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elixirfromthestars · 18 days ago

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Bucky and any form of comfort is something I always welcome 🥺❤️ Seeing how worried/protective he gets always does something for me 🥺❤️❤️ My lovely, you took the concussion prompt and gave us a sweet moment of comfort with Bucky and it was so wonderful to read!! 🥹🩷

All my feelings under the cut ✉︎ᯓᡣ𐭩

The amount of anxiety I had knowing the fall was coming eventually had me on the edge of my seat!! The bickering and back and forth with Nat just built up the tension perfectly before the fall happened!! 🫢‼️

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."

^ Of course he would 🥹🩷 Bucky, the man that you are across all universes, what I would give to have him 🤧🩷🩷

Your descriptions of the fall and the pain throughout were written beautifully!! Truly it was written so vividly and well I could feel every ounce of it!!

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."

^ He’s so gentle and sweet with her omggg 😭🩷🩷 I love how he checks up on her and immediately goes into comfort mode 🥺💗

"Can't scare me like that, sweetheart. You hear me? l'l 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.

^ The fact that’s he’s so worried and upset and yet he still reaches out to comfort her 🥺🩷 Maybe even to reassure himself she’s okay and there next to him 🥺🩷🩷

"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.

^ Ending it with such a soft exchange and yet giving us the knowledge with Nat that like there’s so much more going on between them—ahhhh I love it!!! 🩷🩷🩷

My lovely, now I want, no I need Bucky to come and comfort me like this whenever I need it 🥺❤️ Having such a soft worried Bucky by my side would solve all of my problems 🥺🩷🩷 Written beautifully as always!!! 🫶🏼💕

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.”

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.

#mel recommends 📖#marvelstoriesepic ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚#lovely mutuals ♡🎀♡#bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes comfort #whumpcember24 #whumpcember2024

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elixirfromthestars · 1 month ago

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My lovely, you never fail to make me smile with your comments 🥹🩷🩷 All your compliments always carve a special place into my heart, I feel so loved 🤧💖💖 And calling my writing art??? You’re after my heart!! 😭💗💗

With this pairing I was trying to give 40s Bucky the life he deserved you, know? 🥺🩷 He deserved to be loved, and cherished, and protected, and all of the above 🤧💕💕 I’m just doing my part to make a universe where he gets that 🥺🩷 And I stand by the idea that 40s Bucky was a whole romantic 😌💐✨ Like I just know that man would’ve been whipped over his love and show his doll tons of affection 💗

Thank you for reading and being such a wonderful support!! 🥹🩷🩷 Cherishing all the hugs and kisses and sending many back your way 🫶🏼💕🫂

Dancing Embers

Pairing: 1940s!Bucky Barnes x Nurse!Reader

Summary: A cozy cabin, the love of your life, and the warmth of a fire. What more could you ask for on a cold winter night?

Word Count: 1.3k

Warning(s): none. pure fluff. slight insinuation at the end. female reader.

Prompt/Event: @the-slumberparty december daze -> a crackling fire sets the mood

a/n: This piece is written as a standalone. However, I will link below the pairing this fic is based on in case you want to read more of them. For context, this timeline is one where Bucky made it back from the war safe and sound and is enjoying his life now that the war is over. Thank you for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

how their love story began ♡ || fluffy winter drabbles masterlist ❆

The hum of the radio travels through the air and finds its way into the kitchen where you’re placing tonight’s dinner in the oven. A puff of hot air caresses your face as you close the oven door, the casserole dish cocooned inside by a blazing heat. You pick up the small timer from the counter and twist the dial, setting it for thirty minutes.

Now, you have to find something to do to pass the time…

You look around the unfamiliar kitchen, its rustic woodsy furnishing a cozy contrast to the one in your apartment in the city. A smile makes its way to your face as you recall how Bucky surprised you with this weekend getaway. It was after you came home from a shift at the children’s clinic—exhaustion heavy in your bones. An exhaustion he eased with a homecooked meal and a plethora of loving kisses. All leading up to the surprise of a weekend trip just for the two of you, presented to you with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a handwritten note.

You started packing right away after that.

While still ruminating on the joy of the memory, you begin to tidy up the mess in the kitchen—the one left from your dinner preparations. There wasn’t much to clean up—bits of leftover ingredients here and a few prep dishes there—but at least it gives you something to do while the timer counts down in the background.

Out of the blue, a frosty air embraces you from behind. You let out a small squeal as the arms that usually radiate warmth are bitterly cold against your skin. A sharp intake of breath escaping you at the contact.

“Bucky, you’re freezing!” you say with concern and caught off guard by the piercing chill of his hands. How long had he been out in the cold?

