#marvel bucky barnes

[reveryfics]

More from bucky x male reader please.

( ´∀｀)ノ～ ♡

Mreader tells bucky that he loves him.

Those Simple Words

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Male reader

Summary: Late one night, Bucky gets a pleasant surprise by three simple words.

A/n: Having a bit of writers block lately so bare with me.

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The city slumbered beneath a blanket of snow, each lamppost casting long, ethereal shadows across the deserted streets. The moon, a silver coin in the velvet sky, bathed the scene in an ethereal glow. Snow crunched softly beneath Bucky's boots, a rhythmic counterpoint to the steady beat of his heart. His hand, tucked deep within the pocket of his coat, sought the warmth of his boyfriend's, their fingers entwined like branches of an ancient oak.

Their relationship was still young, a delicate flower blooming amidst the wintry landscape of their lives. Yet, the years of unwavering friendship had laid a sturdy foundation, a deep and abiding trust that weathered any storm. They walked in companionable silence, their breaths mingling in the frosty air, the city lights a distant, shimmering backdrop to their shared world.

Bucky, lost in a whirlwind of emotions, found himself grappling with the weight of his past. The specter of Hydra, a monstrous shadow that haunted his dreams, threatened to extinguish the fragile flame of his newfound happiness. He yearned to confide in his beloved, to lay bare the scars that marred his soul, but the words caught in his throat, choked by the fear of rejection, of being deemed unworthy of love.

His boyfriend, ever perceptive, gently squeezed Bucky's hand, his gaze unwavering. "You alright, Barnes?" he asked, his voice a low, melodic hum. A mischievous glint danced in his eyes, a silent promise of unwavering support.

Bucky, captivated by the warmth in those eyes, managed a weak smile. "Just thinking," he mumbled, his gaze drawn to the swirling snowflakes.

They resumed their walk, the silence punctuated by the rhythmic crunch of snow beneath their boots. His boyfriend, ever considerate, leaned against Bucky, seeking the warmth of his body, his presence a comforting anchor in the swirling chaos of Bucky's mind.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the gentle hush of the falling snow.

The confession struck Bucky like a bolt of lightning, leaving him breathless, his heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped bird. The words, so simple yet profound, echoed in the stillness of the night, a testament to the depth of his lover's affection.

Bucky, overwhelmed by a torrent of emotions, remained silent, the weight of his unspoken love a heavy burden on his chest. Fear, a venomous serpent, coiled around his heart, whispering doubts and insecurities. What if he wasn't worthy of this love? What if he shattered this fragile happiness with his own two hands?

His boyfriend, sensing his hesitation, gently pulled him to a stop, his eyes filled with an understanding that transcended words. "You don't have to say anything, Bucky," he murmured, his voice soft as the falling snow. "I know it's not easy. I know the weight of your past still weighs heavily on your soul. But trust me, Barnes, I'd wait an eternity for you to say it back, in your own time."

He gently cupped Bucky's face, his thumb tracing the contours of his cheek, a gesture of tenderness that sent a shiver of longing through Bucky. "Just know," he whispered, his voice barely audible, "that my love for you is unwavering, a constant in this ever-changing world."

Bucky, finally able to breathe, looked into his lover's eyes, his heart overflowing with a love that had been dormant for far too long. "You mean it?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

A soft chuckle escaped his lover's lips, a sound that warmed Bucky to his core. "Of course I do, you magnificent idiot," he replied, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against Bucky's in a kiss as gentle as the falling snow, a kiss that spoke volumes of affection, of trust, of a love that transcended words. Bucky, lost in the moment, responded with a fervor that mirrored his lover's passion, their lips moving in a dance of intimacy, their souls entwined in a silent, unspoken vow.

They pulled away, their foreheads resting against each other, their breaths mingling in the frosty air.

"Let's go home," his boyfriend murmured, his voice husky with lingering passion. "It's getting late, and I wouldn't want you to catch a cold."

As they walked hand-in-hand through the snow-covered streets, Bucky knew that this was just the beginning, the first chapter in a love story that promised to be as timeless as the stars themselves.

[marvelstoriesepic]

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.

[underthemexicansun]

Grumpy Bucky in The Falcon and The Winter Soldier.

[destielembarker]

BUCKY BARNES x READER

my everything…

Summary: Bucky comes back from the events of Thunderbolts* and you GOTTA fix his hair with some tough love.

tags: cursing, bucky barnes x reader, fluff, alpine being a lil shit, already married fic, domestic banter turned sweet, cuddles, kisses, wound dressing, no use of y/n or pronouns, DISCUSSION ABOUT ARM IN THE DAMN DISHWASHER.

notes: i know this shit is written like a 4th grader did it and i really just don’t care enough to fix it BC I NEEDED TO GET THIS DISHWASHER DISCUSSION OFF MY CHEST. plz comment!!!

Bucky has been gone for 3 months now. It isnt uncommon for him to leave for long periods of time but, definitely been hard but you picked up some extra shifts to fill the time.

Last night you heard the front door open and close and quiet footsteps approaching your room as not to wake you. Alpine, who was lying on the end of your bed, picked up her head at the noise.

He came in the bedroom and quietly dropped his bag and coat in the corner and crawled into bed behind you and wrapped his arm around your waist. Alpine crawled over, quietly sniffing out the stranger. Immediately she registered who it was and let out multiple happy chirps and head bumps on his back.

He chuckled at her eagerness.

He turned back to you, whispering in your ear, “hey.”

You’re fully awake now, “Bucky!!”

You rolled over and hugged and kissed his face. Which he happily accepted. The room was very dim. You ran your fingers through his hair. “Getting long again, huh?” You laughed.

