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3ndoftheline · 7 years ago

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Florence

Bucky x Reader

Summary: Such a gift it would be, to love and be loved in return.

Warnings: none?????? what is this??????

Word Count: 2.3k

Author’s Note: hi hello! guess who is finally fucking updating even though it isn’t even for one of her multi-part fics lmao!!!!!!! this is just something i thought up randomly and like busted out in about an hour so if it sucks i’m soRRY. also this is super fucking dramatic???? like idk what is going on with me tho i promise it’s fluffy (i figured i’ve posted enough angst with my sad ass lmao) but despite the fluff and the cute and the aw’s this is melodramatic and super poetic idefk what came over me so like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ anyways i hope ya’ll enjoy and pls leave feedback i love to hear what you guys think. love you all to the moon and back xx (also ps the gif of seb below look at how soft and happy my son is i need bucky to be like this at all times)

He falls in love in Florence.

He just doesn’t know it.

When the man he shouldn’t remember falls into the murky depths of a river foreign to him. When his life, his structure, his sanity falls in fiery scraps of cracked metal. When everything he thought he was turned out to be everything he shouldn’t be, that’s when he falls. He lets go. He isn’t sure why, he just knows he has to. He feels this incessant tug like the Earth pulling at the Sun, begging it to relieve it from darkness. He feels like if he doesn’t let go, he’ll never begin.

So he falls and when he dries off beneath the unforgiving golden rays that burn red streaks on his cheeks and nose, he runs. He stops by a museum wearing stolen clothes that don’t fit him but he isn’t even sure what would. He sees someone who looks like him, who could be him. His name was Bucky and he had died in 1945.

The man, he had called him Bucky. He knows that’s not his name. He can’t be Bucky. Bucky is smart, intelligent, his eyes have a light flickering with laughter and kindness and patience that is expressed in a single photograph. His smile is carefree and mischievous and promises adventure and whispered secrets in sweet summertime.

No, he can’t be Bucky.

So he runs.

He stays where he is but his instincts tell him not to stay. To stay means to make a life, to start over. And he’s not so sure he can.

So he runs. He runs through the Eastern seaboard, living off of rusty freight cars that rattle his bones and canned soup he snags from waiting baskets. He then learns of this thing called an airplane. He knows, deep down, what an airplane is. He remembers the heavy drone and a sound like pebbles cracking against a tin wall. But when he gets in, he still doesn’t know. He feels as if he should be surrounded by ice cold metal and dangling harnesses and empty, empty space.

He decides he’s never getting in an airplane again.

He lands in Europe and runs through England and Belgium and France (something keeps him away from Germany. He doesn’t know what, he doesn’t know why but when he hears the country a deep hatred seeps through his skin and threatens to choke him) and he finds himself in Italy.

He travels through Italy at first with a travel group. He lurks in the background and slips in behind them when they reach the Youth Hostel. He doesn’t know what a Youth Hostel is; in fact the name almost makes him not go inside. He doesn’t know what city he’s in or what part of Italy he’s in but he smells warm food and can see the makeshift beds and suddenly he feels as if he is in heaven and doesn’t really care for the other connotations the name could’ve possibly held.

But he doesn’t relax. He still stays behind and watches, searching. He hasn’t quite figured out what he’s searching for but he knows he has to. He watches every face and searches for something, something to validate the constant trepidation, the incessant fear and alarm that seems to have curled through his blood and into his bones and settled into the crevices of his chest.

“Are you in line?” Petal soft with the faintest lilt, the voice startles him out of his reverie. He turns around and finds himself searching, searching, searching, but he finds nothing. But then, he finds something. Something that makes his heart pound faster and his teeth to sink into his trembling bottom lip. Something that makes him pull the brim of his hat lower and him to instinctively shove his left hand into his pocket.

He shook his head, his voice failing him. She nods and smiles brightly and he imagines that’s what the sun looks like after a rainy day. He imagines dewdrops blinking in the kaleidoscope of gold and teasing yellow. He sees flowers blooming in the deepest corners and stars shining in the darkest of skies.

