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marvelstoriesepic · 5 days ago

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Whumpcember (day 15)

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Prompt: Broken glass

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: slight mentions of panic attacks; crying; Bucky being a sweetheart because I love him so much

Author’s note: This got unnecessarily long somehow. Again, this was meant to be a shorty. Also, I was in my feels when I wrote this. Anyway, thank you for reading!

Masterlist | Whumpcember Masterlist

The final box of Christmas decorations thuds to the ground as you let it down with a heavy huff. You straighten up your back with a grimace, rolling your shoulders.

You might think as an Avenger, carrying a few boxes, would be an easy task. After all, you are trained to thrive under the most punishing conditions, with sharp skills and boundless stamina. But after hauling all those cartons stuffed with tinsel, garlands, and ornaments up from the storage room to the towering Christmas tree in the compound’s common area, you are left panting like you’ve just run a marathon.

It’s almost laughable. Thankfully, you are alone for now. Sam would have a field day, smug grin plastered across his face at the state you’re in.

Wanda, Natasha, and Clint meant to help you with this but they were all still glued to the desk, writing reports, but Bucky is supposed to be back from his latest mission any minute now and you wanted to do this nice thing for him at least. He did sound a little worn out on the phone earlier when he called you to tell you they were on their way back.

So perhaps decorating the Christmas tree would lift his spirit a tiny bit. It’s the first step in what you hope will be a cozy and inviting scene - something Bucky might walk into and, for once, not feel like a soldier returning from a war zone but a man coming home.

The tree is a statement, of course. Tony insisted on it. It’s so tall, it might even brush the high ceiling of the room and there is no way you’ll get some ornaments all the way up without risking your life. And Bucky would definitely not brighten up if you tried it out.

So you’ll absolutely be needing Wanda’s help sooner or later. With a flick of her wrist, she could make this whole thing a hell of a lot easier but you don’t have the time to wait until she is done writing her report.

You let your eyes roam over the many ornaments lying neatly in the box before you and one of them immediately sparks your attention. Your fingers brush against the delicate surface of the red ornament placed almost carefully beside the others.

Its glass is smooth and cool, the color a deep crimson so much more in depth than all the others. You hold it up to the light, turning it slowly, marveling at how the glow from the tree’s string lights catches on its curves and the unique and detailed pattern all across.

It’s heavier than expected, the weight surprising for something so fragile. The gold clasp at the top gleams faintly, tarnished just a little with age. A thin ribbon dangles from it, curling at the end like it has been tied and untied countless times.

There is something about it, some intangible quality that draws you in - a sense of history, of significance.

And then it happens.

The ribbon slips from your grasp, too quick for your fingers to snatch it back. If you weren’t so enamored with the beautiful piece, you would have gotten access to your reflexes a little earlier.

It’s too late now though, and you can only watch in stunned silence as the ornament tumbles to the ground, the crimson surface catching flashes of light as it falls.

It hits the hardwood floor with a sound that is both sharp and final - a crack, then a splintering.

Disappointed in yourself, you crouch down to the shattered remains. Tiny shards of glass fan out like a constellation, glinting under the glow of the tree. The ornament is no longer whole, splintered into different-sized fragments.

Annoyed that you were so stupid and careless to let this special ornament fall to its devastation, you begin to pick up the many red pieces into your palm.

It really was unique. It would have looked great on the tree-

Your movements freeze. Your heart leaps to your throat. A rush of panic claws at your chest and rises up to your ears where it floods and pounds tremendously.

Rebecca B.

It’s a name ingrained into the largest surviving piece of the glass - a faint, looping scrawl. Clearly written by hand.

Rebecca Barnes. The realization makes you weak in the knees and you fall back onto your heels, your ass hitting the floor with a thump.

This isn’t just some random ornament. This isn’t another piece of holiday cheer to hang on a tree and forget about for the rest of the year after packing it back into boxes to store it in a corner of the storage room.

This ornament belonged to Rebecca Barnes. Bucky’s sister. Something Bucky kept all these years, hidden among the other decorations like a relic of a life he’d lost long before his own had been ripped apart.

The air around you feels heavy. The smell of pine from the tree now stings in your nose. Your heart might actually have fallen along with the ornament because it too is shattered in pieces.

The shards tremble in your palm and you stare at them along with the rest still lying helplessly on the ground, as if there is actually something you can do right now to go back in time and not pick it up ever again, just to make sure.

But there is nothing you can do.

Your heart breaks even further at the thought that Bucky might have put it here deliberately. Maybe it was an attempt to move forward, to share the memory of his sister. Maybe he thought the ornament didn’t belong in some dusty package hidden away, but out in the open, a part of the holiday warmth he’s been so hesitant to feel. Maybe it was his thought of remembering her with someone else this time, instead of alone.

This would be such a huge step for him. And you would feel so proud if you weren’t on the verge of a panic attack.

Because it’s broken, divided into so many pieces. You just dropped something so carelessly that probably meant the world to Bucky. And, god, did he deserve the world. But you took it. You contorted the precious memories of his little sister. Unwillingly, of course. But that doesn’t make you feel any better right now.

You have known Bucky for a few years now. Though knowing him feels like a word too shallow for what you share. You never labeled it, both of you walking the fine line, and never crossing it.

But you see that Bucky trusts you - the kind of trust he doesn’t hand out freely. And for good reason, after all. In fact, you’re not even sure he’s ever given it to anyone else in quite the same way, not even Steve. And that’s saying something.

You see it in the small things, in the way his guarded demeanor softens when it’s just the two of you, the soft smiles that seem to be reserved for you. It’s the kind of friendship where silence doesn’t have to be filled, and words don’t have to be spoken to be understood.

He lets you sit with him on the couch in the living room on nights when his past pulls him under and doesn’t allow for him to get some shut-eye. You are usually awake yourself, sometimes just running on adrenaline after coming home from a mission and accompanying him silently. He always seems to linger out here when you are away on a mission anyway, so you usually meet him here after getting home, watching his shoulders slowly droop and his back rest more comfortably against the back of the couch.

You are the first at his bedside when his nightmares claw at his mind. You’ve seen him at his most vulnerable - shirt clinging to his sweat-soaked chest, hair plastered to his face, his breaths coming in uneven gasps as you help him fight to pull himself out of his memories.

Those nights, you never push him to talk. You don’t ask him to explain or tell you what he saw. Without a word, you would hand him a glass of water and wait while he drinks, his hands trembling so slightly it makes your stomach feel heavy every time. Sometimes you tell him to breathe with you, in and out, until the panic subsided and his shoulders stopped shaking.

You were never sure how much touch he needs in those moments so you usually stay at a small distance from him, but it seems your presence alone does wonders.

When he would be ready, he always searched your face so long and intensely, before croaking out a heavy but meaningful “Thank you.”

And his small acts of kindness always fill you with a jittery feeling that makes your knees weak and unfortunately doesn’t help at all when fighting against Natasha in the ring.

Just a few weeks ago, Bucky spent an entire Saturday afternoon fixing the squeaky hinge on your bedroom door because he heard you muttering to Wanda about how annoying it was.

He never even told you he was going to do it. You just came back to your room later that evening to find the door silent as a ghost. It took a whole week for you to find out how this happened. And it wasn’t him, who told you. It was Clint, who saw him walk around with a toolbox and a satisfied smile on his face that Clint, as he told you found a little terrifying.

Additionally, he always seems to know when you need a break during training sessions, tossing you a water bottle before you even realize how tired you are. Or he would plant himself wordlessly between you and your opponent for the day, with his arms crossed and a chastising glance at you when you’ve been fighting for hours without acknowledging the way your movements already grew sluggish and wobbly.

You are always aware when his hands linger on your shoulder a second longer after a sparring match, his metal fingers cold but careful, as if he’s memorizing the feel of you there. Or the way your stomach twists when he catches your eye across the room, and for just a moment, it’s like the rest of the world falls away. And the way he talks to you, even when people are around, his voice lower, softer, words chosen with an almost uncharacteristic care, makes you feel like you’re the only person he truly is interested in talking to. You also love the nights he shows up at your door with takeout, wordlessly handing you your favorite meal, and striding into your room to settle at the foot of your bed with a contented sigh.

Through it all, however, was always this persistent question you had. The one that molded into an ache inside your chest. Because what if? What if you took one step closer and stopped holding back? What if you risk everything you have with him now for something more?

But right now you feel like those questions don’t hold the same energy anymore. The same weight. No, they just got weightless. Pointless. Because you just ruined everything without even risking it.

You just destroyed something that can’t be fixed with glue and an apology. It can’t be fixed with you sitting with him and comforting him in the dark while his mind goes to the same cruel place like many times before.

This feels like you’ve crossed a line you can’t uncross.

The wrong line.

Shaking hands pick up the largest fragment, the soft loops of her name still visible through the fractures. The sharp ends bite into your palm like the memory of something sacred that’s been lost. You don’t feel the sting. You don’t feel the sensation of the few droplets of blood sliding over your palm where the ends nicked your skin.

The only thing you register is that this foolish mistake might actually unravel everything you’ve built with him.

He let you in, further than anyone, but that doesn’t mean he won’t push you back out if you give him a reason. And this definitely feels like a reason.

Your mind presents you with his reaction when he comes walking in here and sees what happened.

At first, there’d be nothing - just the stoic silence he uses to sink into, the kind that makes it impossible to tell what he’s thinking. But you’d see it in the smallest of things - the way his jaw tightens just enough to be noticeable, the flicker in his eyes that he’ll try to hide but won’t be able to, the stiffening of his shoulders. And then the desolation, like a tide pulling back just before it crashes. You wonder if he would say anything at all, or if the silence would hang heavy.

You swallow hard, begin to feel the sting behind your eyes, and try to force the lump in your throat down.

You’ve worked so hard to be someone he could rely on, someone he could trust in ways he hasn’t trusted anyone else in decades. You’ve sat with him, listened to him, stayed silent with him. Learned to know him so well, you even memorized the subtle shifts in his expressions, the things he won’t say but still lets you feel.

And now, here you are with broken glass in your hands and a painful feeling in your chest, terrified that this could be the moment that shatters the thing between you.

He might pull away, retreat behind those walls he’s spent years building. What if he doesn’t let you sit with him anymore. Or what if he does, but his shoulder would only grow more tense. What if he starts holding back, measuring his words, locking the parts of himself away that he once entrusted to you?

The idea of losing him - not just losing him, but losing this connection, this unspoken, almost-more-than-friendship thing that you’ve both been too afraid to name - makes your breath catch and something rise in your chest that might be bile.

A sob comes out instead.

