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blackberrybucky · 3 days ago
that was love (and it’s an ache i still remember)
A/N: things are happening. mostly, they are that i haven't started on this yet but i am posting about it anyway
summary: it's been five years since bucky has seen you. back home for your college reunion, what happens when you see each other again?
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chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
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blackberrybucky · 3 days ago
i want you forever (even when we’re not together)
A/N: hiii i'm v excited about this
summary: bucky has a purpose–a mission, if you will. he's going to make this summer perfect. the best one yet. there's no way you'll leave him then.
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chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
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blackberrybucky · 3 days ago
wouldn't you love to love her?
A/N: if you saw me post some of this a while ago, no you didn't💖 i wanted to redo the format and there was some stuff i forgot to write about so!! we are starting over
summary: bucky has known you his whole life, been in love with you almost as long. the summer after you graduate college brings changes neither of you are ready for.
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i want you forever (even when we’re not together)
that was love (and it’s an ache i still remember)
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blackberrybucky · 3 days ago
i don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you
A/N: okay hi! somebody definitely asked for an angsty wanda fic, even if it was just me. this is sad, i apologize in advance. it's for @lovelyavengers writing challenge with "it's not a crime if you look cute doing it" i hope you like it tori, angel💕💓
summary: wanda wakes up one morning to a surprise
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Wanda still misses you–an aching hole in her chest.
But it's fine, she’s dealing with it.
She’s moved into a new apartment, gotten new things-spent half a day in a home goods store.
She’s starting over.
Everything is fine.
She rolls out of bed, pulls on the robe tossed across the chair in her bedroom. She pads across her shiny new kitchen, heads for her coffee maker. Reaching up, she pulls one of her mugs-a pink one, with little white dots, down from the cabinet, sets it on the counter. The machine gurgles to life, spits hot coffee into her mug. She pours in creamer-French vanilla-adds sugar, and takes a sip, lets the warmth flow through her.
When she turns around, the cup she had bought–so painstakingly picked out, crashes to the floor-pink shards flying everywhere. Hot coffee splashes onto her feet.
You’re in her kitchen, sitting at her table.
You look up, easy smile on your face. “Hi, baby.”
“You’re not real.”
You scoff, stand up. “I’m hurt.”
“You-you died. I watched you die.”
You cross the room, stand in front of Wanda. Your hands settle on her shoulders. Wanda can feel your touch and she doesn’t understand.
“I need to call someone. This- this is a crime, is what it is.” She babbles, turning to look for her phone. She glances over her shoulder at you. “You can’t just break into people’s apartments, you know.”
With the gentlest bit of force, you turn her to face you again. “Technically, it’s not a crime if you look cute while doing it.”
Wanda starts to speak, but you keep talking.
“Oh, wait, you’ve got a–let me just–“
Your hand comes up to cradle her cheek, holds her steady. Gentle fingers touch her eye. You bring your fingers back–pinched together–show Wanda your find.
“Eyelash.” You smile, as easy as you ever were.
Wanda bursts into tears.
You wrap your arms around her, hold her to you. “I know,” you murmur. “I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”
Wanda’s tears are soaking your shirt. Or do they? She's not entirely sure how this ghost thing works.
She pulls away.
“Why are you here?” She sniffles.
“You don’t want me here?”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t say that.”
“Well, good.” You smile, hand coming to rest on her cheek again. Your thumb starts to rub back and forth, and Wanda thinks she might shatter. “I don’t know if you noticed,” you hum, “but you haven’t been doing so well without me.”
Wanda chuckles, a wet thing. “You think?”
You look into her eyes, something unspoken passing between you.
You gesture around the apartment. “That’s what all this was, right? A new start?”
She shrugs. “Our place was too hard.”
“I get it.” You nod, walk around the room. “It’s nice.”
Wanda watches you take in your surroundings with a shocking sense of calm.
Maybe this is just her life now.
The next day when Wanda comes home, there’s a mug sitting on her counter, delicate ribbon wrapped around the handle.
You're there on her couch.
“Did you do this?”
You glance at her, eyes lighting with recognition. “I saw it at a garage sale.” You shrug. “Thought it looked like you.”
“Thanks.” Wanda smiles, warmth spreading in her limbs.
“No problem.” You grin. “I did kind of owe you after yesterday.”
Wanda crosses the room, sits next to you on the couch. “Oh, that’s right.”
Your arm wraps around Wanda’s shoulders, pulls her into your side.
A wave of peace comes over Wanda that she hasn’t felt since you were taken from her.
The covers are soft over the both of you. Wanda is half asleep, in truth, when the question bubbles out of her.
“Do you remember it?” Wanda whispers into the darkness, inches away from your face.
You bring your hand to her arm, trail your fingers over her skin. “My death?”
“Mhm.” Wanda answers, hesitant.
“I do.”
“Did it...were you scared?”
You pause, seeming to search for the right words. “A little bit.” Your hand comes up, brushes a stray hair away from her forehead. “What’s got you thinking about all this, angel?”
Wanda shrugs, doesn’t answer.
“C’mon, baby. Talk to me.”
“It’s just...” Wanda trails off. She focuses on the easing motion of your hand on her arm. “I wasn’t there for you.” Wanda’s voice cracks, lump in her throat bursting, tears coming to her eyes. “And then you...”
“Oh, no, sweetheart.” You hum, arm snaking around Wanda, pulling her close to you. “That wasn’t your fault.”
“Listen to me.” Your voice is soft, but it leaves no room for argument.
Wanda quiets.
“You were trying to stop Thanos,” you murmur. “You had bigger problems.”
Wanda starts to disagree, bristling with frustration. Then, you run a hand through her hair, and it fades away.
“I was taking care of myself. If you had tried to stick with me, I would have told you not to.”
“But I should have anyway.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.” You whisper. “This is how it was supposed to be, angel. I know it’s awful, and I know it hurts. But you have to accept it, baby, and you have to move on.”
Wanda jerks, eyes whipping up to meet yours. “I can’t move on.”
“You can do anything.”
“That would mean...”
You nod, hand moving to cradle her cheek. There’s something in your eyes that Wanda can’t name-a softness, maybe, a sadness. “I have to leave.”
“No.” Wanda whines. “Please, no. Not again.”
“Sh, honey. It’s okay.” You’re smiling, and Wanda can’t imagine why. “These last few days?” You shake your head. “They’ve been a gift-the goodbye we never got.”
“We don’t have to say goodbye at all.” Wanda begs. “You can just stay.”
“I wish I could, angel.”
Then, before her eyes, you start to disappear.
“No, no. Not yet.”
“I love you. If you take anything with you, take that. Keep it in your heart.”
Then you’re gone.
Alone again, Wanda wails.
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blackberrybucky · 5 days ago
if you ever want to be in love
A/N: i definitely lost the thread of where this was going, but i hope y'all still like it??
summary: how your relationship with sam falls apart and comes back together
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The note glares up at Sam–inky black letters on yellow cardstock.
Mr. and Mrs. Rogers,
Y/N Y/L/N has had Sam Wilson erased from her memory. Please, never mention their relationship to her again.
Thank you.
Sam glares at Steve.
“Seriously?” he hisses. “How could you let her do this?”
A laugh flies out of Steve. “Let her? You have met her right?” Steve shakes his head. “Nobody let her do anything.”
Sam rolls his eyes, heart sinking more every second. “Still.” Sam gestures wildly, searching for words. “Someone should have stopped her.”
“Right. That would have gone so well.”
Sam sinks into the chair across from Steve, sighs. “What am I supposed to do now?”
Steve leans over, puts a hand on Sam’s knee. There’s a sympathetic smile on his face. “You try to move on, get over her.”
Sam is sure Steve can hear the way his heart cracks. “I don’t think I can.”
It's not so much of a jump, really, for Sam to show up on Lacuna’s front step. If the name on the bottom of Steve’s letter had burned into his mind, who could blame him?
He pulls open the door, steps inside of the air-conditioned office.
The receptionist gives him a kind smile. “How can I help you?”
“I have an appointment with Dr. Stark.”
She types something into the computer, looks back at him. “It’ll be just a few minutes.”
Sam nods, takes a seat. It's no time at all before someone calls out his name and leads him down a hallway.
“Mr. Wilson, I do remember Y/N. She was...” He trails off, shakes his head. “She was extremely unhappy.”
“That doesn’t mean you just...erase a part of her life.”
He purses his lips. “That’s my job. People are downtrodden-miserable when they come to me. I help.”
Sam nods, licks his lips. “The doesn’t erase anything else?”
“Only what we want it to.”
Sam sighs, tears pricking his eyes. “I want it.”
Dr. Stark picks up his phone, presses the record button. “Start talking whenever you’re ready, Mr. Wilson.”
Sam leaves Lacuna with a pill and a plan. He should feel lighter-should feel like something good is about to happen, but his chest just feels heavy.
The rest of his day passes in a blur, and before long, he’s popping the pill and going to sleep-completely terrified.
Your apartment door opens and your seething face is all Sam can focus on.
He feels himself bristling in response already.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Sam starts. “I got held up-”
“Yeah, yeah.” You sigh. “Why don’t you go find someone else to save? I don’t want you here.”
“Baby, why don’t you just let me in?”
“It was our anniversary, and all I wanted was for you to come home.” Your eyes narrow. “I didn’t care what time it was as long as I got to see you before midnight.”
“I’m here now,” Sam tries. “We can spend the night however-"
“I want to spend the night alone.” You spit, venom in your words.
Sam sighs, shoulders sagging.
He's too tired for this.
His eyes fall to the ground.
“Leave!” You yell.
Sam’s head whips up, looks you dead in the eyes.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes, I’m serious.”
Sam cocks his head. “You know, next time I’ll just tell them I can’t help, my girlfriend is too selfish to understand that sometimes things are more important than arbitrary dates!”
You chuckle, a humorless thing. “Arbitrary dates, huh?” You shake your head, rage rolling off of you in waves. “If our relationship is so arbitrary to you, why don’t we just give it up?”
Sam goes still, chill running down his spine. “What?”
You shrug. “You heard me.”
“You don’t mean that.” Sam shakes his head, tries to move closer to you.
You back up, out of his reach. “I do mean that.”
Before Sam can get another word in, your door is slamming in his face.
He pounds a fist against it. “You’re really gonna act like we’re done? Just like that?”
“Y/N...darlin’...” Sam sighs, forehead hitting the door. “Please, don’t do this.”
Sam gets no response. Deciding to try again tomorrow, he turns and makes his way out of your building.
Then, the scene shifts, floor falling out from under Sam. It shocks him at first, his first instinct is to fight back-thinks New York must be under attack again, until his day hits him like a ton of bricks.
Before he can process it, a new scene forms-the inside of your apartment this time.
It's almost like he’s watching himself, going through the motions of how this memory goes.
“You think I can just give it up? Tell ‘em I don’t want to be Captain America anymore?” Sam glares at you. “That’s not how it works! You saw what we got last time!”
“That’s not what I’m saying! Fuck!”
“Yeah?” Sam scoffs. “What’re you saying then?”
You’re quieter when you speak again. “It scares me.”
Sam softens, unable to hold onto his anger. “I know,” he murmurs. With a few steps, he’s in front of you, reaching out to wrap you in his arms. He presses a kiss to the side of your head. “It’s okay.” He runs calming fingers up and down your back. “But I’m here right now. We’re together now. Let’s enjoy it, hm?”
He feels you nod against him. “Okay.”
Then, the scene fades, going hazy until it’s all gone.
Sam can see Louisiana forming around him-his parents’ boat, his sister’s house, you sitting on the dock.
The sun is shining on you perfectly, makes you look like a mirage. Your feet are in the water, legs kicking occasionally.
You're honey sweet, Sam is sure. If he kissed you, his lips would come away sugar coated.
God, does he want to kiss you.
He walks over, toes off his shoes and rolls up the legs of his pants before sitting next to you.
Your thighs touch.
“Hi,” Sam says.
You smile. “Hi.”
“Whatcha doing out here?”
You look out onto the water, easy smile forming. You shrug. “Enjoying it. What about you?”
He makes himself speak, interrupts the memory. “Y/N, something is wrong. We- we broke up, and you had me...erased.”
You squint, chuckle at him. “What are you talking about?”
“This place-Lacuna, they just they got rid of me,” Sam babbles. “And I had them get rid of you too! And now...” Sam trails off, shakes his head. “Now we can’t stop it.”
You stare at him. Sam can practically see the wheels turning in your mind.
“I guess we’d better take advantage of this then, huh?”
You smile, seemingly unbothered, and take Sam’s hand.
He can’t understand it-the way you aren’t frantic. He's practically shaking with it, the need to save the two of you.
He can’t believe he agreed to this.
You pull him to his feet, wrap your arms around his neck. His come to your waist, naturally. You put your hand on his cheek.
Sam can’t not lean into the touch.
“Get out of your head,” you murmur. “I’m sorry I started this, but the way I see it we have two choices.”
The two of you start to spin around, dancing with no music playing, toes against the rough wood of the dock.
“Which are?”
“Worry about it, try to stop it, or spend this time together, if only in your memories.”
Sam leans in-can't help it. Your mouths move together and Sam tries to imprint it on his brain, tries to hold onto it.
He wants to wake up tomorrow and still have this.
You pull away far too soon, murmur against his mouth, “Remember me. Try your best.”
The trees begin to fade.
“Meet me here.” You smile. “Maybe we can try again.”
You press one last kiss to his lips. “Bye, Sam.”
Sam walks down the dock, breeze blowing past him. Sitting at the end, there’s a gorgeous woman. He sits down next to her, shoulders touching.
You smile, prettier than Sam could have imagined. “Hi.”
“I’m Sam.”
Sam grins, “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
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blackberrybucky · 6 days ago
it was dead long ago, but it's all coming back to me
A/N: you needed this in your life. you didn't know you did, but you did, i promise. it’s a wuthering heights au. there's some smut and angst and character death
psa: please don’t read unless you’re 18+
word count: 8.4k (i’m sorry in advance)
summary: bucky comes home intent on getting revenge
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It's a lovely day for a wedding Bucky thinks. Spring just begun–the afternoon gloriously sunny. He shifts behind the old oak tree, tries to get a better glimpse at the banquet hall door. He's almost positive he's been here with you in your youth–the thick turrets on the front of the building are deeply familiar.
But maybe that’s just wishful thinking-the twisted hope that he can taint this day somehow.
There are delicate purple flowers blooming at either side of the entrance. A beautiful setting for your day, truly.
Bucky knows–with certainty–that you look radiant. There's a small part of him that wishes he could have been there; watch you marry Rogers. The bigger part of him is glad he wasn't. Plenty of time to catch up later.
Just as he's about to give up-seeing you seeming out of reach-you step outside. You're just as beautiful as he remembers–as you've always been. Your husband follows you out. With cropped hair and a golden boy grin, Steve looks small next to you. You are the stuff of myth–goddesses would see you and shrink. You should be with someone equal to you.
Someone like Bucky.
Unable to watch you celebrate Bucky's greatest heartbreak, he turns to leave. As he walks away, he sees a child, not older than ten. He stops him with a hand on the shoulder, offers him a piece of paper. A cast aside, torn sheet, six simple words–a much bigger message.
I know how you've betrayed me.
"Give this to the bride, hm? Don't tell her who gave it to you."
He offers the boy several coins as payment. The child accepts them readily, runs off to do Bucky's bidding.
It's only a few days later when Bucky decides to go to your house. He's let you stew on his note for long enough–can't help himself any longer.
Your siren call is too much for Bucky to ignore.
You live only a few blocks away. Bucky has no problem walking the distance. Anyway, it's the perfect day for it. The fresh spring air is good for him, quiets his vengeful spirit a bit.
On his way, he passes through an already open iron gate. There's only a short cobblestone path before your new house comes into view.
It's imposing, made of brick–the kind of thing Bucky had always hoped to give to you.
Bile rises in his throat.