“Not anymore,” he mutters a response as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his icy lips pressing kisses into your skin. A shiver goes down your spine as the frost on his lips melts away into a heat that you’re used to.

You twist in his arms to face him, pulling him even closer by his wool jacket to kiss the tip of his reddened nose, hoping to bring warmth back to it. Bucky grins at you with a gentle adoration, even more so when you brush off the remnants of winter from his hair and shoulders. His eyes take in your every feature like he wants to commit this moment to memory.

When it comes to you, he always does. There’s never been a moment with you he doesn’t hold dear in his heart. His time at war taught him to treasure every second he gets with those he loves most. And of course, as the love of his life, that includes you.

“I’m going to need more than that to warm up, doll,” he claims playfully, before connecting his lips to yours, pulling you flush against him by your waist. Your arms eagerly wrap around his shoulders, melting into him faster than the snow on his body does. The kiss is sweet, yet profound as if the hour spent apart had been entirely too long for the both of you.

When the kiss has restricted enough air from your lungs, you both pull away only slightly and out of breath, smiling from ear to ear. You collect yourself enough to say, “Dinner should be ready soon.” Bucky, however, has his attention elsewhere as he plants a soft kiss to your forehead, your nose, and then your lips once more.

“Sounds. Good. Doll,” he mumbles the words between kisses that leave you in a fit of giggles. A sound that almost drowns out the grumbling of his stomach.

“Someone’s hungry.”

“Mm, chopping lumber will do that to you.”

“Chopping lumber?”

“For the fireplace. I should probably go and get it started.”

Bucky lets out an exaggerated sigh, not entirely keen on going back out into the cold night. He presses a tender kiss to the top of your head before reluctantly detaching his arms from your waist as he heads back outside. He spends the next few minutes hauling in pieces of wood into the living room where he tends to the fireplace. Meanwhile, you get the dining table ready for your dinner for two.

As you are on the brink of finishing setting up, you notice the radio gets louder—a slow song replacing the previous hum. It’s not long before Bucky comes back into the kitchen, however, this time he’s swaying slowly to the rhythm of the music. There’s a glimmer in his eyes as his hands outstretch to beckon you to him.

“Dance with me,” he says, taking hold of your hands and placing them on his shoulders. You laugh softly, looking at him with fond mirth. “Maybe later, sweetheart. Dinner’s almost ready,” you mention, glancing at the mechanical timer that would go off in a few minutes.

Bucky shakes his head, watching as your hands slide down from his shoulders, but before they can go anywhere, he swiftly intertwines them with his own. He uses this small leverage to begin coaxing you out of the kitchen and into the living room with gentle tugs. “Dinner can wait, doll. I want to dance with my best girl first,” he replies, his expression full of pleading affection.

You can never say no when he looks at you like that.

You throw the image of the timer to the back of your head and follow Bucky into the center of the living room. To your right, the fireplace crackles beautifully with bright embers, cascading the room in an amber glow. To your left, the coffee table, handcrafted in oak, is pushed up against the sofa, giving you enough space by the fireplace to dance.

Bucky’s hands find purchase at your waist as he anchors you closer. Your hands settle against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. Soon your hips and his gradually sway in sync, letting the melody of the song guide you.

You hold each other close for what seems like a lifetime, the heat of the fire amplifying the warmth that radiates between you. Its flames flicker alongside you as if slow dancing themselves. The serenity of the moment forever engraves itself into your heart.

“I love you, Y/n. I can’t wait for the rest of our lives to start,” Bucky’s voice is full of devotion, bringing your left hand up to his lips to kiss the spot right where your engagement ring is. You look at him as if he hung the moon for you, “I love you too, Bucky. Forever can’t come soon enough.” Your hands snake up to wrap behind his neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss, the kind that consumes as quickly as a spark catches fire. However, before the intensity can reach a boiling point, a loud ringing suddenly breaks it. The timer in the kitchen signaling whatever desires were igniting would have to be put on pause until after dinner.

“Dinners ready,” neither of you are ready to break apart when you whisper this. A beat passes and Bucky lifts your chin gently with his finger, so your gaze locks with his adoring one.

“One more kiss.”

“The casserole is going to burn.”

“Just one more?”

There he goes again with that pleading expression you can’t resist.

“You know it won’t be just one more, James Buchanan Barnes,” you point out and he lets out a hearty chuckle.

“You know me so well Mrs.Barnes-to-be.”

He kisses you again anyway—short and sweet—leaving you with a promise for more to hold onto. Your laughter mixes with his as you lead him back to the kitchen. He hugs you from behind one last time as he whispers an enticing promise into your ear.

“After dinner, I’m having you for dessert.”

