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redgillan · 3 years ago

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And they could Never Tear us Apart - 1

Summary: Canon!AU Bucky doesn’t trust anyone but himself. But after you show up on his doorstep with a shoebox full of old HYDRA files, he finds himself in a very difficult situation: trust a spy or gamble with people’s lives.

Word Count: 1,947

Warnings: Language, Super Mild Violence

A/N: Here we go! This fic follows FATWS. I hope you enjoy this new fic, I will probably take a small tag list for this series but I plan to post every monday so you can follow @redgillan-shares and turn on notification. Happy reading!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Bucky paced the base with hasty steps, groaning under his breath while he waited for Sam to emerge from the locker room. He couldn’t stop thinking about Walker’s interview on Good Morning America.

“Even though I never met him, he feels like a brother.”

He’d gone on a walk then, tearing off posters of John Walker as the new Captain America before he remembered that Sam was at the military base near New York and decided to pester him about the shield instead.

“Does he know I’m here?” Bucky snapped, though the young lieutenant standing next to him didn’t flinch.

Torres kept his eyes trained on the sheet of paper he was reading, his unzipped backpack hanging off one shoulder. “He shouldn’t be long, sir.”

“Great,” Bucky mumbled to himself.

He took an immediate dislike to Torres. There was no logical reason for Bucky to be so cold to him but he couldn’t help it. Torres reminded him of the person he used to be; young, charming, friendly, easy-going... just your regular go-to guy.

Now he didn’t know who he was anymore.

Bucky was jerked out of his thoughts by the sound of a door banging open against a wall, followed by the sound of booted feet tramping across the open base. The sounds caught everyone’s attention, even Torres finally looked up from his paperwork.

They both frowned as they watched you flounce toward the only person in the room who wasn’t looking at you.

You looked absolutely dishevelled, as if you’d gotten dressed in a hurry; oversized black cargo pants, an askew tank top that revealed a white sports bra, and one boot. Still you carried yourself with confidence and authority despite the very obvious limp.

“What the hell is that?” you barked, shoving a crumpled piece of paper against the man’s chest. He had seen you but pretended not to. Instead he took his time to acknowledge your presence. You straightened your spine and lifted your head. You looked ready to explode.

“New orders,” he said. “Effective immediately.”

“He has no authority over me.”

“He’s Captain America. Now, suit up. They’re waiting for you.”

You looked down at the tactical Kevlar suit in your clenched fist and scoffed. “Tell Walker I’m not going to follow him around in a skin tight suit. I’m out.” You threw the suit in his face and stormed back to the locker room, still limping.

“I’m not his secretary, tell him yourself,” the man shouted to your retreating back

“I don’t care.”

The door closed behind you with a bang that echoed through the base. The room was silent for a moment before everyone went back to work. Torres let out a sound halfway between a whistle and a sigh and Bucky glared at him.

“’Don’t think I’d like to be on the receiving end of that,” Torres said with a friendly smile. “I’m thinking either water or fire sign, uh?” The deadpan look on Bucky’s face was enough to make Torres uncomfortable. “Yeah, never mind. I’ll go get Sam.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

***

Bucky muttered a quiet thank you in German before hanging up and pocketing his phone. After Baltimore, he knew that tracking down the people responsible for the new super soldier serum would require Zemo’s help.

Now that the correctional facility had agreed to let them talk to Zemo, he needed a plan to break him out of prison. Planning wasn’t his forte. He had vague memories of HYDRA higher-ups giving him orders and telling him about escape routes.

He had less than twenty four hours to come up with a plan that wouldn’t blow up in his face. On top of that, his actions would definitely put a strain on his relationship with Wakanda.

It was a necessary evil, a means to an end. Zemo wasn’t just obsessed with HYDRA, he also had connections with very shady people.

Bucky started climbing the steps to his apartment when something caught his eye. You were sitting on the floor with your knees pulled up to your chest, your arms wrapped around a shoe box. Reflexively, he looked around but there weren’t a lot of people in the street at –he glanced at his watch- 3:47 in the morning.

“Shit,” he mumbled to himself.

You looked up when you heard footsteps coming up the stairs, a bright streetlight illuminating your features. You looked guarded and apprehensive as he stepped out of the shadows. Bucky frowned under your scrutiny.

He paused on the landing, keys in hand, ready to use them as a weapon if needed. He stared at you; your eyes were swollen and bloodshot, dried tear tracks streaking your cheeks.

You wiped your nose with your sleeve and looked away.

“I’ve seen you before,” he said. “At the base. You were yelling at someone. You only had one shoe on.”

“Sounds like me.”

You sniffed and got to your feet as he approached. He jutted his chin toward the box cradled against your chest, wordlessly asking for elaboration. You swallowed hard and opened the lid, showing him the logo on the manila folder.

A fucking red skull with six fucking tentacles.

Bucky gave you an exasperated look and sighed, moving past you to open his front door. You followed after him and closed the door behind you. He removed his jacket and tossed it haphazardly over an armchair.

“What’s your name?”

“It’s classified.”

He threw you another exasperated look as he grabbed a bottle of beer out of the fridge. He uncapped the bottle using his vibranium hand and took a swig. A little harmless show of strength. He watched you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

“Well, Classified, you can speak freely here,” he said, leaning against the fridge. “Though I’m sure you already know that.”

“I know you destroyed the listening devices,” you confirmed. “Those were expensive by the way.”

“I’ll write you a check.”

You snorted, though you tried to hide it.

He eyed you up and down, trying to figure you out. You didn’t look threatening, but maybe that was the point. Not a lot of men came home at the crack of dawn to find a pretty girl on their doorstep. The tears were a nice touch, added sympathy and vulnerability.

He wondered how many knives you were hiding under your jacket.

You took a cautious step in his direction, your eyes never leaving his, and set the shoe box down on the kitchen counter. He watched you take a step back, your expression neutral and your body language unthreatening.

Without taking his eyes off you, he sent the lid crashing to the floor and reached inside the box. He pulled out three hefty Manila folders, slapping them on the counter.

“There’s more,” you said quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself.

He glared at you, then pulled the box closer. Inside there were three VHS tapes, no labels, no protection cases. He took one an examined it.

“What is it?” When you didn’t answer, he raised his eyes to you. “What’s on ‘em?”

You tightened your arms around yourself and took a hasty step back, almost tripping over your own feet. You made a sound, something between a sob and gasp, and collapsed into the armchair.

It took you a few minutes to pull yourself together; you were so tired, so emotionally drained. You rubbed your hands over your eyes and massaged your temple distractedly. The throbbing pain behind your eyes was unbearable. You wanted to sink into the armchair and fall asleep.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option.

“Those are videos of HYDRA turning you into the Winter Soldier,” you finally said, your voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear you. You glanced sideways at him, unable to meet his eye but still trying to gauge his reaction.

“Where did you find ‘em?”

“I can’t tell you.”

The silence that followed only lasted a second before Bucky stomped over to where you were sitting and grasped your arm painfully, forcing you to your feet.

You recoiled and tried to pry your arm free but he tightened his grip and shoved you against the wall. He invaded your personal space, his nose almost touching yours. You hit your head on the wall trying to put some distance between you.

“Don’t play games with me, Classified,” he snarled, his nostrils flaring.

“I’m not,” you replied assuredly, locking eyes with him. His gaze was intense and probing, you tried not to show your discomfort.

“No?” he asked condescendingly. “Then answer me this. What’s a special agent doing at my apartment in the middle of the night with her little box of horrors?”

“I thought you deserved to destroy these tapes yourself.”

Your words left him speechless. He loosened his grip on your arm but did not let go. You pushed him away and put some distance between you. It was easier to think now that you could no longer feel his breath on your skin.

You stood in the middle of his living room, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself.

God, you wanted to cry. Not because he had hurt you; you were an agent, a sore arm was nothing, but because watching these videos had made you physically sick.

You had watched hours’ worth of footage of him being tortured, manipulated, brainwashed into an emotionless killing machine. It would remain forever etched in your memory.

You refused to cry in front of Bucky Barnes, though. It was embarrassing enough that he could tell you had been crying.

“What I saw-” You cleared your throat to get rid of the lump that had formed. “What I saw was so barbaric, so cruel,” you trailed off, aggressively wiping your nose with the back of your hand. You turned to him, your eyes shining with unshed tears, and pointed to your ear. “I can still hear your screams in my head... like... like a distorted noise playing on a loop.”

Bucky looked down at the floor, his expression guarded, slightly hostile, though when he finally met your gaze, his eyes were softer this time.

“If it were me on those tapes, I would like to destroy them myself,” you spoke in a gentle but firm tone. “That’s why I came here. I understand why you’re angry, I would be too. I wasn’t thinking clearly, I’m sorry. We don’t know each other and you... you have a lot on your plate.”

He sagged back against the wall, physically and emotionally exhausted. He processed your words in silence, his eyes assessing your expression, gauging you. He exhaled loudly and ran a hand through his hair.

“No harm done, Classified.”

You snorted. “Yeah, I don’t like that nickname.”

You exchanged tight-lipped smiles and a curt nod before you took a step toward the front door. Bucky saw you pause. You looked over your shoulder, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. He could see the conflict raging behind your eyes.

You crossed the room, stopped directly in front of him, and reached up to touch his cheek. He held your gaze, his eyes dark, intense. He was suddenly taken aback by your features; your eyes were so expressive, your lips so oddly tempting. Your eyes were sad and afraid, like they held a terrible secret.

Those videos had messed you up real good. It was written all over your face. You had heard and seen him being torn apart and put back together like a jigsaw puzzle; forcing together pieces that don’t fit because they have to go somewhere.

You ran the pad of your thumb over his bristled cheek. “You’re alive.”

You were gone before he could blink.

Part 2

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #marvel fanfiction #redgillanwrites #and they could never tear us apart

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redgillan · 4 years ago

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Under Pastel Skies - fin

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 6,800

Warnings: Mutual Masturbation (non explicit), Hallmark Movie Cheesiness

A/N: I’m am SO sorry it took me months to finish this. Also there’s a tiny bit of sexy times (it’s non explicit and put between two ‘*’ for those who want to skip it) but just a heads up. I can’t remember who said I should name Bucky’s book under pastel skies but thank you ;) I want to thank you all for reading this series, it has been really fun. I’m sad it’s over but hopefully I can add an epilogue and I got several requests for this series so it’s a good bye, not an adieu ♥

Wannabe sugar daddies don’t interact, idc if you have money, eat it and leave me be.

Summer was Bucky’s least favourite season. He despised the heat, the sunburns and mosquitoes, the sweat running down his temples and back. He was always tired, never hungry, and he hated feeling so... bleh.

But most of all, he hated the expectations that came with summer: enjoying the sun, reuniting with friends and family, soaking up the extra hours of daylight, being happy. It felt like an obligation.

Summer with you was Bucky’s favourite season. He loved the way you squinted against the sun, your face bright and happy and your lips glossy with sorbet. He loved those lazy afternoons spent at the pool and he definitely worshiped your summer wardrobe.

You had found a part-time job at a renewed museum. You often said that it was boring and tiring but your colleagues were nice. You were still visiting galleries from time to time but you weren’t actively pursuing a career as a professional artist.

Bucky spent most of his time in his office, finishing up his novel. He was really anxious about it, and he hoped his little surprise wouldn’t blow up in his face. He had everything planned. His uncle had been delighted when Bucky asked if he could use the bookstore for a reading. It would be a private reading, just the two of you after the shop closed.

Now he just had to ask you out...

Bucky climbed the stairs two at a time to your floor, a bouquet of flower in his hand and a smile on his lips. You had invited him over for dinner, which was a bit unusual because you had to work the next morning, but he wasn’t complaining. Far from.

“Bucky,” you giggled sheepishly when you opened the door. He bought you flowers every time he saw you. It didn’t matter that your studio apartment now looked like the back room of a flower shop, he liked the way your eyes softened at the sight of the pretty blooms. “These are stunning.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Takes one to know one, sweetheart.”

You good-naturedly rolled your eyes before you waved him into the room. “Come in, I made dinner.”

Your apartment smelled of marinara sauce and spaghetti boiling in hot water. It was a comforting smell, a smell that reminded him that he wasn’t alone.

You didn’t have a proper table, the apartment was too small for that, so you ate on the breakfast counter. Bucky didn’t mind eating side by side. He liked the way you turned your body to face him, your knee touching his. It felt intimate.

“I have something to tell you,” you said, closing the door behind him. He watched you bounce around the room like some excited puppy dog. “I haven’t told anyone yet.”

His forehead creased into a deep frown. “What is it?”

You pulled something out of your bag and hid it behind your back before you took a step closer to him. You were unable to meet his confused gaze but he found it so endearing that he started smiling.

You handed him a postcard-style flyer with a shaking hand. It was a mini print of one of your paintings along with the logo of a gallery in New York. He turned the card over and read it, his eyes instantly brightening. It was a flyer for an art opening.

“Angel,” he said, his voice full of emotion. “You did it!”

You chuckled bashfully. “It’s a collective exhibition. They gave me half a wall and a corner of the engraving table.” You raised your eyes to his, your bottom lip caught between your teeth in a way that managed to be both shy and sensual. “Will you be there?”

Bucky placed the flyer on the kitchen counter and took a step closer to you. “Will I b-? Of course!” he exclaimed, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles. “I’m so happy for you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“I did nothing,” he replied, shaking his head. “It’s all yours and you deserve it.”

With a little laugh, you pulled him into a tight hug. You wrapped your arms around his middle and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. He hugged you against his chest and watched as you played with the lapels of his shirt.

“Do you think,” you started timidly, your eyes glued to his chest. “Do you think I can introduce you as my boyfriend?”

“Oh, my angel,” he chuckled lowly. “You think we’ve waited long enough? Am I allowed to kiss you now? Because let me tell you, sweet angel, I’ve been eager to taste you all summer. Didn’t help that all you ate was ice cream and sorbet. You know I have a sweet tooth.”

“You’re all talk,” you said with a grin before you curled your fingers around the lapels of his shirt and pulled him down to you.

He smiled against your lips and pressed his hand against the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. You shivered when his hand trailed up your side, his fingers grazing your breast over your clothes. You leaned your head back enough to break the kiss and audibly sucked in your breath.

Bucky cupped the side of your face, planting one last kiss on your parted lips. “My girl.”

With a breathy laugh, you let your head fall onto his shoulder and soaked up his warmth, his love, before you took a step back.

Dinner went well, albeit with more sexual tension than you’d both anticipated. He stole several kisses from your tomato sauce-covered lips, praising your cooking skills.

You touched the pendant at your throat and traced the tiny gemstones with the pad of your middle finger.

“It drives me crazy when you do that,” Bucky admitted with a chuckle.

“Really?” you replied, a tentative smile on your lips.

“Mhm mhm.” He nodded and licked the creamy remnant of ice cream off his spoon. “Looks real pretty against your skin. I like seeing you wearing it.”

Watching you smile down at your pendant made his chest burst with protectiveness. You bit your lip but couldn’t hide your smile. He leaned sideways and kissed your cheek.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered in your ear. “Especially when you’re wearing my necklace and nothing else.”

You tilted your head to look at him. The tension between you became so intense that he could hear you breathing hard, and without thinking he pressed his lips against yours. His hand came up to your face and you took the opportunity to climb into his lap, desperate to touch him.

You grabbed a fistful of his shirt, kissing him roughly. He could taste the ice cream on your lips, your tongue cool against his own. With his arm around your waist and a bit of your help, he hoisted you onto the counter.

The empty bowls, plates and glasses fell to the floor, shattering loudly but you didn’t care. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he gently lowered you down onto the counter.

He kissed his way down your throat to the dip between your collarbones where the pendant was. He felt himself harden against you when you stirred against him, moaning. You pulled him down for a kiss and blindly reached for his belt.

“Condom?” you half moaned against his lips.

“Shit.” He sagged heavily against you and buried his face in your neck. “Fuck, shit! I don’t have one. I didn’t think we’d-”

“That’s okay,” you cut him off. “We can either cool down or... get creative.”

With a breathless chuckle, he started to run his hand down the length of your body. “I might have an idea.”

You squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation when his hand slipped between your thighs. Bucky looked at you, paying close attention to your movements and the sounds you made.

Your head thrashed from side to side, your breathing erratic. You gripped the edge of the counter with one hand and slapped the other against his chest, your back arching off the counter as you moaned his name.

He had never seen anything more beautiful than you; lost in your pleasure, brow furrowed, eyes fluttering shut. He almost reached his peak with you, untouched.

You lay there with your mouth open and took a series of short ragged breaths, filling your deprived lungs with air. After a minute, you tried to sit up but your arms were too weak to support you.

You let out a loud, frustrated groan as you tried again. “I think you killed me.” You held out your arms to him. “Help me up.”

He wrapped his arm around your waist and helped you into a sitting position. After another long kiss, you ran your hand over the front of his jeans, smiling wickedly when his breath hitched.

He looked down at your hands as you started unbuckling his belt. He knew you could feel the tension in his stomach, the anticipation.

“You don’t have to-”

“Shh,” you whispered, kissing his cheek. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

You slipped your fingers under the elastic waistband of his boxers and Bucky hissed. Your fingers were cool against his heated skin but he silenced your apology with a kiss.

He didn’t last long. He couldn’t; not when you were whispering filthy things in his ear, or playing with his earlobe, sucking it gently then biting it harshly. You were all he could feel, all he wanted to feel.

You chuckled softly when his legs buckled under him, your free arm coming around his waist to keep him upright. He slammed his hand down on the counter, grunting like a beast in pain. He moaned your name, repeated it like a prayer as he reached his peak.

With a tired laugh, he slumped forward, exhausted, and kissed your forehead before he drew several long deep breaths. He tucked himself back into his boxers, pulled his jeans up and buckled his belt.

“That was...” He didn’t finish his sentence, choosing instead to grab the back of your neck and pull you in for a kiss. You chuckled as you returned his kiss. Bucky drew back and bowed his head, resting his forehead against yours.

“Looks like we won’t do the dishes today,” you said, looking down at the broken ceramics and glass. Bucky followed your line of sight to the broken pates before he burst into laughter, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

The next Thursday, Bucky was getting ready for your art opening. Sam and Natasha had flown from D.C. to see your first show, though you had no idea they were coming. Your sisters and brother were already at the gallery waiting for them.

The street was quiet when Sam, Natasha and Bucky arrived at the gallery. A few people were standing outside, smoking and talking. As they walked up to them, Bucky glanced through the window in hopes of finding you.

It was only seven but the gallery was already busy, packed with people milling around, laughing, drinking, and talking. His ears started ringing and he had to stop to take a deep breath.

“You okay?” Sam asked, concern colouring his brown eyes. Natasha paused too, her hand still clasped in Sam’s. They turned to the crowd then looked at Bucky with sympathetic eyes. He had grown paler and his skin looked shiny with sweat. “Is it too much?”

Bucky couldn’t see you but he knew you were inside. You were waiting for him. He couldn’t miss your first show, he simply couldn’t. He tried one of his breathing exercises, working with this nervous energy instead of letting it consume him. He tightened his grip on the single sunflower he was carrying and straightened his spine.

“I’m good.”

“If you need a minute, we can wait here.”

“You look very sharp, Bucky,” Natasha replied almost immediately, a warm smile on her lips. “She’ll be thrilled to see you.”

Sam wanted Bucky to be comfortable but Natasha understood that it wasn’t going to happen. Bucky needed reassurance; he needed to know that everything would be fine, that you’d be happy to see him.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, seeking validation in his friends’ eyes. “Yeah, of course. C’mon, let’s go.”

Inside the gallery, they were greeted by a cute twentysomething who gave them a rundown on the gallery and the exhibition. She had more energy than a puppy and spoke incredibly fast. They smiled and nodded politely, though their eyes kept wandering around the main room looking for you.

They managed to quietly escape when another group of people entered the gallery. As Bucky looked around the room, he felt a little overwhelmed. A couple of women were speed walking amongst the guests, an urgency in the way they moved that contradicted with the smiles on their faces.

“Find her and I’ll get us something to drink,” Sam said, raising his voice to make himself heard over the chatter. It really didn’t help Bucky’s anxiety.

Natasha and Bucky made their way through the throng, trying not to bump into people. Natasha waved at someone across the room and Bucky recognized your sisters and their partners. Scott was there too, carrying a half-asleep little girl.

Natasha looked over her shoulder when he didn’t follow her, then smirked knowingly and jerked her head in the direction of the crowd. He’d say hello later, right now he wanted to see you.

The gallery was designed in a u-shape with a patio at the centre. From where he was, he could see the engraving table, the bar and the door that led to the patio. Candles were lit in the patio, climbing roses and jasmine elegantly concealing the cracks in the concrete walls.

And there you were.

You were standing amongst a group of older folks, listening to their stories. The woman next to you exuded confidence and she seemed to enjoy being the centre of attention.

Seeing you didn’t suddenly make his anxiety disappear, it didn’t make everyone around him vanish into thin air, but he still felt ten times better. It kept him grounded because he knew you were there for him.

A smile spread across Bucky’s lips as he observed you. You were smiling politely at the woman next to you, then let your eyes wander around the room as if you knew someone was watching you. When your eyes finally met, your whole face lit up and you quickly excused yourself.

“You’re here!” you exclaimed, wrapping your arms around him. He raised his arm, making sure you weren’t crushing the flower, then returned the embrace. “Thank you for coming.”

“I hope you don’t mind, I brought a couple of friends who are die-hard fans of your work,” he said, kissing your temple.

You pulled back slightly. “What? Who?”

“You’ll see,” he replied with a grin before he handed you the flower with a flourish. “A sunflower for my sunshine.”

You rolled your eyes at the corny line but your smile was shy and happy. You carefully tucked the sunflower into the top buttonhole of your blouse, then gave him a kiss. He smiled against your lips, enjoying this moment when it felt like it was just the two of you.

“Hey listen,” you said, your hands framing his face. “I know there are a lot of people here tonight, so if you need to leave or take a break-”

“I know,” he interrupted you, a smile on his lips. “Thank you for always looking out for me.”

“That’s what angels are for.”

He laughed softly and placed a lingering kiss on your forehead before he let you go. He’d been to several events like this one, he knew it was only a matter of time until someone dragged you away. After all, it was a networking event.

“This place is great,” he said. “But I haven’t seen your work yet.” He held out his hand, palm upward, and you bashfully looked at your feet as you took his hand. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

You simultaneously buried your face in his shoulder and smacked his arm, making him laugh. “It’s a sales technique,” you quipped, leading him across the room to where your family was waiting.

“Well, it’s definitely working on me, beautiful.”

“Oh, no! You’re not allowed to buy anything tonight. Your apartment already looks like a museum.”

“The one above my bed is my favorite,” he continued with a grin. A little shiver ran through you at the memory, and Bucky couldn’t help but feel proud of himself. He pulled you closer and whispered in your ear. “Do you remember the night we made it? You and I, naked, covered in paint, making each other feel so fucking good.”

“Bucky,” you whined, trying to wiggle out of his embrace. “I can’t think straight when you say things like that.” He chuckled lowly in your ear. “People are staring at us.”

“Let ‘em. They came to look at art, uh?”

You good-naturedly shook your head at him and rolled your eyes, your expression one of annoyance and amusement. Bucky had become a bit of a flirt since the two of you started dating, and he loved riling you up in public.

You opened your mouth to speak when your eyes darted toward something behind his shoulder. “Nat?” You looked at Bucky, your eyes wide and filled with unshed tears. “You brought Nat!”

“And Sam,” he said with a nod. “They’re a package deal now.”

“Sam’s here too?” you exclaimed.

Bucky watched you powerwalking toward your friends and family. You wrapped your arms around Natasha as tight as you could and she pretended to gasp for air making your siblings smile fondly at the two of you.

“Thanks for not inviting me to your first big gig, doofus,” Natasha said as she pulled back. “You’re lucky your boyfriend had my number.”

“I didn’t want you guys to come all the way here on a Thursday,” you explained. “You all have your lives. I don’t expect you to drop everything to see my art show.”

“We live in D.C., not Mars,” Sam said, appearing with two glasses of champagne. He handed one to Natasha before he greeted you with a one-armed hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Besides it gave us an excuse to take a few days off work. We’re staying until Sunday.”

You looked away, uncomfortable. “Guys, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Newsflash, it is,” Scott said, having heard your conversation.

“And we’re all incredibly proud of you,” Okoye added.

“You accomplished so much,” Wanda agreed, raising her own glass in a toast. The others raised their glasses high, clinking them together in the air before they drained them dry.

“I’m really glad you’re all here,” you said, sagging a little against Bucky’s chest. He wrapped his arm around you and kept you close. “It means a lot. I love you all.”

One of the interns popped out from behind Bucky, interrupting the little reunion. She walked over to the wall and placed a little red sticker on the label under one of your paintings. She turned around and congratulated you on your first sale, making everyone explode into cheers and applause.

“If you have a moment, the buyer would like to meet you,” she said.

“Oh, yes, of course!”

When you turned to him, Bucky saw the worry colouring your beautiful eyes. He smiled tenderly and cupped your cheek in his palm, his thumb grazing your cheekbone. “Go, it’s your night.”

He pressed his lips to yours before he let you go. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, a nervous habit Bucky had seen you do a lot in the past few months. You touched the pendant around your neck and smiled.

Before you left, you gave Natasha a sharp look –which could only mean one thing, ‘take care of him for me’- and she replied with a firm nod. It made Bucky grin to himself as he gently nudged you toward the intern.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur of soft classical music, loud conversations, and laughter. Bucky spent most of the evening sitting on the patio talking with Sam, Vis, Scott and W’Kabi while the girls were chattering cheerfully next to them.

He preened whenever you introduced him as your boyfriend to gallery owners and art collectors. You mentioned that he was a talented writer, even though it was supposed to be your big night.

“Are you writing anything at the moment?” someone asked him.

“I have a book coming out soon, hopefully,” he said, brushing it off with a wave of his hand. “But that’s not why I’m here tonight.”

“What is it about?”

“Oh, Bucky’s incredibly secretive,” you answered for him. “He wouldn’t even tell me.”

Bucky tuned out the rest of the conversation and decided to watch you instead. You were too engrossed in their story to notice his intense eyes fixed on you.

He decided that he’d take you to his uncle’s bookshop after the party.

He did a quick mental checklist to see if it was feasible; he had the keys to the bookshop, he knew the alarm code, and the back of the bookshop already had chairs lined up in rows from a previous author reading. The only thing missing was his book but he had a copy at home and Sam owed him a favour anyway.

It was getting late, several people were standing next to the engraving table but the gallery had emptied enough to really look at the paintings on the walls.

It was a beautiful, cosy place when it wasn’t overcrowded with guests.

Your siblings had left about an hour ago. Sam came back from Bucky’s apartment with Bucky’s book hidden under his coat, acting like he was smuggling candies into a movie theatre. They left soon after.

“Hey,” Bucky whispered in your ear as he wrapped his arm around you from behind, tucking you against his chest. You were standing alone in front of your paintings, the distant sound of voices and laughter came from the other side of the gallery. “Everything okay, angel?”

You hummed under your breath and tilted your head back so you could kiss the underside of his jaw. He felt you relax against him.

“They’re closing up soon,” you said. “But I don’t want tonight to end. Can I stay at your place?”

“The answer’s always yes,” he replied, making you laugh. “We have to make a quick stop somewhere first.”

“Where?”

“You’ll see.” A minute passed before you turned and wrapped your arms tightly around him, squeezing hard enough to make the air whoosh from his lungs. He let out a surprised laugh and held you close to his chest. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest. “It was a really good night. I think I’m feeling a little emotional.” You pulled your head back to look at him. “Thank you for asking Sam and Nat to come. I really needed that.”

“That’s what good boyfriends do,” he said with a grin.

You laughed. “I love you.”

Your blunt admission made him blink. Hard. The words had left your lips so easily that the weight of their meaning hit him like a lightning bolt. He stood there frozen, unable to move, unable to speak.

You laughed softly. “Earlier tonight I was upset that my mom and Pietro couldn’t be here. It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life and I wanted to cry. But then I saw you and I knew everything would be all right. I know we’ve only been dating for a couple of months but we’re known each other for almost a year and... I’ve loved you since you took me to that charity event at the Museum of Natural History.”

“Angel,” he said in a choked voice. He pressed his lips together, then tried to say your name.

“It’s okay,” you said, cupping his face. “You don’t have to say it back. I know you love me. You have the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen. You can’t hide anything.” He laughed, the sound raspy and wet. “No one has ever looked at me like this before.”

“You’re-” he paused and swallowed the lump in his throat. “You’re everything to me, y’know that?”

“I know,” you said, smiling tenderly at him.

His book felt heavy in his pocket, a reminder of all the things he wanted to tell you. He smoothed his hand over his pocket and looked over his shoulder but the remaining guests were too engrossed in their own conversations to pay attention to you.

“Come with me,” he said, holding out his hand.

You placed your hand in his and let him lead you out of the gallery. You both stepped out into the street laughing and feeling lighter than air. Bucky hailed a cab, opened the door for you and climbed in.

He gave the driver the address and settled back into his seat, his attention on you. You looked at him with incredulity mixed with amused curiosity. He leaned closer to you and rubbed his nose against yours, making you laugh.

When the cab stopped, Bucky looked out the window, surprised to see that they had already arrived. You let out an incredulous chuckle next to him, probably realizing that you’d spent most of the ride kissing.

“A bookstore?” you asked, watching Bucky walk over to the crisscrossed metal security gates. “Well, too bad it’s closed. Then again it’s almost midnight.”

“That’s not a problem.”

The gates made a loud screeching noise as Bucky opened the store. He punched in the security code and waited until the light turned green to turn on the lights. You slowly walked into the bookstore, a dubious look on your face.

“Are you sure we’re allowed to be here?”

“Technically, no,” Bucky replied with a cringe. “But I have the keys, don’t I?” You levelled an assessing gaze on him. “It’s my uncle’s bookstore,” he finally relented. “He gave me a key for emergencies, and sweetheart, that’s one hell of an emergency.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re smooth, Barnes, but I’m not spending the night in jail.”

He laughed. “You’re no fun, angel.” When you didn’t seem convinced, he added, “We’re good, promise.”

You raised your eyebrows and puckered your lips into a doubtful grimace as you began browsing through the shelves. Bucky reached into his pocket and pulled out his book, cradling it protectively against his side.

“I bet you used to work here,” you said, your back turned to him and your head tilted to one side as you read the titles.

“You’re right.” He glanced down at the book in his hand and traced his thumb along the gold lettering. “I worked here with Steve. We were saving up money to go to Nepal.”

You paused and looked over your shoulder at him. “To climb Mount Everest?”

Bucky made an affirmative sound but he was took busy looking at the book in his hand to notice that a worried look had crossed your face. You walked to him and touched his cheek, trying to coax his eyes back to yours.

“I’d go through all of this again,” he said, blue eyes boring into yours. “Just to spend a minute with you.”

“Don’t say things like that,” you whispered, hiding your flustered face in the crook of his neck. He tilted his head to kiss your crown. “Are you going to tell me why we’re here?”

He took a deep breath and you slowly pulled back from him. “We’re here, angel, because... well because I’m an idiot who can’t express his feelings, at least not out loud and definitely not in an intelligible way. I thought I’d sit down and write it down but it got away from me.”

He raised the book in his hand as if proving his point and let out a derisive snort. You cocked your head, trying to understand.

“I called it ‘Under Pastel Skies’ because that’s what you remind me of,” he said, looking down at the cover. “Clear, cotton candy skies. Bright and colourful, soft and beautiful, and with that ethereal golden hue that makes you believe in Heaven.”

“Bucky,” you tried, your voice coming out thin.

“Will you come with me, please?” He offered you his arm and you looped your hand around the crook of his elbow. You didn’t try to take the book from him and you were oddly silent next to him. He sneaked a glance at you but he couldn’t make out the expression on your face.

He led you into the backroom, where several rows of chairs had been set up in front of a lectern, and walked you down the central aisle.

“You want me to take a seat?” you asked, glancing around the room.

“Please,” he whispered and pressed his lips against your forehead.

You sat down willingly, though you kept wringing your hands. For a brief moment, Bucky wondered if he hadn’t made a terrible mistake. He had no idea how you were going to react to his book, and it hadn’t really hit him until now that his book was filled with extremely personal information.

He never mentioned your name, your siblings or your mother, but he did share more than he had intended. With his heart in his throat, he forced himself to walk over to the lectern.

“Thank you all for coming today,” he tried to joke but his anxiety made him stutter. “I see that we have a full house tonight.”

He briefly glanced up at you, sitting all alone in that big room, then looked down at his book.

“Mmh, so,” he cleared his throat, “usually when you speak in front of a large audience, or an important audience, they tell you to start with an anecdote. It’s supposed to put everyone at ease, it’s supposed to break the ice, but I, uh, I think we know each other quite well.”

Bucky became acutely aware of the beads of sweat running down his armpit, sending an uncomfortable chill through his spine. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and cursed when the book immediately closed itself.

“I’m,” he let out a small laugh, “I’m sorry, this is what happens when you only have one hand.” It took a few tries to open the book again. His fingers were trembling so much. “I’m a little nervous,” he acknowledged with a cringe. “Here we go!”

My name is Bucky. I have been writing for years and my faithful readers know me as Grant Thomas, a sarcastic and witty writer who makes fun of his own struggles, but in real life, I’m just Bucky. According to my friend, I’m a sourpuss, a fun killer, and I guess that’s fair. I’m not as charismatic as I used to be.

Meeting new people can be a scary thing, especially when you’re a one-armed brooding machine. I carry a lot of emotional baggage. Sometimes it feels like everywhere I go I have a backpack strapped to my chest, filled with notebooks containing undisclosed information about me.

I met my angel at a bar. She was wearing a tight orange-red dress, her lips the color of blood; she looked like she was about to sell her soul to the Devil. I was the Devil. And I knew I had to leave before I could taint her with my darkness.

I saw her outside the bar while I was hailing a cab. I don’t know if she followed me or if she wanted to leave but I was drawn to her. Her shoes didn’t match her dress. She was wearing an expensive-looking dress but her shoes were old and scuffed, most certainly loved, and spattered with flecks of orange and blue paint.

It dawned on me that blue and orange have nothing in common but they do look good together. I shared a cab with her that night.

Bucky turned the pages until he found the chapter he’d been looking for. He didn’t look up, too afraid of your reaction. He continued.

The first holiday we spent together was Liss, our made-up holiday around Christmas time. Liss is an old English word, it means comfort, happiness. I remember feeling particularly happy. I had opened up to her. I felt close to her. I told her things I’d never told anyone, not even in my books, not even to my best friends, the men who’d saved my life.

Everything is so natural with her, so easy. She challenges me and I like to think I challenge her too. She makes me feel at peace, she understands me. She’s my friend, my companion, my soulmate.

And as I sat on my apartment floor, covered in tinsel, laughing so hard my cheeks hurt, I realized I was falling in love with her.

At first I struggled against this feeling. In all honesty, I’m not a model of emotional stability. I have a compulsive need to clean when I’m stressed, I label things and put them into boxes instead of dealing with my problems, and I simultaneously crave and loathe the comfort of my everyday life.

As someone once pointed out, I’m not boyfriend material.

It doesn’t matter if the person you love is a friend, a family member or your partner; when you love someone, the last thing you want is to smother them with your darkness. I’m lucky enough to have friends who never gave up on me.

Bucky quickly flipped over the pages until he found what he’d been looking for. He knew you were there and he knew you were watching him but he couldn’t meet your eyes. He lowered his head, his heart hammering in his chest.

My angel is nothing if not strong. She cares so deeply for the people she loves that she puts their needs before her own. It breaks my heart to know that she gave up, not only her dreams, but also her comfort and independence.

Sometimes I watch her from the living room while she paints, her brush strokes quick and confident, or slow and delicate. She is talented; entire worlds spring into life under her fingers.