He climbs stone steps to your door, lifts a hand to the ornate lion knocker and strikes the door with it. A short few moments later, the door is pulled open, and there you are. Bucky feels young again, looking at you, being this close to you. That old familiar feeling comes back as soon as he's face to face with you–something Bucky now knows is yearning.
You smile. "I was wondering how long it would be before I saw you. After your note…" You shrug. "I almost believed you hated me."
Bucky spreads his arms wide, an invitation. "I could never. You should have more faith in me, my love."
You jump into his arms, throw your arms around his neck. Your fingers sink into the inky strands of his hair. "Let's not argue. Please, not now. I've missed you so."
Bucky wraps his arms around you, indulges himself. No matter how angry he is with you, he can't stop the way his heart calls out to you. He murmurs into your hair, "I've missed you too."
Too soon, you step out of the circle of his arms. "Perhaps we shouldn't continue this reunion on the front steps. Come in?"
Bucky follows you in, takes in your new home. It's all high ceilings and iron chandeliers. The walls are covered in art, broken up by occasional bookshelves.
It's all too forced for you, Bucky thinks. You should live somewhere free, somewhere wild.
This proper mansion feels like your cage.
You direct Bucky to a floral couch, but he's not ready to sit. He walks the room, looks at the trinkets you now have. He picks up a small vase, spins it around before setting it back down.
"You've done well for yourself, haven't you?" Bucky gestures around the room. "All the things one could want."
"He comes from money." You cast your eyes toward the ceiling, briefly. "After his parents died–"
Bucky turns his eyes to you, grins. "Is that why you married him?"
Indignant, you scowl. "I married him because I love him."
A mirthless laugh escapes him. "Right." Bucky nods. "Love. I'm surprised that means anything to you."
You sigh. "You were gone, Bucky. What did you want from me?" You shrug. "I can't change the past." You shake your head furiously. "Besides, my husband–Steve, he'll be home soon. You have to go."
Bucky turns to face you. "I'll not be pushed aside. Not again."
"That's not what I'm saying." You groan. "Just‐ just not right now."
The door creaks open. A voice calls out, a voice Bucky hasn’t heard since childhood, "Darling? Are you home?"
"You have to leave, now, out the back." You start to walk towards the sound of Steve's voice.
He grabs your arm, stops you just short of escaping. Leaning close, he finds your ear, murmurs, "I want to be alone with you. Soon."
You nod hastily. "Fine. Fine. Just leave? Please?"
Bucky releases you, lets you direct him to the back door. He slips outside and lets you return to your life, a dark feeling twirling in his gut.
It takes you a week to grant Bucky's request.
You send him a letter, tell him to meet you outside of town. Look for the empty field, you'd told him. You'd emphasized the privacy of the place. Bucky can't help but be a little irritated–he shouldn’t be shoved into a private corner of your life.
Bucky can't say you're wrong about it though, as he slides off his horse. There's nothing out here, save for the trees. The wind howls through them as Bucky waits, rustles the leaves. Dark clouds hang in the distance–a storm on its way. Bucky's thoughts are interrupted by the click of your horse's hooves against the ground.
"I was beginning to think you weren't coming," Bucky calls out.
You dismount your horse, look him in the eye. "It took time for me to get away. You'll remember that I got married?"
Bucky laughs. "How could I forget?"
You cross the field, grass swaying at your feet. When you reach him, Bucky smirks, curls his hand around the side of your neck. "You locked yourself away because of your own impatience, my love. I wonder–was it worth it?"
"I had no idea where you were–one day you were just gone. Did you want me to wait around forever?"
"I went to make a life for myself. For us. To make myself worthy of you." Bucky scoffs, gazes into your eyes. “That was useless, wasn’t it?” Bucky chuckles. “Then, I heard of Rogers plans to wed.” Bucky shrugs. “It didn’t take much digging to learn his bride-to-be was you. Suffice it to say, my plans changed."
You gape. "You knew I was getting married and you just- just let me? What," you narrow your eyes, try to tilt your head, "you wanted to punish me? Come back on my wedding day as revenge?"
Bucky smiles, a cold, mean thing. "Your heart had already betrayed me. What was to be gained by my return?" Bucky doesn't give you time to speak. Instead, he pulls you forward, captures your lips in a kiss he's wanted since he saw you again.
He kisses you until you have to pull away, catch your breath. As he takes you in, he can see something cross your face. It's gone as quickly as it comes.
"What's the matter with you?"
"What do you mean?"
Bucky rubs his thumb against your cheek. "You have a look about you."
"I- no. No, there's nothing wrong with me."
Bucky hums, considering. The look comes back as you hold his eyes, long enough that Bucky can name it.
He chuckles. "It's guilt."
You scoff. "What do I have to be guilty about, Bucky?"
"You've been with Steve."
For a moment, it seems as though you'll deny it. Instead, you purse your lips. "He's my husband."
Bucky releases you. "You think that matters to me? Your pretend marriage? Rogers is just a blip to me–inconsequential in the grand scheme of things." Bucky shrugs.
"How can I be expected to touch you? To look at you, when you've lain with him?"
Tears well along your lashes. "I'm sorry!" You shake your head frantically. "I don't‐ I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry!"
Without another word, you turn and run back towards your horse. With a crack, the clouds burst, rain pouring down on you both. As you begin to climb on, Bucky calls out to you.
"Your last name may have changed, my love, but you still belong to me! Nothing will change that!"
Bucky can no longer tell the tears on your cheeks from the rain. Before you ride away, you shout. "You don't think I know that! You never let me forget it!"
Then, you're gone and Bucky is alone.
It's been a week since your meeting in the field, a week since Bucky has seen you.
He's itching with it, shaking with the need of you.
Through pure chance, today in town, he heard about a party at Tony Stark's house. A party he's sure you'll attend, now that you're a member of high society and all.
It's all the excuse Bucky needs to crash it.
Tony Stark's estate is nothing to scoff at. As the carriage halts and Bucky exits, he looks around the grounds. The house is huge, light brick, ornate columns along the front. There are trees along the driveway, and a large pond next to the house. It lives up to its hype, Bucky has to begrudgingly admit.
Bucky climbs the stairs, walks through the front door into the party.
The room is full of people Bucky has no interest in. He scans the room until, finally, his eyes land on you. You're gorgeous, even if you're with Rogers–glued to his side, it would seem. Bucky makes his way towards the pair of you, intent on getting his fill of you–privately or not.
As Bucky moves, the people part around him. It's almost as if he's got a shield around him–a physical manifestation of his pain.
When he reaches you, your eyes lock and you smile at him.
"It's good to see you, Bucky."
Bucky smiles, ducks his head. "It's good to see you too." He motions at the people surrounding you. "Care to introduce me?"
"This is Sam Wilson."
The man extends his hand and Bucky takes it.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Wilson."
"Please, call me Sam."
Bucky smiles. "Sam."
"I'm glad to meet you, mister…?"
"Barnes. Bucky Barnes."
Sam nods. "Barnes."
Bucky locks eyes with Steve. He requires no introduction, but he lets you make one anyway.
"Rogers." Bucky nods. "I hope you're well."
"You as well."
"I must say, I admire your audacity. I was gone for a few months." Bucky shrugs. "Maybe more." Bucky narrows his eyes. "You took what belonged to me quite quickly."
Steve takes a sip of his drink. "I don't believe I was alone when our relationship began. She was just as interested in me as I was her."
Bucky hums. "Perhaps she was interested in you. Perhaps‐"
You interrupt Bucky with a pointed look. "Perhaps we should change the subject."
Steve wraps his arm around your shoulders. "My wife is right. We should try to be civil with each other."
"I don't know. You did steal his girl, man." Sam chuckles. "I can't say I blame him for being a bit…unpleasant."
Steve scowls. "I didn't steal anything."
Sam rolls his eyes, scoffs a little. "You do know I was there, right? I witnessed the way you two got together?"
Steve releases you, steps closer to Sam. "Do you have something to say?"
The two friends arguing presents Bucky with a golden opportunity. He moves to your side, intertwines your fingers, and leads you outside.
The night is thick now, scattered lanterns the only light to be found. You and Bucky walk along the side of the pond until you reach a small grove of trees. He leads you in, guides you to the ground. Bracing himself with his elbows on either side of your head, he leans in, kisses you for a lingering moment.
He should wait, he knows he should, but he can't help himself. He hikes up your skirts and pushes inside you.
Bucky growls into your ear. "My, how times have changed–rubbing elbows with Tony Stark, all the money you could ask for at your fingertips." He takes your lobe between his teeth, bites just slightly. "I'm rich, you know-a fortune accumulated. If you had just waited, anything you could have dreamt of would have been yours."
"I had no way of knowing that." You pant.
Bucky shrugs, the slightest movement of his shoulder, and rolls his hips. "What am I to do now?" He leans forward, noses at your neck. "Accept this? Loving you in secret?"
Your nails dig into his shoulders, clinging to him as he thrusts into you. "Circumstances have been cruel to us, but our hearts are unchanged." Your hand slides upwards, curls around his neck. "I would rather have these pieces of you than none of you at all."
Bucky pulls back, looks you in the eye. "It's not enough. We could have been so much more."
You rub your thumb against his cheek, nod slightly. "We could have. But, please, let's not dwell on that anymore, it's only wasting time." You pull him towards you, capture his lips in a messy kiss. "I love you. Be here with me while we can."
Bucky nods, sees your reasoning. "I'll never refuse what I can get of you, my love. No matter how small the pieces may be." He leans in, kisses you again. He keeps up the steady pace of his hips, but never lets it get too fast. Whatever he says, he's not willing to give you up any sooner than he has too.
Soon, neither of you can help it. Your nails scratch along Bucky's back. You let out a strangled sound as you shake apart around him. The way you spasm around his length pushes him over and into his own orgasm. The two of you steal plenty of time to let yourselves come down. Bucky is pressing soft kisses along your throat when you say, "We should probably go back in. I'm sure they miss us."
Bucky chuckles, kisses your lips. "You, perhaps. I doubt anyone has noticed my absence."
You thread your fingers in his hair, pull his eyes towards yours. "I do. Always."
On the walk back, the two of you adjust your clothes, make yourselves presentable again. You go inside first, followed shortly by Bucky. He watches you walk back to Steve; sees the way you light up in his presence. As you walk towards the door, Rogers has one arm wrapped around you, whispering in your ear. There's a grin on your face and love in your eyes–love Bucky can remember being directed only at him. A need settles deep in Bucky's chest as the two of you walk into the night. He wants revenge, wants to make Barnes pay for what he's stolen. He rises to his feet, intent on going home and forming a plan.
Bucky presses his weight into you, enjoying the newfound extra space. The two of you have spent the last week confined to closets and alcoves–Bucky could no longer bear it. Today he had insisted you come to his house. In truth, it hadn't taken much convincing–simply murmuring a few sentences of all he would do to you.
He kisses along your throat, just barely resisting the urge to sink his teeth in. The thought brings up images of Steve, visions of all that was stolen from him. Bucky can feel the rage flick to life in his gut and quickly squashes it. After all, Rogers will get his due–eventually.
He brings his attention back to you, presses a kiss to your mouth. He licks along the seam of your lips until they open to him. Your tongues mingle together, and Bucky seizes the moment of your distraction to slip his hand between your bodies, press a thumb to your clit. You let out a strangled sound against his mouth as he starts to make slow circles against the nub. He slides further, runs a finger along your slit, gathers your slick before sliding two fingers into you. Your hips jump off the bed, trying to grind against Bucky’s hand.
He pulls away, mumbles, “Love, you know better than that. Stay still.”
Bucky punctuates the statement with a particularly brutal thrust of his fingers.
You sigh out a breath. “Bucky, please. Come on, please fuck me.”
Bucky chuckles. “You think you’re ready? You’ve earned it?”
“Yes.” You nod frantically. “I promise, Bucky, please.”
Bucky hums, considering. He lets his fingers fall free, kisses you again. “Since you’ve asked so nicely.” He wraps his hand around his length, guides himself to your entrance and slips inside. You mewl as Bucky starts to thrust in earnest. In no time at all you’re clinging to his shoulders as you shake apart. He follows you soon after, buries his face in your neck as he cums.
Calmed down, he rolls to the side, collapses next to you. He gathers you in his arms for far too short a time before you’re climbing out of bed, murmuring quiet excuses about your husband–getting back to your life.
When you’re both dressed, he walks you to the door, pushes you against it as you say goodbye. He noses along your throat. “I want to see you. Soon.”
“As soon as I can, Bucky. It’s not easy to get away all the time.”
He raises his head, looks you in the eye. “Isn’t it? Meet me tomorrow. In that field, the one you sent us to back when I first arrived.”
You sigh. “Alright. I’ll try to get away.”
“You will get away.” Bucky grins, a wolfish thing. “You know you prefer my company over that of the weasel you call a husband.”
He can see you’re holding back a smile. “Even if that was true, I would never admit it.”
Bucky wraps his arms around you again, leans his forehead against yours. “Your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell a soul.” He rubs his nose against yours.
“Fine.” You smile. “It is true.”
You turn, escape the circle of his arms and open the door.
As you walk down the steps, Bucky calls out to you. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”
You nod, grinning. “You will!”
The door closes and Bucky is alone again.
The rooms of his house are vast, he has no shortage of things to do. Bucky shouldn’t feel so suffocated but he does. He had wanted all this for you–without you, it all seems worthless.
Keen to stop haunting his own home, Bucky decides to leave, go to a pub. He slams his front door behind him, escapes before he can hesitate.
He walks, hoping the evening air will clear his head. It’s a quiet night, save for the wind. The trees above him scratch against each other, create a strange kind of music as he travels. He finds himself in town sooner than he’d expected, dirt roads turn into cobblestone paths. Finding the closet pub, he slips inside, hardly stopping to see the name.
The air is thick with smoke. Strangely, it’s less overwhelming than Bucky’s house was. Something about the noise, the people loose with drink, makes Bucky feel invisible. He finds a stool at the bar, orders a whiskey, and tries to forget his thoughts.
He’s near pleasantly numb when he feels the eyes land on him. His general disposition is usually enough to keep most people away, and he relies on it again now. Instead, Bucky feels a presence at his side as a woman takes the seat to his left.
“Aren’t you going to say hello?”
Bucky glances at her. Her features are familiar, he knows he met her at Stark’s party but her name escapes him. “Why would I do that?”
She changes the subject entirely. "I know what people say about you."
Bucky hides his smirk behind his drink. "Hm? What do they say?"
"They think you want to ruin Steve's life, get your revenge."
"You never know." Bucky shrugs. "They might be right."
She shakes her head. "I don't think so."
Bucky turns to her, the first time their eyes have met. "What do you think?"
"I think you're misunderstood." She smiles. "You loved her–everyone could see that. Coming back to find her married…” She trails off, shakes her head. “It couldn't have been easy. You're not vengeful, not mean. You're just heartbroken."
Bucky knows she's wrong. He is certainly vengeful–especially now. He doesn’t take the opportunity to correct her. It’s beginning to seem like the perfect way to take his mind off of you, if only for a night.
Bucky nods, suddenly solemn. “You’re right.” He shrugs, puts his face in his hands. “I try to hide it, pass it off as being angry, but…” Bucky trails off, hoping desperately for a tear to come to his eye.
She reaches out, wraps her arm around him, hums. “Oh, Bucky.” She pauses, just a moment, seems to be considering something. “I know you still love her, and I don’t blame you. Love doesn’t die just because you want it to. But, if you ever wanted to try it, I think we would suit one another.” She takes a deep breath, nods, almost to herself. “I’d be good to you. I could be good to you.”
Bucky raises his head, meets her eyes once more. All at once, the name comes to him. The red hair, the kind eyes–Natasha.
“You know something, Natasha?” Bucky grins, a slow, syrupy thing. “I think you're right.”
Bucky pays both of their tabs and leaves with her on his arm. They walk to his house in relative silence, save for the whistling of the wind. The trees are speaking now with their scratches, they seem to feel Bucky’s vengeful intentions–there’s a warning in their sounds. Bucky hardly cares, he’s too busy thinking of your reaction to learning of Natasha to speak. He can already picture the jealousy swirling in your eyes. It gives him a sweet sense of delight.