#comment reblog ❤️#marvelstoriesepic ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚#lovely mutuals ♡🎀♡#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagine

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elixirfromthestars · 2 months ago

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My lovely, mentioning three of my fics, and my Biker Bucky collection, ahhhhhhh!!!!!!!! 😭🩷🩷 Thank you so much!! 🫶🏼💕 I feel so special right now to be put on this list so many times as some of your favorite fics of the year 🤧💖💖 Oh, my heart is so full!! 🥹❤️❤️

since the 2024 is ending, what are your favorite fics from this year? 🤗 (also the ones you've wrote too)

You're so lovely for asking me this, thank you so much!! ❤

These are some of my favorite fics I've read this year and still think about on occasion:

Treacherous by @scrumptious-delusion

A Night of Frights & Delights + Lines Crossed + The Biker's Tulip + Boulevard Confessions by @elixirfromthestars

Blurred Lines by @ellemj

Cold libraries create warmer hearts + second part by @elvenrin

A dish served cold + Me & the Devil + Smog & Spirits by @artficlly

Time after time + About that night (the bugs and the dirt) by @intrepidacious

Unsolved by @shurisneakers

Requiem + Of all the ways to die by @thereoncewasagirlnamedjane

◇◇◇◇

And as for my own I think it has to be Two with College!Athlete Bucky in a corn maze au. It’s actually the one fic where I immediately started writing after the idea popped up in my head and I managed to write it all in one sitting. I also enjoyed how my most recent fic turned out. Whumpcember (day 12). I've never written about something like this and it was actually really fun!

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elixirfromthestars · 2 months ago

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Oh, my darling I completely understand 🫶🏼 I wrote this knowing that complete angst can be hard to read for some and it definitely requires to be in a certain headspace. There’s no need to apologize my lovely 🥺❤️ Thank you so much for the kinds words and for sharing it 🩷

Crossroads

Pairing: Ex!Bucky Barnes x Neurosurgeon!Reader

Summary: On a rainy night on your way home, fate decides to cross your path with someone who used to hold the dearest place in your heart.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warning(s): ANGST / heartbreak / failed relationship / very tiny mention of a surgical procedure, not in great detail / I know I mentioned angst already, but this is all angst with maybe like a tiny sprinkle of fluff / medical career mentions (I did my research, but just in case I got anything wrong) / mentions of Bucky's trauma and hardships from his past

Prompt/Theme: chai latte (caught in the cold rain) + melancholy (write a tragic tale)

a/n: This is my submission for @the-slumberparty ‘s Winds of Autumn Challenge. Did I choose melancholy because of my name? Perhaps 🫢 In all honesty, it has been too long since I wrote a pure angst piece, so I knew I had to write something to get the heartbreak going. As a piece of advice, not everything is as it seems, so wait till the end for the whole story to come together. I would say happy reading, but instead, I'll wait here with tissues and a hug for those who need it after reading this. ( ´･･)ﾉ(._.`) Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

bucky masterlist ♡ // main masterlist ♡

Lightning crackles across the sky as you scurry across the puddle-ridden streets of New York desperately searching for a cab. The wind had rendered your umbrella useless, so the rain fell in harsh sheets against your body—soaking you from head to toe.

You had been performing an emergency surgery on one of your patients in a different hospital from the one you resided in. Your patient had suffered from an aneurysm brought on by a complication from a previous surgery. She couldn’t be transported across the city as immediate medical attention was needed, so you were transported to said hospital via the hospital helicopter.

Which you obviously couldn’t use to fly back home.

The surgery took longer than anticipated—eight hours to be exact. When you were close to being done there was unexpected bleeding coming from the surgical sight and you had to go back in and reexamine everything to stop the bleeding. Thankfully, there were no more complications after that and you could focus on stabilizing your patient so she could go and recover in the intensive care unit.

The downpour had started towards the end of your surgery. You were far from home and the already unfamiliar streets had blurred together amongst the harsh streaks of water obscuring your vision. It was still the early hours of the night and you were exhausted—longing to collapse against your bedsheets and wrap yourself in their warmth. Tiredness had seeped its way into your bones faster than the rain had seeped into your coat.

As you cross another street you spot a bus shelter nearby and make a run for it. Knowing it might be a while before you can catch a cab and at least those glass walls would be enough to protect you from the icy wind that threatened to freeze you. Once inside you try your best to warm up your hands, observing the way your breath materializes in the air. You consider ordering a rideshare, but you know the numbness in your fingertips has to go away before you can take your phone out and order it.

Fate, however, had other plans for you.

“Y/n?”

Your body stiffens when a voice calls your name, flinching slightly at the way the thunder that follows rattles the glass shelter. The shiver that makes its way down your spine is no longer from the chilly air.