It comes out like a wound ripped open before it could begin to heal. You press a quivering hand to your mouth, in hopes of muffling the sound, but it’s no use. More broken sobs come anyway.

You try to pull yourself together, to force the tears back, but your body feels so weak under the guilt and shame.

More parts of the broken ornament bite into your skin, red droplets welling up and sliding down your skin, pooling at the curve of your wrist, before falling soundlessly to the floor.

Pain should ground you. It should pull you out of this spiral, force you to snap back to some semblance of control. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t do anything at all.

Instinctively, your hand gives way, the pieces tumbling from your fingers and scattering across the hardwood once more.

You only sit there, frozen, your breath hitching and catching in your throat as tears streak down your face, warm and unwelcome. You can’t stop them.

You’re not supposed to be this weak. You’re not supposed to break down like this, over something so small. And yet that makes the sobs only harder to contain. Because this isn’t small - not to Bucky. And that’s the part that leaves you as shattered as the crimson glass. Perhaps as shattered as your relationship with the person you fell for as hard as the ornament fell to the ground.

It’s Rebecca. His sister. His past. His grief. It’s a tiny piece of his life that he trusted enough to bring out of hiding, to put here with the rest of the world, in the open where it could be seen. Where it could be touched. And you touched it, only to let it fall. Only to ruin it.

Shame knocks down on you so hard, you draw your knees up to your chest, curling into yourself as though you could make yourself smaller, invisible, anything but this.

You don’t even know what to do with your blood-streaked palm, only letting it hover in the air, the shallow cuts glistening under the still-glowing lights of the tree. It’s a mess. You are a mess. Curling your fingers into a fist, you wince in pain at the stinging of the cuts but you leave it like that.

Perhaps you are overreacting, sitting here on the floor in the common area of the compound with a bleeding hand and the shattered remains of Rebecca Barnes's memory, but you feel so helpless and remorseful, you can’t really think straight at the moment.

The sound of the elevator is faint, but it’s enough to reach your ears. You freeze. You just sit there, knees drawn to your chest, blood smeared across your palm, the shattered glass of the ornament glittering like broken stars on the floor.

You are tear-streaked, trembling, your chest still hitching with uneven breaths and Bucky just got home.

Those approaching footsteps are so familiar to you, you would always recognize his gate. Usually, it’s comforting, grounding to know he got home and would leave you with relief in your chest.

But there is no place for relief in your chest right now.

His footsteps sound normal, steady, perhaps a little hurried but he hasn’t reached this room yet.

You don’t look up. Instead, you bite your lip to stop the sob that threatens to escape. The shame is too sharp, cutting deeper than any piece of the ornament and making your heart bleed as well.

Maybe if you stay still, if you stay quiet, he’ll miss you somehow.

But then his steps come to an abrupt halt and you know you are screwed.

Burning tears spike once more and the sob breaks free.

“Woah, hey-” he calls out, so urgent, so worried.

Bucky is across the room in a heartbeat, dropping to his knees in front of you with a speed that catches you off guard.

“Sweetheart, hey.” It falls from his lips so softly, so worried, it nearly breaks you all over again.

Tears fall more freely at the kind of tenderness in his tone and suddenly his hand is cupping your face, thumb, and knuckles brushing the streaks of wetness from your cheeks.

But they keep coming.

“Look at me, please! Doll, look at me,” he murmurs, his voice impossibly gentle, but dripping with so much concern. His metal hand is on your face as well and he tilts it upward, guiding your gaze toward his.

His brows are drawn so deeply, lips parting slightly as he studies your face - the tear tracks, the desolation in your eyes, the shame and guilt, the trembling of your shoulders.

You can’t look at him. Can’t bear to see it. So you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping you’ll ever be able to forget that look on his face. Not when you know what’s coming. Not when you know what you have caused.

Just wait until he sees it, you think. That look will change.

“No,” he whispers, his voice so soft again, but there is a firmness in it. The pad of his flesh thumb smooths gently across your cheek again, while his metal fingers move to your hair. “Hey, no, don’t do that. It’s okay. Y/n, it’s okay!”

You shake your head quickly and try to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a choked sound, half-sob, half-breath. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He doesn’t know what this is about.

You want to stay hidden behind the veil of your closed eyes, safe from not seeing what you know will be there in perhaps seconds when he figures it out - disappointment, maybe anger, the grief of what you’ve broken.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart, please.”

There is something in his voice you can’t ignore. It sounds unshakable and steady, yet fragile and thick.

Slowly, reluctantly, your eyes flutter open to meet his, but when you do, you freeze.

Because he already knows.

He looks at you. Just looks, but you see he already put the pieces together. He saw the shards scattering around your knees. His expression is softer than you’ve ever seen it but he looks at you with an intensity that is new to you. There is that understanding in his eyes. But it’s so soft. So gentle.

There is no anger, no frustration, no disappointment.

There is nothing of the reaction you had feared for.

Yes, there is pain in his eyes as well. It’s unmistakable, flickering in the soft blue of his irises. But it’s not the pain you expected.

It’s not for the ornament. It’s not for what it meant.

It’s for you.

You can see it in the way his brows crease, the frown that tugs at his mouth. And the way he never once lets his gaze stray to the shards on the floor. All he looks at is you.

Bucky keeps his hands on your face, continuing to swipe over your cheeks like he’s afraid you’ll crumble if he lets go. Then, his thumbs still, resting against your cheekbones, his touch so achingly gentle that it only makes more tears fall.

“Sweetheart,” he says again, and the word cracks, quiet and uneven. He still doesn’t look angry. He still doesn’t look disappointed. He looks devastated - not for what you’ve done, but for what it’s done to you.

Your lips tremble, barely able to form words.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Come here.”

Baby definitely is a new one. It’s something he’s never called you before. But there is no time to linger on it, no chance to unpack the flutter it sparks in your stomach because he’s already pulling you toward him.

His flesh arm wraps around your body, tugging you against his chest, while his metal hand finds its place at the back of your head, cold but reassuring fingers threading through your hair.

He lets you cry against his chest. Cradles you so tightly to him, you might actually get worried about your ribs, but it feels so good. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, his heart is pounding. The fabric of his tactical suit presses against your skin, rough and worn from the mission he just came back from, but it grounds you to some extent.

“It’s okay. Just breathe, alright? Breathe,” he keeps whispering, exaggerating his breaths against your body to invite you to follow his lead. You try.

“I’m so sorry,” you sob, the words spilling out in a choked, broken rush as you bury your face in his chest. The tears won’t stop, soaking into the dark fabric of his suit.

“Shh,” he keeps on with his soft voice. His arm around you tightens, holding you closer, while his metal hand stays solidly at the back of your head. His fingers brush through your hair in slow, soothing motions. “Don’t be. Don’t you dare be.”

He continues murmuring to you when you try to apologize again, his voice low and warm. He talks so calmly and sure, you feel something inside of you churn.

Bucky tilts his head slightly, resting his cheek against your hair, and you feel the warmth of his breath as he talks to you.

And yet, biting guilt gnaws its way through your ribs. You feel terrible - worse than terrible - because it should be you comforting him, not the other way around.

It’s him who lost something precious, something you had broken. And here he is, holding you, brushing tears from your face, whispering words meant to stitch you back together.

But somehow, he doesn’t even seem to care. He holds you like you are the only thing that matters right now.

Remorse burrows deep, heavy, and shaming, until it pulls you back to yourself - slowly, shakily, but enough to loosen the sobs caught in your throat.

You sniff and take a breath, a real one this time, ragged but yours.

Then, you shift in his arms, gently pressing against his chest to put space between you. His hold loosens, slowly, with a hesitation that tugs at something in you. As if he is reluctant to let you go. Still, he relents.

His flesh hand slides away first, but his metal one lingers, brushing through your hair one last time before settling on your shoulder. He keeps you close, his thumb brushing absentminded sweeps across your sweater.

His gaze never strays and it’s heavy. You can’t meet his eyes for long. They’re too full of that care you don’t deserve, the care he shows you in so many small gestures all the time.

So your gaze falls to the floor, but then you freeze again.

The broken shards that had glinted so mockingly against the floor just moments ago are gone. Instead, settled carefully on the coffee table as though it had never fallen at all, is the ornament.

Whole.

It takes you a moment to process it, to trust what you’re seeing. The cracks are gone, smoothed over seamlessly. The gleaming red glass catches the light of the Christmas tree, its golden little details shining like something out of a memory, timeless and unbroken. As beautiful and aesthetic as before.

For a moment, you even wonder if your eyes are playing tricks on you, but then you notice Wanda standing at the far side of the room. Her hands lower slowly, the telltale red glow of her magic fading from her fingertips.

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t step closer - just tilts her head slightly, offering you the faintest, knowing smile. Her eyes are warm.

God, of course. You should have thought of that. It even makes you feel a little ridiculous. You live together with people who possess supernatural abilities, powers beyond comprehension. You should have thought of Wanda. How her hands could have mended it back together in seconds.

A choked breath stumbles out of you, somewhere between relief and disbelief. Bucky follows your gaze, his brows furrowing, only to soften when he sees the ornament resting perfectly intact on the table. He stares at it for a moment.

But then he looks back at you and his sweet smile could melt any ice this winter has to offer.

His flesh hand moves a few strands of hair out of your face and tugs them tenderly behind your ear. His hand stays on your cheek. “Told you it’s okay.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I still broke it,” you say, words slipping out quietly, somberly. Your gaze remains fixed on it. Wanda seems to have slipped out again.

“Stop,” Bucky cuts in, his voice more firm than before but still gentle as always. He shakes his head, moving closer to you again, gaze fixed on you.

You feel his hand brush against yours, but then his shoulders stiffen up. He stops. His eyes catch on something and his expression shifts in an instant.

“Jesus-” His frown deepens, something like a shadow crosses his eyes. Sharp eyes lock onto the red streaks lining your palm, the cuts where the shattered glass had broken your skin.

You hadn’t even realized you were still holding onto the pain - too caught up in everything else to notice the dull throb of your hand or the sting of the scratches.

“You’re bleeding. Why didn’t you say anything?” The words are a quiet exhale, soft but weighted. There is no reprimand in his voice, no anger - only concern coloring every syllable.

His thumb ghosts over your wrist, careful not to brush against the cuts. His intense gaze flickers from your injured hand to your face, searching your expression.

“It’s not a big deal-”

“Don’t.”

Bucky shakes his head. His jaw tightens and he exhales sharply through his nose. It’s not frustration - not with you, anyway. It’s something deeper, something that seems to pain him in his chest as he studies the scratches like they’re a personal failing.

“Bucky,” you say while trying to pull your hand back from his grasp when he tilts it more toward the light to get a better look. As if he hasn’t the eyesight of a super soldier.