I love the way she squints at the canvas, the tip of her tongue sticking out of her mouth in extreme concentration, a paint brush behind each ear. Her posture is awful and I know I’ll hear her joints crack when she finally stretches. The sigh that comes with it makes me smile.

I won’t go into the details of her artistic journey, but like most artists, she’s plagued with self-doubt. Inspiration, like happiness, is a fickle thing, and sometimes they are tied to one another so intricately that the knot can never be untied.

I gave her a necklace; a gold pendant in the form of a palette. It took me weeks to find the perfect charm, something that would remind her that even if inspiration fails her, she is still an accomplished, talented artist.

She was born with a paint brush in her hand and her skin is dotted with multi-coloured freckles.

I want her to be happy.

Bucky closed his eyes and took a steadying breath as he finished reading these lines. He raised his terrified eyes to yours and words failed him. He could see tears streaming down your face and a little frown between your eyes.

He set the open book upside down and started to move toward you when you pushed yourself off your chair and rushed to him. You buried your face in his chest and he wrapped his arm around you, relief washing through him.

“My love,” he said, now tenderly stroking your hair. You brushed your tears away and sighed. “Is it too much? Do you want me to stop?” He pulled back and met your eyes. “Are you upset? You don’t need to worry, I’ll never publish this book if it makes you uncomfortable.”

You turned your body sideways and touched the book, your other arm still wrapped around his waist. “No, I- I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Do you want me to keep reading?”

“Yes, please,” you said softly.

Bucky chuckled under his breath and pressed his lips to the top of your head. He shuffled the two of you closer to the lectern and cradled you against his chest, kissing your hair, before he turned the book over. You tightened your hold on his waist and played with your pendant.

“I love you,” he said, dipping his head slightly to meet your eyes. The words came so naturally that he realized he wasn’t afraid to share his feelings anymore. You deserved to know you were loved. You reached up to caress his cheek and repeated his words back to him.

The moment I saw her, I knew I had met my soulmate. I don’t mean it in a romantic way, I didn’t fall in love with her at first sight, but despite our brief and awkward first conversation, we clicked. I knew I could trust her.

She knows how to bring me back from the darkest corners of my mind. I am myself with her, flaws and all. She’s patient, kind, and understanding, and the best part is, I know I bring her similar comfort. It’s as if we’ve always known each other, as if we’ve carried each other’s fears in us all our lives, not knowing what it was.

She doesn’t treat me like I’m fragile, but she’s careful. She took care of my scars, a look of intense concentration on her face. I almost blurted out the three words I’m so desperate to say. I love you. But I chickened out, too scared, too insecure. Our first kiss brought tears to my eyes. She held my hand and took me to her studio, and I knew, right there, that I would love her for the rest of my life.

I only ask one thing: let this book live. Crack its spine, fold the corners of the pages, write in it, stain the pages with your tea or coffee or your wine, let it be a coaster, and then give it to someone you love. It will look a bit rough and damaged, like me I guess, but it’ll be worth something to whoever wants it. I can understand the appeal of a well-worn book. When it bears the marks of our everyday lives, reading it feels more personal. So please, do not handle it with care. Hold it close to your heart and let it live its best life.

Bucky let out a long sigh as he closed the book. There was a moment’s silence between you as he cradled your head, his lips resting against your temple. Slowly you untangled yourself from him and reached for the book.

“To my angel, this book is my heart,” you read the epigraph. You turned to him, tears in your eyes, and a wave of panic hit him. “When you said you had an idea for a new book, I asked you if I could be in it,” you said with a little laugh, “Do you remember?”

“I do.” He laughed along with you, then his voice took on a serious tone. “I never intended to publish it, you have to know that, I just wanted you to read it but I was so... I don’t know, so in love with you that I wanted to shout it from the rooftops.”

You looked down at the book and bit your bottom lip to keep from smiling. “I really don’t know what to say.” You raised your eyes to his face. “Can I keep it?”

“Yes, of course. And if there’s anything you don’t feel comfortable with-”

“I’ll let you know,” you replied with a coy smile. “But I want people to know our story. I want to live forever as your angel and maybe, in a hundred years, someone will read this book and they’ll know the love we had for each other was real.”

He hadn’t realized he was crying until you wiped away a tear with a stroke of your thumb, the action so delicate and sweet it made his breath hitch in his throat. He closed his eyes, causing more tears to fall down his cheeks.

“Because after this, Bucky Barnes, you’re stuck with me forever,” you emphasised the last word and Bucky chuckled.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, angel,” he said, claiming your lips in a searing kiss.

- the end

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redgillan · 3 years ago

Text

And they Could Never Tear us Apart - 2

Word Count: 2,872

Warnings: Language

A/N: Thank you for the feedback on part 1. Now the plot thickens... ;) Hope you enjoy!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Bucky saw you again a week later. You were pacing back and forth in front of his door, talking to yourself and rubbing your arms furiously. You looked insane. He briefly considered breaking into his own apartment through a window.

He didn’t have time for this.

Zemo had taken them to Madripoor. With Sharon Carter’s help, they found the scientist responsible for the new super soldier serum. They left after Sam promised to get her name cleared.

Then things took a turn for the worse in Latvia. During the fight against the Flag Smashers, a newly enhanced John Walker murdered a man in front of dozens of people who were all recording the scene on their smartphone.

So, yeah, he really didn’t have time for this.

Once you spotted him, you rushed to his side. “Why were you in Madripoor? Did someone activate the Winter Soldier? How did Zemo break out of jail? Was it you? What does King T’Challa think about this? Did Captain America really murder a man in broad daylight?”

“No comment.”

“Oh, c’mon!”

He unlocked his front door but you slipped into the room before he could close the door in your face. At least you had good reflexes. He sighed resignedly and held the door wide open, gesturing you out. You shook your head.

“You’re a real pain in my ass, y’know that?” he seethed, throwing his jacket on the floor. “I miss the days when I came home and you weren’t there.” He watched you rub your arm frenetically. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

“Eczema,” you muttered. “It happens when I’m stressed.”

Bucky hung his head and tried to find the right words. You continued rubbing your hand up and down your upper arm while you looked around the room. He glanced up at you, his eyes kind. “Go home. For your own safety.”

You scoffed. “Don’t treat me like a child.”

He buried his face in his hands and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, sighing loudly. “I can’t do this,” he said, annoyed. “I’m just giving you some friendly advice, is all.”

“Did you get rid of the tapes?”

“Yes.” He had watched them first in case they contained undisclosed information about the organization or the super soldier serum. “Where’d you get ‘em?” You opened your mouth to reply but he cut you off. “Let me guess. ‘I can’t tell you’.”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m sure it is,” he deadpanned.

The conversation fell into a long, tense silence. You stared at each other like wild animals; faces grim, shoulders tense, ready to snap. You broke the silence first.

“I know Walker took the serum.”

Bucky’s face morphed into a grimace that wrinkled his forehead. “Who told you that?”

You eluded his question. “He received an other than honorable discharge, he’s no longer Captain America. They have no idea he took the serum but someone else knows and they’re very interested in him.”

“Who?” he asked, then raised a warning finger. “And I swear to God if you say ‘I can’t tell you’,” he trailed off, letting the threat hang in the air. You pressed your lips shut in an exaggerated way. “You speak in goddamn riddles. What the hell do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know!” you exclaimed, frustrated. “I’ve never had to deal with this kind of stuff before. I don’t know who to trust anymore.”

“Yeah?” He titled his head to the side, his voice getting louder. “And I feel like I’m speaking to Gandalf.”

You balled your fists up at your sides and lifted your chin up in a show of defiance. “With all due respect the world doesn’t revolve around you. Five years ago I was a barista so I apologize if my method displeases you but I’m kinda new at this. I’m just trying to stay alive.”

“You can’t tell me your name, you can’t tell me who you work for or how you got your intel but somehow I’m supposed to trust you?”

He stepped closer to you and you took a step back, sensing something hostile and dangerous in the way he moved.

“Are you here to keep an eye on me? Is that your assignment?” He jutted his chin toward you as he asked the question. “Hell, I know how these things work. They send a pretty girl in distress, make sure she befriends the man behind the Winter Soldier, keep tabs on him in case he starts terrorising the neighbourhood. Hey, if you’re lucky maybe he’ll tell you a thing or two about HYDRA.” He let out a dry chuckle and shook his head. “‘Bet you thought you’d have me eating out of the palm of your hand, uh. Too bad, I’m an asshole, right?”

You remained expressionless but Bucky could see the anger brewing in your eyes. “I’ve seen what HYDRA did to you,” you said calmly. “I haven’t told anyone. I came to you. I thought we could help each other but you’re acting like an asshole.” You took a step back, giving him a once-over. “And I thought I had trust issues,” you spat before storming out of his apartment.

On your way out, you almost ran into the woman who was climbing up the stairs. She watched you turn the corner and disappear, then she walked to the front door where Bucky was standing.

“Trouble in paradise?” Ayo asked, a mischievous grin on her lips.

He levelled her with a deadpan look and walked back into his apartment. She followed him and set a metallic suitcase down on his kitchen counter. He didn’t need to open it to know that it was Sam’s new suit.

“Thank you.”

She gave him a slow nod before she left. As she made her way to the door, Bucky stopped her.

“I have one last favor.”

“Another last favor?”

“Please. It’s important.”

She sighed. “What is it?”

“I need you to find everything you can on the woman who left my apartment.”

A smile spread across Ayo’s lips. “I will.”

***

Bucky was on his way back to Brooklyn after dropping off Sam’s suit and spending the weekend with the Wilsons when he got an email from Ayo. He skimmed through the documents, his eyes moving quickly over the words.

He knew your name, your date and place of birth, your address in Brooklyn. You used to be a barista and joined the army only two months after the Blip. You excelled in every course, particularly hand-to-hand combat and marksmanship. You graduated top of your class but disappeared from official records right after. You had no family, no close friends, no significant other.

You were still a mystery to him.

And where there’s mystery, there’s a whole lot of trouble.

He went to your apartment instead of heading straight home. The sky was pitch-black and clouded over, no moon or stars showing. He didn’t feel guilty for showing up so late, it was only fair after you had surprised him twice in a week.

Bucky knocked on your door and waited. The apartment was silent at first, then he heard the sound of a gun’s safety click off and he snapped. He felt disconnected from his body, moving on autopilot to protect himself.

He took a step back, ready to kick the door open when you called out his name. He sensed disbelief and tension in your voice. Instinctively, his eyes went to the peephole.

You unlocked the dead bolt, leaving the chain on its hook, and peered at him through the partially opened door. “What are you doing here?”

Bucky thought it was kind of sad the way you were hiding behind your door, using it like a shield. It was only wood, easily breakable. He glanced down at the gun in your hand.

“Why don’t you open the door so we can talk?”

You hesitated a long minute before you closed the door and slid the chain out of its holder. You opened the door and stepped aside, gesturing toward your entryway with the barrel of your gun.

Your apartment was small, clean, warm, and devoid of personal photographs. He figured it was a nice place to relax but it also looked disposable. There was nothing valuable to steal, nothing that you would miss if you had to leave in a hurry.

You clicked the safety back on and stayed close to the door. He took a seat at the kitchen island, his broad legs spread open on the stool and his right elbow casually resting on the counter. He said your name and your nostrils flared.

“I think I prefer Classified,” he said with a cocky smile, looking around your living room.

“How did you find me?”

“I can’t tell you.” He grinned at the nasty glare you sent his way. You looked like you wanted to strangle him. “I’ve decided to give you a chance. Tell me everything you know and I’ll see what I can do.”

“That’s a tempting offer but my superior told me to play hard to get,” you said mockingly, then your eyes widened in fake horror. “Oh, no! I wasn’t supposed to tell you that!”

At least he had the decency to look sheepish. “I’m an asshole. I get it, sorry,” he replied, blushing. “But don’t be a smartass.”

“You said I was pretty,” you said with a grin.

He glanced over at you and grumbled something under his breath, fidgeting in his seat. You bit your lip to keep from smiling; he looked kind of cute.

He blushed, the colour creeping up his neck and his ears. He looked everywhere but at you, feeling exposed now that he couldn’t hide behind his long hair.

“Can you just drop it now?”

You waited until he met your eyes before you said, “For now.” You shoved the gun into the waistband at the small of your back. You had a feeling you wouldn’t need it. “Listen, what I know is enough to get me killed. I need to know I can trust you. I need your support.”

Bucky stared at you, his face a study of conflicting emotions. Concern. Uncertainty. Dread. His eyes unfocused as he got lost in his thoughts. You were lost, scared, and alone. He wanted to help but a little voice in the back of his head kept repeating over and over: ‘She will betray you. Everyone betrays you.’

Dr. Raynor kept saying he had to find his place in the world, nurture friendship and trust people. It was easier said than done, especially in his line of work. He wanted you to be completely honest with him but he had to give you something in return, something he had never told anyone.

He shook himself out of his reverie and gazed at you absentmindedly. Your brow furrowed and he realized he had been silent for too long. He cleared his throat and apologized.

“Okay, fair’s fair. I’ll tell you something I’ve never told anyone,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I-um, deep down, I know the Soldier’s still a part of me. The trigger words are gone but he’s always there, lurking, powerless, but for how long? It’s like having an insect living inside your brain.”

You slumped against the door and slowly slid down until you were sitting on the floor. You looked up at the ceiling and deflated, blowing out a hard breath. You hadn’t expected such a confession, and all of a sudden your mind was filled with images of him lying on an operating table, begging for his life, screaming in agony. You wished you’d never seen those tapes.

“I used to work at a coffee house,” you started. Bucky straightened up and leaned forward, listening intently. “But after the Blip, it seemed kinda pointless. The world had changed, billions of people evaporated into thin air. And the Blip caused a lot of accidents. Hospitals were overwhelmed and understaffed,” you paused, swallowed. “My parents died that day.”

“I’m sorry.”

“A lot of children lost their parents, at least I was an adult.” You tried to give a casual shrug, determined not to show your pain but he saw right through you. “Then gradually, things started to get even worse. They erected memorial sites in honour of the victims of the Blip, which was nice, but meanwhile we were living in a lawless world. Violence, looting, vandalism, you name it.

“So obviously, the U.S. government manipulated the masses in a desperate attempt to avoid the creation of a libertarian one-world government. The army offered what people were craving; financial stability, food on the table, a roof over your head, a purpose,” you paused. “Sound familiar?”

Bucky clicked his tongue. He remembered the first time he’d seen one of those ‘I Want You’ posters. His father had given him a curious look, sad and expectant, but Bucky didn’t enlist. He couldn’t. He started working at the docks after his father lost his job, his meagre income was the only thing keeping them –and Steve- afloat.

“Anyway,” you continued. “I joined the program, graduated with honours and then I met the woman who’d become my boss. Her name is Valentina Allegra de Fontaine. She goes by Val. She rebuilt SHIELD from scratch after the destruction of the Triskelion. When she offered me a job, I looked into her.

“After SHIELD fell, Black Widow released SHIELD and HYDRA’s files to the public. They were encrypted but I’m pretty good with computers. De Fontaine used to work with Nick Fury. They were real close, if you know what I mean,” you said, giving Bucky a pointed look. He gave you thumbs up, signalling that he had understood your innuendo. “She also led a group of elite agents called Femme Force with Sharon Carter. Once I was certain she had no affiliation with HYDRA, I accepted her offer.”

“Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming?”

“But,” you said, emphasising the word. “Last week, I was working late when I got an anonymous text. It said that in De Fontaine’s office there was a safe hidden behind a bookcase and I might want to take a look inside.”

“Let me guess,” Bucky cut you off. “The tapes.”

“Yeah. I replaced them with some blank tapes and fake files so she doesn’t notice they’re missing but it’s only a matter of time. I don’t know how often she looks at those,” you sighed. “There’s nothing about the Winter Soldier Program in our database, I checked, so I don’t know why she had them or why she didn’t put them in the base. The only logical explanation is that she’s HYDRA. I don’t have any real evidence to back this up but... I mean-”

“It’s suspicious,” Bucky agreed. “Her name doesn’t ring a bell but she could be a sleeper agent. You still work for her?”

You rested your head against the door and looked guiltily at him. “Yeah, I was thinking of transferring but I want to keep an eye on her. I’m not exactly her favourite agent at the moment.” Upon seeing Bucky’s frown, you explained, “She tried to send me on a mission with Walker but I refused.”

“I know,” Bucky replied with a grin. “I was there.”

You bit your lip and laughed under your breath. “She found out Walker took the serum in Latvia. I think she’s trying to recruit him.”

“’Makes sense.”

“So, you know pretty much everything.” You wrapped your arms around your bent legs and buried your face in your knees. “There’s a good chance I’ve been working for HYDRA this whole time.”

Bucky watched you curl into yourself and he couldn’t help but empathise with your feelings. He knew exactly how you felt. Betrayed, used, ashamed, angry. He was extremely familiar with these emotions, they were an inherent part of his new life.

He glanced down at his lap and sighed. You had more in common than he realized. He abandoned his chair and crossed the short distance between you. His movements were slow as he sat next to you on the floor.

You sat in silence until Bucky put his hand on your shoulder and gave it a quick, light squeeze. That simple touch made you turn your head in his direction, your cheek pressed against your knees.

He didn’t know what to say and it suddenly hit him that you didn’t look like a spy at all. Just like he didn’t look like a soldier when he arrived at Camp Lehigh.

“I can’t stop thinking about everything I did since I joined SHIELD,” you said, your voice soft. “The decisions I had to make, the people I hurt,” you trailed off and swallowed hard. “I thought I was helping people.”

“I know exactly how you feel.”

You worried your bottom lip between your teeth as you contemplated his words “Sorry, I shouldn’t complain,” you said, mirroring his sitting position. “You’ve been through so much worse.”

He hummed as he rested his head against the front door. “We’ve both been through a lot-” he sighed “-but we’ll get through it.”

“Unless they kill us first.”

“Unless they kill us first,” he repeated sombrely.

Part 3

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redgillan · 3 years ago

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And they Could Never Tear us Apart - 3

Word Count: 1,842

Warnings: Language

A/N: Thank you for the feedback on part 2, I hope you enjoy part 3 :’) This chapter is brought to you by It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Jeff Bezos and the FBI agent watching me. For updates, please follow @redgillan-shares and turn on notification. Happy reading!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It was late in the afternoon by the time Bucky reached your apartment and his mind began to wander. Sam had called him a few days ago to keep him updated on the Flag Smashers. So far, they were still waiting for them to reappear, which suited Sam fine. At least he had time to train with the shield.

After that night at your apartment, Bucky had agreed to help you. You spent your evenings together trying to figure out a way to stop De Fontaine, though without new elements you were going round in circles.

Bucky wasn’t sure what to call your relationship. ‘Work partners’ seemed too formal and ‘friends’ was a bit of a stretch. You were a good agent, your instincts were insightful and you could anticipate your enemies’ moves pretty accurately, but you were a little too inexperienced to deal with HYDRA.

You were keeping tabs on De Fontaine during the day and reported back to Bucky in the evening. You were constantly looking over your shoulder, afraid to get caught. Bucky encouraged you to transfer to another department but you were reluctant. If you found another job, you wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on De Fontaine.

“You good?” Bucky asked with a frown when you opened the door ajar, showing only half of your face. Even from where he was standing, he could see that your eyes were red from lack of sleep and worry. He held up the brown paper bag he had been carrying. “I’ve got food.”

“Good,” you replied, a crazed look in your eyes as you ushered him into your apartment. You closed the door behind him and latched the deadbolt, giving the doorknob a little wiggle to make sure it was locked.

“Are you sure you okay?” he asked again.

You gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder as you walked past him into the kitchen.

Your apartment was small, just one bedroom and a kitchen-slash-living room, so it didn’t take him long to notice the bulletin board covered in news articles, official files, handwritten post-it notes and pictures, all connected to each other by lengths of red strings and multi-coloured tacks.

“What the fuck?” Bucky blindly set down the brown paper bag, unable to take his eyes off the board. “That wasn’t here last night. Did you have a board and red yarn lying around somewhere?”

“Amazon Prime,” you replied, though he wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. “Now can we talk about the case, please? I've been dying to talk about the case with you all day? The Power Broker... This name keeps coming up over and over again.”

You walked over to the board and gestured furiously at several pictures, screenshots from the bar fight in Madripoor.

Bucky froze, not sure how to react. You looked drained; your eyes sunken, your complexion dull, but the worst thing was the way your back hunched with exhaustion, as if you couldn’t stand upright anymore.

“Let’s sit down for a minute,” he said, gently guiding you to the sofa. He pressed on your shoulders until you sat down. “When's the last time you slept?”

“Dunno, couple days,” you replied with a shrug. He clicked his tongue in disproval but you cut him off before he could speak. “You don’t have to say it. I know I’m more likely to make a mistake if I’m too tired to function.”

“So why don’t we take the night out, uh? We’ll work on the case tomorrow. De Fontaine and the Power Broker can wait.”

“No, it can’t wait, Bucky!” you said, a slight tremble in your voice. Your nose started to burn and there were tears gathering in your eyes. Great, now you were going to cry. This was so silly, you started laughing but your laughter quickly turned to wracking sobs. He gave you a tissue. “I’m not crying, okay, I’m just tired.”

He dipped his head so he could look directly at you. “Use the goddamn tissue, or I’ll blow your nose myself.”

You chuckled, then did what he asked. You had figured out by now that this was how he expressed affection. You were fine with it. After spending five years on your own and only touching other people when you were fighting, that was the most you could handle.

“Wanna talk ‘bout it?”

You shrugged.

You hesitated, reluctant to share this with him. You never felt safe, it was the sad reality of your new life as a SHIELD agent. As such, you should have better control over your emotions, your fears, but you were only human.

He placed his hand on your knee, pulling you out of your thoughts. He smiled at you, a soft, gentle smile that made him look so much younger. There was something about the way he was looking at you that made you think he’d understand. It was comfortable.

“As soon as I close my eyes, I feel like they’re going to burst into my apartment and... get rid of me.”

Bucky nodded. Your fear wasn’t unfounded. Anyone in your position would be restless, but constantly living in fear that something bad might happen was not healthy. Though he knew it was easier said than done.

“Don’t trust your fears,” he said. “They hold you back. Look, there’s nothing we can do tonight. I brought food, we can watch something. Ideally something from the 30s but I’m pretty partial to Dwayne Johnson.” He smiled when that made you laugh. “No one’s gonna hurt you tonight.”

“How do you know that?”

“They’d have to go through me first.” You looked down at your lap but he saw the smile on your face. “Now, c’mon, Classified, help me move your crazy board out of the way.”

“Stop calling it a crazy board,” you grumbled, following him. “And stop calling me Classified.”

You spent the rest of the evening eating takeout in front of the television. Bucky sat on the floor between your sofa and the coffee table and balanced his plate on his knees. You had looked at him funny and asked him to join you on the sofa but shook his head no.

Sitting on the floor reminded him of simpler times when they all gathered around the radio and listened to Fibber McGee and Molly. His mother would sit on the sofa, his father had his own sacred armchair while Bucky and his sister grabbed a few cushions from the sofa and lay down on the carpet in front of the radio. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“I got offered a job today,” you said, breaking the silence. “It’s with the CIA.”

He pulled his eyes from the screen and glanced at you over his shoulder. You had barely touched your food. You leaned forward and set your plate down on the coffee table. “You should say yes.”

“Isn’t that just trading one evil for another?”

“Possibly,” he replied. “Nigel was recruited by the CIA after HYDRA fell. They want the super soldier serum. I’m sure they’re into some shady shit.”

“Great,” you said sarcastically.

“Doesn’t mean they’re all bad. And you need to get away from De Fontaine before she figures out you stole those tapes. I know you want to keep monitoring her but it’s not safe.”

You sighed as you dramatically sank into the sofa. “If Sam ever decides to reform the Avengers, put in a good word for me, okay?”

He grinned. “Sure.”

At some point, not long after dinner, you fell asleep fully clothed on the sofa. As he laid a blanket over you, Bucky wondered what he should do. If he left, your door would remain unlocked and he didn’t like the idea of you, sound asleep with your front door unlocked.

He decided to stay.

With a sigh, he grabbed a few throw pillows and threw them on the floor. He didn’t mind sleeping on the floor, he just hoped you wouldn’t yell at him for staying the night. He fell asleep to an infomercial.

When he woke up the next morning, he felt rested even though he had slept in short bursts. He sat up on the floor and picked up the shirt he had carelessly discarded during the night. You were still sound asleep, drooling a little, your face serene.

He went through the kitchen, silently opening and closing cupboards, but he couldn’t find the coffee grounds. He opened the fridge and looked back over his shoulder when you stirred awake. In a voice thick with sleep, you asked what he was doing.

“You don’t have coffee,” he replied, closing the fridge. “I found a worrying amount of gummy bears and energy drinks though.”

“’Keeps me awake,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “You stayed here all night.”

It wasn’t a question but Bucky felt the need to explain himself. “I told you I would take care of you. And I couldn’t leave once you fell asleep or your front door would have been unlocked all night.”

You walked up to him and squeezed his arm. “Thank you. Let me change real quick and I’ll get us breakfast. How do you take your coffee?”

“Black. Oh, and grab me a handful of sugar packets.” You failed to hide your amusement as you walked past him to your bedroom. “What? They store well!”

While you were out, Bucky took a look at your board. You had written down several questions: who is the Power Broker? What is De Fontaine’s endgame? Is Walker that fucking clueless?

There were screenshots of the altercation at the bar in Madripoor. You had circled a few faces and linked them together with red yarn. Are they working for the Power Broker? Who is the hooded figure? Power Broker???

Those were interesting questions that he unfortunately didn’t have the answers to.

You ate breakfast in front of some game show, arguing over the correct answer, when suddenly a breaking news banner came across the screen. Attack on the Global Repatriation Council in New York. A reporter was standing in front of the building, an ominous red light coming from the glass building.

“What the hell?” you muttered, turning the volume up. Next to you, Bucky’s phone chimed. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. “What’s going on?”

“The Flash Smashers are trying to stop the GRC’s vote on global resettlement,” Bucky replied, pocketing his phone. “Sam’s flying to New York. I gotta go.”

He stood, grabbed his jacket, and walked to the door but you stopped him before he could open it. You asked if he needed anything.

“Keep an eye on De Fontaine, and keep your phone close. I’ll be calling you.” He unlocked the door and paused, his hand on the knob. “Don’t get caught and don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’ll try,” you deadpanned, then shifted in your seat before you added, “Don’t get yourself killed.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a nod before he slipped out of your apartment.

Part 4

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #marvel imagines #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #redgillanwrites #and they could never tear us apart

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redgillan · 3 years ago

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They Could Never Tear us Apart - Masterlist

A/N: written for kas’ writing challenge - Believing they’re about to die, Character A confesses their feelings for Character B before they pass out.

Warnings: Canon Divergence (set during tfatws), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Semi-Explicit Sex (+16), Mutual Pining, Slow Burn-ish, Violence

DISCONTINUED - follow @redgillan-shares for updates

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do not steal, repost, translate

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

#kas9kwc #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites #this banner looks like a goth version of ups lmao #don't mind me i just like this font and clouds

346 notes · View notes

redgillan · 3 years ago

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And they Could Never Tear us Apart - 4

Word Count: 2,591

Warnings: Semi-descriptive Sex

A/N: Thank you for the feedback on part 3. For updates, please follow @redgillan-shares and turn on notification. Happy reading!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

In the aftermath of the attack on the GRC, the world, still licking its wounds after the Blip, became even more chaotic. No one really knew what to do. The Flash Smashers were gone but their message survived.

Bucky took Sam’s advice; he did the work, he brought closure to the victims of the Winter Soldier. It hurt, it hurt like hell but he figured it meant he still had a soul. It always left him emotionally drained, which is why he sought you out after those long nights.

The last one on his list was Yori Nakajima. He dreaded having to talk to the old man, especially after he befriended him. He knew, no matter the outcome, he’d never see Yori again.

Bucky showed up at your door in the middle of the night. You barely slept these days so it didn’t surprise him when he heard you unlock the deadbolt. The moment you opened the door, he could tell you had been expecting him.

He sat heavily on your sofa, shrunk into himself, looking so empty and lonely. You sat next to him, your knees drawn up to your chest, and muted the television before you wrapped your arms around your legs.

“I crossed all the names in my book,” he said, looking straight ahead. “What am I supposed to do now?”

It took you a while to reply. “Whatever you want. Are you still having nightmares?”

“They’re less intense.” He paused for a long moment before his shoulders sagged. “I still don’t know who I am.”

“Who do you want to be?”

He turned his face to look at you, his smile sad. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to decide right away.”

He snorted. “It’s too late for me. I’m no longer the Winter Soldier, but I will always be the Winter Soldier. There’s a part of me that craves violence.” He paused, swallowed hard, then glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “I think... maybe violence has always been a part of my life. Even before the Soldier.”

He waited for you to say something but you seemed lost in your thoughts and didn’t answer. The silence grew and Bucky sighed inwardly, already regretting telling you his biggest secret.

The hard to swallow pill was that violence was ingrained into his soul; from his father’s occasional walloping to saving Steve’s ass to boxing to World War II. He never really enjoyed fighting but he was good at it.

“Bucky, life isn’t all black and white,” you said, scooting a little closer to him on the sofa. “We’ve all experienced violence before. It’s part of being human. Violence is dark but helping others is light, and together they make grey. And according to my high school History textbook, you’ve helped others your whole life.” You enumerated on your fingers. “You took care of your family, you took care of Steve Rogers when no one cared about him-”

He tilted his head to look at you, his eyebrows narrowed in amused confusion. “You read about me in high school?”

“Of course,” you replied enthusiastically. “We worked on the Howling Commandos. James Morita, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Dum Dum Dugan, Gabe Jones, Jacques Dernier, James Falsworth.”

He looked down at his lap, blushing. “You have a good memory.”

“You guys were such posers.”

You grinned when that comment made him laugh out loud. His smile was beautiful.

You reached up to touch his cheek and his smile faltered a fraction. “You can be whoever you want, Bucky. You’re in charge of your life. And if the whole world sees you as the Winter Soldier, which I don’t think is true by the way, I know you’ll turn it into something good.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you’re a good person.”

He took some time to process your words but eventually he leaned almost imperceptibly into your touch, a soft smile on his lips. “You’re pretty wise for your age, Classified.”

“I have an old soul.”

He chuckled, his eyes dropping to your lips. His pulse quickened at the thought of kissing you. Slowly, he leaned in and his nose grazed yours.

You tilted your head up but he could tell you were holding your breath. His mouth hovered over yours before he pressed his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. Then he pulled back to meet your gaze.

You mirrored each other; eyes dark with desire and chests heaving in a staccato rhythm with your racing pulses. You moved first, pulling him into a desperate kiss.

He cupped the side of your face as he kissed you, his other hand went to your waist and encouraged you to straddle his lap. He tilted your head up and trailed kisses down the column of your neck, his lips warm and wet.

Almost unconsciously, you moved your hips back and forth. He followed your rhythm. He felt himself get hard, the sensation so overwhelming and new that he threw his head back with a groan.

Things had escalated fast, and he was already ready to reach his peak.

“Slow down.” He had to grit his teeth to stave off his climax. “It’s been a while.”

You paused, breathless, an excited smile on your face. “It’s like riding a bike.”

“Yeah?” he replied with a crooked smile. He liked seeing you giddy. “Well s’been a while since I rode a bike. Barely got rid of my training wheels.” Without breaking eye contact, he slid his hand under the hem of your shirt. “You’re so fucking soft. How’re you so soft?”

You chuckled, then took his left hand and gingerly slid it under your shirt, testing the coolness of the vibranium. Bucky smiled as he watched you anticipate the coolness of his touch, but his arm was actually pretty hot.

You both laughed softly when you let out a pleased sigh.

“You’re so warm and... strong,” you said, running your hands up his chest, feeling the hard planes of his torso. “You’re here. You’re really here.”

“I’m here.”

“Please don’t disappear.” Your voice wavered and you lowered your face, unable to look at him. He ducked his head to meet your eyes and rubbed the tip of his nose against yours.

“I won’t.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead as he rose from the sofa with you in his arms. Goddamn super soldier serum! A chill ran through his body when you clung to him. “I won’t go away.”

He carried you to the bedroom and lay you down on the bed. You scooted back against the headboard, resting your head on the pillow.

He held himself above you, his weight balanced on his forearms and his knees planted on either side of your hips. You clung to him, desperate to touch him after years spent alone.

Bucky could read between the lines; you wanted his weight on top of you, you wanted to feel him, make sure he was real. You wanted him to shield you.

He looked down at your hands as you unbuttoned his shirt, one button at a time until it hung loose.

You pushed the cotton over his shoulders and let your fingers trace over the bulging muscles in his flesh arm. He sat back and threw his shirt on the floor, his eyes on you. He was breathing hard, looking down at you with a guarded expression.

His scars were on full display. He didn’t move as he waited for your reaction. You rose up on your elbows and traced an old, curved scar on his abdomen. His muscles tightened under your touch. You removed your top, revealing a similar scar above your bellybutton.

You lay back down again and smiled up at him, sweet and inviting. His eyes were transfixed on your bare breast. He hadn’t been in bed with a woman in a really long time and the thought was unnerving.

He remembered the dance halls, flirting, kissing, and touching, but things were different in the 30s. Pre-marital sex was frowned upon, and while he never went all the way with his dates, he was known to be exceptionally good with his tongue.

The night he lost his virginity was also the night he got his orders. He lost it with both his date and Steve’s, a fact that made him quite popular in his unit.

Your smile dropped when he didn’t move. You squirmed uncomfortably and covered your chest with your arms. That pulled him out of his memory.

“Sorry,” he said, climbing out of your lap.

He lay down next to you and stared at the ceiling as he raked a hand through his hair. He could see you from the corner of his eye; your face blank, your arms crossed in an ‘X’ over your chest. You felt humiliated, undesired, and he felt like an asshole.

“I’m sorry.”

You swallowed hard before you spoke. “Please close the door behind you on your way out.”

Your voice was cold, detached, almost robotic, and it made his stomach drop. It had taken you so long to open up to him and he ruined it all in thirty seconds. “It’s not- it’s not what you think.”

You pursed your lips up into a dubious pout and nodded. “Okay, can you leave me alone now?”

“I-” He sat up and buried his face in his hands with a sigh, unable to articulate his thoughts properly. “I mean, look at you! You’re a dream and I haven’t... dreamed since 1943.”

You threw him a curious look, your arms still crossed. You had understood his metaphor and he couldn’t help feeling a bit embarrassed.

“It’s been a while for me, too,” you said. “Not 1943, but close.”

He rolled his eyes at you, a smile on his lips. You smiled too.

“How about we take it slow?" he said. He moved closer to you and placed his metal hand on your elbow. “It’s been a while but I’m not completely senile yet. If you give me a minute or two, I know I can make you-”

“Daydream?”

He laughed softly. “Yeah, daydream.”

Shivers ran through you when his fingers grazed the exposed skin of your forearms. He slowly uncrossed your arms and kissed the valley between your breasts. He kept eye contact with you as he kissed a path down your stomach, stopping a second to lick your bellybutton.

He stripped you of your remaining clothes and settled between your legs, hooking one of your thighs over his shoulder. You gasped and arched your back when you felt his breath on your thigh.

He shushed you, his lips grazing your inner thigh. “It’s gonna be good. ‘Promise.”

He soothed your whimper with a gentle kiss on the inside of your knee and felt your whole body tensed up in anticipation of another kiss. He smiled to himself and playfully bit your thigh, just hard enough to make you moan. Your face lit up with such pleasure that his confidence soared.

You slammed your arms down at your sides, your shaking hands balled into fists, clutching the sheets. He reached for your hand and linked your fingers together.

It all came back to him; the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the growing pressure in his groin, the way you twined your fingers into his hair, the way you cursed and moaned his name, the satisfying ache in his jaw after you climaxed.

