved for the three of you.
By the time the sun is setting down and you three feel the need to clean up for the exhibition, the trio has already covered every base:
The military. Family. Neighbors (both the annoying as well as the good ones). Steve's stubbornness, and then yours. England. Bucky's squadron, with the specifics of each man he claimed to like.
Bucky laughed. He sobered up—those coal, slimy tentacles of war tried sneaking their way to the front.
Impossible to be done with you and Steve present.
When Bucky comments about separating — 'Steve and I can go to the apartment to get ready then come pick you up, whatcha say?' — he gets the same attitude from both.
"Why would I go stay alone at my place?" you ask.
Steve nods along. "Just wait here 'till she picks up her overnight bag and she'll come with us."
"Yeah. Steve never takes longer than ten minutes to get ready, anyway."
"True. I say Lady and I will be ready before you are," Steve adds with a knowing smile.
You laugh with him. "Oh—that's for sure."
"Hey!" Bucky loves to see you two teaming up. It's the kind of thing he'd like to see forever if he has any say in it. "I don't take that long."
To that, he hears many arguments.
"Oh my god, who is he talking to?" you ask, turning your gaze to Steve.
"I don't know. He's actin' like we don't know him," Steve snorts.
"It's crazy. Did he forget the times we had to wait for him?"
"Many times."
You glance back at Bucky, all smiles and daring. "You think you can hurry up tonight, princess?"
It does something to him. He hates that it does—and he sees and hears it in Steve's laugh that it's obvious, too, that the stupid teasing nickname pulls a string or two of his, and he huffs away from you both. "Ungrateful duo of firecrackers, I swear to god."
"Oh, c'mon!" it's you, rushing to catch up to him, laughing the same as Steve.
"Yeah, c'mon—"
"Don't you dare, Steven," he cuts him off before he can use it too, and it gets only more laughter.
"You didn't answer her question, you know," Steve comments when he catches up to Bucky and you.
He rolls his eyes. "I'll speed up. 's not like I have to look my best—not when you two aren't doing anythin' to deserve it."
"Damn, Jay. Not even a little bit of cologne for me?" you pout.
The gall. The audacity. He huffs and puffs, and turns his eyes away from you. "I'll think about it." He's a joke. Bucky's going to spend at least triple the time in the bathroom, but it's okay, because he'll come out to you and Steve waiting for him.
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"Welcome to the Modern Marvels Pavilion and the World of Tomorrow!"
In his uniform, Bucky feels oddly in place.
He's pulled by the sleeves by either you, or Steve. "C'mon, c'mon, Buck, it's starting!" you squeal.
Willing and pliant, that's his role for the whole night. With a smile plastered on his face, and a giddiness he hasn't felt since he was a kid. Not that he was ever this happy in his childhood—this is a new, shinier form of happiness.
It happens because he's in the right place. With the right people.
Also, he paid very close attention to your eyes when he left the bathroom an hour ago.
When Bucky saw that glint, a very familiar one to him, his body responded. He felt your gaze on him. On his uniform. The tension that for a second became almost like humidity in the air, it hung for a few seconds, and it made Steve go to the kitchen with yet another roll of his eyes.
"I'm... gonna go drink a glass of water. You two—yikes. Be quick. The eye fucking is gross."
"Such a gentleman, Steve," you joked, but the lack of eye contact with him kind of ruined it for you.
Bucky approached you, walking in slow and deliberate steps. He allowed you to look at every inch. Feeling it was good, too—your eyes ranking up and down his body was almost a physical touch, and it made the soft spreading of your palm on his chest warmer.
"You look..." the words left you, leaving your lips parted and pink. "Very nice."
Not often did Bucky feel bashful. "Thanks, sweetheart." A rare gem such as this needed to be polished, even if it was perfect in its raw form. Bucky leaned in closer, barely containing his smile, and with his mouth nearing your ears, he whispered. "I have a feeling it's not my hair and my perfume that you like."
The intake of your breath was loud from this proximity. "Jay..."