He let out a sigh, “Yeah, let’s go back to bed. Wanna see you in the morning.”

His tone indicated he was tired so you quickly nodded and leaned your head down into his chest and fell back asleep with Alpine purring between you two.

~~~~

The next morning you woke up as you usually do, 5 AM with the morning orange glow pouring into your room and alpine screaming at your feet.

“Okay okay!” You laughed, rolling out of bed to feed her.

“I hadn’t missed that.” Bucky laughed, covering his head with the blankets.

You get up and feed the beast and return back to your bedroom to see him, propped up on some pillows rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

You’re stopped dead in your tracks when you finally make eye contact with him, seeing what you didn’t see in the dim light last night.

“James…” You say in a quiet voice.

“Huh?” He tilts his head in confusion.

“Baby, have you looked in the mirror lately?” You laughed.

“Yeah, why?”

“Because, I love you, but that haircut has to go.” You said annoyed.

“I knew you were gonna say something.” He chuckled.

“Also where the fuck is your arm?” You said crossing your arms.

He stayed silent but you both knew the answer.

“James. Bathroom. Now.” He groaned like a child being punished but rolled out of bed in just a wife beater and some black briefs, which kinda made you less mad at him. He still got a perky little butt you loved from day one.

You followed him into the bathroom and rummaged through the drawers looking for your clippers. He assumed his position, sitting on the side of the tub.

You plugged them in and turned around to face him. Those beautiful blue eyes staring up at you like you hung the moon.

After all these years, you could never truly be mad at him. But you have to act like it so he doesn’t think you’re a pushover.

“Bug…” you say playing with the ends of his hair.

“I know. I know.” He said waving your hand away.

“Like I wouldn’t be so mad if this didn’t look like shit! It looks like you got your hair cut from a middle aged white lady!” You laughed.

“I just haven’t had time.” He says turning his head to watch Alpine push her way into the bathroom, chirping again when she saw him. “Hi my love!” He says patting his lap. She immediately runs over and leaps into his lap and nuzzling his chin.

You flick on the clippers. “She missed you…” you said in a softer tone.

“You think?” He said petting her gently as you made long strokes across his head.

Alpine swatting at the falling pieces of hair.

“Hey hey!” You say swatting the hair out of her paws and mouth. “No!”

She looks up at you confused.

“What’s that for?” Bucky said petting her back.

“James… don’t even get me started.” You say continuing to work your way around his head, more annoyed this time.

“Tell me.”

“Well, YOUR child decided it was a good idea to eat eighteen of my little hair ties while you were gone.” You say while scratching her ears.

“Okay…” he says, inquiring further.

“Okay? Well it cost me two fucking grand on emergency surgery, Buck!”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh! You should be lucky I took her in the second she stopped eating.”

He laughed and looked down at her on his lap, “Did my baby girl give mommy a hard time while Daddy was gone?” She chirped and head butted his chest.

“Don’t laugh! She could have died! Look!” You say reaching over to pick her up under the arms. Her legs sway below her, exposing her belly with a dark pink scar running down her abdomen and hair clipped in a perfect square.

He reached out and grabbed her with his one arm, from your grasp, kissing her forehead. “Oh my poor baby!” He said flipping her onto her back in the crook of his arm like a baby. “She didn’t mean it.” He says looking up at you with those pleading eyes again.

Everytime you see him with that tiny white cat, you cannot help but to feel your heart swell. Just the image of this big strong man with a tiny cat cradled in his arm is enough to melt anyone’s heart.

“Okay okay, well you’re not out of the doghouse yet.” You say finishing up his hair.

“Oh yeah?” He says rocking her softly.

You flip off the clippers and grab the scissors on the counter and walk back over to him, waving the scissors in his face, and bending down to eye level.

“What the fuck did I say about putting your arm in the dishwasher? Huh?” You say grabbing his chin and standing back up straight.

“But-“ he started, trying to defend himself.

“No buts Bucky! That’s nasty!” You say putting your hands on your hips.

“How is it nasty?” He says annoyed.

“Because Buck, you go out and beat the shit out of people with the arm, getting dead guy blood and dirt all over it. Then you come home and put that shit in the same place where we put plates, which we eat off of!” You say, raising your tone again.

“Well-…” he pauses.

You bend back down and kiss his forehead. “My love, I’ve told you, if you want it cleaned, that’s not a problem. Just let me clean it. In the tub. Where I can use bleach to scrub the tub afterwards.”

“Yeah but that means you have to do extra work for me….” He says with tears in his eyes, you can tell no one has ever done this for him before.

You walk over and hug his head onto your stomach. “Bug… listen to me…”

He tilts his head upward to indicate him listening.

“That’s what marriage is about. I’m not doing this because I hate you. I’m doing this because I love you, and I love myself because I don’t wanna eat off plates with dead guy juices on it, but mostly because I love you!”

He chuckles and sniffs, turning his head to wipe his nose on his shoulder. “You sure?” He says putting the cat down onto the floor.

You pull yourself off him and kneel onto the floor in front of him, cupping his cheeks into your hands, thumbing away the stray tears. “Bucky Barnes…. I wouldn’t have taken your last name if I thought you were a burden to me. You did such a good job during the courting phase to show me the good, the bad, and the ugly… and I still said yes.”

He cracked a smile and looked up at you.

“The lengths I would go to give you everything I have… my life, my soul, my body, and everything I own. You are my everything.”

He nodded and pulled you into a warm hug. “I love you so much.” He said with a broken tone.

“I love you too, Bug.”

You spend the next few seconds of the hug rubbing your hands over his back. He winced slightly every time you touched his right side.

“Buck…” you said in a worried tone.

You pull back from the hug and lift up his tank top.

“Baby… that looks bad.” You sighed, sitting back on your heels.