Soon, the gates of Bucky’s house come into view and he puts his plan into action.
“Would you like to come in, darling?” He speaks with honey on his tongue when he adds, “It’d be my honor to pass the night with you.”
Natasha ducks her head, smiles. “I would like that very much.”
Bucky shows her inside, gives her the slightest tour before taking her to his room. He’s good to her that night, fucks her slowly, with his face buried in her neck. Your name is on the tip of his tongue the whole time.
The next morning, Bucky wakes before Natasha. He sits up, leaves soft sheets and moves to sit in the nearby chair. He takes advantage of the quiet moments and takes Natasha in. She’s beautiful, of that there is no doubt. Fiery red hair spread around her head, a peaceful smile on her face–a pretty sight to see in his bed. On the one hand, she would make a decent wife. On the other hand, she is certainly no you. Truthfully, that outweighs any positive about her, but perhaps she could still serve a purpose in Bucky’s grander plan.
He's not sure how long he watches her, considering his options, before she wakes. She rolls onto her back, stretches her arms above her head. Bucky watches the realization of where she is fall over her like a curtain.
“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
Seemingly shocked, Natasha smiles. “I did.” She pauses, sighs before saying, “Listen, I know I was forward last night…“
Bucky shakes his head, crosses the room to sit next to her on the bed. “You were right, and I’m glad you were brave enough to say it.” He finds her hand under the covers, brings it to his mouth and kisses it. “I believe that, given time, I could grow to care about you. I hope you’ll let me try.”
Natasha flushes, sits up. She lifts her other hand, cradles Bucky’s cheek. “I look forward to it.”
He sends her on her way soon after, choosing instead to keep his meeting with you.
The ride is sweltering, hot summer sun beating down on his back. It wouldn’t be worth it for anyone but you.
When he gets there, he sees you already sitting cross legged on the grass. He climbs off his horse, walks towards you.
“You’re late, you know.” You close the distance between you, run your hands up and down his biceps. “I was worried you’d forgotten me.”
A soft smile graces Bucky’s face. He leans in, takes your face in his hands and kisses you soundly. “I could never, my love.”
“What kept you?”
“I was entertaining last night, I took some time to say goodbye this morning.”
You quirk a brow. “Entertaining? Who? As far as I’ve seen, you don’t have any friends.”
Bucky rubs his thumbs over your cheeks, hums. “Then you will be especially happy to know that I've made one. I had Natasha Romanoff over last night.”
You push Bucky away with your hands against his chest. Rage lights up your features. Bucky can see it even in the way you hold yourself. “You did what? Have you lost your mind?”
Bucky scoffs. "You have someone to come home to every night. I'm not allowed that same privilege?"
“We’ve just worked out a plan were we are able to see each other again. You wish to jeopardize that? And for what? Sex? What is sex compared to what we share?” You come closer once more before you continue, get right in his face. "Do you even care about her? Tell me the truth."
Bucky stays silent, tries to keep the smirk off his face.
You shrug, begin to fill the silence. "Take her, if it pleases you. If she thinks she's in love with you then I wish her well."
“You do not recommend loving me?”
A humorless chuckle. “Loving you has been the greatest stress of my life. I would recommend it to no one.”
Bucky reaches out, takes your hand. “Come now, my love. We both know that is untrue. It has also been a joy, has it not? Otherwise, why are we here? What is the point of all this?”
You chuckle. “You cannot possibly be attempting to lecture me on the status of our relationship.” With a few steps, you close the distance between the two of you. When you speak again, it’s only a whisper. “Do not try to teach me what you yourself don’t understand.”
“I don’t understand our relationship? My heart has always been yours; it has never strayed. Can you say the same?”
You back away, glare at Bucky. “I can say one thing for certain. I never found solace in Steve simply because he was there. Our relationship wasn’t born of pure loneliness. What of you and Natasha? Do your feelings for her come close to your feelings for me?”
“Do your feelings for Rogers come close to the way you feel about me?”
You scoff. “Of course not.”
Bucky moves closer, unable to take the distance between you. He brings his hand to your cheek, forces you to hold his eyes.
“I believe you’ve answered your own question, love.” Rubbing his thumb over your cheek he murmurs, “Must we continue to fight? Or can we enjoy this time, while we have it?” He gives you no time to respond, instead leaning forward and capturing your lips with his own.
You separate with a pop.
“This was all the time I had, I’m afraid. We have wasted too much already.”
Bucky cocks his head. “I don’t think I believe that.”
You step away, walk backwards toward your horse. “Believe what you like.”
“You can’t escape me, my love. I will not be forgotten.”
You scoff. “How could I forget you? You will not let me.”
You turn on your heel and run the rest of the way, effectively cutting off conversation and leaving Bucky alone once again.
Bucky waits several days, tries to let your previous argument settle–hopes you’ll be lulled into complacency. He makes the short walk in the stifling summer air. By the time he’s walking up your front steps, he can feel the stick of sweat on his chest.
He lifts his hand, strikes the lion knocker against the door. It doesn’t take long for the door to creak open, for Bucky to be greeted by Steve.
Bucky nods. “Rogers.”
Steve’s face is a mask but Bucky can see the tinges of irritation around the edges. “Barnes.”
“I’ve taken the advice of your wife into consideration. If we are to be in each other's lives, I think we should become friends.”
Shock falls over Steve’s face as soon as the words leave Bucky’s mouth. He gapes for a few moments, looking for all the world like a dying fish to Bucky.
“Oh, uh, I suppose that would be okay.” Steve chuckles and his shoulders lift, something seems to leave him. “Perhaps it would even be pleasant.”
Bucky claps him on the shoulder with a hearty laugh. “My thoughts exactly.”
“Perhaps we could stop in at the pub, place a few wagers? See how we make out.”
Bucky actually grins. “That would be great.”
They walk into town, tense silence hanging over them. It’s only when they slip out of the sun, into the pub, that Steve seems to loosen. Rogers has only had three drinks when he begins to speak nonsense. Each time he loses a bet, loses a little more of his money, he offers up something more ridiculous than the last as collateral; his carriages, his home, even you at one point. Bucky has a hard time resisting the urge to punch him then. The stranger only takes him up on his home. Bucky feels the warmth of satisfaction settle in his gut at the way Steve shrinks.
He claps Steve on the shoulder. “I think that’s enough for tonight. Perhaps we should get you home. Your wife will be worried.”
Steve turns towards Bucky, a dejected look in his eyes. “Let’s stay for a bit longer. I can turn this around, I can.”
“I have no doubt.” Bucky nods. “I think tonight should end while you still have a home to go back to though. Don’t you?”
Rogers purses his lips, cocks his head to the side. “You’re right.” He nods. “You’re right. We can-we can come back. Right? Another day?”
Bucky grabs his arm, pulls him to his feet. “Of course. This has been most entertaining.” He nudges Steve’s shoulder with his own, smiles a conspiratorial smile, going for something like friendly. “I would say we really bonded.”
Steve’s eyes light up and he throws his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, lets his weight fall against him. “Me too.”
Bucky walks Steve out of the pub, a dead weight at his side. It will be an effort to get Steve home–Bucky is already dreading listening to his voice drone on. But thinking of the mess Rogers had just made of his life, how easy he had made Bucky’s plan–it makes the walk seem like nothing at all.
Weeks later, Bucky climbs the stairs to your front door, wraps a hand around that lion knocker that seems to stare into his very soul, and strikes it against the door. He doesn’t have to wait long for the door to swing open, your face to greet him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to get Rogers. We had such a fun outing, I thought-”
You turn a glare on Bucky. “Oh, you’ve come to get him, have you?” Stepping closer, right in Bucky’s face–he could kiss you if you were anywhere else. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but I won’t stand for it. You have as much of me as you will ever have. Whatever you’ve planned is only going to bring you grief.”
Bucky chuckles. “What makes you think I’ve planned something, love? You have that little faith in me?”
“No.” You scoff. “I simply know you, or have you forgotten? Are you so caught up in your jealous rage you can’t recall that I’m the one who can hear what your soul says?”
Before Bucky can reply, Rogers is at your back.
“Is everything okay, darling?”
You give him a tight smile. “Everything is fine.”
He glances at Bucky with a venom laced smile. “Why don’t you invite our guest in?”
They both step aside, lead Bucky to that same floral couch, into that same trinket filled room from your reunion. The three of you sit, a tense silence hanging around you.
“So,” Steve starts, “to what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”
“I thought we could visit the pub again, try our luck.”
“You mean try my luck, I think?”
“Excuse me?”
Steve scoffs, stands to pace the room. “When my wife first told me you likely had ill intentions, I could not believe it.” Steve stops, sinks back down to the couch. “I could not bring myself to think so badly of you.” He shrugs. “But, I suppose I don’t know you as well as my wife. After her remark, it all made sense. Why I was so drunk, why you seemed to fare so well and I did so poorly. I’d say you didn’t even make a bet, did you?”
Bucky doesn’t answer, instead choosing to look at you, take in your features. You look almost pleased with yourself.
Rogers keeps talking, filling the silence. “How could you? I thought we were becoming friends. You’ve caused great upset-”
Bucky interrupts. “I have to say, my love, your taste is impeccable.” He gestures to Steve. “This is the sniveling thing you would prefer to me.”
Steve’s head jolts up, meets Bucky’s eyes before rising to his feet. Bucky does the same, never one to back down from a confrontation.
“That’s what this is about? After all these months, you’re still jealous?”
“Jealous? Of you?” Bucky laughs. “What, might I ask, is there to be jealous of? The way your wife wishes to be with me? Or perhaps your hollow marriage?” Bucky nods. “Yes, really, there is so much to be jealous of.”
Steve sneers. “No, nothing at all there for you to be jealous of. I was thinking more along the lines of the type of man you are. You are lonely and vengeful. You're nothing compared to me.”
Bucky can’t help it really, his fist flies through the air almost on its own. It collides with Steve’s jaw and he goes tumbling backwards.
“Bucky!” You call out. “Stop it!”
Bucky looks down upon Steve, meets his eyes. “Don’t worry.” He grits out. “He isn’t worth it.”
Bucky turns on his heel, storms out of the house.
Later, he’s still wired–can feel the rage wrapping around his spine. He’s about to snap, feels trapped in his house, when there’s a knock at the door. Pulling it open, he finds you there, looking frazzled.
“What are you doing here? I was under the impression I wasn’t to be spoken to.”
You push past him into the house. “You shouldn’t be. The way you behaved this afternoon was reprehensible.”
Bucky shuts the door, moves to wrap his arms around you, cut the fight off early, but you step further away.
“You mixed these two worlds, Bucky. Why? What was the point?”
“I told you the point earlier.”
“Oh, stop it with that. We both know that’s not the truth. You came by because you want to prove something, throw something in Steve’s face.” You pause, take a breath, and move towards the door. “I don’t have the time to stay. I came over for one purpose.”
“Oh? Well, do I get to know?”
You stop at his side, get in Bucky’s space.
“I wanted to tell you one thing. You have ruined what we had. You have ruined it with your own vengeful spirit and there is no hope of repair.”
You give Bucky no time to reply, you simply walk out the door, leave Bucky standing alone.
Later, Bucky is almost settled for the night, has put the vision of your angry face out of his mind, when a knocking starts at his door. Even expecting no one, he’s still shocked to find Tony Stark at his door.
“Stark? What are you doing here?”
“Why don’t you invite me in and find out?”
Bucky steps to the side, lets Tony walk past him.
“Please, take a seat.”
Tony sinks into the couch, makes himself comfortable. “You know, if his parents hadn’t died, Steve wouldn’t have even been here. That house wasn’t even his until they left it to him.”
“Rogers showed up a few months after you left. That girl of yours, she was the perfect wife for him–the perfect person to manage the homemaking of his newfound estate. I’m trying to explain to you how it all happened.”
Bucky takes the chair across from Tony, settles into it–cautiously optimistic.
“I understand that, but why? Why are you doing this?”
Tony shrugs. “What can I say? I’ve always liked you. Anyway, I take it you have a plan for him? Unless you make it a habit of showing such affection for your enemies–gambling together and the like."
Bucky nods. "I do have something in mind."
"You do? Oh, good. Could I ask what it is?"
"I'd rather not discuss it."
A wry smile. "I understand. Can't let anyone in on it?"
Bucky nods, unsure where the night is about to take him.
"I believe I have a good idea what it is. If I'm correct, perhaps it would benefit you to know that I am the one who holds his debt. Tomorrow I take possession of his house. It’s been a month and he still hasn't paid me; you see."
"Why are you telling me this?"
Tony hums, shrugs slightly. "I remember how the two of you used to be, before all this. Some revenge only serves Rogers right."
“You’re not fond of him?”
“Steve is under the impression that the world should bow to him, throw itself at his feet. You are not under that same impression. I appreciate someone who makes things happen for themselves.”
“Thank you, I think.”
"I'm giving it to you."
"Giving what to me?"
"This plan of yours, it involves ruining Steve's life, yes? What better way to do that than take his house?"
On edge at hearing his exact plan said to him by a stranger, there's a hardness to Bucky's voice when he speaks. "How did you know that?"
Tony shrugs. "Call it intuition. Do you want it or not? I assume this would cut out several steps for you."
“Well, yes. It would. I can’t imagine you’re willing to do this without something in return. What’s the catch?”
Tony shakes his head. “No catch. Only a request.”
Bucky crosses his hands over his stomach, hope draining out of him. “Let’s hear it then.”
“Put Rogers, well and truly, into his place.”
A slow grin spreads across Bucky’s face.
“What do you say? Do we have a deal?”
Bucky leans forward, offers Tony his hand. “Mr. Stark, I think we do.”
The next day, Bucky wakes early, excited to begin the day. He dresses hastily. It feels as though he’s walking on air. He can’t wait to see the look on Steve’s face. He makes his way through the house, pulls open his front door, only to be met with Natasha, fist half raised to knock.
“Natasha? I’m a bit busy at the moment. Feel free to come in, make yourself at home. I’ll be back soo-”
“You haven’t heard, have you?”
“Heard what?” Bucky is trying to keep the impatience out of his voice, but it’s becoming difficult.
“She died. Late last night. Steve called in a doctor, but…” She trails off, shaking her head. “There was nothing he could do.”
Bucky sneers. “You’re lying. I knew you were jealous of her but to speak such untruths! How can you live with yourself!”
Bucky pushes past her, hurries down the steps. The air is cool around him, leaves crunch under foot as his feet hit the path. In record time, he’s at your gate. People are bustling around and he holds his shoulders back as he walks past them–no reason to hide. After all, this is his now.
He knocks on the front door, barely waits for Rogers to open it before he’s shouldering past him, walking inside.
“Well. Where is she? Is she here?”
Steve sighs, crosses his arms behind his back. “I take it you’ve heard the news.”
“I’ve heard that she died. I refuse to believe it. I will not leave until I see her.”
“I’m afraid you’ll be waiting a long time. She is dead.” Steve takes a deep breath, glares at Bucky. “The doctor called it fever, but I know the truth. It was you. You killed her.”
Bucky surges forward, on Steve almost on instinct. He pushes him against the nearest wall, pictures rattle in his wake.
His voice is a dangerous whisper. “You will not speak that way to me. Especially not in my own house. If anyone killed her it was you.” Bucky gestures around them. “Forcing her to live here, in this loveless house. If you hadn’t played with what wasn’t yours, none of this would have happened.”
Steve’s eyes narrow. “Your house? Have you once and for all lost your mind then?”
Bucky smiles, all malice. “That’s right. You don’t know.” Bucky backs away, gestures to the space around them. “Stark told me of your plight. Instead of him coming into possession of your home, he has given it to me.” Bucky nods, walks closer to Steve. “That’s why I’d originally come here.”
Rogers gapes, can’t seem to form a coherent thought. “You mean, you mean to tell me that you own this house now?”
