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anonymityisfunwriter · 28 days

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sooo I don’t know if this would be a good request or not but I’ve been obsessed with August by Taylor Swift and I was hoping maybe you could write something inspired by that song for Bucky… I can just imagine the angst…if not it’s okay!! Love you & your stories anyways 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

did - did you guys hear that? wait, there it is again... the sound of salt air and the rust on your door...

i won't lie, i'm nervous about writing to a song as perfect as august, but this was too amazing to not write. so with approximately one day left in august, here you are, dear reader! 💛

august.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Inspired By Taylor Swift Anon's Birthday Celebration

Looking back on it, he wasn't sure what it was. He wasn't sure if it was one thing. The amalgamation of living for the hope of it all. Maybe it was just the feeling the came along with it.

The salt air.

The rust on your door.

The whispers of 'are you sure?'

What exactly was it that put him in a trance? What left him helpless against the siren song that rang in his ears every time you echoed through his mind?

The sweltering heat.

The vast, unending Louisiana sky.

The mesmerizing way your dresses swished in that warm summer breeze.

He didn't know.

All he knew is there would never be another moment quite like that, never a moment that lasted as long, nor one that meant as much to him, as that August. That's what it was, truly. One long, fleeting moment.

Looking back on it, how August slipped away into a moment in time, he can still feel every moment of that summer love that brought him back to life.

You'll never forget the day you met Bucky Barnes on that bright and shining summer day, the first day of August.

"Hi."

His bright eyes flash up at you, clearly startled by the stranger standing before him. "Uh... hi."

You chuckle at him from the pier where you stand, "Sorry, I'm Sarah's neighbor. I was just looking for her."

He steps off of the Wilson family boat, making sure to tuck his vibranium arm behind him. "Oh... I think she went back inside with Sam."

A bright smile lifts your face. Even on that very first day, Bucky can't help but but be a little mesmerized by it. "Sam? Sam is back?"

Bucky didn't bother to explain that the only reason he was even in Louisiana was because Sam was back.

There wasn't time to say anything before Sam came barreling back onto the dock.

From behind you, Sam's arms enveloped you, lifting your feet on the ground.

The most melodic laughter that Bucky's ever heard burst from your lips. You swat at Sam's hand, "Put me down!"

"Alright, alright." Sam gently lets you back on the wooden slats of the dock. He slings a heavy arm around you, "What are you doing over here?"

"I was looking for Sarah. Didn't realize that you decided to grace Delacroix with your presence again."

Sam gently nudges you, "Aw... ya missed me?"

There's something unsettling to Bucky about the envy he feels so quickly. He didn't even know your name. He had no right to feel jealous, to feel envious of the hand that Sam so casually had on your shoulder. He clears his throat reminding the two of you of his presence.

"Oh right!" Sam sheepishly chuckles. "Bucky, this is our longtime neighbor and childhood friend. And this is Bucky, he's - well - he's a friend."

You hold out a hand to him. "It's nice to meet you, Bucky."

He gingerly shakes it, "You too."

"So, how long are you in town for?"

"Just a few weeks."

"Oh."

He swears he hears a hint of a downward lilt in your voice. Almost like you don't like the fact that his presence here is temporary.

"We're actually workin' on fixing the boat," Sam interjects. "So who knows how long that'll take?"

You quirk an eyebrow at them, resting your hands on your hips, "You two are plannin' on fixing this boat?"

"You don't think we can?" Bucky counters.

Your eyes flash over to him with a coy smile, "I never said that... I just thought Sarah was sellin' it."

"I changed her mind," Sam touts, his chest playfully puffing out.

"By offering to fix it?" you guess. You shake your head, your eyes gleaming with amusement. "Always the same, stubborn Sam."

"Hey! I'm not stubborn. I prefer... tenacious."

Bucky snorts, "Another word for stubborn."

"Whose side are you on?"

For a moment, Bucky's electric blue eyes flash over at you. Still, he doesn't need to say he's on your side. The way your gazes lock and linger say more than enough.

You smile, tearing your eyes away after a long moment. "I, um, I should get goin'. It was nice to meet you, Bucky."

Bucky's hand lifts, his cheeks staining pink at the awkward wave of his hand. "You too."

And like the first time, the second time he crosses your path, you take him by complete surprise.

Bucky walks along the empty road in the blazing sun. He'd never admit it, but perhaps he'd underestimated the walking distance from town back to the Wilson family home in the intense Louisiana heat and humidity.

His hands shoved in his pocket, he walks, deeply regretting the choice to walk into town on his own.