Pleased with himself, he watched your tired body melt into the mattress. You looked exhausted and beautiful. His smile brought out the wrinkles around his eyes. Still holding your hand, he gave it a kiss before you pulled him up.

He obeyed, kissing every inch of your glistening skin on his way up.

“You look too smug,” you said, unbuckling his belt. His smile only grew as he braced himself with his forearms near your head, caging you on the bed. “Wait until I get my hands on you.”

He shook his head. “Won’t last that long.”

You pulled his jeans down in one quick motion and maneuvered his boxers over his erection. He grumbled something under his breath and sighed when he realized his jeans and boxers were wrapped around his ankles.

You slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle but he heard it anyway. He tilted his head and looked at you with feigned annoyance. “Whatcha laughin’ at, sugar?”

“Sugar?” you asked, a smile dancing at the corner of your lips.

He blushed. “It slipped.”

You didn’t say anything, just smiled gently and brushed your fingers through his hair. He wished he still had long hair.

Your hand caressed his jaw, where you let your thumb run over the faint cleft in his chin, before you traced a path down his side to his hip bone. Your touch was soft, almost too gentle, and he instinctively closed his eyes.

He felt you wiggle onto your side, heard you rummaging through your bedside drawer before you let out a victorious ‘ah-ha!’ followed by the crinkling sound of a condom wrapper being opened.

“You okay? You want me to stop?” you asked. He shook his head, eyes still closed. You raised your hand to his cheek and spoke softly, “Can you talk to me? I don’t want to do anything you might regret.”

“I’m good,” he said through clenched teeth. “Just... y’know... trying to make it last.”

He took the condom and slowly rolled the latex down his length. He wasn’t going to last. He had already recited the alphabet in his head about twenty times.

Every muscle in his body tightened as he finally pushed inside you. A throaty moan escaped his parted lips; something wild and unrestrained. He would have been embarrassed if his head hadn’t been filled with endorphins.

It took him a minute to get used to the sensation but he once he did, he was on you like a beast. He cradled your face and looked into your eyes, gauging your pleasure. It didn’t take him long to figure out what made you gasp.

Sweat began to mist your skin, your moans turning into cries as you rode out your orgasm. Every cell in his body burned, he was so close it was almost painful.

Bucky glanced down the length of your body and watched himself thrust in and out of you. He let out a cry as his body jerked forward. He came down from his high and fell next to you on the bed, breathing hard, his heart galloping in his chest.

The next few minutes were spent in silence as you avoided looking at each other. You shivered, the sweat on your body cooling. Bucky left to dispose of the used condom in a trash can, then went back to bed. Things started to get weird now that your brains were no longer fogged with lust.

“So,” you drawled out, pulling the sheet up to cover your body. “That was fun.”

“Yup. Lots of fun.” He pulled his jeans up and tucked himself away.

A full minute of awkward silence passed before you spoke again. “Just so you know, things are a bit different nowadays, you don’t have to ask for my hand in marriage.”

Rolling his head to the side, Bucky stared at you with his best deadpan face. The corner of your lips started to lift and he could tell you were trying hard to contain your laughter.

He let out an amused snort. “Wow, you really are insufferable.”

Part 5

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #marvel imagines #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #redgillanwrites #and they could never tear us apart

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redgillan · 4 years ago

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Under Pastel Skies - 11

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 6,696

Warnings: Unprotected Sex (non explicit)

A/N: And finally... Just a word before, and it’s important, I wanted to put the explicit between two ‘*’ but I settled for one at the end because explicit means different things to different people. So whenever it starts to get too steamy for you, skip to the *. Thank you for reading, I appreciate your support!

Wannabe sugar daddies, don’t interact with this post.

Bucky moved behind the kitchen counter when he heard the door close. You and your guests were in the hallway where you took their coats and asked them to remove their shoes. He took a deep breath to calm himself. He had to stay calm, you depended on him tonight.

“It smells nice in here. What did y-”

Bucky straightened himself up and tried to keep a casual, friendly smile on his face as he came face-to-face with Okoye. He had seen enough pictures of your siblings to recognize them.

She looked surprised to find someone else there. He raised his hand and waved, and she frowned at him in confusion. The rest of the guests stopped short when they saw him waving like a dork. You pushed through them and came to his side.

“Guys, this is my friend, Bucky,” you said. “He’s the one who invited you.”

“Thanks for the invite. I hope you like wine,” Scott said, extending his hand as he walked over to Bucky.

“I sure do.”

Then he shook Wanda and Okoye’s hands, telling them how good it was to finally meet them. Your sisters introduced him to their partners, W’Kabi and Edwin who preferred to be called ‘Viz’.

You led them to the living room while Bucky prepared the drinks. W’Kabi decided to stay behind and help Bucky carry the drinks to the living room. He praised Bucky for having such a nice home.

The conversation seemed to flow easily between your siblings, though as Bucky arrived with your drink, he couldn’t help but notice that you were not participating. You took the glass from his hand, smiled then went back to staring at the coffee table. He sat next to you and rubbed soothing strokes on your arm before he reached for his drink.

Okoye was telling everyone that she had decided to return to New York after King T’Chaka’s passing. His son carried the mantle of the Black Panther, surrounding himself with his father’s Dora Milaje, but Okoye wanted to live closer to her own family.

She was a Dora Milaje, loyal to her king, but she was also a sister, loyal to her family. She felt like there were no good choices, and it ate away at her until her king found a solution to her problem. His little sister, Shuri, was starting her own business in the United States and needed her own bodyguards. Okoye accepted and W’Kabi followed her.

Scott didn’t share much. He showed everyone pictures of his little girl, Cassie, and said he was now working at Baskin-Robbins.

Wanda was evasive about her life and whereabouts. She told everyone that she’d been backpacking across Europe and met Viz, a wealthy businessman, on a beautiful sunny day in Berlin. They’d been attached at the hip ever since.

“And of course, you’re all invited to the wedding,” Wanda said while Okoye admired the ring. “It’s going to be a small wedding. I just need my family.”

“Excuse-me,” you said, standing up abruptly. “I think something’s burning.”

Bucky watched you disappear into the kitchen. He glanced at the group again, no one was paying attention so he followed you into the kitchen.

He found you leaning back against the counter, your arms crossed over your chest, staring into nothing. He walked over to you and pulled you into a one-armed hug that you accepted with a pleased sigh.

“I don’t think I can do this,” you said, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“Is it a code ‘flamingo’?”

“No,” you chuckled, pulling away. You took a deep breath and leaned back against the counter again. “It’s just...”

You huffed, unable to find the words and grabbed him by the waist, seeking his warmth again. Bucky let out a surprised laugh as you squeezed him tightly. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pressed you against his chest.

“I know it’s hard,” he said, kissing the crown of your head. “It’ll be over soon, angel.”

Bucky rocked you side to side in a slow, soothing rhythm until you were practically melting against him. He felt you take a deep breath, your nose buried in his chest. He didn’t want the moment to end, but you’d been gone for several minutes now, and the others would barge in the kitchen soon.

He pressed a long kiss to your forehead and gently pushed you away, his arm falling to your waist. You smoothed out the wrinkles you had made in his shirt without looking him in the eye.

He could tell you were thinking about something but before he could ask what was on your mind, you kissed the slight cleft in his chin and quickly moved away from him.

He smiled to himself, his heart beating a little faster.

You were transferring the dinner rolls from the pan to the basket when Scott poked his head into the kitchen. Bucky was still smiling to himself like a lovesick idiot.

“Everything okay?” Scott asked, taking a step closer to you. You turned to him and nodded. “It’s kinda weird, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Seeing each other again after all this time.” He leaned his forearm on the counter next to you and smelled the bread. “Baby Wanda’s getting married. Did you know they flew me first class? And the hotel is incredible. I feel like a prince.”

“Viz seems very nice.”

“I can’t believe Wanda backpacked through Europe,” Scott scoffed. “She hates camping.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Bucky watched as Scott leaned closer and whispered in your ear. “Listen, I wanted to thank you for everything you did for me and for Cassie-” Bucky quietly left the two of you alone. It was a private conversation and he didn’t want to impose himself.

He finished setting the table, and soon everyone joined in. Bucky was sitting with his back to the kitchen, W’Kabi sitting next to him. You took a seat across from him, Wanda sitting next to you. Okoye sat next to Wanda, facing Scott, and Viz took a seat at the end of the table.

The food was good, and everyone complimented Bucky on his cooking skills. He said that you had helped him a lot, but you refused to take credit for chopping up a bunch of vegetables. You gushed about his cooking skills and his delicious recipes. It made them salivate just thinking about it.

“And your house is amazing,” Scott said with a dreamy look on his face. “A place like that...” he sighed, “that must have cost you an arm and a leg.” The whole room fell silent, and something that sounded like a foot hitting a shin made the table jump. “Ouch, why did yo- oh.”

Okoye was looking at him with the widest pair of eyes Bucky had ever seen. She looked furious and exasperated at the same time. The others stared at their plates as the uncomfortable silence grew.

Bucky glanced at you, not surprised to find you smirking. You knew he lived for moments like these, and you knew he already had the perfect comeback. As he watched you bit your lip, trying to contain a little giggle, he couldn’t help but love you even more.

“It was the original price but I’m a good negotiator,” Bucky said. “Only cost me an arm.”

W’Kabi was the first to laugh at his joke, then the whole table broke into fits of laughter. Scott looked equally amused and relieved.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

“No problem,” Bucky cut him off.

“Can’t take you anywhere,” Okoye said with a smile and a shake of her head. She turned to Bucky as everyone calmed down. “So, Bucky, strange name, uh? What do you do for a living?”

“My name is James, Bucky’s just a nickname.” He wiped his mouth and set the napkin down. “I’m a writer.”

“A pretty good one, judging by your apartment.”

“I’m all right.” He shrugged. “Literally.” Scott snickered at the joke.

“He’s too modest,” you said. “His books are best sellers. They’re autobiographical, he’s very sincere and honest and funny. He has a way of making you laugh about things that are pretty awful.”

“Yeah, we saw that,” Wanda said with a grin. “Are you working on anything at the moment?”

Bucky shifted a little in his seat. “Yeah, it’s uh,” he cleared his throat. “It’s a very important one. I don’t really want to talk about it. Don’t wanna jinx it.”

He wasn’t going to tell your family that he was writing a book about how he fell in love with you. That’d be pretty awkward.

“I understand,” Okoye nodded, then looked at you. “You’ve been really quiet tonight.” You shrugged. “I thought you were still living with Natasha. Do you still work at the hotel? Where is it again? Chelsea? That’s one hell of a commute from Brooklyn.”

“I wasn’t exactly living with Natasha,” you said. “I was crashing on her sofa. And no, I quit six months ago. I’m a full time artist now.”

“That’s great,” Scott said, raising his glass toward you in a silent toast. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Not too bad. Bucky’s friend is a professional photographer. He helped me set up my website. The pictures he took are amazing. I sold a few pieces online but I’m struggling to find gallery representation.”

“Hey, as long as it pays the bills.”

“I don’t really have to worry about bills these days.”

“What do you mean?”

The room got quiet again, and Bucky could feel the tension in the air, buzzing like static electricity. All eyes were suddenly on you, waiting for an explanation. Bucky knew you were not going to lie to them. He locked eyes with you, and braced himself for impact.

You set your fork down and folded your hands in your lap.

“Well, Bucky and I have an arrangement.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Scott cut you off.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush and I’m not going to use pretty words to make it sounds more appealing,” you continued as if you hadn’t heard him. “He’s my sugar daddy.”

“You’re joking. Please, tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope,” you replied smugly, popping the ‘p’.

A chorus of voices rose in protest. Okoye and Scott were shouting while the others kept glancing around wondering what had just happened. Wanda was strangely quiet next to you.

“Oh, shut up!” you shouted. “You left me alone. All of you. We were all grieving our brother but it doesn’t give you the right to fuck off when things get tough. Do you know how fucking terrifying it was when mom started to lose her memories? Or when the police drove her home at three in the morning after one of her spells? No, you don’t know because you weren’t there.”

Bucky had never seen you so upset before, and he didn’t quite know what to do but he felt like you needed to get it off your chest.

“I didn’t have friends or boyfriends. I went to class, then got home, hoping mom hadn’t set the house on fire. I took the first decent job I could find because she needed a new home and professional help. Without Natasha I would have been homeless.” You turned to Bucky. “I’m so sorry, I’ve ruined dinner. You’ve worked so hard.”

“It’s okay,” he replied immediately. “I’m with you.”

“God, you’re so nice,” you sighed, then turned to your siblings. “See? That’s the kind of person he is. I was lonely and lost, and I found him and he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He’s kind and sweet, he’s selfless and generous, and you have no right to criticize our relationship.”

Bucky stared at you, his mouth hanging open a little. Slowly he shook himself out of his trance and reached for your hand on the table. He had no idea you thought so highly of him.

“We needed each other,” you continued. “And I don’t care what you think.”

Dinner was officially ruined but Bucky didn’t care. He smiled at you, soft and reassuring, and let go of your hand when you smiled back. He was proud of you for speaking up, for standing up for yourself.

Bucky noticed Wanda and Viz exchanging looks.

“Okay so, since we’re sharing truth bombs,” Wanda said, shifting a bit in her seat. “I wasn’t really traveling through Europe. I went to Sokovia and after that, everything’s kind of a blur. I did things I’m not proud of. I wanted to forget,” she paused and sighed, “everything. I hit rock bottom, pretty hard, and checked myself into a psychiatric hospital. That’s where I met Viz. He helped me send you those postcards. I screwed up, real bad, but I couldn’t tell you guys the truth. I’m not really proud of myself.”

“I got fired from Baskin-Robbins for yelling at a costumer.”

“Okay!” Okoye exclaimed in her big sister voice. “Enough truth bombs.” She pointed at you. “I’m sorry you had to do this alone, it wasn’t right but we’re here now and we won’t let you down. As for the sugar daddy thing... well you’re a grown woman, you can do whatever you want. Bucky seems like a nice guy.” She turned to Wanda. “We are all dealing with our pain in our own way. I’m not judging you. We’re here for you, Wanda.”

“I know,” Wanda said, sniffing.

“And Scott, stop yelling at people.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

Bucky turned to W’Kabi and Viz who looked proud of their girls, albeit a little uncomfortable with the whole situation. Someone started chuckling, he couldn’t tell who it was, but suddenly the whole table broke into a fit of laughter.

“How about some dessert,” he said. “Then you guys can fill me in on some childhood secrets.”

As he walked away from the table, he heard you warn your siblings to keep their mouths shut. They laughed in response, which made Bucky smile. Surely it’d take more than one outburst at a family dinner to fix your broken bond but it was a good start.

During dessert, he learned that everyone called you ‘Splotchy’ because you painted on the living room walls as a child. He learned that you always wanted to play board games with Okoye. Your favourite one was Mystery Date.

“She had a crush on Tyler, the beach date.”

“No, that’s not true, don’t listen to them.”

When they finally left, you spent a few extra moments hugging everyone. Promises were made, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he watched you wave goodbye to your siblings.

It was just the two of you again, and the mountain of dirty dishes and silverware. He told you not to worry about the dishes, but you knew if he went to bed he wouldn't be able to sleep, not when the kitchen was such a mess so you cleaned together.

He loved these moments with you. There was something very peaceful about the night; the dark skies, the soft lights, the quiet apartment, knowing people all around town where getting ready for bed. It used to make him feel tiny and isolated but now, with you, the night didn’t seem so frightening anymore.

A few weeks went by, and things were changing a bit. You spent your Saturday mornings with your sisters, bonding, and facetimed with Scott at least once a week.

Bucky also noticed a subtle change in Sam’s behaviour. He seemed happier and he wondered if his friend had already forgotten Natasha.

It was almost June, and the building’s swimming pool reopened as the weather got warmer. Despite living there for several years, he had never gone near that swimming pool until you dragged him out one scorching afternoon.

The rooftop was surprisingly calm, apart for the group of children playing in the pool. There were people sunbathing around the pool, enjoying a good book, socializing. You dropped your bag on the floor and laid out your towel on the reclining chair.

Bucky had never seen you in a bathing suit before and it caught him completely off guard, but what made him literally growl was seeing the little pendant of your necklace rest against your skin. He didn’t know why but it awoke something in him.

You both slathered on sunscreen before you went for a swim. Bucky recognized a few neighbours, and while they all knew he only had one arm, they had never seen him shirtless before. Bucky didn’t mind their inquisitiveness, as long as you were beside him.

“Do you think the kids peed in the water?” you asked as you rested against the edge of the pool.

“Probably,” Bucky cringed. “When I was a kid, my mom told me that there were chemicals that turned the water a different color when someone pees.”

“Ew,” you laughed.

After a while, he lay out in the sun, enjoying the feel of the sun on his skin. He could still hear you playing water polo with the kids when a shadow passed over him. With a frown, he pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead.

“It’s nice to see you, James,” his neighbour beamed, taking a seat on your unoccupied chair. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out here.”

“Hi.” He wasn’t surprised when his voice came out hoarse since he had been on the verge of falling asleep. With the grace of a walrus, he propped himself into a sitting position. “Yes, well, swimming pools are more fun when you’re not alone.”

His neighbour turned to look at you. “Congratulations, by the way. I didn’t know you were seeing someone. Must have been serious if you two moved in together. How long has it been since she moved in? Six months?”

“Seven.”

He knew he should have corrected her, you weren’t his girlfriend, but it felt good. It was just a harmless little lie.

“Does she make you happy?”

“I’m the happiest man on earth,” he replied with a bright smile, then slid his sunglasses back on his face.

His neighbour chuckled quietly. “I can see that!”

When you returned to your seat, his neighbour was gone. You hummed to yourself as you settled into your seat, big droplets of water running down your body. Bucky tilted his head down and peered at you over the top of his sunglasses.

“Where did you get that popsicle?”

“Jealous?” You licked your treat without looking at him. “The kids’ mom gave me one as a thank you for looking after her kids.”

“That looks good.”

“So good.”

“Mind sharing it with me?”

You pursed your lips thoughtfully, then held out your popsicle. As Bucky leaned closer, you pulled it away and jumped to your feet. The look he gave you was one of pure betrayal.

“Oh, angel, you should have never done that.”

He grinned to himself when he saw a shiver run through you. When he stood up, you took a step back. He strutted toward you, his grin predatory. The floor was slippery so you couldn’t go very far.

“Are you ready to share now?”

“No!”

The popsicle melted down your hand, creating a mess. You turned your arm and licked the drops of popsicle juice from the inside of your wrist. It distracted you long enough for Bucky to wrap his arm around your waist, pulling you against him. You squealed and grabbed him around the neck to keep from falling while also trying not to smush the popsicle against his chest.

You waved the treat in front of his face and he tried to bite off the tip of your popsicle. It made you laugh, your body sagging against him. His face was close to yours. He was so close he could smell the artificial orange scent of your popsicle.

Your laughter died down and your breath caught in your throat when you saw the way he was looking at you. Without thinking, he went for it. He felt your fingers flex against his skin, urging him closer.

His lips were barely a breath away from yours when one of the kids repeatedly slapped your thigh, obviously oblivious to what the two grownups were about to do.

“Come back! We haven’t finished the game,” the kid whined. “Come on!”

Reluctantly, you let go of Bucky and took a step back. Your exhale came out shaky, and in your almost-kiss-induced trance you handed him the popsicle without saying anything before you followed the kid.

You turned back to look at him, one hand sprawled across your stomach, the other across your chest. He knew you were feeling it too: the butterflies, the racing heartbeat, that pleasant heat going through your body.

The difference between like and love.

A week later, he came home to an empty apartment. He climbed the stairs to your studio but you weren’t there. Instead, he found a canvas stretched out smooth and tight on the floor, and several bowls of paint arranged in a semi-circle around it.

He knew you were home, you wouldn’t leave without your phone or bag. Out of curiosity, he went up on the roof and let out a relieved breath when he found you.

You were sitting on the edge of the rooftop with your knees up to your chin and your arms wrapped loosely around your shins. You looked so beautiful in the golden hue of the setting sun.

He stood there, watching you as if he was looking at a painting in a museum. Entranced. You hadn’t noticed him yet, and a quick glance around the roof told him you were alone.

Slowly, he made his way to you and took in your appearance: a short sleeve white shirt and a pair of denim overalls. The shirt was surprisingly spotless but the overalls were covered in dried paint splatters of different colours.

“I looked everywhere for you,” he spoke softly, trying not to disturb you.

“Did you?”

You straightened up a little but kept your eyes trained on the horizon. Bucky sat close to your feet and let his hand slip under the hem of your jeans to close around your ankle. A sigh slipped past your lips, and he let his fingertips linger for a moment on your smooth skin.

He knew you had a meeting today, and judging by the resigned look on your face, it didn’t go well.

“What’s on your mind, angel?” he said, caressing the top of your foot.

“I was thinking about the night we met. God, I was so nervous,” you said, laughing softly. “I told you that agreeing to meet you was like choosing between a pack of wolves and jumping off a cliff.”

“I remember,” he chuckled.

“I never told you how glad I am that I jumped off that cliff,” you said. “I’d never jumped head first into something, not knowing what was going to happen. Now I think I’m addicted to it. Before I met you, I was living for others. Everything single decision was thoroughly analysed. There was no mystery, fun, or impulsiveness. I put my entire life on hold, and now I see that I can’t do that anymore.”

“What are you going to do?”

You paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t know if I want to turn my passion into a career. Painting is my safe-place, and right now it’s giving me so much anxiety. I haven’t had the inspiration to paint in weeks.” You looked at him and pressed your lips together tightly. “And, if I don’t want to become a full time artist, then I guess our deal is off.”

Bucky stared at you, mouth agape. He really hadn’t seen it coming.

“Please, don’t be angry,” you pleaded. “I don’t want to stop seeing you. When he didn’t answer, you leaned forward and touched his face.

“I could never be angry with you, angel,” he said, kissing the inside of your palm. “I understand, and I’ll help you however I can.”

“I’m not sure yet. I’m still thinking about it.” You looked away from him and stared at the sky. “Do you know that feeling when you stand in a high place and you think about jumping? You don’t want to jump and you don’t do it, but there’s that urge.”

“I think I do.”

“It’s called ‘call of the void’. People say that it’s an affirmation of our will to live. That knowing we’re going to die one day makes us appreciate life even more.” You looked at him. “I want to jump but I can’t. I’m scared.” You lowered your voice. “I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“You’re scaring me a little. You can’t talk about jumping when we’re sitting on the edge of the roof.”

You chuckled under your breath. “It’s a metaphor.”

“Let’s go home. We’ll make dinner together, put on some music and pretend we’re in a movie.” He got to his feet and held out his hand to you. “Please.”

You took his hand and let him lead you to the staircase.

Once you were inside the apartment, he removed his shoes and you removed yours. Silence settled between the two of you as you entered the kitchen. Bucky moved behind the counter while you stood close to the dining table.

When he chanced a glance at you, he saw you staring into nothing while you played with the charm on your necklace, rolling it back and forth on its chain. You often did that when you were daydreaming.

Bucky walked over to you and placed his hand on top of yours, halting your movements. You let go of the pendant and held his hand instead. He ran his thumb soothingly over your fingers.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he spoke softly.

“If I say it, it’s going to change everything.”

He pressed your joined hands against his chest, over his heart. “No, it’ll make it real.”

He let go of your hand and cupped the side of your face. You leaned closer until you were only inches apart. His thumb traced your cheekbone, then moved to trace the outline of your bottom lip.

He let you come to him, let you take that first step, and when your lips brushed against his, he closed his eyes and sighed. He kissed your parted lips; once, twice, three times, tiny little kisses against your trembling lips.

His kiss grew bolder, turning into something so intimate, so passionate and intense that tears gathered in his eyes. He pressed his mouth more firmly against yours, his large hand still cupping the side of your face. His bad shoulder jutted forward as if his missing arm wanted to touch you.

He let out a groan, frustrated that he only had one hand to finally explore your skin. Sensing his inner turmoil, you held onto his bad shoulder and pulled him against you.

His tongue swept into your mouth, moving in a slow and deliberate rhythm. A growl escaped him and he deepened the kiss, tasting, sliding, retreating and entering again. He poured everything he had into the kiss.

“Bucky,” you moaned after your broke the kiss, breathless.

Hearing his name fall from your lips, your voice hoarse with desire, sparked something inside him. He swiped his thumb over your bottom lip, feeling the softness and collecting the moisture that had gathered there.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, looking positively entranced. “My pretty angel.”

You pulled him in for another kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck, your slightly cold hands felt amazing against his heated skin. He pressed himself against you, letting you feel the rise and fall of his chest, the desperation in the jerky thrust of his hips.

He needed more but he wasn’t going to force you into anything. He was more than happy to stand here and kiss you for hours. He cupped the back of your neck and rubbed the sensitive skin behind your ear with his thumb.

“I’m yours,” he spoke against your lips, his eyes screwed shut.

You pulled back to look him in the eye, searching his face. He opened his eyes and you saw nothing but honesty in the depth of his eyes.

You untangled yourself from him and took his hand. Slowly, you took a step back, then another, his hand still in yours. His eyebrows lifted slightly when you bit your bottom lip and gave him a coy look.

He nearly growled again, the wolf inside him eager to touch you, feel you, claim you. He stood taller, his chest puffed out and breathing fast.

You led him up the stairs to the second floor and turned on the light in the corridor. You slowly made your way down the corridor with him behind you.

But instead of turning left towards his bedroom, you turned right into your studio, and it changed everything. Your studio was your sanctuary, your safe place, and knowing that you were about to bare your soul and body to him tamed his inner wolf.

You hesitated at the threshold of the room and glanced over your shoulder to look at him. Bucky squeezed your hand to encourage you.

“I bought some body paint on my way home,” you said, letting go of his hand to step into the room. “I wanted to try something different, something more personal. I wanted to use my body to express my emotions, to create something raw and messy. My interpretation of somatic art therapy.”

You moved around the darkened room; bent down to adjust the canvas on the floor and made sure the bowls of paint were still full.

“I sat there and thought of my mom and Pietro,” you continued, barefoot on the canvas. “I only feel sadness and anger, and I don’t want to create something that makes me feel sad. And I realized the only thing that keeps me inspired is hope.”

Turning to face him, you held your hand out, palm up, and his eyes widened at your silent request. Without thinking twice, he joined you on the canvas. It was both soft and scratchy under his feet.

Bucky watched as you unbuckled the right strap of your overalls and slipped the second strap off your shoulder. You tugged your jeans down your legs and tossed them aside, leaving you in your underwear and white shirt.

Swallowing thickly, Bucky let his eyes travel up and down your body. He had seen you in your bathing suit before but this was different. Then he reached behind his neck and pulled his shirt over his head, baring his strong chest, hard abdomen and marred skin.

The room was dark; the pastel sky, visible from your studio thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, didn’t provide much light. The light was still on in the corridor, casting a faint golden glow over the room.

You took a step forward to examine his scars more carefully and Bucky took that opportunity to kiss you again, slowly, intimately. He peppered kisses along your jaw and down your neck, then went down on his knees in front of you and continued his journey down your body, pressing soft kisses to your stomach.

He accidentally knocked over two bowls of paint; the dark colours spilled out onto the canvas, chasing each other. His kisses made you light up with desire, your moans music to his ears as your hands came down on the back of his head.

When it all became too much, you gently pushed him into a lying position and helped him out of his jeans. His belt buckle made a faint clink when you pulled it open, and Bucky swore out loud when you planted a wet open-mouthed kiss right below his navel.

In the back of his mind, he knew he wasn’t going to survive the night. He let his head fall back against the canvas and closed his eyes shut. Your talented mouth sent sharp jolts of pleasure through him, making it difficult to breathe.

He could feel the paint stick to his back, creating the shape of his upper body on the canvas. It was strangely exciting.

He moaned, arching his back, and slammed his fist down on the canvas. His fist landed in one of the bowls of paint. It splashed paint everywhere. He looked down at you and saw tiny flecks of paint splayed like freckles on one side of your face.

It made you both giggle. As he pushed himself up into a sitting position, Bucky left a print of his forearm on the canvas. You climbed into his lap, straddling him, then removed your shirt and bra. You wrapped your legs around him, one hand on his upper arm, the other hugging his neck.

Bucky was sitting on the canvas with his legs outstretched and slightly bent at the knees. He held you against his chest, rocking back and forth, his arm around the small of your back. You sighed together, sharing the same breath.

“You have the prettiest nose.” You let your index finger run down the length of his nose, your finger wet with paint. “So pretty.”

Laughing softly, he brushed his nose against yours and kissed you. He changed the angle of his thrusts, catching you by surprise.

“Does that feel good, angel?” he asked, lightly biting your jaw. You answered with a short cry. “Look at me.” You slowly opened your eyes, your movements faltered a little. “You’re so beautiful like this. You drive me crazy, y’know that?”

“Bucky,” you cried out.

He felt you shiver when he moved his hand from your back to your face. He cupped the side of your face and you immediately pressed yourself closer to him, craving the warmth of his touch.

He stopped your movements and looked you in the eye. “I’d do anything for you. Anything. You’re my one and only.”

He laid you down as gently and safely as he could, and once you were lying flat on your back, he sprawled between your thighs. He supported his weight on his forearm, careful not to crush you. Your hands slid up his sides, and as your thumb traced over his ribcage, a violent shiver went through his body.

He had never seen anything more beautiful than watching you come apart; your eyebrows furrowed, your lips parted in a silent ‘o’, the way your body shook in little spams. Absolutely stunning.

Exhausted, he collapsed on top of you and hid his face in the crook of your neck. You wrapped your arms around him and slowly caressed his back.

After he kissed his way down the side of your neck, he straightened himself up into a kneeling position and looked down at you. Your naked body was on display, covered in paint and glistening under the moonlight. He wished he could take a picture, immortalize this memory.

He helped you up, and after another passionate kiss he led you to his bathroom, the two of you leaving colourful footprints all over the clean floor.

The bathroom's bright fluorescent light was harsh and unforgiving as you looked at each other in the mirror. Yet you were both glowing, streaks and dots of paint covering your bodies. Bucky turned on the water and waited for it to get hot.

He wrapped his arm around you from behind and rested his chin on your shoulder. “We look like we blew up a rainbow,” he said, smiling wide when it made you chuckle.

In the shower, you took turns washing each other, laughing and kissing until the water turned cold. You pushed his hair out of his eyes and smiled sweetly at him.

“We’re going to catch a cold if we stay here.”

“Mhh,” he replied, kissing your temple. “You’re right. There are clean towels on the shelf. Go, I’ll be right behind you, I still need to take care of my scar.”

“Can I help you?”

Asking for help wasn’t something he was comfortable with, especially after years of being babied by his ex-girlfriend, friends and family. After his accident, he couldn’t do anything on his own. He had to rely on others and it made him feel like a burden, like he was incapable of taking care of himself.

He knew it was all in his head but he couldn’t help it.

“It’s not exactly sexy,” he said.

“I don’t care. I want to help. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

Patiently he guided you step by step through the process of cleaning his stump. You inspected his skin thoroughly, looking for irritation or any signs of infection, then washed it with a mild soap.

He had to admit that watching the woman he loved take such good care of his scar made his stomach fill with butterflies. You looked so focused, so attentive, that he could help but smile and try to kiss you.

“Bucky,” you complained, turning your head away, avoiding his kiss. “This is serious business, stop fooling around.”

He almost said it. I love you. But something was holding him back. He didn’t know what would happen next and it scared him. He didn’t want this to be a one-time thing, but he also realized that things were moving too fast.

“Okay, now you’re shivering,” he said, holding you close, trying to share his body heat with you. “Let’s get out of here.”

He wrapped you in a fluffy bathrobe and patted you dry. Then you carefully dried his scar and applied corticosteroid cream to his shoulder, massaging it gently into his skin. He slipped on his robe and you loosely tied the belt at his waist.

“We should talk about what just happened,” you said, playing with the belt. “What does it mean? What are we going to do? Can we-mph”

He cut you off with a kiss, long and hard and filled with passion. You smiled against his lips and finally pulled away.

“Is that how you’re going to shut me up from now on?” you asked with a grin.

“We’ll talk,” he said, pressing his forehead against yours. “But not tonight.”

“When then?”

“Tomorrow, I promise.”

You looked down at your hands on his belt and nodded. He tilted your head up and lowered his mouth to yours.

“Don’t avoid me tomorrow. Please.”

Your words felt like a knife in his heart, and it left him momentarily speechless. He took one of your hands and pressed it against his heart. “No matter what we decide to do, you’re my angel and I’m yours.”

You shared a long, silent hug before you both decided to call it a night. Once he saw the footprints in the corridor, Bucky felt the urge to clean them. He tried to resist but he knew if he didn't clean he wouldn't be able to sleep.

You understood –you always understood. That’s why he felt so comfortable with you.

Once it was clean, he joined you in the kitchen and made you breakfast for dinner, opening the cupboard and pulling out a couple boxes of cereal you didn’t even know he had.

He told you that he was keeping them for a special occasion. He remembered you telling him that it was your favourite meal as a kid, watching TV with your siblings every Sunday night, eating cereals.

“I can’t believe you remembered that,” you said, tears in your eyes.

The two of you sat on your bed, sharing random thoughts and spoonfuls of cereal. You giggled as milk dribbled down his chin and stained his robe. You wiped at the spot on his chin with your thumb and gave him a chaste kiss.

Your lips tasted sweet. Bucky pulled you in for another kiss, discarding the dirty dishes on your bedside table. You helped each other undress, then slid under the covers where you laid your head on Bucky’s chest.

“Bucky,” your voice cut through the quiet. “Do you mind-”

“Don’t worry, my angel, I’ll wait until you fall asleep.”

“Thank you.”

Part 12

2K notes · View notes

redgillan · 4 years ago

Text

Under Pastel Skies - 12

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 5,423

Warnings: Nothing really, they don’t do the do.

A/N: Okay this is finally here, I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter. We’re close to the end, two chapters and it’ll be the end of Bucky and Angel. Thank you all so much for reading and for your kind words. I adore you!

Wannabe sugar daddies, don’t interact with this post.

The next morning, you woke up early but the spot beside you on the bed was already empty. You touched it, it was still warm. With a smile on your face, you rolled onto your stomach and hugged your pillow.

You closed your eyes and mumbled to yourself. “Just five more minutes.”

Thirty minutes later, you felt the mattress dip slightly as Bucky climbed in. He pressed his lips to your exposed neck and kissed his way down the curve of your shoulder.

“I love kissing your shoulders. I think I could spend my whole day here, just kissing you.”

You giggled and rolled onto your side, holding the sheet to your naked chest but still giving him full access to your shoulder. He traced a line of playful bites down your shoulder, smiling against your skin when you squealed in pleasure.

You tilted your head to look at him, taking in his appearance. “Why are you already dressed?” you asked with a frown.

He pulled back and sat back on his haunches, his head bent down a little and a guilty look in his eyes. It made your stomach churn. You pulled the sheet higher, watching him the whole time while you tried to figure out if something had gone wrong.

“I have a meeting with my publicist,” he said, looking apologetic. “I’m so sorry, angel, I forgot to tell you. I wanted to tell you last night, but then,” he trailed off. “I don’t regret what happened. It was... incredible. I’m not running away from you, believe me. I kinda want to fake my own death so I can stay in bed with you today.”

You chuckled and gently tugged on his hand to bring him closer. He hovered over you, supporting his weight on his forearm, and kissed you. His kiss made your toes curl and your insides melt. You didn’t want him to leave.

“I hate to ask you this,” you said between kisses, “but can you reschedule your meeting?”

“I tried but she’s going on vacation tomorrow.” He frowned and rubbed his nose against yours. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I made you breakfast, your favorite. I’ll be back before dinner.”

“Okay. We’ll talk then.”

He pressed a kiss to your brows and climbed off the bed. He promised to text you later, then he disappeared into the hallway. A few seconds later, you heard the door close.

