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bucky-bucket-barnes · 3 years ago

Text

beautiful boy

Summary: You never pictured a lifetime where Bucky wasn’t there. Suddenly, a war breaks loose and it appears you two would be torn apart by space and eventually time. But James Buchanan Barnes always keeps his promises; he will always find his way home to you. (gif by @1038276637)

Pairing: 40s!bucky x artist!reader

Warnings: major angst, slow burn, depictions of violence, fluff, verbal arguments swearing, heavy mentions of war, brief mention of vomit, and major character death

Word Count: 10.3k

a/n: I cried writing this, you might cry reading this. Enjoy.

It was one of those winter days, the kind you could fall in love on.

It was that smile. That damned smile. Most people were charmed by his sweet sapphire eyes, but the treasure lay further down his olive face. It was the way the corners of his mouth would turn upwards, a Cheshire cat grin spreading seamlessly. The slight crinkle by his eyes accompanied by the scrunch of a strong nose. Each time he allowed his teeth to twinkle, the angels must have sighed with rapture. If The Starry Night took twelve months to paint, each stroke so poignant, so passionate, surely James Buchanan Barnes must have taken a millennium to sculpt.

December 31, 1940. Bucky had come over for what was supposed to be a casual New Year’s celebration. The modest amounts of liquor poured said we did it, we made it through. The life of the starving artist in New York was a less than glamorous one to say the least, but it was all you had come to know and love. The leaky faucet cried at night and the paint that peeled from the wall, in an attempt to run away from its own likeness, were a reminder of how beautifully imperfect life was. Even the broken heater added its own charm to the place.

“What do you suppose you’ll do in the New Year, Buck?” you asked, fingers rimming your glass of celebratory champagne you most definitely couldn’t afford. The lap of luxury was a nice place to sit, even if temporary.

“Maybe find me a nice girl, settle down.” His lips met at the cup, taking a swig of the alcohol. Premature to midnight by ten minutes, but Bucky was never one to abide much by anyone else’s rules anyways.

A laugh of disbelief floated from your lips, rolling your eyes playfully at your friend. “Hell will freeze over when you learn to settle down.”

“Your unwavering optimism is sincere as always.” He smiled. You melted. The heat of your coat suddenly becoming a suffocating layer to shed, despite the frigid air.

“I’m serious,” you lulled, pulling your cup closer to your lips, needing the aid of some liquid courage. The air became solemn around you two. Serious. The world had unraveled into a much too dreadful mess recently. The blanket that sat on your laps lost its sense of comfort, no longer providing the warmth your legs needed. He was the perfect man. Strong shoulders and a confident wink always linger under his sly demeanor. It wasn’t hard to see why he had girls swooning as he passed by, heads turning and hands waving playful as they giggled at their flirtatious comments. The war in Europe had continued raging on, the radios growing more and more anxious about the inevitable involvement of the United States. You glanced over at your friend again. Truly, he was the perfect man. The kind the U.S. would happily send off to die. Heart lurching in your chest, you studied Bucky’s thoughtful contemplation as he looked back at you. “As long as I got you, I think I’ll be just fine,” he promised, flashing a bright smile in your direction. Even in the dim light, you swore you caught a glint in his eyes. 12:00 A.M. January 1, 1941. Cheers sounded off from the streets below, people delighted in the cold of New York, much too inebriated to mind the chill that nipped at their fingers. The sound of celebration hummed through the hallway from neighboring apartments, the walls too thin to conceal their volume. In all honesty, neither of you minded the added company of song as you clinked your glasses together. The champagne tasted sharp as it slid down your throat before creating a warm sensation at the bottom of your stomach. It helped to ease the fluttering of your heart, even if ever so slightly. Bucky was supposed to have left earlier in the evening. It wasn’t proper to have a single man at your place so late into the night, but it was hard to deny the appeal of his company. Each time Bucky said he would be leaving soon, he always faltered in his promise, finding any excuse to linger just a bit longer. He much preferred the comfort of your cozy apartment to the weather of a winter night. So there you both remained, soaking in the other's company as the alcohol soaked into your veins. “Can I confess something?” you spoke softly, a little dizzy with delight. “Now what’s that, doll?” He inched further to you, happy to appease your appetite for confession. He was more than ready to drink up your words, like how you’d swallow down a cup of warm cocoa during a winter storm. Becoming a little shy, you shook your head lightly. “I’ve had too much to drink, I think,” you confessed, bashfully laughing off your wandering mind. “I’ll listen if you tell me,” he reassured, taking a light finger under your chin to turn your face towards his again. A sincere grin was painted on his face, beckoning for the truth. You had no choice but to concede. “It’s silly, but I’ve never had a New Year’s kiss.” “How about we change that?” His eyebrow quirked as his lips curled into a devilish smile. He was as beautiful as he was mischievous. Your friendship remained strong throughout the years because of your unrelenting resistance to his charms. As the New York snow speckled the ground outside and his hazy eyes traveled to your lips, he was becoming harder to deny. “I’m not one of your throw away girls, Barnes,” you warned lightly. Your words were firm, yet your eyes couldn’t help but linger at his pink lips, soft to the touch and inviting in demeanor. “Never said you were,” he promised, leaning in slowly. As he pressed his lips to yours, your eyes shut involuntary in delight. He was slow and passionate in his pursuit against your mouth. A gentle hand cupped the back of your neck, kiss deepening. The closer he got, the better you could smell the aroma of warm oak and fire he emitted. It was a kiss, one simple kiss. It shouldn’t have shot sparks down your spine and spread heat onto your lips, but it did. It was a drunk mishap, but it was electrifying. The tension that was years in the making, shy glances, teasing smiles, all exploding in pleasure

for that one moment. He pulled back ever so slightly to whisper against your lips a simple, “Happy New Year’s, beautiful.” “Happy New Year’s, Buck,” you answered, breath shuddering against his lingering touch. Bucky remained at your place that night. Snuggled up against his chest, you two talked on the couch, droning on about whatever you saw fit to converse about. The clock had struck three before you finally drifted off, eyes giving into much needed sleep. Bucky would never tell you, but one of his favorite memories of you was that moment. The peace on your face as you rested your head on his chest, rising and falling with his breath. The moonlight caught on your skin, painting a picture Bucky could never forget. Not forever, anyways. - The summer of 1941 was a gorgeous one, a blue sky painted above the city streets, the asphalt humming with heat. With the many spoils of your Christmas art supplies, you had taken up more passion projects. Most of your work went off to other people, now situated above fireplaces, other paintings stored in a damp basement, but this one was for your pleasure solely. Clumsily pushing back your furniture, you created a temporary clearing in your apartment before Bucky came over. Right next to your window, remained an empty spot, only a lonesome wooden chair occupying the previous cluttered space, a white wall as the sole backdrop. The sun hit your little corner perfectly, golden beams streaming in gracefully. The moment Bucky walked through the door, you ushered him in the exact position you wanted him to be in, exchanging giddy but brief hellos. You had planned this day for weeks, your previous meetings being ruined by a stubborn cloud or unexpected late shift at the diner. There he was now, perched on the chair. You opted to face it backwards, so that his legs could straddle around the sides, his arms lazily draped its top rail. One hand gently propped up his face, lightly covered in a fresh layer of stubble. Your hands deftly working against your fresh canvas, you ever so lightly penciling the outline of Bucky’s form for the next fifteen minutes. As you studied him carefully, he admired you back. He seized the moment to memorize the knot that formed in your eyebrows when you concentrated, the mindless gnaw at your bottom lip that occurred when you were in a deep trance. Though Bucky remained the perfect model, something was off. You squinted at your rough sketch in disillusionment, not quite sure what was missing. “Everything good over there?” Bucky chimed, seeing your face twist in contemplation. You returned his question with a distant nod. “Yeah, something just feels stiff. I’m not sure what it is, though.” Bucky’s newly pressed shirt didn’t hint at a single echo of a wrinkle. His hair was poignantly slicked back, bringing out the sharper features on his face. Prim and proper, he looked like he should be strolling down Wall Street, leather briefcase in hand, rather than be cramped inside your crappy apartment, half finished art projects scattered about, the smell of stale paint always pervading no matter how much you aired the place out. Getting up from your wooden stool, you approached Bucky closer. He looked handsome, no doubt, but he didn’t feel like Bucky. The Bucky you wanted to preserve in this piece was messy and vibrant, not a stuffy businessman. “May I?” you requested, reaching for his face. “You’re the one in charge, boss,” he answered, waiting for you to shift him into another position. Instead of making him move entirely, you made minute changes to his appearance. You first started by running a gentle hand through his hair. After messing with his chocolate locks for a moment, you pulled back, left hand already missing the feel of his scalp against your fingertips. He made no comment, only allowing you to work, eyes traveling about as you continued on. Without a second thought, you reached for his collar, quietly undoing the top button of his shirt before deciding to ruffle the fabric a bit. The navy tie that was situated around his neck was soon

discarded to the side, left to collect dust on a nearby shelf. “If you were just going to take my clothes off, I wouldn’t have spent so much time tidying up,” Bucky commented, dryly, a smile swimming within his cerulean eyes. “Hush,” you scolded playfully, giving into temptation to run your hand through his hair once more, “It’s much better like this.” In your mock scornfulness, Bucky could feel himself falling faster. It took an embarrassing amount of willpower not to leap from his seated position and pepper a constellation of kisses along your collarbone. You bantered back and forth all the time, but something about this August day felt sweeter. It was the kind of distant memory that’d cross your mind in old age, much crisper than the others for no particular reason. Satisfied with your work, you went back to your seat, now greeted with the image of the Bucky you had grown to know and love. For a brief moment, the sun seemed to catch against his skin just right. Memories from your younger years came flooding back, a much smaller Bucky chasing in behind you in a childish game of tag. You weaved about the streets, dodging mothers with baby carriages, hoping past the occasional dog. Bucky and you still remained matched in height at that age, your nimble bodies carrying you at similar speeds. Surely you would’ve out run him if it weren’t for the pesky cracks in the sidewalk, causing you to trip and fall over gracelessly on the concrete sidewalk. The fresh pair of stockings you had laid out the night before were now soaking in velvet, tearing from the friction. Your hands instinctively reached for your bloodied knee, cradling your fresh wound in your hand. “Gotcha- geez, what happened,” Bucky huffed, stopping in his tracks. His previous excitement of catching up to you was quickly replaced with confusion as you know sat on the ground. “Nothing!” you snapped, tears swelling at your eyes. Your focus sharpened on your flesh wound, embarrassed at your slip up. “C’mon, let me see,” he edged on, approaching you. “I’m fine,” you scoffed, wiping the build up of tears that had amassed at your eyes. Ignoring your snappy remarks, he approached, noting the small tear in your knee. “You’re bleeding,” he spoke softly, kneeling down next to you. You made no comment back, heat rising in your cheeks as he studied you closer. “It’s. . . it’s okay. My lil’ sis sometimes scrapes up her knees when she’s playing.” He reached out his small palm towards your direction. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” “You don’t think I’m a cry baby?” you asked, holding back your incoming sobs. He was not going to see you cry, not if you could help it. “Why do you care so much anyways,” you sniffled indignantly. “Because I’m supposed to take care of you. Now c’mon before Steve catches up and sees you blubbering.” You can’t help the little giggle that erupts from your mouth. He was teasing you, but it was easy to see he was being kind, soft. Peering up, you saw his hand, still out stretched to aid you up. Even through clouded vision you could see the sincerity that peaked through his boyish eyes. Swallowing your pride, you got up, walking hand in hand with Bucky back to his apartment so his mom could bandage up your knee. “Are you still with me, dollface?” Bucky interrupted, breaking your temporary trance for the present. “Yeah,” you smiled warmly, “I’m with you.” You returned back to your work, gathering a smorgasbord of different acrylic paints you had messily stored in your many drawers, gathering as many tubes of paint your hands could carry back to your station. Due to the nature of your concentrative state, you both remained quiet, the only company being the buzz of city life outside, an occasional bird passing by your window with a song. It was quiet, but it was more enjoyable for both parties. “What’ll you call it?” Bucky chimed in, an hour of silence drifting by. “Stunning Young Man in Thought? Maybe The Most Stunning Young Man in Thought?,” he teased lightly. “I already have a name, wise guy,” you mumbled, studying your canvas with