This can’t be happening—not after two years. Not when you had finally moved on from him.

He calls your name again, his presence cementing itself into reality. You don’t want to face him, but there’s that small part of you—the part that will forever be his—that begs you to look. That needs to know if it's him.

Your head turns slowly, holding your breath as you keep your emotions in check as best as you can. Hoping the universe was playing a cruel joke on you and presenting you with someone who sounded exactly like him.

But what stranger would ever utter your name with such heart-aching familiarity?

Deep down you knew there was no mistaking it. It was him. It was Bucky. You would know the sound of his voice even in the loudest of crowds—like a language only your heart spoke. Even now when it was on the cusp of becoming a forgotten one.

Your eyes meet his as a flash of lightning illuminates you both. Your heart squeezes in your chest at the way his eyes seem stormier than the sky. Filled with as many conflicting emotions as you know are reflected in yours.

“Bucky. Hi…”

When you find your voice it sounds foreign to you—quiet and tight. The years of rebuilding every part of yourself are on the edge of crumbling down in a simple greeting. Bucky gives you a small smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes as he looks between you and the bus shelter. He frowns for a moment as if having a silent debate with himself.

“Is it okay if I um…?” He nods towards the inside of the bus shelter as he trails off. This is when you finally notice the way the rain whips against his skin, soaking him where he stands, and it dawns on you what he’s asking.

He wants to know if it’s okay for him to seek shelter from the rain with you. The man who used to insist on holding your hand wherever you went because he loved the feeling of your hand in his, the man who would hug you from behind and hide in the crook of your neck as he showered it with kisses when he missed you on the days you came home late, the man who cuddled you close every night and whispered how much he loved you between kisses that seemed to want to reach your very soul—that man was now asking for your permission to be in the same space as you.

Oh, how cruel fate could be…

“Yes, of course. It's fine,” your response is polite—too polite, and your movements are virtually robotic as you take a few steps to your right to keep a stranger’s distance between you. He mumbles a small thanks before he steps inside, his hands firmly in his jacket pockets. Keeping to his personal space as much as possible.

Silence stretches between you—heavy with unspoken sentiments—interrupted only by the booming of thunder and the drumming of rain as it hits whatever is in its way. You try to distract yourself by counting the seconds between the stoplight changing from green to yellow to red and then green again, but it's no use when he’s but a few steps away from you. The man who you used to know like the back of your hand is now a stranger and it's causing you more distress than you’d like to admit. The inside of your cheek feels the brunt of that torment as you bite it incessantly. You have to do something about this silence before it consumes you.

“How have you—”

“How’s it been—”

You both speak up at the same time, holding each other’s gaze for a fraction of a second before falling into an awkward laugh. He clears his throat before encouraging you to speak first. You look away, the civility of his tone crawling under your skin and unstitching mended wounds—some of which still had not fully healed yet.

“Okay, well how have you been, Bucky?”

“Good. I’ve been good. You?”

“Oh. I’ve been good too.”

The exchange went by quickly between half-truths and hesitations. Then it crept up again—the silence. Gnawing at you both and mocking you for not being able to have a simple conversation. When words between you used to flow as freely as the rain that traps you here—really the lack of vocabulary now is laughable. Your past selves would have never been able to wrap their heads around how hard talking to one another would be.

Your past selves would also never understand why you broke up.

Your current self still doesn’t entirely understand.

Bucky shifts on his feet, lips in a tight line as he speaks up, “I read about your recent award. Congratulations, you deserved it,” the sincerity in his voice causes your head to snap in his direction. When you see his genuine smile, one that makes the corner of his eyes slightly crinkle, it tugs at your heartstrings in a way that threatens to pull you back to him.

You won that award for your research achievements in neuroscience a few months ago. Which could only mean that at least until a few months ago, Bucky had been keeping up with you. A piece of information that left you speechless and with a million thoughts running through your mind.

Had he always kept up with you?

Or did he only just recently revisit a part of his past?

Were you on his mind all this time like he had been in yours?

There was so much you wanted to ask—to say—but instead, your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water until you were able to mutter a soft, “Thank you.” The sound so quiet it was almost swallowed by the rain. Bucky caught it, however, his body less rigid hearing the familiar cadence. He smiles a little wider, the kind of smile that chips away at the walls you built up these last two years and insists you spill a string of secrets you have locked away in the deepest depths of your heart.

All secrets that revolve around him.

How you also kept up with him, never scrolling past a social media or news post highlighting anything that had to do with the Avengers in hopes of getting a glimpse of him. Visiting the coffee shop where you two met on occasions telling yourself it's because no other coffee tastes better, but really it's because of the memories of you two that lie in every corner of that building. The loss of him follows you even when you order takeout because you would rather deal with the lie of ordering for two rather than with the truth of ordering for one.