“Doll. Let me see.” His lips press into a thin line, the faintest hint of exasperation ghosting across his face.

The sigh you let out drags down your chest and you don’t resist when Bucky keeps cradling your bleeding hand and studies the scratches. His brow is furrowed in concentration that feels too much for something so small.

You want to tell him it’s fine, that this is nothing, but the words die before they reach your tongue.

“Let’s get you fixed up,” he says tightly, the tone of his voice all business and leaving no room for argument.

But you shake your head. It’s your fault the ornament broke in the first place. You’re aware it’s whole again, but it was in shambles just moments earlier and you cut yourself thanks to your own stupidity.

“Bucky, you just got back from a mission-” you protest, your voice quieter than you’d like.

“Not too worried about myself right now, doll,” he interrupts, his voice insistent but warm. The hint of steel beneath his words not directed at you but at the way your guilt is still in control, trying to downplay yourself.

“Come on.” He says it softer now, but before you can argue any further, he’s already moving.

Without so much as a pause, Bucky stands and scoops you up into his arms as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You barely have a second to process the shift, before you’re pressed securely against his chest.

“Bucky!” you exclaim, startled, your uninjured hand reaching for his shoulder to steady yourself.

“Relax, doll. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost amused, though his expression remains calm, focused.

You sigh again, but there is a laugh on your breath. “Buck, I can walk. You don’t have to-”

“Not hearing it,” he says simply, almost flatly. He just continues striding along the halls with you in his arms. His steps are heavier, but you know it’s not because of your weight. He holds you like you weigh nothing at all. “You’re hurt.”

That doesn’t sound like a plausible explanation to you, since you’ve come home with way worse injuries from missions over the last months alone. But the gruffness of his voice, the one that always accompanies him when you’re injured, no matter how small - the seriousness, the concern - it shuts you up for the time being.

You let your head rest against his shoulder. He smells a little like gunpowder and dust, but you only latch onto the parts that are him and breathe them in.

“I didn’t mean to break it, Bucky,” to whisper, gaze dropping to the tightly pressed ball that is your bloody fist. “I’m so sorry.”

You feel the intake of Bucky’s breath against your body and his eyes warmly falling down on you. You don’t meet his gaze.

“You didn’t break anything, sweetheart.” His voice is like velvet, brushing so softly against your skin. So reassuringly. So profoundly gentle. “You’re okay, doll. We’re okay. I promise.” His hands curl tighter around you.

You blink, your head tilting to glance up at him, and your breath catches when you meet his gaze.

It is intense. His brows are pulled together - not with anger, but with concern. Like the only things he cares about right now are the tears that linger in your eyes and the way you’re still trying to curl in on yourself, still letting your body slightly shake with the guilt that he refuses to let you carry.

Something stirs in your belly. Something flutters, as if thousands of tiny wings brush against the walls of you, demanding to be seen. To be felt.

Because you let your mind spiral so much earlier, bracing yourself for a reaction of disappointment, frustration - that flicker of something unnameable that might pull the two of you apart.

But it still isn’t there.

Not even close.

It’s the opposite, really.

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lives-in-midgard · 1 year ago

Text

Don't tell Bucky

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: After a night out with Natasha and Wanda reader gets drunk and tells someone about her secret crush on Bucky.

Word Count: 642

Masterlist

The elevator door opened with a ping, and you stumbled out with Wanda and Natasha following you. Natasha, Wanda, and you were in a bar and had a lot of fun but unfortunately you got a little too much to drink. You saw some other avengers sitting in the living room, so you walked to them.

“Heeeyyyy.” You screamed and waved them. Tony laughed while the others turned around and looked at you. You walked over to where they were sitting and sat down on an empty spot beside Steve.

“What happened to her?” Sam asked Natasha while Wanda walked into the kitchen to bring you a glass of water.

“She is definitely not drunk.” Tony answered instead of Natasha, and you turned to him.

“He didn’t ask you! Sam asked Natasha.”

“Oh, sorry.” He said and tried to hold back a laugh. While Natasha talked to Bucky who asked her why they let you drink so much and how this could happen Wanda gave you a glass of water. They all know that you can’t drink much without getting drunk, so it surprised him that you got so drunk. You didn’t really understand what they were talking because you were now busy singing and dancing around. Bucky looked at you and smiled. You smiled back and ran to Bucky and said, “Come on let’s dance with me.”

“I think you should go to bed, doll.” Bucky said in a soft tone, and you giggled.

“Bucky calls me doll too.” You said and he looked at you confused while Tony and Sam started laughing again. Bucky looked at them with a warning look and they stopped.

“Wait, where is Bucky?” You asked him and then turned around to the others. Tony and Sam looked at each other trying not to laugh and Steve pointed at Bucky next to you.

“I’m right here, doll.” He said and gently touched your shoulder.

“Oh, hey.” You said and waved.

“Hey.” Bucky chuckled.

“Come let’s get you to bed.” He said and guided you to your room with his hand on your back. When you reached your room Bucky took out a shirt from your closet and gave it to you to change. When you got back from the bathroom Bucky was still in your room. You sat next to Bucky on your bed.

“Can I tell you a secret?” You asked him with a hiccup coming through.

“Sure.”

“But you can’t tell Bucky!”

“Okay.” He began to blush and got nervous.

“I think Bucky has the most beautiful eyes and smile in the whole world and I-I love taking to him or just being in a room with Bucky. I think I have a crush on him.” You finished.

“You have a crush on me?” Bucky nervously ran his fingers through his hair.

“Not on you. On Bucky.” You said again.

“Right.” He said with a chuckle.

“Why don’t you tell him.” Bucky asked you.

“I don’t think he likes me the same way.” You nervously said.

“What? I don’t think so.”

“You think he likes me too?”

“Definitely. Every time when you come into the room his world lights up. Bucky is so in love with you.” You began to smile and couldn’t believe what you just heard.

“Wow, maybe I should tell him.”

“Yeah, or Bucky should tell you. But for now, you should try to sleep.” You nodded, stood up and laid down in bed. Bucky walked to the door and before leaving the room he turned around.

“If you need anything call me or go to my room.”

“Or you just stay here.” You quietly said.

“Are you sure?” You nodded and Bucky walked over to you and made himself comfortable on the empty space next to you. After a few minutes you felt asleep next to Bucky.

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collaredsoldat · 3 months ago

Text

Domestic Winter Soldier / Soldat Stuff

warnings: PTSD | Slight self-harm | Mentions past abuse

a/n: Idk I wanted to write this because he deserves some love even when he's the soldier. Various hcs about domestic life with the Winter Soldier. Actual fics in the works. I run four blogs so I try to balance it all. Not edited ignore mistakes.

Soldat is a little awkward with home life at first. He isn't sure what to do, being free from constant control isn't something he can easily adjust to.

He looks to you for commands all the time. Can he sit? Can he go to the bathroom? Can he sleep? Can he eat? Every little thing he does. You have to reassure him that he doesn't need to ask permission for anything, but he still does.

He sometimes gets snappy at you, since he still can't decide whether or not to trust you 100% or not. He can't understand why someone is being so nice to him.

Sometimes he accidentally breaks something and he flinches away from you, or he hides out of fear. You have to coax him out, telling him it's okay and that you're not going to hurt him. He always hesitates.

He struggles to sleep so he comes into your room most nights and stares at you or roughly shakes you to wake you up. "Can't sleep." he speaks lowly, and he grunts and climbs over you into your bed, never waiting for a response. At first he sleeps away from the door, but as time goes on he moves to sleep closest to the door in case any unlucky person breaks into your apartment.

Very much like a cat, he stays back but when he wants attention he sort of just...flops near you and demands it by laying on you somehow, or sitting super close so your bodies are touching.

He watches you cook a lot. He sits down at the counter and watches or he stands over you and watches. Sometimes you have to pull him away from the stove because the oil will burn him and he doesn't bother moving away on his own.

He's much more curious than you'd think. He watches you do a lot of things, almost as if he's never seen anything like it. Something as simple as brushing your hair or doing laundry, he's mesmerized by it.

When he's not watching you do something, you notice that he just stares a lot. He always watches you, at first out of uneasiness, but then...just because. He's always watching you, almost like he's worried you'll disappear.

You help him shower, he doesn't like touching his scars. He tries to rub them away, and he's tries to claw his metal arm off. So you help him clean to prevent him from going into one of those episodes of hurting himself in that way.

He used to get aggressive when you came around him when he was naked, treating you like some big threat, but you realized this was something more than just fear. It took a lot for him to get comfortable enough to allow you to touch him in the shower/bath.

For being so heavily trained as the best assassin, he's quite accident prone. Nothing major, but enough to warrant some kind of care. He feels a little confused whenever he gets hurt by accident, like he never expected the corner of the table to leave a small cut on his flesh arm. He focuses too much on things he knows hurt, that other things go unnoticed.

He learns to cook with you some days, he was tired of just watching. It's a good way to show him you trust him too, letting him handle things like knives or sharp objects without worrying he will hurt you.

You learn he really likes pie. Apple pie especially.

You also learn the alarm on the oven is too loud for him so you use your phone instead.

If you bring him out with you, he's very protective. His head is on a swivel, constantly observing everyone around you. He stays glued to your side, not letting you take many steps away from him.

Gets overstimulated easily.

Sounds that are similar to a blender or electricity freak him out. A bug zapper is also a sound he hates.

Some foods he looks at with newfound curiosity, like he hadn't seen them before. There are things he doesn't even recognize, newer or modernized things, he didn't know what to think. What the hell is an air fryer? How do you fry with air??

Get one and watch how he looks at it with amazement and confusion.

He seeks out spaces where he can be alone a lot, he needs space sometimes and you understand.

During bad episodes he sometimes disappears from your apartment, making you panic a little each time. You find him in alleys or the streets from time to time, he never wanders too far. You are worried sick but your priority is to get him back home.

It's hard for him to show it, but he does appreciate you and everything you've done for him. He gives you hugs from behind a lot, sometimes he whispers a word to you, but mostly he's silent.

He likes puzzles. He likes putting them together. Maybe because he himself feels like there are so many pieces of himself missing and it's satisfying to fill a picture.

One thing that calms him down are fresh cookies. Chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven, he can go from high strung to calm and docile.

He hates porridge and/or oatmeal. It's too similar to the things he was forced to eat in HYDRA. Tasteless slop, he can't stand the texture.

He loves when you brush his hair. His scalp is sensitive since he had his hair yanked and pulled so much, but you're always gentle. He loves feeling your fingers run through it and it puts him to sleep within minutes.