You knew it was time to get up, but you wanted to spend a few more minutes in bed. You buried your face in his pillow, losing yourself in the memories of the previous night. Your body shivered and you became aware of the pleasant soreness between your legs.

You closed your eyes and started playing with your necklace as you remembered the feel of his hand and lips on your body. You remembered the words he spoke against your skin, the moans and chuckles you shared.

With Bucky you felt safe, respected, treasured. You had never felt so connected to anyone before.

You ate your breakfast with a smile on your face, then got ready for the day. You sent a text to Natasha, asking her to meet you at your apartment in an hour, before you ran a quick errand to the drugstore. You were a little apprehensive as you asked for the morning-after pill but the chemist put you at ease.

When you returned home, you made sure to leave the front door unlocked for Natasha before you made your way upstairs.

Clutching the doorframe, you glanced around your studio. Everything looked the same as you'd left it the night before: rainbow footprints on the hardwood floor, clothes thrown everywhere, and the canvas stretched out in the middle of the room.

Slowly, you ventured in the room. You put away the empty bowls of paint and cleaned the footprints as best you could. When Natasha arrived, you were sitting on the floor looking at the painting you’d made with Bucky. You heard her footsteps as she climbed to the second floor.

“This place is a maze,” she sighed when she finally found you. She sat on the floor next to you, her back against the wall. “What are we looking at?”

“Just... something I made last night,” you said with a dismissive shrug. “What do you think?”

Natasha pursed her lips as she scrutinized the painting for a long moment. “Well, it’s, um, interesting. It’s very different than what you usually do-”

“Interesting and different,” you repeated, nodding your head numbly. “You don’t like it.”

“No, I do,” she said, biting her lower lip. “It’s just... I feel like I’m looking at something private. All these colors together, it looks like an explosion, an epiphany.” She tilted her head to look at you. “It looks like love.”

You buried your face in your hands and made a little sound that was half sob, half chuckle. “I had sex with Bucky last night.” Natasha’s eyes widened. “On that canvas,” you continued, gesturing at the painting. “We made it together.”

The shock on Natasha’s face morphed into a comical grimace. She leaned forward and examined the painting. You watched her with a frown.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking for butt prints.” She laughed when you shoved her shoulder. “Seriously, I’m happy for you. It was about time. A bed would have been more comfortable but whatever floats your boat.”

“It just happened, y’know,” you said. “I was... in the moment. He was so sweet, Nat, so gentle. We showered together and it wasn’t weird at all. He let me touch his scar,” you said, lowering your voice even though you were alone.

“Mhhh,” Natasha said with a smile. “You look happy. So what happens now? Where is he?”

“He had a meeting. He said we’d talk tonight.” You sighed. “I thought a lot about my life, who I am, who I want to be, and I think it’s time for me to get my own place, to step out of my comfort zone.”

“I think it’s a good plan.”

“Yeah, I know he cares deeply for me.” You pressed the tip of your finger to your pendant. “There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to make me happy. But I need to know he’ll be okay. I need to know he won’t put on a brave face to make me happy. I hate the thought of him being alone, especially now that Sam is in D.C.”

You felt, more than heard, Natasha take a deep breath. You turned to look at her. She was staring straight ahead, a pinch between her brows.

“Is everything okay?” you asked.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” she said after a moment. “I got a job.”

You visibly perked up at that. “Nat, that’s amazing!”

“It’s not in New York,” she said with a sad smile. “It’s in D.C.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” she let out a humourless chuckle. “Remember that day when you told me Sam had been asking about me?”

“I do.”

“I called him that night and we talked for hours. He said he'd been meaning to call me but he didn’t want to impose himself on me. He said he missed me.” She paused to look at you. “He calls me every day.”

You were not really surprised. Bucky had mentioned that Sam’s mood had improved over the past several weeks. In retrospect, you should have figured it out sooner.

“One night, on a whim, I applied for a job in D.C. I figured, if I can’t find anything in New York, I might as well try somewhere else. I didn’t think they’d call me back but... here we are.”

“You don’t look very excited,” you remarked. “I mean, you and Sam are practically reunited, and everyone at your new job is going to be terrified of you. You’re going to be the King and Queen of D.C. Isn’t that what you've always wanted?”

She chuckled while she stared at her perfectly manicured nails, unable to hold your gaze any longer. “I can’t leave you.” She shook her head. “I’ve known you since we were kids. You’re like a sister to me, I love you. It feels like I’m abandoning you.” She looked at you with a sad smile. “And you’ve had enough of that.”

It was true.

You were used to people leaving you, abandoning you. Some left as soon as they got a chance, some didn’t have a choice. But Natasha had always been there for you, and you liked to think you'd been there for her, too, which is why you had to let her go.

“You have to go.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re not abandoning me, Nat. Everything’s fine. I’m not alone and I’m going to be okay. We’ve been through so much together, our bond is unbreakable. I want you to be happy and successful. I can take care of myself now, you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

“Pff,” she snorted, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “I’ll worry about you until the day I die.”

“I’ll call you every day, multiple times a day,” you continued. “I’ll call you so much that Sam will try to block my number. And I’ll send you stuff; pictures of my face so you don’t forget what I look like and chocolate from the bakery near your apartment.”

“You sure?”

“Of course,” you said. “If the roles were reversed, you’d do the same.”

As you hugged each other, you felt waves of anxiety rise up from your belly. Everything was changing so fast and it was a little frightening. You hugged Natasha a little tighter as you realized you would need some time to adjust to this new life.

“Okay, enough sappy crap,” she said, dabbing her fingers under her eyes to get rid of her tears and not ruin her makeup. “C’mon, tell me,” she asked with a curious twinkle in her eyes.

“Tell you what?”

“How big is he?”

“Natasha,” you sighed, flustered, knowing what she was talking about.

You weren’t used to discussing your love life with anyone, not even Natasha. Mostly because you had very little to talk about.

You bit your bottom lip and looked away from her, trying hard not to conjure up images from the night before. Unfortunately, Natasha was still staring at you, analysing every twitch of your mouth, every crease of your brows, every flicker of your eyes.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she said, “your face is an open book. The man is probably hung like a fucking horse.”

“Natasha!”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” she challenged.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’m conducting a survey.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed.

“That’s not fair. I told you Sam was big.”

You rolled your eyes. “And now I can’t even look him in the eye.”

“It’s a shame, he has nice eyes,” Natasha replied with a smirk. You levelled a deadpan look at her, and she threw her hands in the air, giving up. “Okay, fine. Keep your secrets.”

A grin tugged at your lips as you cast her a sideway glance. Quietly, you picked up one of your paint brushes and inspected it before you handed it to her. She looked down at the paint brush with a frown before her brain caught up.

“Seriously?” she practically shrieked, examining the length of the paint brush.

“Yeah, pretty much.” You gave a casual shrug.

“That’s definitely above average,” she said. “Though I hope for you he’s thicker than your brush.” You didn’t say anything, but when she glanced at you, she found you grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, I see.”

She threw her arm around your shoulders and hugged you to her side. You laughed quietly as she raised the paint brush above your heads.

“I’m so proud of you,” she exclaimed. “Now I know I’m leaving you in good hands.”

After Natasha left, you checked your phone and saw a text from Bucky. It was a selfie taken at an odd angle, most likely taken surreptitiously during his meeting. He was pouting slightly, looking bored and miserable.

I should have stayed in bed with you.

You typed out a quick message, something that made him reply with a single frowning face emoji. You laughed quietly, shaking your head at his antics.

He came home a little after seven. The sun was starting to set, bathing the skyscrapers in a golden hue. When you heard the rattle of keys in the lock, you stood up from your seat by the window and crossed the living room.

You stood in the archway between the living room and the kitchen, and waited for him to appear. He entered the kitchen barefoot, carrying his messenger bag over his right shoulder and holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Hey, angel.”

You pushed yourself off the wall and approached him slowly. You felt suddenly shy, unable to look him in the eye. He handed you the flowers and gave you a peck on the cheek.

The flowers were absolutely stunning; two-toned roses, orange and red that reminded you of the most gorgeous sunset sky, a few red hypericum berries, pastel pink snapdragons and dark pink alstroemerias.

You touched the silky petal of an over bloomed rose and took a deep breath before you gazed at him, speechless. “No one has ever given me flowers before.”

A sad, almost angry, look flashed across his face but it was gone before you could blink. He cupped your cheek and pressed his lips to yours.

You smiled against his lips and touched his cheek. “Thank you for the flowers. I’ll put them in water.”

While you filled a vase with water and arranged the flowers, Bucky left his bag on the table. He watched you the whole time, unable to tear his eyes off you. He felt his throat get tight and his heart skip a beat. His feelings for you were so raw, so new and warm.

He watched you take care of these fragile blooms, and something inside him completely shattered. How could one person go through so much and still have so much love and compassion in their heart?

“Oops, I think I was supposed to add the food first,” you said as you read the instructions on the packet of flower food.

You heard Bucky cross the room and come to a stop behind you. His breath tickled your neck as he leaned in close to your ear. He kissed the sensitive spot below your ear, then whispered in your ear.

“You make my heart beat funny.” His arm snaked around your midriff, pulling your against his chest. Your body went lax, your head falling onto his shoulder as he continued his ministrations. “My angel. How did I get so lucky?”

You reached up and ran your fingers through his hair. He purred against your neck and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of your jaw.

“I know you want to talk, sweetheart, but I’m not good at talking,” he said, his forehead pressed against your collarbone. “I’m not shying away from this, or you. And I want you to know that I don't expect anything from you. I just need a little bit more time.”

He needed time to finish his book. He was nearly done, but after what happened last night, he wanted to make some corrections. During the meeting, his publisher gave him a small extension and he expressed his wish to publish his book as quickly as possible.

She was getting frustrated with him because he didn’t seem to care about anything, least of all her marketing plan, and it was her job to make sure people would want to buy his book.

Bucky had everything planned out. He’d invite you to his reading which would take place at his uncle’s bookstore and he’d read selected passages out loud. He didn’t mind if other people were there but he didn’t want her to turn his love for you into a publicity stunt.

“It’s okay, I understand if you’re not ready to talk,” you said. “But I am. I want you to listen to me.”

He gently turned you around to face him. “You have my full attention.”

You took him to the living room and sat on the sofa with your legs tucked under you. You leaned your right arm on the back of the sofa and rested your closed fist on your cheek while you observed him.

“First, I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable last night. While we kissed, I had these flashes in my mind of the two of us, uh, painting with our bodies and-” you squirmed a little in your seat, “-well I felt really inspired.”

You chanced a glance at him and found him smiling fondly at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling. You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth and cast your eyes down at your lap.

“So, uh, anyway,” you continued, flustered. “I’m sorry we had sex on the floor.”

He let out a short, surprised laugh. “I’m not.”

“Bucky,” you whined, embarrassed.

“What? It’s true. I’m quite proud of my bruises.”

“You're not making this easy, y'know.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied, though his smile said otherwise.

You took a deep breath before you continued. “As amazing as it was, I’d never, uh, I’d never not used a condom before,” you trailed off, letting the implications of your words sink in.

“Ah,” he cringed, his face turning red. “Yeah, me too. It’s been years since I’ve slept with someone. I’m clean, at least I was at my last check-up, but we can get tested if you want.” You nodded thoughtfully. “Is there any chance-” He cleared his throat. “Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”

“We had unprotected sex, Bucky, there’s always a chance,” you said, then quickly added. “I took the morning after pill. It should be okay. But we should have been more careful, it can’t happen again.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, now pale as a ghost. “I’m sorry you had to do this on your own. I didn’t really think about the consequences.”

Minutes passed and you both remained silent. Bucky was staring off into space, his lips pressed together, while he contemplated what you had just told him.

“I really like you,” you said. “When I met you, I thought you were the loneliest man in the world but you were also so sweet and funny. I was so happy when you showed up at my work. I could tell that you were anxious, and I tried to make you feel at ease because I like taking care of people. It was so easy to become your friend.”

You paused to take a deep breath.

“When you asked me out for coffee, I thought it was a date. In retrospect, I convinced myself that it was a date because I really wanted to go out with you. But then you started talking about money and arrangements, and well...”

He whispered your name, his eyes wide with shock, and it was such a rare occurrence for him to say your name that it brought tears to your eyes.

“I-” he tried, “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

You shrugged casually. “It’s fine. I just had to remind myself that you weren’t flirting with me, you were just being nice. To be honest with you, I’ve never really had a proper relationship before, just flings. I guess you could say that I was emotionally unavailable in college, y’know, taking care of my mom and all.”

He looked at you as if he was trying to tell you something but you didn’t want him to say anything. It was a little embarrassing to admit it out loud. You wanted to get this over with.

“I really thought that my little crush on you would disappear over time, but it didn’t. It didn’t because we were always together. And I’m not complaining, I love spending time with you but it blurred the line between friendship and... something deeper.”

You knew why he was always so physical. He was touch-starved, struggling, always surrounded by silence, and you were the angel who brought him back to life.

“It took me a long time to realize that something had changed between us. And then I just didn’t know what to do because we live together, we’re friends, and we... have an arrangement.” You took a deep breath. “You taught me to put myself first and that’s what I’m going to do-”

He took your hands in his, and you suddenly realized how badly they were shaking. You blew out a long breath, trying to compose yourself but tears were gathering in your eyes.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “Everything’s okay.”

“I don’t want to be your sugar baby anymore,” you blurted out, unable to hold back your tears.

“I know.” He soothed you with another kiss.

“I don’t want to be your sugar baby because I want more. And if you want more too, then maybe we can make this work, but either way, I can’t stay here anymore. I need my own apartment, I need to figure out who I am and what I want to do with my life.”

Bucky looked deep in thought and you decided to let him process what you had just told him. You felt so vulnerable. You had opened up your heart, not knowing what would happen next but you trusted him completely.

“One night you asked me if things were going to end well between us,” he finally said. “And I told you that I’d always be there for you. I always knew you’d end our arrangement one day, angel, because you have goals and dreams, and you want to make them come true. See, as corny as it sounds, my dreams came true when I met you.”

He let out a small laugh when you stared at him, mouth agape.

“You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. You’re kind, you’re sweet, you’re talented, you take care of others but you don’t take care of yourself. So I took care of you until you were ready to do it yourself. I’m happy for you, and I want more too. We’ll make it work. I promise.”

He almost lost his balance when you threw your arms around his neck and hugged him. He chuckled quietly, his arm wrapped around your waist, his nose buried in your hair. You leaned back to see his face.

“But are you going to be okay?”

“Of course,” he replied with a small frown as if he was confused.

“It’s just-” you trailed off, looking away while your fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I keep picturing you alone in this big apartment, cooking for one, and... it makes me want to stay with you. I don’t want you to be alone again.”

He smiled. “Well, then maybe you can come over for dinner. Or you can invite me over if you prefer.”

“That’d be great.”

Not knowing what else to say, you looked down at the sofa and started playing with your pendant. You remembered the way he had kissed his way down your body, his honest eyes seeking yours in the dark.

I’d do anything for you. Anything. You’re my one and only.

His words echoed in your mind. You hadn’t really paid attention to his words, too lost in the moment, in pleasure, but it all came back to you now.

You raised your gaze to him and what you saw in his eyes rendered you speechless. Despite his efforts not to blurt out his feelings for you, the expression in his eyes gave him away. He looked at you with such adoration and respect, it took your breath away.

No one had ever looked at you the way he was looking at you now. He didn’t have to say it, you knew: Bucky Barnes was in love with you.

You cupped his face and swiped your thumb under his eye, and without taking his eyes off you, he pressed a kiss to the inside of your wrist, feeling your pulse beat fast against his lips. He closed his eyes and sighed; content, relieved.

“My Bucky,” you whispered.

Your words hung in the air between you. His eyes snapped open and you heard his breathing hitch. He captured your mouth in a searing kiss, claiming you as his, before he made you straddle his thighs. You smiled against his lips as he cupped your jaw, angling your face towards his.

His kiss was soft, sweet, and so very tender but also passionate and intense. You whimpered, your hips slowly rolling against his. Breaking the kiss, he threw his head back on the sofa and cursed.

“Sorry,” you chuckled, kissing his Adam’s apple.

He pressed his hand against the small of your back, keeping you in place. “You don’t sound sorry at all,” he said with a grin, his eyes closed. “Fuck, I want to touch you so bad.” He opened his eyes. “I’m so turned on,” he said with an embarrassed laugh. “But we should take it slow, uh?”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“God, it’s torture but-” he held you steady while he sat up straighter. “I want to show you how much you mean to me. I want to take you out on a date and sweep you off your feet.”

“I went out with you lots of time,” you reminded him. “We even went to several galas.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, and those were nice but I promise you, my angel, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

There was a mischievous look in his eyes and it was making you all tingly inside. You climbed off his lap and he took your hand. He looked up at you and gave you a sweet, almost shy, smile.

“Can I see it?”

“See what?”

“Our painting,” he said, kissing your hand.

Swallowing thickly, you nodded and helped him to his feet. You were a little nervous but you took him upstairs to your studio. You had left the painting in the middle of the room. It was completely dry by now but you didn’t know what to do with it.

You stayed in the doorway, hugging the doorframe, and let Bucky enter the room alone. You heard him take a deep breath before he let out a long, shuddery exhale. He studied the painting carefully, then looked over his shoulder at you.

“It looks like a nebula.”

You tilted your head to one side and studied the painting for some time. The painting was mostly black and dark navy blue, but there were streaks of yellow, purple and turquoise that created firework-like patterns on the canvas.

“It does,” you admitted.

“What are you going to do with it?”

“I’m not sure. It’s not something I feel comfortable selling.”

He turned to fully face you. “Can I keep it?”

You bashfully looked at your feet before you entered the room. Bucky held his hand out to you and you took it with a shy smile.

“I kinda want to keep it too, but I’ll admit it would look nice above your bed.”

“Hmm,” he said, his mouth set in a thoughtful pout. “Yes, it would. And you can come see it anytime.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you replied with a cheeky grin, matching his playfulness.

The rest of the evening went with the two of you enjoying a good meal, washing the dishes and browsing rental websites. Things got a little awkward when you got ready for bed.

You had both decided to sleep in your own beds to avoid temptation but sleep evaded you as you stared at the ceiling wondering if Bucky was asleep.

You rolled out of bed with a huff and, as you padded into the kitchen, a soft glow coming from the living room caught your eye. Bucky sitting on the sofa, his feet propped up on the coffee table, the TV playing softly.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked. “C’mere.”

You quickly crossed the room and tucked yourself into the crook of his body, curling yourself against his side and resting your cheek on his chest. He adjusted the blanket and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

It didn’t take you long to find an apartment. Thanks to Bucky you had a very comfortable budget, and he had even called his realtor who, after you’d told her what you were looking for, found you a little studio not far from Okoye’s apartment.

The price was reasonable considering that there was a concierge, a laundry room, a garden and a gym. You knew Bucky wanted you to live in building with a concierge. He wanted you to be safe, that was his only request.

The day you moved out of Bucky’s guest room, W’kabi and Vis came to carry the heavy furniture while your sisters and Natasha took care of the rest. When the last box was loaded, they left with the truck you had rented.

“So,” you sighed, turning to Bucky who was sitting at the kitchen island. “I guess it’s time to say goodbye. You sure you don’t want to come with us? You don’t have to help me unpack.”

He shook his head. “I think I’d rather stay here. Forgive me, angel.”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

Bucky looked around his kitchen and gave a nostalgic smile. It had been a difficult day for the both of you, and while you were excited to start this new chapter in your life, it still hurt to leave him.

You had left a few things behind; a few paintings, candles, a mountain of decorative pillows and the magnets on the fridge that still spelled ‘BUCKY FARTS’ –courtesy of Steve.

“Did your landlord change the locks?” he suddenly asked. “And did they install the alarm system? It’s from Stark Industry, it’s supposed to be the best in the world.”

You quickly crossed the room to stand in front of him. You took his head in your hands, and gently, but firmly, turned his head to meet your eyes. His beautiful blue eyes were wide and sad. It broke your heart.

“Bucky, I’m going to be okay.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He smiled weakly and held your gaze as he brushed his lips against the delicate skin of your wrist. “I’m just a little worried but you’re right.” He pressed another kiss then let go of your wrist. “Go, Natasha’s waiting for you downstairs.”

“She knows I need time to say goodbye,” you said. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Of course,” he replied immediately. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.”

“It goes both ways, handsome.”

He chuckled quietly. “Fair enough.”

“Here,” you said, handing him the keys to his apartment. “I’m keeping the angel keychain.”

“It’s yours,” he said with a small smile, setting the keys on the table behind him. “Will you call me when you get there?”

“Of course.”

He stood from his chair and walked you to the door. You looked over your shoulder at his apartment one last time.

“Don’t go looking for another angel,” you said, pressing your lips gently to his bristled cheek.

He watched, frozen, as you walked to the door. Your hand was on the doorknob when he shouted your name, startling you enough to make you turn around. He took three long strides and pressed your back against the front door.

You dropped your bag on the floor and threw your arms around him as he caged you between his body and the door. He kissed you until you couldn’t breathe, until you couldn’t feel anything but him.

Your mind felt fuzzy but you could hear the raw, animalist sounds he made while he kissed you and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan. His kiss was bruising and fierce, and you were melting against him.

“I’ll see you soon, my angel.” His voice was hoarse and deep.

He pulled back and it took you a minute to react. You shook your head dreamily and grabbed your bag. You pressed your fingers to your bruised lips and chuckled. “Damn it, Bucky. You’ve completely ruined me.”

“Good,” he replied with a cocky grin. You rolled your eyes at his antics and walked out of his apartment. You stepped backwards into the elevator and waved goodbye, a dumb smile on your lips.

Part 13

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #mavrle imagine #bucky barnes imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

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redgillan · 4 years ago

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Under Pastel Skies - 10

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 6,179

Warnings: nothing new

A/N: Hey it’s me, daddy! ...well apparently. I really gotta take a chill pill... these chapters are getting way too long. But anyway, I hope you enjoy it, my babies are soft and sensitive :’) Thank you for reading, I truly appreciate it!

Wannabe sugar daddies don’t interact, idc if you have money, eat it and leave me be.

You looked around the bar while you sipped your drink, a 12 dollar grapefruit juice and club soda cocktail. There weren’t many people at one in the afternoon, mostly suits and wealthy tourists, though you half expected to find Natasha hiding in the back with a hat, a large pair of sunglasses and an unfolded newspaper.

From the rug to the chairs and armchairs, everything was either black or white. You ran your index finger over the intricate calligraphy on the back of your chair. It was a number: 5.

Turning back around, you glanced at the clock and mentally cursed yourself for always being so early. You hated being late, and arriving less than ten minutes early counted as late in your book. You were nervous to see Wanda after all this time.

You hadn’t been expecting her to stay at a hotel on the Upper East Side. You wondered how she could afford it, but decided it was none of your business.

“I had a feeling you’d be here already.” That familiar voice brought back fond childhood memories and other not so pleasant memories. “You’re always early.”

You didn’t move a muscle as Wanda took a seat next to you, number 6. She signalled the bartender and ordered a latte. Meanwhile you played with your straw, trying to subtly steal a glance at her.

“What did you do to your hair?” you asked with a grimace, turning your body toward her.

Without looking at you, she raised her brows in mild exasperation. “I dyed it.”

“It’s orange.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “I get it. You’re angry with me.”

“Oh,” you drawled out. “I’m well past angry. I was angry four years ago, now I just don’t care anymore.”

“You don’t care about me anymore?”

“No, and it’s not like you cared about me, or Scott, or Okoye.” You paused. “Or mom.”

Wanda had a shocked look on her face as she finally met your eyes. “That’s low. You have no idea-”

“No, you have no idea what it was like to live in that house after you all left. You have absolutely no idea,” you said, enunciating each word between your teeth, “because you weren’t there, because you left us –you left me. Six years, Wanda.”

She looked away and you saw her bottom lip quiver. She clenched her jaw and took a small sip of her latte. You instantly felt bad for snapping at her. You didn’t like confrontation. Hated arguing. You internalized. It was difficult for you to acknowledge that you had a right to express your feelings.

“I, uh,” Wanda said, then cleared her throat. “I knew you weren’t going to welcome me with open arms, and I know what I did was wrong, but I’d like us to be a family again. If it’s not too late.”

“It’s not too late,” you said with a small sigh. “But I’m not going to instantly forgive you just because you’re back.”

“I know.”

“What made you come back?”

She fiddled with her fingers in her lap and you noticed the ring on her fourth finger. It was a beautiful vintage-inspired ring made of black rhodium with an ornate cadenza halo in the centre.

A terrible thought occurred to you, making your stomach twist painfully. You didn’t know her at all. Not anymore. You had missed so much of your sister’s life. Or more accurately; she had cut you out of her life, and it was painful.

“I went to London,” Wanda said, unaware of your inner turmoil. “I saw Uncle Michael. He asked me if I was here to see mom, and I said, ‘No, mom’s in New York.’ And then he told me-” she tilted her head to look at you “-he told me mom was sick, that you and Okoye put her in a nursing home not far from his apartment. I didn’t believe him, so he took me to mom and she-” She paused, staring straight ahead as if she was caught in the memory

“She looked at you like she didn’t know you,” you said, knowing exactly where the story was going because it had happened to you too.

“Yeah,” Wanda breathed out, tears in her eyes. “I never felt so alone. They told her I was her daughter, but she didn’t recognize me. She kept asking Uncle Michael who I was, then she got mad because she was adamant she never had children.”

“I know,” you said sympathetically.

“I wanted to see you and apologize for not being the sister you deserve. For not being here when you needed me most.”

“Where were you all this time?” you asked, practically begged for an answer.

Her shoulders tensed and she straightened up in her seat. “Just travelling.”

“I know, I got your postcards.” You nodded toward the engagement ring on her finger. “I guess I should say congratulations.”

“Mhh,” she said running the pad of her thumb over the diamond. “It’s funny I never thought I’d fall in love and get married. I don’t need a man in my life to make me feel whole. Mom raised us alone, we’re independent and strong.” A small smile graced her lips. “But I found someone sweet and charming, someone who makes me feel safe and calm.”

“Are you writing your vows?”

“Har har,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes, a faint smile on her lips. You’d missed her, missed your banter. “You haven’t changed.”

“If you say so,” you said in a sombre voice. You looked at the clock above the bar. “Listen, I have to go but I’m happy you found someone. I’d like to meet him one day. I bet he doesn’t know about your Baby Spice phase.”

You jumped off the bar stool and picked up your jacket. Wanda turned in her seat, catching your wrist as you looped your purse over your shoulder.

“Can you stay a little longer?” she asked, looking at you with pleading eyes. “Just a minute.”

“Okay.”

She let go of your wrist. “Scott’s been released last month. I talked to him on the phone and asked him to fly to New York. He should be here tomorrow. I also talked to Okoye, I asked her to come here. We have things to discuss. I know things will never be the same, not after Pietro, not after mom, but we can try. We’re still a family.”

“Great,” you replied. Your word came out with more force than you had intended, but you didn’t apologize. They were all coming back for Wanda but when your mother needed help, you were all alone.

“Yeah,” Wanda whispered, her eyes cast down. “I was thinking we could all meet up for dinner. Okoye’s bringing her boyfriend so if you... if you have a partner-”

“I’m single.”

“Oh, uh, you can bring Natasha if you want.”

“No, thanks.” You reached into your purse and pulled out one of your business cards. “Text me, okay? I really gotta go.”

She smiled as she read your card. “You’re an artist? Splotchy, I’m so proud of you!”

That damn nickname... “I still haven't found a gallery. Not many people want to represent an unknown artist but I’m not giving up.”

“You never give up,” Wanda said with a gentle smile. “That’s why I love you.”

You took a cab to Natasha’s apartment. It had been three weeks since Sam moved to D.C., and Nat was having a hard time finding a job in her field.

She didn’t want to find another sugar daddy. It seemed ridiculous since she was still carrying a massive torch for Sam. She had saved enough money to live on until she could find a job and a new place to live.

“I’m officially done,” she grumbled in lieu of a greeting. “Job hunting sucks. New York sucks. Life sucks.”

“Pretty bold statement.”

You entered the apartment and plopped down next to her on the sofa. With a groan, she wrestled out of her blouse and threw it on the floor, leaving her in a simple white spaghetti-strap shirt and a pair of black trousers.

“I hate wearing a suit.”

“You look good in them.”

“I know,” she cried out. “I hate wearing suits when it’s all for nothing. I’m not the boss, I’m no one. Just another doofus with a college degree standing here like-” she cupped her hands together, as if she was holding a bowl, and looked at you with a pout. “Please, sir, I want some more.”

“I don’t understand why you didn’t get the job,” you said, biting back a laugh. “I would hire you for that spot on Oliver Twist impression.”

She laughed. “I think I lost my fire. People used to be scared of me. Remember? I miss that.”

“You’re a psycho,” you snorted, using her shoulder as a pillow. “If it’s any consolation, Bucky’s terrified of you.”

“Good.”

“Hey!”

She pressed her cheek against the top of your head and sighed. You stayed in that position for a few more seconds before you told Natasha what had happened with Wanda. She offered to go with you to your family gathering but you insisted you wanted to go alone.

“I gotta go,” you said. “Bucky’s taking me to dinner.”

“Oh,” she cooed, “is he finally going to propose?”

“That’s very funny,” you deadpanned. “I was starting to feel cooped up in our apartment so we decided to go out. Have fun, y’know.”

“Our apartment,” Natasha repeated with a lopsided smirk before she burst into a fit of giggles.

“Whatever,” you grumbled, embarrassed.

“That’s cute.” She pinched your cheek and you batted her hand away. “You should talk to him.”

“Don’t start.”

“What? I’m just saying-”

“Natasha,” you cut her off. “Stop asking me to talk to him. It’s not going to happen, and it’s giving me so much anxiety. You couldn’t talk to Sam, what makes you think I can talk to Bucky?”

She looked at you for a long moment. “I know you love him.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, considering. You had never really been in love before but falling in love with Bucky had been so easy. And it was particularly scary because you had never been in a relationship, only flings.

“I do,” you admitted quietly. Saying it out loud was both freeing and terrifying.

“Don’t lose him.”

You knew Natasha missed Sam, she’d told you about it, but she wasn’t the kind of woman who let others see her pain. She confided in you and her friend, Clint, but other than that she rarely shared her problems with others.

Her bony shoulder was digging uncomfortably into your cheek so you shifted and let your head rest against her chest. She started playing with your hair. “Have you heard from Sam?”

“Not since he left,” she replied, then glanced down at you. “Have you?”

She tried to sound casual so you played along and acted like you couldn’t hear her heart jackhammering in her chest. “He called the landline the other day. Bucky wasn’t home so I answered.”

“The landline?” Natasha repeated with a scoff. “Your husband is old.”

“He asked if you were okay,” you said, choosing to ignore her comment. “You should call him.”

She stayed quiet for so long, you began to worry. You tilted your head to look at her, she had a faraway look in her eyes. You didn’t want to break her trance but she was starting to scare you.

You booped her chin and almost immediately a soft smile touched her lips. She cleared her throat, then checked her watch.

“You should go, you’re going to be late.”

“It’s okay,” you said. You couldn’t leave, not when she looked so sad. You knew Bucky would understand. “We can order some pizza, binge watch something on Netflix and go out for ice cream later. Like we used to.”

She laughed softly. “That sounds amazing. I kinda want to be alone tonight though, and Bucky’s waiting for you. I’m fine, I promise.” She looked down at you with a kind smile. “Rain check?”

“Absolutely.”

With a heavy heart, you left Natasha and started walking to the restaurant. The clouds above you were low and dark, masking the setting sun. You smiled, remembering the day you and Bucky went to the park.

You had wanted to go paint outside but you got caught in a rainstorm on the way home. As rain poured down on the both of you, you caught Bucky’s hand and tried to run to the nearest subway entrance but he didn’t budge.

He stayed in the middle of the street, still holding your hand, and grinned at you while people rushed around you. His hair was plastered to his head, little rivulets of water running down his nose. He smiled at you, bright and playful, and you almost melted on the spot.

What’s the rush, sweet angel?

When you got home, you both changed into dry clothes and sat in front of the fireplace with a bowl of soup. He looked adorable with his slightly damp hair, a few big curls flopping down onto his forehead. When you started sneezing, he adjusted the blanket around you.

The next day, you felt a little feverish and Bucky took care of you. He pressed his lips to your forehead, checking your temperature. Your mother used to do that too. You doubted the accuracy of that little test but you couldn’t care less. It felt incredibly comforting. They should teach it in med school.

Bucky was waiting for you in front of the restaurant. The weather was warmer now, and you were pleased to see that his maroon bomber jacket was back. It was a rerun of the night you had met him.

“Hey you,” he said, dropping a quick kiss on your cheek. “How did it go with Wanda?”

“Good, I guess. It could have been way worse.” You paused to look at him. “You okay? You look a little nervous. We don’t have to-”

“I’m okay,” he chuckled, smoothing his hand down his jacket, lightly patting his pocket. “Shall we?”

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “Promise me you’re not over-exerting yourself again.”

He stood in front of you, smiling kindly. “I promise.”

It had been a while since he had a panic attack, but they were always impressive and you couldn’t stand the thought of him trapped in his own mind, battling his demons alone.

You must have been silent too long because Bucky cupped the side of your face and said, “Thank you for taking care of me, angel. But I promise you, I’m fine. So what do you say? Wanna have dinner with me?”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him as he flashed you a cocky grin.

The restaurant was a quaint little place in Midtown with curved black leather booths lining the walls and simple cutlery. There were books everywhere, arranged neatly on the shelves along the walls. The place was well-lit, yet still cosy and calm.

Despite the hour, the restaurant wasn’t crowded. There was a couple, probably in their sixties, enjoying their meals together. Several people were eating alone, a book opened next to their plate, and a few others were browsing the shelves looking for something to read.

While you ate, you filled Bucky in on your conversation with Wanda. He didn’t interrupt you, he listened to you ramble on about how much you didn’t want to go to her reunion dinner.

“You can invite them over for dinner,” he said. You almost choked on your food. “Call me crazy but I think you’d feel more at ease if you were in a familiar environment.”

He had a point. You had no idea what that night had in store for you, and you definitely didn’t want to cause a scene in a restaurant. You weren’t one for airing your dirty laundry in public.

“I know that our... um, friendship is a little unconventional but I’d like to meet them.”

“Really? Wait,” you said, spotting a bit of tomato sauce on his chin. “You have something on your chin.” You reached over and used your napkin to wipe it away. “You eat like a wolf.”

“Mhh thanks.” He swallowed his mouthful of pasta and washed it down with a gulp of water. “To be honest with you, I’m a sucker for family reunions. I love watching people’s faces when they see someone they haven’t seen in a very long time.”

“I’m not sure it’ll be a happy one.”

“Well, then you could probably use some moral support,” he said. “And I’m curious if they ever gave you a silly nickname. Or maybe they’ll share some funny anecdotes.”

You stopped mid-bite and swallowed quickly, your eyes widening in fear. You couldn’t let that happen, Scott and Okoye would jump at the chance to tease you. “Oh, no, no, no! You are never meeting them.”

He laughed. “I bet you were a cute kid. I imagine you in some paint-stained overalls, hula hooping through the 90s, listening to the Spice Girls and watching Saturday morning cartoons with a bowl of cereal or a plate of pancakes.”

“You’re not too far off.” You grinned.

“You don’t have to make a decision right now,” he said in a more serious tone. “But think about it, okay?”

Inviting your siblings and their partners over for dinner was a bad idea. You could already picture their faces upon seeing Bucky. It would turn into an interrogation, and it would be absolutely unbearable.

But then again, you didn’t think you could endure the reunion without him.

The waiter came over to collect your dirty plates and asked if there would be anything else. He recited the dessert specialties and you ordered something that sounded both extravagant and mouth-watering.