He nodded slowly.

You turn around to grab the first aid kit from the bottom of the cabinet and crawl over to him.

You put some rubbing alcohol onto a cotton pad and start to slowly dab the huge cut running down his back around to his stomach. He scrunched his eyes and clenched his fist and hissed quietly.

“Shhh… I know baby. But it’s gonna get infected if you don’t let me dress it. How long ago did this happen?”

“Couple days…” he mumbled through gritted teeth.

“Did you put anything on it? Actually I don’t wanna know the answer.” You said quickly.

You continue patting the scratch, using up about half of your cotton pads that are now soaked in blood.

He’s white knuckling the side of the tub by time you’re finished.

“Can you do something for me?” You say, cleaning your mess of bloody cotton balls littering the floor.

“I guess?” He says pulling his shirt back down.

“Will you tell me about your wounds.”

He scoffs, “Why?”

“Do I have to repeat the conversation we just had?”

“… no” he muttered.

“Okay then, I don’t want you unnecessarily suffering. Period. End of story. Got it?” You say standing up and opening the bathroom door.

“Got it.”

“Now come on, I’m making you breakfast.” He chuckles and bounces up to follow you to the kitchen.

[ne0n-and-garbage]

Natasha: I can’t do this, it’s against my moral compass. Bucky: YOUR MORAL COMPASS IS A ROULETTE WHEEL! Natasha: …Your point?

[hydravns]

THE WINTER SOLDIER ✪

MARVEL WHAT IF (2021 - 2023)

2x02 What if Peter Quill Attacked Earth's Mightiest Heroes ?

[miilkybnn]

james buchanan barnes

[last-herondale]

Almost

Bucky Barnes x FemReader!

Angst, heartbreak, longing, unrequited love

Hello! It’s been a while, but here is my Bucky fic that I promised from my poll!

The night air was cool and crisp against your skin. The wind was blowing slightly, not enough to be uncomfortable, but enough to cause stray pieces of your hair to swirl into the night as you leaned on the balcony of the Avenger’s tower. You could hear the music from the party inside, its rhythmic beat softly booming from within. It was Steve’s birthday party and it was a lively event that you, Nat, Sam, Bucky, and surprisingly Tony, had spent weeks planning. The guardians had flown in for the occasion, as well as Carol and Thor, who had Loki in tow with him. The night started off simple enough with a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant. It was just Steve, Bucky, Nat, Sam, and yourself at dinner while Tony was busy finishing the party preparations with Bruce.

You had wondered if dinner would be awkward at all. It had been 10 months since Bucky and Nat had broken up, and it had been a strenuous ordeal for the whole team. Nat had broken it off with Bucky, for personal reasons she had told you in confidence. You knew they had had problems during their relationship, problems mostly stemming from their mutual inability to be there for each other emotionally. It was a tough reality to face, for both of them. You often felt like the bridge between the two of them, being the one that both parties were able to confide in. It was hard to be impartial to either side.

On one hand, Natasha was your best friend. She had been ever since you joined the team. She had been dating Bucky when you first joined the team, and your friendship only seemed to strengthen once they broke up. You loved Nat, and treasured her friendship more than anything in the world. You were very surprised when she told you that she started seeing Bruce Banner a few months ago. Even though Bruce seemed like the opposite of Bucky, in all accounts she seemed very happy with him. And you were happy that she was happy…

But on the other hand, there was Bucky. He had been devastated by the breakup. He had wanted nothing more than to drown away his sorrows in booze and fill his nights with endless distractions. You had been very surprised when he had called you one night, asking if you wanted to hang out with him and Steve. Nat had been out with Banner that night, and the tower felt lonelier than usual, so you agreed.

The three of you had spent the night drinking and playing darts. It had been a fun night of laughter and jokes. You were almost glad to see Bucky as he once was, happy and carefree, but as the night wore on, and Steve tapped out around 4 am, it was just the two of you left at the bar. The two of you just sat at the bar, sipping the last of your drinks when you asked him how he was doing.

His facade had slipped away, the smile he had forced all night was gone, and instead he put his head down and let out violent sobs of anguish. “I miss her, god, she was…everything.”

It broke your heart to see him so miserable. You never knew he was in such a poor state. It had been 7 months since they had broken up at that point, and as far as you or Nat knew, he hadn’t seemed like he was upset about it. Why he decided to be so open in front of you… you couldn’t understand. But you comforted him, as best as you could. You stayed with him all night, agreed to take a walk with him and let him vent to you until the sun came up. When he finally passed out on your couch at the avengers tower, he woke up hours later and left without a word.

You thought that was the end of it. That it was just one drunk night that had him so emotional, but then he called again. And again. And again. Hanging out with Bucky started to become a normal part of your routine. Half of the time it was always with Steve, the three of you hanging out. But then Bucky would want to hang out with just you. Mostly you both would talk, sometimes drink, sometimes watch a movie or even sing some karaoke once the liquor started to hit. It was…nice.

You had made sure it was okay with Nat, of course. Asking her if she was bothered by you hanging out with her ex, but Nat seemed undisturbed.

“It seems like he needs a friend, and I know I haven’t been around for you a lot lately either. I’m okay with this, really. Whatever it is— and whatever it becomes.”

Despite your many assurances that nothing was going to happen between you and Bucky, Nat just brushed it off and teased you further about it. She was in a really good place with Banner and she seemed genuinely thrilled with the idea of you and Bucky becoming an item.

The idea had crossed your mind a time or two. Mostly when you were very intoxicated and alone with Bucky. It was hard not to be drawn in by the beauty of him. You’ve caught yourself staring at his arms when he was throwing darts more times than you’d care to admit, and whenever he would throw his arm around you in a fit of laughter, you couldn’t help but feel your stomach flutter.