“Yes. And as the new owner, I want you gone. Now.”
“You can’t possibly mean that-”
“I mean exactly that.” Bucky glares. “You ruined her. You ruined the life we could have had. It serves you right, you urchin, that you should have your life ruined as well.”
Steve leaves quickly after that. Where he goes, Bucky doesn’t care.
Alone at last, Bucky walks the halls of the house you had shared with Rogers. He’s only ever been in the front room, after all.
It’s nice enough, to Bucky’s grief ridden brain. He isn’t taking much of it in anyway, especially after he pulls out the bottle of whiskey.
He’s pulled out of his misery by knocking at the door. He pulls it open, fully prepared to tell the person to get lost. Instead, the sentence dies on his tongue.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
“Yes, well. Leave please. I’m busy.”
Tony glances at the half empty bottle. “Are you?”
“I’m trying to grieve in peace.” Bucky sighs. “If you could please go.”
“I heard about her death. I’m sorry.” Tony sighs, wipes tears with the end of his sleeve. "Whatever is waiting in the afterlife…I hope it's kind to her."
Bucky jerks, glares at Tony. "I pray it torments her. May she have no place until I'm at her side." Bucky shrugs. "Let her be damned to wander the earth, if she must. But–if fate is wise–it will grant her no rest."
Tony gapes, seems to be taken aback by Bucky’s rage.
“Get off my property. I have no interest in watching strangers mourn someone they cared not for in life.”
Tony doesn’t leave, keeps that same shocked expression on his face.
“Did you not hear me? Get out! Leave!”
Something seems to spring Tony into action. He turns, hurries down the steps and into the cool fall night. When he can no longer see him, Bucky throws the bottle, enjoys the sound of the crash against the stone steps. He turns, walks into the empty house and wails.
Bucky isn’t allowed at the funeral–Steve had made sure of that, but Rogers can’t control everything.
It’s late when Bucky sets out in search of the funeral home. The air has turned bitter–winter come overnight. He pulls his cloak tighter around him, ignores the tinge of cold. When he finds the back door, he can see your casket laying there through the small window. He looks for a rock, finds a hefty one and tosses it through the glass, reaches his hand through and unlocks the door.
Inside, the room feels suffocating–like the walls are closing in on him. He’s not sure if it’s simply the small size or his newfound proximity to your body. Finally, with feet made of lead, he makes his way to the side of the casket, looks at you up close once more.
You look the same, like you’ve just fallen asleep. It makes Bucky’s heart seize. He touches your cheek, hardly notices the cold of your skin.
“Oh, love. Why have you left me this way?” He rubs his hand over your face. “Hm? Why have you left me here in this darkness?” Bucky shakes his head, feels tears well along his lashes. “You cannot leave me here where I can’t find you. I cannot bear it. If you’ve ever cared for me, please, be with me always. Never leave my side–drive me mad if you must.” Bucky lifts his other hand, swipes at his eyes. “You are my very heart. I cannot live without you, it is unutterable.”
Bucky doesn’t leave, stays at your side for hours. It’s not until he hears the sounds of life begin outside that he hurries out the door he came in.
He gets home in a blur, goes to his room and doesn’t leave for days. He’s a bit shocked, honestly, when Natasha throws open the door to his bedroom.
She rushes to the curtains, yanks them open. "You haven’t moved for days! Have you even considered my feelings?”
It takes Bucky a few moments to register her presence. Lost in visions of the past, he’s not ready to come back to the present–to a world you aren’t in. “I have not.”
Natasha scoffs. “You have no shame then? That you’ve forgotten our relationship completely? You have been distracted by a woman who abandoned you!”
Bucky surges up. “You will not speak of her that way. Not you who has only been in my life to serve one purpose, a purpose you are no longer needed for.”
“Hm? What is that then?”
Bucky sneers. “To make her jealous. I have not cared for you for one moment of the time we’ve spent together.”
Bucky can see the pain cross her face as the statement hits her. She shakes her head. “I can't be with you any longer. I have to leave."
Bucky looks up, shrugs. “Good. Go. I don’t understand why you’re still here anyway.”
She huffs, turns and leaves, slamming the door behind her.
Bucky glances around the empty room. “She’s gone now, my love. You may come to me. This house is yours.”
Later, alone as ever, Bucky crawls into bed again. The wind outside is rattling the window grates, howling in a way that almost sounds like your voice. He rises again, opens the window, speaks to the trees. “You may come in, love. Please. Whenever you wish, I will welcome you home.”
He’s woken early the next morning by knocking at the door.
“Bucky!” It takes Bucky no time at all to place the voice–Wilson, from Stark’s party.
“I know you’re in there,” Sam’s voice rings out. “I’ve come as a friend. I want to let you know that Steve has died–grief stricken, the doctors say. I thought you would want to know.”
He pauses a few moments, seems to wait for a response.
“Bucky? Fine. I’m going. Should you need anything, people do have concern for you. You need to believe that.”
Then, there’s silence. blissful silence, and Bucky goes back to living in his memories.
One night, no different than any other to a passerby, Bucky goes to bed and never wakes up.
No one knows what killed him, not many people would have cared to find out. His broken heart was always suspected.  
Who knows, maybe he really was haunted.  
Perhaps you tired of waiting, dragged him off. Who could blame you, truthfully? No one wishes to spend the afterlife alone.
If you go to their quiet little village, you'll see those old houses. The people pass by and tell this story, of the love that went so wrong–the carnage it left in it’s wake. Some even claim to see them in the windows, haunting the grounds. It would be fitting, the two of them there, finally together.
If you ever wish to satisfy your curiosity, you can find them in the nearby cemetery. Three stones, all in a row. James Buchanan Barnes carved into fresh stone, the newest of the bunch. Steve's inscription is very nearly hidden by the ivy–hasn’t been there long enough to be hidden yet. You're there, in the middle, headstone almost covered completely.
One would hope they’re feeling peace. After such painful lives–who would imagine the afterlife was anything but gentle to them?
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blackberrybucky · 7 days ago
friends don’t
A/N: i lowkey kinda lost the thread of where this was going, but i still really like it. this is for @ohmoonbeam​ writing challenge with “cause I can’t make you love me if you don’t” and one bed. i hope you like it bby!💕
summary: a friendship turns into something much more
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“Bucky,” calls a voice from the other side of Bucky’s door, followed by three short raps on the wood.
It wouldn’t be entirely unheard of for someone to visit Bucky.
If he had any friends.
Since he doesn’t, he’s a little confused. He rises from the small couch in the corner of his apartment, crosses the floor and peeks through the peephole.
Through the tiny circle, he can see a woman-innocent looking enough.
Instead of opening the door, he speaks through it. “Hello?”
He can hear your scoff. “You’re just going to leave me out here?”
“I don’t know you, of course I am.”
“I work at Book Bin, around the corner. Dr. Raynor recommended you stop by?”
Bucky says nothing, so you continue talking.
“I helped you find The Hobbit in our DVD section last week.”
He looks through the hole again with a clearer head. He can see it now, the familiarity. He still hasn’t watched the movie-couldn't figure out how to work the DVD player.
Sliding the original lock, plus the several he had added after moving in, he opens the door.
You sigh, smile forming on your face. “Hi.”
“Do you want to come in?”
People still offered that, didn’t they?
His worries are quieted when you bend to pick up a bag at your feet, step inside.
You take in his sparsely furnished apartment, the bare walls. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
“It works for me.” He shrugs.
You nod, take a seat on Bucky’s couch without even asking. “That’s all that matters.”
A silence falls over the two of you, and suddenly Bucky feels like he doesn’t belong in his own apartment. He shifts his weight, leans against his doorframe.
He clears his throat.
“So, you needed something?”
“Oh! No. Not really.” You shake your head, reaching for your bag. “I wanted to give you these.”
You pull a stack of books from the confines of the canvas bag.
“I thought you might like them.”
You extend your hand, and Bucky crosses the room, takes the books from your hands and scans the titles. The Lord of the Rings, Slaughterhouse Five, and Tuck Everlasting.
“Thanks.” He swallows, throat suddenly thick for reasons he can’t put a finger on.
“Anytime.” You shrug. “Everybody should have books in their life.” You smile, kindness oozing from you.
It overwhelms Bucky, especially when he considers how greatly he doesn’t deserve it.
“You can keep ‘em, if you like any of them.”
He smiles, tries for friendly. “That’s kind of you, but I really should pay-”
You stand, wave a hand in his direction. “Hush. I wouldn’t dream of taking your money.”
Bucky makes a disgruntled sound in his throat. “M’not a charity case,” he grumbles.
Your eyes widen. “I wasn’t saying-”
Bucky places the books on his coffee table, opens his door. “I’ll see you at Book Bin sometime.”
You're trying to hide the hurt in your eyes as Bucky ushers you out the door.
He hears you murmur an “I’m sorry” after the door closes in your face, and his heart clenches.
He's messed up.
The bell above the door chimes as Bucky walks into the shop. He's armed with all the confidence he could gather while staring in his mirror.
Which, admittedly, wasn’t much.
He spots you in the back corner, shelving books, and makes his feet walk toward you-though they feel like lead.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, once he’s in front of you. You jolt, look at him for the first time. “I was rude to you when you’ve been nothing but kind to me.” He sighs, a ragged thing. “It’s just...people keep treating me like I’m...” He trails off, shaking his head. Before he can continue, he realizes he’s being just this side of too vulnerable, and he backpedals. “It’s been weird since I got back to New York. I took that out on you, and I’m sorry.”
You nod, obviously wanting to press him, but choosing not to. “Thank you, Bucky. I appreciate that.”
He smiles, and you return the action. He assumes the two of you are done here-apology uttered, forgiveness-or something like it-granted.
He turns on his heel, makes for the door.
You call after him, “I have to get back to work right now, but I’d love to hear your thoughts about the books. I could come over later?”
He thinks of the last time you were in his apartment-the prickly feeling his skin had gotten, the twisting of his stomach.
He turns, looks you in the eye. “That’s okay.” He smiles, though he doesn’t want to. “It was nice seeing you.”
Then, he hurries out of the shop, bell chiming as he leaves.
Bucky is huddled in blankets when his doorbell rings. Assuming it’s nothing, he sits up as quietly as he can, trying not to make the floorboards beneath him squeak. He stretches his hands over his head, hoping to lose the ache in his shoulders.
If the feeling of his soft mattress beneath him wasn’t so horrifying, he’d welcome sleeping in a bed.
The doorbell chimes again, this time followed by a soft knock.
He gets to his feet, hoping he’s not going to get stuck listening to some salesman this early in the day.
Eye to the peephole, he’s more shocked than he should be at who stands outside.
He slides the litany of locks, pulls open the door, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s still shirtless-dog tags the only thing touching his chest. He braces his vibranium hand on the door facing.
“Hi,” he says, voice still gruff with sleep.
Your eyes drag down his chest, and Bucky realizes then that he had answered the door before pulling on a shirt. He crosses his arms over his chest, clears his throat.
You meet his eyes. “Hi.”
“Did you wake me up just to chat or...?” Bucky sounds like a jerk, even to his own ears, but you have to go.
He has to get you far away from him.
You look vaguely taken aback. “I wanted to check on you. You seemed a bit off yesterday.”
“So, Dr. Raynor sent you.” Bucky huffs a laugh, rolls his eyes. “News flash: just because you work at her favorite bookstore, doesn’t mean you know anything about her patients.” He shrugs. “Me, for the most part.”
Your eyes narrow. “I didn’t say I did.”
“Oh, so, you just came over out of the goodness of your heart?”
“Yes.” You hiss. “Believe it or not, Barnes, people can be nice without ulterior motives.”
“Not in my experience.”
You chuckle darkly. “Let’s not open ourselves up to new experiences, that’d be too scary.”
Bucky purses his lips, anger humming just below the surface of his restraint. “Why are you still here?”
You shove a bag into his chest-canvas, just like before. “I was just leaving.”
You storm off. Bucky can feel the cloud of your anger that gets left behind.
His heart twists with the knowledge that it’s his fault.
A few days later, a box shows up in his mailbox. A small, thin thing, and Bucky has no idea where it came from.
It’s not like he’s doing a lot of online shopping.
Or any, for that matter.
He gets upstairs, inside his apartment, before he rips the seal open. Inside, he finds a DVD he’s sure he didn’t order.
He pulls it out, slip of paper floating to the floor. Bending, he picks it up.
Mr. Barnes,
The DVD you requested arrived today. I wanted to get it to you with no trouble, so I mailed it. Hopefully it arrives promptly.
He turns the DVD over in his palm, the second Hobbit movie.
He feels awful.
He wants to call you, hear your voice, wants to apologize, tell you the truth about why he’d behaved the way he had.
He doesn’t.
He puts the DVD on top of the first one on his coffee table, walks to the bathroom, intent on showering.
A text wouldn’t be that bad, would it? Bucky ponders while he towels off his hair, cropped strands drying much faster than they used to.
He walks into his bedroom, finds his phone on his nightstand. Thumbing through his contacts, he finds you and clicks message.
Bucky: Hey. I just wanted to let you know I got the DVD. Thanks.
He plays around with the punctuation, but any place he puts an exclamation point makes him look ridiculous.
He holds his breath, presses send, waits for the Earth to swallow him whole.
Sooner than he would have thought, his phone chimes.
Y/N: I’m glad it showed up
Bucky sighs, runs his tongue along his teeth. He shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t invite his particular brand of chaos into your life.
He doesn’t even know you and there’s something about you he just can’t forget.
Bucky: Listen...I know I was awful the other day. It was some misguided attempt at protecting you, but it was wrong. I’m sorry.
Y/N: Bucky Barnes, man who helped save the world, trying to protect somebody? I’m shocked.
He stands, towel now wrapped around his waist, too absorbed in texting you to finish getting ready.
Bucky: Ha. I don’t know about that.
Y/N: I do.
Bucky: If you say so.
Bucky takes a chance with his next text, puts his heart on the line.
Bucky: Are we good?
Y/N: We’re great, Barnes
Y/N: Best friends, I would say
Bucky breathes a laugh. He sets his phone down, moves to get dressed, suddenly feeling like a weight has been lifted from his chest.
Something of a routine starts after that conversation. For weeks, a bundle of books will show up on his doorstep, tied with string. A bag of takeout from a restaurant Bucky has never been to, but usually ends up loving, will arrive with just a knock.
A blossoming friendship, one might say.
One day, things are a little too much for Bucky-everything is just too loud.
He wants a break, is all.
So, when he lays down on his living room floor, cool wood against his head, it’s entirely innocent in its motivations.
Ignoring his phone calls might have been a bad addition to his plan.
He's not sure how long he’s been laying on the ground when the pounding at his door jars him.
“Bucky!” Sam yells. “Are you okay in there? Do I need to call Shuri?”
“What? No.” Bucky shakes his head, rolling back and forth against the floor.
Super soldier hearing picks up on Sam’s scoff. “Well, somebody might know that if you would pick up your phone.”
Then, “How you holding up, Barnes?”
Bucky angles his head so he can follow the voice. He spots you just in time to see you crawl through the window from his fire escape.
You look at Bucky’s closed front door. “I thought you tried the fire escape.”
“Don’t tell me that’s how you got in?”
“How else?”
Bucky interrupts your bickering. “You called her?”
“Of course I did,” Sam replies. “Nobody else could get you up. Since you were playing like you had left the 21st century.”
“Who says I have to get up?” Bucky grumbles.
You maneuver onto the floor, lay down next to Bucky. You hit his arm lightly with your hand. “What’s our objective here?”
“Don’t really have one.” Bucky shrugs.
You hum. “That works.”
Bucky sighs. “It’s just, the phone–it won’t stop ringing. Between Dr. Raynor and Sam and Steve and fucking talk shows wanting to talk to the Winter Soldier…” Bucky trails off, shakes his head. “There’s never any quiet.” He sighs. “And it’s gotta be me, because I should want to do those things. I should want to go to therapy and hang out with Sam and visit Steve, but…all I want to do is stare at this ceiling.”