“I have something for you,” Bucky broke the silence between you.

You responded with a curious yet playful frown and a tilt of your head. He glanced down at the table for a second as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a slim jewellery box.

He placed it on the table next to his glass and let his fingertips linger on the lid, caressing it slowly as he hesitated. Then with a smooth flick of his wrist, he slid the box across the table. Your eyes flickered between the box and Bucky’s worried expression.

Inside the box, nestled in cream velvet, was a gold artist’s palette pendant with a delicate chain. The pendant had two paint brushes sticking out of the palette and four tiny stones representing the colours waiting to be mixed; ruby, sapphire, emerald and topaz.

It was incredibly tiny, about the length of two staples, but it made the details even more impressive. You could tell it was an old piece. There were light signs of wear and the design reminded you of the 1930s. It looked full of stories from previous owners. A testimony of love, passion and devotion.

“Oh,” you gasped as if all the air had been punched out of you. Bucky straightened up and jerked forward in his seat, his eyes round with anticipation. “Oh,” you repeated dumbly, at a loss for words.

“I saw it in the window of an antique shop on the way here,” he said.

That was a lie.

He had spent weeks searching for the perfect charm. He had a very specific idea of what he wanted to buy. Until one day, he found it. It reminded him of you; delicate, discreet, irreplaceable.

“Bucky,” you sighed, spellbound. “It’s... it’s beautiful.”

“It reminded me of you.” He met your eyes, smiled, and extended his hand in your direction. “Can I?”

Without hesitation you removed the necklace from its box and gave it to Bucky. After living with him for about six months, you knew there was nothing he couldn’t do. Even fasten your necklace with one hand.

He stood up and rounded the table, sitting next to you on the booth. You turned, giving him your back as he slipped the necklace around your neck. You held the pendant in the little dip between your collarbones at the base of your throat and let the ends of the chain dangle down your back.

“I noticed you haven’t been painting a lot since-” Bucky trailed off. Since you had a meltdown in your studio, since you realized your art was not good enough. Since you realized your dreams were too big to accomplish.

You looked over your shoulder and watched him fumble with the spring ring clasp. You couldn’t see what he was doing but he seemed entirely focused on the task at hand.

“Inspiration is a fickle thing, it comes and goes,” he continued. “I worry about you. You put too much pressure on yourself visiting galleries and trying to match their vision. I want you to remember who you are. You’re an artist. Never doubt yourself or your skills.”

He secured the chain around your neck and adjusted the necklace so that the little palette fell nicely above the neckline of your sweater. You stared at him wide eyed and amazed, and he smiled tenderly at you.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. “I’ll never take it off.”

“My pleasure, angel.”

“I really love it but it’s too much,” you said as he returned to his seat. “I don’t want you to think I’m after your money. I’m so grateful for your help, you do so much for me already.”

“I know you’re not after my money, but it’s mine and I’ll spend it as I please. I know you like gifts with meaning. And all I want is to make you happy.”

“You want to make me happy?” you asked, dumbfounded.

“Of course, I do.”

It was a foreign concept to you, you could hardly comprehend it. He wasn’t your childhood best friend, he wasn’t your brother or your mother’s brother, and yet he wanted to be the one who put a smile on your face.

You weren’t used to random acts of kindness. You spent most of your life taking care of others, making sure they had everything they needed, you forgot what it was like to feel loved.

And it all became so much clearer.

You knew in your heart that your feelings for Bucky weren’t one sided. Not when he looked at you like that. Not when he touched you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

There was a mutual, yet silent, understanding between you. This is good. Let’s not make things complicated. Even though we both want to. And you abided by that unspoken rule, not wanting to make things more complicated.

Your eyes were overflowing with tears. When a tear escaped, you felt it bounce on your cheekbone before it landed near your pendant. You rolled your eyes at yourself and smiled.

“Why am I always crying?” you said, laughing a little. “I’m not sad, I swear. These are happy tears.” Bucky’s smile was calm and sure. “Wait, I’m just gonna-” you trailed off, wiping the back of your hand under your nose with an embarrassed laugh.

“You’re beautiful.”

You lay in bed that night, replaying those three words in your head until you fell asleep.

It took you a couple of days to come to term with the realization that your feelings weren’t one sided. A little voice in your head tried to protect your heart, it said: Don’t get your hopes up. Remember what happened last time.

But that voice was quiet, almost too quiet to hear.

Against your better judgement, you agreed to invite your siblings over for dinner. All you had to do was call Wanda’s hotel and ask the hotel staff to pass along a message. Easy-peasy.

Well, in theory, because it turned out to be stressed depressed lemon zest.

There were things Bucky didn’t know about you and your family, things that you had intentionally kept from him. One of these things was your brother’s criminal record.

Bucky had asked you a few times what Scott did for a living and you always gave him the same rehearsed answer. “Scott has a master’s degree in electrical engineering but he’s between jobs at the moment.” It wasn’t a total lie but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

You finally decided to tell him everything.

Scott was a thief. Before Cassie was born, and thanks to his computer skills, he used to steal from criminals and give back to those they had stolen from. He promised his wife, Maggie, that he would stop after Cassie’s birth.

He took up a job at VistaCorp but noticed that the company was overcharging their customers. Thinking that it was a coding error, he fixed it before his boss, Geoff Zorick, ordered him to change it back. It made him realize that the company was intentionally overcharging their customers.

He was fired soon after. Maggie begged him not to get involved, she begged him to think of his family but Scott didn’t listen. He broke into the company’s headquarters, hacked their system and redistributed the stolen money. Then he broke into Zorick’s house, stole a bunch of stuff and drove Zorick’s car into the pool.

He got five years.

Bucky was a little shocked but he took these new revelations well.

“People make mistakes,” he said. “He paid for his mistake, and not seeing his little girl for five years is punishment enough.” He bumped his shoulder against yours and grinned. “He sounds like a chaotic Robin Hood. I can’t wait to meet him.”

You chuckled. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Nope.”

“So... you’re not going to hide your valuables in a closet somewhere?”

“I would but I’m not sure you’d like to be stuck in the closet all night.” You rolled your eyes and huffed, thinking he wasn’t taking you seriously. He laughed quietly. “The only valuable thing I own is the bookmark my niece made for me, everything else is meaningless. And I don’t judge people on their worst mistakes.”

“You sound like Natasha,” you chuckled lowly. “But I’m glad you think that way.”

“That being said, they have a lot of apologizing and making up to do. They left you all alone. It isn’t right.”

You squirmed in your seat. “Argh, I don’t know. It’s in the past now, I don’t want to dwell on it. We were all miserable back then, and I’m not exactly blameless here.”

Bucky gave you a puzzled look. “You took care of your mom when she was sick, you sold your childhood home. You found your mom a nursing home where she gets the best treatment possible. You put your dreams on hold to pay her hospital bills. You did everything you could.”

“No, that’s not true,” you replied, biting your bottom lip.

You tried to find the courage to say it out loud. It was something that ate away at your soul. Your biggest mistake.

“I should have known something was wrong with her,” you said, rushing the words out. “At first she started misplacing things like her car keys, her glasses or the remote. She always had a good excuse, like was tired or stressed, but I should have known.”

“I misplace my keys all the time, angel. Sometimes it doesn’t mean anything. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“She’s my mom, I’ve known her all my life. I should have noticed something was wrong. If I had, maybe she’d still be with us, living in our old house.”

“C’mere,” he said, extending his arm toward you. You didn’t hesitate, you abandoned your seat on the sofa and wrapped your arms around him, your face buried in his chest. “I understand why you feel that way,” he said, stroking your hair. “But you did everything you could. You didn’t fail her. Alzheimer is... well it’s a sneaky disease. There are a lot of things we don’t understand. It’s unfair to blame yourself for something completely out of your control.”

“Maybe,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his shirt. “But it still hurts.”

“I know,” he cooed, his fingernails grazing your scalp. “I know, my angel.”

You stayed like that for some time, your cheek pressed against his shirt. You focused on the calm rhythm of his breathing and tried to match it. He gently ran his fingers up and down your back, calming you almost instantly.

You were terrified to see your siblings again. Despite Bucky’s reassuring words, a part of you still believed that you could have done more to help your mom, and you were afraid your siblings would feel the same.

“It’s going to be okay,” Bucky said, seemingly reading your thoughts. “I won’t let them belittle your efforts.”

The next day, you called Wanda’s hotel and left a message with the receptionist. Wanda called you back a few hours later, saying that she would love to have dinner at your place instead of going out.

She sounded surprised, and you could tell she had a lot of questions, but she knew she wasn’t in your good graces yet so she simply told you that she couldn’t wait to see your apartment and spend the evening with you.

Meanwhile Bucky was having some sort of nervous breakdown.

A few days before the party, he started to obsessively clean his apartment. Every single room had that distinctive lemony scent, his homemade disinfectant, except your room. It was still a line he refused to cross no matter how strong the urge might be.

He often had those spells but they usually didn’t last more than a few hours. You could see the tears in his eyes and the disgust on his face; grimaces that had been triggered by the realization that he still couldn’t control his need to constantly clean and tidy. His OCD had been dormant, not gone.

You knew it was hard for him to meet new people. He had offered to invite your siblings because he knew it would make you feel more at ease. He didn’t care about his own needs. This man was willing to endure anything for you. How could you not fall in love with him?

You let him clean. You knew from past experience that it wasn’t something he could control and getting involved usually did more harm than good. You made sure he knew you were there and that you were not judging him in any way.

He felt so physically and emotionally drained afterwards that you simply held him in your arms until he fell asleep.

On the day of the party, you were chopping dried apricots in the kitchen while Bucky was making sure the chicken pieces weren’t sticking to the bottom of the pan.

You had wanted to order dinner from the restaurant down the street, and Bucky wanted to cook. You told him that cooking a meal for seven people was pretty stressful but he simply shrugged.

“I can do it, angel.”

“I know but you don’t have to do it.”

“Yeah, I do,” he replied with a sad smile.

You remembered him telling you that his ex-girlfriend often babied him in front of her friends and that it always made him feel weak and pathetic. He wanted to prove himself. He wanted to prove that, even with only one arm, he was able to cook a meal for an entire family.

“Okay, fine,” you reluctantly agreed. “But you’re not doing this alone.” He opened his mouth to protest but you raised your hand and touched a finger to his lips. “You can’t change my mind. I’ll be your sous-chef, and that’s final.”

So you ended up cutting vegetables for him. He made two tagines, one with meat and one with vegetables, in case anyone had any allergies or dietary restrictions.

Once the kitchen was spotless, you both went to your rooms to get ready for the night. It didn’t take you long so you checked on the tagines and waited for Bucky. The smell of harissa and coriander wrapped around you like a comforting hug.

You stole a dinner roll and checked the time on your phone. Nearly seven. A wave of anxiety rolled through the pit of your stomach. You took a deep, calming breath and decided to go check on Bucky.

As you reached the top of the stairs, you heard a deep, frustrated groan followed by a whine. Stifling a giggle, you tiptoed down the hallway towards his bathroom.

“C’mon, stay put or I’ll cut you!”

“Do you often threaten your hair?” you asked, leaning against the door frame. He gasped and jerked away from the sink. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Is everything okay?”

“I can’t do anything with my hair,” he complained. “I’m this close to shave the whole damn thing.”

You pushed yourself off the door frame and moved toward him. “Mhh, why not. A buzz-cut would make you look super dangerous.”

“You think so?” he frowned.

“Yeah,” you replied enthusiastically as you perched yourself on the counter by the sink. “A buzz-cut and a beard. Now that’s a look.”

He ran his hand over the dark stubble on his cheeks. “I already have the beard.”

“You’re halfway there.” You watched him consider what you were offering. “You know what, never mind. Your hair is too pretty to cut.”

“I should cut it though. It’s getting too long, I can’t style it.”

“Oh, poor you with your thick, fluffy hair,” you teased.

“It’s a gift, and also a curse,” he sighed with a whimsical grimace.

You laughed. “Come here, I’ll help you tame the monster on your head.”

He chuckled as he stepped between your parted legs. You took the hair dryer and a comb from the counter and started working on his hair. Despite its messy appearance, the comb ran smoothly through the strands.

“I think we need a safe word tonight,” you said while you worked.

“A safe word?” he repeated, confused. “Why would we need one?”

“Just in case,” you replied with a shrug. “I love my siblings but they can be quite a handful. So if you’re tired or if you feel overwhelmed, you just say the word and I’ll politely ask them to leave.”

“All right. Same goes for you.” He made a face. “What’s the safe word?”

“I don’t know,” you said, your eyes focused on his hair. “Flamingo?” You pulled back to look at him. “I saw an amazing documentary about baby flamingos the other day. See? It works.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, laughing. “Flamingo it is.”

You picked up his hair gel and applied some to his hair.

“There you go,” you said, smoothing the hair over his temples before sliding your fingers down the sculpted curve of his cheekbones. “Ready to break some hearts.”

It was a joke, but your voice came out breathy and small. Bucky didn’t say a word. He pressed himself closer to you, and you resisted the urge to wrap your legs around him.

He rested his hand on your thigh, then slid it from your thigh to your waist and lingered there for a few seconds. He gazed into your eyes for a moment; careful, cautious. You cupped his face between your hands, feeling the bristle on his cheeks against your palms. It was rough against your sensitive skin.

He slid his hand up your side, fingers passing over your ribs, and you let out a gasping sigh as he rested his hand over your heart.

“Did I break your heart, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low.

“Just cracked.”

He cupped the back of your neck and massaged lightly while he looked at you longingly. He continued to stare at you as you moved your hands to his chest, feeling the strong thud of his heart beneath your palm.

“I-uh,” he started, then licked his lips. “Angel, I-”

The intercom buzzed loudly, awakening the two of you from your trance. Bucky took a step back and closed his eyes. You were glad you were sitting, because your legs felt unusually weak.

“You ready?” he asked, breathless.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you nodded.

You followed Bucky to the kitchen and answered the intercom, giving Wanda the apartment number. Bucky busied himself setting the table, unable to look you in the eye. You didn’t know what to say.

Finally, he stopped moving around and faced you.

“Who am I tonight? Who do you want me to be?”

You had anticipated his question. After all it was a legitimate question to ask giving the nature of your relationship.

“Just you,” you told him. You were tired of lies and half-truths.

A knock at the door startled you.

You opened the door, your hands shaking uncontrollably. You couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of Wanda, Okoye and Scott standing in front of you, each with a bottle of wine. There were two men behind them, both looking extremely uncomfortable.

“Hey Splotchy, long time no see, right?”

Part 11

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #marvel imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

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redgillan · 4 years ago

Text

Under Pastel Skies - 9

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 6,257

Warnings: mention of accident, mention of blood

A/N: I’m sorry this took longer than usual but it’s pretty long so yay! I hope you’ll like this chapter. We’re slowly getting there :’) Thank you for the feedback, I truly appreciate all of you! Also 1 marvel quote and several Bob Ross quotes that I obv don’t own.

Wannabe sugar daddies don’t interact, idc if you have money, eat it and leave me be.

Good luck on your interview xx

Bucky had just hit ‘send’ when Sam cleared his throat noisily, drawing Bucky’s attention away from his phone. His friends were frowning crossly at him, their glasses raised in a silent toast. He set his phone face-down on the table and picked up his glass.

“Sorry, you were saying?”

Sam shot Steve a ‘see?’ look and Steve replied with a shrug and a little smile. They looked like two sassy grandmothers judging their only grandson. Bucky checked his phone again, and out of his peripheral vision, he could see his grandmothers share another look.

“What?” he barked, annoyed.

“Nothin,” they both answered at the same time before they took a synchronized sip of orange juice.

Smacking his lips together, Sam opened the menu and began to skim through the choices. A waiter suddenly came out of nowhere to take their order. Bucky ordered a cranberry rosemary scone, smoked bacon, an eggplant sandwich, and a plate of lemon-ricotta pancakes.

“Excuse-me,” Sam called out to the waiter. “Could you make his pancakes in the shape of an angel?” he asked, ignoring Bucky who was openly glaring at him.

The waiter, albeit a little surprised, kept a smile on his face. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Bucky told him, handing him the menu. “Thank you.”

Without another look to his friends, he grabbed his phone and checked his messages for the third time in less than two minutes. Steve snatched his phone up and sat back in his seat, waving the phone at Bucky.

“Enough! Live in the moment.” He pocketed the phone and gave Bucky a pointed stare. “You’ll get it back later.”

“What the hell? You’re not my father, give it back!” Bucky snapped, extending his hand, the palm facing up. Steve shook his head. “Give it back, you fucking meatball.”

He got up and tried to reach inside Steve’s pocket for his phone but Steve kept shifting in his seat. They wrestled like that for a minute while Sam watched them, eating a breadstick and looking mildly entertained.

“Okay, fine,” Bucky panted, pushing himself away from Steve. “You leave me no choice, Rogers.” He cleared his throat like an actor about to jump on stage. “Give me back my phone, Steve!” he said, raising his voice. “Do you enjoy stealing from disabled people?”

He nearly shouted the last two words, and to Steve’s horror, the buzz of conversation around them had died. He could feel people staring at him. Cursing softly under his breath, he reached into his pocket and dropped the phone into Bucky’s awaiting hand.

“It’s okay, we’re friends,” Steve said to the people sitting behind him. They looked at him with a disapproving glare. “Jesus, Bucky, you’re making me look like an asshole.”

An amused expression crossed Bucky’s face as he sat back in his seat. “Don’t touch my stuff.”

It was quiet while he checked his messages. Slowly, those around them returned to their own conversations. Sam pointed his half-eaten breadstick at Steve.

“Do you think the waiter will spit in your omelette?” he said the last word with an exaggerated French accent. Steve glared at him.

Their waiter arrived a moment later carrying a large tray with their brunch. Steve poked at his omelet with a suspicious frown, then looked over at Bucky who was still on his phone. Sam stole a slice of bacon from Bucky’s plate and gave it to Steve.

“I hear you’ve got a date tonight,” Sam said, making conversation.

“Yeah,” Steve chuckled, embarrassed. “It’s not a big deal. I’m just looking for something casual. I’m leaving in two days.”

“Where’re you going this time?”

“South Africa,” Steve replied, stealing another slice of bacon. “What about you? What’s that big emergency?”

Sam glanced at Bucky who was grinning like an idiot at his phone. “Not now. Let’s eat first.” He took the plate of bacon, took what he wanted then handed it to Steve. “Want another?”

Steve kept looking over at Bucky while they finished his bacon but Bucky didn’t seem to acknowledge their presence. He was in his own little bubble.

“It’s like we don’t even exist,” Steve remarked out loud.

“I know, it’s amazing. Look!” Sam straightened up in his seat and cleared his throat. “Bucky Barnes is the biggest idiot on the planet, and he can eat my farts.” Bucky was hunched over his phone, his thumb typing away. “See?”

“Impressive.”

“That’s the angel effect,” Sam said.

With a happy little sigh, Bucky pocketed his phone and turned his attention to his friends. He frowned at the amused look they shared.

“What are you guys talking about?”

“Steve’s first date in two years.” Sam turned to Steve. “You must be nervous.”

“Strangely, no.” Steve broke off a small piece of omelet with his fork. “I actually know him. He’s an old friend from college.”

“Nice,” Sam said.

“He’s a fashion photographer now.”

“Wait, what?” Bucky’s brows pinched in confusion as he stared at Steve.

Undeterred, Steve continued. “We’ve been facetiming a lot lately.” He shot Bucky a glance. “Why do you think I go to bed at 8?”

“But I thought-”

“You thought I had a date with your girl,” Steve said with a warm smile. “Listen, man, I like her. She’s cute, funny, talented. She’s a real sweetheart. But I like her because she brought back that light in your eyes. You look happy. That’s all I ever wanted for you. You had to go through so much crap, Buck. You deserve this.”

Bucky looked down at his pancakes, feeling tears pool in his eyes. He blinked them back and sniffed quietly. “So you were never going to ask her out.”

“I was until you called her ‘angel’,” Steve replied with a shrug. “You kept saying you were okay with this but, I mean, I’m not that dense.”

“Why do you keep going out with her then?” Bucky grumbled.

“Jeez, Mother Gothel, I didn’t know Rapunzel wasn’t allowed to leave the tower,” Steve exclaimed. “We were bored. You’re in your office all day. It was fun to mess with you though. You’re a grumpy Gus when you’re jealous.”

“I wasn’t jealous, okay. I was annoyed. There’s a difference.”

“Uh-huh.”

Bucky looked over at Sam who had been strangely quiet throughout this whole exchange. He loved teasing Bucky, and he always had something to say about Bucky’s love life. Sam wasn’t looking at Bucky, he just pushed his food around with his fork, his lips pinched shut. He met Bucky’s eyes, then lowered his head again.

Bucky had a feeling something bad was about to happen.

“What’s the big emergency?” he asked quietly, afraid of the answer.

Sam set his fork down beside his plate and leaned back against his chair with a sigh. He trained his gaze on the front door, seemingly deep in thought.

“I’m moving to D.C.” He paused to let the information sink in. “They’re transferring me to the D.C. office. I’m their new chief financial officer.”

“Congrats, man!” Steve exclaimed. “You deserve it.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s what I’ve always wanted.”

“So why the long face?”

“I’m a little anxious to leave New York. What will Barnes do without me? Without his mentor? Without someone to look up to?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I think I’ll be all right.” He hesitated before he asked, “Did you tell her?”

“Tell who?” Steve inquired, polishing off the last of his omelet.

Bucky felt the wave of long-held sadness his Sam’s eyes. “I’ll tell her tonight.”

“Can someone tell me what’s going on?”

Sam and Bucky shared a look. They weren’t sure how Steve would react.

The word sugar daddy held a pejorative connotation. Every single one of those relationships featured a powerful, rich man and a poor, vulnerable man or woman. There was a clear power imbalance here that never appealed to Bucky, and he was pretty sure it never appealed to Sam either.

Whether it was a no-strings-attached service or an emotional service, it was still a hole in your resume. One that would be hard to explain to your future employers. He was afraid people would call you names, treat you differently or harass you if they knew.

He often wondered if he had unintentionally ruined your life.

Deep down he knew Steve would never call you a whore or treat you differently but he was still trying to protect your reputation. He believed that Sam had Natasha’s best interest at heart too.

Sam told Steve everything. He remembered the day he had met Natasha, their instant chemistry, the subtle flirting, the arrangement, their first night out, their first kiss, their first time together, their new arrangement. Steve listened attentively. When Sam told him that you were Natasha’s best friend, Bucky interrupted him and told his own story.

“Wow,” Steve deadpanned, leaning forward to take one of Sam’s poached egg and avocado toast. Sam slapped his hand away. “Is that a thing now? Sugar daddies, I mean?”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Yeah.” Steve sipped his mimosa with a bored look on his face. “You’re both not ready for the real conversation, so I’m just making small talk.”

Sam and Bucky exchanged confused looks. “What real conversation?”

“Sam, you just got an amazing promotion, you’re going to be the Prince of D.C. and you’re sitting here like someone kicked your puppy,” Steve replied, then turned to Bucky. “And you, well... I’ve been living with you for the past two weeks and you’ve gone all Alpha male on me, Buck. Cut the shit. You’re both in love with your sugar babies. Companions, or whatever the fuck you want to call them.”

Sam and Bucky sat in silence with their heads hung low. Steve opened his arms wide like a lawyer in a bad TV show saying ‘I rest my case’. When he spoke again, his voice was soft.

“Look, as maybe the world's leading authority on waiting too long, don't,” he said. “What’s the worst that could happen, um?”

It made Bucky think. Best-case scenario, you loved him too and life was a breeze for the next fifty years. Bad-case scenario, you didn’t share his feelings. Worst-case scenario, you shared his feelings but couldn’t make the transition from sugar baby to girlfriend.

Yeah, worst-case scenario sucked...

He came home around three in the afternoon, and smiled when he saw your shoes and coat. Knowing you were home always put him in a good mood, but his heart was heavy. He felt conflicted. He didn’t know if it was better to tell you how he felt now or to just keep living in this little bubble with you until it’d inevitably burst.

And to make things worse, Sam was going to end his contract with Natasha tonight. He made Bucky promise not to tell you about it. Bucky felt sorry for Natasha, he wondered if she had feelings for Sam. He wondered if she had a backup plan.

He found you in your studio, sitting on the floor, huddled against the wall, with one knee drawn up to your chest and your arms loosely wrapped around your leg. You were staring at the painting you’d just made, the still wet paint glistened under the artificial lights.

This painting was different from your usual landscapes and occasional portraits. There were various shades of blue and grey intertwined, and five big splotches of dark red paint layered on top of the canvas.

Bucky knew just by looking at you that something was wrong. You looked defeated, sad, upset. He reasoned that your interview didn’t go as planned. Quietly, he stepped into the room and sat down on the floor next to you, his left shoulder brushing your own.

“I just got home,” he said.

“Where’s Steve?”

“He said he had some errands to run. He’ll be back later.”

You nodded, still staring straight ahead. “Okay. I bet you can’t wait to have some time to yourself. I asked Natasha if I could stay with her, but she’s going out with Sam tonight. I’ll stay in my room, I won’t bother you.”

Bucky felt his heart drop, his breath caught in his throat. He had made the woman he loved feel unwelcome. God, he wanted to kick his own ass.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, tilting his head to look at you but you were stubborn and refused to meet his eye. “I thought you were going out with Steve and I- I didn’t want you to feel like you had to stay with me.”

“I’m not interested in Steve. I told you that.”

“I know.” He moved so that he could see your face. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you, and for the way I treated Steve. It won’t happen again. I promise. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course, Bucky,” you huffed.

He saw your chin quiver slightly and your eyes glaze over with unshed tears. You looked utterly broken. He reached up and wiped a stray tear from your cheek.

“Sorry, I had a difficult day,” you said.

His palm cupped the side of your face, his thumb stroking a caress across your cheek. You met his eyes for the first time and he smiled softly at you.

“My angel.”

His words made you cry even harder, silent tears streaming down your cheeks. With his hand still cupping the side of your face, he leaned closer and pressed his lips against your other cheek. You closed your eyes and basked in his affection.

He could feel the warmth of your tears, could taste the salt on his lips as they streamed down your cheek to his mouth. Slowly, he pulled back and looked at you, a smile forming on his lips when he saw a fleck of dried blue paint above your eyebrows.

“Painter Smurf,” he teased, wiping it off. You let out a huff of air that sounded like a laugh. “I’m here for you, angel, whatever you need.” He pulled you against his side and you rested your head on his chest.

“My interview didn’t go very well,” you said after a long moment of silence. “She said that I’m really talented, that my technique is perfect. But my work is too figurative. It’s not what she’s looking for.” You paused to wipe your nose on your sleeve. “It’s just- It wasn’t my first meeting. They all tell me the same thing: I’m not good enough.”

“That’s not true,” Bucky said, kissing your hair. “Your work is unique. It’s raw and beautiful. If they can’t see that then they’re morons.”

“She told me that if I had been a white man in the nineteenth century, people would still talk about me today.” You sighed. “I don’t know, Bucky. Maybe I should work on something more abstract.”

Bucky tilted his head to one side as he looked at your painting. “Is that why you painted this?”

“Mhhh,” you hummed. “She told me to play with the textures, the forms, the lines, the colours. Suggest rather than show. Let the painting tell its own story.”

“Yeah, I think you did it.”

“You think it’s good?”

“I don’t think those adjectives apply here. Not with modern art. It’s in the eye of the beholder,” he said, running his fingers along your shoulder. “Abstract art isn’t supposed to be beautiful, it’s supposed to make you feel something, right?”

“How does it make you feel?”

“Unsettled, sad.”

You straightened up and sat shoulder to shoulder. “My brother died in a hit-and-run.” You let the information sink in for a minute. “I was with Okoye, we got a call from our mom but by the time we got to the hospital, he was already dead.”

Your voice was surprisingly calm and controlled. Bucky wanted to reach out to you but he was unable to move. He listened attentively, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest.

“He was wearing some kind of compression shirt, grey-blue with two white stripes, and it was covered in blood. When I close my eyes and think of that day, all I remember is that shirt and the blood.” You tilted your head and gave him a little smile. “That’s what I painted.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He just sat there, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Sorry,” you let out a small laugh. “I had a shitty meeting and then I came home and basically relived one of the worst days of my life to put it on a canvas. Now it’s staring at me and all I want is to shred it to pieces.”

Bucky noticed that your hand was close to one of your palette knives. Your fingers brushed against the handle, debating whether you should pick it up and slash the canvas. He laid his hand on top of yours.

“It won’t help,” he said. “Trust me. I can put the painting somewhere else if you want. You won’t have to look at it again. I promise.”

“Yes, please.”

“C’mon, beautiful, let’s go downstairs. I know someone who can help you.” He got to his feet and extended his hand to you. You frowned up at him, a silent question in your eyes. “His name is Bob and he paints happy little trees.”

A bright, wide smile spread until it lit up your whole face, and Bucky’s heart melted at the sight. He grinned at you and pulled you to your feet.

“I love Bob Ross,” you said, and Bucky gave your hand a little squeeze.

In the living room, you sat down on the sofa, crossing your legs under you and grabbed a blanket while Bucky connected his YouTube account to the TV. He sat down beside you, propping his feet up on the coffee table and adjusting the blanket in his lap.

“Hi, welcome back. Certainly glad you could join me today.” The show started and you melted against Bucky’s chest, pulling the blanket up to your neck. “Thought today we could do a fantastic little painting-”

You were pressed against his bad side, but Bucky didn’t mind. As the show progressed, you slid further into his lap until your head rested on the armrest of the sofa, close to Bucky’s right hand.

“People know when you’re happy. They can look at your paintings and tell how you were happy. They reflect your moods. Paintings are a reflection of your innermost feelings.”

He gave your head a little massage while you both watched Bob Ross create a stunning lake view painting.

“Cuz in your world, you can create any kind of illusion that you want. I spent half my life in the military, and I had to live in somebody else’s world all the time. Painting offered me freedom, I’d come home after all day of playing soldier and I could paint the kind of world that I wanted. It was clean, it was sparkling, shiny, beautiful-”

You shifted a little, and Bucky wondered if those words resonated with what you had been through. Being adopted, losing a brother, taking care of your sick mother when your siblings left, graduating, making ends meet... Those experiences had shaped you into the woman you would be for the rest of your life. A kind and strong woman who never really got to live or enjoy life.

He understood how important painting was to you. He was an artist too. He wasn’t a painter, but writing offered him a kind of freedom he had lost a long time ago.

“We should paint along,” you said, tilting your head up to look at him. “Then I’ll sell yours. I bet people would pay a lot of money to own an original Grant Thomas painting.”

Bucky chuckled. He knew you were teasing him, the slight curl of your lips said as much. “I’ll sign it James Barnes. It’ll be worthless.”

“It’s not worthless to me,” you said.

“Would you hang it in your room?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then, okay, I’ll paint along with you.”

When the episode ended, you decided to eat dinner first and paint later. You were sitting at the kitchen island, eating a bowl of leftover pasta from the night before, when Steve came home.

“Hey guys,” he greeted, throwing a plastic bag on the kitchen island before he made his way to his bedroom.

“I’m so fucking late. I still need to take a shower and get dressed.” Steve came out of his room, shirtless, and working his belt buckle open. “Hey, Buck, can I borrow some clothes?”

“I swear to fuckin�� God, Rogers, if you undress in the middle of the kitchen I’ll make you eat your jeans.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He rushed to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. A minute later, Bucky heard the shower running.

Later, you went upstairs to gather canvases, paint brushes and paint while Bucky helped Steve pick out an outfit.

Steve was too excited about his date to remind Bucky that he was an idiot, and Bucky was happy that for once they didn’t talk about his feelings for you. He teased Steve and watched as Steve squirmed, the tip of his ears bright red. Just like old times.

Then they met you downstairs where you had two easels set up in front of the television. Steve stood in front of you, visibly nervous and agitated, while you looked at him from head to toe.

“How do I look?”

“Like you’re wearing clothes two sizes too small for you, which makes you look even bigger than you normally are so... pretty good.”

“Yeah?”

You chuckled. “You look great, Steve.”

Steve responded with a relieved sigh and a little bashful smile. Bucky liked that look on Steve, it reminded him of their childhood when Steve awkwardly flirted his way through Brooklyn.

Bucky jerked back to the present when Steve turned to him for confirmation. He gave him a firm nod and a thumbs-up, then walked him to the kitchen. They talked about Steve’s plans for the night while Steve gathered up his things.

Bucky was walking back to the living room when Steve called out his name and threw something to him. Bucky caught it in mid-air, then looked down at his hand. A shiny looking condom wrapper was nestled in the palm of his hand. He scowled at Steve.

“Just in case,” Steve said with a shit-eating grin.

“You’re a dead man.”

Steve’s laughter echoed down the corridor as he left the apartment.

Blowing out a breath, Bucky pocketed the foil packet and joined you in the living room. You were sitting at your easel, blobs of paint arranged in a semicircle on a palette. There was another easel next to yours, with a palette resting on a stool to make things easier for him.

You selected the lake view episode you had watched earlier, thinking that it would make things easier. Bucky was in awe of you, you made painting look so effortless and beautiful. You added your own trees and clouds, shifting things around to create your own world.

Bucky followed Bob Ross’ instructions closely but, in his opinion, it looked like someone had made it with their feet. You laughed at his comment and told him that you would still hang it in your room. It boosted his ego a bit.

When you both finished your painting, Bucky looked up at the clock. It was close to midnight which made him do a double take.

“Time for me to hit the hay,” he said, yawning. “This is as good as it’s gonna get.”

“Mhh,” you mused, turning the TV off.

“You okay?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, I- uh, I was kind of hoping we’d do this all night,” you said, playing with a mostly dried paintbrush. You looked at him from under your lashes. “But it’s fine. I understand, you’re tired. I think I’ll wait for Steve.”

Bucky looked at you with a pained expression. He could tell something was bothering you. He placed his index finger under your chin and tilted your head up. “Angel, I don’t think Steve is coming home tonight.” You pinched your lips together and nodded. “Talk to me. I want to help.”

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Your words hit him like a punch in the chest, leaving him momentarily breathless. He pulled you close and pressed a long kiss to your forehead. You clung to him for dear life, your warmth and familiar scent made his heart ache.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled against your skin, then pulled back a little so he could look you in the eye. “Let’s change into something more comfortable, um? Then we’ll catch some shut-eye. I have an idea, the first person to fall asleep has to make breakfast tomorrow.”

“You sure?”

“You’re right. I’m exhausted, I’ll fall asleep first,” he said, shaking his head. “New rule, last person to fall asleep has to make breakfast.”

You snorted. “No, I meant... are we going to sleep in the same bed?”

“I promise I’ll stay on my side. But if it makes you uncomfortable, there’s a bunk bed in Steve’s room.”

“No, it’s fine. I want to wash my face first. I’ll see you in a minute.”

Bucky tried to play it cool but his heart was pounding. He kept seeing flashes of his dreams in his mind: skin against skin, steady puffs of air brushing against his skin, the smell of sweat and something uniquely you surrounding him.

He was absolutely terrified.

He went upstairs, took a quick shower, brushed his teeth and changed into his pyjamas. His night-time regimen took longer than he had anticipated so he wasn’t surprised when he found you sitting cross-legged on his bed, scrolling through your phone, looking so calm and peaceful.

You were wearing your pyjama bottoms and a fluffy sweatshirt stained with blue paint and tomato soup. He felt his stomach flip when you raised your head and smiled at him. A chill ran through his spine, and made the hairs on his arm stand on end. He’d never seen you look more beautiful.

“Hey,” you said, placing your phone on the nightstand. “Which side of the bed do you sleep on?”

“The side you’re sitting on.” You rolled to the other side of the bed and slid under the covers making him laugh. “You didn’t have to move.”

“It’s fine. I prefer this side.” You looked around the room. “I like your room. It’s very you.”

“Ah?”