intense concentration. “Is that so, Picasso?” “Yes. It’s called Beautiful Boy,” you answered plainly, hoping he couldn’t sense the somersaults your stomach was doing. To be honest, you had little intention of telling him the piece’s name, but it was hard to deny him the answer he sought. You expected a sarcastic comment or a snarky remark of some kind from Bucky’s direction. None of that happened as he remained in silence, sitting in the sunlight. “Nothing to say?” you half teased, peeking up curiously from your project to look over at Bucky for a prolonged moment. The sunlight coated against his skin in a golden fashion, beams reflecting off his eyelashes. He remained in the same place you had positioned him with all the same as before except for one thing; his smile. It wasn’t the boastful, toothy grin he’d usually flash your way. This kind was different. He was grinning as if he were drunk off the light he bathed in. He was meek as ever while he stared back at you, eyes heading straight for your soul. “You think I’m beautiful?” He couldn’t conceal the endearment that carried in his tone. His tone was soft, fearful he would break the moment in half by speaking too loud. “Oh, hush,” you laughed, “It’s silly, I know-” “It’s perfect,” he corrected lightly. And for a moment, everything really was perfect. - You could have choked Bucky right where he stood. Needy fingers wrapped around his neck, forcing the air out of him with an angry cry. You could have hollered at him until his ears gave out, shouting until your vocal chords ran dry, bloodied and exhausted from your endless pursuit to reprimand Bucky. An amalgamation of all the rage and resentment you had ever pushed down was now boiling over as you glared back at him. You didn't yell, you didn’t fight. You were only left standing, simmering in your own fury. “Don’t lie to me, Bucky.” This was the sole line your heart could manage. He stood right outside your door, a modest bouquet of flowers in his left hand, a new set of paint brushes in his right. Snowflakes were still caught in the swirls of his chestnut brown hair, nose bitten red by the cold outside. Just last December, you were toasting to a better year together, naïve in your own pursuit of temporary happiness. Now a year later, December 1941, you could barely recognize the two people who had once occupied your apartment, warm with alcohol and each others’ company. “I never have,” he soothed, a sorry look in his eyes. “Then, please, don’t start now.” Your hand remained firm around the door knob. Temptation almost getting the better of you, you contemplated slamming the wooden frame on his face. “It’s just that, Steve-” “I’m not, Steve,” you interrupted, voice barely able to float above a whisper. “You may have him fooled, but you can’t lie to me, Buck.” He could taste the venom on your tongue. “I know,” he sighed, “I know.” It was his vice. Bucky could sweet talk just about any girl out of their good Sunday Church clothes. He could even persuade the local butcher down a nickel if he felt up to it. His lips somehow knew how to run in magic circles, earning whatever he wanted with his sweet words. But he couldn’t lie. Not to you, at the very least. “I was drafted.” Three words. It took a mere three words to send your world crashing down in an instant. “Oh, Buck,” you sobbed quietly, letting your sorrow getting the better of you. You had known that the moment he told you he enlisted. It wasn’t like him to leave his friends behind, leave his mother, leave his little siblings, leave you. You gave in, moving forward into Bucky and embracing him tightly. If fate would have it, you could have sunk into his chest right then and there, forever intertwined with your favorite person. He dropped the flowers and brushes to the floor, needing to hold you as close as possible to his heart. He embraced back, not knowing what else there was to do. He ached for nothing more than the words that could console you in that moment, to unbreak your shattered heart. He would pick the pieces up, bare handed and

bloodied knuckled if it meant you’d smile at him just once more. “They’re going to take you from me, Buck.” Your tears burnt holes in his chest, an anguished shake pervading your voice. “Nobody’s taking me away from you. They couldn’t if they tried. I’m always going to find my way back to you, love.” “It just isn’t fair, Buck.” It was like he wasn’t even standing in the same room with you anymore. His arms may have been wrapped around your body, but you found little comfort in his ever fleeting presence. You wanted to recite his names a million times more, scared your tongue would forget how it felt to call out for him once he left your sight. The words Bucky, Bucky, my sweet Bucky spilled off your lips like a fresh stain from a glass of broken red wine. Your bones were already beginning to mourn a loss you hadn’t experienced yet, brittle with distress. If Bucky wasn’t holding onto you so tightly, you would have spilled into a puddle of your own self pity, left to wash away with time. Bucky’s skin was cold, the kind of frigid temperature you’d only expect from a corpse. You were afraid if you pulled away he might begin to decay before your very eyes, withering away to circumstance before some stranger gunned him down in cold blood. “We’ll figure it out, okay?” He pulled back from your hug, taking the opportunity to look you in the teary eyes. “I’m supposed to take care of you and that’s what I’m going to do. It’s the only thing I know how to do, doll.” He offered you a sympathetic smile, wiping your endless stream of tears with a gentle thumb. “But who’s going to take care of you, Buck?” You cupped a shaky hand around his face, feeling the stubble against your palm and shuddering. This could be one of the last times you ever felt it. “Don’t you worry about that,” he cooed, “We’ll be just alright. I’ll always come home to you. That’s a promise.” You nodded your head silently, tears still streaming down your face, willing to take his word for the moment. It was all you had, and for a second, all you needed to hear. - You never considered yourself much of a writer. It wasn’t until Bucky went off to train at Camp McCoy that you took up drafting letters in your spare time, elated when you were able to send another one his way. Each week, you’d scramble through the mail, hungry for another letter from Bucky. Picking up the yellowed envelopes with careful hands, you would feast on his words for the night. It was the kind of hunger that would never be satiated, desperate for another letter, even sentence, once you finished the last one. You wrote to him religiously, hoping your sweet confessions were enough to occupy a space in his mind. For a year and a half, this exchange went back and forth with Bucky. He moved from his humble training base in Wisconsin to what seemed like all across the world. He had traveled to places you had never even heard of, described architecture your wildest imagination couldn’t fathom, wrote of traditions and songs you had never become familiar with. Some letters were pages long, detailing the most mundane of tasks, other short, brief. There were some things he couldn’t share, some things he didn’t want you to know he had seen. All letters were holy objects in their own right, but your favorite one remained tucked in your vanity mirror. It was the first thing you saw when you got ready in the morning and the last thing you saw before turning off your lights for the night. It was cruel to do such a thing to yourself, a sharp pang of homesickness shooting through your core each time you saw his signature, but it helped in a sadistic way. It helped to know he was missing you as much as you were yearning for him. My Dearest Y/N, I feel like a madman counting down the days until I can see you again. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it a million times more, but I miss you. I miss us. I get to go home for a few days in June. How lucky am I? I get to return to the prettiest girl in all of New York City. I’ve got plenty of lost time to make up for, so I’ll have to spoil you rotten - it’s

only fair. Do you still remember my voice, my love? I’ve changed in many ways. It’s been over a year. I may have changed, but my voice is always the same when I beckon for you in my dreams. It’s alright if you have forgotten mine, I’ll be there soon enough to remind you what it’s like. I couldn’t forget yours, not even if I tried. The photo you sent me a few months back hasn’t left my side. The edges have begun to wear out, but I don’t need a picture to remember what the sun looks like. And, hey, if you’re ever missing me too much, remember we’re still sharing the same moon. Isn’t that kind of romantic? Thousands of miles apart, and we still fall asleep under the same night sky. Soon enough, we’ll be waking up together, sharing our days together. Until then, doll, I send my best. I can’t wait to see my beautiful, beautiful girl again. Love, Your Bucky - The June of 1943 was a bittersweet one. Bucky was in New York City for the week, and ecstatic could not begin to describe the feeling that rang through your chest. Soon, you understood why the birds started everyday with a song, tempted to join them in their morning ritual of rejoicing. You got dolled up for the seventh and final time that week. Slipping on your good dancing heels, you put on your favorite outing dress. As a special touch, you lathered on a bright red lipstick, hoping the prints from your kisses would litter Bucky’s face. Everywhere you would go, all were to know he was yours at last. This week had been perfect. You spent as much time together as you could, arm always looped with Bucky’s. There was no errand to mundane or task too large for Bucky, he wanted to follow you everywhere, a second shadow to keep you company. Despite this, though, it didn’t feel perfect. Though the rose colored glasses hadn’t disappeared, they were slowly slipping down your nose bridge. Your hands were much too full to push them back up your face, leaving you with the nasty realization that this week wasn’t as wonderful as it was supposed to be. Bucky was different. Of course, he was. He had grown into a full fledged man, now a sergeant in the military. The shoulders you would trace your fingertips over were much broader than before. The boyish gleam in his eyes was replaced with a much more mature confidence. Physically, he was different, but in other ways he had shifted. When his hands would find their way to your hips, there was a new distance to his touch. He would hold you like a glass figurine, fearful one wrong move would shatter you to pieces. His lips were inviting as they always had been, but there was a new sense of hesitation. Even through all this, it was hard not to love him as fervently as your heart could manage. Adding the finishing touches to your makeup, a gentle knocking came at your door. Your heart leapt as you got up from your seat, fussing with your dress as you made your way to Bucky. Opening the door with a smile, you were greeted with your soldier, dressed finely in his uniform. You could feel your breath hitch at the sight. Dashing did not begin to cover how swell he looked in his uniform. “Hello there, beautiful,” he greeted, voice melting like honey off his lips. He presented you with a bouquet, a collage of different flowers, bursting with blues and whites. “Bucky,” you smiled, leaning forward to plant a quick kiss on his cheek before excusing yourself to find a vase for your new gift. Neither of you wanted to say it, but this would be your last night together for the foreseeable future. So instead of admitting the harsh truth, you smiled brightly at each other, young and bursting with love. “Shall we?” He offered out his left arm for you to take. You happily hooked yourself around his toned muscles and you two carried off into the sunset. The walk to the swing party was a quiet one. What was there to say anymore? There were too many words that couldn’t be exchanged within the few short hours you had left. Your language was in silent glances, proximity to one another became a new way of saying I’m here. I’m going to miss you.

But you’re here now and that’s all that seems to matter. When you entered the dance hall it was bursting with life, the live music vibrating throughout the room. People swang about wildly on the floor, soldiers reunited with their distant lovers, young love blossoming as the string section played on. The energy of the room was invigorating, quickly spreading to you upon entrance. You stood there in awe for a moment before Bucky grabbed your hand in his, pulling you along into the crowd and snapping you from your trance. A childish laughter escaped your lips as you followed behind him, quickening your pace to keep up with him. Stopping in the dead center of the crowd, he confidently pulled you in by the waist, pressing his stubbled cheek close to your ear. “How about we show these folks what some real dancing looks like, hmm?” he sang into your ear, a smile echoing in his voice. You could hear the wink in his sultry voice. Grinning widely, you feared your face might split down the middle with how gleeful you were. His presence was intoxicating in every sense of the word. It was impossible to turn down his advances, allowing him to slip his rough hands around your body. “Then what are we waiting for,” you teased, planting a quick kiss on his smiling lips. Puppy love. It hung all around the air, floating all across the party and filling the room. Even in the dim light of the venue, Bucky couldn’t hide the adorning look he was sending your way. Drunk off your own giddiness, you fumbled over each other occasionally, laughing off all your faulty foot work. The hall boomed with music, dozens of other bodies surrounding you two, ever so often lightly knocking an accidental elbow into you. It didn’t seem to matter, though. Looking into your wide eyes, Bucky was transcended. Everyone else faded into background noise, another piece of scenery. It was truly just you two, dancing for as long as your feet could carry you. With red cheeks and a glistening forehead, Bucky bent down to speak into your ear once more, voice not strong enough to battle the blaring music. “How about we ditch this joint? Let’s go, just you and me, gorgeous.” He pulled back to look at you, an inquisitive look on his face. There was that dreamy smile again, the kind that made your heart sing and stomach flutter. “Take me home, Bucky,” you lulled, swooning once more. You had carried on for two hours at this, dipping, swinging, and swaying with one another. Breathless, you panted happily as you and Bucky left to return back to your apartment. Hand and hand you walked down the street, a cool night breeze kneading through your hair. Retreating back to your apartment building, you gave a disdainful glare at the staircase once inside. While at the party, adrenaline was pumping hard enough throughout your body that you forgot the aching that nipped at your feet. Slipping off your heels in need of relief, you began to trek up the stairs. “And what do you think you’re doing?” Bucky questioned, holding back a laugh that threatened to escape his mouth. You turned to see a bewildered Bucky eyeing at your shoes in your hands. Sighing, you answered, “Beauty is pain, Barnes. My feet are killing me.” Wordlessly, Bucky scooped you up into his arms bridal style. You both chuckled at the scene, minor protests falling off your tongue. “Bucky, put me down!” Your uncontrollable laughter betrayed your words as you hooked your arms around his neck for support. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. A beautiful young lady like yourself shouldn’t be left to trudge up the stairs.” His tone was serious, but even he too was brimming with laughter. “That’s sexist,” you protested, lightly scolding him. “Then would the missus prefer to walk up five flights?” His eyebrow quirked in a challenging fashion. “. . . No,” you confessed, heat rising to your cheeks and burning your ears. You began gnawing at your bottom lip with your teeth, praying it would be enough to stop yourself from pouncing on Bucky then and there. Bucky pressed a fervid kiss onto your neck, causing you to sigh in

pleasure. “That’s what I thought, doll,” he mumbled against your neck. Up the stairs Bucky went, you safely in his arms. He had imagined a scene paralleling this one before. You situated lovingly in his arms as you both returned home. Except it would be different. Your shabby apartment would be swapped out for a cozy house, situated outside the city. A diamond ring would be neatly fitted to your left ring finger. You’d dawn a white gown as he’d carry you into your new home, new life. Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. He liked the ring it had to it. Hearing your giggling, feeling your arms firmly pressed around his body, he longed for that moment to come. Just a taste of what it would be like to share everyday with you, living simply; it was enough to send him over the edge. By the time he finished the trip up the stairs, he was no longer sweating, but now dripping with yearning. Fumbling in your purse, you pulled out your apartment key and messily shoved it into the lock before swinging open the oak door. Once you two entered, Bucky lightly set you down, the cool feel of the wooden floor perfectly juxtaposing that warm feeling you carried in your heart all night. Closing the door quietly so as to not arouse the sleeping neighbors, Bucky propped his back against the frame. That lazy smile that fit his face so well made another appearance for the night, shining brighter than the sun and all her stars combined. “What’s on your mind, Barnes?” you inquired, voice slow, marinating in the moment. He sat silently with the question for a moment. “I don’t think I like it when you call me, Barnes.” “Why not?” “I much prefer the way my name sounds coming from your lips.” “What’s on your mind, James?” you asked again, moving closer to approach him. “Hmm, not quite,” he hummed, sliding his hands around your waist once again. “What’s on your mind, Bucky?” “Atta girl,” he praised, gifting you with a delicate kiss on the lips. He could have melted at that moment. This was all he needed, all he ever wanted to do. This moment would live on loop a million times over, a comforting memory of his especially on the nights his mind was less forgiving. The warmth radiating off your body, the slight smudge of your lipstick from the many kisses you had peppered on him, the way your eyes would soften when looking at him. “I leave in the morning,” he pulled back, speaking softly against your lips before pulling back further. “I’m just trying to memorize your face. Just in case. . .” He trailed off, the happy mood shifting into something more intimate, more melancholic. Looping both your hands in his, you remained mere centimeters from his face. “Then don’t go.” “I have to, doll. They need soldiers.” “I need you, Bucky. Let’s run away instead. Doesn’t that sound splendid? We’ll take the first train out of the city.” “And where would we go, darling?” He liked playing into the fantasy of it all. Both of you understood your plan was intangible, that he would be gone with the sunrise whether you liked it or not. But it’s nice to pretend sometimes; sometimes you have to entertain a fantasy to cope with an unforgiving reality. You lead him over to the couch, mock pondering in thought. “I think I’d like to open a bakery.” “What about your art?” “Oh, well you’d do the baking,” you corrected lightly. “Is that so?” Bucky sat on the couch next to you, shedding his coat and cap to acquaint himself better with the space. “You bake, I would paint the customers who come in. They’d buy my art and eat your treats and we’ll make thousands.” “Maybe even millions,” he teased, wrapping his arm around you, allowing you to snuggle closer to him. “Now you’re getting the hang of it!” You shift your head to look up at him. Bucky would die a thousand times over to see you beaming like that everyday. Things were finally starting to feel right again. The world was dull, gray with its ever monotonous march. This felt like where you were supposed to be, two souls coupled together, unbreakable in life’s pursuit to tear them apart. “Bucky. . .” You found yourself,