You don’t mention the fact that Bucky left you off the list, and he’s grateful. He doesn’t think he could tackle that particular ball of emotion, those particular feelings blooming in his chest, right now.
“For how long?”
“Just a bit. Just…long enough for some…”
Bucky nods. “Peace.”
As if to further make his point, the phone begins to chime where it lays next to him.
Bucky groans, waits for the sound to stop.
When it’s silence once again, you speak. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Bucky. Nobody is meant to go go go all the time.” You chuckle. “People aren’t designed that way, we’re not built for it.” You take a deep breath. “So, if you want to stare at the ceiling until you feel okay again, I’ll wait with you.”
Bucky’s heart constricts. His hand reaches out, finds yours laying next to him–inches away. Cautiously, his hand snakes over yours, intertwines your fingers. He’s expecting lots of things to happen after that, but none of them are for you to squeeze his hand, start to rub your thumb back and forth.
Suddenly, nothing matters–not Sam still in the hall, not the ever present ringing of his phone. The world shrinks until it’s only the two of you.
Sometime later, the light of the moon sneaking in through his windows, Bucky sits up. There's a knot in between his shoulder blades and he stretches his hands above his head, tries to remember how to move.
“It’s late.” He yawns.
You sit up, nod. “I should get home. Are you feeling okay?”
“Much better.” Bucky nods, smiles. “You know,” Bucky starts, “you could just stay here. If you want.”
Bucky doesn’t chance a glance at you, but he can hear the shock in your voice.
“That’d be great. Thank you, Bucky.”
“It’s no problem.” Bucky shrugs. “You can take the bed; I’ll sleep out here.”
“Nope.” You shake your head. “You just started sleeping in your bed, no way I’m letting you go back to the floor.” You stand, offer him your hand. “We can share.”
Bucky tries to ignore the way his stomach flips, lets you help him up. “Sure.” He nods, unable to argue with the look in your eyes.
Bucky's nerves are ablaze. He can feel you, inches away, like a fire.
The covers move as you pull them over you. “Goodnight.”
Bucky rolls onto his side. “G’night.”
Bucky can tell you’re not asleep. Maybe it’s that knowledge that propels him forward, makes him roll over and speak the words he’s been holding in for too long.  
“I’m in love with you.” He blurts. “I know we’re friends, and I know I’m ruining this, but...” He trails off. “I just can’t help it. I can’t not tell you.”
You're silent, and Bucky assumes that must mean something awful, so he keeps talking.
“This doesn’t have to change anything.” He shakes his head, trying to convince you or himself-he's not sure.
“Bucky, calm down.”
He looks into your eyes, takes several deep breaths.
Your hand reaches, cradles his cheek. “I love you too,” you murmur.
Bucky leans in, drawn like a magnet.  
Never stood a chance, really.
The feel of your lips against his makes something click into place in his chest, something that was broken a long time ago.
Suddenly, he’s immensely grateful for bookstores, and new love.  
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blackberrybucky · 12 days ago
baby, i still see ya
A/N: hi this is v fluffy like past relationship getting back together with sam
summary: sam comes home, the future calling to him. he sees you again, and gets a little caught up in the past
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The weeping willows are heavy with greenery as he drives into town. The scent of magnolias travels inside the car through his open windows. He pulls up to the dock, gets out.
He's accosted by hugs he welcomes, greetings from family and old friends. It's not until later that the question he’s been dreading is asked.
By his own sister, no less.
“Have you seen her yet?”
Sam shakes his head. “No.”
“But you’re going to?”
He busies himself with unloading boxes from the delivery truck, trying not to meet Sarah’s eyes.
“You’re not going to?” Sarah scoffs. “Are you kidding me?”
“I’ll handle it.”
Sam breathes a laugh. “You’ll handle me and my ex?”
She nods, signing the papers the driver hands her. “Of course. What else is new?”
“How do you plan on doing that?”
Sam should have known Sarah’s plan would make his day miserable.
He walks into the yard of his childhood home, sounds of the party quieting behind him. He’s almost found a slice of peace when a voice that throws him into the past.
“Look what the cat dragged in.”
He turns, sees you walking towards him-beautiful as you ever were.
You smile, that same twinkle in your eye. “Captain America, huh?”
Sam huffs a laugh. “You saw that?”
“Kinda hard not to.” You smirk, start to walk backwards, back to the party. “Don’t you worry, Wilson. To me, you’re the same guy you used to be.”
Sam smiles. He wants to reach out-would, if circumstances were different.
If you were still his.
“That’s good to know,” he calls to your shrinking form.
You grin. “You just call me when you need a reminder.”
Then you’re slipping back into the crowd, and Sam is still frozen where he stands, wondering why he ever wanted to leave.
He makes it an admirable two days before calling you, your old phone number ringing just like always.
“Hi.” Sam can hear the warmth in your voice. Dimly, he wonders if that warmth is for him, or just how you answer the phone nowadays.
“Hey,” he replies. “It’s Sam.”
You chuckle. “I picked up on that.”
“Oh, right.” Sam laughs.
“What’d you need, Sam?”
He licks his lips; summons the courage he leans on every time he flies.
“You wanna go for a walk?”
There’s a smile in your voice. “A walk would be nice.”
The mausoleums rise from the ground on all sides. Some old-covered in moss-some much newer. You and Sam walk alongside each other, traveling among the rows.
“I don’t know.” Sam shrugs, shoulder knocking against yours. “It’s cool and all-the missions, saving the world.” He nods. “I know it’s what I should be doing.”
He glances at you, your steady presence at his side. He smiles, albeit sadly. “I miss home. I miss Sarah and AJ and Cass.”
And you.
You nod, just to let him know you’re listening.
He sighs. “I know that’s silly-completely miniscule compared to some of the world’s problems, but-”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t get to be upset about it.”
He shrugs, eyes lifting to the sky, watching the clouds drift overhead. “I guess.”
Your hand finds his, fingers slipping between his own. You stop walking, bring Sam to a stop as well.
The easy intimacy of your skin against his-the way you’d taken his hand like no time at all had passed-lights Sam’s nerves ablaze.
“Sam, really.”
The sincerity in your voice draws Sam’s eyes back to you.
“You fight for the whole world. The least you deserve is a moment to worry about yourself.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Sam scoffs.
“You may as well.” You start to walk again, the two of you falling into step with each other. “You know I’m always right.”
Sam isn’t sure what makes him do it. It could be the way the sun is shining on you right now, or your unfailing support.
Maybe he just misses you.
He leans in, hand raising to cradle your cheek, and presses his lips to yours.
Your mouths move together, just like they used to-the familiarity coming back.
Sam pulls away, chest heaving. Your eyes flutter open, look at Sam with open shock.
It's only then that he realizes what he’s done.
He turns on his heel, rushes out of the cemetery.
“You did what?”
“I kissed her,” Sam mumbles, reaching for another plate to dry.
“And this is a bad thing?”
Sam rubs the towel over the plate in aggressive little circles. “Yes.”
Sarah hits his shoulder with a soapy hand-a punch he isn’t expecting that makes him shuffle on his feet. He glares at his sister. Looking at her, he finds a look eerily close to one that used to pass over their mother’s face. “Sam, don’t be dumb.”
“How am I being dumb?”
“You know exactly how.”
Sam chuckles humorlessly. “Maybe you could tell me. Then we’ll be sure we’re on the same page.”
Sarah sighs, takes the towel from Sam and dries her hands.
“You missed her since you left.”
“I mean-”
Sarah raises a hand, cuts him off. “I’m not done.”
Sam quiets, leans against the counter and listens.
“She’s missed you just the same. I know your life is complicated, and I know you can’t stay here constantly.” Sarah shrugs. “But why does that mean you’ve gotta be lonely? You don’t have to spend your life alone just because you’re Captain America.”
“Not you too.”
Sarah waves a hand. “You’re still my annoying brother, don’t worry.”
Sam quirks a brow, amused smile playing at his lips. “Thanks so much, sis.”
Sarah sighs. “What I’m trying to say is that she loves you.” She pauses, shakes her head. “Just as much as she always did. If you have to go save the world, she’s gonna be right here with the rest of us, waiting on you to come home.”
Sam shakes his head. “She shouldn’t have to. I don’t want to make her pause her life. She doesn’t deserve that.”
“She wants to,” Sarah says, not a trace of hesitation in her voice. “You shouldn’t take that choice away from her.”
Hope lights in Sam’s gut despite himself. He blows out a breath laced with frustration. “Let’s just get back to the dishes.”
“Fine.” Sarah sticks her hands back into the soapy water. “But promise me you’ll think about it?”
Sam nods, not sure he means it. “I promise.”
It's later that night, that Sam finds himself outside your window, tossing pebbles, feeling like a teenager. Soon, the window raises, and your head pops out.
“Sam? What are you doing here?”
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
He shakes his head, glances at the ground before looking up at you again. “I’ve missed you for such a long time.” He smiles, a longing thing. “I didn’t want to ruin your life.” He shrugs. “I didn’t want you to feel like you were stuck.”
You shake your head; a look Sam can’t decipher on your face. “I would never feel that way.”
Sam’s tongue sneaks out, wets his lips. “You wanna come down here?”
You grin, nodding frantically, and soon enough you’re right in front of Sam-close enough to touch.
He reaches out, wraps his arms around your waist. “I wanna try again,” Sam murmurs, his hands beginning to rub up and down your biceps. “Can we? Please?”
“I’d like that.” You smile.
Sam starts to lean in, give into the urge to kiss you, but you beat him to it. With one hand on his chest, your other comes up, cups his cheek and pulls him forward-your lips colliding.
Sam is suddenly blinding grateful to be home.
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blackberrybucky · 12 days ago
pretending to not feel alone
A/N: i dunno about this? the emotions might be off, but i really like it
summary: bucky, hopeless romantic, meets you, committed cynic. what could go wrong?
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Bucky opens the overhead bin, shoves his suitcase inside. His row is empty now, but he’s sure it won’t stay that way.
He's not that lucky.
He slides in, taking the window seat. Just as he’s getting comfortable, someone stops at his row, shoving their own luggage into the overhead bin. You sit down next to him. When the plane takes off, and it becomes blatantly obvious no one else will be filling up your row, Bucky speaks.
“Where are you off to?”
You cock your head. “I would have thought that was pretty obvious, considering we’re on the same plane.”
Bucky laughs. “No, I just mean what are you traveling for.”
You chuckle. “I want to see the ocean. You?”
“A couple of my friends-Sam and Natasha-they're getting married.”
You hum. “You’ll have to congratulate the happy couple for me.”
Bucky smiles. “Will do.”
After that, the two of you fall into an easy silence.
He's not sure what it is-the darkness outside, or the twinkling lights of the cities below, but Bucky feels bolder than he had earlier.
He turns to you, takes in your profile. There’s a book open in front of you-one you seem enthralled in. “What happened that made you so sad?”
You look at him, something almost like amusement in your eyes. You pick up your bookmark, mark your page before closing your book and setting it to the side. “What makes you think I wasn’t always a cynic?”
He shakes his head, smile forming. “You’re not a cynic.”
“No.” His head falls against his seat. “You’re just sad. It’s written all over your face.”
“Most of my relationships have ended in me being cheated on.” You sigh, shrug a little. “After a while you have to figure people are liars. I’ll always love you, you’re the one.” You wave your hand-dismissive, and roll your eyes. “They always wake up one day and break your heart.”
Bucky hums. “Not always.”
You chuckle. “Let me guess. You’re one of those people that believe in soulmates? Everlasting love?”
“I am, actually.” Bucky laughs, though embarrassment sparks in his gut.
Your voice takes on a mocking tone. “There’s someone for everybody.”
“What’s so wrong with that?”
“Nothing.” You shake your head. “Maybe that’ll work out for you.”
Bucky’s laugh is a humorless thing. “It hasn’t so far.”
He thinks of Dottie, even though it was so many years ago. He can still see the hollowness in her eyes, the unfeeling way she had told him she didn’t love him anymore.
He shakes off the memory, focuses on you–real and solid in front of him, twinkle in your eye.
“I’m telling you, Bucky, I’ve got the right idea.” You smirk. “Come to the dark side.”
“You got anything to offer? Cookies?”
You reach for the bag of ginger cookies sitting on the tray in front of you. “These work?”
“Perfect!” Bucky laughs.
You rip open the bag, take a cookie before offering it to Bucky.
“So, love has never crushed you?”
Bucky takes a cookie, starts to chew. “Oh, it has.” He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to let go of the fantasy, I guess. No matter what you have to go through, there’s someone out there that will make it all seem worth it.”
You hum. “What was she like?”
Bucky doesn’t reply, can’t bring himself to.
“Or he.” You add hastily. “Whatever you’re into.”
“Her name was Dorothy, but I always called her Dottie.”
“Pretty name.” You nod.
“We were together for four years, met right after college.”
You smile. “Bright eyed and ready to take on the world?”
“Something like that.” Bucky chuckles. “She got a new job-she was a journalist; still is I guess.” He sighs. “She met this guy, and suddenly I wasn’t even on her radar.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was years ago.” Bucky shrugs. “I got over it.”
“And that didn’t make a cynic out of you?”
Bucky purses his lips, shakes his head. “I mean, it broke my heart, but it really just made me look forward to the right person.”
“Hm.” You pause, seem to be considering something. “I must not have that gene.”
You shrug. “After I’m wronged, I just get angry-pretend you don’t exist, raging hatred angry.”
“So, what was he like? Or she.” Bucky mirrors your question back at you.
You chuckle. “I’m sorry. You have to be a level six friend to unlock my tragic backstory.” Your eyes turn, face the back of the chair in front of you. “Stay tuned,” you murmur.
“Really? I don’t even get a hint.”
Bucky tries to ignore the embarrassment swirling in his gut. He feels vulnerable, too exposed. He’d offered his heart up thinking you would return the favor.
You shrug. “Can’t give away everything all at once, now, can I?”
Bucky makes a disgruntled sound, watches as you open your book-conversation over. He searches in his pocket for his headphones, mumbles, “It was nice talking to you too,” before putting them in his ears.
“Thank you for choosing our airline,” the pilot says over the loudspeaker. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your flight.”
All the passengers are making their way off the plane-a flurry of movement. Somehow, you and Bucky fall into step with each other, walk side by side through the airport.
It hits him as you’re picking up your bags from the baggage claim that his time with you is coming to a close. The awkwardness of your earlier conversation seems to have fallen away, and Bucky can’t deny the need to see you again. There's something about you that he just can’t shake.
After all, what’s life without a little risk?
The words bubble up until he can’t hold them in any longer.
“I know I don’t know you.” He starts.
You turn around, shock etched on your face, bags forgotten at your feet.
“Not really. I don’t know your favorite color, or if you ever took family vacations.” Bucky chuckles, shakes his head. “But I know the things that scare you. I can see the cracks in your heart, the scars, and I care about you. More than I have anyone in a long time. I want to get to know you better.” He takes a deep breath. “Come to the wedding with me.”
“I know we just met.” Bucky chuckles. “But c’mon, you can’t deny that we have a connection.”
“Yes, I can.”
Bucky’s heart lurches. “What?”
“We’re strangers.” You scoff. “You’ve seen a very small slice of who I am, and if you saw the real thing...” You trail off, shake your head. “I’m not what you want. There’s somebody out there for you that believes in the same things you do, that wants that soul changing kind of love, but it isn’t me. There’s no point in pretending that it is.”
“How do we know unless we try?”
You reach for the handle of your suitcase, walk towards Bucky. You put a hand on his cheek, and it takes all of Bucky’s restraint not to lean into the touch. You cock your head, eyes narrowing slightly. “I know,” you whisper, but Bucky hears it like you’re screaming, even in the crowded airport.
You lean in, press a soft, quick kiss to his lips.
Bucky's eyes fall shut before he can stop it.
You pull away, and Bucky feels his knees wobbling. There's a small smile as you murmur, “Bye, Bucky.”