However, the biggest secret of them all pertains to those days when the ache, the longing, and the loneliness become a cacophony too loud to ignore, that you find yourself rummaging through your closet. Searching for the shoe box that’s tucked away amongst miscellaneous items. One that holds the pieces of your heart that shattered the day Bucky broke up with you.

A faded movie ticket from the Lord of the Rings marathon you took him to, gum wrappers folded into hearts that Bucky had a habit of doing every time you needed a new bookmark, photobooth pictures that always ended with you two kissing, a letter he wrote you on your one year anniversary where he told you he loved you for the first time, and other items you cherished with every part of you.

Holding onto these things might seem to others like a mistake when your goal is to move on, but these were things you couldn’t find the strength to get rid of. And if that made you weak, clinging onto bits of what was the greatest love of your life, then so be it.

You were weak—and quite frankly you didn’t give a damn.

The one thing holding you back from pouring your heart out to Bucky was how things had ended. The vagueness, the fight, the resentment and confusion. All of it took hold of you and screamed at you to be more cautious—to keep your guard up.

Thunder snaps you out of your thoughts, grounding you in the present once more. You need answers, but you know you have to be careful about how you retrieve them.

You cross your arms, pressing your coat tighter against your body in an attempt to comfort yourself—turning to face him only to have your heart skip a beat when you realize he is already looking at you. His gaze softens with a vulnerability that makes the words get stuck in your throat.

You let out a shaky exhale, “I uh—I saw Sam became the new Captain America. I also saw you on the news fighting alongside him. Are you two friends now?” The question comes out innocent enough, making Bucky’s demeanor brighten as he takes it as a sign that you’re open to talking to him. Your hidden intention behind that question is a need for confirmation of something that eats away at you anytime you think about his reason for breaking up with you.

Bucky runs a hand through his damp hair, “Yeah, sort of—it's a long story. We went on a mission together and I realized he wasn’t that annoying, so we became mission partners and I guess you could consider us friends now,” he explains to you with a fond expression, one that leaves a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Through the occasional flashes of lightning you’re able to get a better look at him and the sinking feeling is on the verge of drowning you.

Bucky no longer had harsh dark circles under his eyes, his scruff was nicely shaven, and his posture was lighter as if the world was no longer falling heavily on his shoulders. His hair is shorter than when you last saw him, he had lost a bit of weight, and he had found a friend in Sam. Something you had encouraged him to do while you two were still together, but he refused on account of saying he only needed you. All of this verified to you the one thing you feared the most.

Bucky had been right all along. He had been right in breaking up with you.

Two years ago, Bucky had sat you down on his living room couch and told you he wasn’t ready for a relationship. That was it—that was his reason for ending things with you after almost two years of being together. He claimed he wasn’t ready for a long-term commitment, not after everything he had gone through. And seeing him now, seeing how much better he looked was enough proof for you. No amount of your love, your support, or your companionship would have been enough to keep him in your life.

Bucky had been right all along, and you hated how utterly bitter that made you.

How could you accept that what tore you to pieces mended Bucky back together?

The air between you shifts, it’s thick and acrid, and your heart races in your chest with fury as loud as the thunder that rumbles in the clouds. Leaving you wondering if Bucky can differentiate which one is more turbulent. He can sense the change in you and it causes the heaviness in his shoulders to return and his body to go rigid—his own heart threatening to leap out of his chest.

Your phone rings and you use it as an excuse to turn away from Bucky. You pull it out of your bag and check the caller ID—it's Nate. Your neighbor from down the hall of your apartment complex who moved in a couple of months ago, and was now a casual hookup of yours. You weren’t one for hookups, but after years of no connection you longed to feel something—anything with anyone.

You were only human after all.

You answer the call, needing to put your attention elsewhere before you say anything to Bucky you might regret later. You keep your responses short, knowing Nate could only be calling you at this hour for one reason and one reason only. Bucky didn’t need to know that reason, so you decide to keep the conversation as brief as possible.

Bucky shifts his weight on his feet as he pretends to watch the rain. Focusing on a water droplet sliding down the glass wall as it races the other droplets to the ground. He’s tempted to use his super soldier hearing to listen in on your conversation, but he knows he doesn’t have the right to. There are only bits and pieces that slip through—like the fact that you’re talking to a man—and it has one soul-crushing thought come to his mind.

You have someone. Bucky comes to the conclusion that you have moved on.

As soon as you end the call the words slip out of Bucky’s mouth before he can stop them.