Getting to know him on a deeper level made the idea of not wanting him even harder to deny. He was still very much hung up on Nat, that was clear, but whenever he let himself be vulnerable and he talked about his past and the things that haunted him, you couldn’t help but feel connected to him in a way that you hadn’t felt with others. Everything about him seemed to be drawing you in. It was a maddening cycle trying to stop yourself from catching feelings, but it was one you fought for the longest time.

Until tonight. The party had been the biggest eye opener to you since you started being friends with Bucky. Dinner was not an awkward affair, much to your surprise. Nat and Bucky were cordial with each other at the dinner table, even sharing a few laughs as you sat between them.

“How have you been James?” Nat asked. Bucky gave her a small smile. “I’ve been alright. I heard about you and Banner, congrats by the way.” Banner had proposed to Nat a few weeks ago. To your surprise Bucky had taken it rather well.

“Thank you, we are very happy,” Nat beamed. She gave you a quick glance and smiled. “Have you seen anyone Buck?” You opened your mouth to protest to Nat, but Bucky just laughed.

“I have been talking to someone for a little while now.”

You felt your heart drop to your stomach. This was the first you had heard of this. You kept a steady grin on your face as he continued talking. You thought you saw Nat flash you a Quick Look, but it was so fast you could have thought you had imagined it.

“Well, that’s awesome. I’m happy for you Buck,” Natasha smiled.

“Yeah, we’ve only been on a few dates but so far it’s been going well.”

The rest of the dinner felt like a strange blur. You remember sitting there, you remember eating, and you remember getting into the car to head back to the tower where the surprise party was, but any other detail of the night faded away into nothing.

Why did it bother you so much? You had no right to lay claim to all of Bucky’s attention. The two of you were friends, and nothing more. You had set that boundary yourself, for yourself to stop yourself from getting hurt. But then again, you had never gotten as close to anyone as you had with Bucky. There had been people in the past, those you thought had the potential to hold your heart, but nothing ever worked out with them.

When the party returned to the tower, an uneasiness settled deep into your stomach as people began to arrive. You tried your best to distract yourself with trivial tasks such as handing out drinks, messing with decorations, or just following Sam around and letting him talk your ear off. But as the party grew, so did the uneasy feeling in your stomach.

Who was this girl? Would she be here tonight? Would you be able to handle it if she was?

As these thoughts were swirling around your head, you decided that maybe it was time to talk to Nat about your feelings. You searched around wildly for any sign of her or Banner but came up empty. You saw Bucky momentarily, he was talking with Steve and your eyes met for a single moment but you quickly looked away. You needed air.

So, that’s when you stepped out of the party and had been hiding ever since. You sent a text to Nat to meet you outside whenever she could. You stood there a bit, swirling the drink in your hand and enjoying the breeze on your flushed cheeks. You heard the sliding door open and you turned expecting to see Nat.

“I need to talk to— oh, hey,” you caught yourself and pitched your voice higher as Bucky closed the door behind him.

“Hey, doll,” He said, his usual playful tone was a bit strained, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied quickly, a bit too quickly, “I, uh, just needed some air.”

You moved a bit from your spot as he came to stand beside you. The smell of his cologne hit your nose as he sidled up next to you on the balcony, the leather of his jacket brushing against your arm momentarily. Your chest felt like it was contracting, being so close to him. As if the proximity alone was enough to unravel your whole being.

“How are you enjoying the party?” You choke out, refusing to look him in the eye, focusing instead on the city skyline below.

“It’s fine,” he began cautiously. It seemed, “It would be better if you would talk to me though.”

Your back stiffened at his words. You said nothing and yet he continued. “You’ve hardly said a word since dinner and we both know that isn’t normal. You didn’t even laugh when Sam made fun of Banner’s bowtie in the car.”

“Yes I did,” you said weakly.

“If you’re gonna lie to me, can you at least look me in the eyes?”

It was the brokenness in Bucky’s voice that made you turn to face him finally. His eyes were searching yours, trying to read every detail from your face. You bit your lip to keep it from trembling.

“Please, just tell me what’s wrong,” he begged quietly.

You opened your mouth, wanting to answer him, wanting to take away his discomfort at this moment, but the aching of your heart prevented words from coming out.

A choked out noise came from your lips just as the sliding door opened.

“—and I told him, I said—- oh hey!” Scott Lang said in a slur of words, having some unfamiliar guy in tow behind him.

“This are my buddies! Barnes and—“

“Leave Lang. Now.” Bucky said with icy venom.

You didn’t have to look to know that Bucky’s cold tone was enough to do the job as the door slammed shut again.

You wished you could follow Scott out of the situation, but you couldn’t. You took a deep breath, summoned your courage, and downed your drink in one fell swoop.

You shut your eyes right and clenched your jaw a moment as the liquor burned down your throat.

“I’m in love with you.”

The silence that followed there after was deafening. You opened your eyes and looked at Bucky. His expression was soft, his eyes a bit wide with the information, but there wasn’t any hint of anger or disgust.

“I…” he began, “I don’t deserve that.”

His eyes finally looked away from you, as if it was his turn to be embarrassed. His turn to feel ashamed.

“Look, you’ve been everything to me lately. You’ve put up with me when other people wouldn’t— when other people haven’t. You’ve cared for me, truly cared… and it’s lit a fire in my soul again. A fire I thought would forever be extinguished when Nat—- when we broke up.”

His eyes flickered towards you for a moment here and there. You held a steady gaze out towards the balcony, letting his words sink in as you felt your heart shudder at each word.