“Yeah, neat, organized, lots of books, a cosy armchair, stormy blue comforter. It looks intimidating but it’s actually really soft. Like you.”

He suppressed a laugh. “Thanks.”

Bucky climbed into bed beside you, turned off the light and drew the blanket over him trying to get warm. He lay on his back looking up at the ceiling. He was so stiff and nervous, he forced himself to breathe normally. You turned onto your side and slid one of your hands under your pillow.

“Do you usually read before you go to sleep?” you whispered, afraid to disturb the silence.

“Yes,” he whispered back. “Do you?”

“Sometimes.” There was a moment’s silence before you spoke again. “I’ve started reading your book.”

“Oh, Christ,” he let out a small laugh and turned his head to look at you, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. “I hope I didn’t traumatize you.”

“You have a very dark sense of humour,” you said. “But I already knew that.”

“I’ve always had a dark sense of humor, but trust me, when I lost my arm I wasn’t in the mood for jokes. Therapy helped a lot. Besides, laughing is good for your health, right? My books are very personal, I don’t censor myself.”

“I know. I wasn’t expecting it to be so honest.” You shifted a little and looked away from him. “I don’t know if I’ll finish it, I feel like I’m intruding.”

“I understand.” He shifted slightly so he was lying on his left side, facing you. “I wrote it like a diary. Talking isn’t my strong suit. I don’t know, I think I’m trying too hard and I just end up being rude or not making sense. When I write, I take my time, I find the right words. It’s easier when I don’t have to look anyone in the eye.”

He knew his book was a little rough. He focused on his depression, his rehabilitation, relearning basically everything. He talked about rediscovering his body, intimately. He talked about his friends, his family, strangers, therapy, dating.

“Can I ask you a very personal question?”

“Of course.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

He swallowed hard, his throat raw and tight. “Yes.” In fact, he was in love right now. “Once. I don’t trust easily.”

“I know I read what happened between you and your girlfriend.”

She had been his first girlfriend since the accident. She was kind, patient, a little over excited but he found it cute. In a way, she reminded him of himself before the accident. She wasn’t afraid to touch him, and God, he needed to be touched.

Sam had witnessed little things that irked him but Bucky had ignored him, refusing to see the warning signs. He wanted to be happy again. But then he couldn’t bury his head in the sand anymore.

She treated him like a child in front of their friends, and her friends praised her for taking such good care of a man like him. A man who, in their mind, was high maintenance. She cut his meat for him even though he was perfectly capable of doing it himself. She helped him dress, tied his shoes, zipped up his coat, etc... He felt infantilized, humiliated.

He didn’t think she was a bad person though. It was just her personality.

“How’s Natasha?” he asked suddenly.

A puff of air caressed his face as you snorted out a laugh. “Why do you ask? You don’t like her.”

“I like her a lot,” he argued. “She seems wary of me, which I understand, but she’s great.”

“Yeah, she is.” You considered his words. “She’s doing well. She went on work date with Sam.”

Despite his promise to Sam, he couldn’t bear the thought of keeping things from you. “I have to tell you something about Sam and Nat.” You waited for him to continue. “Sam got promoted, he’s moving to D.C. He broke things off with Natasha tonight. I mean, their arrangement.”

“I know,” you said. “She texted me while you were in the bathroom. I’m going to spend the night at her place tomorrow. It’s been a while since we had a girls’ night, and we both really need it.”

“Good.” He cupped the side of your face, let his thumb brush your jaw. “I’m going out with the boys tomorrow. Steve’s leaving soon.” He pulled his hand back. “We should try to get some sleep.”

“No, please,” you said, shifting closer to him. “Not yet.”

“Angel, we can’t stay awake all night.”

“I don’t want to be alone in the dark.”

“I’m right here with you,” he spoke gently.

“But once you fall asleep I’ll be alone.”

Bucky raised his head and kissed your forehead, his lips lingering on your skin. When he pulled back, he rested his hand on your forearm and let his warmth seep into your skin. His thumb caressed the inside of your wrist, stroked over your racing pulse point.

“I’ll wait until you fall asleep,” he said.

“Thank you, Bucky.” You smiled and let your index finger run down the length of his nose. “Does it hurt when you sleep on your left side?”

“Not really,” he replied. “Most of the time it’s just weird. It feels like my phantom limb hangs down through the bed. Like my arm is invisible and just goes through the bed.”

“What do you miss the most?”

He let out a long exhale. “Not much. Hugs. Proper hugs... I guess. Holding someone close and wrapping myself around them. Squeezing someone against my chest, making them feel protected. I used to be a great hugger. Now I give bro hugs.”

“I love bro hugs.”

His chuckled dissolved into a grin, and you both stayed quiet for a moment. He knew you weren’t asleep, he could hear you thinking. “What’s on your mind, beautiful?”

“I was wondering,” you started, then trailed off. “One day we’ll have to end this arrangement. Do you think it’ll end well, or is it going to be messy?”

It took him a minute to respond.

“Y’know, one of the things I learned in therapy was to stop worrying about things I can’t control,” he said. “That’s in the future, for future-you and future-me. I don’t know how it’ll end but I can promise you one thing: I’ll always be there for you. Arrangement or not.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you breathed out. “Right-now-me is a lucky bitch.”

You both laughed softly, then fell into a contemplative silence. There was something so peaceful about lying in bed with you, his hand loosely wrapped around your wrist, sharing warmth. He didn’t want to fall asleep.

For the next hour you talked about your families, your childhood, your friends, your likes and your dislikes. You told him about being an adopted child and living with other adopted kids. He could tell you were holding back when you talked about your siblings.

The only one you gushed about was Okoye. You were evasive when you talked about Scott and Wanda, though you did tell him that you had agreed to meet Wanda.

“What’s your favorite comfort food?”

“Breakfast for dinner.” Your voice was soft and small, he knew you were falling asleep. “When I was a kid, we had breakfast for dinner every Sunday night. We’d grab a bowl of our favourite cereal and eat together in front of the TV. I miss those days.” Your face was half buried in your pillow. “What’s yours?”

“Easy, pancakes.”

You smiled, your eyes were closed. “I like pancakes too.”

He watched you fall asleep and made a mental note to make some pancakes for breakfast. Your breathing evened out, and he waited a few more minutes to make sure you were asleep before he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.

Bucky woke up to the sound of rain striking against the window. He opened his eyes and noted that the room seemed brighter than usual. A quick glance at the bedside clock told him that it was already a little past eight.

He stretched, sighing contentedly, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his closed fist. He tilted his head to look at you, still sleeping next to him. You lay on your stomach with your face turned away from him and your arms hugging your pillow. He adjusted the covers around your shoulders and stealthy slipped out of bed.

He went to the window and fixed the shades to make sure they didn’t let any light in. Then he made his way downstairs where he found Steve cracking eggs into a bowl. He was still wearing Bucky’s clothes, but his hair was a mess. Still he looked positively glowing.

“Mornin’,” Steve greeted with a wide smile.

“Hey, man.” Bucky took a seat at the kitchen island. “When did you get back?”

“About ten minutes ago. Long enough to notice that your angel hasn’t slept in her room last night. Wanna talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Bucky said with a shrug. “She didn’t want to be alone.”

“So you slept with her.”

“We slept in the same bed. Nuance.”

“I’m gonna nuance your face with my fist if you don’t talk to her soon,” Steve exclaimed. “She’s not going to stay single forever, Buck. Things are gonna change, one way or another.”

“I know.”

Steve set the bowl aside and held the edge of the counter behind him. He sighed, exasperated. “If I were you, I’d talk to her before something happens and takes your choices away from you.”

Bucky pinched his lips together, hard, and looked down at the counter. A muscle in his jaw jumped. “I- I don’t know how to talk to her,” he said, feeling tears gather in his eyes. He met Steve’s eyes. “I physically can’t talk to her. It hurts. It’s stuck here-” he aggressively grabbed his stomach “-all the time. And it hurts, Steve, you have no idea how painful it is.”

“That’s love,” Steve replied, smiling at him like he, too, knew how it felt.

“Well, it fucking sucks.”

Bucky wiped the back of his hand against his runny nose. Steve stood there in silence.

“This book I’m writing,” Bucky said, breaking the silence. “It’s about her. Just her.” He paused. “I can’t back down now, my publicist’s too invested in our story. I know it’s an eccentric way of telling someone you fell in love with them but... writing’s easier than talking.”

Steve nodded, his eyes glued to the floor. “It’s like a long love letter.”

“Something like that.” Bucky climbed off the stool and rounded the kitchen island. “Now, I’m going to make breakfast. I promised her pancakes.”

Steve smiled and watched him move around the kitchen. “I hope it works out for you, Bucky. I really do.”

Part 10

1K notes · View notes

redgillan · 4 years ago

Text

Under Pastel Skies - 8

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3,734

Warnings: none

A/N: If this chapter had a name it would be “me, you, and steve’. Also I know how infuriating they are, so oblivious and dumb but isn’t it the point of pining ;) Thanks for your patience!

Wannabe sugar daddies, don’t interact with this post.

Bucky’s cab pulled over to the curb in front of his building. He tugged on the lapels of his coat, pulling it tighter around him, and braced himself for the blast of cold air waiting for him on the other side.

He hated the cold, hated winter. It reminded him of the day he lost his arm, alone on that godforsaken mountain until Steve found him. But he could deal with the cold if it meant he’d find you on the other side of that door.

He knew you were home, you had texted him about an hour ago telling him that you had a surprise for him. It had made him smile. He’d hurried home, desperate to see you even though he’d seen you that morning.

He had it bad.

He’d been restless since the gala, unable to sleep without dreaming of you, your velvet dress in a heap on his bedroom floor, your scent lingering on his bed sheets. He would wake up bathed in sweat, on the edge of coming.

He would deal with it with an ice cold shower.

Bucky had accepted the fact that his feelings for you weren’t as innocent as they once were. He had always thought you were strong, full of life and a little awkward, but lately he’d been wanting to kiss you, touch you, feel your warmth against him.

He wanted it so badly it hurt.

He wouldn’t say he loved you. He certainly felt something for you but love was something foreign to him. Sometimes he wondered if his feelings were even real. He’d gone from living an extremely solitary life to spending every single day with you. It could have easily been a product of his loneliness and your soft spoken demeanour.

He had stopped counting the number of times he’d almost kissed you on the lips. The urge was always there, eating away at him, but he always caught himself at the last moment, his lips landing on your forehead, your cheek or your temple instead.

“I’m home,” he shouted, closing the door behind him. He bent to untie his shoes and kicked them off while he unzipped his coat. “What’s the big surprise? Is it something we can eat?”

He hung his coat next to yours on the hook and walked down the short corridor that led to the kitchen. As he walked, he became suspicious of the silence that hung in the air. Slowly he peeked into the kitchen and found you in the company of someone he thought he’d never see again.

“Steve?”

“Not edible, sorry, Buck.”

Bucky’s face broke out into an instant smile, ear to ear and ecstatic. “Fuckin’ hell, Rogers, you look like a yeti.”

Steve barked out a laugh as he stepped forward and hugged him. He wrapped both his arms around Bucky, almost lifting him off the ground despite knowing how uncomfortable hugs made him feel. Chuckling, Bucky returned his hug with one arm; the only kind of hug he could give.

“I’m happy to see you.” Steve pulled back and held him at arm's length.

Bucky looked over Steve’s shoulder at you who were standing behind the kitchen counter, grinning at them. “Is that my surprise?” You nodded. “Ugh, I was kind of hoping for pizza honestly.”

“Asshole.”

“I’m joking, man.”

Steve returned to his seat and Bucky followed. You grabbed a mug from the cupboard and fixed Bucky a cup of coffee. He gave you a grateful smile.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with this punk on your own,” Bucky told you. “Did he give you a hard time?”

“Nah,” you said. “He was pretty sheepish. Also, I almost gave him a heart attack.”

Bucky burst out laughing as Steve’s face and neck flushed red. You told Bucky the story of how you and Steve met outside his apartment building. Bucky doubled over laughing when you made a pretty spot-on impression of Steve’s confused face. Steve rolled his eyes at your theatrics, a smile on his lips.

“In my defense, no stranger has ever screamed my name like that.”

“Oh, if the alley behind the church could talk, it’d call you a fucking liar, Steve.”

“First, shut up!” Steve jokingly pushed Bucky off his seat. “Second, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.” That sobered you both up faster than a cold shower. Steve caught a furtive sideways glance between you and Bucky. “Did I say something wrong?”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” you replied with a smile. “I’m his, uh-” you trailed off and looked to Bucky for help but he was unable to speak. “I’m his roommate.”

“Oooh! Okay.”

Was that relief on Steve’s face? Bucky’s stare hardened. A muscle in his jaw jumped when Steve engaged you in a conversation. He asked you how long you’d been living with Bucky and if you liked the apartment. His tone was conversational but Bucky knew him like the back of his hand, he knew Steve was flirting with you.

“Are you staying for dinner?” you asked Steve. Bucky’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. You picked up the laminated meal plan from on the counter. “Creamed spinach and baked eggs.”

“Sounds great,” Steve agreed.

“You don’t like spinach,” Bucky grumbled under his breath.

“I’m not twelve anymore,” Steve countered with an arched brow. It made you laugh. “Besides I haven’t eaten a homemade meal in... wow, probably years.” Steve turned to you. “I don’t know if Bucky told you but I’m a landscape photographer. I live in the wild most of the year. It’s kinda like travelling by foot on an endless backpacking trip. It’s amazing but the food is disgusting.”

“Yikes!” You grimaced in sympathy. “Well, Bucky’s an amazing chef. I keep telling him we should open a restaurant together.”

You walked over to Steve and mock-whispered in his ear. “If we ask nicely, he’ll probably make us some garlic bread.”

That made Bucky smile. His first instinct was to answer with his usual ‘I’d do anything for you, angel’ but he couldn’t say that in front of Steve so he bit his tongue. He saw the disappointment in your eyes, as if you were expecting that usual answer too.

“I should go upstairs,” you said. “I have a painting to finish. Have fun, boys.”

Steve watched you go, then he shook his head and heaved out a sigh. He waited until he was sure you were out of earshot before he turned to Bucky.

“She’s quite something, isn’t she?” he said. “So, are you two...”

“We’re friends,” Bucky said.

Steve nodded. “Is she single?”

“As far as I know.”

Bucky’s jaw was clenched hard, the tendons in his neck looked like they were about to snap. He loved Steve like a brother but, goddammit, he wanted him to leave and never return. He balled his hand into a fist, feeling a visceral urge to punch something.

Yet, Steve seemed completely oblivious to Bucky’s turmoil. After living in the wild for several years, he was having trouble picking up on social cues.

“Do you think I should ask her out? I’m a bit rusty.” He ran his hand through his long hair, tugging at the strands. “I should get a trim first, right?”

“And a fucking shower,” Bucky grumbled to himself.

Steve didn’t hear him, he was too busy glaring at his hair in the big mirror on the wall.

Bucky tried to push away that nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was becoming harder to pretend this was all innocent. Not when he had to physically restrain himself from punching his oldest friend in the teeth. Steve was allowed to ask you out, Bucky had no right to be jealous.

And yet...

“How long are you stayin’?” he asked, eyeing Steve’s backpack. It wasn’t unusual for him to take Steve in when he was between assignments, but things were different now.

“A few weeks. Is it going to be a problem?”

“Listen, if it were just me, I’d let you stay,” Bucky replied. “But I’m not alone anymore. She doesn’t know you, you’re basically a stranger, and you’re already thinking of hitting on her. I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable. This is her home.”

Steve blushed. “No, of course. I understand. I would never-”

“All I’m sayin’ is, she has the final say,” Bucky cut him off. “If she lets you stay, you can take the kids’ room.”

“You sure? It’s right next to her room. I could take the room upstairs, the one above the living room.”

“No, you can’t,” Bucky sighed. “It’s her painting studio.”

Steve stared at him with a suspicious frown. “Are you sure there’s nothing between you and her?”

“Yup, she’s just a friend.”

He tried not to fidget as he forced himself to hold Steve’s gaze. He kept his head high and acted as composed as he could even though his heart was jackhammering in his chest.

“Okay,” Steve drawled out, not entirely convinced. “If you say so.”

As Bucky expected, you allowed Steve to take the guest room, the one with the bunk-bed, though Steve told you that it wouldn’t be a problem. It also meant that he would be sharing your bathroom, and while it didn’t seem to bother you, it made Bucky really uncomfortable.

That evening, he sat down with you and Steve at the dinner table. He made sure Steve was seated at one end of the table, thinking that if you didn’t have him in front of you, you’d interact less. Bucky’s plan backfired pretty quickly. Steve had so many ‘I-lived-in-the-wild-for-ages’ stories that he monopolized the discussion –and your attention.

Bucky spent most of the night lost in his own thoughts, daydreaming, and only smiled when he caught your gaze. He snapped out of his haze when he noticed that he was alone at the dinner table. You and Steve were washing the dishes, talking and laughing.

He felt a pang of envy at the sight before him; it was supposed to be him and it scared him that someone could take you away from him. Then it hit him. He wasn’t special, you were kind and sweet with everyone. It was what had attracted him to you in the first place; your kindness, your fortitude and loyalty.

He couldn’t blame Steve for falling for you, too.

“Guys, I’m going to bed,” he said, standing on the landing between the two rooms.

You turned around mid-laugh and smiled warmly at him. “Good night, Bucky.”

“Sweet dreams, angel.” It slipped out. He didn’t even realize what he’d said, but Steve did.

Steve cocked a brow at his best friend’s retreating figure before he hung his head and let out a brief chuckle.

Over the next few days, Bucky’s mood didn’t improve. He was holding back, unable to reach out to you the way he used to. Steve was always there. Always.

In the morning Steve would come back from a run, sweaty and hungry, and wearing a shirt that was two sizes too small for him. He really laid it on thick, even by his standards, but you didn’t seem to mind.

In fact, you would often go out with Steve when Bucky was working on his new book. He took you to art shows, introduced you to important people and you visited art supply stores together, which annoyed Bucky more than he thought possible.

He felt stuck in a Garfunkel and Oates song, praying for Steve to go away.

I could've wished a thousand wishes for Steve to disappear.

Worst of all, Bucky was snappy with you. Especially after he inadvertently overheard you and Natasha talking about Steve. You painted a vivid picture of Steve’s ass. Figuratively of course, though Bucky couldn’t be certain that you didn’t have hundreds of notebooks filled with drawings of Steve’s ass.

“Hey, stranger.”

He looked up when you walked into his study carrying a tray with his breakfast –coffee and two slices of toasted white bread with butter and jam. You left the tray on a pile of papers and closed the door behind you.

“I was wondering about you, since you didn’t show up for breakfast.” You stood behind him and worked your fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and let you massage his scalp, the tension slowly leaving his body. “Something’s bothering you. I can tell.”

Bucky was so relaxed that his filter was non-existent. “Yeah, Steve’s bothering me. He stole my angel.”

“He can’t steal a mythical creature.”

“You’re my angel,” he half-moaned when you applied pressure to his scalp.

“I haven’t been feeling like your angel lately,” you said, giving him another squeeze before you let go of his head. You took a seat on the armchair close to his desk. “You’re... I don’t know. You’re moody and irritated, and I don’t know how to help you. I know you don’t like surprises, and Steve showing up out of nowhere and staying here was a pretty huge surprise. It’s difficult to cope with change but I think you’re acting a little weird. I swear, Bucky, sometimes you look at Steve like you want to kill him. Is it because we spend time without you?”

Bucky straightened up in his seat and took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “Yeah, I guess. You two are having fun and I’m stuck here, alone.”

“You feel left out.”

“A bit,” he replied earnestly. “But if you like him, you should go for it. He’s a good-looking guy, he’s nice. He’s also a dumbass but that’s part of his charm.”

You laughed. “What? Why are you telling me this?”

“I heard you and Natasha,” Bucky explained, blushing. “You said, and I quote: ‘he's got an ass you can bounce quarters off of.’”

You burst out laughing. “Oh, Bucky.”

“What? I’m just sayin’ if that’s what you wanna do... I’ll give you a bunch of quarters.”

“No, thanks,” you laughed. “I’m good. I keep my quarters for something else.”

Bucky speared you with a suspicious look. “So you don’t think his ass is like a juicy peach.” He blinked. “Also a direct quote.”

“Oh, no, I stand by what I said. His ass is so-” you lifted your hands and made a squeezing motion “-tight.”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” he rushed to say. “It’s not that impressive. Anyone can do squats. I do squats.”

“Fishing for compliments?” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. You looked at him with a fond smile. “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He reached for a slice of bread and bit into it, focusing his attention on his laptop screen. You got to your feet and walked to the door.

“Oh, um, by the way, how much of that conversation did you hear?” you asked, leaning against the half-open door.

“Not much, I left after the juicy peach thing.”

You hummed while nodding, your eyes cast down. When you looked up at him, a glint of something mischievous shone in your eyes. “You should have stayed a little longer,” you said enigmatically, your eyes roaming shamelessly over his body.

You raised your eyebrows and closed the door behind you, leaving Bucky speechless and confused. “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” he shouted, hoping you could hear him through the closed door. “Angel? Come back!”

Needless to say he didn’t write much after that.

Bucky made a conscious effort to stop being an asshat. A week later, he was in a better mood, and only glared at Steve twice –the first time when Steve put his hand on your knee and the second when he made a vaguely flirtatious remark.

You let Steve and Bucky handle the dirty dishes, and Bucky was sure you did it on purpose. Your little smug smile said as much. Steve didn’t seem happy, he had never liked household chores and probably only did the dishes to spend time with you.

Bucky remembered Steve’s childhood bedroom; shades always down, his bed perpetually unmade, and a monster pile of clean and dirty clothes on his desk chair. He remembered Sarah’s exasperated sigh whenever she entered her son’s bedroom. It made him laugh.

Bucky had always been a neat person, something his mom always took pride in. ‘Look at my son who does his own laundry and sets the table without being asked. Look how well I raised him!’ After his accident, cleaning became an obsession, a way of controlling something that was uncontrollable.

“Did you get Sam’s text?” Steve asked, tossing the now-wet towel on the counter. “Emergency brunch tomorrow at 10.”

“Yeah, I know. Sam has a loose understanding of the word ‘emergency’. Last time he wanted to know if he could pull off a goatee. Not exactly an emergency.”

“Mhh,” Steve replied, thinking. “Are you coming?”

“Hell yeah,” Bucky chucked, “I wanna know what this new emergency is.”

Steve cast him a sideways glance while leaning his back against the kitchen counter. He mulled over something as he watched his friend clean the sink.

“So, um,” Steve started awkwardly. “I have a date tomorrow.”

Bucky’s hand faltered a bit. “Ah? With who?”

Steve looked toward your bedroom door and let out a very loud sigh. “A real-life angel, Buck.”

Bucky let go of the sponge and straightened up abruptly. He glared at Steve, hoping he’d heard him wrong. “What did you just say?”

“I have a date tomorrow night so you’ll have the place to yourself.” Steve smiled to his friend, blissfully unbothered. “I think I’ve been invading your personal space. You always look upset so I thought this would be a great idea. And I’ve been alone for so long, I need... relief you know.”

“Awesome,” Bucky replied, gritting his teeth.

“Great, I’m glad you see it that way,” Steve said, grabbing Bucky’s shoulder and squeezing gently. “See you tomorrow, Buck.”

He watched Steve walk to his bedroom and close the door behind him. Something inside him cracked, and he felt the overwhelming urge to throw something, watch it break into tiny pieces.

He took a deep breath and went in search of you instead. He found you upstairs in your studio, kneeling in front of a canvas, the handle of a pair of pliers in your mouth. It took you a few seconds to acknowledge his presence, and Bucky grinned when you let out a little shocked gasp.

“Did you have fun washing the dishes with Steve?” you teased, taking the pliers out of your mouth.

“I think we need a dishwasher.” He walked into the room and squatted down on his haunches next to you. “Whatcha doing?”

“I’m removing the staples on the stretcher bars so I can roll up the canvas and put it in a tube,” you said. “This way they’re protected and I can carry them pretty easily. I have a meeting with a gallerist tomorrow. Apparently Steve knows her well. He mentioned my name and she wants to see my work.”

“That’s amazing, angel,” Bucky exclaimed. “How can I help?”

“I’m almost done. I just need to finish this one. Can you grab that sheet of plastic on the desk? We’ll wrap it in it and then we’ll use a piece of canvas for extra protection.”

He followed your instructions and made sure not to ruin your hard work. Once the canvas was in the tube, you placed it against the wall next to two similar tubes. Then you cleaned up and put away your tools.

“I don’t know if Steve told you but-”

“Yes, I know,” Bucky cut you off. “The date. It’s great. Honestly.”

“Yeah.” You lowered your gaze and studied your shaking hands, unable to meet his eyes. “Listen, I was thinki-”

“I really need some time to myself anyway,” he talked over you. “So it’s great, y’know? We all get what we want.”

“I guess,” you replied. “It’s getting late, I should go to bed.”

“Getting up bright and early tomorrow, uh?” The jovial tone in his voice sounded forced, even to his ears. You nodded mechanically. “Well, good night.”

“Good night.”

You both stood unmoving, staring at each other. Your eyes were asking for something, pleading with him, but he was too lost to understand. He was lost in his own feelings, remembering something Sam had said a while ago.

There’s an entire world between like and love.

And it was true.

Like was doing the dishes with you. It was laughing and screaming while you chased each other around the living room, using fairy lights as lassos. Like was booping your nose when you watched him cook dinner. It was speaking gibberish after watching a foreign film.

Love was that sweet agony that made him feel more alive than he had ever felt. It was letting you hold his hand and play with his fingers even though his nose felt itchy. Love was seeing you wrap his bow tie around your wrist like a bracelet. It was walking around a deserted planetarium with you.

Love was the colour of your favourite lipstick; Carter Red.

“Thanks for your help,” you said, interrupting his train of thought.

“My pleasure.” He tried to smile but it hurt.

Everything made sense now. His crankiness and irritability, his sudden aversion to his oldest friend, the one who had saved his life. The one who had asked you out on a date –or so it seemed.

“Sweet dreams...” he paused, considering, then used your name instead of your usual pet name.

He had no right to call you ‘angel’ anymore. Steve had asked you out first, he had asked Bucky multiple times if he was okay with that, and Bucky’s answers had always been a gritted ‘yes’.

The truth was, his epiphany didn’t change anything. He wouldn’t have asked you out because there was too much at stake: your friendship, your livelihood, your career, the well-being of your family. He couldn’t put you in an uncomfortable position, couldn’t ruin your hard work.

And he was terrified of these feelings. They were too new, too raw.

You pinched your lips together and nodded, avoiding his eyes. He clenched his jaw hard, hating the resigned look on your face. Why did you look so defeated? Without saying anything, you walked past him and left the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Part 9

1K notes · View notes

redgillan · 5 years ago

Text

Under Pastel Skies - 6

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 4,327

Warnings: panic attacks, Bucky recalls his accident

A/N: I don’t have much to say, Bucky’s real emotional in this one. I hope you enjoy this chapter :’)

Wannabe sugar daddies don’t interact, idc if you have money, eat it and leave me be.

Everywhere Bucky looked his eyes and ears were assaulted by a cacophony of sounds and colours. Red and green baubles hung from the ceiling, shimmering like disco balls and sending sparkles around the mall.

The air smelled like pine and cinnamon, something he usually liked, but it was so pungent and unpleasant that it made his stomach churn and bile rise up his throat. He tried to breathe through his mouth, forcing oxygen into his lungs.

Flashes of silver and gold momentarily blinded him, and as someone walked past him, their shopping bag knocked against his leg. It didn’t hurt but it made him seethe with misplaced anger. Beads of sweat broke out on the back of his neck.

Christmas carols played over the mall speakers, more specifically Jingle Bells which they played three times in less than an hour. Enough, enough, enough. He was suffocating, unable to breathe. He felt too big for his own skin, he needed to escape.

Then he felt your hand at the small of his back, guiding him toward what looked like a furniture store. He followed blindly, his vision blurry and unfocused, and sat down when you gently pushed him down onto a sofa.

Bucky shut his eyes and let his head fall back against the cushion. A woman came up and asked if you needed help but you told her that everything was fine. The buzzing in his ears made the voices around him strangely soothing, as if he was underwater. Now that he was sitting down, he felt a lot better.

You didn’t try to touch him, something he was very grateful for. He could feel your weight shift next to him and knowing you were there was enough. He focused on you –your heat, your voice, the smell of your shampoo- and his breathing slowly returned to normal.

“Sorry,” he breathed out with a small smile, his head lolling to one side to look at you. “I ruined our shopping spree.”

The fear and panic had dissipated, leaving him cold, exhausted and craving skin to skin contact. He took your hand and linked your fingers together. Your hands were freezing cold.

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

He snorted. “Yeah, I did.” A sad smile curved his lips, he needed to change the subject. “Do you celebrate Christmas?”

You sank further into the sofa cushion sitting shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand.

“We celebrated so many different holidays,” you said. “Perks of growing up in a multicultural family. Christmas was wild though. One tree, five kids. That poor thing never stood a chance. Now I don’t really celebrate anything. December used to be so much fun, now it’s just not the same.”

“We should create our own holiday,” Bucky suggested, squeezing your hand.

“Aren’t you going to see your family?”

“Nah,” he replied with a yawn. “My sister is taking her kids somewhere warm, and my parents are traveling the country in their RV. You can invite your siblings if you want.”

“They’re not available.”

Bucky tried to decipher the expression on your face. Every time you talked about your siblings, you had a faraway look in your eyes, as though you were reliving a memory. He couldn’t tell what you were thinking but your face twisted into a painful grimace. Then suddenly it was gone.

“I want a tree.”

He watched you with a lazy smile. “I’ll get you a tree.”

You pulled him up to his feet and decided it was time to go home. Home. It still made Bucky weirdly warm inside when you called his apartment ‘home’. You crossed the mall, your arm looped through his as you walked, and took a cab to Brooklyn.

He almost fell asleep from the gentle rocking of the car moving through the streets of Manhattan. When he glanced at you, you were looking out your window watching the snow fall.

You’d been living together for almost two months now and Bucky couldn’t have picked a better roommate. He liked the way you sang in the shower, loud, cheerful and most definitely off-key. He liked that you had more pyjamas than every day clothes. He liked watching you paint from the living room, and it always made him laugh when you added weird things to his grocery list.

He could go to bed and sleep the whole night without waking up, feeling safer knowing someone else was there. Of course, not everything was perfect but it was close enough.

He woke up on the sofa a few hours later, still dressed and with a fluffy blanket thrown over him. The sun was setting, painting the sky with reds and oranges. He basked in the setting sun, a content smile on his face, before he sat up.

The TV was on, the volume low, and you were sitting cross-legged on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table going through a bunch of old photographs. Bucky looked around the room, taking in the new furniture and decor.

There was a comfortable armchair in front of the gas burning fireplace. Your book was resting on the seat of the armchair. You had also bought a lot of decorative pillows, some were pretty funny like the one that looked like a giant cookie.

“Whatcha doing?” he asked, his voice gruff with sleep.

You looked over your shoulder at him. “Hey, you’re awake! I bought some picture frames. I thought it’d make this place look less like a high end furniture store.”

“I liked it better when you thought this apartment was amazing.”

You laughed. “I still do, but it’s a bit... soulless.” You tilted your head back, looking at him upside down. “Sorry.”

“Gotta call a spade a spade,” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “All right, well, while you do that I’m going to start dinner.”

He pushed off the sofa but you caught his wrist before he could leave. “I’m already done. I’ve left some frames for you.”

“I already have lots of pictures upstairs.”

“I know, but no one ever goes upstairs,” you replied, letting go of his wrist. “And you’re not in any of the photos.”

Bucky’s eyes were drawn to the picture you were holding. It must have been taken on the day of your high school graduation, you were dressed in a cap and gown, smiling with your whole face. He’d never seen you smile like that. He recognized Peggy Carter right away, her hair was more silver-white than brown and there were deep wrinkles around her eyes.

Your mom wasn’t looking at the camera, she was scolding the young man who was giving you bunny ears. The man was grinning mischievously at the camera. Bucky couldn’t tell how old he was, he appeared to be either twenty or fifty.

There were two other women wearing sundresses, one had long brown hair, the other had twisted her hair into Bantu knots. A young man with dyed silver hair and dark roots was squatting in front of you, his arms crossed over his chest à la Backstreet Boys.

“You should frame this one,” he said, sitting on the floor next to you.

You shrugged. “I don’t know. It makes me kinda sad.”

Bucky learned not to dwell on the past. It hadn’t been easy but it would have been impossible to heal without the support of his friends and family. Grief manifests itself in a number of ways, it’s raw and complex, and comes from your soul.

Bucky had a deep love for his childhood, especially his college years, but while he would cherish this time forever, he had accepted that he was a different person. He wasn’t the same naïve, youthful man he used to be, and it wasn’t a bad thing.

But he also knew that some people live in the past. It makes them feel alive.

“Y’know,” he started, meeting your eyes with a smile. “My hair used to be pretty long. I think I still have some photos in a folder somewhere.”

You clasped your hands together in a silent prayer. “Bucky, I’m going to be honest with you,” you deadpanned. “I need to see those pictures. I need them now. It’s a matter of life and death.”

He rolled his eyes while he got to his feet. “You’re so dramatic. I’ll go get ‘em.”

Bucky took the stairs up to his office and came back a few minutes later with a laptop under his arm. He sat on the floor next to you and set the laptop on his lap.

“You promise you won’t make fun of me?”

“Absolutely,” you replied, mimicking a Cheshire cat grin.

He sighed and tried to look stern but it was nearly impossible. You were too lovely, and he couldn’t help but smile. He opened up the laptop and glanced at you from the corner of his eye; you were practically vibrating.

He started going through the photos when he found one of himself at a party. He was in his early twenties, slumped in a chair, his eyes glassy and unfocused. In the next one he had been joined by two equally drunk women, and he was now roaring at the camera.

“Early twenties, two arms, and not a care in the world,” he said with a little sigh.

You leaned forward, your elbow resting on the coffee table. “Looks like you were having fun.”

“College was a lot of fun,” Bucky said, grinning to himself.

“What was your major?”

“English,” he replied. “I was a really good student, I could have chosen anything but there were more girls studying literature so I enrolled as an English major.”

“Wait!” You recoiled as if you had misheard him. “Did you really choose English because there were more girls?”

He made a funny grimace, and his nose scrunched up a bit as he mulled it over. “Yeah... my priorities were a bit mixed up. Hormones and all.”

You lowered your face into your hand and laughed. When you looked up at him, he was sporting his boyish grin and you shook your head at him.

In the next picture, he was clad in a black university graduation gown standing next to a blond man also dressed in a black gown. They were smiling, sunglasses perched on their nose.

“When I graduated, I had no idea what to do with a BA in English,” Bucky said after taking a long look at the photo. “The thing is, I never found my life’s calling. In high school I didn’t know what job I wanted to do, or what really motivated me, and to be honest I never really thought about it. I figured I’d find my passion in college but...” he trailed off with a shrug. “You’re lucky to have found your passion.”

“Is that why you want to help me?” you asked. “Because I found my calling and I wasn’t pursuing it.”

He tilted his head to one side, considering. “Yes, I guess that’s part of the reason why I want to help you.” He took a shuddering breath.

“Turns out I wasn’t the only one struggling to keep my head above water.” He pressed his index finger to the computer screen. “This is Steve, my oldest friend. He had just started working as a professional freelance photographer. I had nothing to do so I decided to help him build his portfolio. You’re an artist, I’m sure you know that a portfolio will make or break you.”

“It shows what you’ve accomplished, the skills you mastered,” you said, nodding. “Your potential employers will want to see your portfolio.”

“Exactly, and you have to show them your best work. In Steve’s case, it meant taking risks. No matter how talented you are, no one’s gonna pay you for a shot of the Brooklyn Bridge. It’s gorgeous but it’s not rare.”