“Was that your boyfriend?” The word boyfriend tastes bitter on his tongue and he can’t help the prickly edge to his voice. You catch the way his jaw tenses and he averts your gaze—ripping the wounds of heartbreak right open. He has no right to feel any sort of way about you moving on. He knows it, you know it, and yet there he is troubled at the thought of you with someone else.

Screw not saying something you’ll regret later.

“Yeah. That was him,” you lie with the utmost confidence that even you believe it. A tiny voice in the back of your head scolds you for lying, but it's hard to hear it when the resentment fights its way up to the surface and wins.

Bucky had fallen from a train, been brainwashed, tortured, beaten left and right in battles, gone to war, blipped out of existence, stabbed and shot more times than he can count and yet no physical blow could ever amount to the sheer devastating pain he was feeling right now knowing you had found someone else. Knowing there was someone else who got to see your sleepy smiles in the mornings, who got to cuddle you close to his chest on movie nights, who got to steal kisses from you while cooking dinner together, and who got to hear your laughter whenever he wanted—a sound that never failed to make Bucky all warm and fuzzy inside.

There was someone else who now had the privilege and the honor to be loved by you, and to love you.

Bucky would never be able to recover from that.

“I’m…happy for you. I’m happy you were able to move on,” Bucky lies through his teeth as he says those words that feel like acid on his tongue.

“It’s not like I had a choice in the matter,” you retort coldly, causing Bucky to flinch as if you had struck him.

“Y/n I—”

“No. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear how you weren’t ready for a relationship. How ending it was for the best. Breaking every single promise you made to me like it meant nothing to you. You don’t tell someone you love them, that you want to move in together—you don’t talk about the future and then turn around and break up with them because you’re not ready for something long-term. Not unless…not unless it was all a lie from the start,” your voice cracks by the end and it takes everything within you to swallow the lump in your throat before it suffocates you.

The thunder roars so loudly it shakes the glass walls around you and for a second you think they might break—but ultimately they don’t. Bucky doesn’t know what to say, taking a sharp intake of a breath before blowing out the air in what sounds like a choked sob. Every fiber of his being longs to break the distance, wrap you in his arms, and never let you go. Cradling you close to his chest like he used to whenever you were upset.

He had lost that privilege—he’s well aware of that, and yet his wishes remain the same.

Bucky knows there’s more he can say. Things that might not restore what was broken, but that will definitely give you answers or closure. Although, at the risk of hurting you even more he keeps them to himself and instead whispers a strained, “I’m sorry.” Letting the weight of his apology hang in the air.

Your tears threaten to spill, but you blink them away not wanting to cry in front of him. Maybe you shouldn’t be bitter and resentful—after all the man you loved with your whole heart ended up better off without you. If you truly loved him you should be happy for him. Despite that, there is no ounce of happiness that you can conjure up for him right now. At this moment, you are swimming in an ocean of negative emotions that are close to pulling you under into a very dark place.

You can be the bigger person tomorrow—tonight you won’t be.

Bucky can hear it before it comes into view, a cab is finally making its way down the road. He steps out into the road to wave it down, the rain ricocheting off of his shoulders. Without speaking another word, he heads over to the cab and opens the door to the backseat, gesturing for you to go in. For a second, you hesitate to take the cab. You know once you do this is it—it's over.

A beat passes until you make a decision. With a heavy heart, you force one foot in front of the other, stepping into the rain and then into the backseat. Accepting this small gesture from Bucky as a heartfelt goodbye. If you stuck around any longer that bit of animosity brewing in the pit of your stomach would’ve boiled over.

You don’t look at Bucky as he closes the door, but you steal one last glance at him as you tell the driver your address. The sight squeezes your chest so tightly it might stop beating—Bucky is crying. He’s hiding it well with the rain and with the way he stands, but you know him better than that. At one point he was your other half and you can tell by the way his jaw trembles, his eyes narrow, and his expression molds to one of pain that he’s crying.

You hide your face from him as the dam breaks and everything you had been holding back comes flooding out.

Bucky steps back into the shelter of the glass walls and watches the cab drive off with you in it—taking his heart and his hope with you.

Bucky tries to force the tears to stop, but he knows it's no use. Just like you, he had held back a sea of truths he wanted to confess. Truths he wasn’t sure you even wanted to hear or he even deserved to tell.

Bucky is not doing good. He has to throw himself into work and missions every waking moment because if he doesn’t his thoughts will run straight to you. Every night he has to hold his pillow close to his chest because he got so used to sleeping with you cuddled against him, that he feels like a part of him is missing and it steals his sleep. He tosses and turns for hours and stares at the ceiling as if there he’ll find the answers on how to make the heartache go away. In the silence, he longs to hear your voice, so the radio and the tv stay on so he doesn’t have to sit with the uncomfortable. The food he eats lacks flavor and the world around him seems devoid of color.