“I owe you more than I could ever pay back, and that’s why I know— I know I don’t deserve you.”

Suddenly your felt his bare fingers under your chin, his hand gently tilting you gaze to him. Tears fell down silently and touched his hand.

“Listen to me, okay, please,” he begged, his voice catching slightly, “I love you. Okay? I love you, I do. But you deserve more than me. You deserve someone whole, someone who has all the love you give them in turn equally back to you, and then some. I want what’s best for you, and I know deep down that I am not that.”

You did everything in your power to not turn into a whimpering mess, you held his gaze, ignoring the tears. You took a ragged breath and moved your chin enough for him to drop his hand.

“Tell me about her.”

Bucky sighed and put his hands in his pocket.

“She’s nice. Has her own issues, but she’s more like me. Broken like me.”

You nodded, wiping at your face in vain. The tears kept coming, even if you didn’t feel sad. Even though you were pissed.

“I’m happy for you,” you said as happily as possible. You took a step towards the door but he moved in front of you, gently placing his hands on your shoulders.

“Wait, please.”

You didn’t fight him. You met his gaze in defiance and you swore you could have seen a smile creep on his lips.

“There she is,” he murmured.

You couldn’t help but smile a bit at him. Even though a million emotions were running through your mind at the moment, the idea staying mad with him never stuck for long. Even now.

“I need you to know how much I care about you. I need you to understand that. If you hate me for it afterward then I can live with it,” you opened your mouth to tell him you could never hate him but he kept going as if to purposefully stop you.

“I would still be in a very dark place if it wasn’t for you. I value your life significantly more than mine. I would die for you, I would kill for you. You are everything to me and more and I am so honored to be loved by you. I treasure you, I adore you, but I am no good for you. Please understand that. You deserve so much more than I have to offer. And I would hate myself if I broke your heart. And I would. I already have. And I hate myself.”

Suprisingling the tears stopped. You looked at Bucky and studied his face. He was sincere. He was broken, that you already knew. He had more ghosts than anyone else could ever imagine, and past that haunted him daily. But he was Bucky. And he was kind and he was gentle, and he was fierce and loyal.

And you loved him.

That feeling would not easily go away, no matter how much Bucky might wish for it to. But you decided then that you would hold onto that feeling for now. Even though he warned you, had told you he did not want anything further. It would be harsh. It would be devastating. It would be soul crushing.

But it would be yours.

“I think I need some time.”

That was all you said further. His hands dropped from your shoulders and you walked back into the fray of the party. You could feel his eyes on you as you walked through the lobby. People were dancing and drinking and laughing and having a blast. You walked past them all, not paying them any mind. Nat found you, tried to talk to you but you just brushed her off as you found the elevator.

You held yourself straight. Composed. Even when the door to the elevator closed and you were alone. Even when you walked down your corridor and found your way into your dark apartment. It wasn’t until you changed from your party clothes into your sleepwear, curled up in your bed, alone in the dark, that you began to cry.

[pixiexdusts-world]

Incorrect quote

Bucky: Stop setting things on fire because you're curious about what will happen. What will happen is fire.

Y/n: But what if something else happens just this one time.

[gordanratsay]

[reveryfics]

Slow Dancing

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x male reader

Summary: it's nearly three in the morning, you and Bucky dance across the living room under the candle light as soft tunes play.

A/n: Something short and sweet. Requests open.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The antique grandfather clock in the hall chimed three times, its deep tones echoing through the quiet house. Moonlight, pale and ethereal, streamed through the sheer curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing in the single shaft of light. The cozy living room was bathed in the warm, flickering glow of a few strategically placed candles, casting long, dancing shadows across the worn wooden floor.

A melancholic melody, a timeless jazz tune, drifted from the old, well-worn record player perched on a vintage side table. The needle occasionally skipped, a momentary stutter in the smooth flow of the music, but the rhythm continued, a comforting heartbeat in the stillness of the night.

Bucky, his face etched with a lifetime of stories, held his husband close. Their bodies moved in perfect synchronicity, a practiced dance born from countless evenings like this. His husband, a picture of contentment, rested his head against Bucky's chest, a soft sigh escaping his lips. The steady thump of Bucky's heart, a comforting rhythm against his ear, mingled with the music, creating a lullaby of love and peace.

Bucky, his gaze fixed on the shadows playing on the walls, whispered, "Remember the day I married you? As handsome as ever."

His husband chuckled, his head still nestled against Bucky's chest. "Could say the same for you, James. Just a little less rugged." He teased, his voice a low rumble.

He loved everything about Bucky, the gruff exterior that masked a heart of gold, the way he always insisted on certain traditions, a holdover from a bygone era, a time before the war, a time before... everything. It was how Bucky showed his love, a stubborn insistence on the past, a way to cling to a semblance of normalcy in a world that had tried to shatter him.

The record skipped again, the music faltering, but they continued to dance, their movements fluid and effortless. Bucky gently dipped his husband, a slow, graceful motion, before pulling him back close. It was a ritual, this nightly dance, a cherished tradition born from the joy of their wedding day. Every weekend, without fail, they would pull out the old record, the one that had played during their first dance, and dance beneath the soft glow of candlelight, lost in the magic of the moment.

Alpine, their snow-white cat, a majestic creature, observed them from his perch atop the velvet armchair. He occasionally rubbed against their legs, a soft, furry purr rumbling in his chest.