staring into his eyes. You weren’t lost in his blue pools, no, rather you home, far away from the ugly cries of your reality. “My dear,” he answered, a gentle finger trailing along the curvature of your face. “I. . .” You swallowed, knowing you wouldn’t be able to stop the words that sat like heavy bricks against your tongue, begging to be pushed out into the open. “Bucky, I love you.” In your little love affair, years in the making, neither of you had dared to say this simple confession. Of course, you knew this was how the other felt, but you had to say it. You had to tell Bucky, he needed to know he was the one you loved. Those soft touches and longing glances weren’t satisfying your heart's plea for affection, not anymore. “I love you too, Y/N,” he answered, a distant look clouding his eyes upon realization. He loved you. There was no question of it. There was only one issue; he feared you would grow to love him in return. But now he knew, he knew you loved him and it was his fault you were hurting. He internally scolded himself for all the letters he wrote, drenched with purple prose. The many kisses he planted on your body with affection now made him burn. Maybe if he had been less selfish, you'd have settled down by now. Found a nice husband, moved out of this crummy apartment into a small town. You could have had a kid by now, maybe two, maybe none. Perhaps you would have focused on your art, restless nights spent creating instead of moping over his absence. Yet, you waited for him to come home, patient as a statue, melancholic as the song of a dying swan. It’s all my fault. It’s my fault she aches in the night. “I’ll break your heart,” he finished, a saddened look finally eclipsing his loving expression. “You shouldn’t wait for me, you deserve better than that.” “I don’t want anyone else, Bucky. I think you and I both know that,” you whispered back, suddenly becoming hyper aware of the scene unfolding in front of you. He was going to leave you. Again. You didn’t know if he was going to return. Again. “I can’t keep putting you through this. I. . . I should go.” He didn’t say it like a suggestion, but rather a realization, slow and soul harrowing. He offered to exit, but his body resisted against leaving. Your presence was magnetic, always pulling him back right by your side. He slowly began to shift up, to depart one last time before you reached for his wrist, hungrily grabbing at his flesh before he could walk away. “You’ve already done your damage, at least give me the satisfaction of one more good night. If this is the last time I see you, I’ll go mad thinking about what could have been.” Your voice came out pleading, but you were much too busy convincing Bucky to stay to care much. “Doll-” “If you want to go,” you loosened your grasp around his wrist, not quite ready to let go, “You can leave now. I won’t stop you.” Your voice trembled as you spoke, fearful he would depart at that moment, gone in a blink of an eye. “But don’t leave on my accord. I’m already in too deep, nothing you could do is going to make me stop waiting for you to come home.” “I want to stay, more than anything.” “So, stay,” you now got up, a sense of desperation edging in your voice, “Be selfish for once in your goddamn life and stay.” “You’re the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met, you know that.” Again, those familiar hands swooped in to pull you close to his body. He swore in that moment he could feel your heartbeat’s synching, always to beat in rhythm with one another. “It’s a privilege to be yours.” “Why are you speaking to me like this is goodbye, Bucky?” your voice was breathy as you gave him a depressed look. “Because it might be.” All there was left to do was embrace. Words were no longer adequate. Moving slowly as a solemn leaf drifting about the wind, you made your way back to your bed, hand in hand with Bucky. Curling up in bed, you faced one another, just gazing back and forth for the time being. Each feature on his face was too wonderful to not give its due time. You could kiss every crevice on

his face, along his jawline, across the crinkles by his smiling eyes. Placing a tender hand to cup your cheek, he offered you one final smile. “Goodnight, love.” “Goodnight, love,” you echoed, placing your hand on top of his. Bucky was up before the sun, having to return home back to collect the few possessions he brought. The shift of his weight off the bed awoke you. For a blissful second, you hadn’t registered what was happening. It was just Bucky and you, the sunlight not yet offering her company. “Good morning, love,” Bucky greeted, calling back to you as he tied his shoes. “Hello, handsome.” You weakly smiled back, rising to wake up. Scooting behind him, you hooked your arms around his neck from the back, pressing your body against his. “Hey, doll?” he asked, temporarily halting his current task of getting ready to speak. “Yes, Bucky?” you hummed. Bucky thought for a second, debating whether he should continue with his query. “You know that painting you worked on? The one of me, from last summer.” “Yes,” you replied. “Can I see it?” “No,” you answered simply, moving to sit next to Bucky. He gave you a puzzled look, a little shocked by your response. There was no edge to your voice, you just stated no in a matter-of-fact way he hadn’t expected. “C’mon, I’m sure it’s beautiful,” he encouraged, pecking a quick kiss on your cheek to tempt you further. “Well,” your hands want to smooth down your dress, hoping the simple distraction would help you from spilling over, “You’ll just have to be sure to come home to see it.” Your fight against your own emotions was an arduous endeavor, slow breaths leaving your mouth in an attempt to calm yourself. “Hey, hey,” he consoled, holding your right hand in his own, “I don’t need a painting to give me a reason to come home.” “It’ll be the first thing I show you, promise,” you responded, a faux smile fighting back your tears. This was going to be harder than you imagined, an aching already spawning in your chest. “I don’t want to say goodbye again, Buck.” The soft stare you gave him coupled with the quake in your voice was enough to finally put a dent in Bucky’s spirit. For the first time in what felt like years, he felt tears welling up at his eyes. “Then don’t. We don’t ever have to say goodbye. We’ll meet again.” You followed him on his way out, finally departing after what felt like an eternity of farewells. There he was again, outside your door frame, giving you a saddened look and a lazy smile. “I love you” he promised, leaning down to press a prolonged kiss on your forehead. “I love you, Bucky.” You pressed yourself against his familiar body, giving him the most loving hug your shivering body could manage. And like that, he was gone again. - Bucky had left for Europe on a humid June day. Seasons changed, weeks passed, and he wrote as much as he could. Of course, the letters were more sparse in their arrival due to distance and conditions, but they came nonetheless. All seemed well. He had joined the Howling Commandos, following in the steps of a now much larger Steve Rogers. Any article that had his name, you kept clippings of for safe keeping. Imagining the look on his face when he came home, branded a hero from Brooklyn’s very own making was enough to have you feeling fuzzy all over again. As you were tidying your house on a particularly mild day in January of 1945, you were debating where to set the flowers Bucky had gifted you. They were dead by now, the white and blues hues they once possessed fading into crisp browns and tired yellows, but they kept you company. After some debate, you found a home for them on your coffee table before you heard a knocking at your door. Hesitantly answering, you were greeted by a knobby kneed woman, eyes an unmistakable blue shade. You couldn’t help but feel stunned for a moment. It felt like every time you saw her, she was beginning to look more and more like Bucky. Her nose was red, eyes puffy and the same shade. “Rebecca, you okay?” you asked, ushering her to come inside. Thanking you wordlessly, she walked

in to evade the cold . Though inside, she still shivered as if she had been caught in a blizzard on the way there. Her mouth opened in a vain attempt to get out the words, but her sobs stopped her each time. “Hey,” you calmed, planting a tender hand on her shoulder, “you can tell me what’s up.” It was at that moment you noticed she had grown quite a bit, finally surpassing you by a few centimeters. She was growing up and Bucky hadn’t been there to witness it. The realization shot a slight pang through your chest, but you tried to hide the feeling from Rebecca. Breathing out shakily, she handed you the yellowed piece of paper she had been clutching in her possession. Her knuckles had whitened at how intense the grip was, now finding a moment of relief with the note in your hands. You read the paper slowly, confused as to what it could be detailing that had Rebecca all shook up. Plastered in the center with large, typed letters it wrote;

WINNIFRED BARNES THE SECRETARY OF WAR DESIRES TO EXPRESS HIS DEEPEST REGRET THAT YOUR SON SERGEANT JAMES B BARNES WAS KILLED IN ACTION ON TEN JANUARY IN AUSTRIA. CONFIRMING LETTER FOLLOWS ULIO THE ADJUTANT GENERAL

Agony does not stir in the stomach. It does not ripple through the heart. It is a full body experience in every sense of the term. Like the flowers you just handled so delicately, you began to wilt by the second. The realization hit you immediately. It wasn’t like the movies where your body takes a moment to register, allowing you a brief instance of normalcy one last time. Killed in action, killed in action, killed in action were the only words looping in your mind, endlessly shouting over each other. You never really believed two Junes ago time was the last time you’d see Bucky. It simply couldn’t be the truth. As your thoughts spiraled, you sobbed harder and harder, hands dropping the paper in hurt and disgust. You wanted to run as fast as your bare feet could carry you, far away as you could from that damned note. The closer it was, the more real this all felt. But as you looked up at the silently crying little sister of Bucky, your feet remained planted. Taking Rebecca in your arms, you both mourned together, makeup smudging and bodies quivering. It hurt to see her at that moment. She had his kind eyes, his same chestnut hair; on her face was the only place he would live from now on. Oh, Rebecca, I’m so sorry, were the only coherent words you could manage. You stood there, bellowing like a dying animal in your apartment. Your cry was not simply heartbreaking, it was cinematic. It sent the sun hiding behind the clouds, it made the children pause in their merry laughter. One day, all seemed to be fine, and then, suddenly, it felt like you had the light ripped out from you, cracked ribs and bloodied lungs left in its wake. What else was there to do now, but yearn for a boy you’d never get back? - Steve had sent in a letter following the incident which arrived at your door two weeks later. One to Bucky’s family, one to you. In an attempt to spare you the ugly details, he gave a brief rundown of the chain of events. Bucky took a long fall off the side of a train to his ultimate demise while fighting. The first time you read through the letter, you vomited as you pictured the image. So many horrible scenarios ran through your mind of what his last moments were like. How long was the fall? Did he die on impact, blunt force to the head? Maybe he was left there to suffer, at the bottom of a snowy tundra. Maybe he was there for minutes, maybe hours, ultimately left to freeze or bleed out. Was he scared? Did he live his last moments in fear? Did he think someone would come and save him? Did he think he’d come home? The thought of his body left there to rot, being picked off by whatever animals could manage the icy weather made you physically sick. You couldn’t be consoled, refusing to leave your bed for a week after that. Though they couldn’t afford it, the Barnes family held a funeral for Bucky, buying the cheapest wooden coffin. If they couldn’t bury their Bucky, they wanted the little peace of mind a coffin could offer them. The week of his funeral, you didn’t bother picking up the newspapers, plastered with images of your bestfriend and lover. Brooklyn was crying for a fallen hero, you were mourning the loss of your favorite person. It was a different kind of aching. He wasn’t this idolized figure they painted him to be, untouchable in the minds of the young boys and school girls. He was different. He was beautifully and so wonderfully imperfect. You could admire the slight crook in his teeth all day if he’d let you, kiss every scar and scratch on his flesh that he earned from a rough childhood. He was messy and coy and knew how to get on your every last nerve. He wasn’t perfect, but he was perfect for you. You visited his gravesite more often than you probably should have. It was the only form of comfort you could nurse yourself with, lying on the grass next to his gravestone, the closest you would ever get to sharing a bed with him again. The first time you went was months after the funeral. It was too painful to go at first, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You could barely drag yourself from