He sees hope.

He falls in love in Florence.

He just doesn’t know it.

She introduces herself to him. He’s hiding in the farthest corner, curling his sleeping bag as close to the wall as he possibly could. It’s cold but he’s comfortable. It’s small but he doesn’t mind. A part of him feels like he belongs there.

But she doesn’t let him. “What are you, a vampire?” She laughs and it reminds him of brilliant burst of rainbows igniting an impossibly blue sky. It reminds him of fresh breezes and the promise of spring and something new.

She forces him to sleep beside her. He doesn’t want to but doesn’t know how to refuse her so he finds himself following her even though every cell in his body is screaming at him to run. He doesn’t sleep that night, but he relaxes for the first time in what feels like a lifetime.

She sidles in next to him the next morning at breakfast. She’s bubbly and bright and has a light dancing in her eyes that reminds him oddly of Bucky, the one in the museum, the one he’s supposed to be.

She drags him out to go sightseeing. He had every plan to leave that morning but she’s so excited to show him this cathedral and this museum and this statue that again he can’t bring himself to say no.

And that’s how it goes.

He tries to leave, every part of him is telling him not to stay. But she’s got a smile that ensnares his lungs and leaves him breathless. She’s got this excitement and will to live that he’s addicted to. He’s addicted to the life that she breathes into his very soul.

She teaches him of this movement called the Renaissance. Rebirth she tells him, it’s the time of new beginnings. And for a moment he believes she’s talking about herself until he’s realizing she’s speaking about the fresco above their heads.

But he couldn’t give a damn about Michelangelo, or DaVinci or the Mona Lisa’s mournful smile. He doesn’t care for archangels or stone sculptures erected above his head or paintings hidden behind oil and sweat.

Because she is Renaissance. She is something new, something exciting. She is life after the dark, shrouded past. She is buttery sunshine in a murky forest. She is creativity and bursting ideas in a fountain bred from misery and confusion. She’s life in the form of an angel with a golden halo and shimmering wings.

She doesn’t flinch when she grabs his hand although he does. She drags him across uneven cobblestones and her skin turns golden beneath the Italian sky. They eat gelato as she reads intently all the guidebooks she could get her hands on. He watches her as she bites her lip when something really different and interesting meets her eyes. They speak in hushed tones in church pews. Well, mostly she does. He just watches her wave her hands and smiling sheepishly at the tourists or mourners she disturbed. He lights a candle with her at every cathedral and church they entered. He doesn’t do it for anyone, he isn’t sure if he has anyone out there to light a candle for. Maybe the man on the bridge, Steve the museum had said. But he isn’t sure if Steve is real or if Steve is a memory.

“Light one for everything you wished you could’ve done,” she tells him when he’s hesitating with a flame in hand.

So he does. And with each flame that flickers on the wick a piece of his heart goes out to her. Because he wishes for a chance, for a single moment where the stars align and allow him to have her, even if only for a minute.

He falls in love in Florence.

He just doesn’t know it.

It happens in the whisper of night where the stars dazzle like diamonds sprinkled over a velvet cloth. The moon is full and taunting and bathing everything in a silver glow. But he doesn’t notice. His eyes are wrenched open and he feels his heart crashing against his ribs and his breath rattling in his chest. Red stains his vision and he hears the screams and begs of mercy. From who, he isn’t sure. But he hears the cold voice of a scientist Welcome, Sergeant Barnes.

She is next to him and she must be awake for she turns to look at him. He can feel it. He feels it every time she looks at him. He feels it deep within him, something stirring in places he didn’t even know could feel anymore. His skin prickles as her gentle eyes are round with concern.

“Come,” she whispers and takes his hand again. This time it’s his left hand and he’s sure she can feel the ice prickling through the leather glove he has yet to take off but she doesn’t even flinch. She’s dragging him with surprising strength out onto the streets of Florence. They’re both barefoot and she’s looking back at him with such a mischievous smile that promises a secret that only they can share.