It was a simple moment, a quiet dance under the watchful gaze of the moon, yet it held a profound beauty. A testament to their love, a reminder of the joy they had found in each other, a promise of countless more evenings like this, filled with the music of their love and the warmth of their shared memories.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Angstober (day 10)

Pairing: College!Bucky x College!Reader

Prompt: Humiliation

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Bucky is a jerk (he does have a sense of regret); reader is humiliated; mentions of self-doubt and insecurities; toxic and strict parents; hurt!reader; sad!reader; ending is quite open but not really happy

Angstober Masterlist

This is bad.

This is really, really bad.

You stare at the sheet of paper in front of you - the exam your professor just handed back, corrected. And it seems like there were quite a few things needing to be corrected.

82%

The number burns behind your eyes, but you don’t get your gaze to turn away. It sits there so innocently as if it doesn’t matter. As if there isn’t something at stake here. As if you could be satisfied with it.

Your mouth goes dry. You had studied days and nights for this exam, as you always do, buried yourself in textbooks, flashcards, anything to cram more information into your already overloaded brain. All for 82%.

Heat creeps up the back of your neck, your skin prickling with it, like embarrassment and dread decided to team up against you, merging into something gruesome, something you can’t escape.

Around you, students already started to pack up their bags, laughing, chattering, moving on. But you can’t move. You’re frozen on this bench, apprehension sinking into your bones and making them too heavy to lift your body.

Thinking that way over a grade - with it being objectively even a decent one - would perhaps be considered dramatic. Some fellow students had cheered at much lower numbers when the professor handed out the results earlier. And perhaps, you would have even been okay with this. Perhaps you could even allow yourself a tiny flicker of satisfaction if this were about you. But it’s not. It never is.

It’s about your parents.

It’s basically ingrained in them to scrutinize every part of you, every grade, every decision. They keep close tabs on everything you do, everything that may be a hazard for the path they laid out for you a long time ago. But you don’t walk this path voluntarily. You’re being pushed, forced to take steps closer to a dream you never claimed as your own. And that can only weigh a person down.

So maybe you’re not even that surprised about the grade. Pressure is a bitch. Especially when it’s boiling, simmering under the surface, until your mind can’t comprehend the simplest of information anymore. But they won’t consider anything like that when they find out. And they will find out. They always do. It’s like they have eyes everywhere, monitoring you, waiting for you to slip.

And 82%? You may as well have flunked the entire thing.

The last time you fell short of their expectations had been 86%. Funnily enough, it was the exam before this one, so that makes things even worse. Your parents had acted like you dragged the family name through the mud and intentionally smeared it all over just to spite them.

And every word they threw at you was laced with that cutting edge that usually ends up making you feel small, insignificant, stupid. Really, it doesn’t stop there.

You don’t live with them anymore. You took the chance and moved away for college the second you could, hoping for an escape, carte blanche, freedom, whatever the hell people like to call it.

But the distance wasn’t able to cut the ties. They’re still there. Their expectations, their rules, fighting for dominance in the back of your head and hanging over you like a dark cloud. And you know with chilling certainty that this 82% is going to rain hell on your head.

Your hands feel heavy, too heavy to lift, too heavy to even pack up your things like everyone else. You just sit, paralyzed by the weight of their disappointment that hasn’t even happened yet, but you know is coming.

“Y/n!”

Wanda’s voice reaches you through the haze, your thoughts had blurred into. Her voice carries hints of that teasing tone she loves to use on you.

“Pack up, slowpoke! I gotta catch my bus!”

“Yeah, right, sorry,” you mutter, blinking yourself out of that numbness that had been creeping in. You snatch up that exam paper and shove it into your bag, crumbling it in the process but not at all caring. It’s better out of sight. You throw the rest of your stuff into the bag as well and rush to the door of the lecture hall, meeting Wanda there.

You two take different buses to get home every day but always walk to the bus station together after the classes of the day are over. And thank god this was the last one of the day, the last one of the week.

A weekend to drown yourself in your sorrows is what you need.

“Soo…” Wanda sing-songs, a hint of something in her voice. “There’s this party tonight…” she trails off, giving you a sideways glance, eyes wide with expectation and a bright grin on her face.

You sigh. Heavily. Deeply. “Wan-” you start, already shaking your head without turning to her, but she doesn’t let you get far.

“Come on, Y/n,” she practically begs, drawing out the words. “You’ve been working yourself to death for weeks. And now that the exams are over, we don’t have anything due for ages! We’ve got time. And, well, don’t punch me for this, but you need to come out, let off some steam.”

You don’t give her much of a reaction as you carry on with your steps, head turned forward, watching the bus station in the distance grow bigger. This isn’t the first time she’s asked you this and it certainly won’t be the last.

“I’m not-” you start your usual rejection, but she is relentless, already prepared for your banter.

“I’ll make sure you have a good time. It’ll be fun, you’ll meet some new people, let loose a little,” she nudges you lightly, “forget about the dragons for a while.”

At that, a huff of laughter escapes your lips and you make out the triumph in Wanda’s eyes even though you’re still not looking at her directly. At some point, Wanda had resigned to calling your parents the dragons. You took offense at that for them for a while. Or you tried to at least but, honestly, it actually made your situation with them humorous to some twisted extent.