Bucky watches you walk away, shocked to stillness in the middle of the crowd.
He can’t help feeling like he’s missed out on something.
Bucky goes through the motions of leaving the airport-finds his bags, rents a car. It's just started raining when he gets outside.
Great, the sky is reflecting his mood.
He gets in the car, drives away.
It’s pouring, stars beginning to dot the sky, by the time Bucky pulls into the hotel parking lot. He knows he doesn’t have an umbrella, but he turns in his seat, scans the backseat for one anyway.
He gets his jacket from the passenger seat, slips it on and pulls up the hood before he opens the door, gets out.
He stops short when he hears his name-barely audible over the rain.
He turns, follows the sound-shocked to the bone to see you standing there.
You run towards him; jacket pulled tightly around you.
You come to a stop in front of him.
“My college boyfriend. He went home for the Holiday’s and I couldn’t go.” You shake your head, shrug. “He met a girl. They dated for weeks before I figured it out.” You pause. “I’ve never forgiven him.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
There’s wetness at your lashes, but Bucky can’t tell if it’s rain or tears.
“I don’t know why.” You scoff. “I do know why. I wanted to. I just...” You pause, shake your head. “I didn’t want you to get too close. If I told you too much, you could hurt me.” Your voice lowers, almost a whisper. “And I’m so afraid of being hurt again.”
“Me too.” Bucky reaches out-can't help it-fingers running softly up and down your arms. He chances his luck. “Maybe we can be afraid together?”
You smile-bright in the dark, rainy night. “I’d like that.”
Bucky leans in, drawn to you like a moth to a flame. His lips meet yours and something deep in his chest clicks into place.
You only pull apart when you both need to breath.
“Twice,” you murmur against his lips.
“We went on a family vacation twice. Both really happy experiences.” You smile, almost to yourself, shrug. “We just stopped.”
“Where’d you go?”
“The ocean. Always the ocean.”
“So this trip…”
You nod. “I wanted to go again.”
“Maybe after the wedding, we could go together.” Bucky hastily adds, “If you want to come with me, obviously.”
You try to suppress a smile, tongue darting out to wet your lips. “That could be fun.” You nod.
“Oh, really?” Bucky laughs. “I don’t even have to convince you?”
His arm wraps around your shoulders, leads you inside the hotel. “I know we’ve just had a bit of an emotional breakthrough here, but I didn’t think you’d get soft on me that quick.”
“I just have to meet these friends of yours.” You chuckle, arm snaking around his waist. “Anyone that could put up with you deserves a gold medal.”
“Look out folks, she’s got jokes.”
You lean into Bucky’s side, making yourself comfortable.
Suddenly, Bucky doesn’t even notice the rain, too caught up in his stroke of luck.
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blackberrybucky · 21 days ago
sweet surrender, what a night
A/N: i've been thinking about this for like two weeks and i finally wrote it. it's just v fluffy smut
psa: please don't read unless you're 18+
summary: on a regular night out, bucky meets you
main masterlist
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Bucky's door flies open, bounces against the wall. A few seconds later, Steve’s face pops inside. He claps his hands, throws a thick folder onto Bucky’s desk.
“Are you ready?”
The pen in Bucky’s hand sails across the paper. Tongue stuck between his teeth, he mutters, “Just...two...more...” Signing his name one last time, he puts the pen cap on, looks up at Steve. “Done.”
He rises, finds his jacket and slings it on. “Ready.”
Steve claps him on the shoulder, ushers him out his office door. “I was starting to wonder if you’d given up going out.”
Bucky grins, a wolfish thing. “Never.”
Steve laughs, grabs Bucky’s shoulders. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Wilson’s is like a beacon, a lighthouse calling to him. Bucky pulls the door open, lets Steve pass by him.
“Sam!” Steve hollers, affectionate smile already on his face. “A bottle of your finest cognac, please.”
Bucky follows after him, squeezing through the throngs of people. Steve shoulders in between the people at the bar, leans against the counter.
Sam comes up, two beers in hand. “For you two? Nah.” He scoffs, shakes his head. “You won’t even remember what it tasted like tomorrow.”
Steve picks up the bottle, takes a long drink. “I resent that.”
Sam huffs. “Mhm. I’m sure you do.” There’s something like affection in his eyes when he adds, “You two have a good night.”
Bucky is searching the crowd when he sees you. He stops immediately, nearly does a double take. Downing the rest of his beer, he sets it down on the bar. “I’ll be back.”
Steve turns, follows Bucky’s eye. He scoffs. “If you’re lucky, I won’t be seeing you until tomorrow.”
Bucky claps him on the shoulder, nods. “Here’s hoping I’ve seen the last of your face for the night.”
Steve raises his glass, a mock toast, and Bucky is cutting through the crowd.
The redhead you’re with seems to notice him, leans in to whisper in your ear. You try to be coy, make the way you turn to look a secret.
You fail miserably. The way you cast your eyes over your shoulder is blatantly obvious, and Bucky has to bite his lip to keep from laughing.
When he reaches you, he gives you his most charming smile, speaks over the thumping of the music. “My names Bucky.” He offers his hand. “What’s yours?”
The redhead at your side interjects. “We were just leaving.”
“Oh?” He looks back at you. “You were?”
You glance at her, the hint of a glare in your eyes. “I’ll meet you outside.”
“Five minutes.”
You nod. “Five minutes.”
She glares at Bucky.
“It’s been a real pleasure meeting you.”
She scoffs, rolls her eyes. “It’s been the highlight of my week, truly, to be graced with your presence.”
She turns, makes her way through the crowd until she disappears.
“Well, she’s just a delight.” Bucky chuckles.
You shrug. “She’s nice, when you get to know her.”
He nods.
“So,” Bucky starts.
“I, uh, I couldn’t help but notice you over here.”
“I noticed you too.”
“Oh, you did?”
A smirk starts on Bucky’s face, but then you say, “There was a clock over your head.”
He deflates. “Oh.” He turns, looks at where he came from, but he doesn’t see a clock. He looks back at you, finds you laughing. The prick of embarrassment settles, and he breathes out a chuckle. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” You nod.
“You’re playing hard to get.”
You shrug, shift your weight. There’s mischief in your eyes when you say, “Maybe a little.”
Bucky’s tongue sneaks out, wets his lips. “I can work with that.”
Bucky opens the door, walks inside, you close behind him. He flips the light switch, gestures around the apartment.
“Make yourself at home.” He shrugs off his jacket, hangs it up. “You want a drink or anything?”
“I’m okay.”
Bucky nods, claps his hands in front of him, suddenly nervous. “So...”
It feels a bit silly, standing in his own living room feeling like he doesn’t belong there. He considers you for a minute. You’re smiling-a soft thing-taking up space in his apartment like you’ve always been there. He thinks his next move won’t be entirely unwelcome as he crosses the room, takes your face in his hands and kiss you.
You kiss him back, lips moving in tandem with his own. One of Bucky’s hands leaves the side of your face, comes down to wrap around your waist, pulls you closer.
You pull away before Bucky gets the chance to explore your mouth. “Your bedroom? Can we go?”
Bucky nods, struck a bit dumb. He wraps a hand around each of your thighs, picks you up and starts in the direction of his bedroom.
Your lips start a path down the side of his neck, nosing along the collar of his shirt. Your teeth graze his pulse point, dig in just enough to force a gasp out of Bucky.
“Doll.” He sighs.
Never separating your lips from his neck, you breath out a, “Hm? Something you like?”
Against you, his cock just grows harder, pushing against the zipper of his pants.
He chuckles, digging his fingers into your thighs. “Yeah.” He takes his lip between his teeth, rocks his hips against you. “Just a little.”
Your hands come up, settle on either side of his face. “Oh,” you hum, hips rutting against his length, “I’d say that’s more than a little.” You smirk. “Don’t sell yourself short.”
Bucky carries you across the threshold of his bedroom, lays you down on the bed. Eager fingers travel down the buttons of his shirt, undo each one. He pops the button on his pants, yanks them down his legs before crawling onto the bed, hovering over you. His lips attach to yours immediately–drawn to you. Your legs wrap around his hips, heels digging into his ass. With a move that shocks Bucky, you flip the pair of you, your thighs settling on his hips.
Bucky rests his hands on your thighs, thumbs rubbing against the soft skin. The dress you’re wearing has gathered at the tops of your thighs, pushed up by your position. You take the hem in your hands, pull it over your head. A lump forms in his throat at all the new skin.
Leaning forward, your chest presses against his, your nipples like fire against him. You start a trail of kisses along his neck. Your teeth drag along the skin of his pulse point, draw a strangled groan out of Bucky. You continue your kisses as you traveled further downward, stopping to lave your tongue over each of his nipples, drawing a gasp from Bucky. You look up, wink at him–devilish look in your eyes.
You reach his thighs, scratch your nails along the skin. Teasing, you trailed kisses along his left thigh, skipping completely over where he desperately wanted your mouth, giving the right the same treatment. You inch closer to his cock, leaving kitten licks on his balls.
Finally, you give Bucky some relief, tongue licking a stripe along his length. A low moan escapes him as your lips wrap around the head. Your head sinks down, taking as much of him as you can. Your head bobs, tongue sliding over him. Your hand comes up, wraps around the part of him missing from the warm of your mouth.
Bucky sighs, sinks into the mattress. "Doll, you gotta- you gotta stop.” He moans. “I'm gonna, ah, cum."
You release him with a pop, string of saliva keeping you connected to his dick. You grin at him, move to straddle him once again. You wrap your hand around his length, guide it to your center and sink down. At the feel of you, Bucky’s fingers dig into your thighs.
“Fuck.” Bucky sighs, a soft, needy thing.
You lean over, lips meeting his. “That’s the idea, baby,” you murmur.
Your hips rock against him, driving Bucky wild, his own surging up to meet yours. He holds back the waves of his orgasm, waiting until you start to shiver on top of him before spilling his release.
Bucky wakes alone, hand reaching out almost immediately for you. Coming up empty, his eyes crack open, find that he’s in the bed alone. Last night comes rushing back to him in a tangle of limbs and warmth–he can’t help the grin that shows up on his face.
He rolls out of bed, runs a hand through his hair. It’s only then that he notices the note on his nightstand–what looks like a hasty scrawl of your name and number.
If he runs to the phone in his living room, tripping over himself, well then, nobody needs to know that but him.
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tags: @bitchassbucky @inthorantine @mostly-marvel-musings @dannosteve223 @bonkywobble @babyb3ar @peterssweetpea @belladonnabarnes
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blackberrybucky · 25 days ago
done a lot of things wrong, loving you being one
A/N: bucky is mean in this, and probably ooc. mostly inspired by my ex boyfriend. definite smut. also choking, spanking, slapping, face fucking, name calling. i think that’s it? but let me know if i forgot something!
psa: please don’t read unless you’re 18+
summary: bucky gets angry after you ignore him
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The door opens and there you are, all the questions of the last few hours gone.
“Where were you?”
You jump. “Out.”
Bucky stands, stalks across the room to stand in front of you. He smiles a sickeningly sweet smile, shrugs. “You were out. No big deal.” In one motion, he grabs your shoulders, pushes you up against the door. “Then why didn’t you answer your phone?” He whispers, steely edge to his voice.
“I was busy, baby.”
“Don’t try to sweet talk your way out of this, doll.” He glares. “It won’t fucking work.”
You look at him, kindness in your eyes only serving to make Bucky angry. “I’m not.”
His hand leaves your shoulder, collides with your cheek with a satisfying smack. “Don’t lie to me.”
His flesh hand lifts to wrap around your throat, squeezes. Metal fingers trail along your thigh, inch closer to your center. He wraps them around the fabric of your underwear and pulls, lets the material pool around your ankles. A finger pushes inside of you, forces a gasp out of you. It's soon joined by another-no time for you to adjust.  
“You’re mine.” Bucky is seething, eyes narrowed, words leaving him in deadly whisper. “Going out in this fucking dress?” Bucky chuckles, a humorless thing. “Why didn’t you just go out naked?”
His fingers scissor inside you, quick motions.  
“I like this dress,” you whine.
“Of course you do.” Bucky scoffs.
His fingers fall out of you, come up to run along the neck of your dress. His metal fingers grab at the it, material bunching in his grip. He pulls, seams beginning to pop.
“Bucky, what the-”
His hand around your throat squeezes tighter. “Shut up.”
With little effort, he rips the dress from your body, leaves you naked in front of him.  
“I can’t believe you did that.”
With a hand on your head, he shoves you down, your knees crashing against the floor. He sticks his thumb in your mouth.  
“Open up.”
Your mouth falls open, tongue stuck out. He pulls his sweat pants down his legs, wraps a hand around his length. He hits your cheek with it a few times before pushing inside your mouth. He gets his hand at the back of your head, takes control immediately.
“This is all you’re good for.” Bucky sighs, the heat of your mouth sending shivers down his spine. “All a dumb cunt like you should ever do. Just a couple holes.”
The hand on the back of your head pushes you forward along his length as far as he can before you gag. Then, he holds you there, listens to you struggle for breath-rapid inhales only getting you the smell of Bucky’s dick.
Your hands start to hit his thighs, panic flaring in your eyes.  
He pulls you off, laughs as you gulp breaths of fresh air.
He pulls you up by your shoulders, gets you on your feet again. He bends down, grabs one of your ankles and lifts, hears your back knock against the door as he throws you off balance. He does the same to the other one, picks up your underwear where they’d landed.  
Rising back to his full height, he shoves them into your mouth. “I said,” he starts, “shut up.” He wraps his arm around your waist, throws you over his shoulder.  
He smacks your ass. “I would stop talking.” He chuckles. “If I were you.”
In the bedroom, he tosses you onto the bed. You land on your back, bounce a bit before you seem to settle. Grabbing at your shoulders, he flips you over, face colliding with the sheets. Crawling onto the bed, he manhandles you until he gets you where he wants you-hands and knees, ass in the air. He sticks his fingers in your mouth, pulling the underwear free.
In one motion, he runs his cock along your folds, pushes inside you until his hips are flush with you.
“Dumb bitch,” Bucky grinds out. His flesh hand comes up, presses between your shoulder blades, pushes you into the mattress. “You should know better than to ignore me. Who do you think you are?”  
His metal fingers dig into the flesh of your hip. He uses his grip there to fuck into you harder, hips snapping against yours. His hand moves from your back, wraps around your throat and squeezes.  
You come to life with a gasp.  
He bends forward, skin of his chest meeting your bare back. He finds your ear, whispers directly into it. “I asked you a question.”
He backs away but keeps the hand wrapped around your throat. His metal hand leaves your hip, cuts through the air and collides with your ass with a thwack.  
You cry out, a ragged thing that sounds achingly close to a moan.
He chuckles, gives a particularly brutal thrust. “You think you can just leave your boyfriend at home, go out and have a good time, and never think about him?” He smacks your ass again. “I don’t fucking think so.”  
“I did,” you pant, “I did think about you.”
Bucky laughs, though there’s no trace of humor in it. “Right. I’m sure you did.”
He smacks your ass several more times, gut lighting with a thrill of excitement at the way you jump each time.
“Bucky, please.”
“Please, what?”
Bucky gives a hard thrust, chuckles at the moan it pulls from you.  
“Please, please let me cum.”
“You think you deserve it?” Bucky hums.
“No,” you start. “Not at all. But please, I’ll try to earn it. If you’ll just let me cum, I’ll be so good for you.”
He gives your ass one more hit. “Fine. Cum.”
A few minutes later, you start to shake around him. Bucky follows you over the edge, spilling into you.
Bucky pulls out, flops onto the bed next to you. You move, settle onto your stomach, head resting on a pillow. His arm reaches out, wraps around your waist and pulls you against his side.  
You sigh, nuzzling into him. “Love you.”
“I love you too.” He kisses your temple. “It’s the only reason I want to know where you are. I wanna make sure you’re okay.”
“I know.” Your hand snakes around his middle. “M’sorry. I’ll be better.”
Easy fingers run up and down your arm. “I know you will.”