That whisper alone was enough for him. He whispered your name back and kissed your temple with a smile. "Save all of those thoughts for later, 'kay? All of 'em. I wanna hear everything that's goin' around on that pretty head of yours."
Breathless, you whispered, "'kay'," and then nuzzled your face against his neck before pulling away. The flush was high on your cheeks. Redder than before, and due to more than just makeup. "You really do look handsome," that whisper made his insides tangle, and he enjoyed it.
"'m glad you think so."
That part was only forgotten when he saw the automobiles.
Even if Steve hid it better than you and Bucky, the reality hit you three all the same. Three nerds in a science fairy served for more than entertainment; it meant a night to be remembered.
Bucky gets lost in hours of conversation.
You three see everything. Even the dance floor is forsaken in the name of reading about stuff, theorizing about what is left out of the exposition, and laughing with each other as the ideas that bounce between you three get wilder each time.
It's almost midnight when you three make your way to the apartment.
Bucky is in a tipsy state. Steve—well, his tolerance is not the best, and mixing sugar with alcohol is a bad idea. It's all good though, because you hate the taste of it, and walking between the two of them like a beacon of balance and normalcy is a thing you did before.
Steve's hand hooks through your shoulder, into Bucky's nape.
He talks about the war. The human condition—Mrs. Georgia, from downstairs.
"She's been cryin' every night or two. It's—sad. Loud. God, I'm so glad I'm gonna black out tonight."
Bucky ends up taking off Steve's shoes while you tuck his sleeping body into bed.
He looks up at you, and sees the strand of your hairstyle escaping the pins, framing your face into something more suited for the faint yellow lights of late-night times and the Moonlight outside. "At least he waited 'till he was home," Bucky reasons.
You smile at him. "At least he didn't puke."
"Touché."
Once Steve Rogers is safe and sound, you turn your body to Bucky, both hands placed on your hips.
Here it comes, thinks Bucky...
"Safe and sound."
He smiles. "That he is." Bucky knew he'd be. It wasn't his first time hearing this.
He extends one hand in the air and is delighted when you catch it.
"Let's go?"
It's barely a whisper.
You nod at him, fitting your body under one of his arms as you walk out of the room. In the quiet magnitude of this hour into the night, you whisper, "I should've let you buy me cotton candy."
Bucky closes the door of the room holding back his laughter. "I'll make you scrambled eggs when we get to the hotel."
"Will you?"
"I will."
"I don't know if I trust your tipsy self to a stove."
Bucky groaned, pulling you even closer to him to bury his nose into your hair. "I'll be a hundred percent by the time we make it there."
The conversation goes on in hushed whispers as you two walk, ignoring all the other rare figures you see walking in the streets too, not on purpose—on the fact that it's a new world, already.
As soon as the apartment door was locked behind him, Bucky's world shifted in its axis; everything becomes you.
He's barely aware of what he's answering.
The only thing he knows it's that you're teasing him—he pays attention to the blush he sees forming on your cheeks once you feel his gaze so locked on your lips. He laughs under his breath when you stutter, and then laughs harder when you poke him in the ribs for laughing in the first place.
He feels how warm you are despite how chill the night has become.
Inside his jacket—his uniform, you've found heat.
The hotel room he located for the night is not far from your house itself, and it's one of the most decent ones still inside his budget. Rooms that are nice and clean, plus a decent breakfast.
It was far from what you deserved, but Bucky had years of work ahead of him before he was able to afford that.
When he enters, you take a little spin around.
Bucky puts both yours and his duffel bags on the floor.
He lets you walk around, and take your heels off, his eyes following you.
When they finally land on him, Bucky can almost see the air that stands between you.
Your voice is as low as a whisper. He hears it loud and clear in the deep quiet of the night. "You're not gonna cook for me, are you?"
He's kicking his shoes off as he shakes his head.
Bucky's eyes are so attentive, that he catches the shivers that run through you.
"Tomorrow," he promises.
Your fingers graze the long sleeve of the dress until it hooks on the shoulder pad, but Bucky hums negatively.
The movement stops.
He takes his steps until he's an inch away from you, and breathes in deeply.
"'m pretty sure that's my job."