She stops at a tall building with a terracotta roof and she leads him to the vines wrapped along the sides. She winks at him and his heart stutters and leaps when he sees her suddenly scaling the wall with surprising dexterity. He follows quickly, her eagerness rushing over him like a tidal wave. And like a wave, she’s pulling him with her.

They reach the roof and she’s breathless with laughter and life and her face glows as she stares out at the sprawling city below her. He decides then that she’s everything. And if he leaves tomorrow, or the next day, or that night, he vows to never forget her. So he commits her face to memory until when he closes his eyes she’s all he can see.

She sits down and forces him down with her until they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder. She begins to tell him the stories behind the constellations and he swears he sees them sparkling in her eyes. The moon creates a silver light that washes her hair and turns her ethereal. And he wonders if that stars had taken extra time creating her and if tonight, maybe they were trying to call her back.

She turns to look at him but he can’t help the breath that gets caught in the ridges of his throat. He sees her pulse flutter against the alabaster white of her throat and her petal soft lips part just enough for her breath to coax his skin to a shiver.

“What are you thinking?” She asks and he realizes just how much of a loaded question that really is. He’s thinking about a lot of things, things he isn’t quite sure are real or if their cloaked in a cape of fantasy. But two things keep coming up like some sick recording that refuses to stop. First, it’s her. Her, her, her. Then, it’s him. The danger he knows he’s in as fractals of memories begin to piece together. They normally happen late at night when he can’t sleep. But when they do he begins to understand why he’s always searching and why he needs to run.

He doesn’t respond for a while but she doesn’t comment on it. She turns her face back out to the rippling sea of a thousand lights. They look like tiny fireflies blinking in the distance. “Sometimes,” she whispered, as if the secret is too heavy for her to bear even in the thick quiet of the night, “I want to run away. I want to run away and never look back.” She's silent for a moment and then she looks at him and his heart clenches at the tremor of trepidation that trembles in her soft irises. “Is that crazy?” She asks him. The universe seems to wait with a bated breath as the stars that twinkled above Florence still in anticipation as he stares at her with the wonder of the world suspended in his icy irises.

“Let’s run away then,” he whispers. He can hardly believe the words came from his mouth but there they are. It’s like the words are held in the air merely by the tension that seems to suffocate him and he suddenly finds it extremely hard to breathe.

“You and me?” She breathes and the whole world leans in, straining to hear as even the birds still their fluttering wings.

“Yeah,” his voice barely registers yet it reverberates around them. “You and me. Let’s run away and never look back.”

She launches herself at him and he barely has time to gather his thoughts before instincts take over and he grapples her waist to keep her from pitching herself off the roof. Her lips are on his and the sky rejoices as a shooting star streaks across the velvet black night. He’s left breathless yet he continues to kiss her as if his life depended on it. Their mouths slotted together unevenly and their noses bumped. It wasn’t perfect but it was his. His memory that he could keep and tuck away deep in the recesses of his mind where not even HYDRA could reach them.

“Is this crazy?” She gasps out when they finally break apart but their foreheads stay together as their staggered breaths mingle together in the space between them. Bucky can hear and feel her heartbeat stuttering against his chest and he draws her closer as his heart links with hers until they beat as one.

He shakes his head immediately and without hesitation he says, “No.”

Then she’s laughing and he’s smiling and their kissing and he thinks maybe, just maybe he could be Bucky. Because in that moment, right there, with her, he could be anyone.

He falls in love in Florence.

And he finally knows it.

QUICK LITTLE SIDE NOTE BC I JUST REALIZED SOMETHING AND I’M V V V EXCITED SO!!!!!!!

i’m five away from my next hundred????? omg???? i love you all so fucking much ????? but i was thinking of celebrating maybe with a drabble game or like request thingy or some sort of game i can do with yall idk what do you guys want? do any of you have any ideas? maybe i’ll finally update touch lmao!!!! but yeah please let me know and i just want to thank you again bc it means so much to me that any one of you follow me so thank you so so much omg

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