You're the only one who can touch his scars. Not that he is close to anyone else, but he doesn't fight you when your hand roams over where metal meets flesh.

Watches over you when you sleep a lot, his eyes glued to the door and his ears alert to every single sound. He stays up until he literally can't keep his eyes open.

He's very attached to you and never wants to leave you, ever.

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes comfort #winter soldier comfort #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier x you #james bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes imagines #blythewrites⛓

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downbadf0rficppl · 11 months ago

Text

someone's there

Bucky x F!Reader

Summary: When you walk home from the office, someone seems to be following you home. Your best friend is not happy about that.

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Stalking/Stalker-Ex BF, Domestic Abuse, Anxiety, Angry!Bucky, Protective!Bucky, Panic Attack

Repost

You stepped out of the office, pulling your coat tighter around you against the night. It was mid-November and New York was getting colder and colder every day that passed by. You were excited about Christmas - it was one of your favourite times of the year. The lights that went up from apartment to apartment, the tree and ice rink in Rockefeller center that you and your boyfriend - Nathan - visited every year, you and Nathan driving up to Boston to meet your family. Well, your ex-boyfriend.

You'd broken up a month ago. He'd been laid off about a year ago and taken up drinking to fill the time. Nathan was not a very nice drunk. He'd yell and throw things when he was angry, which was most of the time when he was drunk, and then beg you to come back, saying that he needed you and that he'd clean up his act as soon as he got a job. You had a well-paying job - secretary to the Avengers - but Nathan was always the higher earner of the two of you. You could hardly sustain his lifestyle on your job, but you stayed. Why? You had no idea.

Nathan was a smart guy, he got picked up by some major firm headquartered in Manhattan just over a month after he got laid off. He was back to his old routine of leaving the house at 6 and coming back by 8 - you hardly saw him anymore.

And much to your dismay, the drinking didn't stop. Sure, he slowed down. He couldn't risk ruining his reputation at his new workplace. So he limited the drinking to after work. But he never stopped.

The throwing vases became throwing punches, the yelling became constant threats, consoling words became consoling sex.

You did well to hide the new bruises from your colleagues, although your act was not good enough to fool everybody. You'd let your guard down in the toilet, rolling your sleeves up to wash your hands, just as Natasha Romanoff. Yes, Natasha Romanoff aka the Black Widow aka the world's best assassin.

She didn't mention it there, but you were called to a meeting with her soon after. She sat you down with a glass of water and asked you a simple question: "Are you safe?"

Your wide eyes and trembling figure gave you away.

Nat implored you to break up with him or to at least come and live at the compound for a while - just until you figured out what you wanted to do.

You turned her offer down, stating that you were fine. You'd be fine. She fixed you with a stern glance, but even Natasha Romanoff couldn't force you to do something you didn't want.

Bucky, on the other hand, was a completely different story. He'd noticed the bruises long before Nat had, and gone out of his way to try and make your life easier. He sent you less paperwork to file, fewer menial tasks to do, and even put in a request for you to be moved to the New York office. In his eyes that meant you'd be further away from Nathan.

The next week, you both moved to Manhattan.

The bruises started to get darker, and more visible around your body. You dropped the short-sleeved dresses and low necklines in favour of long-sleeved turtlenecks with trousers.

Bucky worried for you. The dark rings around your eyes, the ghostly pallor of your skin. He was determined to save you. The only issue was he had no idea where you lived. New York was a big enough place that he'd never run into you. He knew you didn't live in Brooklyn, but that was about it.

The night where it all came to a head was after a Stark Gala. There was a group photo, where Bucky's arm rested on your hip while your arm rested on his. Nathan was pissed. He'd been sitting on the sofa when you came home, the photo open on his phone and a half-drunk bottle of whiskey in his hand. He pushed you into a wall and slapped you, his rings cutting into your face. He yelled every manner of words in your direction, calling you a 'slut' and a 'whore', and telling you that you were worthless. You cried, fresh bruises forming on your neck where he gripped you and blood dripping down your face.

You took his berating for the next few hours until Nathan retreated onto the sofa, sitting down and muttering under his breath. You opened your mouth, trying to defend yourself. Wrong move. Nathan stood up, even more agitated than before. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey that was almost finished and brought it down on your head.

The next thing you remember was waking up to 4 white walls. You were in a hospital, your hand being gripped tightly by someone. You tried to escape from the vice-like grip when a thumb ran over your knuckles. You knew those hands.

"Bucky." You whispered, your eyes still adjusting to the light. Your voice was sore from disuse, but the way that Bucky's eyes lit up, you would have thought that you were singing a love song just to him.

The calmness in your heart faded as soon as your brain caught up with you. You tried to convince Bucky that he needed to go but he shushed you gently.

"Shh. Don't stress yourself out. You're safe. I promise." The red rings around his eyes gave him away. Bucky had been crying. Over you.

You held his hand tightly that day. And the day after. And even the day after that. You weren't sure if you would ever find the strength to let go.

By the time you were out of the hospital, you'd moved back to Upstate New York - Bucky had made sure that you would never have to set foot in the city again if you didn't want to.

You returned back to work as normal - the restraining order you had filed against Nathan made your mind rest easier. The whole team was happy to have you back and smiling again, but they made sure to check in with you a hell of a lot more than they used to. Clint would swing by with an apple, and accidentally leave it at your desk - the first time, you'd felt bad and tried to return it, but you quickly caught on to his tactics. Nat would bring up game nights and movie nights, begging you to come, even if it was just you both.

But most of all, Bucky. Every day, you'd wake up to a text from him, wishing you a wonderful morning and spewing some inspirational affirmations for the start of the day. He'd bring you coffee, made just how you like it, as soon as he was back from his morning run. He'd spent a while perfecting the drink - making sure it was exactly to your standard. He'd walk you to your apartment for your biweekly 2pm therapy sessions (that he'd set you up with after he had realised how much difficulty you were having sleeping), and then off to lunch at some random hole-in-the-wall spot that he knew you would love. He'd call you as you got home, making sure you got home safe, and then a goodnight text to fall asleep to.

To others, his persistent need to be around you would be stifling. But after 4 years of having your needs be put lower than the damn cockroaches in the walls, it was nice to feel wanted.

You set your life up - personal bank accounts, new social media - anything to separate that part of your life from your new one. You got a new phone (courtesy of Tony, who insisted on buying you the latest iPhone, no matter how hard you tried to convince him that he didn't need to do that because 'where on earth would you find the money to pay him back?' He scoffed at that, "I'm a billionaire hun, I think I can afford to buy my secretary a new phone). You went to get your haircut, the shorter length was something you knew Nathan would have hated.

You'd walked into the compound the day after you got it cut, worried that no one would like it as much as you did.

As soon as you made it to the kitchen, you heard a loud wolf whistle. Nat was sitting on the sofa with Sam, and they both cheered loudly as you posed for them.

Bucky's jaw dropped as he walked into the kitchen. You were still showing off for Nat and Sam - you hadn't seen him walk in.

He walked over, reaching behind you to get a pod for the coffee machine, leaning down to whisper in your ear, "Looking good, Doll." His hot breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine.

You smiled up at him, before grabbing an apple and heading back toward your desk. You glanced back at Bucky and your eyes drifted downwards to a very large and very prominent issue. You stifled a giggle before getting back to work.

You'd continued to tease Bucky for a while, inconspicuous brushes and a few comments here and there. Enough to make him flustered, but not enough to make him suspicious.

He continued being the perfect gentleman. Helping you when you needed him to, being there when no one else was.

You started your normal journey back home, getting out of the compound was sometimes a tedious affair because of the thousands of security gates between the compound and the outermost gate. Given that this is where the Avengers live and train, it's justified. Still tedious though.

It was a quarter mile from the compound to the bus stop that took you home - you didn't like driving, especially in the frost and the dark. You put your headphones in, picking back up on the podcast you started this morning. It was an interesting one - some new True Crime podcast that your best friend had recommended to you.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up as you walked through a dark and lonely street. You gripped your bag tighter around you and sped up. There was someone following you.

You glanced behind you, your eyes catching sight of brown hair and a blue t-shirt. It had Palm Springs emblazoned on it. Funny. You'd bought Nathan a similar t-shirt a few years ago.

You fished your phone out of your pocket, quickly dialing the one person you felt safest with.

"Doll?" Bucky picked after the first ring.

"Bucky, cred că cineva mă urmărește." You said, your voice loud enough that the other person could hear you were on the phone.

"Tell me where you are, Doll, I'll come and get you." You could hear Bucky pulling on a jacket and grabbing his keys.

"Umm, cred că sunt aproape de Joey's."

"The pizza place?"

"Da, îl văd de unde sunt." The footsteps behind you seem to be getting louder, but you forced yourself to remain calm, "Am să te aștept acolo. Vă rog să veniți repede."

You ducked into the pizza place, walking straight up to the counter. By now, you were sure of who it was - but Nathan didn't follow you into the pizza place. Maybe you were just overreacting. Joey's was mostly empty, with a few teenagers here and there - probably camping out after some house party that got shut down.

"Same as always, kiddo?" Joey asked, and you nodded with a slight grin. You and Bucky came to Joey's Pizza Place a lot - Bucky used to say that it felt like home. You were inclined to agree.

"No metal man with you today?" Joey enjoyed teasing Bucky. His dad, also named Joey, had fought alongside Bucky in the war. Joey had grown up on stories of the greatness of the Howling Commandoes and it had been one of his greatest pleasures to serve him pizza every time they came.

"He's coming - got caught up in traffic."

"Busy men, huh?" You giggled at that.

The door opened again. You turned around to find yourself face-to-face with someone you hoped you'd never see again. Nathan's sister.

"Thought I'd find you here, bitch."

June stalked over to you, her face filled with rage. She had been good friends with you before Nathan and your relationship started going wrong, but when you had confided your pains with her, she'd turned her back on you. Blood is thicker than water. She'd called you names before - filling your comments with every vile comment she could think of, texting and emailing you death threats, anything to remind you of just how broken and damaged you were.

Before you knew what was happening, her hand collided with your cheek. The whole place burst into action.

Joey jumped around the side of the counter as June hurled insults at your face.

You tried to push her away as she swung at you again, but her hand hit your shoulder.

Joey pushed you behind him, as one of the kitchen hands stepped out to pull June back.

A teenager was on the phone with the police.

You tried to cover your ears as the noise built in your head.

The door swung open, letting in a draft.

Boots on the linoleum floor. Familiar boots.

Sirens.

"We were in the neighbourhood, Sergeant." Something about a noise complaint.