It was. One of the best parts of it, now that Bucky paid close attention to it. His hands removed the fabric from your skin, exposing it to the light entering the room through the window, and in those moments, Bucky managed to fit in hours.
Every inch of you being exposed to him, it was like he painted it somewhere in his mind, guarding that canvas in a special slide of his subconscious.
When all your clothes were on the floor, he continued his ministrations of sewing all your measurements to memory.
Bucky's hands — palm spread flat, his fingertips, his knuckles — made work of you, while you removed his clothes in return.
Once naked, he could pass on to the next stage:
"Wanna remember how you taste, sweetheart."
The shaky gasp you let out when his words met your ear was too fast for him to catch, but everything else that followed fell into Bucky's lips.
They were wide, hand-made nets, built only for one purpose: to fish every part of you that was delectable.
Bucky started with close-mouthed kisses and ended up almost devouring you. Swallowing you whole.
There were hours between that first and last stage, though.
At first, everything was slow.
Bucky had been so preoccupied back at the base with whether the first time you two fucked would be the same as the ones from before or not, that he missed the entire point.
It had always been great. The connection between you two always started with more than just physical, and when it got to that point, you two were already lost in each other.
This was immersion.
Hearing your tender, then groaned, and later broken moans of "Jay" counted as his sea.
Your eager touches were current, guiding him in.
This was far from fucking. There was nothing crude about the first time—there was only love.
Bucky never made love before, but he understood why not when your body unfolded in front of him. When your legs open wide and everything blossoms, Bucky has full comprehension of what a feeling can do to two people.
Not just any feeling. This.
Bucky's a drunk man.
It's only his grace that you're as far gone as him. As Dionysus blessed—when Bucky's fingers intertwine with yours to replace your fisted hands in the sheets with his own instead, Bucky's gaze catches yours.
He sees the warm and inviting openness of black in your eyes.
Bucky kisses and leaves his feeling all over his path.
As overwhelming as it is, making love is also beautiful. This type of surrender required a level of trust and blinded faith that he's not sure he even had before, but he finds it right there, in bed with you.
The first time is slow.
Both of you taking your time to marvel at how in sync you are—to marvel at how wet one makes the other, and how unashamed both of you feel in touching each and every part.
He's never had anyone touching him the way you do. Bucky gets your lips leaving prints from his face, his chest, arms, and legs, all the way to the curve above his ass.
As he opens you up with his fingers, Bucky keeps watching all the emotions passing through your face.
The first time you make love, in gentle, long, and agonizing steps.
When he pushes inside at last, he can almost swear he hears violins.
Or maybe it's your nails digging at his back—your pained, blissed whines. "Jay."
He's whining, too—your name spills from his lips as much as air does, and you two move not to reach an end, but to feel what is connecting you at that exact time.
When the words leave his lips, Bucky can see them traveling in the air before being sucked in by yours. "I love you, sweetheart."
Out of his lips, into thick, warm air, and falling...
You gasp, closing your eyes for a moment, and Bucky tastes your tears when he's gifted back with, "I love you too, James." It makes him smile, shaking from head to toe like a leaf. "I truly do."
"I know. I feel it."
"It w-was never like—like this. Never before."
An understatement, if he ever heard one. Bucky could feel your heartbeat as if it was his own; it was more than just his cock buried to the hilt inside of your warm cunt, feeling every construction and high of your pleasure, or the vibrations of your moans and the pleas for his name that seemed to reverberate all through his being—
"This—" he bucked his hips harder, just to feel the waves of pleasure cursing through you, and laughed with his lips ghosting your mouth. "This is—oh—it's making love, sweetheart."
"Jay!"
Bucky was unsure of how long it lasted.
Could've been hours, or just a few, blissful minutes.
From the thick layer of sweat that covered your bodies by the time you both came undone, his guess tips more towards the first.
It's almost like seeing a visible thread being cut—when the orgasms hit your bodies, one right after the other, Bucky collapses his back in the bed, carrying your body along with him.
That's where you two stay, for a few moments longer.
"Were we whispering?" you ask.