You want to argue. You want to dig your heels in and tell her no like you usually do. But you’re tired. Tired of this conversation, tired of the accusations of your parents - the dragons - you will have to prepare for, tired of that weight that never really moves off your shoulders.

So you really can’t be mad at yourself for this.

“Alright, fine, whatever. But just this once.”

Wanda squeals.

****

Yeah, this was a mistake.

The moment you and Wanda put foot into the room, vibrating with music that leaves you stumbling, eyes move over to you.

Actually, perhaps, it aren’t even many. But receiving attention from a whole bunch of people isn’t something that happens to you on a daily basis, so having those few students turn in your direction, ogling your form as you walk into the life of the party, overwhelms you with an intensity that forces you to halt.

You had hoped you could use this night to finally forget, to get an escape where no one would notice you. That doesn’t seem to happen. Wanda also doesn’t let you retreat back into the night, and find solace in a bottle somewhere far from here - somewhere quiet.

“Hey!”

You know that voice. You hate that voice and everything that belongs to its owner.

“Took a wrong turn there, sweetheart. Library’s the other way!”

There’s a laugh in his voice, the exaggerated mocking he always uses to taunt you, perfectly edged into it and you pretend not to hear him, only gripping Wanda’s arm tighter. His friends sharp laughter isn’t ignored that easily though, and you feel that well-known shame boil over far too easily.

“Oh, how would you know, Barnes?” Wanda shoots back, her voice mocking, but lacking that same playfulness she used with you earlier. A few more snorts from Bucky’s group follow but you don’t turn around as Wanda pulls you passed them.

You hate this. Already.

Bucky is at every party, so you knew he would be here. And you had tried to mentally prepare for his presence, steeled yourself against the jibes and insults he usually throws at you. Well, at least you had thought you were ready. But no amount of preparation could ever arm you against the venom sneaking into your thoughts at every word of his. How they latch onto the darkest corners of your mind, feeding the doubts already planted there.

It’s always been this way with him. He has always been this way. Since the first semester, it’s as if he has a vendetta against you, and you’ve become his favorite target. It started with him noticing you sitting over a textbook in the library, in the mensa, in study halls, all over campus really, and he made sure to always point it out. To make fun of it. To make fun of you.

Perhaps there is some warped entertainment in your discomfort that he savors. You’re an easy mark - soft-spoken, non-confrontational. You don’t fight back. Instead, you bury your hurt, swallowing the insecurities he rises in you, without showing a soul. Your parents were good at teaching you how to do that.

He doesn’t see how deeply his jokes cut, because you never let him see it. But you don’t think he’d care if he did.

“Does this not ever get boring to you?”

“It’s not like anyone’s going to remember you if you stay holed up in your books all the time”

“At some point, you gotta focus on the right things in life, sugar.”

Once they’re said, they never leave your head, always coming to the forefront of your mind in times you can’t handle them.

Now is one of those times.

“Wanda, I’m leaving,” you say, words holding the determination you needed all day, yanking your arm free from her grip, harsher than intended.

You need to get out of here, need to take a fucking breath, and get a taste of the cool air outside since the heat flooding your blood and skin makes it feel like you’re burning from the inside out.

You make for the door, but his voice finds you again.

“Now, hold on, where you goin'? Can’t leave yet, L/n. You just got here.”

You don’t stop at his bullshit, willing yourself to ignore him. But your fingers start trembling, growing slick with sweat.

“And hey, since I get the chance to talk to you… 82%?”

You freeze.

Your heart stutters, a cold shock icing your veins. It’s like the air has been sucked out of the room leaving you to search for oxygen. You don’t want to turn around, don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing your reaction, but you’re stuck. Glued to the spot, giving him and his words the power to anchor you in place.

“Really?” Bucky continues, voice still dripping with teasing mockery, unaware of your struggle. “With all those all-nighters at the library? I gotta say, Y/n, that’s actually impressive.”

The rushing sound in your ears devours everything else - the way Wanda jumps in to your defense, as always; the same menacing laughter of his friends - it’s all drowned out by the pounding in your skull.

Your hands ball into fists, nails digging into your palms. You feel the burn of tears, that familiar sting in the corners of your eyes, and you fight it. You fight it because the last thing you want is to cry in front of him, in front of all these people, all these damn prying eyes.

You turn around without even thinking, your gaze locking onto Bucky’s. He’s grinning that satisfied smirk, a gleam in his eyes but then, in a space of a heartbeat, his expression changes, falters. His smile is wiped off his face in seconds as his eyes widen. Shock enters his features, easing the lines and sucking out the color on his face as his lips part slightly, slowly.

You can’t place his reaction, but you figure it out when your body betrays you. Lips trembling, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth but you can’t do anything for the tears blurring your vision rapidly.

Bucky is still staring at you, frozen, gaping; his face a mix of something you don’t want to concentrate on. He’s not the one allowed to be in pain right now. He’s not the one allowed to feel the rising load of agony. So why the hell does he look like it?

You turn on your heel as the hot tears start gliding down your cheeks and your body doesn’t feel like your own as you hastily make your way to the door. Your hand flies to your mouth, hoping it will stifle the sound of the sob that emerges from deep within, trying to hold onto the last shred of control and dignity you have left as you bolt from the room.

You’ve never left a place this fast before.

Not even your parent's house.

🍁 October Writing Challenges Masterlist 🍁

[underthemexicansun]

James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes.

[madds990]

[splendidreads]

‘Take The Trash Out’