“So what did he do?”

“We decided to climb Mount Everest.” He mechanically rubbed his stump and your eyes followed his movement. “It might’ve been the dumbest idea we’ve ever had but it sort of made sense at the time. Steve needed a challenging project and I was trying to find my purpose. We trained for a year, put money aside and took a loan. We were young, we thought we were invincible.

“The thing is,” he continued, “Mount Everest is the most famous mountain in the world. It’s crowded and only half the climbers reach the summit. A lot of people die.” He took a small pause. “Sometimes they can’t remove their bodies and they become landmarks. Our Sherpa told us about this man, they call him Green Boots. He’s sort of curled up in a fetal position near what they call Green Boots’ cave. When you walk past him, it looks like he’s just sleeping and because it’s so cold out there he’s actually well-preserved.”

“Oh, God.”

“Yeah, it’s awful,” Bucky let out a small, humourless laugh. “When I fell, I dislocated my arm and it pinched my axillary artery completely closed. It cut off circulation. That’s why they had to amputate. I was just lying there, too weak to call for help, watching people walk past me. They thought I was dead. And I remember thinking, ‘I’m going to die here. I’m going to die here and people will refer to me as Blue Jacket.’ Then Steve and the Sherpa found me, and Steve carried me on his back until they found a shelter. When the rescue team arrived, it was too late to save my arm.”

He went through the photos in silence and glared at the screen without really seeing it, his mind far away. On the screen, there was an endless stream of blurry smiles and blue eyes but he couldn’t look away. His thoughts cleared up when he felt the back of your knuckles along his cheek and jaw.

He unclenched his teeth, feeling the pain in his jaw. You brushed your fingers through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. You mindlessly played with the curl on top of his head and raked your fingernails gently over his scalp. When you spoke, your voice was just a soft whisper.

“Come back to me.”

Bucky forced his eyes shut and swallowed past the lump in his throat, tears pooling on his lower lashes. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. After a moment, he felt his body beginning to relax.

“How do you do that?” he asked in a pleading voice, turning his head to look at you. “How do you quiet the noise in my head?”

The question caught you off guard but you recovered quickly. You took his arm and draped it over your shoulders. “I don’t know,” you said, snuggling into his side. “It’s your second panic attack today. Did I push you too hard?”

“No.” His response was immediate. “I don’t like winter. It’s freezing cold and it gets dark at three thirty. Not my favorite time of the year.”

“But this helps, right?” you asked, waving your hand back and forth in the space between you.

He chuckled. “Yeah, it helps a lot.”

“Good.” You snuggled a little closer.

“But since you’re hoarding my arm, you’re gonna have to go through the pictures yourself,” he added, grinning down at you.

“Sorry,” you laughed. You reached out and slid two fingers over the touchpad guiding the cursor over the arrow icon. “So where are those pictures of you with long hair, uh?”

He knew you were trying to distract him but still made him blush. Those photos were in a folder titled: recovery spring 2010. He gave you directions to find it and waited for your reaction, wondering if you would burst into laughter at the sight of him with long hair and a lot more weight on.

“Wow.”

Bucky turned his attention to the screen to see which one had caught your interest. It was a selfie Steve had taken one sunny afternoon after he had forced Bucky to go out with him and Sam. They were sitting outside drinking iced tea.

Steve’s smile was blinding. He was wearing that stupid baseball cap he loved so much. Bucky sat hunched over in his seat behind Steve, his smile small but genuine. It was the kind of smile that said ‘my friends forced me to join them but I’m secretly glad they did’. Sam was leaning sideways against Bucky, his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses.

“You look like a completely different person,” you said. “So... strong.”

“Hey!” he gasped in mock offense. “How dare you? I’m still strong.” He removed his arm from behind your shoulders and raised it to flex his biceps. “Look at that!”

With a roll of your eyes, you let your hand roam over his muscular arm slightly squeezing his biceps. “Okay, I’m impressed.”

“Ah! Thank you,” he said with a pleased smile. “Now, c’mon, s’ time to eat.”

Bucky got to his feet and extended his hand to help you up. You trailed behind him as you walked toward the kitchen. “I bet Steve could rip a log in half with his bare hands.”

“I’ll ask him.”

“Where is he?”

“Hard to say. He works for National Geographic now. I think he’s supposed to be in Siberia.”

You spent the next few days like tourists. You showed Bucky your favourite museums, stayed way too long in front of several artworks but he never complained. Bucky took you to the movies. You sat together in the dark for several hours watching foreign films, and you only fell asleep once. Then the two of you would walk around Manhattan speaking in a made-up language and pretending to be characters in a movie.

Bucky couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so carefree. A little voice in the back of his head kept repeating ‘enjoy it while it lasts’ but he chose to ignore it.

“Thanks for helping me with this,” Bucky said, gesturing at the tree in the living room. “She went to the store to buy some ornaments.”

He handed Sam a bottle of beer which he took with a smile before tipping it to his lips for a long drink. Bucky hit his beer bottle on the counter to uncap it and followed Sam into the living room.

“She’s excited, uh,” Sam said with a grin. “You guys are spending Christmas together?”

“Liss,” Bucky replied after taking a swig of beer. “We’re celebrating Liss this year.”

“’The hell is that?”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s an old word. It means comfort, happiness.” A respite from pain. “We decided to make our own holiday. We’re going to spend two days in our fanciest loungewear, eating junk food and playing board games.”

“Cute,” Sam drawled out. “When’s the wedding?”

“Don’t say that.” Bucky glared at him. “Why do you always do that? I finally feel at peace with myself. I’m happy, I’m ready to take on new challenges. Why do you always have to make fun of me?”

Sam’s eyes widened at this. “Woah, I’m joking. It’s what we do. You tease me, I tease you. C’mon, I know things have been hard for you. I’m proud of you,” he rushed to say, afraid he might have hurt his friend’s feelings, but then he caught Bucky’s barely concealed smirk behind his beer bottle. “You’re messing with me.”

“Of course, man. Can you say ‘I’m proud of you’ again? Wanna make it my ringtone.”

“Screw you.” They sipped their beer in silence, each deep in thought. “But you like her, right?”

Bucky twirled the neck of the bottle between two fingers. “I do, she’s nice.”

Sam shook his head like he was frustrated with the answer “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not in love with her, Sam.”

“I never said anything about being in love.” He was silent for a moment before he added, “Beside there’s an entire world between like and love.”

Bucky caught a glimpse of hurt and fear in the depths of Sam’s eyes. He reminded him of Steve: strong yet vulnerable, generous and righteous. Bucky had a feeling Sam wasn’t talking about you.

“Is this about Natasha?”

Sam hung his head and stared at the beer bottle he rolled between his hands. “Sometimes I feel like it was inevitable. These sugar daddy relationships are complicated; at first it’s fun and easy, we both get what we want.” He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “And then it changes, so fast you barely see it coming, and it becomes the only thing you look forward to.” He took another swig of beer.

“These few hours with her mean more to me than anything else in this goddamn world. But it’s not real, none of this is real.”

“How do you know it’s not real?” Bucky asked, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

“I pay her.” Sam gave him a sad smile. “She spends time with me because I pay her. Sex wasn’t part of our deal but it came naturally. It’s going to end, one way or another. And If my time with her is limited, why make things complicated, y’see?”

An uneasy feeling gnawed at Bucky’s stomach, taunting him, trying to make him see something he wasn’t ready to see yet. “What if she feels the same way ‘bout you?”

“I don’t know,” Sam sighed. “To know that I’d have to talk to her, and I’d rather not take my chances. I’m happy with the way things are right now. It hurts, but I’m okay.” He leaned back and made himself comfortable. “You gotta be careful, Bucky. I see the way you look at your angel. You’re skating on thin fucking ice.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Like, love,” Sam said, weighing the two words. “And everything in between.”

They mulled over Sam’s words while they finished their beer. A million thoughts raged through Bucky’s head, circling around like wasps, buzzing and annoying. He was relieved when he heard the front door open.

“Italian leather loafers, mmh is Sam here?” you called out from the kitchen where you set your shopping bag down on the table before you joined them in the living room. “Hey guys! What’s the matter? You both look like someone kicked your puppy-OH MY GOD! LOOK AT THAT TREE!”

While you ran across the living room, Sam cast Bucky a look. The message was clear; be careful. They got to their feet and acted like nothing happened. Sam put on his coat and gave you a quick hug before he left.

Bucky was silent while you were decorating the tree. He let you decide where you wanted to put the tinsel and baubles. He just sat there with a vacant look in his eyes, handing baubles. A smile curled his lips when you cupped his cheek and ran the pad of your thumb along his cheekbone. He looked up at you.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Bucky said with a small smile. “Just old and moody.”

You laughed. “Come here, help me with this. It’s actually super boring when no one’s fighting for the baubles.”

“Oh, you wanna fight, angel,” he said with a smirk while he played with a tinsel garland. “Ok, let’s fight.”

You took a step back. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“Too late!”

You shrieked when he launched himself at you. He wrapped the tinsel garland around you, loosely pinning your arms to your sides. You laughed so hard your eyes watered and your shoulders shook. He used it to his advantage and looped two baubles over your ears like giant earrings.

Still laughing, you tugged one of your hands free and threw a handful of tinsel all over Bucky before you ran away. He chased you around the living room, using one of the fairy lights as a lasso.

Soon, the living room was a giant mess. There was more tinsel in Bucky’s hair than on the tree, and you had managed to wrap the fairy lights around his body. You look pretty ridiculous with your giant earrings and dishevelled hair.

You and Bucky collapsed on the floor, out of breath and euphoric. The sun was starting to set behind the skyscrapers casting a warm golden glow over the room. You turned on the fairy lights and burst out laughing when Bucky sparkled like a tree.

He found his phone on the sofa and handed it to you. You opened up the camera app and nestled closer to him. The first photo was blurry because you couldn’t stop laughing. Bucky thought the second photo was nice but you didn’t like it.

“My smile is too wild,” you said.

“You look beautiful,” he argued. “I look like a Christmas tree.”

Bucky felt a pleasant stir in his belly when you placed your head on his shoulder. Be careful. He could practically hear Sam’s voice in his head. His chest was hurting. It wasn’t unpleasant, just peculiar and unexpected. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek on top of your head.

“Bucky! You have to open your eyes,” you scolded him after looking at the picture, unaware of his inner turmoil.

He wasn’t sure he could; tears were welling up in his eyes. He was terrified of his feelings for you, but his body was screaming at him to stop burying his head in the sand. He didn’t want you to see the tears in his eyes, he didn’t want to alarm you, because the truth was, he hadn’t been careful.

“Can’t. I’m comfy,” he replied, masking his true feelings behind a joke.

“Open them or I’ll tickle you.”

He chuckled. “Okay, okay, no need to use force.”

He soldiered on and opened his eyes, smiling at the camera. He liked you, and he promised himself he would never tell you. His feelings didn’t matter, it wasn’t part of your deal.

Part 7

2K notes · View notes

redgillan · 5 years ago

Text

Under Pastel Skies - 7

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 6,480

Warnings: none

A/N: This is long overdue, sorry - hopefully it’s worth it. It’s also incredibly long... idek anymore. I want to thank you all for your patience and support. It means a lot to me.

Wannabe sugar daddies, don’t interact with this post.

You grumbled into your pillow when you heard your phone buzz on the bedside table. Cracking one eye open, you lifted your phone and squinted to read the neon numbers showing on the screen.

7:12 a.m.

You had an email notification, nothing important, but it somehow managed to come through the ‘Do Not Disturb’ feature. You knew you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep so you got up and padded barefoot into the kitchen.

A smile curled up your lips when you saw the leftovers from your made-up holiday. There were a few cookies and muffins in a plate, a large bowl of cereals, and two dirty milkshake glasses on the counter.

It had been a fun and relaxing couple of days. You ate, talked, played board games, and watched movies in your fanciest loungewear attire. Bucky sought your touch more than usual and it left you a little confused. Every time he touched you, the line between feelings of friendship and feelings of love became blurred.

Bucky was an early riser, always up before you, dressed in his usual khakis and long sleeved Henley shirts with his hair slightly tousled. He looked effortlessly sexy and always had a warm smile for you even though you looked like a hot mess in your mismatched pyjamas, staggering into the kitchen, blindly following the smell of food cooking on the stove.

Today, the kitchen was silent. Bucky was probably still asleep, so you decided to cook breakfast. Maybe, if you were lucky, you’d catch him in his night clothes.

Wasting no time, you made a beeline for the coffee machine. You filled the water tank and measured fresh grounds into the filter, but your task was interrupted when you heard groans coming from somewhere nearby. You soon figured out that the sounds were coming from the living room.

Curious, you silently made your way toward the sound. The shades were up, and you could see the midnight blue sky fading into pastel hues of yellow and pink with the approaching dawn. Under any other circumstances, you would have been completely enraptured by its beauty, but something else caught your attention.

Bucky was standing upside down with his head on a yoga mat. His eyes were closed and his features were set in an expression of serious concentration. You half hid behind the wall and observed him.

You were impressed, his headstand was perfectly vertical and he was doing it without hand support, meaning that he was supporting his entire weight on his neck. He slowly lowered one toe back down, then the other, before he rested his forearm on the mat and lifted his butt toward the ceiling, his body forming a perfect inverted V.

“You’re up already,” he asked, sitting back on his haunches. “I can hear you breathing behind that wall.”

Busted...

You peeked out into the living room and cringed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you but that was sooo impressive.” You walked into the room and perched yourself on the arm of the sofa, facing Bucky who was kneeling at your feet. “How do you do that?”

He chuckled, his cheeks red from exertion and bashfulness. “Practice. Yoga’s good for building strength.”

He looked up at you with a boyish smile, his hair damp with perspiration. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, rolling too close to his eyes and making him squint.

His pants left little to the imagination, the fabric stretched across his powerful thighs, and his sleeveless shirt clung to his drenched chest, outlining his muscles. Your eyes darted to his left shoulder where his stump was visible.

Despite living with him for over two months, you had never seen him in one of those sleeveless shirts before, though you couldn’t blame him since it was the middle of winter and you hadn’t been wearing any either. It was warm inside the apartment but not enough to walk around bare-armed.

“It’s easier to do yoga when the sleeve isn’t slapping me in the face every five seconds,” Bucky said, looking at his stump. “But I can cover it up if you prefer.”

“No! Of course not,” you rushed to say. “I’m sorry. That was really rude.”

“You were just looking, it’s only natural,” he said. “People are curious. Staring... well, staring is different.” His frown smoothed away and he turned to you with a smile. “Are you hungry?”

You smiled down at him. “Starving.”

“I’m gonna hop in the shower real quick, then I’ll start breakfast.”

“Actually, I was about to start cooking before I got distracted.” Bucky looked away, a slight blush covering his cheeks. “But I think we have plenty of food left over from last night.”

“We’re not eating cookies for breakfast,” he said. “We’ll save them for later. Right now we need something healthy.” He grinned as he pushed himself to his feet and ran upstairs. “I’ll be right back.”

You shook your head at his antics and returned to the kitchen to finish making coffee. After all he’d done for you, it was the least you could do. You knew Bucky liked cooking –and he was damn good at it- but sometimes you wondered if this was a fair arrangement.

He had given you a place to stay, money, food to eat, your own artist’s studio, and you had given him... nothing. Admittedly, you knew that your presence calmed him, comforted him. You gave him the emotional support he desperately needed and it was important, but he could also have adopted a pet.

Too tired for coffee or tea, you poured yourself a glass of orange juice, hoping it would wake you up. It worked but your self-deprecating thoughts were still playing havoc in your mind.

You were fixing Bucky’s coffee when he came back downstairs after his shower, and you were pleasantly surprised to find him wearing a clean sleeveless shirt. You met his eyes and found that he was watching you intently. You offered him a smile and leaned back against the kitchen counter.

“Looking good, James.”

He looked down at his feet with a bashful smile as he crossed the room slowly. You observed him in silence while he prepared breakfast for the two of you. It was a simple breakfast bowl with yogurt, granola, fresh fruits and honey but he somehow made it look like a gourmet dish.

“There you go, angel,” he said, setting your bowl in front of you. “What are you going to do today?”

You took a slice of kiwi and dipped in yogurt. “I think I’m going to paint. You?”

Bucky licked his spoon and you stared at it longingly before you quickly averted your eyes. No, you couldn’t be jealous of a goddamn spoon. Catch yourself on.

“I have an idea for a new book,” he said, running his tongue along his teeth to clean them before he spoke again. “I had a meeting with my agent last week. It went well, my old publisher really wants to work with me again. I’m signing my contract this afternoon.”

“Bucky!” you squealed after swallowing your mouthful of yogurt a little too fast. “That’s amazing!”

“Thank you,” he said, staring into nothing with wide eyes. “I’m nervous, scared and excited at the same time. It’s strange, y’know, all these feelings mixed together. It’s a bit overwhelming and I haven’t even started yet.”

“Don’t think too much,” you said. “You’ve done this before, you can do it again.”

“Yeah,” he replied, smiling.

You scraped your spoon around the bowl and licked it clean. “What’s it about? Is it a novel? Can I be in it?”

Bucky chuckled to himself and you figured that every single writer had friends who begged them to appear in their books. You couldn’t help it, the idea of living forever as ink on a page was too tempting.

“It’s not a novel,” he said. “It’s the third instalment of my series. The style is a little hard to explain but this is what I like to say: self-help book meets Bridget Jones’ Diary.”

“I tried to look you up but I couldn’t find anything written by a James Barnes or a Bucky Barnes.” You playfully narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you a fraud? Or are you using a pen name?”

He pretended to think about it. “I’m a fraud.”

“I knew it,” you mock-sighed.

Bucky took your bowl and placed it in the sink along with his. When he started cleaning them, you joined him and took a dish towel.

“I’ll tell you soon,” he spoke after a moment.

“It’s okay, take your time.”

You knew he wasn’t going to tell you what his pen name was, not now at least. His books were a reflection of his struggles, his success, and his fears, and you could understand why he preferred to keep you in the dark for now.

The people who read his books didn’t know him, they were just anonymous faces in a crowd but you were real. You were his friend, his new friend, and your opinion mattered.

“It’s been a couple of years since I’ve published my last book. My agent said that people haven’t forgotten about me but I still have to,” he made air quotes with his fingers, “’show my face’, just to remind everyone that I’m still writing.” He sighed.

“There’s a charity event next month at the museum of Natural History,” he continued. “It’s a huge event, a lot of important people will be there, including some of the most famous gallerists and curators in the country. You’re allowed to say no but,” he paused and turned to look at you, “do you want to come with me?”

You pressed your lips together while you mulled this over. There was no doubt in your mind that it was a great opportunity, one that you would have never had without Bucky, and you knew you had to say yes. But this was your least favourite part of being an artist.

You didn’t know how to sell yourself and you always felt like an arrogant asshat when you spoke about your paintings, even though you had every right to be proud of your work.

You had managed to persuade yourself that this new life would last forever. Eat, laugh, paint, repeat forever. But it wasn’t real. You had to put yourself out there, even if it made you uncomfortable because painting was only half your job.

Something else bothered you. You didn’t want to be the poor, struggling artist who took advantage of a charity event to make herself known. It seemed wrong and hypocritical.

You voiced your concerns to Bucky who looked at you with a pained expression.

“Yes, it’s a fundraiser but I can assure you that everyone at the party will be talking business and exchanging business cards,” he said. “And they’ll compensate with a huge donation to clear their guilty conscience. Is it false philanthropy? Absolutely, and I’m ashamed to say I’m one of them. You’re not taking advantage of a good cause, we are.”

“You’re nothing like them,” you said. “You’re kind and selfless, you’re a good person.”

“I’m not sure that’s true, angel,” he said with a tight smile.

When you opened your mouth to protest, he leaned forward and cupped the back of your head as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, ending the conversation. He had never done that before and you froze, feeling equal parts confused, incredulous and appreciated.

He pulled back and wiped down the sink with the sponge, acting like kissing you so sweetly was something completely normal, like he was unbothered. Meanwhile you just stood there wondering if you would ever be able to breathe normally again.

You pressed your lips together hard and tried to gather your thoughts but your mind was reeling. You were about to leave the room when your eyes landed on a pile of mail on the kitchen counter.

The first letter was a cheesy view of the Tower Bridge, the words ‘Greetings from London’ written in bold cursive letters across the postcard.

You only knew one person who still sent postcards.

Wanda.

“What’s this?” you asked, nodding toward the stack of mail.

Confused, Bucky looked to you then followed your line of sight and saw the mail. “Oh, Natasha dropped these off last night. She wanted to see you but you were already asleep.”

You nodded distractedly while you picked up the postcard. The sight of it filled you with anxiety. Your sister didn’t’ send these postcards often, but every time you received one it reminded you that things were different now. Gone was the happy and supportive family you used to cherish.

Your breath caught in your throat as you read Wanda’s hastily written words.

I’m coming home.

She was coming home. A wave of nausea ran through you and your breathing came shallow and fast.

“Wow, wow, wow.” You felt Bucky’s hand at our waist, steering you toward a chair, and you realized your legs were giving way under you. “Deep breaths, angel. Look at me. There you go!”

“Sorry,” you said. “See what happens when you don’t let me eat cookies for breakfast?”

Bucky smiled at your poor attempt at humour. “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

You debated telling him but you weren’t sure how to voice your concerns so you handed him the postcard instead. You had told Bucky about Wanda. She had disappeared after Pietro’s death, sending postcards from time to time as proof that she was still alive and well.

“Your sister is coming home.”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I haven’t seen her for six years. She doesn’t know our mom has Alzheimer, she doesn’t know I sold our old childhood home. She keeps sending those postcards there. I gave the new owners Natasha’s address in case they still receive our mail. They’re very nice.” You let out a humourless laugh. “I had absolutely no idea what I was doing when I sold our house, and they could have taken advantage of me but they didn’t. I guess it’s not every day you buy a family house from a 24 year old girl. It probably screams tragic backstory, uh?”

“You did this on your own?”

“Yup.”

Bucky put his hand on your knee and gave you a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry you had to go through this.”

You looked down at his thumb rubbing soothing circles just above your knee. “Yeah, it wasn’t easy.” You paused, then raised your head to look at him. “Living with you makes my life so much easier. I live in my own little bubble where I don’t have to be an adult. I feel like I can finally breathe. And I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me and all you continue to do.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, shaking his head. “We help each other. We’re good together.”

“Yes, of course,” you said with a smile. “But we both know it’ll have to end one day. It has to, one way or another. I want to be more independent, start my career and support my family. I don’t want to rely on others anymore. I want to rely on myself.”

“But there’s no rush, angel.”

“I know, but nothing’s gonna change if I stay in my little bubble. I have to do things that make me uncomfortable.”

“What are you trying to say exactly?”

“I’ll come with you to the fundraiser.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up in surprise but a smile broke across his face. “That’s great! But what about your sister?”

You shrugged. “There’s nothing I can do. She’ll probably go to our old house, realize it’s not ours anymore. If she’s lucky they’ll give her Natasha’s address. I’m sure she’ll have lots of questions but she can’t show up six years later and act like our bond is still intact. I’m not at her beck and call. I’m only responsible for myself and, Bucky, I’m so tired of trying to please everyone. I deserve to live my best life, goddammit.”

“I am so happy to hear you say that,” Bucky said, his smile blinding. “Celebratory cookie?”

“Yes! Two cookies, please,” you replied, out of breath. “I’m slightly freaking out.”

You spent the next couple of weeks planning for the event; painting, taking pictures of your work, posting them on Instagram, searching for gallerists and curators you wanted to work with and cross-checking the attendees.

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but wonder if Wanda was already in New York and if she was looking for you.

“Check this out!” you exclaimed, shoving a business card in Natasha’s face before you pushed past her to get into her apartment. “It’s official, I’m an artist.”

She laughed as she closed the door, her eyes on the card. “Hi, it’s nice to see you, too,” she deadpanned.

“Sorry, hi.”

“Well, looks like you’re all set. When’s the party?”

“Next week,” you replied, taking a seat on you former bed, her sofa. “I’m a little nervous, but also excited. I don’t know, it’s a strange feeling.”

Natasha pinned your business card onto the fridge using a magnet before she opened the refrigerator door and retrieved a bottle of orange juice. She took two glasses from the cupboard and joined you on the sofa.

“But, yeah, I’m ready. I have over two hundred business cards, I know who I want to work with, and I even bought an external battery pack just in case.”

“And what are you going to wear?” Natasha asked before taking a sip of orange juice. You looked at her with wide eyes, panic written all over your face. “You forgot to buy a dress,” she concluded out loud. “Why am I not surprised?”

“With everything going on, I completely forgot I had to... wear clothes.”

“I’m sure James wouldn’t mind seeing you in your birthday suit.” She laughed when you practically shoved her off the sofa. “Come on, I’ll help you look semi-decent.”

You groaned. “I don’t want to go shopping right now. Plus, I blew all my money on business cards.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s freezing outside, I’m not leaving my apartment,” she replied, reaching for her laptop. “You’re going to rent it.”

“Ew,” you made a face.

You remembered the formal wear store where you had rented your prom dress. The place smelled like moth balls and sweat, and the dress had given you a rash. Not a great memory.

“Trust me, I know this is your first but I’m a seasoned veteran. I’ve been to dozens of fundraisers, and I had to wear dozens of designer dresses. Do you even know how much a Saint Laurent evening gown cost? You can’t wear the same dress twice. That’s a big no-no. And it’s not just the dress. You need a clutch, a pair of shoes, jewelry, a coat. You have to rent them.”

“You’re giving me a headache.”

She opened up her web browser and typed in the website address for the dress rental. As she entered your size and budget, it was obvious that she knew her way around the website and you had to admit that it was a lot easier than traditional shopping.

You looked at the collection of dresses, not entirely convinced, when you found it. You instantly knew it was the right one.

You stared longingly at the beautiful wine-red dress, made entirely of velvet. The bodice was cut on the bias, the fabric draping itself elegantly to contour the shape of the model’s upper body. The skirt was long and flowing, and the waist was cinched in with a thin black belt.

You clicked on the second picture and Natasha let out a strangled gasp. The open back was draped at the waist and weighted with a crystal on a golden chain.

The dress gave off 1930s vibes, it was elegant and refined but the back was daring and sexy. It was exactly what you needed. You paired it with a black wool cape, and Natasha offered to let you borrow a pair of shoes, jewellery and a bag.

The dress and coat arrived the next day. The woman who delivered them was kind and polite, she stayed in the kitchen while you tried on the dress. Once you gave the all-clear, she handed you your receipt.

The dress was yours for an entire week.

On the day of the gala, you were a nervous, sweaty mess. Natasha’s clutch was on your nightstand, filled to the brim with business cards. Your hair and makeup were already done. You sat on your bed in your underwear, staring at the dress hanging in your closet.

“I can do this,” you whispered to yourself.

You were adjusting the fabric around your cleavage, making sure everything flowed nicely, when you heard Bucky shouting from the kitchen.

“The car will be there in fifteen minutes.”

You took a deep breath and smoothed your hands down the sides of your dress, the tickling caress of the velvet calming you almost instantly. You reached for the handle, your heart hammering in your chest, and opened the door.

Bucky was standing at the kitchen island, looking down at his phone. He looked up when he heard the sound of your door opening.

“Hey, are you-” The rest of his sentence died on his lips as he froze. He stood there, staring at you, his eyes roaming your body in a manner that could only be called amazement. “You look-” He shook his head as if he couldn’t find the right word.

You looked down at yourself, grinning. After weeks of seeing you in your big woolly jumpers, pyjamas and painting overalls, you could understand why this was a shock. It was one to you as well.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice sounding strangled.

“Thank you.” He stood a little straighter when he noticed you were checking him out. He wore a dark blue suit with black lapels, a white shirt and a black velvet bow tie. You matched. “You look like a real heartthrob in that suit.”

He laughed and looked away, embarrassed. It was your favourite look on him; when he couldn’t maintain eye contact and his cheeks were slightly red and his nose crunched up a little.

“You’re wearing your prosthetic,” you said, noticing the stiff arm and fake hand.

“Yeah,” he replied, looking at his left arm. “This thing itches like hell, but I don’t blend well in a crowd when I’m not wearing my prosthetic. These people know me, they’ll be looking for me. Let’s not make it too easy for them.”

He finished his sentence with a wink and your entire body threatened to spontaneously combust. Do people still wink? Apparently. You walked over to him and briefly stroked his arm before you walked past him to the bathroom.

It gave him a great view of your bare back and the little crystal nestled just above the small of your back. You didn’t see his reaction but you heard his sharp intake of breath.

You left the bathroom door open while you rummaged through your makeup bag, relief flowing through you when your fingers brushed against your favourite lipstick.

You straightened up and looked at yourself in the mirror. Bucky was leaning against the bathroom door frame, observing you. You uncapped the lipstick and brought it to your lips, locking eyes with him in the mirror.

“Don’t worry, I’m almost ready.”

“I’m not worried,” Bucky replied with a mischievous smile. “Please, carry on.”

You rolled your eyes at his sudden smug expression, trying to look unbothered, but you could feel his eyes on you and you willed your hands to stop shaking. Today was not the day to look like Miranda Sings.

“What’s it called?” Bucky asked from the threshold, spellbound.

“No idea, the label has faded,” you said, rubbing your lips together to smudge your lipstick. “It has probably expired by now, my mom gave it to me when I was a kid.” You blotted your lips and tossed the balled tissue into the wastebasket. “She called it ‘Carter Red’.”

You dabbed the lipstick on your lips. “When we were kids, we used to watch her apply her lipstick. We thought she was the most sophisticated woman in the world. When she was done, she’d turn to us and ask ‘Who wants red lips?’ Then we’d leave the house in our matching red lips.”

Bucky entered the bathroom and took a seat on the edge of the tub. “Did your brothers wear red lipstick too?” he asked with a grin.

You laughed. “Pietro did. Scott was more into nail polish.”

“Do you think I can pull it off?”

You turned to him with a wicked grin and waved your lipstick in his direction. He stood when you took a step closer to him. He seemed to enjoy the playful glint dancing in your eyes. You beckoned him closer like some kind of old witch.

“I’m sure you’d look real cute with lipstick all over your face,” you said, taunting him with your tube of lipstick.

Something in his expression changed, darkened, making you feel hot and cold at the same time. His eyes travelled down your face to your lips, then back up to your eyes. “Yeah, I’d really like that,” he spoke so softly you almost missed it.

It was your turn to freeze. You parted your lips to speak but nothing came out, you just blinked hard and stared at him incredulously, waiting for him to explain what that meant. But he never did, and you took a step back.

Did he just...? Did he just try to kiss you? No! No, that’s silly. Why would he want to kiss you? He was just being playful and you simply projected your own desires onto him.

He took a step back too and gave an imperceptible nod. “The car should be here any minute,” he said, smiling. It was a tight smile and you didn’t like it at all. “I’ll let you get ready.”

After he closed the door behind him, you dumped your lipstick back into your makeup bag and took a long look at yourself in the mirror. You looked deflated, miserable. You sighed... the night was off to a great start.

Bucky waited for you while you finished getting ready. You picked up your clutch, slid your feet into a pair of high-heel shoes, and struggled with your cape until Bucky came to your rescue. To your surprise, his smile was genuine again, and it made your heart soar. Maybe you had just misread the situation and he wasn’t upset, offended –or whatever that tight smile was.

The heels were higher than you were used to, but Bucky gave you an arm to hang onto. The sky was already dark when you arrived at the Museum of Natural History. You walked up the stairs and left your coats in the coat-check room before you took a look around the room.

Hundreds of people were milling around the hall, a glass in their hand as they weaved between the jaw-dropping dinosaur skeletons that were on display. You kept your arm linked through Bucky’s and tried not to stare at anyone.

“Be careful,” Bucky whispered in your ear, making you perk up. “Someone once told me that the exhibits come to life after the sun sets.”

“Remind me to stay away from the Biodiversity Hall,” you chuckled. Then you spotted one of the curators you wanted to work with, you let go of Bucky’s arm and squared your shoulders. “Showtime. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, angel.”

“God, I’m sweating. Is it noticeable?”

Bucky smiled at you. “No, you look perfect.”

You gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks. I hope I won’t make a fool of myself. I hate small talk.”

As soon as you were gone, someone took your place by Bucky’s side. You grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and made your way over to the curator. You didn’t drink alcohol but the glass made you look like you were part of their little group.

It went horribly wrong; you stuttered when you said your name and everything went downhill after that. While you were talking, he subtly looked around to see if he could find a more interesting person to talk to, which made you stutter even more. Then as you opened your clutch and fished out a card, several others fell at your feet in slow motion.

Between the dress, the glass and the shoes, it was practically impossible to bend over. The curator left and you stood there alone.

“Let me help you,” one of the waiters said. He gathered up your business cards and handed them to you.

You sheepishly took the cards and shoved them back in your purse. “Thanks. Can you take this? I’m not going to drink it.”

“Would you like something else to drink?” he asked as he took your glass of champagne.

“No, thank you. I... I think I’m going to go find my friend.”

You smiled politely at the young man but he had a strange look on his face. He looked like he wanted to say something but hesitated.

“I saw you with Mr. Thomas,” he finally said. “I’m not supposed to talk to the guests but can you tell him I love his work.”

“I’m sorry I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Grant Thomas,” the waiter pressed on. “The writer. I saw you two together.” Then he leaned forward and whispered, “He only has one arm.”

Oh...

Grant Thomas was Bucky’s pen name.

Your face broke out into a huge smile and you started giggling to yourself. The waiter recoiled a bit, confused and a little freaked out. You scanned the room for Bucky.

“Of course, I’ll tell him,” you told the waiter. “He’ll be very pleased to hear it.”

You went in search of Bucky, wobbling around in your high heels, a permanent smile on your face. After walking around for a few minutes, you felt more stable and in control, even going so far as to power walk from room to room.

You found him in the Hall of Ocean Life, entertaining a small group of people. You walked over to him, your heels clicking like typewriter keys. You heard bits and pieces of their conversation as you approached.

“Oh, it’s absolutely lovely,” a woman cooed, a hand over her heart. “Who was your inspiration for your new book, Grant?”

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly when he saw you. You gave him a small wave and he held out his hand in your direction. He introduced you to the group, and while it was strange to hear him say your name, you kept a straight face.

“I’ve looked everywhere for you, Grant,” you told him, emphasizing his pen name. “I should have known I'd find you in good company.”

“Oh, she’s the painter,” the woman said. “Darling, I hope you don’t mind me saying this but-” she extended her arms in your direction “wow!”

The woman next to her looked half amused, half exasperated. “It means you look beautiful in that dress.”

“Oh, she knows what it means, Sylvia.” The ‘oh’ woman swatted Bucky’s fake arm. “Grant, isn’t she gorgeous?”

Bucky looked at you with a fond smile. “Yes, she is.”

“Oh, my heart is about to explode,” the ‘oh’ woman squealed before enthusiastically waving to someone behind Bucky. “Sylvia, darling, take her contact details. We need new blood at the gallery. Please, excuse me, I haven’t seen Michael in ages,” she said, stretching out the last word.

She was gone before you could comprehend what was happening. Her laughter echoed through the room. Oh, I hadn’t seen the back of that dress! Sweet baby Jesus!

You found her whimsical and quite intense but if you had to work for her, you’d probably end up looking like her assistant, Sylvia, who seemed at her wits’ end.

She sighed and opened her leather-bound notebook. There were several business cards attached to the pages with paperclips. You handed her one of your business cards as her boss shouted, Oh, Michael, isn’t this party deliiightful? It was Sylvia’s cue to leave.

“Thank you. We’ll take a look at your work and get back to you as soon as we can. Enjoy your night.”

Sylvia rushed to her boss who was looking around like a lost puppy. When she saw her assistant, a look of relief crossed her face. It was a little over the top but it made you smile.