He likes when your lips are on his skin. They're warm, and he has their shape memorized now. "I think we were." If he was a better artist, he'd draw them. "D'you want me to cook for you now?" he asks with a chuckle.
You tilt your head up, take a second to think it over, then answer with a simple smile.
So Bucky cooks.
He slaps your hand when you try putting on his white t-shirt laying on the ground, commenting, "No need for that at all, c'mon'," and watches with the same pleased and hungry eyes as you stay leaning on the wall as he uses the small stove for a quick meal.
After that, there are other times.
There's the desperate round, and there's the fucking, and the unexpected, and the lazy, 'we're too tired to move but still horny enough for this' moment where he just lays in bed with his hands between your legs, touching your pussy even if he's not actively doing anything.
Bucky washes you with careful hands and a lot of tenderness in the shower, running the cloth and the soap through your marked, sensitive skin as slowly as his sleepiness allows.
"We're gonna have a good day today," you tell him.
Given the whispering tone and slurred words, Bucky assumes you're almost sleeping, too. "Yup. All day to ourselves. Dinner with Steve. Come back here to sleep well."
"I love you, James."
Bucky would never get tired of hearing those words in your voice. He pulls your body close, kissing even if he'll taste soap and warm water. "I love you more." He whispers your name, kisses you again, and turns off the shower head before cold water sprays on his perfect day.
Nothing about today is cold.
Bucky's warm. While you may carry the elegance and magic of the Moon, you're his Sun.
His North, and his Sun, which would always guide him home, for hot and perfect days like this that remind him of why it's good to be alive and to feel all of this love.
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srgntjamesbuckybarnes · 7 months
Text
Slipping Through my Fingers Masterlist
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Summary: When a married woman catches the eye of Bucky Barnes, he is determined to stop at nothing to get to know her better.
Rating: Mature
Pairing: 40s Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: None
A/N: Taglist is open!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
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chrisdrysdale · 1 year
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My only love
18+ only!
40s!bucky x fem!reader
a/n: hi everyone! So this fic is for @traitorjoelite ‘s writing challenge! So I picked a 40s AU, with a established relationship!
Warnings: angst, fluff, mention of death (no one dies), a lot of mention of war, reader and Bucky have a son
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You and Bucky both met in school when you were ten, and you’ve been in love with him since. He made the first move, asking you out on a date when you were 15, proposed when you were 19, married you at 22 and had your son at 23. It was perfect, well, home life was perfect, the world not so much. With the second war raging on, you and Bucky both knew it would be anytime before he got his orders. 
“Hey bab- oh no”. It all hit you quite quickly when Bucky slowly stepped into the room, head hanging low, and letters in his hand. You teared up instantly and pressed your hand to your heart. Bucky quickly came to your side as you teared up. “I don’t want you to go”. You whimpered in his ear as he stroked your back. “Me either”. He kissed your temple and sobbed softly. He pulled away and wiped his tears, looking at you and then Aruthur. “I'm gonna fight for us doll… it’s gonna be for us” 
Arthur began to slowly wake up at your sniffles, rolling over and sitting up. “Mommy? daddy? Why are you crying?”. You quickly wiped your face and brought him onto your lap, stroking his messy hair? “Daddy has to go away for a bit… he’s gotta be a big strong hero, like the ones from your books”. You hoped this worked, you had to soften the blow. Arthur really didn't know what was actually going on, he was too caught up in fairytales and comics to even care about what was actually going on. He gasped and climbed into Bucky’s lap and hugged him. “Daddy! That cool! You're gonna fight all the bad guys!”. Bucky gave a sad chuckle and kissed his head. “Yeah.. I am, buddy”. 
Arthur began to slowly wake up at your sniffles, rolling over and sitting up. “Mommy? daddy? Why are you crying?”. You quickly wiped your face and brought him onto your lap, stroking his messy hair? “Daddy has to go away for a bit… he’s gotta be a big strong hero, like the ones from your books”. You hoped this worked, you had to soften the blow. Arthur really didn't know what was actually going on, he was too caught up in fairytales and comics to even care about what was actually going on. He gasped and climbed into Bucky’s lap and hugged him. “Daddy! That cool! You're gonna fight all the bad guys!”. Bucky gave a sad chuckle and kissed his head. “Yeah.. I am, buddy”. 