your bedroom, only moving to go to work and eat. However, on a late spring day, something came over you. The sun was beginning to set, painting the streets a sherbet orange and blush pink. All your mind could think about was seeing him, it occupied your every second in an unforgiving drone. Caving into your own desires, you took a taxi to his grave site that hour. Upon arrival, you found your way to his resting place. The stone was a simple one, displaying his name, life dates, and the words Loving son, brother, and friend alike lies here. That's not true, you thought bitterly. He didn’t lie beneath you. His body was halfway across the world, left to rot with time, probably never to be found. If you had half a mind to, you’d dig up the less than fresh dirt, pushing all the mulch and mud out the way so you could open the coffin yourself, checking to see if he would appear down there in a deep slumber. But you knew all that lied beneath you was a hollow piece of wood. The fingers that used to caress the sides of his face went to trace the lines of his hedge stone, feeling the ridges and grooves along the stone. “I was supposed to show you my painting, you bastard.” You were choking up, both with a refreshed sorrow and new resentment. “If you didn’t want to see it, you could’ve just said so, you know.” Bucky would’ve laughed at such a comment, amused with your ability to be so biting in such a solemn time. In an amused fashion, he would’ve kissed you, knowing that was a sure fire way to calm the flames that burned inside your chest. All that answered you was the wind, rustling through the nearby trees. After months of refusing to shed a tear, keeping on a brave face for no one but yourself, you caved. It was like the initial hurt you had suffered was coming back all at once, inhibiting your ability to do anything but press your hands to the cool earth and cry out. “I was supposed to take care of you,” you shouted defeatedly to the night sky, “You were supposed to come home. I was supposed to be your home.” You shook with anger, your tears watering the ground beneath you. Your body was unraveling like a ribbon right before you. If there ever were a time to stop dreaming, it would be now. You would give anything to wake up, tangled in your sheets and sweating profusely. Bucky would reach over from his side of the bed, offering you the comfort he always knew how to give. This was no dream though, no nightmare either. This was the reality you were left to cope with against your own will. Throat burning and voice scratching, you sobbed out, “We were going to be happy, Buck. You were supposed to be my happy ending.” What you told Bucky all those years ago was the truth; you would always be waiting for him. No matter how much time had passed, your heart was always at the door, ready to welcome your soldier home. - You were 25. He was 27. Passing down the street, you mistook some gentleman’s laugh for his, head snapping in desperation to find your lover. He wasn’t there. You were 35. He was still 27. Waking up from a dream that was all too real, you bolted to your front door, expecting to see Bucky on the other side. Your husband quietly ushered you back to bed as you stood there in disappointment. He wasn’t there. You were 45. He was still 27. As a fever was running a nasty trial through your body, you stayed cooped away in your room. Slipping in and out of consciousness, you swore you saw a familiar figure at the end of your bed, murmuring sweet words of encouragement, blue eyes twinkling. Yet, he wasn’t there. - 2014 was a tough year for Bucky. There were still a lot of pieces not quite in place within himself. There were flashes, small droplets of memory that collected like dewdrops in his mind. He’d be staring out into the streets and all of a sudden remember a sunny day in Brooklyn, walking a girl with a scraped knee to his house. Passing by a bakery, he would catch a whiff of bread that smelled like the one his mother sent him to buy at the local market. Years of captivity, torture, and now he was

free. But what to do with all this autonomy was a question that lingered in his mind. After a twelve hour bus ride, he had made his way back to Brooklyn, back to the start of it all. The best way to meld the pieces of his mind was to start with what made him, him. For a peculiar reason, he felt drawn to a local museum hidden within one of the cracks in the city. He liked examining the brushstrokes of paintings, pondering how long each artist labored over a piece. It was a small place, housing the local artists of the area, a small section in the back for older works. Upon entrance, a familiar scent lingered in the air, one he had encountered a multitude of times before. Paint, acrylic. He couldn’t pinpoint why it felt so familiar, like such a safe scent, yet he loomed in the museum without much question. It must have been important, right? He didn’t particularly recall ever personally partaking in much artistry, though. As he absentmindedly browsed the art, his peripheral caught a familiar sight. He approached the painting, a mysterious look on his face. It was him. The canvas he stared at had a picture of him. Or, at the very least, a version of him. This image held a boyish quality that had long died. The light that once burned bright in his eyes was stolen long ago, only kept in memory of a painting. A simple placard beneath it read Beautiful Boy in gold letters. Beneath it was the artist's name Y/N Brown. Bucky took a deep breath, eyes longingly glancing over the letters once more. This was the girl. The one he caught flashes of in his dreams, the one who would call out for him desperately in his nightmares. He saw glimpses of her smile, heard the echo of her laughter, tasted the saltiness of her tears once more. To the right side of the painting was another gold placard, detailing the artist's life. He swallowed nervously. It may have been decades for everyone else, but it only felt like months ago for him. He had only just found his mind, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to break it again if something happened to you. The letters read; Painted by Y/N Brown, this piece has floated about many museums and houses before here. The title of this piece is written on the back in crimson letters spelling out: Beautiful Boy. The young gentlemen in the painting is presumed to be the original artist's lover. It depicts a boy looking lovingly at his muse, a soft sunlight shining on his face as he smiles. Many sketches can also be found in her notebook of the same man. Y/N later married Robert Brown in 1949 and had a daughter in 1950. Y/N died of influenza in 1964. Piece is circa 1943.” A small part of him believed he would be able to find you, perhaps in a nursing home somewhere. He didn’t care if you were withered and gray, he wanted to hear your voice one last time. He peered at the small family photo next to the paragraph, a little girl situated in your lap, a man standing behind you two. You had a gorgeous family, no doubt, the small child acting as your exact replica. Bucky couldn’t stop the feeling of envy that stung his heart. He was supposed to be the man in that photo, coming home to your small family each night. You would always be the one that got away, now, only a distant memory. I left you first, but you left me forever. In a way, he was relieved you'd never see him like this. He wasn't the same man who left in the 40s and perhaps not someone you could ever love. Falling off that train caused something to die within him that day, that lust for life you never can get back once lost. He took a seat at one of the benches in front of the painting, gazing at its likeness and your photo in silence for the next half an hour. It was all too much to take in, all too hard to accept. “I hope you can forgive me,” he spoke quietly, “I said I’d returned. . . I just thought it’d be sooner.” He sat there in the pain. Melancholy washed over his body in waves. He was a floating piece of driftwood in a never ending ocean of sorrow. Who was he supposed to come home to now? Who would run their hands through his hair,

scolding him for keeping them waiting for so long? How would he ever not mourn your loss? “Can I help you sir?” a small voice spoke out. He turned his head to one of the workers, patiently waiting for an answer. “No,” he shook his head, “Just coming to say goodbye. That’s all.” Standing up, he took one last look at the painting, taking in a deep breath. Pressing a gentle hand to your picture, the closest he could get to caressing your face one last time. We’ll meet again. I don’t know where or how, but I’ll come home one day, my love.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucket responds #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes angst #40s!bucky x reader #bucky barnes x artist!reader #bucky barnes major angst #marvel #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfic

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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 3 years ago

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Neighborly | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, friends! I don’t know about y’all, but I have has some weird shit happen to me in the different apartment complexes I’ve lived in-although never something quite like this.

Hope you all enjoy this one :)

Hit me up with comments, questions, and/ or suggestions!

-Hope

Tag list: @beefybuckrrito, @shadytalementality, @everything-burns-down, @mandersshow 🥰💘

**TW: blood, stitches**

————————————————

It had been almost six months since Sargeant James Buchanan Barnes had moved into your apartment building. Having this century old hardened assassin turned superhero living right down the hall from you was...strange, to say the least. Some people in the building were afraid of him- a few of them even moved out when they realized that he was the infamous Winter Soldier.

But you'd done your research and had come to the conclusion that he didn't need redemption or a pardon- he was a victim, and he deserved compassion. He'd been the victim of medical experimentation, brain washing, and physical and mental abuse for seventy years. Now, all he wanted was a quiet, safe place to live, and you had no issues with him doing so down the hall from you.

The two of you had shared a few elevator rides in the past and made small talk in the hallway, but you weren't exactly close. He was always nice to you, opening doors and helping you carry your groceries when you had too many bags. He was alone all the time and you'd offered to cook him dinner on several different occasions, but he always had some kind of excuse. It made sense that he'd want to isolate himself, seeing as most people thought he was some sort of supervillain. But you knew he was still recovering from his years of mistreatment and could probably use a home cooked meal and a friend to share it with.

Your work schedule at the hospital had you keeping pretty odd hours as part of the emergency room nursing team. You'd spend every night from 6pm to 6am seeing patients coming in with broken bones and head trauma. Now that you were a night owl like Bucky you started seeing him far more often, which was not something you would ever complain about. He was fucking gorgeous, to the point that you sometimes wondered how he was even real. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass and his eyes were a deep, sapphire blue that you'd love to drown in. He was tall and muscular, which was made more prominent every time you shared an elevator with him; his hulking frame always took up most of the small space, forcing you to be extra close to him. And the sight of his strong, vibranium arm made your mind go to interesting places...

He wasn't someone you knew well, but you still worried about him often. He was always coming home with dark, indigo bruises and what looked like stab wounds. Any time you saw him with a new injury you'd offer to take care of it for him, but he always insisted he could handle it himself. Every time he refused your help, you wanted to drag him back to your apartment and make him sit still while you tended to his wounds, but you managed to bite your tongue.

It was 6:37am when you finally stumbled through your front door, absolutely exhausted from another long night of ER duty. Peeling off your scrubs and throwing them in the washing machine, you padded to the bathroom for a scalding hot shower. You wanted to rid your body of the sweat and grime of your twelve hour shift and then pass the fuck out. The almost boiling shower relaxed your tense muscles and melted away the gross feeling you always had after working in the ER. Throwing open the shower curtain, you wrapped yourself in a towel and began your pre-bed routine--until there was a knock on your door.

"Um, one second!" you called, frantically pulling on a t-shirt and some Nike shorts; you'd answered the door in a towel before and your pervy UPS guy had been all too happy to see you basically naked. You ran to the door and threw it open, expecting yet another amazon package, but you were instead greeted by the deep blue eyes you daydreamed about. "Hey, neighbor," Bucky muttered, leaning against your doorway for support and clutching his side. Your mouth ran dry as the shock of seeing him at your door set in. "H-hi," you stammered, "um, what's up?"

A nervous smile flashed across his face and he let out an awkward laugh, making him wince and almost double over. "Woah, woah, hey," you gasped, taking quick steps in his direction to help support him. "What happened?" He gazed up at you as you worked to sling his heavy arm around your shoulders and pull him into your apartment. "Just another day at the office," he groaned. You helped him sit down in a kitchen chair and noticed that the hand he held closely to his abdomen was stained red with blood. "Alright, Barnes, I need you to elaborate a bit," you implored him as you assisted in removing his leather jacket.

"Right, uh, we got shot at...and they didn't miss", he explained. He peeled his hand away from his wound and finally gave you a good look at it. He'd been shot, alright, and it was bad. The entry wound was wide and ugly, barreling into his abdomen and producing no exit wound. "Oh, okay, umm...I don't-I'm not a surgeon. I'm a nurse. I can't-I mean, you need surgery and-" Bucky shook his head, putting an end to your nervous rambling.

"I don't need surgery", he laughed. "I'm a super soldier, remember? I'm gonna be fine. I just need you to get the bullet out and stitch me up...please. I’d do it myself but-". Your heart hammered rapidly inside your chest and your hands began to shake as you thought of digging a fucking bullet out of this man's flesh. "You work in the ER, right? You see way worse stuff than this on a daily basis. You can do this…I trust you." Bucky said with a reassuring smile.

It took you a few deep breaths but you were able to get your head straight and fall into work mode. You instructed him to hold pressure to it while you retrieved everything you'd need for this impromptu surgical procedure. Flying around your apartment, you collected betadine, forceps, gauze, latex gloves, bandages, and a suture kit. Once again, you wrapped one of Bucky's muscular arms around your shoulders and helped him lie down on the couch. Your nervous hands slowly removed his shirt and it took everything in you not to stare at his perfect body. Everything was prepared, sterilized, and ready to go when you realized you'd forgotten something important.

"Shit..." you muttered as you stood up to go raid your medical supplies one more time. "What's wrong?" Bucky asked. You let out a defeated sigh, "I don't have anything to numb you. I don't have lidocaine here and-you're gonna feel everything". A dark laugh rose from Bucky's chest and he shook his head at you, "you're cute. And that’s really sweet- I appreciate the thought. But after everything I've been through...I don't need it. I've had way worse".

You felt your chest tighten and your stomach drop as everything you'd read about Bucky came flooding back: his capture, the serum, his fall from the train, the shoddy removal of his arm, his years of torment and abuse-your heart broke, and it took everything in you to stay focused on the task at hand. "Okay, well, um...let's get this over with, then".

Kneeling next to the couch, you donned your gloves and opened the sterile packaging that held your necessary tools. You leaned in, taking an extra close look at where the bullet was lodged, and made your game plan. "Okay," you said, "stay as still as you can for me, and don't forget to breathe". A thumbs up from Bucky's metallic hand was the green light you needed to dive in. Your forceps made their way slowly into the wound and you watched Bucky's eyes shut tight at the sensation. "I know, I know, I'm sorry," you cooed, "but you're doing so good".

Slowly but surely, you dislodged the bullet and placed it in an empty container. A huge exhale left Bucky's lips once the projectile was removed, and his tensed jaw relaxed a bit. You held gauze to the wound, collecting the dark red blood that oozed from it. "I'm gonna give you a second before I start stitching," you promised. "I want you to catch your breath first".

Bucky nodded, closing his eyes once again and falling silent for a moment. With your free hand, you gently stroked his forearm in an attempt to provide him with some comfort. An involuntary smile quickly spread across his face, and his furrowed brow began to slowly relax. "I know I always decline your invitations for dinner," Bucky muttered, "but it's not because I don't want to come...I just-I'm not great at being social, I guess".

"It's totally fine," you reassured him, "I just know you're alone a lot and I want you to feel like you have a friend here." He smiled once again and placed his cold, metal hand on top of yours, giving it a squeeze. "Thanks, sweetheart", Bucky murmured. Your faced suddenly flushed and you got nervous, not sure what to say next. "Um, okay, let's uh-let's get you stitched up" you announced awkwardly.