“So, Grant Thomas,” you said, planting yourself directly in front of Bucky now that you were alone. “Cute name.”

“Agh, I wanted to tell you before the party but...” He shrugged. “How did you figure it out?”

“One of the waiters saw us together. He’s your biggest fan. Said you were talented, humble and devilishly handsome in that suit.”

“The waiter said that?” Bucky asked with a frown as he led you toward an empty corridor.

“I think he has a crush on you.”

“I seem to have that effect on people,” he said, linking his arm through yours.

“So humble.” You entered the Hall of Biodiversity together. “What’s the meaning behind your pen name?”

There was a small pause before he answered. “Grant is Steve’s middle name, Thomas is Sam’s. I wanted to honor them. Steve literally saved my life, and Sam... well, he stood by my side even when we barely knew each other.”

“I’m sure they were touched.”

“Meh,” Bucky said with a grimace. “Steve said it sounded like a fake name, and Sam tried to make me use ‘Thomas Grant’ instead. I think deep down they like it.” He turned his head to look at you. “How did it go with the curator?”

You cringed. “Just to give you an idea, imagine an amateur magician performing at their first show. I was sweating, I stuttered, and I dropped my cards. It was awful.”

He laughed softly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m not upset. At least he’ll remember me, right?”

You spent the next couple of hours mingling with a bunch of rich people; most of them were incredibly weird, the others were strangely relatable. You were a lot more cool and collected with Bucky by your side. He always had really nice things to say about you or your paintings, and his words rang true, giving you yet another reason to fall for him.

When you reached the planetarium, Bucky took your hand in his, his eyes sparkling with childlike wonder.

You practically had the place to yourselves, everyone else was either in the Grand Gallery or in the Roosevelt Memorial. Since no one was around, you decided to take your shoes off and walk around barefoot.

You lost track of time, listening to Bucky’s stories about the universe as he guided you along the spiralling walkway.

“We’re just tiny little specks living on a bigger speck, floating around,” he said, gazing up at a model of Jupiter hanging from the ceiling. “Our time here is so limited, our bodies are so fragile.”

“Umm,” you hummed. “At least we’re not at the bottom of the food chain.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that would be a bummer.”

“Do you know who’s at the bottom of the food chain?” you asked. “French fries. I’m starving.”

His laughter rang out, loud and clear, in the silence of the planetarium. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

You headed for the coat-check room, where Bucky left one of his ridiculously generous tips, and stepped outside, shivering from the cold winter night. You looked up at the stars glistening in the dark sky while you walked the short distance to the fast food restaurant.

You ate your fries in silence as you glanced around the restaurant. It was bright and gave off a friendly vibe. There were several other patrons even though it was almost two in the morning, though you and Bucky were the only ones wearing designer clothes.

Your high heels and clutch rested on the booth next to your hip, and Bucky’s bow tie was tied around your wrist. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a tanned, muscular chest and a smattering of dark hair.

Bucky had removed his prosthetic after you’d found a booth. His fake arm rested on the table, scaring the hell out of the waitress when she came to take your order. Bucky apologized profusely, probably mentally adding another twenty to her tip.

You dozed off in the cab, utterly exhausted, your cheek resting against his shoulder. His arm was draped over your shoulders, his thumb sweeping up and down your collarbone. When you remembered that you still had to remove your makeup before going to bed, you let out a whine and nestled closer to him. He rested his head on top of yours, and you closed your eyes, enjoying his closeness.

A few days later, you told Natasha about the party, and she reminded you to be careful, to protect your heart. She wished someone had given her this advice when she’d met Sam.

It had never occurred to you that Natasha might have feelings for Sam, not because he was an awful person. No, it was quite the opposite. He was handsome and funny, always looking for some kind of trouble. She’d mentioned multiple times that he was really good in bed, which honestly didn’t surprise you.

You knew she liked him, but you didn’t know she liked him.

On your way home, you mulled over the things she had told you. About a block away from your apartment, you took your keys out of your pocket and stared at the little angel keychain, wondering if your feelings for Bucky were real. The line between friends and lovers was definitely blurred but you couldn’t cross it. There was too much at stake, you couldn’t risk ruining your friendship.

As you turned the corner into your street, you spotted someone standing outside the building’s front door. You slowed down, dawdled, so you could observe them.

You couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, though you suspected a man. They were carrying a traveller’s backpack on their shoulders, blocking your view. Whoever it was, they had a fantastic ass.

They pushed the intercom button, waited a few seconds and pushed it again. When the doors remained closed, they turned around to leave and you came face-to-face with a man with long dirty blond hair, a bushy ginger beard and striking baby blue eyes. You immediately recognized him from the photos you’d seen on Bucky’s laptop.

“Oh my God, Steve!” you exclaimed, startling him.

Part 8

1K notes · View notes

redgillan · 5 years ago

Text

Under Pastel Skies - 5

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 4,569

Warnings: none

A/N: Let me just thank you for your support, it’s so heartwarming and I love you so much. I’m sorry this chapter is so long, I have no idea how that happened. I hope you enjoy this :’)

Wannabe sugar daddies, don’t interact with this post.

After you agreed to move in with Bucky and become a full time artist, everything started to move incredibly fast. The dinner went well, you worked out the details of your contract with Sam and Nat who didn’t seem surprised that this was happening.

You left your job almost overnight, only giving them two weeks’ notice. They easily found a new breakfast attendant and you even trained your replacement. You emptied your locker, returned your name tag and your master key, and went on your merry way.

Now you were on your way to Bucky’s apartment, a suitcase full of clothes between your legs and another full of administrative papers, beauty products and whatnot between Natasha’s legs. She had insisted on coming with you to help you get settled. You didn’t own furniture or anything that required her help so you figured she just wanted to make sure Bucky was treating you right.

He had already transferred your monthly allowance to your bank account, which prompted your bank to call you. They wanted to know where the 5 thousand dollars came from and you told them it was a gift. “If your friend’s looking for new friends give them my number, yeah?” the man on the phone told you.

The rocking motion of the train had a soothing effect on you, almost lulling you to sleep. You let your head fall against the window and played one of your favourite game –people watching.

There was a man reading a newspaper, standing with his feet apart as if the cart was one giant skateboard. A woman was putting on makeup, another was playing a game on her phone. The woman sitting next to you was wrestling with her toddler who wanted to snatch your scarf. It was a quiet day.

“Are we going to talk about it?” Natasha asked, her face as cold as stone.

“’Bout what?” you replied in a sleepy voice.

“About your crush on James.”

“I don’t have a crush on Bucky.”

As soon as the words passed your lips, a tiny, sticky hand landed on your jaw, making a wet slapping sound. You blinked hard, your eyes trained on Natasha who was now openly smiling at the toddler next to you.

“See? Even the baby knows you’re a liar,” she said, singing the last word.

You turned your head to look at the baby and saw him put his fist in his mouth, his eyes bright and wide. With a happy squeal he launched himself at you again, smacking you in the face. The mother apologized and held her child against her chest, softly admonishing him to stop throwing himself at strangers. You felt that. He spent the rest of the ride looking at you.

“So, really, you’re going to move in with a man you have a massive crush on, and we’re not even going to talk about it,” she pressed on.

You huffed, wiping baby goo from your cheek with your sleeve. “You’re like a dog with a bone.”

“And you’re the bone.”

You got off the train and walked to Bucky’s apartment, your suitcase rolling behind you. Natasha was silent next to you, something that almost never happened. You counted your steps in your head, waiting for her to speak.

“You didn’t have to move out of my apartment.”

22 steps. That’s how long Natasha managed to stay quiet for. “Of course, I had to. I’m not going to do Brooklyn-Chelsea every day.”

When Bucky had offered his guest bedroom, your first reaction had been to politely refuse. Bucky seemed like a nice guy, but what if he had a glass cage in his basement? What if he trapped you there and commissioned paintings to you? Psycho killer, qu'est ce que c'est.

Then he opened up about his past, his insecurities, and it made you long to hold him. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, the kind that only come from an unprotected heart. You realized there was more chance of you hurting him than the opposite.

“You’re the one who organized this whole thing,” you reminded Natasha.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you had a crush on him. And if someone tells Okoye this was my idea, she’ll kill me.”

You turned to her with a not-sorry smile. “Yup.”

Your big sister was like most big sisters: extremely protective. When your mother had to work late, she was in charge and she took her role very seriously. You were nine when she finally got her driver’s licence, and that day she graduated from sister to mother. Eat your vegetables. Did you do your homework? I know you didn’t brush your teeth.

Okoye was loyal, protective, intimidating, and never afraid to speak her mind. When she decided to join the Dora Milaje, you thought the job was perfect for her –the king’s bodyguard, now that’s something you’d like to put on your resume.

“Do you want me to stay tonight?” Natasha asked as you got inside the elevator.

“Why are you so worried?”

“I don’t know.” She pressed her back against the wall and shrugged. “It’s always been you and me. Since first grade.”

You returned her sad smile with one of your own. “Heckle and Jeckle.”

She barked out a laugh at the memory. It was the nickname her father had for the two of you. It used to be a popular animated cartoon in the 50s. It was the story of two talking magpies who were always getting into some kind of trouble.

You stepped out of the elevator, still arguing about which one of you got to be Jeckle, the less problematic of the two, when you noticed that Bucky was patiently waiting for you by the front door. He didn’t say anything but there was an amused smile on his face.

He let you put your suitcases in the guest room near the kitchen and told you that he had to run a few errands, giving you a little privacy. Natasha hung up your clothes in the wardrobe while you unpacked your other stuff and put them away in the drawers of your dresser.

It didn’t take you long to unpack. When you were done, you threw yourself onto the bed, watching Natasha. You were excited to sleep in a real bed, you couldn’t stop running your hands up and down the comforter.

“Jeckle,” Natasha said, looking at the mostly empty wardrobe. “You need new clothes.”

“Ugh, yes,” you groaned from the bed.

When you were a teenager, you used to spend every weekend at the mall with your sisters and Natasha. Your wardrobe wasn’t big enough to fit all your clothes and your mother often asked you to get rid of the things you didn’t wear anymore. You never did.

Then life happened, and you didn’t have the energy or money to go shopping anymore.

You went to the kitchen to grab something to drink. Bucky’s fridge was even bigger than the one you had at work, and it was full of food in neatly labelled rows of Tupperware containers. The one in front of you was labelled ‘baby carrots’.

“Neat freak alert,” Natasha commented, peering over your shoulder into the refrigerator.

“Stop it.”

You took a bottle of water and sat at the kitchen island while Natasha continued investigating his kitchen. Bucky had several gadgets that few people had in their kitchen like a cutting board with suction cups on the bottom and nails on top to hold the food in place while slicing.

It was obvious that he liked to cook, and for some reason it made you smile. You pictured him cooking for one and your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. It was a sad mental image and you shook your head to get rid of it.

The front door opened and you lifted your head to see what Natasha was doing. She was holding Bucky’s meal plan, perusing it intensely. Bucky entered the room and greeted you with a smile before he made his way over to the fridge.

“Can I help you with anything?” he asked.

Natasha waved the meal plan in your direction mouthing ‘it’s laminated’ while Bucky retrieved a bottle of water for himself. You gestured wildly at her to put it back down.

“No, I’m good,” you replied with a slightly crazed smile. He looked between you and Natasha with a frown. “Natasha was about to leave.”

“Was I?” she replied, tilting her head.

“Yeah, you have stuff to do, remember?” You gave her a pointed stare.

“No.”

You widened your eyes at her and moved your head in the direction of the hallway that led to the front door. You tried to be discreet but you knew you weren’t fooling anyone. She watched you, unfazed.

Luckily, Bucky came to your rescue.

“Thank you for coming all the way out here, Natasha. Do you want me to call you a cab?” His tone left no room for discussion. You hid your grin behind your glass.

“That won’t be necessary,” she replied without looking at him.

You walked Natasha back to the front door and opened it. She glared at something over your shoulder and you turned to see if Bucky was there. He wasn’t.

“Wait, I forgot to tell him that if he hurts you I’ll kill him.”

You grabbed her by the shoulders when she tried to move past you. “I think he got the message. Thanks for coming with me. I’ll call you tonight.”

“You’d better,” she warned with a slow nod.

When you returned to the kitchen, it really dawned on you that you were alone with Bucky. He glanced up at you while he was going through his mail. You took your seat and nervously looked around the room. It was too quiet, you didn’t like it.

“I like your friend,” he said, grinning. “She seems very protective of you.”

“She is,” you sighed.

An uncomfortable and strangely melancholic silence hung between you. You were both afraid to say or do the wrong thing. You felt like you didn’t belong there; like a patch sewed on a worn out pair of jeans, mending holes.

“You ok?”

You looked up at him. “Yeah, I just feel a little awkward. I’m... not sure what you want me to do now.”

“Nothing,” he said, rounding the kitchen island to sit on the stool next to you. His eyebrows were pulled together in concern. “This is your home. You can do whatever you want.”

“It doesn’t really feel like my home.” You shrugged one shoulder. “It kinda feels like I just unloaded my crap in your guest room, which is exactly what happened.”

He observed you a moment. “Well, make it your home. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable here.”

“So,” you glanced at him sideways. “If I bought a few things to make this place more... homey, you wouldn’t be mad?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled up as his smile grew. “I’m begging you to make this place more homey. It’s really boring, isn’t it?” he said, looking around the kitchen with a comical frown.

You chuckled. “No, it’s not. Well, maybe a little.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” he said with a laugh.

Bucky watched you with his cheek in the palm of his hand. Your eyes were moving around the room, making mental notes of the things you wanted to add. He smiled, the sparkle was back in your eyes.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, straightening up.

He left the room for a second and came back with his hand hidden behind his back. You looked at him with a playfully suspicious frown as he approached you. You followed his movements closely, your frown deepening when he placed a little white box on the kitchen counter.

“Open it.”

You removed the lid and pulled out a set of keys, undoubtedly the keys to his apartment. The keychain was gleaming the light; a small silver angel that fit snugly in the palm of your hand.

You barely managed to croak out a thank you before you threw yourself at him, hugging him tight. His body tensed instantly and you were about to apologize when you felt his arm wrap around you.

You felt pressure build in your throat, a tingling sensation in your nose, and tried to hide your face in the crook of his neck. The last thing you wanted was for him to catch you crying over a set of keys. Though deep down it wasn’t about the keys, it was the accumulation of pent-up emotions and the realization that you were now completely free to follow your dreams.

You released him but he was still hanging on to you. Tight. His heart was beating fast against your chest. He was a lonely man craving human interaction. So you closed your eyes and rubbed your hands up and down his back –gently and out of sync. After a few long minutes, he untangled himself from you.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes. “C’mon, there’s something else I want to show you.”

“Another gift?” You sighed his name when you noted the guilty expression on his face. “It’s too much.”

“It’s a practical gift, hardly a gift at all.”

He took you upstairs to the room that was now your studio. The room hadn’t changed since your last visit, except for the easel placed in the centre. You entered slowly as if you were approaching a frightened mythological creature. You ran your fingers along the wood, your chest tight with the heft of your emotions.

You hadn’t seen one in a while, and now it was right in front of you, beckoning. “Show me how you feel,” the easel said. “Show the world what you’re made of.”

“Thank you so much,” you said, your voice soft.

“I thought it was the perfect housewarming gift for you.”

You turned to him and smiled. “It is. I already bought everything I need. Paint, knives, brushes, canvases... an easel. Sorry, I didn’t know you were going to buy me one. It’s good to have more than one though. Online shops are a bit impersonal.” You walked toward the door where he was waiting. “I miss the smell of art supply stores. It’s so intoxicating, it really gets the creative juices flowing.”

“What does it smell like?”

You closed your eyes and tried to concentrate. “It’s a mix of paint and paper, a woody pencil-sharpening smell mixed with chemicals and ash.”

“Sounds relaxing.”

“It’s heaven,” you said with a dreamy sigh.

Bucky gave you a fond smile and glanced at the keychain still in your hand. “So that’s where angels come from, uh?”

You laughed and pushed his good shoulder playfully. Ever since that fateful day when Bucky asked you out for coffee and you mistook his business date for a romantic date, you learned not to take the things he said too seriously. Bucky was a nice guy, a bit of a flirt sometimes, but his intentions were clear. He wanted a companion, not a girlfriend.

The rest of the afternoon went by in a flash, you went to your room and rearranged a few things while Bucky stayed in his office. At dinnertime you set the table while he finished cooking. You sat in front of a bowl of homemade soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.

After you had practically licked your bowl clean, Bucky leaned back in his chair and watched you with a grin. You felt a little embarrassed. You wiped your mouth with your napkin, trying to look a bit more well-mannered.

“It was really good,” you said.

“Thank you. I gotta say, I was tired of cooking for one. It’s not fun.” He put your empty bowl in his and carried them to the sink. You gathered up plates and utensils and followed him. “You’ll have to tell me what you don’t like.”

“As long as you don’t make me eat broccoli ice cream, I’m good.”

He laughed, remembering your conversation from a couple of week ago. “I don’t think I can stomach it either.” He handed you two small plates and two forks. “I bought a cake. I thought we could celebrate our first day together. Is it creepy? I can’t tell.”

“No, that’s a great idea!” you laughed. “You’re making me feel like it’s my birthday.”

You carried everything to the table while he opened the fridge and retrieved a large pink cardboard box. He balanced the box in his hand, a sharp knife sitting on top. “I’m surprised you didn’t bake it yourself,” you said, picking up the knife.

“Dessert isn’t my forte.” He opened the cardboard box, revealing a three-layer red velvet cake. “I’m too much of a perfectionist. I can make pretty decent pies but sponge cakes are hard to control when you only have one hand.”

“We can bake cakes together if you want. I’m clumsy as hell but I’m willing to learn.”

“That’d be nice,” he replied with a smile.

It was, without a doubt, the best cake you’d ever had in your life. It was incredibly light. The chocolate and vanilla burst in your mouth, mixing perfectly with the bitterness of the buttermilk.

“Red velvet is my favorite,” Bucky said, licking his fork. “Blueberry cheesecakes are good too. And Blackout cakes, umm, so good. Except fruitcakes,” he said, his mouth twisted into a downturned grimace. “Fruitcakes are the devil.”

“You’ve got quite the sweet tooth.”

“You have no idea,” he said, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

After a minute of silence, you said, “The last time I ate red velvet cake, my sister had put too much white vinegar. It was disgusting but we didn’t want to hurt her feelings so we ate all of it.”

Bucky chuckled. “How many siblings do you have?”

It was a standard get-to-know-you question and you knew he would ask it at some point. Yet, it made your guts twist in pain. It was a question you always dreaded because you didn’t have a clear answer to it. Should you leave Pietro out? He was gone but he was still your brother.

“I, uh,” you mumbled, staring down at your half-eaten slice of cake. “I’m not sure what the answer is.” He frowned at you, confused. “Do you... do you count the ones you lost?”

Understanding flashed in his eyes and he gave you a patient smile. “Yes, I do.”

You met his eyes and tried to smile, though you were pretty sure it looked more like a grimace. “I have four siblings then.” You took a forkful of cake and chewed slowly, allowing yourself a few seconds to clear your thoughts. Without success.

“I was adopted,” you revealed. His eyebrows rose in surprise but he let you continue. “We were all adopted. My mom lost her husband when she was young. They wanted to have a big family but they were too busy working. They both had very demanding jobs.”

“What did they do?”

“He was in the military, and she was the co-founder of an extra-governmental military counter-terrorism and intelligence agency.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Bucky chuckled.

“You should hear their name.” He gave you a ‘go ahead’ look. “It’s the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.”

You watched Bucky process the name, waiting for the moment realization would dawn on him. Then his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“S.H.I.E.L.D.? Your mom’s the co-founder of S.H.I.E.L.D.” He stared at you, his mouth wide open. “Your mom’s Peggy Carter!? Jesus Christ,” he sighed, shaking himself out of his stupor. “When we were kids, me, Stevie and a couple of other kids pretended to be secret agents working for S.H.I.E.L.D. We even had a name: the Howling Commandos.”

You screwed your eyes shut, a smile breaking across your face. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, embarrassment colouring his face. “I dunno why I’m telling you this. Please, don’t tell your mom.”

Your laughter died down, and you continued smiling at him. He was cute when he was flustered. You smothered that thought as soon as it materialized.

“I didn’t know she had adopted five kids.”

“Yeah, I guess her job as the co-founder of one the most important secret agency gave her the freedom to adopt without having to wait.”

“Do you get along with your siblings?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I mean, kinda. Scott, my older brother, is a few years younger than you. He’s really smart but he’s a big goof. He left for San Francisco when I was a kid. My sister, Okoye, left when I was 19. She’s King T’Chaka’s bodyguard.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” you chucked. “The twins are only three years older than me. We were really close, but then Pietro,” you took a small pause, “he, um, he died and, Wanda, she couldn’t stay anymore. It was too much, y’know. She went to Sokovia -where they were born- and she never came home. Last I heard, she was backpacking through Europe.”

“You still have your mom though,” Bucky said with a warm smile.

“She’s in London,” you said, smiling even though you had to dig your nails into your palm to keep yourself from crying. “She’s in a nursing home. She was diagnosed with a form of dementia, something similar to Alzheimer. She has no idea who I am.”

You tried to speak in a normal, detached tone but your voice wavered and you fought not to cry. Bucky reached for your hand, your nails had left half-moon indentations in your palm. Wordlessly, he smoothed his thumb over your palm, inspecting the damage.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice soft.

Until now it had never occurred to you that you had never said those things out loud before. Natasha knew because she’d been with you through all of it. She was your best friend, the only person who hadn’t abandoned you yet.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d met someone new, someone you felt comfortable enough to talk to about your family.

You didn’t want to end the day on a sad note, so you pulled yourself together. You straightened up, wiped your eyes and sniffed back the tingling feeling in your nose. Bucky seemed to notice that you wanted to change the subject because he let go of your hand and picked up his fork again.

“So,” you said after clearing your throat. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“It’s a serious question and it’s important that you tell me the truth.”

Bucky flinched, his throat working as he swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I promise.”

You took a deep breath and rotated your head left and right, working the kinks out of your neck and back. Then you levelled him with a direct stare.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

Bucky recoiled as if he had misheard you. He looked momentarily startled by your question before he burst into laughter. When your face remained stoic, he realized you weren’t joking. “Oh? Umm, I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He seemed lost in thought for a second. “I like blue.”

“Which blue? Navy? Tiffany blue? Sapphire? Baby blue? Teal? Duck-egg? Turquoise?” you enumerated them quickly.

“Just...blue?” he replied carefully. You took a deep breath and released it slowly, shaking your head. “No, wait,” he added in a hurry. His eyebrows pinched together in concentration while he was trying to come up with a better answer. “The color of the sky when a storm is brewing. That’s my favorite color.”

You smirked. “Poetic.”

“Well, I’m a writer,” he replied with a lopsided grin. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Oh no, you can’t ask me that. I’m a painter, it’s like asking a parent who their favourite child is.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded, waving his hand to dismiss the question. “Let me ask you an equally important question.”

“Oh, boy,” you laughed.

The warmth of his laughter was reassuring. It made you feel at ease, calm. What you hadn’t realized yet was that you weren’t trying to change your personality to please him. You were yourself, flaws and all.

“When you read a book, how do you keep track of your reading?” he asked. “Do you use a bookmark? Receipts? Candy wrappers? Book ribbon? Do you fold the corner of the page? Do you leave the book face down or memorize the page number? I need to know.”

You didn’t have to think about it. “Dog ears.”

“Oh, God, you’re a folder.” He stared up at the ceiling and sighed heavily. “I think I got you all wrong. You’re not an angel, you’re a little demon.” He pressed his lips together in a thin line to hide a smile.

He quickly gathered up the dirty plates and carried them to the sink while you remained seated at the table, laughing. You turned in your chair and saw him fill the sink with hot water and suds. What kind of millionaire doesn’t own a dishwasher?

“I bet you also write in ‘em,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a hint of a smirk.

“No, I would never,” you said, joining him at the sink. “I like books that look old though. Cracked spines, folded corners, tea or coffee stains.”

“Please, stop I’m going to hyperventilate,” he joked.

You chuckled. “Do you a have a towel?” you asked, giving him a little tap with your hip so he would scoot sideways.

He let go of the knife he was washing and pulled out a towel from the cabinet under the sink. You were a bit in awe of the way he cleaned everything with only one hand but you didn’t want to sound condescending so you kept it to yourself.

“What’s the point of having books if they look like nobody’s ever opened them?” you said. “I want to know my books had a good life before I bought them. I want to know they were loved. Sometimes when you love something, you mess it up a little.” He rinsed a plate and handed it to you. “I bet you have one of those sentence pointer bookmarks.”

He stayed quiet for a moment and you cursed yourself, thinking you might have hurt his feelings with your little teasing. His meal plan was fucking laminated, of course he had a sentence pointer bookmark. When he spoke, you felt like you could breathe again.

“I do have a bookmark. My niece made it for me at school. It’s pink and it has a braided pink and purple ribbon. No sentence pointer.”

His rueful smile and slightly red cheeks made your chest warm. You had to remind yourself that Bucky wasn’t flirting with you. He was just being nice.

“I’m jealous,” you said. “I wish I had one.”

“That can be arranged,” he nodded, his bottom lip jutting out in a pensive pout.

You wondered what this would look like if someone were to enter the room right now. They’d see you and Bucky, standing side by side at the sink as though you were the protagonists of a Norman Rockwell painting called ‘Domestic Bliss’. You wanted more days like this one.

“Yeah?” you breathed out. “You sure?”

“Anything for you, angel.”

Part 6

1K notes · View notes

redgillan · 5 years ago

Text

Under Pastel Skies - 1

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2,183

Warnings: none

A/N: This is brand new and probably one of the softest series I’ve ever written. I hope you enjoy it, these two are going to fall in love so hard!

“I don’t feel good.”

You started rocking back and forth, your breathing coming too fast and too shallow. A drop of sweat rolled down from your armpit, making you hyperaware of the fact that you were looking like a mess. You pressed the back of your hand to your forehead and groaned; your hairline was wet.

Looking at your dress, you felt bile rise up in your throat.

You should have worn the blue dress. Blue was a nice colour, everyone loved blue. Blue made people calm and at ease. No, instead, you had taken Natasha’s advice and put on the tight orange-red dress that clung to your body and made your breasts look incredible.

But now the dress stuck uncomfortably to your body, the space between your breasts was wet and glistening. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t think. Red was the colour of passion, of anger and danger, and you just had to deal with your poor life decision.

Although deep down, you knew it wasn’t about the dress, or its colour.

“Relax,” Natasha said, sipping her lemonade. “I’m here, it’s going to be fine.”

“I am not fucking relaxed, Nat,” you repeated with a scoff. “I’m at a bar, about to meet a potential sugar daddy; that’s not what normal people do on a Friday night.”

“You’d be surprised,” she sassed. You gave her an unimpressed look. “Look, you can live with me for as long as you like, and you can work odd shifts at the hotel for the rest of your life if that’s what you want. But I know you, you’re an artist, and artists need freedom and benefactors. Sam is the reason I finished paying my tuition. You can call him my sugar daddy, but I prefer the word scholarship.”

Yeah, it was only a matter of perspective –and vocabulary. Some may call this whole thing brilliant, others stupid. You weren’t quite sure what to think yet.

“And this guy’s legit?” you asked for the nth time.

“Yes, Sam says he’s a great guy; sweet, handsome, thoughtful. He’s the whole package.”

“Mmmh.”

You eyed the pair of napkins the waiter had placed on the table along with your drinks, and wondered if it would be appropriate to stick them under your armpits to sop up the sweat trickling down your sides.

“Oh, fuck it,” you grumbled, reaching for the napkins.

You patted your armpits dry while you anxiously scanned the growing crowd. It was a high end bar, definitely not your usual hang out spot. The patrons were dressed in designer clothes and wore jewellery that cost more than your three years of art classes at the School of Visual Arts.

“Do we really have to stay sober?”

Natasha cocked a brow at you. “You don’t drink.”

You only groaned in response.

“I know how you’re feeling, I’ve been there, too,” she replied. “It’ll be like a normal first date. You’ll get to know each other, see if you guys hit it off, and if everything goes well you’ll talk about the arrangement. You can’t give consent if you’re under the influence of alcohol, so drink your lemonade and stop fussing, yeah?”

Like an obedient child, you brought the bent straw to your lips and took a quick sip of the icy refreshment. You toyed with the straw and watched the ice cubes slowly shrink. It was strangely soothing.

“They’re here.”

And just like that, your panic returned full force. You snapped your head up and tried to smile when you saw Sam approaching your table. You set your drink down on the coffee table and wiped your clammy hands on your dress.

Natasha stood up and gave Sam a kiss. While she wiped off a smudge of lipstick she had left on his upper lip, you glanced at the man behind Sam.

He was tall, muscular, and had a mysterious air about him. He was dressed casually, in black jeans and white t-shirt with a maroon bomber jacket that suited his pale complexion. The left sleeve of his jacket was tucked inside, empty.

Even without being an expert in behaviour analysis, you could tell he felt uncomfortable. He bowed his head to hide his face and kept looking around as if someone was going to attack him or as if he wanted to know where the nearest exit was.

Sam whispered something in the man’s ear and clapped him on the back before he turned to you.

“Okay, we’ll let you guys get to know each other.” Natasha looped her arm through Sam’s, and gave you an encouraging smile. You heard Sam whispering to his friend again. “Buck, seriously, you look like someone shoved a broomstick up your ass. Relax, man.”

“We’ll be over at the bar if you need anything.”

She gave you a thumbs-up as Sam led her across the crowd, toward the bar. With an authoritative look, Sam pointed to the seat across from yours and mouthed ‘sit’ at his friend who rolled his eyes and ground his teeth in response.

“Hi,” you started, trying to sound cheerful but the slight tremble in your voice gave you away.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he cut you off, “you seem like a nice girl but I’m not looking for anyone, least of all a sugar baby. I told Sam it was a stupid idea, but he never listens. This has nothing to do with you, I’m sure you’re great. I’m really sorry, I hope you’re not disappointed.”

He had barely made eye contact with you during his long-winded speech but you did notice that they were blue. Now that you knew this wasn’t going anywhere, your shoulders lowered and you felt yourself smiling.

“Of course, I understand. I wasn’t particularly thrilled, too. No offense.”

He bent his head and ran a hand through his hair, his lips curved up in a soft smile. “Is your friend as meddling as mine?”

You let out a loud laugh, your eyes widening. “More! If meddling were an Olympic sport, Nat would have more medals than Michael Phelps.”

His shoulders shook in a soundless chuckle but he still wasn’t looking at you. “So why’d you agree?”

You took your glass of lemonade and played with the straw while you searched for an answer that wouldn’t sound too desperate or dramatic. You majestically failed.

“I guess I felt like I had nothing to lose.” You shrugged. “It’s like when you’re standing on the edge of a cliff and you only have two options; jumping off the cliff or getting eaten by a pack of wolves,” you said, checking them off on your fingers as you enumerated them. “You have to choose the lesser of two evils.”

He frowned, a curious glint in his eyes and a hint of a smile curved his lips. Your eyes widened when you realized you might have offended him.

“Not that I think you’re evil,” you rushed to add. “What I meant to say is that sometimes you don’t really have a choice. And when you have no other option but to jump, well... your chances are infinite. Anything can happen.”

He slowly raised his eyes to meet yours, a form of understanding in the depth of his icy blue eyes. He was truly handsome; a little older than the men you usually went out with, but he had kind eyes and very, very nice lips. You looked away, feeling a little foolish.

“Wow, I’m fun at parties, uh? Guess you dodged a bullet,” you laughed, cringing a little as you said it.

He returned a tight smile, loaded with something sad. He looked at you a moment longer and you held your breath, suddenly hoping he would stay and chat. A solemn expression crossed his face and he seemed to go through some kind of inner struggle before he reached a decision.

“It was nice meeting you,” he said, shaking your hand before wishing you goodnight. You watched him leave the bar, his shoulders hunched forward, looking as tense as he did when he entered.

That tiny flicker of hope left with him.

“Hey!” Sam called out, a deep frown on his face as he approached you. “Where is he going?”

“It didn’t work out,” you answered with a shrug.

Sam deflated. “I bet he didn’t even try.”

“Does it really matter?” you replied, shrugging into your coat, something way too thin for the changing weather. “He’s not ready, and honestly, you can’t blame him. This sugar daddy-baby thing isn’t for everyone.”

“I know that,” Sam argued, blowing out a frustrated breath. He turned to Natasha, silently pleading with her to understand, but she was as clueless as you were.

There were lots of reasons Sam wanted Bucky to meet you, and none of them included sex. It was difficult to explain his motivations without betraying his friend’s trust; without telling you too much about Bucky.

“I’m not trying to find him a girlfriend,” Sam continued. “He needs more friends, and he has connections to help you in the art world. I thought you two could help each other out.”

You wrapped your scarf around your neck and grabbed the backpack you had shoved under your seat. It contained your work uniform, clean underwear, toiletries, a bottle of water, your wallet, and a couple of granola bars. Your whole life was in that backpack.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” you said, adjusting the trap of your bag. “I guess it wasn’t meant to be.” You turned to Nat. “I’m going to stay at the hotel tonight, my shift starts at 6 so you’ll have the apartment to yourself.”

Without waiting for an answer, you disappeared into the crowd and headed for the door. Outside the wind was blowing, the cold air biting at your face and bare legs. You took a deep breath, watching as the cold air turned your breath into white smoke.

People were milling about, taking pictures of the skyscrapers, walking hand-in-hand and marvelling at pretty much anything. New York was full of contradictions; kind and hard, smooth and rough, poor and rich. It was exciting to live here, it was exciting to see how people lived together despite their differences. For an artist such as yourself, it was a gold mine of infinite inspiration.

In front of you, a taxi drove closer to the curb, then slowed as a man stepped onto the street and opened the door. He looked over his shoulder and saw you standing there. Sam’s friend smiled at you.

He noticed your light coat, your backpack and your scuffed ankle boots. It was hard to believe that under your coat, you were wearing a sexy little number. He imagined that this was more your style, and he liked it. It was fresh, laidback, casual. He could even see a few drops of paint on the toe of your boots, a smattering of orange and blue.

“Hi, again,” he said. “Wanna share a cab?”

You nodded eagerly, your face half buried in your scarf. You were positively freezing, you didn’t even think twice about following him. He let you climb in first and jumped in after you, angling his body to hide his missing arm.

You gave the driver the address of a Holiday Inn in the Flatiron District and sank into the seat. It dawned on you that you didn’t even know his name. Sam had called him Buck, but you were pretty sure it was one of those nicknames only long-time friends are allowed to use.

“Bucky,” he said with a genuine smile after you told him your name. “I’m sorry I ruined your evening. How long are you going to stay in town?”

“No worries, you didn’t ruin anything. And I live in New York. I live with Natasha.”

“Aren’t we going to a hotel?” Bucky asked, looking out the window with a frown.

“Yup, I work there. Breakfast attendant. I figured Sam and Nat would like some privacy and sometimes my co-worker at the front desk let me borrow a room for the night.”

The car pulled to a stop at the curb and you reached into the front pocket of your backpack to retrieve your wallet. Bucky stopped you.

“Please, let me pay,” he said. “As a sorry for dragging you to a bar and leaving without even telling you my name.”

“Ouch, yes, when you put it like that it wasn’t a great night,” you said with a crooked smile. He responded with an exaggerated cringe. It made you laugh. “Hey, it wasn’t you who dragged me to a bar, it was Sam. You can always tell him to pay you back.”

His eyes brightened. “I definitely will.”

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you giggled, closing the door behind you. You walked up to the big automatic doors and waved goodbye one last time.

“’Night, angel.”

Bucky asked the driver to wait until you were safe inside before driving away. As he watched you, he thought back to what you had said earlier.

Your chances are infinite. Anything can happen.

This time, it made him smile.

part 2

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