A hand pulling you into a firm chest. Tears streaming down your face. Your favourite voice whispering sweet nothings, stroking your hair, begging you to calm down.

"You're doing so good for me, Doll, just keep breathing." Bucky's pulse was steady under your hand. Slowly, your breathing evened out and you lifted your head to meet Bucky's eyes. He kept his arms wrapped tightly around you to stop you from collapsing.

You stayed in Bucky's embrace while the police wrapped up - June was being taken to the local PD for the altercation and also driving under the influence. Bucky told you that Nathan had also been arrested for violating the restraining order. Your heart sunk.

"I'll never escape him, will I?" You whispered to Bucky, as you sat down in your favourite booth to eat.

"You can, and you will," Bucky reassured you, squeezing your hand in his.

You ate your pizza in relative silence after that - most of the shop had cleared out with the police. Joey gave you your pizza for free, along with a tight hug on the side. He told you that you'd always be safe in here, "although metal man seems to have that covered." Bucky glared at the nickname, making you both laugh.

You walked hand-in-hand to Bucky's motorbike - his fingers ghosted over the bruise on your cheekbone from the slap as he fastened your helmet on your head.

"It's nothing, Buck. I've had worse." Bucky gave you a pointed look, "Too soon?"

He threw his leg over the bike and you settled behind him, resting your cheek on his spine. "Forever is too soon for my liking."

You smiled at that and nuzzled further into his back.

"Where to madam?" He said, putting on an exaggerated British accent. You leaned up to whisper in his ear.

"Take me home, Buck."

fin.

buy me a coffee

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky fanfic #buckybarnes #bucky #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader x steve rogers #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns imagine #bucky barns fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes comfort #bucky barnes #no y/n #bucky angst #bucky x y/n #tw panic attack #tw ab*se

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 11 months ago

Text

TENDER CARE. 18+

pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary. you’ve been feeling insecure lately and your boyfriend, bucky knows just the way to make you feel pretty

word count. 2847

warnings. 18+ only!! hurt/comfort, reader feeling insecure, lots of hand kissing bc that shit makes me weak, kissing in general, praise, body worshiping, oral (f receiving) little bit of titty stuff, unprotected pinv sex, bucky being the best bf. minors dni

It was late, the evening quiet - the winter moon, a bright slither of silver amongst the dark blue sky.

As you lay in your bed, admiring her -the moon’s- beauty through the condensation of your window, your mind begins to drift, irrationality throwing hurdles at you. Your brain darting back and forth to those same thoughts you've been having more of lately - ones where doubt and insecurity flood any sense of logicality.

You knew you had no reason to feel this way. Your boyfriend always went to grave lengths to ensure you felt loved and appreciated, showing you nothing but tender care. Though, there was just something in your brain, that little green gremlin instilling distrust within you - no fault to him.

You felt isolated with your sense of humility, often feeling as though you didn't have someone to confide in, someone to talk to. It wasn't an easy topic to bring up, and although you felt comfortable enough with Bucky to share your mind freely, this was something that you just could not stomach.

Not only were you thinking about yourself, you were thinking of Bucky. The thought of admitting to him you felt insecure in your relationship felt like the highest form of betrayal. To confess to the man who's been torn apart and stitched together more times than one can count - that you felt unlovable, was something you couldn't bear.

The amount of hurt you would cause him simply by sharing was enough to deter you. So, for that reason alone, you kept it hidden. Letting yourself wallow in the crappy feeling unaided.

Your phone vibrates on your nightstand beside you, the screen obnoxiously bright - the white almost blinding you within your dim bedroom. Teary-eyed, you peek over at the caller ID, your boyfriend's name displayed beside his picture.

You wanted to talk to him - to hear his voice, but you knew your wavering tone would give away your dismal state. So, you let his call go to voicemail, like all his others from this evening.

Feeling guilt-ridden for declining his calls, you pick up your phone, deciding to send him a text instead. But when you unlock your phone, you see a pile of missed messages from Bucky, each text growing more and more worried at your sudden disappearance - his last one reading, 'I'll be over in 10' which was nearly ten minutes ago.

You exhale in frustration, cursing yourself as you wipe your eyes - carefully blotting the sensitive skin with one hand, the other typing a response. You decided on a small, white lie, replying, 'sorry, I was sleeping.'

The second your thumb presses send, you hear a frantic string of taps on your door - the repeated sound of knuckles knocking. You take a moment to situate yourself before making your way to your front entrance, socked feet paddling over to answer.

You peek through the peephole, your boyfriend on the other side - visibly distressed as he rakes through the front strands of his hair. You reach for the handle, unlocking the door with an expression you were sure to be disgrace. "I'm so sorry. I was in—" you start.

"Are you okay? You didn't answer. I got worried— I thought something happened," Bucky cuts you off, walking past you and stepping into your apartment.

You close the door behind him, turning to meet his frazzled features. "I know, I know. I'm really sorry. My phone was on silent, and I was in bed. I didn't see anything til just now," you confess, sharing parts of the truth.

He deeply exhales, gaze softening as he looks over you. He pauses, seeming like he's analysing you, eyes honing in on your evading ones. "What's wrong?"

You knew your gag would be up sooner or later, but you didn't expect it to be this soon. Sometimes, it was like your boyfriend knew things about you before you even did yourself - as though you failed to remember who you were talking to.

"Nothing," you smile, kissing his cheek as you step past him. "Just tired— didn't sleep properly."

"Yeah?" he hums, not quite believing your half-truths. He kicks off his boots and follows you into your room, soft footsteps behind you like a shadow. "How was your day?" he asks, talking like he's scoping you out.

You sit on the foot of your bed, shrugging at him dismissingly. "Same old. How was yours?"

He steps towards you, eyes darting around your room before focusing on you - everything becoming more apparent. "Fine. Good," he nods, softly groaning as he takes a crouch in front of you, kneeling on the floor between your legs so he's level with you. "What's wrong? What's going on?" he asks, eyes following you with the movement of his head, brows narrowing.

"Nothing," you reply, speaking faintly. Responding minimally in case your voice were to break.

"No?" he questions, placing a delicate hand over your knee - the palm emitting warmth onto your skin through the fabric of your pyjamas.

You shake your head, bottom lip beginning to waver under his attention.

"Then what's on your mind?" he asks gently, his tone warm and concerned.

"I told you," you avoid his eyes, looking down at your hands on your lap. "Didn't sleep well."

He sighs at your tenacity to push him away, head cocking to the side. He adjusts the stance on his knees, and your hands scramble for him - reaching out and holding onto him as if you were to stop him from leaving. Though only he wasn't leaving - he was just getting more comfortable.

"I wasn't leaving," he murmurs, slipping his hands into yours, thumb brushing over the back of your hand assuringly. "Did you think I was going to leave you?" he asks, lips lining into a faint frown.

You notice his brows tug upwards in the middle, the tell-tell sign he was beginning to think too hard. "No, I was just— I... don't know."

"Well, I'm not," he responds shortly, speaking like he was being stern with you - tough love. "Now, what's going on with you?" he asks, his grip on your hand tightening with a reassuring squeeze, the silent act encouraging you.

You inhale steadily, letting the air fill your lungs. "I haven't been feeling good."

He keeps his eyes on yours, following you. "Okay, why?" he questions shortly, wanting to get to the root of the problem as quickly as possible.

"I've been sad."

"Why?

You shrug. "I just have."

"I need more than that. Why have you been sad?"

"I don't know."

"Why?" he repeats, brows straightening.

"Because I feel... ugly."

He hesitates, his shoulders slumping at your confession, visibly digesting your words. "Ugly?" he recites, the remark leaving a foul taste on his tongue. "Honey," he lingers, softly shaking his head.

Bucky stills, his forehead creasing with what you perceive to be pity. His mouth opens as though he's going to say something, only for it to snap back shut. He faintly sighs, bringing your hand to his lips. "You know that's not true, right?" he rhetorically asks, pressing a kiss into the back of your hand.

You don't say anything, the only reply being a short exhale and an awkward smile.

"Because I think you..." he pauses, kissing another patch into your hand. "Are the prettiest," a slow smile lining his lips - an expression that's now mirroring yours.

It was so simple. Everything Bucky did to reassure you - he did with ease. Just the tiny, loving act instantly melting the tension in your mind. His care for you pushing away any sense of self-doubt.

He peppers another kiss into your hand. And another - littering a short string of them over your wrist. "Don't listen to your brain, okay? She's not always right," he murmurs, expression softening like it was reassuring his words.

"I know," you nod, weakly smiling at him. "Just—"

"Hard. I know," Bucky finishes your sentence, nodding at you understandingly.

He leans forward and places a soft kiss on the centre of your lips - his own brushing over yours sweetly, the action grounding and comforting. He pulls away first, eyes half-lidded as they glance over you, focusing on the almost pleading look on your face.

Your free hand reaches up to his face, palm enclosing his jaw as you bring him back in for a kiss - lips working over his more urgently than the time before.

"Thank you," you mumble against his mouth, merely pulling away to show your appreciation. "You're so kind to me."

His grip loosens on your hand, now sliding both up to your face, cupping your cheeks as he deepens the kiss - tongue slipping into your mouth willingly. His lips leave yours, trailing a line of kisses along your jaw and down the side of your throat.

"Always," he murmurs, the short word muffling into your skin. Whispering, "I want to show you just how pretty you are."

A soft whine-like hum vibrates in your throat, the noise accepting his words eagerly. Your hand trails into the short strands of hair at the back of his head, fingers grazing his scalp as you hold him to the crook of your neck. Neck tilting to the side, allowing him more access to you as you reach for his jacket, pushing the fabric off his broad shoulders.

He presses a final kiss into a patch of your skin and pulls away, looking at your ever-softening features - eyes and brows growing pliant under his attention. His hands slowly roam down to the hem of your t-shirt, fingers hooking under the fabric as they lift, pulling it off your head in a steady, swift motion.

You sit in front of him, chest bare and on display in front of him, letting him take you in - not shying away like you did earlier.

Bucky remains quiet, his eyes fixed on the lewd sight before him, silently storing the image for safekeeping. He brings his hands up towards your tits, cupping under each - holding them in his palms. "So beautiful," he hums, leaning in to place a kiss on the swell below your nipple, giving his attention to each breast.

He rolls them in his strong hands, delicately playing and toying with them, thumbs skimming over your sensitive, hardening nipples, pressing kisses into the skin above. He looks up at you from between your tits, eyes full of love, full of warmth - looking up into your blissed ones with nothing adoration.

He places a hand over your middle - fingers spread wide as he nudges you backwards, silently and carefully laying you down. Your bare back against the covers with him kneeling on the floor between your spread thighs.