You picked up his letter and gave it a read. Shit.. 3 days. You sighed and rubbed your forehead, looking at him sadly. Bucky turned to Arthur and smiled. “Hey buddy? Why don’t we have a big fun day? Maybe go to the cinema?”. Arthur gasped and squealed. “Yes yes please daddy! Please mommy!”. You both nodded and you stroked his back. “Of course we can.” 
Both of you tried to ignore the fact that your time was limited. You took Arthurto see two films. Pigs in a Polka and Tim Alley street cats. Arthur has alway wanted to go to the cinema so you stacked him up on candy and treats and made sure he had the time of his life with his dad. The next day, you opted to stay at home, let them have a boys day. You began applying for a lot of jobs, with all the men off at war, governments and companies have begun hiring women to replace them. You applied to some equipment factories, the local hospital and the local fire station. You wanted to help win this fight as best you can. 
On the last day, both you and Bucky thought it would be best, to stay home and explain to Arthur that he might not see his dad for a while, but that it has to happen. Arthur began to get a little upset, he loved his dad so much and didn’t want to see him go, but you helped Arthur focus on the fact that he would be back, and that he gets to spend extra time with mommy. You had gotten a job at one of the factories, but you didn’t want to tell Bucky. The factories have been known to not have the best working conditions and pay and you didn’t want Bucky to be worrying about you while he was fighting.
When the day rolled around, you tried your best to hold it together, but you completely lost it when Bucky put his uniform on. You burst out crying and Bucky brought you into his arms, holding you close. “It's gonna be okay, doll. I'm gonna be back”. Arthur tugged on Bucky’s sleeve and he looked down at him. “Can I wear your hat?”. Bucky gave a soft chuckle and plopped his hat down on his head, Arthur giggled loudly and ran off, entering back into his fairytales. Bucky leaned over while hugging you, switching on the record player and swaying you gently. You sobbed into his chest, clinging onto the lapels of his coat. After a little while you pulled away and Arthur ran back in, noticing how hard you were crying. He tugged on Bucky’s sleeve, getting him to hunker down in front of him. 
Arthur stood up on his tippy toes and whispered in Bucky’s ear. “Please come back home daddy. Not for me, but for mommy. She really needs you, and wants you back”. Bucky sighed and patted his shoulder. “I’m coming back, Ar. I promise, not just for mommy, for you too.. Can't leave my best boy behind”. Arthur giggled and put the hat back on Bucky’s head before coming over and hugging your leg. Bucky looked at the inside of his wrist, checking the time and sighing softly. You knew he had to go now. He gave you the look and you took his hand, slowly walking him to the door. 
Bucky stepped out while you and Arthur stayed in the doorway. He hunkered down in front of him and kissed his forehead. “Be good for your mom okay? And take care of her”. He nodded and saluted before going back and hugging your leg. Bucky stood back up and kissed you softly. You held the forearms of the hands holding your face. As he pulled away he nuzzled his nose with yours. “Be safe”. You whispered out, as Bucky linked your hands together. “I promise I will..”. Bucky pulled away from you and gave you a flat smile. “Bye my loves”. You waved sadly at him and watched as he walked backward till the corner and walked around it, disappearing. You sobbed a little bit more and brought Arthur inside. He might not have known fully what was going on, but he knew his mom shouldn’t be crying like this. He led you to the couch and sat you on it before hugging you hard. “Remember mommy, daddy is super strong, he’s gonna get all the bad guys”. You giggled sadly, and wiped your face. “Yeah he is bubba.. How about we go to that new diner for dinner?”. Arthur smiled and nodded.  
The next few months for you were hard, you moved out of your house and back into your parents house and began working at the factory, it was hard work in awful conditions, but at the end of the day you got to come home to your parents and your boy, and the sweet (and sometimes naughty) letters from Bucky. 