Bucky nodded, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths to prepare himself. Slowly, you began suturing his wound shut. You didn't have much experience doing stitches and wanted to get it right, making sure they wouldn't rip out by accident. Bucky's jaw tensed ever so slightly, but what he'd said earlier had been right- getting stitches with no anesthetic or pain relief was nothing to him. And that made you sad. You thought once again of all the terrible things that had happened to him, and wondered how he was still such a nice guy…

As you administered the final stitch, Bucky let out a sigh of relief and glanced down at your handiwork. "See, I knew you could do it," he said, "You did a great job". Taking his hand in yours, you helped him sit up on the couch and catch his breath. "How do you feel?" you asked, giving your patch job one more close look. "I feel great," he murmured, "you're a life saver". You chuckled and rolled your eyes at him, "yeah, that's literally my job".

You began gathering your materials and putting them away in an attempt to stop yourself from staring at Bucky's shirtless torso and drooling all over him. "You know," he said as he stood up and made his way over to you, "I've been trying to get up the nerve to talk to you..." His confession stopped you in your tracks and you felt your heart hammering against your ribs. "I'd love to spend some more time with you that doesn't involve me bleeding in your kitchen".

Suddenly, he was standing only a few inches from you, gazing down at you with his perfect blue eyes. "Y-yeah. I'd like that too..." you stammered. "Maybe you should take me up on my offer for dinner sometime". He rolled his eyes at you and let out a small chuckle as a playful smile spread across his face. "Well, this was kind of a weird first date," he joked, "so I'd love to have dinner with you. But you're not cooking- you've done enough for me already. Let me take you out?"

"Tomorrow's my day off…", you mumured. He took another step toward you, almost completely closing the gap between your bodies. "Perfect", he said, before leaning in and giving you a kiss on the cheek. "If I'd have known that getting shot would get me a date with you, I would've taken a bullet months ago."

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oneoftheprettynerds · 4 years ago

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So We Meet Again: Dark! Stucky x Reader

Requested: Yes, based on a prompt by @heavenlyseb

A/N: I was halfway done with LACs next chapter but the inspiration died Idk why so I thought I’d invest the creative energy somewhere else and then try my hand at that again. Thank you to you for dropping this request in my ask box, @heavenlyseb.

WARNINGS: Non-con, Mental breakdown, spiking a drink.

Summary: Reader tries to escape her past but it’s harder when your past includes dangerous men.

Word Count: 1.3 K {so drabble I think}

The entire day something had felt wrong. Maybe it was the universe’s way of sending you a message, foreshadowing misfortune in ways it knew.

For the first time ever you had messed up breakfast, spilling the coffee and burning the toasts. Then you had forgotten some very important papers at home that Steve thankfully had a soft copy of on his laptop. After you left office earlier than him like you always did to go home and cook, you had your car die on you and leave you stranded. This series of unfortunate events didn’t end there; unfortunately, it followed you home.

The streak continued with the laundry getting messed up, all whites turning pink and colored fabrics getting bleached. You fingers got stuck in a drawer, yours toes also getting stubbed. Nevertheless the day wasn’t even close to beating the worst day of your life; more like the worst few months of your otherwise simple life.

A shudder ran through you as the thoughts and memories you had buried so deep surfaced again. With one uncurbed thought that gave rise to the unpleasant memory train, you were back in that posh glass office again.

It was New Years Eve. The decorations were still hung up around the large rooftop arena, from Christmas a few days ago. The bars had the strongest alcoholic drinks wearing pretty shades of blue and orange. There were plants draped in ornaments, a lot of them. You remembered chuckling about how the potted plants were a show of wealthy people, all affluent people pretending to have a green thumb or care for the Earth.

You greeted the people you knew and joked about resolutions. You remember hanging out with the only actual friend you had there, the receptionist Lucy. Anyone else you talked to at the company was merely a coworker, some of them plotting your downfall even. But Lucy was genuine, and so your only friend.

Said friend however, did abandon you few minutes prior to midnight with poor, half a hearted apologies, running in preparation for her midnight kiss. You giggled and honestly, weren’t even offended, just amused by her antics.

You planned on sulking in the corner with the other singles who weren’t ready to mingle and saying goodbye as soon as the clock hit twelve. That plan failed when your handsome hunk of a boss, whom you had seen only a handful of times and encountered for even fewer, brought you a drink and asked for a few minutes of your time.

You don’t know what made you go then, nor do you have any better take on the situation even now but the gist of it all was that you did oblige. It could have been the alcohol coursing through your veins, the encouragement by others’ jealous stares and Lucy’s wink or even the slight crush you had on the man with the cerulean eyes.

However, going to his office and him fucking you on that sandalwood desk wasn’t your choice.

You remember him kissing you at the midnight stroke, a kiss sizzling with passion and yearning. When you both pulled away, you felt flushed and giddy but the carnal desire in his eyes after just one kiss alarmed you. Still, you offered to exchange numbers for a follow up, he was your boss after all but your dazed mind could not even remember your own number.

Your mind began to lose consciousness as you sweated and your skin heated, head and folds burning alike. You slipped in and out of articulacy, fragments of memory in your mind.

You shook your head as you realized you were shaking, keeping the knife down on the board and halting the slicing of tomatoes. You wiped your tears as you chided yourself for almost getting into another accident, a fatal one even, zoning out like that with a sharp knife.

The sound of the door opening and closing made you calm, Steve was home now. You hadn’t told him everything about your past yet, just bits and pieces, but you had never felt unsafe with him. He was nothing short of a gentleman, courted you properly and even waited months when you weren’t initially ready.

He let you progress the relationship on your terms, his support always there whether it was the question of spending a night together or moving in. His arms were where you felt the safest, his strength a promise of protection.

A second set of footsteps made you furry your eyebrows, Steve didn’t inform you of company tonight. You pushed your anguish aside, putting on a facade for his guest as you got back to chopping.

“Honey, I’m home.” Steve’s holler made you easy, his presence itself was comforting.

“I’m in the kitchen.” You sung back, the nickname making you smile.

“I brought a guest for dinner, hope you don’t mind.” He called out from the living room, the slight thud of furniture telling you they sat there.

You checked the broth, dinner for three would take time, even more so as your bad luck kept you on your toes today. Switching off the stove you sighed and made you way to the living room.

You planned to ask Steve to order and simultaneously greet his guest but ice froze in your veins when you entered the square doorway. Your planned again and at this point, one would think they had a knack for unsuccessful plans.

You could never forget the broad shoulders, the silky brunette locks and the sapphire blue eyes of James Buchanan Barnes, the handsome devil that haunted your existence.

You remembered waking up to your senses getting slaughtered. The drag of a cock in your hole as you clenched as tightly as a boxer’s fist. The squelching noises, the breathy moans and the sound of skin slapping skin. It took all you had in you to open your eyes every time you slipped out of consciousness.

You remembered being taken on every surface in his large office, against the glass panels looking onto the city below, on his velvet sofa, even his private elevator.

Barnes had whispered sweet nothings in your ears that night and every night after like he was your lover, not your assaulter. How he cornered you with the obscene footage the night after when you threatened to press charges. You both knew then that you had no hope, no chance of winning against him and would have no dignity either if released some footage with some faces blurred.

He used and abused you and his power, until the day you finally gathered your guts and went far way, a new place, new start.

You believed you didn’t leave a trail behind but then how was the devil himself greeting you in your own home?

Your whole body shook like it did minutes earlier and you found Steve gently cradling your face. You flinched at his touch, skidding away, “Get this man out of here, Steve!” If looks could kill, the brunette would have dropped dead.

James Barnes had the audacity to smirk as you brushed a hand through his hair, ever so confident and smug, your shaken form amusing him.

Steve hung his hand around your shoulder and wiped a tear that had escaped. His arms were your haven and such you had believed until a moment later, “That’s no way to greet Bucky, sweetheart.”

Your head whipped at light’s speed as you looked in horror at Steve, the hold on your shoulders tightening and keeping you alongside him.

“He was kind enough to give you months to adjust but now he misses you more than he can endure.”

“Steve, you don’t know what your bastard of a frien-” You started hoping it was a misunderstanding on your part.

At the curse, Steve’s grip became bruising as he cut you off, “Trust me sweetheart, I know. Bucky and I don’t have secrets.”

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ao3feed-danganronpa · 3 years ago

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IM BACK PLEASE UNBAN MY DEVIANTART ACCOUNT I CANT USE OT

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3wPxTHd

by Adultswimlver

deviantart.com/adultswimlver deviantart.com/adultswimlver2

see its banned wa wa please bring it back

Words: 7, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Undertale (Video Game), Steven Universe (Cartoon), Steven Universe: The Light Series (Video Games), Five Nights at Freddy's, Family Guy (Cartoon), Addams Family (TV 1964), The New Addams Family (TV), Modern Family (TV), Rocko's Modern Life, The Good Place (TV), The Good Wife (TV), The Good Doctor (TV 2017), The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Amazing World of Gumball, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Attack Attack! (Band), Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan, Queen (Band), Moana (2016), Minecraft (Video Game), Roblox (Video Game), Super Mario & Related Fandoms, Nintendogs, Nintendo Land (Video Game), Mean Girls (2004), The Cleveland Show, Hawaii Five-0 (2010), iCarly, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar (2009), The Owl House (Cartoon), Gravity Falls, The Fox and the Hound (1981), Annie (1982), Annie (2014), Little Orphan Annie, Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck, The Great Gatsby (2013), Harley Quinn (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime), Justin Bieber (Musician), My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, My Little Pony: Equestria Girls, ENA - Joel G (Web Series), Frog and Toad - Arnold Lobel, Life Is Strange (Video Game), Life Is Strange 2 (Video Game), Life is Strange: True Colors (Video Game), Super Mario Bros. (Video Games), SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon), Sex Education (TV), Sexy Zone, Atypical (TV 2017), The Queen's Gambit (TV), Orange is the New Black, Regular Show (Cartoon), Victorious (TV), Cambridge Spies, X-Men - All Media Types, Men in Black (Movies), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Trek, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, 約束のネバーランド | Yakusoku no Neverland | The Promised Neverland (Manga), Riviera: The Promised Land, Christian Bible, The Simpsons, Camp Camp (Web Series), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, American Idol RPF

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi

Characters: Korra (Avatar), Asami Sato, Masami Yoshida, Freddy Fazbear, losi griffin, Peter Griffin, Maxine "Max" Caulfield, Chloe Price (Life Is Strange), Stan Pines, Mabel Pines, Dipper Pines, Bonnie (Five Nights at Freddy's), Golden Freddy (Five Nights at Freddy's), Toy Bonnie (Five Nights at Freddy's), Chica (Five Nights at Freddy's), Sans (Undertale), Alphys (Undertale), Undyne (Undertale), Peter Parker, Jack (The Amazing Spider-Man), Pearl (Steven Universe), Steven Universe, Amethyst (Steven Universe), Famethyst (Steven Universe), Holly Blue Agate (Steven Universe), Yellow Diamond (Steven Universe), Blue Diamond (Steven Universe), Pink Diamond (Steven Universe), Piper Chapman, Alex Vause, Nicky Nichols, Lorna Morello, The Mangle (Five Nights at Freddy's), Marionette | The Puppet, Hange Zoë, Levi Ackerman, Eren Yeager, Mikasa Ackerman, Connie Maheswaran, Connie D'Amico, Connie Springer, Sasha Blouse, Everyman (Undertale), Ronaldo Fryman, Ymir (Shingeki no Kyojin), Ymir (Marvel), Ymir Fritz, Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss, Historia Reiss's Mother, Krista Lenz | Historia Riess' Husband, SpongeBob SquarePants, Patrick Star, Patrick Fitzgerald, Harry Potter, Voldemort (Harry Potter), Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Draco Malfoy, Ash (Supernatural), Satoshi | Ash Ketchum, Frieda Reiss, Eda Clawthorne, Lilith Clawthorne, Luz Noceda, Kites_Calamity (Roblox), Amity Blight, Jay Gatsby, Daisy Buchanan, Tony Stark, Tony Masters (Marvel), Minireenas (Five Nights at Freddy's), Joel Heyman, Papyrus (Undertale), Burgerpants (Undertale), Frisk's Parents (Undertale), Chara's Parents (Undertale), Faun (Undertale), Birthday Boy Blam (One Night at Flumpty's), Napstablook (Undertale), Book (Undertale), Smokey Brown, Emperor Belos (The Owl House)

Relationships: Lois Griffin/Peter Griffin, Peter Griffin/Joe Swanson, Ned Flanders/Peter Griffin/Homer Simpson/Joe Swanson, Nicole Watterson/Richard Watterson, Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Glimmer (She-Ra), Amity Blight/Luz Noceda, Komaeda Nagito/Sans (Undertale), Ruby/Sapphire (Steven Universe), Amethyst/Pearl (Steven Universe), Pearl/Pink Diamond (Steven Universe), Korra/Asami Sato, Korra/Mako (Avatar), SpongeBob SquarePants/Squidward Tentacles, Mikasa Ackerman/Eren Yeager, Mikasa Ackerman/Annie Leonhart, Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir, Hange Zoë/Reader, Levi Ackerman/Hange Zoë, Mao Mao Mao & Max (Camp Camp) & Steven Universe, Max Caulfield/Victoria Chase/Nathan Prescott, Sans/Toriel (Undertale), W. D. Gaster/Sans/Reader, Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Chloe Price, Meg Griffin/Jesus "Soos" Alzamirano Ramirez, Pearl (Steven Universe)/Stan Pines, Connie Maheswaran/Steven Universe, Peter Parker/Twilight Sparkle (My Little Pony: Equestria Girls), Peter Parker/You, Papyrus/Sans (Undertale), Jesus "Soos" Alzamirano Ramirez/Melody, Freddy Fazbear/Papyrus (Undertale), Freddy Fazbear/Foxy, Bonnie/Chica (Five Nights at Freddy's), lois griffin/reader, lois griffin/me, Chara/Asriel Dreemurr, Piper Chapman/Alex Vause, Lorna Morello/Nicky Nichols, Nicky Nichols/Alex Vause, Piper Chapman/Nicky Nichols, Nick Carraway/Jay Gatsby, Daisy Buchanan/Jay Gatsby

Additional Tags: Character Death, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sharing a Bed, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Bakugou Katsuki Swears A Lot, Based on a Tumblr Post, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Sad with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Song: WAP (Cardi B ft. Megan Thee Stallion), I Will Go Down With This Ship, Cissexism, Co-workers, Pissember, Vore, Cock Vore, Vore Predator Morality | Patton Sanders, Beta Lois Lane, Jack being Jack, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Klance Week 2016, Jack-o'-lanterns, Halloween, Christmas, New Years, Thanksgiving, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Abandonment, Child Abandonment, References to ABBA, 69 (Sex Position), Cowgirl Position, Missionary Position, Multiple Sex Positions

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3wPxTHd

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #dangan ronpa #danganronpa #dr

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awesomerextyphoon · 4 years ago

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Charred Briar Roses -2

Enter the Warriors

Summary: Three warriors enter our story. How will this turn out for the princesses?