Barely leaning over you, he reaches up to kiss a trail over your abdomen, lips skimming along your jittering stomach as his fingers slip into the waistband of your underwear and pyjama bottoms. He pulls them down - light tugs as he drags them off your hips and down your thighs, grazing kisses over your now-exposed skin as he undresses your lower half.

Pulling the fabric off your ankles, he sets it aside, replacing the material that just covered you with kisses - lips grazing up the length of your legs, chaste pecks over your skin like he was worshipping you. The kisses trail higher and higher, reaching up to the crease between your thigh and cunt where he continues the worship, tongue faintly swiping over the skin.

Your hands worm into the roots of his dark hair, fingers locking on the shorts as you hold him to where you want him, guiding him to the needy little spot between your thighs. Chest rising and falling, inner thighs twitching as the anticipation builds in your stomach.

He situates himself in front of your pussy, lips mere inches away as he softly breathes over it - teasing you, his eyes locked on your trembling stomach above. He places a peck on the bottom of your slit. And another. Lining a stripe of kisses up your cunt til he reaches your clit where he skates past the nub, tongue skimming over it.

Hands working over your thighs and to your hips, he adjusts you, placing your legs over his shoulders - letting them drape freely over his blades as he delves in deeper between your thighs, caressing your plushy folds with his lips and tongue.

You murmur the first half of his name only to be cut off by a whine, the desperate noise catching in your throat when he nips at your clit, his lips wrapping around the mound - tongue skillfully flickering across.

The noises he muffles are lewd and obscene - gruff, soft groans as he adulates your pussy, pushing his mouth in closer. Your fingers tug tighter on his roots at the consuming feeling, back lifting from the bed in an arch, mindlessly grinding your cunt into his face.

Within minutes, you become a twitching, moaning pile of mush, coating his chin with your slick as you cum - thighs clamping around Bucky's head between.

He places a final kiss on your pubic bone before pulling away, standing up with a chubbed-up cock in his pants, the area tenting after tasting you. You hold his gaze, looking up at him with blissed eyes and a stir in your stomach - the sight of him making your cunt twitch.

He wipes the wet from his chin on the back of his hand, briskly drying his stubble before undressing his lower half - tugging down on his combat pants and boxers, letting the material pool around his ankles as his cock springs free. Full length hard and ready, tip leaking precum.

You scooch up your bed, resting flat with your head on the pillow, eagerly awaiting him. Your thighs instinctively spread as he crawls up the bed and between your legs, slotting his lower half between you - anchoring his weight on his hands either side of your head.

He leans in to kiss you, making you taste yourself on his tongue, the residual creamy slick transferring onto your own. Cock absentmindedly rubbing up against your pussy, the faint friction making you whimper into his mouth.

Your hands hook into the hem of his t-shirt, fingers gripping the bottom of the fabric as you guide it up his back, pulling it over his head as you break the kiss - his chest now bare and up against yours.

Balancing on his left metal hand, he dips the other between you, reaching for his cock, wrapping his fingers around the base. He gives himself a few short strokes, guiding his head towards you - pushing his tip through the slick of your folds, coating his cock in your wetness before sinking into you.

You take him at your own pace, walls fluttering and loosening around his shaft as he eases more of himself into you - your pussy swallowing little bits of him at a time. Your hand paws at his wrist placed on your hip, fingers enveloping around the thickness, silently pleading and begging him to get closer.

He looks down at the lewd sight of you spread out in front of him: your brows knitted, eyes soft, lips bitten - natural, unadulterated beauty all desperate and malleable for him. He notices the bliss cloud in your eyes and gives your glistening, stuffed pussy a final once over before hovering back over you, chest lingering above yours.

His lips skim over your jaw, trailing even more kisses down the side of your throat, giving you easing, reassuring pecks as he slips more of his cock into you - distracting you from the dull ache.

"You are so beautiful," he whispers into your skin, sealing the compliment with a kiss. "You really are," he adds, pressing kisses into your shoulder. "I don't know how you don't see it."

You bend at the knee, holding it at his side - the new angle opening your hips wider, allowing that last bit of his cock to slide in, head hitting at the hilt. You keep him snug to you, arms lazily wrapped around his neck, your other leg entangling with his as your lips shadow each other.

The moonlit room fills with soft, wet clicking - the sound of your pussy and sticky skin hitting cuts through the bliss-filled noises that slip past both of your lips, lewd noises surrounding you in the dark.

Bucky pulls his forehead from the crook of your neck to look down at you, eyes hinting at something - like his mind was temporarily elsewhere.

"Earlier," he starts, his voice hoarse as his hips wind into you, cock rubbing your walls so nicely. "When you said that thing," he adds, following your eyes when they bashfully divert away. "You tell me when you feel like that... I'd be happy to remind you just how pretty you are."

a/n. I had an idea for myself, what?? and my first full fic in almost a year??

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky x female reader #bucky smut #bucky barnes comfort #james bucky barnes #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier smut

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romanoffshouse · 5 months ago

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Bucky: Y/N, what does IDK, ILY, and TTYL mean?

Y/N: I don’t know, I love you, talk to you later.

Bucky: Alright, I love you too, I'll ask Sam.

Y/N: Wait- Bucky , no-

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bandsofmarv · 21 days ago

Note

Could I make another request? :)

Bucky X reader where reader has a hard time sleeping and goes into his room and asks to stay the night with him?

I loved writing this! Enjoy!

Safe In His Arms

Struggling to sleep in the unfamiliar avengers compound you seek comfort in Bucky.

Fluff, slight smut.

The Avengers compound was too quiet at night, the kind of stillness that made your thoughts louder. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the ache of loneliness settle in your chest. No matter how much you tossed and turned, sleep wouldn’t come.

With a sigh, you threw off the blanket and wandered into the dimly lit hallway, your bare feet cool against the polished floor. Without realizing it, you found yourself outside Bucky Barnes’ door.

You hesitated, your hand hovering over the wood. Bucky had been your rock since you moved in, his steady presence a comfort amidst the chaos. But waking him up in the middle of the night? Was that pushing it?

The ache in your chest grew stronger, and before you could overthink, you knocked softly.

The door opened a moment later, revealing Bucky in a rumpled gray T-shirt and sweats, his hair slightly tousled. His sleepy blue eyes blinked at you, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“I… I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Everything feels so… overwhelming.”

Bucky’s features softened as he stepped aside. “Come in.”

His room was simple but warm, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting shadows over the walls. You perched on the edge of the bed, your fingers twisting in your lap.

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” you mumbled.

“You’re not bothering me,” he said gently, sitting beside you. “I know what it’s like. This place can feel… big. Lonely.”

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat. “Can I… stay? Just for tonight?”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze soft. Then, without a word, he pulled back the blanket and slid under it, patting the space beside him.

“Come here,” he said, his voice low and inviting.

You hesitated only for a moment before climbing in beside him. To your surprise, Bucky didn’t keep his distance. Instead, he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you gently against his chest.

“You okay like this?” he asked, his voice rumbling in your ear.

“Yes,” you whispered, your cheeks warming. “This is… perfect.”

He rested his chin lightly on the top of your head, his metal arm resting across your hip while his warm hand rubbed soothing circles on your back. “You’re safe here,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

The tension in your body melted away as you relaxed into his embrace, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you into calm.

For a while, the two of you lay there in silence, your body completely at ease in his arms. But as the minutes passed, you couldn’t ignore the way your heart raced, how every little movement he made sent a warmth coursing through you.

You tilted your head slightly to look up at him. His blue eyes were already on you, soft and filled with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice heavy with emotion.

He smiled faintly, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Anytime, doll. Always.”

Something in the air shifted. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned up and pressed your lips softly to his.

He froze for a moment, as if caught off guard, but then his hand cupped your cheek, deepening the kiss. It wasn’t rushed or frantic—it was warm and consuming, like he was pouring everything he couldn’t say into it. His lips moved against yours with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, his forehead rested against yours, his hand still cradling your face.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your lips curled into a small smile. “Me too.”

He chuckled softly, pulling you closer against his chest. “Get some sleep now, sweetheart. You’re not going anywhere.”

And with his warmth wrapped around you and his kiss still lingering on your lips, you finally felt at home.

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buckyalpine · 8 months ago

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Bucky comfort. What I need like air right now is a sweet, chubby baker Bucky who notices his bunny is down. She doesn't say anything out of the ordinary when she comes to visit the bakery, kissing his soft scruffy cheek before taking a seat at the booth with a fresh Danish he made.

Cherry, because that's her favorite.

He can tell something is off when her smile doesn't quite meet her eyes and she's curled up in his hoodie quietly nibbling on the pastry instead of clinging onto him like she usually does.

He doesn't like it. Not one bit.

He loves when his girl hugs his thick waist tightly from behind while his works at the dough and rolls out croissants. Her little hands usually knead at the fluff around his belly. Instead she seems to be in her own world, wrapping her arms tightly around herself and pushing herself further into her seat to hide from the rest of world. You tell him you have to run a few errands and he doesn't miss your steamy eyes and small voice as you scurry off out of the bakery and it just adds to his worry.

Bucky was having none of that.

He lets Sam and Steve take over a couple of his orders, cleaning off and deciding to go straight home to you instead, he knows you don't actually have errands to do, he always makes sure to take care of them anyway. When he arrives back home, he isn't surprised to see your smaller form curled in a ball on the couch, eyes wide, surprised to see him.

"Bucky?" the quiver in your voice gives away that you'd been crying moments earlier.

"C'mere baby bunny" Bucky cooed, scooping you up in his beefy arms, and cradling your body to his, holding you to his chest while you nuzzle into his neck. "Wanna tell me what's going on in that little head of yours" He whispered against your hair, stroking it while you pull back, giving him a shrug. He knows you don't always want to talk about it but he's going to do what he can to make you feel better

"I'm not sure" You say with a sigh, your mind still running around a thousand miles a minute. Nothing particularly bad happened but one thought led to another; questioning if you were happy with your job, if you were happy with where you were in life, if you were someone Bucky would actually even want to be with, someone so sweet and loving and handsome like him, all your friends seemed to have found their footing and you were still here so unsure-

"Shhh" he kissed your forehead as if he could hear your insecurities screaming at you from inside your head. "What do you need sweet girl" His lips brush against the top of your head, breathing in your soft scent of peach body wash and vanilla lotion. He has you perfectly tucked into his much larger form, as if he were trying to protect his baby bunny from the rest of the world.

"Cuddles?" You cling onto him, sighing contently when he shifts so he can wrap you up in his arms while you bury your face into his chest. Everything about him is so comforting, if you could find a way to burrow yourself into him, you would. Your wiggling and shifting to get even closer makes Bucky chuckle, cooing at the whine you let out when he pulls away.