The walk back is quiet. A quiet he'd come to hate over the years. Stuck with his own thoughts as sweat pricked at his forehead and beaded on the back of his neck.

He tenses when he hears a car slowly cruising over the gravel road.

He steels himself, purely out of habit.

"Hey!"

He jolts at the abrupt sound of your voice calling from your old rusted pickup. You chuckle, "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

His shoulders automatically deflate. He offers you a tight smile, "It's alright."

"You headed back to Sarah's? Do you need a ride?"

"Oh, no, I'm okay walking."

"You sure? You've got a good five miles left and it's hot as hell out."

"I'll be okay."

"You've never heard of southern hospitality, have you?" you joke. You nudge your head towards the car, "Come on, get in the car."

Of course he'd heard of southern hospitality. He'd seen it first hand here in the quaint Delacroix community. Still, witnessing it and being shown it so earnestly were two very different things.

He thinks for a long second. It takes him a moment, but under your gaze and welcoming smile, he's not sure how he can say no. He reaches for the door handle, hopping in the car, "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

The car is silent for a long moment. He finds himself to aware of himself, of the close proximity to you.

He shifts in the passenger seat, tucking his vibranium arm further out of sight.

"You don't have to do that." His eyes snap over to you, closely watching your side profile. "I mean, you can if you wanna, but you don't have to."

He humorously snorts, "The metal arm doesn't bother you?"

"No, my dad was an amputee. He'd wear pants in the summer because he didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable."

He places his hand to a far more comfortable position than tucked between himself and the car door. You barely spare his arm a second glance.

He internally smiles, finally allowing himself to relax slightly. He flexes his fingers, staring at the way your eyes shine in the golden daylight. "In this heat?"

It's probably the dumbest response Bucky could say after you offering such a highly sensitive anecdote, but he can't help the pride that swells in his chest when you chuckle at him.

"Even in this heat."

The third time, he took even himself by surprise. He found himself thinking about that short car ride more than he should've. Analyzing every word and lingering glance. He wanted more. He wanted far more than he knew he should. He knew how this sort of thing went. He lived in New York. He was only here to lay low, to recoup their losses.

And still, he can't stop himself from wanting to, for once in his life, to just allow himself to live for the hope of it all.

The only socially acceptable gesture he could think of was a small token of appreciation from sparing him a five mile walk in the scorching heat.

Of course, he wasn't quite prepared to knock on your front door and say thank you. So he did the next best thing.

He left a bottle of wine on your doorstep the very next day with a little slip of paper with a simple 'thank you'.

He wasn't sure why he was surprised that you approached him the very next day.

Once again, he finds you perched on the deck while he works on the Wilson family boat, "Hey!"

He waves back with a little too much excitement. "Hi!"

"I just wanted to say thank you for the wine. You didn't have to do that."

He rubs the back of his neck, "It's alright, I wanted to."

"You know, I live alone, so I've got no one to share it with. And I doubt I could finish an entire bottle by myself," you chuckle. "Would you care to split it with me? Say 7 'o'clock?"

The smile slowly spreads across Bucky's face. "Yeah, I'd like that."

The trance truly takes over from that moment on. It comes back in pieces. Like a kaleidoscope of memories.

The salt air.

The rust on your door.

That feeling of waiting by the phone, canceling your plans just in case he calls.

His back beneath your willow tree.

His vibranium arm glinting in the light that filters through the thick leaves.

Your fingers tracing over each of his scars, down his shoulder blades, trailing up and down his spine. How you wished you could write your name on it.

You've never been this person. No one had ever enchanted you quite like Bucky Barnes did. His name echoes in your mind over and over again. You've never been good with unknowns, with the feeling of jumping without a care.

Will he call when he's away?

Will he think of you twisted in bedsheets?

It didn't end the way you thought it would. With how intense the love affair went, the end was quiet, peaceful. There was no death rattle breathing, no dramatic exit, nothing that could've prepared you for that last day of August.

You suppose you couldn't truly be shocked that it burned out as fast as it did, not when it burned as brightly as it did.

Because while wanting was enough for you, you know Bucky Barnes wanted more out of this world.

And down to the depths of your bones, you knew he was meant for bigger things than a summer love in Louisiana.

And on that final day of August, you find that you don't need him to say the words. You can see it written all over his face. He stands on your porch, his hands shoved into his pockets. "You're leaving."

He nods, licking his lips pulled into a pained, tight smile. "Yeah."

You knew this moment was coming. Despite a stubborn refusal to admit it, you both did.

It hung in the way he spoke about his war stories, his missions, his heroics.

August was always meant to be a moment in time.

He simply wasn't yours to lose...

Bucky Barnes Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

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