Parings: Orc!Bucky x Black!Reader, Orc!Steve x Black!OFC, Orc!Sam x Black!OFC

Word Count: 1172

Warnings: Semi-Graphic Depictions of Violence, Smut, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, and some Non-Con overall. Though this chapter is just some technical Non-Con Kissing

Back to Masterlist

James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes wouldn’t be a princess’ first choice for a match. You see, he’s not royalty, he’s not even fully human. He’s an orc-human hybrid from a now nomadic tribe of powerful orcs in search of a new home.

His ancestors were driven from their homeland by Sophronius and his forces when iron, gold, silver, and mithril was discovered there 250 years ago. Now they could only settle in any given place for a few years.

Bucky was born to an orc father and a human mother who died in childbirth. He was relentlessly mocked for it along with Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson who also had a similar heritage. His sisters’ mother was a witch so she was able to survive.

He formed a strong bond with Steve and Sam at age six when Steve was getting bullied for being ‘a weak halfling’ and having ‘a weak human bitch for a mother’. Bucky was about to go over and bust some skulls when he noticed two things: another orcling was racing over to the bullies and Steve refused to fight back. The bullies soon gave up and Steve got up and dusted himself off.

Curiously, Bucky walked up to the two other orclings and they exchanged names. Sam asked if it was true about their mothers being humans who died in childbirth and they both glumly nodded. Bucky piped up and said that it won’t matter because they will be the strongest in the tribe. Sam and Steve grinned and they made a promise that day.

It took them eighteen years to fulfill their promise, but it was worth it. They had finally gotten the respect they’ve always wanted. It also didn’t hurt that they were the tallest and could out wrestle anyone in the tribe. Steve was the biggest surprise; he went from a stick of an orcling to a mountain of a warrior. He towered over everyone except Sam and Bucky.

All should’ve been well with them, but something was missing.

Three years later they were chosen to go on a settlement finding mission after one too many scuffles with a few goblins and giant spiders.

The first two days were uneventful, but on the third day they came across an old woman being chased by a sounder of boars. They decided to help her because if nothing else the boars would be a good meal. The warriors made short work of the boars and created a fire pit to roast sounder (18 in total).

The woman thanked them by telling them the story of the lost princesses. Bucky scoffed and said that was a fairytale that his stepmother told his sisters when they were orclings. The old woman gave Bucky a sly look and pulled out an amulet and asked him if he would reconsider. She then went on to tell them where to find them and promised that if they don’t find the city in five days then she would personally assist them in finding a new settlement.

Steve responded that they would consider it, but by dawn the next day she was gone.

It took them three days to reach and cross the Misty Forest. Sam commented that it didn’t seem so bad and was interrupted by a dragon’s roar.

The dragon had to be 400 feet in length with ruby red scales and menacing claws and fangs. It would’ve frightened lesser me; too bad they were far superior to such failures.

They fought the dragon for nearly an hour when Steve realized that the hole in its collar is the same size and shape as the amulet the old woman gave them. He quickly formulated a plan for Sam to get the amulet to the dragon’s collar.

As soon as the amulet was placed, the dragon fell asleep and a path through the thorn bushes opened.

Once they got past the thorn bushes, they were amazed at what was before them. It was the ancient capital of the Nephrashim Empire.

The capital was frozen in time. All of the buildings haven’t aged a day. Hell, even the food was still good as Bucky noted when he grabbed a loaf of bread from a market stall.

The warriors were impressed by the tall buildings (30 stories tops), the spacious parks, the advanced urban planning (water distribution, sewage/filtration systems, trains, intricate statues, and fabled flying machines).

They were most impressed by the palace (think Hagia Sofia in architecture with the overall splendor of Versailles).

The warriors left their dire wolves in the courtyard with some boar jerky and cautiously climbed up the stairs. Once they reached the grand foyer, they were greeted by a ball of light in front of the royal family’s crest. It motioned them to follow it, but it took a few minutes of pestering them that they actually did.

It took them up a few flights of stairs and corridors to a room with ornate double doors. The doors looked heavy but they were no match for Bucky.

The room inside was built to be a large rotunda with a tree growing in the middle and a crystal that was glowing in it. Three bedposts were positioned on the corners of the room as to form an equilateral triangle. Objects either made or inlaid with gold, silver, mithril, and precious gems were littered across the room; Steve made a note of taking some later.

The strangest thing was around the tree were three human-sized pods revolving around it in level with the crystal, and the humans seemed to be alive.

As soon as the trio crossed the threshold, the pods stopped moving and slowly descended onto the beds. A blinding light enveloped them and three bodies took place of the pods.

The ball of light split into three and hovered over each of the three bodies.

Sam suggested that they get a closer look. Each of them seemed drawn to a certain bed.

What they saw shocked them. On the beds were the most breathtakingly beautiful women they’ve ever seen.

Each woman looked quite tall for humans (6’6”). They had luxurious, long, curly dark purple hair that was spread out like a halo. On their heads and necks were intricate gold and mithril crowns and necklaces inlaid with diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, and rubies. Their warm russet-brown skin was incredibly soft to the touch. Their heart-shaped faces radiated warmth, kindness, and an inner fire few possessed with long eyelashes, adorably broad noses, and tantalizingly full lips. They wore exquisite gowns made of the finest silks and fabrics with designs mirroring their accessories that hinted at their mouth-watering curves.

The balls of light hovered around the women’s lips as if telling the trio to kiss them.

They each picked up a woman into their arms, nuzzled and kissed the woman’s necks and was nearly drunk on their intoxicating scents. They started kissing them as softly as they could, but intensified it when the women responded positively.

That is until they opened their eyes and screamed.

Taglist:

@giorno-plays-piano @lookiamtrying @opheliadawnwalker3 @imdarkinme @ne-gans @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @stargazingfangirl18 @dahkness @life-of-yn @retroxvailles @marvelfansworld @aurora-stark-rogers-barnes @socially-awkward-insomniac @hurricanerin @pseudonymphet @rosalynshields @mcudarklibrary @anyatheladyclown @macheregrace

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #Steve Rogers x OFC #sam wilson x ofc #dark!mcu #dark!marvel #fairy tales #dark fantasy #dark fairytale #mcu fanfiction #mcu imagine #sleeping beauty #black fanfiction #charred briar roses #black fantasy

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sunflowersim · 6 years ago

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Whatever he wanted - I wanted and nothing else mattered

#sapphire buchanan #berry sweet sims #ts4

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samthemarvelfan · 4 years ago

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I Won’t Say: Chapter Seven

-Torn-

Summary: Ellaria Stark is the daughter of a king. When she is unwittingly betrothed to the King of a neighboring city, she isn’t sure how to feel. More importantly, she isn’t sure how the King will feel if he finds out the truth about her.

Pairing: James Barnes x OFC, Ellaria Stark. (Stark!Reader.)

Warnings: Royal!AU, ANGST, betrayal, kidnapping, verbal altercations.

A/N: This one is a bit longer, bur its FULL OF DRAMA. Please don’t hate me at the end. I had to do it! >:)

James has been noticeably absent from the castle the past few days. He was always off meeting with the foot soldiers and Sir Sitwell, in hopes of keeping the people of Buchanan as safe as possible.

There hasn’t been another incident, thank goodness, and with your engagement ball this evening, you’re hoping to maintain the status quo.

“Everything is coming along beautifully, Ellaria. Fret not.” Natasha smiled, stirring the bath for you. She added orange-colored petals to the beautiful milk-blue water, and the aroma immediately relaxed you.

You leaned back against the basin and closed your eyes. “I don’t think I’ll stop worrying until I’m married...and even then I’ll be a nervous wreck that somehow I’ll mess up.”

“You truly care, don’t you? Most women would be more concerned with their appearance for the ball, but not you. You, my future Queen, are already worrying about others.”

You smile, opening your eyes and massaging the oils across your chest. “I’m following in beloved footsteps. Her Majesty was so loved and revered by her people. I’ve been reading quite a bit of the history.”

Natasha tutted, “You’re supposed to be relaxing.”

“Nat, I don’t think I know how to relax. My Mother always says I’m like my Father in that way; too worried about the when and then to enjoy the now.” The memory alone made you smile.

Nat noticed, “You must be so excited to see them tonight.”

She held up your bathing robe and helped you step out. “I am. I only wish Morgan was coming, but Mother assures me she will be here for the wedding.”

My wedding. In just seven days time. You thought to yourself.

Once out of the bath, you dressed into a simple silk robe—not wanting to dress until this evening. Besides, Natasha was most likely not going to allow you to do anything but relax.

She cleared her throat, “Ellaria?”

“Hm?” You ask, brushing your hair.

Nat finishes making your bed as she speaks. “Have there been anymore incidents?”

You shake your head. “No. Thankfully, but the King has also been visiting with me more, so maybe the person has lost their confidence?”

“Oh he has, has he?” She asked suggestively.

“Natasha!” You scold playfully, “I simply mean he has been checking on me more frequently. That’s all.”

God, how I wish there was more to tell.

A reserved knock on your door draws Nat’s attention. “Stay,” she says, “I’ll get it.”

You watch as she approached the door cautiously. She puts her ear to it before calling out warily. “Who is it?”

You heard the clearing of a throat, “Oh, it’s Peter. I come with a message for the Princess.”

Nat laughed, as did you. Peter was so eager to please and happy to help. “Come in!”

The door opened slowly, “Hello, Peter.” She greeted.

Peter’s face flushed, “H-Hello...Miss Romanoff.”

You stood, assuring your robe was tied tightly. Peter averted his gaze for a moment.

“What message have you, Peter?” You smile.

“Oh!” It’s then you notice he’s holding a small navy-colored, velvet satchel, along with a note. “I was told to give these to the Princess, it’s from King James.” He smiled.

You heart fluttered, “Really?” You ask happily.

He nodded, “Yes, I was told to make sure I give it straight to you.”

You look to Natasha, who’s smiling proudly at you. “Peter, where is the King now?”

He looks awkwardly as he shift his weight from foot to foot, “The King isn’t back from the borders yet, but Sir Steven assures he will see you tonight.”

A small amount of sadness washes over you, but you understand. Duty calls.

“Thank you, Peter.”

“My pleasure, your highness! I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

Natasha smirked at his eagerness. “Peter, why don’t we give her majesty some time to be with herself, is that alright, Ellaria?”

You nod, “I will see you for the dressing?”

“Of course.” She bowed.

When Peter and Nat had left your chambers, you sat on the edge of your bed, letter in hand.

This is the first note James had ever written you, so naturally, you were nervous to read it. With shaking hands, you opened the parchment carefully, and read his words.

Princess,

I hope you are well. I cannot wait to have you in my arms this evening.

You will no doubt be bathed in beauty and elegance. You are so everyday, tonight I’m sure will be no different.

I am bestowing upon you a special gift, I do hope you wear it proudly. I cannot wait to see you in it tonight.

I look forward to celebrating our future, and to watching the future of Buchanan unfold.

-James

Your heart soared at his words. The two of you had been getting closer, and thankfully so. Small glances, the shared moments, light touches that set your skin ablaze.

You wanted him in every way, and it seemed he wanted you as well.

You carefully opened the velvet satchel, and pulled out a beautiful diamond and sapphire broach. It was clearly an antique and very valuable, and James entrusted it to you.

“My goodness...” you said to the empty room. It will match your gown perfectly, and you couldn’t wait to show the King just how much you appreciate his gift.

“I feel like I’m going to be sick, Nat...” you said as she gave you a once over.

“Breathe, Ellaria. Just imagine it is only the two of you.”

You let out a hefty breath. “But it’s not just the two of us. I want to make a good impression and my parents will be there...I just hope I make them proud.”

Natasha stepped back, admiring her handy work. “You look breathtaking, your majesty.” Her voice was earnest; she believed in you.

“I couldn’t have done any of this without you. Thank you, Natasha.” Instinctively, you hugged her. Though taken aback, she hugged you in return.

“I will clean up while you head for the ballroom. Go on, don’t keep your betrothed waiting!” She jested, ushering you out.

Once in the hallway, you unwrapped the broach from the handkerchief you’d kept it safely stored away in, and pinned it on above you left breast.

Sir Samuel rounded the corner, “Ready, your majesty?”

A moment passed before you nodded your head. “Ready.”

Natasha gatherer the old sheets due for a washing in a pile on the floor.

A final sweep of you room confirmed your safety, and she was on her way out when a piece of parchment fell from the sheets she’s scooped up.