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tags: @bitchassbucky​ @inthorantine​ @mostly-marvel-musings​ @dannosteve223​ @bonkywobble​ @babyb3ar​ @peterssweetpea​ @belladonnabarnes​
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blackberrybucky · 28 days ago
darling, if i could, i would fall for someone good
A/N: i have sent FAR too many texts to my ex over the last few days, so i wrote this. ta da! it’s got unhealthy relationships, for sure. also smut.
psa: please don’t read unless you’re 18+
summary: you and bucky have broken up, but that doesn't mean you know how to let each other go
main masterlist
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Bucky's phone chimes, the ringtone reserved for only you piercing the silence of his apartment.
Do Not Text: Are you busy?
Do Not Text: I thought maybe I could come over.
Is he busy? Yes. Obviously. From where he sits on the couch, he looks around at the empty room. No tv on, no music–completely alone.
He's the furthest thing from busy.
Bucky: I’m not busy.
Those awful dots appear, and it takes only a few seconds for your response to come through.
Do Not Text: Great! I’ll see you soon.
Bucky stands up, rushes down the hallway to throw his bed together. He knows you’re not under the impression his life is together, but he’d like to at least pretend it is.
Keep up the illusion and all.
Not even twenty minutes later, his phone chimes.
Do Not Text: Let me in.
Do Not Text: It’s hot out here.
Bucky buzzes you in, opens his front door. He stands in the doorway while you walk up, heart clenching when he sees you. When you reach him, you grin, snake an arm around his waist before you pass him. Squeeze his waist as you say, “Hi, baby.” The nickname rolling off your tongue like honey.
Bucky wants to scream.
“Hi.” He turns, shuts the door behind you.
“How are you?”
Bucky shrugs. “Good.”
You toe off your shoes. “Oh, I’m great too. No need asking.”
Bucky chuckles, goes to sit on the couch. “M’sorry, doll. How are you?”
“I’m good.” Suddenly, you’re in front of him, moving to straddle his lap. You grin, knees settle on either side of his hips. “Much better now.”
Bucky doesn’t have a chance to say anything else, you lean in, kiss him soundly. You waste no time licking your way into Bucky’s mouth, letting your tongues mingle together. Your hands come up, brace on his chest, thumbs rubbing maddeningly gentle circles against the skin there. Bucky’s hands find the skin of your thighs, bare from the dress you’re wearing. His thumbs slip under the hem, trail higher.
He should make a note to thank whoever invented sundresses.
He rucks the hem up, settles it around your hips. The soft flesh of your inner thighs is presented to him, and Bucky finds that you’re not wearing any underwear.
He breaks the kiss, lets out a groan.
You chuckle, lips traveling to the side. “You like that?” You take his ear lobe between your teeth, graze them along it.
Bucky's fingers dig into your thighs. There’s a thickness starting in his throat, a roughness beginning to shape his voice. He licks his lips. “Yeah, doll.”
Your hand comes up, cradles the side of his face. Your lips move to his neck. “No one’s ever gonna love me like you do.” You murmur, kissing along his neck. “Nobody’s ever gonna know me so well.”
Bucky doesn’t have the chance to reply, though he’s not sure what he would say anyway. Your hand leaves his neck, slides between the both of you. Your fingers slip into his sweatpants, wrapping along his length. He lets out a breathy sigh.
You kiss him. “M’gonna be so good to you.”
Words caught in his throat, his hand goes to your center, fingers moving through your folds. Bucky finds you already slick. Gathering some on his fingers, he slips two into you–no preamble.
His name leaves your lips as a breathy moan.
Your hand picks up the pace on his cock, rubbing your thumb over the head on each upstroke. The sensations–your hand on him, your walls around his fingers–it's too much. Bucky has to lean in, kiss you. Your lips part, let his tongue into your mouth. Bucky pulls away, forehead leaning against your own. His fingers stilling inside you.
He sighs. “ gotta- I'm-”
You shush him, free hand coming up to card through his hair. “Mm, I know.”
Your hips lift, Bucky’s fingers falling free. You guide his dick to your center, sink down onto it before Bucky has a chance to process what’s happening.
He lets out a ragged breath when your hips are flush with his own.
“Baby, you gotta...”
You kiss him soundly, hips starting to rock against him. You murmur against his lips, “I’ll take care of you, honey.” Another press of your lips. “Gonna be so good to you.”
Bucky gets close too soon–too overwhelmed. All it takes is a few well–timed rolls of your hips and the feel of you falling over the edge to make him spill inside of you.
When it’s over, you press a lingering kiss to his lips, slide off his lap. You start off in the direction of his bathroom, shedding pieces of clothing as you go. As you walk into the bathroom, Bucky hears you call, “Are you coming?” Then the shower comes to life.
Of course he is.
He’s off the couch, hopping to shed his sweatpants.
You toweling off, miles of skin on display. Bucky is trying to pay attention to the words coming out of your mouth, though it’s becoming increasingly difficult.
“You know, we should really stop meeting like this.” You sigh. “We broke up for a reason.”
Bucky shrugs. “Because we were bad at being in a relationship.” His tongue sneaks out, licks along his lips. “This though?” He nods, wraps his arms around your waist, skin meeting yours.
His chest feels like it’s on fire–alight with the flames that only being with you gives him.
“We’re great at this.” Leaning in, he kisses you, a quick press of a thing, murmurs, “Always were.”
Your hand comes up, cradles the side of his face. “Yeah.” You chuckle. “If all we’d tried to do was have sex, everything would have been fine.”
“Exactly.” Bucky sighs. “Why would you wanna end something so good?”
You smirk, a breathy chuckle escaping you. “Because it’s bad. For both of us.”
Bucky leans in, kisses you–a lingering press of his lips.
“C’mon, doll. Don’t do this.”
Bucky can see the gears turning in your mind, can see you weighing your options. There’s a sigh and then you surge forward, connect your lips to his.
The kiss doesn’t last long enough for Bucky. You pull away, finish getting ready. Bucky does too, sneaks out of the bathroom find his clothes.
Before he’s ready for it, you’re standing in front of him, arms wrapping around his neck. You kiss his cheek, there’s a soft smile and then, “Bye, Bucky.”
It’s a few days later, and Bucky is lulled into complacency. His phone has been silent–nothing at all from you.
Maybe the two of you are really done.
Bucky feels a sick twisting of his gut at the thought, though he really shouldn’t.
Pulling his shirt over his head, he crawls into bed. On the verge of sleep, that familiar text tone chimes.
Bucky can’t help but grin.
Do Not Text: Can I come over? I miss you.
Bucky: Sure, doll. I'll be waiting.
He sets his phone on his nightstand, gets out of bed. He goes to his window, waits for the sight of your car to roll down his street.
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tags: @bitchassbucky​ @inthorantine​ @mostly-marvel-musings​ @dannosteve223​ @bonkywobble​ @babyb3ar​ @peterssweetpea​ @belladonnabarnes​
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blackberrybucky · 28 days ago
if i could fly, i’d be coming right back home to you
A/N: please ignore my ignorance of like? physics? put on your suspension of disbelief hats okay?
summary: exile over, sam comes home to you
main masterlist
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Sam climbs the ladder leading to your fire escape. It’s strange, this act of coming back to you. He’s been gone too long now-two years feels just like a lifetime. The nerves swirling in his gut are much different than they used to be. Butterflies he had once cherished have turned into the sick twisting feeling you get before you do something important.
Something life changing.
He sits on the small balcony outside your window, head in his hands. He can see your curtains are closed, thick panels obscuring his view. Raising a fist, he moves to knock, but stops short. What if you’ve moved on? What if his heart is about to be broken?
Swallowing down the nerves, he knocks anyway, unable to help himself. Seeing you again had been one of his motivations-a driving force pulling him through his life in exile. He can’t deny himself now.
Fabric pulls back, and he can see the shadow of your face peek through the window, the moon reflecting just enough light for him to see your eyes spark with recognition. Then, before he can even smile at you, you’re gone.
Sam's heart drops.
He stands, starts to turn around when he sees a light flick on in your apartment. You're back at the window, pulling in open and crawling out into the night before Sam can blink.
Your arms wrap around his middle, squeeze him tightly. Your voice is quiet when you speak, but Sam hears you like you’re shouting-speaking directly to his soul. “I missed you.”
His arms come around you, hold you to him. He kisses your temple before he says, “I missed you too.”
You pull away, only barely. “What are you doing here?”
He looks at you, takes you in for the first time since you’d crawled out the window. You look the same-a little older, maybe, but just as gorgeous.
He shrugs. “I’m done. Steve and Nat-we’re all coming home.”
There’s something close to hope in your eyes. “For good?”
He nods, grin sneaking onto his face. “For good.”
Your arms wrap around him again, hold him close to you.  
You stay like that for several long moments, holding each other, the reality sinking in for both of you.
No more long nights spent alone, wondering about the other. No more looking over his shoulder, tension always in his shoulders, worry always keeping him awake at night.
Sam can’t help but laugh with relief.  
“What?” you murmur.
He kisses your cheek. “I want to show you something.”
Sam wraps his arms around you, grip tight around your stomach.
He can hear the smirk in your voice when you say, “You gonna show me the world?”
Sam grins, wings whirring to life. “Just call me Aladdin, baby.”
It’s been a long time since Sam’s stomach flipped while he was flying–the little swoop of excitement right before you take a dip is just something you get used to after a while, Sam is sad to admit. But with you here, wrapped in his arms, he can feel them all again. Every time you let out a squeal of delight, Sam can’t help but grin.  
The ground is dotted with buildings Sam knows are much bigger than they seem-everything turned to ants from this height. The stars shine overhead, cast a glow on you he wants to capture forever.  
Later, back on the solid ground of your balcony, you crawl back through your widow, beckon Sam in after you.  
You fall asleep with your head on his chest, Sam’s fingers running featherlight touches up and down your arm. He falls asleep grateful to be home.
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tags: @bitchassbucky​ @inthorantine​ @mostly-marvel-musings​ @dannosteve223​ @bonkywobble​ @babyb3ar​ @peterssweetpea​ @belladonnabarnes​
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blackberrybucky · a month ago
i want you to want me
A/N: i love this thor! i’m vv excited about this series😌
summary: thor's already bad day gets that much worse when he runs right into someone in a coffee shop
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Thor sits on his front steps, darkness falling rapidly around him, waiting for something. Waiting for the right tires to squeal along his road, the right pair of headlights to shine in his eyes, the right car to stop in his driveway. Mostly, though, he waits to know if his heart is going to be broken.
The summer of 1985 had changed his life. Whether you showed up tonight or not, he’d never be the same.
Thor walks into the coffee shop in a flurry of movement. His hair is a mess-hadn't had time to fix it properly before he’d rushed out the door. His ear is earringless-his favorite one lost somewhere in the sea of clothes on his bedroom floor.
So, he’s already annoyed.  
Not to mention, he's late. He had told Val he’d help her move things into her new apartment at 10 and it’s going on 9:50. It should really be no surprise when he collides with someone, hot coffee splashing everywhere.
“Really?” He grumbles out.
“I’m so sorry!” A voice exclaims. “That was totally my fault.” With the cluster of napkins in your hand, you begin to dab at his chest. “I can pay for dry cleaning...” You trail off with a shake of your head. “Whatever you need.”
You're in such a tizzy to apologize, Thor hardly has a chance to get a good look at you. When he does, the anger he’d felt melts away, turns into something awfully close to attraction as he notices how pretty you are.
He places a hand over yours where you’re trying to clean the coffee spot now adorning his shirt, stops your movements. “It’s okay, really.” He shakes his head. “This shirt is old.” He looks down at himself, laughs. “Looks terrible anyway. You know there’s a hole in the back? Right at the neck.”
You smile, anxiety seeming to lift from your shoulders. “Oh really?”
Thor winks. “Why else do you think I’m wearing a jacket in the middle of June?”
A laugh escapes you and pride settles in Thor’s chest.  
You nod. “That’s a good point.”
“My name’s Thor.” He offers you his hand. “What’s yours?”
“Thor?” Your eyes narrow. There’s the slightest movement of your shoulder and you nod your head. “Like the god?”
Thor chuckles, tongue peeking out to wet his lips. “Exactly like the god.”
You laugh, eyes giving away exactly none of your feelings about him. “Mine’s Y/N.”  
The people around you seem to disappear, leaving only the two of you. Suddenly, Thor is very grateful he hit the snooze so many times this morning.
He shifts his feet, leans on the table next to him. “Why don’t you let me take you out? Show you a good time.”
“Mm.” You nod. “You think you can?”
“Oh,” Thor smirks, “I definitely can.”
Usually, the witty retorts would be unwelcome-from anyone else in his life, he wouldn’t take it. Today, though, he finds himself undeniably enjoying the way you put him in his place.  
The banter sets his nerves aflame, keeps him pleasantly on his toes.  
You hum, considering. There's a beat of silence before you smile. “Okay.” You sigh. “I’ll go out with you.”
“Well, thank you.” Thor chuckles. “I’ll consider myself very lucky.”  
“It’s only fair. After all,” you shrug, “I did spill coffee all over you.”
You move past Thor, shoulder brushing his, and make for the door.  
He turns, barely catching you before you’re gone. “Wait!” He licks his lips, shifts his weight, and tries to sound a bit less eager before he speaks again. “Your number. Could I have your number?”
You smile, pleased, and walk back towards him. “Do you have a pen?” You take your lip between your teeth, and Thor swallows around the lump in his throat.  
“A pen.” He nods. His hand flies to the pocket inside his leather jacket, fingers wrapping around a pen he’s never been happier to find. “Here you go.”
Your grab his hand, tongue caught between your teeth as you hold it steady, write your number on his skin. When you’re done, you let it fall back down at his side, smile at him. You walk backwards, somehow looking cooler than Thor has ever felt in his life.  
“Call me.”
He nods, struck dumb. “I will.”
You nod, eyes widening just slightly. “You better.”
Then, you disappear, off to face the rest of your day.
Thor stands there, coffee completely forgotten, more awake than he’s felt in weeks.
“You met her in a coffee shop?” Val asks, incredulous. “And she actually seemed interested in you?”
Thor sets down the amp he was carrying, narrows his eyes. “Oh, so you’re a comedian now?” He nods, turns to go back to Val’s van. “Good to know.” He calls over his shoulder. “I take it you won’t be needing this guitar? I can just leave it on the side of the road?”
“You do and I’ll kill you!”
Thor chuckles, picks up the instrument and carries it inside Val’s new place. She’s only had it for a few days, but Val has worked hard to make it her own. Thor is happy for her-hasn’t often seen her this excited.
He hands her the guitar.
“Yes,” he scoffs, “she was interested in me.”
The writing on his hand burns like a brand, a constant reminder of you. The interaction seems almost like a dream now.
Val holds up her hands. “Just checking.” Her eyes narrow, but there’s a smile on her face. “You are a bit of an oaf, you know?”
“Yes, well, that’s up for debate.”
“No, I would tend to agree with her.”
Thor turns, finds his brother walking in carrying absolutely nothing.  
Thor scoffs. “Of course you do.”
“See!” Val waves a hand in Loki’s direction, starts to tune her guitar. “Loki knows what he’s talking about.”
“You and Loki agreeing.” Thor laughs. “That’s something you don’t see every day.”
Val looks up, narrows her eyes as she considers Loki.
“Only when Loki has a point.”
Thor gets home, settles on his couch. He eyes the shirt he’d had on earlier, thinks about the way you’d looked, sun shining perfectly on you as you walked out the door. He blows out a breath, thrums his fingers against his thighs. He can’t stop himself from reaching for the phone. Looking at his hand, your writing scrawled on the skin there, he spins the dial, calls your number.
It rings twice before you pick up.  
He can hear the smile in your voice when you say, “Thor. I’m glad you called.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“Well,” you sigh, “you never know. A cute guy gets coffee spilled all over him, pretends to like the culprit. I’m sure it’s a very common story.”
He smiles, can’t help himself. “I wasn’t pretending.”