His existence feels soulless without you.

Sam is trying to get him to talk about it, but you’re the one thing Sam is not allowed to bring up. Not when Bucky is ashamed of the full story—of the truth.

The full story—the full truth—was the one thing most of all that he wanted to get off of his chest and confess to you. Bucky didn’t break up with you because he wasn’t ready for a long-term relationship. That was the biggest lie he had ever told and one that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He was ready. He was so damn ready he even bought the ring to ask you to marry him—to make forever official. That was until he noticed how his problems began to bleed into your life. So much so, that your career as a surgeon began to suffer from it. The one thing you were most passionate about—your dream—the one thing you worked blood, sweat, and tears for was in jeopardy because Bucky was still suffering from the baggage of his past as the Winter Solider.

Bucky felt like a burden. You would never call him that and he knew if you ever heard him call himself that, you would do and say everything you could to assure him he was wrong. You loved him so deeply and so selflessly that your career became an afterthought. When his nightmares plagued him, when his PTSD was triggered, when the world felt like it was closing in on him—there you were. By his side no matter the time of day to hold him close and reassure him he wasn’t alone, that he was safe, and that he was loved. Bucky had become so dependent on you he didn’t realize how it had affected you until he stumbled across the warning letters your job sent, the voicemails, and the overheard calls. The articles that came out questioning your morality for dating the Winter Solider—a cold-blooded killer.

Your reputation as a surgeon was on the line because of him.

That’s when Bucky knew he had to call it off. He had to be the one to end it and fix his own problems before his darkness ruined you. You had sacrificed so much and worked endlessly to prove yourself in your field, that there was no way he would let you risk all of that for him. He knew he couldn’t be honest with you over the real reasons—you would never accept them. So he made sure to find a reason that would lead you to hate him.

Bucky knew he had to be the villain of the story. He was used to it, he’d be okay with it. As long as you were safe from the shadows that followed him, he would gladly be the bad guy. For some people that was all he’d ever be, at least in this case he could control the narrative and in the end it would benefit you.

Bucky couldn’t give you forever, no, but in letting you go he made sure you kept your dream—and that was enough for him. That meant everything to him.

He had to suffer the greatest loss of his life so that the love of his life could be free. A hard truth that he would forever carry the weight of and that you would never know was done as an ultimate act of love—the selfless act of knowing when to say goodbye.

#comment reblog ❤️#marvelstoriesepic ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚#lovely mutuals ♡🎀♡#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes imagine

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elixirfromthestars · 1 month ago

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My lovely, I always get so excited when I see you in my notifications 🥰❤️ I’m so happy you’re excited to read more of my fluffy Bucky fics!! 🥹 My goal is to give so much sweet tooth rotting fluff to end the year on a really good note!! 🫶🏼💕

I wanted tipsy Bucky to just be like the goofiest sweetheart ever 😂❤️ I just thought it would be so adorable and endearing, so I love that you enjoyed my version of a tipsy Bucky 🤭💕

To be proven wrong by Bucky with kisses is the best way to be proven wrong, don’t you agree? 🤭💗💗 As always, thank you for reading and being so supportive of my little fics 🥹🩷🩷 Love ya!!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

By The Warmth Of The Oven

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Summary: You are baking cookies for the Avengers holiday party when a certain super solider comes into the kitchen tipsy for the first time...

Word Count: 1.1k

Warning(s): none. pure fluff. tipsy bucky.

Prompt/Event: @the-slumberparty december daze -> is it those cookies that smell delicious or is it you?

a/n: This fluffy drabble is my holiday gift to you my dear Bella @nickfowlerrr ♡ In honor of Can You Feel It? being the first of many beautiful fics I read of yours 🥹🩷 Thank you everyone for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

bucky masterlist ♡ || fluffy winter drabbles masterlist ❆

“Smells good…” Bucky’s voice comes out of nowhere from behind you as you grab another tray of chocolate chip cookies from the oven. You glance over your shoulder to find him sauntering into the kitchen, making his way over to you.

“Freshly baked cookies always do,” you reply with a gratified grin, placing the tray on top of the stove so the cookies have some time to cool off before you plate them. Your friends had already gone through three batches of them and they practically begged you to make more. It was a nice feeling, almost rewarding in a way, knowing something you made was so loved by your friends.

“‘m not talking about the cookies, doll,” there’s a bit of a slur in his cadence that catches your attention at the same time that your heart skips a beat at his words. You turn to him to see he’s staring at you with a dreamy smile and a twinkle in his eyes, propped up against the counter by his elbow. You frown at his unusual nonchalant demeanor. You’ve never seen him act this way before.