Just a blurb about Bucky catching your POS ex boyfriend being abusive.

Warnings: Abuse, cursing, mentions of sexual interactions, possessive/protective/angry Bucky Barnes, two idiots who finally realize they love each other. Oh, and Steve.

Word count: 1167

My first little blurb. Idk if I like it, but oh whale.

“How did you even get in here?!”

John scoffed, rolling his eyes as he crossed the room to Y/N, “What, you think that just because you’ve got some supers in your corner, means that I can’t get to you?” He shook his head, going ‘tsk tsk tsk’.

“You need to leave before I call said ‘supers’ to my room. Tony won’t take kindly to someone like you breaking and entering.” Y/N crossed her arms on her chest, her words loud and strong, but then John’s hand came up and grasped her face. A bit too hard.

“Let go of me!”

“No. You will shut that mouth of yours, and come back home with me.” His words were sharp, and threatening.

“No!” Y/N smacked his arm away from her, her cheeks red from how hard he held her, “We broke up over a month ago John, I don’t want you in my life. Now get out!”

Before Y/N could even blink, a painful smacking sound echoed through the room. A loud gasp came from her lips, her hand rising to hold onto her now throbbing face. Her eyes were wide, staring at the man in front of her.

“Y/N?”

Her eyes darted to her open bedroom door, seeing both Bucky and Steve standing there.. Seeing the look on her face was enough evidence for both men to realize what had just happened. Bucky’s jaw clenched as he and Steve both walked into the room.

“You need to leave.” Bucky walked up behind John, and John’s eyes narrowed.

“It wasn’t exactly a request.” Steve said, crossing his arms on his chest.

John tried to stand up straight, puff his chest out.. But he still looked small compared to the two super soldiers in front of him. Bucky’s eyes went to Y/N, who was standing there completely shocked, holding her face.

“No. She’s coming with me.” John said, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Look, either you walk out willingly.. Or I drag you out, in which case, you might not be breathing anymore.. you choose.” Bucky’s words were strong, deep, and quite threatening.

Y/N finally snapped out of her shock, and moved away from John, walking to stand behind Bucky and Steve. John’s eyes glared at her, his jaw stiffening. “Get. Out.” She said to him, putting her hand on Bucky’s lower back.

Bucky noticed it, and did his best to hide a smile.. but John noticed it as well.

“What, him? Really?” John’s laugh came out like a cackle, “HIM? Really, Y/N? He’s a murderer!”

“Don’t even get me started John. Fuck whatever you have to say! You have no words that would make me ever want you back. What I chose to do, is none of your business.. But, if you wanna talk about it, at least Bucky would treat me right! He’d sure as hell treat me better than you ever could!” Y/Ns words came out strong, staring up at John.

“But I know you, Y/N. I know what you like.. what you don’t like…” John eyed her up and down, a smirk forming on his face.

A chill ran through Y/Ns body, “No, you don’t. You wouldn’t have a single clue.”

“And you think he would?” John rolled his eyes, “He’s a hundred something years old, Y/N! He probably has problems getting it up-“

Those words were quite the mistake, and John was quick to learn that.

Bucky’s vibranium hand was on his throat quickly, lifting him up into the air, “John, I don’t like you. Never have. Y/Ns too good for you.” His words were deep, his eyes piercing through John’s while he wriggled in his grasp.

“Buck…” Steve’s voice warned, but Y/N shook her head.

“He deserves whatever he’s got coming to him.” Her voice said, crossing her arms on her chest.

A low growl emerged from Bucky’s throat, his hand tightening on John’s neck, “Just so you know, and I really want you to know this…” He lowered John down just enough so that he could speak into his ear, “If Y/N ever decided she wanted me, she’d make me the happiest man alive. And, just because you brought it up..” He chuckled, “I’ll make sure to let you know what it’s like, to actually satisfy her. I guarantee to you that I’ll hear sounds from her that you couldn’t even dream about.”

John gasped against Bucky’s hold, trying to fight against him, but his face was starting to turn the wrong shade..

Y/Ns eyes were wide, trying to process Bucky’s words.

“Buck, let him go.” Y/Ns voice came out soft, her hand reaching up to rest on his shoulder.

Bucky turned to look at her, his gaze softening. His grip on John however, did not. He moved him over, almost tossing him to Steve.

“Take this trash out, would ya?” He asked Steve, and he simply nodded.

“Let’s go.” Steve said to him, grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt.

“Fuck you Y/N!” John shouted, as he was dragged out of her room.

“Never again!!” She yelled after him.

The room was silent for a long moment, Bucky’s eyes glued on the doorway, making sure that John was really gone. Y/Ns hand went to her cheek, finding that it was actually really sore, a soft gasp of pain escaping her lips. Bucky snapped out of his angry trance, and moved towards her.

“Doll.. Are you alright?” His eyebrows furrowed together, a look of worry in his eyes.

Y/N looked up into his eyes, his icy irises staring down into her own, “What you said…” She paused, searching his eyes, “Did you… I mean..”

“Did I mean it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N nodded her head, and his answer surprised her.

In one swift motion, Bucky’s flesh arm wrapped around her waist, pulling their bodies together. He lowered his head so that their foreheads met, his orbs staring into hers.

“I meant every word.” He said to her, his voice deep, yet comforting.

“Thank god.” Y/N barely finished her words before she wrapped her arms around his neck, and closed the distance between their lips.

It was a strong, passionate kiss, both of their mouths moving in sync with one another. Steve had actually come back to tell them that John was taken care of, but seeing them in each others arms like that… He smiled, and silently left.

Y/N slowly parted the kiss, breathlessly looking up at him, a grin on her face. Bucky chuckled softly, his vibranium hand coming up to gently caress where John had hit her. A shiver rolled through her body, the coolness of the metal was comforting against her hot flesh.

“Now… Since that’s out of the way.. how ‘bout we go put my words to good use, and see what kinda pretty little sounds that mouth of yours can make.”

[ralka-egoid]