"Not going anywhere bunny, just getting us more comfortable" You're not sure how he does it but with minimal effort and movement he's helped you strip off all your clothes along with his, tossing the fluffy throw to cover you both up. You love feeling his bare skin against yours, practically purring now that you can feel every bit of him.

The rumble of your stomach doesn't go unnoticed by Bucky and he makes sure to wrap you up in a blanket burrito before getting up and padding over to the kitchen.

"Where are you going now" You pout and he cups your face with the gentlest touch.

"You're hungry bub, I'm just getting a snacky" and with that he walks off, grinning at the giggle you let out watching his perfectly perky ass saunter off.

"Yummyy" You wiggle happily from under your blanket at both the sight of you very pretty, very naked boyfriend carrying in a plate of more Danishes and a bunch of other pastries and fruit he grabbed on the way out when he left the bakery.

Bucky adores seeing you like this, setting down the snacks so he can hold you again when you give him grabby arms. He doesn't let you lift a fingers, feeding you another Danish, kissing the crumbs that clung onto your lips. He runs you a bath next. His bunny doesn't feel like moving much so he's happy to carry you there while you wrap yourself around him like a koala bear.

By the end of the night he loves seeing the light return to your eyes, your soft giggles when he has you perched on the bathroom counter doing your skin care routine with him.

"Keep your little paws to yourself, doll" Bucky swats away your hands when you reach for the lotion, taking over the job for himself. He's more than happy to massage up and down your calves to your thighs. He massages all the knots out of your back and shoulders before carrying you off to bed again for more cuddles and kisses.

Anyway, this was sitting in the drafts for weeds and it's still what I need rn.

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rkiveinmarvel · 3 months ago

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Y/N: Can I have a bite of your food? Bucky: Absolutely not. John Walker: Wow. Some great couple. He won’t even share his food. Bucky: It has peanuts on it. They are allergic to peanuts. Are you so jealous of our relationship that you want Y/n to die? John Walker:...

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ironwinters · 8 days ago

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just thinking of cute, happy, and secure Bucky being able to yap as much as he wants.

in day to day life, especially where anything professional or serious is concerned, bucky was a quiet and stoic man. this followed into the beginnings of your relationship as well. the first three dates you were lucky to get more than four full sentences out of the man. he preferred to listen, to assess, to learn. he was sure you'd get tired of carrying the conversations eventually and maybe figure out you were better to look for a partner elsewhere.

nope. you were stubborn in that way. you never gave up on trying to break this once broken man out of his shell.

eventually over the course of months, with some gentle coaxing, it was almost hard to get bucky to stop talking. he'd tell you about his family, funny stories he cherished of his friends and sister, his once small but at the same time bigger-than-life best friend steve, how life was rough but still good in the 40's. he'd tell you about his days at work, about missions, about how Sam nearly drove him insane that one day but he'd still take a bullet for the man without a second thought. he'd tell you about the small white stray he befriended during lunch, and his plotted out plan to capture the little animal to give it a good home, with your help of course.

you got a front row seat to all that is james "bucky" barnes; the good, bad, and ugly.

and you'd never change a thing.

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lives-in-midgard · 3 months ago

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Finally Safe

Paring: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: After being kidnapped from Hydra you get saved by Bucky and the Avengers.

Word Count: 1300

A/N: Hey everyone! I finally wrote a Bucky fanfic again and I hope you like it!

Divider made by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist

You weren’t sure where you were or how long you had been there. You didn’t know what time it was or what day it was. Has it been weeks or months since you were there? You weren’t sure. The only thing you knew was that you were on your way home from work. It was only a short walk, so you decided to walk. You always thought it is a safe path until someone hit your head and you suddenly woke up in a cell in a place where no one would probably ever find you.

You were so scared, especially when these strange men came to you. The first day they didn’t do anything to you and just laughed, but the next day they started doing experiments on you. The experiments made you feel nauseous, and you began to feel a change. Whatever they wanted to do to you seemed to work. After a while you finally found out where you were…it’s a HYDRA base. You couldn’t believe it. You’ve heard stories about them. Scary things. The winter soldier was one of those things you heard about. Is he still here?

You always had to think about your friends and family. Are they looking for you or did the people who kidnapped you made it look like you died? Every night you cried yourself to sleep and hoped that one day someone would come and save you. Maybe the Avengers would somehow find out about this Hydra base and save you. Maybe this was just your dream, and no one could ever save you, but you didn’t lose hope. Not even after everything they did to you.

You suddenly woke up when you heard someone screaming and it sounded like someone was fighting. You quickly sat up and took a shaky breath because of the injury on your left arm. There was again a scream to hear. What happened?

Suddenly a loud noise was heard, and your door opened. You couldn’t recognize him…you have never seen this man before and he didn’t look like the others here. He had short brown hair, a black leather jacket and then you noticed that he has a metal arm. You got scared and moved further to the back of the room so that your back was leaning against the wall.

“Hey, it’s okay…I won’t hurt you.” He said in a soft tone and made a few steps near you.

“I’m Bucky.” He knelt down in front of you. Bucky looked friendly, but you weren’t sure if you could trust him.

“You can trust me, I promise.” He said with a worried look. You thought about it for a second, but then you told him your name and he began to smile. Then he reached to his ear.

“I found someone.” Bucky looked at you while saying that.

“Okay, let’s get out of here.” He said to you. Then he stood up and reached his hand out for you. You took his hand and stood up.

“You stay behind me…I promise I’ll get you out of here.” He said with a slight smile. As you followed Bucky through the halls, it was quiet until a Hydra agent suddenly appeared who started to attack Bucky. Then everything happened so fast they started to fight and suddenly more came. Then a shield flew behind you and you jumped to the side. Captain America and some more Avengers came to help. When you saw another guy trying to hurt Bucky from behind, you finally got out of your shock and wanted to help him. It was the perfect time to use the powers they gave you. You pointed your hand at him and then he started to turn to ice.

“Woah, what was that?” One of the avengers said while Bucky looked at you impressed. You helped them take down the others by using your power and turning them into ice and stone.

When you walked outside with them, they talked about how amazing you were.

“You okay?” Bucky asked quietly.

“Yeah.” You mumbled and looked away again. As you sat down in the quinjet, Bucky sat down next to you.

“Oh no, you’re bleeding.” Bucky said when he noticed the wound on your left arm.

“That’s from yesterday…it must have started bleeding again.”

“Steve, can you get me the first aid kit?” Bucky asked, looking over to Steve, who nodded. A few seconds later Steve was back, handing it to Bucky and giving you a soft smile. Bucky gently took care of your wound and wrapped a bandage over it.

“Thank you for saving me.” You said, looking into his beautiful blue eyes.

“You’re welcome. I’m so glad that I could save you.”

You didn’t talk much the rest of the fly. Steve told you that you would be staying at the Avengers compound for a while and that there is a spare room next to Bucky’s room.

It was already dark when you landed at the compound. You followed them into the building and to the living room.

“I’ll go get you some clothes of mine, so you can change.” Wanda said and you nodded.

“And I’ll make you a sandwich.” Natasha announced and went into the kitchen. You sat down on the couch next to Bucky and Steve. After a while Wanda came back with some clothes. Then you changed into some new clothes which made you feel a little better, then you ate the sandwich, and Bucky showed you to your room.

“If you need anything, doesn’t matter what time just knock on my door, okay?” Bucky said and you nodded.

“Okay, thank you Bucky.”

“Of course.” He said with a smile.

You sat down on the bed and began to smile. You were happy that you are finally safe. After a while you laid down in bed and tried to sleep but it took a long time for you to fall asleep.

When you woke up you let out a scream. You had a nightmare that felt so real, like you were there again. You sat up quickly, starting to sweat and starting to breath fast. Someone opened the door to your room and ran over to you.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay, you’re safe.” Bucky whispered as he sat down next to you.

“Bucky.” You mumbled and reached for his arm.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He said but it still didn’t calm you down and Bucky was really worried about you.

“Let’s try to breath together, okay?” He suggested and you tried to nod and follow his breathing. But it didn’t work that well.

“Okay, let’s try something else, doll.” He said and then laid down next to you.

“Put your head on my chest and try to follow my breathing.” Bucky said in a gentle tone. You did as he said and laid your head on his chest. Then Bucky started rubbing your back, you listened to his heartbeat and tried to follow his breathing.

“That’s it, doll. Just breathe in and out.”

“You’re doing so well, doll.” With every minute you were laying like this, you felt better and safer. After you calmed down, you looked up at Bucky.

“Thank you.” You whispered and Bucky smiled at you.

“You’re welcome, doll. I’m so sorry you had to go through all that.” Bucky said in a sad voice.

“It wasn’t you’re fault.”

“I know but you don’t deserve it, no one does.” Bucky said and you nodded.

“You should try to get some sleep.” Bucky suggested.

“Can you stay here?” You asked.

“Of course.” He said and you laid your head back on his chest. Bucky held you and gave you a kiss on the forehead. After a while you fell asleep in his arms and felt safer than you ever did.

Taglist:

@beaubbdoll

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marvelstoriesepic · 18 days ago

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Whumpcember (day 5)

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Prompt: Concussion

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Reader gets concussed; worried!Bucky

Author’s note: This is my first fic for this year’s Whumpcember writing challenge. Hope you guys enjoy this! Thank you for the support after my October writing challenges that motivated me enough to do something like this again!! ♡

Masterlist | Whumpcember Masterlist

“Y/n, I’m serious. This is a bad idea.”

“Stop lecturing me, Nat, I’ve got this!”

“You’re two seconds away from breaking your neck. Not to mention ruining my night.”

“I am deeply flattered by your concern,” you tease, shooting her a sideways grin as you shift your weight on the ladder beneath your feet that groans faintly. “But you could have a little faith in me, you know.”

You tug another section of the Christmas lights in your hand loose, readying to hang them up. One foot wobbles slightly as you reach up and you balance yourself out on the uneven ground.

Natasha’s voice drops into that icy, lethal calm you’ve seen her use right before someone gets their ass handed to them. “Alright. If you don’t get your ass down that ladder in two seconds-”

You interrupt her with a huff, rolling your eyes as they stay focused on securing the lights. “Jokes on you, Romanoff - I’m probably the only person alive who isn’t scared of your threats.”

Natasha is leaning against the door to the balcony, arms crossed, her dark red hair catching the glow of the evening light. Her sharp eyes are locked on your form precariously balancing on the ladder.