6 months later…
Bucky was ecstatic to be heading home, he really couldn't believe it, it was all over. He could go home, to you and his boy. Bucky arrived back at your house and knocked on the  and waited, but no answer. He knocked for another 5 minutes before jiggling the lock and pulling it off, shoving the door open, the old letter and bills jamming it. When Bucky walked in, the house was filled with dust and bugs making him cough harshly. You definitely weren't here. 
Bucky steadily left the house and headed to your parents and knocked on the door. Your dad opened it and gasped. “Bucky.. Oh my”. Bucky smiled at him and soon heard the quick footsteps running down the stairs. “DADDY!”. Arthur shouted as Bucky hunkered down and opened his arms. Arthur tackled him into a hug, making him fall over and making your dad chuckle. “Hey buddy! My god! You’ve grown so much!!”. They both got up and stood tall and Bucky looked at your dad. “So where is she?” 
Your dad’s face ran white and Arthur looked up at him. “Grandpa? Does daddy not know?”. Your mother quickly rushed out and took Arthur by the wrist bringing him inside as your dad stepped outside and closed the door. “Sir? What does he mean? Where’s my wife? Where is she!?”. Bucky began to get annoyed, he just spent the last night months fighting, this was the last thing he needed. Your dad held his shoulder and looked at him. “Bucky… 4 months ago, s-she emm.. She got tuberculosis, the treatment didn’t help.. Ju-just made her worse". 
Your dad was properly crying now, so was Bucky. He couldn't believe it, he didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye. Bucky brought his hand to his face and sobbed, dropping to his knees and crying hard, screaming “no”. Your parents couldn't believe it either, they only got a letter from the TB ward, saying you had passed away, but your mom never believed it. Either she had hope, or was just in denial. Bucky was devastated, he fell into a deep state of depression. Luckily your parents let Bucky stay in their house instead of sending him back to the place of most of your memories. 
3 months later…
This was it. Bucky thought to himself, placing the final boxes outside your old house. He had finally built up the strength after losing you to move back into the house and take care of Arthur on his own. He had decorated the house just like how it was before you passed and he even set up a little memorial for you, with flowers, candles and a picture of you. This was still your home as well.
Arthur was playing on the floor, while Bucky was reading the newspaper and listening to the current running baseball match while sitting at the kitchen table. Then there was a knock. Bucky looked at Arthur who was looking at Bucky, both of them with a confused look on their face. Bucky stood up and slowly walked to the door, Arthur following. As the door opened, Bucky’s jaw almost dropped to the ground and Arthur shouted. “MOMMY!”. He hugged your legs tightly as Bucky still stood there, shocked. Arthur sobbed softly into your legs. “Thought you were gone forever mommy”. You hunkered down and hugged him tightly. “I'm so sorry, my little monster, but I had to hide to be safe”. You sniffled and wiped your tears. When you stood back up, Bucky was still frozen. “Bucky I'm so so-”. You were quickly cut off by him grabbing the side of your face and kissing you passionately. Arthur quickly separated from your leg. “Ew yuck!”. He mumbled, going back to his toys as Bucky kissed you more. You both sobbed quietly and held each other close. When Bucky pulled away he led you to the couch and sat you down. “W-what happened? Your parents said you got t-”
“TB, yeah. I had to say that”. You took his hand and began explaining. “When you left, I took a job at the local factory. Eventually, me and the other women got sick of the treatment and pay, so we stood up. We went on strike, he came off it soon after but we slowly noticed that the company was killing off their staff so I faked my death”. Bucky sat there in complete shock and rubbed your thigh. “But you’re safe now?”. He asked, and you nodded, explaining that the company had been shut down.
That whole night felt surreal for Bucky. You made dinner and helped Bucky bathe Arthur before bringing him to bed. He was so happy mommy and daddy could read him a bedtime story again. The first time it felt real again for Bucky was when you slipped on your old sleep dress and slipped into bed beside him. He engulfed you into his chest and snuggled you close, kissing your head. “Welcome home”. He whispered into your head, stroking your back softly. You traced out little shapes on his chest as he began to fall asleep. Once you had fallen asleep, Bucky allowed himself to snuggle you close and fall asleep with you.
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