“Good to know.”
There's silence on the line, the sound of your voice making Thor lose his train of thought.  
He’s jarred back to life when you say, “So.”
“So. About the coffee.”
“I was thinking.”
“Oh no.” You chuckle.
“I’m not going to let you pay for it-”
“Even though you could,” you cut in.
Thor scoffs. “No way. But I was wondering if you’d wanna come with me.”
“Come with you?”
“While I get it dry cleaned.”
There’s a smile in your voice. “Like a date?”
Thor laughs, a soft, easy thing. “Like a date.” He rolls his shoulders. “Exactly like a date, actually.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Eager, are we?”
Thor smiles. “That was my favorite shirt, you see.”
“Oh, I thought it was awful? Time to get rid of it, I think you said.”
Thor chuckles under his breath. “My favorite to hate, I mean. You’ve got to keep a shirt around that you love to hate.”
Laughter and then, “Tomorrow’s perfect.”
“Great. I’ll see you then.”
“See you.”
Thor hangs up the phone, heart positively thumping in his chest. He laughs to himself.
He’s so screwed.
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tags: @bitchassbucky​ @inthorantine​ @mostly-marvel-musings​ @dannosteve223​ @bonkywobble​ @babyb3ar​ @peterssweetpea​ @belladonnabarnes​
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blackberrybucky · a month ago
but i don’t regret falling for you
A/N: i dunno what timeline this is supposed to be? like if you merged infinity war and endgame together, maybe? i dunno, it doesn't really matter to the story anyway, so i hope y'all like this!
summary: thor comes home with the worst news
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“I’m sorry,” Thor starts. “There was nothing...” he trails off, shakes his head. He looks at the grassy Norwegian hill under your feet. It takes him a long moment before he can look you in the eye again. “There was nothing I could do. Thanos...”
You cut him off. “Thanos is long dead.” You reach out, place a hand on Thor’s shoulder. You can feel his ragged inhales, know he’s counting the moments until he can be by himself-grieve his brother properly. You pull him towards you, wrap your arms around heaving shoulders. “It’s not your fault, Thor,” you murmur into his ear, feel his fingers dig into your shoulder blades. “Everyone knows it isn’t your fault.” You hold him a few more moments, let him release shaky breaths into the skin of your neck, and then you let him go. The two of you share one last tear-filled look and then you’re going your separate ways.
The walk home is short, and before you even realize, you’re pulling your front door closed behind you. It's funny, you think as you look around the house you were supposed to share with Loki. You'd been convinced things would be okay this time-the pair of you could start over here on Midgard. You should have known those dreams would shatter around you.
You make your way upstairs to your bedroom, almost on autopilot-the haze of grief beginning to surround you. You'd lost Loki before, several times. You could do it again if you really had to.
Pulling the covers back, you crawl into bed. Finally alone, your tears are free to fall, and fall they do. You cry for all the things you’ve lost, and all that could have been. Though you’d like to avoid it, you can’t help the images of the past that come to mind like daggers to your heart.
Loki licks his lips, the ghost of a sneer beginning to form. “So. My brother has sent you to watch over me.”
You shrug, look around at the beautiful Asgardian flowers beginning to bloom. “You could call it that, I suppose.”
“What would you call it then?”
“Perhaps I just like talking walks, had you ever considered that?”
Loki chuckles, ducks his head. “You just so happened to choose the meadow I, almost always, frequent?”
“I did.” You nod. “This meadow isn’t just yours, is it?”
“I suppose not.”
Loki looks you over, seems to be pondering something-you can almost see the gears in his head turning. Finally, he shrugs, motions towards the path he was walking. “We may as well walk together, then. If you are so intent on joining me today.”
You smile, shocked at his kindness, and move forward to join him. The two of you fall into step almost immediately.
That had been one of Loki’s favorite stories to tell. Late at night, curled around you, he would whisper the details of that day into your ear. He loved to remember the start of the relationship that had changed his life completely. The memory had used to bring you happiness, peace even. Now, all it did was cause a sob to bubble out of your throat.
You're huddled into an alcove. The noise of the party sounds far off, though you know it’s only a hall or two away. Loki kisses along your neck, takes your earlobe between his teeth for a moment before he speaks.
“Someday, I’ll be a King,” he murmurs. “Someday, all of this pomp and circumstance will be for us. You will be royal, as you always should have been.”
The softest chuckle blows out through your teeth. “Love, you know I don’t care for such things. I’ll be happy with just you and I.”
“I know.” Loki nods. “I know.” He presses a lingering kiss to your cheek. “I am confident we could make a beautiful life together, no matter the place. It’s only that I want to give you those things, the things a royal receives. The people of Asgard will fall over themselves trying to please you.”
You bring a hand up, cradle Loki’s cheek. Leaning forward, you kiss his lips. “I appreciate your devotion to that idea, Loki. I only hope you won’t lose yourself in trying to accomplish it?”
Loki nods. “Never, my darling. I would never throw what we share away.”
The memories of the time you’d shared together are a thick cloud around you, suffocating in their insistence. You choke out a sob, pull the covers tighter around you.
Loki leads you up several steps, hands wrapped around your own.
“Where are we going, Loki?”
He chuckles. “It’s called a surprise for a reason, my love.”
You laugh. “It won’t be much of a surprise if I fall down before I get to see it.”
“Oh, come now.” Loki scoffs. “I would never let you fall.”
You walk along, ground flat under your feet now. Loki releases your hands.
“Let me just open the door.”
“The door?”
Soon, Loki takes your hands again, pulls you along once more.
“Okay. Open your eyes.”
You open them, gasp when you see the gorgeous room surrounding you.
“What is this?”
“This is ours. This is our home.”
“How did you do all this?”
“I had some help.” Loki shrugs. “The how isn’t important right now.”
He closes the distance between you, places a hand on each of your shoulders.
“It isn’t?”
“No.” Loki hums.
Smiling, you ask, “What is important, then?”
“Do you like it?”
You look around, as best you can without leaving Loki. “I do.” You nod. “It’s perfect.”
Loki’s arms slip around you, pull you close. His mouth finds your ear as he whispers, “We may not be royal and we may not live in a palace, but this-being here with you-it's better than royalty ever could have been.”
You'd been so full of dreams then, imagining the way your life would unfold within these walls. Now, those same walls feel only like an aching reminder. Every room holds a memory, every picture has a story. You roll over, pull the covers nearly over your head, and hope for sleep to take you away.
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tag list: @bitchassbucky @inthorantine @mostly-marvel-musings @dannosteve223 @bonkywobble @babyb3ar​ @buckysbeloved​ @belladonnabarnes​
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blackberrybucky · a month ago
no one knows me like you do
A/N: this is the last part of but that was a million years ago! it’s a short lil thing, but i really like it. i hope y’all do too!
summary: bucky loses something, but he gains something in the process
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When Bucky wakes the next morning, he expects to hear the sounds of Steve cooking, but he hears nothing. He pulls on some clothes, hurries downstairs to see if he’s missed breakfast already.
“Steve!” Bucky calls. “I know you’re an early riser, but this is a little extreme.” He glances at the clock in the living room. “It’s only eleven.”
Bucky sees no sign of Steve in the living room. He moves to the kitchen, doesn’t find him there either. The beginnings of worry start to swirl in his gut, and he walks towards the hallway leading to Steve’s room.
“Steve? You alright in there?” Bucky knocks on his door, hopes desperately for an answer. The knowledge that Steve is different now, older, settles like a weight on Bucky’s shoulders. He gives him a few more minutes and still there’s no answer.
“Steve! I’m coming in, man.”
Pulling open the door, Bucky isn’t sure what he’s going to find. A part of him isn’t all that shocked to find Steve sprawled over the edge of his bed-frozen in motion.
“Steve?” Bucky murmurs.
There’s no answer, and Bucky turns, goes to call an ambulance.
Steve dies on a Wednesday, long before Bucky gets the guts to ask why he gave up on him.
It’s a few days later when the government puts on a press conference, a forced, fake thing that Steve would have hated.
Bucky sits next to Sam while various politicians drone on and on. He leans over, whispers in Bucky’s ear. “S’all bullshit, huh?”
Bucky chuckles under his breath, nods his head ever so slightly.
His attention turns back to the speakers when Jodie walks up to the podium. He'd felt awful at first, like Steve’s death was his fault. If he’d paid more attention, maybe something different would have happened. As soon as he’d said as much to Bea, she had shut him down immediately.
Jodie settles herself at the podium, takes a shaky breath before she speaks.
"Steven Grant Rogers belonged deeply to the world, and rightfully so, but he also belonged deeply to his family. The world had Captain America much longer than I had my grandfather." She pauses, seems to swallow down tears as she shrugs. "I'm not sure if that's fair, but when has life ever been fair? You all knew him, in a way, but none of you knew him the way I did." She smiles. "If you'll let me, I'd like to tell you about the man I knew."
Jodie launches into stories Bucky has never heard-stories all about the kind of grandfather Steve was, how sweet and caring he had been. The rest of the press conference passes much too quickly for Bucky, and he finds tears in his eyes at the end.
As everyone files out, Bucky sees you out of the corner of his eye.
You turn, jump at the sudden call of your name. You stop, let Bucky and Sam walk over to you.
“Hey. It’s nice to see you.”
You smile. “You too.”
Sam glances between the two of you, takes in the strangely loaded silence between the two of you. He clears his throat. “You know, Bucky and I are going back to Steve’s. Bea said there were some things we might want to go through stored in the attic.”
You nod. “That should be nice. I hope you guys find some-”
Sam continues, pushing right through your attempt at deflection. “You should come with. I’m sure there’s a relic or two up there with your name on it.”
“Very funny.” You chuckle.
Sam smirks. “I know.” He shrugs, shifts his tone. “Really. You should come.”
You look at Bucky, barely miss the death glares he’s sending towards Sam. “Okay.” You nod. “Okay, yeah. It could be fun.”
Sam claps you on the shoulder. “Exactly.”
A short drive later, the three of you are sitting cross legged in the attic, passing photo albums around.
Bucky sees you over and over. You’re there in pictures with Steve, by yourself, but nothing Bucky can remember. Sadness aches in his chest when he comes upon a picture of he and Steve when they were just kids. Right next to it is a picture of him with a girl that looks suspiciously like you.
“Y/N?” Bucky asks. “Is this...this is us, isn’t it?”
You look up, place your own photo album down, and take Bucky’s. You look at the picture, wistful-almost sad-smile on your face.
“Yeah, it is.”
You look up, find Bucky’s eyes. You smile, a soft, sweet thing. “It’s okay. I know you don’t-”
“You sat in front of me in the fourth grade. I used to…” Bucky ducks his head, breathes out a laugh, “I used to whisper jokes into your ear, any time the teacher turned her back.” He meets your eyes. “I would have given anything to make you laugh.”
Bucky sees the shock take over your face, can hardly believe it himself.
“I bought you that locket at that little jewelry store at the end of our street. Saved up for weeks so I could get you something nice.”
Tears start to well along your lashes. You chuckle and a grin spreads across your face. “I guess we should have shown you pictures a long time ago.”
Bucky crawls over to you on hands and knees. “I remember it all,” he whispers.
You cradle his cheek in your hand, lean forward and capture his lips with yours. You pull away far too soon for Bucky.
“God, I’m sorry. I should have-”
Bucky shakes his head, leans in to kiss you again. “You should have done that a long time ago.”
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tag list: @bitchassbucky @inthorantine @mostly-marvel-musings @dannosteve223 @bonkywobble @babyb3ar @buckysbeloved​ @belladonnabarnes​ @gloryekaterina​
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blackberrybucky · a month ago
as long as i'm here, no one can hurt you
A/N: i dunno what this is? if any of y'all need a hug as bad as me, this is for you
summary: bucky holds you through the sadness
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Bucky can hear the wailing of a guitar as he walks closer to your room. There’s a voice singing–more like screaming–words Bucky can’t make out. He knocks on your door.
“Doll? Are you okay in there?”
He knocks again, hopes the thuds are enough to reach you through the blaring music.
“Doll!” He tries again–louder this time. He gives it a few more minutes, hoping you’ll open the door, show him you’re okay. Just as he’s about to leave, go get Tony to open the door, the lock clicks and there you are.
Bucky can tell you’ve been crying. He can see it in the puffiness of your eyes, the way your shoulders heave with every shaky inhale.
“What’s wrong, doll?,” he murmurs.
You shrug. “Nothing.”
Bucky can see you’re lying, cocks his head. “Can I come in?”
Another shrug, accompanied by a deep sigh. “Sure.”
You turn, shuffle back into your room. Bucky follows, shuts the door behind himself. When he turns around, he can see you in your bed, huddled in blankets. He walks over to you, sits on the edge of your bed.
“You mind if I turn that down?”
You glance up at him, meet his eyes. You give him the smallest movement of your shoulder, and Bucky takes that as a yes. He leans forward, turns the radio dial until he can hear himself think.
He sinks back onto your bed. “There–not gone completely, but we can talk now.”
You clear your throat. “Why would anybody want to talk?”
Bucky can hear the thickness in your voice, the scratchiness of your throat. “Well,” Bucky hums, “that’s a good point, I guess. I think we should talk so maybe I can help you feel better.”
“I feel fine.”
“Doll.” Bucky sighs. “C'mon. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but give me a little more credit than that.”
You sigh–a shaky, broken thing–and shut your eyes. Your hand snakes up, clamps over them, and Bucky can hear the quiet sobs you start to let out. He reaches out, places a hand on your shoulder.
“Doll, please.” He begs. “Is there something I can do?”
You shake your head as best as your position allows, and the hand comes away from your eyes. “No. There’s nothing you can do. It’s just me–this is what happens sometimes." A sob interrupts you, and you take a deep breath before you speak again. “My brain…” you trail off, shake your head. “My brain is against me sometimes, I don’t know why. I just wake up some days and the only thing I want to do is stay in bed. It’s like- it’s like my chest is just hollow.”
Bucky wants to cry by the time you’ve finished–can feel the tightening of his throat. Instead, he says, “I can’t make that go away.” He shakes his head. “If I would I could, but I can’t change your mind.”
You nod, sniffle a bit. “I know, so if you would, please, just let me be alone-"
Bucky cuts you off. “What I can do is be here with you. I can stay with you while you feel this way–until it passes.” He rubs the hand on your shoulder up and down your arm. “You don’t have to be so strong all the time, doll. You don’t have to face these things alone.”
You look up at him, still crying, though much softer now. You move your hand, throw back the covers next to you, and let Bucky crawl under them.
He takes the opportunity with no hesitation. As soon as he settles, he wraps you up in his arms. He presses a kiss to your head, murmurs into your ear, “You’re okay, doll. I'm right here with you.”
You wrap an arm around Bucky’s middle, hold him to you. Bucky can feel the sobbing start anew, and he runs a hand up and down your back. There’s not much he can do to help you, nothing he can do to help you, but he can hold you through this.
Nothing would keep him away.
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tag list: @bitchassbucky @inthorantine @mostly-marvel-musings @evansweaters @mculibrary @dannosteve223 @bonkywobble @babyb3ar @buckysbeloved @belladonnabarnes @burninmatches
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blackberrybucky · a month ago
stranger things masterlist
hi! on these masterlist's, a * indicates smut, so please don't interact with those unless you're over 18. it's not cool, and can get writers in actual real life trouble. otherwise, i hope you like them!💞
dividers/banners made by @firefly-graphics 💗💕
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blackberrybucky · a month ago
supernatural masterlist
hi! on these masterlist's, a * indicates smut, so please don't interact with those unless you're over 18. it's not cool, and can get writers in actual real life trouble. otherwise, i hope you like them!💞
dividers/banners made by @firefly-graphics 💕💗
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blackberrybucky · a month ago
marvel masterlist
hi! on these masterlist's, a * indicates smut, so please don't interact with those unless you're over 18. it's not cool, and can get writers in actual real life trouble. otherwise, i hope you like them!💞
dividers/banners made by @firefly-graphics 💕💗
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