Your head tilts slightly as you examine him a little closer. There’s a bit of a sway to his stance and his cheeks are tinted pink. “Bucky, are you drunk?” Almost immediately he shakes his head at your question, “No. I can't get drunk,” he replies with an obvious tone, and yet the pouty frown on his face tells a different story.

“Right, you can’t…” you affirm, mulling it over for a moment,“Unless…did Thor give you some of his special Asgardian liquor?” You ask, stepping slightly closer to him, the apples of his cheeks getting rosier in response.

“I took a shot. I started feeling funny and came here—felt safe,” he mutters that last part reluctantly, sharing something with you he wouldn’t if it weren’t for the alcohol in his system.

“In the kitchen?”

“With you.”

Your amusement is replaced with a soft expression at his response. He most likely hasn’t felt the effects of alcohol in decades and a part of him doesn’t know how to cope with the resurfaced inhibitions. The fact that while feeling unwell his first instinct was to come looking for you—it made a warmth spread throughout you that could easily rival the heat of the oven.

You reach out to cup his cheek, soothing the flushed skin with your thumb. He instinctively leans into your touch, his eyes shining with a gentle vulnerability that causes your heart to squeeze in your chest. You and Bucky have always had a flirtatious friendship for as long as you can remember, but it's never gone past that. Seeing him so openly affectionate with you stirs emotions deep within you that you aren’t sure you’re ready to bring to the surface.

“I don’t think the alcohol is going to stay in your system for long, Buck. How about we do this…you wait for me here while I go out and serve the cookies I baked,” his eyes widen slightly and you can tell he wants to protest until you add, “I’ll bring back some hot chocolate for us to share and we can enjoy it along with some cookies while we wait for that liquor in your system to wear off. How does that sound?” You suggest softly and you can see the way he thinks it through before he agrees with a nod.

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as you plate a few dozen cookies on decorative plates, leaving a handful behind for you and Bucky to share. You make sure to quickly take them out to your friends and serve up two piping hot mugs of hot chocolate before making it back to the kitchen in no time.

When you meet back with Bucky you find him sitting on the counter where he watches his legs as he swings them lazily to and fro. You observe him fondly for a moment longer than necessary. Trying to commit to memory how carefree and unguarded he is at this moment. When he notices you his face lights up in a way that makes you feel like the most precious person on earth.

“Here, as promised,” you hand him a mug of hot chocolate which he takes eagerly—too eagerly—as he immediately goes for a sip of it. Before he can, however, you stop him, placing your hand as a barrier between his lips and the mug. His mouth ends up pressed into your palm, and you ignore the heat that finds its way to your face at the softness of his lips brushing against your skin.

“Bucky, it's scalding hot! You’ll burn yourself! Wait until it cools down a bit, please.”

“It’s not gonna burn me, doll. I’m a super soldier. Watch—”

“Bucky!”

You use the cookies as leverage to coax Bucky into waiting for the hot chocolate to cool down before he drinks any of it. For the next hour or so, you enjoy each other's company. Between the sweet treats and the lighthearted conversations, time flies by in a heartbeat.

Then, while in the middle of a discussion over your last mission, Bucky does something that completely takes you by surprise in the best way possible��he kisses you. It’s short, but profound in the way he pours everything into it. Every flirtation you ever questioned could mean something more was proven here with this kiss, that it had meant so much more for more than just you.

You’re speechless when he pulls away beaming as if his heart might burst.

“Looks like I was right.”

“Huh?”

“I asked myself what was sweeter. You or the cookies. I knew it'd be you,” he states as a matter of fact, drinking up the way his words affect you as much as the kiss had. There’s a part of you that doesn’t believe him, but it's not because of him, but more so because you think you must be dreaming.

“That's the liquor talking.”

“I've sobered up a while ago, doll.”

You search his eyes for the truth of it all and you find it. This is real. This isn’t a dream. And the yearning that burns bright in his eyes is one you know all too well. It’s the same one reflecting in your eyes as your gazes lock on one another.

“I still think the cookies are sweeter,” you whisper, your eyes shining with a playful challenge despite the way your heart races in your chest with anticipation. He catches on, licking his lips as his flesh hand snakes its way to the back of your head to cradle it gently.

“‘m gonna prove you wrong, doll,” he declares in a huskier tone as he pulls you in for another kiss. And that night, by the warmth of the oven, Bucky continues to kiss you until he successfully proves you wrong.

#comment reblog ❤️#marvelstoriesepic ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚#lovely mutuals ♡🎀♡#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine

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