She exhales sharply. Her brow quirks, but her jaw tightens. “You know, Barnes isn’t going to lose sleep if those lights don’t go up,” she states flatly, voice brimming with the no-nonsense tone you know all too well. “Actually, he won’t notice a damn thing. But what he will notice is you flat on your back in a hospital bed, wrapped in a cast because you couldn’t stay off a shaky ladder.”

She crosses her arms tighter and although she actually looks quite composed to you, you know she’s on edge. Her voice is firm.

You let out a frustrated huff, focusing on freeing another stubborn knot in the string. The December air makes your fingertips tingle. You shudder slightly at a harsh and cold gust of wind, swaying just a little to the left and gripping the balcony edge to steady yourself.

You twirl the string of lights dramatically, then carefully secure the next hook.

“Relax, Nat. I’ll be done before he gets back. And then all he’s going to notice are these beautiful lights-” you grunt while reaching higher “- shining on the balcony. After all, he’s always complaining it’s too dark out here. So, problem solved.”

Natasha uncrosses her arms and takes a step forward, settling her hands on her hips now. Her expression hardens. “Well, he sure as hell couldn’t have expected you to risk your neck by fixing it. Barnes could hang those lights without the ladder, Y/n. Honestly, the man would jump to do this for you.”

You glance down at her shortly, still stubborn and confident, and wave a dismissive hand as you reach to hook another section. “Yeah, but it wouldn’t be a surprise if he did it himself.”

Her eyes narrow dangerously. “A trip to the ER isn’t worth your little holiday moment, Y/n.”

“There won’t be a trip to the ER-”

The jingling of keys at the front door pulls you out of your banter with Natasha, stopping your comment from reaching its end. It startles you enough that your hand freezes mid-motion, the lights tangled loosely in your grip. Your heart skips a beat.

Bucky is home.

The realization hits you as your body reacts - a tiny, involuntary jerk that throws off your already unsteady stance. The ladder sways beneath you. You sharply shift your weight, searching for solid footing, but your foot lands on empty air instead of the rung you expected.

Time seems to speed up and slow down all at once.

The ladder teeters violently, and before you can even process what’s happening, gravity yanks you downward.

A split second of panic floods your chest. A startled shriek tears from your throat. The next thing you feel is the sharp and immediate pain blossoming at the back of your head, as it connects with the hard wall of your apartment. The impact sends stars bursting across your vision.

The world spins briefly, but before the ground can meet you, Natasha’s arms wrap around you, keeping you from crumpling onto the floor and perhaps landing wrong.

“Damn it, Y/n!” Natasha’s voice is almost harsh but she gently lowers you to the ground. Her face is close to yours, her green eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and concern.

“Y/n?”

The shout echoes from inside the apartment, strong and tinged with alarm.

Bucky’s voice barely reaches you through the throbbing in your head. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out everything except the pounding pain.

Your name comes again, louder this time, closer - close enough for the panic in his voice to reach your fuzzy mind. You wince.

The sound of hurried footsteps rings out against the floor. The balcony door flies open. Before you can get hold of what’s happening, Bucky is there.

He moves too quickly for your brain to fully process in your clouded state - one moment, he’s at the door across the room inside, and the next he’s crouched in front of you, his broad frame blocking out everything else.

His eyes rake over your face, your body, wide with worry. He’s scanning you like he’s trying to piece together exactly what happened.

“Y/n,” he says again, voice softer now, but not less urgent.

You can’t answer immediately. The pain in your head pulses severely, radiating outwards in waves. You wince as you reach back to touch the sore spot gingerly.

Bucky’s gaze darts upwards, undoubtedly looking at Natasha who is kneeling beside you, her arm steady around you. “What the hell happened?” he demands, voice dropping low.

“She fell off the damn ladder,” Natasha explains bluntly, nodding toward the object still standing behind you. “Hit her head on the wall on the way down. I caught her before it got worse.”

The pain flares again and you let out a soft groan.

Bucky’s jaw tightens and he looks like he’s holding back a string of curses. His hand moves, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a gentleness that feels almost out of place given the tension radiating off of him.

“You hit your head?” he asks quietly, softly. So soft indeed it’s like your mind floats on a cloud. You might as well just let it reach the sky. His thumb grazes your temple, again so soft, careful not to press anywhere that might hurt. “Where does it hurt? Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“Back,” is all you manage. It sounds hoarse. It doesn’t sound like your voice and you’re surprised for a second, blinking confused.

Bucky’s hand is still on your face, his body right in front of you. The sharp and tense exhale that falls from his lips reaches your cheeks. His other hand clenches into a fist before he forces it to relax. His knuckles remain white.

“You shouldn’t even have been up there. What were you thinking, mhm?” he says, voice thick and tight, though there is a glimmer of guilt.

“Lights,” you croak, wincing, wildly gesturing with your hand to the halfway-secured Christmas lights above.

“Why didn’t you wait? Would’a done that for you, doll.”

“Surprise.”

“Tried telling her that. Stubborn as they would come.”

Natasha and you talk at the same time.

You tried glaring at her but it was a rather weak attempt and Bucky’s hand restricts possible motions with your head to meet her eyes.

Bucky’s lips press into a thin line and he shakes his head as if trying to push away his frustration. He shifts even closer, eyes intently focused on yours. You can’t look at him for long. “Y/n,” he instructs softly but firmly, “I need you to tell me if you feel dizzy or if your vision’s blurry. Anything feels wrong, you say it. Got it?”

You manage a weak nod, though the motion sends another twinge of pain through your skull. “My head is pounding, but… no dizziness.”

His shoulders relax just a fraction but his hand doesn’t leave your face and he doesn’t stop assessing you with his eyes. His thumb brushes along your cheek tenderly. “Okay. We’ll get you inside. Ice pack, and then straight to the ER. A doc should check you over.”

You open your mouth but Bucky anticipates your protest. “No arguing,” he scolds stiffly, though there is a pleading undertone that shuts you up.

“Called it,” Natasha remarks dryly, shooting you a chastising glance. A hint of a smirk tugs at her lips, though her tone remains all business.

Bucky doesn’t smile. He doesn’t so much as blink at her comment. His eyes stay locked on yours, and the worry etched into his features doesn’t ease a bit. His brow is pinched, furrowed so tightly, it’s almost painful to look at but that could also just be your aching head.

Bucky and Natasha help you inside and immediately catch you and hold you firmly to their sides when you stumble slightly. Natasha grabs an ice pack at Bucky’s command. She knows better than to argue with him when it comes to you.

So she lets him half carry you to his car while she slips to the kitchen and gets a pack wrapped in a kitchen towel. She hands it to Bucky without a word.

Once you’re in the passenger seat, Bucky crouches beside you in the open door, carefully pressing the pack to the back of your head. The chill bites at your skin, making you flinch just a little. You bring your hands up to hold it there yourself.

After making sure you’re okay with this position and sitting comfortably and no other pains have come up, he climbs into the driver's seat.

His intensity doesn’t waver.

His grip on the steering wheel is tighter than it has to be - just shy of crushing - and his jaw works as he grinds his teeth, the muscles in his neck and shoulders visibly taut. You imagine stretching out your hand to the back of his neck and massaging the tender skin there. You blink away the thought. Surprised it even came up.

Bucky glances at you every few seconds and you feel Natasha’s gaze on you as well from the backseat. The silence in the car is heavy.

It’s almost unbearable and you hate seeing Bucky this rigid. You’re afraid he’s mad at you.

“Buck, it’s just a bump-”

You don’t get to finish your reassurance. His head snaps in your direction, eyes flashing with something unreadable. “It’s not just a bump, doll,” he cuts in adamantly, but behind the steel in his tone, there is the softness that always accompanies his voice when he talks to you. “You hit your head hard enough to almost black out for a second. That’s not something to shrug off.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the shake of Natasha’s head catches your peripheral vision and you drop it.

“Should have waited for you. M’ sorry,” you say silently, hands still holding that ice pack to your head.

Bucky lets out a long drawn sigh. Heavy. A hand moves over his face. He doesn’t say anything for a few moments.

“Can’t scare me like that, sweetheart. You hear me? I'll take care of those lights, yeah? You stay away from that ladder. Don’t wanna see you up there again.”

His tone is soothing. The gravel of his words again softened but the worry he carried since he found you concussed on the floor of your little balcony is still going strong. His hand - a little hesitantly - moves to rest on your thigh, his thumb swiping over the fabric of your trousers. The motion makes your heart stutter.

Your head feels foggy, like you’re floating just out of sync with the world. A faint, dumbly smile tugs at your lips, the pain in your scull muted for a moment by the softness in his eyes. You blink slowly, words tumbling out before you can think clearly about how you phrase your sentences to make them have a purpose.

“Wanted to surprise you,” you mumble, voice slightly slurred. Your head is spinning. Your words come slow. “You always say it’s too dark out there. And they are Christmasy. The lights. S’ nice.”

There is silence for a beat beat but then Bucky lets out a tiny huff of laughter. It’s more like a released breath but it makes your cheeks flush and your heart pick up all the same. You’re grinning again. You love the sound of his laugh. It’s the last thing you want to hear right before you die. It’s the only thing you want to hear for the rest of your life.

You blink again. Damn, your head really is messed up a little.

Bucky shakes his head slightly. He sighs again, deeply. A little strained. “That's sweet, Y/n,” he murmurs and he holds your eyes a moment longer. They are glinting with something. There is definitely fondness there but also something deeper. “And the lights look real nice, doll, but-”

“See?” you interrupt and throw a triumphant grin back at Natasha.

That earns you a full-fledged glare.

You turn back around.

“Still,” his voice drops again, returning solemn just like his expression as he looks back at the road ahead. “No surprises for a while, yeah? Let me handle things like that.”

There is a slight crack in his voice.

You blink at him again, trying to focus, but your muddled brain and the amount of his concern make it hard to form a coherent response. You only nod faintly. Thankfully, your head doesn’t hurt as bad at the movement anymore.

You might also imagine the knowing smirk pulling at Natasha’s lips in the backseat. She’s awfully silent behind you, eyes flicking between you and Bucky with a smugness in her expression. You pinch your brows together and try to figure out what this is about but your mind can’t seem to comprehend much at the moment.

“Hey.”

A gentle hand settles on your cheek. A thumb swipes over your skin. Warm. So warm.

“You still with me?”

His voice is soft. So soft.

“Yeah,” you mutter, the faintest smile tugging at your lips again.

Bucky’s hand makes sure the ice pack is still firmly pressed to the back of your head, every ounce of his focus split between the road and you.

Natasha keeps smirking.

#whumpcember24 #Whumpcember day5 #whump writing #whump prompt #marvel bucky barnes #marvel mcu #bucky barnes comfort #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fic

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