It had you name on it, but it was in a writing she didn’t recognize.

Nimble fingers opening it carefully, she nearly jumped out of her skin when someone knocked at the door.

“Natasha? What are you still doing here?” Steve said with a smile.

A sigh of relief passed when perfect lips. “Unlike some of us, I actually have to work around her.”

She was smirking as she nudged his hip. “What’s that?” Steve asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “I don’t recognize the writing, do you?”

Nat handed it over to Steve, who read your name aloud. “No, no not at all.”

With as much care as Natasha would have, Steve opened the parchment and began reading the page. His face immediately registered alarm.

“Natasha, where did Ellaria get this?” Steve’s tone was rushed.

“Peter, he brought it earlier with a parcel and said it was from James. Steven, what is it?” She asked, taking the page from him.

“That is not the King’s writing. No where near it. Where is Ellaria now? What was in the parcel?”

Nat began to panic, “Samuel collected her already, and I’ve no idea. She opened it in private.”

A moment of thought, and Steve is running out the door. “Find Peter at once.”

The ballroom was full of people. Families and children and some select members of court. You watch in amazement at the joy on their faces; it came together perfectly.

Golden sconces adorned the walls, and the navy curtains and linens complimented the golden accessories. Candelabra’s on each feasting table and the most perfect musical accompaniment.

“That cannot be my daughter. She so regal, so grown!” You heard your father’s voice behind you and tears began to well almost instantly.

“Father! Mother!” You shout, running into his arms. “Oh, I’ve missed you so!”

He held you as if you’d float away. “My treasure, look at you...”

“Tony, don’t ruin her gown...” Mother scolded. You turned and hugged her as well. “You look perfect, my love. Like a true queen in the making.”

An emotional sigh escaped you, “I hope I live up to you, Mother. Thank you for all you’ve taught me, and all you’ve given me in my life. I will not waste it, I swear.”

You heard the bang of a staff, and suddenly, butterflies filled your stomach.

“Ready?” Father asked you.

A nod was all you could muster as a reply.

The court crier called the attention of those in attendance. “Citizens of Buchanan, please welcome their royal majesties, King Anthony Stark and Queen Virginia from the Iron Kingdom.”

Father looked at you, “We shall see you out there; head high, Ellaria. Head high.”

Watching as they walk through the velvet curtains into the ballroom, you adjust your stance, and assure you’re looking as perfect as possible.

“It is my joy to present her royal highness, Ellaria Stark, heir to the Iron Kingdom and future Queen of Buchanan.” The crier called.

“Here we go...” you whispered.

As you walked into the ballroom, you heard gasps and chattering amongst the crowds.

“She’s enchanting...”

“Our Queen!”

“Such grace and beauty!”

The heat rose to your cheeks almost instantly, hearing their words and feeling all the eyes in the room on you. Your father and mother smiled at you from there seats at the head table as you moved to the center of the room.

One final bang of the staff, “Citizens of Buchanan, it is my honor to present his royal highness, James Barnes, protector and King of Buchanan.”

The crowd went silent almost instantly, and you locked your eyes on the doorway.

When James walked in, he looked more handsome then you’d ever seen him. Dressed in a deep navy tunic, adorned with golden buttons and buckles. Black, leather pants and boots, and his crown placed perfectly atop his chestnut locks.

When he stopped just short of you, the crown began to applaud their king. James smiled at you lovingly, as he took in your dress.

His eyes seemed to lock into your chest, and you’re sure it’s because of the beautiful gift he gave you. Suddenly though, his demeanor shifts. His eyes become enraged as he storms toward you, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t frighten you.

“James—“

“How dare you!” He shouts, cause the crowd to still.

You shake your head, “What? What’s the matter?” You were entirely lost, you’d thought everything was perfect.

His jaw was clenched. “Do you mock my grief?”

It was strange seeing him this way; so obviously full of rage, but with tears behind his eyes.

“James, I do not understand...” You say with a quivering lip.

He grips your bodice harshly, and tears at your chest with his metal arm, ripping the broach from its place. Your dress was torn to shreds at the top, exposing nearly all of your chest.

“You think yourself worthy of this? The broach my mother wore when her throat was slit?” He shouts.

The crowd of people gasped at the sight before them. You hands rush to shield yourself from either humiliation.

“What is the meaning of the, Barnes?!” Your Father asks, rushing to your side.

The King ignored him. “Get out of my sight. You’re a liar and a thief! Get out of my home, and go back where you came from!”

You started running before he finished, through the the corridors back to your room. What happened? James had given you that broach, did he not? He wrote a letter and all.

Unless the letter was not from James. You thought.

It doesn’t matter anymore. There is surely no repairing what was done tonight. The court saw James disrespect and denounce you, as did his citizens. You had no choice, you must leave Buchanan.

Tonight.

“Steven! Enough! He’s just a boy!” Natasha shouted as Steve tossed Peter across the room.

...again.

“Was it you?! Did you plot against the Princess?!” Steve shouted, grabbing Peter and forcing him to look up.

Peter was visibly shaking, word had quickly traveled of what transpired at the ball only a few minutes ago, and Steve wasn’t happy.

No one was happy.

“No! No Sir, I swear it!” Peter shouted, almost in tears.

“Peter who gave you the parcel for her majesty?” Natasha asked softly.

Peter hesitates, afraid no matter what his answer, he’d be tossed around again. Natasha read the boys face, and saw the fear in his eyes.

She placed her hands on Steve’s, and he softened at her touch. Moving him aside, she crouched down in front of Peter.

“Who was it, Peter?”

The boy let out a sigh, one of relief. “It was Miss Carter. She told me it was at the King’s behest. She said I was to bring the parcel and letter to the Princess and that the king said it was of the utmost importance.”

Steve and Natasha shared a glance. “Looks like Miss Priss is up to her old shite...” she seethed.

Steve extended a hand to Peter, hoisting him up. There was no exchange of words, the gesture was enough.

“I’m going to find Sharon. You go find Bucky.” Nat said, heading for the door.

“Natasha wait, one of us needs to get the Princess and tell her. She must feel so betrayed.” Steve said grimly.

She nodded, “Alright, inform the King of the traitorous acts of the foul shrew. I will make sure Ellaria doesn’t do anything drastic.”

“Peter?” Steve called.

“Sir?”

“Find Samuel. Have him rally the the King’s Guard.”

Peter nodded, “Yes, Sir.”

You knees were pulled to your chest.

Where were your parents? What if...

No. No, he wouldn’t hurt them. Would he?

Your trunk was packed and your belongings put away, any sign you had been in the room had been erased.

Was this the King’s plan? To embarrass and belittle you because he didn’t want to marry you after all? The thought alone broke your heart.

The way his eyes so easily filled with hatred, how he put his hands on you so harshly and tore away your dignity. A man like that was surely incapable of love.

You felt a fool.

Pounding on your door startled you.

Jumping up, you hoped it to finally be your parents. You swung it open quickly, only to find a face you hadn’t expected.

“Sir Sitwell? What are you doing here?”

He looked down the hall and behind you, “I’m here to escort you to your parents carriage, your majesty.”

“Oh,” you hesitate for a moment. “Where is Sir Samuel? And Steven?”

He cleared his throat, “They’ve been summoned by the King, I’m afraid.”

You nod, understanding. “I’ll grab my trunk—“

“No, no. There’s no time. I shall have someone run it down, come quickly.”

He ushered you forward, assuring the door to your room closes behind you.

The walk is silent and awkward and rushed. “Are my parents alright?” You ask.

“What? Yes, yes of course they are. Come quickly.” Sitwell responds.

You round the corner to the front of the castle and see three men, dressed in colors that aren’t Buchanan’s. “Who are they?” You ask, slowing your pace.

The men approach you quickly, “Sorry about this, Princess.” Sitwell says with a smirk.

The next thing you know, a napkin is covering your mouth. You screech to no avail, inhaling something that makes you feel faint. Blackness is invading your vision and your legs give out.

Soon there is nothing but darkness and the cold cobblestone floor against your back.

Taglist: @iheartsebastianstan @jjlizz @stuckysbabe @sk493494 @lefoutoir @nickangel13 @marvelismysafezone @lilulo-12 @warmvanillafeels @star-spangled-beard-burn @ravenesque @pinknerdpanda @wintersoldierissucharide @snapcapquartet @ellen-reincarnated1967 @unlistedpond @my-drowning-in-time @supernaturalwintersoldier @kimvmarvel @roseboho @winterboobear11 @choicesloversstuff @disaffectedbarnes @igothroughphasesalot (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry!)

#bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes angst #Bucky Barnes fluff

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sergeantrosabellaswan · 5 years ago

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Not in Distress, Vigilante Stucky & deaf OFC Soulmate AU, PROLOGUE

SUMMARY: Everyone has a soulmate- someone who the universe has created to be perfectly compatible with the individual. It’s a fact of life. Having two Soulmarks- being destined to love two people- is rare and almost unheard of.

If one were to ask around, they would find that no one would be able to pinpoint exactly when the Commandos first appeared. The truth was that no one quite remembered. At least, no one’s stories matched up. Some say that they first uncovered an underground drug ring three years back, rounding up all the leaders with nothing but a six inch knife, a revolver with half a dozen bullets and quick wit. A few people swore that they showed up five years ago, when they tracked down pedophiles and brought them to justice. Some believed that they only showed up around eighteen months ago, when they stopped a major jewel heist in Manhattan. And, according to others, they had always been around, never seen, but always watching. They thought they had been guarding the streets of New York for decades, waiting in the shadows until they were needed. The Commandos had always been there.

And yet, despite seeming like they were always there, no one knew much of anything about them. They never said a word, and never made a sound. Their weapons swiped through the air with no notice, their guns were muffled by silencers, and they seemed to disappear into thin air. Anyone who ever saw them only saw one or both of them for the briefests of moments. Pictures of them were extremely rare, mostly just a blur of black leather and jeans and piercing eyes that blended into their masks. The Commandos dealt in shadows, never appearing in the light of day.

TAGLIST

@captain-ariel-barnes

@propertyofpoeandbucky

@invisibleanonymousmonsters

@itsanerdlife

@kenzieam

@crushedbyhyperbole

If you liked this, then please consider buying me a coffee HERE It only costs $3!!!

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aww-writing-no · 4 years ago

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Fae:

They were on a hunt in Midgard when the young man ran across their path in the snow. He had one of those new fire sticks - a rifle, he later called it - slung across his back and completely obliterated the tracks they were following as he dashed through the woods.

“Mortal cur!” Natasha shouted, setting a bush on fire with a spark of lightning. “May maggots rot your eyes and worms devour your body alive! I will have you as bait for interrupting our hunt!”

“Harsh, Nat,” Clint said with a laugh that echoed unnaturally through the forest. “We’ll catch the scent again, no need to set this whole place ablaze.” He let loose an arrow that landed in the bush, encasing it in a thick sheet of ice.

She hissed at him, pupils shifting as her form wavered in anger. She snapped her fingers, sparks flying, and the young man appeared before them, a shocked expression on his face.

“What evil has Hydra wrought now?” he whispered as if talking to himself.

“Silence, mortal fool,” Natasha commanded as Clint wondered why the man spoke of water serpents. Had he taken the wrong form again?

Coulson slid off his mount and circled the young man while Clint looked down to check his form. No, he was definitely human right now. Maybe the guy was hallucinating? There were some plants that did weird things to moral minds.

“What is your name?” Coulson asked the young man, trailing a finger across his chest.

The man tried to flinch away, but Nat’s spell held him fast. “Bucky,” he growled, low and angry like a frightened bird trying to fluff itself up to seem more intimidating. As if they could ever be intimidated by a mortal.

Clint cocked his head. “That’s not your real name,” he said after a moment.

Birds scattered from the trees, startled into flight by the slap Natasha laid across his face. Bucky’s cheek began to redden, but he met her eyes in defiance.

Coulson let out a peal of laughter. “Brave young fool,” he said, flicking a piece of stray grass off his sleeve idly.

Natasha lifted a hand to slap him again, but seemed to reconsider as she dropped it a moment later. “He interrupted our hunt,” she said, touching a finger to his forehead and releasing him from the spell. “Let him BE our hunt.”

“Ooo, this should be fun,” Colson said as Bucky regarded them each in turn.

“Go on, then,” Clint said with a shooing motion. “We’ve got your scent. We’ll see you soon.”

When they caught up to him again, Bucky was lying bleeding in the snow. It seemed he’d fallen off one of those coal-fueled iron monstrosities the humans liked to ride in. Clint suspected he had eaten one of those plants that did strange things to mortals, because he wasn’t acting like any of the other humans they’d ever met.

He was interesting.

Coulson stood over him, sapphire-tipped spear in hand. “Shall we put it out of its misery?” he asked, twirling the weapon idly. “It won’t last long in this state.”

Natasha tossed a ball of lightning from hand to hand, looking disappointed. “I wanted to eat its heart,” she sighed, “but there’s no sport in this.”

Clint squatted in the snow, brushing the hair off his face and considering. “I think I like it,” he said as he stood, whipping off his purple cape and leaning back down to tuck it around the injured man. The man shivered as Clint stood, picking him up with ease.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” the man said weakly, voice barely audible, “Sergeant, United States Army.”

Clint’s eyes widened in surprise and he slowly turned his head to see if his companions had heard. Natasha and Coulson seemed to be arguing amongst themselves, and gave no indication that they’d heard Bucky give Clint his real name.

“James Buchanan Barnes, Sergeant, United States Army,” he repeated, even quieter but with more desperation. It sounded as if he was trying to cling to life through the power of his identity. Did he know the gift he’d given Clint?

“Shh, I know,” Clint said soothingly before turning back to his companions. “He’s pretty. I’m keeping him,” he told them.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “You may be easily distracted by a pretty human, but I’m going to continue the hunt.”

Clint shrugged, an awkward maneuver with Bucky in his arms. That suited him fine; he wanted Bucky all to himself.

“I’ll stay with her,” Coulson said.

Clint nodded. “Sounds good,” he told them, air going thick and misty as he brought himself and Bucky back to Underhill. “Welcome home, James,” he murmured to the man in his arms.

“You’re awake!” Clint exclaimed, delighted to see his Bucky conscious for the first time in days. The healers had spent ages fussing over him, and then he’d developed something called a fever, and then the healers had spent even more time fussing over him, and now he was finally awake.

Bucky jerked his head sharply, taking in the room. “Where am I?” he asked, eyes lingering on the door and windows before focusing on Clint.

“You’re in Underhill, of course!” he told him, flitting about the room to draw open the curtains.

Bucky’s eyes flicked back to the door. “When can I leave?”

“Oh James,” Clint said, twisting his hand in a complicated gesture, “you don’t want to leave. You want to stay here with me.”

Bucky’s eyes took on a glassy sheen. “I want to stay here with you,” he repeated.

Clint clapped his hands in delight. His magic wasn’t as strong as Natasha’s, but it still worked in a pinch. He wasn’t going to risk asking Natasha to do this spell because Bucky was just too pretty to share. They were going to have so much fun together.

“What happened to my arm?” Bucky asked, lifting a hand that glinted silver, reflecting the sunlight coming through the windows.

“Oh that,” Clint said, waving off Bucky’s concerns, “the healers couldn’t save your arm so they gave you a new one. Do you like it? I thought it should be gold and purple, but they’re so prim and proper over there. They threatened to make it out of iron if I didn’t stop bothering them, so I hope the traditional silver is okay.”

“The traditional silver is okay,” Bucky told him, blinking placidly.

“Perfect, perfect,” Clint said, grabbing Bucky’s hands and pulling him out of bed. “Come with me, we’ve got to get you dressed. I think you’d look delightful in blue, what do you think?”

Bucky took a few stumbling steps before Clint reached over to grab him around the waist. “I would look delightful in blue,” he said, holding on to Clint’s shoulder for support.

“Oh good,” he replied, unable to resist planting a kiss on Bucky’s cheek. “We’re going to have such fun, you and I.”

#Hawkeye #Winterhawk

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shakespeareanqueer · 5 years ago

Text

Help From a Friend (One-Shot) (Omegaverse)

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader, Friends to Lovers

Summary: Your heat is becoming unbearable. Will you best friend, Bucky, help you out?

Word Count: 2,395 words || Masterlist

Contents: Omegaverse. Explicit content and sexual themes but no smut. 18+ ONLY

A/N: This is my entry for @buckysmischief‘s Gab’s 1K Writing Challenge! My prompt was “If I start, I’m not going to be able to stop” with Bucky. It’s bolded. Initially, I was going to write it as a proper smut, but I still don’t feel comfortable with that, so I’m sorry it kind of ends on a tease of a note!

Photo by Christopher Martyn on Unsplash

You cried out when you came around the toy you were using to alleviate your heat symptoms, then sobbed and nearly screamed from frustration when within seconds the agonizing pain returned to your lower abdomen. This was the worst heat you had endured in a long, long time. Possibly since your first.

You knew why, too. It was because you had finally given into Tony’s pleas to give up your shitty apartment and torturous commute in favor of moving into the compound. As if you were some proper Avenger, ha! You were originally a SHIELD medic, but because of their frequent need for your services and the intimate nature of some of their needs (you still haven’t gotten the full story of how Clint ended up with so many splinters in his ass), you became fast friends with all of the Avengers. Especially one dark-haired super soldier by the name of James Buchanan Barnes.

When SHIELD collapsed, Tony took you on as the Avengers official on-call EMT. He spent two years since insisting that you could do your job better if you lived at the compound, so you wouldn’t need to haul ass there every time they called from the quinjet inbound with an injury. He pulled the guilt card, saying it would be safer for them. When your lease was up for renewal, and you found out your rent would go up with a new one, you finally gave in.

Yes, logistically, moving into the compound made perfect sense. You would be more easily accessible to do your job, meaning less of a headache for you and your perpetual presence could even possibly save lives. You had come to love each and every one of the Avengers, especially your best friend the White Wolf, so it would mean being closer to your friends, your pseudo-family. There were seemingly no cons.

But oh were there cons.

For one thing, you were secretly pining after your best friend and had been practically since you met him. I mean, the man came into the examination room and immediately peeled his shirt off so you would have better access to his arm (specifically the juncture where his prosthetic met his shoulder; the technology was Shuri’s lane not yours) and he had that body so… Plus he was impossibly sweet and kind and caring and chivalrous and a good cook and had eyes like sapphires and made sure asshole alphas stayed off your back. Of course you were going to fall in love with him. But you couldn’t possibly risk your friendship by telling him.

The other major argument against moving into the compound was the sheer amount of alphas you were suddenly exposed to. Your apartment building and even the neighborhood it sat in had been desirable particularly because of the high concentration of omegas and betas. It was a safe environment for an omega like you in that way. Not at all like the compound, which was awash in alpha pheromones.

And not just any alpha pheromones, but Bucky’s alpha pheromones were so, so close. You and he were the only ones on this floor, each with your own separate suites. The only thing separating your abodes, which were full apartments in and of themselves, was a short hallway wherein the elevator sat. Most of the time, you would leave the doors to your suites open so it was like you were sharing a cubby in college or something: easy access to each other’s living rooms and kitchens, but maintaining the privacy of your bedrooms.

Tonight, though, all doors were closed. With you in heat, it was dangerous even for a respectful, omegist alpha like Bucky; things could quickly get out of hand. So there were many reasons to put as many barriers as possible between you.

Though right at this moment were you forgetting what most of those reasons were.

Another orgasm, this one around your fingers, but again there was no reprieve as the cramps picked up again immediately.

Crying and writhing around in your sheets, you made a decision.

He smelled you before you’d even raised a hand to the door to knock. He’d heard the click of each door as you’d passed through. You had full security access to his front door and every room in his home due to your status as his best friend and emergency contact, but right now it was your status as omega that was posing the biggest problem.

When you finally got to the last door, you didn’t take advantage of your security clearance but instead knocked respectfully.

“You shouldn’t be here, Y/N,” Bucky ground out through clenched teeth, not making to move from his bed to the door.

You let out a pitiful whine that made his heart wrench. “Bucky, please. I need you. I just need your help. You know I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious.”

“What happened to always being able to take care of your heats yourself?” he asked wryly.

You chuckled humorlessly, leaning your head against the cool metal of the door as he reminded you of the sentiment you had repeated so often. “I don’t know, Buck.” That’s a lie. You did know. “But this one’s different. I-I can’t.” Another sob escaped your throat.

The sound of you crying had Bucky up and opening the door before he even knew what was happening. You jumped back with a yelp as the platform your forehead had been resting on disappeared.

One look at you, one millisecond of inhaling your scent, and Bucky slammed the door shut again.

“This isn’t a good idea, doll,” he managed, once his breathing returned, not to normal but regulated enough so he could get the words out.

You whined again and his nails were digging crescent-shaped divots into his palms as he exercised every piece of willpower he had to resist that needy sound. “Whyyy?”

You didn’t understand. Bucky was always there to help you, especially with omega-related concerns. He would scent you if you ever wanted to go out and avoid wandering eyes for a little bit, he would come and pick you up if you felt unsafe walking home alone, he would accompany you to events so you didn’t have to go by yourself and be vulnerable to less moral alphas. He’d helped you through pre-heat symptoms by rubbing your feet, bringing you heating pads, even ice cream and a shoulder to cry on when really bad PHS had your hormones going wild.

Friends helped each other with their heats and ruts all the time. For example, before Clint met Laura, he and Nat had an arrangement that was purely platonic. Sure you and Bucky had never included that as part of your friendship arrangement, but it was typical enough. You knew it would be complicated by your feelings for him, but he didn’t know that, so you didn’t understand why he was so convinced it was a bad idea.

“Why not??” you cried, as another wave of cramps caused you to double over.

“Because-” Bucky sighed. He didn’t have the energy to resist your enticing scent and lie at the same time. “If I help you, if I let you in and fill your cunt with my knot and fuck you into the mattress until you can’t walk straight-” You moaned at the image he painted and he had to take a breath to steady himself and get back on track before he could continue. “I’m not going to be able to resist claiming you.”

There was an agonizing silence that followed. Bucky cursed himself internally, so sure he’d fucked everything up, ruined your friendship and thereby lost the best thing in his life.

“What?” you finally breathed, so softly that through the reinforced metal door he wouldn’t have heard you without his enhanced hearing.

Bucky sighed again. It was too late to back down now. It was out there. “I’m in love with you, doll, have been for a while, and if I had you beneath me all needy and gorgeous and smelling as good as you do, there’s no way I’d be able to keep myself from biting you, marking you, claiming you.”

“Bucky…” Your voice is breathless but not clouded, shocked but, to his delight, not appalled.

“I wouldn’t be able to stop, sweetheart,” Bucky continues, unable to stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth or his hand from traveling downwards to palm at the bulge that had long since tented in his pants. “Soon as I felt my knot catch on your slick walls, and I got my seed deep inside you, I wouldn’t be able to help but sink my teeth into your neck and make you mine.”

He could hear your labored breathing through the door and prayed you wouldn’t judge him for this, that you wouldn’t let your friendship collapse just because he had to go and catch feelings.

“What if I wanted you to?” you finally asked.

He shook his head frantically. He couldn’t let himself hope. “You’re just saying that because of your heat.”

“James,” you said firmly. You were using his name, not his title. His legal name even. That was on purpose. You were communicating your lucidity. “It’s not just my heat. I want you. I’ve wanted you for a long time. Please.” Your voice finally broke on that last plea, as you doubled over in pain clutching at your abdomen.

“You’re not thinking properly…”

“I’m thinking fine!” you snapped. “I’m in the early pain stages but I’m not at the… my brain is fine and I know what I’m saying, Bucky.”

You sighed when he didn’t say anything for a few moments. “Do you want to know why I never let anyone help me through my heats?”

He wanted to tell you no, that he didn’t want to hear anything, that you should go back to your room and leave him alone. But his curiosity got the better of him. “Why?”

“Well for a while it really was what I’ve always said. I never really needed it. My heats were pretty mild. That stopped being the case right around when I was working with you guys a lot more. Still working for SHIELD, but spending more time with… enhanced alpha pheromones like yours.”

“And Steve’s and Thor’s…” Bucky added, to shield his own heart. It wasn’t to do with him. It was pure biology.

“Them too I guess but they weren’t the problem.” His brow was furrowed though you couldn’t see it behind the door. He was a problem? He hated the idea of causing you any problems. “The heats got worse, and I realized I needed more help. Remember that Halal butcher used to flirt with me all the time?”

Bucky chuckled at the now relatively distant memory. “Had a weird way of flirting. Said the fact you smelled like blood wouldn’t bother him and winked.”

“Yeah, well I let him help once.”

Bucky couldn’t help but growl low in his chest at even the thought of someone else helping you through your heat, touching you intimately. Even if that person was a random beta butcher who couldn’t hold a candle to an alpha Avenger like him.

“Never even knotted me. It took him way too long to get me to cum on his fingers, and when I finally came… I screamed your name.”

A beat. A breath. Shock. “What?”

“Surprised myself too. I hadn’t even realized I’d begun to see you that way. I kicked him out, embarrassed as hell, and spent the rest of my heat picturing you and handling it myself. Which is what I’ve done ever since.”

“So that’s why we’ve never gone back to that butcher…” Bucky’s voice was full of amazement.

You chuckled, but it turned into a groan of pain when the action hurt your abdomen.

But this was still about heats and lust. Bucky was in love with you; you being attracted to him, even if it was for a couple years now, wouldn’t be enough for him. He wouldn’t claim you then have you regret it because you discovered you didn’t truly love him back.

Again it was like you read his mind. How did you seem to have such a strong empathic connection when you hadn’t even bonded yet?

Not yet. Bucky couldn’t think like that, couldn’t get his hopes up.

“It’s not just lust, Bucky. I love you. I’ve loved you… probably since you brought that kitten to my door just a few days after we met. The big, hulking, hunk of hot alpha I’d been lusting after showing up, cradling a tiny kitty cat so gently, whimpering more than the feline, apologizing, saying you knew I wasn’t a vet but you didn’t know any vets and I’d stitched you up so well so you figured it was worth a shot.”

“You stitched him up real nice,” Bucky recalled. “Your hands were so careful and steady and small. You insisted I stay the night on your couch, wouldn’t hear of me walking home in the middle of the night. I used my alpha voice on you to try and convince you to let me go, but you weren’t having any of it.”

“We were friends before that, but something changed then. I could tell you knew it too, but it seemed like you just thought we’d become… closer friends. So that’s what I let it be. But I’ve always wanted more.”

You could smell some shift in his scent. He wasn’t resisting as much anymore. His relaxation helped you relax, even just a little. Then another cramp hit. “Please, Bucky, please let me in. Help me. Claim me, make me yours.”

“If I start, I’m not going to be able to stop,” he warned one final time, but his hand was already drifting to the door handle.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you breathed just as the door came flying open and you were dragged inside.

He pushed you up against the door as it closed behind you and kissed you fiercely. The sweet press of his lips to yours at once soothed some of the ache in your belly and kindled a fire in your core. You needed more, much more.

And oh you got it.

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